For the next week, Cristina had mapped out a routine, at 5 in the morning, she would disappear to her hole in the basement with her dummy arm and bags intact to sleep for 4 hours, then wake up to start suturing, and she remained there until well past 9 at night, when she was sure that everybody from ENT was gone, then she'd saunter back upstairs, make coffee in the clinic, and return to suturing her dummy arm.

And every morning at 4 am, she would call Burke just to let him know that she was okay, and every morning, the sound of his voice was soothing enough to calm her down and prepare her to start her day all over again.

Except for this morning. This morning was different.

She'd gotten her coffee before she called him, and returned the room, leaving it unlocked, figuring she'd be gone before anybody might try to enter.

And she called him, waiting impatiently to hear his voice on the other side of the line.

She didn't get his normal message, the message asking for her to leave a message, no instead she gets, "Cristina, I can't do this anymore. Please come home." his voice soft and weary, not the strong voice asking for a message.

She wanted to tell him that she was okay, to keep up the facade for just a little longer, but the words slipped from her mouth before she could stop herself, "I can't."

She hung up the phone, then cursed herself, realizing she could've erased the message, started over.

If only the past were that easy.

Then what would she do? she wondered to herself. Quit making things so difficult for the man that loves you? Quit trying to be the best and simply settle for being his.

No, that would not work for her.

Cristina Yang had resigned herself to a few weeks of a miserable existence containing sutures, numerous cups of coffee and bad vending machine food. The phone calls with Burke, if that's what one could call them were not planned, but they were a welcome reprieve for the temporary life she'd chosen.

"Dammit." she cursed him for changing his message.

She rose from the bed to start gathering herself, and the room spun around her and she thrust her arms out to the bunk bed, trying to steady herself, but to no avail.

She fell to the ground in a heap and her world faded to black around her.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

'I can't.'

He listened to it over and over again.

She couldn't.

She wouldn't.

She can't.

He looked at the clock and saw that it was five and time for him to return to his first full day of work. He was dressed, ready to go. But he wasn't prepared.

He wasn't prepared to go back without her.

And now her words weighed heavily on his mind, 'I can't.'

If she'd only said 'I'm okay.' then his mind could be at ease, he'd know that she was okay, not fine, not hurt, not sad, but okay.

He had a nagging feeling in the back of his head, and brushed it off as an intense preoccupation with just wanting her back. Wondering how her plan was coming along and if she was even close to coming back preoccupied most of his waking thoughts.

He didn't focus on the future anymore, nor did he even give the slightest thought to the purchase of a ring, or the formation of the perfect proposal. He used to secretly daydream of those moments, and the cocky characteristically Cristina answer she'd give him.

'Whatever.' was his favorite possibility, quickly followed by, 'This will make 'your momma' happy.'

But that was a long time ago.

The ride to work for him was a solemn one, thoughts running through his head of the plans that he'd formed, the execution just a few miles away. His heart rate increased slightly, thinking of what he could say to make it better.

And what he could tell her if the plan worked.

But there was that nagging feeling at the back of his mind that told him that his plan just wouldn't matter today, but he pushed it away, ever the optimist and continued on his path.

He made his way towards the door, going over the words he'd use, the things he'd say to get her job back when Miranda Bailey approached him at an alarmingly rapid rate.

He knew that the nagging feeling was about to be defined, "What's wrong with her?"