#youre supposed to be spontaneous and busy is very good. it helps. and staying regulated is a high priority now that i can

[steampoweredskeleton]

Tomorrow I am going to buy baldurs gate as soon as I've finished work and I am BUZZING WITH EXCITEMENT

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs “Christmas.”

 wrote this based on a request for fluff, so I have delivered the fluff. There is a certain group of you who will probably be a little bit made at me when you finish :)

But here is the token Christmas episode, and I hope you all like it 

“Alright, try it now.”

“But Commander, I'll have to pull power from the reactor core.”

“I said do it airmen, did it sound like a question?”

“Yes, sir.”

A sudden eruption of lights exploded about the mess hall, and down the hallways of the ship, thousands of tiny twinkling lights. Krill, having been walking to speak with the Commander paused at the entrance to the room and spun around in wonder. Lines upon lines of lights had appeared out of nowhere to be projected around the walls of the room and down the hallways of the ship. They weren’t  bright or anything, instead an almost delicate yellow in color gently twinkling like the light of distant stars.

“Get those overhead lights off,”

With a loud thud, the lights switched off, casting the room into the warm ambient glow of those thousand twinkling lights. He spun in a circle staring up at the ceiling, shocked to find a mosaic of falling snowflakes, which faded and vanished before hitting the floor,

“Give me more fall-off on that snow airman. Tomorrow better be magical or someone is getting their ass fired.”

He turned his head again eyes widening in geater wonder as they fell on the center of the room. The flickering, projected hologram of a massive tree. It was one of those furry looking earth plants that could reach higher than thirty feet tall, though this one only nearly brushed the ceiling. It stood in the middle of the room decorated by hundreds more twinkling lights, yards of red ribbon and shiny glass balls. Atop the tree, there was projected the human caricature of a star glittering with firelight.

Tongues of phantom fire licked against the far wall, under a mantle of stone and brick.

Krill turned in another wide circle as the strange lights flickered around him, reminding him strangely of the space walk he had gone on with the commander so long ago, stepping out into the darkness surrounded by stars, alone in the vastness of space, but where that had been cold and distant, this was a close warmness that filled him up from the inside and made him feel oddly warm.

Soft footsteps behind him and then a  pause.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“What is it?’

“Realistically, more than four thousand years of pagan-christian and corporate tradition.” Krill looked up to find the array of glittering lights reflected against the human’s bright green iris. His voice grew soft, though it stayed warm, “More romanticized…. This is…. Home. This is childhood and imagination, and family wrapped in a box and tied with a bow. This is being warm when its cold and loved when you’re alone. This is comfort on the edges of space when earth is a trillion lightyears away and you may never go back.”

“Feeling a bit poetic today I see?’

The Commander shrugged, “Maybe a little…. Kind of homesick too.” he sighed, “This is the first year I won’t be celebrating Christmas with my family.” 

“Christmas?”

“Yeah, I’m not exactly sure what it meant to other people, but when I was a kid, it was mostly just a day to celebrate our family…. Mom loves Christmas, she goes all out every year, even when things were tight…. She always managed to make things special. One year dad snuck out in the middle of the night and left reindeer tracks in the snow to convince us they had been there.”

“Er, Reindeer?”

“Ah, never mind. I’ll tell you about it later. Important thing is getting everything ready for tonight. If you want to see the real magic.”

Krill stared at the commander as he walked away not entirely sure what the hell that was supposed to mean. He was trailed by a rather grumpy looking Glados. In the past few months the adaptid had grown to the size of a medium sized dog, and the Commander was, more and more, forcing her to walk on her own, Which she didn’t much like.

Krill glanced around at the lights one last time before returning down the hall and towards the medical bay. All across the ship crew members were busy putting up decorations, stringing strange fluffy streamers over the exposed piping. 

One crew-member, in a red and a green hat with a bell on top was hanging strange plants from the tops of doorways. He looked on in confusion before stepping into the medical bay greeted by Dr. Katie, who was wearing a red and white dress with a matching hat and striped leggings. She looked like a peppermint stick...

“Good evening krlll, are you ready for christmas?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Other than it's some sort of human holiday.”

“Yeah, it’s the one day of year where people get together and give each other gifts and stuff. To some people it means different things, simply a family day or to celebrate religious figures. Just sort of depends. Some people don’t celebrate it at all, but the Commander seems pretty big on christmas, so why not.”

“Why are you dressed up like that?”

She winked at him, “Because I’m an elf silly.”

“You know this is almost the first time in half a year in which I have no understood a single word coming out of your mouth. She simply winked and continued on her way whistling happily.” 

Of course the night came, and out of Character Dr. katie curled up on one of the hospital beds and fell asleep leaving Krill alone in the half darkness. He spent the rest of his time on the internet looking up information on the so-called holiday. What he found was a tangled mess of pagan-cristian-and corporate traditions just like the Commander had suggested. A lot to do with saints and demons and more information than he was willing to read all the way through at this moment. He wasn’t a xeno historian after all.

The night wore on, and he sensed a strange stillness in the air around him caused by the ambient light leaking in from the hallway, warm and fiery.

It was close to two in the morning when a knock came on the door to the medical bay. Dr. Katie stirred and sat up adjusting her dress as she ran over motioning Krill after her. Curiously he followed after her, stepping into the hall to find….. More than a strange sight. There was Conn, draped all over in glittering tinsel to add to his flowing ribbons. A couple other humans were dressed in the strange red and green costumes with pointy hats and bells on their shoes. Waffles, the dog, was sitting just before the door wearing a fake pair of antlers, her tongue lolling happily from one side of her mouth. Sitting with her were the three adaptids in similar states of dress glados looking cowed but a little more than miffed to be there. Both of them were covered in bells as well, and all of that strangeness arrayed around the weirdest thing of all,  a very large fat man in a blindingly red suit, and big white beard.

He moved forward ad Dr. Katie hopped over to join the strange party grinning and giggling as she patted waffle’s head. The dog licked her hand, “You make such adorable reindeer.” She reached down to pat Glados next, and the adaptid sulked, but didn’t try to bite her as she might have done with someone else.

“HO HO HO, Merry Christmas!” Said the big fat man, and looking up into his eyes, Krill suddenly grew very suspicious. He had only ever seen a shade of green like that on one human.

“What the hell have you done to yourself.” he demanded.

Adam raised an eyebrow, though most of his face was covered by a beard, “I have no idea what you’re on about.”

Krill was horrified, “Look at you…. How…. how do you gain that much weight in such a short amount of time. Are you mad? Are you ok? Are you going to die of a heart attack in the next fifteen minutes because something tells me this can’t be healthy.” He glared at the human, “When were you going to tell me that humans could just spontaneously gain an enormous amount of weight. Whatever this is, it is an immediate medical emergency. Plus the beard, some serious hormonal dis-regulation I can’t even begin to imagine what sort of-”

“KRILL! Its a suit, a costume, I didn’t just spontaneously gain weight.” The human adjusted his beard voice sounding more normal now that he wasn’t trying to make it deeper, “I’m Santa Claus? 

“And who is that supposed to be?”

“Well, he is the physical embodiment of the spirit of Christmas. Legend says, he lives at the north pole, and works with the elves making toys all year round. He keeps to lists, and on one list appears the name of all the well behaved children, and on the other list appears the names of the naughty children, he will check both lists twice, and there is no point trying to trick him because he sees everything. And then on the night of Christmas, he gathers all the presents into the back of his sleigh, which is pulled by nine magical flying reindeer. Then, he takes all night to to fly all around the world delivering presents to kids. Most of the time he comes down the chimney, if you have one. He will fill stockings (socks) hung over the fireplace with small toys and then put the big presents under the Christmas tree. If you were a bad kid than he wouldn’t leave a present, but a lump of coal instead. Generally it is recommended that one leaves some cookies and a glass of milk out as a thank you, oh, and carrots for the reindeer.”

….

There was silence for a long moment, “What  in the name of beelzebub's balls kind of story is that.”

Even through the beard he could tell that Adam was frowning, “Stop being such a Grinch. It’s a great story, to help kids behave, and keep the magic alive for a little while before you become and old cantankerous adult that doesn’t believe in anyone or anything anymore.”

“And what is a grinch.”

“A grinch is an angry green person who hates to see other people happy….. Arguably they also hate corporate Christmas, but I digress. Scrooge is also someone who doesn't get the point of Christmas, and both are definitely insults, now come on. You are joining me and my elves while we go deliver presents.”

Before he could protest, he was presented with pointy hat with a bell on it, and forced to follow as they wandered silently off down the halls.

Adam pulled out a clipboard, “Alright everyone, our list here says that approximately 85% of the crew celebrates Christmas, but we will still be delivering presents to everyone because we are nice and that is what we do. Nobody is expected to join in tomorrow but everyone is invited because we aren't trash humans.” Glados and Waffles walked at his heels as the rest of the humans followed behind lugging large bags over their shoulders, “Alright Katie, you’re with me in filling the stockings, the rest of you are charged with leaving a trail to the mess hall where the actual presents will be, one for everyone at least, no one is left out. Corporal, you get the people who don’t celebrate Christmas, and just leave the gifts outside their doors. Make sure to leave the notes for them as well so  they know they are invited if they want to come.” 

