"Does this kind of thing happen often?"
Claire nearly jumped. Natasha's voice was coming from her right now, and much closer. She had no idea how she was able to move so quickly and quietly. Claire could barely make her out in the dim light, just a few inches from her.
"No," Claire said, her voice sounding like it was coming from very far away. Her lungs constricted. Her eyes darted to the left and to the right, trying to make out light but failing. Her arms flailed in the air uselessly, trying to find a handhold.
Her hand latched onto something. An arm. Clarie quickly realized she'd made a wild grab for Natasha's bicep and quickly retracted it, trying not to focus on how taut it was with muscles.
"Sorry," she said, fighting to keep the tremble out of her voice, "I didn't mean to grab onto you like that."
"We need to find the call button," Natasha said calmly. Claire noticed that she'd waved off another one of Claire's apologies. Out of nowhere, a light flashed, and Claire's hands sprang up to shield her eyes.
When her eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness, she saw that Natasha had her phone out, using it as a flashlight. Claire felt a little dumb for not thinking of doing the same. Natasha was studying the rows of buttons on the side of the elevator. Finding the one with a call icon, she pressed it. The red light blinked, and there was a ringing noise.
Someone picked up. "Hello, how may I help you?"
Natasha gave the operator their location and information. Claire was half-listening. Her knees had buckled, in fear or in exhaustion, and she had sunk to the ground. The floor was probably filthy, but she couldn't bring herself to care.
The walls felt like they were closing in on her. The air felt stale and hot, even though Claire knew there had to be decent ventilation. Even with the light from Natasha's phone, the darkness was dizzying. Her hands shaking, she closed her eyes and imagined that she was simply in a comfortable dark room, rather than trapped in an elevator. She placed her forehead on her knees and took a deep breath in, held it, and let it out. Her breath rattled in her chest.
"Fuck." The word escaped her in a breath.
Claire wasn't usually this unnerved when it came to tense, high-pressure situations. She was a surgeon, after all. A few seconds' worth of indecision could be the difference between a patient's life or death. She could handle wide, clean rooms that smelled like antiseptic. She could handle blood and gore that could make a grown man flinch. She was now realizing that she could not handle small spaces.
She'd had severe claustrophobia as a child. She would refuse to go into small, dark spaces or places where escape was hard or impossible. Her parents had forced her into therapy sessions that had left her convinced that she was cured. What a load of bullshit that was.
"Fuck," Claire swore under her breath. "Shit."
Natasha's voice broke into Claire's internal spiral, making her head jerk up. "Hey," she said softly, like she was coaxing a frightened animal. It was low, and there was a slight rasp to it. It was the same kind of voice Claire used when reassuring patients who were having a panic attack. She loathed having it used against her. She was not scared, dammit.
"I'm okay," Claire said. Her voice was too loud, and not particularly convincing. She realized that her arms were squeezing her knees into her chest. Unconsciously, she'd balled herself up as tight as she could. "Just tired."
From the light of her phone, Claire saw on her face that Natasha didn't believe a word of that. But she didn't call her bullshit. "They're sending someone to come get us," was all she said, like she knew Claire had been too panicked to pay attention. "Looks like we're going to have to be here a little while longer."
Claire tried to make it sound like she was asking out of curiosity rather than desperation. "Did they say how long?"
"They predicted about an hour."
Claire wanted to groan. She swallowed and tried to school her features into disappointment rather than terror. "Did you ask them why so fucking long?"
"There was a power outage. They're trying to help other people in the city."
Natasha took a seat beside her, leaning against the back wall of the elevator. She set her phone on the ground between them, flashlight up. Claire stiffened. They were inches apart. For a few minutes, there were no sounds except the sound of their breathing.
"Not a fan of small spaces, huh?"
Claire felt a little embarrassed at being so obvious. "What makes you say that?"
"Well, you've barely spoken since the elevator stopped. You're breathing too fast. You're tensed up and you've curled into a ball. You're shivering even though it's about 80 degrees in here."
Claire stilled. She hadn't even noticed she was trembling. She was uncomfortable with how much Natasha had noticed. "Anything else?" she asked sarcastically.
"You're also white as a sheet."
Claire scoffed. "I'm fine."
A snort stopped her from closing her eyes.
"Something funny?"
"You're stubborn."
"I'm not," Claire insisted, before realizing that she was proving Natasha's point.
Natasha seemed to realize this too, and stayed silent, although it was the smug sort of silent that made Claire want to start an argument. She held her tongue and focused on her breathing. It was so dark.
When her own breathing started to come too fast, Natasha murmured, "Relax."
"I'm relaxed," Claire said, so stiff that she could hardly move.
Without warning, the woman grabbed onto one of Claire's tightly fisted hands. Too surprised to pull away, she watched as Natasha unraveled her curled fingers and weaved her own through them, holding her hand tightly.
"What are you—"
"Try to match my breathing."
Claire didn't like being treated like a patient, but when Natasha started to make her breathing long and deep, she mirrored it. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. She felt her thumping heart slowly return back to normal. Her chest still had an odd ache to it, but air was filling and leaving her lungs at a steady pace.
Their hands were still gripped together. Her palms were probably sweaty, but Claire didn't let go. It wasn't the worst thing in the world, after all, to be holding the hand of a beautiful woman while… trapped in a small, dark, enclosed elevator for an hour without help— shit.
"Breathe," Natasha reminded her.
Claire released the breath that she'd been holding. "I am."
She could practically hear Natasha roll her eyes.
This went on for long enough that Claire began to feel the adrenaline slowly trickle out of her, leaving her tired and slightly nauseous. She couldn't suppress a yawn, which didn't fail to escape Natasha's notice.
