Author: JenniFromtheBlock

Love's Subtle Scheme

There are moments that mark a major shift in our lives where in a split second, everything can change. A failed wedding, a bus accident, an RPG ambush, a man with a gun—each of these can draw a clear line of demarcation defining a transformation. But there are also quiet, gradual changes in our beliefs and behaviors that occur slowly over time without us even realizing, and these can have an equal, if not even more significant effect on who we are and how we want our lives to be.

"To your first week back," Owen said, clinking his glass of scotch against Derek's and Mark's before each took a thirsty sip. He swallowed, savoring the rough burn of the alcohol, his first in quite a while. He hadn't drunk so much as a single beer while on meds during his recovery at home.

"I don't know if I would call it a real week," Derek said. "Still no surgery, just paperwork. Piles and piles of it. All I do is read forms, fill out forms, request forms, submit more forms. I think maybe I'd rather be home watching ESPN after all." He hadn't been cleared to scrub in yet, and was anxious to get back to operating. He never realized how much he would have missed surgery until it had been denied him. Now he was itching to get a scalpel back in his hand.

"Enough shop talk," Mark complained. "When you're on bed rest at home, all you do is whine about getting back to the hospital. Now you're there and you're still whining."

"He's right," Owen seconded. "You're whining."

"You've been cleared for surgery. I don't want to hear from you," Derek replied. Owen toasted him and took another drink. "Good news for you though," he continued. "Your room in my house just got bigger."

Owen frowned in confusion. "I have a room in your house?"

"Hunt has a room in your house?" Mark exclaimed. "Why does Hunt have a room in your house?"

"Cristina has a room in my house, which basically means Owen has a room. Meredith keeps changing her mind and adding square footage to the plans and making the rooms larger. It wouldn't bother me so much if it weren't for the fact that Karev also has a room. And Lexie has a room. And we have rooms for the kids whenever we have them. It was all I could do to convince her not to build a room for Stevens in case she comes back, too." He took a drink. "I didn't know I was going to be building the Real World house when I bought my little piece of land in the woods."

"What about me? I want a room," Mark demanded.

"I'll build a second floor on the doghouse."

"Ingrate." Mark put his hand up to get Joe's attention at the bar. He waved his finger at the three glasses, and Joe nodded in response.

"What about you and Cristina? How's the new apartment?" Derek asked, ignoring Mark's feigned sulking across the table.

Owen smiled, and Derek noted the subtle way Owen always cheered up at the thought of Cristina. He remembered back to when he first found out Owen and Cristina were together, and had thought they were an odd combination, but now that he knew them both better, he completely got it.

"It's great. I mean it's more or less the same place we were in before, minus Torres and Robbins arguing all the time. Maybe a little too convenient, what with Cristina showing up at all hours of her shift to check on me while I was home recuperating. But it was the right move. We were pretty much living together before, but somehow, this feels different. It feels right." He chuckled. "And quiet. I didn't realize how much I missed a little peace and quiet when I got home from the hospital. I don't know what got into my head, living with three women. One woman—that's fantastic. Three women?" He shook his head. "What was I thinking?"

Mark gave the waitress a leer and a wink as she exchanged their empty glasses with full replacements. She grinned and he watched her gracefully retreat to the bar, where he noticed Callie perched on a barstool, frowning into her glass.

"Well, don't be surprised if Torres shows up on your doorstep one of these days," Mark said. "She crashed on my couch twice this week. I envy your peace and quiet."

"I do, too. Too many people living at my house," Derek agreed.

Owen laughed, and took another drink, feeling the brown liquid warm him from the inside out. It wasn't just the peace and quiet they should envy, he thought. Even in the midst of recovering from his injury, he was happier living with Cristina these last few weeks than he had been in ages, maybe ever. Between the move and the progress in his therapy, he was feeling satisfied and complete, and a lot like his old self—or at least had started to integrate what he missed about his old self with who he was now. He had the distinctly contented sensation that he was exactly where he ought to be in the world, and Cristina had everything to do with that.

-oooOOOooo-

Alex noticed movement out of the corner of his eye as he took his first drink from the beer bottle. When he put it down, he saw that Jackson Avery had parked himself in the seat next to him.

"Hey."

