Author: JeriBearRN (BNScrubNurse)
Author's Note: My thanks goes out to angelamermaid, crazyflirtca (shli), hopecrowe and ohcyfan for being the most amazing group of authors to ever work with. These girls are constantly challenging me with things and ideas and making things work out. I'm so very blessed to be working with such a talented group of people and I couldn't think of a better way to be spending my summer. Thank you guys for everything- and you know exactly what I'm talking about. :)
And special uber last minute thanks to angelamermaid for being the queen of awesome and continuity. Here's to not writing until 4:30 in the morning anymore. Thank you, Angela.
x-x-x-x-x
Love. It's the strongest of all human passion. It attacks the head, the heart and the senses, leaving you helpless in it's unrelenting attack. It's cruel, the things that love can do to a person. The heart forever makes the head it's fool- and love is only it's accomplice. Things that are seen aren't always accurate. Things that are heard may be lost in translation. It clouds the mind, it draws jealousy deep from within- it's the most exhilarating emotion one can experience. Yes, love for all of it's cold and calculating ways, it has it's perks. If you can find a way to get past all of the drawbacks.
The force that the rain fell against the already slick black pavement seemed to overtake her feet as Cristina paced back and forth across the ambulance bay. Her waterlogged tennis shoes gave way beneath soggy socks as her feet traced the red line with a balance and grace that came from years of ballet training that she'd never speak of. The diagonal white lines that designated the area in which their next patient would be wheeled in disappeared beneath bubbling streams of rainwater as the downfall continued.
Despite the torrential assault on the city, there were surprisingly no sirens disrupting her train of thought. No flashing lights to free her from the personal hell that had descended upon her. She had become one of them. She was a girl.
And she hated herself for it.
Glass doors slid open behind her and the sound of small feet disrupted Cristina from the well contained nervous breakdown currently taking place inside her. "It's about damn time." She muttered, finally coming to a standstill.
Meredith appeared beside her, already in a yellow trauma gown and in the process of tugging her gloves on. "What have we got?"
"A problem." Cristina said weakly, looking up at her.
With a blank stare on her face, Meredith began to open her mouth and then closed it again. She tossed the gloves into a trash can at her side and looked at Cristina expectantly.
"Moretti."
"What about her?" Meredith questioned, "And it better be good, because I wanted a trauma and you paged me with a trauma, and clearly there's no trauma here."
Cristina didn't stay it, but she was traumatized. Cristina Yang? She didn't get jealous. She wasn't insecure. No, no- Cristina Yang didn't give a damn about other women. She was hot, she was insanely intelligent, she was unbelievably good in bed and no woman in the world would ever compare to her- except the last time she had felt strongly about anybody, she wasn't good enough.
She thought she was good enough.
She didn't know until it was too late.
After a few moments of studying the fine lines of distress that had engraved themselves into Cristina's stoic features, after taking in the flickers of worry in her eyes, Meredith finally understood. "You're jealous. Of Moretti. The surgeon who has been here for what? 48 hours?"
"I'm not jealous," Cristina immediately denied in a dismissive voice, crossing her arms and looking away. "I don't do jealous."
"You are." Meredith teased, "Cristina Yang is jealous of the hot new cardiogoddess. God forbid that Seattle Grace has more than one."
"I am the only cardiogoddess in this hospital." Cristina interjected.
"If you thought that, you wouldn't be jealous. You think she's going to swoop in and what? Steal Owen from underneath you?" She couldn't help herself but to continue. "Maybe you should leave him little love notes on post-its. Bat your eyes at him from across the cafeteria. He's your territory, pee all over him."
"Meredith," Cristina sighed in a tone that was well-laden with the implication that she was being tedious and that it couldn't be tolerated right now.
