Day Three - AU
The white hot sand burned against Claire's skin, the small grains clinging to every inch of her. Cool, turquoise water lapped at her feet as she lay there, the harsh Central American sun beating down on her back. Her pale complexion was certain to be ruined after this.
To some, this would be paradise. To Claire Dearing, this was hell.
For one, she hadn't the faintest idea where she was.
She groaned, her weak arms trying to push herself from the ground. A throbbing pain tormented her head, her limbs feeling like jelly. Nausea gripped at her stomach, twisting and pulling at it with a forceful hand. She made the mistake of opening her eyes, cringing in agony as the sun reflected off of the white sand in a blinding light. Annoyance struck her as she felt the tiny grains grinding against her teeth as she clenched her jaw.
Sand.
So. Much. Sand.
After giving a final, aggravated push and a disgusted spit, she sat up, having to squint her eyes as she took in her surroundings. The beach stretched for what seemed like miles, the ocean water lapping the shore in an almost peaceful "calm before the storm" manner. Bigger waves were forming, the high tide coming in. She looked out into the open sea, her heart sinking that all she saw was a vast expanse of water. Behind her, a dense jungle covering as far as she could see, mountains peaking up over the tops of the trees.
She racked her brain, trying desperately to remember what had happened, why the hell she was on this island. There had been a ship, that much she remembered. There had been rain, harsh, cold rain, and wind, the strongest she'd ever experienced. Then the hours of treading water that followed, causing her limbs to feel like jelly.
It was then that she realized just how alone she was. She was supposed to be with Karen and the boys right now on a much needed family vacation; Claire had agreed due to the fact that she had been so busy working for her new boss, Mr. Masrani as they prepared to open a new theme park. Karen would assume that Claire had just skipped out on them. Then, she would call and call and call and no one would answer. Claire so badly wanted them to know that she was alive and (relatively) okay.
But she couldn't do that.
Claire sat up on her knees, bracing her arms against the hot sand. She took a deep breath, running her sand-covered hands through her hair. A groan in disgust escaped her as she tried shaking out the grains, having forgotten how it stuck to her skin like glue. She rose from the ground, stumbling slightly as she tried to find her footing. The life vest wrapped around her would normally have been feather light, but now it felt as if someone had strapped a cinderblock to her chest. She hastily tore it off, tossing it haphazardly into the water.
She was wearing a life vest.
Another memory returned; there was a lifeboat, filled with panicked people; a lifeboat that only ended up capsizing in the angry waters.
The voices that had filled the night air haunted her, causing a shiver to ripple through her body, despite the heat. She struggled, forcing her mind to pull any form of recollection. Nothing else would come.
Perhaps remembering could come later.
Right now, however, it was vitally important that she find some form of food, shelter, and companionship. The island seemed huge; she couldn't possibly be the only one on it, right? The odds were in her favor; she had lived, hadn't she? There had to be at least one other survivor.
It was difficult at first to find her footing as her feet sank into the sand. She growled in frustration as the weight of her legs were held down. She would have to take it slow, much to her annoyance.
Hours seemed to pass, the sun lowering in the sky as the dark approached. It would be nighttime soon, and Claire hadn't had any luck finding the three necessities for survival. She hadn't yet ventured into the dense jungle behind her; there had been a silent hope that something along the beach would come up.
Nothing had.
That is, until her foot kicked something across the sand. She startled, her worn feet tensing in pain at the impact. The object hadn't even been all that heavy. Looking down, hope filled her as her eyes laid on a familiar object; another life vest. Her heart nearly sank at the possibility that it could have been hers, just washed up from when she threw it earlier, but the fear left as she realized that the garment was too far away from where the water came up at the shore.
It wasn't hers.
Someone else was here.
