CHAPTER V - TAKE CARE NOW

Dear Owen,

For the month after my father died, I kept thinking of all the things I hadn't gotten around to doing with him. Though my surroundings remained the same and I quickly settled back, by necessity, into a routine similar to the one I followed before the accident, everything seemed new and foreign because I was never again going to be able to share it with my dad. I'd cross a street to visit the new coffee shop, and dwell over the fact that my dad would never taste it. I'd accompany my mom to do grocery shopping, only to think about the way I would never be able to cook a meal with my dad. It was the little things that stung the most; the big things - my dance recitals, birthdays, graduation, college, getting accepted to med school - were less meaningful to me.

Now, I cannot help but feel the same way about you - the same sense of dread leaking from my fear that I would, for a whole different reason, no longer be able to do these simple things with you. It's the same fear I felt the last time you spoke about going back to Iraq, when we'd first gotten to know each other all those years ago. Except back then, I only feared for your physical safety, because no part of me thought it possible that anything other than death would tear us apart. I can't help but let out a few tears at the thought of how far we've gone astray over the years - how we could possibly have gotten to this point, a point where we have all but resigned ourselves to part ways after wasting so many of the last years we should have had together. All those years, we constantly pushed each other away in the false yet stubborn belief that doing so is better for both of us.

"Major Hunt?"

Owen glowers up from the paper in his hand, his features a twisted mess of rage, confusion, loneliness and despair. His interlocutor shrinks back in surprise when he takes in Owen's expression, but he quickly recomposes himself and salutes Owen professionally. In the army, each soldier knows about the plight of all, and their readiness to offer support to their comrades in times of need is key to the mental wellbeing of everyone. But in times of emergency, as the soldier who has come to summon Owen knows, one does not enquire about personal grievances.

"Major Hunt, one of our reconnaissance aircrafts has had to perform an emergency landing on rough ground. We've lost communication, but suspect casualties. We need you on the rescue mission, Sir, leaving immediately."

Owen reflexively stuffs Cristina's letter into his pocket, slings his supply pack over his shoulder, and follows the soldier as they break into a jog together. By the time they board the plane, Owen has completely banished all thoughts of Cristina from his mind, focusing single-mindedly on his mission. He takes the first available seat he finds, without glancing up to see Teddy's eyes follow him onto the plane with worry etched deeply and clearly into her pupils. She unbuttons her seatbelt to change to the seat next to him.

"Owen," she begins gently. "What's troubling you?"

"Nothing," he snaps, finally gauging her presence. "Stop distracting me from my job."

"There isn't anything you can do right now," she reminds him soothingly. "We have no information on the status of the reconnaissance crew, or what they might need." Owen's hardened features remain frozen, glassy, rigid. "So unless you plan on helping fly the plane, you're stuck here, with me," Teddy adds with a strained laugh.

Teddy knows that underneath Owen's facade he is in a pain so deep that she can hardly begin to fathom it. What he has been through over the last decade, she can only begin to imagine. She herself had also suffered loss - first with Owen and then with Henry. But Owen was never hers to lose in the first place, and Henry was but a whisper through her life, there and gone in a heartbeat. She, unlike Owen, had never lost her other half, her anchor to this world, the love of her life.

But at the beginning of their tour, he had been happy - what changed? Teddy knows that Owen has been angered, exasperated, and horrified by the war, but now, he is different - it almost appears as if he is grieving. It seems to have begun when Owen lost that patient in the first week, but he'd lost many patients before and none had affected him so badly. What's more, this patient had been hopeless from the very moment they brought him in - his injuries had been so severe that it would have taken a miracle to save him. Owen knows this, so why is he so upset?

Perhaps he is grieving Cristina, now that it is definitively over between them. But it had been his choice as much as it had been hers, and then again, he had seemed fine when they first arrived in Iraq. In either case, as Teddy stares into Owen's piercing blue eyes, trying to discern there an inkling of an answer, she realizes that she must give him time to grieve over whatever loss is plaguing him. She also knows that she needs to stay close, and that she would endure however many days and nights of his brooding and negativity as necessary - it's the least she can do to repay him for all those years of friendship. She squeezes Owen's arm with one hand and, as the plane's doors begin to close, she silently slips out of the seat next to Owen's and returns to her own.

