"Please, Owen, please—I need a surgery. Owen, please—I'm going out of my mind. I haven't held a heart in days, Owen—days! Look at these hands; these are the hands of a cardio god and they are crying out to cut something, stat!"

Owen had no choice but to look at his wife's hands—partly because he and Christina had only recently reconciled and he didn't want to rock the boat, but mostly because she was practically shoving them in his face as if to say "come, get a closer look at where the magic happens." They were nice hands, to be sure, but looking at them was not going to change anything—it was not going to erase the fact that it was a slow, slow day.

"Christina, honey, I've already told you that we don't have any surgeries planned for today."

"How is that even possible?" Christina demanded, while dramatically letting her beloved hands drop to her side.

"Well, it seems like the people of Seattle are becoming wiser and more respectful towards human life."

"Owen, I love you, but say one more lame joke and I swear I will cut you open."

"Sorry."

"It's just...I need to be in the OR, Owen. I am a hardcore surgical prodigy and if I don't perform surgeries than my super powers will die and then I'll be left with nothing! Nothing!"

"You'll still have me—" Owen started, but Christina just ignored him.

"You won't love me when I'm no longer a surgeon..."

"I think we've already established that that's not true. Remember when you were a bartender? "

Christina was glaring now and Owen wanted nothing more than to hide under a rock.

"I've been trying to wipe that from my memory for years now, but thanks for bringing it up!"

"Ok, I'm sorry... do you want to show me your hands again?"

"No, you've offended them. You're no longer worthy."

Suddenly, Christina's eyes lit up and Owen could almost see the light bulb go off in her head.

"Maybe we should start a riot in the streets..."

Crap, Owen thought. Here we go again...

Owen really didn't like where this conversation was going and he knew that the best thing for him right now was to get out of his office and leave the situation before he accidently does something that he might regret (like call Christina a crazy lunatic, for starters). He didn't want to argue with Christina because he knew from experience that arguing with her led to disconnection, and disconnection led to cheating, and cheating led to heartbreak ,and heartbreak led to separation, and separation led to plane crashes, and plane crashes led to trauma, and trauma led to, well...

"It could work, Owen! It could totally work. All we need is something big...like international superstars. I got it! One Direction."

Owen knew that this was his cue to leave.

"That sounds great, honey" Owen said, faking enthusiasm as he inched his way to the door. "It's just, I...I have to go the washroom right now. It's urgent...you know. Nature calls and I'm answering the phone! Ha ha ha... I'll see you later."

After giving his wife a small wave goodbye, Owen practically sprinted out of the room and, leaving Christina stunned and confused, bolted to nowhere in particular.

Christina didn't know what had gotten into Owen. It was like, ever since she was rescued from that godforsaken island, he's been afraid of her or something. He was becoming such a pushover, such a softie. Man up, she would think. Quit looking at me like I'm crazy and go get me some bodies that I can slice open. Husbands were supposed to provide for their wives, right? Well, hers seemed to be slacking in that department. What good was it being married to the chief of a hospital if she wasn't getting loads of amazing surgeries out of it? It was not only unfair but incomprehensible. Her hands were a gift from God—they performed miracles; they were healing hands.

So what if it's a slow day? That's no excuse! Go do something about it! Go get One Direction and start a riot. It's not like he'd be doing anything bad; in fact, he'd be performing a community service. Every teenage girl in the area would sell their liver to see these guys in the flesh. It was win-win situation...

Suddenly, Owen came bursting through the door again, panting and out of breath.

"Christina, good—you're still here... "

"Are you insane? Of course, I am. You've been gone for less than a minute."

Owen ignored her disgruntled tone and quickly cut to the chase.

"Right, well, I just got word that an ambulance is on its way to the hospital right now, as we speak."

"Really?" Christina asked, not even trying to mask her excitement. "You mean, I might get to slice someone open today?"

Owen hesitated at the eagerness of her voice, and for a second, he wondered whether informing her of the oncoming ambulance was really a good idea. He had known that she was a little psychotic today but he was so excited to give her what she wanted that he didn't even stop to think about the implications. The way he saw it, he had two options: he could let Christina take the patient with the hope that her craziness will settle down by the time she has to pick up a scalpel (if it comes to that) or he could strip her of her privileges for the day and risk getting murdered in his sleep.

"Yes, honey, it appears you may get to perform surgery today," Owen confidently replied.

Christina beamed. "Yes! Let's go."

