disclaimer:

I do not own the rights to the characters used or to the song lyrics used. This fanfic is a non-profit, amateur effort not intended to infringe on the rights of anyone, either the people who own the songs or lyrics used or the owners of the characters depicted in this story.

Author's note: Please note the rating change from "T" to "M".

Please read and review, I do like the reviews. They keep me motivated.

It had been a long day at work, and Owen was grateful when it was over. Grateful that he and Cristina ran into each other on the way out of the hospital and decided to spend another evening together. He'd told her he was sick of take-out, that they should make something together. Cristina had made a joke about her culinary skills, which were non-existent, but his weren't a whole lot better and so she was easy enough to convince.

They'd bought a magazine at the grocery store, neither of them having any recipe books. They picked out a recipe together, standing next to the chewing come and other-last-minute purchase items. Convinced themselves it could be done, that two heads better than and they would figure it out together.

He was figuring out a lot of things with her, and while he couldn't be sure whether or not she had the same fearful excitement that he had, every once in awhile he would see a flash of something across her face. It looked like pure, unrelenting terror. Succumbing to these feelings, forming these bonds with another person, it seemed to scare both of them in equal measure. And though he knew he was moving at a snail's pace, he had taken some huge risks just within the past week. He moved out of his comfort zone. She'd tried to pull away at the first sign of complications. Where he found the courage to stop her, he didn't know.

But now, they stood in his kitchen, side by side. An easy silence stretched out between them. She chopped vegetables as he dredged pieces of beef in flour and quickly browned them in a sauté pan. He wasn't completely useless in the kitchen. He could grill, make some of the basics, meat and potatoes. He even owned (and operated) a rice cooker. Prior to this meal he'd never had a reason to purchase fresh thyme, but a man could change. In the end he wasn't sure why they chose stew because they were both famished, and it had to simmer for some time before they would be able to eat. That part, they hadn't thought through very well. But the sampled slices of the loaf of sourdough to dampen the hunger.

Cristina slid the carrots, potatoes, onions and celery into the simmering pot and turned to Owen. "Ready for the meat anytime," She grinned as she swatted him with a dishtowel and reached for another slice of sourdough.

Out of the corner of his eye Owen watched her pop herself up onto the counter, her feet dangling above the floor. She'd over straight from work, but brought over a change of comfortable clothes. She'd even agreed to change in the bedroom, and close the door, when she put on her lounging clothes. She must have planned for the possibility that they would leave together, that she wouldn't go home tonight. And because of that planning she now wore navy fleece pants and a fitted white long-sleeved T-Shirt that clung to her in all the right places. Owen ached to touch her.

He used tongs to set the beef into the bubbling liquid and placed the cover on the stew pot. In addition to the magazine with the recipe and all of the ingredients, they had to buy the large pot at the grocery store, too.

Cristina stuffed the last of her bread slice into her mouth and reached for her glass of wine. Finished adding the beef to the stew, Owen lowered the heat on the stovetop and moved over to her, positioning himself in front of her. He slid his palms up her thighs, dug his fingers into the sides of her hips, and pulled her forward. Cristina wrapped her legs around him in response. She put the wine glass down as Owen leaned in and kissed her gently on the lips. She tasted of bread and wine and salvation.

Cristina opened her lips under the pressure of his and he moved his hands up the sides of her torso and across her back, the heels of his palms ever so briefly feeling a delicious rounding at the curves of her breasts. He finally buried his hands in her hair, gently tugged her head back and exposed the curve of her neck. Owen lowered his mouth and kissed the delicate skin of her neck, and Cristina sighed contentedly. She slid her hands under his sweater and tugged at his T-shirt, un-tucking it from his jeans before she moved her hands over his bare abdomen and chest. She touched him, tried to memorize the shape of him by feel.

Owen's entire body flushed with heat at her touch and he captured her mouth under his again. He slid his arms down and around her waist, then pulled her off the counter and onto him. She snaked her arms around his neck and clung to him, her thighs tightening around his hips. "I won't drop you," he said huskily. He walked backwards out of the kitchen then turned and carried her into his bedroom.

