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Claire hasn’t been the same since she was rescued.
It was to be expected, after what she went through. She was kidnapped from the Terrasave building, held on an island, subjected to horrors no one will tell you about, betrayed by Neil, and had to leave behind the daughter of one of her oldest friends.
It’s been three months since she was found by a passing ship in the ocean, taken back to land, and rushed to a hospital. She made it out with minimal injuries, in the physical aspect, at least. The mental aspect, however, is a different story.
You knew Claire would have trauma from the incident, just adding to the preexisting trauma from her past and the work she does with Terrasave. But nothing had quite prepared you for this large of a change. Sometimes you wonder if Claire really came back at all, or if she’s still trapped on that island or drifting in the ocean.
Some days are better than others, but today seems to be one of the worse days.
“Claire?” you call, stopping outside the bathroom door. The shower has been running for at least an hour, possibly more. Dinner has long since gone cold, still sitting on the dining room table.
There’s no response from the bathroom, and concern twists in your gut. This isn’t out of the ordinary for the past few months, but it worries you all the same.
With a heavy sigh, you twist the bathroom doorknob, finding it unlocked. “I’m coming in, okay?”
There’s no steam in the bathroom, not anymore, at least. The shower curtain is drawn, the muted shell pattern concealing Claire inside. You call another warning, pulling back the curtain as slow as possible as to not scare Claire. You don’t see her immediately, not until your eyes glance down.
Claire is huddled on the floor of the shower, knees drawn to her chest with wet auburn hair sticking to her shoulders. Ice cold water pelts the fronts of her shins and arms, and you quickly turn the handle to turn it off. Grabbing a towel from the shelf, you pull the curtain back completely and wrap it around her.
“Geez, Claire, you’re going to give yourself hypothermia,” you mutter, pulling the towel tight around her shoulders. She’s shivering slightly, but she hardly reacts to it. Her eyes glance up to meet yours, guilt and shame flashing in them before she looks away.
You brush back some of the damp strands of hair from her face, smiling when her eyes hesitantly meet yours once again. “There she is. Does the towel feel a little better?”
Claire nods, throat bobbing as she swallows. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” You shake your head, left hand cupping her cold cheek. The tub digs into your ribs from the awkward angle, but you bear it for her. “It’s okay. I’m here for you, alright? How about we get you out of the tub and warmed up, hm?”
With a heavy sigh, Claire nods again, letting you pull her up and out of the tub. You dry her off with the towel, eyebrows furrowing as you feel how cold her skin is. You tug her closer as you drape the towel over her head, drying her hair.
“It’s getting long,” you comment, one hand straying from the towel to brush a stray strand behind her shoulder. “Looks nice, though.”
“I think I should cut it,” Claire finally speaks again, still not meeting your eyes.
You pause, hands pausing where they hold the towel. After a brief moment, you move the towel to wrap around her, holding it closed at her chest. “Okay, we can do that. Tomorrow, though. Tonight, you need food and some rest.”
There’s no room for argument in how you guide Claire to your shared bedroom, seating her on the edge of the bed as you pull out some sleep clothes for her. You set the loose shirt and sweatpants on the bed, accompanied by some underwear as well. Then, you move to stand in front of her again, hands lifting her face to make her meet your eyes.
“Do you want to get dressed by yourself?” Before the incident, Claire would have been offended by that question, and she might still be. She’s always prided herself on her independence. Though, she doesn’t seem to show any offense as she just nods wordlessly.
Her hands finally move, having been uselessly dangling at her sides throughout all of this, and she shrugs the towel off her shoulders and turns away from your gentle hold. You take a step back, pretending to busy yourself with putting clothes in the hamper and organizing a drawer. But really, you can’t keep your eyes off Claire out of worry.
There’s new small scars scattered across her bare body, some worse than others. But none of them can compare to the mental scarring. It speaks to what she went through while trapped on that island, everything she refuses to talk about. Some scars she won’t even let you touch, especially the marks around her wrist. Had she been restrained for a while? The thought is sickening, and you can’t bring yourself to imagine it.
Your heart aches as you spot the faraway look on Claire’s face as she pulls the underwear up her legs, followed by the sweatpants. The loose shirt finally covers the worst of the little marks, and Claire breathes a heavy sigh as she just stands there, back to you.
Carefully, you come up behind her, arms wrapping around her waist. Claire tenses for a moment, but then relaxes back against you. Your chin rests on her shoulder, and you inhale and exhale the familiar scent of her.
