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The Best We Can

The garden was a tapestry of colors and shapes: crocuses, tulips, bleeding hearts and budding peony bushes. The bobbing heads of irises textured the shade beneath ancient oaks, fresh dew puddling in their depths. The sounds of the city were muted by the brick wall of the church and the splash of several small fountains adorned with marble renderings of birds, animals and cherubs. A low wall topped with a molded iron railing separated the manicured beds from the neat, old cemetery beyond. Cristina heaved a weary sigh and stepped down from the broad steps onto the cobbled walkway. Grateful of the quiet reprieve from the noise and commotion taking place in front of the church.

She had posed for the requisite bridal photos and was now waiting for Izzy and Alex to take private pictures inside the sanctuary. Soon enough they would all be whisked away by limousine to eat chicken and fish Cristina really did not care for. It was bound to be a short reception as the day's events were taking a toll on Izzy's limited stamina. Still, the blond was insistently savoring every moment the evening had to offer. Cristina smirked into her chest. This had always been Izzy's day. The rest of them were just too dense to realize it until now. The smirk faded as memories of her own aborted wedding came to mind. Truth be told, she had been little more than an onlooker in the preparations to marry Preston Burke. That did not diminish the fact that she had been abandoned at the altar. Nor completely eliminate a pang of jealousy for Izzy's happiness, no matter how short-lived it might be. Cristina bit her lip and wandered slowly around the curving path. The unexpected discovery of another man banished Burke's memory as she stopped within the shade of a flowering crab tree.

Owen Hunt sat on a wrought iron bench decorated with carvings of ivy and delicate rose buds. He was angled away from her, seeming lost in thought as he stared over the stone wall at the rows of headstones marching back into the shrubs. He brushed away lint from his knee, surprising Cristina by suddenly turning around and saying quietly, "That color suits you."

"It's not too hideous," she acknowledged after a moment's hesitation.

"No, definitely not."

Cristina stepped to the bench and perched on the opposite end, acutely conscious of his clean scent and the way his open suit jacket hung from his shoulders. "Nice service."

"It was."

"I don't know where Alex came up with those vows. He's not exactly the romantic type."

Owen traced a finger along one curling iron vine. His blue eyes briefly met hers. "The girl from the accident this morning. I think it was part of her Valedictorian speech."

"Oh? How did you…?"

"I heard her talking about it to the nurses just before we put her under."

Cristina swallowed the dryness from her mouth and looked towards a bed of purple and cream colored irises hanging heavily over the path. "This morning was…not good,"

"We did the best we could."

"It wasn't enough."

"She will survive. Shepherd thinks there's a good chance she'll walk again."

"The bright side," Cristina muttered.

Owen smiled thinly. "You don't get to pick and choose. This is medicine, remember?"

Cristina rolled her eyes. The idea of being taught right now, especially by Owen, was suddenly quite repugnant. Was this all they had left? She pressed her back against the iron and crossed her legs.

"Sometimes I wish I still smoked."

She flicked her eyes to his hands, which were now clenched tightly in his lap in marked contrast to his relaxed posture. "Disgusting habit."

Owen laughed beneath his breath. "True."

But it gave him something to do with those hands, Cristina realized with a guilty flush. A parade of moments marched through the back of her mind. Instances of Owen's hands alive in conversation, gentle upon her skin, hard around her throat, tender as they brushed over hers and made to clasp in comfort. Cristina licked her lips. "I'm sorry about earlier."

"What?"

"On the bridge and in the Pit."

"Don't apologize to me." Owen coughed a sigh. "Jesus, I don't think I can take that."

Cristina ignored him. "I'm not good at touch. I don't hug, I don't touch people when they talk, I don't know what to do with a crying kid… " She laughed shortly. "Ironic for a doctor."

"You'll learn."

The statement filled the silence, nothing more. As if Owen could not bear to sit with her, yet did not have the energy to walk away. Sparks of pity, anger and sadness arced from nerve to nerve, making Cristina shiver despite the heat of the dying day. She turned and found that he was looking at her with quiet curiosity. There were no expectations or overt desires clouding his gaze. Not even a shadow of the man who loved her so tenderly barely two weeks ago. Their absence loosened Cristina's tongue better than anything he could have said. "I'm not sure I will learn. Not sure I want to if it makes me feel this way."

"What way?"

She wanted to laugh but the question was too sincere. "I miss you."

"I miss you too."

"But I'm not ready to take the next step right now."

"I know." Owen looked past her shoulder to the cemetery. His fingers gradually loosened their grip but did not fall completely apart. "I thought it would be easier to work with you after I started seeing the shrink. I didn't expect…well, I didn't know what to expect." He chuckled ruefully. "I know how foolish I sounded. Those phrases were just a stop gap and not a very good one. I just didn't know what to say. We hadn't…well we haven't talked about that night and until two days ago I don't think I could have." He met her eyes. "I'm not ready to take the next step either. I'm not even sure what that step is at this point. I just knew you were hurting today and I wanted to make that better somehow."

"You did." Cristina had not known how true it was until the words were out and hanging in the warm air between them. "Seeing you every day is better…Well, it's better than not seeing you at all. If that makes any sense?"

Owen's hands came apart, one returning to the back of the bench, the other resting on his knee. "Yeah, it does."

"Is that okay with you?"

"I don't deserve a choice, Cristina."

She shook her head. "Do you honestly think you should be punished any more for what happened? That I should punish you?"

He shrugged stiffly, fingers curling around the iron and turning white as his grip tightened. "If I knew what to think, how to think after Iraq, that night would not have happened. I've thought about leaving Seattle, but if I leave now I'll never stop running away." His laugh was high and brittle. "Another bit of truth the shrink has finally driven through my thick skull."

Cristina nodded, recognizing the urge to flee within herself. Understanding it and abruptly aware of the one thing she could do to ease them both. Her hand drifted up and settled lightly on his knuckles. She smoothed the cool flesh and waited until the tension ebbed from his grip. "I'm not going anywhere."

The smile that lifted his lips was small but genuine.

"Cristina!"

She jumped at Meredith's distant shout and Owen laughed softly. "Guess I'm back on duty," she grumbled irritably.

"I guess you are."

Cristina stood and dusted the pollen from her dress. "Are you coming to the reception?"

"No, I think I'll check back in at the hospital and then go home."

"Okay. I'll see you tomorrow then." She started down the path.

"Cris?"

She turned back to find Owen's eyes alive with a light she had not seen in far too long. "I think you're beautiful," he whispered. "In that dress or otherwise."

The blush of color warmed her cheeks and Cristina smiled in return before continuing down the path and around the corner.

~THE~END~