sequel to 'talk', which was sooooo requested and I had the hardest time coming up with something good enough to post. I'd like to point out that I do know that something similar happened with Cristina and I didn't remember until a caught a random grey's rerun a couple of days ago, but as Amelia is actually a brain doctor she knows loads about PTSD and sympathetic nervous system response. It seemed to me like it could be plausible, especially since nobody was there that time. Enjoy!
"I mean what kind of idiot makes it out of med school not knowing the difference between a bleed and a concussion." Amelia vented as she briskly walked away from the ER, directed to the attendings' lounge, closely followed by Maggie.
Despite whatever was happening with her and Meredith the relationship with her other sister had not been affected and, surprisingly Meredith seemed okay with it. Yesterday Amelia had asked Maggie to bring her a few shirts and pants and some of her stuff from the house, just enough that she wouldn't have to wash clothes every night because she didn't have enough. Also, her shirt had been trashed after Owen had ripped it apart. They'd had a chance, albeit brief, to talk and sort somethings out. "Figures." Added Maggie fleetingly as Amelia went on and on about this idiot.
"God, this is so disgusting." She said peeling off her soaked scrub top and tossing it in the garbage, standing out in the hallway in just her bra. It was late enough that almost nobody was around, but Maggie's eyes still went wide as saucers. "Interns are made to be puked on, not attendings, I'm so going home now, screw picking up extra shifts."
But Maggie was distracted. It wasn't her entire disinterest in Amelia's tirade or the fact that she knew that idiot intern very, very well, it was Amelia herself. She'd seen her in various states of undress countless times, ranging from naked to topless, to using one of the kids bathrobes when she couldn't find her own. It wasn't even that she was half naked in a hospital hallway – a deserted on, but still. Amelia's body, the little she could see, was covered in bruises. They went from her chest to her hips and once she got a good look, all over her back. One of the bruises, the one right underneath her collarbone, Maggie was almost sure was a bite mark, and two on her hips were clearly handprints. They looked a few days old, purple fading into an unhealthy yellowish tone, making the bile rise in Maggie's throat.
"Amelia…" she whispered getting the other woman's attention. "What happened to you?"
It was clear she had forgotten about the bruises before taking off the vomit drenched top and was now regretting the move. Stopping mid rant with her mouth hanging slightly open and a smirk still on her face, Amelia couldn't help but look down at her body, momentarily confused by Maggie's question. As soon as she remembered it was like she pulled a switch. It was a Doctor Jekyll and Mister Hyde kind of play that Maggie had seen her do plenty of times, and that never got less scary the more she saw it. The smirk was gone and the sparkle in her eye went out like a candle flame, leaving just a trail of smoke in its wake. Suddenly Amelia was gone and in front of Maggie stood a shell of the person she had been talking to until a few seconds before. Amelia wrapped her arms self-consciously around her body, trying with all her might to hide the bruises, to hide the damage.
"It's nothing." She said, voice hoarse and raw, turning away and walking into the direction of the lounge where she had her spare clothes.
Maggie, though, wasn't far behind. "Amelia stop! Wait!" Amelia kept going until Maggie grabbed her arm right outside the door, stopping her as Amelia yanked it back wincing slightly. "What happened? Did someone hurt you?"
Amelia shook her head. She probably had no idea what her back looked like and the way she was gripping at her chest, desperately trying to cover as much of it as she could, told Maggie that someone had indeed hurt her. It wasn't about the bruises, they looked a couple of days old, mostly superficial – just bruises. It was a different kind of hurt, the emotional kind. "Amelia…"
Feeling air thinning and her heart pick up pace, Amelia shook her head, wanting to shrink enough to disappear. "Just drop this, okay? I'm fine. Perfectly fine."
Without looking back Amelia opened the door and walked inside briskly, wanting to get at least a layer of clothes between her and the outside world. A few concrete walls would be better, but she'd take what she could at the moment.
