(no subject)
Title: Have You Passed Through This Night
Pairing: Teddy, Owen. A lot less Owen/Teddy than I had intended.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: For thesevoices, when the unthinkable happens, Owen is there. you're the person who holds my hand at my worst.
A/N: One more! I actually love this couple, and was rooting for them, so of course they failed. But, this story didn't lend itself to a lot of couple moments. Just friendship, hope you enjoy-
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Have You Passed Through This Night
- Explosions in the Sky
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It bordered on unethical, what she had done. But then, Teddy was always more of a “for the people” instead of “by the people” kind of doctor. She never expected him to die. It was actually the biggest perk, the certainty that because of her, because of her insurance, that he was going to get to live.
She was saving him. That was the point.
He was going to get the opportunity to have a life. To find the fiancée that he deserved. To hold a steady job. To spend more holidays outside of the hospital than in it for once. Her husband was supposed to be able to fall in love with someone, to find his calling, his family.
“Teddy!” Owen yells, banging on the door of the small house on a tiny hill that he wishes he had seen before this. They spend a meager amount of time at the hospital, mostly avoiding, because after spending so much time together they can only make it awkward for everyone around them. But when he heard, when Cristina mentioned something about Teddy's fake husband coding out of nowhere, alone in his room, well Owen knew where he had to be that night.
Despite their weird dance, despite the mutual and confusing love they shared, despite the struggles their friendship had faced recently, this was his place. And unlike most of the surgeons he knew, Teddy was a human first, and she wasn't going to go drown her sorrows in tequila like Meredith or try and pretend they didn't exist like Alex. She wasn't going to throw in the towel like so many of their colleagues may have done, their own husband's heart seizing under her very capable hands.
“Teddy! Open the door! Theodora!”
“Low blow Hunt,” Teddy greets him, feet sliding in her slippers, the door swinging wide open behind her. It lands with a soft tap against the sage wall.
“What are you doing?” Owen asks, eyes darting from side to side. The house looks like, Teddy. Neat, orderly, and yet somehow still warm.
“Making dinner,” Teddy tells him, trekking the wooden hallway toward the kitchen. She pulls out an extra square plate, sets it on the two person dining room table she found a month ago, and then hustles back to the stove to check her pasta. Henry never saw the inside of this house, and she has no idea the last time he had a home cooked meal.
The least she could have done is feed him something other than disgusting cafeteria food.
“Dinner,” Owen repeats, joining her, the delicious smells overwhelming his otherwise empty stomach, enticing him to pull up a chair.
Teddy stills for a moment, weight shifting from side to side before she gives in. She's never been particularly great at hiding things from Owen and their friendship be damned she could really use someone to talk to. Someone who isn't having a baby with their girlfriend and arch enemy. Someone who is old enough to understand loss, someone who gets what loneliness can do, someone who actually knows she was married (even if he disapproves, and she disapproves of his own marriage).
“Henry was a good guy. He was...funny, and upbeat. For as sick as he was.”
“I wish I had the chance to meet him,” Owen mentions regrettably. Even if it was a sham, even if it was ridiculous, a better friend would have invited the guy out for a drink, been slightly overprotective.
“You would have liked him,” Teddy tells him proudly, dropping a fork above his plate and bringing the steaming food over to the table.
“I didn't know you cooked,” Owen admits, taking the first bite, hoping it's better than what Meredith attempted to feed them all for Christmas.
She wants to tell him he doesn't know much about her at all, but it's not really true. While he may not know all the stats, the facts, he knows her. Instead, she smiles and takes a sip of wine. “I...don't know his family. He never mentioned family, and now they're going to get this call telling them that their son/brother/nephew/grandson is dead and oh, by the way, I'm his wife. Or widow, I suppose. I'm a widow,” she says with and incredulous laugh.
It's absurd.
“Teddy-” Owen says, clearing his throat. “I want to help.”
“Do you have a memorial service, or a funeral, or nothing? Was he religious, should I get a minister or something? Did he want to be cremated or buried or both? Should I take time off work? Where are all of his things? Who will clean those out?”
