*Author's Note: None of these characters belong to me. And yes, I'm jumping on the 5x14 panic attack bandwagon. Please read anyways. And review :-).

The clinical detached portion of Dr. Owen Hunt's brain realizes that his sympathetic nervous system is no longer making him want to fly into pieces. The tortured breathing has stilled slightly, along with the tears. The blood is no longer roaring past his ears and his heart rate has slowed. Thank God. It takes him longer to notice the slim body that is still pressed against his back. Even longer to notice that yes, his hands were grasping those wrists tighter against his chest. Cristina. Of course. He flirts briefly with feeling ashamed but then realizes that perhaps that hasn't been necessary since he took a fully clothed shower in her apartment.

She seems to realize that his muscles are relaxing and begins to draw away.

"No." The word is a little strangled, a little desperate.

"Ok." Her hands slide back across his shoulders. "Ok." They stand still together, her breath warm against his neck. He suddenly feels very tired. She feels the curve of his back as his head bows. "Come on."

They travel slowly down the gleaming white hallways. She is grateful for the late hour and lack of people. He leans against her as they walk. Both of their hands feel empty. A few cursory glances later, they reach the on-call room. She doesn't say anything, just guides him to the cot and gently pushes him down.

"Where are you going?" His hand catchers her fingertips.

"I'll be right back." Five minutes later she is, with a leather-bound journal in hand. His eyelids are heavy but he waits until she settles down beside him. He tiredly props himself up, reaches to touch her face. Thank you, says the feather light glide against her cheek. Trying to stay awake is almost unbearable now; he hasn't slept well in such a long time. He slips one arm around her waist, another falls across her stomach. Pulling her close, she doesn't protest. At last, at last, dreamless sleep. Nothing but the rise and fall of her chest and the sound of her steady heartbeat. She contemplates the weight of him, the absoluteness of I. Need. You. I think I'm falling in love with you. She opens the journal. Please don't hurt me.

In his sleep, his grasp tightens. I won't.

The End.