disclaimer:
I do not own the rights to the characters used or to the song lyrics used. I also don't own any movies. This fanfic is a non-profit, amateur effort not intended to infringe on the rights of anyone.
Owen returned to the on call room and stretched out on the bad, all of the lights out the room was completely dark. He was tried, because he couldn't be anything but tired. He was tired and weary and wanted more than anything to just be okay. He didn't even want to feel great. Just okay would be a relief.
Sleep wouldn't come. He closed his eyes but his thoughts kept going, didn't even bother to slow down. His mind refused the rest he needed. All he could do was think, and so much thinking was exhausting him. And not sleeping was exhausting him.
The knot in his stomach, the result of the dream involving Cristina's disappearance, had not subsided. In the dream, in the moment where he thought she was gone, he realized that anything could have happened to her, that it could be over just like that. It had been in the back of his mind, under the surface, an irrational fear that was encouraging him hold back when it came to what was developing between them. The fear was telling him not to let it happen, because she could be taken away. Or she could choose to walk away. Or any number of other, unforeseeable things. Anything could happen in an instant and it would all be over. Could he handle that, on top of everything else? Did he want to?
Now what occupied his mind were all f the things he could have missed if even one small thing was different. If she had been married when they met. If she hadn't been working the night they met. Would he have felt that same connection, if he hadn't had to "save" her? Would he have been as attracted by her if he hadn't been able to play the hero?
He could have missed everything, so easily. He might not have been there to pick her up off the icy sidewalk and carry her into the hospital, an icicle still lodged in her abdomen. It could have been someone else listening to her proudly talk about the pigs' survival in the skills lab, some other man jealous to see Dr. Sloan flirting with her. He could have missed seeing her stand up for herself as the other residents watched Alex Karev perform the first solo-surgery of her year group. It would have been someone else to comfort her, standing over the vent watching the forced air push those dark curls around her smiling face. Beautiful, unmanagable curls. They could not be contained, spilling around her face and shoulders.
Beautiful, unmanageable woman.
Owen's pager went off, the noise providing sweet relief. He had never appreciated the pager beep the way he did in this moment. Really, he had made it a point not to, because as a trauma surgeon when he was paged it never a good thing. Knife wounds. Gun shots. Each one a small taste of human tragedy. He had chosen this life. Why had he chosen this life? For the greater good? For the excitement? For the chance to put the pieces back together, to fix something broken?
The idea was ridiculous. He had found out the hard way that some wounds couldn't be stitched closed. There will always be failures. He was okay with that once upon a time. He was okay with not being able to save everyone. Some things cannot be saved, it was enough to repair what was salvageable. Before, he understood and accepted that. Before he could move on. But what about now? Now that his was the wound that wouldn't heal? An invisible scar across his soul. The only difference was he didn't get to bleed out. He was the walking dead. He got to get up each day, and live it all over again. And he hated what it turned him into. He hated feeling weak, and out of control. But you can't fall down or fall in love without feeling weak or out of control.
Owen made his way to the nearest restroom. He made it into a stall before, bent over, he threw up into the toilet. The spell was over almost as quickly as it had come upon him, and as he splashed water on his face afterwards, he thought about his grandmother. If she were here, if he'd gotten sick in her bathroom, she would have taken one look at his face and proclaimed him heartsick.
Owen stood and made his way to the ER.
*
"What are you watching?" Callie came out of her bedroom in her pajamas, her hair pulled back into an untidy bun. Cristina froze, a bowl of ice cream in her lap, the spoon halfway to her mouth. Eating ice cream at 11 pm was bad enough, but being caught obsessing over a boy—man—being caught obsessing over a man was humiliating.
"Is that Jarhead? Really? You're watching J--" Callie stopped mid-sentence. "Oh."
"No," Cristina said. "No 'oh'. It just happened to be on, I--"
"You know this is about the Marines, not the Army," Callie interrupted, heaving herself onto the couch with a sigh. "Plus this guy," she pointed at the screen with her foot, "is enlisted, not really the same thing. Kind of a different atmosphere. I mean, yeah, they're all in it together but—"
Cristina gave her a dirty look and changed the channel. Callie smiled.
"It was just on. I just paused as I was flipping though channels," Cristina pointed the remote at the television, pressing arrow keys at random, "See? Just flipping and it was on."
