She is an enigma. A puzzle that is his and his alone to figure out, filled with so many tiny, intricate pieces scattered all over the place. He doesn't even know where to start, doesn't know what piece to pick up first, where to put it, where it fits. She's locked him out and he can't find the key, and now he's just opened his mouth and split those tiny puzzle pieces in two. Doubled them, tripled them, and he's just so damn tired of breaking things. He's well and truly broken the two of them, broken her further from where she's clawed herself back from.
He stands at her door, tries to apologize. Tries to make the thoughts in his head reach his vocal chords, but the two don't quite connect. And now her walls are so damn high they're almost touching the sky.
"You said it yourself," she says in a low voice. "I'm a plane crash. And I don't want to ruin you." Her eyes are blank, but her voice cracks and he feels as though a truck has just pummelled straight in to him. The door slams in his face, but screw that. Screw overthinking, pasts and insecurities, and all that bullshit of being honourable. It doesn't even take him a second to consider before he pulls the door back open and storms inside (while saying a quiet thank you at the fact that Meredith is on call and had the kids at the day care.)
She yells at him to get out as she marches in to the study, a room tucking her away from the exposure the main living room is giving her to him. Her voice echoes loudly across the deserted house, and Owen doesn't even think about what he's doing when he follows her, doesn't consider what possible good this is going to do.
"Amelia," he begs, exhausted and pleading, and then he marches over and pulls her flush against his body, holds her there, hand burying itself into her hair, until her shoulders slump, and her armour collapses.
There's a book full of things he wants to say, but it all gets caught up in the back of his throat, can't quite get them to come out. She kisses and undresses him right there under the low light of the study. His fingers twist themselves up in her hair, scrunch in the wool of her sweater as he pulls it up over her head.
He sits on the small couch tucked in the corner, and pulls her down on to his lap. She moves her mouth hurriedly across his, hands desperately sliding around the back of his neck, causing his senses to explode. He traces circles across the bare skin of her back, sinks teeth carefully into her bottom lip.
"I'm sorry," he whispers without specifying why. She pulls her mouth away from his neck, and the way she looks at him right at that moment makes his head swim, makes everything go hazy and strange. He realises then that they're never going to make it to her room. Realises that they have all night and thereafter where they would be able to take their time, so he crashes his lips to hers once more.
Afterwards, they lie together on the couch, a dark woollen blanket thrown over the two of them, tucking them together. They face each other, knees pressed together, skin slick against skin.
They stay like that for a few minutes. Breathing. Staring.
"I love you." Her voice breaks the silence first, a bare whisper that is hesitant, but there none the less.
He just stares at her, and it's not often he's rendered speechless, heart pounding on overdrive because of the puzzle piece she's just handed him, allowing him permission to slowly put her back together.
He brushes his thumb over her bottom lip, and looks her straight in the eyes, offering her a piece back.
"I love you Amelia."