This one is for smountain. :) and for everyone who's still here reading my fics lol.
Breaking Down - Florence + the Machine
Her heartbeat is louder that her sobs. Her heart is beating out of her chest. She leans her head against the door and closes her eyes. Her tears falling.
For years, more like decades, for a very long time she's dreamed of the day Owen Hunt professes her love for her. It started very early, shortly after they met. She felt electricity between them. She knew it was one-sided. She knew it was all in her head, but sometimes she'd catch him looking longer, she'd catch him staring, and he'd quickly look away. For the longest time she hoped that he liked her more than just a friend.
She slides down against the door and sits on the floor, hugging her legs tightly. She looks around her apartment, her beautiful apartment that she's loved forever. She looks at the kitchen, the window sill, now tainted with Owen. Every corner, everywhere she looked she can't unsee or unfeel Owen. Against the kitchen counter. On the kitchen counter. On the couch. On the floor. On the windowsill. On her bed. There's Owen. The cacophonies of "I love yous" and "Im in love with you" play in her head over and over and over and it hurts but she cant unhear it. It hurts to think about how good it felt. It hurts because there was is much passion in so little time.
She still hears him on the other side of her door shuffling. A part of her wants to open the door and let him back in, but then she remembers the hurt. The hurt of being a fallback. The hurt of always being the second choice. Eventually she hears his footsteps walking away from her door. Away from her life.
She wants to believe that he truly wants her, that he's in love with her, because it felt so real, so genuine. She wants to believe that it's not just his constant need to be coupled up, but it's hard for her. After years of hoping and caring and being strung along, she's done. She's just done.
She eventually gets up from the floor. She stands in the middle of her apartment, unsure of what to do next. She takes her blanket and wraps it around herself and curls up on her favorite window nook. She looks out at the snow. How he tainted that too. The snow in the desert. It was for her. Because he cared about her. Maybe she has too much pride, but she can't let Owen in again. Not like that. Not again.
She snuggles into the blanket and gets a whiff of him. God, it was the best twenty four hours of her life. The feeling of his arms around her. Her back on his chest. The rise and the fall of his chest when he breathes her in. Now she's alone again. She stares at the door, hoping he'd knock again. But he doesn't. Of course not.
When hours have passed and he still hasn't tried to come back, she was convinced he never really loved her. That he only came because Amelia told him to. Then she was angry again. He had her believe him. Feel for him. Fall for him.
She hasn't slept because they were tangled with each other all day, making up for decades they've wasted not holding each other. And now she can't rest because suddenly everything in her home smells like him. She gets up from her nook and angrily storms into the bedroom. Stripping the sheets, the pillow cases, blankets. Throwing it into the washer. She doesn't need his scent on anything. She needs to pull her life back together. She has her friends, her clinic for refugees, her roasted chicken place—she doesn't need him.
While the washer is going, she goes to her kitchen and scrubs every inch of her counter. Quietly scolding herself for acting stupid over a boy. But she also can't help to glance at the door hoping he'd knock. She just sighs and tries not to cry. Because she shouldn't be crying over men. But this isn't any other men. This is Owen. She loves him. She always has. She doesn't think she can just wash her sheets and scrub everything off and he's gone from her life. He'll still be there. She will still see him leaning against the counter in his brown jacket. She will still remember the way his lips, his body feel against hers. The sensation that electrifies her when he sucks on her neck, her collarbone. That feeling will forever be burned in her. She'll crave it once in a while, and it will make her cry every now and then, and it will make her burn in rage.
Something catches her eye in the corner of her living room. A shirt, unmistakably his. She picks it up and breathes him in. God, Owen, I hate you so much. She thinks to herself.
She draws herself a bath. That's the one room she and Owen didn't spend time in. So she decides she's going to lock herself there until she feels okay. Until she feels less mad. Until she feels less sad.
She puts on some music and she soaks in the water and just let herself cry. Cry for everything she gained and lost in a day. Cry for a future she imagined for herself, for them, that suddenly disappeared. Cry for letting herself believe him that he was there for her, truly her, not just the idea of her. She stays there until she's pruney and exhausted. She gets out of the bath and slips on his shirt and crawls under her newly laundered sheets. She eventually falls asleep. When she wakes up she hopes she's better. She hopes she'll have more clarity. She's okay alone. She can finally let those hopes and dreams go.
Owen is mad. He doesn't know why. He's mad at himself. He's mad that Teddy won't believe him. He's mad at the cab driver who drove him home from the airport because he took too many unnecessary turns and he's beyond exhausted. He tries to call Teddy while he was in the cab, but she doesn't answer, which makes him more upset. He sends a text. He sends an email. Nothing. He gets home and throws his bag on his bedroom floor and crawls into his bed and falls asleep, hoping he'll wake up the next day in a better mood.
He had a dream, some weird dream about being in Germany. He's with her, hiking around Bismarck Tower in the snow. And they were happy, stupid happy and somewhere during hike he loses her and he's snow-blind and she was nowhere in sight. He sits up, waking up from his dream and checks his phone. Maybe she responded. Nothing. No text. No e-mail. No call.
He knows Teddy. He knows that once she kicks you out, that's it. It's done until she decides she's not done anymore. So he tells himself he'll stop calling. He'll stop bothering her. He'll stop reaching out. If he and Teddy still have an ounce of friendship left in this lifetime, it will come. But for now, that's that. He's not giving up. It is NOT giving up. It's… letting go. It's giving her space.
He wakes up and gets ready for work. He looks around in his messy room. Bag on the floor, unpacked. He rummages through it to get his toiletries, unpack his clothes. He sees the tag on his bag. The word Germany stares back at him, and it pisses him off more than a tag should ever piss anyone off. He tries to pull if off. Put his anger on something else besides the thought of Teddy kicking him out of her house.
The truth is he's always loved Teddy. He remembers the first day he ever saw her. Her golden hair shining in the desert sun. The way she kicks the sand with her boots when she's agitated. He fell even more in love when he got to know her. Her skill, her talent, her compassion to patients, for people, for her friends. For him. Whenever he had problems at home, with Beth, with his mom, his sister, Teddy always lent her ear to him. They've spent countless nights pouring their hearts out to each other. They talk about their feelings, and Owen Hunt does not talk about his feelings to anyone.
But there was always something that comes between them, and he always wished it would resolve itself. But now he's mad. He's mad because maybe it will just be that for them. Just… friends… who knows everything about each other. Who understand each other. Who care for each other.
Because Teddy is done and stubborn. And he's… he's giving her space because he knows his words don't penetrate in Teddy's head when she's upset.
So he puts his anger on the tag on his luggage. He puts his anger on his stupid bag and his stupid clothes and stupid Germany.
His angry thoughts and actions towards the poor bag was interrupted by his doorbell and he groans in frustration and throws the bag on the bed.
"Coming!" He screams angrily at the front door and he approaches it.
He swings the door open and his heart stops.
"You left your shirt at my place." She says, holding one of his shirts to him.
He melts at her tearful smile and pulls her into his arms.