Owen turned the corner and saw Cristina and Meredith standing by the nurse's station. He stopped, and then stepped backwards around the corner and out of sight. He paused, frustrated and angry with himself. He wanted to see Cristina, to talk to her. You used to not be like this, he thought to himself. It used to be, when you wanted to do something, you did it. When you wanted to say something, you said it. Not all this hesitation and worry. What's wrong with you?
Of course, you never choked your girlfriend before, either.
He stood there around the corner, uncertain. Then he reminded himself that he didn't want to lose her permanently. This was an unexpected detour in their relationship, but he was determined not to allow it to stop him from ever being with her again. Not now that he knew what it felt like to kiss her, to hold her, to truly be a part of her. He continued walking forward, trying to give the impression that he had never had to pause and think about it.
Cristina saw him coming towards them over Meredith's shoulder. Her brows furrowed; she looked questioningly at him, but not displeased. Owen continued to approach until he was standing near the two of them.
"Dr. Yang, may I have a word with you?" Owen asked, glancing nervously at Meredith.
Meredith looked coldly at him and without looking at Cristina started to speak, "Cristina, I don't th--,"
Cristina turned to Meredith. "Slept with you while still married. Called you a whore. Ring in your face. Got engaged."
Meredith's eyes narrowed and she gave an exasperated sigh. "Fine. I'll be in the cafeteria." She turned abruptly and left without looking back.
Cristina watched her leave for a moment, and then turned her gaze to Owen. They looked at each other warily until Owen broke the silence. "Could we, uh...," he nodded towards the supply closet. Cristina's eyes flickered towards the door, back to Owen. She hesitated, then nodded. They moved across the hall, where he held the door open for her, and then followed her in.
Inside the room they each felt an unfamiliar nervousness. The one thing they had both always reveled in was the automatic comfort of the other's company; now, the unease was disconcerting. They felt lost, as if someone had spun them each around blindfolded and left them to stumble around trying to find their way back to one another.
Owen leaned back against the door, trying to keep himself as far from her as possible. He feared he would frighten her if he came too close, and he feared the look he might see in her eyes if she did become afraid. It tore him up to think of her afraid of him.
"I started therapy," he said. "I…I just wanted you to know."
"Good," Cristina said. "That's good." She tilted her head to the side, and felt her bottom lip quiver just the slightest bit. She hoped he hadn't noticed. Keep it together, she thought to herself. He's not ready to deal with your feelings on top of his own issues.
Owen looked down at the floor and sighed. There was so much he wanted to tell her: how he never stopped thinking about her, how he needed to be near her, how he knew that now that they had been together, there would never be another woman for him. And that he could never forgive himself for what he had done to her.
"I miss you," he said to her, almost in a whisper.
Cristina took in a small breath. She wondered if she heard correctly.
"I miss you, too," she replied. He looked up from the ground into her eyes. Neither moved; to move might break the spell of possibility and hope that hung in the air.
"I'm going to fix this. Fix us," he said. His eyes implored her to believe him. Cristina stood still, wanting desperately to believe him. She knew he could fix himself, but she didn't have any clue how he was going to fix her. She wanted more than anything to wake up in his arms every day, but she knew that would never happen if she couldn't fall asleep with him in the same bed.
The sound of Cristina's pager broke the heavy silence. She grabbed at it and checked the screen impatiently. "I have to go," she said, looking back at him.
"Yeah." He stepped away from the door and opened it for her. She glanced up at him and she began to exit the room, and he panicked. She was leaving before he could even figure out what to say to her. He blurted out the first thing that came to mind: "Can I—can I call you?"
She paused briefly, considering, and then nodded yes. The pager went off again, and she rushed out the door.
Can I call you? He thought to himself. What was that? It was not smooth, and it was not what he wanted to say. But it was a start, at least.