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:

Well, I'm not in love with it, but I've been staring at it too long so I'm posting it anyway. Owen and Cristina will be back soon on a new episode of Grey's Anatomy, and so this story has come to a close. And I can rest. I was planning to go out with a bang, but this story has ended on a decidedly mellow note, which I will just have to live with.

Thank you to everyone that has reviewed along the way, I appreciate all of your comments, suggestions, thoughts and encouragement.

Owen glanced at the dashboard clock in annoyance, thankful to finally be pulling into his parking space, less thankful that it was 7:49 and he was ridiculously late. If he'd been going home to anyone other than a surgeon, he'd probably be in hot water right now. But Cristina hadn't upset when he'd reached her on her cell phone.

He'd been grateful when he learned she was already at his apartment and hadn't stood him up. The thought of not being able to see her after the events of the day had created a knot in his stomach in the short interval between the time he left a message on his own answering machine and the time he reached her on her cell phone. She had sounded subdued, but pleased, when he finally reached her.

Owen grabbed the take out bag and climbed out of the car, moving through the underground garage to the elevators. It had been a long day but it was over, they had made it though, and he was grateful for that. But a nagging sense of dread filled him all the same, because he'd gotten lucky the last time she slept over. She hadn't noticed anything wrong. Hadn't woken up with him, witnessed him wake up in a cold sweat, his heart racing.

By 7:51 he was sliding his key into the deadbolt on his door, but before he could turn it the door swung inward, taking his keys with it, and he found Cristina on the other side. She'd turned on music, one of his CDs played in the background, filling the apartment to music. She held a book in her hands. "'The Landmark Thucydides'?" she asked, a corner of her mouth turning up in a teasing smile, "Are you kidding me with this stuff?"

"That's history you're holding in your hands, there," he said, pointing at the large volume, stepping close to her and wrapping an arm around her waist, drawing her hips against his as he lowered his mouth to hers and lowered the bag of take out to the floor at their feet.

Cristina smiled against his lips. "What's for dinner?"

Owen kissed her, using the hand that wasn't already around her to cradle the back of her head as he explored her mouth, tasting her. She moved in closer, one small hand finding its way to his waist, up under his sweater she gathered up a handful of his t-shirt and held on tight. She sighed contentedly when he pulled away, looking down at her admiringly. She looked beautiful.

It was a thrill to have her meet him at the door after a long day. And while it exhilarated him, it scared him, too. Because this was just the beginning, and he was being so unfair to her. He hadn't even begun to tell her all the ways his world had been turned upside down, owed it to her to make her understand what she was getting herself into. Every second that passed between them, every intimate moment, every tender touch, was another weight on his shoulders. He hated himself for allowing it, for allowing her to get close, for cultivating their relationship, while keeping her in the dark about who he was now.

"I was feeling uninspired," he said, drawing away from her and finding his keys where they still hung from the door. Closing the door he said, "It's just pork fried rice. I rented a movie, though," he said as he closed the door and pulled off his coat. When he finished hanging his coat in the closet and turned back around, she looked quite a bit less content. She looked distracted and frustrated.

"Cristina? What is it?"

Cristina glanced up, shaking her head. "Nothing." She smiled reassuringly, "I'm good."

Owen saw that she was grappling with something big, and he was grateful to be distracted from his own issues for awhile. He was more than glad to focus on her immediate concerns. He needed the time to gather his thoughts, to think of the right words. He hadn't decided how he would tell her. He couldn't decide how to tell her yet because, if he was really honest, he didn't know what he was telling her. That he was a broken man? Or at the very least, that he wasn't the man he once was? What would that mean to Cristina, who never really knew him. Cristina, who pulled away from their first kiss and told him as much.

I don't even know you.

But who was this man she'd come to know?

Owen moved the food to the kitchen and returned to where she stood, taking the book from her hand and leading her to the couch. He sat first, pulling her down next to him, so that she was tucked in next to him. Cristina leaned back against his chest and rested her head against his shoulder.

"What are we doing?" she asked after a moment of silence as they both stared ahead at the dark television set. He did this sometimes, when he sensed she was feeling insecure about their relationship. Would sit her down and sit next to each other, so that when she spoke to him, she didn't have to worry about seeing his reactions, plain as day, right there on his face.

"We're talking," he answered casually as he draped an arm over her shoulder and brought his hand up to play with her hair.

"What are we talking about?" Cristina swallowed. She was starting to get nervous. She was worried about what she might say if she wasn't looking at him when she said it. Anything could slip out. She might end up telling him any number of embarrassing things. Especially with him touching her hair, because the absent-minded way he played with her hair only served to remind her how far gone she really was. But he knew that. This was a proven way to get her to admit to something she thought she wasn't ready for another person to know.

