Author's Note: Hi! :) Okay, so in the light of all of these reaching pregnancy theories for our Omelia babies, I was inspired to start my own Omelia universe, in which they and their fictitious children live as a family, together with their puppies. :)
For future reference, italics are either flashbacks or thoughts, and it's pretty clear as to which one is which when you'r reading, or so I hope. :P
This is the first "chapter" if you will, in "Everyday Shenanigans of Owen and Amelia, Plus Their Babies and Puppies" (it's a working title, please no judgement. :P)
This story is going to be about basically how I personally see their family and so…yeah. I have nothing else to say… :)
(Last thought: this is 27 pages on a Word document…so I may have gotten carried away, just slightly, you know. ;) )
So, that's it! I hope you like it! I would really appreciate any thoughts you have, now and in the future, when the story, or these stories, progress. :)
Xx CarsasaAllakay (ultrafreakyfangirl on tumbler :)
"Race you."
"Where are we going?"
"I don't know. Anywhere."
"You're on."
Her cheeks were incredibly flushed, a rosy red that was quite honestly the perfect vignette of seductive innocence, along with the kittenish smirk that shaped her mouth, upturning those stained lips and showing the cleft of her dimple.
Her dress was wrinkled slightly, making it look as though it had been played with, the fabric tugged and stretched out, though it was through no fault of anybody, only her own locomotion; surprisingly, she was a fast runner, faster assumedly, than he.
"I win!"
The two of them had went out to grab some food after their shift, having ended earlier than normal. At least, that had been the plan, before he had changed it, suggesting that, in this progressively warming weather, they should go for a walk.
She'd had some mild complaints regarding this though, seeing as what she was wearing wasn't all that appropriate for what he'd had in mind, but got over them quickly once he'd threaded their fingers together and flashed an 'all is good' smile.
They'd made it only a few blocks from the hospital before she'd abruptly ripped their hands apart, bringing into light his drive for competition, using the softest, most enticing voice, the reproachfulness evident in her giddied gaze.
Race you.
He'd paused to give it a moment's thought, if only for comedic purpose, because he was never one to step down from a challenge, no matter how piddling, or childish it may be, especially in the case of this present.
She was fixing him with a stare so joltingly seductive, that one would have thought she'd asked him to fuck her right then and there, however far from the truth that presumption was.
The tiny black dress that ended just above the knee was one he'd all but forced her to wear, claiming just that morning that they'd be going out for a nice, fancy, dinner, that night.
Although, he'd always known they wouldn't make it that far, not with her in that dress and he being a man; it was naive to think otherwise, a contradicting testament to their raging adolescent hormones, because sometimes, all it took was just seeing one another in any scenario, no matter how straight, and respective composure would fall gracelessly into the chasmic pit of desire.
You're on.
To be gracious, he'd given her headway, and sped off after her only when she'd reached the bottom of the small hill they'd been standing on, the cement slightly asymmetrical under their feet. Despite his masculine athletic ability and the fact that if he'd wanted, he could surpass her by miles, he lost; even so, he remained content, because when she smiled as she was now, so brightly, it was reward enough.
"I win!" she squealed again, tauntingly, like a child who had succeeded in something and was left wanting to rub it in the face of anybody who would stand to listen.
Again, he was drawn to the short length of her dress, and to the way it accentuated the muscles within her legs, only attractive on her, because on any other women, he was certain they'd have no appeal, looking butch, and on men, they'd appear effeminate.
Training his gaze to her face, he saw it was red, scalded by a burgundy chill, by the wind, though warm, whipping her cheeks relentlessly, as she'd ran. Her eyes were wide, pupils dilated by force of a prideful high, and her hair was turned victim by the adrenaline, pulled roughly from its up-do and into tousled waves.
Her current appearance all but forced him to stop and consider his thoughts, his next actions, because in this second, she looked as though substance had had its ways with her, and he was quiet, immobilized by the sudden memory of that night on Meredith's balcony. The thing is, I might. I really, actually might.
"Amelia?" She had gone silent now too, her laughter having stopped the minute he'd began to stare at her, so fearful.
"What is it, Owen?" she breathed, her expression deflating, the novelty of her achievement wearing off as she came closer. "Are you okay?"
Looking at her now, her face showing nothing but full concern, he relaxed, as the glint within her eyes began to dim and her hair now lay flat against her shoulder blades. "I'm fine. It's okay now," he mumbled, shaking his head at the irrationality of his mind, and leaned in to kiss her.
"Mhm…" she moaned in reciprocation against his lips, her arms winding tightly around his neck. "You're sure?"
"Yeah," he exhaled, taking her hand as they separated and drawing shapes on her thin wrist.
They were silent for a few eons in time, or so that's how it seemed, until she was the one to break the urban spell, voice shy and awkward. "You know, you can stay here for the night…no use in going back to the hospital. I mean, Meredith – she – we…we have a couch so…"
"She has a couch." Owen repeated back to her, forcing her to nod and a blush to rise simultaneous with her next words, still careful, very careful, as though it was the wrong thing to say. "Yeah. And it's my couch too…because I live here…and I say that you can sleep on it."
"Me and you?"
"No…I – ye- no…just you..."
"Amelia," Owen scoffed, his thoughts manipulating the corner of his mouth up into a smirk. In no way did he want to pressure her into something she had no intention of doing, and so he only said these next few words because he knew that this was her intention, having pegged her sexually frustrated demeanour months ago. "Me and you."
He chuckled when he noticed her shoulders slump in defeat and caressed her cheek, wanting her to look at him; when she did, there was something faintly whorish in the sapphire depths of her eyes, and he'd be damned if he didn't admit to exploring that lascivious desire many times before. "Are you ready to go inside?"
"Yes," she hissed, the strength and intensity of her libido almost taking her right away, in the moment she straddled his torso and mercilessly ground their hips together; thus creating a friction that threatened his body be crushed in the vice of his heavy arousal.
When the door slammed behind them, they were already halfway to the couch, and although he had felt a sudden shock, that maybe the noise would wake Meredith's kids, it disappeared, never found again, into the sweltering air above them, when Amelia's mouth was brash in taking his captive.
The memory of white knuckles and her fists clenching the back of the sofa, would always be a memory as lucid in his mind as his first trauma case in Iraq, and had he known that their baby was going to be conceived that night, the pressure of his kisses would've been much softer, and the sweet-nothings he'd whispered in her ear much less vulgar.
"Daddy?"
Owen lifted his head from where it lay on the counter in his hands. He'd been half-asleep, hanging onto the branch of consciousness, about to let go and descend into the mossy bed of sleep below, before that cute, pitchy voice fully awoke his every sense.
"What is it, Sweet-Pea?"
The little girl that stood there in front of him, her small feet digging into the plush carpet, rubbed her eyes, her fist nearly shoved into her eyeball. She then yawned before responding, without covering her mouth, exemplifying the same manner her mother often did, which both annoyed and humoured him to no end.
"Where's Mommy? Tonight was her night to tuck me in. Where is she?"
His daughter was right, of course; she had a gift for remembering the smallest things, and would often use these little anecdotes, no matter how insignificant, to her advantage later, yet another thing she did similarly to her mother.
