A New Day

Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.

- Kahlil Gibran

There weren't many days that Cristina could recall when she didn't feel like coming in to work. Not even after Burke left and she had to endure the whispers. The stares. The pitying looks.

But this – this is unbearable.

For weeks, she had avoided Owen – a feat not easily accomplished given that he seemed to be everywhere. Especially where she had allowed him to find a home – in her heart.

When circumstances forced them to be in the same room, she avoided meeting his eyes. She knew that if she permitted herself to look into those azure pools, she would feel that dull ache in her chest, only for that to be followed by a wave of yearning to touch his face and wrap her arms around him again. She could not erase her mind's photographs of his face and the way it hovered over hers as they made love over and over.

Even now, her body is set ablaze at the memory of his touch, his skin, and how beautiful it made her feel when he looked at her reverently and kissed her hungrily. She closes her eyes as she remembers how she had surrendered herself completely to him and allowed herself to be flooded with a mix of joy, sadness, relief, elation, fear and contentment.

And now, this – this moment of abject misery.

Thank God for Callie, who mostly seems to know when to ask and when to say nothing. Count on Callie to coax a decent cup of java from that tricked-out new Nespresso machine in the kitchen to get Cristina out of bed and somewhat ready to face the day.

But this morning, the moment Cristina opens her bedroom door and takes one whiff of the coffee, she feels the bile rising from nowhere, and stifles it. She makes a beeline for a glass, presses it to the water dispenser on the refrigerator, and sips the water slowly.

"Hey, you," Callie says.

"Did you buy a new brand of coffee?"

"Um, no, it's the same one we've been drinking for months. Why?"

"Hmm. Nothing. Just smells different."

Callie raises her eyebrows but doesn't say anything and sits quietly, looking at Cristina.

"What?" Cristina looks back at Callie.

"You know, I've been wanting to tell you this. Owen's been at Dr. Wyatt's more than twice a week since you two…" She stops. "I know I said some things to him that I shouldn't have that night."

Cristina doesn't say anything, keeping her eyes fixed on the table as she leans against the counter.

"Anyone who faces his demons head on, especially a man in the military - that has to mean something. That's not the easiest thing to do. And…" Callie stops again, unsure of whether she should proceed.

In spite of herself, Cristina says, "And what?"

"And something…or someone – wanting to be with that someone – is giving him the strength to do what he's doing.

"Look, I'm not saying you should take him back. I just thought you should know that he's not running away from what he did to you."

Cristina sets down the glass in the sink, reaches for her purse and turns toward the door.

"Mind if I pick up a new bag of coffee?"