A/N: This is a follow up to "Another Time and Place". The character of Timothy Dahner is mine, originally created in my story "Failure to Connect"
Disclaimer: Grey's Anatomy is the property of ABC, Shondra Rhimes and Co. No copyright infringement is intended.
Christmas in the After
The clock on the microwave oven read one a.m. when Cristina passed it on her way to the living room. Sleet spattered the windows and the intermittent sound of traffic on the wet pavement below hissed beneath the rush of warm air from the heating vent. Pausing by the thermostat, she turned up the heat against the seeping chill and then sank into an overstuffed leather recliner. She sipped her red wine and considered the cordless phone resting in her opposite palm.
"Do you have any plans for Christmas?"
The question had come at the end of her first date with Owen Hunt ten days previously. Cristina had been dreading the 'goodnight' moment from the second they left Black Jack's Bar and started walking back to his car. She did not know what to expect, certainly not that particular query or the hesitant fashion it was delivered in. Owen seemed to be looking everywhere but at her. Ordinarily Cristina would have found such behavior offensive. The evening had been a difficult one for both of them however. It was not the stories of Timothy Dahner, or his comrades, so much as the tone of quiet reverence Owen used to tell them. She suspected that she had learned more about him in two hours than most people would learn in a year.
"No, I don't have any plans," she replied, intrigued.
Cristina put her glass and the phone on the coffee table and drew her knees up to her chin.
"Dinner with family? Friends?" The latter spoken with a curious lift of one reddish eyebrow.
Cristina frowned and knitted her fingers together. No plans. Especially not with Meredith and Derek after the Sadie debacle. Too much needed to be said and she had no inclination to open a dialogue at this point. Standing outside of Chief Webber's office and the next day in the observation gallery had been eye opening experiences for her as much as her fellow Residents. Her statements were not born of arrogance, rather simple fact. A part of Cristina wondered if jealousy were not the impetus for at least some of the negativity in the room. By the third year of Residency the incompetents and slackers had been weeded from the class. The best remained and competition to shine had grown to a fever pitch. Cristina could understand the inadvertent lapses of attention to their interns. She was guilty of tactlessness, impatience and frequent bouts of hostility—often unwarranted. Those were her faults and an occasional chastising was well deserved. Still, where was the justice after Sadie's surgery?
Cristina rested her forehead on her knees and sighed loudly. Admitting how much it hurt was not something she was ready for. Meredith would have to wait. She had Sadie to commiserate with and Derek to fawn over….
The sharp blare of a car horn sent a shiver down Cristina's spine. "Idiots," she muttered, reaching for the wine and draining the glass. Whether the moniker referred to the errant driver below or the people crowding her head, Cristina could not say.
"No plans. You?"
His eyes, gray and dark with shadows, finally met hers. "I hadn't thought about it, until now."
Cristina put down the empty glass and picked up the phone.
"Just now?"
"Yes."
The implication brought a blush of color to her cheeks. "Can I call you?"
His nod was barely perceptible. She stepped up onto the stoop to put them at eye level. Owen leaned in and brushed her lips with a chaste kiss. "Thank you," he whispered, "Good night."
Laying Burke to rest in a meaningful way would not have been possible even six months ago. Owen's arrival at Seattle Grace had brought change to so many aspects of Cristina's life. True growth as opposed to feigned self-confidence that would reveal itself as a lie if anyone bothered to look beneath the surface. Even if they had chosen not to pursue their mutual attraction, Cristina did not doubt Owen's positive influence. Still, this moment was more difficult than she had expected.
Swallowing the dryness from her mouth, Cristina reached into her pocket and pulled out a crumpled post-it note with the Seattle Grace logo printed across the top. Two days passed before she and Owen had crossed paths again. He was on his way into work, she on her way out to the market. He looked exhausted but pleased to see her. A brief hello and he had pressed the small piece of paper into her gloved palm before jogging down the street. Cristina wedged the note between her knees. Beneath home and cell numbers two words were written in neat script
Anytime, Owen
It was an invitation as succinct and deceptively simple as the man who wrote it. Cristina smiled ruefully and pressed the phone's ON button. She had taken control of their relationship—for want of a better term—by offering to call. Doubtless, he did not expect eight days to pass before she did. Or perhaps he had not noticed at all? Her finger hovered over the first digit.