"Hey," Alex answered. He took another swallow.

"How're you feeling?" Jackson asked.

Alex shrugged. "Okay, I guess. My range of motion is still jacked up. Can't lift my arm all the way up yet. I'm working on it in physical therapy."

"That sucks."

"Yep," he said. "It sure does suck." They sat quietly for a few minutes, still drinking.

"You want to play darts?" Jackson asked, pointing with his thumb to the dartboard on the wall behind them.

Alex looked at him. "Dude, I just told you I can't lift my arm right. I can't play darts."

Jackson smiled. "That's good for me, because I suck at darts. It'll be a fair game." He watched Alex hesitate. "Come on. You'll probably beat me even if you use your other arm. Winner buys the next beer."

Alex waited a moment, considering. Much as he didn't want to admit it, after all the recovery time at home, he was feeling a bit lonesome and could use the company. "Fine. Let's go."

They played for a few minutes, and Alex found that throwing wasn't as difficult as he expected. He also discovered that Jackson wasn't lying when he said he sucked at darts; he had even hit the wall on the last toss.

"Dude, you're horrible at this."

"I know. I don't know what it is, and I never improve. But I'll have another one of these," Jackson smirked taunting him with his beer. Karev went to the bar and came back with two more bottles. They started up a new game.

Jackson watched Alex throw his darts. He had an ulterior motive when he sat down with Alex, and now discovered that he was nervous to bring up the topic.

"Have you talked to Lexie at all?"

Alex paused and looked at him. "I talk to her all the time." He resumed throwing.

"I know. About the shooting. Have you talked to her about the shooting?"

"She knows I got shot. Not much to say."

"I mean about what happened to her. Have you talked to her about that?" Jackson took his place in front of the dartboard and concentrated on his throw, trying to avoid looking at Alex's reaction.

"Why? What'd she say? Did she say something about me?"

"No, nothing, she didn't say anything. I mean, she said some stuff, but not about you. She's been…I don't know. Something's not right." Jackson threw the dart; it bounced off the board and fell on the floor. "Never mind. Forget I said anything."

Alex picked up the fallen dart, and held it back from Jackson. "What do you mean, something's not right."

Jackson sighed, wondering if maybe he shouldn't have brought it up in the first place. "When you scrub in, how long do you wash your hands?"

"I don't know, a few minutes? What does that have to do with it?"

"Lexie. She scrubs in for like 15 minutes before a surgery, and 20 after. The other day I saw her lock a supply cabinet, then go back to check and make sure she locked it six times. She keeps straightening things up at the nurse's stations, making sure all the charts and pens and binders are all lined up in perfect order. It's driving the nurses crazy." He nodded his head. "She wasn't like that before the shooting. It's affected her and she's not seeing what she's doing. I'm worried about her."

"You're worried about her? You're worried about my girlfriend?"

Jackson blushed. "I don't mean it like that. I mean…I just…." he stammered.

Alex handed him back the dart and watched as Jackson became more and more uncomfortable.

"You like Lexie," he said.

"Sure, I like her," Jackson answered, scrambling. "She's a nice girl, she's a good doctor, she…."

"No, I mean you like her like her. You like my girlfriend."

Jackson stood silently. He wanted to deny it, but he knew Alex was on to him.

Alex shook his head. "Not cool, dude. Not cool at all."

"I know," he said, embarrassed. "I didn't mean for it to happen. But I'm not going to tell her. I'm not trying to move in on anything." First Yang, now Lexie, Jackson thought. Why can't I find someone who isn't already taken? What's wrong with me?

"Don't worry about it. I get it," Alex responded. "Like you said, she's a nice girl."

Jackson cocked his head in bewilderment. "It doesn't bother you?"

"Yeah, I mean, it bothers me, but…" Alex paused mid-sentence, slowly becoming aware that it actually didn't bother him nearly as much as maybe it should. He probably ought to feel a lot more jealous than he did, and yet he strangely felt indifferent to the situation. "Look. All I'm saying is that she's a good person, and I can see how it would happen." He stepped up to take his turn.

Jackson watched Alex throw his darts and realized that earlier when he had said something wasn't right, he had barely touched the tip of the iceberg.

