[ claire just looks at him for the space of a few breaths, holding his gaze with an exhausted (but still present) flicker of her usually unflappable expression — the cool professionalism she's perfected, but—
after a moment, she just deflates.
she's too tired for airs right now, too shaken by the nightmare to keep that refined "i'm perfectly okay" facade up for long. ]
Until I come up something better? I have no idea, Owen.
[ and she hates admitting that, hates letting that control slip from her fingers.
she lets her forehead fall to rest against her knees still curled against her chest. it's something vulnerable, the way she's folded in on herself, and not anything she'd let most people see — but owen is different. claire still isn't sure what the hell they have, what this is, but she's not trying quite so hard to keep her weaknesses in check around him. ]
I'm just— so tired right now.
[ because god, she needs sleep. real sleep. something without the nightmares, without the looming pressure of work — she needs some goddamn rest. ]
[ Owen frowns, though it's lost on her, considering her postured – closed off, vulnerable. Far removed from the Claire who commanded a veritable zoo yielding little more than a spreadsheet and a cup of coffee.
But trauma does that to a person, he thinks.
He closes the space between them with a careful shift, his hip pressing against hers, and he wraps an arm around her shoulders. Still with that same gentle sort of voice, ]
I know you think this is something you can manage on your own, but it's not. And you don't have to.
It's been weeks, Claire. Have you even given yourself a chance to just— stop and breathe?
[ at first brush, she tenses, the contact catching her by surprise — but it's not unwelcome. she leans into his side without comment, her head resting on his shoulder, though she's determinedly looking across the room, rather than at him. ]
I've been busy.
[ a dry, humorless laugh. ]
Who knew I'd have more work after the park closed down?
[ she chooses not to comment on the "doing it on her own" part of this. it's the same thing she's heard from karen, worried as her sister is, but she's still struggling with the idea of sharing everything that's built up after the incident. this moment here, the one back in the hotel — this is the closest she's gotten to letting someone see her unravel. ]
[ He echoes her laugh with a joyless one of his own. ]
You are awfully good at putting out fires.
[ He falls quiet for a second. This whole thing has been a goddamn mess, but Owen's been lucky enough to avoid the worst of the flak. Not a high enough man on the totem pole, thankfully. Just some researcher who got caught up in the storm.
He feels badly for Claire, most days, having to play nice with the assholes trying to tear her down. Trying to extinguish fires with little more than a smile and a few nice lines. They had hardly given her a chance to decompress since everyone returned from South America, and he wonders if Claire ever managed to reset her brain, to convince herself that she no longer had to run for her life.
He has his suspicions. Most of them point to the negative.
He breathes out a sigh, casting her a sidelong glance. ]
You need a break.
[ (He wonders if she'll take that as an insult.) ]
god, when was the last time she had one of those? when was the last time she had a vacation or took actual days off?
when was the last time she gave herself permission for that?
(probably when she saw her sister and her nephews, seven damn years ago.
jesus christ.)
she gives a light shrug. ]
If there was time for a break, I'd have taken it.
[ but would she? or would she continue to find ways to keep herself busy, to distract from everything that happened like she's been doing for weeks now? ]
I have a lot on my plate, Owen. You know that.
[ which is one of the reasons they never see each other. she's always running around like a chicken with its head cut off, and settling in long enough to unwind or even just breathe is asking a lot. but again, in a big way, that's likely just her trying to keep everything at bay.
avoiding the reality of what she's been through. ]
I get it, yeah. [ Softly, but there's an insistence in his voice. ]
I get that you're busy. And I get that you work best when you're under pressure. It's kind of what they hired you on to do.
[ And God knows she's good at her job. It's why they've kept her on, after all, even when there was no longer a park to operate or manage. (He hopes that isn't a sign that they hope to resurrect the damn thing for the third time. What a goddamn nightmare that'd be.) ]
But I also get that you're running yourself ragged so you don't have to think about anything that happened.
In fact, I'm pretty sure you haven't stopped running since we left the island.
she lifts her head to look at him, leaning back against his arm.
she hasn't been around much to see owen, to see how he's coping (or not), but she knows he's sleeping just as little as she is, and maybe she's keeping herself busy to run away from all of this, but she's seen him physically doing it.
