A/N: Cristina comes up with a surprising solution to her and Owen's uncomfortable situation. I might continue this, read on and let me know if you'd like that...
The Race
"Well, there's only one solution to this," Cristina says, decisively staring him down as he continues to eat his pizza.
"And what is that?" he asks, taking another bite which proved remarkably unwise as she answers, "Trial separation."
He chokes on his pizza, dropping the slice back onto the plate as he looks at her incredulously. She can't be serious. Cristina proves that she is, in fact, serious as she expounds on the suggestion, adding "Then when you choose me, it will be clear that our marriage is not influencing you."
"It could look like I'm trying to win you back," he points out, trying to think of anything else to undermine this ridiculous idea that she has gotten into her head.
"We could make the trial separation your idea."
"And have Meredith kill me?"
"She's small, you could handle her."
He gets up from the table and walks over to her. The smooth skin of her face is taut and her lips are pulled into a frown. She is still rearing for the fight, trying to find some scheme to counteract the uncomfortable position Richard Weber has put them in. Owen believes he has just the thing-his brutal honesty. "Cristina, listen to me." He gently takes a hold of her arms. "We are not having a trial separation. The Chief asked me to choose Chief Resident and I will do so fairly. Based on skill and leadership, I will choose the correct person."
Her lips pull into a grin and her arms relax beneath his fingertips. "Well, that'll be an easy decision," she remarks.
"Easy?"
"Come on, Owen." She laughs to herself, but he doesn't follow her humor. When she sees the confusion still clouding his eyes she says, "Most skilled? Best leadership? It's a no-brainer."
Still nothing.
She begins to worry and spells out, "Me. It's me."
His hands move down her arms to gently hold her wrists. She fights against him as she feels disappointment rise in her chest. The look in his eyes needs little explanation and she moves away from him sharply, but his hands stay locked around her wrists. "You are unbelievable!"
"You are all equally qualified for the position," he says slowly.
"Are you kidding me? Karev? Karev is as qualified as I am for the position? Kempner?"
"You all have been trained remarkably well."
"Bol shit," Cristina spits. "I deserve this and you know it."
"I am looking at it objectively, Cristina. And that is how I will make my decision."
She glares at him and effectively rips herself from his grip. "You better be able to live with your decision, then. Remember who you come home to."
With that she walks past him and grabs the pizza, her small feet stomping angrily on the wooden floor as she walks towards the stairs and then up to their bedroom. He calls after her, "Are you seriously withholding dinner?"
"Get your head out of your ass and I won't have to!"
He hears the bedroom door slam and he frowns, shoving his hands into his pockets as he wonders if he will be spending the night on the couch. Regardless, pizza for dinner is out of the question and he turns back into the kitchen and grabs the cereal. Leaning against the counter, he stuffs his hand into the box and his fingers hit the dusty, empty bottom. Cristina must have finished it the night before and he knows better than to think she had bought a replacement. Sighing, he tosses the box into the garbage and squeezes his eyes shut.
This was going to a very difficult few weeks.
A/N: So, should I continue?