Amelia had been pulled into an emergency craniotomy, so now, instead of her being home tonight, it was Owen, and not that he minded. If he had a choice, if the spontaneity of his career didn't dictate most of these for him, he would spend every single one of life's moments with his baby girl.
"Sweet Pea, Mommy went to the hospital during bath time, remember? She came to say goodbye? She gave you a big kiss on the cheek and said she'd see you in the morning?"
It took a moment, but then she nodded in understanding, and then a piece of hair, red like his, which had been stuck to her bottom lip, was taken into her mouth. A nervous habit.
Owen stood up from the chair he'd been sitting in, taking a few strides to stand where his daughter stood, in the middle of the hallway, just a few steps from the doorway to her bedroom.
He and Amelia had bought an apartment a few blocks from Meredith's house after the news of her pregnancy had settled, and it finally set in as real. Four and a half years they'd been living there, and it's served them well, close to the hospital, and big enough for their family of three.
Reaching out to gingerly remove the strand of hair from the child's mouth, he sighed, pulling her into a gentle hug and bending down to her height, so she could better read his face. Looking into the dark blue of her eyes, keeping a soft grip on her two hands with one of his own, Owen spoke.
"Tasha, listen to me. Mommy had to fix a person's brain tonight, so that they can skip rope, and play in rain puddles, or sing songs or colour. She couldn't tuck you in tonight because she had to be fixing that person's brain, so they can do all those things, like you can. Or I can. Or Mommy can. Do you understand, Sweet-Pea?"
His soothing lull proved to have an effect as not a moment after, she smiled a grand, excited, smile. "Mhm! Can we go see her? Please, Daddy?"
Owen sighed, knowing that he would be fighting a losing battle no matter what he said. She had the puppy-dog eyes down cold, something he swore had been passed on in the womb, as Amelia often fixed him with that same look, though unlike their daughter's, hers was tinged with a lusty desperation, often used when she wanted something particularly dirty during sex.
Looking down at his watch for the time, it caused him to smile because the day Amelia had given it to him was one of his fondest memories. It was her father's watch, and the sentiment has never been thought of as anything less than what it was. 12:10.
She'd went into surgery around six that evening, so the chances were that she was finished and had already been asleep in an empty on-call room for a few hours. He turned his gaze back on to his daughter, who was very obviously fighting sleep: her eyelids were becoming hooded, and her words were beginning to rasp, a pointed sign of exhaustion.
"Please Daddy? I wanna go see her…I miss Mommy…she was supposed to read me my night-night story…"
It was a true struggle for him not to burst out laughing right then, because there she was, his precious little girl, trying to sound indignant, but all he could hear was the whispery tone of her voice, and the little murmurs of tangential talk, admitting defeat to the clutches of sleep in their own way.
He chuckled, picking her up from under her armpits and allowing her to settle into his chest, tiny legs encircling his hip. Kissing the side of head, earning a sweet mumble in return, Owen grabbed his keys and opened the apartment door, on-route to the hospital.
When father and daughter arrived in the hospital parking lot, the latter was fast asleep, as predicted she would be, and Owen unbuckled her from her carseat, as she was in no shape to do it herself, having just been roused by the halted rumbling of the car, that having soothed her to a state of unconsciousness. "We're here, Sweet-Pea," was his response to the discombobulation upon her face.
There was a tiny nod and her head dropped back onto his shoulder, seemingly ready for exhaustion to come again, fast and furious, sluicing over her like a tidal wave.
That didn't last long however, because when they entered through the automatic doors of the hospital, it seemed to be a really slow night in the ER, which he was thankful for, lest his little girl be exposed to things she should never have to see, at least not unwillingly.
Tonight, he'd left April manning the floor, and there she was, in the very same spot she'd been when he'd left for the night, musing through computerized patient files and humming a soft tune. This musical intonation of her voice seemed to excite the little girl who had been dozing in his arms as she was now fighting to get free.
"Auntie Apes!"
April whipped around, startled, clearly surprised, but recovered quickly, a large grin blooming on her face as she opened her arms while Owen let the child go, and watched her run as fast as her legs would carry her.
"Natasha! What are you doing up so late, sweetheart?"
He and Amelia always joked that Natasha was born to do this job, as second-winds were always coming and going, with the challenge of bedtime always prominent. They thought she'd have no problem with the demanding nightshifts of their occupation, though whether she was going to be a world-class trauma or neuro surgeon remains to be seen.
She loved being around the hospital though, that much he knew, and although she had never seen anything that could leave an inappropriate imprint on her impressionable mind, she would sometimes join her parents in the skills lab, completely enamoured by cadavers as most children her age would be with dolls.
"Amelia's – "Owen started, only to be interrupted.
"Mommy's here. Somebody phoned and said she had to be here for a cra – a craina – a cranton –"
The look of persistence that shaped his daughter's expression, scrunched eyes and enfacing eyebrows, made him chuckle lightly.
"A craniotomy?" April supplied helpfully with a smile, squeezing her shoulder as realization crossed over.
"Yeah! That one!" Natasha squealed, moving away from April and over to her father, pulling incessantly on his shirt sleeve. "Can we go see her now?"
Natasha looked over at April, giving a brief explanation for their arrival.
"Mommy left during my bath time, and she was supposed to read my night-night story. And so I told Daddy that we had to come here so that she could tuck me in."
April shot Owen a covert glance, which told everything she'd wanted to say aloud but was biting her tongue. 'You just couldn't say no, could you, Hunt?'
Owen shook his head, a tiny smile visible, while the entire exchange had gone virtually unnoticed by the little girl not two feet away, begging again to go see her mother.
"One minute Tasha," Owen sighed, running his hand down her head, fingers lightly tangling through her red tresses.
"Do you know where Mommy is, Auntie Apes?" Natasha questioned the other adult, pointedly ignoring her father's request and jumping on the balls of her feet.
"I think your Momma's in one of the rooms where the doctors sleep after surgery. I think you know where those are, don't you?"
"And I know you're a big-girl, but please stay with your Daddy, okay? I don't want you hurting yourself with any of these hospital gadgets we have around here. I don't want any more marks on that cute little face of yours," April said, her tone pulverized with that agonizingly high voice trademarked for talking to children of younger age.
"Mmkay," she replied, though slightly absent as her eyes scanned the perimeter of the E.R.
However, Owen had been listening, at least with more attention than his daughter had been, and was painfully reminded of the day that scar – although tiny and barely-visible amongst the few freckles clustered on her nose – appeared.
The three of them – he, Amelia, and their little girl, who was two at the time - had been on the triage floor, both parents holding one of her hands, and on their way to the daycare.
There was a pause in their walk, because Amelia was pulled aside by Edwards, who'd thought it was a must that she be updated on their newest case. As this was going on, Owen had been approached by another member of the surgical staff, for a matter he'd forgotten now.
During this time, their little girl wasn't being watched, or, she was, one eye of each parent trained on her, but not close enough. It happened so fast, that even with their quick thinking, neither Amelia nor he could stop her.
Natasha had seen her Auntie Maggie a few feet away, talking to a patient on one of the beds, and hadn't had the sense that it wasn't the best time for hugs. So, there she was, barreling straight for bed three, and her head-fast maneuvers caused her to bump into the tray of instruments, knocking it over, very near to her.