“Yes s…. Ur Mr. Claus?” 

“Damn Straight.”

“What about the Drev?”

“I am including them in the list of people who celebrate simply because I want them to have the experience once before they decide whether they like it or not. Everyone should get the chance to at least choose.”

It too nearly the next few hours to get things done. Krill Accompanied the Commander, Conn, waffles, and the Adaptids as they jingled quietly up the halls slipping into rooms where crew members had been instructed to leave socks hanging from their bed frames. 

On more than one occasion Krill watched as a very confused human, light sleeper, sat up and watched blearily as they exited the room with a confused look on their faces. Some seeming even amused. The heavier sleepers didn’t notice a thing.

They reached the Drev and Marine quarters at some point towards the end of the night, making it through one relatively quickly, but just as he was about to step into the last room, Glados growled and snapped at his boot. 

Commander…. Santa? Looked down and harrumphed, “Someone here is going on the naughty list.” Katie and Krill leaned forward as a light shined down on the delicate silver trip wire cut across the door.

Katie snorted, “Coal.”

Quietly, he stepped over the line and into the room Glados leaping behind him. “Alright which one of the naughty children is trying to capture St. Nick?”

Krill turned on his thermal vision and could see the vast majority of the marines were not sleeping.”

He turned to look over at Krill and Conn, who motioned in the direction of one of the beds. He walked quietly over leaning next to the ear of the ‘supposedly” Sleeping marine, “I see you when you’re sleeping Ramiez .”

There was an eruption of uncontained giggling around the room, which was rather strange coming from the large, muscular humans.

“Oh…. kinky.” A muffled voice whispered from somewhere.

More giggling.

“Is that you Santa?” 

“Guess who's getting coal for Christmas.” 

He turned towards the door.

“Wait, wait, Santa, wait! I have a question. “ 

He paused in the doorway raising his eyebrows at the marines who were sitting up, “What?”

“How did you get here without reindeer?”

He wagged a finger at them, “Very carefully. You better thank my elves, they had to get degrees in engineering, physics and rocket science to get me here. And what is worse, my Star-sleigh was pulled by a bunch of snarky starborn led by that one.” He pointed towards Conn, “he almost guided us into a black hole, so you better be nice and leave me out some cookies next year.” 

He stepped over the tripwire and back out into the hallway allowing the door to shut closed behind them.

Outside there was a trail of tinsel and strange footprints leading away from the doors and down the halls. He left the bag just outside the door with the rest of the stocking stuffers in it, not ever having intended to leave the marines with just coal.

They took one last jingling run up and down the halls for effect before retreating to the mess hall where they promptly passed out on bean bags by the holographic tree in front of the holographic fire. 

Glados crawled up onto the fake belly and curled up there glowering at anyone who got to close. Waffles and the other adaptids curled up just to the side.

***

Sunny woke up early the next morning thinking how odd it was, that strange tinkling sound in the middle of the night. She sat up looking over at the sock she had been asked to place in her room. She had been forced to borrow it from someone considering she didn’t wear socks, and was surprised to find something sticking out of it.

She wandered over and tipped the contents into her hands surprised to find an earth flower, and some miscellaneous items of use for her work down in engineering.

Curiously, she opened the door into the hallway idly munching on the flower, and found a trail leading from her door and down the hall. The scene surprised her, and she wasn’t entirely sure what to think. It clearly had the intention of being followed, and curious, she followed finishing off the flower as she came around the corner dropping the stem in surprise when she saw the room before her.

Hundreds of holographic lights, a tree, fire, piles of blankets and beanbags and lounging humans half asleep. Conn was floating up near the ceiling trailing tinsel. Krill was hovering beside the tree looking more than a little confused. Dr. Katie was moving wrapped gifts below the tree dressed like a peppermint stick.

Adam….. Well Adam was peeling off a suit that added about two hundred pounds to his frame. It seemed as if there had also been a fake beard and massive coat, as far as she could see. Took him a few seconds to wriggle out of the boots and oversized pants dumping them on a chair close by leaving him in a white shirt and military issue olive green pants.

He looked up from where he had dumped his costume and grinned at her.

She walked closer.

“Merry Christmas.”  

“Erm…. Merry Christmas?.... What’s a Christmas.”

“Apparently it’s a human holiday perpetrated on the idea that a magical fat man in a red suit, flies around the world on a magical sleigh pulled by magical non-flying flying mammal to deliver presents to children who were good…. Oh also he watches you when you sleep.” Sunny stared at Krill  in confusion.

Overhead Conn was mimicking voiceless laughter.

“Don’t mind him, he's being a little grinch as usual. Come on, we’re just waiting to give people time to show up, and then we are gonna open presents.”

“How did you manage to get something for everyone?

“Well I asked for help number one, but number two, what else am I supposed to do with my money. I mean I have a place to live, a place to sleep, entertainment, food, anything a guy could as for, so I just threw a paycheck or two at it. Otherwise its just sitting in my bank account collecting dust until I can find something dumb and nerdy to spend it on…. I thought…. Well I thought this would mean more than getting myself a light-saber or something.”

She stared at him for a long moment, “You are such a…. Sap.”

He smiled, “Maybe a little. I mean it's not much, anyway, but it made me feel good.”

She paused, tilted her head, and then hugged him. He seemed a little surprised one eye peering up at her from a four- arm embrace. He didn’t say anything until she let him go and he stepped back to look at her, “What was that for?”

“You…. well. You… deserve it. And I don’t think you get reminded enough.” 

She thought she saw a little bit of red creeping up his neck and he looked down at his feet, waving it off, “Nah, if you knew what went on inside my head, you wouldn’t say that.”

She decided not to argue with him, humans were horrible with accepting compliments sometimes. Instead she found herself sharing music with him as they lay on one of the beanbags waiting for the others to arrive.

He had his eyes closed appearing as if he was sleeping through she knew he probably wasn't . At some point he adjusted himself so that his head was resting on one of her arms, using her like a pillow. A few more people started to trickle in, including the marines, one of which, Ramirez, was wearing bright red footie pajamas and walked over to claim a bean bag just to the wide.

Adam opened an eye and looked over at him, “What the hell are you wearing.” 

“My footie pajamas.”

“Yeah I got that…..”

“Don’t diss the footies..” 

“ Yeah sure, anyway what would have happened if I stepped on the trip-wire?” Sunny lifted her head at the mention of a trip wire.

Ramirez grinned, “it would have been pretty glorious, that’s what, but guess you will never know.”

“Rude.”

A few of the other marines wandered in blearily, CJ, Davis, and maverick who took a seat cross-legged on the floor her short blond hair sticking up in all directions like the open wings of a bird.

Finally The commander determined it was time and began handing out the presents, first to the more introverted people, who he figured could take their present and head off if they really wanted. A few of the non-Christmas-people showed up just to hang out causing a sort of slow trickle in and out of the room almost constantly. 

Krill and Conn were both presented with gifts, Krill who just happened to get a little cube that was advertised as holding about a million different puzzles of all different types and at varying levels He seemed pleased, though he insisted on his patrol through the room to make sure the humans weren’t doing anything stupid.

Conn was presented with some sort of hand-held gaming system, actually relatively cheap compared to what they used to be. 

He loved it.

ANd based on Commander Vir’s smug expression, he had done it on purpose, probably to keep the starborn out of his head.

Sunny was standing at the back of the room watching the humans rather fondly, as well as the other Drev, who seemed to be enjoying themselves as much as the humans. Her brother and Maverick were causing trouble across the room and nearly giving krill a conniption. Watching all of this, she still noticed Adam approaching from the side holding one last box.

He held it up, “One more present left.”

She turned to face him, “For you.”

He held it out, “Well you, obviously….. I sort of waited till last because…. Well you technically got more than everyone else. My Mom sent a few things up, and I just added her gift to mine.”

Sunny took the box and looked up in surprise, “Your mom…. But she…. She hates me.”

A small smile, “I think she's come around. It’s just taken her a while. I think this is supposed to be an apology. It's pretty cute, I think you should wear it.” 

Out of curiosity, she opened the box and looked inside to find a piece of fabric neatly folded on top. With her upper hands she reached to unfold it, whatever it was it was made out of very warm material, “What is it?”

“I guess it's called a cowl. She thought it would be something she could make that wouldn't get in the way of you wearing armor, and, since you guys sometimes wear capes, it would also go with that. Here try it on.” He took it from her hands standing on his tip-toes to pull it over her head and shoulders. Turned out it was pretty much just a hood, unattached to anything and that really only covered the head and shoulders.

She peered out form inside, to see him grinning. 