"I won't let you," Cristina said, and she squirmed against him until he groaned in surrender. They toppled onto the bed in a rush of feverish kisses that resulted in a hurried removal of clothing until finally he was inside of her. "Oh!" Cristina gasped, her mouth falling open as she dragged air into her lungs in a ragged breath. She slid her right foot up the back of his left thigh as he took a moment to compose himself. After a moment, she whispered, "I thought we would never have this. I worried you would keep pushing me away physically right up until the end. That we would break up and I'd never have known how you felt, moving inside of me."

Owen slid his tongue along the side of her neck, and then tugged gently on her earlobe with his teeth. "Break up?" he asked, his grin apparent in his voice.

Cristina rolled her eyes, couldn't help but laugh at his teasing and said, "Stop seeing each other. Break up. Whatever you want to call it."

Owen's next words were whispered in her ear. "Let's call it a break up. Let's not do it, but let's call it a break up." Another man might have gone on. Another man could have used words like "girlfriend" or "relationship" or "not see other people", but Owen held her close and kissed her and used his body to show her what he was feeling.

Their hunger for food was replaced with their hunger for each other, and in between the first time they made love and the second, Owen left her side just long enough to turn off the stove. He returned to the bedroom for further explorations of her body until finally they were satisfied and she collapsed on top of him.

Owen stroked her back gently until her breathing became regular and he could tell she was asleep. He let his head fall back onto the pillow then, and let the darkness in. And for once, if he did dream he didn't remember it. He didn't wake up after only a few fitful hours with images he worked so hard to keep buried resurrected and once again fresh in his mind. A scab he couldn't avoid picking. Sleep had become torture. A basic act that his body needed just to function, he would do anything to be able to get by without it.

Not this time. This time when he woke it was because the sunrise was peaking through his curtains, not because his heart was racing or his world was falling apart all over again, over and over again.

But he did wake up naked--and cold. They hadn't pulled the covers up, he realized, and as he reached for the down comforter he turned to see if Cristina was cold, or shivering. But she wasn't there. Her clothes were on the floor where they'd tossed them in their haste, bust she was no longer beside him.

"Cristina?" Owen said, running the palm of his hand over his face in an effort to clear away the fogginess left behind by—finally-- a good night's sleep. His first good night's sleep in months. There was no answer, so he stood, pulling on his pants as he walked toward the living room.

"Cristina?" he called again, turning back to look toward his bathroom. The door was open, but she wasn't inside. He looked at the couch, to see if she had moved there during the night. It was empty.

The kitchen was still a disaster, and she was nowhere to be seen. But her shoes were in the entryway; her coat and bag were still hanging next to the door. The wave of panic slammed into him like a Mack truck. He moved back to the bedroom, just to double check, just to make sure. "Cristina."

He dashed across to the second bedroom, which he was using as an office. Pushing open the door he knew she wouldn't be there. And she wasn't. She was just gone.

"Cristina!" he shouted into the empty apartment, his voice harsh against the calm of the morning. The only sound was the mocking sound of his thoughts. 'Yell all you want, you idiot. She's gone. You knew this would happen. She's gone.'

Owen started awake, his eyes flying open and confronting the now-familiar surroundings of the on-call room. His heart raced. In a panicked daze, he looked at his watch. He had to see her. It was seven o'clock. He'd been asleep twenty minutes.

Cristina wasn't on call and had most likely left for the day, unless her case with Dr. Dixon had gone longer than expected. He prayed that it had, because as stupid as he knew it was, he had to see her. And he already had the list of where he would look. The ER. The OR. And the place with the food.

***

She'd been distracted all day. So distracted that after Callie mentioned she couldn't make lunch, Cristina forgot to eat. So now she was stuck picking up a muffin in the cafeteria so that she could walk the short distance home without passing out and being carried back into the hospital. It was just bad luck that she ran into Izzie, who was on call, because she wasn't in the mood to be sociable.

"What a coincidence," Izzie said, coming up behind her and leaning on the counter where Cristina was contemplating the muffins. Blueberry? How sick was she of blueberry muffins? But banana walnut wasn't appetizing. The apple bran muffins were gone, so she settled on a cranberry orange. She picked it up and glanced sideways at Izzie.

