A/N: Just made a formatting edit...so if anyone got any alerts sorry! You don't need to read it again or anything.

It had been a long day. Too long. Not only was she on a two-week probation for not telling anyone about that stupid thing with the interns—which she hadn't said anything about because she'd thought it was handled—but she'd had to pick one of her fellow residents to perform the solo surgery that all the attendings had unanimously awarded to her. To top it all off, she'd had a major make-out session with Owen Hunt, which had been nice. Okay, maybe nice was an understatement. It had been steamy and passionate, and way better than anything she'd ever felt with Burke, which scared her. She wasn't used to feeling so wild and out of control. She was Cristina Yang, top first-year resident, future cardio god. Usually. But now her interns were going around performing appendectomies on each other, and she and Meredith weren't speaking, and she was making out with Owen Hunt, sexy ex-military virtual stranger who thought she was beautiful. No one had ever called her beautiful before—not even Burke.

Cristina Yang was not in control anymore.

She wondered if this was how Callie felt. Having discovered you might actually be into girls and then getting dumped by your girlfriend must make you feel pretty helpless. Maybe they could commiserate together, even though Cristina didn't normally open up to anyone other than Meredith. Now that Mer was off-limits, though, she was beginning to reconsider.

Cristina sighed and pushed loose strands of hair out of her face. She didn't know what to do anymore. She'd almost lost it in the gallery, which was atypical for her. Then again, she'd had to sit in the gallery watching Karev prep for the solo surgery—her surgery—and listen to Meredith saying she understood that Cristina couldn't make it personal. She was the one who was making it personal. Screwing McDreamy—living with him no less. Meredith had no sense of judgement anymore. Cristina wanted to hit her. Going around like this was all Cristina's fault, when she was the one who hadn't been there for Cristina.

And then there was this thing with Owen. He inspired passion in her that she'd never felt before. He was so intense, so driven and commanding in the field, and yet around her he didn't seem to know what to say. And then out of the blue, he would be there for her when no one else was, showing her a new safe haven where no one would find her. He was so different than Burke; so different, but it was a good different. Besides, Burke had never made her feel this way. Not even close. They would have gone on kissing for hours had Owen's pager not gone off.

She needed to go home, have a drink; something strong, and maybe she'd dance it out for a little bit, even though it was really any fun without Meredith. Alcohol would make her feel better. It would clear her head too, to help her figure out what to do about Owen. The kind of feelings she was feeling were dangerous and uncontrollable. Besides, Owen played so hot and cold that Cristina wasn't sure what to expect tomorrow. It would probably just be better to pretend it never happened.

Adjusting the strap of her bag, Cristina crossed the road to her apartment. The perks of living across the street: she was home within minutes of leaving. The only drawback was that her motorcycle barely saw any use anymore. Maybe she'd take it out for a ride. It would nice to get a thrill from doing something other than kissing Owen.

The five flights of stairs to the apartment were a pain in the ass, but it was more work than taking the elevator, and Cristina needed something to focus on in order to distract herself from her thoughts. She'd been pretty much alone with them all day, and it was driving her crazy.

"Hey." There must be someone up there who was on Cristina's side, because Callie was unlocking the door—arms full of a paper bag containing what looked suspiciously like alcohol—which meant that Cristina didn't have to go fishing in bag for her keys.

"Hey," Cristina replied. Callie looked almost as tired as she felt. Neither of them said anything more, tumbling into the apartment in silence. It seemed to be a fat mutually acknowledged that they'd both had a shitty day.

Cristina heard the telltale clinking of glass as Callie dropped her armful of paper bag on the counter. There was definitely alcohol of some kind in there. Wordlessly, Cristina dropped her bag on the floor and peeked into the bag. Sure enough, there were a couple of bottles of tequila. Meredith's best friend, she thought sadly. Well not anymore, now that she's got Shepherd. Now she's all bright and shiny. She hated bright and shiny people, and the fact that Meredith had become one—all gooey and sappy and full of love—made her sick.

Needing to put all of this behind her—if only temporarily—she opened one of the bottles and took a long swig. Here was the thing she loved about tequila: the instant gratification, how the burn of the alcohol sliding down your throat made you feel instantly better. Suddenly, everything that had happened didn't seem so bad.

"Callie?" Cristina glanced around for her roommate and was greeted by an empty apartment. She wasn't the only one who needed cheering up.

Callie was lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling and looking appropriately miserable. "Callie?" Cristina stuck her head in the door. "Go away," she mumbled without looking up.

"I've got tequila," Cristina said in a singsong voice, waving the bottle in front of her like it she was tempting a donkey with a carrot.

"No." Callie was stubborn, but so was Cristina. In fact, most of the arguments that occurred between them arose from the fact that both of them were too stubborn to back down.

