Take It All Away
Amelia struggles with the shock of losing her brother. Owen's simply there to hold her above the waves.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters.
Owen liked Meredith, but he wished Amelia would have just attacked her. He wished she would have screamed and cussed and punched the woman right in the face – because she was grieving and she was wronged and she had every right to do it and he... He was furious for her, and for Derek, and he couldn't do anything about it.
And if she would have just punched someone or screamed or cried or done something, he could have understood just a fraction what she was thinking and feeling right now. But she was in shock, since he'd last seen her. And she was hiding somewhere in this godforsaken hospital.
He wasn't the only one looking for her. He'd called together as many people as weren't busy already and sent them out, under Chief's orders, to locate her and report back to him. He would respect her if she needed to be alone, but he couldn't risk leaving her with all the drugs in this building – he loved her too much to let her turn there. He loved her. He loved her, he loved her, he loved her...
That was why this all hurt so much. He hadn't even really registered the news that Derek was dead. It wouldn't hit him for a little while longer – and it would be a punch in the stomach when it did, but he was hoping, praying, that he didn't break down now, when she needed someone to support her. He had to be strong, because God knew she was going to be very weak right now. But knowing how hard this must have been hitting her, and how devastated she had looked, and how angry she would be, he found it difficult not to lose control. She had done nothing to deserve this in her life. She had done nothing to be excluded from her brother's death. She deserved to have seen him one last time! It wasn't fair! It wasn't right and it hurt so much...
He didn't want to be so angry, but when Meredith had told him and everyone else except Amelia about Derek's accident, he'd been so close to letting loose on her. She'd never called Amelia, Derek's sister, in all of this. She'd made the call to terminate his life support. She'd had her last seconds with him and she'd never thought to call Amelia and give her that – to give her those priceless last seconds of closure and seeing him living, breathing, for one last time. She'd just killed him, just like that, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. They couldn't bring him back. They couldn't undo what she'd done.
Owen felt furious tears burning in his eyes, a lump aching in his throat, and he struggled to put Meredith out of his mind. His anger was for Amelia's sake, but it was still selfish and he wasn't going to let it show. She needed peace and support right now. Her own anger was probably overwhelming enough.
Beyond his desire to scream at someone, though, he needed to find Amelia and hug her really, really tightly and kiss her hair and say something to make it go away. He needed to protect her, somehow – because it was evident that her own family wouldn't be protecting her now.
Anger was threatening to tear him down with every second he couldn't find her. He hated himself for hating Meredith, and hating the doctors who had worked on Derek, and hating the driver who'd run him over in the first place; he hated himself for hating everyone, even though Meredith had just been in shock and the doctors had done everything in their power and even the driver wasn't at fault for coming around a turn too quickly, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. He hated their mistakes. He hated Derek's death. And he hated Amelia's sadness. He wanted it all to go away.
Now his eyes were filling up with angry tears, but he wiped away the evidence and quickened his pace down the hallway. He had to find her. He had to know she was all right, or he would blame himself for anything that happened in his absence.
Fortunately, before he lost his sanity altogether, he found Edwards standing outside of the women's bathroom – and when she saw him, she threw her hand up to get his attention. He felt his lungs collapse, and rushed to the door.
The intern was in a panic, biting her nails, bouncing anxiously. "She's in there."
"Is she all right?" he asked instinctively, eyes stuck on the door.
"I-I don't know. She ran to the bathroom and I'm worried she has-"
"I'm going in," he decided.
"No!" she snapped, grabbing his arm quite unprofessionally. He jolted, stopping to look her dead in the eye. "She told me if I let anyone in she'd fire me."
He sighed. "That's not gonna happen. Excuse me."
With no other choice, Edwards stepped aside and allowed him to open the door.
Peeking his head into the room, he listened for a sound first – and, hearing nothing, called out, "Amelia?"
He heard her sniffing from inside one of the stalls. "I'm fine," she called out, and sniffed again. "I'm fine. I'm fine."
His stomach dropped, hearing her repeat this mantra to herself. He wanted to hold her.
"It's me, sweetheart," he'd wound up saying, and he cringed at the unexpected word. They weren't even together right now. What was he thinking? God...
"Owen?"
Her voice kept cracking. His hands started to shake as he struggled to keep himself composed – but then his voice started cracking. "C-can I come in? Is that okay?"
She was quiet for a little while, and she sniffed again, breaking his heart a little. "I... I'm not..."
He swallowed, trying again. "It's okay. Please."
He didn't want to sound pushy, but that had somehow come out, too. He was just speaking right out of his rear end today – or directly out of his heart, but they both spoke the same nonsense sometimes.
"Okay."
No sooner had she spoken the word than had he stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him so no one would come inside and bother her, or upset her. It was all about her right now, in his mind – not even about Derek, in a way. She'd been the one left behind. She was the one who had to keep living. She and Meredith needed the support.
He wasn't sure which stall she inhabited or if he was supposed to stay outside, so he just started talking and hoped for the best. "I know this is so hard right now, and you may want to be alone, but I wanted-"
"I don't want to be alone," she cut him off, voice sounding strained.
