disclaimer:

I do not own the rights to the characters used. This fanfic is a non-profit, amateur effort not intended to infringe on the rights of anyone.


Author's note: Thank you everyone for reviewing. I appreciate the comments.

Also, I'm not really feeling the Alex/Owen scene, but I left it in anyway.


"His name is Preston Burke. He was an Attending here, the chief cardio-thoracic surgeon. I was an intern. He was my boss. We started dating, we moved in together and then we got engaged." After the first few sentences Cristina relaxed again, letting herself settle into Owen's arms. "He left me at the altar, left the hospital and won the Harper Avery award." She had paused then, and gave a soft but derisive laugh and said, "I didn't win an award."

Owen found himself smiling. He couldn't help but smile at that, at the little bit of snark she allowed to creep into the discussion. A little piece of Cristina. He was grateful for that. Grateful to be reminded why he had rushed here, in the middle of the night, to wrap his arms around her and tell her that even if everything changed around them, he would still be here.

"I'm an Attending," he said, tucking a curl behind her ear.

She breathed, in and then out. The exhale came like a sigh. "Yes," she said, resuming the tracing of the figure eights on his forearm. "Yes, you are."

"I'm your boss," he had said, gently. And it was true. And it was inappropriate. But it was what it was. When she didn't say anything, he said, "Unless I'm not. Unless you don't want me to be."

"How do you figure that?" She asked, her entire body tensing as if bracing for a blow.

"Mercy West. You can't leave your residency, but I could leave." And until he said it, he didn't even know he meant it. He thought that when he'd blown off their recruiting call, he'd laid the matter to rest. "If you asked me to look into it, I would. I'm sure they'd still be willing to offer me a position. Not as department head, they have a very good department head, but that's okay. We would still live in the same city, still see each other."

Crisitna responded softly, but with conviction. "I don't ever want to talk about this again. I didn't go through what I went through tonight so that you could leave and it would all be for nothing. Everyone knows about us now. So what's the good in you leaving me here, alone?"

"Cristina, I—" His pager had gone off before he was able to finish.

"Un-the-fuck-believable," she said, tossing her head back against his chest in frustration. "You're not even on call."

"I'm the head of trauma," Owen said, pulling the page off of his belt and looking at it. "If it's big enough, I'm always on call." He glanced at the display. "Looks big enough."

Cristina rolled over to face him and pressed her lips against his, a fierce but chaste kiss that he found himself deepening, pushing her back down onto the mattress. Her hands pulled at his neck, pulling him closer, fingers moving through his hair, and her touch was soon sending shivers from his scalp to his toes. Her reluctantly put some space between their bodies.

"I want you," he groaned against her lips. "I want you so bad it hurts."

They negotiated a place and time. His place, she couldn't face a discussion with Callie about the events of the night, and 7 pm. This would give her enough time to go home and pack. Once they had a plan Owen stood and dug into his jacket pocket, pulling out his keys.

Cristina looked at him suspiciously. "You're leaving? I thought there was a trauma?"

Owen fiddled with the keys, and wrestled one off the chain he handed it to her. "Here," he said, putting the silver metal key into her palm. "If I get stuck you might get there before me, and I don't want you to wait in the hallway. I'll grab take out on the way home."

Cristina sat up on the bed, an odd look on her face. "I can't take this, what if you get there first? I can't take your key."

Owen, fiddling absentmindedly with his pager, didn't notice the rapid speech or the slightly panicked tone. "That's the spare, I have the other right here." When Owen lost interest in the pager and glanced her way he saw that she looked horrified. Realizing her hesitation, he sat down next to her. "Cristina, just give it back later."

This seemed to calm her some. She eyed the key a little less warily, then nodded. "Okay, yeah. No big deal."

Owen smiled and kissed her cheek, bringing a hand up and running it over her hair, smoothing it away from her face. "No big deal."

*

"He gave you a key?" Meredith hissed, nearly jumping up and down in excitement. In front of the coffee cart "That's huge."