"We're talking about 'nothing'. Because it sounded like something." Owen said, leaning back into the couch, as if at any moment he might just close his eyes and take a nap. It was a trap, of course. He was just trying to make her comfortable, to grease the wheels. His posture practically screamed. It's no big deal. See me here? I'm half asleep. Spill your guts, I won't notice. Cristina frowned, knowing it only irritated her because it worked."If there's something, I'd like to hear about it."

Cristina inhaled and held the air in her lungs for a moment before finally breathing out. "It's just that you brought home a movie." She paused, hating herself. Owen didn't say anything, just waited for her to continue. He used silence the way he used silence. To make the speaker want to fill it. And the only reason it worked (and she knew this, which made it worse) was because she wanted to tell him. She put a hand on his knee, gripped it tightly. "It made me think that we-- that tonight we'd just be watching a movie. And we wouldn't…do other things."

This conversation had to be proof that there was no God. If there were a God certainly He would have saved her from this conversation. She was humiliating herself. And worse, she couldn't stop, because Owen wasn't saying anything. He just sat there, listening.

Uncomfortable, she found herself clearing her throat to continue. "I just thought, when you said, well it doesn't matter what you said but I thought we would...have sex. There. I said it. I wanted to have sex. It's the only thing that's been on my mind tonight. I kind of thought it would be the only thing on your mind, too. But you rented a movie. For us to watch. Instead of having sex."

Cristina couldn't tell if he was biting back a smile when Owen spoke next, but she would have bet money that he was. "That was something. Is there anything else you've been thinking about?" he asked, his voice husky and soothing.

Cristina swallowed. She didn't know how to answer that, because there were a million things she was thinking about, had been thinking about. She wondered where their relationship was going. She wondered how many times per day he commanded himself to stop thinking about her (because she was up to at least fifteen times by 10 am, and that was a very conservative estimate because she got so depressed she stopped counting). She wondered whether he even had to command himself to stop thinking about her, or if he had to remind himself to do the opposite. And she wondered when it was she fell so hard.

"I was thinking that you shouldn't keep the spare key with your other key. That defeats the purpose of having a spare. If you lose your keys you lose both."

Owen kissed the top of her head, still playing with her hair. "So you want sex, and you want the key you didn't want this morning."

"No, I didn't say—" Crisitna stopped in the middle of the denial, remembering Meredith's words. Why it was she decided to take Meredith's advice about relationships, she didn't know. "Yes," she said bitterly, still angry at herself. "And a drawer."

Owen kissed her temple. "A drawer?"

"A drawer. For my clothes."

Owen nodded. "You know, I've seen your room, are you sure you don't just want some space on the floor?"

"Dammit!" Cristina snapped, pulling away from him. She hauled her body away from his and spun around to face him. "You think this is funny," she said when she turned to find him smiling. "This is so hard-- I am trying so hard and you think this is funny."

Owen sat up quickly and reached for her. She tried to stand up, to get away, but he grabbed her arms first before she could. He held her, made her meet his eyes. "I don't. Cristina, that was a bad joke, I'm sorry. I was trying to make it easier. I was trying to make you more comfortable." He paused, gauging her reaction. "I'm sorry." He searched her eyes with his, looking for some evidence that she understood. "Please. I just need you to keep talking to me."

Cristina felt herself softening, albeit grudgingly. It was edge to his voice that did it, the tenseness that bordered on pleading. The desperation of it matched the regret filled look in those blue eyes.

"I'm glad you're keeping the key," he assured her, freeing her arm and cupping her cheek in his hand. "I just didn't expect it, after this morning. What made you change your mind?"

Cristina didn't answer at first. She paused, and watched his face, looking for clues on how he greet what she was thinking about saying. "I talked it over with Meredith a little." Cristina finally said. She relaxed and started to turn to resume her place on the couch next to Owen, but found herself being pulled onto his lap, into his arms. He folded his arms around her protectively, rested his chin on her head as she rested against his chest. She paused for a long time before deciding to continue, her voice hesitant, her shield up. "Meredith is a little afraid of all this. That we're moving forward so quickly." She paused, feeling silly for the statement, now. Sometimes it didn't feel like they were moving quickly at all. "She's worried that I'm taking on more than I can handle."

Owen tightened his arms around her, realizing what was happening. She was hiding behind her friend, but she was hiding right out in the open, daring him to look at her. "Is 'Meredith' worried about anything else?"

Cristina bit her lip and nodded, her face moving against his chest as she did this. "She's afraid that I'll lose myself again, trying to make someone else happy. She's afraid I'll change, in order to be a better gi—" she paused here. She had almost choked on the word, as if she hadn't meant to use it, but she continued anyway. "In order to be a better girlfriend. In order to be more like the person should be with."

