Sooo...I took a million years. Thank you for all the encouraging comments and messages. They mean so much to me. I had been going through a difficult time and couldn't find it in me to write (either emotionally or due to time constraints), but I have found it now! I hope you understand. Thanks again for being both patient and kind!
P.S. One more chapter to go!
Later that night, after unpacking and reopening the house, Amelia and Owen are sitting on their sofa watching a movie with a medical theme, delighting in the humor of pointing out medical inaccuracies, when Owen turns to Amelia on a commercial break, clearly bothered by something.
She tilts her head up from its spot on his neck and furrows her eyebrows, silently prompting him to clue her in on his inner turmoil.
"So you and Sheldon?" he finally forces out.
She shakes her head, not at all bothered by his curiosity. "Totally one-sided. I think," she grimaces, "I think I even told him I would never love him back when I was in withdrawal." She shudders at the pain she had caused him. "I shouldn't have done it in the way that I did." She shakes her head. "I might've propositioned him, but I was different then. I was reckless." Amelia holds his hand. "I didn't love him, though. I mean, of course I loved him as a friend-he was my rock for a long time-but not romantically."
"I guess I can't fault you for that," he says, feeling better that the feeling wasn't mutual. "We all have a past. I sure as well know I do."
"I'm not too proud of mine." Amelia looks down at her fingers, twiddling them easily.
"Why?" He furrows his brows, shifting away from her in order to meet her downcast orbs.
"Owen, come on." She huffs, trying desperately to keep the tears from her eyes. "You know why."
He shakes his head. "No, I don't. Do you really think my past is so pristine?" He takes the worrying fingers in his hands, slowing her movements by enveloping them in his strength, his warmth. "I told you about choking Cristina and you've seen my PTSD."
She nods, pressing her lips together firmly. "PTSD is not your fault. Neither is what happens because of it." She shrugs, her eyes watery. "Me on the other hand, I spiral. I make choices that hurt people."
"You think that I haven't made choices that have hurt people?" Owen looks up to the ceiling, knowing he has to follow-up his statement but unsure of how to do so. "I have," he confides, "hurt people."
She closes her eyes. "Owen-"
"No, you seem to have it in your head that I have a perfect past. And I don't know why." He huffs, sightly aggravated but trying to keep his cool.
"The PTSD-"
"Not the PTSD. Me, making my own choices, that's what I'm talking about." She looks down at her fingers once more and he simply tilts her chin back up. He can't bear to say it out loud, but it needs to be said. She needs to know. "I always thought Cristina would change. She'd come to like family more and her job a little less. Or at least find room for both. But that never happened." He blows out a strained breath. His eyes turn upward. "She wanted an abortion and had one. I was angry. And hurt." She hears the tears in his voice, but also the edge behind it. That there is more to the story. She holds his hand, trying to bring him back. She feels him relax ever so slightly, but he still does not meet her eyes. "And I didn't forgive her. I let my anger get the better of me." She furrows her brows, trying to follow his train of thought. "I cheated." He says it so lowly, so full of remorse and disgust that she barely hears the words.
She leans away slightly, not sure she heard him correctly. "What?"
He meets her eyes and she can't help but see all the answers written there. She turns away, her eyes burning from the harsh truth of it all, missing the darkening pain of his gaze. She breathes in and out, in and out, trying to control the panic rising in her throat. She fights the urge to run. She fights it with all of her being. Taking one last breath, she levels her head and turns back into his arms, snuggling into his side. He looks over in surprise, having expected the very worst, but he is not mistaken: she is right at his side, grasping his bicep, her pointer finger tracing delicate lines over his chest. He takes a second to revel in the comfort, too afraid to say anything, for it to all go away, when he hears her whisper.
"I'm sorry."
It's his turn to question her. "What?"
"I'm sorry that you were hurt so badly." She meets his eyes. "And that you chose to act in the way you did." She shakes her head.
"It was my fault."