“Teddy-”
“I'd donate it all, I guess. Does he have a bank account that I need to close, or an apartment I need to give notice on?”
“Teddy-”
“What if he has a pet? What if he has a dog locked up in his apartment right now?”
Owen decides a different approach may be better, so he stands. In front of her, blocking the view of whatever it is that she is staring off into space at. “Didn't you two discuss any of that?”
“It was a fake marriage!” Teddy yells back at him. “I wasn't supposed to be put in this situation. Again.”
“Again?” Owen questions.
“I was- It was a good thing. I was doing good, for once. I was doing something good. The right thing.”
“Well,” Owen begins, then shoves another forkful in his mouth to buy time. It probably wasn't the right thing, and it being good while glaringly obvious wasn't what her mental health needed. “You always do fall for the unavailable ones.”
“He's dead,” Teddy points out curtly, not taking kindly to his astute observation on her dating patterns.
“You...” Owen pauses, taking the opportunity to grab her hand, feeling it tense under his light touch. “You call his family and they'll know. They'll know if you need a priest, or if he had an apartment. They'll know what to do with the body, with his things, with his probably non-existent dog.”
Teddy's head falls before the tears. It wasn't supposed to hurt like this. She was being used (a psychological connection for another time) for insurance. So the pain that rips through her chest, eating away at her lungs should be metaphorical, the sniffling should be caused by something different entirely, and Owen shouldn't even be here, holding her hand, fingers tracing over her weathered skin. “I don't regret it, I'll never regret it,” she whispers to him, to Henry.
He was wrong about that. She only wishes she could have done more, been more.
And when she's finished, minutes that feel like hours later, Owen has somehow pulled her into an awkward hug, seated, knees shoved together. Her head pounds with her heart, a resilient thud. “I'm a widow,” she reminds him with a smile.
“You're a widow,” Owen confirms.
It's a story, more than anything else Seattle has given her.
~-~-~-~-~-~-~
Pairing: Teddy, Owen. A lot less Owen/Teddy than I had intended.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: For thesevoices, when the unthinkable happens, Owen is there. you're the person who holds my hand at my worst.
A/N: One more! I actually love this couple, and was rooting for them, so of course they failed. But, this story didn't lend itself to a lot of couple moments. Just friendship, hope you enjoy-
~-~-~-~-~-~-~
Have You Passed Through This Night
- Explosions in the Sky
~-~-~-~-~-~-~
It bordered on unethical, what she had done. But then, Teddy was always more of a “for the people” instead of “by the people” kind of doctor. She never expected him to die. It was actually the biggest perk, the certainty that because of her, because of her insurance, that he was going to get to live.
She was saving him. That was the point.
He was going to get the opportunity to have a life. To find the fiancée that he deserved. To hold a steady job. To spend more holidays outside of the hospital than in it for once. Her husband was supposed to be able to fall in love with someone, to find his calling, his family.
“Teddy!” Owen yells, banging on the door of the small house on a tiny hill that he wishes he had seen before this. They spend a meager amount of time at the hospital, mostly avoiding, because after spending so much time together they can only make it awkward for everyone around them. But when he heard, when Cristina mentioned something about Teddy's fake husband coding out of nowhere, alone in his room, well Owen knew where he had to be that night.
Despite their weird dance, despite the mutual and confusing love they shared, despite the struggles their friendship had faced recently, this was his place. And unlike most of the surgeons he knew, Teddy was a human first, and she wasn't going to go drown her sorrows in tequila like Meredith or try and pretend they didn't exist like Alex. She wasn't going to throw in the towel like so many of their colleagues may have done, their own husband's heart seizing under her very capable hands.
“Teddy! Open the door! Theodora!”
“Low blow Hunt,” Teddy greets him, feet sliding in her slippers, the door swinging wide open behind her. It lands with a soft tap against the sage wall.
“What are you doing?” Owen asks, eyes darting from side to side. The house looks like, Teddy. Neat, orderly, and yet somehow still warm.