Cristina sighed exaggeratedly. As usual Meredith hadn't heard a word Cristina had said. It wasn't huge. It was small. It was temporary. It was logistics. He hadn't given her a key. He hadn't wanted her to have a key. He hadn't assumed she'd want a key and then thrust it at her. It was simple. She was avoiding being consoled by her roommate, so she was going over to his place instead. He might not be there, so she'd need a way to get in. For the fantastic sex. Against her better judgment Cristina found herself stressing that there would be sex—he all but promised sex-- to get Meredith's mind off the stupid key.

"Sex is nothing, you got a key. You're in a relationship with keys. Are you going to give him your key?"

"No!" Crisitna hissed. "I have a roommate, I can't just go giving out my keys like candy. And this is nothing."

"You wouldn't be freaking out if this was nothing," Meredith said knowingly.

"I'm not freaking out," Crisitna scoffed, "you're freaking out."

But Meredith was as insufferable as a child with a new toy. And she seemed happy, genuinely happy, that Cristina and Owen were taking steps forward. "I'm only freaking out because you told me. You wouldn't have told me if you weren't freaking out, and you wouldn't be freaking out if this was a stupid nothing. Do you think he told Derek he was giving you a key? You know they're friends now. It's like male pattern bonding, next they'll be watching sports on my couch drinking beer with their hands tucked in the front of their pants."

"No, he didn't tell Derek. Because this is nothing."

Meredith shook out her hand, as if to brush off Cristina's denial. "Did he give you a drawer?"

"What?"

"A drawer, at his place. Did he give you a drawer for your clothes? And a shelf in the bathroom, for your soap and stuff?" Cristina looked at Meredith blankly. "He didn't give you a drawer?" Meredith asked, and the idea seemed to take the wind out of her sails. "Maybe it is nothing," she said, frowning as her pager went off. "This guy again? I can't get away from this guy, he's been tacacardic all morning!"

She left, and Cristina found herself alone at the coffee cart, suddenly wondering whether she needed a drawer or a shelf in the bathroom. Which was ridiculous, because she didn't even need a key.

*

"Repairs are all done, close him up." Owen said, stepping away from the operating table to allow Alex Karev to step in.

As Karev began to work, Owen said, "I wanted to thank you, Karev. For what you did last night. A woman needs her friends. And I know how this goes," Owen peered over Karev's shoulder as he spoke. He found himself rambling. Exhaustion made his thoughts ramble and now he found himself talking just for the sake of talking. It had been another big night. He and Cristina couldn't seem to stop having these moments, lately. Huge make it or break it moments that left him breathless and invigorated, but also afraid.

Against his better judgment he started to speak again. "There's going to be so much I won't see. Distractions, worries, priorities-- everything gets in the way. Sometimes you get too close to someone to know what they need…to know what's best…to even see what's wrong." Owen shook his head in an effort to clear his thoughts. Why couldn't he shut up? "So a woman needs her friends. That last stitch was a little tight, ease up on the tension."

Owen reached in to help but stopped himself, reminding himself he was training a surgeon. And the stitch hadn't been too tight. Karev was doing fine. But of course he was fine, he'd been closing incisions forever by now. Owen hadn't quite readjusted to working with residents again, after being in the field. It was hard to give up the control over a patient. Hard to hand over control to someone else in any situation. "So, thank you, Dr. Karev."

Alex Karev looked up at him light a deer caught in headlights. Owen could tell he had something on his mind, something he wanted to say, but Owen wanted his mind on the surgery so he stepped back from the table, pulling off his gloves. "You finish up, and next one of these we get I'll watch you do it, start to finish."

Owen walked out of the room before Karev could say anything else. He stayed close, watching from the scrub sinks, but made sure to leave as soon as Karev was finished closing. Karev could have done more of the surgery. As it was, Owen had done about forty percent of the work. That percentage was too high, especially for such a simple repair. I really have to ease up, he thought as he made his way into the hall.

