Author: shli

To Build a Home

How do you start over? Do you pick up the pieces of your life and try to rebuild, or do you start anew with the slate wiped clean? Can it even really be wiped clean? Memories of love and loss, joy and pain are not easily forgotten.

There's that saying, "It's better to forgive and forget." Total crap. Well, at least the second part. You can forgive and move on, but to forget means that you never learn to change or grow… And life is all about change and growth – not necessarily who we are but our priorities. Isn't that maturity? From wanting a dollhouse to wanting a home. From wanting money to wanting happiness. From wanting moments to wanting a future.

So, the question remains: can we really start over?

The wind combed through Cristina's hair like a phantom caress. The ordeal was finally over. But the consequences of one man's choice to seek so-called "justice" for his wife's death were far from over. Beyond the concrete walls, chaos still reigned. Sections of the hospital were being cordoned off with the harsh yellow plastic of crime scene tape. Bodies of her colleagues were being taken down to the morgue. These were the people who'd passed her in the hallways or handed her a clamp in the OR. These were the people whom she'd gotten into fights with over who was first in line for labs or bribed into switching shifts when she wanted to scrub in on some exciting surgery.

And in spite of the day's events, there were still patients to be cared for. Life went on.

It was all a blur in Cristina's mind: making the first incision, feeling the barrel of the gun against her neck, seeing Owen collapse, hearing Meredith's cry of anguish, breathing when Derek's heart began to beat on its own. It was all still too much to process.

Cristina kept her eyes tightly shut, allowing the emotions she'd shoved aside earlier to well up inside her. They crashed through her system in turbulent waves, but she could feel them lose power with each ebb and flow.

It was this vision that greeted Owen as he let himself into the vent room: black curls dancing and eyes closed. His heart leapt to his throat at the sight of her standing there, partially basking in the dim glow of the overhead lights and partially obscured by the shadow of the revolving fan.

She seemed untouchable, but Owen felt the urge to reach out and make sure she was real. But he resisted – because he refused to intrude upon her serenity. And even more so, he feared he was undeserving of her forgiveness – that was, if she forgave him.

Too little, too late. That echo of a doubt kept him from sweeping her into his arms the moment he'd opened the door.

"Hello." He offered it softly so as not to startle her. And for a moment, it didn't seem like she'd heard him. All he could hear over the echoing thumps of the fan was the reverberating tattoo of his heart beating within his chest. The flaps of the jacket he'd donned in lieu of the blanket he'd had earlier fluttered silently with each gust of wind. He barely registered the chill against the exposed flesh of his upper body.

One breath in, one breath out. The tension dripped down her fingertips as she finally opened her eyes. Owen made to utter a word, but Cristina subtly shook her head.

He stopped.

And she started.

With the deceptively delicate persuasion of her fingers, Cristina cupped Owen's neck and guided him towards her awaiting lips. Instant, intense heat exploded between them as though a valve had burst.

All intentions of a gentle reunion flew from Owen's mind as Cristina staked her claim on her guy. And he relished in the sense of belonging and absolute certainty that he was hers. He loved how firmly she grasped the lapels of his coat. He loved how her chest was crushed against his. He didn't care that the fabric strained against his dressed wound or that her body caused a dull throb in his shoulder when pressed so roughly against his. He was too preoccupied in holding her just as securely with his good arm and returning her kisses with equal fervor.

Tongues and lips reunited like long-lost lovers. Owen tilted her in his right arm, making her cling tighter, till they nearly resembled that famous black-and-white photograph, "Kissing the War Goodbye." It was a fitting image: a war veteran kissing his girl.

Gratitude. Passion. Anger. Love. Relief. Fear. They were all there.

Then, just as surprisingly as it'd begun, it ended.

Cristina pulled away, recovering her balance. Whether the temporary unsteadiness was from being off-kilter or the kiss, she didn't know. What she did know was that she had genuinely needed something like that since Derek's heart had started beating on its own.

But she still needed words. He wasn't going to get away with merely kissing her senseless anymore. They'd gone down that path, and it hadn't led to a happy ending. She needed the words and the explanations this time. Romantic gestures and "I don't know" weren't going to cut it.

Owen watched Cristina right herself in wary anticipation. He couldn't help but feel a sudden, unpleasant sense of loss. He physically missed her – his fingers longed for her raven tresses, his arms ached to be around her waist, his heart yearned to beat near hers.

"You're an idiot, you know that?" Cristina finally stated, not unkindly. Though, there was a hint of anger – the kind that stemmed from absolved fear.