-oooOOOooo-

Meredith and Cristina stood next to each other at the nurse's station, filling in patient charts. Meredith soon became aware of Cristina watching her.

"What?" She said, not looking up.

"Nothing," Cristina answered, looking back at her charts.

"What?"

Cristina looked back up again and clicked her pen a couple of times.

"Seriously, Cristina, what is it?" Meredith said, exasperated, turning fully towards her. Cristina straightened up and put her pen down.

"Okay, so you and McDreamy are trying for a baby now, right?"

Meredith nodded.

"What's that like? I mean, is it weird? Obviously, not the sex part, but the trying part. Is that weird?"

"Yeah, it is—it's bizarre," she half whispered, trying to keep the conversation private. "I mean, we haven't been trying much yet, considering Derek's been recovering, but it's definitely different. It's like…I don't know. You know what it's like? It's like driving a car without a seat belt."

"Having sex with McDreamy is like driving a car? Somehow that doesn't surprise me."

"No," Meredith laughed. "What I mean is, it's like all your life you drive your car and you wear your seat belt, just in case. You know, to protect yourself. And then one day, you say, I'm not going to wear my seat belt anymore, and it's like you're driving around, almost daring an accident to happen. Haha, look at me, no seat belt. Anything could happen. It's dangerous, is what it is. It feels dangerous and risky. But exciting, too."

"Huh." Cristina chewed on her bottom lip, thinking.

Meredith looked at her warily. "What? Why do you ask?"

Cristina glanced at her, and then waved her hand dismissively. "Nothing. It's nothing." Her phone went off, and she pulled it out, grateful for the distraction. She read the text, and laughed. "Owen's drunk," she said.

Meredith went back to her writing. "How do you know?"

"His message. Full of bad grammar and spelling. He hates that—I don't know if it's a military thing or what. When he texts after he's had a few drinks, half the time I can't figure out what he's saying."

"That's funny," Meredith said, just as her phone went off as well. Cristina began responding to Owen's text as Mer read her message. "Is Derek with Owen?"

"I don't know. Why?"

Meredith showed Cristina her phone. The message read: Cn you take me hom Ineeda ridehome Dr Mrs. SheperdGray?

Cristina laughed. "Ha—nice one. They're definitely together." Her phone went off again with Owen's response. She looked at it and smiled.

"What's it say?" Mer asked.

Cristina's eyes flickered back up. She shook her head and put the phone on the counter. "Nothing. I'm off in a half hour. You want to go over to Joe's then?"

"Yeah, I just need to check on my guy in 314. Meet you out front." She set her folder in the file on the desk.

"Okay." Cristina watched Meredith as she headed down the hall. Then she looked back down and read Owen's new message a second time.

It said: Iloove you CristiinaY ang

She smiled again, turned off the device and slid it into her pocket.

-oooOOOooo-

"It's not my fault," Mark declared, throwing his hands in the air in his defense. "They're both lightweights. But I won't lie and say I'm not enjoying it."

Cristina and Meredith turned to their respective other halves and watched, amused, as the men sat red-faced and laughing at nothing in particular. Apparently, a few glasses of expensive scotch after a couple of dry months had turned two respected, highly skilled surgeons into little more than giggling sorority girls hammered from a long night of knocking back jungle juice.

"Yay," said Cristina. "Look who we get to go home with." Meredith laughed, and then put on a serious face.

"Okay, husband. This train is leaving the station. You coming?"

Derek pointed to Meredith, looked at Owen, and slurred, "I'm going home with her. She's my wife. I married her."

"I know," Owen replied, "on a Post It."

"Yes! I married her on a Post It!" Derek reached his hand out to Meredith to steady himself. "I would marry you on a Post It again any day of the week. Or on a Day Planner. Or an iPad." He wrapped his arm around her waist. "Whatever kind of organizational device you want, I will marry you on it." He leaned in to kiss her on the cheek, landing closer to her nose.

"Okay then, definitely time to go home." She looked over Derek towards Mark. "Not your fault, eh?"

"I swear. I've had the same amount as them, and I am still a fine, upstanding citizen."

"Uh huh. Sure you are." Mer retorted, turning to Cristina. "See you tomorrow." Owen had grabbed Cristina's hand and pulled her next to him, where he was now gazing adoringly at her.

