Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of this work of fiction, they belong to their creators, chief of whom is Shonda Rhimes. No profit, monetary or otherwise, is being made through the writing of this story.
A/N: AU, features the death of a major character. Explores themes of death, ghostly visitations, and moving on.
It's while Owen's heating up Bailey's midnight bottle that it first hits him - the eerie feeling that he's being watched, and, not just by anyone, but by the late, Meredith Grey. At first, it's just a fleeting thought, and it doesn't really take hold, because he's operating on just a few, precious hours of sleep, and the thought isn't relevant to what's happening now.
He dismisses it, because it isn't normal and he doubts that feeling the presence of Derek's dead wife watching him as he takes care of her son, is healthy. He shakes his head, and focuses on the task at hand - feeding a hungry, growing baby.
It's definitely not something - the ghostly presence of Meredith Grey - that will help soothe the red-faced, squalling infant that he's bouncing in one arm. And, if Derek got wind of it, Owen might just end up spending a couple of nights in the psych ward - if he's lucky.
Ghostly presences aside, Owen deftly plucks the glass bottle out of the almost boiling water and tests the temperature of the formula on the inside of his wrist. He's an expert at this kind of thing now, knows how long to keep the bottle in the water, and how warm it needs to be so that it doesn't cause Bailey's stomach to cramp up, and that it doesn't burn the infant's mouth.
It's just warm enough, and he turns off the stove, watching the blue flames disappear almost instantaneously, as though they've been snuffed out by a breeze, or by a huff of air. Owen rouses himself from his musings, and tries to shake off the ghost of Meredith Grey.
Owen sighs, and coos at Bailey, grateful that the formula's ready before the little boy can work himself into a frenzy. Bailey's face scrunches up, his tiny fists form tight, little balls, and he draws his knees up toward his chest, readying himself for an earsplitting howl of impatient discontent.
Before Bailey can wake the whole house, Owen plonks the bottle into his mouth, and chuckles at the surprised look on the infant's face. Bailey seems to ponder the nipple, and his 'uncle' for a brief moment before his hunger kicks in, and he raises his fists, placing them on either side of the bottle, helping to anchor it into place.
Bailey takes an experimental taste, and, satisfied that his uncle has properly warmed his food, he gives a contented sort of sigh, and starts sucking down his sustenance as though he's been half-starved. It's only been two hours since his last feeding, but he's a healthy boy, and growing like a weed. It's a good thing, but, for Owen, it's exhausting, because he's the one getting up with the infant night after night.
He doesn't blame Derek. He's more than happy to give the grieving man time to come to grips with the death of his wife. Owen had stuck with Cristina when she'd gone through her crisis of faith in herself, and medicine, and, in the end, it had been Derek who'd pulled her through. Though he and Cristina were no longer together, Owen felt he owed Derek more than he could give him.
Owen contemplates returning to bed, but Bailey's eyes are locked on his face. They're intent, and clear. The infant isn't the slightest bit sleepy.
Sighing, Owen offers the little boy a smile, and rubs their noses together. He makes a beeline for the living room, and the wooden rocking chair that he's been calling home for the past couple of weeks.
Derek's in the bedroom, sleeping for a change. There was a period of time when grief had robbed the other man of any semblance of rest. Owen isn't about to begrudge Derek what he so desperately needs, now that he's finally getting it.
Zola's soundly asleep. Owen can hear her soft snores drifting from her room, just off the living room.
Owen and Derek had tucked her in hours ago, reading her an embellished bedtime story, as had become a nighttime ritual.
The little girl wouldn't sleep without it, or without both her 'daddies' tucking her in. No amount of Owen trying to get the little girl to call him uncle, instead of Daddy Owen, had worked - it didn't help that Derek seemed to encourage his adoptive daughter's use of the appellation.
"Looks like it's just you and me, kid," Owen murmurs to Bailey, tickling the now content baby's belly.
Bailey, the worst of his hunger sated, wrinkles his nose and smiles around the nipple of the bottle. Though he's still eating, he's slowed down considerably, sucking and pausing, and watching Owen with big, dark eyes that remind Owen so much of Derek, even though the inquisitive nature of Bailey's intense gaze is all Meredith.
Smiling sadly at the memories Bailey has inadvertently evoked, Owen rests his head back against the cushion, and starts to rock. The rhythmic movement often puts, not only Bailey, but himself, to sleep many a night.