Cristina shrugged. "Suit yourself. Just know that I'll be out there with two bottles of tequila to enjoy instead of one. And you'll miss all my drunken confessions."

She missed Meredith. She was too proud to admit it to anyone other than herself, but it was true. Meredith was her person. The only person she could go and freak out to. Normally it was annoying having Meredith as her person, because Meredith was the one who was always freaking out: about Shepherd, about her mom, about Lexie, about her dad, but mostly about Shepherd—and it was the Shepherd talk she couldn't take. Cristina was usually the listener, the voice of reason, and now, the one time that she actually had something worth freaking out about, there was no person to go to.

"Give me that."

Cristina looked up, surprised. Callie was standing over her, holding out her hand for the bottle. So she'd won after all, which was no surprise. All you needed was a little tequila to make you feel better.

Owen sighed. This wasn't the first night that he hadn't been able to sleep, but it was the first night in a long time that the insomnia had been caused by anything other than the war. It was nice not to be haunted by the horror he had witnessed in Iraq for once.

Cristina. She was all he could think about now. That kiss in the boiler room…he hadn't felt that way about anybody in a long time. He hadn't even thought he was able to feel that way anymore. He would have been happy to stay there forever, kissing her, or even just watching her. If his pager hadn't gone off…who knows what would have happened.

He wondered what she was up to. It was late; she must have gone home by now, unless she'd gone back up to watch the solo surgery. He doubted it though. It was too painful for her.

She might still be in the boiler room. Owen considered going down and looking for her. She'd probably want to be alone. One of the many things he'd learned about Cristina Yang in his short time knowing her was that she wasn't the most social person. The only person she confided in was Meredith, and they weren't speaking to each other anymore.

Not wanting to barge in on her space, but not wanting to stay in the on-call room, since sleep was obviously going to evade him, Owen got up. He may as well go down. If she was still there, he'd leave. She'd never even know he'd been by. And if not, then he'd be able to stay down there. Maybe it would help clear his head.

He'd barely made it halfway down the hallway before changing his mind. It was late. Cristina had definitely gone home by now, and so should he.

It didn't take long to change out of his scrubs. There was no one in the attendings' lounge; most of them were either at home or on duty right now. Not that he talked much to the others anyways. He didn't really like Sloan, and he didn't know any of the others. Shepherd was all right, but he and Owen were rarely in the lounge at the same time. Owen didn't mind, though. He wasn't a terribly social person. It was so much harder to hold a conversation since coming back from Iraq. It seemed like he just never knew what to say anymore.

Waiting for the elevator took forever. The elevators at Seattle Grace, he'd learned, were not only notoriously slow, but were also one of the hottest hook-up spots in the hospital, bested only by the on-call rooms. It was yet another reminder about how personal everything was at this hospital, and that—even though he'd sworn not to—Owen was no better at keeping his personal and professional life separate than any of the other doctors here.

The elevator door opened, and Owen was surprised to see Derek Shepherd leaning against the back railing. He looked tired, and burdened; almost like a normal person, in regular, ordinary clothes. It was strange seeing him without his scrubs. Somehow, he looked less god-like and more human.

"Dr Hunt."

"Dr Shepherd."

The elevator began to descend in silence. For once, Owen wished the elevators weren't so slow; it was so awkward standing here with Shepherd saying nothing.

"Do you want to have a drink?"

Owen blinked, surprised. "Where's Meredith?"

Shepherd sighed. "Watching the solo surgery. I was going to go home, but there'll be no one there. You?"

"Well I was going home," Owen began,

"Don't worry about it." Shepherd smiled weakly.

"No I—a drink would be nice." Maybe it wouldn't hurt to have some friends around here.

"I used to be good at relationships." Callie took a long swig from the bottle. Both of them had been drinking for a while now—it turned out there was a third bottle of tequila in the cupboard that they'd both forgotten about—and the drunken confessions were about to begin. "I had boyfriends. I was hot. I was rich. People wanted to date me. And then I met George. And he was cute and nice and funny and we got along really well. And then I slept with Mark—after I broke up with George—to try and get over him, which didn't work. Not that the sex wasn't great. It was. It was really mind-blowing. But it wasn't the same, you know? And then he wouldn't talk to me 'cause I "cheated" on him, and then his dad died, and he asked me to marry him. Which was what I'd always wanted. I mean I thought he was the one. And then he slept with Izzie and we got divorced and I was humiliated. In front of the whole hospital." She paused and took another long drink. "And then there was Erica. And she was hot. And nice and funny and she understood me. I wasn't so sure about the whole lesbian thing—I'm still not sure about the whole lesbian thing—but she wasn't either. And the sex was great. So great. Like better than Mark, and Mark's pretty amazing. And then she left without even saying good-bye. The whole hospital didn't know about that one, but, somehow, it was more painful. She was a friend too, you know? With George, it was like losing a lover, but with Erica, I lost a friend too." She shook her head. "I should just swear off relationships entirely. Take a vow of celibacy."