The scalpel fell first, leaving, at the angle it had fallen, the tiniest sliver of a cut on the top of her nose. It was deep enough to need stitching, though not as catastrophic to leave anything but a scar that had whitened over time.
Whenever Owen happened to see it, whether that be on a day when the sun's reflection hit her face just right, or when he had to wipe food off of her nose – she was a notoriously messy eater – it never failed to remind him of the parental negligence he'd taken part in that day, being exactly the type of parent he swore he'd never be.
Amelia always told him when he brought it up to just let it go, that Natasha hadn't suffered any real deficits, and, to lighten the mood, that the scar was unique, and incredibly adorable.
Admittedly, that last part helped some, but he knew he would never forget it, and would always blame himself.
"Are you ready Tasha? But we gotta be quiet, because Mommy needs her rest, she has to be up for another big surgery in just a few hours."
The little girl looked up at her father then with happiness in her eyes, and the sapphire sparkle took his focus away from the scar, as he ran the back of his hand lovingly across her cheek.
"Yes! Yes! Yes! I miss her so much, don't you Daddy? Don't you miss her when she's not in the bed with you? I miss Mr. Snuggles when Mommy has to put him in the wash and he's not in my bed with me."
Owen grinned, tightly holding onto her hand as the two of them said their goodbyes to April and headed the direction of the closest on-call room. Their on-call room.
The choice of comparison made him laugh, because of course Mr. Snuggles was a stuffed polar bear and his wife was a human person, but he was glad that their daughter understood the abstracted concept of missing someone. "Yeah, Sweet-Pea. I miss Mommy a lot when she's here."
"Do you think Mommy misses you?"
Again, Owen chuckled, pulling the little girl closer into his side, as they approached the closed door to the on-call room.
"I would hope so. But I know for a fact that she misses you most of all."
"Really?" Natasha turned her chin upwards, attempting to find her father's eyes as best as her short stature – the heritability of such from Amelia, which he absolutely loved – would allow. "She misses me like I miss her?"
"Even more Sweet-Pea," he murmured, his hand pressed atop her head.
"Wow, she misses me so, so, so much…" By the way she was speaking, it was clear that the notion of this seemed impossible to her, and Owen scoffed softly, shaking his head at the endearing nature of his sweet, baby girl.
"She loves you Tasha. Just like Daddy does. We never want to be away from you, not if we can help it."
Natasha grinned wanly at that sentiment, replying reciprocally. "I love you too, Daddy. And when I see Mommy, I'll tell her I love her too."
"I bet she'd love to hear that," was his response, before putting a finger to his lips. "You have to make sure you are super quiet now, okay? When I open the door, you can't make a sound. Wait until I tell you it's okay."
She nodded quite vigorously, matching his action, putting her own finger to her lips and hissing a soft 'sh!'
When he opened the door, the fluorescent light of the hallway petered in as delicately as the tiny footsteps of their little girl, surprisingly barely making a peep, a paradox to her incredibly ostentatious personality, yet another encompassing trait from Amelia.
Owen could see her petite frame curled up on the bed, facing away from them, her dark hair adorably resembling the bedhead their little girl most often woke up with.
Natasha watched her mother sleep, though not in the sense of being creepy, just sweet, as if she were afraid Amelia may not be breathing, despite the metronomic rise and fall of her chest, accompanied by the occasional hitch as a snore disrupted the lilting pattern.
Owen watched her too, listened to the laboriousness of her breath and how its accent mingled with that of the mumbling voices outside the door.
The shameless way she hugged the extra pillow that lay there beside her made him smile; so now he knew, that on these nights, she missed him more than she cared to admit.
He walked slowly towards the bed, voicelessly telling Natasha to stay a few steps away, which she obeyed, with what he'd said earlier coming to her mind.
"Hey," he cooed, "I found you…" His voice trailed off as he now began to use his mouth for kisses of tender seduction along her jaw and cheek.
She grumbled, her disorient showing through, as consciousness greeted her in the form of huskiness and closed-mouthed contact to her skin.
"Owen…" Despite her sleepy confusion, he saw that she couldn't fight the smile that appeared as she looked at him, her vision fuzzy, something he knew that she'd always had upon initially waking. "What are you – "
There was an abruption in her question as her eyes found the face of her little girl, staring back at her with the most innocent expression known to man, though by the look on Amelia's face, it was clear she wasn't seeing what he was, not by a long-shot.
The both of them remained silent, but Natasha walked over to the bed and climbed on, pulling the blankets for extra leverage as she managed to boost herself up. "Hi Mommy. I really missed you."
Now, to Owen, it was a wonder how Amelia didn't just melt right there; rather, she just sat up and crossed her arms. It was something either parent did whenever they were looking to explain a certain type of emotion: the reflection of body language mimicked the tone of voice, so that Natasha would fully understand that, for example, she was in trouble, like she is now; by Amelia's standard, anyway but he made no such commitment.
"Can you tell me, Natasha Marie Hunt, what exactly you are doing here and not at home in bed?"
The child gave no response but crawled further up the bed, and so instead of being crouched by her mother's feet, she was now on her stomach, her beautiful large eyes filling with tears, quickly, like the waves of the ocean on a stormy day, crashing into the beach.
Amelia sighed; she was usually the stern parent, especially in situations such as this, when their child was hell-bent on twisting the knife of human compassion into their backs, whenever she saw a sign of reprimand.
Though tonight, Amelia had no energy to play this game, and she looked to Owen, making sure he saw the resignation upon her face, and hoped that he would step in and handle this one, if only for the cause of principle.
When he smiled back at her, she knew he wasn't going to intervene, and that was just like him: always wanting to be the favourite, or in the very least, never the victim of a temporary phase of hate.
So, this time, she gave up too, though her hum had a hint of contention, which almost all but dissipated as her daughter nestled into her chest and fisted the neck of her scrub top.
It was something that she did commonly when she was a baby, throughout her first year and a half, the age before words were beginning to be an acquisitive element to better explain what she wanted. The gripping of her shirt was the call for attention, and Natasha only ever did this when she was sick or something was really wrong. Suddenly, Amelia felt terrible about her prior scolding, and gently kissed the top of her head as she ran her hands through her hair and down her back, the nightie she wore barely fielding her thighs.
"What's up Peanut?
Natasha blinked away her tears, and cocked her head to the side, now at a better angle to clearly look into her mother's eyes. Throughout this motion, Amelia's gaze never strayed from her, a mask of worry now concealing the tiredness, so evident.
"I just really missed you. And you never read me my night-night story. And tonight was your night. Not Daddy's."
"Oh…" Amelia giggled softly, prompting a look of confusion from her little girl. "Peanut…that's all? You just missed me? That's why you woke Daddy up and asked to come to the hospital?"
The tightness in her chest was loosening now and the fear that something terrible had happened without her knowledge had left her mind.
"I was still awake when she came and got me," Owen interjected, though she chose not to acknowledge him, still in conversation with their daughter.
"Yeah and you never got to read me my night-night story. I needed you to do the princesses."
Amelia shook her head in disbelief, smoothing down the flyaway hairs that stuck up every which way; the emergence of curls, those like her father's, those that she found incredibly attractive on her husband and beyond cute on their little girl, were slowly becoming a nuisance.
"But Peanut, can't Daddy do them?"