"Yeah. You chose to do it. And that's unforgivable." She says it without malice, just quiet honesty. He nods, looking away before he loses his cool and breaks down. He has buried that for so long, tried to do everything in his power to repent, to erase. But it can't be undone. There is no making up for it. "But I know you. You have been trying to make things right even though you can't." She uses her finger to turn his head back toward her. He can't believe how easily she read his mind, how easily she gets him. "And that means something to me." She shrugs, chuckling thickly through the emotion. "Almost everything."
At her words, his eyes tear up and his cheeks scrunch as he tries to hold back. She raises her hands to cup his cheeks. He flinches at the cold contrast of her skin and she can't help but smile bashfully. "I don't approve of what you did, but you are not your past. A little, maybe. Some things. But there is so much more. I love you, Owen. The Owen I know now. The Owen I want to know in the future. That hasn't changed." She brings their lips together softly, slowly, just barely moving her lips against his. It's not enough and all too much at the same time. She, however, pulls back after a few seconds, knowing they should talk more.
"I don't know if I deserve that," he mumbles into the crook of her neck.
"Do we ever really deserve anything?" He pauses at her insightful reply only to hear her continue. "Maybe it's just the love we have for each other that allows us to forgive." She takes a deep breath, a bit lost in her own flurry of thoughts. "I mean, how can you forgive me for all I've done? It's the same thing."
He squints, trying to understand her logic. "Just because I forgive you for something doesn't mean you have to forgive me. I understand if you don't." The pain makes his voice gravelly, but he means what he says. If she doesn't, things will never be the same and he will have to accept that. Then, shaking his head, he adds,"And having an addiction is not a choice. Your choice was to recover and to fight every day to stay well. Your father and brother dying were not your choice. You reacted to something horrible. That's normal." He meets her crystal eyes. "There's nothing to forgive."
She pulls her upper lip into her mouth, struggling to hold back the river of tears. Breathing heavily, she says, "Maybe not. But also, maybe you're wrong." Her shoulders shift up, tense. "Derek blamed me for a long time. Putting my mother through hell when my father died. Messing with their lives. Lying." A few tears slip down her face and she's quick to wipe them away. "I chose that life."
"Did you not hear a word I just said?" Owen pulls her trembling hands into his large, warm ones, holding them tightly. "Addiction is not a choice. And neither are the circumstances that brought it on." He shakes his head, silently mourning all the pain in her life. "You are better now. That's what matters."
"Three times. I have fallen off the wagon three times."
"And each time you got back on." He kisses her forehead. "Honey, you're so strong. I'm sorry more people couldn't see that."
She gives a watery laugh, thinking of all the hurt she's endured with family and friends. "Sam and Meredith never saw it that way. Derek either."
"But Addison did." His eyes bore into hers. "Charlotte did." He rubs his thumbs over her hands. "Your mom did." He pulls her close. "I did. So many people did. That's what important. That they saw your pain and your strength. That they stood by you."
She removes her hands and wraps them around his neck, finally letting the emotions running through her body spill out. And, as if on cue, Owen does the same. Their bodies are wracked with sobs, their tears wetting shirts and their breathing hitting each other's necks uncomfortably, but they never stray from each other's embrace. And that's enough. Enough to keep them going.
After some time, the two make a simple dinner of pasta and sauce, then retire to their bedroom for more movies and snacks. The past few weeks have been both stressful and busy, so it is a necessary reprieve-they easily relish in the indulgence.
Halfway through the movie, Owen turns to Amelia, once again ready to talk. Amelia, although surprised, decides to enjoy his mood to share, smiling to herself.
"I used to play this game with my mom when I was little," Owen confides. She looks over in curiosity, unused to Owen mentioning his childhood. "I never talked much, so she made it into a game."
"How do you play?" Amelia turns her body away from the tv to her husband beside her. She's intrigued by this seemingly random memory.
"It's basically rock, paper, scissors. Whoever wins get to ask the other one a question that they have to answer honestly."
"Oh, can I go first?" She clasps her hands in front of her. He wants to point out that she's breaking the rules of the game, but she looks so adorable that he chooses to indulge her. Nodding, he waits for her question. She thinks for a moment, tilting her head from side to side, before grinning. "When did you first know you loved me?" She looks proud of herself for asking such a question, smirking triumphantly.
