Disclaimer: I do not own any recognizable characters in this work of fiction, and am making no profit, monetary or otherwise, through the writing of this.
A/N: Angst_bingo square - vulnerability; tag, of sorts, to season nine's finale. Inspired by conversations with a friend, and by a video clip where Owen was holding Zola.
"You're good with her."
Owen doesn't turn away from the story that he's reading Zola, even though those are the first words that Derek's spoken to anyone in the weeks since Meredith's funeral – nearly two months. It's little more than a rough whisper, like Derek's swallowed sandpaper.
It's a welcome sound, but Owen's afraid of scaring Derek away by drawing attention to the fact that he's spoken, so he does nothing, and hopes that Derek will stay, that he will say something else. He prays that Derek, and Zola, whose rapt attention hasn't wavered at her father's unexpected arrival during 'Uncle' Owen's reading time, won't notice that his hands are trembling as he turns the page of the storybook. It's become one of his favorites over the past two months that he's been staying at Derek's, helping his friend through the grieving process.
Really, he's mostly been taking care of the children, making sure that they're clothed, fed, and bathed. Holding them. Rocking the baby to sleep. Getting up with Bailey in the wee hours of the morning, and giving him his bottle, or changing his diaper. Going through the motions for Derek's, and the children's sake, and wishing that Meredith was still there, that she hadn't had another bleeder that wasn't caught in time.
And, Owen's been watching Derek go through the motions, giving him his space, not pushing, trying to get him to eat, and sitting up with him at night when Derek can't sleep. It's been lonely, and there's an emptiness in Owen's heart when he thinks about what Derek lost, and how powerless he is to do anything about it.
So, he ignores the hammering of his heart, and the way his gut clenches when Derek sits beside him on the couch, wedging himself between the arm of the couch and Owen, their thighs touching. He continues to read, taking on the roles of the different characters, pitching his voice high as he reads the role of the princess, complete with pretending to huff and toss his hair, because the princess is upset that her mother gave away her favorite pair of slippers.
Derek's laugh, though it's scratchy and broken, almost steals Owen's breath away, and it takes all his willpower not to react to it. Zola's giggles are bubbling and filled with mirth. Even though she's heard this story, probably a hundred times, if not more, she never seems to tire of hearing it again. And, her unbridled laughter has never once been diminished or forced.
It amazes Owen how simple everything is with children, and how excited they are with hearing the same story over and over, with or without variation. How, when Zola had asked, again, where her mother was when she woke up this morning, she'd taken his explanation that she was away, helping the angels up in heaven, with a small smile and nod of her head, and a wistful wish that her mother wasn't needed in heaven, because she missed her on earth.
"Say that part again, Uncle Owen," Zola says, and she tucks her thumb in her mouth, snuggles close to him, and lays her head on his chest.
Owen tickles her tummy, and tries not to squirm when Derek leans in close. He can feel Derek's breath on his neck. It causes the hair to rise on the back of his neck.
"Yes, Uncle Owen, read that part again." Derek's voice is still a little rough, but there's a trace of humor in it.
Owen shifts, and instead of the move giving him a little more space, he's now firmly sandwiched between Derek and Zola, with the couch cushioning him from behind. His fingers shake as he returns to the previous page, and he swallows hard past the unexpected lump that forms in his throat when it registers that Derek hasn't left the room with a sad, hollow look on his face.
Unsure of his voice, Owen starts to read the princess's complaint in a loud, falsetto voice, much to Zola's apparent delight as the little girl claps her hands together and gives him a dimpled smile. The incessant hammering of his heart nearly drowns out the sound of his own voice, and he's almost certain that it is as shaky as his hands are.
Zola doesn't seem to notice his discomfort, or the wobbly quality of his voice. She giggles enthusiastically when the princess snorts and tosses her long, black hair behind her shoulder as she stomps her slipper-less feet in the beginnings of a temper tantrum that causes a minor earthquake in the kingdom.
Derek rests his head on Owen's shoulder, grasps one of Owen's trembling hands with his own, and gives it a light squeeze as Owen turns the page. The kingdom is a mess – loose rocks and boulders have tumbled from the mountaintops into the valley; one of the castle's turrets has been reduced to a pile of rubble; and the people of the kingdom are running hither and thither, terrified of the rumbling earth which was caused by the princess's unladylike outburst.