"Of course it was." Callie glanced at Cristina, then turned to the TV, then glanced back at Cristina. "So you're really not—uh—" Callie clicked her tongue twice, which Cristina assumed was Callie-code for sex.
Cristina spooned the now-melting bite into her mouth. "We're really not."
Callie frowned. "I feel weird asking, but, is it because of Burke?"
Cristina looked genuinely surprised to have been asked that. "It's not me! If it were up to me then we'd—um," she paused, then clicked her tongue twice. Callie forced herself not to laugh.
"Have you… tried?" Callie asked, but shrank back into the couch at the glare she got from her roommate.
Living with Cristina was a constant learning experience. There were boundaries everywhere, planted like little landmines where you wouldn't expect them, especially living with another girl. Girls were gabbers. Girls were chatty. At least the girls she grew up with. Cristina, though, she could shut down an entire conversation with one look. But Cristina must have wanted to talk because she turned to Callie and said, "I'm just still getting the 'now is not the time' vibe. That's weird, right? Because usually boys, men, boys and men, well usually there isn't an issue."
"Do you think he has an issue?" Callie asked. "Do you think he can—"
"Stop!" Cristina said. "Stop right there. That's...not a problem. That… seems to work. Casual, you know, observance. Well… that works."
They shared a long moment of silence. It stretched between them like an ocean. The entire conversation was making Callie tense. She wanted to go back to bed, for fear she would say the wrong thing and learn her roommate had secret superpowers and could burn people with lasers that shoot out of her eyes. Callie chewed on her bottom lip, thinking. "The ex?"
Cristina nodded as if she were considering the possibility, but almost immediately said, "No." It came out decisively.
What other answer was there? "Weird," Callie said.
Cristina turned to her. "I know, right?"
Callie stretched leg legs out in front of her, pointing her toes in a stretch. "I wouldn't mind watching 'Jarhead'," She said in a conversational tone. Wordlessly, Cristina picked up the remote, plugged in the exact channel and they leaned back into the couch together.
Callie made it through about 20 minutes of the movie before her eyelids started shutting themselves on their own volition and she mumbled, "Gotta go to bed."
It was good timing, because the phone rang shortly after.
"Cristina? It's Owen." He sounded tired.
"Hi," she said, smiling.
She won a smile with that one, and she heard it in his voice when he said, "Hi."
"How's work?" she asked, standing to make her way to her bedroom and laying on her back, staring up at the ceiling trying to picture his face as they talked.
"Not too much going on out this way, been doing a lot of thinking." There was something in his voice that gave her a chill.
"Oh?" And she knew. He wasn't attracted to her. Or her was attracted to her physically, but wasn't attracted to her personality. Or he was attracted to her personality, but physically he wasn't into it. Or he just couldn't stand being around her. He was going to break up with her. Was she really so bad?
"I'm having some issues. Personally. Some stuff that I need to work through."
Do. Not. Cry. "Of course. Yes."
"I should have said all this earlier. I don't want to wait until Wednesday to talk to you."
It hit her suddenly. Their conversation in the cafeteria. He'd been setting a date for them to talk. He wanted to break up with her so he scheduled a break-up date. Except he couldn't wait until Wednesday to break up with her. Two days was too long to wait, apparently. Apparently, when a person decided to break up with Cristina Yang, it had to be done immediately. The sooner the better. No time like the present.
"Look, I don't need some big explanation. If you want to break up, I'm okay with that."
"Break up?" He sounded genuinely confused. Which irritated her. He wanted to mince words about whether they're in a relationship while he simultaneously tried to end it?
"Stop seeing each other. Whatever. It's okay."
"Cristina?" His tone was gentle, soft. It was a soothing tone one might use with a hysterical woman or a small child throwing a temper tantrum.
"What?"
"Cristina, I think I did a really bad job with this, I don't want to break up. I'm not trying to break up with you."
A beat of silence passed. "Oh," she said.
"Unless you want to."
"No." She paused. "So what were you—before I ruined it, what were you trying to say?"
He chuckled, a low rumble that warmed her from the inside out. She heard the beeping sound of a pager, and he groaned. "Crap," he said.
She was having none of it. "Real quick, though, what were you going to say?"
He paused, as if considering whether or not to tell her. Or maybe he was considering how best to put it. "I was going to tell you that I want to wake up next to you on Thursday morning, Dr. Yang. If you'll have me."
Cristina smiled. "I'll have you."
"Good," he said. "Now how about Friday morning?"
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