Office au Caine being so cripplingly claustrophobic its not even funny. Jax thinking it'd be hilarious to lock both Caine and Pomni in the supply closet during an office Christmas party
Pomni screaming and pounding on the door, threatening Jax' life in some very colourful ways that HR doesn't even want to touch with a ten foot pole. Caine going deathly silent, curling in on himself, shutting down in the exact same way he used to as a child, when he would be put in The Room
Pomni being completely oblivious, making even more noise to try and be heard over the din of yet another rendition of 'All I Want For Christmas'. It's not until she's exhausted herself and every known avenue of escape that she finally turns to regard her fellow prisoner.
"Why aren't you helpi--?"
But then she sees the way he's sat next to the mop buckets, the handles crossing over his ducked head and hitting the wall like a tent, like a cage. She goes closer, crouches down to his level. His hands are clutching his knees to his head so hard they're trembling. Red and white curls usually so perfectly placed a tangled mess. She's silent for a moment, taking a seat in the only place she can, right in front of him, back to the adjacent wall. And that seems to be the thing to finally get him to look up at her, her boots touching his dress shoes.
"You're okay, Caine," she breathes. "We're okay."
She'd known about this part of him in the theoretical sense, but seeing it is something else. His odd eyes wide and watery and scared in a way she's never seen before. Never thought the showman capable of.
"I need you to breathe with me, okay? In--" she takes an exaggerated breath, holding it until he does the same. "And out--"
His exhale shakes out of him, but he does get it out, which is a win.
"Good," Pomni says, offering a hand that goes ignored for a moment, then he blinks, looks down at it, and shakes his head. She's nods once and taps his foot with hers instead. Contact is good. Contact grounds. If she were to move his hands right now he might spiral apart.
"Keep doing that, Caine. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."
Its been about three singalongs and six more christmas songs she's sick to death of hearing when he finally releases his vice like grip on his knees. Fingers getting some blood back into them as his legs slowly uncoil from his torso.
She offers her hand again, upturned on the threadbare carpet. She leaves it there, tilting her head back and closing her eyes. God, there's a hell of a migraine brewing behind her eyes.
She feels warmth settle next to her. He's shimmied around to lean on the same wall as her, hand forgotten in favour of just. Wrapping an arm around hers. It reminded her of skipping arm in arm as a kid.
"Thank you," he grits out. His voice weak and barely there.
"It's nothing," Pomni says, knowing its not
