As soon as Owen heard the scream, he was on his feet. He dropped his tools and only stopped when he was two feet away from the front door, or lack thereof seeing as his cabin was far from being finished. He only turned to look at Maisie who was sitting next to a crate and helping him sort through bolts and screws. "It's okay, I got this." Maisie simply nodded, as if she understood, as if she knew what was happening and somehow Owen didn't doubt that she did. After all, PTSD didn't discriminate, Maisie got it too.
Owen cursed under his breath as he crossed the distance between his cabin and his van, the very van he had let Claire drive for the first time the day before. They had actually made a deal: Claire would go get checked in the hospital and in exchange Owen would get checked as well, and Maisie too. But Claire had also added something else in the bargain: Owen would have to let her drive the van, at least once.
So he let her drive. She wasn't too bad, maybe a bit too much on the rules' side, abiding by every law known to mankind when it came to driving, but that was fine with Owen as long as she didn't ram his van into a tree.
Owen had feared they wouldn't be able to see a doctor because of all the legal procedures, but it just so happened that, by the time Claire agreed to go, they had already been several incidents with dinosaurs and the last one involved more than a hundred people injured when the T-Rex decided to roam into a zoo. Owen was sad and concerned by the dinosaurs being released like that, but he took that opportunity and made them all pass as injured tourists from the zoo (they had to take out Claire's stitches though to avoid suspicion and if the doctor realized the wound was older than twenty four hours, he didn't say anything).
Claire was released after three hours of surgery on her thigh, brand new stitches, x-rays of her chest and back and other exams to detect concussions and the like. She only got bruises on her chest, no broken ribs, but she had a superficial laceration on her back from her encounter with the Baryonyx and then the whole chase downhill on the island (Owen had noticed her shirt was ripped but seeing there was no blood, he didn't ask about it).
Maisie was only diagnosed with PTSD, which, although it wasn't good, Owen was glad she hadn't been injured, besides the occasional bruised knees and scraped elbows they all had.
Owen himself had extensive bruises on his back from where he hit the stone on the roof after the Indoraptor almost fell through the glass roof and from all of the bumps and falls he went through since they landed on the island. Luckily, the gravest injury he got was a cut on his shoulder (from the impact with debris underwater) that the doctor hadn't even bothered to stitch up. And just like Maisie and Claire, he was diagnosed with PTSD, but the two adults were much better at hiding it.
After snatching a bag full of sedatives, painkillers, antiseptics, bandages and so many other meds Owen couldn't even pronounce (he had decided three years ago that between him and Claire, she was the one who would stick to difficult words' pronunciation duty since the day she had said "Archaeornithomimus"), they escaped in the throng of injured people constantly coming in, not bothering to check out with the fake names they gave.
Owen didn't wait to see if Maisie was following her and opened the door to his van so fast he heard the hinges protest. The noise was the only thing that prevented him from ripping the door out entirely.
The inside of the van was dark, but Owen managed to find his way through the crammed space, having lived in there for years. He had to admit though; it was nice not to bump into weird objects or slid on dirty clothes like he used to before Claire agreed to stay with him. He couldn't believe one entire week had already passed since the whole Isla Nublar volcano eruption and Lockwood mansion fiasco.
He reached their bed at the end of the van, a double mattress that was barely enough to fit him and Claire, but leaving Maisie out was out of the question and the girl had slept with them since day one. It seemed that the adults' presence helped her calm down. Owen had offered to sleep on the floor of the van, or outside in a hammock that he could put up against a tree. It was the middle of summer and it was quite warm outside at night so he wouldn't mind the cold. But Claire had shut him up with a kiss and pulled him to her on the mattress, right before Maisie interrupted them and they all decided it was best to sleep (besides, Owen wanted his first time with Claire to be better than on his old mattress in his van).
When he reached the bed, he cautiously looked around for any signs of a threat, ready to grab the crossbar lying under the bed if someone or something happened to be there. The only thing that could actually fit in the van and don't make enough noise to wake Claire up would be Compys, but Owen didn't find any.
He was about to sit on the bed when Claire screamed again, the kind of loud and high pitched gut-wrenching scream only she could make (and he had heard her scream a lot whenever dinosaurs were involved). She was thrashing on the bed, covers tangled around her legs, her skin glistening with sweat in the little sunlight that was entering through the old blinders at the back of the van. She mumbled something in her sleep, something so harrowing that she started crying and moaning in pain or sadness, Owen couldn't tell.
He climbed onto the bed, avoiding her injured leg, and proceeded to shake her awake. "Claire, Claire, honey, come on. Wake up. It's just a bad dream." It took him a good minute, but he eventually managed to wake her, earning a punch in the arm for his efforts.
She looked at him with her green Bambi eyes, cheeks red and flustered, confused and lost, not entirely awake from the nightmare, but not trapped in it either. "Owen?" she asked, voice so small and dreadful like a child's. It broke Owen's heart to see her like this.
As he cradled her in his arms, back pressed against the wall of the van, she sobbed. Quietly at first, as if she was afraid the entire world might hear her and laugh at her, then more and more loudly until sobs racked her entire body so hard, Owen had to tighten his hold on her. He was starting to get concerned, wondering if she wasn't having some kind of seizure, when the sobs gradually lowered in intensity and frequency, until she was slack against his chest, her face wet from the tears but the rest of her body burning with the horrors of her nightmare.
They stayed like that for so long, Maisie poked her head in the open door of the van. Owen lifted his thumb up, telling her it was okay while stroking Claire's head with his other hand, her body laying awkwardly on his like a rag doll. Maisie smiled sadly before heading out, leaving the door open. Claire didn't seem to notice the girl at all.