On the few nights during which they were both home, or on the days it was just Owen, but she came home early due to a scheduling situation, Amelia would receive the pleasure of listening to him read to their daughter, and hear the comically exaggerated voices he'd use when doing so. It was a something he'd started doing when she was just an infant, finding that, if he read to her in a certain voice, she would appear more engaged and as she grew older, he couldn't find it in his heart to stop because of how much she clearly enjoyed it.
Natasha shook her head vehemently, a reaction that made Owen take offence as he gasped from where he was sitting on the ground beside the bed. "What? Hey now, that's not true Tasha! Just last night you said I did a pretty mean Jasmine, and I think I do a good Ariel too, don't you think?"
"No," Natasha whispered, giggling softly behind her hands as Amelia laughed also. "Nobody beats my Ariel, right Peanut?"
The little girl nodded in affirmation, followed by a less-than-heartfelt apology. "Sorry Daddy. Mommy's is much better. Hers are much more real."
"You hear that, Owen? Our baby says my princess voices are more princess-y than yours," Amelia boasted with a smirk, sticking out her tongue in a stupidly juvenile gesture.
"Yeah, well our baby's about to pay for that little comment," Owen threatened, reaching his hands towards them, "because here comes the tickle monster!"
Leaving no time for her to inch away, Owen splayed his fingers along her hips and on top of her back, using spider-like ability to prompt pitchy giggles. The little girl began to squirm in slightly spastic motions, her laughter becoming louder the moment he went beneath her knees, a spot where she was most ticklish.
"Daddy! Stop! Please! It tickles!"
Amelia giggled along with them, but then the thought of something stopped her cold. "Natasha, honey, can you please get off of my belly? Owen, stop it, at least for a second, okay?"
She could see that it only took a second for him to pick up on her serious tone of voice, and see the nervous expression beneath the smile of her eyes. The little girl did what she was asked without complaint, though it was doubtful she understood why she was doing it; not even Owen did, because she hadn't told him, not yet. This was something he saw on her face, it was transparent enough, after all, and was quick to make claims.
Leaving the smallest thing up to interpretation was something he never did with her, and unlike him when she attempted to reciprocate, she loved it; never did he have to discern what she was thinking, like she did with him. For the most part, they had a strong communicative relationship, and for that she was thankful, as well as for the mutual understanding of one another through a simple look.
"What are you not telling me?"
She shook her head, pointing to the small child on her right side, eyes drooping as she yawned cutely.
"I'm going to tuck her in right here. If she doesn't get at least some sleep tonight, she's going to be unbearable tomorrow. I don't want the nice daycare staff to have to deal with that."
Natasha was generally a very happy child, but when she didn't get her sleep, there would be hell to pay for anyone within range of her that following day.
"Hey Peanut," Amelia cooed, lifting her slightly if only to move the covers back. "It's time for nighty-night, okay?"
Natasha murmured incoherently as her mother draped her with the blankets and smoothed back her hair, kissing her forehead. "No night-night story?"
From beside her, Owen chuckled, and she wondered how she didn't feel the weight of his body on the bed sooner, before hearing his voice. "I already read it to you. After bath time, remember?"
"Oh yeah!" Natasha exclaimed, her voice getting progressively raspier due to exhaustion as she shut her eyes, putting her right arm over her face.
"You are one silly girl," Owen scoffed lightly, leaning over her to place a kiss on their daughter's nose, directly onto the scar there, the one that could barely be seen anymore. "Goodnight Sweet-Pea. I love you."
"I love you too, Peanut," Amelia mumbled into her daughter's cheek, leaving another, gentle, kiss there.
"I love you too, Mommy and Daddy," Natasha sighed, voice so entirely befogged by the impending peacefulness of sleep that it was barely intelligible.
Amelia smiled at her daughter's words, beaconing Owen to come closer and to lay with them. When she felt a tiny presence snuggle into her back, her smile grew larger as she buried her face into Owen's chest, ready to burst with her well-kept secret, but bit her lip when his arms encircled her waist and their daughter's; it was on night's like these was when she felt the most protected, and when he kissed the side of her head in a bid of goodnight, she felt truly content.
Five years ago, she could have never imagined that this was where she'd be, because it was five years ago when she and Owen had just found their stable rhythm, five years ago when she first told him that she was pregnant.
The very thought petrified her; having another baby, physically birthing another baby, there was no way.
When she'd woken up that morning on Meredith's couch, her hair tangled in the crevices of Owen's fingers, a damp rheum plaguing her eyes, and leftover arousal sticking to her thighs as a result of many rounds of passionate, lusty, sex without a shower afterwards, she felt as if she'd known. There was no way to explain it that didn't sound completely crazy, but there was this moment in between stuttered explanations and saying absolutely nothing, when she felt different, somehow.
To say she knew of this feeling's causality with certainty and didn't tell anyone – especially Owen– was almost cruel, or so that's how she saw it. Despite this view, she'd told nothing of it to him, just simply buried her flushed face into his bare chest, embarrassed about having been caught – by a child no less – after Maggie ushered her niece and nephew out the door, and Meredith scolded the two of them like the teenagers they'd been acting like.
"I'm not gonna see him tonight, or any night. That was the last time," she could distinctly remember saying that morning during carpool. Even as she said this, the conviction in her tone was childish, whiny and futile, because her will was not strong enough, was not powerful enough, to withstand his naked body…his naked body against her naked body… their mixed physiological reactions dripping between them, hot like candlewax. She couldn't do it.
In some way, this realization may have been partly to blame for their reckless acts; his hard thrusts into her, the way he moaned her name, grovelingly in her ear, as if begging for forgiveness concerning his harshness with her then, as if she were too petite, too fragile, to take his pummeling; how she despised that word, fragile, and its associative connotations most often given to babies, or glass objects. 'Fragile. Handle with care.'
She'd assumed that he could understand that she was everything that wasn't fragile, and was right to carry that assumption by the way he allowed for submission sometimes, but that night, that night on Meredith's couch, when he expressed regret for having been doing that, she let that assumption go. When he kissed her on the forehead, his lips chapped and probably sore due to her sucking and occasional biting, she knew that she was right to have.
The next night in his trailer, which began not minutes after they'd professed some sort of 'I love you' to one another, had been achingly different from the night before. He was gentler, sweeter; like she was loved, too and not just lusted after. He'd repeated it to her over and over, tiny, muted, mumblings he'd probably thought she'd never hear, too caught up in the physicality of it all. 'I love you.'
She couldn't say it back, not outright anyway, not yet. So she settled for just moaning his name again and again, riding on the swirly smoke of every high, voice becoming raspier and more desperate, after each one.
She had known then, maybe not that she was pregnant explicitly, but she had known that it was something, that feeling she'd first gotten that very morning having not left her, not for one moment. She'd thought about it all night, not getting a wink of sleep, bare and curled up in his arms, listening to him sleep soundly against her.
When she took a test a few days later, and found out for sure, it still wasn't real, because she wouldn't let it be.
There was no way she could have this baby, not alone, and not with anyone but him.
So, she resolved to tell him, that day, after her aneurysm clip. There was a gap in between their next surgeries, and she intended to use it to her advantage, pulling him out of the hallway, rudely away from April, and into an on-call room. Their on-call room. It was a mystery how every time they were in one, it happened to be the one they had sex in for the first time, giving into their gnawing tensions.
