Claire felt like shit, and there was nothing she could do about it. Steve was dead, and Chris would either come or he wouldn't, and whatever happened, everything was going to blow up pretty soon, and she had no say in any of it.
"You have two minutes to reach minimum safe distance," the computer politely informed her, and Claire extended her middle finger toward the closest speaker. If there was a hell, she knew what they played in the elevators instead of music. There was only one jet where the elevator had let her out, and Claire sat on the railing in front of it, her arms tightly crossed, her stare fixed on the elevator doors. She
watched and waited, her anxiety building, a part of her believing completely that he wasn't coming as alarms blared through the mostly empty hanger, echoing back at her. Don't leave me, Chris, she thought, clutching herself tighter. She thought of Steve, remembering the laugh attack he'd inspired back on the island. How he'd looked at her like she was crazy. Come now, Chris, she thought, closing her eyes and wishing it as hard as she could. She couldn't lose him, too, her heart wouldn't be able to stand it. There was one minute to reach minimum safe distance. When the building started to rumble beneath her feet, she thought she might cry, but there were no tears. She went back to watching the elevator door instead, certain now that he was gone so sure that when the door opened, when he stepped out, she thought she might be hallucinating. "Chris?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper, and he was running toward her, splashes of blood and something else smeared across his face and arms, and that was when she understood that he was real. She wouldn't have hallucinated him with goop on his face.
"Chris!" "Get in," he commanded, and Claire jumped into the second seat, happy and scared and anxious, lonely and relieved, wishing that Steve was with them and sad that he wasn't. There were more feelings, seeming dozens, but at the moment, she couldn't handle any of them. She pushed them aside and didn't think at all, didn't feel anything but hope. Chris tucked them in tight and started pushing buttons, the small jet roaring to life. Above them, the ceiling slid apart, the storm clouds breaking up overhead as he lifted them out of the hanger, smooth and easy. A few seconds later, they were blasting away, leaving the dying facility behind. Chris's shoulders relaxed, and he wiped his hand across his forehead, trying to rub off the sour-smelling gunk. "I could use a shower," he said lightly, and the tears finally welled up, spilling over her lower lashes.
Chris, I thought I'd lost you, too… "Don't leave me alone again, okay?" she asked, doing what she could to keep the tears out of her voice. Chris hesitated, and she instantly knew why, knew that it wasn't over for either of them. That was too much to ask. "Umbrella," she said, and Chris was nodding. "We have to settle this, once and for all," he said tightly. "We have to, Claire." Claire didn't know what to say, finally opting not to
say anything. When the explosion came a moment later, she didn't look. She closed her eyes instead, leaning back into her seat, and hoped that when she finally slept, she wouldn't dream.