It wasn't the first time one of them suffered from a nightmare or had a PTSD episode. Right on their first day, a few hours after they had filled the tank with gas, Owen broke down so hard he had to stop the car to pull himself together, worrying Maisie and waking up Claire. Two days later, Maisie woke up screaming and refused to go to sleep for two days straight. She only found solace in Claire's arms, the redhead rocking her back and forth under the incomplete roof of their new cabin and future home (because Claire had agreed they lived there that first summer, but would go back to her apartment in the city in the winter and Maisie was on board whatever they decided).
They had what Claire called contingency plans, a special one for each of them in every single situation. They had one for when Owen would suddenly freeze behind the wheel, his eyes seeing horrible things flash across his eyes. They had one for whenever Maisie woke up in the middle of the night from a nightmare or when she refused to sleep in complete darkness. They had one for when Claire saw or felt something sharp nudging her and would be reminded of the way she got her injury. They had one for when Owen would stay under hot water too long and would start hyperventilating, feeling as if he was surrounded by lava (it also happened when he worked for too long in the sun, so Claire always made sure to watch him and keep a fresh bottle of water nearby). They had one for when Claire started to freak out whenever they came across a body of water (like that time two days prior when they had gone swimming in the lake nearby and Claire's head went under for a split second when she lost her footing). They had one for when Maisie would hear a wild animal in the forest and would start screaming.
And when a new situation came up, they figured out a new plan as well. Somehow, all three of them working together seemed to be enough. Sometimes it was Owen that helped Claire through a tough spot, sometimes it was Maisie.
"She ate you…" Claire whispered so softly that Owen wondered if he heard her right. She was calm now, her breathing normal again and her skin didn't seem as clammy as before, nor her core didn't seem as if she was burning from the inside out. But something in her voice wasn't right. "Cut you clean in half… I can still see the bones sticking out… the blood… and your insides…" she didn't continue and just kept looking at empty space. It worried Owen that Claire's words were so graphic, because she was never so specific in her retailing of her nightmares.
Her hold, which was strong, almost desperate, when she had woken up as if she was afraid he might vanish, was slack now, like she wasn't even trying. As if she was empty in that shell of a body, barely a ghost of her former self.
Owen looked down at her, chin pressed against his chest. She didn't move, didn't even try to lay straighter. She remained motionless, vain, empty, her eyes lacking their usual spark, her lips slightly agape. "Claire, look at me."
He shook her shoulders, but her head only lolled from one side to the other. So he shifted her body making her sit between his legs (clad in her most hated board shorts) and gently took her face in his hands, searching her eyes. "Claire, honey, please, please look at me," he pleaded.
He saw her react to the sound of his voice, her pupils dilating and tightening in rhythm, her irises shifting to slowly focus on his own gaze, lush green meeting sea blue. She was still there, somewhere, he just had to find her. "Hey, I'm here. That's it, keep focusing on me." He felt her frown more than he saw the lines of her forehead, as if she was trying to make sense of something obvious, something she was supposed to know but somehow evaded her. Her pupils dilated once more and he felt a small smile form on her lips as she recognized him, really recognized him this time.
"Owen," she said and the relief in her voice could make his heart melt.
"It's okay, you're home." He didn't let go of her face, didn't lower his gaze and focused solely on her, on her needs, on her presence. He wanted to never let go, to always hold her, have her so close to him, so intimately linked beyond measure, two souls connected simply by their eyes.
Her smile grew a little wider, her lips parting ever so slightly and it was all the invitation Owen needed to lean forward and kiss her. She tasted like lemonade and painkillers, like summer and home. The softness of her lips was like a sweet balm applied on his very heart. Closing his eyes, he moaned in her mouth when her hands slid along his chest, innocently resting there, with her nails gently brushing against the fabric of his shirt. He brought one of his own hands behind her head, sliding calloused fingers into the knot at the base of her neck, still wet from her nightmare and he tugged a little, making her moan in response.
They kissed until they both lacked air, until their mind were spiraling in lust, until they reached the edge that, if crossed, would end up with the both of them naked somewhere in this van. Foreheads pressed together, they remained seated like that a few moments more, enjoying the other's presence and their scent, somehow so familiar after three years of dancing around each other and yet so new now that they finally knew how to make it work.
"How long have you been awake?" Claire asked before she nuzzled his shirt and restrained herself from kissing his collarbone, despite how tempting it was.
"A few hours. I wanted to start on the cabin before the sun became unbearable. I finished the roof of the porch. Maisie then helped me with the bolts, my crate is a mess."
"So she's been up as well?"
He nodded. Ever since they started living like this, Maisie was usually the first one up. "She's fine, don't worry."
It was Claire's turn to nod. "You want to eat something? There are some fruit left from yesterday. We're still good with groceries for a couple of days." So far, Claire had paid for most of their things, seeing as she had earned more than Owen in her years at Jurassic World, strikingly more, which in fact, allowed her to keep her apartment and live here in the middle of nowhere, with Owen and Maisie.
"How about we get you cleaned up first?" Owen sensed Claire tense under his hands. Cleaning up meant shower and shower meant water. The van had a decent shower all things considered, but the water levels were something Claire also kept in check, just like the gasoline and oil levels, or their stock of food, wood, clothes, money, and all the essentials one needed to live in a cabin in the woods that wasn't even finished yet. Owen let her take care of the management of their little family, firstly because he saw how good it was for her to have something to do (and dealing with DPG was out of the question for now) and secondly because she did one hell of an amazing job with it. Claire had, after all, managed twenty thousand people a day for years, a family of three was nothing in comparison.
So after a few seconds more, she nodded and stood up, her eyes pleading him to come with her.