Owen Hunt x Reader Hero
first fic I’ve ever posted. enjoy!
TW: mention of pregnancy, mention of violent situations, angst
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I cannot believe he’s actually doing this. Are you serious? On the news? There is a shooter in a hospital, and instead of letting the professionals handle it, Owen is headed right into the line of fire. I knew he was a brave man, having completed two tours in Iraq and everything, but this is completely different. I can’t stop staring at the screen. “He’s going to be okay, (Y/N). Everything is going to be fine.” It’s like I can’t hear Katie speak. I know there are words; I know what they are; I know they’re directed at me, but I’m not hearing them. All I can hear are what might be the last words we ever said to each other. Have a good day at work. I love you. Love you too, babe. Go kick butt. It actually makes me giggle a bit – thinking that it might actually be the case that the last word I said to Owen Hunt was “butt”, but then, given what’s going on, I feel terrible. Katie sits down beside me. “Help me make dinner? Assuming my husband comes home tonight?” My voice breaks with that last part. I just have to keep myself from going into hysterics. She nods, in understanding. “Of course.” __ Within an hour, there are at least half a dozen people at our house – sitting on the couch, occupying precious floor space, you name it. Merideth and Derek brought the kids – Merideth glued to the TV, Derek on the floor playing with the toddlers. Jackson and April are about as far away from each other as they can get without making it obvious that they’re having issues, and Callie and Arizona occupy the couch, spaced like normal human beings who are attempting to keep an eye on the big and little ones who need watching. Katie and I are in the kitchen, and, having been surprised with a number of people my cupboards are just not equipped to feed, we ordered pizza and a lot of brownies (the brownies just for us and the kids). Merideth opens the swinging kitchen door. “Any news?” I ask for the billionth time. “Not yet. The hostages have been released and the shooter is in custody, but nothing specific yet about injuries or deaths or okay-ness. Sorry (Y/N).” She offers up her best apologetic smile. “It’s fine. Thanks Merideth.” She nods as she exits with a third slice of pepperoni. “He’s fine. It would’ve been plastered everywhere if something had happened to one of the doctors,” Katie says logically, but sympathetically. She’s right. I know she is. But somehow I can’t make my heart believe it. In the midst of my contemplating every single scenario – the possible, the probable, the unbelievable, and the unthinkable – I hear the door open and a lot of shouted greetings. It can’t be. I burst through the kitchen doorway to see the glint of red hair in a crowd of people embracing him. Hearing words like “badass” and “hero” seem to ignite something in me I can’t explain. He went out and put his life on the line when he didn’t have to without giving a second thought to what he could’ve lost, what I could’ve lost with him. The look on my face must say something pretty crystal clear because once they see me, everyone backs off of him and can’t tear their eyes away, but it’s what comes out of my mouth that’s the most shocking of all. “Welcome home, my husband the hero.” The words exit me like throwing knives, and I walk into the kitchen.
All I hear are murmured goodbyes before Katie walks in behind me, meeting me by the sink. “Are you okay?” “No.” I look at her. The mixture of fury, utter shock, gratefulness, and hurt in my eyes is a dangerous blend. It feels I’m a lethal weapon, but she’s not the one I’m aiming for. I hear the kitchen door swing open, but I can’t look at him. I will not look at him. “I’ll be outside.” I can feel the look of warning she gives him as I hear the screen door to the back porch shut behind my best friend. We stand there for a moment like that – him at the door, me at the back window. I begin to hear footsteps, then his fingertips on my shoulder. “(Y/N), what’s –” I shrug him off with force. He looks dumbfounded. “Don’t.” He blinks as though I’ve hit him. “Don’t what?” “Don’t pull that crap.” I begin to busy myself emptying boxes of pizza crust into the trash can. This is not going to be that simple for him. “What are you talking about?” I slam the lid down. “You know what the hell I’m talking about. Coming home at 12:30 in the morning after staring down the barrel of a gun you put yourself in front of and expecting some kind of damn hero’s welcome. Don’t pull that crap with me.” He is completely and utterly stunned. “(Y/N), you know I didn’t do it to be a hero. I did it because – ” “I know why you did it, Owen! You did it because you think you’re invincible! You did it because you think you can do it all!! If not that, then why? There were police officers everywhere, Owen. Everywhere! They could’ve handled it on their own. They had an entire team of people to deal with that situation; they even re-routed patients to other hospitals. The whole place was nearly evacuated. Why the hell did you go back in, knowing exactly what could’ve happened and not giving a damn?!” I yell at him, tears rolling down my face. “Because I was thinking about you! I was thinking about all the other people in there like you! With husbands and families and sons and daughters to get home to! I did it because somebody needed to do for them what I would’ve wanted done for you!! What you would’ve wanted done for me! I didn’t do it to be a hero. I did it because I thought it was right!” He shouts back. “You thought it was right…” I mumble, my voice sounding like someone has stomped on my throat. “You ran into a building where a psychotic man with a gun was taking hostages because you thought it was right to get yourself killed and leave me here. You were thinking about me, but not enough to care what it would do to me if I lost you.” I break down in the floor with huge, ugly tears forming rivers on my cheeks. He begins to understand why I’m so mad. He sits down beside me, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and kissing my hair. “No, sweetheart…no. I’m so sorry. I am so, so sorry. I went in because I thought it was the right thing to do. There was no right thing to do. I’m so sorry I made you think that. No, sweetheart… No.” I can’t not tell him now. He needs to know now of all times. “That’s not all…” I whisper to the tile. He brushes a strand of hair out of my face. “What?” He asks, barely louder than me. “I said that’s not all, Owen.” I take a deep breath. “I never worry about whether or not you’re going to come home because you don’t have that kind of job.” “Anymore,” he interrupts with a small smile. I echo it in my features. “Anymore. But today you scared the living hell out of me because I’m not the only person you stand to lose, and you’re not the only person I stood to lose today. I was scared and angry because we’re not all we have to worry about anymore.” He furrows his eyebrows. “What do you mean, (Y/N)?” I take a moment to prepare myself for what I’m about to do. “Owen, I’m pregnant.” “You’re what?” His eyes begin to tear, and I hug him, smiling. “Owen, I’m –” “SHE’S PREGNANT YOU HOE!!!!!” I burst into laughter at Katie’s timely interruption. It takes a moment for us to regain our sense of the moment, but when we do, I need to tell him something else. “So now you have to promise me that you’ll come home. Every day.” He presses his lips to mine with an intentional hand on my stomach. “I promise.”
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please tell me what you think!!