"Amelia, what –"
She cut him off with a kiss, deep and fulfilling, as though she'd been holding out on him for months. It helped ease her fears, kissing him like this, with caution thrown and breathing compromised.
"I need to tell you something."
The very slight tremor in her voice caused the glassiness in his eyes to fade, and he furrowed his brows, gripping one of her hands in his as the other stroked her cheek. "What is it?"
"Amelia," he said in response to her silence, "this isn't fair. You can't do this to me. You have to talk to me. Go ahead, talk about whatever it is to death. Please. Because when you don't tell me things – especially now, after – "
"I love you."
This just succeeded in making him more confused than he already was. "What – I – I know that. What's – "
"And um – we're having – you're the – you're the father – and we, we had sex, at Meredith's, and now there's this…this baby…and – we have a baby."
Absolutely nothing could take away from his shocked but exponentially happy expression, and his smile made her smile, and when he said the words himself, it meant everything to her, for them to come out of his mouth.
"You're pregnant?"
When she gave him the softest nod, his next words made her laugh – really laugh – for the first time since that morning at Meredith's.
"I better be the father. Because if not, you're crazy. Our child would be the most attractive of them all."
"Oh, I'm crazy, Owen Hunt. Trust me," she giggled, "but not that crazy."
He moved closer, and she gasped, choking on her laughter as he tackled her to the bed, their bodies taking a mind of their own and turning to jelly as kisses were exchanged and sensitive places were breached without pause.
"Thank you…God, Amelia, thank you so much."
"Owen?" she asked now, knowing that he was most definitely not asleep, but was listening to her breathe, listening to her battle it out with this dilemma. She wanted it to be perfect this time, when she told him, not this awkward, drawn-out thing.
"Are you going to tell me now?" he sighed, though his voice was hopeful as he rubbed his hands up and down her arms. "What's bothering you?"
She removed her face from his chest, gazing up at him and then at their baby girl, sleeping and beautifully unwitting, by her side.
"I was going to tell you tonight…after we got Natasha to sleep…I was going to give her three tries to come out of her room before I just told you both at the same time."
She had been totally prepared to tell him, regardless of whether or not their daughter was asleep.
Natasha had always fought her parents on bedtime; she "couldn't sleep" because of something new, every night. She was thirsty. She was hungry. She wanted another night-night story. She just wasn't tired yet. Amelia's personal favourite however, was "the moon's too bright. She won't let me go to sleep." Why the moon was gendered, she didn't know, but this excuse always made her laugh.
"But then I got called into surgery and this wasn't the kind of thing I wanted to say over the phone…and I knew it was stupid to come home because I'd thought you'd be asleep…but then both of you came to the hospital and – and I was so surprised to see you and it just kind of got pushed to the side, which is funny because in a few months it'll be hard to miss…"
She couldn't get over how he just allowed her to talk, blabber on like she always seemed to do, even if he clearly wanted to offer his thoughts, he always let her finish hers first, so he could get the whole story, even if it was a rambling mess that he had to piece together himself.
"It'll be hard to miss because it'll be like somebody stuck a basketball and a half up my shirt if my pregnancy with Natasha is any indication."
There, she said it. It was out now, even if not in the most eloquent way, just as it wasn't the last time.
"Amelia. That's great." Owen smiled, though the shape of his lips was impish, as if he knew something that she didn't, was holding something over her, something that he knew she had no idea about.
"You don't seem as surprised as I'd thought you'd be…"
"Well, there was a good chance, wasn't there? When we – "
"Wait," Amelia stopped him, putting a palm to his chest. "Owen Hunt…did you get me pregnant purposely and without my knowledge?"
Owen chuckled while being mindful of their sleeping little girl, as Amelia also was. "Not exactly. What I remember is you screaming at me to 'forget the damn condom and come here. '"
A dawn of realization settled over her face as memories of their last time together flooded her mind.
She was angry, about nothing serious, just the fact that he was withholding everything he could from her in that particular moment. While she stood inside their bedroom, scantily clad in a set of black lingerie that would make even the straightest woman fall to her knees in a proverbial beg, he was more focused on his novel, or at least he pretended to be.
"Owen, are you really doing this right now? Really? Because I'm beginning to think you don't find me attractive, is that it?"
She watched as he dog-eared the page he was on, setting it down on the nightstand. Her gaze never once left his face as his eyes bore into hers, and she smirked when their blueness darkened over, her own becoming velvety with desire.
"Oh, honey, that's not it at all."
"Then what is it?"
He rose from his lounging position on their bed, crawling towards her on his hands and knees. He stood taller, so that she was forced to crane her neck a bit and look up at him, relishing in the power their height difference created for him.
"It's that I can't ever fucking resist you."
She gasped when he tugged her forward by the wrist, crashing onto his sturdiness with a flood of vixenish giggles coming from her mouth, those of which he abruptly quieted with his lips and tongue.
When she recovered from his surreptitious takeover, her breathing haggard and her flesh hot, she settled in between his knees, the both of them still clothed. "You made me wait…so now I'm gonna make you wait."
"Amelia…" he groaned, but changed his attitude the moment he saw she really wasn't kidding, when she got off of the bed and wondered out into the other room, and into the kitchenette, opening the fridge.
"Fine, we can play it this way. I'm fine…if you are."
"Good."
"But what if April and Jackson come back early with Natasha? How are you going to explain to our four-year old that Mommy's wearing a wildly sexy outfit because she's playing dress-up?"
Amelia shrugged. "Just like that."
Owen scoffed and she laughed. "Owen, relax. Didn't April text you and say that we have an extra half-hour with a wink-y face?"
"She did."
"Then…we're fine…" she assured, walking towards him in long strides, as if she were on the runway at the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show and not in their apartment.
"Are you…eating strawberries?" He laughed, and so did she, because it was the most clichéd thing in this entire world, but she also wasn't about to stop, because it was clearly turning him on.
"I'm hungry. Is that a problem?"
"Hm…no…but maybe it's not food you're hungry for, but something else…"
"Oh god Owen," she moaned, her head falling back against the counter he'd pushed her up against before beginning to kiss her neck.
It was a fast action, she'd swallowed the last strawberry she'd had in her hand and in that moment, he broke, and pushed her back so that she'd rest against the counter, feet dangling, unable to go anywhere with his tight grip on her hips.
"Take me to the bedroom. Now."
She wrapped her legs around his torso, her hands around his neck, as he lifted her up and walked down the hallway and into the bedroom on the end. He threw her down, though always careful not to hurt her, and climbed up to join her, uniting their swollen mouths in a sloppy kiss.
After a few minutes of this, and of Owen revelling in her outfit, they were both naked; however, this was the moment that, instead of taking advantage of this fact, he sat up on his heels so that he still touched her, but just above the spot where she needed him most.
"Owen!" she cried, her laughter driven by a madness due to unsatisfied drive.
"One second! I'm trying to find one!"
From the angle her head was laying on the pillow, she could see through her peripheral vision that he was rummaging through the nightstand drawer and coming up with nothing.
"Just…forget the damn condom and come here! We're losing minutes, and it is also quite viable that I may go insane without you in me for another second."