"Hello, Izzie," Cristina said warily. She could hear something in Izzie's voice. She could tell easily enough that Izzie didn't look particularly good. She look tired and worn down, pretty much how they all looked most of the time.

"I heard something interesting today," Izzie said, reaching for a blueberry muffin. Cristina stood, holding her muffin against her chest, waiting for Izzie to continue. Izzie looked hesitant for a moment, but powered on. "One of the ER residents mentioned that she headed across the street to Joe's last night just in time to see Dr. Christina Yang, general surgery resident, and Dr. Owen Hunt, Attending, leaving the bar together."

"I'm fine, how are you?" Cristina said, taking her muffin to the cashier. When they had both paid, Cristina sat down at a table near the windows. She'd meant to eat the muffin as she walked home. But Izzie had her pinned in the conversation. Izzie, who looked like a cat with a mouse, sat down across from Cristina, her eyebrow's raised.

"So?" Cristina asked as Izzie sat down.

"So I told her that you and Dr. Hunt were probably just leaving at the same time. I told her that when Cristina Yang does screw her superiors, it's the Attendings or the teachers that can move her career forward. Because let's be honest, you have a pattern, and your most likely move is to convince Virginia Dixon that you're both lesbians." Izzie stopped for a breath and a piece of her own muffin, then continued. "Unless you've decided to do trauma, it's not likely you'll be doing Dr. Hunt."

Cristina eyed Izzie. Careful not to let her annoyance show on her face, she shoved a piece of muffin into her mouth and chewed, buying some more time to prepare a response. This was all somewhat out of character for Izzie, this meanness for the sake of meanness. Sitting here now, confronted with Izzie's changed behavior, she realized that she'd seen an inkling of this change on the day of the solo-surgery. Izzie had turned to her while they sat around waiting to see who would be getting the surgery, and knowing that Cristina was out of the running, she asked if it was hard for Cristina, because it had to be really hard. It had most certainly been a dig, but Cristina hadn't given it more than a passing thought because she was so wrapped up in the events of the day.

"So tell me, Izzie. Do you think your newfound mean streak is related to your mental breakdown," Cristina popped a piece of muffin into her mouth, "or do you think that the competitive nature of a general surgery residency has altered your personality? I'm liking the change, I think it's interesting, I'm finding you more interesting, but I'm not going to get attached to this new you. Because I think you'll get 'better', and then I'll just end up broken-hearted over the you that never really was."

"You are such an unbelievably selfish, self-centered bitch."

"Two things," Cristina said. There was no reason for her to be doing this. No reason to take out her frustration on Izzie.

And she was frustrated. She was sexually frustrated. She was emotionally frustrated. She was frustrated that Owen's ex was wandering around the hospital, asking to see him. She'd heard from Meredith they'd sat in the cafeteria together for at least half of an hour this afternoon. Meredith had reported that she, (Cristina still didn't know her name), had done most of the talking. It didn't make her feel any better to hear that Owen had alternated between looking uncomfortable and anxious. He'd still sat across from her for at least 30 minutes. And to top it off she now had to deal with Izzie and, as an added bonus, Lexipedia. Lexie Grey annoyingly appeared next to their table as Cristina started speaking, which frustrated Cristina to no end. She couldn't get a freaking muffin without being accosted by people?

"First," Cristina said to Izzie, ignoring Three's presence, "you could have gotten away with just selfish or self-centered, using both is kind of over-kill. Second, you really need to learn how to take a compliment." Abruptly, she turned to Lexie. "What is it, Three?"

Lexie jumped slightly, surprised to be addressed. "Well, you told me to put in Mr. Barker's chest tube yesterday."

"I remember. I stood there and watched you do it."

"Well, it's infected. The site is infected."

Cristina wanted to throw a piece of muffin at the idiot but stopped herself. This was a teaching hospital. Anybody could learn, even these people. "That's not because of anything you did, Three. We're in a hospital, there are bugs everywhere. These things happen."

Lexie's mouth dropped open. No one spoke; both Lexie and Izzie were too shocked by Cristina's response to form coherent words in the face of such a charitable response. Reassuring kindness from Dr. Cristina Yang.