“You should eat a little something,” you murmur, keeping your voice as gentle as possible. As if anything louder will spook her. “You’ll feel sick in the morning otherwise.”
“I don’t know if I can,” Claire admits in a small voice. A voice that’s so unlike her usual self.
You nod against her shoulder, pulling back to press a kiss to it through the fabric of her shirt. “I know. Maybe just some toast or something light? Just enough to get something in your stomach.”
To make your point, your palm flattens over her stomach, knowing that her body must be starving even if her mind won’t let her feel it. Claire hasn’t eaten since breakfast, other than half of an apple you basically forced at her when she refused lunch earlier that day. The days that she’s off work are often her worse days, when she can’t throw herself back into work and pretend nothing happened. Or run herself ragged trying to figure out where that island was.
By some miracle, Claire agrees, and the two of you spend a short ten minutes in the kitchen. She eats her two plain slices of toast while you clean up after the uneaten dinner, sneaking not so subtle glances at your partner to make sure she’s eating.
When Claire finishes, you guide her back to the bedroom where you both curl up under the covers. It’s a rare night where she lets you be the big spoon, hugging her back with your arms snug around her waist. One of Claire’s hands runs along your arm around her waist, more a motion of comfort for herself than for you. A way to remind herself that she’s home, she’s safe. Not in Raccoon City, Rockfort Island, or whatever hell she had been in three months ago.
“Feel a little better?” you ask, the question murmured against the nape of Claire’s neck.
Claire sighs, hand gripping your arm a bit tighter before relaxing. “…Yeah. A little.”
You can’t quite tell if she’s being honest or just lying to please you, but it wouldn’t really matter either way. All you can do is offer as much comfort as possible, murmuring a declaration of love and goodnight against the back of her neck.
—
Mumbling rouses you from your sleep, and your arms instinctively tense around Claire. She’s still in your hold, by some miracle, though she’s curled into a tight ball, hands gripping the sheets. Blearily, you unwrap an arm to prop yourself up, the other rubbing soothing circles into Claire’s side.
“Hey, hey,” you whisper soothingly, leaning closer to press a kiss to Claire’s temple. Nightmares are no stranger in your apartment, as Claire had them long before she was kidnapped. Though, not to this frequency.
Claire doesn’t settle with your attempts, breathing quicker than it should be. Her entire body is tense, knees drawn up close to herself and hands twisted in the sheets. More mumbles come out of her, barely coherent, but you can make out a “Moira” and a “please” here and there. It tugs at your heartstrings, the sympathy settling deep in your chest. The guilt of leaving Moira behind had created a fissure in Claire, leaking her shame and self-loathing with each day.
“Claire.” You try again, gently shaking her side to rouse her. If you can’t settle her, it’s better to bring her out of it. “Hey, come on, wake up.”
After another shake, Claire wakes with a start, darting up to a sitting position and nearly knocking heads with you in the process. Your hand moves to her upper arm instead, as gentle as possible while trying to keep her from running. From what or to where? You aren’t sure, but the fear of her hurting herself somehow keeps your grip steady.
“Claire, it’s okay,” you coo, fully sitting up now. You move yourself to put your face in her field of view, an effort to ground her. “It was just a nightmare. You’re at home and safe, I promise.”
In the dim moonlight that leaks through the curtains, you can see Claire’s wide frantic eyes, her chest rising and falling rapidly. It takes a long minute for her to come back down from the terror of her dream, eyes meeting yours. Her hand comes up to grip your shoulder, as if making sure that you’re real. You nod with a smile, squeezing her arm. “It’s me. Just you and me here.”
Though some still lingers, most of the panic drains out of Claire, and her shoulders slump as the exhaustion kicks in instantly. She exhales slowly, letting go of the last of the dream. “I’m sorry. I thought that-“
Claire cuts herself off, closing her eyes to fight off the lingering flashes of the dream, or memory. Her grip on your shoulder tightens for a moment before she lets go, swallowing thickly. Your hand stays patiently on her arm with your thumb rubbing comforting circles into her skin. It takes another few minutes for her collect herself again, and when Claire does, she just collapses back against the pillows, exhausted.
“It’s always the same one,” Claire mumbles, hands coming up to press her palms against her eyes. Like just that will erase the images burned into her eyelids. It doesn’t, of course, and Claire finishes her thought. “And it always ends the same.”
You hum, moving to lie next to Claire. Your head rests on her shoulder, one hand coming up to pull a hand away from her face. Fingers trailing up her arm, you interlace your fingers together, squeezing for reassurance.