Owen was wracked with guilt. "I know, I should've answered you. I should've told you that I loved you. Of course, I love you, Cristina. It's just –"

"Wait, what?" Cristina asked, briefly confused. Upon understanding what he'd been referring to, she shook her head. "No, I'm not talking about that. Though, yes, that was very idiotic. I'm talking about you coming back into the hospital."

Owen gave her a blank look, not comprehending why she would be upset over his decision to come back for her.

Cristina tried again, thinking he needed help jogging his memory. "You left, and then you came back."

"I came back for you. I couldn't leave you, knowing there was some gunman on the loose," Owen responded incredulously. He thought the fact was obvious. The Earth was round. The sky was blue. Owen would never rest till Cristina was safe.

"You could've died! What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking about you, Cristina!" he said, imploringly, with his voice raised in emotions. With a step forward, he closed the gap between them. "I couldn't lose you. Can't you see that? I couldn't let our last moment together be us breaking up… or me not telling you how I feel. I couldn't live with that… I couldn't – I can't – live without you."

He ended his tirade in barely a whisper as the thought of almost having lost her clamped down on his vocal cords like a vise.

Cristina gingerly laid her head on his shoulder and stroked his back in a soothing pattern. Owen could feel the air-cooled moisture brimming at the corners of his eyes as he buried his face in the crook of her neck, lulled into a more peaceful state with the familiar scent of her natural perfume.

"I'm here," she murmured against the collar of his jacket. Then, when Cristina could feel his breathing slow to a calmer pace, she said, "Come on, let's go home."

Home.

That's what Cristina's apartment felt like to Owen – more than his own place. Most of his stuff had gradually made its way here over time. It had gotten to the point where his apartment had become a glorified storage space. He'd spent the past couple nights there, and he had been miserable. The bed didn't feel right, the shower stall was on the wrong side of the sink, the food in his fridge had long since expired. But most importantly, it was the saddening thought that Cristina wasn't the last thing he saw before he fell asleep and the jarring reality that she was not lying next to him when he woke up. Everything was off. He'd become so accustomed to staying at Cristina's that he felt like a bit of a guest in his own apartment.

Yes, here was home – with Cristina. It was as the saying went, "Home is where the heart is." Well, Owen's heart – and home – was with Cristina. And seeing how their home had stayed the same since the last time he was over was a comforting thought, in light of the drastic changes at the hospital that had occurred that day.

"Owen? Are you okay?" Cristina asked, snapping Owen out of his thoughts. She'd already kicked off her shoes and shed her outer garments.

"Yeah," Owen said with a sheepish and assuring grin and started to work on getting his jacket off with some difficulty. Cristina quickly stepped in to help, making sure not to accidentally graze his gunshot wound.

For a second, it looked as though Cristina couldn't decide whether to stay in the living room or go into the bedroom. Although the latter provided more privacy, it was less conducive to conversation and more prone to just the behaviors that Cristina was currently trying to avoid.

The need for privacy – and not having Callie barge in and interrupt – ultimately won.

"Do you want a blanket or something? Or I can help you put on a shirt," Cristina said, walking into her bedroom.

Owen followed her, closing the frosted door behind him. "Actually, I… Cristina, I know you want to talk – and I promise we'll talk, but can I…" Owen's attention caught one of his shirts lying on top of the unmade covers. Military training had long ingrained in him the habit of neatly putting away his clothing, so Owen knew that this wasn't his doing. This subtle proof that she'd missed him, too, melted away some of Owen's nerves. There was still hope – he and Cristina were far from over. The damage done could still be repaired.

"Can you what?" Cristina prodded gently, calling Owen away from his thoughts once again.

"Can I just hold you for a moment longer?" he asked, almost shyly.

Cristina paused in her search through the drawer where Owen kept his shirts and turned to face him. Her gaze softened, and she nodded.

"Hold on."

Owen stopped in his tracks, thinking she'd changed her mind. But fortunately, he was mistaken. Cristina stacked pillows against the headboard then extended her hand towards Owen.

He let her lead him to his usual side of the bed and ease him against the pillows. Cristina took care to support his upper back so that he wouldn't strain his shoulder. Once she was satisfied with him being comfortably settled in, she clambered over his mostly prone body and adjusted her position until she was nestled at his side. Cristina reached down to pull the blankets over them so that it covered most of Owen's chest.

"Better?"

"Thank you."

Silence reigned over them, leaving them to their own ruminations. Owen idly rubbed Cristina arm while she traced invisible loops on his chest with her finger, subconsciously moving in harmony.

"I love you, Cristina."

Cristina's finger stopped three-quarters of the way through the swirl she'd begun. "Are you sure?"