Owen can't contain the yawn that sneaks up on him, and he blinks wearily at the little boy who's settled himself, contentedly, in the crook of Owen's elbow. Bailey's smiling around the nipple, only half of the formula's consumed, and he appears to be in no hurry to finish off the rest.
Shaking his head, Owen raises an eyebrow at the little boy. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think that you were doing this on purpose."
Bailey answers him with another smile, and a little giggle. It's so much like Meredith's that it takes Owen's breath away, and he searches the little boy's face for more traces of his mother.
A sudden breeze spills over Owen, like a breath, lifting Bailey's soft, downy hair, and caressing Owen's cheek. It makes him shiver, but not with fear or cold.
Bailey stops eating when the cool breeze rustles his hair. Not completely forgotten, but temporarily abandoned, the tip of the nipple is resting in the round O shape of his mouth, Bailey takes a slight pull on the nipple and sighs.
Bailey raises a tiny fist, grasping at air. His eyes seem to lose focus, his dark brows scrunching together in what, if he didn't know better, Owen would think was concentration.
An eerie coldness seeps into his bones. "Meredith?" Owen whispers, clutching a now squirming, yet content, Bailey closer to his chest.
Feeling foolish when the only answer that he gets is the sound of a small, drawn-out yawn, Owen returns his attention to the baby in his arms. Bailey's watching him, eyes slowly blinking, and failing to stay open long. He's still sucking on the bottle, but without much interest, like he's acting on instinct, and Owen supposes that Bailey is responding instinctually.
Owen closes his eyes, and sighs. "I need more sleep."
"Yes, you do."
It's Meredith's voice, and Owen struggles to open his eyes, but they don't seem to want to open. He can feel a hand on his shoulder, gently holding him in place.
"I'm going crazy." His lips feel like rubber, his tongue is heavy, and uncooperative. It's almost like he's drunk, except he hasn't touched liquor in the months since Meredith's death. Derek has though.
There was a time that Owen feared the man would never crawl out of the bottle, but then, one day, he did. Just like that - no fuss or muss - Derek got up one morning, shaved, and dumped out every bottle of liquor left in the house. It was kind of like how Cristina got back into surgery.
"You're not going crazy, Owen. Did you know that hallucinations of the dead are normal? That it's common to see the ghost of someone you cared about for months, sometimes even years, after they've passed?"
It sounds so much like Meredith Grey's voice that Owen finds himself believing what his overtaxed brain has come up with to console him in what he's found with Derek. Guilt and shame over being with Derek had finally taken its toll, and now Owen has to pay the piper in hallucinating Derek's dead wife, the true, maybe only, love of his life.
That's not true, Derek loves you, and I'm not here to haunt you for taking my place. Though it was tempting, let me tell you.
Laughter fills the air, and little Bailey sucks noisily on the bottle, dispelling the idea that he's only dreaming.
No, Owen, I'm here to thank you for being there for Derek when he needed you. For taking care of Zola, and Bailey.
Her voice sounds sad, and Owen can envision Meredith - dressed in a white, cotton gown; hair spilling down her back in silken gold cascades; lips a healthy pink, curved upward in a slight smile; her eyes, shining and fixed on her son. There's a soft, white-gold light surrounding her, and Owen feels a sudden peace steel over him.
He doesn't know if his eyes are closed or open. He's frozen in place, body moving with the gentle back and forth motion of the rocking chair. He can feel Bailey squirming in his arms, and the little boy's slight weight is what anchors him.
This, Meredith gestures between them, was not a part of my plans. You and Derek...
She casts a look over her shoulder, toward the bedroom where Derek is sleeping, undisturbed.
Well, I gotta tell you, Owen, it's not something that I saw coming, but...
She holds up her hand when Owen opens his mouth to apologize, and promise that he'll break things off with Derek immediately. His heart hammers in his chest, and his stomach feels like lead. He'll miss Derek, and the kids, but he doesn't want to hurt Meredith.
Owen, you're good for him ... for them ... and ... it works. So much better than what I'd had planned. So, stop feeling guilty, stop planning how you're going to break things off, and stop ...
Meredith jabs a finger at his chest, hard enough to make Owen gasp.
Stop making plans to run away and join the army again. He still needs you, they still need you, and, Owen...
Meredith leans in close. Owen can smell lavender in her hair, and a hint of cloves and vanilla on her breath.
