AN: My second story! I hope that I'm getting better at this as it goes on, but who knows. This is my take on Meredith finding Amelia in the supply closet looking for pregnancy tests in season 13, but in my story, she isn't looking for tests. Feedback is welcomed as always! -darlingamelia

Meredith's P.O.V.

Cooling blankets. I just need a few cooling blankets then I head back to my patient. No distractions, nothing. Cooling blankets. I push open the supply closet door, and see Amelia's back turned towards me. Great, a distraction. A talkative distraction too. Amelia quickly turns around as she hears me enter and a smile spreads across her face.

"Oh! Hi! What do you need?" She looks like a deer in headlights.

"Cooling blankets," I respond. "What are you doing?"

"Uh, nothing," she says, almost too quickly.

"Really? Because you look super sketchy," I say, not believing her. She darts her eyes around the room and they stop at the door.

"Close the door," she says. I immediately become concerned.

"Amelia, you're not-," I take a breath and regret what I'm about to say, "You're not looking for drugs, right?" Amelia's eyes begin to water and I wonder if I brought up the wrong idea.

"I only wanted something small I didn't want to take the Oxy again I swear I-," her breaths become unsteady and without realizing, my mouth is opened in shock. I've heard stories of Amelia relapsing, taking drugs in her past, but I never thought I'd be there if it happened again. I was wrong. I didn't know what to do, I've seen people deal with the attempting of suicide, being addicted to alcohol, but I've never met anyone who was addicted to drugs, and hid it so well. I was so caught up in my thoughts that I was completely ignoring Amelia's hyperventilation. I put down my cooling blankets and walk closer to her. My hands on her shoulders, I gently help her sit down against the wall so she doesn't over work herself and pass out. She was breathing fast now, and she couldn't keep up with it. Tears were falling down her face faster than I've ever seen tears fall before.

"Amelia, deep breaths," I try to help, but it's no use. I begin to wonder if she can even hear me. During panic attacks, your mind tends to block everything out and only focuses on one thing: breathing. I position myself so that I am now infront of her, squatting, hands on her knees and looking her in the eye. I grab her chin with my left hand and move her face, gently, so that she is looking at me and only focusing on me.

"Amelia, breathe in and out," I try to show her my breathing in case it'd help her realize what she was meant to do. It's no use. Her breathing is becoming more staggered, and her eyes are darting around the room. She is terrified.

I stand up and look for a bag on the shelf behind her. Finally finding one after what seems like twenty minutes but in reality was more like ten seconds, I squat back down to her level and hand her the bag to help her breathe. She uses it and I notice it seems to help slow down her breathing enough as to where her face is no longer red. I move back a few inches to give her some space. After about fifteen minutes of Amelia breathing using a paper bag, and myself watching her to make sure she shows no abnormal signs, she puts the bag down and leans her head against the wall behind her. Sweat drips down her forehead mixed with tears dripping down her eyes. By this point, I'm sweating too.

"Thank you," is the only thing she manages to say through her worn out, exhausted voice which usually shows possessiveness but now only shows neediness, as if she were a child again. I finally get out of the squatting position, my knees on fire, and sit next to her, leaning against the wall.

"Amelia, I love you. And I want to do everything I can to help you. But you know we have to talk about this, right?" I ask, hoping it's not too heavy on her and not too soon. She takes a deep, shaky breath, and pulls a little baggie out of her scrubs pocket. It takes me a second to realize what it is.

"Amelia," I say, turning to her.

"I haven't taken any," she is doing everything she can to avoid looking me in the eye.

"Amelia," I say again, more sternly this time.

"I promise. I was going to, but I didn't, okay?" I was expecting her to give the bag of Oxy to me, but instead she put it back in her pocket and stood up. Wiping her tears away, she looks back at me.

"Thanks again," and then she's gone. I stay in this position on the floor for a few minutes, trying to take in all that just happened. And then I realize. I just led a recovering addict walk away with a bag of drugs in her pocket.

AN: If I get any reviews on my last story or this one, I'll make a chapter two! Please let me know what I should work on, what you liked about this story, and what you didn't like! I'd also love to take in some ideas that you might have for me to write a new fanfiction about. (All my fanfictions will include Amelia). Thanks for reading! -darlingamelia