It'd broken Owen to hear the uncertainty in her voice the first time she'd asked, and now was no different. "Yes. I've always been sure… since the moment I met you."

"What about Teddy? I mean, when I asked you earlier, you couldn't answer." Still, Cristina couldn't look Owen in the eye.

Owen took matters into his own hands. He leaned away just enough so that he could look at her directly, patiently waiting for her to raise her gaze to meet his.

"I don't know why I didn't answer you before. I don't have a good excuse. I'm sorry, Cristina. Maybe I… Maybe I was taken aback by the fact that you were asking me if I loved another woman. Or I still didn't know what I feel for Teddy. But I know that I hurt you. And I don't want to be that person – the person who keeps on hurting you. I don't want to hurt you again."

"Owen, you are going to hurt me again." Owen's face fell, but Cristina continued. "Just like how I will hurt you again. We make mistakes, but we learn from that. That's what you taught me."

"But I… I choked you. And I can't promise that something like that won't happen again. I don't know what will trigger me. Especially now that Teddy is here."

"So, Teddy does trigger you?"

"Maybe. I don't know. I was telling you the truth, Cristina. Teddy confuses me."

"How?"

Owen paused in thought, knowing that Cristina deserved an answer. Even if he didn't have the answers, he at least needed to try. "Remember when I wasn't sleeping well? There was that patient – Kim. She asked for physician-assisted suicide…"

"I remember…" Cristina let her sentence hang there, allowing Owen to talk at his own pace. She could see how difficult it was for him to think about, let alone discuss, these matters.

After several false starts, Owen eventually began to speak. "When Teddy and I were in Baghdad, we had this friend. His name was Dan… The three of us were really close – our whole platoon was close. That's the way it is out there in the desert. You become another family. Anyway, this was when I was still with Beth, but Dan kept on teasing me about having feelings for Teddy."

He stopped, gauging Cristina's reaction. To his surprise, all he saw was compassion in her dark brown eyes. And in that moment, he loved her more than before – if that were even possible. The words flowed more easily.

"Nothing was going on, but there were some feelings there. I couldn't help it. Beth seemed so far away, and she could never really understand what I was going through in the way that Teddy could. It wasn't until Teddy came to Seattle Grace that I learned that she had feelings, too, and that just dredged up all these memories and emotions from before. Long before I met you, before I'd broken off my engagement with Beth… before my convoy was hit by an IED and Dan died. We were the only ones to survive the explosion, but he was pinned under the vehicle and had an arterial bleed. I couldn't move him, and I didn't have anything to give him for the immense amount of pain that he was in. All I could do was just keep pressure on his wound and wait for help, wait for Teddy who was in the helicopter. We waited for hours, but no one came. He started telling me to let him go, but I couldn't – I couldn't. He had a wife, a family. I couldn't let him go – for them. But he pleaded with me, and I could see that he was in so much pain… So, I let him go. And minutes later, Teddy showed up in the helicopter, but it was too late…"

Cristina reached over to stroke his cheek as Owen relived that horrible memory. She could almost see the heavy burden of guilt weigh upon him. "There was nothing you could do, Owen. I think you know that. It wasn't your fault. You did what Dan asked of you. That counts for something… That counts for everything."

Her words helped, but Owen knew that there would always be a shadow of residual guilt that he would need to learn to accept. "Losing Dan… It changed me. I started pulling away from the people around me. It's why I sent Beth that two-line email. It's why I didn't keep in touch with Teddy after our tour together. I couldn't face myself, let alone the people I cared about. And then… I met you. You made me want to connect again."

Cristina couldn't help but let out a small chuckle. "Yeah, I'd say you and I 'connected," she said, vividly remembering Owen turning around and kissing the daylights out of her.

He smiled, recalling the same memory. "Couldn't resist a damsel in distress."

Cristina rolled her eyes. Only Owen could ever get away with calling her that.

"But in reality, you saved me, Cristina," he said with sincerity.

"You saved yourself," Cristina countered. "You put in the work with Dr. Wyatt, not me. I'm just here for moral support."

"Yes, but you made me want to get better. I wanted… I want to be a better man for you – and with you. And sometimes… sometimes I wish that I'd met you before – before I was … damaged. Before I— Every now and then, I still feel like the ghost of the man I was before, and you deserve more than a ghost. You don't deserve a man who breaks up with a woman in a short email or can't label his feelings for another woman because she brings up memories of the past. You deserve better."

"Owen, we're all ghosts. We're all damaged. Can't you see that? When are you going to realize that who you are now is enough? I didn't fall in love with the man you were before. I love this man, I love you."