Meredith stopped her relentless giggling and did her best to put on a serious face- she had never in a million years imagined that she'd see her person like this. Cristina really was in love. "Okay, okay. I'm serious now. So…you're jealous. Of Moretti. Because-"
"Because she's insanely hot. And she's a cardiogoddess. And Owen clearly has a thing for hot cardiogoddesses." Cristina rambled. She knew that she made absolutely no sense, except she knew that she made sense.
"I think that Owen has a thing for you. The hot cardiogoddess thing is just a perk."
"She was talking to him, Mer. Like they were best friends or something. Like he was-"
"About to take her into a call room and put her through the rigorous last phase of Seattle Grace's hospital orientation program?" Meredith smirked.
"Not. Helping."
With a sigh, Meredith resigned. "I don't know what to say. You don't get jealous. Cristina Yang doesn't get jealous."
Before Cristina could respond, her pager vibrated at her hip and she pulled it from it's holder with a sigh. "Yeah." She muttered, studying the message and jamming it back into place before heading it towards the door. "Tell me about it."
x-x-x-x-x
The unit was quiet- a benefit of Seattle's profound thunderstorms. Usually visitors didn't bother visiting their ill loved ones when there was a near typhoon outside. No, they'd rather go to the movies or brave hydroplaning across deadly intersections for a cheeseburger from McDonald's.
Leaning against her hand with a pained expression on her face, Cristina watched the nurses drag slowly across the floor carrying about their menial tasks of the late afternoon. Her eyes traced across the glossy floor to a pair of Nike sneakers adorned with purple swooshes quickly moving in her direction.
Unfortunately, those sneakers were attached to Moretti.
Cristina forced a slight look of interest on her face when she stopped at the counter in front of her and leaned over.
"Hi." She smiled brightly, crossing her arms across the counter. "I know you must be busy following post-ops, but I have an emergent CABG being prepped right now and I need an extra set of capable hands. It's a difficult case. You interested?"
Angry at herself for feeling even a tug of reluctance at accepting, Cristina stood and nodded. When the hell did she even entertain the thought of saying no to a cardio surgery? What was it about Owen and this woman that made her want to turn down a good complicated case?
Clearly, she needed to get the hell out while she had a strand of sanity still intact.
The two women scrubbed in, Cristina pretending not to be annoyed by the constant prattle of the woman next to her. Continually, she found herself wondering how the hell she made it through a fellowship without her attending suturing her lips together with a strand of 2.0 silk and then stapling them shut for good measure.
Cardiothoracic surgeons were not generally the chatty type.
She must have been so bad that OB tossed her back, Cristina thought, a wicked grin flickering across her lips beneath her mask as she watched Moretti place the rib spreaders. Watching closely as Moretti began the delicate work of placing the patient on bypass, Cristina continued to entertain the thought of how many services got tired of her before she finally got pawned off on cardio.
It's not that she aspired to be a cardiothoracic surgeon, it was that it was the only service left.
Cristina could go with that belief.
"Dr. Yang, will you please takedown the IMA for the graft please?" Moretti asked, her eyes sparkling a bit over her mask.
Cristina's eyes widened momentarily and she forced herself to focus, to shove down the surprise and excitement momentarily coursing through her body. "Of course, Dr. Moretti." She nodded, turning to the scrub nurse. "Forceps, please. Bovie on standby."
The position to harvest the IMA was never a comfortable one, but doing it with a woman that you would gladly kill standing over your shoulder and watching your every move, it was even more uncomfortable. Cristina worked quickly and efficiently, her small hands performing movements that they were well versed in only a short time ago.
"How is it that a second year resident is so efficient, Dr. Yang? Your skill far exceeds that of a resident at your level." Moretti remarked in approval.
"Practice," Cristina evaded easily. "We have an excellent skills lab."
Okay, so the skills lab had nothing to do with her practicing- but not even Owen really knew about her surgical escapades with Burke and Moretti wasn't going to find out before her.
"Since you seem to know your way around a chest cavity, Dr. Yang, why don't you continue on and I'll observe." Dr. Moretti spoke in a quiet voice, glancing up to the resident's more seasoned peers in the gallery.
