Warfare mind
That night was Amelia's day off. She had been accumulating long hours in the OR that week tackling an outpour of brain injuries. Not that she was complaining, she was thrilled, however towards the end of week, the thrill was waning. She chose to spend the day off with Owen, taking care of the little ones, while Meredith was doing all night shifts that left her wiped out at the end of the day. Amelia never imagined a day would come when she would willingly choose to spend her free time wiping disgustingly smelling baby food off her nephew and nieces mouth and playing Frozen for Zola the 10th time that week. But she did. And that normally turned Owen on in a big way. Elis and Bailey were out like a light that night, but Zola was not as easy to tuck in. The kid asked a lot of questions for her age, Amelia thought, and was mature far beyond her age. Not surprisingly though, given where she was coming from. Zola was a sharp and likely brilliant kid. The type that doesn't get easily convinced to go to sleep, especially not when she feels an adult wants her to go to sleep really bad. And Amelia wanted her to go to sleep really bad, because she wanted some alone time with Owen in their own bed. She made a mental note to herself, that while she loved kids, boy, it sure came at a price. She was determined to show Zola who the boss is, and her warming motivation made itself ever more present inside of her body, ready to spill out.
"Zozo, it's been enough stories for one day, you watched Frozen just 10 minutes ago. You need to go to sleep, tomorrow you have to go to kindergarten and you can't be late. You know how your mother hates that. And you know that being late is what caused your daddy to go to heaven."
At the hearing of Derek's name, Zola went all pouty and quiet, disarming all her hard-headed intentions to fight for her right to stay awake.
"Does daddy knows I love him ?"
Amelia smiled while tucking her in and leaning forward to plant a kiss on her forehead: "He knows Zozo, and he loves you so much too, if he were here he'd kiss you just like this." Amelia stroked the child's cheek gently and smiled to her for another moment, then got up to turn off the light, not before saying good night, sleep tight honey, and gently closing the door.
She made her way downstairs as noiselessly as she could breathing a sigh of relief as she reach the ground floor, without any one of three little ones waking up or calling after her. As she was headed downstairs a thought shot through her mind, that this was really almost as if having her own children.
Owen was facing the large window overlooking the small patio of Meredith's house. He didn't even blink when Amelia started to be her bubbly overly chatty self, declaring:
"I'm now firmly convinced raising children must be the hardest job on earth. Neurosurgery is peanuts by comparison. You can basically screw a child up with bad parenting, not to mention all the infinite happenings of their lives you have no control over. And there is not nearly enough science tied to parenting to help you through it. She declared, while cleaning up the pizza box and leftovers of take out. You're operating blindfolded, half the time. I can't seem to figure out why people have children! Can you figure that out ? But at least tonight, I reported a small victory and got Zola to go to sleep, so you and I . . . could . . . " Amelia grinned, while drawing closer to Owen.
Owen didn't even flinch, at the discussion about children.
He continued staring out the window, as figures started getting sketched on this blank mind, figures drained in blood, faces squirming in pain, the pain preceding death, for most of which, came at a very untimely young age.
Descending into the carnage in front of his car, Owen went into a blind rage, trying as only a mad man would, to salvage those young kids, blown up after their truck had hit a land mine. Twenty five bodies sprayed the earth beneath, mingled with dark green metal from the truck, and the canvas that was covering it. They were headed back after a long fight. They were grateful they made it to live another day, joking in the back of the truck and getting all silly. The kind of silly, you try to be, when you know full well you just narrowly avoided death, another day. Silly mixed with a handful of relief. And there they were blown up, without even a chance to fight back, this time a far too merciless fight. He ran from one body squirming in pain to another, trying to triage, to salvage, to help, but the feeling of helplessness inundated him with every passing second. The world was closing in on him, shutting him down and his mind was for a whole chunk of time, taken over, by a higher power. One may that call that fear. A fear deeply ingrained, at the back of all their minds, that they too will die one day. And that fear propelled him forward with great force, stumbling over semi dead bodies, some howling some silently dyeing. Until a hand and a scream louder and healthier than those surrounding him, pulled him out of his crazed up, failed mind:
"Get up and get in the truck now! We need to leave, there's word that rebels are headed our way. We have no ammo, no defense. "
Seeing that Owen didn't budge, Riggs put his hands around Owen's shoulder and harshly tried to pull him up, screaming even louder and closer to his ear:
"This is an order Hunt! I am your commander now! "
In a matter of seconds, Owen channeled his force away from the wounded and against the new enemy that had briefly substituted that all familiar, death presence that motivated him earlier. Owen's world was reduced to black and white, impulse ridden decisions. Just what trauma surgery requires. The only exception, being, trauma surgeons operate under the guarantee of their own safety, and this was the opposite. But Owen hadn't learned that yet. Riggs had been a trauma surgeon in warzone longer than Owen had, and Owen still had to learn. For instance, Owen hadn't learned yet, that it wasn't wise to try to choke your commander. And yet here he was, in the middle of mostly dead bodies, on top of Riggs, with his hands tightly intertwined around his neck, ready to take out the obstacle that was standing between him and saving lives that he felt were more valuable than his own.
As Amelia drew closer to him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders from behind, and starting to whisper sweet nothings in his ear, she too had just learned she was none the wiser. Her head was the first to fly backwards, generating a loud thud against the opposite wall, and swiftly taking the rest of her body with it. With no time to make sense of what had just happened, all she could do, was stare into Owen's unapologetic eyes, as he pinned her against the wall with his hands exerting a tighter and tighter grip around her neck. Slowly, thoughts formed in Amelia's foggy mind, along with an ever increasing pain: Owen was literally chocking her to death. And he didn't seem to have a care in the world.