disclaimer:

I do not own the rights to the characters used or to the song lyrics used. This fanfic is a non-profit, amateur effort not intended to infringe on the rights of anyone. Cristina Yang and Owen Hunt are characters on ABC's Grey's Anatomy.


A/N: thank you all so much for the reviews!


It didn't quite work without him. Didn't clear her head the same way. Didn't give her the same rush, or the same release. It was not so out of time. Not so out of space. Only some things could happen, when she was alone on the vent.

It should have been such a good day. She should have had Meredith next to her on her first solo-surgery, the way they'd been for Sadie's appendectomy. But Meredith was occupied with Derek, who oddly enough wasn't even pretending to hold it together. Who knew Alex would ever look like the stable boyfriend, although they should all be thankful for that. Someone in the relationship needed to have their head on straight. Although, honestly, he looked like maybe he was about to crack, too.

He'd assisted her and they'd gotten through the surgery. And it had gone well enough. And Bailey and the Chief had congratulated her on a job well done. But she wasn't a 'well enough' kind of surgeon. She was an excellent surgeon. And so of course she was unhappy, which led her to the vent. Not that it was helping.

She stepped off the grate and sat down on the cool cement floor, feeling sorry for herself. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Not for her. She was Cristina Yang.

Her back was to the door and the vent was making a racket, but she knew instinctively when Owen stepped into the room. She looked over her shoulder and saw his outline in the light from the hallway. He didn't look surprised to see her, so she knew he must have come looking for her.

Cristina watched as he stepped into the room, pausing in the doorway, his hand still holding the door open, as if he didn't want to commit to coming in. She frowned when she saw his hesitation. "Come in," she said.

He nodded, a brief flash of something on his face, he looked grateful for the invitation. As if she'd taken the decision away from him. There was a heaviness to him, he was carrying a burden. It had been hours since she'd last seen him, and he was out of his scrubs and in jeans and a T-shirt, carrying that green jacket under one arm. She watched as he made his way toward her, then past her, and sat on the floor a good six feet away from her. He looked at his hands in his lap before looking up at her, searching her face. They stared at each other, their silence broken by the vent, stirring the air in the room in regular intervals. It took awhile, but he was the first to speak.

"How are you feeling?" he asked. "Are you okay?"

She nodded, watched him shift uncomfortably.

"Bruises?" he asked, almost in a whisper.

She shook her head. It might have been a lie. She hadn't looked for bruises. It didn't matter. "Why are you sitting all the way over there?" she finally asked. He looked pained. She'd looked for him in the gallery, during the surgery. He hadn't been there. She could see that he had separated himself. That he had pulled away. And she could see he was here to announce his intentions. He would be taking some space. Of course.

"You don't have to sit so far away," she said softly. Her voice trembled with her irritation.

He shrugged, "I-ah- just wanted to say I didn't- I'm sorry."

"Why are you sitting so far away?" Cristina scooted forward, moving closer to him. He got the look of a trapped animal, and he leaned back, away from her. She moved closer.

Owen cleared his throat. "Cristina, I-"

"I'm not afraid of you," she said, getting up onto her knees moving over to him. He couldn't move without looking like he was escaping. He looked like he wanted to escape. Cristina moved closer, the cement unforgiving underneath her knees. She reached for his hands but he pulled them away, so instead she held his face in her hands. His legs were stretched out in front of him so to get close to him, she'd had to straddle them. The closeness of their bodies, the sexual undertones of their body positioning, did not escape her. She ached for this man. At the same time she wanted to slap some sense into him. She tilted his head back, forced him to look at her. "I am not afraid of you."

Owen shook his head, closed his eyes to avoid looking at her. "I can't, Cristina. This isn't right."

"I'm not afraid," she said, knowing she was talking about more than just the hallway incident. She moved a hand over his hair, let her fingers glide through the red strands until she pulled his face toward hers. He opened his eyes as she kissed him gently on the lips, only slightly worried when he didn't kiss her back.

"You're not scary," she said softly. This got a small smile out of him. She could almost read his mind. You are.

She kissed him again, and his mouth opened hesitantly. Recognizing his resolve had weakened, she deepened the kiss. He groaned softly, one hand coming up to cradle the back of her head. The kiss was deepening, warmth flooding though her body, when he abruptly broke the kiss and turned his face away. "I'm seeing someone," he blurted.

She pulled away, incredulous. "Are you kidding me?" she demanded, furious.

He turned toward her, confusion painted in his face. Then, it occurred to him that she'd misunderstood. She was already starting to back away, moving off of him, and he grasped her wrists before pulling his hands back, as if her skin had burned him.

"Not another woman," he said quickly, looking to control the damage.

Cristina stopped her retreat and looked back at him. She searched his eyes for clues.

"I…have problems," he said. "So I went to see someone today. A therapist, not another woman. I mean, she's a woman, but…" he paused, trying to re-focus the conversation. "I hurt you, today. I hurt you and I…can't" he looked down at his lap. "So I went to see someone today."

"Okay." She nodded. "That's good."

He looked at her, then cleared his throat and stood up, shrugging into his jacket. "I should get going."

Cristina stood and eyed him. "This isn't over, with us. So don't go thinking this is over." And she wanted to tell him about Izzie, and about the less than excellent surgery. She wanted to lean on him, which is maybe the only think about him that she found scary. The way he made her want to relax. But tonight wasn't the night. Tonight, she had to let him off the hook.

He nodded again, then, looking appropriately chastised, gave a small self-depreciating laugh. He looked significantly lighter when he left her.

*the end*