Every breath is a struggle, feeling as if it could be the last. Sweat is pouring from his brow and his heart is pounding and his body is heavy and he can't keep fighting. Another scrape of a blade against his flesh reminds him that he can't give up yet.

It's his life on the line and he's not going to go down like this, not today.

With the very last ounce of strength that he has in his body, he tightens his grip on his attacker and draws back his fist. When his hand makes contact, there's a sickening crack and he's not sure if it's coming from his knuckles or their jaw.

When the body beneath him goes slack, he doesn't care because it means that he gets to live.

For now, he's alive and it's all that matters.

---

Owen wakes with a start when the alarm goes off, the sound reminiscent of ominous things to come. He reaches over and nudges Cristina to wake her before he pulls himself from the bed and stumbles into the bathroom through the dark.

There's an ache in his muscles and his body aches from the previous night's struggles. He knows that the dreams have gotten too real, that he needs to go back to see Wyatt. For one shimmering moment, there was hope that he would be able to move on, that he could have a normal life with a beautiful and amazing woman.

That hope is now gone.

He leans over the sink, his eyes only half open and he reaches out to turn the faucet on. It takes a few moments for his mind to register the splattered blood on his hand and he closes his eyes for a split second, wondering if he's still dreaming.

His blood runs cold when he realizes he is not.

How he gets to her side so quickly, he's not sure. He can't feel his feet, can't breathe, can't scream or call out for help. Books and pagers and cell phones crash to the floor as he scrambles for the lamp at her side to turn it on as he frantically says her name, repeats it over and over again.

Her eyes are still open, fear forever ingrained into her face.

When he lifts her from the bed, he can feel the nauseating grind of broken bones shifting in her body. She's limp and cold, her skin the color of ashes. Finally, he manages to choke her name out in a pained sob. Tears fall from his eyes and onto her cheeks as he lifts her from the bed, her limbs falling lifelessly at her side.

Somewhere in the back of his head it registers that someone so small shouldn't feel so heavy.

The apartment is quiet and empty, Callie long departed for her shift at the hospital. There's nobody to call 911, nobody to help him. Owen drops to his knees and lays her gently on the floor. He brushes her curls from her face, noting that even they look lifeless now and he tilts her head back. He leans over, presses his lips against hers and he tries to give back what he's taken away.