I think you need them, too. I came here to thank you, and give you my blessing. Stop feeling guilty, and start living again. Promise me that you'll enjoy, and love Derek, even more than you loved Cristina. Run your fingers through his insanely perfect hair. Make him smile just so that you can kiss his dimples. Encourage him to fix people. Love him, and teach him how to live again. Remind Zola and Bailey of how much I love them. I'm giving you permission, Doctor Owen Hunt, to date, possibly even marry, my husband, and to be a second Daddy to my babies.
She places a hand on Owen's cheek. It's cool, and soft.
Take care of them, and don't be afraid to love them, or to let them love you.
The white light surrounding Meredith increases in intensity, almost blinding Owen. Meredith bends, and kisses Bailey's forehead. The little baby smiles, and reaches for her, opening and closing his little fists, tugging at her hair.
I've got to go now, Meredith says. I give you permission to love again. Take care of my family, Owen, and remember, I'm watching over all of you. You have my blessing, she repeats, and then she leans in and kisses him.
Owen's lips tingle, and he feels lightheaded. Meredith's body shimmers and glows, and then it fades, and Owen can open his eyes.
Bailey's watching him with an intense sort of gaze that reminds Owen of Derek when the man is operating on a patient. It's disconcerting, and Owen swallows, and gives the infant a smile that he hopes will ease some of the tension that seems to have settled over them.
The bottle is almost empty, so Owen tilts it up for the little boy, who furrows his brow as he returns his attention to the task of eating. He sucks at it until it's dry, and Owen lifts the infant to his shoulder, rubbing between his shoulder blades until Bailey burps.
It's loud, and Owen can feel wetness seep into his shoulder as Bailey spits up. The sound, as much as the sensation, and the slight sour smell of the formula act as a sort of catalyst, and Owen comes to himself, waking fully.
"That was some dream, little one," he whispers to Bailey, kissing the baby's downy dusting of hair.
He cradles Bailey into the crook of his arm, and shares a smile with him, rubbing their noses together. It's what his mother used to do with him when he was little, their own special little kiss, and now he's passing it down to Bailey and Zola.
Bailey raises his little fists, and pumps them into the air, as though in agreement. He has that look on his face again, the same serious look that Derek has perfected. The one that communicates understanding, and love.
"What's that you've got in your hand?" Owen asks, gently prying the tiny fingers open.
Owen's breath catches in his throat, and with a shaky hand, he takes long, golden strands of hair from Bailey's fingers, clutching them to his chest.
"Owen?" Derek's standing in the hall, hair sleep-mussed and kicked up in the back. Yawning, he scratches at his belly, and ambles into the room, pausing when he reaches the rocking chair.
He peers down at Owen and tilts his head to the side, rubbing at the back of his neck. "You coming back to bed?"
"Was just finishing up here," Owen says, gesturing with his chin toward a now slumbering Bailey.
The little boy's thumb is tucked into his mouth, and he's turned his face toward Owen's chest. Derek gives him a lopsided smile, and crouches in front of them, placing one hand on his son's head, and the other on Owen's knee.
"I'll get him next time," Derek promises, squeezing Owen's knee, and standing. "C'mon, let's get the both of you back to bed."
Derek pulls Owen to his feet, and carefully plucks the sleeping boy from Owen's arms. Bailey's crib is in their room, and Derek leads the way while Owen follows, pondering the strands of hair he's still got clutched in his hand.
Even though it had felt so real, Owen had been certain that he'd been dreaming, that he'd conjured up an image of the woman who'd given birth to the little boy he'd spent the past several months taking care of, and that he was trying to absolve himself from the guilt of taking her place. Unless he was dreaming now, too, though, that theory of his had been blown clear out of the water the minute Derek had walked into the living room.
The hair was real. There was no denying that. Which meant that he wasn't crazy, he hadn't been dreaming, and Meredith had really visited him and Bailey from beyond the grave. Owen wonders if she visited Derek too, but doesn't know how to ask.
Derek settles Bailey into the crib, and slips back into bed, patting the space beside him. It's Owen's side of the bed. It hadn't been Meredith's, Derek had taken that.
"What's wrong?" Derek frowns at him when Owen doesn't immediately crawl into bed.
Owen sits on the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry we woke you."
