right now i’d like to be curled up on a window seat in a sweater with my favorite book, on the top floor of some well-lit seaside apartment, alternately reading, writing, and staring out at the wine-dark sea
Okay, this idea totally came from bae @soldierboy-owen, who suggested all the doctors of Grey Sloan doing a secret santa exchange in which Owen cheats to make sure he gets Amelia. A little holiday fluff. It’s never too early for a Christmas drabble.
Secret Santas were stupid. They were stupid and hard and she didn’t like them at all. A few times she had conceded, thrown her name in at St. Ambrose or Seaside Wellness, and every time she wound up with a receptionist she barely knew. And then there was that spending limit that was always far too low for any decent gifts that she never knew exactly how much more to spend. And the awkward reveal was the worst – the absolute most embarrassing piece – when everyone had to pretend like they actually got something they wanted, when no one really did. It was stupid. And yet here she was, standing in the attendings lounge of Grey Sloan Memorial, picking a name from a ball cap like this was actually not one of the most annoying holiday traditions ever.
Swirling her hand in a circle above the cap, two fingers clamped together to retrieve a single folded slip. The moment of truth. Come on! Owen or Maggie or Callie! Hell, even Arizona or April would be easy enough, just– – –
Amelia frowned. Again. “Can I pick again?” she tried, but the request was ignored. Stuck. Well that was great. Just freaking great. How did she let them talk her into this!?
“What the hell am I supposed to get Alex Karev?” she whined, pouting against Owen’s arm as they wandered back into the bustling halls of the hospital. “I mean, what does he even like? Besides hot residents and fixing babies. I can’t exactly bring him either of those. Pretty sure it’s not in the budget.”
Her response was just a laugh and, “You’re creative. You’ll think of something.”
“Helpful,” she deadpanned, then let out a dramatic sigh. Tapping her fingers against the sleeve of his lab coat, a moment passed before an idea struck. With a wide, cherubic grin, the younger woman stared up at him. “Or, we could trade. You’re a man! You’d be way better at shopping for Karev. Come on, who did you get?”
But he just smiled. “It’s called secret Santa, Amelia. It’s a secret.”
The smile dropped. “Seriously? Owen, this is me you’re talking to. We don’t keep secrets, remember?” That promise was now being taken entirely out of context and twisted around for her own selfish motives and she couldn’t bring herself to genuinely care.
“We do for this,” he returned, breaking free from her hold as they reached the elevators to go their separate routes. “You’ll figure something out.”
Figure something out. Amelia huffed. She didn’t want to figure something out. She wanted another selection.