This was a request from @allycatfangirl333 (I hope you like it!)
It'd been a panic inducing few weeks. Owen had driven Claire back to her home, leaving Maizie with her for a while, while you'd rejoined him at the cabin's work site. Your husband was adamant that the four of you lay low, and you couldn't agree with him more.
The sweat on the back of your neck felt sticky, the heat of the southern California day seeping into your bones. The sketchbook in your lap lay mostly untouched, a few scribbled lines that were taking the shape of a dinosaur you'd rather not remember. The eraser of your pencil is all but missing, going extinct under the gnawing of your teeth.
You'd been doing this more often lately. Every noise in the middle of the night made you jump in terror. Every yell from Owen where he'd missed the nail and hammered his finger, made you jump out of your skin. You prided yourself once upon a time on being able to handle tough situations but... this most recent escapade has you shaken to your core.
AYou feel ripped open, raw and burning with anxiety and worry. What if that next shake in the tree line isn't the wind, and is really a T-Rex looking for its next prey? It keeps you up at night.
You're broken from your reverie as Owen approaches, eyes alight in concern as he's noticed the shift in your positive demeanor.
"You wanna go get some dinner and groceries?" He asks, wiping his hands on the red work rag in his pocket. The nerves within your chest almost settle completely as you watch him.
"Yeah-" you reply softly.
The thing about Owen was that he completely understood that you weren't okay. And that was okay with him. He never pushed, only supported, and he always made sure to be there when you felt like you were falling.
He helps you stand from the camp chair and takes your sketchbook. Ever the gentleman, he doesn't let go of your hand and instead intertwines your fingers together.
"I was thinking we could try that new diner-" he says as he walks toward the van, pulling you along. You squeeze his fingers, feeling the callouses and rough skin from years of hard work. The feeling makes you close your eyes and release a breath, attempting to settle your anxiety.
"That sounds nice," you say. You can't help but lean into him, wanting to hide inside his arms.
Those nights, when the screams of Maizie met your ears once again in nightmares- when it felt like the indoraptor was snapping at your heels- when you were sure you'd never see Owen again- those nights...
Your husband would wrap you up in his strong arms, pulling you as close as he could. You'd cry into his chest, terror leaking from every tear. His small shushes, the minuscule kisses he'd leave on your forehead, hair, anywhere he could reach, the ministrations of his rough hands across your back to soothe you- it was the most comforted you'd felt since returning.
You wanted to stay there all the time.
The two of you had talked about it- it was how he felt when he returned from war. He said a lot of people have post traumatic stress disorder after something like this had happened. "Don't be ashamed of it," he said, "It's normal and it's going to be okay."
So as the day was winding down, you snuggled nicely against your husband's side, the two of you discuss what you needed from the grocery store. Some cokes, definitely some Doritos, and Owen had been talking about beef jerky for a solid week. You both begin working to take down the awning on the van, throwing the poles and cover onto the ground where you'd made "base camp."
You sigh as you both climb in, still making idle chit chat about the cabin, the supplies he'd eventually need to order, the way the sun was setting in the distance, turning the sky pink. Neither of you say a word when you watch a single birdlike creature fly past the breathtaking sunset, simply watching in horror for a moment before Owen breaks out of his trance and places the van in drive.
