A/N: So, I just saw a promo for Season 8. OMG. It looks so good. Thus, I was inspired to actually update this one. Hope you enjoy!

The Twisted Sisters

For all her steel and stubbornness regarding the abortion, Cristina found herself surprisingly nervous that Friday morning. She woke up with a heaviness in her belly. A heaviness in her heart. She had never doubted her decision, yet she couldn't ignore the nagging feeling that something was off. It didn't help to see Meredith with Zola. She had blossomed into the type of mother that Cristina knew Meredith had always wished she had herself. It was alarming to see someone that she had thought of as her mirror image change so profoundly. Usually the niggling voice just behind her eyes was Owen's, but that morning it was herself alone who whispered, "Why can't that be you?"

Still, she pushed through. Second thoughts were natural. It was just like slight apprehension before jumping into a pool or hesitation before answering the phone. She had thought through this, weighing the pros and cons. She simply wasn't ready to be a mother. It wasn't the right time for her and Owen would understand in time.

That last part rang false to even her. Owen would never understand and it was a silent postscript to her reasoning that the moment the appointment ended her marriage would, as well. She knew Owen viewed her decision as a violation of their marriage, their vows. There would be no going back and no going forward. They would be stuck on opposite sides of the issue, neither willing to budge and ultimately, neither able.

Meredith tip-toed around her, knowing better than to pursue inane chitchat. She was supportive in her silence, although Zola's perch on her knee did undermine it somewhat. Cristina still felt the weight in the base of her belly and battled it through copious amounts of cereal. She didn't bother to use a bowl, taking handfuls from the box itself.

"Are you nervous?" Meredith finally asked. "You can tell me if you are."

"I wish he wasn't coming," Cristina said, fully aware that she was evading the question. "He's just making it harder on himself"

"He just wants to be there for support."

"I don't need support."

Zola reached up toward Meredith, taking a hold of her hair. As she wrangled the baby's hand away from the blonde lock Meredith said, "It's good that you will have someone there for you."

Cristina frowned, shoving another fistful of cereal into her mouth. She thought about him while she chewed, imagining his stolid visage as he walked with her towards what would be the end of so much. Her pregnancy. Their future.

Her stomachache worsened.

Breakfast was interrupted by a visitor at the front door. Derek had wandered down from upstairs and headed over to the open the door. Owen stood with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his coat. He looked like he hadn't slept. Probably hadn't. Derek let him in, unsure what exactly should be said to a friend who was unwillingly partaking in the abortion of his child. He settled on a simple hello and Owen had enough courtesy to return it with his own.

Cristina was frozen at the table when he entered. She was afraid to turn and look at him. Her head refused to turn and she wondered when she had become so terrified of her husband. But then he laid a strong hand on her shoulder and she could breathe again. She stood up, grabbing her bag from the chair beside her.

"You want anything?" she asked awkwardly. "Coffee or something?"

"No," Owen said. "We should go."

She gave Derek and Meredith a weak farewell and followed her husband out of the house. Even with the universe of issues between them, Owen still opened the cardoor for her. She slipped in, pulling her bag onto her lap as he slammed the door shut. He climbed into the driver's seat and they drove in silence.

Callie Torres walked through the pit, leafing through a chart as she headed to her patient's room. Her head was down when she collided with something solid. She launched into an immediate apology but trailed off when she saw it was just Mark. "Oh, you."

"Is that anyway to speak to the father of your child?"

"Sorry, didn't see you there."

"Yeah, you probably should be somewhat aware of your surroundings while you're walking. This is a hospital, you know. Sharp things. Hospital beds. Don't want you to end up in one…" he trailed off as his attention was diverted. Callie noticed the change in his gaze and she looked at him oddly before turning her head to see just what had distracted him.

"Oh no," she said, turning back toward him and sticking her hand in front of his face. "Mark, no."

"What?"

"Leave Lexie Grey alone."

"Who says I'm not?"

"She is happy with Jackson. You two never worked."

"That's not fair," Mark argued, eyes snapping behind Callie again. "Circumstances got in the way. You being one of them, might I add."

"It shouldn't be this hard, Mark."

"Oh, and you and Arizona are easy?"

"No," Callie admitted. "But it's not supposed to be this hard. Trust me, leave little Grey alone."

"I am," Mark said, already figuring out how he could finagle his way into talking to the littlest Grey. "I will."

Callie shook her head, reading his bluff easily. The man was a self masochist. Him and Lexie were like oil and water, but they kept mixing, hoping that one day they wouldn't be forced apart. "Just be careful," Callie sighed. "And stay away from on-call rooms."

The waiting room was too pristine. White walls. Beige carpet. A selection of magazines carefully chosen for the particular clientele. It was in the OBGYN wing, so it was filled with Parenting and Woman's Day. Owen supposed he couldn't begrudge the lack of magazines pertaining to his exact reason for being in the waiting room. It would be a rather offsetting magazine. Still, he resented the underlying tones of hope and joy that permeated the room. Most there were embarking on their future. A new beginning. This was only an ending.

He wasn't allowed to be in the room with her. He could see the relief clearly on her face but it made him anxious. He had held out hope that in the last moment he could change her mind. He had thought, dreamt, that in that room with the sterilized instruments and hospital gown she would see things differently. If she was, he didn't hear anything about it. The minutes stretched on since the door was closed firmly in front of his face and his fists balled tighter.