He chuckles, ruffling her loose tresses. "That's an easy one." She raises a single eyebrow and he continues. "I knew you were going to destroy me from the time you offered to be there for me if I needed someone."
"Destroy you?" She can't help but snort.
"Yeah. Make me fall head over heels for you when I didn't think I was ready to be with someone again." He shrugs. "You broke my resolve."
"I am rather convincing," she says with a smile.
"But I knew I loved you when we went out for coffee after you told me about your son in the chapel." She raises her eyebrows, shaking her head, but he's quick to affirm his statement. "I did. I wasn't ready to admit it to myself at the time, but it doesn't make it any less true."
It's been a few minutes since Owen grabbed Amelia's hand in a show of solidarity, and they still haven't said anything. However, it is a peaceful sort of quiet, a calm and welcoming one, not stifling in the least. It's reflective and safe, comforting. He turns his head to meet her eyes and, hearing him shuffle, she looks up easily.
"You want to get a coffee?" he asks, gently.
"What?"
He smiles lightly. "Do you want to get a coffee. With me."
She looks shocked for a moment, but quickly gathers her composure. "Sure." She doesn't know what to think, he's her boss after all, and she is not looking for pity. Nevertheless, she has the feeling pity is not what he's going for despite her recent confession.
"Great." He stands up and offers his hand, taking her soft palm in his calloused one. She takes it with minimal hesitation. "How about the coffee shop down the street?"
She smiles, thinking it sounds much better than the hospital coffee she was expecting, then nods. "I love that place."
"Me, too," he smiles. He leads the way, grateful she doesn't move to pull away out of the sanctity of the chapel. It being a relatively nice and breezy day, the two decide to walk instead of drive, enjoying the simple peace of each other's company.
When they push open the door of the shop, the bell jingling over their heads, they both breathe in the deep, delicious scent of cinnamon and coffee. It's comforting. "What can I get you two today?"
Amelia orders first. "I'll have a vanilla latte. With cinnamon please."
Owen looks at her a little incredulously, before laughing. "That's what I usually order."
She chuckles. "Seriously? Mr. Army Man usually orders a frilly latte?"
"Hey," he tickles her sides, "I happen to like lattes."
She giggles at the sudden onslaught, shivering at his touch. "Okay, okay, I'll leave you be." His hands move from her sides and her giggles die down.
"Anything else for you?" the cashier asks.
Owen shakes his head, then looks to Amelia. She grins. "Chocolate cake?" She turns to the cashier. "Please."
"Coming right up." He rings them up, Owen insisting he pay the bill as Amelia pouts, and the man hands her the heated cake before the barista begins their drink orders. She smells the heavenly goodness and smiles, toothy grin and all.
"You look happy," he comments, chuckling slightly.
"Have you seen this cake? There's a lot to be happy about."
"If you say so," he says. They grab their drinks and find a table in the corner, with windows overlooking the street.
"Try some!" She shoves a spoonful of cake near his mouth. When he puts up a faux fight, she pouts, pushing it even closer. "Pleaaasse."At her soft words he finally relents and allows her to push the fork further into his mouth. "Isn't it good?"
"Delicious," he says around the food.
She chuckles, slapping her hand over his mouth. "Don't talk with food in your mouth."
He rolls his eyes as she continues to laugh. When he finally finishes chewing, she smiles and removes her hands. "But yes, it is delicious."
"Seriously?" Amelia giggles, sure he's exaggerating.
Owen nods resolutely.
"Nothing happened!"
He chuckles, pushing a strand of chestnut hair behind her ear, then grazing his thumb along her temple. "That's the point." Her eyebrows furrow and he's quick to elaborate. "I was happy doing nothing with you. Just being with you was enough." He shrugs. "And we barely knew each other so I expected the feeling to grow with time. We were already so comfortable with each other. It was natural. We just seemed right."
