Authors note –I wrote this during Grey's hiatus, after the Holidaze episode. I originally loved the Cristina Owen pairing of season 5, but have lost all enthusiasm for them as they have been written this season. This is still a little rough, and it isn't as complete as I would like. Just don't have it in me to tweak it much, but decided to post it anyhow...in mourning
I own nothing, the characters all were created by and belong to Shonda Rhymes /ABC. I am just messing about with them.
An alternate timeline of sorts. How things shake out after Cristina witnesses her man emotionally conflicted …over someone else. This story is set a few weeks after episode 6.10. If there were a soundtrack it would be Elvis Costello's "I want you". The title comes from that song as well.
Second opinion: an examination and evaluation by a second physician to verify or challenge the diagnosis of the initial physician.
Late January. Banquet hall in a posh downtown Seattle hotel. The annual anniversary and benefit dinner for Seattle Grace Hospital (SGH), now SGMWH. The attendings table is far apart from where the residents are seated, with the senior staff at the front of the room and the junior staff at the back, close to the bar.
Owen Hunt stands with his back against the wall, studiously avoiding the small conversational groups around him. With his eyes closed, he can almost convince himself that the constant murmur of voices and clinking of glasses sounds like rain. Almost soothing …almost. Languorously stretching his neck while opening his eyes, he takes the room in and lets out an audible sigh. He's had to attend more and more of these events as budgets tighten up. Raising funds is a necessary evil. He would much rather be working, but since the funds will be going towards the ER, here he is, dressed in a suit and tie and making awkward small talk. Or at present, avoiding it as best he can.
His eyes slowly pan across the room, searching for her. For Cristina. They haven't spoken yet today. Not that that isn't the usual now. Not that he has anything to say to her, or she to him. The hospital can seem vast when someone is actively avoiding you; there are so many nooks and corridors to disappear into. Sightings are a rarity except when he assigns her to his service. Those days are a different kind of pain.
Their break wasn't what he wanted, but he can't blame her. He understood why she walked away; she was stronger than he could be. She made the cut the way she always did: precise, clean, and without apparent emotion. Thus, he was severed.
Maybe it's for the best. Maybe someday this phantom pain will subside.
He has already rejoined the others at his table when he finally spots her, a splash of color standing towards the back. Owen amiably nods along with the shoptalk of his fellow doctors; all the while his eyes keep wandering back to where she is. He hasn't been drinking tonight, both to keep his wits about him while schmoozing with VIPs and also because he can't bring himself to walk past the residents table, to walk past her, to get to the bar. He has been nursing the lone drink Slone got him for ages now. Seltzer with lime doesn't numb a damn thing.
Teddy crosses into view, tossing him her best flirtatious smile as their eyes meet. She looks lovely, sexy, her long blonde hair falling down in waves, but he finds his mind drifting to messy curls. So strange how the idea of something can be better than the reality. Possession is transitory, and so is the satisfaction of a conquest. He greets his precious clarity with a bitter little snort. Such the pathetic cliché, the man who didn't recognize what he had till it slipped from his grasp. He had always thought that Teddy was the one that got away, but it turned out that the loss of Cristina was the deeper cut. He wonders if he'll ever recover from it. Teddy catches his eye again over another doctor's shoulder and he finds himself grinning back at her somewhat automatically, the smile never reaching his eyes.
Half turning his back to her, his gaze magnetically slides back to Cristina. She is standing amongst her friends, talking and laughing. He misses her laugh. She looks beautiful, even from this distance. A small smile plays at the corner of his mouth as he regards her. You'd never know how beautiful she was from her everyday garb. At least most people wouldn't.
Owen's tongue lazily toys with an errant ice cube, rolling it in his mouth, as his eyes slide down the length of her body. Tonight she has outdone herself, wearing a deep red halter dress that clings to her form. The amount of bare, touchable skin on view is driving him mad even from across the room. He tightens his grip on the glass in his hand, trying not to think about steering her into a room upstairs to peel that wisp of fabric off of her. If they were still together, she'd probably have never made it out the door of the apartment looking like that. He crushes the ice cube under his teeth.
He has always loved her hair, which seems the best expression of her true self: sexy, wild snarls of curls barely beaten into order. Her dark curls are pinned up tonight, exposing her entire neck and back to his gaze when she turns to talk to someone. He inhales sharply at the sight, then hastily averts his eyes and clears his throat. If only he could clear his mind as easily of the images that bob to the surface unbidden. Images of Cristina bent over in front of him, a glistening sheen of sweat on her naked back, her perfect, succulent ass raised to meet his hips. Owen swallows hard as he struggles vainly to shift his thoughts in a more innocent direction. Swallowing isn't the only thing that's hard right now. His eyes helplessly dart back to her.