Three days ago Cristina had returned to work after taking a week off following Karev's solo surgery. Owen was working nights to her days and except for a brief glimpse the morning she returned, Cristina had not seen him since. Was it by accident or design? So much had passed between them in Black Jack's bar. They had never made it to the restaurant but instead settled for a cold sandwich and a bag of pretzels in between drinks. Had Owen said too much for his comfort? Cristina groaned inwardly. He was not the only one with doubts. After Burke, she was sure no man could, or would, touch her that way again. If the first encounter with Owen had been the last she could have dismissed it. A brief, flirtatious assault on her senses that faded into a sweet memory. But he had come back. Bloody and bruised in ways the naked eye could not perceive but the heart could feel. Cristina looked down at the post-it note and punched in the phone number marked HOME.
One ring, two…. She waited, impatiently tapping her fingers against her knee. He was not scheduled to work. She had double-checked the board before leaving. Three rings, four… Maybe she had waited too long? Maybe he had gone in after all? Her finger moved to the OFF button.
"Hello?" His voice sounded hoarse, confused.
"Hi, it's…Cristina. I'm sorry, did I wake you?" She felt foolish for stammering. "Of course I did. I'm sorry…"
"It's fine." Stronger this time followed by the rustle of fabric and the faint click of what sounded like a lamp switch. "Everything okay?" he asked.
"What? Yes, fine. I said I would call." She was talking too fast and she could hear the smile in his reply.
"You did."
"So, I'm calling."
"So you are." The fabric swished again. "Hold on a sec."
Cristina listened intently as his footsteps padded away from the phone. The sound of running water and then he was walking back. The phone clicked and thudded heavily in her ear. A mumbled curse and then, "Dropped the phone."
"So I hear." She paused. "Listen, I'm sorry. I really thought you would be awake."
"I was."
The lie was obvious and the urge to argue tingled on the tip of Cristina's tongue. She bit it back, reluctantly. "So, Christmas?"
"I'm working twelve hours, midnight to noon. You?"
"Seven to three." The dull tick of glass on wood sounded in her ear. Cristina drew a steadying breath. "Would you like to get together after?"
"You won't be too tired?"
Irony anyone, Cristina mused darkly. "I'll be fine. Where do you want to go?"
"It's Christmas, I doubt we'll get a reservation anywhere at this point."
"My place? Take out?"
"What about your roommate?"
"Vacation."
"You're sure…not about her vacation. You're sure about…me?"
Her heart skipped a beat at the catch in his voice. The desire to touch and be touched had passed between them like an electric current while standing on the vent in the hospital basement. He wanted her and now in the still of an early winter morning, it was finally okay to admit she wanted him just as much. Yet the barrier remained; his past and hers, immovable. "I'm sure," she whispered.
"What time?"
"Seven? In case I get held up at work."
"Fine."
"Owen?"
"What?" His voice sounded sleepier now than when he had first answered the phone.
"Get some sleep."
There was no reply.
~*~*~
The delay turned out to be a good choice. Cristina wound up assisting in an emergency splenectomy for a twelve year old accident victim. She kept the worried family apprised throughout the procedure and afterwards watched with vaguely jealous eyes as they proceeded one by one into the recovery room. There were tears and smiles and nods of gratitude, which she accepted on behalf of the on-call team that had performed the surgery. The smile on her face was plastic, barely held in place as emotions churned within. The urge to call her own mother was strong as she walked out of the hospital. Cristina hesitated to do so. Their last conversation had gone very badly. Walking across the parking lot to the sidewalk that would cross in front of her apartment, she discovered a message on her cell phone. Her mother's voice, the words short and non-committal. Not the kind of greeting promised by Norman Rockwell. Cristina's nostalgic musings evaporated. She was frowning when she looked up to see Owen's car parked halfway down the block.
He did not get out until she arrived at her apartment door and put the key in the lock. Walking up, he slid her bag of clothes and sundries from her shoulder and murmured, "Merry Christmas."
"The same to you." She cast a critical eye up and down his lean frame as they stepped inside. "You look like hell."
"Thanks."
"No, I mean it. Did you sleep this afternoon?"
Owen shrugged dismissively.
Cristina dropped the subject, unwilling to give him a reason to retreat any further.
