Good morning, Crowen fans. Thank you all for the reviews. They keep me going.
Here is the next installment, and as promised, it didn't take two weeks to get here. Hope you all enjoy.
Her episode just moments ago led Owen to the conclusion that working just wasn't an option right now. He knew there would be bounteous amounts of paperwork and judgement to deal with, but he couldn't think of that now. He had to focus on her recovery. In the mere hours since they had been home, Cristina had shown astronomical improvement, and he couldn't let her regress. A rush of guilt pervaded his conscience. Had this been what she needed all along? Just to come home; to not be surrounded by doctors and needles and stares? He should've known not to let her stay in that hospital for so long, but his job was just so demanding he…he didn't have an excuse. She needed him, and he let her down.
When the bathtub had filled, he rose and walked over to her, hoping for some sort of reaction. She looked up at him, her face void of any expression. He smiled lopsidedly and offered his hand. She looked forward once again as he lifted her from her seat on the toilet and draped her arms over his shoulders. While he undressed her, Cristina looked over his shoulder out the small window. It was dark outside, but she could see the bright yellow, beady eyes and snarling teeth of a coyote, and she flinched, pushing her head down onto Owen's shoulder.
"Okay." Owen noticed her abrupt movement and assumed the stress on her legs had been too much for one day. "Okay, c'mon," he whispered, picking her up and placing her gently in the tub. She sat upright, her hands white-knuckling the tub, her eyes cautiously scanning the room for potential intruders. She felt Owen's hand gently press against her back, prompting her to lean forward in the tub and she relaxed, allowing her head to droop and stare into her reflection in the water. Her face looked fuller than it had the last time she had looked in a mirror and her color was returning. She looked…she looked like herself.
She felt a warm sponge graze her shoulder as Owen pushed her hair aside. She could feel his breath on her back as he spoke to her with quiet care. "I'm going to take a leave of absence," he said, softly caressing her back. She listened to his tender voice, too exhausted and too comfortable to fully absorb the guilt that rested in her gut. "I think three years ago, I said I was going to figure out how to make great roast chicken." His delicate strokes against her back were lulling her into a state of serenity and merely the sound of his voice was enough to make her forget all of the trauma, if just for a moment. He scoffed then. "Still haven't done it." He chuckled, moving to her other shoulder. "I just like how a house smells when there's a chicken in the oven."
Owen was trying to give Cristina a sense of warmth; to show her that he was here and that he was going to give her whatever she needed to recover. She seemed to have made so much progress today, and he couldn't help but be afraid that her vapid eyes had indicated a relapse after such a short period of time. He sighed, changing the subject to one that he had yet to approach, fearing her reaction, but her progress today encouraged him, making him believe she might respond to it. He took in a deep sigh and returned to his ministrations on her torso. "You're going to feel stronger in a couple of days or weeks," he said comfortingly. "It takes as long as it takes." Cristina closed her eyes, relishing in his warm, pacifying touch. "And we have all the time in the world."
He rinsed the sponge in the warm bathwater and continued to nurture her broken spirit. "When you're back on your feet, you'll go back to work at whatever pace you want." This piqued Cristina's interest. She hadn't thought about work in weeks. "You'll go back into the O.R., and you can do your magic." His hand drew back as he leaned further over her form, emphasizing his words, his voice as low and even as the moment she had arrived home. "You won't have to deal with patients or families." He paused, his voice quieting to a tender whisper. "I'll take care of all of that."
Owen stroked her hair for a moment, his brow slumping in defeat. How could he get through to her? How could he better support her? He had said it himself. It takes as long as it takes.
Cristina, meanwhile, couldn't take it any longer. Owen's words had done more than he knew. She had been despondent for so long that she had lost sight of the end goal. Of course she wanted to get back into the O.R., but her body wouldn't cooperate. She felt tears sting her eyes, but she held them back, willing herself to just focus on Owen, her faithful supporter. "You ready to get out now?"
Get out, she thought, frustration rising to the surface. Get out…she scoffed internally. I can't get out, Owen. I can't. I-I'm STUCK in this bizarre limbo and I can't get out. I CAN'T get out. I CAN'T GET OUT! I CAN'T GET OUT! I CAN'T GET OUT!
"I can't."
The rustling of the towel ceased as Owen, stunned, prompted her to say more. "What?" he said simply, completely awestruck.
She maneuvered her body to relax against the back of the tub. She could hear her heart racing in her ear as she prompted herself. MORE! SAY MORE, IDIOT! Her gaze remained fixed on the tub as she elaborated in a choppy, weak voice. "I can't get out."
Owen, momentarily frozen, tried to find meaning in her words. "Are you-" His senses returned to him then as he rushed toward the tub. "You can. I'll-I'll help you." He braced himself on the tub, his eyes watching her with intense curiosity in what she would say next.
Cristina finally found her voice then and wanted to tell him everything she had been dying to say for the last three weeks, but she had to explain first. After taking a few silent moments to gather her strength, she spoke. "I stayed awake for four days." Owen shifted slightly from his spot next to her, but never dropped his eyes. "I remember…every single minute of those four days." Her voice turned bitter then, but her body remained fixed as she clutched the tub. She lifted her eyes, remembering. "The fire went out. It was really, really dark. There were so many stars."
Her voice barely a whisper, she continued. "I remember getting the bugs out of Arizona's leg." Owen listened with apt attention as he shifted himself in front of her. "I put leaves on it, trying to keep them out…and Mark," she said, frustration crossing her face. "Mark just kept dying. It was so annoying. I kept trying to help him, but he just kept trying to die on me." Her voice grow somber again. "I just wanted to lie down and sleep on him because he was warm, and I wanted to sleep."
She could see from the corner of her eye that Owen was puzzled; mesmerized. "Meredith was asleep. Everyone was asleep." The words spewed out of her mouth like venom. She hadn't realized how resentful she still was of her companions. "Arizona got the last of the water, and I remember drinking something…" her face twisted in remembrance. "bad…it might have been fuel from the plane? I drank…" Her face continued to contort as she relayed the events to Owen, who sat vigilant, hanging on her every word. "my pee."
Her voice faltered then as she remembered the coyotes. "The noises." Her breaths became ragged then. "The animal noises, fighting and growling right next to us; right there." She gulped, the images returning to her. "I kept waiting for them to come and kill me, but they didn't." Lexie's pale, limp arm appeared in the bathtub, but she pressed on. "And then I realized…they were fighting over Lexie." Coyotes hovered around the bathtub, snarling, watching their every move. "I tried to keep them off of her. I tried." She fought against her instincts to hurl the sponge at the coyotes, forcing herself to understand that they weren't real. "But I couldn't get out." Tears threatened to spill out of her eyes, but she found her composure. "I can't get out."
Owen shook his head passionately, trying to make her understand. "You're out now," he said emphatically, rising from his place on the floor to assure her. "I've got you," he insisted, pressing a firm kiss against her temple. "Do you hear me?" He nuzzled his face into her hair, enforcing his presence; his support; his undying love.
He would've stayed like that forever had she not spoken again. "I can't get out," she repeated, more meekly than before. He drew back slightly, prompting her to look up at him. "Don't you see? I'll never get out."