It is then that he notices Avery behind Cristina. He watches him approach, tracking her like prey through the crowd as a swell of jealousy rises in his gut. Avery is at her side now, bending down to whisper something in her ear. Owen's pale blue eyes narrow, fixed intently on the two of them. That little prick must have been eyeing her all along,…waiting. He'd been a fool not to have seen it before.
And like a fool, he'd made it all too easy for Avery to step into the opening he created, to take his place. He may as well have tied a bow around her.
As Cristina turns Owen can see her face, her eyes now focused on Avery. They are so close to each other, and Owen desperately wants to know what Avery is saying to her… yet, he doesn't want to know. He can hear the blood rushing in his ears. This is a silent movie from hell.
"…and here is Dr. Hunt, our new Head of Trauma." Owen is abruptly torn from his vigil by the Chief, accompanied by yet another VIP. Introductions are made, small talk progresses. Owen tries to concentrate on the conversation at hand. Tries to ignore Cristina.
More budget talk, new equipment needed… he nods in agreement with whatever is being said. He hasn't heard a word.
Owen's furtive glances to the back of the room are painfully rewarded with proof of Avery's progress. Each individual blink of his eyes feels as if it is in slow motion, displaying disturbing flashes: Avery's hand between Cristina's shoulder blades, slowly sliding down the length of her bare back. blink. His arm resting around her hip, blink. His long fingers fanning out, grazing the curve of her ass. blink. Cristina, touching him now, her fingers on Avery's chest...
Owen keeps his eyes shut for a moment. He can't watch anymore. His jaw clenches involuntarily as coldness snakes down his spine and pools in his stomach. He silently wills himself to relax the fist that has formed at his side, silently commanding his fingers to stretch out from his palm again. Breathes in deeply.
He opens his eyes.
Noticing that the Chief has stopped talking and is looking at him quizzically, Owen quickly comes to, reciting his set speech about his tenure in the ER …and of course how much funding helps his efforts. Smiles, handshakes, murmured insincerities. The Chief finally leaves to continue his social rounds, and spying Derek Shepherd, makes a beeline towards him with the VIP. The baton has been passed.
His ordeal over, Owen briefly checks to see where Teddy is, then glances back over at the residents table again …then scans the bar and the rest of the room. She's not there. Neither is Avery. They've left. He pushes the rest of his drink past the tightening knot in his throat and heads back towards the bar for a much-needed whisky…and to make sure.
Teddy raises her empty glass to him for a refill as he passes her, and he curtly nods in response. She's talking animatedly to the same pudgy donor he was being bored by 5 min ago. The smile on Owen's face is tight, gradually fading as he draws nearer to the bar. He feels like some sort of dancing bear and wishes this party would damn well end already.
xxxx
Teddy's car pulls into the hospital parking lot next to Owen's truck. She cuts the engine. Conversation dies down and they both sit awkwardly for a moment in the silence. Looking over at her, Owen suddenly pulls her close, planting a goodnight kiss on her lips. It's a brief, light kiss, followed by a long, slow, deeper one… a kiss trying to be so much more, to be worth what was lost. But her lips hold no secrets for him; in the end it's just a kiss. He pulls away a bit and strokes her cheek, his eyes studying her face. "Thanks again for the ride back."
Teddy is a little breathless, looking into his eyes. "Do you want to…maybe get a drink? We could go to my place, or...yours" She drops her eyes, and then looks up again, searching his face. Her hand is resting on the back of his neck, her fingertips gently playing with his hair.
Owen glances away awkwardly and then meets her eyes again "I…Actually, I think I am going to wind up sleeping at the hospital again tonight. I'm on in a few hours …and I had a bit too much to drink at the party to drive home" his sheepish look is replaced with a smirk "…or be of any use to you…"
Unease flickers over her face for a moment, quickly supplanted with a deliberate seductive smile "Well, okay. I'll stop down in the pit tomorrow when I get in. Make sure you rest up for tomorrow night," she says, lightly touching his chest. "I won't accept another no, you tease."
Owen grins, chuckling softly as he plays with a long strand of her sandy blonde hair. "I'll be sure to get my rest then."
They kiss softly again, and then he gets out of her car, carefully closing the door behind him. Watches her pull away, the picture of the concerned boyfriend. He does care about her, she's wonderful, everything he remembers…but if he's honest, what he feels as her car turns out of sight is mostly relief. He has been smiling at nothing, for nothing, all night; he is grateful to be solitary again, no longer on display.
Standing there loosening his tie, he absently watches his breath form in the cold air. Numbed. That is the only true description of how he feels in this moment. He looks over at the hospital, then turns to head the other way, towards Joes.
Not numb enough.
The one sad shot of scotch he'd had at the party had been as good as useless. They didn't even have his brand. Joe will fix him up properly.
