"How was it?"

"It was good."

He wanted to ask more questions, but the weight of the phone in his hand and the flicker of something unnamed but unmistakably warm in Cristina's dark eyes stayed his tongue. Owen looked back up at the soft click of the magnet against the refrigerator door and held his breath in hopes that Cristina would elaborate. She remained silent however as moments stretched into a minute and then two. Unable to see her expression through a veil of dark curls, he peered past her to the Polaroid on the fridge. Saw the fish and the tears, both gleaming wetly in the clouded light of late afternoon. The breath he held seeped free as she turned and walked quietly into the bedroom. Owen turned back to his half-written email and tried to concentrate. After rereading it three times he gave up with a sign and closed the laptop.

From the bedroom came the sounds of clothes dropping to the floor. Owen waited until the hiss of running water indicated that the shower had been turned on before he rose and walked to the spare bedroom. The question of when or if he should reveal what was hidden in the room had become moot. A step had been made and he fully intended to take one of his own.

They were still remodeling the interior of the old firehouse. The brick wall opposite the windows in the spare room had been a bare, empty space until the housewarming party. Since then it was camouflaged by a decorative folding screen. Flowers and tropical birds against a mauve and cream background were hand-painted on three linens panels. Attacked to the gift had been a small card done in calligraphy designating Sheila Hunt as the grantor. Stunned, Owen had called his mother to thank and gently chastise her for choosing such an expensive house warming gift. After a moment's hesitation, his mother revealed the true origin of the present and asked him to keep the secret until Cristina was more settled. As Owen now crossed to the screen and folded it before gently shifting it to one side a small smile curled his lips. His mother understood Cristina and himself better than almost anyone. He hoped to be as intuitive should he become a father in the future.

Owen leaned the screen against the wall and reached for the cord curled around the large terra cotta pot at his feet. He plugged the cord into the wall and stepped back to admire the soft multi-colored glow of the tiny lights encircling the potted Christmas tree. After a very long day at the hospital, Owen had driven to a nursery just outside of the city. He had reserved the tree weeks ago, unsure if he would actually pick it up or donate it to a non-profit in need of Christmas cheer. Ultimately Owen made the decision to collect the tree for himself as much as Cristina. Potted, not cut: the tree symbolized an unwavering faith in life which transcended his Episcopalian roots and Cristina's lapsed Judaism. The green of the balsa, the fresh scent, the perfect bird's nest secreted behind a curtain of thick needles: life in defiance of anyone or anything that might attempt to destroy it. Owen had strung popcorn and cranberries and a dozen glass icicles to supplement the lights. The simple decorations without chintzy glitter or gaudy colors did not distract from the natural beauty of the six foot tree. When the holidays were over Owen intended to ask Derek if he could plant the tree on a corner of his property. A living connection Cristina could share with her twisted sister if she so chose.

Giving the tree a final glancing over, Owen nodded to himself and knelt down beside the guest bed. The distant sound of running water had ceased and he could hear a blow dryer in its place. Owen reached beneath the bed and pulled out a rectangular box wrapped in dark green foil and trimmed with a silver bow in one corner. He considered the gift for a long moment before heaving a small sigh and standing up. Placing the gift beneath the tree he quickly left the room and headed for the kitchen. The dryer turned off as he was refilling Cristina's wine glass. He poured himself a drink and caught a glimpse of Cristina's towel-clad form as he passed by the bedroom on his way to the spare room.

"What are you doing?" she asked, one hand poised to unwrap the towel.

"Slip something on and meet me in the guest room," he replied over his shoulder.

"Slip something on?"

Owen grinned but kept walking. It was the most playful comment Cristina's had made in months. Later would be time enough to follow it up, assuming she was really in the mood.

Inside the bedroom he placed the wine on a small table and settled into the recliner beside it. The large suede covered chair was his favorite piece of furniture, aside from the king-sized bed he shared with Cristina. When she was on duty at the hospital he frequently sat and read in the chair or listened to music with his eyes closed. It fit best in the more secluded guest room, a quiet retreat from the more convivial feel of the living room. Owen leaned back and listened to the rustle and thump of Cristina's ministrations. When the sound of her footsteps approached the open door, he stood up.

Cristina paused just outside the room. Her slim frame was wrapped in a creamy velour robe and matching slippers, gifts from Owen. He crossed to meet her and bent to place a warm kiss on her lips. Her response was equally willing but chaste. Their sexual activity had cooled in conjunction with her emotional withdrawal. Owen reached to cup her shoulders and kissed her a second time. He did not push, merely parted her lips with a stroke of his tongue for a brief taste before stepping back. The second kiss was reassurance. There was no hurry, he could and would wait. Slipping one arm around her shoulders, he gently ushered Cristina into the room.