"Mmmhmmm. Good luck with that," Cristina responded, shrugging towards Derek, who was leaning heavily on Meredith as they moved to the doorway. She glanced down at Owen. "What?" She said suspiciously.

Owen pulled her down awkwardly onto his lap and whispered loudly in her ear. "Let's go home. To our home. Where we live, you and me. In our home. Where we live."

She laughed, and struggled to right herself. "That's the plan, Dr. Goodtimes. Come on." She got herself on her feet and pulled him up beside her. Owen wobbled a bit, then steadied himself.

"We will be leaving you now," he said formally to Mark.

"Well, that wouldn't be the first time I've been left alone in a bar," he answered, toasting his glass to the couple and taking a drink. He glanced over to see Callie still propped up at the counter, now with an empty shot glass next to her drink.

They said their goodbyes, and made their way to the exit and out into the alley. Halfway down the walkway, Owen extricated himself from Cristina's supportive embrace and turned to look at her.

"What?"

He said nothing, but smiled slightly.

"Owen?"

He abruptly stepped towards her, causing her to back up until she was against the brick wall, him towering over her. She looked up at him from under her lashes as he gently touched the side of her face.

"I kissed you here once," he whispered.

"I remember."

"I thought I scared you."

"You didn't. I liked it." She put her hand on his chest and tilted her head up to watch him. He leaned in, and kissed her softly. The kiss broke momentarily, and Cristina had just enough time to notice the smoky flavor of the scotch on her lips before he kissed her again, this time more urgently. The second kiss ended only when each finally needed to take a breath. Owen closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against Cristina's.

"I had tried to stay away from you. And then, after I kissed you, I knew I wouldn't be able to."

Cristina smiled, and took a moment to enjoy the closeness of Owen's embrace. Then she cupped his face in her hands and pulled him just far enough away so that she could look into his eyes.

"That's because I'm irresistible," she replied.

Owen grinned lustily. "You know what else you are?" He said, leaning in close and touching the tip of her nose with his finger. "You're pretty."

"And you're drunk," she said, batting his hand away and trying to hide her amusement at his inebriated state. She slid her arm around his waist as they turned towards the sidewalk. "Let's go home. To our home. Where we live. You and me."

"You and me," he repeated happily.

-oooOOOooo-

Mark slid onto the barstool next to Callie.

"So what did you fight about today?" He asked.

She glanced over at him, and then emptied her rum and coke. "Today? The question is more what didn't we fight about. Every time I open my mouth, it's something else."

"The kids thing again?"

She exhaled a deep sigh. "No. Not that. Today was about whether or not I'm a drive-by lesbian. A change of pace from the usual I-want-kids-and-you-don't fight."

"Huh. Well, they say change is good."

Callie spun in her barstool towards Mark. "I don't know what else I can tell her to convince her that while we are together, I'm committed to our relationship. I can't help it if I've been with men before. So sue me. I like penis."

"Me, too!" Exclaimed Joe, who happened by at that exact moment to switch out her empty glass for a fresh cocktail. He gave Callie an appreciative high five.

"Right?" She said to the bartender. "Thank you!" She picked up the new drink and waved it towards Mark; he flinched back to avoid being splashed. "I like penis. I like men. Doesn't mean I don't like vagina, too. I like vagina."

"Me, too," Mark answered, wondering how he somehow managed to be the only sober person left in Joe's that night. "Vagina is good."

"It is, isn't it?" Callie sat back, contemplating her situation. "You know what the thing is?"

"No. Tell me what is the thing."

"I'm like the swirl."

Mark shook his head, confused. "The swirl?"

"You know. The swirl. At the fair. You know, when you go to the fair, and you get a soft ice cream. Some people are vanilla frosty people. They always get vanilla. Some people are chocolate frosty people. They always get chocolate. You're either a vanilla or a chocolate. But some people," she said, pointing at him for extra emphasis, "some people can't decide. They like the vanilla. They like the chocolate. They like both. So they get the swirl. I like both. I am a swirl."

He stared at her. "A swirl."

"Uh huh. A swirl. Today I like chocolate. Am I always going to like chocolate? I don't know. Maybe. Maybe one day I'll go back to vanilla. The point is, I should be able to have both if I want. Right?" Callie leaned on the bar, her chin in her hand, waiting for an answer. Mark ran his finger around the edge of his glass, staring at the brown liquid inside.