Cristina knew the method. She had studied it, memorized it, steeling herself for this precise moment. She had always viewed medicine with a detached eye. It was a science; emotion had no place in it. Lying on the table, however, in a most vulnerable position she was unable to disassociate the emotion from the science. She couldn't compartmentalize it, deduce it to a series of steps and stitches. She was losing too much.

Too much.

It was all too much-the fact that life was expunged with a vacuum. That in seconds something alive and thriving would end up in the bottom of a bin. That this killed Owen, yet he was still waiting outside. That she could do this to him. That she could do this to herself.

They had given her an anesthetic and she fought her eyelids as they grew heavier, pulling down like shades on a window. The nurses floated around her, all seemingly out of her reach as she tried to tell them to stop. She wanted to tell them that she had changed her mind. She could be a surgeon and a wife. A wife and a mother. But she couldn't. Her tongue was too large in her mouth, like a bar of soap wedged in between her teeth. It seemed to fill her entire mouth, lodging her airway. She tried to breathe but nothing happened.

Her eyelids pulled shut and then everything went dark.

Owen sat beside her bed, leaning forward with one hand resting on her slim arm as he listened to the sound of her breathing. It was steady and even, a welcome sound after what had happened on the operating table. Despite no history of allergic reactions with anesthetics she had experienced a rather severe reaction to the one given to her. He had seen the commotion, nurses rushing into her room. He had initially thought it was some complication from the procedure but was quickly informed that his wife had experienced no complications, she simply wasn't breathing. He had to be physically barred from entering the room.

He was with her now, though, finding comfort in the gentle rise and fall of her breath. Her eyes opened slowly as she stirred from her sleep and she groaned, running her tongue over her dry lips. He grabbed the glass of water from the table beside him and offered it to her. She gladly accepted it, taking several sips.

"You scared the hell out of me," Owen told her softly, taking the cup of water and placing it back on the table. He took a hold of her hand and kissed her palm. "How are you feeling?"

"Like someone in a hospital bed." He smiled slightly, watching her as she shifted to a more comfortable position. He noticed her face go blank for a moment while her hand flew to her stomach. He knew what she was checking for and cleared his throat for a moment before saying, "They had to reschedule, obviously."

Her throat was still hoarse from the trachea as she told him, "I don't want to them to reschedule anything."

"What?"

"I was going to tell them to stop," she said, adding, "Well, before my throat closed up."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that I don't want an abortion. Last moment of clarity, I guess." He hardly believed what he was hearing. For weeks she had been nothing but concrete in her decision. This almost seemed too good to be true; like a dream he would wake up from, only to realize that it was all a lie and things were just as messed up as before. But then her thumb brushed his palm and he knew he wasn't dreaming. "This means too much for me to just throw it away," she told him. Her eyes turned glassy as she said, "I won't throw us away."

And then it was Owen's turn to stop breathing. He leaned in toward her, tracing the gentle curve of her cheek with his thumb. He was overwhelmed; words seemed too simple for the maelstrom of emotions coursing through him. A man of action, he chose a response that transcended all manmade language. He pressed his lips to hers, feeling the first sense of comfort in weeks when her mouth moved beneath his. He pulled away first, forehead resting lightly against hers. "We will make this work."

"I know."

"And you will still be the amazing surgeon that you are. And we'll…" he trailed off, wonderfully happy with the course they were committing to. "We'll be a family."

She kissed him softly and murmured, "I love you."

"I love you, too."

Owen found Meredith in the Pit, explaining what had happened and that he had to leave the hospital for a few a bit to drive Cristina home. He didn't give her the specifics of how him and Cristina were but when she dug in her pocket to pull out the keys to the house he told her, "We don't need them."

She had spied them leaving the hospital a few minutes later, Owen carrying Cristina's bag as they headed out toward the parking lot. Cristina spotted Meredith across the way and said something to Owen, heading over toward her friend afterwards. Meredith could tell something had changed, and from the peaceful look on her friend's face she ascertained that the change was good.

"I'm heading home with Owen," Cristina told her.

"Yeah, he told me."

"So, this means that I won't be needing to bunk at your place anymore," Cristina said. "You and McDreamy can now have sex in every room. Be the disgusting people that you are."

Meredith smirked. "So, does this mean...?"

Cristina nodded, shoving her hands in the pockets of her leather bomber jacket. "Yeah, it does."

"And you're happy about it?" A slow smile spread on her friend's face as she nodded. "Well, look at us. The twisted sisters have become mothers."

Cristina snorted. "God help us."

"God help them."

Cristina smiled slightly before stepping forward and pulling Meredith into one of their rare hugs. "Thank you for everything, Mer. I don't think I could have gotten through this without you."

Meredith pulled away as she said, "I'm your person, Cristina. That's what I do."

Cristina smiled slightly. "Well, I have to go. Owen needs to get back here for rounds-"

"Yeah," Meredith interjected, nodding. "You guys go. Make sure to rest." Meredith watched her friend return to her husband, the two of them disappearing around the corner. She felt a hand on her shoulder and she leaned back instinctually, glancing up at her husband.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," Meredith said, realizing that this was the first day in weeks that she actually did feel okay. It may have taken a while but she felt that things were finally falling back into place.

A/N: I am thinking of ending this here. While I do have unfinished arcs with Sloan and such, the main plot of this one (CO and MerDer) is pretty much complete. Would you like to see more? Let me know!