Realizing that Teddy is right and quickly losing his will to resist the temptation of stealing a few more moments with Cristina before what would surely prove to be a gruelling mission, Owen retrieves the piece of paper he had stuffed into his pocket earlier that morning.

It is for this reason, out of this fear, that I've written into this letter a list of some of the things I want us to do together, that we haven't done already, so that while I'm in Zurich and you're on the other side of the world, we can have something to look forward to when we're together again. They're mostly little things, which, as I've said, I find sometimes more meaningful than the big milestones. So here we go:

I want us to go away somewhere in the countryside one night and look at the stars together. They're so permanent, so bright, so vast: the one constant that endures through immense intervals of time and space. I wish we'd done that before, so that we could pick out a star that would be ours. So that if we are ever apart again temporarily, we can each look at that star and remember each other's presence. Stars are also the universal symbol of destiny, and we were meant to be. It would be nice to have some perspective, something bigger than you or me or the hospital or our differences, something that would remain constant wherever we are in the world and in our lives.

But were the two of them really meant to be, Owen cannot help but wonder. Their love had been strong and fierce and tenacious and gnawing and - as much as it frightens him to admit - permanent. But love, however powerful, has a limit. He cannot help but imagine, bathed in the narrow rays of light that flickered into the aircraft, that their love had been as a splint lit fleetingly in the dark. It coughed, spluttered, and then burned bright as to eclipse the darkness - and then, inevitably, it would go out. He had been so vulnerable when Cristina had come into his life - had he used her as a crutch to fill the emptiness in his heart and called it love for so long that he couldn't help but believe it? He misses Cristina terribly, but, even blinded by this love, he can guess at the tortuous journey ahead if he departed from the safe, weathered road he is now on.

The plane touches down, and light floods in through the opening aircraft door and bounces off a single tear on Owen's cheek.

Led by Teddy, the team runs towards the fallen aircraft. "Come on," Teddy shouts over the whirr of the propellers. "Quick. Move! We don't want to lose anyone."

Owen settles into the familiar pattern of following orders, of digging one foot after the other into the desert sand, of not having to think, to make decisions. Instead, he marvels at the ease and authority with which Teddy shoulders her new responsibility - it is the first time that he has worked under her leadership. As they near the aircraft, Teddy begins again. "Craig, Martin, you're responsible for the captain, Major Samson. Stabilize him if necessary and then bring him to the rescue plane as soon as you can."

"Yes, Ma'am." The men reply in unison.

As Teddy continues to assign responsibilities, Owen realizes that she knows everyone on the team by name despite the fact that they were put together in a hurry just this morning, and that she has taken the time to ascertain the names of everyone on the reconnaissance aircraft. If she were to tell the story of today at a botched date in five years' time, she would not refer to her patient as the "body full of holes". Owen sighs, hearkening back to the anonymous patient he had lost the week before, whose name he would never know. Teddy shows her comrades so much more respect than he has ever been bothered to, and because of this fact alone, she is a better leader than him. He has a lot to learn from his best friend.

"Major Hunt, you're with me. We need to get to the pilot, Jones. Let's go!" Teddy signals for the them to split up, and the team promptly disperses, each attending to his task. Owen alone continues to run straight ahead, lost in the abyss of his thoughts.

"Hunt!" Teddy calls again, yanking his sleeve. "Concentrate. We're going this way," she bears left and motions for Owen to follow.

I want us to make a bonfire - maybe toast marshmallows, but mostly, just to enjoy its warmth on a cold Seattle night. I've always loved the comfort of languid, flickering flames, and the slow crackle of firewood. I just want us to savour each other's presence, the slowly diminishing flames a constant reminder that it is not infinite. I wish we had remembered to replenish the logs, rather than just expect them to burn on forever out of their own volition. So many times we let our relationship deteriorate because we believed that love alone was enough to keep it going - so many times we just gave up and didn't put any effort into keeping us alive. I want us to never be so careless again.

