Cheerios and the Sentiment of Dying
"But if you trust me, Amelia, I swear, I will not let you fall through the cracks," he finished in a thick voice, shaking his head. "I never would. I would… hold you up."
Note: set after 13x14 (a.k.a. the Crap Plot has only advanced to Stage "Bunking-With-Meredith").
Her favorite breakfast used to be Honey Nut Cheerios.
She stared at the blurry red light overhead, casting its angry glare down on the windshield and disrupting an otherwise very dark street. The moment was mesmerizing. There was no music playing — no air conditioner whistling. There were no words. There were no other cars at the intersection with flaring lights or rumbling engines. She was entirely alone there.
Nevertheless, the light would not turn for her.
She'd made the switch to yogurt a couple of weeks ago. It was a healthier choice, because she was supposed to be making healthy choices now. It didn't fill her as much, but everywhere she went, there seemed to be yogurt.
There was no logical reason for the light to stay red. Some traffic lights were on a timer, and some were triggered by… something, in the roads or something. At least that was how she understood it. But either way, this was taking way too long. She'd been sitting at this intersection for easily five minutes now, and no one had come or gone…
She knew no one had come or gone. She'd been watching for someone to come or go.
It felt weird, having no more routine to her breakfasts. It used to be that she would roll out of bed, in her underwear — because she was either alone or with Owen, so whatever — and she'd pour herself some cereal and eat it at her nice counter, and wobble the barstool while she thought over what she had scheduled for the day. Some of her best ideas came to her while eating Cheerios and wobbling her barstool. Brilliant, life-saving ideas came out of this underwear-cereal-wobbling ritual.
It was just hard to eat Honey Nut Cheerios after she'd cried into them for an hour and a half.
The light finally turned, and Amelia shot up in her seat — shoulders tensed and rigid, foot jolting down on the gas pedal. She inhaled a deep breath, rapidly blinking away tears until she could see the road ahead. A tiny, sharp corner itched at her stomach, inching out of her pocket. It was like it was trying to remind her.
She was only a couple of blocks away now. She hadn't figured out what she was going to say — but then, she always planned something and never wound up going with it. When she'd shown up at Stephanie's, all she'd been able to do was cry. When Meredith opened the door, she'd told Amelia that she didn't want any details anyway, so there was no point.
"And frankly, Amelia, it pisses me off that you're still here! I mean, what areyou doing? Do you think everyone's just gonna sit around here giving you a pity party because you got dealt a rough hand? We all get rough hands!"
Needless to say, Meredith's opinion on the subject had changed. That was why Amelia was on the road at midnight with her overnight bag in the backseat.
She wondered what it said about her, that she'd made herself unwelcome in two different places in a matter of weeks. Edwards hadn't exactly kicked her out, but the lack of space and the pressure she faced at work was enough, even unsaid, to send Amelia packing. So she'd tried to grin and bear it with Meredith — she'd tried not to cause trouble for anyone. But Amelia and Meredith both being stuck at home all day was a recipe for disaster anyway.
"Husbands die, Amelia. You think you have forever to work out your problems, but then they die, and it's over! But your husband is alive."
And this morning, when Amelia had been sneaking out to the hospital, it had reached a volatile head…
"So get the hell out of my house!"
So technically, she was homeless.
Her stomach twisted up as she pulled up by the house, hesitating at the end of the driveway. His car was there. She'd been afraid he'd be working, even on his day off. From what she'd heard, that's what he'd been doing. Working and going home and disappearing.
"He looks miserable, and he's scared to death for you…"
She turned into the driveway.
Pulling to a stop behind Owen's car, Amelia tried to settle the nerves that inched up her cold fingers and into her shoulders. She wiggled in her seat anxiously, which caused the itchy corner in her pocket to chafe her skin again. She grimaced and tugged the picture out, turning it over to look at it.
That sparked more tears that she didn't need. She inhaled sharply, shoving the photo down into her jacket pocket.
Unbuckling quickly, she hopped out of the car and slammed the door behind her. She wondered if he'd heard her — or if he was even awake right now. She marched up to the front of the house, praying that he'd hear her when she knocked — finger running over the sharp edges in her pocket nervously…
When she reached the front door, her eyes were clouded with tears again, which she couldn't seem to blink away. She forced herself to knock on the door, loudly, while her heart dropped into her stomach. She cleared her throat, trying to get it together… but she couldn't help the panic swelling in her chest…
Don't hate me. Just don't hate me. You can send me away, but don't-
The door opened, sending her jolting back a step — and Owen appeared before her, looking out with hopeful eyes. He stood in a t-shirt and sweatpants, his eyes visibly tired, his body visibly tense. When he saw her, though, he seemed to wake right up.
