Hello, all. Thank you for the reviews on the last chapter. You guys are the best.
Long story short on the computer, the company lied to me about the pricing and the amount of time it would take to get it fixed, so I sent it elsewhere. I should (pray God) have it back by the end of this month. Sorry for the false hope on sooner updates.
Here's the next installment, which brings a level of excitement to the story that we haven't seen in awhile. Hopefully, you all enjoy it.
Another five days passed, and with each day Cristina lay despondent in her bed, she became more and more convinced that she was destined for Fairfax. A mixture of guilt and comfort overwhelmed her in knowing that Owen would never let that happen.
Despite his chaotic position as Chief of Surgery, he made frequent visits to see her, at least twice each day, and his smile had yet to falter. He hadn't slept in his own bed in nearly a month, as he had to ensure Cristina slept adequately enough to spur her recovery. He came in each night he wasn't on-call looking tired and thin but was always so tender and attentive nonetheless.
Each night, the guilt further ate away at her. If she could tell him to go home; to leave her there to rot, she would. The small gestures she had once showed him in affection, she neither had the energy nor the immunity to show him now, but Owen never lost hope. What she lacked in her affections, he made up for tenfold, always holding her close as he relayed the events of his day.
Throughout these nights, she had discovered that Mark was in a coma and not likely to be revived, Arizona had lost her leg to infection, and Derek was recovering from surgery, details that Meredith, who had gone back to work two days prior, would not discuss with her. Meredith and her other co-residents spent their lunches with her, usually treating her as if she were completely normal. It was a part of her daily routine that always lifted her spirits.
Each night after a few hours of listening to Owen's uplifting monologue, he would sedate her and within minutes, she would be in the midst of a pack of coyotes or watching the light die from Lexie's eyes or shoveling the maggots burrowed in Arizona's leg. Each dream proved to end more morbidly than the last, resulting in a more exhaustive awakening.
What Cristina longed to understand was why her mind altered the endings of these events to be more frightening than they already were. Why did the coyotes always gruesomely rip her limb-from-limb instead of retreat, as they had done in the woods? Why did Lexie's eyes pool blood, then her entire body disintegrate into the ground after she died? Wasn't her crushed form; her pale complexion contrasted against her bloody lacerations enough? And why did the maggots pour out of Arizona's legs in magnanimous numbers, ultimately suffocating them all instead of remain the sparse dozen or so she realistically pulled out?
She always awoke to Owen's sweet assurances and tender embraces. The man never complained or acted inconvenienced. He would soothe her trembling form with warm circles along her back and repeated kisses in her hair until the next morning when he would inevitably have to get ready for work. It was the only part of the day that he showed his discontent, as he knew once he left her, she would be alone for hours before he could return.
On this particular morning, Cristina watched Owen as he put on his dirty scrubs and prepared to go to the locker room for his morning shower. He detailed his surgeries for the day, which he had already told her the night before, but Cristina didn't mind. His voice was a calming force in the demolished shipwreck of her life. Before walking out the door, Owen hovered over her body and framed her face with his warm, sturdy hands. He gazed lovingly into her eyes and smiled his signature, lopsided smile. A brief wave of emotion passed over her then, causing her to close her eyes. He rubbed sweet circles on her cheek with his thumb and leaned down to kiss her gently. "I'll bring you breakfast in a few hours," he whispered, his hands never leaving her face. He kissed her once more before standing up. "I love you, sweetheart," and then with a pained expression, he walked out the door, leaving her with her thoughts, of which she only had one.
I know…and I wish you didn't have to.
The day carried on as usual. Meredith and the others visited her at lunch, and Bailey came in several times to monitor her vitals which, as usual, were completely normal. Everything was normal, so why wasn't she? What happened to me? she thought in her solitude. What have I become?
"Now, she's like an end table," she heard new intern Shane Ross sarcastically snicker as he answered her unspoken question from the other side of her window.
She had learned to ignore the stares and whispers from the other side of her window over the past seventeen days, but Ross' comment had piqued her interest. He had voiced what she knew everyone in the hospital thought of her, that she was crazy; that she was broken; that her "legend" status had transformed from cardiothoracic prodigy to despondent psychopath.
Something did break inside of her in that moment, and with it the stimulus of her sanity; her will to live; to be her again, no matter what it took. She stared at the colorful flower arrangement in an equally colorful vase on her bedside table. The interns' mockery still echoed through her open doorway, and she felt anger, true anger for the first time in nearly a month. It was a liberating feeling, one that had been building its way up for a long time…one that she had to get out.
LIKE HELL! And with that, in the blink of an eye, she swiftly reached out, gripped the yellow vase, and the rage fueled her strength as she flung the arrangement against the window, prompting a series of sudden gasps and panic-induced conversations.
She turned over, knowing the outcome of her actions. Within seconds, three nurses were at her bedside, cuffing her limbs to the bed once again, but Cristina didn't care. Speak! she told herself. She opened her mouth as she was roughly restrained, but nothing came out. Speak, dammit! Speak! Suddenly, her eyes drifted to the doorway where her coworkers had started to gather.
"What the hell happened here?" Bailey exclaimed, rushing through the doorway. She pointed her clipboard at the nurse. "You'd better get her out of those before the Chief sees and you lose your damn job."
The nurse looked at her coldly. "She threw that vase at the window. She's a threat, Dr. Bailey. I'm just following protocol."