It was a funny picture, though she could see out, really the only think everyone else saw was the end of her snout/beak peeping out from under the hood. She lifted her head, and the hood fell a little further over her eyes.

He laughed, and helped her pull it back a bit, “She thought since you guys are more… warm weather creatures, that you could probably use one of these on our expeditions.”

“You should tell her thanks, from me.” 

“I will.”

She looked back down inside the box and was surprised to find it was full of different kinds of flowers. She looked back up at him in surprise, “How did you get these out here.”

“Wasn’t easy, tell you that.”

She leaned down snapping one of them up rewarded with a very light fragrant flavor. It was pretty nice, but then she looked back at Adam to see him smiling nearly dropping the box when she realized, “You! Where is your present. Didn’t you get anything?”

He just broke into a smile, “Sunny, I’m friends with like seven different kinds of aliens, I Command an entire FLEET of spaceships, and have like 300+ friends. I got my childhood dream, so what else do I need?”

She paused sure he was right, but also feeling bad.

They stood there together, looking out at the room when Ramirez glided past still in his footie pajamas. As he did his eyes widened a bit and he paused a slow grin spreading over his face. Adam gave him a very confused expression, but Ramirez just shook his head and pointed up before gliding away.

In confusion both Sunny and Adam looked up. 

Sunny tilted her head.

“What is that?”

She turned her head down to look at Adam and found the man’s skin changing color again. “Er….. it’s…. That appears to be…. mistletoe .” 

She lifted her head again to stare at the strange plant, “Oh….. like in that Christmas movie….”

“Yeah…. Like in that…. Christmas movie.” 

“Oh.”

They both looked down at about the same time. The way the Christmas lights interacted with the UV patterns on his skin, turned the usually blue, turquoise pattern on his skin almost electric lightning blue. The green in his eyes was more potent with the way the light refracted in them. Little twinkling lights danced over the polished surface of her bright-blue carapace.

He didn’t look away.

Neither did she.

And then a small brown shape came screaming from nowhere cutting between them. They both stepped back in shock, and Krill roared past grabbing the plant from where it hung, “Reeeeeeeeeeeeeee! NO, NO, NO, NO STUPID IDIOTIC HUMANS HANGING POISONOUS THINGS WHERE ANY OTHER STUPID HUMAN MIGHT EAT THEM! I WILL NOT HAVE IT YOU HEAR ME. I WILL NOT”  and then he went roaring away trailing laughter in his wake. Slowly Sunny and Adam turned to look at each other before doubling over racked with fits of laughter. Adam ended up on the floor leaning against the wall, just below where Sunny propped herself.

Just when they thought they'd stop laughing, they started up again.

“Damn…. Crazy…. Bastard.” Adam  Wheezed crawling to his feet

“Did you hear that sound he made?”

“Yeah, classic Krill….. Anyway.” He paused shuffling his feet, “Wanna go, push Ramirez over or something?”

“Sounds fun, I’m in.”

“Sweet.”

By the end of the hour, Ramirez was upside down in a pile of bean bags everyone laughing at his expense.

All in all, it was a pretty good Christmas

[jordan202]

The Journey - Part Twenty One

Hey guys, we are back. Thank you @jia911 for proofreading this for me!

Previous chapters are HERE. 

Timeline for Part 21

This chapter continues to explore what happened to Owen and Amelia during the events of 11x22, when he left to a war zone and Amelia stayed behind working at the hospital. We will go forward and find out what they were up to in those long months apart. 

Author’s Notes: Kenan & Kel was a show I used to watch as a kid on Nickelodeon. I suppose most of you are not familiar with it.  The scene in which Amelia remembers her dialogue with Owen is a part of chapter 12. 

The Journey – Part Twenty One 

“Did you bring it?”

Amelia sneakily closed the door after herself, taking a good look at the eager little face staring back at her with enormous chestnut eyes.

“Of course I brought it,” she revealed the bottle she’d been hiding in her white coat, watching with delight as a smile transformed the little girl’s face.

“Who loves Orange Soda?”

Amelia heard the quote as she passed by the patient, receiving a high five before she sat down on the wardroom chair and propped both her legs on the frame of the bed, crossing them at the ankles.

“Am I late?” The neurosurgeon asked while serving two plastic cups with the bubbly drink.

“No, you’re just in time,” the girl replied with enchantment in her eyes, accepting the cup at the same time she turned up the volume on the TV.

Amelia kicked back on the chair with a smile on her face and focused on the small screen hung on the wall opposite to the patient’s bed.

Jamie Donovan was an eight-year old girl with an aggravating case of cystic fibrosis. With a full time working mom who had to juggle two jobs in order to afford her daughter’s medical insurance, Jamie spent most of her time at the hospital undergoing treatment. Amelia had met the girl a couple of months before during a neurosurgical consult for a particularly complicated lumbar tap. And since Amelia hardly ever left the hospital, she had slowly found out that spending her nights in the company of the kid was actually more enjoyable than spending it on busy on call rooms that had to be shared among other surgeons who were working during the night.

Amelia had gone back on two consecutive days for follow ups with the adorable patient and quickly become attached. After finding out Jamie spent most of her time alone or only with the nurses, Amelia instantly felt compelled to provide the kid some company, but it didn’t take long for her to find out that she actually enjoyed those excursions more than she’d initially assumed.

Because of the side effects of some of her medication, Jamie’s sleep pattern wasn’t regulated, making the young patient often sleep throughout the day and stay up all night. Since Amelia had come down with a case of insomnia since her brother had died, it was actually entertaining for her to spend her free time with Jamie. The girl was easier to talk to than anyone else in Amelia’s life at the moment because unlike the adults, the kid never demanded any satisfactions or criticized Amelia’s behavior. On the contrary. Her conversations with the eight year old patient were often much more honest than the ones Amelia would have with her friends and co-workers throughout the entire day.

Just a few days before, even her favorite resident had offered to take Amelia on a support group for people who were grieving, and that made the neurosurgeon feel even more isolated and lonely. From there on, she’d have to tone down her jokes too, and the prospect of controlling her spontaneity was exhausting. She didn’t want to have to measure her words, or think about everything she wanted to say before actually speaking.

But with Jamie, none of that had to happen. Amelia could just be herself.

In a matter of days, it had become almost a ritual that Amelia joined the young patient in the late hours of the night to play board games, read the Harry Potter books or simply watch old children shows on TV. Jamie’s favorite, Kenan & Kel, had made the eight year old curious about the taste of orange soda, something she’d never tried before. Amelia had promptly stepped up to sneak the forbidden drink into the pediatric wing, but after Jamie had a severe fit of cough after laughing incessantly at the show, the neurosurgeon started to second-guess her decision.

“What are you doing, you little brat?” She belatedly realized. “Put your CPAP back on.” Amelia commanded, referring to the breathing device Jamie must have on at all times.

“It’s really annoying.” Jamie complained with a scowl.

“It makes you breathe a lot better, so end of discussion.” Amelia said with a firm but gentle tone.

“Fine…” Jamie sighed, knowing there was no counter argument. “Just wait until I get my new lungs, then I will run out of here so fast that you won’t be able to catch me.”

“I sure hope so.” Amelia’s eyes met Jamie’s and when they did, both smiled at each other.

Half an hour later, the show was over and Amelia frowned when Jamie asked to change channels as soon as a series about a teenage couple began.

“What, you don’t like this show?” Amelia asked tactfully, finding it strange. It was a typical silly school show with shallow, dreamy romance and more often than not, high pitched songs. It was obviously aimed at young girls and Jamie was exactly the target audience.

“I don’t like boys.” The unwilling patient said, rebelliously folding her arms on her chest.

“Oh, you don’t like boys?” Amelia teased, raising one eyebrow as she playfully added, “may I ask why?”

“Because all they do is play with their stupid toys or pretend they are superheroes and they never listen.” Jamie complained, making Amelia laugh. “And also, they need help for everything.”

“Surely not all boys are that bad?” The neurosurgeon asked with delight, without the faintest idea that one day, she would raise four boys who would perfectly fit Jamie’s description.

“The ones in my school are.” Jamie replied, still not convinced. Even though the girl had stopped going to classes a few months before when her condition had worsened, she still hoped to go back someday.

Amelia looked at the little girl with a mix of amusement and comprehension.

“Well, you see, the good thing is that even though boys seem horrible now, one day you’ll grow up and you won’t think so anymore.” The neurosurgeon gently explained. “I know they can be immature and annoying, but they can also grow up to be quite nice.”

Jamie squinted before staring at Amelia questioningly.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I am sure.�� The grownup smiled, thinking about how Derek would pick on her when they were younger and how later in life they’d become closer and actually shared things with each other.

“I don’t want a boyfriend, though.” Jamie decided.

“You don’t have to have a boyfriend if you don’t want to.” Amelia tried to contain a smile. Jamie would probably change her mind one day, but she was still at that age when boys and girls had constant feuds with one another and didn't mingle in any circumstances. “But boyfriends can be fun too.” She added, hoping to sound encouraging.