Owen turned to the woman who had stolen his heart the moment he'd laid eyes on her and was filled with gratitude and, more importantly, peace. This was the woman he loved. There had never been a doubt, but the webs of confusion had fallen away. The man he was before – the man that Teddy had known – was gone… And he was okay with that.

"Ask me the question again." Redemption was in order.

"What?"

"The question you asked me before. The one I didn't answer."

"Okay…" Cristina said, hesitantly, not really knowing what Owen was getting at. "Do you love her or do you love me?

"Cristina Yang, I love you. And only you."

"And Teddy?"

"I… care about her – she's my friend. But whatever feelings I had for her in the past are in the past. I think… I think I get confused because when I see her, it's like I'm confronted with my 'before.' And I'm still working on coming to terms with that, with my PTSD. Having her here reminds me of how many more issues I have to grapple with now – how some random, innocuous thing can trigger me. Like the ceiling fan… And how my problems become your problems. I hate burdening you with all that…"

"Look, if it makes you feel any better, my problems can become your problems. And trust me, I've got problems. You don't get 'dark and twisty' without problems," she offered, trying to alleviate his guilt. "My 'mommy' issues trumps all your stuff," she joked.

He laughed. It felt good to laugh. Only Cristina could make him laugh at a time like this. "I'm sure your mother isn't all that bad."

"You only say that because you haven't met her," she insisted. "Your mom is way better. I'll split her with you."

"All right," Owen replied, chuckling.

"I'm not kidding. Why do you think Meredith and I are the 'twisted sisters'? Serious 'mommy' issues. I would make a better mother – even Meredith would make…" Her voice drifted off.

Meredith. The miscarriage. Now, it was Cristina who was in need of comforting. Owen pulled her close and resumed stroking her arm, whispering softly, "I'm sorry."

"I was going to be a godmother, you know that? I can't imagine what Meredith…"

"Shh… It's okay. Everything will be okay."

Time passed in silence as Owen continued to soothe her, and gradually he began to lose the battle with sleep as the day's events caught up with him.

Cristina could sense the moment Owen succumbed to sleep. And she envied it. Because Cristina was wide awake, thinking about the fact that she could imagine what Meredith was going through, having gone through something very similar not long ago.

Only a day had passed since the tragic events at the hospital, but Owen was adamant about going back in to help as much as he could. Though she knew that Owen's injury wasn't too serious, she couldn't keep from worrying. When he winced with discomfort as she helped him put on a shirt for work, she winced with him.

"Are you sure you want to come in to work? You can't even operate," Cristina said for the fourth time since they'd left home. The sky was cloudy, hinting at rain, and there was moisture in the air. Cristina's gray umbrella swung in her free hand, keeping rhythm with her and Owen's matching gait as they walked across the street to work. Her other hand was firmly tucked in Owen's elbow.

"Just because I can't scrub in doesn't mean I can't help out. Plus, now I can finally finish all that paperwork I've been pushing off."

"Okay…" Cristina said, still not entirely convinced.

"I'm fine, Cristina," Owen repeated for the umpteenth time – and meaning it. Leaning over, he kissed her temple in reassurance.

"Fine, but you're putting me on your service today, got it?"

"You're adorable when you're bossy."

"Shut up." But she smiled.

The ER was bustling when the two of them walked in, temporarily oblivious to their surroundings as they shared a tender moment.

Teddy wasn't oblivious, having looked up the moment the automatic sliding doors opened. A faint twinge pulled at her heart, but it faded. Owen had chosen Cristina, and she'd accepted it.

Teddy's eyes glanced as the sling Owen was sporting. Jackson, who she'd been in the middle of giving orders to, had filled her in on what happened in the OR: with Clark walking in on Cristina performing the surgery on Derek and Owen taking a bullet. Teddy was proud of her student – and not the least bit surprised that Cristina had successfully pulled off the repairs. Cristina had been impressing Teddy with her surgical skills since day one.

"Cristina, Owen, I didn't think you two would be coming in today," Teddy remarked, drawing their attention. She resisted the urge to comment on Owen's shoulder. It wasn't her place to fuss over Owen's injury.

"Oh, um… hi, Teddy," Owen replied. He shifted awkwardly where he stood and slid a sidelong glance at Cristina.

Cristina was still smiling. "Yeah, Owen insisted. You know how stubborn he can be."

It continued to amaze Owen how Cristina could just brush past things and act like nothing had happened. Such skill didn't come as naturally to him. Before Teddy could comment on his supposed stubbornness, Owen interjected, "What's the situation?"