"What…" she whispered, turning in his arms. "You do know I'm Jewish?"

"Yes. And?"

"We don't do Christmas trees."

The hint of a smirk pulled at Owen's lips. "We?"

"Okay, practicing Jews don't do Christmas trees," she amended.

"Uh huh." Owen stepped around her and crossed to retrieve the two wineglasses. He moved to stand next to the tree. "Humor me."

"Is this another 'love me, love my eccentricities' kind of thing?"

He laughed softly and waited until she was standing in front of him before handing over the wine. "I have those?"Cristina snorted into her glass and took a healthy swallow. When she looked up Owen trailed a finger down one cheek, struck by her beauty and the muted yet clear light in her dark eyes. He let the moment stretch out until a faint smile lifted her cheeks. "I've missed you," he murmured, kissing her temple.

"I've missed you too."

Owen smiled against her hair and reached for her free hand. Their fingers twined together and held fast for a moment before slipping free. He pulled back and sipped his wine, watching as Cristina's gaze wandered from his face down the length of him and quite suddenly to one side as the glint of the dark foil wrapping paper caught her eye.

"Presents?"

The note of muted panic in Cristina's voice broke the spell. Owen clasped her shoulder and squeezed, drawing her attention away from the gift.

"I didn't get…"

"It's okay. I didn't expect anything. This is just something I thought you should have."

"I don't understand."

Owen sighed and picked up the gift. "Come here," he said, moving to retake his seat in the recliner.

Cristina responded slowly. Taking time to examine the decorations on the tree and turn the tip of an icicle to spin a rainbow across the wall. She readjusted a low slung string of popcorn and picked off the remains of a cranberry that had split. She tossed the fruit into the pot then paced the width of the tree and stopped to peer behind it on both sides. Owen was beginning to lose patience when she finally came and settled on his lap.

She was a ball of pent up energy. Every nerve quivered, though she appeared as still as a statue to the naked eye. Owen yearned to reassure her that the feelings beginning to reemerge were healthy and necessary. Wanted to encourage her to open up in the same way she had supported his recovery. Talking was not easy for either of them however. He swallowed hard against lingering doubts and placed the gift in her lap. "Don't think about it Cris. Just open it."

"Okay." Her small nimble fingers eased beneath the taped corners of the paper. Barely tearing the foil, she loosened the wrapping enough to slide the paper off in one neat envelop. She let it drift to the floor and turned her attention to the plain white box now revealed. Owen smiled at the meticulous dissection of the gift. Under different circumstances Cristina might have shredded paper and bow with abandon. Tonight he could hope for nothing less than this quiet moment as her fingers worked along the edge of the box in search of the tape that held on the lid. She found and sliced it with her fingernails as his right hand moved to rest casually on her hip. Casting him an unusually demure smile, Cristina removed the lid. Inside a cloud of red and green tissue rested a leather bound book with silver tooling on the cover.

The Hunts

Cristina Yang's guide to her inlaws

Those that were, those that are, those that will be

Cristina laughed softly into her chest. "I don't know what to say."

"Funny, I expected that reaction after you looked inside."

"Oh please. You haven't met my family yet."

Owen let the comment lie, unwilling to push despite a strong urge to know more. Tonight was about rectifying what he perceived as a failing. Not adding a layer of guilt to Cristina's already considerable burden.

Cristina put the box on the floor and shifted to lean against his shoulder, the book propped open in front of them. The first page was a family tree dating back to 1825. The next several pages broke the family down by decade and elaborated on the accomplishments, or failures, of many of its members. She rolled her eyes at the notation that two of Owen's ancestors were '49ers who sought their fortunes in California and were never heard from again. A hundred and eighty five years of family history saw uncounted army veterans of various ranks. Interspersed with blue collar dock workers and mechanics, she found three doctors. One of whom was an army medic in WWII.

"My great uncle William," Owen elaborated at her questioning look.

"Did he inspire you to join the service after Residency."

Owen nodded slowly, a shadow darkening his eyes. "9/11 clinched it though."

"Like Teddy?"

"Like Teddy."

Cristina chewed her bottom lip and flipped to the most recent decades. "I didn't know your father's name was Robert. When did he and your mother get divorced?"

It was a natural assumption given that his mother lived alone without any pictures of a husband in evidence. It hurt nonetheless and Owen held himself very still until the flush of sadness had abated and he could speak evenly. "He died during my first tour in Iraq. Car accident."

