It was two a.m., but Owen was relieved to be getting a call. He hadn't been asleep—hadn't been sleeping much at all really for weeks—even after moving out to the trailer in the woods.

But when he checked his phone he was shocked to see that it wasn't the hospital calling. It was his wife. His totally AWOL, potentially soon to be ex- if he didn't act fast, infuriating wife, calling from the middle of nowhere, Minnesota.

At two a.m.

He realized his heart was racing as he scrambled to answer. "Cristina? Are you all right? What's wrong?" he said in a rush.

The voice on the other end was smaller than usual, strangely quiet, almost timid. It was unnatural, vaguely disturbing sound. "Owen?"

"Yeah, I'm here, are you okay? What's going on?"

"Before you say anything, yes, I am drunk. I downed a whole bottle of tequila from my buck-up diaper bag and I can barely remember my name. Or wait. Cristina. Cristina Yang. Doctor Cristina Yang, MD. Doctor Cristina Rubenstein Hunt Yang, MD, PhD. That's my name. Huh, maybe I'm not as drunk anymore," and she seemed genuinely to marvel at that.

He almost laughed in relief at the inclusion of his name in her compounded identity, but he was too distracted with worry. And he didn't trust her assessment of her own sobriety for a second. "Cristina, why are you calling?"

She took a minute to consider before responding. "You weren't there," she eventually told him in that same eerily small voice she had used before.

At the accusation, his face grew hot with shame. What was she talking about? Which time? Was she mad that he wasn't in the woods after the crash? That he didn't follow her to Minnesota? That he wasn't ever there for her when she needed him? All were true, and despite his varying degrees of powerlessness in each situation, he felt his failure to be where she needed him like a knife in his gut. "I know, Cristina, and I'm so sorry I'm not—"

Growing impatient with his rambling, she interrupted him. "Are you at the hospital?"

"What? No. I'm at home. Why?"

She gave an overblown, frustrated sigh. "No, you're not! You weren't home! I came and you weren't there! That's what I'm saying."

He couldn't understand. "Wait, what? Where are you?"

"I'm on Meredith and Derek 's porch and it's freezing but if I talk inside I'll wake up Zola again and Derek is gonna kill me dead with his bare hands despite his career-ending injury—"

He shot up, shocked and suddenly hyper-alert. "You're in Seattle?" he yelled.

She sighed, and he could feel her rolling her eyes. "Yeah, that's what I said. God, keep up."

"No, you didn't."

"Yes, I did, I went to the firehouse and some of your stuff was there . . . and some of our stuff was there. But you weren't there anymore. I was looking for you and you weren't there." She breathed a shaking breath, and her voice became strangely high-pitched and desperate. "Where did you go, Owen? Why weren't you at home?"

Why haven't you been at home? he thought but didn't dare say. She was distressed enough without him dredging up his old frustrations right now. If he was going to have any chance of getting her to stay, he needed to be entirely understanding. "I'm staying at Derek's trailer, in the woods. Had to get away."

"I tried to tell Meredith that I had to go look for you because you're my person.

He knew he shouldn't but he couldn't help saying quietly, "I thought Meredith was your person."

"No, you're my person, God Owen, you're my husband. Of course you're my person. Maybe she's my person too but I can have two persons. Aren't you supposed to have more than one person? People. Persons? Anyway I wanted to go look for you but she said I couldn't. She wouldn't let me go because she thought you wouldn't want to see me or to talk to me or something." She was crying loudly and uncontrolledly now, and he had never heard her like this before. He'd seen her at her very worst, but she was usually stoic or self-aware. Now, she was hysterical and entirely drained of her usual self-consciousness. It frightened him to hear her speaking so emotionally. "I don't know but she thought you wouldn't want me probably because I left you."

"I always want you," he said, and it hurts because he can't not say it. "When have I ever not wanted you?"

But she doesn't seem to hear him. "And then I just wanted to hold Zola and look at her and how small and perfect she is but Meredith made me put Zola back to bed in her crib and she made me go lie down but I snuck away and went to see Zola after Meredith went back to sleep and then I came outside."

He chuckled just slightly. "So you stole Meredith's baby?"

"She's not just Meredith's. She's my goddaughter, okay, she's at least one-third mine. I have some ownership rights."

"You probably shouldn't be alone with the baby when you're drunk."

"No, I left Zola inside, it's freezing out here, I'm not an idiot. Although It's a freakin' sauna compared to Minnesota."

He doesn't think he's going to get a coherent answer from her, but he tries again. "Why are you in Seattle, Cristina?"

"The old man who's my best friend in Minnesota died today in surgery after saying lots of really nice things to me. Like we were performing surgery, groundbreaking, amazing surgery, not like he was a patient in surgery. And I miss you so much and I haven't slept for weeks because I still can't sleep without you there. And I had sex with my gross boss several times just to try to snap myself out of it but I don't even like him I actually hate him and it's so terrible and lonely there and so I made myself get on a plane even though I didn't think I could and I had to be drunk first to do it. And I know I ran away and I'm so, so sorry I left you but if you don't want me anymore I don't know what else to do."

It was hard to listen to her like this. She was so unlike herself and it was making him sick to hear it. He felt like he had pushed her to this breaking point, yet again. He tried to break in, anything to make her stop talking crazy. "Okay, hey, it's okay. You know I always—"

"Please, Owen, I'll do anything. I'll have your children, I'll have your family, I'll freaking coach little league and I'll start baking like Mer, I'll be nice to people and I'll start cleaning and doing laundry and I'll even learn to cook something. And I'll make myself stop having panic attacks and nightmares and I'll stop yelling at you and I'll talk to you about my feelings and I'll talk about your feelings. And I'll come home at night and I won't work too much and I won't care more about surgeries more than I care about you or our kid. I know it doesn't sound likely but I'm really, really smart and capable and I can work really hard and I will be perfect for you. I will be everything you want."

