ELEVEN

Even Bailey had noticed it. Cristina had a spring in her step and was happier; she bounced excitedly at the heavy cases, even more than normal. Bailey didn't feel she needed to ask about Cristina's new cheery moods. After Yang's mini break down in the locker room the week before and Baileys pep talk to her; this renewed energy obviously meant she had reviewed things with Dr Hunt and the relationship was back on track.

Today however Yang was more subdued and actually quiet. Two days in a row Cristina was quiet, unsettled, looking a little pale. Bailey would watch her, but not interfere. She was a grown woman in a grown relationship.

Cristina discussed an issue with Karev in the middle of the corridor, their interns waiting patiently behind them. Whenever one of them dared to move or cough to signal that they were still waiting. Cristina without turning would growl something derogatory. Bailey shook her head. Dr Hunt would certainly have his hands full with her.

Cristina looked down at her page. "That's Dr Hunt, he's in his office - I'll be back in about 15 minutes." She said to Alex. "My interns are your interns; feel free to abuse as you like." She turned to her group. "I'll be back in ten minutes and no one better be dead or dying when I get back."

In moments Cristina was knocking on the door of Owens office. She had paged him earlier and stalled her interns waiting for his page back.

"Come in."

Cristina opened the office door and slithered inside. Shutting the door.

*

Since her nightmare he had gone one way and she had gone the other, it just happened. More than anything she was embarrassed to have experienced something she couldn't remember in front of her friends, being naked was secondary. But it was the way Callie looked at her afterward, and the way Arizona continually threw her sympathetic glances that made her cringe. Not to mention the way Owen...the way Owen seemed, unless she was much mistaken, seemed to have pushed her away. He wasn't connecting to her. She wanted to know if he was okay, but he used that age old male excuse. 'I'm a bit busy right now.'

The only person who wasn't avoiding her or making her feel like a victim was Meredith and that was because Meredith was laid up in bed and had no idea about anything, and Cristina hoped it would stay that way.

It was best to give her space Owen had decided. But somehow that day of space, with work and odd shifts, had turned into two days, and stretched into three, and when he spotted her sitting alone again on the roof garden at the hospital, he knew that three days distance was long enough. She had been to his office a few times, but he couldn't deal with her, said he was busy. None too happy she had stalked out and eventually left him to himself. She knew he was avoiding. But he needed the time, he was processing.

Standing on the bridge he looked through the glass at her sitting on the hospital roof terrace alone, staring at nothing. She had been fairly low key for a few days, not animated, not hungry for surgery, not trying to battle Karev for trauma, and not languishing hungrily in cardio.

He was desperate to hold her, smooth that crazy hair, hear her cackle laugh, smirk at her wit, feel her feet massage into him in bed, discuss medical cases with her, he was missing her. He didn't plan to keep his distance, it just happened. Watching her out of the window, he knew it was time to face things.

"You okay?" It was the only thing he could think of to say as he approached her on the hospital roof garden. Cristina didn't move when he walked up behind her. When he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder she didn't reach for it or shrug it off, as he expected, she didn't seem to care. He looked at her face as he sat down beside her. She looked worried. He dropped his hand from her shoulder and gently eased it along her thigh in soothing circles.

Her stare was ahead of her resting on nothing in particular. Her hands rested in her lap, her legs crossed at the ankles. Her unruly hair pressed under her black headband at the temples, fell around shoulders, her face was touched with tension.

"Where have you been?" She spoke steadily, not looking at him.

"What?"

"Where have you been?" She looked at his hand on her thigh and he stopped moving it.

"I thought you wanted to be alone." He looked at her, taking his hand back, "I thought I should leave you..."

"...To deal with it by myself?" She wasn't ready to look at him yet.

"No. To give you some time, some space..."

"Did we discuss this?" She was pissed off.

"I thought you'd want to be by yourself..."

"...So you figured, to hell with her."

"No."

She needed to vent obviously. He put his hand on her thigh again, massaging gently. This time she glanced at it, but he didn't move it and she didn't move her leg. "I'm sorry." He apologised.

"Don't say you're sorry." She remarked bitterly. "When these things happen you're always sorry. I'm tired of you being sorry."