Cristina snorted. "Don't do that. Meredith took a vow of celibacy once, and she ended up screwing McDreamy and losing her panties."

Callie laughed, a short quick burst. "Which Addison found. In Derek's tux. And posted on the board."

The two of them burst out laughing like it was the funniest thing in the world.

"So no vow of celibacy," Callie gasped, trying desperately not to laugh.

Cristina shook her head, still laughing. "Believe me, celibacy sucks. I haven't had sex in…a long time."

"You should talk to Mark," Callie suggested. "He's really good with sex."

"McSteamy?" That was enough to send Cristina into a fresh fit of laughter. "He tried hitting on me the other day. For the whole day. And I didn't even notice."

Callie choked on a mouthful of tequila. "Mark was flirting with you? I'm sorry, but you are so not his type."

"You were the one who was suggesting I should talk to him," Cristina reminded her.

"Well yeah, because I mean maybe if he was desperate, he'd feel sorry for you, but there's no way he would be flirting with you. At least not of his own accord." Callie shook her head, chortling.

"Yeah well he's lucky I'm not interested." Alcohol gave Cristina even more confidence. "He couldn't handle me." Nobody seemed able to handle her. Not Burke; not Sloan; not Karev; certainly not Shepherd. Or O'Malley. Just imagining Bambi trying to handle her in the bedroom made Cristina burst out laughing again.

"Owen." The word floated off her tongue before she could stop it.

"Mmm, Owen. That's a nice name." Callie was beyond wasted now.

"Owen could handle me." Cristina said it almost to herself more than anyone else, since Callie obviously wasn't listening to much of anything that was being said anymore. This was the only drawback to drinking with Callie. She told great drunken stories, but after a while, she stopped paying attention to anything.

It was true, the thing about Owen. He was so intense that he could definitely handle her. In fact, he was exactly what someone like her needed. He understood the need to be professional, unlike all those sentimental wimps who called themselves surgeons. Most of them didn't even have what it took to be a surgeon. But her and Owen…what a team they would make.

It was a shame she wanted to be a cardio god.

Joe's wasn't as crowded as it had been in past nights that Owen had been here. There were still some seats left at the bar, and the highlights from the Sea Hawks game were playing on the TV.

"The usual." It was obvious that Shepherd came here often enough that Joe had his order memorized. Which, in hindsight, was hardly surprising: most of the staff at Seattle Grace frequented the Emerald City bar on a regular basis. Even Owen, who had only been coming here for about a month or so, already knew the usual orders of most of the surgical staff. Shepherd drank scotch, unless it was a special occasion; Sloan tended to go for a beer, and the occasional whiskey if he was drinking with Shepherd; Torres liked the fancy cocktails; Karev and Stevens both drank beer; Meredith liked anything with tequila; Cristina liked the strong stuff.

"I'll have a double scotch, single malt." Somehow, ordering a beer when Shepherd was having a scotch seemed inadequate. Besides, Owen liked scotch.

Shepherd seemed somewhat surprised by Owen's order, but he said nothing. In fact, the two of them sat in silence for a while, listening to the chatter of the other patrons. Owen wanted to say something to break the silence, but starting conversations had never been his forte. There were a lot of normal topics that were off-limits for him now that he'd been to Iraq and back, and he'd realized that it was better—and safer—just not to say anything.

"The Hawks are having a pretty dismal season," Shepherd remarked, glancing at the television.

At least Shepherd is talkative, Owen thought, relieved that the weight of starting the conversation had fallen on someone other than him. "It's definitely not one of their best years," Owen agreed. "You don't strike me as much of a sports lover, Shepherd."

"Derek."

"What?"

Shepherd smiled. "Call me Derek. And you don't strike me as much of a scotch drinker, Hunt."

"Yeah, well you're not the first one to say that. And it's Owen." He nodded his thanks at Joe—who had just slid his and Derek's drinks across the bar—and took a long sip. The scotch was good; the way it burned down his throat made him think of Cristina, and that burning sensation she inspired deeper inside of him.

"So what do you think of Seattle Grace, Owen?" Now that they had gotten over the initial awkwardness, conversation seemed to flow much easier.

Owen wondered how best to answer this. Seattle Grace was very different from any other hospital that he had worked in. There was no denying that the surgical program was top-notch, but the way that the doctors mingled there personal and professional lives was, well…confusing. Owen had learned more about the doctors at Seattle Grace in his first month than he ever wanted to know. "The surgical program is great." That was the safest response he could think of.

