Claire went into respiratory failure when he was finally asleep in the chair next to her bed, wrapped in the blanket the nurse had provided, the pillow nestled between the plastic surface and his back. The alarm on the monitors tore him from his sleep, making him literally fall from his chair.
The next moment, people swarmed the room again and this time, the doctor didn't even try to ask Owen to get out, he blatantly demanded it before turning back to Claire and doing whatever was necessary to keep her alive.
The next hours were a rollercoaster for Owen. One minute, Claire was peacefully sleeping, only moaning from time to time because of the pain in her leg. Her forehead was hot to the touch, her whole body wrecked by a fever as it fought the infection. The next moment, the machines were all acting up, Claire not even waking up like the first time.
It took eight hours for Owen to really believe she would be okay, because that's when her fever broke. She was still in that grey area when it wasn't certain she would actually make it, but for the first time she was admitted for surgery, the doctor didn't seem so pessimistic. And when Claire wasn't surrounded by members of the medical staff, Owen would hold her hand and tell her stories and even random things, partly because that was all he could do, partly because he believed that, maybe, she could hear him and the sound of his voice would comfort her.
When Claire woke up the next time, her respiratory mask was still attached to her face. Shaking the numbness away, she clawed at it, moaning in frustration and frowning, still half-asleep but conscious enough to realize something wasn't right. Owen gently grabbed both her wrists and held her hands.
"Hey, it's okay Claire. You have to leave the mask on for now. Doctors' orders."
She looked at him and it seemed like she was really seeing him this time, her lush green orbs focusing on his face. She simply nodded and her head fell back against the pillows. She didn't say anything but her thumb traced random patterns on the back of his hand until she fell asleep again.
Owen changed the cloth on her forehead, checked her monitors and listened to her breathing. It was still slightly rushed, but gone was the rasping and wheezing. The doctors had warned Owen that her fever could get worse, that Claire wasn't out of the woods yet but Owen was hoping she would get better. He stayed by her side until the nurse, Sharon, the one who brought him a blanket and a pillow, told him to go eat something and shower.
Owen appreciated that she made a joke about his state. Laughing, albeit slightly, made him feel better. Humor and sarcasm had always been his ways of coping, that and running. Whereas Claire's coping mechanisms were facing things head on and taking on more work until her body was numb with exhaustion.
But he wasn't running now.
So he showered, grabbed something to eat from the hospital's cafeteria and even brought Sharon a coffee. She said he didn't have to but thanked him and left them once again. By the time Claire woke up again, this time not needing the respiratory mask, Owen had thought about the way they could get Maisie back. It was the most likely she had been put in some kind of child center before a court would decide what to do with her. Because Owen was pretty sure that once they figured out she was a clone (from the way police swarmed the Lockwood manor, it was only a matter of time before Lockwood's work was discovered), they might reconsider putting her in foster care.
He had to find Iris. The woman could testify and if all else failed and Claire and Owen wouldn't be able to adopt Maisie, maybe Iris could take care of her. But to find Iris, he needed to be sure Claire would be okay. Hell, she'd probably kill him if he left her to rot in this hospital; he knew how she didn't like to sit around doing nothing.
So he waited until she was conscious enough, until the doctors examined her again and until they were alone before telling her how he had massively screwed up and how he was planning on fixing it.
