Chapter 74.
Speak.
November 25, 2020
"Okay, now I want you to say it out loud."
Owen waited, eyes on his son. Collin was staring at the ground between them, motionless. Oliver Brightly was sitting beside them, rolling his wrist as he prompted the boy to speak. He had a constant smile on his young face, confident, accomplished, but still green where Owen was concerned.
Finally, after nearly a full minute of silent contemplation, Collin glanced up at Owen and said, "I want to get ice cream, daddy."
Daddy. Owen had not heard him say that in years. He carefully hid his enthusiasm, as Brightly had suggested, and instead responded with a calm, level tone, "We can do that, sweetheart."
And the boy smiled.
Owen smiled, too, unable to cap that expression. He did love his son, but years of this silence and struggle had put a chasm between them. It just took a little smile to remind him that Collin was not hurting him on purpose. Owen had just been singled out, for some reason, as someone that Collin had difficulty communicating with. It was easy for Cristina, easy for Shane, easy for little Bailey Shepherd – but not for Owen.
"Good job, Collin," Dr. Brightly said. "See how when you ask for things out loud, you might get what you want? Now that you asked him, your dad is going to take you to get some ice cream."
Collin looked away from the doctor but nodded his acknowledgement.
"I think that will be it for today," Brightly said to Owen, "I don't want to push too much. I want you to keep coming to the sessions instead of his mother. We're making real progress here."
Owen had been leery of Dr. Brightly in the past, as young as he was – and perhaps as envious as Owen was, knowing that Dr. Brightly was one of the few people that Cristina admired. Now he appreciated him for the effort he put into Collin. Twice a week, every week, he pried progress out of the kid, gently coaxing him from his shell.
It was all Owen could have hoped for, all these years.
XxXxX
Owen sipped his beer, settling heavily into his chair. It was an unusually warm night for November, mid-sixties, and the kids kept warm sprinting around in the backyard. In the chair next to him, Derek Shepherd sat with his own beer, splayed in his own chair. His hands occasionally shook as he held the bottle, a remnant of his past injuries – the reason he could no longer practice as a surgeon. But there was deeper purpose in his life, now, and it shone through his eyes as he watched the kids play. He had found love in teaching, fostering a new generation of surgeons, and guiding his own children through their lives.
"Lexie gets her surgery soon," Derek said, gesturing generally to the children. It was dusk and they all had glowsticks. Even in the low light, the horrible scar was visible on the girl's neck, a product of her rather violent entrance into the world.
She had decided she wanted to look like the other kids, finally.
"Collin, too," Owen said. His son was limping around, that stagger recognizable from a mile away. He also had a violent past, but Cristina was there for him, even before she became his mom.
It was magical to see the boy interact with the other children, particularly Bailey. He called to him, chatted to him, smiled at him. Bailey was patient, sweet, always waiting for the kid that lagged behind. He was just like his father in that way. Derek had been there for Owen when the memories of the war were too much. Neuroscience was his specialty.
One day, Collin would be like Bailey, a normal kid. Or maybe he was perfect the way he was. Owen was on the fence. He wanted so much for the boy.