Owen was much more composed when he arrived at work the next morning. He had pushed himself to the limit at the gym and managed to leave some of his nervous energy, along with several gallons of sweat, on the stair climber and then the treadmill. Without anyone around at that late hour to spot him, however, his intention to bench press himself into oblivion was thwarted. He was so desperate for the exertion that he was tempted to do it anyway, but even in his current state he drew the line at potentially ending up in his own trauma room with a crush injury. Instead, he did push ups until he lost count and finally fell to the floor. Nothing less than complete and utter exhaustion would do, and in spite of this when he arrived home he still found sleep elusive and was only able to doze fitfully till the morning.
People seem to be staying out of my way today, he noticed, and wondered if word had spread since yesterday's altercation with the intern: Steer clear of Dr. Hunt. When he was in his right mind he got a real charge out of teaching the interns and residents - even if his methods were often unorthodox - and he really didn't want them to be afraid of him. He vowed to contain himself better today, and managed to push his anxiety about the impending afternoon's events out of his mind for the most part. When his left his shift early at 2:00, he headed to Cristina's and waited on the stoop for her to arrive. Finally, at 2:15, he saw her leave the hospital and cross the street toward him.
He picked up his small duffle and stood as she approached. He looked tense and tired, and seemed to have trouble meeting her gaze. "Hey."
She nodded. "Hey. Sorry I'm late. Dixon insisted on giving me the entire timeline for the history of heart transplant surgery in America, including names, dates, and numbers of transplants performed…"
He smiled. "Did you learn anything?"
"Nothing I didn't already know or will ever need to know…" she smiled back, "but it paid off. She invited me to scrub in tomorrow on a pretty complicated case, so I'm stoked." He followed her in as she unlocked the downstairs door and started up the stairs. "She's really not so bad," Cristina added.
"Huh?... What do you mean?" Owen was preoccupied and had lost the thread of the conversation already.
"The Asperger's thing. It just takes some getting used to. I kind of like it in a way. I don't have to worry about hidden motives or double meanings with her. She says exactly what she's thinking. It's all totally up front, even if it is offensive sometimes. It's kind of refreshing…" She was chattering and she knew it, but it helped a little to dispel the tension. "I mean, she rambles on about stuff, but so does everyone if you think about it…" She opened her door and stepped inside. "But you didn't come over here to talk about Dr. Dixon."
"No, I didn't come over here to talk about Dr. Dixon…" He followed her in, and there was an awkward silence. "Can I change in there?" He nodded towards her bedroom.
"Go ahead. It's kind of a mess…" He nodded and stepped inside, closing the door behind him.
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When he emerged a few minutes later, Cristina did a double take and caught her breath. She hadn't realized that when he said "change" he meant into uniform. And there was definitely something about a man in uniform, especially THIS man in uniform… Seeing him in his desert camo gear brought her back to the first time she'd laid eyes on him, and that memory carried with it a pang of longing for the relatively carefree and very cocky Owen he had been that day. "Um… why…?" She gestured to his outfit.
"The shrink suggested it. I'm just following the prescription." He looked uneasy.
"Ok, let me get the stuff you wanted, and we can go. D'you want me to drive?"
"I'll drive, you navigate."
"Ok." She moved past him into her room and grabbed the photo and the map from her desk. "Let's go."