"Like my dad?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry."

Owen cleared his throat and forced a sad little smile. "So was I."

Cristina's eyes were unreadable as she studied his face. One small hand reached out and stroked the stubble along his jaw, pausing on the point of his chin. Impulsively she leaned in to kiss him lightly on the mouth.

Owen shivered at the touch but forced his hands to lie still. There was another surprise in this book. One he had never intended to share until the unexpected house warming gift. To give more than a simple response to her comforting kiss would distract them both, or drive her away and delay what had become the inevitable.

Cristina gave his whiskers a playful tug before returning her attention to the book. Her eyes found their place in a second and blinked in surprise. "You have a brother?"

"William Hunt, named after our great uncle."

"Is he…I mean where…" She fumbled into silence and searched his face with wide eyes.

"I'm not sure where he is. In fact I wasn't even sure he was still alive until that." Owen pointed at the screen resting against the wall. "Mom didn't buy that gift. Bill did. She would have kept his secret if I hadn't pushed the issue."

"Why didn't you tell me about him?"

Owen expected accusation, anger at the very least. The question contained neither. Only curiosity and maybe the tiniest hint of envy for a sibling relationship she could only simulate with Meredith. Owen suppressed a shudder of self-loathing. Doubtless she would feel differently in the very near future. "I didn't think you would ever meet him. Silly I suppose because mom still has pictures hanging in the dining room."

"I've seen them. I just assumed he was a cousin. Those pictures are pretty old." The last added as a gentle chide. He was several years her senior.

"Billy was four years older than me. Left home when he was 16." Owen sighed heavily. "No one knew where he was until dad's funeral."

"Why did he leave?"

Cristina was patient and curious, and not the least bit acerbic. The glow of the Christmas lights and her warm weight on his lap combined to form a Hallmark moment come to saccharin sweet life. Except there was nothing Norman Rockwell about what Bill had done or Owen's reaction to it. He shifted in the chair and held Cristina more tightly, unable to meet her eyes. "Bill got his girlfriend pregnant and used some of his savings to pay for an abortion without telling her parents or ours. The operation went bad…she nearly died." The words tumbled out, tripping over one another in a shaky exhalation as Owen cast his eyes to the ceiling. There was more to the story. His accidental eavesdropping on Bill's conversation with Mandy. The panicked call from the drunken Physician's Assistant, which he had intercepted on his brother's behalf. The desperate promise of silence Bill forced on him and the look of betrayal in their father's eyes when Mandy's distraught father showed up on the Hunt's front steps… Owen shivered at the memories and felt Cristina's small hand squeeze his arm, snapping the present back into focus.

"He made me a part of his mess," Owen whispered bitterly. "And I hated him for it. Hated him for a long time."

"And now?"

"I'm not sure. I just know that hating anyone takes more energy than I have to spare." He looked at the folded screen. The birds and flower petals were painted in shades of blue and magenta by the Christmas lights giving them a strange sort of life. "Maybe Bill knew it was time to reach out, even if I didn't."

"There's more to the story, isn't there?"

Owen nodded stiffly and forced his eyes to meet hers.

"Does Wyatt know?"

"Some."

"Good." Cristina looked at the book and then back at him. She drew a line with her finger beneath Bill's name. "Tell me when you're ready, okay?"

"Okay." Owen brushed a stray curl off of her cheek. "I saw the picture of you and the fish." She tensed at the reference but stayed put, turning only her head to study the tree. Owen licked his lips and moved his hand back down to her hip. "I hope you'll tell me about today, yesterday, the last few weeks, when you're ready."

"I don't know what to say."

"I know." He chuckled softly. "That's never stopped us in the past."

"True." She swallowed loudly and turned to him. "The fish…that's why you showed me the tree, right?"

"I thought you might be ready."

Cristina nodded, a thoughtful expression softening her features. "Did you guys always have a tree?"

"Yeah. But it was this ugly plastic thing. We didn't have a lot of money when I was young and my dad's attitude was 'buy once' and be done with it."

"So no potted trees?"

"No."

"hmm." Cristina stood up and walked over to the tree. She bent and tested the soil for dampness and then re hung an icicle that was too close to the end of a branch. After a moment she stepped back and beckoned Owen to come and stand beside her. "I like it," she said quietly as she slung an arm around his waist. "Our first holiday tradition."

"We're going to have those?"

"We are from now on."

"Merry Christmas, Mrs. Hunt."

"Merry Christmas."

~THE~END~