"Crtistina! Stop it! I can't listen to you like this, this is insane, please don't talk like that." Before he knew what he was doing, he was grabbing a flashlight and setting out down the dirt road to Derek and Meredith's dream home.

"I know I'm not this desperate person who has no dignity but maybe I actually am, okay? Maybe underneath it all I am just this lonely, desperate shell of a person and I need you. I know I've hurt you too bad and I'm too broken for you now and I'll never be good enough." He started walking faster, needing her to stop sounding so unlike herself.

"Listen, you are drunk and you are exhausted, and you've been through a lot today and you don't mean what you're saying, okay? Just take a deep breath, okay? You're all right."

"No, I do! I do mean it! Please believe me, Owen, please."

"Shh. God, Cristina, stop talking like that. You don't ever need to beg me, okay? I'm always gonna want you. I love everything about you, okay? I don't want you to change."

She just cried harder, louder at this. "That's not true!" she yelled.

"It is. Hey, it is."

"No, I have changed and I can change more. I can have a kid with you, if you still want to. I've been thinking about it. I've been thinking about it so much, it's all I've been thinking about. You would be so perfect, and it wouldn't be like Meredith at all because I'm not Ellis and even if I am you are not Thatcher and you wouldn't let me end up with her if it came to that right, we'd sign something to make sure you got custody and I wouldn't be allowed near her if I wasn't doing it right, okay? So I can do it, okay, I can try so hard for you."

He sighed. "Sweetheart, you aren't thinking clearly right now, okay?

"Please, please, I miss you so much and I just, I just want you—and I can't find you! And now I'm alone on Meredith's porch and my ancient guy bestie is dead and so is Lexie and so is Mark and so is George and probably Izzie and so is my dad and so is our baby because I killed her."

"Oh God, Cristina, please stop, oh my god. Hey, I'm on my way over, okay? I'm walking over to you. Just hang on, okay? I'll be right there."

"What? Really? You're really coming?"
"Of course I am, sweetheart, the trailer's still on Derek's land, I'm not far. I'm coming to you."

She took a steadying breath, feeling dizzy.

"You still there?"

"Yeah."

"I'm almost there, okay?" And his voice sounded strangely echo-y. She jumped up, looked around. And there he was, as perfect and as strong and as gorgeous as ever. Before she knew what she was doing, she was running to him on wobbling, drunken legs.

But she stopped inches before him, afraid to touch.

He reached out his hand and grabbed her wet, clammy face, then took off his jacket and wrapped it around her shivering shoulders.

"Owen," she whispered, like she couldn't believe the fact of him, the steadiness of him, the warmth coming off from his breath. She loved him too much.

"Hi." He smiled a sad smile.

"Hi."

"Can I . . .?"

"Can you what?" she whispered, awed.

He held out his arms, awkward, and she latched onto him hard, pulling him toward her. One of his large, trauma-quelling hands grasped the spot where her heavy and brilliant head met her tense and delicate neck.

Once he had her as close as he could get her, he began to whisper fiercely. "Cristina, I am right here and I will never stop being here, wanting you and loving you. Do you understand that?"

She seemed to think about it, but she barely squirmed from his warm hold on her. "No." This wasn't the right answer. "No, Owen, I'm sorry, I'm so drunk and so tired and there's so much wrong with me and I don't know how to be trusting and normal and nice anymore, I don't know, I'm sorry.""

He laughed, just softly. "Did you ever though? Did either of us?"

"It's not funny." She fisted her once-in-a-generation cardiothoracic goddess hands into her husband's shirt as if under the spell of an infant's grasping reflex.

"I know, Cristina. Let's sit down, okay?" he said, guiding them to the porch he had helped construct out of his frustrations and fears and stupidity and love.

When they were seated and Cristina still seemed willing and able mostly to just nuzzle her face into his broad chest, he spoke again, jogging her body slightly with his arm for emphasis. "Will you listen to me now?" She nodded against him, feeling warm and tired and still apprehensive, vulnerable, overexposed. "I know we can both try hard to make this work and I absolutely want it to work, Cristina. Believe me when I say there is nothing I want more. But sweetheart, I do not love you any more when you are unhappy, okay? In fact, the goal is sort of to make sure you are happy. That's the whole point. To have us both be happy. Do you understand that?"

She sniffled and took another steadying breath. "Yes," she admitted in the somewhat self-righteous tone of someone not used to having concepts simplified for her. He swore he could feel her rolling her eyes against his shirt and he smiled that her personality seemed to be returning to her.

"Of course I want to have a family with you if that's something you decide you want at some point in our life together, but I have no interest in controlling you or holding you back at all. And we need to talk so, so much more tomorrow, Cristina, because the things you said tonight have me so worried about you. I never want to take pieces of you away, all right? I want to give you more pieces. That's what this is about."

"Are you okay with me being back in Seattle?"

He laughed a laugh that was somewhere between frustrated, exasperated, and fond. "I am so relieved you came home to me, Cristina, I want you to know that."

"I missed you," she said.

"We need to talk tomorrow, okay? We need to talk a lot more tomorrow."

He felt the slow, agreeing nod of her head but all she said was, "This porch is crooked," before finally falling into the best sleep she'd had in months.