When he had leaped out of the ambulance, his mind had only been on the patient. That was one of his better qualities: he had an iron will concentration. Very few things could refocus his attention when it was already centered on something else. Both a blessing and a curse, it was what made him a good soldier, and an even better surgeon.
She was there from the moment the doors opened, yet his brain didn't realize that she was there.
Somehow, though, his soul knew.
As soon as the patient was stable, his head turned to the side, and she was there. There, with her head of dark, flowing curls, with her expressive eyes, and her delicate hands. She had walked right up to them, trying to catch a word with the Chief of Surgery. He did a double take, his eyes almost not believing she was here.
"Sir, Dr. Hahn is working on multiple crush injuries, she wants you to take a look." Her voice was like music to his ears. He had heard it countless times before, but never in person.
"Mhmm, I'm on my way," the chief responded, before looking down and noticing the gash in his leg.
"You're bleeding," the man stated. Owen wanted to keep his eyes on her, but he couldn't give away his secret.
"Oh, my car was right behind theirs at the intersection," Owen spread the hole in his pants to demonstrate the wound. "I cut it on impact."
"And you triaged these men?" The chief's hands rested on his hips in thought. Owen felt the corners of his lips turn up ever so slightly, watching her face morph from confused to stunned.
"Major Owen Hunt," he started, his status coming out like a rote. "U.S. Army, second forward surgical." He allowed a small glance at her mouth parted open in interest before explaining in simpler terms: "I'm a trauma surgeon. I just got home on leave." The Chief nodded his head in approval.
"Dr. Yang, take care of Major Hunt's leg."
"Uh, sir," she protested, "I'm scrubbing in with you?"
"After you take care of Major Hunt," the Chief said again, this time giving her a look before walking away.
She stood there for a minute, her lower lip pouting just a millimeter. She didn't know it, but he loved that about her.
Owen watched as her eyebrows knitted together before turning to him. He tried to smile, but it came out more like a grimace, his gut twisting in his abdomen.
"So, you know my name, but I didn't manage to get yours," he said, trying to fill the silence. He could feel his palms sweating.
Owen already knew her name, but it was too tempting. He wanted it; craved it. She looked at him in askance, before ushering him down the hall.
He needed to get this right.
"Let's just get you sewed up," she said, shaking her head. Owen laughed a little, watching her grin to herself. He took a deep breath, and instead of entering the exam room, started off in another direction.
"Wait, what? Where are you going?!" He didn't need to look over his shoulder to know that she was following him.
"To check on my other patients."
"No, no: YOU are the patient!"
He stopped walking, pivoting on his heel.
"Look, just let me check on the other patients," he tried to convince her. "You guys here seem like you could use an extra body, and mine is free at the moment – I promise you'll get some blood on your hands once I've made sure that everyone is alright."
Owen could see that while she was reluctant to say yes, she didn't want to leave the action yet either.
"Please?" What was wrong with him? He never said please. At least not to people he barely knew. Barely ten minutes in her presence and she already had him wrapped around her finger. Her eyes slid across to the corner of the room before replying.
"Fine," she said. "JUST to check on the others."
"Great!" He felt like his face was going to break in half from all the smiling he'd be doing tonight.
She shook her head, brushing past him, leading the way back to the pit. He caught a whiff of her light, citrus scent as she passed by.
It was better than anything in he'd imagined.
The first time Owen saw her, he was nine years old.
One minute, he was in the warmth of his bed, about to fall asleep, the next he was standing in an office with the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life.
She stood there, behind a large, slightly cluttered desk, her arms propping her up against the edge. She wore a pristine white lab coat over a light blue, patterned dress. Dark curls were twisted up in an asymmetrical style on her head, and her lips were painted a deep shade of red that captivated Owen's attention. Her body was facing a large, floor to ceiling window overlooking a series of bright, tall buildings. Snowy mountains sparkled in the distance.
Slowly, taking it all in, she turned and sat down in her office chair, a lopsided smirk gracing her lips. As she was about to organize her things, however, a knock sounded on the door.
"Yes?" The woman shot up, ramrod straight, as soon as the other person started to enter. A young man in blue opened the door with an eager look on his face.
"Dr. Yang, they're ready for you."
A brilliant smile – one of true joy – broke the tension on her face, and it took Owen's breath away.
"Let's do it." She followed the man out of the office, and Owen felt himself following her past the doorway.
The last thing he saw before he woke up in his bed again were the words printed on the outside of her office:
Dr. Cristina Yang, Director of Cardiothoracic Surgery.