"Well in that case…" he trailed off, pulling her hands to the headboard and intertwining their fingers, entering her with no warning; thus, causing the fastest and most intense orgasm she's ever had at the hands of a man.
"Oh god," she groaned, though it was in a more positive tone than a negative one. "Yes, I remember. I remember quite vividly, actually."
"Is that right…?" Owen mumbled gruffly, trailing his mouth along her clavicle, not kissing, just breathing steadily and taking in her scent.
"Owen," and there was a flirty giggle, "No funny business with our daughter right here."
"Oh, Tasha," he mused, reaching over to stroke her ginger-colored curls, "why must you be the sweetest cock-blocker on the planet?"
Amelia laughed, palming her stomach over her scrubs. "She won't be the only cock-blocker in this family soon enough. I think Baby Number Two might kill your game even more. They might be a big kicker."
"Oh please, I had no game to start with – I always wonder how I got you – and our babies can kill my game anytime they want."
She giggled, leaning over to kiss him chastely. "Remember that next time Natasha wants another night-night story, and insists on both of us reading to her, in our bed."
There were special occasions during which they allowed their daughter to sleep with them in their bed, in the middle, but that was either when she was going through the stomach bug, or when she'd requested to do so on her last two birthdays. Both she and Owen enjoyed having that extra person, when she wasn't vomiting all over their sheets and her own clothes of course, but even then they liked knowing that they were closer in proximity to help her feel better, as much as they were able.
"Right…but seriously. How did I get so stupidly lucky?"
"Because I have literally no game either," she smirked, shaking her head at the thought of a conversation she'd had with him at one point, back when they were nothing more than co-workers fumbling over their words and stumbling around their feelings for one another. "I just wanted to visit. And people bring wine sometimes when they're…going to visit another person…especially if they have…they bring a bottle."
"No game at all," she emphasized, yawning, mouth-open, which she noticed made him snicker.
"What? I'm tired. Did you forget I had a two-hour surgery tonight?"
"It's not that. I just…" he chuckled again, which made her smile, her defenses rising. "What!?"
"Natasha does that exact same thing…yawns without covering her mouth. It's just…it's kinda cute, but also kind of repulsive. And two hours? That's nothing. Not for you."
"Excuse you. I am not repulsive, thank you very much. Mister I-show-my-food-to-everyone-at-the-dinner-table. And two hours is a long time when you know you have to focus on this person's exposed brain that's in front of you, but all you can think about is how you didn't get to read your little girl her bedtime story."
Both she and Owen knew that it wasn't wise to make promises to their daughter, because it was never guaranteed that they would keep them. It wasn't anything deliberate by any stretch, but it all fell to their surgical careers, and the cost of having two parents who partook in full-time work. They felt bad, of course, but there wasn't much they could do, and they hoped Natasha understood that, despite the capabilities of her young age.
"First of all, I only do that because it makes Tasha laugh. And I love hearing her laugh."
Amelia laughed, moving her head side-to-side to convey her disagreement. "The 'sea-food' joke is really not funny. You know that right?"
Owen shrugged, a smile emerging. "She's four. She thinks poop is funny. And secondly, she knows that what you do is important, I explained to her that without you, this person wouldn't be able to do the things that she can, the things that she loves to do. She understood. And she knows that you would've be there if you could. I know she does."
"Oh Owen…" she clucked her tongue, her tone reverent. "You are the greatest father. You know that? I love you so much."
Owen grinned, hugging her close as she nuzzled her face into his chest and he left a feathery kiss in her hair. "I love you too. Sweet dreams," he added, as she shut her eyes.
The last thing she saw before sleep claimed her was his expressive stare, and the last thing she felt was her daughter pressed up against her back, a heavy, yet comforting presence.
Amelia stopped by the front desk in the ER unit, hoping to take a look at her patient's discharge papers before heading home for the day. Holding tightly onto her daughter's hand, she leaned over the table to reach a file that was sitting just shy of her reach without the extra leverage.
"We're almost done here, Peanut. I just have one last patient I need to make sure is okay to go home like us and then we can go. Sound good?"
Natasha nodded her head, her hair still mused from sleep. She looked actively around the room, possibly for a specific person, or maybe just a familiar face to discern from all of the hustle in the trauma rooms nearby.
"Daddy!" she squealed, pulling persistently on the sleeve of her mother's scrubs. "Mommy look, there's Daddy. Is he saving that person!?"
Amelia's gaze followed her daughter's pointing, and she caught her husband's eye for a millisecond while he was trying like hell to resuscitate. She pushed lightly on the little girl's back to turn her around, while moving her finger in a circle motion in the direction of the room, hoping either he or someone else in there got the memo: close the blinds.
"Mommy, is that person going to be okay? Will they ever get to jump in rain puddles again?"
The rain was perpetual in Seattle, even in the summer months, and Natasha always took full advantage, jumping in any puddle she saw, no matter how big or small, but her favourites were the ones that made the largest, most elaborate splashes, those which almost always got her parents wet in the process, and that never failed to make her dissolve into a fit of girlish giggles.
"I'm not sure, Peanut. I hope so."
Amelia sighed sadly, trying to keep her face pensive, as though she were thinking about the possibility of a good outcome and weighing it against the bad, but in truth, it seemed pretty bleak in there, and she knew the man wouldn't make it, if he wasn't dead already.
"Will Daddy be home in time for dinner? I want to show him the drawing I did of our family in school. I hope he likes it. I drew his red hair just like my red hair, but his is shorter. And I drew you so pretty Mommy. Do I look like you? Am I pretty too?"
As Natasha continued her nattering, Amelia answered a bit distractedly, and she was ashamed to say that she did, but Stephanie was coming towards her, looking worried.
"You're very pretty Peanut. Much prettier than me…Edwards – what's – "
Stephanie paused in front of them, bending to Natasha's height. "Hi, little one. How's Grey-Sloan's next Chief of Neuro doing today?"
"Good!" came her chipper reply, though she had no earthly idea what 'chief' of anything meant, but she'd glossed over it anyhow, inadvertently, and just through lack of understanding.
"Chief of Neuro? Not for another twenty or so years yet. And that's if she's gifted. Plus, you better not let Dr. Hunt catch you saying things like that, because he's still fighting for a budding trauma surgeon," Amelia laughed.
"As if," Stephanie scoffed amicably. "Amelia Shepherd's daughter cannot be a trauma surgeon. That's just throwing away born talent."
"Well, I say she gets to decide. Maybe she'll do General, or maybe she won't be a surgeon at all, but a kick-ass lawyer. Anyway, what's up? Is it Mr. Grant?"
"That would be sad," Stephanie stated, "and no. Everything's fine with his post-ops. I just wanted to let you know that Mrs. Shelton's tumor resection went according to plan. No screw-ups."
"That's good news. Thanks, Edwards, for being in there and making sure the job was done right. Nero wouldn't function without you. And I'm sorry I couldn't be there…I've followed her case for months and then Owen had – "
"Don't apologize. We got it done. And you have other priorities now. How old are you, Natasha?"
Natasha smiled wide, holding up four fingers and then elaborated further. "I'm four, but I turn five on January seventh. Right Mommy? That's my birthday?"
"Right on, Peanut," she answered affirmatively, attempting to get the matting out of the ends of her hair, but the little girl kept squirming away, making it more of a challenge.