Owen waited a beat, then said, "And she doesn't want you to change."

"It's not the changing that she's so afraid of."

"Then what is she afraid of?"

Cristina sat up, looked him directly in the eye and said, "She's afraid you'll leave, and I'll be alone, but I'll be so different she won't recognize me anymore." Her voice shook when she said it, though she tried to hide it by lowering her voice into a whisper toward the end. The honesty of her words, the raw pain attached to them, broke his heart. Her falsely attributing the fear to Meredith didn't lessen their impact, or make him think less of her for being unable to take ownership of the feelings out loud. She owned the feelings, without question. This fear was bought and paid for and belonged wholeheartedly to Cristina.

Owen ached to comfort her, but wanted to hear more, wanted to know what barriers he would have to break through to get to her. "Does Meredith think I'm going to leave?"

"She's just trying to be prepared, to think ahead to what might happen. Anything could happen. She's just… afraid." Cristina looked at him pleadingly. "Is Derek afraid?"

Owen made a quick decision to go with it, because it seemed to free her into admitting a fear she would otherwise have kept from him. He nodded. "He's terrified. He's worried that I've gotten in over my head. He knows that I have a lot going on. I'm having trouble sleeping, having trouble readjusting to everything. He's worried because you haven't seen that yet struggle yet-- not really. And he just has to hope at this point that once you do, you won't run in the other direction. He really hopes you won't run away, actually, because he thinks I'm head over heels in love with you."

The game, having served its purpose, was abandoned. Cristina sat up, looking at him. "Owen?"

"Yes?"

"Is that what you think?" There was only one way to interpret the question. Do you love me?

"I don't think it, Cristina. I know I'm in love with you. And I'm not going anywhere."

He looked at her for her reaction, and watched a smile creep onto her face. It was a satisfied smirk, really, not the type of smile you'd expect on a woman who'd just been told what he admitted to her. But that satisfied smirk only made him want her more. Owen leaned forward, snaking his arms around her and pulling her in close as he lowered his mouth over hers.

"Owen, I-" her words came out breathy, and light. He stopped her with a kiss. "Mm," Owen groaned against her mouth, then kissed his way along the line of her jaw to just below her ear, where he stopped to whisper, "Just so we're clear, Meredith isn't really--"

"No," Crisitna interrupted, falling against him. She let herself lean on him, allowed herself to enjoy the support of his sturdy frame.

Owen's hands moved up under her shirt, cool against the warm skin of her back. She nestled further into him, their bodies pressed together as he worked at getting her sweater off. He managed to get three buttons undone before abandoning the effort finally and pulling the sweater over her head to reveal a thin white camisole.

"I wasn't expecting so many layers," he said, untucking the camisole from her pants and pulling this off, too, to reveal her lacey white bra. He left this on, laying her back onto the couch, the wool of his sweater scratching at her bare skin as he nestled in on top of her. The cool leather of the couch was a shock against her back, but it was soon forgotten. Owen pulled his own sweater off, and his t-shirt soon joined the growing pile of clothes on the floor.

"We should move this to the bedroom," he said when she reached between them and started unbuckling his belt.

Cristina shook her head. "No." She slid her hand inside his pants she wrapped her fingers around him. Owen's breath caught, and he closed his eyes at the rush of pleasure her touch brought and a low moan escaped his throat. "You can have your cushy bed later. I want you here. Now." She pulled him down for a kiss. "Quick." She said, a slow smile turning up one corner of her mouth. "And dirty."

EPILOGUE

A cold wind blew across the beach, and while there were a few people walking up and down the shore, they might has well have been alone. Cristina ran ahead of him, more carefree than he'd seen her all weekend. They had gone to Beverly Hills to share the news with her mother, who was horrified. They had been prepared for that, though. He couldn't apologize to her mother for wanting what they wanted, but he recognized that getting married at the Seattle courthouse with only Derek and Meredith in attendance was bound to make all parents involved upset.

"This is our wedding, Owen," Christina had told him more than once, a fierce protectiveness of the event in her voice as she said the words. "Yours and mine. No one else's."

And he agreed, and was grateful for it. Because there was nothing more beautiful than Cristina on her wedding day, in a simple white knee-length dress and her hair down, curls blanketing her shoulders, dancing around her face. It was one of only two things he had insisted on, that she not put her hair up.

But the weekend with her mother, the first two days of their honeymoon, were an ill-planned event. They should have planned the week in La Jolla first, and dropped in and told her mother on the way back to Seattle. But they hadn't, they'd gone there first, and after the first 15 minutes of yelling, he began to think that for sure that their honeymoon would be ruined. No honeymoon could recover from a scene the size of the one her mother put on.