"Next?" Cristina demanded when it was clear Lexie wasn't going to move forward without a push.

Lexie nodded, collecting herself. "We should do something."

There was a time when you could kick interns. It happened. It was some years ago, but it happened. And the kickings, the inappropriate physical abuse of surgical underlings, they weren't isolated events. Interns are and were universally annoying and ridiculously scared, which made their annoyingness doubly annoying. She hated that just last year, she had been one of them. But surely, she had not been as bad as these morons. And Three was the bright one.

"Do you know what to do about an infection, Three?" Cristina asked irritably.

Something snapped in Lexie. "You know, I'm not a kid. I went to medical school, I am a doctor. I've been an intern for months and—and I'm not a kid. And I get it, I'm Meredith's little sister and I look young, and-- and kid-like and even the guy I'm sleeping with is embarrassed and doesn't want to tell people we're sleeping together, and you know what? I get it. Intern, bottom of the food chain, I get it. But I'm still a doctor and yes, I know what to do about an infection!"

Cristina could feel Izzie's eyes on her face, watching her expression and her reactions for signs of what was coming next. Cristina wasn't sure what it was she was looking for. She didn't ask, just looked up at Lexie. "Dr. Grey, did it by chance occur to you that when I asked if you knew what to do about an infection, you were being invited to present a plan for the patient's care?"

Somehow, Lexie looked even more out of sorts. It took a moment to gather her wits about her before she could offer an answer. She named the type of infection, an antibiotic and a dose.

Cristina nodded. "I agree, but I'm not on call. Dr. Stevens, do you agree with Dr. Grey's plan?"

Izzie nodded. "Good plan."

Cristina looked at Lexie. "Good plan." Lexie nodded, but couldn't quite seem to get it together enough to move.

"Go."

Lexie fled and a moment of silence passed. Izzie smiled smugly and propped her chin in her hands. Cristina shoved the rest of her muffin into her mouth in an effort to ignore the annoying return of Izzie's perkiness, but she couldn't take the smug look on Izzie's face for one more second. "What, dammit?" she demanded over a mouthful of muffin.

"You're getting some. You are hot for Dr. Hunt. His penis is turning you into something that could pass for a human being. You are all smiles and rainbows inside."

"Oh, shut up," Cristina snapped. Izzie smiled. "You know we're here for you, Izzie. Any time you want to talk to someone, I mean, George and Mere, really, but we have to look out for each other." What was she saying? When had she started quoting George? Who was she becoming? She really needed to get laid.

Izzie grinned broadly. "It's our secret," she promised, standing up and walking out of the cafeteria. Walking out together could be explained, but really, what were the chances that no one saw that kiss?

Cristina got up and threw away her muffin wrapper, feeling tired and alone. She turned toward the exit and for a moment all the frustrations of the day left her. Owen Hunt stood in the doorway of the cafeteria, his eyes searching for something. And when his eyes landed on her he approached without hesitation. "Dr. Yang."

Hearing him say her name like that brought her back to this morning, waking up next to him. Heat flooded her body, and if she was a blusher, she would have blushed. Probably, or maybe not. But someone else could have blushed, hearing this man say their name. The thought of working next to him, hearing him say her name like that…hopefully he could start using a different tone because the 'good morning, lover' tone was really distracting.

Owen sighed, looked down at his feet, then back up at her. An awkward moment passed between them, neither of them knowing what to say, or what not to say. In the middle of the hospital cafeteria, a lot was on the 'what not to say' list.

She smiled. "Hi." She said.

He smiled. "Hi." He shook his head. "I don't know why I came here. I hoped I hadn't missed you, I wanted to see you before you left for the night."

Cristina nodded. "I thought about stopping by the ER, since you're on tonight. But then I thought it might be weird."

"As weird as me tracking you down in the cafeteria and having absolutely nothing to say other than 'hi'?"

Cristina shook her head. She smiled. She was doing a lot of smiling in this conversation. "Maybe not that weird."

"You're on call tomorrow," he said. She nodded. "But can I see you Wednesday night?"

She nodded. He nodded. He said, "Okay."

He smiled. She smiled. She decided that they could probably be called bumbling idiots, but even that characterization might be too charitable.