Derek was finishing up some paperwork in his office when he heard a light knock on the doorframe. He looked up to see Owen standing there, looking very uncomfortable.

"Is there something I can do for you, Dr. Hunt?" His tone was formal, not inviting but not judging, either.

"Um... yeah. I was wondering if that offer of assistance from this morning was still...uh... still open..."

"You mean the MRI? The PTSD stuff?"

His voice was hushed. "Yeah, I mean that..."

Derek smiled. He could only imagine how hard it must be for Hunt to come back and ask for his help after what he had said. Now was not the time to get petty. "Of course. Do you want to go right now? I'm just finishing up here."

"Yeah... uh... the sooner the better."

"Ok," Derek nodded. He studied Owen for a moment. "Did something else happen? I mean, you weren't too keen on this course of action this morning."

Owen shifted his weight and looked at his hands for a second before answering. "Cristina broke up with me - and she was right to do it."

"Ah." Derek nodded. "In that case, how about I buy you a beer when we're done? I need to get a history anyhow, and I'd rather not stick around here any more than I need to today."

"Ok." Owen's voice was ragged. He was still uncomfortable with the way he had spoken to Derek earlier, but the apology stuck in his throat. It would be ok, though. Shepherd's reaction was calming him down. He knew the right words would find their way out in a few minutes.

----

"So tell me exactly what you remember from that night." Derek had brought a chart along and they were sitting in a booth at Joe's with a couple of beers between them.

"We were watching a video and Cristina fell asleep. I figured I'd just crash there and the last thing I remember is watching the ceiling fan go around. The next thing I knew I was on top of Cristina, choking her, and Callie was screaming at me. I let go as soon as I realized what I was doing... " Owen's voice cracked as he recounted the horror of that moment,"I have no memory of how I got into that position, or of choking her... It was like I blacked out or something."

Derek paused while he scribbled some notes. "Do you remember having a dream, or a nightmare?"

"No... nothing. I do get them... nightmares, I mean... but nothing that I can recall from that night. I think I must have been having one, but I can't remember anything..."

"And when you were in Iraq, did you ever sustain a head injury?"

"No."

"Do you get flashbacks while you're awake?"

"No... I mean, I've frozen a few times, like up on the helipad yesterday, but nothing I'd call an actual flashback."

"That's probably a form of flashback. You just don't realize it." Owen nodded but didn't say anything. "Have you ever walked in your sleep? Or done anything else unusual in your sleep, like waking up in a different place than you went to bed, but not remembering how you got there? Or finding food wrappers near the bed but not remembering eating the food?"

"Not that I know of. I mean, stuff could have happened, I suppose,but I'd have no way of knowing... I live alone."

"And Cristina hasn't reported...?"

"Uh... we haven't been in situations where she could see something like that, until the other night, so no..." Owen cleared his throat. "Did you get a chance to look at the MRI before we left?"

"Just a quick glance... enough to know you don't have a brain tumor, which was something I did need to rule out. And I saw no evidence of prior head injury, either. The kinds of changes that are being seen in PTSD are a little more subtle, and quite honestly, the jury is still out on whether or not those findings are valid. No one really knows if the changes in the hippocampus that we're seeing are significant or not. They could be the result of things that happened in childhood, when the brain was still developing. We're hampered by the lack of a prior MRI on our subjects, one taken before the trauma happened, that would give us something to compare with."

Owen nodded. "So what next?"

"Come in and see me tomorrow and I'll go over the scan with you in more detail. And I'd like you to go do a sleep study. We have an excellent sleep clinic right here, or you could go to the VA and take part in their research study if you want." Owen shook his head no to the VA suggestion, and Derek continued. "What you're describing to me sounds like a sleep disorder, which is very common in PTSD. The good news is there are several medications that might work for you. They're going to need to pin down the actual sleep problem first, though." Owen nodded and took a swig of his beer. This was beginning to sound somewhat hopeful - certainly better than the lifetime of misery he had consigned himself to only hours ago.

Derek paused for a moment. "From what you're telling me, it sounds pretty textbook. In normal sleep, the body is paralyzed during the REM cycles and that's what stops people from acting out what happens in their dreams. But there's a sleep disorder where that paralytic response is short-circuited and people will actually thrash around, or get up and do things in their sleep... I had a patient come in once with a severe head injury because her husband dreamed he was boxing and punched her several times in the head before she could wake him up.... He was a big strong guy and he fractured her skull. This stuff happens, Owen. You're not the only one."

