disclaimer:
I do not own the rights to the characters used or to the song lyrics used. This fanfic is a non-profit, amateur effort not intended to infringe on the rights of anyone. Cristina Yang and Owen Hunt are characters on ABC's Grey's Anatomy.
Author's note: This is just a little something that explores the latest promo. As always, I love reviews. And I hate hiatuses.
How odd was it that Izzie had come to her, of all people, and told her a secret that she hadn't shared with anyone else. Not with Alex, or Meredith, or George. Alex was her boyfriend. And what were Meredith and George good for, if not for secret keeping? Why had Izzie chosen her, of all of them? Some sick kind of torture. She wasn't prepared to keep this kind of secret. Izzie was having freaking neurological symptoms. Sex with a dead fiancé. And she'd chosen Cristina to talk to about it?
How could she possibly keep this secret? Izzie was sick. A big, life-changing kind of sick. A treatment-requiring kind of sick. But instead of seeking treatment, she was playing cute little games about "Patient X" with the moron interns. She hadn't even included 3, the smart intern, in the charge to find her diagnosis. Was being completely devoid of any self-preservation instinct another symptom? Not that it mattered. What did any of it matter if she wasn't going to take care of herself?
Cristina was supposed to be concentrating on her upcoming solo-surgery. Finally, she would be performing a solo-surgery. Except Izzie Stevens was maybe dying in front of her eyes and Cristina couldn't turn to Meredith for advice. She couldn't do much of anything, really. And so instead, she found herself wandering around the pit looking for Owen Hunt, hoping that he might have some advice for her. Except he was nowhere to be found.
"Dammit," Cristina muttered to herself, suddenly irritated with him. The man all but promises forty years, only to promptly disappear. Whether she was really irritated with him, or just trying not to be irritated with Izzie, she didn't know. Maybe it wasn't even Izzie. Maybe she was irritated with herself. Because she was Izzie's friend. Shouldn't she know what to think? Shouldn't she know what to do? Anyone else—any of the others-- would know. But Cristina found herself paralyzed, desperately searching the hospital for a man she hadn't needed a few short weeks ago. Today, all at once, she needed him. Needed him to talk her down, needed him to put it in perspective. Because today, she didn't have perspective.
"Cristina?" George asked, having to do a double-take when he saw her, leaning against the wall, staring down at her tennis shoes. Cristina jumped at the sound of his voice, torn away from her thoughts.
"Hey," Cristina said, standing up straight. "Hi."
She took an imperceptible step back when George's eyes narrowed, and he cocked his head to this side, as if contemplating his next move. "Hey, hi." He said.
Cristina forced a smile, then cursed herself. Stupid smiling would give her away.
George frowned. "Are you okay?"
"Fine, good, are you in the pit today? I'm not in the pit today, I'm just looking for someone about this thing," she rambled, then forced herself to stop and turned to leave.
"It must be driving you crazy," George said.
Cristina spun around. "Izzie told you?" she asked, relief flooding her.
George looked confused. "No, the Chief announced it. Your name's on the board."
It occurred to her then that he was talking about the solo-surgery. Of course he was talking about the solo-surgery. She should be talking about the solo-surgery. She should be thinking about the solo-surgery. She was finally, finally, getting her solo-surgery and Izzie hijacked the day. She could have killed her. Or whatever.
"Have you seen Dr. Hunt?" she asked suddenly.
George gave her a knowing grin, and she contemplated punching him in the face. But while his reaction had irritated her, he eventually offered up an answer and she went off with a new purpose. She didn't know what she wanted to say to Owen. Maybe she wouldn't need to say anything at all. Maybe seeing him would be enough. Sometimes that was the case. Sometimes just being near him helped calm her. If he hadn't been standing next to him in the OR with Dr. Campbell Crazy Eyes, she might have done more than gotten kicked out of the operating room. She might have gotten herself kicked out of the program.
He was asleep, just as George said he would be. Asleep on a cot in the hallway. And he looked awful, even asleep. He didn't look like he was resting. He looked tense, and alone, and it was hard to see. Hard to stand next to him and know that something was wrong, and she didn't know how to fix any of it. She didn't know how to fix what was wrong with him. She didn't know how to fix what was wrong with Izzie. And she sure as hell didn't know how to fix what was wrong with herself.
She moved over to the cot and leaned down, "Owen," she said softly, bending over to get close to his ear, trying not to startle him.
And of course she did startle him.
Because when it came down to it, everything about Owen Hunt was an 'of course'.
Of course he pulled an icicle out of her abdomen. And of course he kissed her in an exam room. And of course he walked away. And of course he came back. And of course he made her save pigs, and of course he made her turn around and kill them. And of course he didn't know her name. And of course he was in the after. And of course he thought she was hypercompetitive and unfeeling. And of course she told him about her dad. And of course he looked at her with those eyes. And of course she followed him out of a bar. And of course he backed her up against a wall. And of course he kissed her. And of course he took her to the vent. And of course she kissed him. And of course he showed up for their first date late, and drunk. And of course he got into her shower fully clothed. And of course he asked her for another chance. And of course he had an ex-fiancee.
It was all so predictable, so natural. Everything that was going to happen between them did. And none of it was a surprise, in hindsight. It was barely a surprise at the time. She hadn't really batted an eye at any of it. 'Half a dozen, either way'? Fine, jackass. Forty years? Indeed.
And so this was not a surprise, either.
Because of course she startled him.
Of course he had an exaggerated startle response.
Of course he swung his arm out.
Of course he hit her.
Of course she was knocked off balance.
Of course she fell.
The pain was no real shock, either. There wasn't a lot of extra meat on her bones, and she fell on her ass. And she hit her head on the supply cart behind her. It produced a lot of noise, and they were lucky no one was around to hear. It took him a few seconds to realize what had happened. She was just getting back on her feet when he made it over to her, and held her face in his hands. He was shaking, his eyes searching hers.
"Cristina," he said, and he tried to look into her eyes but she couldn't. Of course she couldn't. She was embarrassed. Because--of course. Of course, she should have known and now he was looking at her, saying her name over and over again and she just couldn't.
"I didn't mean to—" she started, but he stopped her.
"Please, just let me see if you're okay, I'm so sorry, let me see. Please look at me." He was pleading.
And it's awful, that she did it, that she didn't predict it and now he was apologizing to her. Of course he was apologizing to her.
"I'm okay. I was just coming to—it doesn't matter." She still couldn't look at him. He would look so concerned. He would look so guilty. He would look so destroyed and she just couldn't be the person who destroyed him. Not today.
"I'm okay," she repeated, and gently pulled his hands away from her face. "I'm okay."
She backed up and turned away. And then she started walking. She left him standing there and she couldn't look back. Not yet.
