A/N: I apologize for my update being so late. I didn't think this chapter would be so hard to write. Anyway please review, they really help.

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In the weeks that came, the two of them fucked.

The first time it happened Cristina knocked on her door, soaked like a drenched rat, black hair plastered to her forehead. She didn't hesitate kissing Teddy, pushing her into the wall, wetting her clothing with her wet body. Clothes were shed and carnal release was found and Cristina left and Teddy had never felt worse.

It took three or four times for Teddy to realize that maybe she just liked the satisfaction of being the one who walked out.

They never fucked at work. Cristina ignored her there; working under a new attending that was even more of a bitch than the legendary Erica Hahn. Everyone hated her, well everyone but Cristina. She followed her around like a puppy, like an intern, and Teddy was disgusted by it. She had stopped going to the bar every night, much to Gabe's displeasure. The two them could talk for hours without much thought, prattling on about jobs, the Seahawks, anything really. It was something to fill the empty hours between shifts.

It was a pissing rain when she left, hot and stinging. Teddy should've gone home. But she stopped at Joe's around 3 a.m., fresh off a shift but eyes refusing to close. The place was dead, neon sign glowing obnoxiously on the outside, rain falling at a slant.

"Hey Teddy! Haven't seen you in awhile." Joe greeted, somehow jovial at the late hour. The lights were dimmed, amber liquid from the many bottles reflecting behind the faithful bartender, making him appear almost god-like. On any other occasion she would've laughed at the irony of a gay bartender equating to any religion, but dealing with death all day had left her achingly somber.

Teddy nodded at him, pulling oily dirty blonde strands into a messy ponytail as she assessed the place. Joe busied himself wiping down the bar with an old rag. Two men were conversing in the corner, drunk, dusty tones coming out muddled by the time it reached the blonde's ears.

She sat at the bar, cheap leather clinging to her wet jeans in a way that was strangely reassuring. The faux wood smelled of lemon Pledge, nauseating and reminiscent of home all at once.

"What can I get ya?" Joe asked. His eyes were glazed over, filled with sleepiness that he refused to let his smile show. She smiled back.

"Just water for now."

The glass was placed in front of her before she could truly settle herself. Condensation slid down the glass almost angrily, matching the liquid hell pouring down outside. She took a sip gratefully. The cool water was a shock to her dry throat but she continued to drink it until it was halfway empty. It was nothing like alcohol, with its cool and pure qualities. She had become far too accustomed to hard liquor, hangovers, and casual sex. It left her feeling filthier than she thought possible. The water was a good cleanser.

"How've ya been?" Joe asked, leaning casually against the bar. His forehead shone with a thin veil of perspiration, pupils dilated in camaraderie.

"Fine," she muttered, taking another sip, nimble fingers playing tiredly with the blue and red stripped straw. "How's Walter?"

The bartender smiled, rubbing thick calloused hands together to show his pleasure. A happy blushed bloomed on his neck and rose to his slightly chubby cheeks. "He's good, at home with the kids."

"Kids?" Her eyebrows raised on their own accord, surprising nearly making water dribble from her mouth. "I thought you only had one."

"We got another one, a little boy."

"Wow," she said for lack of a better word. "I had no idea."

He wiggled his eyebrows at her, the action unknowingly immature but would take some of the bite out of his next statement.

"Well, you haven't exactly been gracing this place with your presence in more than half a year."

She looked down guiltily, the water loosing the restoring qualities. "I'm-"

"Don't worry about it," Joe said dismissively, his eyes scanned the bar behind her for something. "Besides I don't think I'm the one you should be talking to."

She followed his gaze, swiveling her already sore neck, to see what he was looking for. In the very back of the bar, hidden by a hoodie and shadows sat Cristina. Teddy would recognize the tired, defeated curve of the back anywhere. She gazed at Joe uncertainly, childish embarrassment blooming in her gut. Her cheeks felt hot, heated by memories of Cristina's slick body grinding against her own in the dead of night.

"How long has she been there?"

"Since nine," Joe reported, voice dropping low, losing all jovialness. "I don't have the heart to send her away."

Teddy slid off the bar stool unsteadily, brushing wet bits of hair from her face. Her footsteps were nearly inaudible as the two men's voices reached higher octaves as their conversation took an animated turn.

She fell into the booth and looked at the Cristina. Her hair was a pitch black scraggily mess, resembling dead weeds, or strips of bike tire. Her small fists were balled on the table, bruised along the knuckles. Teddy didn't have to see her eyes to know a cold look lingered there, cold like fire, cold and lethal.

"Cristina?" She brushed a hand over Cristina's. The resident jerked back, eyes wide with fear quickly replaced by a cold fury. She leveled Teddy with a glare.

"What?" Her voice was nearly as sharp as the angles on her sunken face. Her tongue darted out sharply to lick her chapped lips. There were large goose bumps stretching across the exposed skin of her arms.

"I came to see if you were alright." That wasn't necessarily true. Teddy had no clue what had caused her to come and see about the resident, just like she had no clue what drew her to the broken vixen in the beginning of their love affair, if you could call it that.

Cristina barked a laugh, sounding mean and distraught all in the same sudden staccato bursts that cracked the stale air. The two men got up and left, leaving behind empty glasses and the smell of cheap cigars.

"You don't care about me," Cristina said airily, unknowingly tracing the bruises on her right hand with her left thumb. Teddy followed the movement closely, as if something could be drawn from it. She didn't realize she was staring until Cristina chuckled.

"You like watching me." It wasn't a question.

"Yes," Teddy confirmed, loathing how weak and brittle her voice came out, how vulnerable she sounded.

Cristina smirked, nowhere near genuine; eyes still dead pools of mud.

"So when are you gonna stop?" Teddy asked with a faux air of nonchalance. Her confidence was a bluff but she was sick of playing right into the resident's hands for so long. She was singlehandedly letting the woman she loved tear her into pieces, fake smirk on her face as she did so.

Cristina's smirk faded but then again it was never really there. She leveled Teddy with a bored stare, feigning innocence.

"What are you talking-"

"Cut the shit Cristina," Teddy growled out, frustration making a vein in her neck bulge angrily. "You're killing yourself. Everyone knows what you're doing. How long do you think it would take to get back to the chief? Richard would have no choice but to fire you."

Cristina looked away, off to the side like a child who had just been scolded. Teddy felt shame well inside her, along with a nearly overwhelming feeling of guilt. It was a feeling she knew all too well, thick and sickening like cough syrup down the throat.

"Cristina."

"No." She looked up at Teddy then, whites of her eyes made red by the liquid proof of her brokenness. "No."

They shared a look of painful understanding.

"I'm tired," Cristina whispered gravelly, blinking back stinging tears. They both were. Tired of fighting, of fucking, of alcohol, of sleepless nights and lonely days.

"I'm tired too. But I won't rest until you stop killing yourself."

They could hear Joe in background, collecting the abandoned glasses and cleaning, more for something to do than actual necessity.

The seconds ticked on, and Teddy was afraid she had overstepped and made requests too soon. Cristina still had tremors running through her body like voltage, still bore the look of a neglected child. Seconds tumbled into minutes. Thunder clapped outside. Joe swore as a glass shattered on the floor. Cristina offered a smile that looked more like a grimace.

"Then let's go to sleep."

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A/N: Sorry it's been so long. The next chapter should be up soon, let me know what you think. Please Review!