“I don’t see how.” Jamie replied with disbelief, giving Amelia a sideways glance, almost as if hoping her new friend would contradict her.

Amelia quickly picking up on the act and realized Jamie was much more interested in hearing what she had to say than she was letting it show. Decided to keep the light atmosphere, Amelia focused on her own surprising confession.

“Boyfriends can come in handy because they usually reach the higher shelves.” Amelia explained with a contagious smile, trying not to think about how, during the time they were together, Owen would often tease her by hiding the coffee pot in the top cabinet just so she would ask for his help in the morning. “And they give the best hugs, too.” Amelia daydreamed, being transported back to a time when she’d fall asleep feeling the safest she’d ever felt even when a strong storm would hit just because she was in Owen’s arms.

She tried to focus on Jamie instead of how much she missed those nights. Amelia couldn’t remember the last time she’d had quality sleep.

“It’s weird.” Jamie decided, completely rejecting the idea of being at good terms with boys.

“Sometimes it is,” Amelia smiled with patience, turning her eyes back to the TV. The young couple shouldn’t be more than sixteen and yet they were exchanging love vows and making promises of eternal love.

Jamie noticed how Amelia’s eyes captured the image on the TV and a smile lingered on her friend’s face.

“Do you love a boy?”

Amelia was caught completely off guard. She looked back to the little girl and tried to think of something to say to dodge the unexpected question but couldn’t. It was the first time in months that someone upfront asked Amelia about her feelings and the situation had become so unusual lately that she froze, unsure of how to react.

Her first instinct was to say no, but even though Amelia hadn’t exactly been allowing her feelings to blossom lately, she knew there was no point denying them. And she couldn’t lie. Not to Jamie.

“I do.” Amelia replied, feeling her eyes slightly tearing up. Deep down, she’d always known the answer, but actually voicing her feelings for the first time had an overwhelming effect on the surgeon. Her throat suddenly got constricted as she admitted with a hoarse voice, “very, very much.”

Amelia didn’t add the fact that the “boy” she loved was over six feet tall and had the prettiest pair of crystal blue eyes she had ever seen.

Jamie noticed the subtleties in Amelia’s reaction and her posture went from defensive to completely approving.

“Really?” She asked excitedly, eager to hear more. “Is he your boyfriend? Where is he?”

When Amelia realized she didn’t have answers to those questions, she realized it was time to call it a night.

“I think it’s past your bedtime, miss.” The neurosurgeon got up with a gentle smile, mysteriously walking over to the bed to help Jamie settle in.

“You didn’t answer my question.” Jamie replied with a begging face, obediently getting under the covers.

“Maybe some other time, ok?” Amelia said with a gentle voice. “I have to go get some rest now, but tomorrow I will be back and we can watch more Nick at Nite.”

“Will you stay for the Nicktoons tomorrow?” Jamie asked with a begging smile. “Please?”

“I’ll do my very best.” Amelia promised, blowing the girl a good night kiss before finally making her way to an on call room.

.

 Owen finished setting up the last bags of everything they were collecting to take onto the next trip. He couldn’t believe he was going to the third mission in a row. Despite rewarding, the whole thing was also very exhausting.

Both he and April Kepner had once again extended their tours. At first, despite the physical toll the humanitarian missions were taking on them, they had kept their spirits high, driven by the instant positive response in the population they were helping. But as weeks followed, it became harder to face the cruel reality that the more people they helped, the more needed their help, or so it felt like.

The number of human beings living in unsanitary and poor conditions in that area of the world was heartbreaking. Being there and being able to help humbled Owen. He felt a reinvigorated sense of purpose and strived to do his best, to be better every day. Sometimes, a case slipped through their fingers and the team felt the helplessness associated with being in an improvised facility with a very precarious health care system. But in most days, Owen went back to his tent feeling like his presence and his work had made the entire difference and that filled him with joy and contentment after long hours of work.

But then he’d lay his head on the pillow and his thoughts would involuntarily shift to a familiar pair of silver blue eyes and a dimpled smile that even after all that time would still haunt his dreams nearly every night.

Owen would speak to his mother on the phone pretty much every week, and from Kepner he’d hear updates on how life was going on back in Seattle. Mostly, April gave him updates on Jackson, sometimes even on Alex and Arizona. But the only one Owen really wanted to know more about was hardly ever mentioned in his friend’s conversations. He wasn’t sure exactly where Amelia was right now, but he supposed she was already back home with her family. Owen only hoped that, wherever she was, the neurosurgeon was happy, safe and doing better than she was when he’d last seen her.

It was hard finishing a day of work and watching all the other guys and few women calling back home to their loved ones, hearing encouraging words from their spouses and sweet messages from their kids. All of that forced Owen to once again face the cruel reality that he would probably never get to have any of that.

“Are you ready to go?” His friend’s voice interrupted his thoughts, bringing the trauma surgeon back to the present moment.

“Yes,” Owen replied, staring deeply into her eyes. “April, are you sure you’re up for this?” He asked carefully. Owen had witnessed several times how heated the conversations between Kepner and her husband had become over the months and the fact April was extending her tour yet another time had surely added more friction to the already fragile marriage. “I mean, maybe you should go back home, see Jackson… you can always come back, you know.”

“I know, but I have to do this now.” April informed him with resolution. “I have to, Owen.” She lowered her voice a bit. “There are so many people who need us, much more than in Seattle, and I…”

As her voice trailed off, Owen gave her a discreet nod of understanding. He got her. Just like him, April had gone there because at home, her reality was as heartbreaking as some of the scenes they were witnessing. The only difference is that there, in mission, they could actively change that reality.

“Have you told Hill to hurry up and get that bag of syringes on the back of the truck?” April nodded her head in disapproval, walking up to the young army private who was also deployed in mission. “Hill, how many times do I have to tell you to be careful with the bag of…?”

Owen chuckled to himself, watching the scene from a distance. It was amazing how April had grown in those few months they’d been in the Middle East. The leader in her had finally been allowed to make an appearance, and his friend had come to find out she was actually good at it. It gave Owen joy to realize that and he smiled to himself, grabbing two loads and carrying them to truck before it became too dark for them to evacuate the area.

.

Amelia dragged her feet through the empty hospital corridor. The night was cold and a chilly air was blowing, making the neurosurgeon wrap her arms around herself, cursing the white coat for not being warmer. As it happened every holiday season, people tended to avoid going to the ER, unless they were really in need of it. And without a certain male head figure, the emergency room felt particularly empty.

It was nearly midnight and Amelia’s shift had ended five hours before, but she’d stayed at the hospital as usual. That night, she caught up on all her charts and did some research for a paper she intended to publish, but the holiday spirits seemed to have contaminated everyone around her, and Amelia couldn’t stand more than two hours at a cafeteria table hearing everyone around her making plans to be with their loved ones.

The neurosurgeon had finished her coffee, grabbed her journals and aimlessly walked around the hospital halls, deep down hoping for something to do to keep her busy. Amelia definitely didn’t want go back home. She knew that at some point she would have to because the laundry was piling up and she was pretty sure she hadn’t washed the dishes in about a week, but that night it had started to snow and something about the white fluffy flakes falling from the sky reminded her of home.

For a minute, Amelia’s heart felt a little less cold as she was assaulted by memories of a happy childhood when she would gather around a huge Christmas tree with her parents and four siblings, eagerly waiting for Santa to bring her presents. The memory was so distant and so deeply buried into the past that Amelia wondered if she’d really lived it or made it up. It just seemed completely unfathomable now, especially considering her present moment. Her remaining family members were all scattered around and Amelia had no idea if they were keeping the tradition of getting together for Christmas.

Months ago, Amelia had stopped answering her mother’s calls and that had resulted in Carolyn Shepherd showing up at Seattle to check on her daughter. It had taken Amelia a couple of days to convince the woman she was fine and ever since, Amelia had been forcing herself to call her family in New York at least a couple times of a week to avoid similar reactions. She’d found out that five minutes of shallow dialogue over the phone did the trick and conditioned herself to memorized every answer her mother and sisters approved of, mastering the art of speaking a lot of words without actually saying anything at all.

At work, it was mostly the same. At times, Richard Webber and Maggie Pierce would check up on her. It didn’t take Amelia long to figure out what they were doing and similarly to what she’d done with her family, the young surgeon forced herself to sit down for lunch with them every now and then as she mechanically smiled and told them everything the duo expected to hear. Amelia dutifully participated on every attendings meeting, eagerly oversaw and drafted residents’ evaluations and at times, had even volunteered to conduct the presentation of cases in her department’s weekly case discussions. It had quickly become very obvious that the more Amelia did and the more she engaged socially, the less people bothered her, because they would simply assume she was doing very well. That way, Amelia kept everyone happy while moving on with her life avoiding everything she could possibly feel and instead, focusing only on what was rational.