The thermostat was set at sixty two in the apartment. Cristina indicated that Owen should dump her things on a chair in the hallway and hurried to turn the heat up. She returned to find him studying the picture above the chair. A sunset over the pacific, the waves painted a burnished gold and deep green-grey beneath a turbulent sky. "Housewarming gift," she explained.
"From Doctor Grey?"
She smirked at his formality. "Yes, and Derek."
Owen nodded. "It fits."
Cristina cocked her head, surprised at the casual assessment. "I suppose." Turning to the closet she took out two hangers. "Here, give me your coat."
"Did you want me to go out and pick up something for dinner?"
"There is Chinese, Indian and Italian within a two blocks radius. I think dinner can come to us."
He smiled sheepishly and unzipped his jacket. "Uh, hold on. I brought something for us to watch."
"Oh I hadn't thought of that."
Owen's hand paused halfway inside his jacket pocket. "What were you thinking?"
"Music actually."
He withdrew his hand and stuffed it into the pocket of his black jeans instead. "That's fine."
Cristina groaned beneath her breath. "Look at us. What is so hard about take-out and a movie?" His low chuckle sent a shiver of pleasure down her spine and prompted an answering grin. "What movie did you bring?"
Owen pulled out the DVD, keeping his face unnaturally straight as he presented it to her.
"Nothing says Christmas like Die Hard," Cristina quipped.
He laughed and reached a hand into the opposite pocket, removing a plastic wrapped package. "Can't forget the popcorn."
"Of course not!"
"Pizza?"
"Ah a true gourmet meal then?"
"I think there's a liquor store on…"
Cristina grinned, enjoying the glint of humor in his blue eyes and the lingering smile as his voice trailed away. "I know the store. It wouldn't be the first time I've had to order in booze. Of course there's usually a party going on."
"A private party," he suggested.
A second, stronger shiver tingled Cristina's fingertips. She stretched up and impulsively kissed him on the mouth. Owen's hand rose to cup her cheek. His thumb stroked gently beneath her eye as he bent closer, deepening the kiss. His lips ranged over hers, tongue probing gently to part the tender flesh. She parried his advances, tasting mint and Scotch on his breath as her tongue explored. His other hand slid up her back to her neck. Nimble fingers probed the sensitive nape and traveled into her thick hair. Cristina dragged her tongue along his teeth and nibbled his lip. Owen flinched and the hand cupping her face drifted down to her shoulder and along her collar bone. She gasped at the feathery touch and leaned forward to nip the soft flesh beneath his jaw. His beard was firm but soft against her cheek and mouth. She nudged playfully and felt his throat vibrate beneath her lips. A ragged sigh ruffled her hair as he leaned back against the wall and pulled her forward. His body was lean and rock hard beneath her. The urge to explore it in every detail was growing stronger by the second. Cristina kissed her way down to the hollow at the base of his throat. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone allowing her lips to travel freely back up to the juncture between neck and shoulder. A nuzzling kiss and he shifted beneath her. His hands moved to cradle her shoulder blades. His breath was hot in her ear as his tongue swept over the lobe, sending a jolt of sensation through her. Cristina nipped the soft skin and urged his head down, reaching eagerly for his parted lips.
"No…wait…." A strangled whisper and his hands pushed gently but insistently against her shoulders. "Cristina…"
"Are you kidding me?" she panted. "What the hell is this about?"
Owen looked to the ceiling. His normally pale features were flushed pink and his breath came in ragged gasps. He shook his head and closed his eyes.
Cristina spun away and stalked to the doorway of the living room. Everything had been fine—more than fine. Both of them riding a mutual wave of anticipation when suddenly, without reason, the brakes had come on. She wanted to throw him out. Divest herself of his complexities before she was completely sucked in. The lingering taste and feel of him proved that the chance to turn back had already come and gone. His regret buffeted her stiff back like a cold breeze. After a moment his breathing leveled out and his feet shifted on the hardwood floor. Two steps to the door and the soft click of the handle turning sounded unbearably loud in the silence.
"Owen." She was not sure if she had actually spoken the name or merely thought it.
"I wanted this," he murmured thickly. "I just…"
"Stay." She turned around, catching the stricken look on his face before he could duck away. Pity, the one emotion she knew he would not tolerate, rose unbidden. Cristina donned a neutral expression as she closed the distance between them. She was determined to salvage the evening and inexplicably certain that this would be their last chance if she failed.