Amelia tries-unsuccessfully of course-to hold back her smile. Her heart is so full by his words that she can't help but lean in for a soft, tender kiss. It says so much more than her words ever could.
Pulling back, she whispers, "Now I really have to win."
"Hmm?" he says, her words pulling him out of the stupor their connection left him in.
She smiles. "To hear that again, I have to win."
He simply smiles, rolling his eyes in jest. "And the moment is broken."
She laughs, hitting his arm lightly. "I am competitive by nature. You know this."
"Don't I ever," he says. "Ready?" He holds out his fist, ready to play. She nods, matching his hand, and quickly loses with her paper to his scissors.
She pouts. "Your turn."
He chuckles. "Don't sound too happy about it." He thinks for a minute, recalling a moment from earlier this weekend.
"We've missed you," Addie says, ruffling her son's hair.
"I've missed you, too."
"Auntie Amelia, you has to come more." Henry nods his head along with his words, affirming them.
"I have to come more?" she corrects gently. "I know, Buggie," she says, bending down to his level. "I miss you too much to stay away." She pulls him into another tight hug.
He snuggles into her neck, holding her close. Seeing her on FaceTime was not the same as having his aunt all to himself at his house again. She might have left when he was a toddler, but he still has all the fun memories with her and the same warm feelings as before. He will never forget that. "Then why are you away so much?" His voice is low, and not sad, but clearly missing her presence.
From Owen's place on the couch watching the football game with Jake, he tries to tune into the conversation more closely. He can tell that Amelia is thinking and choosing her words carefully, a little bit of a struggle for her, just by the quiet tenderness in her eyes. "Auntie Amelia needed to leave for a while. She didn't want to leave you, but she needed to find herself again."
"Find herself?"
"I needed to start over. Find out what I like and love and want."
"Like legos? I like legos."
Amelia chuckles. "Yes, stuff like that." She bops his nose, leaning her forehead against his. "But just because I've been away doesn't mean I stopped loving you. I miss you," she says, just loud enough for Owen to hear the tenderness in her voice, the sincerity of her words ringing true. She sniffles and he thinks it just makes her all the more endearing.
"Forever and ever?"
She nods. "I'll love you forever and ever."
"You and Henry seem close," he says.
Amelia decides to push his buttons. "Is there a question somewhere in there?"
He tilts his head at her antics. "How did you guys get so close?" He really just wants to know more about her time in LA, her life before moving here and seemingly throwing the old to the wind.
"Well," Amelia begins, looking deep in thought, a bittersweet smile on her face. Owen's not exactly sure what to make of it, but she connects the dots for him soon enough. "Addie wanted to get pregnant for a long time. She was practically obsessed with it, she wanted it so much." She looks into her lap, twiddling a bit with her thumbs. "Then she had some trouble adopting and then she was trying surrogacy. I even offered to be her surrogate at one point."
"Really?"
"Yeah," Amelia says with a huff of breath. "I wasn't really on-board with the surrogacy idea-I don't even remember why I was against it then-but I wanted her to be happy. She didn't take me up on it, though, which was good I guess since I was already pregnant with my son. I just didn't know it yet." He tries to meet her eyes once more, but she's gone back to staring into her lap.
"Oh," is all he can think to say.
"Yeah. She told me later that, at the time, she hadn't thought I was good enough." He frowns-it seems so unlike the Addison he met this weekend. "Later on, she admitted that to me. Then she told me she was wrong. And that, if anything ever happened to her, she'd want me to take care of him."
He nods. That sounded more like her. "I'm sure it hurt to hear that, though."
Amelia nods, a single tear trekking down her cheek. "Yeah." She shrugs. "But I didn't have much time to be upset about it because she told me right after how they took Mark off life support." Owen simply moves to rub her back, trying not to feel guilty about the death of his friend and colleague. "She loved him. And he was a brother to me. It was like a kick to the gut." She leans more heavily into his hand, relaxing at the soothing motions. She then shakes her head. "But that's not what you asked."