Her heart and spirits lifted. Soon, desperation took her as she began screaming and yelling for the other soul. "Hello?!" She called. "Is anyone out there?!" A defeated sigh escaped her as the only sound that returned was the distant symphony of jungle animal calls and squawks. Her voice echoed and mixed among the hooting and hollering of creatures. An overwhelming weight came over her heart as the silence reverberated through her. This couldn't be happen. This couldn't possibly be happening. This had to be a dream—no, a nightmare. She wasn't on a deserted island by herself. There was no way.
Alone.
Her vision began to blur; the weight of her own body becoming overbearing. Her eyelids struggled to stay open. The world seemed to tip under her feet. The urge to sleep tugged at her mind and body. She needed to rest.
She fell to the ground, everything turning black.
When she woke up, she found that she was not alone after all.
Her eyes cracked open, the act of lifting her eyelids almost impossible in her weakened state. A drop of water dripped onto her nose; she looked up, confused upon seeing a poor excuse for a roof over her head. Another drop fell from a small crack in the ceiling, followed by another. She looked around, turning her head too quickly for comfort. She hastily reached up to cover her aching head with a weak hand. Wooden, splintering walls surrounded her, the room no smaller than her walk-in closet back at home. The sound of rain against the sides of the small shack was enough to bring her back to reality.
Water.
God, she was thirsty. What she would give just to have a glass of water right now...
Her tongue felt like cotton in her mouth, a few persistent grains of sand still stuck in her teeth. How long had she been out? And how did she get here?
The door at the front of the shack was shoved open. A man stepped in; he was tall and firm, his body hardened by what Claire would have guessed to be a physically straining life. He was quite handsome, and if this weren't a life or death situation, then perhaps Claire would have been more pleased by his aesthetic appeal. He moved with a certain confidence that she found both comforting and slightly irritating, though she couldn't place why. Something about this man had seemed so familiar, but her mind came up blank.
His clothes were in no better condition than hers were at this point, caked in a mixture of mud, sand, and salt water. The man turned to her, nudging the door shut with his foot. His hard, calculating gaze made her shift where she lay, Claire suddenly finding herself to feel very self-conscious under this man's eye. The familiar sense of relief filled her as the harshness in his stare seemed to die down, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "You're alive."
"So it would seem," she croaked, cringing at the scratchiness of her own voice. She pushed herself to rest on her elbows, finding the task of simply holding herself up damn near impossible.
"Here, welcome back, sleeping beauty!" the man stepped forward, the smile having disappeared from his face. He pulled a small, homemade canteen from behind him. It wasn't much, but the water in the leaf-bound pouch was better than nothing. She took it from his hands as he crouched next to her, mouthing a 'thank you,' before taking a tentative sip. The ladylike behavior was soon out the window; she tilted her head back, chugging the liquid as if her life depended on it. She heard the man chuckle beside her. "There's some fresh water nearby, but I figured rain water would be quicker."
Claire coughed, clearing her throat. "Thank you," she said once her tone regained some of its strength.
"You're welcome," He replied, taking the canteen from her. He extended his other hand out. "Name's Owen Grady. Pleasure to meet you."
She eyed him carefully. Claire was never one for talking to strange men, especially when alone with one that was so friendly. Yes, this man had saved her, at least she assumed so, but that in no way meant that she was ready to place all of her trust in him. He looked nice enough, but she had met many men just like him, and she wasn't entirely convinced that this handsome stranger had the best intentions.
Regardless, out of her own desire to be polite, she shook his hand. "Claire Dearing." Internally, she marveled at how his calloused, warm hand enveloped her small one, the touch sending a spark through her. An annoying, and uncalled for, heat rose to her cheeks for some unknown reason as he smiled at her again, a flutter in her stomach numbing the pain of hunger for a brief moment. She mentally shook the feeling. Now was not the time to behave like a girl with a crush.