Maggie walked in right behind her, actually, really worried about her sister. "Wait, I want to know what happened, Amelia you-"
"Stop it! Let it go, forget about it!" Amelia said, louder and harsher than she'd intended, attracting the attention of the other people in the room.
They had both been too wrapped up in each other to notice they were not alone in the small room. Meredith and Callie stood on one side and Owen at the other. It wasn't about them, it wasn't that Meredith and Owen were in there, it was their faces. Callie and Meredith looked worried, scared, on the verge of crying – their watery eyes and tense postures gave that all away. Meredith stood almost against the wall, eyes wide and scared, hands held out in front of her shaking slightly, while Callie stood a couple of steps in front of her, her appearance was steadier and firmer, but with a look in her eyes it was clear that inside she wasn't doing much better than Meredith. Owen, on the other end, looked bewildered. He was looking at them, eyes foggy and unfocused, his hand bleeding, holding a piece of a ceramic vase he'd like smashed into the wall if the pieces on the ground were any indication. He was trembling and his breathing was fast and irregular and Amelia and Maggie exchanged a glance before all hell broke loose.
"Amelia get out!" Meredith's shrilly voice broke the silence, attracting all the attention on her.
She could feel all those eyes going over her still half bare body, seeing what Maggie had seen a few minutes earlier. Callie's eyes widened and Amelia never bothered to look at Meredith, instead she looked over at Owen. She wanted him to see what he'd done, she wanted him to feel bad for it and she wanted to be there for that, but she couldn't. Owen looked… broken, utterly and completely broken.
He was just standing there with his hand held out, dripping blood on the floor, while his body shook with tremors and he looked more and more pale by the second. Something clicked inside of Amelia. In that instant, she figured it out. She'd been almost there, she knew more or less, but this was confirmation. Amelia needed to hate him, she wanted to hate Owen for hurting her for what felt like the hundredth time, but looking at him right now she couldn't. Owen was having a panic attack, likely brought on by the PTSD he never talked about. She couldn't hate him like this.
As time passed and nobody moved, Amelia locked eyes with him. His lively ocean blue eyes were dim and foggy, they weren't entirely focused and she held his gaze as she took a couple of steps forward, moving towards him. Nobody else moved, nobody else said anything. It wasn't until she was standing right in front of him that she heard a gasp from behind her, but then, it didn't matter anymore.
As a neurosurgeon she was very well acquainted with the brain and its inner, most secret workings, she knew what was happening right now inside Owen's head, and she knew how to fix it. Tentatively, but never hesitating, she reached forward with her arms, stepping up to him. The closer she got, the more Owen grew agitated, shaking his head vehemently at her, mumbling something along the lines of her staying far away from him. He looked scared and lost and Amelia knew the feeling beyond her medical training. Amelia lived there, she lived in the land of the terrified and the lonely, she lived where every soul felt abandoned and undeserving and hurt. This was why they got on so well, this is why they instantly clicked – the kind of kinship that comes with such deep, long cracks on yourself is unspoken and immediate. Like finally breathing the same air. With every step Amelia's resolve grew more and more unsteady and Owen's eyes were pained and anguished.
When she saw his glassy eyes beg her to stop, Amelia did. She was standing about a foot away from his shaking form and that's when she realized she was shaking as well. She heard voices coming from the other doctors in the room, but she paid them no mind. Her full, undivided attention was on Owen. After the bad turn her life had taken in the last few days, being around him should have been the last thing on her list, she was, in fact, avoiding him and ignoring him for the most part, but this was different. Even he had made the – arguably improvable – attempt at being there for her the second he realized she was drinking again. This was different. If he'd found her passed out at the bar, drunk, she had no doubt he would have taken her home, wherever that was. She reached forward, stretching her arm to his chest, testing the waters almost.
Amelia's hand never made it to his scrubs. She held his eyes, never blinking, never hesitating, while her hand slowly moved toward him, needing him to feel human contact. She could feel the heat coming from him and she could feel the blue cotton fabric against the tip of her fingers, but then it was replaced by pain.