"Amelia," Owen breathed, in shock. He was only silent for a moment before his body seemed to waken; he stepped out toward her but she backed away instantly-
"I thought it was gonna kill me," she started out of nowhere, her voice weak and breaking from tears as they stopped her throat. She swallowed, averting her eyes from his.
Owen didn't speak for a second, and he didn't come toward her either. Watching her cautiously, he tried to reply: "What do you-"
"I thought- Owen," she reprimanded gently when he tried to touch her again — not that this wasn't something she wanted, nor that it wouldn't be a huge comfort. But she had to get through this. "I know it sounds dramatic, and crazy, but I literally thought I was going to roll over and die. I… had Edwards examine me at her apartment, because I couldn't breathe and I felt this pain in my chest, like my heart had just… stopped. I thought I was dying."
"Why? What's going on?" Owen asked — and again, he started to inch toward her. "Are you okay?"
"Owen, I have to get this out," Amelia cut him off, shoving her hands into her pockets. "I didn't- I- when, when you said you wanted a baby… when we were staring at that pregnancy test, and you were so excited… I felt angry. And that's not fair, because having a baby is something you should pursue because you need it. And I shouldn't have felt so angry…"
Owen's expression softened to something fearful. Amelia blinked at him nervously, mouth stuttering, trying to figure out a way to say this that didn't sound so incriminating…
"I- uh, okay, I'm just gonna…" she started, wiping her eyes on her sleeves. She inhaled. "Owen… I had a son. I had a baby, years ago."
"I know," he said, nodding.
"And he was sick," Amelia continued, and looked down at her shoes. "He was born without a brain, so he wasn't alive an hour before they… And when he died, that life I imagined for myself — of raising my son, of- of being a mother — it just disappeared.
"And I was okay with that, you know, for a while — I never wanted any more kids," she said. She could see him cringe when she said that. She swallowed hard. "I didn't need them. I already had a baby, and he was my baby. And he was… he was good enough. He was… perfect-"
Her voice broke off, tears now flooding her eyes until she had to cover her mouth to keep from sobbing. She took a deep breath and huffed it out anxiously; and when she met his eyes, he was looking on her with such sadness that she couldn't bear it. She reached into her pocket and retrieved the photo with a shaky hand.
"And so when I went to the doctor today," she said, voice reaching a new octave as she wrinkled her forehead, trying to stop crying. "When I went to the doctor today, I didn't know what to do. I felt like I was being crushed — like there was this huge weight on me — this impending doom that I wasn't gonna want this baby, or that you weren't gonna want me back-"
"Amelia…"
"But I went to the doctor to see if it was okay. To see if it had a brain; to see if it was even in there, and…"
She turned the photo of the sonogram toward him, although there wasn't much to see — it was just a little bean right now. She bit down on her lip, craning her neck to look at the picture with him.
"It was too early to hear the heartbeat," Amelia said, watching his expression as he stared at the photo. "Everything's fine, so far. It's growing fast… faster than I even remembered, that they did…"
Owen took the photo from her hand, focused deeply on the little bean in the sonogram; his other hand came to his mouth, as he was visibly becoming emotional. Amelia felt her heart racing.
"It's… perfect," she finished, smiling through the tears. "It hasn't given me nausea; it craves pizza, and I like pizza…"
"Oh, my god," Owen muttered under his breath. His eyes were shiny now. She felt sick.
So she pressed her hands to her temples, raking her hair back from her face. She pushed past the lump in her throat, voice reaching new heights as she whispered, "And I want it."
Owen finally looked up from the picture, eyebrows raised. "What?"
"I want it," Amelia amended, wiping her nose. Eyes squeezing shut, she added, "And I hate myself for wanting it."