"Wow! Big girl! When are you going to get a little brother or sister to play with huh? Momma do you know?" Stephanie eyed her boss implicatively, but Amelia just shook her head, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth as she prayed Natasha wouldn't ask any follow-up questions on the subject.
Thankfully, she didn't – or she wouldn't have, had nobody overheard the tail end of their conversation.
Alex Karev came up behind them, eyeing Amelia and looking her up and down, but there was no seductive intent. "You're so pregnant. As in right now. You're pregnant aren't you?"
Amelia didn't know what to say; she just stared, slightly open-mouthed, looking from him, to Edwards, to the child standing beside her, a firm grip on her hand, and back to Alex. "I – I – "
"He has a superpower. Don't try to fight it," April laughed, passing by the group and squeezing Amelia's shoulder. "Congratulations, by the way. I'm sure Hunt is ecstatic. He's been talking non-stop about Natasha and how it would be a dream for her to have a sibling. You have told him, haven't you?"
"Of course but - we haven't –"Amelia stuttered, a failed attempt to regain composure from her shock.
As this was happening, April knelt down to be eye-level with the little girl and flashed her a bright smile. "Are you happy you get to have a little brother or sister?"
Natasha put a hand over her mouth, a habit she'd developed from imitating her mother in the occasions whenever she was surprised. "I'm gonna have a little sister? Really Mommy!?"
The fact that she'd blatantly chose not to hear the word 'brother' preceding, made Amelia laugh and pull her, at least somewhat, from her stupor.
"Maybe, Peanut. Or maybe you'll have a brother, instead. I don't know. And Daddy doesn't know either, so don't ask him," she added hastily, shooting April a glare overtop her daughter's head.
"We wanted to tell Natasha together, tonight," she whispered, partly pissed off, but also partly-relieved; now that it was out, at least to those who mattered most to her, excluding her sisters-in-law, there would be no awkward avoidance if anything to the effect of babies came up, or stress about how to tell them, Natasha in particular.
"Oh, I'm sorry," April apologized, "I'd assumed since they'd come here and stayed with you last night…whoops…my bad."
"It's fine," Amelia forgave with a sigh. "Just – and this goes for all of you – do not tell anybody else. I know how word travels around this hospital, and I want to be the one to tell Meredith and Maggie. Okay?"
The group nodded in understanding, showering her with another round of congratulatory hugs, and her daughter too, before heading off in their separate directions to attend to their days as if nothing were amiss. Though, she knew people here, and she was all-too familiar with the challenges of segregating personal-life and work-life, so now, her plan was to find both Meredith and Maggie as soon as possible to tell them the news.
"Are you ready to – "Amelia's question to her daughter was never finished, because there she was, pressed into her father's chest, talking at warp speed.
His disposable gown was still on, which was something that gave her irrational worry, fearing that there was some persons' blood, deceased, or otherwise, on it that her little girl could possibly ingest, somehow.
"…And I drew our family," she was saying, "But now I have to redo it 'cause Mommy's belly is gonna be so much bigger!"
Owen's expression was mildly bemused as he looked down at her. "And who said that, Tasha?"
He briefly met her gaze without their daughter taking notice and raised his brow, to which she just shrugged helplessly, walking closer to the pair.
"Auntie MerMer's friend…ah…Alex! Yeah, that's who! Alex said so. He said that Mommy's preg – preg-a-nent. Is that what it's called when mommies' bellies get reaaaally big, like a potato?"
Amelia couldn't help but giggle as she wrapped her arms around the child's shoulders, hugging her closer to her, as Owen took a step back and ran a hand across the back of her head, causing a sigh of content to come forth from her lips.
"Sorry. I know we wanted to tell her together. But Alex overheard me talking to Edwards who asked about us having more kids, and then, by just looking at me, he somehow knew? I don't know, April said – "
"Auntie Apes said I'm gonna have a new little sister!" Natasha squealed gleefully, bouncing on her toes.
"Or a brother," Owen chuckled, leaning down to kiss the crown of her head, and at her response - "no, boys are gross, Annabelle said they have germs!" he laughed even harder.
"Nobody has germs in this family. I promise," Amelia said, carding her fingers through the tangles in her hair another time, hoping for less of a fuss, now that she was preoccupied with thoughts of a new sibling.
"Wait – Amelia, are you really pregnant again?"
The new voice startled all three of them, and she let out a breath when she saw Meredith coming towards them, clipboard in hand.
"That's amazing you two! I'm so happy for you!" Meredith gave separate hugs to each of them, rising from off of the floor to gather Amelia's frame into a bear-hug, after letting her niece go.
"See?" she whispered into her ear, a cocky smile in her voice. "This is what you get when you take the chance and make something real. How does it feel, sister?"
Amelia giggled, swatting at Meredith's hand as they broke apart the hug. "It feels wonderful. I love my little family – and my big family – so much."
"We love you too," Owen interjected, lifting Natasha into his arms and stepping closer, their daughter's grabby hands wrapping securely around Amelia's neck and her petite fingers tangling accidently in strands of her hair.
Amelia leaned in to give Owen a quick kiss, lengthy enough for satisfaction but appropriate enough for watchful eyes. "We're going to head home now, well, at least Natasha, Embryo, and I are."
"I'm coming too."
"You are? But I thought – "
"Kepner said she'd take over the E.R. again today, and I told her to only page me with very severe trauma, because I have my beautiful wife and two babies to be home with."
"But…what about Jackson? Doesn't he have a chalk-full day? Where are – "
"Greyson's at the elementary school, because it is a Monday, and Lucy is at the daycare upstairs, happily playing with Bailey and building very high towers, only to knock them down. Or, that's what April said anyway, when she went to check on her earlier." Owen laughed, "Trust me. Kepner gave me the go-ahead. And I'm sure Avery is fine with it too."
"Okay," Amelia relaxed, placing a hand on her belly. "Mer, can you page Maggie? I wanna tell her before we leave. So she finds out from me and not your idiot-boy Karev."
Meredith laughed good-naturedly. "Understandable."
A minute later, after presumably receiving what seemed like a 911 by the way she sprinted down the hall, Maggie was in front of them, waiting for an explanation. "Well, nobody's dying here by the looks of it. So why the urgency?"
Amelia gripped Owen's hand as she felt their daughter struggle in his grip. "I'm – "
"Mommy's preg-a-nent, Auntie Mags! And I get a new sister!"
"Or brother," Meredith interjected, ruffling her niece's hair affectionately.
"Woah, you're pregnant Amelia!? That's – "
"Natasha Marie Hunt! What did we say about interrupting people?"
"That it's not very nice…" the little girl mumbled her apology. "Sorry Auntie Mags."
Maggie just laughed. "She's just like her mother,"
"Agreed," Meredith stated, laughter evident in her tone.
"Wow, thanks girls," Amelia scoffed, "nothing like a little sisterly-love."
"Hey, we're just being honest," Maggie defended with a teasing smile, wrapping an arm around Amelia's waist and squeezing.
"Congrats. I'm so happy for you, and it also means a new baby in the house for me to fawn over. If you thought dinner parties were wild before," she sighed, though it was a happy sigh as she started down the hallway, heading back the way she came.
"By the way, how's that newfound love with DeLuca coming along, for the hundredth time?"
