[ Claire has gone nonstop since they got off the island. She barely has time to breathe, barely time to think, to process, but she pushes forward and endures. She has no choice in the matter.

So for a while, it's good to be with Owen again. Her life has been lacking in any sort of normalcy or anchor for so long. Owen is straightforward, he's consistent, and... damn it, she's missed him. There's something reassuring about his presence at her back as she's facing down yet another mob of reporters.

But that all goes right out the fucking window the second he steps in front of her.

So now, here they are in her kitchen (and this is not how she envisioned inviting Owen over to her apartment at all). He's well-aware he's fucked up- hard not to be, given the fact that Claire has been silently fuming at him from the moment he and the reporter were finally separated.

She fishes in her drawers for a rag and is in the process of wetting it in the kitchen sink when Owen finally speaks, and her gaze snaps in his direction, cold and furious. ]

I have to tell you? Here I thought you would have figured it out by now.

[ It comes out clipped and angry. She wads the rag in the hand and squeezes it, presumably to get the extra water out, but after a moment her grip becomes white-knuckled, and she rounds on him at last ]

What the hell were you thinking? Were you trying to add to the feeding frenzy? That little stunt you pulled is going to be on the front of every gossip magazine for weeks!