"Right?" She repeated expectantly. He looked up at her.

"I think," he started, speaking carefully, "that you should have any flavor you want. But you need to make sure that it's the right flavor for you. That it's the flavor that makes you happy." He went back to playing with the glass. "It seems to me that the Robbins flavor is not making you very happy these days."

When he glanced back up at her, she sat hunched over, deflated and sad.

"The thing is, when I'm with Arizona, it's because I want to be with Arizona. It's not a penis or a vagina thing. It's a person thing. I want to be with her. I don't get how she doesn't get that." Callie took a sip and put her glass down.

"Maybe this is still part of the baby thing. You want a baby, she doesn't. You like men, she doesn't. In the most traditional sense, you need a man to get a baby. So she's worried you'll break up with her because you want a baby so badly that you'll go back to men."

"Maybe. I don't know. All I do know is that we can't keep on arguing like this. Something's got to give."

They both went back to nursing their drinks, lost in thought. After a few minutes, Mark looked up at her with an evil grin.

"I like the swirl. The swirl is a good move."

Callie snorted in laughter. "I know. You taught it to me."

"I did?" He asked, surprised.

"Mmmhmmm," she nodded. "Hahn."

"Oh yeah," he remembered. "Hahn." They laughed again, and Callie let out a wistful sigh.

"The swirl is a good move."

"Yep," he answered, catching her eye. They watched each other until unexpectedly the moment became uncomfortable with electricity. Quickly they turned back to their drinks, suddenly and very nervously aware of the other's presence in a way neither had felt in quite a long while.

-oooOOOooo-

Cristina entered the apartment before Owen, shrugging off her jacket and tossing it over the back of the chair. She turned to watch Owen awkwardly removing his own coat and hanging it on one of the hooks he had insisted on installing on the wall specifically for that purpose, despite Cristina's equal insistence that she would never remember to use it. She threw her keys on the counter and went to the cupboard, pulling out one wine glass and one water glass. She turned back to see Owen hanging up her coat as well.

"I didn't know you had a room in Shepherd's house," he said, lifting himself up onto the barstool at the kitchen counter across from her. Cristina passed him a glass of water, and he took a long drink.

"Mmmhmmm," she murmured. She went to the fridge and pulled out a pizza box. She took out a slice of pepperoni, put it on a plate, and stuck it in the microwave, then poured herself a glass of wine from the half empty bottle on the sink. When the microwave beeped, she took out the plate, and handed it to Owen.

"Here. Eat this."

"Thanks." He took it from her, lifted the slice, and took a giant bite, chewing thoughtfully. She drank a sip of the zinfandel, and watched him.

"I hope this doesn't mean," he continued, "that when we get married and get a house, we have to have rooms in it for all our friends."

Cristina choked on her sip of wine and spit half of it back into the glass.

"Excuse me?" She said, her eyes wide.

"I mean, don't get me wrong. I like them all, and we should definitely have a guest room or two. But after we're married, we'll probably eventually move some place bigger, and I don't think we need to have specific rooms for each and every person we know." He took another sip of water. "Now that it's finally just the two of us, I like it that way. Is there any ibuprofen in that cabinet?"

Cristina stood staring at him, speechless. She wasn't sure how she should react to the idea that he had so casually brought up marriage as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. But she definitely couldn't ignore the fact that she felt a ridiculous flutter of excitement in her chest when he mentioned the M word. She reached up, found the bottle of medication, and silently handed him three tablets. Stupid flutter.

"But I will tell you one thing," he went on, gesturing with his pizza crust. "When we do get married, I want to do it right. I don't mean big or fancy or anything, and I don't care if you want to change your name or not. But I want it to be legal. None of that Post-It nonsense." He popped the last of the slice into his mouth, and finally noticed the stunned expression on her face. "What?"

She set her wine glass on the counter. "You're talking about getting married."

He sat back, surprised. "Cristina," he said quietly. "I think about marrying you."

"You do?"

"Yes. I do. Is that okay?"

She didn't say anything, instead deciding to concentrate on getting rid of that damned flutter that had appeared again.