[ Later, he’ll acknowledge that it was fair that she turns it back on him, but in the moment, he bristles a little, jaw clenching slightly at the question – and that reaction is probably already enough to give him away, considering she’s finally looking straight at him.
So he goes for the easy diversion, putting on a small smile. ]
This a commentary on all my late night jogs? What, a guy can’t try and stay in shape?
[ He opens his mouth, intent on responding in the negative – because he doesn’t need to talk this through. Doesn’t need a shrink telling him what to think or how to feel. He’s fine. He’s coping. He’s working through this shit as well as anyone can be expected to—
But he stops himself – not because he’s hit with a hard smack of reality, or because he realizes how terribly hypocritical this is of him (in fact, on some level, he already understands the irony of it all), but because admitting all of that would undo the small steps the two of them have taken forward. And Owen hates backtracking.
[ claire has a brief moment of disappointment when he sits up, gets off the bed, but— he's not avoiding the conversation, like she initially expected.
...and actually, coffee sounds like a good plan. ]
I won't argue with that.
[ she follows him off the bed, running her fingers through messy, tangled hair briefly — before giving up entirely. she needs to shower, needs to wash the sweat out of her hair, but that can probably come after whatever this is going to be. ]
Would you mind starting it? I think I'm going to wash my face first.
Go on. I'm pretty sure I can handle a coffeemaker.
[ He wanders off, then, making his way to the kitchen. All this time bumming in Claire's apartment means he knows his way around, fishing out the mugs and the sugar and cream, filling the coffeemaker with water – one of those machines that take the pre-packaged pods. He makes his own mug first, sets it aside to cool, and fills up the machine for the second.
As the second mug fills, Owen takes a thoughtful sip from his coffee, staring into the middle distance. He doesn't actually intend to talk through whatever problems Claire imagines he has – not because he doesn't have them, but because he prefers to work them out on his own.
Hypocritical, he knows, considering he's asked Claire to talk things through, but "talking things through" has always been Claires mode of operation more than his own. ]
[ claire never expected there to be a day where she would actually dread talking something out. she's usually the one to overanalyze, to pick something apart from top to bottom (either verbally or in her own head), and she'll hound an issue until she's beaten that damn dead horse into dust. but this is different. she's never come up against an experience that's left her so shaky and ungrounded, and it's the first time that her inclination has leaned directly into avoidance. claire doesn't take shit from anyone, doesn't just lay down and let herself get bowled over (because she certainly wouldn't be where she'd ended up if she wasn't a hardass), and she will hit something and hit it hard until she gets what she wants or what's in her (or whomever she's representing's) best interests.
she doesn't run away. she doesn't let herself be cowed. but this? this still makes something cold and terrifying twist in her stomach at the very idea of it. thinking about what happened in the park, all of that fear and death, about how close she'd come to seeing her life snuffed out — or her nephews'? or owen's?
she's not prepared for it. she doesn't have these skills because she's never before come up against anything so viscerally disturbing.
fuck, it still scares the living hell out of her.
she makes her way to the bathroom as owen disappears in the direction of the kitchen, and she pauses to look at herself in the mirror. drawn, pale, with dark circles under her eyes, her hair just as much of a mess as she expected — it's not flattering, that's for sure. normally, she'd hate for owen to see her so completely the opposite of "put together," but he's seen her through a lot of unflattering things recently (like being covered in actual dinosaur shit; charming stuff, that one), that she can't find herself too bothered when she's this exhausted.
she tucks her hair behind her ears, reaching for a washcloth as she runs cool water in the sink. wiping away sweat and dried tears makes her realize exactly how much worse she probably looked just waking up beside owen, but...she can't do anything about that now. she finishes up by trying to comb some of the more dastardly knots from her hair, and then she's finally wandering out to join owen in the kitchen.
the smell of coffee is entirely welcome, and she eyes her mug with open relief. normally, she's very reserved about the cream and sugar she puts in her drinks (since that doesn't exactly fit into her diet), but tonight, she figures a little indulgence is the least she can do for herself. ]
Thank you.
[ she offers owen a small smile, then goes to take her own mug, starting to doctor up the coffee to make it appropriately sweet. ]
I guess this probably means sleeping again won't be a thing tonight.