Soon enough, people had gone from worrying about her to actually admiring how tough and incredibly strong Derek Shepherd’s sister was to so gracefully be able to handle his loss and the disappearance of his wife and kids while succeeding at keeping her professionalism and the quality of her work. Most people had no idea about her attachment to the former chief of surgery, so Owen’s name was hardly ever mentioned to her, but in nights as slow as that one, Amelia couldn’t help but to think of him and wonder if he was alive and well.

When all talks, discussions and procedures were over, and every voice in her head had been silenced, it became increasingly harder to ignore the void left untouched inside her heart ever since the day he’d gone away to join the Army. Amelia missed him more than she would dare to acknowledge.

Her gaze fell upon the nurses station, where the patient files remained neatly organized over the counter. Before Amelia could control her thoughts, a flash memory came to mind.

“Are you done here?” Owen had whispered very close to her ear.

“Nearly.” Amelia replied, melting at his presence.

“You know where I’ll be.”

The memory faded together with the comforting feeling that had warmed Amelia’s heart as she thought about the excitement she’d once felt to go meet him. There had been a moment in her life when Amelia knew exactly which place Owen was or would be. But now, she had absolutely no idea where in the world he was, or what kind of things he was going through.

As much as Amelia tried to obliterate her every feeling, every now and then she’d hear someone asking Jackson about April and the neurosurgeon couldn’t deny the fact that hearing Kepner was okay gave her a sense of relief, because she knew that Jackson’s wife was working alongside Owen. As long as Kepner had good news to tell, that had to mean her colleague was alive and well and Amelia relied on those little snippets of information to maintain the remainders of her mental sanity.

She had to make a superhuman effort not to ask Jackson directly, or even figure out a way to get in touch with Owen. For a few times, Amelia had drafted emails that she’d never sent. It was better this way, the neurosurgeon always told herself. The least involved she got, the less she would suffer.

After deciding to leave the ER, Amelia made her way to the elevators, thinking about going to see Jamie. The little girl’s condition had worsened in the last couple of months as she caught one infection followed by another. Earlier that week, Jamie had been discharged from the PICU after two weeks of treatment for a complicated pneumonia, only to be readmitted four days later with high fever and low blood sats.

As much as Amelia tried to remain uninvolved with the case, it had become impossible not to get attached. She ran into Jamie’s mother outside the PICU, instantly asking for an update on the case. After waiting for a couple of hours to see the young patient, Amelia finally settled for going to an on call room, already foreseeing the many hours of insomnia she’d face before a new day began.

.

Owen patiently waited until everyone was deeply engaged in heartfelt conversations and swiftly sneaked outside. It was nearly Christmas morning and that night, almost everyone was enjoying a break from work. The trauma surgeon had watched as the large team of healthcare professionals and volunteers reminisced about the past, talked about their family or suggested traditions they’d usually do at their own homes over the holidays.

Usually, Christmas was a time of the year that Owen really enjoyed. He loved the spirit of solidarity and selflessness that seemed to take over people during the holidays. Just like magic, everyone became more attentive, generous and gentler. Over there in mission it was no different. Even though they were in a country with no Christmas traditions, most of the workers were clearing their heads enjoying the popular date, some of them having actually had a couple of drinks after dinner.

Owen left the main tent and rejoiced in the cold air outside. At the desert, the temperature could drop to a nearly negative at night, but he didn’t mind. A couple of soldiers who were on duty that evening greeted their official as Owen passed by them and walked to a safe distance, enjoying his solitude on a top of a rock where he could sit by himself while still keeping an eye on the makeshift camp.

Owen let out a heavy sigh, trying his hardest to control his mood. It was almost impossible not to feel a bit depressed in a night like that, but he had no choice other than to toughen it up and remain on top of his game. After all, he had an entire unit to run, people who were relying on him, and letting them down was not a possibility.

As his eyes meticulously scanned the field looking for something slightly suspicious, Owen slowly relaxed in the quietness of the evening. From a distance, he could hear the soothing sound of the wind blowing against the tents, creating an inviting atmosphere to celebrate the fact they were all alive, well and almost ready to finally wrap up that mission. A few days following New Year’s Eve, that mission would be over and most soldiers were going home. After nearly one year of being out in the field, Owen had finally decided to go back too. He was chronically tired and his soul was crushed after seeing so much pain and misery in the eyes of the civilians they’d helped over those long months. But what Owen really hoped to take back home with him was the sense of accomplishment of someone who’d done his duty very well and been able to help thousands of innocents with only the few  resources they had.

As he thought about home, Owen wondered about his mom and realized he should take a few minutes to give her a call that night. It was Christmas, after all, and she would deeply appreciate hearing from him. As Owen made the decision to grab one of the stationed phones in a few minutes, his hand reached out for his pocket, grabbing a familiar folded photograph.

The trauma surgeon carefully opened it, seeing how worn out the picture was after so many months carefully kept inside his uniform. As usual, Amelia’s smile didn’t fail to dazzle him and Owen let out a heavy sigh. He thought about the evening in which she’d given him that picture, the way she’d met him at his place moments later and how they’d spent the night together. He’d had so many dreams back then. So much hope. And yet all had faded in a fraction of a second.

There hadn’t yet been a single night when Owen hadn’t spent long minutes thinking about her before finally falling asleep out of exhaustion. Every day he wondered how she was, if she was doing okay and the only thought that comforted his heart was that she was probably being well looked after by her mother and sisters.

But after a few months of deployment, Owen had casually heard Jackson including Amelia’s name as he told his wife about a surgery and that had made Owen wonder what exactly the neurosurgeon was up to. When he’d left, Owen had been sure she planned to go to New York, because Amelia herself had said so. But so many things had happened ever since, that he’d had no idea of what exactly was the situation in Seattle. If Amelia was operating, it could only mean she was somehow okay. It was hard not having any confirmation, but for now, even though it killed Owen, that comforting thought would have to be enough because he knew that in order to keep focused and doing his job well, it was better if he didn’t hear any details, or that could quickly escalate. As an experienced soldier, Owen had long ago learned that too much information could add an unwanted load of anxiety to his days, which would definitely compromise his ability to perform in duty.

But his time in the Army was soon to be over and Owen knew that once back at home, he wouldn’t be able to simply pick up where he’d left off. Too many things had happened in the past year, life changing events, and he knew that drowning in work once in Seattle wasn’t the solution. He wasn’t sure what exactly, but Owen knew he had to do something with his life. He’d spent the majority of the past months focusing on his job and the first thing he’d do once back home was to give his personal life a much needed new share of his attention.

“That your girl, Major?”

Owen looked up to the owner of the voice that had distracted his thoughts. His eyes found the broad smile of a nineteen year old who looked way too young to even be there.

Danny Hill was a skinny boy who was deployed in his first ever mission. The kid was as naïve as he was willing to learn and while most people quickly lost his patience with his eagerness, Owen found it amusing that a guy that young was actually willing to risk his life to serve his country.

He wondered if Hill had any idea of what he was signing up for when he’d first enlisted, but Owen supposed that probably not. No one really did. Not until they arrived there and saw it for themselves.

“What are you doing out here, Hill?” Owen gave him a polite grin, on purpose dodging the question. “I thought you were on post for the night.”

“Only until midnight, sir.” The boy cheerfully replied, taking a seat next to Owen while handing him a generous portion of chocolate chip cookies. “I brought this for you, Major.” Hill added considerately. “I saw you out here on your own and I thought you could use some comfort.”

Owen raised one eyebrow and thought it was probably better not to ask. But when he took the first bite and tasted the delicious flavor of the homemade goodies, his expression transformed. Before he could ask, Hill’s face lit up with a proud smile as he explained.

“Delicious, aren’t they? My girl Annie cooked them.” The eager nineteen year old grabbed a picture from his pocket and proudly flashed it at Owen. “She baked those for me and sent them because she knows they are my favorite.” The boy affectionately informed, looking from the picture to his official with enchantment in his eyes.

“She sounds like a catch.” Owen added with reluctant amusement, contaminated by the effusive joy in the young man’s words.

“Yeah, she is.” Danny Hill looked back the image of the smiling girl with a round face, shining eyes and a large white apron wrapped around her body. “She is studying to be a cook, you know? But not those fancy restaurant cooks, I am talking about a real cook, that makes all sorts of homemade stuff. You know, the kind you’d only find back at home in Indiana. She bakes the most delicious things, you wouldn’t believe it, sir.” He added with visible pride. The boy was so chatty that Owen thought if he just stayed there without saying a word, Danny Hill could probably go on all night. “You know, I asked Annie to marry me before I came here.” The boy held his head high and sat up expanding his chest. “And she said yes.” He added with unmistakable pride, talking as if he’d just achieved the world’s greatest accomplishment. “When I go back home to Indiana, I am going to marry her and we are going to live in a house that has a big porch. One of those wooden porches, you know, I am going to build it with my own hands.” He flashed Owen a smile. “And then someday when I am done building it, we are going to have our own family.”