Surprised and taking this as his cue, he stepped toward the farthest stall, where her voice was, and announced, "I'm coming in, okay?" The door wasn't really shut, anyway, so he didn't have to try to unlock it. When she didn't protest, he pushed the door and peeked into the stall.
The little Shepherd, dressed like a healer but sounding like the sick, knelt down in the stall, hunched over as if to be sick – but she only sniffed, and obsessively shoved her hair out of her eyes, and held her stomach tightly. He swallowed the lump in his throat and whispered, "Hey."
She jumped, turning to look up at him, and revealed a pale, tearless face. Her eyes were completely dry. And she didn't appear to have thrown up.
"I-" she began, and sniffed, looking down. "I thought I was going to be sick, and I wanted to, but I didn't; and I thought that- I can't-"
He stepped up behind her as she struggled to speak, and knelt down to the floor. His arms moved to hold her, but he stopped, and contented himself with the safe action of brushing her hair back lightly. Eventually, she started to make sense.
"I don't know- why. I can't throw up. It would help, too, because if I- if I- could, just, just get everything out of me and... I can't cry. I don't know why I can't cry, but if I did, it would never st-op..."
His face crumpled, and he couldn't help himself anymore. He reached out to wrap his arms around her from behind, reining her into his chest. She wasn't crying, but her breaths were becoming dry sobs, and she struggled to finish her point.
"S-so if I just threw up, I could get it all this out of me, and it would eventually have to stop- b-but I can't and if I don't do something I'm going to explode."
"You're in shock," he whispered, resting his chin on her shoulder and holding her closer. "You won't explode. Just give yourself time."
"No," she said throatily, turning her head to look at him in the corner of her eye. "I have patients that need me, and sisters who have to find out, and a mother, and... and no Derek. I have no brother. I have no brother anymore, I have no brother, I have no-"
He took her by the shoulders and turned her around to face him, so he could pull her into his chest – and in the moment before her wrapped his arms around her, he saw tears in her eyes, finally. Then her head fell into his shoulder, and her fists came up and grabbed his shirt roughly, jerking him closer. She'd scratched him a little bit, but he didn't care. He held her so firmly he worried he'd break her, and she let herself crumble, sobbing into his shoulder, shaking, pulling his shirt with all the strength she had left. It was mostly throaty sobbing, but a few times, when he wasn't expecting it, she shrieked a little; and then he started crying, as silently as he could, whether he liked it or not. He didn't know why, but he felt like screaming, too.
By the time she'd calmed down only slightly, sobs and chokes turning into heavy, bouncing breaths, she'd begun to talk again. "You're going to die, too."
Startled by the comment, he pressed his mouth into her hair and whispered, "No, I'm not."
She shook her head. "You will, and Addie, too, and everyone that's left– but not me!" she laughed. "I'm gonna be alone!"
"You are never going to be alone," he insisted, with such conviction for a man who didn't even know if he was still in her life anymore.
"Everyone dies," she muttered, words almost lost in the fabric of his shirt. Her breaths were steadier now, and she was losing volume. "I want to die. Let me be next."
He felt sick, but reassured himself that she was only upset. She wasn't going to die. But he still felt the panic crawling up his spine, that she would make a mistake – drink or take drugs or do something dangerous. It was all too much to face alone.
"Come stay with me," he said, a plea rather than an order. "I'll take today off and we can go home, and watch a movie or eat or do nothing. I don't care. Just be with me, please."
Her body froze beneath his, and he instantly wished he had waited to ask. He didn't want to scare her. But he didn't want to leave her alone tonight, either. He was too afraid.
"Can we walk?" she asked in a small voice, and pulled back from his chest. When she moved, he realized how wet his shirt had become; and when she looked into his eyes, he saw a rawness in her stare that made him want to do anything she asked.
"Whatever you want," he said.
She immediately sniffed and wiped her eyes on the back of her sleeve. "Can we go right now? I need... to go."
She didn't have to give him any other reason. He nodded and reached for her hand, to help her up. They both rose to their feet.
"I'm sorry," she mumbled, glancing at the floor.
He swallowed hard, wanting to say that she didn't need to be sorry about anything because she was perfect and he loved her and he was going to give her whatever she needed to smile again, even though that would probably take years; but he simply replied, in full sincerity, "Me, too."
And they exited the stall together, hand in hand, and they exited the bathroom together, ignoring the eyes on them, and they exited the building, without needing a word to pass between them. He kept his eyes on her whenever he could, making sure she was comfortable, making sure no one was looking at her the wrong way – because even though she probably didn't need protecting, she deserved it by now, and he was going to be the one to give it to her. He was going to fix everything, somehow, because he was a doctor and that's what he was supposed to do.
And he was going to fail, probably. But doctors did that, too.
I apologize for this sadness.
Note: I have no disrespect and plenty of love for Meredith. I fully blame Shondaland for how this all went down. But I wrote this story in Owen's POV, not mine. It only seems realistic to me that he, in grieving, would find Meredith the easiest to blame. Thanks.