Author's Note: I am new to posting here, but I just watched the season finale and am wondering what on earth I'm going to do until the start of the next season, as Shonda has driven me insane with this awesome couple. I love Owen & Amelia together, which is crazy because I loved him with Cristina and never thought I'd see him with anyone else! This story is going to start with this pivotal scene from the show and continue from there.

When Owen decided to visit Amelia tonight, he expected her to be upset based on the way she'd reacted to Richard that afternoon. Her anger had simmered barely a moment before erupting in her speech, and he was tired of ignoring the nagging feeling he had in response to it. His unrest would go away if he at least saw she was alright now. He'd feel less... guilty.

Owen had left for his tour East to put his life on pause—to focus on something bigger than him for a change, and hopefully come back to a life in Seattle that would be a little easier. Calmer. It was only too obvious now that Amelia had done the same. Standing before him now, she was no closer to dealing with Derek's death than she had been when he'd left. He'd left his position as chief, the hospital, his colleagues, but after the way they'd ended their short-lived relationship, he'd never considered the notion that he'd left her. Not until now.

"You have to," he said again.

Amelia looked at him now with an expression he hadn't seen on anyone in a long time. Her devastation was barely contained, tears brimming and threatening to fall. Her lips trembled with the waves of emotion overtaking her. It was if she knew she was breaking, and still, she was powerless to do anything about it. He understood now. He understood everything.

His heart broke for her. That's why she broke up with him.

"If you don't, that bag of oxy won't be your last," he warned.

The battle in her mind was obvious. He held the eye contact, though the connection was jarring. He was staring into the depths of her, it seemed, and though he felt like a voyeur in this private moment, he wanted her to have something to hold onto. And he desperately wanted it to be him.

Amelia knew he was right. The drugs would kill her, or worse. She'd been here before, and she'd worked too hard to go back now. She held her hand out, fingers shaking. Owen took the packet from her, the brush of his hand a whisper on her skin. It was all she could handle. The emotions overtook her like a wave of nausea. Grief came, black and consuming. Her knees hit the ground, her stomach clenching with the force of her guttural cry. She sobbed into the pavement.

Owen reacted instinctively, picking her up off the ground and holding her against him. He felt her arms encircle his neck as she sobbed harder now against his shoulder. The sound was primal, screeching as she struggled to breathe. He knew she couldn't cry like this for long. Exhaustion would come soon, a solace of its own. He whispered words against her ear, hoping they'd help her ride out the pain.

He'd never noticed how small she was until now, her tiny fists clenching the fabric of his uniform at his back.

Finally, she went limp in his arms, her sobs diminishing to a whimper. He kissed her hair. "Shh," he said. "You're okay."

She turned her head, wet eyelashes tickling his neck. He could feel her body still trembling, but she was quieter. He had time to take it all in now—the sound of the crickets in the yard, the night breeze making the long grass whisper, the weight of her body pressed against him, the softness of her hair between his fingers.

He repositioned them, not quite ready to let her go yet. He crossed his legs to sit and she moved with him, her body draped over him like wet fabric. Her hand slid down his chest with the weight of her fatigue. He slid an arm under her knees and marveled at the fact that he could even cradle her like this, her entire body fitting between the gap made by his knees.

Amelia felt herself being moved, but couldn't care less now, as she felt too tired to even blink. She breathed out against him.

"Thank you," she said after a while, her voice hoarse. He could see her face in the moonlight, her cheeks pale and tear-streaked, lips reddened. Unable to stop himself, he let a thumb brush across her cheek. "Owen..." she said.

"Hm?"

"I'm just..."

"What?"

"So. Tired."

He laughed softly. "I bet."

She looked away from him and down at the ground, and then at the position they were sitting in. "God, this is embarrassing."

"Don't do that," he said seriously.

She looked up at him, the vulnerability returning to her eyes. He continued, "It's natural. You needed this."

He needed this too, he realized. He tightened his hold on her.

She couldn't think of anything to say to that, so she nodded. Her eyelids started to burn; the skin of her face was raw. She let her eyes close. She felt herself drift a little, and worried for a moment that she'd fall asleep if she didn't fight it.

When she opened her eyes again, she found him staring back at her. A softness on his face mellowed his blue eyes, lips curving in a faint smile.

"What?" she asked quietly, somewhat dazed.

"Nothing," he said.

"Hm," she said, closing her eyes again.

They'd avoided disaster, he realized. If he hadn't shown up tonight, he didn't know what could have happened. Every possibility he could come up with seemed horrible, and he tightened his grip on her again without realizing it. She stirred.

"I'm sorry," he said, thinking about the way he'd left so suddenly, almost a full year before.

She didn't know what he was talking about, and she was too tired to think about it. "S'okay," she said anyway, muffled against his shirt. "You wanna come inside? I forgot..."

She trailed off, trying again not to fall asleep.

"You forgot what?"

"To invite you. Inside."

He laughed. "I think we're past pleasantries anyway."