I'm lying in bed, shivering.

I'm not physically ailing.

I'm wearing pajamas and covered by blankets.

But I'm cold.

He says I'm cold.

I hear him yelling, "This is not her fault...no, this isn't her fault."

It is too.

I hear him protest, "I'm the attending. I'm accountable."

So am I.

I hear him claim, "It was all my idea."

He's lying.

I hear him give up, "I understand. Yes...yes, I'll tell her."

He has bad news.

He creeps in the room, and I want to pretend that I'm asleep, but I can't bring myself to do it.

"Cristina, we need to talk." he mumbles, sitting on my side of the bed.

I sit up slowly, searching his expression for any indication of what I'm about to hear. "Talk." I reply slowly.

"They've...they've placed us on leave. For an undetermined amount of time." he looks down at his hands. "I'm sorry that I did this to you."

"I did it to us. You're not responsible for this. Maybe you're right. Maybe I dragged you across the line. If I would've stopped, and listened." I'm rambling.

I'm desparate.

I need to hear that this isn't all my fault.

He pulls me close and kisses my forehead, "We are a team. We crossed the line." he whispers, quoting my own words to me from earlier in the day.

I look up to him, "We are a team." I nod.

He presses his lips against mine in a soft and steady kiss.

But I need more.

I kiss him harder, pushing him back onto the bed.

He falls back with ease. "Cristina..."

I shush him, placing my hands on the side of his face, kissing him again, this is what I crave.

"Cristina..." he mumbles, his hand trembling on my shoulder.

I grab his hand, interlacing my fingers in his, and continue kissing him.

His hand slides up my back, under the pink tank top that he loves so much, and I feel him growing erect underneath me.

He begins to kiss my neck and chest, and I throw my head back, baring more skin for him to spread kisses over.

This is so right.

But there are things, I can't stop thinking of.

I keep trying to focus on him.

Focus on the sex.

But my mind is racing.

His hand is tremoring.

He's pulling my shirt off.

There's so much blood.

I feel him roll over on top of me. I pull him back down.

I need to kiss him again.

Kissing him is like breathing to me.

And I just need to breathe.

I need to breathe to get through this.

But I can't get my mind off of it.

The blood.

The secret.

The crime.

The punishment.

I feel him enter me, and my body tenses.

We're making love.

And I'm numb to it.

We should be talking, not having sex.

But that's how we've always addressed our feelings, isn't it?

Physical.

Not emotional.

I'm cold.

I'm emotionally bankrupt.

Tears form in the corners of my eyes, and I squeeze them shut, hoping he won't notice.

I kiss him again.

Just breathe.

I fake it for him so that he can get it overwith.

What is wrong with me?

What is wrong with us.

He brushes his lips against my shoulder, then my neck, and I kiss him again.

I'm breathing.

"Burke..." I whisper, a tear sliding from my eye.

"Yeah?" he mumbles, his hand slowly sliding up and down my spine.

"I love you."