They didn't seem to take kindly to the offer she'd extended to the determined woman.
None of them held a candle to her skill, either.
"Thank you, Dr. Moretti." Cristina answered, suppressing a jolt of pure joy in her voice. It had been far too long since she'd essentially flown solo on one of these cases.
Skilled hands went about manipulating the greater saphenous vein that had been harvested in haste from the patient's leg, wrapping it around the heart and providing new pathways for occluded arteries. Cristina would ask in a commanding yet uncharacteristically soft voice for the instruments she needed, watch as her attending held suction as if though she were the resident.
If Cristina didn't hate her so damn much, she'd like her just a little bit.
Halfway into the grafting process, Moretti was the first to start with not-so idle conversation. "You're a bold person, if I may say, Dr. Yang."
Cristina glanced up for a split moment before returning to her whipstitch, "You may, but I am not sure as to why you choose that word to describe me."
"How could I not?" She countered, her eyes flickering with the slightest hint of mischief, "You're dating an attending are you not? It's a bold move on your part." Moretti paused for a moment, focused on the young woman before her and then lowered her voice. "You know how it goes with these programs. Everybody is out to get everybody. It starts with a couple of dates, and it seems innocent enough. It could even be innocent- but they won't accept it to be that way. They accuse you of sleeping your way to the top, misjudge your skill and talent as the perks of being the teacher's playtoy. You risk losing a lot of respect. I'm just saying, for you to do it so openly- it's bold."
With her eyes focused on the vessel she was manipulating, Cristina never once stopped in her stitching, her hands never trembled. "With all due respect, Dr. Moretti, I love Dr. Hunt- Owen. People can think whatever they want."
Moretti gave a slight nod. Even bolder, she thought. She made mental note of how she worked under the pressure- under her insinuations. She was a force to be reckoned with surgically.
For a fleeting moment how much of a force she was to be reckoned with romantically- somebody with that much passion, that much drive could be a bit of an issue, but she was always up for a challenge.
"I see," She finally murmured beneath her mask and then cleared her throat. Moretti wasn't sure if it was a challenge to see how well she could handle the pressure, or just to see if it was even remotely possible to get under her protégé's skin- but she just couldn't help herself. "So, tell me Dr. Yang. Do the attendings date attendings around this place?"
x-x-x-x-x
The first time that Owen had set in the office of Dr. Wyatt, he couldn't help but feel claustrophobic. The artwork, the ugly rug beneath his feet, the magazines and journals scattered about a table as if somebody were actually going to have the opportunity to read in her office- it was all daunting and all part of some big fake ploy that he wanted no part of.
Now, he felt comfortable there- he wasn't sure when or how it had happened, but in a way it had become his safe place. The sound of the clock ticking as a comfortable silence settled over the two of them was no longer ominous- he no longer likened it to a ticking time bomb, rather it was comforting.
It meant he had nothing to say.
It meant there was nothing to talk about that was affecting him so profoundly in that moment.
"Cristina has been slow- but she says she's going to go to therapy," He finally said, his gaze shifting back up to meet Wyatt's- had they really come to the point where he could just make small talk. "About the sleeping thing, I mean. She says she has another issue to- an attending that she dated here? I didn't push her into talking about it. I know she will if she wants to."
A bemused smirk crossed Wyatt's lips. "Cristina actually says she's going to go to therapy? Independently?"
Owen nodded, smiling with the slightest hint of pride. "Yeah. She's got your list. Of people to talk to."
Wyatt nodded slightly, "But she hasn't gone yet."
Owen shook his head, "No. Not yet."
"I see." Wyatt remarked, glancing down at the nearly empty pad. He had come a long way, but they wouldn't be able to move any further until Cristina took a step.
"Is something wrong, Dr. Wyatt?" Owen asked, his curiosity piqued.