After some questioning, Claire learned that Owen had been on the same ship, that he was a member of the crew. She vaguely recalled seeing him aboard, though their only interaction had been some lingering glances and occasional brush-bys. On the ship however, she hadn't found his confident, borderline cocky, nature as endearing or comforting as she did now, but she would much rather been stuck with someone who knew what they were doing than someone who was too afraid to so much as look at her. This was a far better situation than being alone, too. At least she had company.
Owen had found her unconscious on the beach not long after she'd fallen. He had carried her all the way to this shack, and tended to her when he was needed. For this, she was grateful, though she was once again filled with the sense of self-consciousness with the idea that this man had seen her, and was currently seeing her, in such a vulnerable state.
He noticed the way she had been warily eyeing the room, almost as if she were afraid the damn thing would come crashing down in a matter of seconds. "It's not much, you know, for a bungalow," he said, scratching the back of his head. He rose to his feet. "But it's something. It'll last us a while."
Claire immediately sat up, ignoring the throbbing pain in her body. "A while? How long do you think we'll be stuck here?" The idea that they would be trapped on this God-forsaken island for more than a few days was sickening. "Surely someone will find us?"
Owen huffed, his reaction causing a pang of irritation to shoot through Claire. "Well, no. Yeah, they'll be looking, by now they've probably heard of the shipwreck. But we gotta be realistic here. It'll be more than a couple a' days."
The man had a point; a point Claire didn't really want to accept at the moment, however. Fear gripped at her, tightening its hold as the possibility seemed even more real. They really could be here for days, months even. There was no telling how long it would take them to be rescued, and the thought terrified her. She wanted to go home. She wanted to see her sister. She wanted to see her nephews. None of this was supposed to happen. Claire was supposed to be enjoying the Costa Rican waters with her sister, not stranded on a beach with some strange man.
Owen seemed to notice her panicked state. He placed a hand on her shoulder, pulling her back to reality. "Hey," he said in a firm, yet gentle tone. "Eyes on me."
She reluctantly met his eyes, not entirely pleased with his dominant tone, finding herself surprised at the determined and intent stare.
"You can't be worrying about how long it'll take to be rescued. Stop thinking about what's going to happen and think about what's happening now." He gave a gentle squeeze to her shoulder. "And right now, we need food, water, and shelter. We've got all three. As long as we can maintain this," He gestured all around them. "Then we'll be fine."
"Then what do we do now?" She found herself asking, her voice weak.
He pulled his hand from her shoulder, placing it at his side. "Well, probably stick together. For survival."
That had been only the first day. The next morning, Claire had found more drinking water at her side, the rest of the shack empty, no sign of Owen apart from the canteen. She eagerly drank the water, frowning in dissatisfaction as she finished the liquid in a matter of seconds. With a shaky hand, she pushed her hair back, groaning in frustration as she felt the scratching of sand against her scalp. Why anyone ever said they loved the feeling of sand on their skin, she'd never know. Those people had obviously never even come into contact with the damn substance. It stuck to your skin no matter if it was wet or dry, clinging to every inch as it scratched mercilessly. It would get in your hair, your clothing, your mouth, crunching in your ears as your teeth grit together. It was awful.
She rose, outstretching her hands in front of her to gain a better sense of balance. She wobbled, standing still until she could get her footing.
The smell of smoke filled her senses as she moved to the door. Sunlight flooded the room as she opened the door, the harsh rays causing Claire to stumble backward. She was getting pretty damn tired of this whole disorientation thing. After her eyes had adjusted to the brightness, she scanned the surrounding area, thankful that there wasn't an ounce of the accursed sand nearby. To her left, there was a pile of branches, the ends carved into fine, sharp points. Just ahead of her, the fire crackled. It looked to only have just started; so, Owen hadn't been gone long.
Claire sighed, placing her hands at her hips. She was starving, and Owen was nowhere in sight. She could wait. Perhaps he was out finding food, but she had no idea how long he'd be.
No. Claire Dearing was not one to wait for anything. Especially if it meant her survival.
She gave a determined nod, she began exploring the surrounding trees.
