'Owen, I'm fine,' Amelia insisted, trying to wriggle her wrist free of the surgeon's iron grasp as he dragged her into the nearest available trauma room.

'Honestly, I should be in there – they're going to need a neuro consult and I don't have the time to just –'

'Sit down Amelia,' Owen interrupted, pushing her towards the bed with one hand while grabbing an array of surgical tools with the other, 'You know I'm not clearing you for surgery until you've been checked out.'

'But – '

'Now Dr Shepherd.'

Amelia sighed. There was no talking Owen out of this. It was just her luck. Just her luck that in attempting to examine the head lac of a schizophrenic patient, he had managed to get his hands on a scalpel, convinced that Amelia was in the process of implanting some kind of alien device into his skull.

She peeked over Owen's shoulder - could she maybe try and make a dart for the door? Hm. Maybe not. From the look in his eyes, she was fairly sure Owen would tackle her to the ground before she'd managed to move even a few paces.

She perched on the edge of the bed, folded her arms, and sighed again. Owen let out a soft chuckle.

'You do realise you're pouting?'

'Well, maybe if someone would let me do my job and actually practice medicine around here then I wouldn't be.' But even so, she felt a smile playing round the corners of her mouth. It was damn hard staying mad at Owen Hunt.

'Right,' with a snap of surgical gloves he was standing in front of her, 'You feeling nauseous?'

'Nope,' she quipped. Owen bent forwards, frowning, and rested his fingertips against her temple.

'What about dizziness?' His breath fanned over her face as he spoke.

'N…nope,' she replied, her voice trembling a little. She could feel the beginnings of a flush creeping up her neck. It was so hard to concentrate with his face just inches from hers, so hard to look away from those cloudless blue eyes.

'Dazed?' Owen asked softly as he titled her head to get a closer look at the gash on her right cheekbone.

Keep breathing you idiot, what the hell's wrong with you?

She made a faint mumbling noise, hoping that it came across as a nonchalant dismissal. She didn't trust the steadiness of her voice right about now.

Determinedly, she kept her eyes fixed on the ceiling above. He was so close that she could smell him, smell all of him. The coconut of his shampoo, the freshness of his lab coat, that unexplainable outdoor smell from his walk into work. And underneath all of that, his smell. Like a log fire on a bitter afternoon. A smell you wanted to come home to.

Just friends, just friends, just friends…

She suddenly realised he was looking at her.

'I'm not hurting you am I?' He asked, his eyes searching hers.

'No, no,' she shook her head, both for emphasis and to clear her own jumbled thoughts, and pulled away, 'So I'm good?'

'I guess,' he replied, smiling reluctantly. 'But if you feel like something is wrong, or you start feeling worse, you say something, okay Amelia?'

'You worry too much Dr. Hunt,' she retorted, shrugging on her lab coat and grinning as she walked backwards out the door.

'You don't worry enough Dr. Shepherd!'

Her laugh echoed down the hall, 'I'm a busy woman - I've got a brain to pull apart!'

Owen watched her disappear around the corner. He knew they were just friends now, nothing more. He knew he shouldn't be thinking about anything else. But there was definitely something about that girl.

He was watching her. A flash of headlights as the car was locked. A metallic melody as keys were pulled out from her bag. A gentle humming as she continued from where the radio had left off. Her hair fell in gentle curls to her shoulders. He liked the way it looked. A deep mahogany. She had reached the porch of the house now. A second later, and she had vanished inside. He walked over to her car. To an onlooker, it would seem innocent – just a stranger admiring its design. He inhaled deeply. A moment passed, and he was off, walking casually down the road, arms swinging, whistling. It had been a good day.