"Tired?" Natasha let go of her hand.
"Exhausted," Claire admitted, her stomach clenching in disappointment from the loss of contact. "I've been looking forward to sleeping since yesterday."
"Go ahead," Natasha said, gesturing.
It took a second for Claire to realize what she meant. She shook her head. "What if they come?"
Claire wasn't sure she was comfortable sleeping in front of a stranger. It seemed too vulnerable a position to be seen in, and she never liked appearing vulnerable to anyone.
"I'll wake you up. Go on."
Claire hesitated, then agreed, muttering a low thanks. Part of her was relieved, because she didn't think she could keep her eyes open any longer. Without further prompting, she slipped into a quick and deep sleep.
It seemed like she'd had her eyes closed a full ten seconds before she was being woken up by loud voices above her head. Claire felt too groggy to lift her head, the feeling of not having gotten enough sleep washing over her. She blinked, disoriented, forgetting where she was for a moment. Her eyes searched for a light only to not find any. For a brief moment, panic seized her before she remembered where she was.
"You fell asleep quick. I nearly thought you'd been knocked out."
The close proximity of the voice, just above her head, made Claire bolt upright, her heading lifting from… Natasha's shoulder. Heat flushed her face as she realized that she'd practically draped herself over her. She'd probably been in that position for a good amount of time. She could still feel the pressure of Natasha's shoulder on her cheek, although it was gone.
"How was your sleep?" Natasha asked.
"It was shit," Claire replied, trying to hang on to some of her dignity. "Sorry for falling asleep on you. Literally, on you."
The light of Natasha's phone flashed on, and she raised one dark, perfectly shaped eyebrow. "Again with the unnecessary apologies."
"I guess I should really be saying thanks for helping me out back there."
"Well, I was worried you'd take up all the air with your hyperventilating."
Claire nodded in mock understanding. "So it was purely for survival purposes."
"That's right."
Claire cracked her neck on both sides, stretching. She noticed Natasha watching her and, feeling awkward, got to her feet. "Are those voices I hear?"
"Our valiant saviors," Natasha said dryly, rising as well. "They're trying to pry open an exit for us to hop through."
Claire frowned. "Hop through?"
Suddenly, the elevator dropped about a foot. Claire yelped, barely managing to maintain her balance. Natasha steadied her with a hand on her back. Claire suppressed a shudder at the touch.
"Hey! Next time, some warning would be nice!" Claire called up to the voices. "What's going on up there?"
A muffled male voice answered her, shouting, "Everything's fine, ma'am— Just try to stay calm! We'll have you outta there in a few!"
"Stay calm? We've been calm for an hour," Claire muttered.
"Well, one of us has," Natasha said.
The male voice said, "Alright, we're gonna drop you guys down just a bit! Marty's going to be waiting for you ladies down there, he's gonna pull the door open!"
"Drop us down?" Claire echoed, expecting a repeat of the last "drop," but this time the elevator lowered at a much more even pace.
Then it stopped. For a moment, Claire feared that there'd been another issue. She was itching to get out of there. Her skin was buzzing with anticipation, and a layer of sweat was covering her body. She wanted to get home, take off all her clothes to get rid of that metallic elevator smell, and jump in the shower.
Slowly, the doors of the elevator were pried open. Soft, warm light flooded the elevator, and Claire could not have gotten out of there faster. A man decked out in a fireman's uniform was holding the tool he'd used to open the doors.
Claire took a deep breath of cool, fresh air, her shoulders sagging in relief. She fanned her sweaty face. "Finally."
"Took us long enough, huh?" said the fireman, watching her reaction.
She turned to the fireman. "You're Marty?"
He nodded. His eyes went up and down her figure and he smiled like he liked what he saw. "That's right, Doc."
"Marty, I could kiss you right now."
He winked at her. "Why don't you?"
The unexpected flirtation made her falter, but she regained her composure quickly. "Well, I am feeling slightly delirious from lack of sleep," she said. "It might not be the wisest decision for me to follow my instincts."
"How about you let me give you my number and you could tell me what you think at a time when you're not so delirious?"
Claire raised her eyebrows. "Well, aren't you forward? As tempting as that sounds, I'll have to pass."
Marty flashed a grin and shrugged. "Can't blame a guy for trying."
"When you two lovebirds are finished," Natasha said, coming up from behind Claire, "I'll take you back to your room. Wouldn't want you collapsing in the middle of the hallway."
They took the stairs. They were still three stories down from Floor 9. Claire usually had no trouble with physical exertion, but she had reached a point of tiredness so vast that every small action seemed to take a great deal of energy. Her breathing was getting heavy by Floor 8, and every step was slow. Natasha didn't seem to be having any trouble whatsoever. But Claire would've done anything to avoid stepping in that elevator a second time.
"He was cute," Natasha said, pausing at the top of the stairs to look down at Claire. Her words seemed carefully calculated. "Why didn't you take his number?"
As she trudged up the remaining steps, Claire debated how much to share. Natasha didn't seem the homophobic type, but Claire barely knew her. She'd learned to be careful about who she told what to. "He was cute," she agreed, "but not my type."
Natasha studied her. Her gaze raked over her in that slow, deliberate way that made Claire want to fidget like a schoolgirl. "What is your type?"
"Having a vagina is a good starting point," Claire said impulsively. To hell with it, she thought.
Natasha displayed no sign of surprise, but her green eyes lost a bit of their customary iciness. "I see."
"You're not against that, are you?"
She didn't react with anger or offense. She held Claire's gaze steadily and responded, "No. Of course not."
Claire was satisfied with that. "Good."
They climbed in silence after that.