Disclaimer: Grey's Anatomy is the property of ABC, Shonda Rhimes and Co. No copyright infringement is intended.

Committed—Part One

Three weeks after Isobel Stevens' sudden death, George O'Malley's recovery was still in question. The entire class of second-year Residents remained on edge. Even those who only knew Stevens or O'Malley in passing were showing signs of stress. Grief, fear and frustration had led to small errors in judgment. Though Meredith was of personal concern, Derek felt he should be doing more for all of them. He was not alone. All of the Attendings were hyper-vigilant of the Residents and keenly aware of the pressure to prevent potentially fatal mistakes.

Derek pushed open the door to the Emerald City bar and stepped into the convivial warmth of strangers' conversations. He needed a few minutes of respite from that pressure and hoped a quiet drink would recharge his waning batteries. He was halfway to the bar when he spotted Owen Hunt sitting on the end stool partially hidden in the shadows by the wall. Derek sighed and considered turning around. The hospital grapevine was almost as efficient as the internet. Working three floors up had not insulated Derek from one of the day's more dramatic incidents. A pair of accident victims had come into the Pit that afternoon. Massive internal injuries from a head on collision with a tanker truck full of oil. Neither patient survived and Hunt reacted explosively to their deaths. Berating nurses and Residents alike for incompetence, only to call the whole group into a conference room an hour later and apologize. Looking at him now, Derek recognized the same confusion and carefully concealed fear he had seen nearly six weeks ago. It was easy to forget what had happened between Owen and Cristina Yang in the midst of grieving for their colleagues. Especially since the vet seemed to be handling his PTSD so much better recently. Relaxation would have to wait, Derek decided. "Buy you a beer?" he offered when he reached the empty stool next to Owen.

"Whiskey." Owen shoved an empty shot glass towards the center of the bar.

Taking the hint, Derek signaled Joe for two more shots and sat down. He waited until the drinks were delivered and the barman moved off before speaking again. "I heard about today."

Owen's fingers curled around the glass as he studied the wall of bottles behind the bar.

"I'm sorry."

The reply was a barely perceptible nod.

Derek had grown to respect Hunt both professionally and personally. Faced with silence, he opted for the direct approach. "What happened in the Pit? We lose patients all the time and it hurts like hell. But this is different."

"You changing specialties, Shepherd? Trading neurology for psychology?" Owen's grip tightened on the glass, sloshing whiskey onto his fingers and the bar.

"No, just being proactive. I think you know why I'm asking."

Owen snorted a laugh and rubbed his free hand across the back of his neck.

"One of the victims reminded you of something—or someone?" Derek did not expect Owen to meet his eyes. It was a hard question and they were strangers even after all these months. The vet's sudden, intense glance surprised and unnerved him more than a little.

"Yes and no." Owen downed the shot and centered the glass in the puddle of spilled liquor.

"You don't have to tell me anything," Derek said eventually. "But you had better talk to someone…Wyatt, Cristina, someone, because the last time you looked like this…"

"Was the morning after," Owen murmured, a grimace curling his lips. "I appreciate the advice. I know who to call."

"This hasn't been an easy time for any of us. You're not alone here."

"I think you've all got enough to think about."

Derek signaled Joe for a second drink. Owen declined another round and leaned against the wall as the bartender deposited the fresh shot and wiped away the spill. "Doesn't make your situation any less important," Derek assured when they were alone again. He wondered how long it would take for Owen to respond or if he would even choose to. The silence stretched out, blotting out the conversations that surrounded them.

He was relieved when Owen finally spoke in a low monotone. "There was a guy in my old unit named Evan Nichols. Smart, steady under pressure, damn good pool player. The patient today had red hair and grey eyes like his. Same first name…same cause of death." Owen's sigh was deep, shaky, as his eyes dropped to the floor. Derek sat very still and listened. "Massive internal injuries and burns caused by the explosion of the truck they ran into…the bomb that went off…" Owen straightened his back against the wall and cleared his throat. His eyes were bright but clear when he looked up. "Some days are better than others."

Derek nodded slowly. He was not sure what to say in light of Hunt's trust. Here lay the vestiges of the Owen that existed before his discharge, minus the arrogance that had gotten so immediately under Derek's skin. "You show up, you keep going, isn't that what you told me out at the trailer?" he reminded before throwing back the second shot.

Owen laughed beneath his breath and turned to rest both arms on the bar. "I didn't think you were listening."

"I got most of it," Derek admitted. "Is that what you're doing with Cristina? Showing up?"

Owen continued to stare at the wall, his posture noticeably stiffer. "Is that what Meredith told you?"

"I'm asking you."

"Cristina is safe around me." Owen shrugged and some of the tension seemed to ease as he turned towards Derek. "I wouldn't go near her if I didn't believe that."

Derek swallowed the sudden urge to laugh. Never in his wildest imagination did he ever expect to be put in the position of protecting Cristina Yang. Then again, there were more pressing personal stakes to consider. "Meredith asked me to talk to you." He raised a placating hand at Owen's wary expression. "That's not why I came in here tonight but I think it's only fair that you know how angry she still is about what happened that night."

"How angry she is?" Owen shook his head. "I know she's your wife but this isn't about her feelings. Cristina and I have enough to work through without any added pressure."