There are no giggles for this page, as they survey the aftermath of Princess Sarah's tantrum. Zola frowns and looks up at Owen as she points at the picture, her finger landing on one of the people running from a boulder.
"Princess Sarah shouldn't have lost her temper," she says, and Owen nods thoughtfully.
Even the sky looks angry with dark thunderclouds blocking the normally brightly shining sun. The princess's mouth is open in a small, 'O,' and Owen reads the words on the page with a sorrow-filled voice as the princess realizes that her expression of anger affects more than just herself. That there are ramifications for everything that she says and does which reach far beyond herself and her own, selfish wants and needs, though, of course that kind of language is not used in the picture book. It's a valuable lesson for child and adult alike to learn, and one that Zola seems to take to heart each and every time she hears it.
Before he's even turned the page, Zola's already primed for what's about to be revealed. She's seen it hundreds of times before, but she still tenses up – her hands clenching into small fists, her body growing rigid with excitement – her eyes light up, and she starts bouncing on Owen's lap. Owen can feel Derek's body tensing beside his as well, but he doesn't dare tear his eyes away from the book, or the little girl who's anxiously awaiting the turning of the page.
What's coming next is one of Owen's favorite parts of the book, but, not because of what's on the page, but rather because of Zola's reaction to what is on the page. He anticipates her reaction almost as much as she looks forward to hearing him read the words in a low, rumbling voice – an imitation of the angry mountain god who'd been disturbed by the selfish princess. He not only does an impressive mimicry of the mountain god's voice, but he also does his best to reproduce the earthquake that shakes the princess to her knees.
Zola prepares herself, pressing herself further down into Owen's lap, as Owen finally turns the page. A brief smile graces his lips, and then his voice is thundering and he's holding and shaking the little girl in his arms.
The book falls to the floor, but Owen doesn't need it to finish telling the story, because he's memorized it word for word, and, keeping the little girl bouncing and giggling in his lap, happy, is more important than reaching for the fallen book. Derek, who's been glued to his side since he sat down beside Owen, reaches down and plucks the forgotten book from the floor once Owen's finished imitating the quaking mountain god, and the apologetic princess who vows never to let her temper get the better of her ever again, so long as the mountain god doesn't destroy any more of the land.
Once the story is over, and he's settling back against the couch cushions, Derek beside him, Zola spins around in his lap and throws her arms around him, hugging him tightly. This is something new. Not that Zola hasn't hugged him before; she gives him a hug every night before bedtime, after they say goodnight to Daddy, and Owen's tucking her into bed.
Owen just figured that was a natural part of her routine with Meredith and Derek, and he'd accepted that, willingly giving the little girl the parental affection that she needed before bed, because, at the time, Derek wasn't able to. But, it isn't bedtime just yet, it's story time, and the hug takes Owen by surprise, as does the quick, slobbery kiss that she places on his cheek.
"I love you, Uncle Owen," Zola says, and she scrambles down from his lap, leaving him blinking after her as she runs into the other room to play a little before bed.
Derek shifts beside him, places the book on the arm of the sofa, and that's when Owen turns to look at the other man who's been like a ghost for the past month. Owen's got half an ear trained on the baby monitor sitting on the coffee table, listening for Bailey, because it's about the time of night the little boy wakes for a change and a nighttime bottle that usually lasts him until the morning.
Derek's eyes are a little clearer than they've been in a long time, and, though the dark circles that have been lining them are still there, they're less prominent. He's lost some weight, but that's not from inattention on Owen's part.
"Thanks," Derek says, and he looks away when Owen continues to survey him, because Owen isn't sure that he can trust that Derek's truly out of the woods just yet.
When he looks up at Owen again, his eyes are shining with unshed tears, and his attempt at a smile goes vastly awry. Derek thumbs at a wayward tear, almost angrily, and barks out a laugh. He shakes his head, and takes a deep, shuddery breath. Owen rests his elbows on his thighs, leans in close to Derek, and waits.
"I don't know what I…we," Derek gestures toward the baby monitor and the playroom where they can hear Zola playing with her toys, "would have done without you."
They both lean forward at the same time – Owen to reassure Derek that thanks aren't necessary, because that's what friends are for, and he knows that, had their roles been reversed, Derek would have been there for him. The intense look in Derek's eyes causes Owen's breath to hitch. It's a combination of sorrow and pain, and something thatroles been reversed, Derek would have been there for him. , under different circumstances, Owen might think was lust or want. It's disconcerting, and makes Owen's head swim, and his stomach flutter.