"Dr. Hunt," Dr. Bailey nodded at him in greeting as she passed. He nodded to her and couldn't help but smile as he watched her walk by, all business. Her greeting had been friendly. She wasn't holding a grudge. She had said what needed to be said and had moved on. And she had been there for Cristina.

The last thought made him oddly jealous. He couldn't help but wonder if he'd been here, would she really have ended up engaged to Preston Burke? The thought brought him back to Cristina's words, her voice hushed as, wrapped in his arms she'd told him her story.

His name is Preston Burke. He was an Attending here, the chief cardio-thoracic surgeon. I was an intern. He was my boss.

*

"Do you guys remember when Derek broke up with Meredith to go back to Addison, and every day at lunch people just stared at Meredith like she was in some kind of zoo exhibit?" Izzie asked, shoving a forkful of salad into her mouth as she looked around the cafeteria's patio. They were surrounded with curious faces.

"Izzie, stop," Alex said quietly, under his breath. He stole a furtive glance at Cristina before looking back down at his food.

Cristina didn't notice, hadn't seemed to hear what Izzie said. She just sat back in her chair and tested the sharpness of her plastic fork on the pad of her index finger. It didn't produce pain, only a nagging sort of discomfort. Meredith frowned and took a sip of her soda. "Cristina?" Meredith asked. Cristina looked up, her eyebrow's raised in silent question. "Are you okay?"

Cristina nodded. "Yes. Why?" She said it as if nothing was wrong in the world.

She put on a good show, but she looked a little worse for wear. Her hair was pulled back into a clip, but the effort to keep her hair out of her face was less than tidy. Her scrubs were wrinkled and, though no one wanted to bring it up, maybe had some pus from her last patient at the collar line. Under her scrubs she wore a raspberry colored long sleeved shirt, which on any other day would have made her look radiant. Today, it just enhanced the dark circles under her eyes.

"It's not the end of the world," Meredith told the others. "It's fine. Everything's fine. I mean sure, a few people are looking at us. And talking. And someone just pointed, but everything's going to be fine, people just like to talk and…point."

Meredith's voice trailed off at the look she got from Cristina. It was an eerily calm, unaffected stare. Meredith shifted in her seat, suddenly uncomfortable. She had questions. She had lots of questions. Questions like why wasn't Cristina freaking out? Why wasn't she pacing and ranting? Why wasn't she angry? She should be angry. She should be—well, she should be freaking out. And not about the key. She should be freaking out at the staring. Meredith needed her to freak out because Meredith wanted to freak out. And she couldn't be the only one freaking out, not this time.

Meredith opened her mouth to say something but when she did she noticed Alex was staring at her, his face tight like he was gritting his teeth. It was a weird look and it made her even more uncomfortable, so she sighed loudly and fell back into her chair without saying anything. And that made her mad because what did he know about anything?

Everyone's attention was drawn back to Cristina when she pushed back her chair, the metal legs grating loudly against the concrete, and stood up. "I'm post-call," she said, as if that explained something. Then she walked out. Meredith opened her mouth to speak but shut it without saying a word. Izzie shoved a last mouthful of salad into her mouth and stood, too, not bothering to say goodbye to Alex or Meredith and not looking like she was following Cristina.

"What was that about?" Meredith asked Alex, who was scowling.

Alex just shrugged, then sighed. Then he shook his head and leaned back in his chair, before deciding against it and leaning forward. Meredith watched all of this with growing concern. "Alex?"

"A woman needs her friends," Alex said. Meredith squinted at him. He stared back, waiting for her to get it. But get what? "A woman needs her friends," he repeated, as if he was making perfect sense and Meredith just hadn't heard him. Meredith just stared at him, uncomprehending. "I'd like to talk to you and George, about Izzie."

*

Owen was in line at the cafeteria when he saw Cristina get up from one of the tables. The patio was full of people, and while the majority of people were eating lunch and minding their own business, unconcerned that he'd managed to publicly humiliate his Cristina, a few people were watching her openly. It ate at him to know that this was his fault. She had brought him so much happiness and all he'd been able to do was deliver the one thing she didn't want-- a public spectacle wrapped in a bright red bow and set right at her feet. He might as well pay for a singing telegram to follow her around the hospital all day. He couldn't think of a worse thing to have happened so early in their relationship.