He leaned across the counter and reached out to her. After hesitating a moment, she slid her hand into his.

"Cristina, I think about marrying you. I think about marrying you because I want to be with you for the rest of my life. You already know that. But I also hope that, one day, when I'm ready, and when you're ready, if you truly want to, I hope that we will get married. If we don't, that's okay, as long as I get to be with you. But it is something I think about. Okay?"

She looked into his deep blue eyes and wondered momentarily why this didn't freak her out as much as she thought it should. And then she nodded yes.

"Okay, then," he smiled. He pulled her hand so that she came around the counter and stood closely before him. Her wild hair had come loose from her messy ponytail, and he tucked a curl behind her ear.

"What else do you think about?" She asked softly.

"Oh, different things. Where we'll move when you do your cardio fellowship. Buying a house. Our honeymoon in Hawaii."

"Hawaii? No. We're not going to Hawaii."

He pulled back slightly and his brow furrowed in confusion. "But you said Hawaii. Your ideal vacation—the nude beach in Hawaii. I wanted to take you there for our honeymoon."

"Joking. I was joking. Have you looked in the mirror? You're so pale you're practically translucent. They don't make SPF 9 million. We're not going to Hawaii."

"Cristina, I lived in the desert for years."

"Were you naked in the desert?"

"No."

"So that should tell you something. No nude beach in Hawaii."

He frowned. "Okay then. No Hawaii. Where do you want to go? What is your ideal honeymoon?"

Cristina grabbed her wine glass and took a sip to stall for time. This conversation was nerve wracking, though admittedly, not quite as scary as she expected.

"If you don't tell me, then I'll decide."

She hesitated, watching him tentatively over the rim of her glass.

"Okay. Camping it is. Although I'm not really big on car camping, so we'll have to backpack in." He grinned at her.

"Like hell," she answered.

"I had better go get you a new sleeping bag, though. If we get married in the winter, it'll be snow camping, so you'll need a warm one, maybe a minus 30 degree bag." He started laughing as she became more agitated, her eyes widening in horror at the thought of hiking and sleeping outdoors in the dirt and the snow.

"There is no way in hell I am camping on my honeymoon," she declared.

"Then tell me, where would you like to go? No Hawaii. No camping. Where?"

She watched him and took another sip, not losing his gaze. Then she mumbled something softly into her glass.

"What? What was that?"

"Paris," she repeated. "I want to go to Paris." She looked up from her glass shyly and smiled.

"Paris," he said slowly, smiling back. "Okay. I think we can work with that. Paris on our honeymoon. That sounds," he said leaning in and giving her the lightest of kisses, "like an excellent plan." He kissed her again, more deeply this time, and felt her lean into him. Later, he broke away breathlessly and spoke in a low growl. "Let's go to bed," he said, sucking on her bottom lip.

"Mmmm," she mumbled, and then pulled back from him. "Wait. You need to shower first. You smell like," she caught herself before she said 'a distillery', remembering the first time she had seen him drunk on scotch. So much had changed since then, and she was so much happier now than she may have ever been. "Joe's," she finished. "You smell like Joe's."

"Come with me," he said, slipping off the bench and pulling her with him towards the bathroom. "I'll show you my scars if you show me yours," he continued, unbuttoning his shirt to reveal a small, pink, quarter sized scar on his shoulder.

"I've seen that one. The one on your leg is hotter," she said feigning boredom. "My best scar is my icicle."

"I like that one," he told her, his voice low and rumbling as he ran his hand under her shirt to touch it, making her catch her breath. "What about the one on your knee?"

"How do you know about the one on my knee?"

He leaned close to her ear, his hot breath making her shiver with pleasure. "Because everybody has a scar on their knee," he whispered mischievously, taking her earlobe in his mouth and sucking on it.

"Bastard," she said, laughing at him as she tried hopelessly to push him away. He grabbed her and lifted her up so that her legs wrapped around his waist.

"I wonder if the showers in Paris are big enough for two?" he asked, as he carried her giggling into the bathroom.

It's the gradual, most imperceptible changes over time that make what once seemed to be an impossibility become a real maybe, and then turn into something probable, so that what you thought would never happen might one day transform into the most logical thing in the world.