Owen swallows, and tries to scoot back, because he's not sure that Derek is ready for this – whatever this is. Hell, he's not certain he's ready for anything yet either. He'd had to put his breakup with Cristina, or rather, her breakup with him, on the backburner, because Derek's loss had been greater, and Derek had needed him. Still, Owen feels the pain of the loss of his relationship with Cristina keenly, when he has the time to think about it, which isn't often.
But, the couch, and Derek, appear to be in concert with keeping him right where he is – knees and thighs touching, the couch unmoving behind him – because he gets nowhere, fast. Derek catches him by the wrist, tugs, and, for a moment, time stands still as a myriad of emotions play across Derek's face and an internal battle takes place between Owen's heart and mind.
In the end, it's his heart that wins out when Derek leans forward and cups Owen's face with a trembling hand, and then kisses him. It's soft and tentative at first, and Derek's eyes, boring into his, are filled with questions – Is this okay? Do you think Meredith would mind? You don't hate me, do you? – before they close.
Owen's hands move of their own accord to cradle the back of Derek's neck, his fingers twining in the man's dark curls as the kiss loses every semblance of pretention. Derek pushes him backward, effectively pinning him to the couch, one knee nudging its way between Owen's.
The kiss quickly becomes something desperate, and needy, and it steals Owen's breath, leaving him dizzy and gasping for air when Derek finally pulls back, panting. He's still got his fingers in Derek's hair, and Derek's hands are still on either side of Owen's face, his thumb caressing Owen's cheek.
Derek's smiling, and it's a genuine smile, not the kind of half-hearted attempt at a smile that he's been trying to muster for the sake of Zola, and others, who've been around to offer their condolences. Owen can't help but return the smile himself, the corners of his lips turning upward almost involuntarily.
Just as quickly as it's there, Derek's smile disappears, and he's blinking, his face morphing into a mask of worry and fear. "I…shit, sorry, I…" he closes his eyes, and his hands drop from Owen's face. "I shouldn't have done that, not after all that you've done for me, and…"
"Shut up, Derek," Owen says, and he presses his lips to Derek's. It's quick and not nearly as heated as their earlier kiss, but, when Owen pulls away, Derek's no longer frowning, and he's lost that panicked look.
Derek sighs. "I'm sorry."
He holds his hand up when Owen opens his mouth to protest.
"If you're not sorry about the kiss, I'm not sorry about it either," Derek says quickly. "I'm sorry that I haven't really been here. That I've been…for all intents and purposes, a zombie while you've been taking care of Zola, Bailey…" his voice cracks on his son's name, "and… me." He runs a hand through his hair, making it stick out at odd angles. Though there are tears glistening in his eyes, making them look like blue pools, there's a crooked smile on his face.
"You've been great," Derek says.
And, because he senses that there's a 'but' about to follow, Owen shakes his head and silences Derek by placing a finger against his lips.
"I only did what any decent friend would do. When I came back from Iraq," he has to stop to take a breath, because, as a rule, he doesn't like to talk about his time over there, and this isn't an exception. It's painful, and brings up memories he'd rather keep buried. "There was a long time when I thought that…"
"Life would never be the same again?" Derek's voice is dry and raw. "That…"
"It should have been me…" Owen's looking past Derek, at some odd spot on the wall.
"And not her…" Derek's voice is thick with tears.
"Them…" Owen clenches his hands into fists, and his heart aches with the memory of those he lost, so he pushes it away, because this isn't about him, it's about Derek.
"That died," Derek finishes with a sad smile.
"It should've been me," he says, drawing in a shuddery breath. "And, I know that it's insane, and impossible. I mean, we survived a plane crash, right?" His eyes are searching Owen's, as though he'll find the answers there. "She was supposed to be fine. She was fine… and then…she wasn't."
Derek's eyes lose their focus, and Owen knows what he's thinking about, that he's back to that stormy night, holding his baby, and Meredith's hand. One minute, they were talking, laughing about something, and the next, Meredith's hand had gone slack in his, and she'd slipped into a coma. That's what Cristina had told him, and he'd held her while she wept, offering her his shoulder until she pushed him away. And, he'd let her go, because he hadn't known how to hold onto her. He'd never known how to hold onto her.
"It wasn't your fault," Owen says, because he knows that Derek's blaming himself. "You didn't do anything wrong. It wasn't anyone's fault."
