A/N: Welcome to Part II of my Grey's Anatomy story. If you have not read the first part, it may be a little confusing at first, but this story stands on its own most of the time. It has been seven(ish) months since the end of Holding on and Letting Go. This story will move more slowly and be more character-based than the previous one. We will face the issues of addiction, recovery, and disability, among many others.
XxX
Chapter 1.
The Meeting.
Seattle, Washington.
July 8, 2019.
He took the stage, walking with a pronounced limp up three short steps to the podium. In this place, there was an unspoken rule that everyone shouldn't stare at the speaker at once. It was supposed to be a safe space, a place without burden or judgement.
But she was staring right at him, into him, as he worked up the muster to speak.
"Um, my name is Charlie, and… I'm an alcoholic."
A monotonous response came from the room, "Hi, Charlie."
He swallowed and tapped the podium, switching feet, looking anywhere but into the eyes of the group. He had that characteristic mask of shame, the one that followed these people around, and became more intense when they were in this building. She thought it was silly to come here, to dig up everything that hurt them and tell strangers about it, like they really cared.
But he had the courage to speak, and his voice trembled in the air.
"I hate these kinds of things, you know," he babbled, finally, dabbing sweat from his collar. "Confess all your sins, try to forgive yourself… that sort of thing. Well, I can never forgive myself. I know you guys have seen me around for a while, but I never talk, and I have a reason… a good reason. Matthew asked me to come up today and I thought I would… but there are some things you never wanna say out loud. It just… never comes out. So here it goes."
He had a story. Everyone did. Sometimes she wished she could walk into this building and sit in silence for two hours, instead of listening to strangers tell the stories of their failures. She could take her chip and go, no better off, with less of a headache on the way out the door.
Collin shifted in her lap, gazing up at her with those big, sad eyes he was so fond of nowadays. It was almost the only expression he wore. He had camouflaged in this room, matched this sad place, and it stuck with him. He barely understood what they were saying, what this place meant to these people, but he knew what it meant to her. It made her tense. She would never have stepped foot in the building if not for the insistence of Owen.
When the speech finally ended, and Cristina had a sad story about a father drinking and nearly killing his daughter while trying to drive her home bouncing around in her head, she locked her arms around Collin and tried to make her escape.
Dean cut her off before she made it down the hall.
"Cristina, glad you could make it tonight."
She winced, setting Collin down. He attached to her leg, looking back at the other departing members. He had known Dean for months now, and he still refused to look at him.
Dean did not take it personally. He glanced down at the boy, smiled, and then nodded toward the little office beside the meeting room. "Can we talk?"
"I have to get home."
He cocked an eyebrow. "You sound… off."
"I had a long day. Birthday party." Cristina crossed her arms, trying to put it out of her head. One more thing to add to the list of reasons she was here in the first place.
He put his hand on her shoulder, and gave her a little nudge. "Come on. Talking helps, remember?"
Cristina groaned. "When are you gonna stop holding that over my head?"
She followed him into the little office – his office – and took a seat in one of the chairs. Collin climbed into her lap, looking briefly at the door, and then relaxing against her torso and staring off into space. She took an offered cup of coffee and sighed.
Dean sat on the edge of the desk, surveying her. "Yeah, something is definitely off. You said you had a birthday party. For your youngest, Henry, right?"
"Yeah."
"Did something happen at the party?"
"No." Cristina waited, and when it was apparent he was not going to let up on this, she resigned to confession. "It wasn't something that happened… it was the party. It was Henry. I was changing him into his clothes for the party and I just saw… all these scars, all over his stomach. And I see them every day, so what's the big deal, right? It just hit me again."
Dean had kind eyes. He looked like he had been a bouncer in another life, well over six feet tall, doubled down on the muscle, with a blocky head, and a marine haircut. But those eyes took away the threat of his size. It was the only reason she let him corner her like this. He was her sponsor, and somewhere along the way she had actually let him be her friend.
He took the seat beside her, scooting it so he could sit in front of her. "You feel that pain again, that guilt for causing his suffering."
Cristina nodded, her voice minimized, "And I just wanted… I wanted…"
"But you didn't." Dean put his hand on her knee, "Right?"
"Yeah. I would have, but we didn't have anything in the house. Owen is strict about it."
"What have we learned about that kind of escape?"
"God, you sound like a camp counselor."
He smiled, rolling his hand.
She groaned, "It's temporary."
"Exactly. Now tell me, how long was Henry crying today?"
"What? He wasn't."
"Okay, how many times has he sunk down into total despair lately?"
"He hasn't."
"So, where is this suffering you keep blaming yourself for?"
Cristina shook her head. "You don't get it. He's blind. I did that."
"Yes, you did. But that was a year ago. That was the version of you that was hurting, the version that was a slave to her addiction. You have a clear head now."
"But I-"
Dean cut her off, "You feel guilty, and you wanna take that guilt and put it somewhere, but you can't figure out where. Do you talk about this to anyone else?"
She shook her head.
