I took time to heal. I took so much time to heal that I could physically feel it as I got better, like I was coming back into my own body. Untangling myself from the blankets and getting out of bed in the morning wasn't a chore anymore. I didn't have to stand in front of the mirror and talk myself into going to work. I had the patience to curl my hair again. I got out of the lab and went out with my friends for the first time in months, although, that admittedly didn't end well. I started ladies night with movies and wine, and before I knew it, I was waking up on Callie and Arizona's couch. There was a blanket on top of me, but the movie was over and they were nowhere to be found. I put the pillows back where they had come from, destroying any evidence that I had ever been there, and tried to make it back to my car before breaking down—I failed, and ended up across the hall, crying in Mark's arms while Julia played with Sofia, pretending not to notice I was there. I went home so embarrassed that I felt almost sick, and it was all I could do not to sleep with Henry's baseball card on the other pillow that night. But I couldn't let myself. I hadn't done that in weeks. I stared at the ceiling instead, wondering how I'd let myself get to this point. I had pushed all my friends away, pushed them so hard that it made no difference to them anymore whether I was around or not. I wasn't Teddy anymore. I was head of cardio at work, but I was The Widow everywhere else.
It was because of this, I realized, that I should have accepted the MEDCOM offer as soon as it came. I shouldn't have thought about it, there shouldn't have been a choice. Maybe I shouldn't have even told anyone. Maybe I should have just gone. If everyone had woken up one morning and there was a new cardio attending and I was nowhere to be found, would it affect them at all? I laughed at the thought of that. Of course it wouldn't. I scared people now. I never used to be an angry person, but the shadows that had been passing through my eyes were enough to make people avert their gaze, to look anywhere that I wasn't. What was stopping me from throwing everything into suitcases and getting on a plane and never coming back? I could start over. New job, new life. But I couldn't.
I had tried to tell myself a few years before that Owen Hunt would no longer be the reason behind my huge life decisions. He had been the reason that I had come running to Seattle in the first place instead of going back to New York. But that was love. What kind of love, I wasn't entirely sure, because we had both moved on and married other people. But love, nonetheless. Still, something was keeping me from leaving him. But it was a different kind of love. This kind of love was fueled by guilt. He had tried to be my friend, he had tried to take care of me. And I had done the only thing I was good at and shoved him away. I tried to explain. I tried to fix it. It was a close call—the damage had almost been done. I was forgiven. For a few weeks, we re-adjusted to working together. We caught each other up on our lives. But then I told him about MEDCOM. I was given one last hug. And I was fired.
It was for my own good. He was right. I couldn't stay in Seattle for only him when he had a marriage to put back together and I had a once-in-a-lifetime job opportunity. But when I started packing that night, it hit me exactly how many miles I would be from the closest thing I'd had to a home in years. The apartment Henry and I had gotten together? I would never set foot inside it again. The rest of my friends were on their way to Boise. I would be gone before they ever got home. I had only seen Owen when I left the hospital—I wouldn't even get one last Callie hug. I was on my own.
I didn't sleep that night. Not that I was expecting to. My head was running out of control, and lack of sleep had always set my emotions on edge. I couldn't take a deep breath without my chest tightening painfully, and after a few moments of wondering how far I was going to let this panic attack progress, I was crying. But not like I had cried when I left Owen. No, not even close. In between shuddering sobs, I made a noise that I had never known myself to make before, a strangled scream that I was sure sounded how it felt—like someone had closed their hands around my throat. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror next to my dresser and was astonished—I didn't know who I was looking at anymore. There was a crazed, almost manic look in my eyes that I hadn't seen since Iraq. The mascara I had put on that morning was now streaked across my cheeks, and my face had lost most of its color.
I used to get like this all the time, I thought desperately. Owen could fix it. What the hell did he do to fix it?
Hugs. That was always his go-to. I had always been affectionate, but these attacks were always the only exception. I never wanted to be touched, but he forced it. He'd wrap his arms around me, engulfing my entire body, and hold me tight. I'd fight him—I always fought to get away—but the pressure was the only thing that would ever make me relax.
For one wild moment, I thought of calling him, but thought better of it. He thought I was excited. He was happy for me. I couldn't ruin it. I ran down the list of numbers in my phone, stopping on Mark and Arizona, but they both went straight to voicemail. Alone. I was alone.
I curled up on the bed, trying my best to hug myself. It wasn't anywhere near the same thing, but given the circumstances, it was the best I could do. More than anything, I wanted Henry. And if I couldn't have him, it would have been a great time to get his letters back out. But I had stuck those in a suitcase. My arms were going to have to be good enough, and in a way, it was better than nothing.
The panic subsided after a while, like it always did. But the tears were out of my control, and they only stopped because I didn't have any left. I stayed where I was until my alarm went off, not sleeping, not even closing my eyes, just staring at the ceiling. This was it. This was real.
"Be GI Jane, you idiot," I whispered to myself. "No more Attachment Barbie."
And I made good on that promise. I finished packing, sent Callie, Arizona, Mark, and Owen texts that I would miss them, and that was it. I was gone.
My restless night caught up to me on the plane—I spent the entire twelve-hour flight drifting in and out of deep sleep, leaning against the window, something I was grateful for until we touched down and the side of my head crashed into it.
My body, adjusting to the most sleep I'd gotten all at once in years, was completely disoriented as I walked through the airport, and through the entire cab ride to my apartment, but I woke up as I started unpacking. If this place was ever going to feel like home, I knew I would have to make it look like home first. And it finally did, in the middle of the night, right when the full effects of jet lag were starting to hit me. But as tired as I was, I still picked up the phone to call Owen. It was the middle of the day in Seattle, he wouldn't mind.
But as soon as he picked up the phone, I knew something was wrong. His voice was hollow—there was no expression in his "hi" at all.
"Hunt?" I said gently, not wanting to push him if he didn't want to explain it to me.
But he did, and I had to sit down before my legs gave out as I took in the words he was saying. Plane crash. Mark Sloan. Dead. Lexie Grey. Dead. Those spun through my head like a top, and I had to fight the urge to get sick as every memory of my friendship with Mark flashed through my head. And Lexie…I hadn't gotten to work with her as often as I would have liked, but she was one of my favorites. And Arizona and Cristina. If I hadn't just gotten off of an airplane, I would have gotten right back on one to go back home. But I knew that if I showed up, everyone would say that I shouldn't have come.
I ended the call with Owen, feeling as empty and hopeless as he sounded, and texted Callie.
Whatever you need, I'm only a phone call away. I'm so sorry. I wish this wasn't happening to you. I love you. Give Sof a kiss for me. xx
The rest of my grief, I decided, would happen in the morning. The initial shock was stubborn and refused to wear off, and I knew that if I didn't sleep soon, I never would. I got under the covers, plugged my phone in, and took its case off. Henry's baseball card smiled up at me from where I had put it for safekeeping, and I set it down on my nightstand, brushing away a few tears that had started to fall.
"Take care of Mark and Lexie up there, okay?"