“Do you want to talk about it?” You ask, already knowing the answer.
Claire shakes her head, thumb rubbing over the back of your hand. “No.”
She doesn’t give an explanation for why not, but you already know. It’ll make it more real if she says it out loud, to you of all people. Her last safe haven that’s untouched by the horrors she has witnessed, the horrors that she fights to save other people from. You haven’t seen them, haven’t experienced them. The last voice in her life that’s not laced with misery and cynicism.
“That’s alright,” you acquiesce, leaning up to press a chaste kiss to the underside of Claire’s jaw. “Need anything from me? Tea? Massage?”
Claire huffs a small laugh and squeezes your hand. “No, that’s alright.”
Then, after a pause, she mumbles, “You’re too good for me.”
There it is again. Your lips pull into a frown at the uncomfortably familiar sentiment, and you pull Claire’s hand to your mouth to press a kiss to it as well.
“Don’t say that,” you chastise gently. “I don’t like it when you say that.”
Adjusting herself, Claire shifts to face you on her side now, other hand coming up to cradle your face. Her lips press into a thin line as she looks at you, something resembling self loathing in her eyes.
“It’s true,” Claire admits. She pulls your conjoined hands to her own mouth to kiss your hand as well, and she heaves a sigh against them as well. Before you can protest, she continues. “You’re too good to me. You’ve put up with me the last three months, while I’ve done nothing but neglect you. I’m not much of a partner anymore, am I?”
The question is rhetorical, but that doesn’t stop you from protesting. “You are still a wonderful partner, Claire. I’m serious. Just because you’re going through a rough time and need more support doesn’t make you any less of one.”
Claire doesn’t respond verbally, but she does tug you closer with an arm over your waist. She presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth first, feeling the way you smile at the soft gesture. Next, she connects your lips in a full kiss, one you respond to happily. The hand on your face slides to the back of your neck, playing with the short hairs there.
It’s a distraction, you know that full well, but it’s also a small expression of Claire’s gratitude when she doesn’t trust herself with words. As expressive as she usually is, it is deeply intimate moments like this one that she struggles to voice properly.
Pulling back, you rest your forehead against Claire’s and squeeze her hand once more. “I’ll always be here for you. You know that, right? No matter what happens.”
Claire’s nose brushes against yours, her eyes still closed as she basks in your warmth and the security it brings. “I know. I do know that. I just… don’t know if I deserve it sometimes.”
“Claire,” you start, ready to protest, but she shakes her head and opens her eyes.
“I know you say I do, and I want to believe you. But it’s just difficult sometimes,” Claire admits with a sigh. “Especially after everything that happened. But I promise I am trying, really.”
You purse your lips, part of you wanting to still press, to burn your words into her mind until she knows how much she means to you. However, the other part of you knows it won’t do much. There’s no one you know more stubborn than Claire, and the fact that she is even trying to change her mind is a victory in of itself. So, you settle for letting it rest for now.
“Okay, I believe you,” you reply, giving in to those puppy dog eyes that beg you to believe her. How are you meant to resist her when she looks at you like that? “But if you bring up that ‘I don’t deserve you’ stuff again, I’m going to be pissed.”
Claire smiles, a genuine one this time. Not one to placate you or pretend that she’s fine, but a real one that makes your stomach flip.
“Yes ma’am,” Claire teases, hand leaving your waist to give a mock salute.
You laugh quietly at that, your own hand coming up to pull hers back down. When you speak, there’s nothing but fondness in your tone. “Don’t mock me, I’m serious. Now go to sleep before I have to knock you out.”
You knock your head against hers softly to emphasize your point, and Claire rubs at her forehead in feigned pain. She grumbles something about abuse, but settles anyway, her arm coming back down to drape over your waist again.
“You’re lucky I love you,” Claire mutters, knowing full well that she’s lucky you’re even still here. Not according to you, but according to herself.
You hum, brushing your nose against hers before giving her one last peck goodnight. “I love you too. Get some rest.”
Claire rests her head down on the pillow, eyes heavy with sleep already. Her sleep has been so fragmented by insomnia and nightmares as of late, that sleep now finds her quickly. Your eyes stay open for a bit longer, watching as Claire’s expression slowly softens as sleep takes her under. You watch, on guard like her eyes might snap open in terror again at any moment. But they don’t, and you soon follow suit, eyelids growing heavy and drifting closed, content with Claire here and safe with you.