I want us to go see a movie together - a mindless movie, one picked at random without having any idea as to what it's about. A little surprise, gift-wrapped onto the end of a busy but predictable week. I want us to laugh together and groan together and hold our breaths together in anticipation - I want us to experience together something at once new and familiar, something that is not surgery, as much as we both love it. I want us to do something that we can enjoy and just forget afterwards, but that may also stay etched into our minds. I want to hold your hand in a darkness lit not by alarm clocks or pagers or operation lamps, but by a story that we get to watch and judge rather than have to live in.

When Owen and Teddy return to the plane, Teddy instructs him to monitor their patient and promptly leaves to survey the rest of her team. The patient had suffered extensive injuries, and though they had done their best to stabilize him with the supplies they carried, Owen still feared for his life. "Stay awake," he instructs his patient when the latter closes his eyes.

After ascertaining that they hadn't left anybody behind, Teddy rejoins him and secures herself into the seat on the opposite side of the patient. She informs the pilot that they are ready to take off, and the plane falls dim again as the doors close and they lift off into a muddy sky. "Stay awake," Owen shouts again, shaking his patient, when he sees him close his eyes again.

"I'm so tired," the patient protests.

"It's dangerous to let yourself fall asleep now," Owen reasons frantically. "You may have suffered head injuries - you have to stay awake if you don't want any permanent damage." Teddy places a hand on Owen's shoulder, motioning for him to stop.

"Do you have family, Sergeant Jones?" Teddy asks.

"Yes," the patient replies. "A w-wife, and two daughters."

"What are their names?"

"M-my wife is called Katherine, and my daughters are Alice and Danielle."

"Such lovely names. How old are they?"

As Teddy continues to ask questions, the patient becomes visibly calmer. He has stopped complaining about being tired, and he begins to smile, animated, and speaks in a much stronger voice. Owen watches, fascinated and slightly ashamed of himself. He is a skilled doctor, as skilled as Teddy, but Teddy is a much better one, because she understands that being a doctor is about more than just medicine. All he had known was to shout at his patient to stay awake; she had known how to do it with subtlety and respect.

I want us to go to a museum together. You like art and history and literature, and I don't, so we've never really talked about doing it. But I would have liked to discover your hobbies, and I would have wanted to listen to you talk about them. We have so few things in common except surgery, so we've struggled for so long to look for similarities. We've zeroed in on the few things we're both interested in and blown them so out of proportion that we're both tired. Instead, I would love us to acknowledge our differences and embrace them - because with our differences, we complement each other and make each other whole. So I want us to go to your favourite museum, and I want to hear all about why you love it so much.

Back at the base, Teddy and Owen begin to treat their patient's injuries, which turn out to be more extensive than they had feared. No matter what they try, he continues to bleed.

"I feel faint," the patient whispers.

"I know, Sergeant Jones." Teddy tries to comfort him. "Just hang in there, think of your wife and daughters."

After another hour, the patient speaks again. "I-it hurts," he moans. "I can't stand it. L-let me die."

It is déjà vu, for every army doctor but especially for Owen. But for the first time, Owen does not have to make the decision; instead, he contents himself by making his presence as inconspicuous as possible and continues to treat the patient's wounds, listening intently to what Teddy has to say.

"You don't mean that," Teddy replies, gently, comfortingly. "Think of Katherine, staying with your children and looking forward each and every day to your return."

"It hurts so much," the patient repeats.

"Think of Alice and Danielle. If you can't find the will to live for yourself, then find the will to live for those you love. Alice starts seventh grade this year - you don't want to miss her graduation. And Danielle - would you not want to live to witness her eighteenth birthday in just three months' time? You don't want to see her off to college? Don't you want to celebrate your twenty-third anniversary with your wife, when you go on leave in just two weeks?"