Waiting for the ambulance, Christina felt like a kid on Christmas morning. Of course, she didn't exactly know how that felt like as she was Jewish and never owned a Christmas tree... but she understood the deal. She'd seen the moment play out in a hundred movies; the sentimental, vomit-inducing moment where little snot-nosed brats, all eager and excited, would run down the staircase and bee-line for the presents that were usually nestled under a large ornamented tree. Standing outside the hospital, Christina was bracing herself for what she was hoping would be a really great present. She was an excited kid in a nauseating Christmas movie and she couldn't be more freaking happy about it.

Suddenly, a familiar red ambulance was seen rushing towards the hospital before stopping at the unloading zone where Christina and Owen were waiting. Christina was almost shaking from anticipation. Show time, she thought, let's unwrap this bitch.

"What have we got?" Owen asked the paramedic who was wheeling the patient off the vehicle.

"We've got a twenty one year old male with a gunshot wound in his left shoulder."

Christina took one look at the patient and inwardly scoffed. Twenty one?, she thought, judging by this guy's haircut and suit, I'd say at least thirty five.

"First off, I'll be twenty two next month," the patient haughtily announced in a voice that, Christina thought, sounded like a cross between Batman and the grim reaper. "And second of all, I'm fine."

Much to Christina's annoyance, it seemed like he was right.

"Sir, I think you're in shock," Owen calmly informed the patient.

"Whatever," he retorted.

"How are you doing?"

"I said I was fine."

Realizing that he was going to get nowhere talking to this kid, Owen decided to turn his attention to the paramedic.

"Where did you find him?"

"He was on a sidewalk in front of a McDonalds. The lady that called us said that she saw him walking around and laughing before lying on the pavement. She said that she just thought that he was drunk until she saw the blood and realized what was going on."

"I think I may have scarred a few children," the patient diabolically pointed out.

Owen ignored him.

"Thank you, paramedic man. We'll take it from here."

The paramedic, a short, skinny guy in his late thirties, shot Owen a sad, offended look.

"My name is Brian."

"Well, Brian—it's always nice having new blood on the workforce. Welcome to the team!"

"I've been working here for four years," Brian pathetically admitted, leaving Owen stunned.

"Really? I haven't seen you around..."

"I was here yesterday...and the day before that. Remember? I brought in the burn patient..."

"That was you? I thought that was a woman."

"Julie was with me but I was the one explaining the situation to you."

Owen sensed that the conversation was entering awkward territory and decided to cut it short.

"Well, it was nice talking to you Ryan."

"Brian," the paramedic helplessly corrected.

"Like I said, we'll take it from here," Owen concluded, leaving Brian to wonder whether he should change his name.

As Christina and Owen were wheeling the patient to his new room, Christina couldn't stop thinking about how her present was such a letdown. The guy wasn't even squirming in pain; the worst that he did was grimace but even that didn't seem to be legitimate consolation prize as something told her that that was just his face. She got old knitted socks when she was expecting a shiny, new scalpel. The guy might as well throw some coal in that stocking while he was at it.

After the patient was transferred to his room, Owen left for his lunch break, leaving Christina alone to tend to her disappointing gunshot guy.

Christina sighed. "I'm Dr. Yang and I will be your doctor for today. Right now, I'm going to have to ask you remove your hand from your shoulder so I can examine the gunshot wound..."

"You're just wasting your time, you know," The patient stated in a tone that suggested that he was almost as bored as she was.

"Gosh, I sure hope not," Christina mumbled as she tried to take solace at the fact that there was still a steady flow of blood that was gushing out of his shoulder.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he deviously asked, gripping his injury.

"Nothing...I don't know what I'm saying."

"Those are comforting words coming from a doctor," the patient said and when Christina didn't immediately respond, he continued. "Look, I will give you five hundred thousand dollars if you sign my discharge papers right now and pretend that this whole thing never happened."

"First off, no one has that kind of money—"

"I do—"

"And secondly, why are you so desperate to get out of here without being treated?"

She could see the faint pleasure flicker in his eyes.

"I like games. Games are my life."

"That's great ...maybe after you stop bleeding, we could join hands and play a nice round of Monopoly," Christina offered, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"My life is Monopoly," Chuck retorted in the same cool, dour tone and Christina started to wonder if she had been too quick to dismiss the existence of extraterrestrials.

"Do you always speak in metaphors?"

"Of course I do. I'm Chuck Bass."

"Okay?"

"You know, Chuck Bass? The devil? The prince of darkness? Man in the shahtoosh scarf? You know, Chuck Bass."

"Uh, huh."

What are you doing?" Chuck hastily asked after realizing that she wasn't looking at him.

"I'm checking your chart to see if you've ever had a history of psychosis..."

"Well, if you call seeing my father's ghost on the anniversary of his death then sure...but he's alive now so I don't see that happening again anytime soon," Chuck said, almost conversationally.