"I hope you're proud of yourself," a voice came from behind him. It was a relief, hearing that voice. A relief to find someone willing judge him as harshly as he judged himself. Owen turned to find Dr. Bailey in line behind him.

"Good afternoon," he said, stepping over so she could stand next to him in line.

Bailey moved in next to him, her eyes never leaving his face. "There you go with that hang dog expression, thinking you're going to charm me into feeling sorry for you. Well I'll tell you right now, I'm not charmed. I'm married. Married people can't be charmed so easy, Dr. Hunt. Cause married people know better. I know better. I thought after last night you might change your mind about this stupid idea, but I can see that's not going to happen," she looked up at him, her face impassive. "You should tell the Chief."

Owen cleared his throat. "Thank you, Dr. Bailey." He paused, immediately realizing the soundness of her advice, he was embarrassed not to have thought of it sooner. Of course he should tell the Chief. He had a responsibility to do so. Clearly, precedent had been set, these things happened here. Maybe they weren't openly condoned in other residency programs, but they were condoned here. Meredith Grey and Derek Shepherd. And, of couse, Cristina. Her voice sounded in his head, a soundtrack that had nagged him all day. His name is Preston Burke. He was an Attending here, the chief cardio-thoracic surgeon. I was an intern. He was my boss.

"I-uh-I think I will," he told Bailey.

Bailey laughed out loud, taking Owen by surprise. She shook her head, still chortling, and said, "Oh, you poor, dumb man. Gonna get yourself killed. Running around half cocked, thinking you're going to tell the Chief something about Cristina Yang." She shook her head again, almost wistfully. "You tell the Chief without her consent and Cristina Yang will tell you something about Cristina Yang."

"You just told me--"

"I told you you should tell the Chief. I didn't tell you you could tell the Chief. Someone else decides whether you can tell the Chief. I'm psychic, so I can tell you the answer is 'no'." She gave him a pitying look. "Walking in here like you know what you're doing."

"You really took the whole speaking freely thing to heart. You know that permission was granted on a temporary basis," he said, and surprised himself by the tone. He spoke teasingly. He found himself completely taken by this woman, grateful that Cristina had someone looking out for her. "It doesn't extend to every conversation we have for the rest of our lives."

Bailey shrugged with only one of her shoulders. She recognized his tone, recognized he was grateful and thought better of him for it. "And what are you going to do? You're damned if you do and damned if you don't."

"So what do I do?" Owen had reached the head of the line, and handed some money to the cashier.

"You sit down with your girlfriend," Bailey said. Owen felt an unexpected, almost childish thrill at hearing Cristina referred to as his girlfriend. He pocketed his change and stood next to Bailey as she paid.

When Bailey spoke again it was with a bored tone, as if their conversation weren't the least bit important. As if she wasn't extending a lifeline, wasn't offering valuable advice. "You tell her what you think you should do. You try to convince her. Maybe you find a way to make her think it was her idea. I'm psychic so I know that won't work. But you appeal to her sense of professionalism, and hope that it trumps her sense of privacy. And in the end you do what needs to be done, even if that means keeping your mouth shut."

"He'll find out," Owen pointed out.

Bailey nodded. "She knows that. That might help. Now I'm going to eat my lunch."

"Thank you, Dr. Bailey," he said, hoping she would sense his earnestness.

She pursed her lips, eyed him warily and said, "Just in case you didn't notice, people are looking at her today, Dr. Hunt. Passing judgment on her. Wondering what she's thinking. Wondering when she'll break. No one seems the least bit interested in you."

"I'd prefer it the other way around," he said, knowing she intended to make him feel like he'd gotten off light. But he hadn't. It would be a thousand times easier for him if he were able to shield Cristina from this. Having to watch her go through it, feeling like the cause of it, it was the worst-case scenario.

Bailey's expression softened. "I can see that, at least."