"I think you should talk to the group next week."
Cristina snorted. "No way."
"It would be good for you."
"No, it would be terrible. What a terrible idea. Give me your token, you're obviously drunk."
He shrugged, standing up and digging in his pocket. He drew out a gold token with "10 years" printed on it. It had the words "one day at a time" around the upper edge, and "to thine own self be true" on the bottom. He handed it to her.
Cristina held it out in her palm. "I was kidding."
"I want you to keep that, just for the week, and consider getting up to speak next Monday. I think it'll be good for you. You may not want to admit what you're feeling to your friends, your family, but not talking is what got you into this in the first place. Right here, with these people, you have the freedom to say whatever you want."
Cristina sat there, the chip in her hand, long after Dean had left the office. She had not been attending for a year yet, so she had a few of the little 30-day ones, because she skipped sometimes. His had more weight to it.
When she came out, he was on the stage, clearing papers from the podium, and he smiled as she walked out. Collin dragged the door open for her and then scurried through before it shut.
"What do you think, champ?" Cristina wondered, scrunching her hand in his wild hair. It was getting longer, and he had been called a girl more than a dozen times now, but she liked it this way. He looked more like Phyllis with it long.
He looked up at her and shrugged.
It was a quiet drive. When she got home the lights were out, and she snuck Collin into his bedroom. Her husband – now official, since they had gotten the papers signed a few months ago – was sitting at the kitchen table, catching up on his charting.
He smiled at her, his eyes tired. He had stopped asking his usual 'how was it?' a while ago. She never answered, anyway. He may have been the one pushing her to go every week, under threat of judgement, but he was officially excluded from that part of her life.
Instead, he settled on another greeting.
"Hi, beautiful."
Cristina stood at the back of his chair, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing his cheek. "Hi. How was your day with the tiny ones?"
"Chaotic. Scooby ate a butterfly and Noah cried about it for thirty minutes."
"She ate…?"
"Whole thing. It made a crunching noise and everything."
Cristina winced. "We need to talk to her about food and non-food again."
Owen smiled, turning in his chair and pulling her into his lap. "How was your day with the slightly bigger one?"
"Quiet, as usual." Cristina snuggled gratefully into his shoulder. "He refused to talk to his therapist and gave Meredith the cold shoulder. He said something to Bailey but I didn't catch it."
"Well, at least he has one friend."
She shut her eyes, letting herself drift for a moment. She had worked the night before, and napped some in the early hours, but she was off tonight. Her meeting was her last responsibility. Owen had to go in soon, but he was off the next day. For weeks, their schedules had been opposite, so she was grateful that she got to spend time with him. He was the rock in her life.
"We should do something tomorrow."
Owen kissed the top of her head. "We could go hiking."
Cristina laughed. "Yeah, right."
"Come on. You, me, four exhausted, angry children, and all kinds of wilderness. What could possibly go wrong?"
Cristina shifted to look at his eyes – the same eyes he had given their daughter – and loved the light she saw shining in them. He was kidding, of course, but something possessed her to say, "We should do it."
He narrowed his eyes, "Really?"
"Really. Maybe with just the six of us, Collin will open up a little. And the twins could use a long walk to drain off all that extra energy. Henry loves it outside."
"Henry also has a compromised respiratory system."
"We could trade him for Bailey for the day."
Owen laughed out loud for a split second, and then reeled himself in to avoid waking the kids. "You and your devious plots."
"Come on, Collin loves Bailey. You want him to open up, so let him have his bestie. Besides, Henry is so much easier than Bailey. Meredith and Derek are getting the good part of this bargain. We take their demon spawn and they take our precious little angel."
"Maybe try to sell it with a little more realism tomorrow."
"Is that a yes?"
"Maybe." He was quiet for a moment, running his hand up and down her arm, a smile on his face, and then he snorted, "Precious little angel."
"Shh. At least we're keeping the she-demon."
"I thought I would start calling her the Kraken."
"Not scary enough."
"She takes after you."
Cristina slid out of his lap. Collin was standing in the hallway, waiting for her. She scooped him up and kissed his neck, provoking a few giggles.
Owen had his judgy eyes on. "I guess we have company tonight."
She ignored him, and took Collin across the kitchen to their room, flopping down on the bed. It used to be rare for Collin to come and sleep with them, but these days he was prone to night terrors, and after a few instances of forcing him to sleep in his own bed, and listening to him scream, she refused to send him away again.
Something poked her in the butt and she pulled the ten-year chip from her pocket. She held it up to the light, sighing, and showed it to Collin.
"Did you see this, buddy?"
He stared at it, curious, and ran his finger over the bumpy surface.
"Remind me to give it back to Dean when we see him again, okay?"
Collin nodded, rolling over and spreading across the bed like he owned it. When it was just the two of them, his painful shyness evaporated, and he seemed normal. It almost seemed like his problems faded away. But the things that were wrong with him were invisible. He was plagued with the worst kind of trauma – the kind without scars.
In that respect, the two of them were the same.