His eyes were wide as he blinked between her and the photo. He swallowed. "Amelia-"
"I hate myself," she said again, the tears blocking her vision and threatening to take her voice now, too, "for loving-hhh — oh, god, I-"
Then the sob burst out of her from its resting place in her lungs, causing her body to wrench and her shoulders to jolt — and she inhaled hard, trying to regulate her breathing despite the growing, rolling sobs that came pounding against the inside of her chest, building and accumulating, until she was doubling over in breathless, hoarse crying…
And he moved for her again — and she brought her hands up to cover her face, to hide her humiliation from him — to block out the look on his face, because she knew he was angry, she knew he hated her and he resented her-
"No," she mumbled as he tried to reach his arms around her. She backed up, shaking her head, expression melting. "No, no, don't-"
"Amelia, please just-"
"No, no," Amelia insisted, and swallowed between huffs — still backing away every time he inched closer, lips trembling. She pushed her hands out between them. "I'm not good enough. I'm a bad mother — I am a bad wife, Owen-"
"Just stop moving for-"
"-nd I walked away from you, and I'm abandoning my son, and I-"
"-could just let me ple-"
"No, Owen, listen to me! I'm not good en-"
He cut her off and pulled her in, arms around her in an instant — she tried to argue, but he guided her head to his chest and pressed her in until her body surrendered. She melted, tears flooding her eyes and shoulders crumbling into his strong, insistent embrace…
And though she'd tried to fight it, it felt better than anything else she'd done to try to solve this. His arms filled something in her that yogurt or Cheerios or friends or family couldn't fill — pushing out the choking, burning pressure in her throat and her lungs and the squeezing fingers around her heart when she felt that sharp corner of the photograph against her back, knowing that this was only the beginning of pain — knowing it was only the earliest moment possible, and she already felt so scared…
"I don't wanna give you a broken baby," Amelia finally said, her voice muffled in his shirt. His fingers were tangled in her hair and his breath was deep and his heartbeat was steady, and it made the words come out so easily — it arrested her and brought out the horrible, heartbreaking truth. "I can't lose another baby. I can't fall in love with this b-aby and have to watch someone carry it away from me- f-f-feel my b-baby dying…"
"That is not gonna happen to our baby," Owen insisted, squeezing her tighter. "That's not something that happens twice. That doesn't happen to someone."
"You don't know that," she said shakily. "You can't know."
"No, Ame- hundreds- hundreds of thousands of people have… perfectly healthy babies, multiple healthy babies." Owen leaned back to look down at her, and the backs of his fingers brushed down her flushed cheeks. "And we might, and we might not — but if we don't believe that there's that chance, then we… we won't have one. We won't have a shot, at having a baby."
"We won't have a shot of losing one, either," Amelia whispered. She looked up at him seriously, biting down on her lip. "I want a baby, Owen, but if this happens and something goes wrong…"
"-then we'll face it together," he said, finally. He nodded his reassurance, eyes a bit teary now. "If, god forbid, something were to go wrong… we'd make it through. It wouldn't have to kill you. I wouldn't let it kill you."
"How?"
"If you go into this with me-" Owen started a bit loudly, and seriously — until he softened his voice. He sighed, brushing her hair back with a level of tenderness she hadn't expected…
"If you go into this with me," he repeated at a whisper, "if you face this fear with me, I will hold you above the waves. I will- I'll… support you, and we'll take it slow — because I know how hard it's gonna be, and I know you feel like it's gonna destroy you…"
Amelia inhaled sharply, eyes falling to his chest. That was when his hand came up under her chin and brought her back up to him, to really look at him…
"But if you trust me, Amelia, I swear, I will not let you fall through the cracks," he finished in a thick voice, shaking his head. "I never would. I would… hold you up."
She huffed a sob, chin trembling. "I don't…"
His lips came to her forehead, and she closed her eyes, sighing against his touch. She bit down hard on her lip to keep the squeak out of her voice…
"Do you really think you can?" she got out. Her nose brushed against his chin, and she breathed warm air on his neck… "Do you really… want, all this?"
"It's all I want," Owen said quickly, and even smiled a bit. Kissing her cheek, he added under his breath, "It's the only thing I want. The only thing I ever wanted."
And she believed him. She believed that he genuinely wanted this baby with her, and that he knew how much she was hurting, and that he would do anything to take that pain away. She believed that he loved her. She'd always believed that.
She didn't know if she believed he could really save her — that he could keep this from wrecking her. From driving her back to drugs. From pushing her down into the dark, swirling abyss that she always seemed to revisit just when she thought she couldn't lose anything else…
But she wanted to. She wanted to believe in him. She wanted to believe in this baby, and the chance that it could be strong — the chance that it could be good, and brilliant, and brave, and maybe make her brave…
"I'll try," she breathed, the words coming out on their own. Her eyes squeezed shut. "I'll… try."
She wanted to be brave.
She wanted to hope again.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Grey's Anatomy.
So I wrote this before the "pleasure" of watching Civil War (13x15). This was my best-case scenario resolution for Owen and Amelia. I decided to post it tonight, for my 18th birthday - although I have something much more recent in the wings.
Thanks for reading :)