Owen saw the effusive joy in the young man’s face and his amusement transformed into affection. Danny Hill was just a kid who was going through the hardest of times in a dangerous zone, and yet he could find happiness and a reason to smile in a world that was filled with viciousness and evil. Owen desperately hoped that boy kept his positivity, because the world needed more people like him. He only hoped the cruel reality of life didn’t corrupt him, because the way Hill spoke about his fiancé back home and the dreams he had for them made Owen root for his plans to work out.

“What about your girl, Major?” Danny asked, not discouraged by Owen’s sullen silence. “What does she do?”

Owen breathed in heavily. He knew the right thing was to tell Danny that Amelia was not his “girl”. Maybe she had been once, but not anymore. And he had no idea where exactly she was at the moment. But the idea of crushing the boy’s childlike dreams of happy endings after such a long mission went against everything Owen preached about group support. He knew that the promise of a happy ending was probably what kept the boy going and he just didn’t find it in himself to break such positive expectations.

“Hm…” Owen hesitated, unsure of what to say exactly. “Her name is Amelia. She is a doctor too.” He added, watching as Danny smiled with contentment, obviously pleased to be hearing the information. The boy’s face had a mix of appreciation and flattery to be having a one on one conversation with the male figure he’d come to look up to during those longs months in deployment. Danny kept staring at him, as if patiently waiting for Owen to give out more information. “I left her home in Seattle and I really, really hope that I will see her again when I go back.”

“It sucks to be gone this long, doesn’t it?” Danny said and Owen belatedly realized the boy was trying to comfort him, obviously assuming Owen was hurting too much to even talk about the woman he loved. The idea brought a smile to Owen’s face. “Don’t worry, sir, you’re going to see her in just a few days.”

“Yeah.” Owen replied with consternation, unwilling to contradict the kid, even if he wasn't the least bit sure.

“I can’t wait to go back to Indiana.” The boy resumed his chatter. “When I get there, first thing I’ll do is… Major! Look out!”

And then it happened so fast that Owen acted more out of instinct than anything else. After the first shot had been fired, he immediately jumped on Hill, knocking the boy on the ground as a group of rebels opened fire against their camp.

What had just seconds before been a party became a horror movie scene as the soldiers on post shot back against the insurgents that had for some reason attacked the Medicaid group. All the military personal inside the main tent quickly went out and before Owen could clear the scene, he felt something moist and warm staining his shirt.

And just like that, he knew.

“Hill!” he rolled over to the side, knowing the boy had been hit even before his eyes could see it. “Hill, talk to me!”

The kid’s large brown eyes were nearly invisible under the moonlight glow, but Owen could see the expression of panic in them as the teenager took his hand to his wounded abdomen and then to his face, spotting the red stains on his fingertips. His once blissful expression became a mask of sheer terror, and Owen easily lifted the skinny boy in his arms, sneaking out behind the barricades to safely access the inside of a medical tent in the opened camp.

Quickly enough, his trained team saw what had happened and in seconds, a gurney was brought over just as one of the nurses started to get a line on Hill’s arm while Owen assessed him. The gunshot wound to the abdomen had probably lacerated the patient’s liver and judging by the paleness in his face, the boy was losing too much blood, way too fast. Owen knew his condition required immediate intervention. Ignoring the gunshots being fired outside the tent, he looked up and saw Kepner at a close distant, holding her phone near while obviously being caught off guard by the rebels in the middle of a call.

“Kepner, we gotta pack up and bug out.” Owen said with authority, turning around to summon the anesthesiologist who was with their team. There was no time to be lost, if he didn’t act immediately, it was very likely the young man on the table would die. “Hill, look at me!” Owen commanded, staring deeply into the boy’s eyes with the intention to keep him conscious. “You’re going to be fine, okay? We are going to get you all fixed up, you hear me?”

“Major…” Danny Hill’s weak voice resonated in the room, and Owen had to lean over a little to be able to hear him. “Major, please…” The boy was nearly whispering. “You tell my girl that I love her, okay? You tell Annie that for me?” Danny’s eyes seemed to lose focus each second more, startling Owen. “Tell her that she doesn’t have to blame herself… That I did this for us…”

“No!” Owen held his hand and fiercely squeezed it, hoping with all his heart that Danny didn’t let go. “You’re going to tell her yourself, Hill…” Owen said with an authoritative voice, unable to believe that was actually happening. The life of a good, decent kid was on the line and Owen hadn't even properly processed how that had happened yet. But one thing he was sure of, Hill was not going to die on him. “You’re going back to Indiana and you’re telling her yourself.”

“I… I…” The boy’s face twitched in a scowl of pain when Kepner helped Owen cut his clothes and access his wound. The anesthesiologist was ready to put the patient under, but properly waited until the surgeon gave him the okay to do so. “Tell Annie I love her, sir… Please… You have to promise me.”

“You will tell her yourself, Hill.” Owen reinforced, too determinate not to let that boy go. Life was too fragile. It could end in a heartbeat. And it was too short to be wasted in stupid things like pride and fear. Perhaps making the most impulsive decision he’d made so far, Owen commanded. “We’re going to do it together, okay? You and me.” He tightened his grip on Hill’s hand, feeling the young man faintly squeeze his back in agreement. Encouraged by the positive reaction, Owen reinforced it. “We’ll both tell our girls when we get home, alright? Are you with me?”

“Promise?” Hill’s breath collided like vapor against the oxygen mask the anesthesiologist had put on his face. Instead of the determined eyes of an Army soldier, all Owen could see was the scared face of a terrorized nineteen year old boy. “Do you promise, Major?”

Owen knew the job very well. Medicine wasn’t an exact science. Doctors were trained to never make promises.

“I promise.” He held Hill’s hand and gave his colleagues a head nod, informing the anesthesiologist that he should begin the procedure.

For the following hour, Owen heard gunshot wounds outside but none of that mattered at the moment. It was Christmas and a young boy with a huge heart had his life hanging by a thread. He relied on Owen completely to save his life and the surgeon wasn’t letting go.

That kid couldn’t die. He deserved to live. He had to live.

And with that thought, Owen finally figured out that Danny Hill wasn’t the only one who needed the promise of a happy ending to endure the few days left until they finally went back home.

.

Back in Seattle, Amelia watched as everyone hoped for an early finish at work to go home spend Christmas Eve with their loved ones. Unsurprisingly, the neurosurgeon had volunteered to take the night shift at the hospital. Amelia finished the late rounds and sat by one of the stations, listening as a faint radio in the distance played Stevie Wonder’s Someday at Christmas.

The melody unconsciously added to Amelia’s depressed mood. It was the first time she was completely alone for the Holiday.

During every other day of the year, being on her own had been a welcome situation. But that night specifically carried too much meaning to be spent in such a depressing mood.

Alex Karev had organized a reunion to at least invoke what was left of a holiday spirit in the discouraged group of surgeons. Amelia initially hadn't planned on accepting the invitation, but on a second thought it looked more appealing than spending the evening alone at the hospital.

The neurosurgeon had just made up her mind to go see other people in a social event for the first time in an eternity when her phone started buzzing.

Noticing she was being paged by Pediatrics, Amelia immediately dropped her plans for the night and ran upstairs. The message didn't specifically say it, but Amelia was pretty sure what the pager was about.

Jamie.

Rushing into the PICU, she found the little girl’s mom moving around in panic as a team of doctors and nurses gathered around the bed.

“What’s going on?” Amelia frantically asked, but no answer was needed. As soon as her eyes fell on the patient, she watched as the eight year old’s body contorted in uncoordinated movements. “When did she start having seizures?” The neurosurgeon asked, making her way among the other professionals at the same time one of the doctors ordered another round of drugs.

“In the past ten minutes.” One of the attendings replied. “We rounded on her just a couple of hours ago and she didn’t have this periorbital edema or unilateral ptosis… she’s on day three of treatment for a sinus infection, but…” the PICU doctor looked as confused and taken aback as Amelia, and he was visibly distressed by the unseen complication. “Her liquor culture was negative, she had no neurological deficits, she couldn't possibly have evolved with meningitis and gotten this worse in just two hours, I…”

“Book an OR for me, now!” Amelia interrupted him as she asked one of the nurses, immediately focusing her attention back on the attending. She knew he was telling the truth because just that afternoon she’d seen Jamie too and despite her nasty infection, the girl wasn't presenting those critical conditions. Amelia quickly did the math and reluctantly spoke, hoping with every fiber of her being that her diagnosis didn't represent a death sentence. “It’s not acute meningitis. I think Jamie has a cavernous sinus septic thrombosis. I am going to confirm it with a head CT, but I am pretty sure.” Amelia declared after a quick physical exam, knowing the awful complication was the likeliest possibility under those circumstances.