Blue eyes sparkled as she looked up to Owen, "Cristina won't go to therapy." She said, still smiling slightly, "Dr. Yang- I've briefly spoken with her before. People with her…personality, they don't go to therapy. They're iscared/i of going to therapy. I knew it was reaching, when I gave you the list- but I had hoped she would prove me wrong."
"Cristina will." Owen answered, remaining firm in his stance.
"I don't believe that she will." Wyatt contended, "Not if she hasn't yet. It isn't that it would not be beneficial- it's that people like Dr. Yang simply don't go because of their fear of vulnerability. Of letting somebody in. They have their own way of dealing with problems and for the most part they're successful. People like Dr. Yang simply won't go to therapy unless they end up really doing something detrimental like-"
"Like choking their girlfriends in the middle of a nightmare that he can't even remember." Owen finished with his gaze leveled on hers, "Cristina will go to therapy. Not for me, not for her- but for us."
Wyatt smiled sympathetically, setting down her pen atop the small yellow pad that she kept her notes on. "I hope so. For the two of you."
"I don't pretend to know a lot of things, Dr. Wyatt. I-I learned not to make assumptions because the next thing you know, you're in a hospital and your entire team is dead and the only career you've known for five years is no longer yours to have. I don't make assumptions. But this much I do know, this much I am sure of- Cristina will go to therapy."
Owen had never been surer of anything in his life.
x-x-x-x-x
Cristina pushed open the doors of the scrub room with a much more gentle force than she would have liked. Moretti gave her a pass from doing the post-op workup 'Because she had done such an excellent job intraoperatively that another resident could handle it'. Even now, just thinking her words made her want to stab the woman with a ten blade.
Or a butcher knife.
At least if she stabbed her with a butcher knife, then she'd probably dissect her aorta and then she could take her into surgery- and the recovery time from that would be much too long for her to have to suffer the idiot woman as the head of cardiothoracics for any longer.
Shaking her head at her own thoughts, Cristina had decided she had enough. After a quick glance at the nearly empty OR board, save for Owen's name blaringly scribbled across an exploratory laparotomy- she decided to check in on George.
For nearly three days now, he'd been extubated but from the gossip around the hospital's halls he hadn't uttered a singular word. Cristina knew this to be truth- in her presence he had said the words 'yes', 'no pain' and 'I'm fine'.
He just hadn't said anything meaningful.
She stepped into the room, the walls draped in an eerie gray. The lights were off and the lump below the hospital issue bedspread was unmoving. Nearly tiptoeing her way through the room, Cristina perched upon the window sill, watching as the droplets against the window left little black shadows streaking down George's sleeping form.
Cristina began to study his drips, analyze each of the medications he was receiving and exactly what they would do to his body- the side effects, the therapeutic effects and the contraindications. Her mind whirred with onset, peak and duration- lab levels, all of the things that a doctor should think of when they're looking at their patient.
And none of the things a person should think of whenever they're visiting their friend.
"What's the prognosis, Dr. Yang?" George asked quietly, never once opening his eyes.
Cristina froze, her eyes widened as she looked down at him. The swelling in his face had subsided to the point where she could be certain that his eyes were not open. "How did you know it was me?" She asked quietly, her arms wrapping around herself.
He wet his lips before he continued, eyes still closed. "Dr. Hunt comes in- he apologizes like what happened was his fault. Mer, she usually sniffles a little. Tries to act like everything is fine and she bitches about Shepherd. Callie, she prays sometimes. Really quiet so I can't hear her- or so she thinks I can't hear her. Alex, he doesn't have much to say- but he says stuff. Sometimes. But you- when you come in, you don't have anything to say. You look at the science. You look at the numbers and the drugs and the medicine. You rely on the facts. Not the subjective stuff. You're Cristina."