He made a face. "These things?"

"These things, nightmares, choking, hurting me."

He remained quiet, hurt. Of course she'd be digging in her mind, bringing events up. She was hurt. He stared at her and tried to rise above it. He knew what it was to be troubled with nightmares. "But are you doing okay?"

"I don't know."

She took her time about speaking again and when she did say something she had her own question. Her tone had come down a notch, but her voice was still heavy, fed up, worried, pissed.

"Is this what it's like for you?"

"Is what like?" His blue eyes squinted at her in the brightness of the roof garden.

"I haven't slept in three days." Cristina stated resting her cheek on her hand. "I've been afraid to sleep. I'm exhausted."

He didn't say anything.

"I wanted to know, is this what it was like. For you?"

Owen looked down; he didn't want to talk about nightmares. He wanted to go back to work, deal with his patients, meet her after work. Tell her again he was sorry for leaving her alone so long, take her to his apartment and make love to her through the night. He scratched at the back of this neck, gripping short strands of hair in his finger tips, pulling. A bad habit he had developed.

He was aware that it was mid shift and that he had work to do. He had patients to catch up on, and he wished that he'd arranged for someone to cover for him. But seeing her out of the window looking so... alone. He needed to end the standoff, and be near her. He wanted to keep his mind on her and not work, and not cheat her with thoughts of his patients, but it was difficult.

"I haven't gone through it in a long time." He said to her. "But it was like that for me sometimes, yes."

"You didn't want to sleep, you avoided sleeping?"

"If I could."

"How did you do your job?"

Owen reached for her hand.

"I had you."

She pulled her hand away. It sounded too romantic.

"How did you focus?" She demanded.

"I had you." He said again, keeping his eyes forward. "I focused on you, on a relationship with you. On seeing your face happy, on holding you in my arms. On touching you. On sharing surgeries with you. On seeing you happy with your friends. On seeing my mother again." He turned to her. "On making love with you. All those things helped me to focus, kept my nightmares at bay, and stalled them. Until... until I... hurt you... and then I couldn't focus on anything, not on you, not on us, not mum. Didn't want to see your face, touch you, hold you, make love to you." His jawbone flexed at the memories. "I was locked in a cycle of nightmares for a long time, war nightmares, and then hurting you nightmares."

They were silent. Thinking.

Forgetting.

"You didn't answer my question." She said.

He wanted to stand up away from her, go back inside to his work. Tell her she ought to go inside now, and they could talk about it later. He really wanted to do that, and put off discussions about his nightmares and her nightmares. But as specially as her nightmare was caused by his nightmares he had to support her. But he backed off. "This isn't the time to talk about this."

"Why not?"

Owens neck flushed red, a sign of his anxiety. No nightmares for eight months. Bliss of sex, and love and sleeping with Cristina without nightmares or trouble or anxiety. Therapy and brain scans and rehab and his relationship and his work and order, and visits and the acceptance of his Mother.

It had all been going so well.

"We're at work. You're upset..." Did he really need to go on with his list of objections?

"You didn't answer my question." Cristina demanded.

"What question?" His agitation growing, "I answered your question." He didn't want all 'this' not now, not at present. He only wanted to know she was alright and that they were alright. The rest could wait until later. He never talked about his nightmares outside of Wyatt's office and he had never discussed the detail of them with Cristina, ever.

"I asked you where you had been. Why have I been alone with this, where were you?" She was angry again and bit angrily at him.

Owen thought about his answer. He breathed deeply and took control. He rubbed slowly at the back of his neck with one hand. "Cristina. I promise you I'll answer your question, and I'll listen to what you have to say. But this isn't the time. This isn't the place to discuss this. We'll do this tonight. Can I see you tonight?" He was still asking her for permission even after all this time. If she wasn't so angry with him she would smile. But she didn't smile, she nodded. It was a slight miniscule bob of the head. She knew him. Despite wanting to stay mad, she knew, inside the hospital, he was a doctor first.

"Whatever..." She verbalised.

"Come on. Come back inside, you must be busy too." She didn't reach out for his outstretched hand. Just stood up on her own and moved ahead of him.