He's always been particular about his single malt.
xxxx
Interior Cristina's apartment, kitchen:
Jackson and Cristina are kissing deeply, pressed up against her kitchen counter, his hands around her waist while hers are roaming his body. His shirt is untucked and his jacket and tie have been tossed aside. Cristina starts unbuttoning his shirt and stroking the smooth skin of his chest as it is uncovered, impatiently pushing the cloth away and down his shoulders. He breaks off to look in her eyes, then bends his head and starts kissing her neck, moving down towards her breasts, his hand sliding up to the neckline of her dress to tentatively brush her nipple through the fabric. Cristina's head falls back as she lets out a small breathy moan. She pushes her hips forward into his, her hands sliding down the length of his body to his ass and pulling him closer to her.
Breathing much harder now, Jackson breaks away with a small groan and pulls Cristina's hands off of him, holding them in his own at her sides. "I should go. I …ah…you have no idea how much… I should go". His eyes roam over her hair, her face, trailing down to her lips. God, her lips… Kisses her again, lingering on her mouth. Pulls back and looks her in the eyes: "I can wait."
"Who said anything about waiting?" Smiling, she tilts her eyes up to look into his, then slyly glances down at the evidence of exactly how much he wants to stay. A purposeful brush of her hips against him seals the offer.
Jackson has a matching smile playing on his lips as he steps back, tucking his shirt back into his pants. "Cristina, I'm not stupid. I know that I'm the rebound guy, but hey, …maybe I don't want to be just the rebound guy". He laughs as he shrugs his jacket back on. "Besides I wouldn't want to take advantage" he shoots a mischievous glance at their empty wine glasses.
Cristina cocked an eyebrow at this. "I thought you liked me better when I've had a few, Dr. Avery. You know when a woman invites you back to her place for a drink, more than a drink is implied …."
He shakes his head and chuckles softly at this, continuing to dress himself. She gives him a small pout as the realization that she won't be getting any tonight takes hold, then picks up the wine bottle to pour some more wine into her glass. "I'm trying to remember, if it's 'vodka before wine, feeling fine'?" she frowns slightly "….the problem with these stupid sayings is nothing rhymes with vomit."
Jackson laughs and takes the glass out of her hand and sets it down. "Drink some water, Dr. Yang". He's buttoned up again. The expression in his eyes changes from amusement to longing, and he almost turns back… then with an aggravated, frustrated sigh presses himself up to her, kissing her long and hard and then leaves.
It's her turn for an exasperated sigh. All that kissing and hard body contact has only increased her need. "What's a girl gotta do to get laid?" she mutters to the empty room. When did men become such sensitive, frustrating prudes?
She can't even bag the runner up these days.
Cristina tosses back the remainder of her wine, kicks off her heels and wriggles out of her pantyhose, throwing them over her shoulder without looking. After momentarily considering her level of frustration, her panties are the next to hit the floor. She leaves them where they fall. Callie is at Arizona's, no one will be around to pitch a fit about her messiness tonight.
She sets her empty glass down and shoves the throw pillows off the couch. As she's settling into its softness to relax, she thinks about finishing the job that Jackson started. Or finishing the wine. Or maybe both.
There's a soft knock at the door.
Cristina smirks. She hasn't lost her touch. "The runner up returns" she announces softly to herself.
It might as well happen this way. Maybe Mere had the right idea. Quantity, not quality for once.
Smiling, she opens her front door only to find Owen standing there, head downcast. He raises his eyes up to meet hers, his expression unreadable, his body rigid as if glued to the spot. To her credit, she's drunk just enough tonight so that her mouth doesn't fall open in shock due to the brain to mouth reflex delay.
xxxx
"Let me guess, you don't know why you came here…" Cristina spits out, turning on her heel, in the same motion swinging the door shut hard in his face. Her movement stirs him to react, and he catches the door before it closes and pushes in past it.
"I need to talk to you"
"Well, I don't need to talk to you."
He closes the door firmly behind him and turns back to her. Now that he's here he has no idea what to do next. He only knew that he needed to be here, to see her. And he sees her: her hair is down, her curls wild and loose now. Barefoot. Lip-gloss smudged off her bee-stung lips, her cheeks flushed from having been kissed long and hard. By the man he just saw leave. By Avery.
His eyes turn a darker, stormy blue in the dim light.
"Cristina, I just.." Owen is at a loss for what to say, so he reaches out for her shoulders and pulls her in towards him. He tries for her mouth but as she pulls her head away, he settles for the side of her neck. She pulls away, slightly out of breath and stands a few feet apart.
"Do you think that changes anything? Unlike you, I mean what I say. It's over…We're over."
