Cristina took another long drink from the bottle of tequila, and then handed it up from her sprawled location on the floor to Meredith, who lay flopped on her stomach on the sofa in her living room. Meredith grabbed it from her and took a big swig, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Stupid George," Cristina slurred, angrily.

"Stupid George," Meredith repeated.

"Who jumps in front of a bus? Who does that?" Cristina continued, waving her hands in front of her in awkward frustration.

Meredith turned over and looked at the ceiling. "George does." She sighed.

"Stupid George," Cristina said again, quieter this time. They lay silently for a few moments, contemplating the beige paint above. Meredith handed the bottle to Cristina, who put it up to her lips and drank down the alcohol as if it were water.

"I need cake. Give me some more cake." Meredith pointed to the coffee table. Without sitting up, Cristina reached up and felt for the plate of Izzie's chocolate cake, grabbed it, and passed it over her head to the sofa, where she saw a hand reach out and take it. They had found it in the freezer, part of Izzie's stash of frustration cakes that she baked when she was in a bad mood. Between the two of them, they had already demolished close to half of it. "Mmmmm," Meredith muttered, her mouth full. "Cake."

"George likes cake," Cristina said. She paused, and a tear fell out of the corner of her eye, sliding sideways into her hair. She amended her statement. "George liked cake," she mumbled, and turned on her side and contemplated the dust bunnies under the couch. Tears continued to fall, and soon her hair and the rug became damp from their wetness.

The sounds of the front door opening and muddled voices interrupted their inebriated reverie. Suddenly, an upside down Derek appeared in the entryway; Meredith's head had tilted off the sofa and she watched him enter into her distorted view. More footsteps followed, and Owen appeared behind him. Meredith sighed.

"It's you," she said.

"It's me," Derek replied somberly. He turned back to Owen and said quietly, "I was right—they're both here. Looks like some damage, but maybe not as bad as I thought. I only see one bottle." Owen nodded, and looked at the two of them sprawled in the living room with a concerned expression. Cristina hadn't noticed yet that he was there.

The men stepped into the room. "Can we get you anything?" Derek asked, moving forward and kissing Meredith on the forehead. He then spotted the cake, and a sad smile crossed his lips. He looked back at Meredith, who shook her head no.

Cristina wiped her eyes as the "we" slowly entered her consciousness. She turned to find Owen worriedly watching over her.

"Hi."

"Hi," he replied. He wasn't sure whether he should go to her or not. This seemed to be a private mourning between the two women; plus, he didn't know if it would be a good idea to reveal his feelings for Cristina in front of Meredith yet. They may not have had a chance to talk, and he knew Cristina would want to explain their relationship to her person herself.

"Okay then," Derek said. He hesitated, then pointed towards the kitchen. "We're just going to go have a beer. You call us if you need anything." Owen continued to keep his eyes on Cristina. It was clear she had been crying, and he wanted to hold her.

Derek stepped around the coffee table towards the kitchen and paused. "Stay up as late as you need to. The Chief gave both of you and Alex the next two days off."

Meredith had turned back over so that Derek was right side up. "Where's Alex?" Upon hearing the question, Cristina sat up from her spot on the floor and put the tequila on the table. Owen could see that two thirds of the bottle was gone. He hoped it hadn't been new when they opened it.

"With Izzie," Owen answered. "She's sedated, but she's breathing on her own and doing better. She should wake up tomorrow, if not earlier."

"She doesn't know yet," Cristina whispered, almost to herself.

"No. Not yet," Owen replied. They looked at each other for a moment before Derek continued out of the room and motioned for Owen to follow. Owen gave Cristina a sad half smile and turned to exit. Cristina thought of how Owen had lost not one, but 19 people all at once, and felt a little twinge in her heart. She didn't know how, with all the problems he did have, he had managed to not let the grief completely destroy him. And she knew that in a way, she now understood just a tiny bit of what he had been going through all this time. She turned, and watched his back as he left the room.

Derek leaned down into the refrigerator and grabbed a couple of bottles. He handed one to Owen, and they sat down at the kitchen table and twisted off the caps. "This is how they used to handle all their problems," Derek said, nodding towards the living room. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised that something as awful as this made them revert to their old habits."

"Well, I know I got drunk not a few times after stuff happened in Iraq. It's one way of coping." Owen paused for a moment. He hadn't planned on talking about the war, and the thought had just sort of spilled out. Therapy was working a mysterious magic again; sometimes Owen found himself saying or doing things that a few months ago he never would have dared. Or maybe it was the comfort of being able to reveal himself to Derek, who was the only other person besides Cristina who knew he had been seeing Dr. Wyatt regularly.

Derek fingered the label on his beer bottle. "How are things going these days?"

"Up until this afternoon, they were going well. The therapy is slow, but I'm starting to reap the benefits. And with Cristina," he said, thinking about this afternoon, when she had told him she loved him, and when she said yes and kissed him on the bridge, "today was a really great day. And then George happened." He stopped and frowned into his bottle. "Do you think she'll blame me? I mean, for George joining the army and all?"

