! Set after the first Jurassic World. I know, I'm taking it back for all of us Clawen fans! Im just thoroughly intrigued by the evolution of Claire as a character throughout the series and I recently re- watched Jurassic World and got all the feels for the old Claire !
The hotel door shut behind Claire and she rested her forehead against the wood, facing the door, her fingers fumbling for the lock. It was finally over. She was safe, in an air conditioned, clean, quiet, motel room. No more running from dinosaurs, no more fear over losing her nephews,
She was safe. So why didn't she feel that way?
She pressed her forehead harder against the cool wood of the door and breathed out. It felt like the first real breath she had taken in over 2 days. Deep breath in, deep breath out.
She was safe. But she was alone.
For the first time in 2 days, Owen wasn't with her. Her nephews weren't with her. Zarah was gone and Lowery and Judy all weren't with her and not because it was the weekend or the end of a vacation.
A meeting was called for the next morning at 10, a meeting she wasn't looking forward to. Called by the next next next in line chief officer, it was likely going to be a long drawn out menagerie of people fighting, grieving, and she had no clue what to say, or do, or expect. She was WAY out of her element now. And she hated it.
She pushed herself off of the door, and took two steps across the room to the low bed. A threadbare comforter donned the top of the bed and four thin pillows were propped up against the metal headboard.
The Taj Mahal it was not, but. It was a room, off the mainstream flow of overpriced, luxury places that the tourists loved to stay in and brag about. Everyone, all the park guests and workers had been distributed throughout the resort's surrounding hotels and motels an what seemed like Every. Single. Place. she and Owen tried to find beds in. This random, cheap place, set far back from the hustle of the islands tourists, was maybe the only place that had rooms left.
She didn't care though. It wasn't up to her *usual* standard, but A LOT had changed in the past 2 days. She sat down on the thin mattress and put her head in her hands, sighing heavily.
"I need to shower," she said to herself. But she had no spare clothes, nothing but the torn skirt and dinosaur shit smeared tank top she had that was plastered to her body with sweat.
She stunk.
"I stink," she said, again to the empty room.
She didn't want to get clean and put these disgusting clothes back on.
She wearily pulled herself up from the bed and went into the bathroom. Thin, white towels and wash clothes decorated the shelf above the toilet, but no bathrobe hung anywhere she could find.
She sighed heavily, again.
She stopped herself while she was backing out of the bathroom. She stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair hung sweaty and dirty, her entire business suit was a mess of torn rags. She stared at herself, realizing that she didn't recognize herself anymore.
She was a mess, had been a mess in front of people, had seen unimaginable messes right in front of her eyes, felt these messes deeply. She stared at herself, until she got weirded out and dazed, truly unrecognizing herself. Maybe it was trauma hitting, she was aware enough to realize that, but her brain literally raced through the thoughts of death, blood, Owen smelling like gasoline, her sister crying when she hugged her, massive teeth, swooping pterodactyls, and the constant massive amount of movement she had done in the past two days, both internally and externally.
Her brain, like her muscles, felt like mush.
There was a knock on the door and she jumped, totally absorbed in her bewildered image.
"Hang…hang on," she called, her voice cracking. She cleared her throat. She broke herself out of her rivière and stepped out of the bathroom. She unlocked the locks and opened the door, watching her hands move the thick metal of the locks, still somewhat in shock, feeling out of her body somehow.
And there stood Owen, a few brown paper bags in his hands, smiling a small half smile at her.
"Hey," he said.
She wasn't prepared for the surge of emotions that were going to come over her at the sight of him.
"I brought you a few things," he said, holding out the bags. She looked at him questioningly, and he smiled a bit bigger.
"Don't laugh," he said. She arched her eyebrow.
"Why not?" She asked.
"I grabbed a few things from the gift shop."
"Oh," she said, surprised. "You didn't have to."
"Trust me, they're not all that great."
He opened one brown paper bag and pulled out a black pair of sweatpants and a bright green T-shirt with the Jurassic World logo on them both.
"Oh Lord," she said, smiling despite herself.
"I told you not to laugh," he said.
"I guess we are still gonna have to represent. Despite there being no park anymore," she said somewhat sarcastically, and her breath hitched.