[ Owen glances up when Claire enters, looking a little more like herself now that she’s had a moment to breathe. Her smile of thanks is answered by a shrug of his shoulder – don’t mention it – and at her comment, he huffs out a laugh. ]
Pretty sure it wasn’t going to be, with or without the coffee.
[ Which is probably going to be a problem, considering morning is still a ways off. ]
Hopefully you haven’t got any meetings first thing.
[ ...he has a point, as much as she doesn't want to admit it. when her dreams are this bad, she doesn't often manage to get back to sleep, even if she desperately needs some. ]
Nothing until the afternoon.
[ she just has reports to review, so that isn't too miserable. (for once.) ]
I've been making my way through them anyway, sleep or no.
[ she manages a small smile, lifting her mug to blow gently across the coffee before she starts to sip at it. ]
You'd be surprised what a few pots of coffee can do.
[ He was in college once, after all. And in more recent days, he's been self-medicating with coffee pretty regularly. Not quite the same as what Claire's going through, he admits, but they're coming at this from different angles. ]
What's really surprising is that neither of us is sweating coffee yet.
“Years”? [ He echoes it back with obvious disbelief. ] You ever consider that maybe that diet of yours is a little too strict?
[ not that Owen bothers with sugar or cream in his own coffee, but he’s also of the opinion that there’s little wrong with indulging, every once in a while. Cutting loose. ]
[ and obviously decided she was just fine with "strict." ]
But lattes are just fine without sugar.
[ see, she'll enjoy her espresso with steamed milk. that's totally acceptable.
otherwise, black brewed coffee is drinkable — though before, she'd never really been around much to use the coffeemaker in her apartment. she was out and about so much that just picking up something from starbucks or otherwise was far more convenient. it still is, but on nights like these, when there isn't a single cafe open, she'll make do. ]
Edited (makes minor finicky edits like an asshole i'm so sorry) 2017-01-11 23:07 (UTC)
[ It occurs to him that the small talk is probably a concerted effort on both their parts to avoid having to really talk. And usually Owen is of the mind that if something needs doing, he might as well do it – not blindly, of course – but in this case—
Well. He just plain doesn’t want to. Not if it means that he has to try to vocalize the strange mess roiling in his head. Not when he’s still trying to make sense of it on his own.
So he deflects. ]
Hate to be pedantic, but I’m pretty sure those drinks from most of those coffee places are already filled with sugar.
[ for the moment, claire is grateful for the distraction. the small talk, the deflections — it pulls her mind away from the anxiety still trying to curl in her chest. she isn't the same panicked wreck from moments ago, but she isn't settled, and the looming concept of talking about things again just...doesn't calm her one bit.
(even if she knows they'll have to.) ]
They absolutely are. But a latte is essentially just steamed milk and shots of espresso, and that's my drink of choice. Maybe only the espresso if it's that kind of day.
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after a moment, she just deflates.
she's too tired for airs right now, too shaken by the nightmare to keep that refined "i'm perfectly okay" facade up for long. ]
Until I come up something better? I have no idea, Owen.
[ and she hates admitting that, hates letting that control slip from her fingers.
she lets her forehead fall to rest against her knees still curled against her chest. it's something vulnerable, the way she's folded in on herself, and not anything she'd let most people see — but owen is different. claire still isn't sure what the hell they have, what this is, but she's not trying quite so hard to keep her weaknesses in check around him. ]
I'm just— so tired right now.
[ because god, she needs sleep. real sleep. something without the nightmares, without the looming pressure of work — she needs some goddamn rest. ]
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But trauma does that to a person, he thinks.
He closes the space between them with a careful shift, his hip pressing against hers, and he wraps an arm around her shoulders. Still with that same gentle sort of voice, ]
I know you think this is something you can manage on your own, but it's not. And you don't have to.
It's been weeks, Claire. Have you even given yourself a chance to just— stop and breathe?
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I've been busy.
[ a dry, humorless laugh. ]
Who knew I'd have more work after the park closed down?
[ she chooses not to comment on the "doing it on her own" part of this. it's the same thing she's heard from karen, worried as her sister is, but she's still struggling with the idea of sharing everything that's built up after the incident. this moment here, the one back in the hotel — this is the closest she's gotten to letting someone see her unravel. ]
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You are awfully good at putting out fires.
