Cristina stood quietly behind Owen as he unlocked the door to his apartment. This was their first date, or at least, the make-up first date for the failed first date, and already Owen was nervous. They were supposed to meet in front of the hospital much earlier, but Owen's surgery had gone on far longer than expected. He had been afraid that she thought he stood her up, or worse yet, would show up drunk and late yet again. But he had found her waiting patiently, reading one of Meredith's mother's journals in the lobby. He was grateful to see her, but worried he would never be able to get himself out of this hole of mistakes he seemed to keep digging deeper.

Technically, the date hadn't even started yet. He had apologized profusely at the hospital, and she seemed to take it in stride. But he needed a quick shower and change of clothes and so they were here at his place, where she would have to wait even longer before they got to dinner. He had a fleeting thought that she must be starving by now, and wondered if he had anything edible in the fridge.

He turned the knob and held the door open for her. She glanced quickly at him as she crossed the threshold and walked to the center of the room. The flat was furnished sparsely, to say the least. There was a brown leather couch, and across from it mounted on the wall was a flat screen TV. A couple of moving boxes served as a coffee table. There was an Ikea desk in the corner with a laptop on it and a small box of files beneath. There were stacks of books around the room, as if when Owen finished reading something, he put it down wherever he happened to be standing. There were no pictures, nothing on the walls, and the blinds were closed. Cristina turned around to face him.

"No wonder you have nightmares," she said. "This place is depressing."

"Very funny," he replied, looking slightly embarrassed. The sort of half grin on his face faded a bit. "No, the thing is, most of my stuff is stored at my mom's house." He looked away from her and blinked a couple of times. "I'm just going to, uh—," he pointed towards the bedroom. "I'll be right back."

"Mmmhmm," Cristina said, sitting down on the couch. She picked up a copy of Men's Health that was on the box and flipped through it.

Owen left the room and Cristina could hear the shower running. She kept looking at the magazine, but not really reading it. She thought about his mother being so close by and not having any clue that her son was home from Iraq. That was a tricky situation that Cristina didn't approve of, but tried not to judge, either. She had no idea how she would react, had she been through the same ordeal as Owen. It wasn't her place to tell him what was right and wrong, especially when there were times when it was obvious that it was all Owen could do to get through the day. Cristina remembered how often she had gone to Los Angeles to visit friends without telling her mother she was coming, not calling or stopping by the house because she just didn't want to deal with her mother's constant unhappiness about everything Cristina did and said and was.

But Cristina's mom drove her nuts in every possible situation, and this was very different. Owen dearly loved his mother. The phone calls with his mom were both a highlight of his week and a constant dread. He missed his family terribly.

Owen came back into the room, buttoning up a dark green shirt. His red hair was shiny and damp. His big blue eyes caught hers, and he smiled.

"Learn anything useful?" He nodded towards the magazine, and she looked down at it. She had forgotten it was in her hands.

"Yeah, I'm all about the rock hard abs," she said. "Or, the idea of rock hard abs, because I'm certainly not going to do any of these exercises to get them." Owen chuckled and reached for the jacket he had thrown over the back of the sofa.

Cristina watched him as he started to put it on. Before even realizing it, she blurted out, "You know, the longer you wait, the harder it will be to tell your mom." Owen paused, looking at her, and then slowly finished sliding his arm into the sleeve of his coat. He sighed, and sat on the arm of the sofa, pressing his hands into his thighs.

"I know. I just…I don't know." He looked down at the floor. He opened his mouth, as if he were going to say something else, and then closed it again. He was ashamed of himself, of what he had done to his family, and he didn't want to think about how to undo it.

Cristina reached out, took his hand, and held it. They both looked at their hands folded together. Hers seemed to slide so perfectly into his, like they belonged together. She looked up into Owen's face.

"Promise me you'll think about telling her soon."

He watched her silently, thinking about the big curls that framed her face, her dark, searching eyes, the curve of her neck and the red of her lips, and he knew that he couldn't get this right with her until he sorted himself out, sorted out the mess he had created with his secrets.

"I promise. I promise I will," he said. She squeezed his hand and stood up.

"Good. Then let's go, because I'm starving. It's like you've been holding me hostage from food for the last two hours. I want to eat and I want to drink and I don't want to share my dessert." He laughed, and she smiled with him, and he felt good. It was nice to have someone look at you and feel good. He'd forgotten what that was like.

They walked across the room still holding hands. Owen opened the door and let her walk through first. She glanced up at him as she passed him on the way out, paused, and gave him the lightest of kisses and a tiny grin. He smiled again to himself and closed the door behind him, locking the deadbolt with his key.

"Hurry up! I'm so hungry!" Cristina grabbed Owen's hand again and pulled. "Let's go!"