Owen swatted her hand away, taking a step back, dying inside at the mere realization that he had hurt her. Again.
Meredith shouted at her, voice filled with fear, for what Amelia had no idea. Callie called her, ordered her to leave it alone, that they were handling it just fine. Amelia couldn't see, but she was pretty sure Maggie was standing there petrified. Owen was nervously shifting on his feet, taking a step forward and a step back and so on, twisting on himself. It was then that Amelia saw her opening. The second he turned away, she reached for his back, wrapping her arms around him and holding on tight. As tight as she could. The point wasn't to hug Owen because he was feeling bad, she needed to put pressure in order to slow his heartbeat and breathing, easing him out of his state. He could deal with his PTSD, which he'd never even bothered to mention to her, by himself, later, the way he'd planned to when he'd omitted that little detail. Probably the same as she was going to deal with what was happening right now. Drinking.
As her arms wrapped around him Owen felt like he was going to explode.
In any other circumstance he would have known. As a doctor he knew they was normal, natural, that was to be expected. His nerves would go in overflow before benefitting from what Amelia was doing. Amelia knew it and held on, but Owen was himself right now. He wasn't Doctor Hunt, king of the ER, with the coolest head on his shoulders. He was panicking, quite literally too. Suddenly he couldn't breathe and he was back years in time when he'd felt so broken it had taken Cristina to keep him together, while he glued the pieces back up. Cristina was gone now and all he saw was emptiness everywhere and when he looked at Amelia he saw his own mistakes reflecting back at him. She sure wasn't blameless, but the guilt twisting his insides like a vice begged to differ. Amelia was the one who had to keep him together now, but he'd pushed her away. He'd kept her at a distance on noble grounds, trying desperately to protect her from his mess, unintentionally sparking her downfall. That's what stopped him for the half of a second she was able to hold onto him, hoping the pressure her smaller frame could apply would be enough. That was the point, that was the whole point.
His pulse spiked and Owen felt trapped. Owen was trapped, but he was trapped in his minds by his demons and fears, not by Amelia. Amelia was trying to save him, to free him. All he felt, though, was black. He was Luke Skywalker in the trash compactor, the walls closing in on him and with no way out. He tried to pry her hands off him at first, fighting a fight that was already lost. He was stronger and Amelia, despite her best efforts she could only hold on for so long. When she didn't budge, feeling his lungs gasping for air and the thumping of his heartbeat in his ears, he shoved her off.
For the first few seconds Owen felt better, until he started feeling worse. On top of the lack of oxygen coming in, he heard a gasp coming from behind him and Meredith yelling again. "Amelia get the hell out!"
Amelia.
She was bent down, one hand on her knee, the other rubbing her face. He'd hit her, when he'd pushed her off him. She should have listened to Meredith and she should have listened to Callie, who was gently coaxing her away from him, knowing first hand how bad his episodes could get. They didn't need a repeat of what happened to Cristina. Amelia would never be able to handle that, Owen couldn't hurt her like that.
As she caught her breath, Amelia stood back up, looking at Owen, straight in his eyes. He looked away predictably, he couldn't look at her, not when there was now a split lip to go with the bruises. His elbow had collided with her face, big deal. Owen was about to pass out and the Owen experts were standing by, ready to catch him before he hit the ground. In a way, Amelia was saving herself some work this way, this way she wouldn't be needed for a neuro check up when Owen would fall and crack his head open - because she could never admit why she was really doing it, she couldn't let herself feel those feelings. They would eat her up, like flesh eating bacteria, unstoppable and deadly.
"Owen." Her voice was hoarse and tired, but it was calming and she noticed his breathing slowed at the mere mention of his name.
