I'm back, baby. It's 1:15 a.m. and I couldn't put this idea to rest, even though I've only seen one episode from season twelve. Safe to say I'm ignoring canon here, since I couldn't tell you what canon is for these two. There's a blink-and-you'll-miss-it reference to Private Practice. Standard disclaimer applies. I don't own Owen or Amelia, but I'm nicer to them.

The paint on the walls of the restaurant are peeling and the owners half-assed attempt at ambience makes his hair glow a copper-y color, like a penny that's been left out in the sun. They order greasy slices of pizza that come on too small paper plates, and take a corner booth. There are barely any people dining in tonight, but it feels right. It feels like their own little corner of the universe.

"This might be the best pizza I've ever had," he says, mid-chew. A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth when she realizes he is working on his second slice of pizza, and that this is the first time he's come up for air since they sat down.

"You know," she says, leaning closer to him as she speaks. "I've always been a cheap date. Back in high school and college, I thought anything involving a guy and a pack of cigarettes was a date."

"And in med-school?" He is trying to not look overly interested, but this night has completely turned around his entire week. He savors bits of information about her personal life and later, his surgeon brain dissects it all looking for clues. Amelia is the one mystery he's never been able to solve.

"The only relationship I had in med-school was with the library and my textbooks. I probably would have slept with anyone that offered me a break from studying," she says, half-jokingly. There is a hint of self-deprecation to it, though, the way there always seems to be when she reveals a layer of herself.

He takes a deep breathe and braces himself, hoping that he can at least reveal something that will make up for her candidness. "Well, I was - I was a nerd in high school. I mean, I had the whole tough, macho army guy thing going for me at the end. But my first two years, I was... shy. And girls terrified me."

She is smiling at him, clearly not expecting this quid pro quo. "That is... the cutest thing I've ever heard. And I'm totally picturing you with taped glasses, now."

"Oh, come on," he says, all faux-seriousness and blushing cheeks. "Don't make me regret telling you."

"Did you win the spelling bee?" She is sitting up straight in her chair, a grin spanning across her face, and he is trying desperately not to saddened by the fact that he has never seen her this happy before. She could quit neurosurgery, he thinks. She could cure an entire hospital with a smile like that.

"Yes, I did. I won two and my mom kept the certificates on our fridge."

She stops laughing, suddenly, and reaches her hand across the table to place on top of his. "I'm glad you told me."

"Me too."

The inside of his car is warm and the sound of rain beating steadily against the roof lulls her into some kind of weird, pseudo-sleep. She's vaguely aware of the feeling of his hand in hers and her eyelids sense the flicker of overhead lights as the car navigates through nearby streets. How strange it is, she thinks, to feel safe and comforted by the feel of someone's hand in your own. At one point in her life, she had considered the arms of a faceless dark-haired man wrapped around her, the whisper in her ear that tells her push the needle in deeper, to be the most comforting thing in the world. But she is a different person now.

Those soft and familiar hands are brushing her against her cheek now as he whispers, "Amelia. You fell asleep."

She can't help but feel embarrassed. Falling asleep at 9 p.m., while you're in the car with your sort-of date was lame. Even for her. "God, I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay. It was cute. I got to see you drool a little bit."

"Shut up. I did not!"

"I think the uh, wet spot on my seat disagrees with you."

Her cheeks are coloring with embarrassment, now, and she is suddenly thankful for the late hour. Looking around, though, she realizes that she doesn't see any of the familiar scrub-clad doctors or the bouncing, bright red ambulance lights. "You took me to your place?"

"Look, I don't - I don't expect anything. But you've been sleeping at the hospital... And you just fell asleep during what, I thought was, the best date I've had all year. I think you need a real bed."

"Best date all year, huh?" She is inching closer, trying to make out his facial expression. To gauge whether or not this would be a good time to kiss him.

"All year."

Screw it, she thinks, as she unbuckles her seatbelt and leans across the center console, placing her hands on his face. He taste like cheese pizza and root-beer, and she has never loved the combination more.

She breaks the kiss but stays close, feeling his breath on her face. "I think we both use a good night sleep in a real bed. What do you think?"

And she kisses him again.