"Umm, ok—" Christina started but Chuck wasn't finished yet.

"I preferred it when he was dead. I brought him back to life and the bastard turns around and kicks me out of my own company. He should have just died in that car accident! Tell me, does your father hate you?

"My father's dead."

"Are you sure?" Chuck asked, genuinely curious.

Christina rolled her eyes at his ridiculous question.

"No—I'm about twenty percent certain that he's a vampire."

"Did you see him die?"

"Look, just let me see your gunshot wound."

"Why?" Chuck demanded, tightening his bloody grip over his bloody injury.

"Because I'm your doctor and it's my job..."Christina answered in an apathetic tone.

"Wow, that's touching." Chuck sarcastically remarked. "Tell me, do you even care that I have a bullet in my shoulder? I could be in pain, you know."

"Aren't you?"

"No, I'm not and that's the problem."

"What are you talking about?"

"I can't feel anything. My father hates me, I will never reclaim Bass Industries, and Blair and I will never be together. "

"Are you sure you don't feel any pain? I mean, come on! You must be in pain!" Christina urged, grasping at straws. "I mean, how did it feel when you got hit by the bullet?"

"Fine."

"Well, what happened to you, then?"

"I was trying to feel something."

"So what? You shot yourself?"

"No. I found someone on Craigslist to do it."

"Wait, are saying that you have conversion disorder?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying."

Great, Christina grimly thought, that's just perfect.

Christina dramatically covered her face with her hands and sighed. Of all the complications and illnesses, it had to be this one. She hated conversion disorder; it went against everything that she believed in. It was a sham, a con—a psychological issue masquerading as a physiological trauma. He might as well have said "hey, my nerves are shot! But don't worry; you don't have to cut me open because it's all in my head!" Feelings, nothing more than feelings...it was disgusting.

Oh, why couldn't the guy's heart be at risk for cardio arrest or something? Christina inwardly complained. A cardio surgery is just what I need right now. But no—no, I had to be stuck with the angry, psychotic, bipolar guy with a bullet in his shoulder. She could see her super powers waste away before her eyes.

"Ummm, are you crying?" Chuck interrupted, more curious than concerned.

Christina removed her hands from her face, suddenly livid at the sound of his voice.

"No, of course not!" Christina yelled. "No one is worth my tears, let alone you!"

"Uhh?" Chuck stammered, completely taken aback by his doctor's sudden emotional outpour.

" You know, I'm a brilliant surgeon!" Christina passionately informed him. "I am a surgical god! I have magical healing hands that can perform miracles!"

Chuck looked at her and then at her hands, not really understanding what she was getting at.

"Ummm... congratulations?"

"Yes, I deserve to be congratulated! I deserve a freaking award—the Harper Avery award, to be precise. Did you know that I finished first in my class at Stanford? I'm amazing, damn it, and yet I'm saddled with you!"

"Uhhh, okay—"

"And for the record, you're voice is just scary! I mean, I'm going to have nightmares about it tonight, it's that scary. And don't get me started on that hair..."

"Yang?"

Christina turned around to see Bailey standing in the door way.

"Bailey," Christina nervously started, "I was just..."

"Were you verbally harassing a patient?" Bailey asked in her usual stern tone.

"No."

"Yes, she was," Chuck confidently replied and Christina wanted to wring his neck.

Bailey, suddenly noticing that Chuck's wound was still not properly bandaged, shot Christina her patented withering glare.

"Why is the patient's injury not treated yet?"

Chuck hastily responded before Christina got the chance.

"I told her to bandage my gunshot wound but she wouldn't do it," he said, putting on his best innocent victim impression.

"He's lying, Bailey! He's wouldn't let me examine his injury!" Christina passionately assured her but Bailey didn't seem convinced.

"And why wouldn't he let you examine his injury, Yang?"

"Because he likes playing games! Monopoly is his life—he said so himself!"

Chuck shrugged.

"I just suggested that we could play Monopoly after she fixed me up but it appears she took my suggestion the wrong way..."

"Listen, Batman—"

"Yang," Bailey interrupted, clearly losing patience. "You are going to bandage this man's wound right now or so help me I will stuff you in a closet and make sure that you will never see the inside of an OR again."

"But—"

"Go die in a shoebox, Yang," Bailey commanded, not skipping a beat.

"Yes, ma'am," Christina sighed before angrily approaching the patient. Chuck smiled as he relinquished his shoulder, making Christina despise him even more. Once Bailey left the room, Christina shot Chuck a murderous glare.

"You're a dead man, you know."

Chuck smirked.

"I can tell this is going to be a fun day."