Stepping up until her feet were perfectly aligned right up to his, she looked up, knowing she'd have to hold on tighter this time, if she wanted it to work. Owen would be scared about hurting her and as the panic would get worse and so would his reaction. In a split second, her arms went around him, closing in on his body, going as far as she could, ending up with her face buried in his chest. With her ear pressed right on his heart she heard and felt his pulse speed up, his breathing get shorter and uncontrolled, and Amelia held on because this was the only way she could fix him. Actually, this wouldn't be a fix, this was the temporary fix of a temporary fix. She could trick his nervous system to get rid of the physical symptoms of the panic attack, eliminating the symptom, putting a band aid on his PTSD. A band aid on top of another band aid.
Surprisingly, Owen didn't react as strongly to her second attempt. In fact, after a few moments of withheld breaths and anticipating eyes, he slumped a little against Amelia as her hold on him strengthened. Amelia could hear whispering from behind her, she could hear Maggie's teary voice and Meredith's worried one. Wait, Meredith's was what… her back. They were talking about the bruises on her back. She couldn't hear their conversation entirely, but she heard the tone of their wavering voices, trading one morbidly curious subject for another, until they became one.
As Owen leaned more and more into her, catching his breath and feeling his heart resume his beating at a reasonable pace, Amelia realized that if he caught even a whiff of the talk going on behind them, they'd have to start this all over again. Somehow able to forget the last few days and weeks, Amelia untangled one arm from around him, snaking her hand to cup the back of his neck, pushing his head gently down on her shoulder. Owen resisted feebly, reluctant to lean on her like this, but he eventually let her. As his forehead hit her shoulder, her hand slid in his hair, scratching and stroking golden locks soothingly and he felt his eyes flutter shut.
"You're okay." She whispered, her mouth almost perfectly aligned to his ear. Her other hand started rubbing against his back as she felt the tension in his body still as his heart rate and breathing had slowed down. "You're okay, you're right here." The smallest, briefest, slightest nod had her smile a little against the skin of his neck. "You're safe, Owen." I got you.
With another nod, Owen felt himself slowly slip back into his body. The walls were not as close and they were dissolving into the ones of the attendings' lounge the more time passed. All he could do was breathe. He was breathing into Amelia's shoulder and for the first time since she'd walked in, he realized she wasn't wearing her scrub top or her anything top. He could smell her shampoo and her skin and coffee and antiseptic and something else that was catalogued in his brain as Amelia. It was her, it was the way her pillows smelled or her clothes or what lingered in the halls after she walked by. No perfume, no nothing, just pure, distilled Amelia. His arms slipped around her body, but – fearing he might hurt her – his hands stopped at her hips, hands gently laying there.
It was the gentleman thing to do, especially as he felt that she was wearing nothing but scrub pants and he had the primal urge to cover her up and hide her from the world. Maybe, though, that wasn't his job anymore. He let his hands linger there, somewhere it was acceptable for friends to touch, as not to overstep any boundary. Sadly, that was the worst move he could have made in that moment. His hands had covered two of the hand shaped bruises on her hips, fitting like a glove, covering them perfectly and Meredith noticed immediately.
"Amelia what happened to you? Who did that to you?" she breathed out, her voice was a mixture of worry and anger, though the anger – for once – wasn't directed at her sister-in-law.
Dismissing her, Amelia just kept whispering calming words to Owen, assuring him she was okay that he need not worry about it. They were okay – that was a lie, but it would do for the time being. They were the farthest thing possible from okay and maybe one day they should talk about it. Maybe they would. Amelia ignored Callie's words, she ignored the way she was trying to calm Meredith down, who was insistently asking Maggie what happened to Amelia, alternating asking Amelia, who pointedly ignored her. Amelia's primary focus was Owen and all the hysterics would only upset him more.
Turning her head into his neck a little, Amelia swallowed thickly. "Better?"