[ He falls quiet for a second. This whole thing has been a goddamn mess, but Owen's been lucky enough to avoid the worst of the flak. Not a high enough man on the totem pole, thankfully. Just some researcher who got caught up in the storm.
He feels badly for Claire, most days, having to play nice with the assholes trying to tear her down. Trying to extinguish fires with little more than a smile and a few nice lines. They had hardly given her a chance to decompress since everyone returned from South America, and he wonders if Claire ever managed to reset her brain, to convince herself that she no longer had to run for her life.
He has his suspicions. Most of them point to the negative.
He breathes out a sigh, casting her a sidelong glance. ]
You need a break.
[ (He wonders if she'll take that as an insult.) ]
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god, when was the last time she had one of those? when was the last time she had a vacation or took actual days off?
when was the last time she gave herself permission for that?
(probably when she saw her sister and her nephews, seven damn years ago.
jesus christ.)
she gives a light shrug. ]
If there was time for a break, I'd have taken it.
[ but would she? or would she continue to find ways to keep herself busy, to distract from everything that happened like she's been doing for weeks now? ]
I have a lot on my plate, Owen. You know that.
[ which is one of the reasons they never see each other. she's always running around like a chicken with its head cut off, and settling in long enough to unwind or even just breathe is asking a lot. but again, in a big way, that's likely just her trying to keep everything at bay.
avoiding the reality of what she's been through. ]
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I get that you're busy. And I get that you work best when you're under pressure. It's kind of what they hired you on to do.
[ And God knows she's good at her job. It's why they've kept her on, after all, even when there was no longer a park to operate or manage. (He hopes that isn't a sign that they hope to resurrect the damn thing for the third time. What a goddamn nightmare that'd be.) ]
But I also get that you're running yourself ragged so you don't have to think about anything that happened.
In fact, I'm pretty sure you haven't stopped running since we left the island.
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[ the question is pointed, but still quiet.
she lifts her head to look at him, leaning back against his arm.
she hasn't been around much to see owen, to see how he's coping (or not), but she knows he's sleeping just as little as she is, and maybe she's keeping herself busy to run away from all of this, but she's seen him physically doing it.
better or worse, she can't help but wonder. ]
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So he goes for the easy diversion, putting on a small smile. ]
This a commentary on all my late night jogs? What, a guy can’t try and stay in shape?
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her expression ought to give away exactly how much she's not buying the bullshit. ]
Sure, if the guy in question didn't just go through hell in the shape of a theme park with previously extinct animals running rampant.
Don't pull that with me, Owen.
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Couch surfing isn't exactly a very demanding lifestyle, is all.
I'm fine. [ Gently, but insistently. ] Besides, we're not talking about me right now, alright?
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[ she sighs, pushing messy bangs away from her face. ]
If we're talking about this in general, why is however you're doing off the table? That seems just as relevant.
[ and it also involves that lovely thing of not talking about claire. ]
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I get the distinct impression that you're only bringing this up to get the heat off yourself.
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[ her lips quirk in a humorless smile. ]
But if I have to talk about it, shouldn't you?
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But he stops himself – not because he’s hit with a hard smack of reality, or because he realizes how terribly hypocritical this is of him (in fact, on some level, he already understands the irony of it all), but because admitting all of that would undo the small steps the two of them have taken forward. And Owen hates backtracking.
So he sighs, pulling away to climb out of bed. ]
If we’re doin’ this now, I’m gonna need coffee.
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...and actually, coffee sounds like a good plan. ]
I won't argue with that.
[ she follows him off the bed, running her fingers through messy, tangled hair briefly — before giving up entirely. she needs to shower, needs to wash the sweat out of her hair, but that can probably come after whatever this is going to be. ]
Would you mind starting it? I think I'm going to wash my face first.
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Go on. I'm pretty sure I can handle a coffeemaker.
[ He wanders off, then, making his way to the kitchen. All this time bumming in Claire's apartment means he knows his way around, fishing out the mugs and the sugar and cream, filling the coffeemaker with water – one of those machines that take the pre-packaged pods. He makes his own mug first, sets it aside to cool, and fills up the machine for the second.