Owen pressed his back to the door. Cristina swallowed hard, tasting and rejecting the instinctive urge to chastise him. The fear of what he might do if given half the chance was written in every line of his taut frame. The raw power of desires so tightly contained excited her almost as much as it seemed to scare him. She reached out and wrapped her fingers around his left wrist. His pulse quickened and a sigh hitched in his throat. Slowly she worked his hand free of its pocket retreat and urged the clenched fingers to unfold so she could clasp his palm. He met her entreating stare, raw emotions shading his eyes to dusky gray in the dim light of the hall.
"Stay?" she repeated, making it a question.
Owen nodded slowly and pushed away from the door.
~*~*~
They ordered pizza and Greek salads, opting for the bottled water in her fringe in lieu of liquor. Cristina did most of the talking as they waited for dinner to arrive. The casual conversation seemed to ease the lines of tension on his face and elicited the occasional smile, which did not quite reach his eyes. When the delivery man had come and gone they relocated to the couch and popped in the movie to watch as they ate.
"Only a man would call this a Christmas movie," Cristina asserted around a mouthful of salad. She had seen it before, with Burke oddly enough.
"Just wait," Owen counseled.
Twenty minutes later she changed her mind. Convinced beyond doubt by the sparkle in Owen's eyes and the shy smile pulling at his sensual mouth. After clearing the plates away and pouring them both a glass of wine, Cristina returned to the couch. Owen's arm settled around her shoulders and his fingers began massaging her arm in slow circles. She snuggled down and leaned her head against his chest. Lulled by the steady beat of his heart and the intermittent shudders of laughter, she closed her eyes.
The house was dead quiet when she awoke. Rubbing her arms against the unexpected chill, Cristina sat up and looked around. The TV was off and only one lamp was lit in the corner of the room. She blinked the sleep from her eyes, wondering what had awakened her and if Owen had left without saying good-bye.
The answer to both questions came in the form of a low moan from the recliner by the window. Cristina pulled the throw from the back of the couch as she stood. Wrapping the velour blanket around her shoulders, she slowly approached the chair.
The footrest was extended and Owen's long legs were crossed at the ankles. His belt was undone and his shirt pulled free in an apparent attempt to get comfortable. He lay facing away from her, jaw lax and hands resting limply on the armrests. Cristina stopped, suddenly unsure if she should wake him.
The moan came again, starting low and building steadily to a choked sob. Owen's head thrashed back and forth and his hands came up to cross palm out in front of his face. Guttural words in an unfamiliar language tumbled out as tremors rippled the length of his rigid body.
Cristina froze. She was not prone to nightmares and had never seen anyone—outside of a sleep study clinic--experience night terrors. A more extreme form usually associated only with children.
The words died away and Owen covered his face with his hands. His breath came in ragged gasps and his body curled into a fetal position, becoming impossibly small in the plush chair. Sweat glistened on the backs of his hands and the triangle of flesh peeking through his open shirt. He shuddered and bit his lower lip, causing a thin rivulet of blood to trail down into his beard.
Startled into motion by the blood Cristina stepped to the side of the chair. She was wary of touching him after the incident in the alley behind Joe's Bar. Owen was a trained soldier. He would instinctively protect himself in the first moments of consciousness. Still, she could not let this go on unchecked. Kneeling down, she rested tentative fingers against his shoulder and prepared to duck. "Owen?"
Owen's arms dropped and folded protectively across his chest. He stared blankly in her direction, blue eyes wide and ringed with white. His mouth hung open in a slack O of surprise and then snapped shut. Stray words, names and places, seeped through gritted teeth.
Cristina pressed firmly against the hard flesh beneath the cloth. "Owen, you're safe here."
The clamped jaw loosened slightly.
She rested her free hand on his folded arms. "Relax."
His furrowed brow smoothed out and the ruddiness left his cheeks.
"It's okay. You can sleep now." Cristina tugged gently on his folded arms, urging them to open and lay loosely in his lap.
The look of terror gradually faded from Owen's eyes and the eyelids drifted closed. His breathing slowed and deepened.
Cristina released a breath she did not know she was holding and sat back on her heels. Owen's haggard appearance and evasive responses to any questions regarding sleep finally made sense. No one could function indefinitely in such a state. Clearly he was much closer to the breaking point than he wanted to admit to anyone, including himself. Huffing a sigh, Cristina stood up. The velour throw lay in a heap at her feet. She picked it up and draped it over Owen, tucking the corners behind his broad shoulders. He did not stir.