Owen didn't respond at first, either because he wasn't or because he wasn't ready to let her go, but he remained still in her arms, pressing back against her, knowing as soon as the magic broke the mess around him would start taking its shape again. He'd heard it in her voice, the more distant tone, detached, unfamiliar almost. She was probably feeling the same way, maybe a little worse, maybe a little better, but nothing that would actually make a noticeable difference. Until he felt it. He couldn't have seen it, not the way their heads were pressed against one another, but the unmistakable feel of wet against his neck was a dead giveaway. Tears. If he was man enough he might have been silently crying as well. If they had been the only ones in the room he would be crying, he'd be letting the tears fall. But then, nothing good ever came from the two of them alone in one room, the mosaic of blue and purple all over her was proof enough that this was safer.
"Thank you." He whispered.
The second, though, that his hand made its way up to her head, tangling his fingers into her hair, she pulled away, hastily wiping away the tears before he could see them. Standing about a foot apart, their eyes locked and taking in her face Owen's eyes grew watery as well. The dark circles under her eyes now matched her lip, red and swollen with a single vertical cut still bleeding a little. He knew what the rest of her looked like and he didn't want to let his eyes wander, not much because she was half naked – he'd seen her in way less than that – but because he'd been the one to hurt her. He was a monster and he should not be allowed close to her, or anybody, again.
Amelia smiled. It wasn't really one of the smiles he'd grown accustomed to, it was a stretch of her lips, the corners delicately tugging up, her dimple poking out from her cheek.
Owen melted inside and couldn't stop himself. His hand went up to her face, cupping her cheek gently, so gently in fear of hurting her any more. His eyes followed the line his thumb was tracing, from her cheek to her lips, until he made it to the cut, ghosting over it. As a wave of guilt cursed through him, Owen looked away, down at the ground, unable to keep going. He was crying over the proverbial spilt milk, crocodile tears, only he wasn't actually crying, he wouldn't let himself. The need to let this all out was dragging him down and fast, but Owen just couldn't and Amelia knew it. Despite everything, she knew.
Her hand covered his on her face, taking it away, keeping it clasped in her own, while she called him until he found it in him to meet her eyes. "Don't worry about that, okay?" she should have known him well enough to know what his answer was. "Promise me."
The silence that hung between the two attracted the attention of the rest of the doctors in the room and suddenly both Owen and Amelia felt self conscious under the scrutinizing eyes of their friends. The magic was over. Amelia stepped away, reaching for a duffle bag in a corner fishing out a shirt that she threw on, then slipping out of her scrub pants and sneakers, she finished changing, getting ready to leave while everyone else in the room stayed rooted on the spot. She'd met Meredith's eyes when she'd turned around, parading her bruise covered body for them, letting them have a good look at the cracks of her soul, finally they were visible. The blood smeared on one of her sides, from Owen's wounded hand, only added to the morbid image and Amelia noticed even Callie's eyes softened with pity.
Amelia had a foot out the door when a hand stopped her. Owen's hand was in front of her, effectively body blocking her, warmly resting on her stomach. "Amelia." He couldn't look at her, his eyes shifted continuously from the ground to his hands, to her neck, never meeting her eyes. "Don't…" don't waste your life away because I'm an idiot, don't ruin your life because you deserve better. Don't drink. She knew it and he knew it, but he couldn't say it out loud and certainly he wouldn't say it in front of half the board.
As he found the courage to finally find her blue eyes he saw that she knew what he meant. Pressing his hand a little against her he whispered for only the two of them to hear. "Promise me."
As they looked into each other's eyes, something felt familiar. Owen knew what Amelia was thinking and Amelia knew what Owen was thinking. There was no need for words. Like that night in front of the trailer or in the elevator or in the on call room. She felt it and he felt it and there was nothing more, nothing less than that. Amelia wasn't going to drink tonight and tomorrow it would be day two. Owen was better today and maybe he'd get a good night sleep. As the realization dawned them both, Owen retreated his hand and Amelia lingered for a second, looking into his eyes for a little bit longer before walking away, out of the hospital, ready to fight her own battle of the day.