It really wasn't funny and it hit her how callous she sounded. Zarah. Mr. Misrani.
He read her eyes instantly.
"I sound so insincere," she said, her eyes filling with sudden tears.
"You're not. Its not wrong to laugh at an electric green dinosaur skin patterned tshirt that I'm asking you to put on," he said.
Her smile reached her watery eyes.
She took a deep breath in and leaned against the doorway. "And you better have gotten yourself something just as becoming."
"Gray sweats for me. I came this close to buying a pair before I realized the logo was printed across the ass. Put those ones back and settled for a pocket logo. I got a white shirt. Pretty plain. Oh, but here. Here's a zip up hoodie. In case it's cold. And…I don't know what size shoes you wear because…all I've ever seen you in are ridiculous ones, but….here's a pair of slip on shoes that will hopefully fit."
"Thank you," she said, taking the bundle of clothes.
"I talked to the concierge. He's bringing you up necessities-a few more towels and blankets, a bathrobe, a toothbrush and paste, a comb and…possibly even a small sewing kit."
"Oh," she said, knowing he was trying to make her smile.
"He really asked me if you wanted one."
She smiled genuinely.
"He said there's shampoo and soaps and a hair dryer in your bathroom….And there's a bar. On the first floor. I'm gong to shower and get dressed and go down. You're more than welcome to come along if…."
"I think I'm gonna go to bed," she said, softly. "I'm going to try at least. There's a meeting tomorrow at 10 am and I am…beyond exhausted."
"Can I order you something to eat from room service?"
"I'm too tired to eat right now," she said. "But thank you."
"Ok. If you change your mind, you know where to find me."
She nodded and stepped back into the room, shutting the door behind her.
Her arms were laden with clothes and she tossed them down on the bed. She organized the clothes a bit, mindlessly folding and unfolding them again as she let her mind wander. She was about to remove her old skirt and top and finally get in the shower when someone knocked on the door.
"Room service!" A voice called out. She went to the floor and peeked through the eyehole and saw a man dressed in black pants with a red golf tee standing with a metal rolling cart.
She opened the door.
"Dinner and supplies," he said, cheerfully. "Hell of a tragedy what happened at the park."
He pushed past her and rolled the cart into the room and began unloading the lower shelf of the cart.
"More towels, a bathrobe, a few more blankets. A toiletry kit with toothpaste and a brush, a comb and lotions. A razor. A few bars of soap."
He stepped back form the dresser and pushed the cart towards her. "And dinner," he said.
"Oh, I didn't order anything," she told him, putting a hand up to stop him from rolling the cart in any further, as he was headed for the small desk/table that was situated near the bed.
"Ahhh…oh, well, an Owen came down and ordered you a salad and soup," he said, reading off a receipt paper. "And some breads and butter. A few bottles of water and some soda. We have a complimentary breakfast starting at 8 am tomorrow morning, too."
"Oh…Ok," she said, surprised at the trouble Owen went to, even after she told him not to. "That sounds nice. Thank you," she said formally.
"No problem," he said, heading back towards the door. He opened it and turned back to her. "I'm Bob, by the way. I'll be here all night if you need anything. Call the front desk and just ask for me."
"Thank you so much, Bob," she said, again very formally. He gave her a little wave, and she managed a professional smile at him. He turned and she stepped back, shutting the door and locking it again behind her.
She eyed the cart, somewhat shocked, somewhat reluctant, somewhat guilty. "I should have invited him in," she said, "I should have hugged him, or thanked him more. God. What is wrong with me?"
But, still, she felt herself smile a bit. He went to some trouble for her.
'Ok, not a whole ton of trouble,' she thought to herself, 'I mean, it was just salad and soup. But, still, he didn't have to do that.'
She sat down at the small table I the corner of the room to eat the soup while it was still hot. Chicken noodle, that was actually very good. Thick noodles and big chunks of chicken, and soft carrots and celery. She felt relief slide down her throat with every soothing mouthful. She opened the rolls, spread the butter on them, and ate, slowly and quietly. She popped open a can of Coke, and drank a deep swallow. She hadn't had Coke, or any type of regular soda in years.
She missed it.