*

Cristina's cell rang as she was rifling through books on Owen's bookshelves, waiting for him to come home. There was no rhyme or reason to the collection, he would read anything. A lot of the books had stickers from used bookstores, in Seattle and across the country, and some from around the world. Baltimore, Maryland. Washington, D.C. Germany.

Cristina moved away from the shelves and found her phone, hoping that it would be Owen. It was 7:20 and he still wasn't home, and hadn't called. But the caller ID identified Meredith. Cristina flipped open the phone. "I have biography of Lyndon B. Johnson in my hands," Cristina said, foregoing 'hello' . "Who reads biographies about Lyndon B. Johnson for fun?"

"You're at his house," Meredith said. She spoke it as a statement, relief in her voice. "Good. I was worried you would be so upset about what happened today that you would break up with him."

"The key? No, I thought about the key. I mean, I really thought about the key. It's not a big deal."

"Cristina?" Meredith asked, sounding confused. "I meant what happened at lunch."

Cristina set the book down on the kitchen counter and pulled out a glass from the cupboard, then moved the fridge. "At lunch?" She furrowed her brow in consternation. At lunch she'd been preoccupied, about the way Owen had reacted after she told him about Burke. She thought he'd be mad. Or that he'd feel insecure and become distant. Instead he handed her a key and ran off to a trauma. "What happened at lunch?"

Meredith paused. A long, suspicious pause. "I thought maybe you were upset because people were looking at you, at us. Because people know. Speaking of which you should probably tell the Chief. If he doesn't already know, I mean."

Cristina scowled. She hated the idea. "You didn't tell the Chief at first."

"Yeah, and he was all pissed and shitty about it."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Cristina sighed, opening the fridge and pulling out the pitcher of water, she filled her glass. She hated the idea of it, hated that it was so much like asking permission to date Owen Hunt. Like the Chief was some pillar of professionalism and he had a right to know whether two of his surgeons were dating. And if he didn't know? What, she would lose his respect? Did she even want his respect? How many times had other people messed up and gotten slaps on the wrist. Countless times, but the minute he thought she was in the wrong about something… Making her choose another resident for the solo surgery, after for the first time every single attending picked the same resident, her, it was cruel and unusual. It was unprofessional, so why should she care whether he respected her? If he didn't have control over her career, she wouldn't even pretend to. But she cared if Owen had his respect.

"I am?"

The landline rang, interrupting their conversation. "His phone is ringing. What should I do?"

"Answer it?"

"I can't answer his phone," Cristina said. "I can't just answer someone else's phone. He didn't give me permission to answer his phone, it's one thing that I'm hanging out at his apartment when he's not here. But he doesn't expect I'll answer his phone while I'm here."

"Okay, let it ring."

"What if they leave a message?"

"So?"

"So then I hear his phone messages. He doesn't want me listening to his phone messages, he won't even give me a drawer. Should I go in the other room?"

When Meredith spoke next Cristina could tell she was grinning. "Ha! You want a drawer. You want that key and you want a drawer."

"Shut up. I'm hanging up." She stared worriedly at the ringing phone on the wall, on it's fourth ring. Most people set their answering machines to pick up on the fourth ring.

"I would think you would appreciate having a boyfriend who didn't push you into taking keys or having drawers. It's not a bad thing to have to take the lead in a relationship, Cristina. It's not the end of the world if he waits for you to tell him what you want." Five rings. "Tell him you want a drawer. Tell him you don't want to pack a duffle bag if you're going to be spending the night." Meredith's voice brightened, "Tell him it's logistics."

Six rings. The answering machine clicked on, and she heard Owen's message. You've reached Owen Hunt. Leave a message. Then she heard a beep, and was surprised to hear Owen's voice again. "Cristina, It's me. I was hoping you'd be there. We said seven, right? I got stuck at the hospital but I'm leaving now. I'll try your cell."

Cristina wasn't the only one that got the message. "So he does expect you to answer his phone," Meredith said.

"Whatever, it's nothing. I'm hanging up." Cristina said. And this time she did.