Derek wraps his arms around Owen when he makes no move to lie down. He kisses the back of Owen's neck, and along the outer edge of his shoulder blades, pausing when he reaches the bullet wound that Owen had gotten when a man had gone on a rampage, shooting dozens of people, and killing several good surgeons.
Derek's own life had been on the line that day as well. Cristina had operated on him with a gun to her head, and the threat of being shot. Meredith had lost her first baby, miscarrying when she thought Derek had died. Their love had been the real thing.
Derek caresses the scar with his thumb, and moves on to kiss another expanse of skin. Owen shivers, and hangs his head. Derek's fingers and lips work magic on Owen's tight muscles, loosening them.
"You didn't wake me," Derek reassures him, kneeling and resting his head on Owen's shoulder. "I woke because you were gone, and the bed was cold."
Owen catches Derek by the wrist, and presses a kiss to the inside of it, reveling in the warmth, and the musky scent that's all Derek. He closes his eyes and breathes Derek, remembering the first time they were together, how nervous, and awkward they were, and how it all just came together in the end. Strange how sex worked like that.
"Sorry." The word gets caught in his throat, and Owen clutches the strands of hair tightly in his fist..
"Hey," Derek kisses Owen's shoulder, "what's wrong?"
Owen opens his hand. The golden strands of hair seem to glow in the soft light of the bedroom. They keep a nightlight on for Bailey, and because Owen and Derek have stubbed their toes and shins more times than they can count while getting up at all hours of the night to take care of the infant.
"You ever miss her?" Owen doesn't have to say her name.
Derek takes a deep breath, and holds it so long that Owen worries. "Sorry, forget I asked."
Derek lets out the breath he'd been holding in and then sucks in another breath. "Only every day." His voice is strained and sad, and Owen inwardly curses himself.
"I'm sorry, Derek." Owen moves to rise, but Derek pulls him back.
"Don't be. I miss her, yes, but she's gone. She's gone," Derek's voice cracks, and he clears his throat. "She's gone, and ... I ..." Derek squeezes Owen's shoulder. "Owen, when you're not lying beside me, on your side of the bed, it's cold. It's cold, and I miss you."
"Do you ever think that maybe she's ..." Owen trails off, his breath catching in his chest when Derek kisses a spot just behind his ear.
"Watching over us?" Derek finishes Owen's question. "She wouldn't be the Meredith Grey I knew and loved if she wasn't. Yes, I think she's up there, watching over us. As a matter of fact," Derek's voice takes on a playful edge, and, before he knows what's happening, Owen's on his back, and Derek's straddling him.
"I believe that it was Mer that brought us together. I think she'd be very happy for us, and, I think that, if she was here, right now, she'd tell you to loosen up, and to kiss me already." Derek's eyes are sparkling, and he's smiling, his kissable dimples demanding attention.
Forgetting about the strands of hair, and Meredith Grey's ghost, Owen surges upward, captures Derek's mouth in a kiss that makes him feel like he's on fire. The strands of hair fall from his hand, and float to the floor. Owen doesn't even notice it when it happens.
Derek tastes like mint and there's a remnant of garlic from the spaghetti they had for dinner, just a touch of red wine. His mouth is a veritable cornucopia of flavors, and Owen can't get enough of it. He feels the kiss all the way to the roots of his hair, and the very soles of his feet. And, if the goofy, gobsmacked look on Derek's face, when Owen ends the kiss, is anything to go by, Derek felt the kiss all the way down to his toes, and then some.
"I love you, Derek Shepherd," Owen says the words without thinking, and he freezes. His heart's pounding like mad in his chest, and he wishes that he could disappear the way that Meredith had not too long ago, or sink through the mattress.
Derek's left eyebrow quirks, and he gives Owen an unreadable look. Owen's heart feels like it's going to beat right out of his chest, and he's more than half certain that Derek's going to tell him to leave, or laugh at him, or tell him that he's nothing more than a fuck-buddy, a glorified bedwarmer.
"I ..." the rest of Owen's apology is swallowed up in a kiss that makes his toes curl, and hits him right in the gut like a sucker punch.
"You were saying?" Derek has a smug smile on his face.
"I love you," Owen repeats the words, realizing that he means them. He loves Derek, and, it's okay.
"I love you, too," Derek says.
He rolls off of Owen, slips beneath the covers, and tugs them up over Owen. Derek lays his head on Owen's chest, and Owen wraps an arm around him. As they drift off to sleep, Owen feels a slight pressure on his forehead, like a kiss.
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