She smiled faintly, her eyes focused on one of his drips- norepinephrine, to help keep his blood pressure elevated. It was a minimal dose, one that wouldn't have an effect on his peripheral circulation or increase his heart rate- just a touch to keep his blood pressure at an acceptable level to perfuse his kidneys and the healing wounds on his legs. "You haven't had much to say."
"It's hard to say anything when the one voice you want to hear is the voice that you'll never hear again." George answered quietly, his voice unwavering.
Cristina watched the monitors as his heart rate increased slowly from the low 70s, climbing steadily towards 100 with his blood pressure readings following quickly behind. There were no tears in his eyes and his respiratory rate only increased a couple of breaths per minute- he was not hyperventilating or gasping for air.
She could still tell that he was in pain.
Cristina hesitated for a moment, her hand reaching for his and then pulling back slightly. She wanted to reach out to him- to take away his pain in that moment, but she didn't know what to say. Her's was not the voice that he wanted to hear.
Nothing she could do would make him better.
Without mumbling an apology, without trying to come up with words of sympathy that he'd heard a million times before she simply gave him a slight nod. "Your numbers look good. Labs are still elevated, but you'll recover. It will just take time."
George nodded slightly against his pillow, the movement with his eyes closed causing dizziness to encroach upon his senses. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." Cristina answered softly before turning and leaving the room.
x-x-x-x-x
The downside to dating a trauma surgeon was that trauma didn't occur on a schedule- and if it were to occur on a schedule, it would be the one that's inconvenient for everybody.
Cristina sat next to Meredith at the bar, idly picking at peanuts and nursing her beer from time to time- she had learned her lesson from drinking far too much the night prior and she was in no place to put herself back into that stupor.
Especially after talking to George.
"You're quiet." Meredith observed, reaching for her own drink. "I don't like when you're quiet. It means something is wrong."
"Nothing is wrong." Cristina mumbled, averting her gaze. Everything was wrong, all at once- and the worst part was that she had essentially flown solo on a bypass and she wasn't even excited about it. The worst part was that now she was more worried about Owen and Moretti and George more than she was about her own career.
What the hell had happened to her?
"You need to stop thinking." Meredith tried again, this time easing sarcasm into her voice. "You're making my head hurt. It's literally painful to be around you right now."
"Shut up." Cristina mustered, still drowning in her own thoughts.
"That's fine. I'll shut up. I'll go…talk to that guy over there. Y'know, since the one person I want to talk to isn't talking back to me." Meredith tossed back the rest of her drink and pushed it towards Joe for a refill.
Cristina's eyes narrowed slightly on the little husks of peanut shell that was left in her fingertips and then widened. The hunch worked itself out of her back and drew her posture upwards. She looked over at Meredith, but said nothing.
She was thinking everything.
Meredith giggled slightly, "Epiphany?"
With the slightest of nods, Cristina answered, "Yeah. Something like that." It was something that she didn't care to explain to Meredith in that moment, it wasn't even something that she was sure would work out.
It was worth a try though.
Cristina felt a hand against the small of her back and turned to find Owen at her side. "That was fast." She answered, pushing her neglected beer in his direction.
"78 year old man on a motorcycle versus a tree." He explained, "There wasn't much of a fight to be had. Especially without a helmet."
"Oh."
"Yeah." Owen mumbled before taking a long drink of Cristina's beer.
"And on that note, I'm going to go because it means that Derek won't be doing surgery after all." Meredith slid off her barstool and onto the sticky floor. She tossed a few dollars down and looked at Cristina with a small grin. "Have a good night."
Cristina rolled her eyes in mock annoyance and turned to glance at Owen. "Long day?"
Owen used the opportunity to steal a kiss from her, the scruff of his beard gently brushing her chin. "I didn't see much of you. That always makes for a long day."
She couldn't help but smile slightly at the sentiment, the feelings of self-loathing for being such a girl with him completely dissipated. Her lips brushed his one more time for good measure- nothing prolonged, just a taste and she turned back to the bar.
