Disclaimer: I don't own Grey's Anatomy.
As Cristina watched the casket being lowered into the ground, she felt relieved. It was over. She hated funerals, and the fact that this was Derek Shepherd's funeral had made it worse. It was both physically and mentally exhausting for her after a long flight, and she didn't know what else she could do for her person other than being there for her.
To be honest, it didn't feel real. She had just finished her coffee when she received the phone call from Meredith, who had been incredibly calm as she delivered the news that Derek was dead. Cristina had just left Seattle for a year, and Derek was dead. The man who survived a plane crash, the man who she had operated on with a gun to her head, was dead. If this was a dream, she would really appreciate it if someone could wake her up.
But it wasn't not a dream. It was the reality, and it took a while for the news to sink in.
After getting off the phone, she got herself a bottle of tequila and one ticket for the next flight out to Seattle. So there she was, holding her person's hand, still feeling that nothing was real, as they watched the casket being lowered into the ground.
She was thinking about getting drunk at Joe's before flying back— or maybe she should just smuggle something out of Derek's collection—when the crowd dispersed. She was so caught up that she didn't even realize when Meredith had left, and all of a sudden, she was standing right opposite Owen.
She froze. She looked into his blue eyes, and she caught a glimpse of her old life. She saw the firehouse, she saw home; she saw Seattle, the place she used to belong. Slowly, the reality of the situation sank in—she was home for a friend's funeral.
She couldn't tell if she was shocked because things had begun to feel real, or because she had met Owen. All her emotions were tangled up into a big ball of unexplainable mess, and she didn't know how to react to all that was happening.
And so, she stayed right she was and watched as he approached her.
"Hi." said Owen.
"Hi." What does a normal person say to her ex-husband when she meets him for the first time after a year during a friend's funeral? Is it appropriate to make jokes, or should the conversation should be kept short and brief?
"How are you?"
"Fine."
He cocked his head questioningly. "Just fine?"
"Actually, it's been great." She forced a small smile. "You?"
"I'm fine."
Silence descended on them. She waited for him to say something, but he just gazed at the ground and wiped his hands on his trousers. She figured that like her, he was at a loss for words too. Or maybe, words had failed both of them, again. He almost looked relieved when she finally broke the silence. "I need to go find Mer. Let's talk later, ok?"
"Ok." He nodded. "Talk to you later."
But what they didn't know at the time was that in another five minutes, Owen would be paged for an emergency surgery, and in the midst of mourning and drinking and cutting and suturing, they had lost each other again.
He left. And so she left.
"Hey. I'm so sorry that we missed each other after the funeral . . . everything has been crazy. I'm at the airport now, and I just want to say . . . take care now." Despite all the noise in the background, he could hear her pacing around, her heels clicking on the floor, her every breath. "I . . . that's my flight. I got to go. Goodbye."
She left him a voicemail, and left.
It was done. He had made up his mind, and he was determined to make this happen. He had told his mother, talked to his shrink, given a month's notice to the board, handed everything to Richard, settled everything that had to be settled; but still, he could not shake off the feeling that something was missing. There was something else that he needed to finish before he could go.
And he was right. He hadn't told her yet, and he absolutely had to tell her. He didn't know why, but he needed her blessing. He needed her to say yes before he could go.
He called her, and she answered after the third ring. "Hello?"
"It's me." It was eight in the morning at Zurich, and he imagined her sitting in her office, typing on her keyboard, preparing for her next surgery. He took a deep breath, and begun. "I . . . I'm re-enlisting. I'm leaving tomorrow." He waited for her to say something but she didn't, and he was thinking if he should just apologize and hang up. "Hello? Are you still there?"
"You're going back to the army." She said, her voice flat and cool.
"Yes."
"Are you sure?"
"I am. I need to feel . . . good. And useful, again."
"But there must be other options."
"No, Cristina. I need to go back."
"What about your PTSD?"
"My shrink said it's ok, and I will be seeing another doctor. I'll be fine."
"Your shrink is an imbecile." He managed a chuckle and heard her let out a sigh. "You are still that stubborn, Owen Hunt. I guess that hasn't changed."
"You still think my shrink is stupid, so you haven't changed a bit too."
"Because that's a universal fact. Everybody knows that." She paused, taking a moment to think about what to say next. "Ok. Go. Take care." He heard her take a deep breath and say, "don't die, okay?"
He brushed a hand through his hair. "I won't. Thank you."
Relief rushed through him, and for a second, he wanted to hug her. Knowing that it was impossible, he quickly hung up and started packing for his tour. And what he would never hear was Cristina whispering into her phone that she was just an ex, and she had no right to stop him this time.
She didn't stop him, and since then, she had followed the news every day, kept an eye on his Facebook, called Alex from time to time to make sure that Owen was not dead. She needed to know that he was still alive, that he was out there saving lives, because if he died, she would blame herself for not trying hard enough to stop him.
You know I hate funerals. Please don't die.
"Hunt is back. I think he is on leave or something."
"Do you know if he will be going back?"
"No idea. Do you want me to ask him?"
"No. Thank you, evil spawn."
She sat back in her chair and closed her eyes. Please don't die.
NOTE: A big thank you to Eliza for beta reading this story. I would like to believe that Cristina talked to Owen during the funeral, and that they still stay in touch with each other, so I wrote this. I hope you like it, and thank you for reading. (: