Sometimes, you just don't question it anymore.
That feeling which can only be described as instinctive. You follow it. You listen to it. And you heed its call like a rose gardener who rises early to tend to his blooms, snipping here and there, suffering the thorns along the way, waiting patiently for the petals to pucker, hoping and somehow, knowing all along that the petals will unfurl gloriously.
On Saturday morning, Cristina wakes up with that feeling. She dresses in layers for what she expects to be a cool day, but she has no idea what it would hold for her and Owen.
A minute before 10, she heads down to the entrance to her building, unwilling to break her habit of punctuality, even if it might give the impression that she is eager. Heck, who is she kidding? Punctual or not, she is eager to see him.
She isn't surprised to find Owen already waiting for her, leaning on the wall at the entrance to her apartment building.
His eyes gleam at the sight of her. He thinks about wrapping her in his arms and kissing her. But he holds himself back, knowing all too well how easily touching her stokes the fire within him.
"Good morning," he says huskily.
"Um, good morning," she answers, averting her eyes in a flash of shyness.
"Ready?"
"Yeah. Where are we going?"
"You'll see soon enough," he replies with a small smile, opening the passenger door of his truck, then waiting for her to slide into the seat before he closes the door.
He drives through the streets of Seattle for a long couple of minutes, the silence between them thickening with unasked questions, unspoken answers.
Finally, he asks, "Are you sleeping ok?"
"Yeah, I am. You?"
"It's getting better every night. I try not to fall asleep without meditating first."
"And you're still no longer getting nightmares?
"Yeah, why? You're not one of those doctors who dismiss complementary therapies?"
"No. I grew up around some herbal medicine." She pauses, then glances at him. "I just didn't picture you as the Deepak Chopra-type."
"I'm definitely not a Deepak-type," he laughs. "There's a lot you don't know about me, Cristina" he adds, teasingly.
"I guess so."
Hearing audience laughter faintly from the radio in the background, she says, "Is that 'Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me?'"
"Yeah, how come you know it?"
"I used to listen to it years ago when I had to drive on Saturday mornings to run errands. Sometimes, I'd sit in my car parked in lot of Trader Joe's, waiting for the answers before I could start shopping."
"Yeah, I've had those driveway moments. Especially when you're trying to figure out which bizarre news item is real. Do you want to listen to this, since you haven't heard it in a while?"
"Sure, why not?
Cristina relaxes in the seat for the first time since she got into the truck. Owen smiles to himself, thinking about how much Cristina belongs here with him. And how she seems to always surprise him without her knowing it. They laugh at the jokes on the show, and were it not for the thrill of what he had in mind for today, Owen is almost rueful as he pulls into the parking lot of the Kenmore Air waterfront terminal.
Suddenly, Cristina realizes where they are.
"We're flying?"
"Yup. I called in a favor."
"Where are we going?"
"Wait…just wait."
He pulls the truck into a parking spot. He goes over to the passenger door to open it, but Cristina has already gotten out. He pretends to look stern and disapproving. "Ever wonder how chivalry almost died?"
"Sorry," she says. "I didn't know you were going to get the door."
Owen lifts a backpack from the bed of truck and slings it over one shoulder.
He takes Cristina's hand, holding it snugly, noting with pleasure how much smaller and softer it is compared to his.
She looks down at their entwined fingers, but says nothing, suppressing a shiver of elation and trying to quell a wave of nervousness and anticipation as they walk toward a man grinning broadly next to a small plane on the water.
"Doc!" the silver-haired man greets Owen.
"It's good to see you Chuck," Owen replies, and the men give each other a hearty hug. "Cristina, this is a friend from way back, Chuck Reynolds. Chuck, this is Cristina,."
"Nice to meet you."
"It's a pleasure. I've known Doc since he was a kid. Called him Owen back then. He always loved plane rides. Now, he can fly one of these with his eyes closed. You two ready for some fun at Lopez Island?"
"You bet, Chuck," Owen replies.
Cristina's mouth drops open, but no sound comes out.
Chuck helps her get into the two-seater Cessna seaplane. "I didn't know you knew how to fly," she says accusingly to Owen, as she buckles her seatbelt. He smiles mischievously.
"Have a great time, Cristina," Chuck says, chuckling.
With Owen at the controls, the Cessna 180 takes off within minutes. He turns briefly to check on Cristina, sees the look of incredulity on her face, and grins at her.
"I told you there's a lot you don't know about me. Sit back. You have nothing to worry about. Flying is one of the most relaxing things for me."
About 45 minutes later, he lands the seaplane in Fisherman Bay as Cristina shakes her head in disbelief.
They disembark at Lopez Islander Resort and walk over to a shop called Lopez Bicycle Works where two road bicycles and helmets have been reserved for them.
"I took a chance that you knew how to ride one of these," Owen jokes.
"Are you kidding me? I could outride you any day. Where to, Lance Armstrong?" she says.
They ride at a leisurely pace for about an hour, any shred of awkwardness vanishing with each minute. For the first time in a long time, they feel a burden lifted, even if it's temporarily. Cristina feels the breeze onn her face, remembering what it was like just after she learned to ride a bike well without training wheels, her Dad looking on proudly. Owen glances at her, sees the happiness in her face, and revels in her joy.
For the first time, they talk about almost everything else but their relationship and work at Seattle Grace, and Owen's experience in Iraq. There will be time for all of those another day.
Because this day, they want to rediscover each other without the turmoil and angst of recent weeks, they strike a silent temporary truce with cold and dark reality.
They take their time pedaling through the bucolic simplicity of Lopez Island, waving back to everyone who waves at them, It is a friendly community, and they cannot help but feel far away from everything, including their lives in Seattle. Owen muses about how natural it feels to be with Cristina, how easy it is to be with her when he gives the idea of trusting himself again.
They stop at a park just off the road. Owen pulls out a lightweight picnic blanket and a small feast for lunch from his backpack, and wordlessly, Cristina helps him arrange the picnic on the grass, as if it were the most natural thing to do.
It is a couple of languorous hours later when she lies on her back, knees bent and sock-covered feet flat atop the blanket, her face facing the canopy of trees. Owen gathers the empty boxes, plastic bags of their lunch and throws them in a nearby trash can, then lies next to her, propping himself on one arm.
"Robert Pirsig got it wrong." Cristina blurts out.
"What did he get wrong?" he says, stroking her face with his fingertips.
"In his book, 'Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance,' he wrote that riding a car is like watching a movie – you watch the images go by from the car window, while riding a motorcycle is like being in a movie because you're feeling the wind and there's no glass between you and what you see.
"I think that riding a motorcycle is like being in a movie that's being fast-forwarded because you're going too fast to follow the story of the movie. Riding a bicycle is more like being in a movie."
"I agree." Cristina turns to Owen and closes her eyes as his lips descend upon hers, softly at first, then more intensely and insistently. She matches the passion of his kisses, pulling down his body on top of hers.
"Woo-hoo!" Whistles, laughter and the loud honking of the horn coming from a passing car loaded with teenagers interrupt them. They stop kissing and look at each other, then laugh at being caught making out. Slowly, they get up to pack up the rest of their things.
They take the long way back to the resort and drop off their bicycles. By this time, the sky is a rosy shade of yellow, signalling the beginning of a brilliant sunset. Cristina looks at Owen's profile, sees the contrast of his blue eyes against the fiery sky and makes a promise to herself to never forget this moment. Never had Owen looked more breathtaking. He glances at her and smiles lovingly.
They say very little to each other and sit in comfortable silence on the plane ride back and on the drive to Cristina's apartment, both of them afraid to break the sweet spell. Owen pulls up to the apartment building, and this time, Cristina waits until he comes around to open the door. After she emerges, he closes the passenger door, wanting to say so much, and not wanting the evening to end. She places two fingers on top of his lips. "Shhhh," she says. Then, she places her hands on each side of his face and kisses him tenderly.
"Thank you for today."
She turns to head up to her place, then looks back at him, "Take your time to do what you need to do, Owen. Because I'm not going anywhere. When you're ready, I'll be here, waiting for you."