“Dr. Shepherd!” Jamie’s mom came running behind them as Amelia and the PICU team rushed with the patient to radiology. “What’s going on?” The desperation was visible in the mother’s eyes and the woman broke down crying, obviously worried sick about her daughter. “What’s happening to Jamie? Why… why is she having seizures?!”

Amelia felt her heart constricting and tried her best to remain as neutral as she could while speaking to the woman she’d inadvertently grown close to.

“Her intracranial pressure is too high, Mrs. Donovan. I need to take Jamie now to try to fix it before it’s too late.” Amelia explained feeling like she was being punched in the gut. “Her sinus infection formed a clot and it traveled to her brain. It’s compromising the blood flow. There is no time for anything, if I don’t do this now Jamie is not going to make it.” Amelia explained with sorrow in her voice.

“But… but…” The woman ran to catch up with them, lost for words. “Dr. Shepherd, please… Jamie is all I have. She is all I have.” The woman begged, watching as the team prepared the girl for the emergency CT. Grabbing Amelia’s elbow, Mrs. Donovan looked straight into the neurosurgeon’s eyes as she pleaded. “You have to save her. Please…” The woman broke down again, unable to control her emotions. “It’s my daughter… it’s my baby girl… Please…!”

The words hit Amelia harder than she anticipated. It was like once again a cold dagger was being buried into her heart. The neurosurgeon knew too well the pain of losing a child and she could relate to Jamie’s mom entirely.

A clot stuck in such a delicate portion of the brain most likely meant disastrous effects, including imminent death. Amelia had dealt with cases like that a few times in her career and nearly every patient had died from it. From what she’d just seen on the scans appearing on the screen, Jamie’s thrombosis was massive and it matched the way her symptoms had quickly progressed. The fact the girl had a severe underlying condition that compromised her oxygenation also didn't help.

But Amelia was determined to achieve the only outcome that mattered: keeping Jamie alive.

And the surgeon could only hope she was able to evacuate the area in time.

“I am going to do everything I can, Mrs. Donovan.” Amelia said with honesty, hoping for the best but expecting the very worst, feeling her heart break into a thousand pieces as she dodged the crying mother. “We have to go now.”

“But…”

“Now!” Amelia said, helping to push the gurney with a decisive tone.

Her entire system was on the verge of a collapse and Amelia knew that if she stopped to process what was happening, it was likely she would freak out. So instead, the neurosurgeon focused on the task ahead, keeping unusually calm because she knew the ultimate goal required every bit of her serenity.

That Christmas was already the worst one of her life.

And Amelia wasn’t about to let it get even worse.

---

who lives? who dies?  

[dlahtou]

The Inner Ring, by C.S. Lewis

The following is a lecture given at King’s College, University of London, in 1944 May I read you a few lines from Tolstoy’s War and Peace? “When Boris entered the room, Prince Andrey was listening to an old general, wearing his decorations, who was reporting something to Prince Andrey, with an expression of soldierly servility on his purple face. “Alright. Please wait!” he said to the general, speaking in Russian with the French accent which he used when he spoke with contempt. The moment he noticed Boris he stopped listening to the general who trotted imploringly after him and begged to be heard, while Prince Andrey turned to Boris with a cheerful smile and a nod of the head. Boris now clearly understood—what he had already guessed—that side by side with the system of discipline and subordination which were laid down in the Army Regulations, there existed a different and more real system—the system which compelled a tightly laced general with a purple face to wait respectfully for his turn while a mere captain like Prince Andrey chatted with a mere second lieutenant like Boris. Boris decided at once that he would be guided not by the official system but by this other unwritten system.”

When you invite a middle-aged moralist to address you, I suppose I must conclude, however unlikely the conclusion seems, that you have a taste for middle-aged moralising. I shall do my best to gratify it. I shall in fact, give you advice about the world in which you are going to live. I do not mean by this that I am going to talk on what are called current affairs. You probably know quite as much about them as I do. I am not going to tell you—except in a form so general that you will hardly recognise it—what part you ought to play in post-war reconstruction.

It is not, in fact, very likely that any of you will be able, in the next ten years, to make any direct contribution to the peace or prosperity of Europe. You will be busy finding jobs, getting married, acquiring facts. I am going to do something more old-fashioned than you perhaps expected. I am going to give advice. I am going to issue warnings. Advice and warnings about things which are so perennial that no one calls them “current affairs.”

And of course everyone knows what a middle-aged moralist of my type warns his juniors against. He warns them against the World, the Flesh, and the Devil. But one of this trio will be enough to deal with today. The Devil, I shall leave strictly alone. The association between him and me in the public mind has already gone quite as deep as I wish: in some quarters it has already reached the level of confusion, if not of identification. I begin to realise the truth of the old proverb that he who sups with that formidable host needs a long spoon. As for the Flesh, you must be very abnormal young people if you do not know quite as much about it as I do. But on the World I think I have something to say.

In the passage I have just read from Tolstoy, the young second lieutenant Boris Dubretskoi discovers that there exist in the army two different systems or hierarchies. The one is printed in some little red book and anyone can easily read it up. It also remains constant. A general is always superior to a colonel, and a colonel to a captain. The other is not printed anywhere. Nor is it even a formally organised secret society with officers and rules which you would be told after you had been admitted. You are never formally and explicitly admitted by anyone. You discover gradually, in almost indefinable ways, that it exists and that you are outside it; and then later, perhaps, that you are inside it.

There are what correspond to passwords, but they are too spontaneous and informal. A particular slang, the use of particular nicknames, an allusive manner of conversation, are the marks. But it is not so constant. It is not easy, even at a given moment, to say who is inside and who is outside. Some people are obviously in and some are obviously out, but there are always several on the borderline. And if you come back to the same Divisional Headquarters, or Brigade Headquarters, or the same regiment or even the same company, after six weeks’ absence, you may find this secondary hierarchy quite altered.

There are no formal admissions or expulsions. People think they are in it after they have in fact been pushed out of it, or before they have been allowed in: this provides great amusement for those who are really inside. It has no fixed name. The only certain rule is that the insiders and outsiders call it by different names. From inside it may be designated, in simple cases, by mere enumeration: it may be called “You and Tony and me.” When it is very secure and comparatively stable in membership it calls itself “we.” When it has to be expanded to meet a particular emergency it calls itself “all the sensible people at this place.” From outside, if you have dispaired of getting into it, you call it “That gang” or “they” or “So-and-so and his set” or “The Caucus” or “The Inner Ring.” If you are a candidate for admission you probably don’t call it anything. To discuss it with the other outsiders would make you feel outside yourself. And to mention talking to the man who is inside, and who may help you if this present conversation goes well, would be madness.

Badly as I may have described it, I hope you will all have recognised the thing I am describing. Not, of course, that you have been in the Russian Army, or perhaps in any army. But you have met the phenomenon of an Inner Ring. You discovered one in your house at school before the end of the first term. And when you had climbed up to somewhere near it by the end of your second year, perhaps you discovered that within the ring there was a Ring yet more inner, which in its turn was the fringe of the great school Ring to which the house Rings were only satellites. It is even possible that the school ring was almost in touch with a Masters’ Ring. You were beginning, in fact, to pierce through the skins of an onion. And here, too, at your University—shall I be wrong in assuming that at this very moment, invisible to me, there are several rings—independent systems or concentric rings—present in this room? And I can assure you that in whatever hospital, inn of court, diocese, school, business, or college you arrive after going down, you will find the Rings—what Tolstoy calls the second or unwritten systems.

All this is rather obvious. I wonder whether you will say the same of my next step, which is this. I believe that in all men’s lives at certain periods, and in many men’s lives at all periods between infancy and extreme old age, one of the most dominant elements is the desire to be inside the local Ring and the terror of being left outside. This desire, in one of its forms, has indeed had ample justice done to it in literature. I mean, in the form of snobbery. Victorian fiction is full of characters who are hag-ridden by the desire to get inside that particular Ring which is, or was, called Society. But it must be clearly understood that “Society,” in that sense of the word, is merely one of a hundred Rings, and snobbery therefore only one form of the longing to be inside.

People who believe themselves to be free, and indeed are free, from snobbery, and who read satires on snobbery with tranquil superiority, may be devoured by the desire in another form. It may be the very intensity of their desire to enter some quite different Ring which renders them immune from all the allurements of high life. An invitation from a duchess would be very cold comfort to a man smarting under the sense of exclusion from some artistic or communistic côterie. Poor man—it is not large, lighted rooms, or champagne, or even scandals about peers and Cabinet Ministers that he wants: it is the sacred little attic or studio, the heads bent together, the fog of tobacco smoke, and the delicious knowledge that we—we four or five all huddled beside this stove—are the people who know.

Often the desire conceals itself so well that we hardly recognize the pleasures of fruition. Men tell not only their wives but themselves that it is a hardship to stay late at the office or the school on some bit of important extra work which they have been let in for because they and So-and-so and the two others are the only people left in the place who really know how things are run. But it is not quite true. It is a terrible bore, of course, when old Fatty Smithson draws you aside and whispers, “Look here, we’ve got to get you in on this examination somehow” or “Charles and I saw at once that you’ve got to be on this committee.” A terrible bore… ah, but how much more terrible if you were left out! It is tiring and unhealthy to lose your Saturday afternoons: but to have them free because you don’t matter, that is much worse.