Derek chuckled. "A little too personal for you, Dr Hunt?"

"Noo…it just takes a little getting used to. That's all." He couldn't really say that, yes, it was too personal, because he seemed to be turning into one of them. This whole thing with Cristina—he shouldn't be thinking about a co-worker like that. But the atmosphere at Seattle Grace didn't necessarily encourage professionalism between employees.

Derek took a long sip of his drink. He hadn't even had time to swallow, before Mark Sloan appeared behind him and clapped him on the shoulder, saying, "Hey, Derek!"

Derek almost spit his scotch all over the bar.

Owen tried to keep a straight face. And failed.

"Sorry about that," Sloan said, as Derek coughed heavily, trying not to choke on his drink. "Dr Hunt."

"Dr. Sloan." Owen still couldn't get the image of Sloan flirting with Cristina out of his head. It made him seethe.

"You looking to sit here?" Derek asked, finally, red-faced, but no longer coughing.

"Oh no, I just wanted to say hi. I've got a date." Sloan winked. "See you later." And with that he headed off.

"It takes a lifetime to get used to people like Mark." Derek shook his head in amazement. "He hasn't changed. In all the years I've known him, he hasn't changed."

I'm not sure a lifetime will be long enough to get used to Mark Sloan, Owen thought, but he didn't say anything. Sloan and Derek were best friends, and he thought it would be rude to express his true opinion about Sloan when Derek had been so kind as to invite Owen out for a drink. He tried to think about other safe topics to discuss; the Sea Hawk scores were too far away to be revived now. The TV wasn't even showing them anymore, it had moved on to the latest NHL results. What he really wanted was information about Cristina. From what he had seen, Meredith was the best person to ask, but since he didn't know her very well Derek was the next best thing. Owen wasn't sure how to go about asking it without making seeming too obvious. His personal life was personal, and he wasn't sure he felt comfortable sharing it with Derek Shepherd. Yet.

"So, uh, how long have you been with Meredith?" Owen thought it was sad that he couldn't think of anything better to talk about.

If Derek was surprised, he didn't show it. In fact, he seemed almost as if he had been expecting it. "We've been on-and-off for a while." He paused; Owen wasn't the only one who seemed slightly uncomfortable spilling his personal life to a stranger. "What about you? Are you married? Got a girlfriend?"

"No." Owen wasn't going to think about Cristina. Or Beth. Neither of those roads were ones that were advisable to take after having had a couple of scotches.

There was an awkward silence, which Owen—as much as he wanted to—didn't seem able to fill. There was really only one thing that he wanted to discuss: Cristina. He barely knew her, and here he was having drinks with someone who'd been working with her for four years.

"So uh, what do you make of Dr Yang?" He tried to come off casual, indifferent.

"Yang?" Derek took a long sip. "She's tough. Competitive. Hard worker. Very blunt. She's not the easiest to get along with."

"Oh."

"Why do you ask?" Derek seemed genuinely curious.

"Oh, well, uh, I'm just trying to get to know the residents a little better." Owen took a hasty sip of his drink. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea after all.

"Oh, well, in that case, allow me to enlighten you." Derek turned more to face Owen, almost as if he was settling in. "Meredith is hard-working, talented, smart. She's going to be an excellent surgeon. Stevens is very friendly; she's good with the patients, but sometimes she gets too personal. Karev is rude and blunt, but he's a good guy at heart; he knows what he's doing. George is probably the hardest working of them all; he's competent, quick, happy to help, but he's not as competitive as the others are. He had to repeat the beginning of his intern year, so he's just getting used to being a resident."

"Good to know." Owen glanced at his now empty glass. He'd had two scotches and it was beginning to get late; he should probably leave now. The solo surgery would probably be over by now too, and Dr Grey would be wondering where Derek was. "I should probably go," he began, getting up and gathering his coat.

Derek glanced at his watch. "Yeah. With any luck, I can catch Meredith on her way home."

There was an awkward pause, as both men pulled on their coats, no longer sure of what to say to each other.

"Well, I'll see you tomorrow, I guess," Derek said eventually.

"Yeah."

Owen watched as Derek threaded his way through the bar and out into the night. He was going to go home to a house full of people, to a warm bed, and a girlfriend to share it with, while Owen was going home to a dark and cold apartment, filled with sleepless nights and longing.

Owen glanced at the door, torn. He really should go home, lonely and unfriendly as it was. But the prospect of another lonely night after what he had experienced this evening with Cristina was too depressing. He needed to feel something other than loneliness or desire.

Sighing, Owen sat down again. "Actually, Joe, I think I'll have another one."

Because, the truth was, if he had to choose between loneliness and desire, or nothing, he'd choose nothing.