Owen took a deep breath and tried to concentrate on what the patient standing in front of him was saying. His lack of concentration had nothing to do with the lack of sleep or lack of interest in what his patient was saying.
It was because of the presence of a curly haired resident sitting past the half closed blinds.
She was sitting with her back towards him, hair tied up in a bun and reading a patients file no doubt.
Owen watched as Mark Sloan made his way to her, a twinkle in his eyes and a flirty smile on his lips. He said something to her in a low voice, never taking his eyes off of her.
It was enough to make Owen's blood sear. He remembered the way Sloan had talked to her in the OR a couple of hours ago. He could tell that Sloan was trying to put the moves on her. Owen had immediately made her scrub out, fearing for what would happen to the patient he was operating on if he had to endure Sloan flirting with her.
He watched them out of the corner of his eyes. He watched Sloan stand back up saying "I have been hitting on you all day!"
Owen wanted to hurl something at him. He would have too if he hadn't heard her giggle.
She sounded so young and relaxed. It was such a change from her usual demeanour.
She stood up and walked away, still laughing. He saw Shepherd appear behind Sloan and heard their exchange.
"It was Shepherd's idea."
"Not a single malt scotch."
"Bad, cheap wine."
Bad cheap wine? Cristina is not bad cheap wine, he thought. Dr. Yang, he corrected himself.
Not Cristina, Dr. Yang.
But that was it, wasn't it? She was not Dr. Yang to him. She was Cristina. She had watched and then helped him staple his gash. He had carried her in his arms when he found her laying flat on her back, icicle in her chest. He had leaned forward under the pretense of distracting her but really he just needed an excuse to be close to her. He had pulled the icicle out and watch her head tilt back slightly, a gasp leaving her lips. He had stitched her up, cherishing the feel of warm skin under his hands. She probably still had a light scar on her body. And the thought that he had left a permanent mark on her body always made his breathe rise.
And this was all before he had even kissed her.
That kiss. Oh...
He had tasted that mouth, held on to her neck, felt her hair. He had felt her reel under his actions.
She was definitely not bad, cheap wine.
He left the room, told the Chief his thoughts on the residents and walked off briskly to an empty on call room.
Maybe he could leave this job and it wouldn't be so hard to be around her. He knew that while he was here, he could not be involved personally with her. But that did not mean he wanted to watch her with other men. And she probably could have anyone. Sure, she wasn't tall, blond and pretty like Stevens. Even Grey had a pleasing air about her. He could tell why Shepherd was so in love with her.
But Cristina was different. He couldn't use the words beautiful or pretty for her. They were too delicate.. too bland...
She was something entirely different.
Intense, intelligent, bright, sarcastic, wild, ambitious...
He couldn't pin her as one word. She was everything. All of it.
And he wanted her. Not just her body, but everything else too. Which was insane because he didn't know her. And more importantly, she didn't know him.
He felt oddly protective of her and he tried very hard to fight that feeling off. He had no right feeling that way about her. She was not his to protect.
But he wished she was. He thought about her. A lot. When he wasn't thinking about his work, he was thinking about her. And even today, when he was upset at her behavior, all he could think about was the back of her neck. The way a few wild curls escaped from her bun.
All he had wanted to do was kiss the back of her neck.
What was she doing to him?
She probably had no idea. No idea that he felt this way.
And then suddenly she was there. In the on call room. Talking about the beating victim's wife. Her face unreadable as usual.
Back to being professional, Owen thought before he interrupted her.