A/N: Once again your reviews have made my week, thank you so much. :)

Chapter 3

A few weeks later they are having dinner in one of the most exclusive hotel restaurants in Seattle, simply because he wanted her to wear her long, black dress again; the one he sees in his mind every time he thinks about the day she came to him and told him she wanted to try again. She looks absolutely stunning and as they sip more champagne at the bar after their meal, he knows he's the luckiest man in the room.

"Thank you for coming to dinner with me tonight," he tells her, his thumb stroking the back of her hand. It's been the perfect evening and he feels utterly content.

"Thank you for inviting me," she replies with a smile, her eyes sparkling. "Dinner was awesome. And so is this champagne. I think maybe a little bit too awesome."

Owen laughs. "Are you drunk again?"

"No, just happy." She leans forward and kisses him. "Happy that we're here after everything. Happy I get to be with you for as long as you'll have me. Happy I get to wear this dress again."

His gaze falls downwards of its own accord. "I'm happy you're wearing it, too. But I'm starting to wish you weren't."

He doesn't realize what he's said until it's out there but Cristina just looks amused and, if he's not mistaken, suddenly very aroused.

"That's very forward of you," she murmurs, raising her fingertips to trail along his jaw. They look at each other for a long moment, knowing they are both thinking the same thing but wondering who is going to make the first move.

He feels like this might be it: the night when everything falls into place and they are finally ready to bury themselves in one another again. He didn't plan this dinner as a means of seduction but if that's the direction they're headed in, he certainly won't be the one applying the brakes. The hole she left in his life when she disappeared from it was far too vast to be filled by anything else – his job, another relationship, even a child – and he has had months to come to terms with this.

Cristina Yang is the only thing he wants, and he is ready whenever she is.

"Let's go," she says now, still holding his gaze. There's such sincerity and trust there that Owen can only take her face in his hands and kiss her; drawing her to her feet with him so he can pull her body against his. He's not even embarrassed by their surroundings nor the little moan that leaves his mouth when she slides her fingers into his hair.

After several moments of slow but desperately passionate kisses, she trails her lips to his ear. "Take me home, Owen," she whispers, and he can hear the pounding of her heart.

"Which home?" he whispers back, breathing in the glorious scents of her hair, her skin; committing them to memory. This is another snapshot of their lives he knows he will never forget and he wants to be reminded of it every time he catches her scent; every time he drinks champagne or sees her wearing this dress.

She looks at him again and says simply: "Our home. The Firehouse."

I

There's a storm raging outside, sheets of bitterly cold water slicing through the freezing January air. When their taxi pulls up opposite their building, Owen pays the driver and tells Cristina to wait while he runs inside to get her an umbrella. She watches as a light comes on upstairs and realizes she is trembling in anticipation. She's been thinking about this, and every possible fantasy variation, ever since she went to Mayo and was so thoroughly disappointed by what – and who – she found there. Owen is just incomparable. Being with someone she loves so infinitely is incomparable.

Together, they are incomparable.

She soon gets bored waiting in the taxi and decides to make a run for it across the street. The second she steps out into the rain, however, she is instantly soaked and so cold it actually takes her breath away. But then Owen appears at the door of the Firehouse again and she forgets all about the water streaming down her face and plastering her clothes to her body.

Suddenly there's nothing else in the world but him.

He looks so ravishingly handsome all wet through, shirt stuck to his chest, blue eyes on fire as he stares at her too. A fierce flame of desire licks its way through her body, torching every cell. Her heart races. This is the time, and they both know it. This is that moment in movies when two strangers' eyes meet across a crowded room and everything falls into place.

All she can think is: what the hell have we been waiting for?

She begins to move towards him but is halted by two cars driving past; they send waves of cold water up her legs and she barely notices. When he finally meets her halfway across the street, umbrella still rolled up and hanging uselessly in his hand, there's actually no point anyway as they can't really get much wetter. He links his free fingers through hers and they dash back towards dry land, Cristina crying out with breathless exhilaration. She doesn't think she's ever been this cold before and she doesn't care: she's never been this turned on before either, and that definitely takes precedence.

As soon as they reach the sidewalk she launches herself into his arms, kissing every part of his face that her lips come into contact with. It's no longer enough to just love him and love being with him again; to love the laughter and the fun, the feeling of belonging, of safety. She wants all of him, and to give him all of her. She wants that connection which is so effortless and so easy with him; that absolute vulnerability where she feels so at home.

She wants to bury herself in him and never have to come out again; to live with him and off of him, just the two of them; to never need anyone or anything else to survive, ever again.

He carries her up the front steps and they slip over the threshold and fall against the other side of the door, slamming it shut. Their kisses are wild and uncontrolled, lips slick against wet skin and hands impatiently roaming as they desperately try to rid each other of their clothes. The noises they are both making are bordering on animalistic. Now that they've decided it's time to let go of restraint, it's well and truly gone.

He pulls her dress over her head in one movement and lets it fall unnoticed to the floor as he takes a moment to stare at her. "Stay?" he asks urgently, running his fingertips over every inch of bare skin he possibly can, totally in awe of her.

"Yes," she breathes, reaching for him once again, giving herself to him. "Yes."

And once she's started saying it she just can't stop, repeating the word over and over as his mouth and fingers begin to play with all the parts of her which have been abandoned for so long. It's almost as cold inside the neglected Firehouse as out, but once they're out of their wet clothes and naked they make just enough heat to stay warm.

"I love you," he tells her desperately between scorching kisses, holding her in his arms with her back against the door.

"Love you too," she just about manages to say.

And then he's making love to her, or fucking her, or whatever; right there in their new old home. It's messy and quick and totally romantic, punctuated by endearing words whenever they can free their mouths for long enough. Even as they kiss she can't stop looking at his beautiful face, staring into his eyes and marvelling at just how much she loves him.

It's them. It's perfect.

It's home.

Afterwards he carries her upstairs and she finds tears springing to her eyes when she sees the flickering candles on the floor of their bedroom. It's not something he used to do often, and tonight it's just magic. They take a hot shower together and barely go a moment without some kind of connection between their bodies: hand on waist; thigh to thigh; lips to shoulder. She finds a half-empty bottle of shampoo in the cabinet and he washes her all over with it, refamiliarizing himself with every inch of her skin; with every whimper she makes as he lathers up her hair.

When they climb into their cold bed he wraps her up in his arms and as his heat envelops her, she feels an overwhelming sense of peace. They talk a little about the logistics of moving back in but really all she is concentrating on is the steady beat of his heart and the smell of his neck as she nuzzles her face there.

"Are you warm enough?" he asks at length.

She looks up at him and smiles. "Yes."

That one word says so much more than just answering his question. It says: this is us, where we belong, and I'm staying for good.

She watches as his gaze falls to her mouth and then they start to move towards one another, his palm caressing her cheek as they kiss. This time when they make love, they savor it.

This time when they begin their life together, they will savor that too.

I