"Cristina is Meredith's person."

"Her what?"

"Her person." Derek groaned inwardly. He felt like an idiot explaining the concept to another man, though he recognized something eerily similar between Mark and himself. "They're like sisters. Closer than sisters, actually. I know Meredith won't tell Lexie half of what she tells Cristina. You haven't forgotten what it was like working with them on the William Dunn case?"

Owen snorted a laugh. "That period isn't as clear as I would like but no, I haven't forgotten."

The sound of Miranda Bailey's slightly mocking, "Those two come as a set. You should know that by now," echoed through the back of Derek's mind. "You don't want to get between them," he said.

"Uh huh." Owen reached for the bowl of pretzels in the center of the bar and waved to Joe. "I'll have a Guiness and one for my friend here," he ordered when the man came within earshot. He snagged several pretzel sticks and chewed thoughtfully for a minute before saying. "So your wife thought it would be okay for you to run interference on behalf of her person?"

This time Derek laughed out loud. The term sounded ridiculous coming from Hunt, as juvenile as Derek felt saying it. Still, it was important and Owen had deduced only half the reason for bringing the subject up in the first place. Joe deposited the beers in front of them and Derek took a bracing swallow before replying. "I'm not here to tell you what to do because if I thought you were dangerous I would have said something a long time ago to Richard."

"I think the hospital grapevine has already taken care of that."

Derek reached for a pretzel. "True. But that doesn't mean you don't have friends here. Or that you shouldn't try and rebuild your life here if that's what you want. It's just that Meredith and to a lesser extent Callie Torres and Miranda Bailey are not going to make that easy for you."

Owen grimaced and took the head off his beer. "Bailey…She's like a mother bear. She sent me after your sorry ass and then laid into mine the night of O'Malley's accident."

"Meredith, Cristina, Alex, George and Izzy are her kids. You can't forget it."

"I know what loyalty is."

"I know you do."

Owen shifted on the stool, his somber blue eyes sliding away to wander the crowded room. "I appreciated what you said in the O.R. that night. About what I was doing in Iraq. I just don't see myself that way. Most guys over there don't. The ones who do…" He sighed deeply. "I appreciate the heads up about Meredith and the others too. But they should know, you should know, that I'm done with limbo. I was stuck for a long time… That night in Cristina's apartment," he swallowed audibly and continued in a stronger voice with eyes focused squarely on Derek. "That night was bottom. I won't always move forward in a straight line. In fact today was definitely harder than I expected. But the dominate direction is up. Cristina has agreed to meet me half way and that's more than I could have hoped for even two months ago." The ghost of a smile lightened Owen's features as he reached for his beer. "You can tell your wife that."

Wife. It was the third time Owen had used the term. It sounded, felt, even tasted wrong in Derek's mouth. "She isn't. Not really."

"Excuse me?" Owen licked the foam from his lips and set the pounder glass on the bar. "I thought you two got married the day of O'Malley's accident?"

Derek looked at the beer between his hands. At the time their vows written on a post-it note seemed appropriate. It made Meredith happy, gave her a sense of permanence in the terrible days that followed. He was no longer satisfied with the arrangement—and more than a little uncomfortable explaining the mock ceremony to Owen. "We never made it legal," he said, bringing the beer to his lips. "Never went to city hall or found the hospital chaplain. "

"I see…or maybe I don't."

"I'm not sure I do either."

"So you're waiting for what exactly?"

Derek glared at him, taken aback. "You know what's been going on around here."

"What does that have to do with whether you and Meredith Grey are married or not?"

"Okay, maybe you need to have another chat with Wyatt."

"And maybe I did and that's why I can say this without feeling like I'm going to implode." Owen sighed and rested his arm on the bar. "If you had told me last winter to get my head examined there's a good chance I would have put you through a wall. There's also a good chance I would have gone home and eaten the barrel of the .45 I kept in my bedside table. "

As low as he had been, Derek felt a guilty pang of relief that he had never been suicidal. "Kept?" he repeated carefully.

"Kept," Owen enunciated with a wry smile. "The gun isn't the point here. The point is that I'm moving forward. Doesn't mean I don't see what Stevens' death and O'Malley's injuries are doing to the people around me. Doesn't mean I don't hear the anger or feel guilty that he was under a bus instead of in surgery with Richard Webber that day." Owen's free hand was loosely clenched and he pointed his thumb at Derek for emphasis. "I asked Cristina to try again before we knew O'Malley was in that bed. Before Stevens coded. When the dust settled I took her home and I slept on her couch." He chuckled. "The daggers Callie Torres shot me the next morning could have killed an elephant. But I made them both toast and eggs and I called Cristina later in the day. I gave her space but I kept showing up because we both needed it. We both made the commitment to start over." Owen sat back. "What happened to Stevens and O'Malley isn't the reason you and Meredith haven't made things official yet."

"I think she would disagree."

"She probably would but I'm not talking to her. I'm talking to you and what I said that day in the woods is still valid even if it took me a long time to realize what showing up actually means."

"So if you were me and Cristina was Meredith, what would you do?" The scenario seemed to give Owen pause. Derek watched a series of shadows chase across the other man's features, dissolving into a tentative smile. "What?" he prompted impatiently.

"How do you feel about the ocean?"

To be continued…