As the second mug fills, Owen takes a thoughtful sip from his coffee, staring into the middle distance. He doesn't actually intend to talk through whatever problems Claire imagines he has – not because he doesn't have them, but because he prefers to work them out on his own.
Hypocritical, he knows, considering he's asked Claire to talk things through, but "talking things through" has always been Claires mode of operation more than his own. ]
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she doesn't run away. she doesn't let herself be cowed. but this? this still makes something cold and terrifying twist in her stomach at the very idea of it. thinking about what happened in the park, all of that fear and death, about how close she'd come to seeing her life snuffed out — or her nephews'? or owen's?
she's not prepared for it. she doesn't have these skills because she's never before come up against anything so viscerally disturbing.
fuck, it still scares the living hell out of her.
she makes her way to the bathroom as owen disappears in the direction of the kitchen, and she pauses to look at herself in the mirror. drawn, pale, with dark circles under her eyes, her hair just as much of a mess as she expected — it's not flattering, that's for sure. normally, she'd hate for owen to see her so completely the opposite of "put together," but he's seen her through a lot of unflattering things recently (like being covered in actual dinosaur shit; charming stuff, that one), that she can't find herself too bothered when she's this exhausted.
she tucks her hair behind her ears, reaching for a washcloth as she runs cool water in the sink. wiping away sweat and dried tears makes her realize exactly how much worse she probably looked just waking up beside owen, but...she can't do anything about that now. she finishes up by trying to comb some of the more dastardly knots from her hair, and then she's finally wandering out to join owen in the kitchen.
the smell of coffee is entirely welcome, and she eyes her mug with open relief. normally, she's very reserved about the cream and sugar she puts in her drinks (since that doesn't exactly fit into her diet), but tonight, she figures a little indulgence is the least she can do for herself. ]
Thank you.
[ she offers owen a small smile, then goes to take her own mug, starting to doctor up the coffee to make it appropriately sweet. ]
I guess this probably means sleeping again won't be a thing tonight.
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Pretty sure it wasn’t going to be, with or without the coffee.
[ Which is probably going to be a problem, considering morning is still a ways off. ]
Hopefully you haven’t got any meetings first thing.
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Nothing until the afternoon.
[ she just has reports to review, so that isn't too miserable. (for once.) ]
I've been making my way through them anyway, sleep or no.
[ she manages a small smile, lifting her mug to blow gently across the coffee before she starts to sip at it. ]
You'd be surprised what a few pots of coffee can do.
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I think I've got a good idea, actually.
[ He was in college once, after all. And in more recent days, he's been self-medicating with coffee pretty regularly. Not quite the same as what Claire's going through, he admits, but they're coming at this from different angles. ]
What's really surprising is that neither of us is sweating coffee yet.
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...they're still handling everything badly, but at least coffee is the direction they've gone. ]
I'm pretty sure I've gone into meetings smelling like it, so that may be close enough.
[ she sips again at the sweet coffee, sighing with relief. ]
God, I haven't put sugar in my coffee for years.
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[ not that Owen bothers with sugar or cream in his own coffee, but he’s also of the opinion that there’s little wrong with indulging, every once in a while. Cutting loose. ]
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[ and obviously decided she was just fine with "strict." ]
But lattes are just fine without sugar.
[ see, she'll enjoy her espresso with steamed milk. that's totally acceptable.
otherwise, black brewed coffee is drinkable — though before, she'd never really been around much to use the coffeemaker in her apartment. she was out and about so much that just picking up something from starbucks or otherwise was far more convenient. it still is, but on nights like these, when there isn't a single cafe open, she'll make do. ]
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[ It occurs to him that the small talk is probably a concerted effort on both their parts to avoid having to really talk. And usually Owen is of the mind that if something needs doing, he might as well do it – not blindly, of course – but in this case—
Well. He just plain doesn’t want to. Not if it means that he has to try to vocalize the strange mess roiling in his head. Not when he’s still trying to make sense of it on his own.
So he deflects. ]
Hate to be pedantic, but I’m pretty sure those drinks from most of those coffee places are already filled with sugar.
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(even if she knows they'll have to.) ]
They absolutely are. But a latte is essentially just steamed milk and shots of espresso, and that's my drink of choice. Maybe only the espresso if it's that kind of day.
[ it's been that day a lot, lately. ]
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