It wasn't long before she had found a true godsend. Not far at all from the bungalow, was a grouping of trees, each bearing pale green-yellow fruit. Plantains. She internally rejoiced, gently plucking the low-hanging fruit. They had really been absurdly lucky in this entire ordeal. Things could have certainly been going a lot worse for them.
Returning to the camp, she found Owen, a makeshift skewer in hand, a freshly caught and cleaned fish roasting at the end.
Lucky, indeed.
He passed a quick glance in her direction. "I hope you like fish."
If she were going to be completely honest, she didn't like fish. At all. Especially with the scales still on it. She wasn't about to say that though. Food was food, and she wasn't going to turn down the opportunity to eat. "I do," she lied. She held up the plantain bunch as she moved toward him. "I found these."
His eyes widened as she placed the fruit next to him, clearly impressed. "I'm guessing you feel better?"
She gave a strained smile. "If I'm going to be honest, no," she responded, carefully lowering herself to the ground, sitting across from him.
He only nodded, his eyes flashing up to her from the fire. "You shouldn't go out there alone though."
"I'm sorry?" She wasn't quite sure she'd understood him correctly, being both slightly offended and irritated at his controlling tone.
"Well, I mean," He said, scratching his neck. "You're not really in any condition to be goin' off explorin' in the jungle."
The nerve! She wanted to throw the plantains at him. No, something harder. A rock maybe. She could do it. She could! No one would know! "Do we really need to discuss sexism in survival situations right now?" She asked, her voice laced with incredulity and exasperation. "For your information, I am perfectly capable of handling myself—"
He held his hand up. "No, it's not that you're a woman, Claire. Personally, you're a lot better off than a lot men have. You've just been through a lot, alright?" His voice softened slightly, though Claire still found herself appalled by the implication that she was weak, even if it was right."You need to recover your strength before you can just go out there."
"Recover my—?!" She scowled as he tossed her a piece of the cooked fish. It burned her hand as she held onto it, but she didn't care. She ate in silence, passing cold glares his way.
They both finished, both taking time to savor the food. Claire grabbed a plantain, nibbling slowly at the sweet fruit in an effort to make it last. Owen gestured for her to pass him one.
She threw it.
He ate his fairly quickly, tossing the peel into the fire. He rose to his feet, not bothering to brush the dirt from his clothing. "I'm going to get some more supplies, then I'll go back to the beach and make a signal."
Claire immediately rose to her feet, finding herself not as weak now that she had a semi-full stomach. "We'll go. I'm coming with you."
Owen held a hand out in front of him, as if that would be able to hold her in place. "No. You stay here. You need to rest."
She pressed her lips together in a tight line, becoming increasingly aggravated at how unreasonable he was being. She wasn't about to stay here and be useless when she could go with him and actually contribute. What did he think she's been doing for the past two days? "No, I'm coming with you. You said we needed to stick together, right?"
He clenched his jaw in agitation, his eyes burning into hers. She tilted her chin upward in defiance, placing her hands on her hips to gain a more formidable stance. He audibly sighed, irritation evident in his disposition. "Fine."
It had been less difficult to gather the needed supplies than Claire had anticipated. Granted, it still was not easy by any means, and by the end of the first few hours, she found herself about ready to fall over from the strain of physical exertion. She wasn't about to tell Owen that though. She would not give him that satisfaction. Besides, he looked about as worn out as she was when they returned to the shack.
Days went by, and no sign of any rescue. Every morning, they would go out and rebuild the signal, a fire and a large SOS drawn into the sand. After only a week on the island, Claire had begun to lose hope. Among that, she was starting to lose her patience for Owen. While he had eventually been worn down to the idea that Claire was perfectly capable of helping in the situation, he had stopped treating her as some fragile being. Their initial tension had changed to something else; something that Claire was not ready to deal with.
