Before anyone has the opportunity to get angry, this will eventually be omelia, it arguably is already owen's just not it in (yet). I'm loving this, I've written already so much and I'm so totally curious what everyone thinks about it, because all I've read in other fics is Owen punching the guy. I thought, though, what if he's a nice guy and Owen's just mad at him for something? What if everyone was too quick to judge him? So there it is, Amelia dealing with relapse, being homeless, making this new interesting friend and leaving it all up in the air with Owen. All will be well, keep that in mind especially after next chapter.
It was the briefest moment, almost lost in the night, lost in the sea of moments coming and going. For once, Amelia was glad to make it past without paying too much attention, without remembering, without feeling. It was in that moment, the second she felt the burn of alcohol - a long forgotten sensation - which she intensely wished she knew if it was really worth it what it might do to her. It wasn't the alcohol, it wasn't the drugs it was her brain relaying too much on their effect. She knew that. Amelia was a world-class neurosurgeon and the way addiction worked wasn't lost on her. Every time she relapsed, the consequences were arguably worse and made it for a longer and harder climb back up. Today, though, her resolve was spent, it was gone. She was the first to preach about fighting, about not going down until every single last ounce of strength was gone, yet she was the first to cave. In that moment, the rational part of her, the one who remembered the pain of Ryan dying quite literally in her arms, the pain of giving birth to a child that would see the sun set - that part of her retreated into a corner, curled on herself. Because she couldn't fight anymore, she saw no reason to. Maybe, well, maybe if he hadn't been there, if he hadn't offered, she might have gone the entire night staring at the water in front of her, wishing she had the courage to order something stronger, courage that the next morning would turn into regret. He gave her that courage and, from her dark corner, Amelia could taste regret in that sip.
After the first sip, the rest of the drink followed faster and without as much thought – you know what they say, the first step is always the hardest. The surgeon sitting next to her was talking, but Amelia wasn't listening, her inner monolog too loud to allow any more sound to come clearly to her ears. All she could hear over the ringing in her ears was buzzing in the background, voices, white noise, nothing more. It was only when she raised her glass, getting a vague taste of vodka and mostly melted ice, that she finally looked up at him.
This guy had come in, he was just Kepner's friend from Jordan, he was supposed to be nobody from nowhere, disappearing into nothing right after. Instead, he was Nathan Riggs, he was a cardiothoracic surgeon and he was here to stay, and Owen hated him. Amelia felt a fresh jolt of pain curse through her at the thought of Owen and all that had transpired between them in the last few hours. In the last few days, really, but she could stand avoidance, she was the queen of avoidance, it was the way he'd pushed her away, the way he'd yelled at her like she was not much more than a disturbance, that hurt so deep she had to sooth it out with alcohol. That and Meredith, but she was too pissed to even think about her. He was looking at her, blue comforting eyes, growing more and more familiar as the vodka made its way down, as her vision blurred and her brain grew foggier. She should hate him, she should just out of loyalty to Owen, but she had had enough of loyalty tonight. She wouldn't hate him without a plausible, logical reason to – if hate could be rational at all. He was becoming a pariah and she hated that, she could relate better than most and even with a strong connection to the cool kids, she knew how hard it could be to fit in here, with Seattle's best.
He cocked his eyebrow, giving her a simple, lopsided smirk. "You want another one? Not sure you got to taste this with how fast it went down."
Amelia stared at him, processing the words made somewhat more interesting by the unusual accent, if not more appealing – but that might be the vodka talking, it surely sounded like something vodka would say. Switching between his eyes and the glass, she stopped to think about it, not to think of how many days of sobriety were going down the drain or how many people wouldn't sleep at night because of her, her thoughts were about that moment, right that moment. She looked back at him, giving a small smile, nodding as he addressed Joe.