"It's okay-"
"No, I want to tell you." His heart warms at the notion of her wanting to share herself with him. "When I found out my baby wasn't going to have a brain, I wanted nothing to do with Addison or Henry. She had gotten him right around the same time I found out." She sniffles. "I was so angry and I took it all out on them. And Addison saw that. She told me that if I needed a person to hate, she would be that person." Owen resumes rubbing her back and she's grateful for the subtle comfort. "I fired her as my OB. I wouldn't even let her in the delivery room."
"I can only imagine how hard that must have been for you. I'm sure she understood that, too."
"Yeah, she did. We're in a much better place now." She chuckles. "Actually, when I was about to deliver, she forced her way into the room and refused to leave. I realized pretty quickly how happy I was to have her there. She held my hand and sat behind me, holding me. I listened to her more than Jake, who was my OB at the time."
He nods. "I'm glad she was there for you."
"Me, too." Amelia sniffles again. "After that, I was pretty insistent on being with Henry. And Addie and I made up."
"You needed time to grieve and she gave it to you."
"She did. I love her and Henry so much. I miss them all the time."
"We'll have to visit more," Owen says. He doesn't want to ask why she hadn't visited more since moving to Seattle. He knows she was trying to start fresh, trying to build things better, and LA had, for a long time, been too painful for her.
"I would like that," she says, using the sleeve of her shirt to rid her cheeks of the tear tracks left there. "Can we play again?" she asks, ready to move on. Owen nods, giving her a smile and a tight squeeze for sharing something so difficult.
"Rock, paper, scissors," they both chant, grinning.
The round ends quickly and Amelia's "Ah!" echoes throughout the room when she wins. She wiggles in her spot for a short victory dance. "I win." She turns her eyes toward her husband, a mischievous glint residing there. "Why are you jealous of James?"
He's startled by the question and stutters an, "I'm not."
Her eyes widen. "You so are!" She shakes her head. "I knew it!" She had just wanted him to confirm it. "But why?"
"Amelia-"
"-Don't 'Amelia' me. I've been wondering for a while."
Owen sighs. "What do you think?"
Amelia shrugs. "If I knew, I wouldn't be asking you."
He sighs yet again. "I mean, I guess because you loved him. You were engaged to him. Why wouldn't I be jealous of that?"
"Owen," Amelia rolls her eyes, "you don't have to be jealous of James." She adds, "That was all in the past."
He sighs, scratching the back of his neck. "Yeah, it's fine, I know." He turns back to the movie on the screen, trying to mask his affected facade.
"You had a wife," she says quietly, sniffling ever so slightly while presenting a joking front.
He turns to her, noticing that she is just as affected as he is. Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, he pulls her close. "So you do know why I'm jealous."
She shakes her head against his neck, burrowing there. "No, I don't." She pauses for a second. "James really helped me. He helped me find myself again and be comfortable with another person. I was terrified after Ryan, after my baby." She sniffles, a few tears wetting her husband's neck. "And he'll always have a special place in my heart for being that person for me. But I didn't stay forever. I didn't marry him."
Owen's breathing slows at her confession, at her drawing a clear line between him and James. It's enough to push the words from their confines within him. "Thank you for telling me that." She nods against his neck, still tense. "And I know you were scared when he proposed and being here made you want something different." She'd told him as much. "And I know that I didn't do the same. It took me a little longer. I sometimes take a little longer," he admits. "But I do know this: I don't think I ever really knew what love was until I met you."
She looks up, disentangling herself from his body, her carefully-controlled expression blank. "What?"
"When I married Cristina, I thought I loved her. I thought that we were what love was. But we weren't. You and I, we have more love than I could have ever imagined. I know that now. I know what love is and what love should be like, feel like."
"Owen," Amelia murmurs, her hands reaching out to grasp his cheeks. Her eyes are watering again and she's sure her palms are as sweaty as her face is blotchy, but she can't find it in herself to care. All she can do is smile. "I love you. So much."
Leaning his forehead against hers, he whispers, "I love you, too. So much."
And, just like all the times before, that's enough for them. Enough to last a lifetime.
If you still are following this story, I'd love to hear your thoughts!