"I wish that made me feel better, but it doesn't."

"Don't be too hard on yourself. Maybe Cristina will come around when she understands it better."

Owen grimaced. "I don't think understanding it is the problem with her... It's living with it. She said she was afraid to fall asleep with me there. That's a hard one to get around...Either way, though, I think her guard dogs will be even harder to convince." Derek looked at him inquisitively. "Your girlfriend and Callie ran interference today and wouldn't let me get within ten feet of her."

"Mmm...." Derek stopped midway through a swig of beer to correct him, "She's not my girlfriend anymore."

Owen looked puzzled. "Don't tell me you broke up today too?"

"Just the opposite. We got engaged. She's my fiancee now." Derek smiled.

Owen placed his bottle carefully on the table and gave Derek a long look. "Then what the fuck are you doing sitting here with me? Isn't there someplace else you'd rather be tonight?"

"We were headed out but she got a distress call from Cristina. I didn't know what it was about, but I guess I do now. She's over there and said she'd call when she was done."

"You might be in for a long night. My guess is they'll be at it for a while."

"It's ok. I'm used to it. And if you two end up together, you'll get used to it, too."

"I hope I get that opportunity." Owen met Derek's gaze, and then looked away. The wound was still too fresh to pick at.

"I do too. As much as she's a pain in the ass to me sometimes, I have a lot of respect for Cristina."

Owen's eyes clouded over with grief for a moment, but he pulled himself together. "Anything else, Doctor?"

"Yeah. You need to see a shrink - right away. And don't give me any shit over this. Real men do benefit from therapy, and in my professional opinion you really need it. This is another place where medication might help, too. I can recommend someone if you need a referral."

"Oh, god... Ok... At this point I'll do whatever it takes."

"Then check out Dr. Wyatt. I'm a fan."

"What's so special about him?"

"First of all, it's a her... and secondly, she worked with Meredith a while back and Mer was an incredibly tough nut to crack. I think without her help, I wouldn't be engaged today."

"That's quite an endorsement." Owen fidgeted in his seat. Every fiber of his being rebelled against the idea of sitting in a shrink's office talking about his problems. "Ok. I'll look into it. Is she one of ours?"

"Yeah. I think you'll like her. She's a redhead too."

Owen gave him a wry smile, "That's too bad. I happen to be partial to petite Asian women with bad attitudes..."

Derek acknowledged the comment with a small smile of his own, and then his phone rang. He signaled for Owen to wait a second, " Ok, I'll be there in a couple of minutes.... Yeah... Bye..." He hung up. "That's my cue. I have to get going." He threw a few bucks on the table to cover the beers and put a hand on Owen's shoulder. "I'll talk to Meredith... try to get her to understand a bit better...It's bad enough to be dealing with all this, without having Thelma and Louise glaring at you when you go to work."

Owen chuckled softly at the image. "Ok. I won't try and stop you. I'm sure you know her best. Do you think I should talk to her myself?"

"It wouldn't hurt. I think the more she gets to know you, the better off you'll be..." He laughed softly, "Hell, she had so much compassion for that sack of shit they fried over at the prison that I can't imagine she'll stay mad at you for long."

He hesitated for a moment, as if unsure whether to continue, and finally added, "I've seen the way you and Cristina look at each other, Hunt. I'm holding out hope this can be fixed - maybe not right away, but if you really make an effort to get the help you need, you'll be surprised how quickly you can improve. And between you and me, I don't think Cristina is going anywhere..."

"I hope you're right," Owen nodded. "Hey, thanks again. Really. It feels better to have a plan... I'm... I'm sorry I was such a dick about it when you suggested I get help..."

"No worries," Derek replied. "I've done the reading. I know about the stigma around this stuff in the military. That's a hard thing to get around... Come see me tomorrow and I'll introduce you to our sleep guy."

He nodded, and Derek turned and walked out. Owen leaned back against the wall of the booth and took a few deep breaths. The idea of going back to his empty apartment held little appeal, and the on-call room at the hospital had too many memories for him tonight. His fingers itched to pull out his phone and call Cristina, but he resisted the impulse. He headed out the door and back to his truck, unable to stifle the urge to check out her window. The light was on. How bad would it be if he went over there and just told her about his MRI, about his plans to get help?

No, he decided. Not tonight. Things were too raw, and it felt too risky. They were both exhausted and upset. He had potentially good news, but he was too trashed to deliver it.

Besides, he had a long road ahead. There was plenty of time.