"Some parts of the hospital are still closed off, but the biohazard cleaning crew already cleared away the essential areas. The ER is fully functional. Paramedics are sending most of their traumas to Seattle Presbyterian, so things are slower than usual. You've got Torres and Avery down here. And I'm headed back to cardio. Cristina, I believe it's your turn on cardio service today." Next to her, disappointment registered on Jackson's face, but he knew it was true.

"Actually, I think it's the other way around. I'm on trauma today, and Jackson's on cardio."

Jackson turned towards her in surprise. He couldn't remember the last time that Cristina was nice to him, let alone the last time Cristina gave up the chance to be on Teddy's service.

"Oh, okay," Teddy replied, also taken aback. She remembered when Cristina practically begged to be on her service. But she guessed that Cristina's priorities had changed since then. The brief and loaded look Owen and Cristina exchanged confirmed it. "Well, Avery, it looks like you're with me. I'll see you when you're done with my post-ops." Nodding at Cristina and Owen, she left.

"Hey, thanks," Jackson said to Cristina.

"No, thank you," Cristina countered, sincerely. If it weren't for Jackson's quick thinking in the OR, Clark would have shot Owen again. She owed Jackson one. Or two.

Cristina's fingers subconsciously tightened their hold on Owen's arm as if to ensure that he was indeed safe. Owen reciprocated by unbending his arm and letting her hand ease its way down to meet his in a subtle and fluid movement.

Reverting to her usual snarky self, Cristina added, "But don't get used to it."

Jackson grinned wordlessly and walked away, wondering if he was finally allowed to call her by her first name.

"That was nice of you," Owen stated once Jackson was gone.

"Yeah, yeah. It was his lucky day," Cristina retorted, sarcastically. "Come on, let's get you changed into scrubs. We've got lives to save."

Several hours later, Owen found himself making his way towards the ICU where Derek was recovering. As he neared his friend's room, Owen saw Meredith heading out.

Seeing Owen, Meredith slowed her pace. "He's sleeping."

"Oh." Owen remained silent. He didn't know what else to say.

Thankfully, Meredith did. "How's Cristina?"

"She's good."

"And the shoulder?" Meredith asked, motioning towards Owen's gunshot wound.

"Fine, thanks. Uh, how's Derek doing?" Owen purposely avoided asking Meredith about herself, not wanting to remind her of the loss of her baby.

"Good, good. Teddy said that she couldn't have done a better job. You just missed her, actually." Meredith gave Owen a wary look, trying to see his reaction to her mention of Teddy.

"That's good… So, I'll just stop by later and look in on Derek when he's awake." He turned to go.

"Owen," Meredith interjected, halting his movement. Without preface, she launched into a speech she'd partially prepared. "I know that I can be…overprotective of Cristina sometimes and that I stick my nose in other people's business. And I know you're a good guy. But I just want what's best for Cristina. She's been through a lot, and I don't want to see her hurt."

"Neither do I—"

"Wait, let me finish… For a long time, it's been just the two of us. Before there was a 'me and Derek,' it was 'me and Cristina.' I can't let go of that. And I don't love you just yet, but I'm definitely starting to like you. Because I see how much you love her. And you need to know that I love her just as much as you do... But I realize that there's a 'you and Cristina.' You're Cristina's guy. I get that now… just as long as you remember that you are Cristina'sguy," Meredith added, pointedly.

Owen raised an eyebrow, signaling his lack of amusement at her dig.

The corners of Meredith's lips curled up. "Now, you and I are on the same team."

Owen took Meredith's long-winded speech as her version of an apology. He wasn't surprised – Cristina also faced the same difficulty in apologizing at times.

All of a sudden, Owen's pager went off. He looked down and saw the 911 page. "Sorry, I'm needed in the pit. But I'm glad we had this… talk," Owen said, ironically, considering he didn't do much talking, and made to leave.

"Owen," Meredith called out, causing him to look back. "Thanks for stopping by… and for everything else. I really appreciate it."

Owen simply nodded, but he was smiling inside. Seemed like the two members of Team Cristina were at the beginning of a beautiful… truce.

We go through life building homes – homes with our partner, our friends, our family, our colleagues. They become our world – a world that alters in size and content over time. And in a blink of an eye, a calamity can shatter this world and turn it upside-down. From chaos comes clarity, from pain comes renewed love. And what once existed fades to dust.

So, we mourn the loss of what cannot be repaired and rebuild on the foundation that is still there. But, we're faced with a decision: do we build towards what we had before or do we make changes? Because where there is tragedy, there is also opportunity – the opportunity to improve on original plans, to make fortifications. So that next time, things won't fall apart... Next time, there will be less to mourn and less to rebuild.