"Nope. We are not talking about this now!"
"She never wants to talk about it," Meredith giggled. "We're just trying to help!" she called to Maggie, who chose not to respond, or maybe, though it was unlikely, she genuinely didn't hear her sister's voice in the din of hospital bustle.
"Whatever," Amelia replied, "that's her issue. My issue, is getting some food into this little girl's stomach," she reached a hand over to tickle Natasha's belly, who giggled in reactivity, "and feeding myself something that is not hospital food. I don't want Baby to have their food palate messed up before they even develop it."
"Well I'll leave you to it then." Meredith moved the clipboard in her hand. "I have post-ops to double-check, anyhow."
She grabbed Amelia in another hug, tighter, this time, and sighed, though it was unclear what the emotion was within.
"Derek would be so proud…and happy for you, Amy. For how far you've come, for how you've opened yourself up to someone, found someone to love and who loves you even more…for the fact that you now have kids of your own, so you can stop stealing ours…" she giggled, hoping to highlight such comic relief, "and just…for everything. He loved you so much, and I love you too."
"Oh god, Mer. Stop. You're gonna make my cry and these hormones are gonna make it worse, and I'm an ugly crier…"
Meredith giggled, giving her one last squeeze before separating from their embrace and saying her goodbyes.
"Well, are you ready to go home?" Owen asked a moment later, and she could sense that his verbal cunctation was only to give her time to gather herself.
"Yeah," she breathed, wiping away a fallen tear with her thumb and grabbing a hold of the hand that wasn't supporting their little girl.
The family left the hospital through the front doors and not those of the E.R, wanting to avoid any potential of incoming trauma, and got into Owen's truck – the very same one he had five years ago, the only visible difference being the rear-facing car seat in the back, which Amelia buckled their daughter into before getting into the truck herself.
Once buckled, and Owen had started the ignition, she turned her head to look behind her, at the little girl looking so intensely out the condensational glass of the window, and smiled.
"Hey Peanut. What are you looking at out there?"
Natasha's gaze switched from the parking lot and to her mother in about two seconds flat. "I see Auntie Apes…and she has a lot of blood on her top…"
"Owen," Amelia hissed, "back out of this spot as quickly but as carefully as you can. I don't know what's going on, but I sure as hell know that I don't want our baby girl knowing either."
"Hey, Sweet-Pea, don't look anymore okay? Look at Mommy. Talk to Mommy for me, alright?" Owen instructed gently, as though she herself was a hurt child, panicking, and not perfectly safe in their car.
"Kay Daddy," Natasha replied, beginning to chatter aimlessly to Amelia, while messily brushing a piece of hair away from her blue eyes, still glittering with fascination about what she'd just seen.
It was true that Natasha had been basically raised in or around hospital bounds and by that predisposition, was given a personal look into many of the things that went on in the fighting journey of life or death, or just customs of the hospital in general, but that didn't mean Amelia and Owen willfully allowed her to see everything; they preferred to keep her shielded from the gruesomeness and tragedies of their every day, but sometimes – like both instances today – it was unavoidable, and Amelia herself couldn't help but feel badly about that, imagining that Owen felt quite similarly.
"Okay Tasha. Everything's fine now," Owen reported as he turned onto a residential street a few blocks away from the hospital. "So, you're excited to have a new baby sister, I hear? That's good!"
"Yeah! But Annabelle says that her brother Matthew is really mean to her. Just because he's bigger than her. But he's also a boy. If I get a brother, will he be mean to me too?"
"No Sweet-Pea. I promise you. He won't be mean to you. He'll love you very much because you're his big sister. And when you go to Annabelle's house, isn't Matthew always nice to you?"
"Yeah, he shares his cookies with me, sometimes. But not Annabelle. And that's mean!"
"Oh Peanut," Amelia giggled at her daughter's naïve misconception. "Matthew doesn't share his cookies with Annie because she's diabetic – which means she can't have a lot of sugar. He's not trying to be mean."
"Oh," Natasha pondered that for a moment.
"And what about Bailey? He always lets you play with his trains and cars when we go over there. Isn't that nice?"
"Mhm," she murmured, realizing that she'd lost this debate. "I guess maybe boys are nice. And maybe a baby brother won't be bad."
Amelia smiled as Owen stopped the engine, turning around in his seat after unbuckling. "We're home!" he said, watching his wife with a careful eye as she stepped out of the car, and then he did the same.
"I've got her," he told Amelia, placing a light touch on her belly before opening the door and unbuckling their daughter from her constraints, something she seemed happy about.
Amelia giggled at the way he was already treating her. "Just because I'm pregnant does not mean I'm incapable, Hunt. You know that."
Owen kissed her forehead, smiling against her skin. "I do. And I'll remember you said that next time you ask for a pass on scooping the dog poop."
She rolled her eyes, grabbing onto Natasha's other hand as they stepped out of the underground parkade and into the elevator, allowing their child to delight in pressing the button for the third floor.
"Soon enough, Natasha will have to fight hard to press that button…and we'll have to diffuse the arguments that are bound to happen every time we step onto this elevator."
Owen smiled hugely at her, once again palming her stomach over her scrubs, those of which she never changed out of this morning, and rubbed soft, gentle circles there.
"And I'll never get tired of doing it."
When the three of them opened the door to their apartment, their Maltese puppy began begging for attention, which Natasha promptly gave.
"Hi Gracie! Me and Daddy are home now! And we have Mommy home now too! Did you miss us!?"
"I think she did Peanut. A lot," Amelia laughed at the yippy dog circling her feet as she kicked off her shoes and bent down to pick it up.
Owen pushed a kind hand into his daughter's back, wanting her to step over the door's threshold as he did the same, closing the door behind him.
"So who wants lunch?" Owen asked his leading ladies as he walked into the kitchenette while telling both Amelia and Natasha to go sit down on the couch, away from where he'd be cooking.
"Can we have PB and J sandwiches in the shape of stars?" Natasha wondered excitedly, clapping her hands together and snuggling into her mother's side.
"Sure can Sweet-Pea! But I can't promise that they'll look exactly like stars," he chuckled, taking the jam from the fridge.
"Yay! Thank you, Daddy! I love you!"
"I love you too, Tasha," Owen replied, though softer than she, as he began spreading the jam and peanut butter over all six pieces of sliced bread.
As he finished up the second-to-last sandwich, he glanced over his shoulder, his stare lingering, because what he saw unabashedly brought tears to his eyes.
On the couch was Amelia, the tiny white puppy in her lap. She had the largest grin on her face, stress free, as she scratched the animal behind the ears. Their daughter, she who was growing up way too fast for his liking, was propping her chin up on Amelia's shoulder, a small hand outstretched to hold the hand of her mother, on the dog's head. She was laughing at something and as the dog got excited by the sound, its paws scratching softly at the neck of Amelia's scrub top.
It was the most picturesque of moments, and he didn't even have to close his eyes; without transporting himself to another world, he could see everything he's always wanted, right there in front of him.
He could even see a newborn baby, its bald head covered by a cottoned cap, in Amelia's arms, even if that particular image was awhile into the future.
He could wait. He's waited this long for the family of his dreams, so what's another nine months for the final member?
Author's Note: So? :) P.S. This is not the end :)