Owen isn't really listening as he is buzzing with the contact high he's always gotten out of being near her, touching her skin…his eyes are following her rosy swollen lips as she speaks, not hearing the words. The distance between them vanishes and this time he lands the kiss full on her mouth. She can taste the scotch on his tongue as it darts inward and then softly twines around her own. She opens fully to him and kisses him back before she can even think, her tongue in his mouth, her hands going to the back of his neck, her body pressed up tight against his of it's own accord. His hand cradles her head, his long fingers finding purchase in her hair. She feels his hard length press against her abdomen and is very aware of how thin a barrier her dress is between them.
Her brain wrests the steering wheel away from her hormones. She breaks it off and backs away from him, her eyes locked on his.
"Just stop it" she says quietly
She turns from him and walks towards the coffee table, grabbing the wine bottle and pouring herself another glass to give her hands something to do. There is so much adrenaline pumping through her at this moment from that brief contact.. Her breathing slows, returns to normal.
He agitatedly runs his hand through his hair, takes in the room - the two wine glasses on the coffee table, wine bottle beside them. Her jacket thrown on a chair, shoes, couch pillows etc. scattered. A mans tie on the kitchen counter. He's trying to form words for what he is feeling, trying to keep things in check..
"Avery… Why him?"
"Is that why you're here?" Her laugh is sharp and cuts into his thoughts like a 10 blade. "I guess because he's a man who knows what he wants. Everybody should go after what they want, don't you think?" A smirk graces her lips. She is composed now, one hand on her hip, wine glass in the other. Defiant.
Owen takes a small step towards her "How long?"
He doesn't know how to ask the real question, have you slept with him. He doesn't have the right.
She doesn't answer him.
Another half step closer "How long have you been seeing him?"
How many times. Do you have feelings for him. Do you love him.
This is killing him.
Her eyebrows shoot up as she snorts in disbelief. "Oh, I'm sorry, is this not professional behavior? For me to be seeing a colleague? Is working with him going to be a problem for you? How inconsiderate of me." The mocking in her voice stings him, but he knows he deserves it.
He takes another step closer…softly "Cristina…"
Then he sees real anger flare in her eyes, hears the barely suppressed rage in her voice "Don't 'Cristina' me. Don't use that tone. Every time you do that, do you know what I think? I think of you saying 'Teddy' in that same exact tone. And you know….I"…she starts to lose it. "Oh fuck you Owen. Just fuck off and leave me alone".
Nothing he's trying to say is coming out right. He can't think straight, thinking of Avery being here in this room, touching her….he can picture it all in his minds eye and the images won't stop. Owen's eyes fall to the ground as he searches for the right words. It's then that he sees her panties lying just under the coffee table, a tangled little scrap of black lace … He can't focus…
Tears are welling up in her eyes. She will not cry, not now. Cristina tries to brush past him, but between the vodka at the party, the wine, and the throw pillows covering the floor, she loses her balance, pitching forward. Owen catches her and pulls her in hard against him. This time, she is holding onto him just as tightly.
xxxx
On-call room. 3:30am:
Owen rubs the sleep, or what will have to pass for it, out of his eyes.
Cristina.
He will see her again in an hour, and everything will be different, yet the same. He can't figure out how he wound up where he is, feeling as if he's been turned inside out.
He feels guilty for hoping that the ER will be busy today.
Yes, if he were seeing Dr. Wyatt today, he could answer her before she even finished asking the question. He knows what he feels, he knows its name: Guilt. Guilt seems to be a part of his daily existence these days.
Teddy had been giving him grief over even having Cristina on his service.
"I can't just stop teaching her because of what happened between us. You still teach her"
"Yes, but I'm not worried that I'm going to try to fuck her"
"Teddy…I would never do that…"
Guilt.
Guilt for Teddy being here in the first place, guilt for hurting Cristina, and even more guilt for being unable to stay away after she made the choice to leave him.
Guilt.
xxxx
4:30 am, same morning in the ER:
It's controlled chaos in the pit as Hunt strides swiftly from patient to patient checking on progress. He sees Cristina arrive and start pulling on a yellow disposable gown. His eyes catch hers for a brief moment before they dart away.
"Good. Yang, over here."
"Multiple MVA. We have 2 more traumas on the way, a couple of minutes out"
He walks away from her just as quickly, heading towards the ambulance bay. Grabbing gloves, Cristina follows him down the hall, tying the strings of her gown as she goes, twisting her hair up and out of the way.
Standing outside, Owen keeps his eyes fixed straight ahead as he waits in silence, his mind willfully blank, the air crisp and cold. The wail of an ambulance in the distance thankfully drawing closer, filling the void.
Cristina stands next to, yet quite apart from him. She is similarly detached, coming to life only when the ambulance arrives, running to pull the doors open. As she leans over the patient's gurney, Owen's eyes flick involuntarily to the back of her neck, registering the small red crescent that his teeth left there.
He pauses, staring, then turns to the paramedic "What have we got?"