Freud would say, no doubt, that the whole thing is a subterfuge of the sexual impulse. I wonder whether the shoe is not sometimes on the other foot. I wonder whether, in ages of promiscuity, many a virginity has not been lost less in obedience to Venus than in obedience to the lure of the caucus. For of course, when promiscuity is the fashion, the chaste are outsiders. They are ignorant of something that other people know. They are uninitiated. And as for lighter matters, the number of people who first smoked or first got drunk for a similar reason is probably very large.

I must now make a distinction. I am not going to say that the existence of Inner Rings is an Evil. It is certainly unavoidable. There must be confidential discussions: and it is not only a bad thing, it is (in itself) a good thing, that personal friendship should grow up between those who work together. And it is perhaps impossible that the official hierarchy of any organisation should coincide with its actual workings. If the wisest and most energetic people held the highest spots, it might coincide; since they often do not, there must be people in high positions who are really deadweights and people in lower positions who are more important than their rank and seniority would lead you to suppose. It is necessary: and perhaps it is not a necessary evil. But the desire which draws us into Inner Rings is another matter. A thing may be morally neutral and yet the desire for that thing may be dangerous. As Byron has said: “Sweet is a legacy, and passing sweet The unexpected death of some old lady.“

The painless death of a pious relative at an advanced age is not an evil. But an earnest desire for her death on the part of her heirs is not reckoned a proper feeling, and the law frowns on even the gentlest attempts to expedite her departure. Let Inner Rings be unavoidable and even an innocent feature of life, though certainly not a beautiful one: but what of our longing to enter them, our anguish when we are excluded, and the kind of pleasure we feel when we get in?

I have no right to make assumptions about the degree to which any of you may already be compromised. I must not assume that you have ever first neglected, and finally shaken off, friends whom you really loved and who might have lasted you a lifetime, in order to court the friendship of those who appeared to you more important, more esoteric. I must not ask whether you have derived actual pleasure from the loneliness and humiliation of the outsiders after you, yourself were in: whether you have talked to fellow members of the Ring in the presence of outsiders simply in order that the outsiders might envy; whether the means whereby, in your days of probation, you propitiated the Inner Ring, were always wholly admirable.

I will ask only one question—and it is, of course, a rhetorical question which expects no answer. IN the whole of your life as you now remember it, has the desire to be on the right side of that invisible line ever prompted you to any act or word on which, in the cold small hours of a wakeful night, you can look back with satisfaction? If so, your case is more fortunate than most.

My main purpose in this address is simply to convince you that this desire is one of the great permanent mainsprings of human action. It is one of the factors which go to make up the world as we know it—this whole pell-mell of struggle, competition, confusion, graft, disappointment and advertisement, and if it is one of the permanent mainsprings then you may be quite sure of this. Unless you take measures to prevent it, this desire is going to be one of the chief motives of your life, from the first day on which you enter your profession until the day when you are too old to care. That will be the natural thing—the life that will come to you of its own accord. Any other kind of life, if you lead it, will be the result of conscious and continuous effort. If you do nothing about it, if you drift with the stream, you will in fact be an “inner ringer.” I don’t say you’ll be a successful one; that’s as may be. But whether by pining and moping outside Rings that you can never enter, or by passing triumphantly further and further in—one way or the other you will be that kind of man.

I have already made it fairly clear that I think it better for you not to be that kind of man. But you may have an open mind on the question. I will therefore suggest two reasons for thinking as I do.

It would be polite and charitable, and in view of your age reasonable too, to suppose that none of you is yet a scoundrel. On the other hand, by the mere law of averages (I am saying nothing against free will) it is almost certain that at least two or three of you before you die will have become something very like scoundrels. There must be in this room the makings of at least that number of unscrupulous, treacherous, ruthless egotists. The choice is still before you: and I hope you will not take my hard words about your possible future characters as a token of disrespect to your present characters.

And the prophecy I make is this. To nine out of ten of you the choice which could lead to scoundrelism will come, when it does come, in no very dramatic colours. Obviously bad men, obviously threatening or bribing, will almost certainly not appear. Over a drink, or a cup of coffee, disguised as triviality and sandwiched between two jokes, from the lips of a man, or woman, whom you have recently been getting to know rather better and whom you hope to know better still—just at the moment when you are most anxious not to appear crude, or naïf or a prig—the hint will come. It will be the hint of something which the public, the ignorant, romantic public, would never understand: something which even the outsiders in your own profession are apt to make a fuss about: but something, says your new friend, which “we”—and at the word “we” you try not to blush for mere pleasure—something “we always do.”

And you will be drawn in, if you are drawn in, not by desire for gain or ease, but simply because at that moment, when the cup was so near your lips, you cannot bear to be thrust back again into the cold outer world. It would be so terrible to see the other man’s face—that genial, confidential, delightfully sophisticated face—turn suddenly cold and contemptuous, to know that you had been tried for the Inner Ring and rejected. And then, if you are drawn in, next week it will be something a little further from the rules, and next year something further still, but all in the jolliest, friendliest spirit. It may end in a crash, a scandal, and penal servitude; it may end in millions, a peerage and giving the prizes at your old school. But you will be a scoundrel.

That is my first reason. Of all the passions, the passion for the Inner Ring is most skillful in making a man who is not yet a very bad man do very bad things.

My second reason is this. The torture allotted to the Danaids in the classical underworld, that of attempting to fill sieves with water, is the symbol not of one vice, but of all vices. It is the very mark of a perverse desire that it seeks what is not to be had. The desire to be inside the invisible line illustrates this rule. As long as you are governed by that desire you will never get what you want. You are trying to peel an onion: if you succeed there will be nothing left. Until you conquer the fear of being an outsider, an outsider you will remain.

This is surely very clear when you come to think of it. If you want to be made free of a certain circle for some wholesome reason—if, say, you want to join a musical society because you really like music—then there is a possibility of satisfaction. You may find yourself playing in a quartet and you may enjoy it. But if all you want is to be in the know, your pleasure will be short lived. The circle cannot have from within the charm it had from outside. By the very act of admitting you it has lost its magic.

Once the first novelty is worn off, the members of this circle will be no more interesting than your old friends. Why should they be? You were not looking for virtue or kindness or loyalty or humour or learning or wit or any of the things that can really be enjoyed. You merely wanted to be “in.” And that is a pleasure that cannot last. As soon as your new associates have been staled to you by custom, you will be looking for another Ring. The rainbow’s end will still be ahead of you. The old ring will now be only the drab background for your endeavor to enter the new one.

And you will always find them hard to enter, for a reason you very well know. You yourself, once you are in, want to make it hard for the next entrant, just as those who are already in made it hard for you. Naturally. In any wholesome group of people which holds together for a good purpose, the exclusions are in a sense accidental. Three or four people who are together for the sake of some piece of work exclude others because there is work only for so many or because the others can’t in fact do it. Your little musical group limits its numbers because the rooms they meet in are only so big. But your genuine Inner Ring exists for exclusion. There’d be no fun if there were no outsiders. The invisible line would have no meaning unless most people were on the wrong side of it. Exclusion is no accident; it is the essence.

The quest of the Inner Ring will break your hearts unless you break it. But if you break it, a surprising result will follow. If in your working hours you make the work your end, you will presently find yourself all unawares inside the only circle in your profession that really matters. You will be one of the sound craftsmen, and other sound craftsmen will know it. This group of craftsmen will by no means coincide with the Inner Ring or the Important People or the People in the Know. It will not shape that professional policy or work up that professional influence which fights for the profession as a whole against the public: nor will it lead to those periodic scandals and crises which the Inner Ring produces. But it will do those things which that profession exists to do and will in the long run be responsible for all the respect which that profession in fact enjoys and which the speeches and advertisements cannot maintain.

And if in your spare time you consort simply with the people you like, you will again find that you have come unawares to a real inside: that you are indeed snug and safe at the centre of something which, seen from without, would look exactly like an Inner Ring. But the difference is that the secrecy is accidental, and its exclusiveness a by-product, and no one was led thither by the lure of the esoteric: for it is only four or five people who like one another meeting to do things that they like. This is friendship. Aristotle placed it among the virtues. It causes perhaps half of all the happiness in the world, and no Inner Ring can ever have it.

We are told in Scripture that those who ask get. That is true, in senses I can’t now explore. But in another sense there is much truth in the schoolboy’s principle “them as asks shan’t have.” To a young person, just entering on adult life, the world seems full of “insides,” full of delightful intimacies and confidentialities, and he desires to enter them. But if he follows that desire he will reach no “inside” that is worth reaching. The true road lies in quite another direction. It is like the house in Alice Through the Looking Glass.