With a warm gaze, Owen studied Cristina's features- the way her curls draped over her shoulders, the swell of her breast beneath the burgundy shirt, her lithe waist. He knew he could count on his two hands the number of times they'd been together and it simply wasn't enough for him- it would never be enough.
But when he could actually count how many times they'd been together?
That was a situation that needed to be rectified.
Especially after today.
His hand slid slowly over her knee beneath the bar, a slight grin playing on his lips as he watched her. A sharp inhale caused her chest to rise and it froze there for a moment as his hand moved upward, fingers tracing along the insides of her thighs. It fell again as he continued upward and he could see her eyes becoming half lidded.
Oh, the things he could do to her with barely even touching her.
Cristina's hand slid over his as he got dangerously close to the place that she wanted him to touch her, but the place that he definitely should not be touching her in while they were at Joe's. She looked at him then, her gaze as intent and the meaning as clear as day.
"Let me walk you home," Owen murmured in a low voice, his tone causing a shiver to travel down her spine. He laid money down on the bar for her drinks and a little extra for Joe and put an arm around her waist to guide her from the bar.
From the corner, Sophia Moretti sat and watched with a soured look on her face. Not even five minutes ago, Yang had been there with a sour look on her face and absolutely no sense of fun or personality whatsoever- and then he shows up and she's like an entirely different person.
Like he brings out the life in her.
She wanted that in her life, somebody who could bring out the life in her. Somebody she didn't care about being bold for, didn't care about putting herself on the line for. Somebody attractive and strong, ruggedly handsome.
Moretti knew that those men were few and far between.
She just wasn't sure how to get him.
x-x-x-x-x
Despite the wandering hands at the bar, Owen was able to be a perfect gentleman as he escorted Cristina home and as they arrived at her door, Cristina couldn't help but wonder what had happened. Reaching out, she shoved her hands into the pocket of his jacket and pulled him closer before kissing him passionately.
It was rare that she got to share kisses like this with him, or so it felt.
But with Owen, everything felt like it wasn't enough- she couldn't get enough, she always needed more.
Their tongues twined in a heated battle, his hand wandered up into her curls, fingers curled around the back of her neck and she froze slightly there, her lips parting ever so slightly from his.
"Come in," She murmured to mask her momentary and very involuntary reaction.
When he agreed, Cristina was sure that it had worked. She unlocked the door and watched him as he moved about her kitchen as if he'd lived there, pulling out a bottle of wine and two glasses. Cristina used the opportunity to slide in a CD – a mix of everything because she always grew far too bored to sit through just one genre for an hour.
The two settled on the couch, her leg comfortably draped over his and his fingers resuming the delightful teasing that he had started at the bar. Cristina laid back, her head against the couch cushions and listening to the music. "I talked to George today," She murmured.
"Yeah?" Owen asked, glancing over at her.
"Yeah." Cristina debated whether or not to tell him exactly why he wasn't talking- and after only a few seconds decided it wasn't her place. "He's okay. He'll make it through."
Owen could hear that there was more under her voice, and it was all he needed to know. Something had transpired and for her to still be able to say he was okay- it was more than enough for him to feel confident in the fact that his friend would recover.
"I saw Moretti this evening. She said you flew solo in her OR." Owen glanced over at her, trying to see what kind of reaction she would grant him. It may have been just the slightest bit amusing for him to see her so up in arms over a woman he could care less about.
"Yeah." Cristina answered, doing her best not to visibly flinch at the very sound of the woman's name. She was trying to relax.
"She said that you're a very talented surgeon," He continued, watching her closely. Owen couldn't help but tease her just a little bit, "She's putting in a word for you at the Cleveland Clinic. She thinks that you'd flourish better in a specialized hospital."
Cristina's eyes snapped open and looked over at him, "She said what?" Cristina said, narrowing her eyes, "She just wants to-"
Before she could finish her sentence, Owen started laughing. She reached over to not-so-playfully swat at him but he took hold of her wrist and pulled her into his lap. His hands grasped whatever she could swing at him firmly- but not too tightly at the same time.