“Making dinner,” Teddy tells him, trekking the wooden hallway toward the kitchen. She pulls out an extra square plate, sets it on the two person dining room table she found a month ago, and then hustles back to the stove to check her pasta. Henry never saw the inside of this house, and she has no idea the last time he had a home cooked meal.
The least she could have done is feed him something other than disgusting cafeteria food.
“Dinner,” Owen repeats, joining her, the delicious smells overwhelming his otherwise empty stomach, enticing him to pull up a chair.
Teddy stills for a moment, weight shifting from side to side before she gives in. She's never been particularly great at hiding things from Owen and their friendship be damned she could really use someone to talk to. Someone who isn't having a baby with their girlfriend and arch enemy. Someone who is old enough to understand loss, someone who gets what loneliness can do, someone who actually knows she was married (even if he disapproves, and she disapproves of his own marriage).
“Henry was a good guy. He was...funny, and upbeat. For as sick as he was.”
“I wish I had the chance to meet him,” Owen mentions regrettably. Even if it was a sham, even if it was ridiculous, a better friend would have invited the guy out for a drink, been slightly overprotective.
“You would have liked him,” Teddy tells him proudly, dropping a fork above his plate and bringing the steaming food over to the table.
“I didn't know you cooked,” Owen admits, taking the first bite, hoping it's better than what Meredith attempted to feed them all for Christmas.
She wants to tell him he doesn't know much about her at all, but it's not really true. While he may not know all the stats, the facts, he knows her. Instead, she smiles and takes a sip of wine. “I...don't know his family. He never mentioned family, and now they're going to get this call telling them that their son/brother/nephew/grandson is dead and oh, by the way, I'm his wife. Or widow, I suppose. I'm a widow,” she says with and incredulous laugh.
It's absurd.
“Teddy-” Owen says, clearing his throat. “I want to help.”
“Do you have a memorial service, or a funeral, or nothing? Was he religious, should I get a minister or something? Did he want to be cremated or buried or both? Should I take time off work? Where are all of his things? Who will clean those out?”
“Teddy-”
“I'd donate it all, I guess. Does he have a bank account that I need to close, or an apartment I need to give notice on?”
“Teddy-”
“What if he has a pet? What if he has a dog locked up in his apartment right now?”
Owen decides a different approach may be better, so he stands. In front of her, blocking the view of whatever it is that she is staring off into space at. “Didn't you two discuss any of that?”
“It was a fake marriage!” Teddy yells back at him. “I wasn't supposed to be put in this situation. Again.”
“Again?” Owen questions.
“I was- It was a good thing. I was doing good, for once. I was doing something good. The right thing.”
“Well,” Owen begins, then shoves another forkful in his mouth to buy time. It probably wasn't the right thing, and it being good while glaringly obvious wasn't what her mental health needed. “You always do fall for the unavailable ones.”
“He's dead,” Teddy points out curtly, not taking kindly to his astute observation on her dating patterns.
“You...” Owen pauses, taking the opportunity to grab her hand, feeling it tense under his light touch. “You call his family and they'll know. They'll know if you need a priest, or if he had an apartment. They'll know what to do with the body, with his things, with his probably non-existent dog.”
Teddy's head falls before the tears. It wasn't supposed to hurt like this. She was being used (a psychological connection for another time) for insurance. So the pain that rips through her chest, eating away at her lungs should be metaphorical, the sniffling should be caused by something different entirely, and Owen shouldn't even be here, holding her hand, fingers tracing over her weathered skin. “I don't regret it, I'll never regret it,” she whispers to him, to Henry.
He was wrong about that. She only wishes she could have done more, been more.
And when she's finished, minutes that feel like hours later, Owen has somehow pulled her into an awkward hug, seated, knees shoved together. Her head pounds with her heart, a resilient thud. “I'm a widow,” she reminds him with a smile.
“You're a widow,” Owen confirms.
It's a story, more than anything else Seattle has given her.
~-~-~-~-~-~-~