Remarkably, Owen senses no break in Teddy's concentration. Not once does she falter, not once does her scalpel tremble, not once do her hands hesitate as she continues to close a wound. Owen realizes that when she had talked to the patient about his family on the plane, she had remembered every detail - the names, the birthdays, the things that meant the most to this man that they had met just hours ago. She had not been merely calming him, keeping him awake - she had cared enough about the patient to note the details of his life. No, if Teddy were to recount today's mission at her next date, she would speak of Sergeant Jones, with his wife whom he had been married to twenty-three years and his two daughters, one of whom was going off to college and the other just about to graduate elementary school. She would never, never, have to talk about a body full of holes. Owen feels like he has learned more about being a doctor in this one day than he has in all the years before.

"I-if I don't make it," the patient continues after a while. "Will you tell my wife and children that I love them?"

Owen is about to assure the man that of course he would do it, when Teddy spoke before him and uttered a firm "no".

"You are going to tell her that yourself, Sergeant. Do you think, if your wife loses you, that she would want to hear these words from some random doctor in uniform who would just remind her of you? Do you think she'd want to know that, in the last moments, you just gave up and resigned yourself to death, and wasted time trying to tell her something she already knows rather than fighting to stay alive and for the chance to tell her yourself every day for the rest of your lives? Think of your children - they deserve a father, or at least a father who died fighting. You cannot give up now, you cannot think about death now."

Owen watches his patient blink back tears, and then blink furiously against the blackness that threatens to swallow him. He turns his gaze to focus on Teddy, who is looking calmly at the wound she is sewing shut. Her face betrays no emotion except a fierce concentration. He turns back to his own work. After another hour, they finally manage all of the bleeding.

"Go ahead and sleep now," Teddy whispers to the patient. After thanking her for saving his life, the patient gratefully closes his eyes. Teddy calls the nurses to take care of their patient, and quietly, she and Owen exit the room.

The more I add to this list, the more I regret not having done so many of these things during all those years we had together. We had our moments in on-call rooms and in ORs and in our apartment and in the fire house, but we were both working so hard and there are so many other things we haven't gotten around to. There's no point regretting the past though, so I'll instead concentrate on a future, a future that I hope can be with you.

I miss you and I love you and I hope to hear from you again very soon,

Cristina

"How do you decide," Owen whispers to Teddy. "How do you decide when to ask a patient to keep fighting and when to let them go?"

"You always tell a patient to keep fighting. If they listen, then they haven't really given up. Because if a patient has given up, nothing you say will make them change their mind. In that case, you let them go."

"I learned a lot from you today, Teddy. Thank you, ever so much."

"It was my pleasure," she says to her best friend.

"You make a phenomenal leader. I've forgotten how incredible a doctor you are."

Teddy just smiles and looks straight ahead, trying to ignore the catch in her throat. She had forgotten what it was like to work together with Owen. She had forgotten those days they scrambled side by side to save a patient, those nights when the emergency alarms would sound and they would convene together on the cold, wet grounds. Back then, they had been equals or he had led her; now, she has to lead him and his compliment lifts a bit of the pressure on her shoulders.

"I'm only as good a doctor as you have led me to become," she finally replies. "You taught me first."

They continue walking in silence, each savouring the other's companionship and reliving the day's work in their own minds. They would glance at each other often, and when they catch each other staring, they would break into a small smile. By the time they have to part ways to go to their respective living quarters, Owen's arm has found its way around Teddy's shoulders and Teddy is leaning her body into Owen's for support.

"I'll see you soon," Teddy looks up at Owen and grins. She makes no attempt to unravel herself from under Owen's arm, waiting for him to let her go. He looks down at her with an unfathomable expression. How easy it would be to just lean down and press his lips against hers. He knows that no explanation would be necessary - she would understand. He never needs to explain himself to Teddy; she understands him perfectly. They have been through everything together - they have both suffered equal amounts and have built themselves up with the same uniforms and the same blast surgeries and the same hot Iraqi sand under their feet. They also want the same things - family, loyalty to their nation, companionship, stability, children - they would be able to make each other whole without having to tear themselves up first. He knows that with Teddy, it wouldn't always be one chasing the other and the other hurting with guilt over it. It would not be one making all the sacrifices and the other always pulling away. It would be a healthy, wholesome relationship. But he also knows that, before he can allow himself to do this, there is something else that he has to do first.