Bailey looked at her incredulously and scoffed, then looked down at Cristina, who just wanted to squeak out one coherent word. Bailey! she tried to say, but all that came out were tiny, almost cough-like gasps. Bailey put her hand on the bed. "Yang, they're not going to take you. Do you understand me? Dr. Hunt's on his way. You're staying right here." Bailey promptly looked away then, nervously eyeing the door for potential threats.
Cristina's breath slowed as Bailey guarded her bed. Nobody fucked with the Nazi. She was in good hands. It wasn't long before Dr. Hurst appeared in her doorway. Bailey stared at him with steady, menacing eyes as a tiger protecting her cub. Dr. Hurst met her stare for a moment before announcing, "I need everyone out of this room, you included, Dr. Bailey."
Bailey's eyes never faltered. "You touch her, and I'll end your career."
Dr. Hurst raised his hands in submission. "Hold fire. It's just a security measure. I'm leaving too."
Bailey lifted herself from the bed, turned, and gave Cristina a sharp nod of assurance before turning back to Dr. Hurst. "Mhm," she murmured skeptically as she walked out of the room, watching his every move.
Cristina turned her head then, away from the judgmental stares burning a hole in the back of her head. Okay Yang, focus. Just one word. One… she tried again to squeak out even a sound, but something in her mind told her "no." Dammit! What the hell do I have to do? Tears streamed down her face as she gripped her sheets. What do you want from me, brain? I'm here! I'm ready! I'm-
"I said no more damn restraints!" Owen's bellowing hysterics broke her from her thoughts as he approached her bedroom.
A clear proponent of her transfer to psych, Dr. Hurst hurled his words at Owen aggressively. "She's clearly a danger." He fumbled his words. "She doesn't even belong on this floor! She is violent, uncommunicative, an-"
Bailey cut him off. "Oh, she communicated. She just hasn't talked yet." Damn straight I did.
Dr. Hurst grew frustrated, his response fueled by seventeen days of denial. "Look, there's nothing physically wrong with her. She belongs up in psych."
The conversation settled in that moment, as Owen knew that Dr. Hurst couldn't do anything about it as long as he was in Cristina's corner. "I am the Chief of Surgery, and her husband. Don't tell me where she belongs."
"Well with all due respect, sir, that's exactly why you shouldn't be making this decision!"
Looney bin junkies are the worst, Cristina thought as the hallway settled back to its normal buzz.
"Okay." A hand brushed her hair back as her heart rate settled. Cristina turned her head as Meredith spoke. "Okay, it's time." Yeah, I know. "It's time to get up." Cristina's eyes settled on Meredith then, who spoke in hushed yet urgent tones. "They are going to take you upstairs, and they're going to pump you full of antipsychotics, and you're going to go slack-jawed and cuckoo's nest, and you'll never be you again." I'm there, Meredith. I'm there. I'm there. I'm there. "Cristina, please, I am begging you. Please. You have to say something." I'm ready. Why can't I just- "Cristina, please." A raging fire burned inside of her as Meredith pleaded with her. "Do you hear me?" Yes, I hear you! I'm tr- "Say something, please!"
Just then, several male nurses in dark green scrubs walked through the door. "Dr. Grey, we'll take it from here." Meredith turned and lifted her chin, refusing to move.
"Dr. Grey." Dr. Hurst calmly walked through the door in that moment. "As your superior, I am ordering you to step away from the bed." Meredith met his stare with an equally calm one, not budging an inch. "Insubordination is a serious offense, Dr. Grey, one that my colleagues up at Harvard won't take too lightly." His threats only served to drive her feet further into the ground. He stepped closer to Meredith. "I have direct orders from the board to transfer Dr. Yang up to psych, and unlike you, I follow my direct orders." He nodded toward the nurses, who then pushed passed Meredith to prepare Cristina for the transfer.
Dr. Hurst thrust the papers in Meredith's direction. She read over them as the nurses began to wheel Cristina out. She glared up at him ferociously. "You will pay for this, Hurst. Your career will pay for this."
Dr. Hurst simply turned to direct his nurses when Owen stopped them all dead in their tracks, wide-eyed and angry. "Dr. Hunt, I've been instructed directly from the-"
"I signed an AMA," he said through gritted teeth. Mouth agape, Dr. Hurst read through the form Owen had pushed into his chest as Owen wheeled the bed back into the room.
"This is unethical Hunt, and you know it. You can't do this!" Dr. Hurst's words came out in loud bellows as he watched Owen uncuff Cristina from the bed.
Owen turned briefly from his task to confront Dr. Hurst. "But I did. Now I suggest you get the fuck out of this room before we both lose our licenses." Dr. Hurst shook his head and stalked out of the room, defeated. Owen then turned his attention back to Cristina, whose eyes were red and puffy and clouded with tears. Upon releasing the last cuff, he cupped her face and pressed his forehead to hers. "I'm taking you home." He gazed into her tear-filled eyes as he felt a hand press firmly against his cheek, taking him by surprise.
Owen, I love you. I'm trying so hard to get better, but I can't. I can't get out. I can't get out.
Never breaking his hold on her, he enveloped his hand around hers and brought it to his lips. "I've got you, Cristina." A silent tear rolled down her cheek, which he gently brushed away with his thumb. "I've got you. I promise."
He then cradled her body to his chest and set her in the wheelchair next to her bed. Meredith smiled half-heartedly from the doorway, hoping Hunt had made the right decision. As she finally breathed fresh air for the first time in seventeen days, she heaved a heavy gasp. Owen stopped in his tracks and looked down on Cristina, concerned. Her eyes were wide and expressive, but her face gave nothing else away. He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Are you okay?"
She reached her hand behind her and touched his fingers, assuring him.
Take me home, Owen.