Derek sat back in his chair and watched Owen. The last thing Owen needed was more guilt over something out of his control. "No. Cristina's not like that. She'll see it for what it was. George admired you. You showed him his gift with trauma, and he wanted to follow in your footsteps. But in no way was it your fault that George tried to save a woman's life and paid the price for it."

"Bailey blames me."

"Bailey will get over it. Those five, they're like her children. She's losing one already, and now she's lost another unexpectedly. She's looking for someone to take her anger out on. She'll come around."

"Hey, McDreamy!" They started at the sound of Cristina's voice. "McDreamy, get in here!" Startled, Derek leapt up and moved quickly into the living room.

Cristina was sitting on the floor, now with her back to the sofa; Meredith had passed out on her side and was snoring softly. She waved the bottle towards her friend. "She needs to go to bed. She's drunk." Cristina hiccupped and took another sip of tequila.

"Yeah, well, she's not the only one," Derek said, stepping over Cristina and reaching down to lift up Meredith. Mer mumbled a little and threw an arm around Derek's neck. As he raised her, he turned to Owen. "She can stay here tonight, in Izzie's room, if she wants. Upstairs, first door on the right," he said, gesturing towards Cristina. Owen nodded, and sat down on the sofa where Meredith lay a moment ago. Derek shifted her weight in his arms, and gently carried her up the stairs and out of sight.

Owen looked down to find Cristina leaning her head against his leg. He reached over and twirled a few of her curls. She turned to look up at him with red eyes, but her crying had stopped. He took the bottle from her hand and put it on the table in front of them, then reached down and helped her up onto the seat beside him, where she immediately slid down into the crook of his arm and buried her face into his chest. He kissed her forehead and took her hand in his. They sat together and he held her like that for a long time.

At some point, Cristina's breathing became steadier, and Owen checked to see if she was still awake. She was, but just barely. "Cristina," he whispered. "Do you want to go home?"

"No." She moved her hand up and rested it on his chest.

"Do you want to stay here tonight?"

She nodded, not looking up.

"Can you walk?"

At his question, she sat up, more awake, and pushed some hair away from her face. "I'm fine."

"You're not fine. None of us is fine." He tightened his grip around her waist and stood them up together. She wobbled a bit, then found her center of gravity. She wasn't nearly as drunk as he thought. Either that or she could hold her liquor a lot better than he realized.

Upstairs in Izzie's room, Owen sat on the bed while Cristina dug through one of Izzie's drawers and pulled out an oversized t-shirt. She peeled off her top and Owen immediately thought back to the last time, the only time, he had seen her naked, weeks ago in the on-call room. He blushed slightly at the memory of making love to her, and was glad that she was too busy pulling on Izzie's t-shirt and shrugging out of her jeans to notice. She unhooked her bra and pulled it out from under the shirt, dropped it on the growing pile of clothes on the floor and climbed onto the bed next to him. At least she's not modest with me, he thought.

They leaned back against the pillows together and Owen tucked her under the blankets. She snuggled up against him and sighed.

"Stupid George," she whispered. "Stupid George had to be a hero."

"I know," he whispered back. "But he did what a good doctor does. What a good soldier does. What a great person does. He tried to save her life."

Cristina didn't say anything, but snuggled closer into him. He held her tighter, and breathed in her scent. They sat for a few minutes. After a bit, he leaned down and spoke quietly into her ear.

"I can't stay here with you tonight."

She looked up at him, still locked in his arms.

"You know that, right? As much as I want to, I can't. I would give anything to stay here, but I don't think I'm ready for it. Or you either." He frowned sadly, and touched her cheek. "I love you so much. But I can't stay with you yet and risk anything happening."

She could feel her eyes welling up with tears and tried to force them back. She knew he was right, but it still was one more hurt on top of everything else. She nodded. "I know. It's okay. We're not ready." She looked down again, and he felt a teardrop fall onto his arm. He hugged her tighter and felt himself tear up slightly. He had never been so frustrated with himself than right now, not being able to be there for her when she needed him. He felt weak, and unworthy of her.

"But, if it is okay, I can stay here with you until you fall asleep. If that's okay with you." He swallowed, hoping he would hear the answer he wanted.

Cristina turned her head back up to face him. She put her hand around his neck and pulled him down to her, kissing him once lightly, then once again, much deeper this time. If she couldn't have him stay with her, she was at least going to get a good kiss out of him to get her through the night.

She finally pulled her lips away from his, but kept them close, whispering to him. "Stay. Stay till I sleep." He nodded, and they slipped down into the bed, her under the covers and him on top of them, as close as they could be with the blanket barrier between them.

He lay quietly, listening to her breathe. When he thought she was sleeping, he started to pull away, and she grabbed at him.

"Promise me," she started.

"Anything," he whispered.

"Promise me you won't try to be a hero like George anytime soon. I need you too much."

He smiled slightly. "I promise."

She lay her head back down. "Good," she mumbled, and promptly fell asleep.

Owen tucked her in, and kissed her forehead. He shut the door quietly behind him as he left the room, and headed down the stairs.