Izzie smiled sadly and shook her head. "Dead man walking," She teased softly, sucking in a ragged breath that was obviously difficult for her.
Owen's heart sank. Cristina had been here, and she'd obviously been upset. Dr. Wyatt was right. Of course she was upset. He could have kicked himself. He was such a fool.
Izzie coughed once, then sighed, closing her eyes. "You'll be okay, Dr. Hunt. She'll be okay. I've never seen her like this over anyone. It's how I know she'll be okay."
"Owen." While well-intentioned, her assurances ripped at him. "Cristina is upset," he whispered. It wasn't a question.
Izzie nodded. "She's furious." She paused, coughed again. "It's a sad furious, though." More coughing. "Don't ever get cancer, Dr-er Owen. Or pneumonia."
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't be bothering you with this. I was just looking for Cristina."
Izzie shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. "It's not a bother. To feel included, it's—" she stopped short, smiled sadly. "It's not a bother."
"What are you doing here?" Cristina's voice sounded behind him.
Owen turned abruptly. She had the day off, was in street clothes with her hair pulled into two braids. She had an armful of magazines and bag of potato chips. He watched the efficient way she moved as she put the chips and the magazines next to Izzie's bed. When she'd spoken to him her tone had been cold, but there was a hurt in her eyes he hadn't seen since her fight with Meredith over the table when they operated on the death row inmate. He hadn't been there for her that day, when she'd accused him of running hot and cold. She hadn't been able to talk to Meredith, and he hadn't been there for her. He was no more of a help to her this time.
"I was looking for you." He said. "I actually stopped in to see Dr. Wyatt today and I—" he glanced at Izzie nervously.
"Oh, don't mind the dying patient," Izzie said, drawing her covers up further, looking suddenly exhausted.
"You're not dying," Cristina and Owen said at once.
"Jinxies," Izzie whispered hoarsely. She smiled, her eyes drifting closed as Cristina grabbed an extra blanket off a nearby chair and spread it over Izzie's legs. She brushed Izzie's hand and stepped back, then motioned for Owen to follow her out of the room.
"What do you want, Owen?" She asked, and he was a little surprised to find that Wyatt had been right. Cristina was hurt and angry. She'd hidden it well, last night in his arms, but after having time to process his stupidity she'd obviously decided she was not okay with it.
Just as he opened his mouth to speak Izzie's oncologist walked by, headed for the door.
"She's sleeping," Cristina told her as Dr. Swender reached for the door knob.
Dr. Swender turned, and cool brown eyes assessed Cristina. "They're always sleeping, Dr. Yang. We are running toxins through her blood and it is an exhausting process. So yes, she sleeps a lot. She'll fall back asleep."
With that Swender turned and walked into Izzie's room, closing the door behind her. Owen got the feeling it wasn't the first altercation she and Cristina had had over Izzie's care.
"That woman's a shrew," Cristina muttered, then turned her attention back to Owen. He smiled, noticing that her protective streak was connected to her temper. "Did you need something?"
"Can I stop by your apartment later? My shift's over in an hour."
Cristina shrugged sullenly. She was pouting. He'd never seen more adorable pouting. And the pippy-longstocking braids just made him want to kiss her. "I'm sorry," he said.
"You're a jackass," she countered.
Owen grinned, knowing he had her. "That too."
Behind them, he heard a throat clear loudly. Cristina and Owen both turned to find an un-amused Meredith Grey approaching. She'd been too far away to hear what they'd said, but obviously wasn't happy with what she'd read from their body language. Owen stepped back, knowing it wouldn't do much good. He had no business in the cancer wing. Meredith knew exactly why he was here.
"How is she?" Meredith asked as she reached them, and he noted with some hope that she was working hard at keeping the disappointment off her face.
"I'll leave you to it," he said, and excused himself, knowing instinctively that two pairs of eyes tracked his retreat.
"Hold it still, you keep moving," Cristina said, doing her best to work the wires back into the base of the light fixture as she worked at pressing the fixture up to the ceiling. For a helpful old lady Mrs. Jensen wasn't very helpful.
"I'm trembling," Mrs. Jensen shot back irritably. "I'm an old lady, old ladies tremble."
It was true, Cristina noted. The woman was seventy-five if she was a day. But she'd been the one to offer to help when she caught Cristina headed into the apartment with light fixture box under her arm.
"My Johnny and I used to own apartment buildings," Mrs. Jensen had said. "I've changed a few light fixtures in my day."