"She wants to what?" He asked in a low voice, looking up at her. His let go of her wrist and moved his hand to brush a few errant strands of curls behind her ear. "That woman? She may be beautiful Cristina, but she isn't you. That woman- she didn't follow me into the darkness. She sure as hell wasn't waiting for me on the other side either."
Cristina opened her mouth to contend with his words- never comfortable with admissions like that, only to be silenced by his finger over her lips.
"I love you. You stood by me, you're standing by me. Nothing will ever compare."
Slowly, Cristina reached up to pull his finger away from her lips and she bent to kiss him softly- guilt suddenly tugging at everything inside her; some of it for hating her, most of it for doubting him. Her hand cradled the side of his face, thumb stroking his stubble and she pulled away.
She didn't know what to say in response. Cristina never had the words when it came to him.
His hand slowly rubbed at the small of her back and he was content in the moment, using the time to make a new memory to ease the pain of the old ones. Craning his neck, he claimed her lips once more before asking her in a whisper to dance with him.
They rose from the couch, their bodies never once disentangling and they began to move to the music. Hands began to wander, tracing agonizing patterns against sensitive areas. Their hips began to move together, the warmth of desire spreading through their bodies.
This was different than before- it was slower, more sensual than the previous times they'd been together. More reminiscent of the first time, less rushed than the last time. Owen removed Cristina's shirt from her body slowly, taking his time to marvel at the flat plane of her abdomen and let his eyes rise to the cream colored lacy demi cups of her bra and the sweet flesh that peeked out from there.
Cristina did the same, taking her time to reveal the flesh of his own body, one button at a time, savoring the man she was ridiculously in love with. Their kisses became punctuations to each action, passionate but fleeting as they moved onto the next article of clothing.
When they were finally free of their clothes, Owen gathered her into his arms and carried her into the bedroom. He pulled her onto the bed with him, his back firmly pressed into the headboard. Owen wanted to look into her eyes, wanted to see the moment that two became one.
As he eased into her, Cristina's breath became ragged but her eyes never left his. Her fingertips curled into the curve of his muscular shoulders and she rocked her hips gently forward into his until he was all in, filling her to the hilt.
For a moment, they stayed like that- motionless, just feeling the sense of completion that one granted the other from such a simple act. Each knew that nothing or nobody would ever feel so incredibly right, that this was what meant to be felt like.
Eventually, they gave into need, their hips crashing into each other and fingernails raking at pale flesh. Mouths grazed, tongues laved and their cries were dampened on the air around them until they could do no more.
With her body trembling, Cristina fell forward in Owen's arms, her forehead resting against his shoulder as she murmured his name, urging him on to his release. Their bodies shuddered in a symphony of soft moans and they fell from reality together.
Reluctantly, Owen let go of Cristina as she slid from atop him and lay beside him instead, laying her head across his chest. Ignoring the neuron's firing from his brain and telling him to close his eyes, he instead lay there with her, his fingers running through her hair. She was so relaxed in his arms and he wanted nothing more than to stay there with her like that.
Owen was tired of running away after they made love- it cheapened it. Cheapened what they had together.
He glanced down to see Cristina's eye's closed and sighed softly before he began to move out of her arms.
"Don't," She mumbled tiredly, not opening her eyes.
"What?" He asked, freezing at the sound of her voice, "I should go."
"Don't leave." Cristina repeated.
"Cristina- I don't know….I don't know if I trust me yet. And I know that you don't." He uttered softly, referring to how she froze just outside her apartment only a couple hours earlier.
"I don't," She answered, opening her eyes. "But… I trust science. I'm lying here and I can hear when it speeds up- when you're anxious or worried. I can hear when it slows down. I can feel you tensing up or relaxing. I can tell how fast you're breathing. I'll know before it happens, if you're having a nightmare or if something is going to happen. I'm a light sleeper." Raising her head, she looked up to him to assure him, "I may not trust your thing- your issues or whatever. But I trust your heart."