Owen wraps his other arm around Teddy in a tight embrace, and kisses her softly on the forehead. "See you soon," he smiles back at her.

They part ways, but instead of going to his living quarters, he goes to find a phone. His uniform is still bloodstained from the last surgery, but he doesn't care. He dials Cristina's number, knowing that it is the middle of the night in Zurich and hoping that it would go to her voicemail. He holds his breath until he hears the automated voice tells him to leave a message.

"Cristina, it's Owen." He pauses, realizing that he has no idea how to say this. All those times, it had been Cristina ending the relationship, never the other way around.

"Look," he finally manages. "It's not going to work between us no matter how much we want it to. We've tried too many times. I think it's better if we don't try to contact each other anymore. Bye, Cristina."

Owen hangs up and feels his heart fill with dread. Numbly, he returns to his room and retrieves a fresh uniform before heading to the bathroom. Under the heat of the shower, he begins to imagine a future with Teddy. He imagines the two of them returning to the US after their service and settling down somewhere in the suburbs, buying a house and shopping for furniture together. He imagines them having children and picking names in bed over a morning coffee. He pictures transforming the guest room into a nursery, Teddy as enthusiastic about the project as himself. He imagines three children with his ginger hair and Teddy's beautiful hazel eyes, playing together in the front garden. But as the hot water begins to run out and the steam in the shower fades, he realizes that as much as he tries to imagine a future with Teddy, what he is actually seeing is a future without Cristina, and what a bleak, empty future that is. Teddy will forever be his best friend, a phenomenal teacher, and a woman he had once loved. But she can never be Cristina.

It had not been Teddy whom he asked to staple shut the wound on his leg without anaesthetic. It had not been Teddy whom he found sprawled in front of the hospital entrance with an icicle in her stomach. It had not been Teddy who bought them a firehouse because she understood that he needed it. It had not been Teddy who operated with a gun to her head in front of his eyes to save the husband of her best friend. It had not been Teddy whom he had believed dead for days. It had not been Teddy who asked him to try again after he asked for a divorce. It had not been Teddy who wrote him fifty-two letters after they said goodbye.

It hadn't been Teddy all those times in the past, and it is not Teddy now. It is not Teddy, he realizes, that he wants a family with, and all those other things. Without Cristina, he would not want to serve his nation. It had been Cristina who gave him a purpose, a mission in life, who made everything meaningful. And it is because of Cristina, he now knows, that he continues to find meaning every day. It is Teddy who taught him how to care for his patients, but it Cristina who taught him to want to. Abruptly, he turns off the shower and slips into his fresh uniform as quickly as in an emergency drill.

He dials Cristina's number again, and is relieved that it goes to voicemail once more. This means that she hadn't woken up yet and heard his last message.

"Cristina," he whispers into the phone. "Cristina, I'm sorry."

This time, he does not need to struggle for words; they pour out from the hidden recesses of his soul.

"What I said in the last message, I didn't mean it. I was upset and confused because I'm back here in Iraq where I haven't been for years, and I lost a patient last week and, through my own fault, couldn't fulfill his dying wish. Cristina, I want us to keep trying, too, and if you think it can work, then I believe you."

He pauses to swallow the tears in his throat and takes a few deep breaths to slow his heartbeat.

"I've been reading your letters. I'm so, so sorry it's taken me this long to respond. It's not that I didn't want to talk to you - it's one of the few things I do want - it's just that I've been thinking really hard about this, us, because I didn't want to call before I was completely sure that it wouldn't do more harm than good. I'm sorry if I hurt you by waiting. All those things you said in this last letter, I really want to do with you too. Know that I will treasure, as I have been treasuring, each and every letter that I read. When all this is over, I really, really hope to be able to make everything up to you and show you how much I love and treasure you, too."

"If you still want me, after everything, please, please, call me back. I really want to talk to you." Owen gives her a number to call, and tells her that though he can't promise to always be able to answer because of the nature of his work, he would try his very best, would call her back as soon as he can, and would always be thinking of her.

"I love you, Cristina." He whispers through his tears. "I can't wait to hear your voice."

Thank you so much for reading! Please review!