Her poker face must have slipped with the alcohol going through her veins, after going for so long without it, it must have become quite obvious something was wrong with her. After a few failed tries to get her attention, his hand delicately touched hers and Amelia jumped at the sudden contact, eyes burning through her hand and his own. "Do you want to go sit there?" he nodded to an empty booth, in a dark, isolated corner of the bar. When her eyes widened and her hand retreated a little defensively, he specified. "Just… don't take this the wrong way, but you look like you could use getting away from the crowd."
Biting her cheek she looked for a sign, any sign, that his intentions were not what he'd just worded. Even in her dazed state she managed to get a look at him, his eyes, they were transparent, they hid no second end, no games and no secrets. Amelia let herself be lulled in the – possibly false – sense of security this mysterious guy gave her. Again, she nodded, scared of using words, not sure what would come out, trusting him not to push her – he didn't.
With a comforting smile he grabbed their drinks and walked to the booth, placing the glasses carefully on the table, standing back as she sat, letting her choose which side she preferred. Obviously, Amelia sat with her back to the wall, her overly annoying sister Kate would have spotted her vulnerable and defensive body language miles away. Without paying much attention he sat back, letting his inquisitive eyes roam on her, curiosity mixing with inquisition and sympathy. It wasn't what Hurricane Amelia generally accepted as a look a man would throw at her, but tonight she'd take it. Tonight she wasn't looking for a warm body or pills or anymore loss of control, strangely, Amelia was looking for comfort, something or someone to catch her as she fell.
"So," he started, looking at his drink before taking a swing. "I was thinking. I've been here for just a couple of days, but from what Keps told me you guys are quite the tight bunch. I saw it myself. I knew coming to work where Owen did was going to be like this, but… you really have each other's back. It's admirable."
Intrigued, Amelia looked at him, pausing her drinking. She narrowed her eyes, in her head she snorted loudly, tight bunch my ass. He was going somewhere and she found it endlessly interesting.
"Doctor Pierce, we butted heads, but it wasn't personal. Didn't feel like it." She saw his face do something, then, something she knew very, very well. It was disappointment, it was a shrug of his shoulders, his eyebrows raising just the slightest bit, his eyes averting her gaze. "Everyone else… I guess, it was stupid to think I'd get to come in and just work. In the army – it's not like this in the army, there's real need there, nobody cares. I guess here's different."
Nodding Amelia offered a smile, she felt for the man.
Tipping his glass, letting the rest of it into his mouth, he proceeded to put it back onto the table, waiting a few seconds for the burn in his throat to lessen, before he looked back up at her. "What I was thinking is, why are you here? Alone. Why aren't you shooing me away like everybody else? I was going to ask Keps to come, but then I saw you and I figured after getting shot down so many times, one more wouldn't hurt. Imagine my surprise when you didn't." He smiled at her and Amelia felt a little less alone. It wasn't him, she wasn't sure, but it was certainly the knowledge that there was someone else not all that far away feeling as crappy as she was. "Not that I'm complaining."
Amelia traced the hem of her glass thoughtfully. She could already see the table through the bottom, this one was gone as well, yet she didn't feel it. You'd think after years of not drinking it would have more of an effect, but all Amelia felt was empty, no matter how much she drank that's all she felt. "They are tight." She finally said, not looking up at him. "They have a hard time with new comers. It's hard to find a way in. They have your back up until they throw you out on your ass. You're part of that infamous inner circle until you're sitting at a bar alone."
"Wow, okay." He sighed, grabbing her glass from her hands and standing. "You sound like you need another one."
What Amelia needed was to turn back in time, preferably several years ago when she was fired from the most prestigious neuro fellowship in the country, before all the dead boyfriends and friends and babies and brothers. That would be perfect, but as it was established was anything but perfect, she'd take a few hours, ten or twelve should work. Back when she had a house and a sister and… Owen. It was ridiculous how much crap could happen in such little time. A few hours ago she'd been sober for so many days most people would lose count. Now it was easy, now she was at zero.