The monitor slowed to a steady beat and Cristina finally had a moment to relax. Tilting her head back in relief she closed her eyes in an attempt to control her breathing and ignore the trails of uncharacteristic wetness on her cheeks. A glance at Meredith convinced Cristina of her well-being and she finally, finally had time to look at Owen. Relief, uncertainty, longing and something she thought might just resemble love, shone back at her, unwavering and she was reminded of the clarity in his voice when he entered her OR—the relief she felt.
That is the woman I love—if you shoot her, if you touch her, I will kill you.
Any sort of embrace was impractical; she was a surgeon in this moment and couldn't compromise that no matter how much she wanted to. She was scrubbed in, and there was a patient on the table. Even though she was tired of being the one in charge, the one who put everything on the line to save Mer's other "person".
But then again, what kind of friend would she have been if she hadn't kept operating? Not the kind that Meredith deserved.
And Owen understood that. He stared down the barrel of a gun and told her he understood. That she needed to operate. That, for her, there was more at stake than her life. And because he understood that he threw himself in front of a loaded gun to save her person.
And she had to watch him fall.
Somehow—she was still reeling from the realization—they had survived. Derek was still touch and go, but he was alive. And so was Owen.
As she turned back to the table to close, she thought about the irony—Owen lasted a tour in a war zone only to come back home and get shot. She could still feel his gaze on her neck as she quietly continued to work—he made to get up and go to her but Meredith shot him a glare that plopped him right back into his seat. Cristina smiled internally. Even with her husband's chest opened in front of her, she was concerned about her patient. Always a surgeon.
Nothing was said. The monitor beeped, instilling a sense of normalcy. Jackson continued to monitor Derek's vitals, Meredith stroked the famous McDreamy hair, and Cristina worked. Owen's eyes never left her. She didn't have the capacity to over think what his presence here, with her, meant. The fact that he had come looking for her. That he declared his love for her in front of a crazed gunman and a room full of her colleagues. The fact that he may have just made his choice. She performed the stitches purely instinctually, almost subconsciously.
Some peace, at last.
SWAT came in just as she finished with Derek and Meredith ordered April to make sure Dr. Hunt stayed in his wheelchair as she pushed him to an exam room. She ignored their questions, asking Avery with her eyes to answer for her. Not like he hadn't done enough today. But it was time to be selfish and she didn't need them asking her to recount the day she'd just had—not yet. So she took a scrub nurse and began pushing Derek down the bloodstained halls of his hospital.
They arrived at an empty room and she began to fill out his post-OP chart as the nurse hooked up his monitors. He stirred as the nurse left the room and looked at her confusedly.
"Meredith?" he asked.
"With Owen. GSW to the shoulder." Noticing his concern she finished with, "It was clean…in and out. He's fine. I'll go get her…we can swap."
"Mr. Clark?"
"Haven't heard. They just told us he was no longer a threat. Be right back." She half turned to leave, then figured it was a day to say things. "Thank you for not dying. You did me a big favor."
He smiled his McDreamy half smile and closed his eyes, replying "Not a problem. Thanks for not killing me."
She smiled for the first time all day and left to search the hospital. Hearing a familiar, proud voice declare "I'm fine!", her smile widened and her feet changed direction. She was stopped at the door, however, by a stubborn nurse who insisted that Dr. Grey insisted Dr. Hunt wasn't allowed visitors—any visitors—until he decided to sit down long enough to get a bandage put on his shoulder. Too tired to argue she merely gazed over the nurse's head and shot Owen a slightly amused look at his clearly irritated expression and asked where Meredith was.
"Locker room, last time I heard." the nurse said, "She left Dr. Hunt to 'our capable hands'" she added sarcastically.
"I'll be back", Cristina called in direction of the room and left to grab Mer.
"Derek's asking for you", she said to Meredith's back.