Which was not to say Cristina's mother and step-father weren't happy for them. They had expected something big would be coming. They had known that after over a year together and their recent cohabitation that the only other move forward was a wedding, but they had expected, if not an invite, then at the very least advance notice. It had made for a tense couple of days.

But in the end, Cristina's mother had doted on Owen. She had given in after six hours and asked to see the wedding photo. They had made her a copy, and a frame was immediately located. There was nothing in the house to hang it with so Owen and Cristina's step dad had been sent to the hardware store to find a picture hook. The picture was hung prominently in the house. Neighbors were invited over to see it, and relatives were called.

And now they were alone again, newlyweds at Torrey Pines's state beach, walking barefoot in the December waves and freezing their asses off. Cristina had wandered inland, toward the cliffs, and was yelling to him to hurry up. She looked radiant, her hair blowing everywhere, and he thought back to the day she gave away the solo-surgery and allowed him to be the one to comfort her. He waved just as his feet got bath in the frigid water.

Cristina smiled and waved back, and he thought he heard her yell, "Come on!" before she turned and ran out of site, on the other side of one of the cliffs.

Owen took off at a jog, following her. When he passed the cliff where she disappeared he stopped and shielded his eyes from the sun, searching for her. It took him awhile to find her, but she had stopped just next to a cliff face. She held her phone in her hand. Owen shook his head and smiled, thinking that she must be texting Meredith again. When he had insisted on the second thing, that during their honeymoon there would be no calling Meredith, he had forgotten to include texting as a banned activity. But to his surprise, his own cell phone gave a chirp, alerting him to an incoming message. He looked at the display, which read, "Mr. Hunt, Come warm me up. Love, Mrs. Hunt."

He heard the loud crack only a split second before he saw the slide start, a large portion of the cliff face breaking off, right above her. She didn't have time to react, to even look up. "Cristina!" he shouted, to no avail. Owen watched as a shower of rocks and dust fell down on her.

Owen broke into a run, but it seemed to take minutes just to get to the spot where she'd been standing. His whole body trembled and he fell to the ground near the pile of rocks, a much smaller pile than he would have expected, and he didn't understand how he couldn't see at least part of her, an arm or a leg, peeking out.

Panic overcame him, holding back the grief. The first few rocks were the hardest to move. They were heavy and stuck, and he scraped his knuckles just trying to pry them loss.

Owen couldn't understand why no one came to help him. But he kept moving, rock after rock, knowing that while her chances or survival were in the range of slim to none, if she had drawn the 'slim' card it would be for nothing if she suffocated under the rubble.

He didn't realize he'd been yelling her name, over and over, until he went hoarse and could no longer speak. His knuckles bled onto the rocks and sand, staining the ground. He found her cell phone, an unfair taunt, but that was all. Each minute that passed was more excruciating than the last, but it was no relief when he moved away one of the last rocks and found only a bed of sand. There was nothing underneath the rubble. No blood. No body. No Cristina.

She was gone.

Owen's eyes flew open. His breath came in short, ragged breaths and it took him a few moments to recognize his surroundings. He was in his bedroom. He was in his bed. He was beside Cristina. His digital alarm clock read 12:42 am. They had collapsed in exhaustion, sweaty and spent, less than an hour ago.

The light from a nearby streetlight came through the window, illuminating some of the room. He could see that she was awake, and watching him from under heavy lidded eyes. Perfectly still, she took in everything about his appearance. The heavy breathing. The sweat glistening on his skin. He wouldn't be surprised if she could hear his heart, it was beating so loudly in his own ears. Owen closed his eyes and drew in a shaky breath. He knew he should say something, should explain.

He turned his head to look at her, found that she was still watching him, silent. He hadn't told her about the nightmares. He should have told her about the nightmares. Usually the nightmares were of the ambush, but lately he found his subconscious seemed to be systematically identifying each of the many ways he could lose her.

He opened his mouth to explain, to apologize. He wanted to ask her how long she'd been awake, and watching, ask her how much she'd seen. He wanted to tell her if it was all too much to take, and she wanted out, that he would understand. And he wanted to tell her he was willing to do anything to make it right, to make her stay, even if it meant going to see a professional.

Before he could say any of it, Cristina reached out and took his hand. She wrapped her fingers around his, silencing him with a simple gesture of comfort and acceptance. Moment before he had wanted to tell her that he was sorry. Sorry that he'd been late coming home. Sorry that he'd forgotten about dinner, which was still probably sitting on the floor in his entryway. Sorry that he was weak. Sorry that he was damaged. Her touch had cleared all of it away, had reassured him in a way he knew words never could.

When she did speak, her voice was clear and steady. "I love you," she said. Owen breathed a sigh of relief, and smiled.

Thank you again. Reviews are appreciated.