A/N: Thank you all for the lovely reviews, I really hope you enjoy this next part too.
The second time was almost an accident, or at least that's what they told themselves. A distant on-call room, a stuck lock she didn't bother struggling with; a quiet night shift, a single bed.
She didn't think he could have followed her from the cardiology wing when he had been running his own department but he didn't seem at all surprised to find her lying there beneath the sheet, her sneakers and scrub top on a chair which he noisily dragged over to hold the door shut.
"Sorry, did I wake you?" he asked in the least apologetic voice. He looked a thousand times more human than outside Joe's over a week ago now, when he had seemed almost more beast than man - that thought sent a shiver right through her.
Wordlessly, instinctively and inexplicably, she found herself moving aside, drawing back the sheet and inviting him into the bed beside her. He was so warm and for a minute they just lay there, looking at the ceiling; sharing heat and secrets along all the places where their bodies were getting reacquainted.
"I was left at the altar a year ago."
Shocked at her own words, Cristina silently gasped, her heart beating suddenly louder in her ears. She had meant to make small talk about his shift but her question had been intercepted on its way to her mouth and exchanged for something no one in their right mind would admit to a man they barely knew - previous bedroom antics notwithstanding.
He didn't seem to react however, just said calmly: "I left my fiancée around the same time." There was a pause, long enough for her to process his words and to be somehow reassured by them; by the knowledge she wasn't the only one to have failed in a relationship, in love. "Do I remind you of him?"
Cristina turned to him then, wondering if any two men could be so different. "No."
"Good." He looked at her for a long moment before shifting onto his side as well, forming a gap between their bodies. She instantly missed his warmth; their connection. "You don't remind me of her either."
"Good."
He reached out and she let him run the backs of his fingers along the side of her neck. Even though their tryst the other day had been rough and messy – violent even, despite his tender hands and mouth – she knew without a doubt that underneath it all was a very gentle, passionate man; one capable of all the loving she could ever need.
If she wanted it, of course.
"Take off your clothes," she murmured, granting him permission to begin what they had both been thinking about from the moment he left her apartment.
"I still don't need you," he said with a wry smile and it was the first time in the after that he made her laugh.
"Tell me that again in five minutes."
Without invitation he helped her out of her scrub pants, his big hands on her legs making her tremble. He found the yellowing bruises on her thighs and covered them with his mouth, apologizing for marking her even though she had liked it; even though she felt a secret thrill every time she saw them. She hadn't seen him since that night, hadn't imagined they would be here again even though being with him hadn't satiated her but in fact unleashed a torrent of need so powerful and insistent she often wondered how she managed to function properly, and how long she could go on before defying all her instincts and succumbing to him again.
And now here they were, drawn together as if by something else, something beyond them; where it was no longer about fulfilling forgotten desires but savoring them, drawing them out, riding them all the way out of this room and Seattle Grace and everything real and static in their ordinary lives. It was about learning each other: lips, noises, angles; when and where and how she liked to be kissed; how long he could lie back and submit himself to her exquisite hands and mouth for before just taking the lead once again. He was patient this time; selfless, communicative. He asked her if she was enjoying herself and even smiled when she couldn't form an answer. It was such a transformation from the wild, emotional man who had christened her bed but she was quickly finding that she liked this Owen just as much.
And this time there was less Burke; fewer memories of him now that she had laid down some of her new lover. She had thought a lot about both men over the last few days and was beginning to find that thoughts of one were being neatly moved aside by desires - fantasies even - involving the other. She had yet to decide what this meant, or if indeed it meant anything at all and she wasn't just caught up in the lust of it all, but lying there in the small bed afterwards and feeling their hearts beating in time made her wonder if it wasn't all a little bit wonderful; a little bit right.
To add to this, when his pager went off and he got up to leave, he didn't turn back to kiss her and she found herself feeling disappointed. Fortunately she didn't have long to entertain her growing terror at these bizarre new feelings of attachment because her pager began to sing along to his, and after they hurriedly dressed there was time only for a brief smile before rushing off to deal with someone else's pain; someone else's catastrophe.
As it turned out it was only an hour later, when he followed her into a supply closet and - without a single word - kissed her so tenderly it actually took her breath away, that she became truly terrified.
II