Derek opens his mouth to say something else, but Zola chooses that moment to skip into the room, and both men turn to look at her. She rushes over to Owen and hugs his knee, resting her head on it. She thrusts a doll at him, the one that she's been sleeping with lately, and scrambles up onto his lap.
Owen smiles down at her. "Is it bedtime already?" he asks, laughing when she gives him a serious look as she bobs her head up and down.
"Can you read me Mama's story?" she asks, and Owen nods.
"Sure, Zola, would you like Daddy to read you the story?" He locks eyes with Derek, hoping that he hasn't overstepped any boundaries.
Zola's brows pucker and she peers over Owen's arm to look at her father, a smile playing about her lips. She nods, and then yawns, and, not thinking, Owen hoists her up in the air, and they make their nightly 'flight' to bed with Derek trailing along behind them.
He clutches Zola beneath one arm, her favorite doll under his other arm, and she holds both of her arms out to her side. They both make engine noises as the airplane dips and turns in the air, puttering as they enter her room, and make a bumpy landing onto the bed, with Owen sitting on the bed beside her and tucking her in.
Just as Owen tucks the blanket under Zola's chin, Bailey starts to cry. Zola frowns, and he's about to tell her that he'll be right back to finish tucking her in, but Derek – leaning against the doorframe, watching them with a look that Owen can't quite define – waves him off.
"I've got him. Read Zola her bedtime story. See you in the living room, after?" Derek's eyebrow lifts, and he looks so vulnerable, as though he's not certain that Owen will stay.
Owen nods, and his stomach clenches when he's suddenly struck with the thought that, if Meredith was still alive, it would be her and Derek doing this nightly routine, rather than the two of them. When Derek leaves to tend to Bailey, Owen pushes aside his misgivings, and smiles down at Zola.
He reads another of her favorite stories, this one designed to help young children settle down and fall asleep, and she's out, softly snoring, before he's reached the last few pages. He finishes the pages anyway, needing the closure for himself, and then makes sure that Zola's doll is where she should be. He kisses her on the cheek, and then turns to leave.
Derek's standing in the doorway, watching him with a look of tenderness – his eyes sparkling and his lips twitching upward in an amused smile. He's got his arms crossed, and one leg bent, his foot resting on the doorjamb. He looks comfortable, and more relaxed, and alive than Owen has seen him in what feels like a lifetime, though he knows that it hasn't been that long.
When Derek jerks his head toward the living room, and then pushes himself out of the doorway, Owen follows, casting one last look toward Zola, who's rolled over, clutching her precious doll in her arms. Asleep, she looks like an angel and a princess, and Owen can't help the little tug of longing in his heart.
Cristina had been right, she hadn't been enough for him, but he'd been willing to forego this – being a parent – for her. It would have been a sacrifice, but, the way he'd figured it, that was what marriage was all about – sacrifices, and compromises, and putting your loved one's desires and needs above your own.
He could have lived like this – being Uncle Owen to Derek and Meredith's children, possibly the children of other friends as well. It would have been enough. He'd have made it be enough for him, for the both of them.
When he reaches the living room, Derek's already there, sprawled out over half of the sofa, a self-conscious look on his face. Owen's tired, and he wants so much more than what he should want. He hates this – feeling vulnerable, and out of place, and wanting what he can't have– and yet, he sinks down onto the couch beside Derek, so that their shoulders and hips are touching.
It's almost as though there's an electric current running between the two of them, making him feel warmer than the cool night warrants. He quickly glances in the direction of the baby monitor, watching Bailey shift and stretch in his sleep, and he listens to the soft sounds of the baby's even breathing, before tearing his gaze away to look at Derek.
It's strange, being able to let his guard down after the past two months of taking care of Zola and Bailey, virtually on his own, and Owen's not sure how to feel about it, or how to feel about what's going on between him and Derek. It's sudden, and yet it's been building between the two of them – this, something greater than a friendship – for years.
"You're a good friend, Owen," Derek says, not taking his eyes off of Owen's.
Owen shakes his head and runs a hand over his face. He raises an eyebrow and smirks at Derek. "Yes, I am."
He snakes an arm behind Derek, draping it over his shoulders, and pulls him close, knuckling his head. "And, don't you forget it."
"Somehow I doubt that will be a problem," Derek says drily, and, almost nonchalantly, presses his lips to Owen's in a brief kiss.