Their eyes met with a strange mixture of exhaustion, grief, disbelief and joy. Cristina waited for her to come to the doorway so she could walk her to Derek's room and then they quietly proceeded down the hallway, attempting to ignore the surges of cops scanning the floor and the increase of voices as people began to re-emerge. She stopped at the door, offering Meredith some privacy and a final smile before she moved to lean against the counter at the nurse's station and watch the quiet reunion through the window.
Meredith smiled, Derek smiled, and she was warmed by the pocket of good that had come out of such a horrible day.
Deciding she had enough and suddenly seized by the need to find Owen, to assure herself that he was fine, she turned to walk down the hallway and through the previously blocked door.
He sat, alone and propped up, with an intense look on his face and his shoulder in a cast. Cristina had a brief flashback to Burke's hospital stay and was shaken slightly at the similarity in circumstance and the difference in reaction.
She was scared both times, but this time nothing, not even the fear of Owen's mortality, was able to counter the urge to go to him. Silently, she crossed the room and perched herself on his right side, opposite the injury. She stroked his face as his hand grasped hers and they just looked at each other.
He opened his mouth, but seemed to struggle with what was supposed to happen after that.
"I…..I…"
"Owen it's okay. We don't have to talk about…"
"…I chose. Teddy told me I had to choose. And life and death—it's you Cristina. It's you every time. I didn't want to choose. I didn't want to get involved….hurt her or your career. But I need you to know Cristina. It's always you."
She had looked down after he interrupted her but she raised her face slowly to meet his slightly watery and increasingly intense gaze.
"I know that's not enough. I have things to do—things to make up for, to explain. I know that. But you almost died today. I almost died today. And I just needed to say it. I need…"
This time it was her turn to interrupt, moving the hand on his face to his lips she whispered, "I love you, Owen Hunt" and closed the distance between them in a chaste, but passionate kiss. As soon as their lips separated, he cupped her waist and brought her closer to him, and pulled her face back down to his.
They came up for air and she scanned his face, his shoulder, arm, everything, with a surgeon's eye. Only when she came back to his eyes did she realize he was doing the same. Adequately convinced that the other was okay, they met each other's gaze. Gently, she nuzzled into his healthy shoulder and his arm snaked tighter around her waist. She shifted so that she was lying on her side, facing him on the bed and moved her arm to lie on his stomach.
"How do you feel? And for the love of God….don't say 'fine'".
She felt him chuckle and he responded "Fine".
"Ass."
"So?"
Her stomach warmed with the familiar jest, and she smiled into his neck. They sat still, and her smile faded as she thought of her encounter with Mr. Clark in the elevator, Derek's blood on her hands, and the mystery surrounding exactly how much damage the hospital staff had sustained.
Owen felt her change of mood and held her tighter, kissing the top of her head.
"I thought he killed you", she confessed suddenly. "And you can't ever die because I hated that. I did. I thought you died. You were just laying there."
Unwelcome tears slid down her cheeks and onto his bandaged, naked chest. He was silent, rocking her slightly, until he decided how best to respond.
"I promised you 40 years Cristina Yang" he said, "and I keep my promises". She smiled shakily.
With a need for sincerity himself, he concluded "I had to come back. You were still inside. I had to come back."
He seemed to be contemplating the next thing he wanted to say, so she raised her head to look him in the eye.
"You know, Cristina, you know better than a lot of people here, war was hell. But nothing over there….nothing compared to the fear I felt when he put that gun on your neck. Or the anger. Nothing."
They lapsed back into their silence, Owen periodically kissing her cheeks and forehead, and her hugging him gingerly.
What he said earlier was true. They had too much to talk about, too much that needed to be sorted out. But for now, this was all she needed.
Life is all about choices. No matter how much you hate them, how little you care about them or how much you do, you have to make them. At the end of the day, you're nothing but the choices you've made. So make of it what you will. Be a person you could love, if you were someone else. Stand up for yourself, for other people. Ask the difficult questions, and answer them. Sometimes decisions aren't up to you, so you have to make the most of the ones that are. You only live once—you get one chance to make all the crap choices and good choices that turn you into a person. What kind of person will that be?