*~*~*
Sunlight and the smell of coffee roused Cristina from a fitful sleep. She tensed, momentarily at a loss and then relaxed as the memories of the previous evening came flooding back. The heat against her cheek and the aroma of French Roast were comforting and she closed her eyes. Moments later the sharp, incessant beep of the smoke alarm shattered the peace. "Damn," she muttered irritably. Throwing the blankets aside she snagged a robe from the back of the bedroom door and stumbled out into the short hallway that lead to the kitchen.
Owen stood in the entryway waving a dishtowel at the alarm. At the creak of the floorboards in the hall he glanced towards her and shrugged helplessly.
"Setting the house on fire, are we?" Cristina groused as she turned into the bathroom.
He did not reply until she entered the kitchen and started searching for a clean coffee mug.
"I did the dishes," Owen explained, offering her a steaming cup. "And no, I'm not trying to set the house on fire. Your toaster oven was full of crumbs."
"You cleaned that too I suppose?"
Owen handed her a plate of toast garnished with half an orange sectioned and fanned. He sipped his coffee. The crinkles around his blue eyes were the only outward sign that he was enjoying her irritation.
Cristina took the plate and sat down at the bar. His fastidious nature would be hard to get used to. Waking up to food that she didn't have to run out and purchase was a nice change however. She nibbled at the toast, wondering idly when the possibility of his presence becoming regular had occurred. Sometime after their near tryst in the hall? Or after the night terrors that had left her shaken and more worried than she expected to be for his health and sanity. Cristina looked over her shoulder, watching him clear the counter of toast crumbs and toss the used coffee filter into the trash. He appeared as he always did; tired, controlled and precise in every action. She envied that level of control and hoped she would never achieve it.
When Owen reached for his cup, Cristina turned back to her breakfast. His thigh was warm against hers when he slid onto the second stool. "Sleep well?" he asked before taking a sip of coffee.
"Yes. Sorry I fell asleep during the movie."
He smirked. "Seen it before?"
"Once."
Owen stared over the bar and through the doorway into the living room. His lips parted, seeming on the verge of speech and then closed again. Cristina ate her orange and watched him out of the corner of her eye. Apparently lost in thought, his right hand absently spun a butter knife over and over between his fingers. A dozen memories of similar quirks crowded her livening brain as Cristina drained her coffee cup. Owen was rarely still when agitated. He made circular motions with his hands or rubbed them together. His jaw clenched and he often shifted his weight from foot to foot. Such nervous habits were better than punching a wall—or a person—she mused with not a little relief.
He picked up her empty cup. "More?"
"Yes, thanks." She wondered when one of them would broach the subject of last night.
Owen brought the filled cup to the bar and set it down but did not resume his seat. "You're not working today?"
"No." The curve of his mouth and the wisps of red hair curling against his forehead were distracting. Cristina savored the memory of his hands threading through her hair and the tang of his warm skin in her mouth. She resisted the urge to lick her lips with effort and reached for the last section of toast.
"I'm not on until tonight." He looked suddenly pensive. "I have to go home and change. But I was wondering if you would like to go somewhere with me later?"
Clearly he did not intend to talk about last night. Cristina forced disappointment and concern to the back of her mind. "Where are you going?"
"To see Shelly Dahner. I have something for Drake."
"I'll come."
Owen reached out and pushed several errant curls back from her face. Cristina leaned against his fingers and they slid down to cradle her cheek. Moving closer he eased his other arm around her waist and pulled her into a loose embrace. He bent and kissed her gently. Moist lips tasting of coffee and oranges and promises yet to keep. Cristina responded with equal care. Hoping he would understand what she could not say with words.
"Thank you." He kissed her one more time, picked up his coat and walked out of the kitchen.
Cristina turned back to her cooling coffee. She wondered what specifically Owen was thankful for. Maybe it did not matter what so much as why. The one sure bet was that neither answer would come easily.
*~*~*
Two hours later they were parking in front of a modest house three streets west of Black Jack's bar. Owen turned off the engine and sat back in the worn leather seat. His mouth was fixed in a grim line, his eyes shifting restlessly from the steering wheel to the house and back again.
"When did you visit last?"
"The day of Tim's funeral."