So it wasn't exactly an offer to help, but Cristina invited her in anyway. It was turning out to have been a mistake. She'd nearly dropped the ceiling fan on Cristina's head, and even standing on the bed like they were Cristina was having trouble reaching the screws.
"What the hell is going on?" Owen demanded from the doorway. Cristina jumped at the sound of his voice and she and Mrs. Jensen both turned, caught red-handed and looking guilty.
"This is a good idea?" he demanded of Cristina, who almost blushed. "A pregnant woman and a—" he stopped short, unclear on the polite way to acknowledge Mrs. Jensen's advance age.
"Elderly person," Mrs. Jensen supplied. Cristina rolled her eyes. Now she was helpful.
"Mrs. Jensen, get down off that bed before you fall off," Owen directed, stepping forward and reaching out a hand to her to help her down.
"Oh, Owen, I'm fine," Mrs. Jensen said, but removed her hands from the fixture, leaving the full weight of it in Cristina's left hand.
"You two know each other?" Cristina asked, moving her right hand up to support the extra weight. She'd never noticed the old lady before today, had assumed she was new to the building.
"We met her and her son Johnny Jr. in the lobby," Owen said pointedly, as if it were something she should remember.
Mrs. Jensen just smiled contentedly as Owen helped her off the bed. "Oh, pregnant women are forgetful, Owen. You'll figure that out soon enough." She turned back and waved to Cristina, "I would never have guessed, dear. You aren't showing at all."
"Are you okay with that while I walk Mrs. Jensen back to her apartment?" Owen asked, managing to look concerned and irritated simultaneously.
Cristina nodded. "I'm fine."
Owen returned minutes later and wordlessly climbed up to help with the rest of the install. They'd done almsot everything, including connecting the wires. The hardest part had been finding the damn circuit breaker.
"I can't even begin to imagine what you were thinking," Owen said as he tightened the last of the screws into the fixture. "Isn't this what building managers are for? Let me guess, he didn't call you back?" He was going to have to have a talk with that man.
Cristina shook her head and let out a long breath, sitting down on the bed and drawing her knees up. "He wouldn't change it out, if there wasn't anything wrong with the ceiling fan."
Owen narrowed his eyes at her. "There wasn't anything wrong with the ceiling fan?" he asked incredulously, trying to keep a lid on his emotions. Were pregnant women erratic and nonsensical, too? Cristina shook her head in the negative. "Then why did you take it down?"
Cristina sighed, looked down at her hands where they were folded in her lap. "Dr. Wyatt thought the blades of the fan might be a trigger. "
Owen sat down next to her. "Dr. Wyatt?"
Cristina nodded. "I stopped by yesterday, to see, you know…whatever. She obviously didn't tell me anything about you, but she said a lot of times there are triggers."
It occurred to him that she was preparing the room, in expectation that they would be in here again. And the thought of it wasn't as horrible as he had expected it to be. Returning to the scene, seeing her bed, and the nightstand.... It wasn't as bad as he thought it would be. And she was obviously trying. She was angry at him but she was still trying to build their life, whether or not he was here to help.
You're not in Iraq, so where are you? He should have been the one to buy the light fixture, to accost a neighbor to help him install it. Likely he'd have the sense not to choose an elderly woman.
"I love you, Cristina," he said, putting an arm around her shoulders. She turned to look at him, surprise painted on her features. "I love you, and I want to do this with you. I want to be here for all of it. And I am so sorry I've been so—"
"Jackassy," Cristina offered, resting her head on his shoulder.
Owen laughed, nodding. "Jackassy," He agreed. "I want to be here for this. I want to be there when you see the heartbeat on the ultrasound for the first time. I want to know what your first craving is. I want to assure you you're beautiful the first time you realize you can't fit into your pants. I want all of it."
A moment of uncomfortable silence passed between them before, relenting, Cristina said, "Sour patch kids." She turned her head and looked into his eyes, relief flooding through her. She'd known she was angry with him, but hadn't realized she'd been waiting for him to say this. She didn't think she was the girl who was waiting for the speech, that wanted to hear the "I love you". But this time, she was. He looked confused. "My first craving, it's sour patch kids."
Owen laughed, a resounding guffaw that warmed her from the inside. "That's perfect," he said, shaking his head, still chuckling.
It was her turn to look confused.
"First they're sour," he said, leaning in and brushing his lips against hers. "Then they're sweet."
She realized where this was going. "Don't say it."
"Just," he kissed her cheek, "like," a kiss on her nose followed, "you."
Cristina snorted, worked at keeping the smile off her face and thought about telling him what else her new condition was making her crave.
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