After another week, she noticed that he had taken a particular liking to pushing her buttons, seeing how far he could get before she would snap at him. Their comfort levels with each other had grown exponentially. Along with the teasing came flirting, something which caused a confusing, and extremely irritating, feeling to well within Claire. He had relaxed so much through all of this, his calm, cool exterior showing through. It was clear that he wasn't worried at all, that everything was under control.
Claire on the other hand, was the complete opposite. Even though Owen had told her not to dwell on the future and to just think about the present, she couldn't help it. That was why his impish teasing was less than tolerable.
Though, along with his immaturity, there were times where she would get to see his softer, more sensitive side. He was by far the more talkative of the two of them; he never seemed to run out of stories. He told her of how he had been in the Navy for a time, his eyes shining brightly as he talked of the marine mammals he got to work with. He hadn't explained why exactly he left, only saying that it was "too messy and complicated" to explain.
There were also times where his advances weren't exactly horrible. She had grown to find a comfort in his touch, his company being a way to keep her grounded. His hand would sneak its way to her arm, her waist, or even the small of her back as they walked through the jungle. Honestly, the way he looked at her sometimes was enough to make her melt. Claire had never been a woman to depend on another person, much less a man she'd only known for two weeks, but here, she found herself wanting to be near him constantly, even at the times where his immaturity was at its high point.
A thought hatched in her mind one day. What if they were never found? Would she be able—mentally, physically and emotionally—to stay on this island with him? Honestly, at some points she felt that if she had to stay another minute with him, she'd kill him. And what if they were found? The idea of separating from him at this point caused a sinking feeling in her stomach. In only two weeks, she had grown somewhat attached to him. She knew that they both would have lives they had to return to.
In two different ways, Owen Grady had managed to get under her skin, whether she liked it or not.
One night, they had been sitting beside their small fire outside the bungalow. Neither of them had spoken a word, both finding themselves unable to find words. They were nearing the end of their third week on the island, and while that didn't seem like a terribly long time in the normal world, here it felt like an eternity.
They had spent most of the afternoon by the lake, their goal to collect more fresh drinking water having been set back by a playful splash fight that had ended in Owen pushing Claire into the water. The light hearted tone had quickly disappeared upon returning to the shack. They weren't even sure at this point if anyone would come for them. It wasn't a very long time, but it was long enough.
She didn't know how long she had been staring into the golden light of the fire. Owen had noticed. He had seen her pained and far away expression. She was thinking, and he felt he knew what was on her mind. The same was on is.
There was this gut feeling though, that had been twisting in Claire's stomach that evening, that the end was close. Whatever that meant, she wasn't entirely sure.
She felt his hand cover hers. She jumped slightly at the contact, but relaxed when she realized that it was him. A warm feeling pooled in her stomach as she took note of their close proximity. They had slowly migrated towards each other in their time by the fire, now close enough to see even the smallest features. Her eyes flicked briefly to his lips, an almost unconscious action on her behalf. It was then that she did the only thing she felt was right.
She kissed him.
And he kissed back.
The next morning, as they were building a large fire on the beach, Claire saw a speck on the horizon. She stopped, dropping the branches she held in her hand, stumbling as she walked toward the wading water.
It was a ship.
The speck was a ship.
And from what she could tell, it was coming their way.
An overwhelming feeling of joy filled her as she came to the revelation. They were going to be saved. Yet, with that feeling of peace and happiness, there was dread. She was scared… Scared that getting her life back wouldn't be easy. She had spent nearly a month on this island, she had grown accustomed to a certain lifestyle… with a certain ex-navy man. She looked back to him, her eyes asking the silent question of what they were going to do.
His own surprised expression had faded as he stepped forward to meet her in the water, stopping as the waves brushed against his calves. Once again, she felt his hand take hers, giving a gentle squeeze.
That gesture seemed to quell her fears. He didn't need to say anything; she knew there was nothing to worry about.
After all, they were going to stick together. For survival.