There's a direction and she's going in it.
She has a destination but she doesn't know where it is.
One phone call to Seattle leads to a phone call in Los Angeles and leaves her with a telephone number, an address, and a reassurance that things will be okay. Never one for reassurances, Cristina's only request is that hers be kept quiet.
Life flight was coming in when she left the hospital.
Cristina isn't typically the type of person who prays for a patient to live but she is now, only because if the patient's alive then it means that they're working hard to keep him that way; that Owen is working hard to keep him that way.
The city lights seem brighter than usual, the cobblestone of the market causes her car to shudder harder, the brick edifice of the home she shared with Burke looms taller over Pioneer Square more than normal.
As those lights fade in her rearview mirror for the last time, Cristina's thumb runs over her left ring finger. There's an indentation in her skin from where his ring sat for a short time that lasted too long.
New Orleans is hot and miserable. The air is humid, the climate stifling and for the first time in two years she feels like she can breathe.
On her first pass through the city, she misses his street and it carries her across Lake Pontchartrain not once but twice. It takes her nearly an hour to get back to where she missed her turn and though she should be irritated, it gives her time to collect herself, or at least the pieces that are left.
He'll have to help her put the rest back together.
How she ends up on the stairs outside his apartment is still fuzzy to her, she's been on autopilot since she pulled into the parking lot. His space was empty and windows dim. It was still early in the afternoon and she knew that she could be waiting a while but in the scheme of things it's the blink of an eye.
The first time he lays eyes upon her, she knows that the wait was worth it.
A blind man could see how broken she is. Her eyes have lost their shine, her shoulders are sagged, even her curls seem lifeless.
Only he could see the flicker of emotion hiding behind it all.
"Cristina," her name is barely a breath escaping his lips, emotion lacing his soothing baritone voice.
Unshed tears line her eyes and her brows furrow as she fights to keep it all in, "You went on and on about me," she doesn't expect him to understand what she's referring to. Time has passed and other things have happened and it's completely out of context.
Except it's not and it never will be again.
No explanations are needed and she refuses apologies. She wraps herself in his arms, lets his lips brush her forehead almost continuously and never once regrets her decision to leave Seattle behind because everything she needs is right here.
The sun is on the wrong side of the house when she wakes up. Burke is dozing next to her and she only disentangles herself from him when physiologic need drives her to it. When she returns, his eyes lazily open and then close again, his lips curling up into a smile.
Cristina traces her fingertip over his smile, drawing his eyes open once more. Their eyes meet and their lips only moments after. At first it's a gentle exploration, a rediscovery of what they once knew so well. Tongues move past parted lips and intertwine, their breathing grows ragged and unsteady. Desperation replaces hesitation.
Clothes are stripped away and with anybody else, Cristina would feel ridiculously unsexy. Her clothes are wrinkled and smell faintly of stale French fries and the cherry pine tree thing hanging from her rear view mirror, her lingerie less than seductive. With Burke though, she feels beautiful. His eyes get warm as he removes the plain beige bra and he lowers his head to kiss the skin left bare by the discarded material.
Slender fingers grasp the back of his neck and his lips explore the swell of her breast, hands sliding up the smooth skin of her thighs. When he touches her, she draws his chin upward until she can crush her lips to his once more. His fingers slip inside her and she rocks her hips into his hand, whimpering softly as he presses every good place inside her. Burke continues to move his fingers, drawing soft moans from her throat and gentle shudders from her body until she comes, trembling in his arms.
Burke lowers her back onto the bed, presses her legs apart as she pushes away his boxers. His length rubs against her and they're both lost to ecstasy when his hips sink into hers. They easily find a rhythm together, frantic and controlled at the same time. He kisses her neck and she finds herself breathlessly chanting the name that killed her to hear only two days ago. The name that never seemed to go away.
The man she doesn't want to live without.
She tightens around him and he releases inside her. Their fingers intertwine and his breathless admission that he loves her doesn't scare her because she loves him too. There are details, both minor and major, that they'll have to work out but none of it matters right now.
For far too long, she'd been dead on the inside and she's finally breathing.
Right now, that's the only thing that matters.