She shook her head, thinking again about Zarah, and how she'd never have anything to drink ever again. How she was just….gone.
How she had almost watched Owen get mauled by the pteradactyl. She hadn't really thought back at that moment fully yet. She had sat with the relief of seeing her nephews again, of keeping them secure and safe, having them run to her while the Indominous Rex and the Tyranasaurus Rex fought each other.
But, she hadn't thought about how Owen kissed her.
And how he almost fucking died. Right in front of her eyes.
No wonder he kissed her, she had just saved his life, and she had to admit, she did have a past with him.
"Yeah. A realllll disastrous past," she said aloud, finishing up her meal and organizing the tray.
She considered their date a disaster, they argued, they picked at each other, she hardly ate, he seemed to hardly care. He invited her back to his "bungalow," which she found insulting and insinuating.
She didn't know what he was implying. She couldn't read him, and she felt every insecurity she had flash in front of his eyes. Because he COULD read her, like a total upfront open book, she felt like. She didn't like not being able to read people, control the room, control everything that she was possibly able to control. She didn't like his humor that date, she didn't like his choice of attire, but she couldn't deny that she didn't hate the way he looked at her when he wasn't teasing. When he held the door for her and she thanked him, he gazed down at her with a look that made her heart leap and have to swallow hard. She felt it when he pulled out her chair for her, not only when they arrived at the restaurant, but again after she came back from he bathroom, she felt it when he gently took her arm and hung back, switching their places on the sidewalk of restaurants and bars lining the coast of the island. He was closest to the traffic, not her. She knew he didn't think she noticed. Because to him it seemed almost second nature, the way he was, maybe he had sisters, she didn't know, but it was respectful, and a bit on the adorable side. But then, he'd turn to her and that glint in his eye would return, and she felt herself harden again. He was reading her, teasing her, somewhat challenging her.
"Maybe that's it," she said aloud to herself, alone in the hotel room. "Maybe I kinda felt like he was challenging me the whole time."
And, it hit her, maybe that was kind of a good thing; someone challenging another person in ways that aren't in their comfort zone. She felt like she had to prove herself to him.
"But did I?" She asked herself, then. "Did I really have to?"
She hadn't felt like that with him at all in the past 24 hours.
And the last 24 hours were when she actually really did have something to prove to him.
*"You'll last 10 minutes in there, less in those ridiculous shoes," he told her.
And of course that was the openest of invitations that she needed.
She realized that she had to prove it to herself too. Maybe that's when she stopped trying to belittle his challenging behavior.
She shook her head to clear her thoughts and the soup settled in her stomach, so much like what her mom used to make when she was growing up, and she felt some sense of hope. He did say they should probably stick together, for survival. He did tell her that. And he did order her food. And bought her new clothes.
She smiled to herself.
"These clothes," she said, looking again at the green dinosaur skin printed shirt and sweatpants with the Jurassic World insignia emblazed on them.
"Yikes," she said, shaking her head.
It was better than what she STILL had on, though.
And the shower she finally took was probably the best shower she had ever had in her life. Hot water, sweet smelling shampoo, sudsy soap, and the knowledge that the heap of her dress suit would NEVER EVER have to be put on again because clean clothes awaited her made everything feel better.
She brushed her teeth, she combed and blow dried her hair. She wanted to straighten it, like she did every day before work. Sleek was her style, not this shoulder length bob of wavy red that she felt made her look unkempt.
"Oh well," she shrugged at herself in the mirror. "It's looked worse."
She pushed the thought out of her head that-its looked worse was probably in late elementary school, when she was going through the awkward stage-her hair frizzy because she didn't care about conditioner or straighteners, her teeth in braces, her head held high on her knowledge of dinosaurs and biology and the fact that she wanted to own and operate her own amphibian and reptile veterinary chain when she grew up made everything else of little relevance. Who cared about their hair?
She cared now. She started caring in high school. And she cared now. Still.
But she shrugged it off, a feeling of genuine concern somehow, suddenly overtaking her how of little relevance in the grand scheme of things it was. So her hair waved, she was alive to blow dry it still.
She lotioned her freshly shaved legs, rubbed on the baby powder scented generic deodorant, used a tube of basic chap stick on her lips, and climbed into the bed.