Wordlessly, Owen settled back against the pillows and resumed running his fingers through her hair. He wasn't sure if he could trust his heart though- wasn't sure if it was enough for him. Everything in his body begged him to stay with her, to shut down and give up the fight. Owen loved her so much- it was this one thing holding them back. One thing that would keep them from moving forward with their lives together.
As his mind raced he could feel that she wasn't as relaxed as before so he let out a deep breath and closed his eyes, tried to imagine less anxiety producing things. A small smile spread across his lips as he imagined a life together- one where she wouldn't have to sleep with a stethoscope practically glued in her ears and against his chest in order to share a bed with him. It was a quick fix- but not something that would last forever.
Just as he was letting go of the final threads of consciousness, he heard a soft snore come from Cristina and he tightened his arm around her only slightly.
"Goodnight, Cristina." He murmured. "I love you."
x-x-x-x-x
Cristina's eyes danced over Owen's body, trailing downwards over his abdomen to the large blue towel tied at his waist.
"Keep looking at me like that, Cristina, and I promise to make you late for work." Owen smirked, laying her hairbrush aside and turning to look at her.
She raised her eyebrows in challenge, grinning around her toothbrush. "Promise?"
Owen chuckled and turned to walk away, "You have a surgery in an hour and I need food. Get dressed, Dr. Yang."
With a slight pout, Cristina wrinkled her nose and went back about brushing her teeth.
After last night, they could call in sick for all she cared. The only thing that she knew is that she wanted a repeat. Night after night, for the rest of their lives.
When she finally emerged from the bedroom, reluctantly in a state of full dress, she found Owen with a cup of coffee brewed especially for her and she took it with a small smile. "I could get used to this."
"Me too," He admitted, reaching for his own cup. Owen watched her as she blew at the hot brown liquid before taking a sip, "Wyatt was right."
Cristina looked up, "Excuse me?"
"I was just saying…Wyatt was right. About you."
"Why does your shrink have anything to say about me. I'm not talking to her. You are." Cristina grumbled, her awesome night completely ruined by the woman that she had to like by obligation only because she was helping Owen.
"She just said that you wouldn't go to therapy. That people like you don't 'do' therapy." Owen shrugged nonchalantly, knowing exactly which buttons he was pressing on his beloved Cristina.
"I can do therapy. I can do therapy whenever I want." Cristina protested, putting down her coffee mug on the counter. "She doesn't know what she's talking about."
"No, she said that you couldn't go. You'd just work through things yourself because you're too scared to open up to somebody about everything."
Cristina crossed her arms, "Who the hell said just because I slept with you that I wasn't going to talk to someone? I said I'm talking to somebody and I will. Just because I figured out a way to sleep with you doesn't mean that I won't talk to somebody. I'm not scared of talking to somebody. That's ridiculous."
The thought may have crossed her mind not to do it, but there was clearly no way she could avoid it now.
Hell would freeze over before she'd let Wyatt be right about her.
Owen watched in amazement as Cristina went back about gathering her things and shook his head. He knew that her competitive edge often got the best of her, but he couldn't help but be astonished at the way he could use it to their advantage.
He knew it wouldn't be today or tomorrow, maybe not even in the next weeks or months- but Owen knew that their future was coming.
They were already on their way.
Indeed, love is a strong emotion- but it makes it's home in the heart. How often do we stop talking, stop obsessing and just listen, just feel? Our heart aches when it's had too much, it longs when it hasn't had enough. It races when we're happy and stops when we're terrified. Love is a scary thing and oftentimes we spend so much time being afraid of it that we can never truly embrace it- but maybe, just maybe if we stop talking and just listen. Ask our hearts the question- feel the answer, because it's always there. We just have to learn to trust our hearts.