Cristina nodded and pushed a hand through her tousled curls. His hands had twitched at the sound of her voice. His body betraying what his mind refused to acknowledge. She watched the struggle for control, flattered that he felt comfortable enough to drop his guard and worried that the choice would cease to be an option in the very near future. "You called her this morning?"
"Yes."
She reached into the backseat and pulled out the gift bag decorated with a teddy bear and a Christmas tree. "Come on."
Owen took the bag, his fingers lingering on hers for a moment before he reached for the door.
Cristina squinted against the glare of sunlight off wet pavement and walked around the front of the car. They crossed the street together and stepped up onto the sidewalk. Owen sighed and squared his shoulders. He was close enough to touch but Cristina kept her hands in her pockets. Two long stride up to the porch and he reached for the brass door knocker centered within a holy wreath.
The door swung inward and a tall, red-haired woman greeted them with a tired smile. "Merry Christmas, Owen…and?"
"Cristina," she supplied, taking the proffered hand. "We work together."
"Ah, I see. Come in then."
They entered into a small living room stuffed with a hodgepodge of worn furniture and every wall alive with pictures. Cristina recognized Owen in one photo of three men in camouflage, their arms slung over each other's shoulders and their faces alit with matching grins. She felt Owen stiffen beside her and tactfully shifted focus to the floor. A playpen and plush toys indicated the presence of a child in the home. An artificial tree squatted in the far corner of the room with a stack of unopened presents beneath it.
"You're waiting for family?" Owen asked, gesturing to the tree.
"My mother is flying up from Arizona." Shelly looked down at the bag dangling from his fingers. "Is that for us?"
"What? Oh, yes. Something for Drake." He handed her the bag.
"You're so sweet. He's sleeping I'm afraid. Nap time." She sighed. "Can't break routine if I want to keep my sanity."
The last said with forced levity. Cristina winced.
"Should I open it now?"
Owen shook his head, shifting closer to Cristina in the process. "No, it's nothing much."
"It's the thought," Shelly asserted as she moved to place the bag next to the tree. Turning she brought her hands together with a muffled slap. "Coffee? I think I have some rum somewhere to put in it."
Owen's fingers brushed against Cristina's sleeve. "No, we can't stay."
Shelly returned to their place by the door. "You're sure? You can peek in and see Drake if you like."
"We have a reservation for a late lunch," Cristina lied.
"Oh." Shelly's green eyes flitted between them. After a moment she nodded. "I won't keep you then but…I was wondering if you might do me a favor, Owen?" The eyes turned glassy as she bent and retrieved a box resting against the wall behind them. "This is for Tim….For his stone….I've been trying to get out there all week but I…" Blinking rapidly, she pulled out a lush green wreath adorned with small red ribbons and silver bells. "Could you take it out there? Please?"
Owen was close enough for Cristina to feel him shudder at the tears in Shelly's eyes. She pressed the backs of her fingers against his thigh as he reached to take the wreath.
"It doesn't have to be this afternoon." Shelly's hand trembled noticeably as she pushed a stray lock of hair behind her left ear. "Don't miss your reservation."
"I'll take care of it, Shelly."
"Thank you." She pulled him into an awkward embrace. "You're good people Owen Hunt."
He passed the wreath to Cristina and returned the hug. Rubbing Shelly's back until she stopped shaking and pulled away.
Her hands dropped down to grasp his. "Come see us again, won't you?"
"I will."
It was the promise of good-bye. Owen would never set foot in the Dahner house again and Shelly knew it as certainly as Cristina did. Still, they went through the motions of farewell and moments later walked silently down the sidewalk and across the street.
Owen carefully stowed the wreath on the backseat and started the car. He made no move to shift it into gear however, merely sat staring out through the windshield. The sun picked rainbows from the moisture coating the trees and accented the colors of ribbons and wreaths decorating the surrounding houses. Somewhere a dog barked and a car alarm shrilled. Children's voices carried easily on the still air, heard but not seen. He drew a shuddering breath and curled bone-white fingers around the steering wheel. Gripping hard enough to make the purple veins stand out in sharp relief across the backs of his hands.
Cristina rested a hand on his thigh and waited. She did not know how long they sat before he reached for the stick shift and put the car in gear. His hand dropped down and covered hers, moving away only to shift as they drove across town to the cemetery.
~THE~END~