Sobering, Owen pulls back a little, and searches Derek's eyes. "Derek," Owen drags a hand through his hair. "I don't want some kind of rebound fling with you. You just lost Meredith, I lost Cristina…"
"And, you don't think that I'm capable of making a rational decision right now?" Derek sounds angry.
Owen purses his lips and nods. "To be perfectly honest, I don't know that either of us is capable of making a rational decision right now."
"She'd want me to move on," Derek says, and he shifts his weight a little defensively.
"But, this soon? And…" Owen doesn't get to finish his thought because Derek's lips are on his, pulling and stealing his words, his thoughts, his breath.
"And, we had this talk," Derek says, when he's conceded to relinquish Owen's mouth. "Months before she died. It was funny…" Derek moves back, and settles against the couch. He barks out a humorless laugh, and shoots a look at Owen that's half-challenging, and half pleading for help to make sense of what's become a burden to the living, placed upon him by the dead.
"She told me that we needed a contingency plan for if either of us died unexpectedly. I guess, after the airplane crash, she wanted to make some assurances. She didn't want either of us to raise the kids alone," Derek says with a sad smile.
"Let me guess," Owen tries for levity, because he hates seeing the familiar look of pain on Derek's face, especially after this brief reprieve from the depression that has been permeating the entire house. "She wanted you to hook up with someone fatter and uglier than her." He squeezes Derek's knee.
"Something like that," Derek says, and this time his laughter and smile almost resemble real ones.
"Actually," and Derek turns to look at him, his blue eyes are piercing in their intensity as Owen gazes into them. "Meredith said that I should find someone who was good with the kids." He searches Owen's eyes, and Owen's mouth and palms suddenly go dry.
"But…" Owen's protest is lost to another kiss.
"Of course, I hadn't expected to fall in love with my second best friend," Derek says, lips still pressed lightly against Owen's.
"So…" Owen isn't sure what it is that he wants to say – not sure that he can give voice to any of the concerns that he has. Not that he can remember any of them right now with the way that Derek is looking at him, and the things that his heart is telling him that he wants and needs.
Derek takes a deep breath. "So, Owen, I guess I'm asking you to…" he grabs Owen's hand and smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners, "stick around?"
He gives a little shrug, his smile faltering when Owen doesn't answer him right away. When he loosens his grip on Owen's hand and tries to pull away, Owen tightens his own grip, refusing to let Derek go.
He thinks back over the past two months – a bittersweet mixture of happy and sad times spent trying to help Derek, and his small family, through a grievous loss – and the past five years of his life since he's met Derek, and Meredith, Mark, Cristina, and the other men and women of the former Seattle's Grace Mercy West Hospital. He's experienced far more loss than he'd anticipated, and knows that, for Derek, the loss is so much greater, because he knew these people better, and for far longer than Owen had.
It isn't quite like having his life pass before his eyes, and in a way, it's exactly like that, because, Owen realizes, in this brief moment of time, that his life – the life that he had put on hold for so many years while striving to achieve various goals – had not truly begun until he'd set foot in Grace Mercy West, now known as Sloan Grey Memorial Hospital. Even that change has taken some time for him to get used to, and he mourns the loss of Mark, and Lexie even now.
He glances toward the baby monitor, where Bailey is pictured, still sleeping soundly – an angel like his sister – and Owen realizes that Cristina had hit the nail on the head when she'd told him that she'd never be enough for him. He looks at Derek, and to the book that's still sitting on the arm of the sofa.
It's then that it hits him – the reason why he's stayed at Derek's, well beyond when any other friend would have– he loves Derek. He loves Derek, and Zola, and Bailey. Loves being Uncle Owen. Loves reading bedtime stories, changing diapers, and playing with the children. Loves the way that Derek's eyes crinkle up in the corners when he's smiling, or laughing, and the way that Derek says his name.
Clearing his throat, Owen rubs a thumb across Derek's knuckles. He nods. "I'll stick around for as long as you need me."
"And, if it isn't need, but want?" Derek asks, his voice raw, and stripped bare.
Owen answers Derek's, and his own misgivings, with a kiss.
The reason I include the following is not to, 'show off,' or anything of the kind; it's because, in reality, it's the right thing to do.
Works Cited
Rhimes, Shonda, Betsy Beers, Mark Gordon, Tony Phelan, John Rater, and Rob Corn, prods. Grey's Anatomy. ABC. 2013. Television.
Reviews would be greatly appreciated.