Rating: PG-13

Spoilers/Timeline: Anything up and including 5.09 – In The Midnight Hour. An additional moment between Cristine Yang and Owen Hunt, from that episode

Disclaimer: I don't own them

Interlude

By

Lattelady

Cristina Yang and Owen Hunt sat on the steps of her apartment building. It was the dawn of a new day. Both surgeons were exhausted from a long night at the hospital. Both of them suffered from fatigue of the soul caused by snatches of memory from the before; before blood, death and broken hearts had battered them and taken their toll. But just for now, they'd stepped outside their personal loneliness to meet in a shared moment.

"I think you're beautiful." Owen drank in her gentle features and let them wash away the horrors he'd lived with since rocket propelled grenade launchers had destroyed his world.

Cristina rested he elbows on her knees and carefully folded her hands before tucking them beneath her chin. Her face turned slowly to meet his penetrating gaze. "You frightened me. Last night outside of Joe's Bar, you frightened me." It was hard to admit but his honesty deserved hers in return.

"I know," his quietly spoken words echoed between them. "I frighten me sometimes, too." He nodded and stood. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have bothered you, not after last night." Any peace he'd found in her company was shattered by the realization of what he'd done.

"Owen, wait." Cristina reached for his hand. It moved her deeply that this rough, emotionally wrought man would show her so much of himself. She didn't want him to leave. "Don't let it happen again." The words fell one at a time from her lips.

"I'll do my best." He promised looking down at their joined hands. "But it's hard. I've wanted to kiss from almost the first second I saw you. I still do."

"It wasn't the kiss that frightened me." She tugged on their hands until he sat beside her again. "It was before that…you were so…I thought you were going to…I don't know…" Her fingers interlaced with his to keep her hand from shaking. She couldn't remember ever being physically frightened by a man before, but when his arm had swung inches above her head and then he'd shoved her against the wall, her stomach had dropped to her toes.

Hunt was momentarily confused until he focused on his movements before the kiss. In one swift action he turned toward her until his forehead rested against hers. His free hand gently slipped through her hair. "Oh God, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. It was dark. I didn't hear you coming up behind me. But back there…in the desert…it can mean your life." Owen gasped for breath trying to regain his balance as things spun around in his head.

"Hush, it's all right." The fingers of Cristina's right hand dug into his shoulder as she held on to him. She wanted desperately to give him reassurance but wasn't sure how.

"No, no it's not. I'm careful, I can't let my reflexes stay on the battlefield, but…last night…I…I couldn't get my mind off my patient who had just died…and…" He breathed in her sweet scent and felt her hand move from his shoulder to his jaw.

"Tell me." Cristina urged. The tips of her fingers moved over his scratchy beard, while her other hand remained clasped in his.

"Tim was homeless. He told me he'd taken a wrong turn years earlier and just couldn't find his way back." Hunt's troubled blue eyes met her deep dark ones. "I can't keep from thinking that twenty years from now, someone's gonna pull my mangled body out of a garbage compacter."

"No!" she gasped. "It's not going to happen. You won't let it and neither will I."

"You're so fierce for such a little thing." His larger hand traced the bones of her smaller one.

"You're damn right I am." She stared up at him until his lips twitched at the corners of his mouth.

As if of one mind, they moved up another step, deeper into the protection of the stairwell. He wrapped one arm around her and tucked her forehead into the crook of his neck before resting his cheek against the top of her head.

Silence and determination enveloped them. This morning they both fell asleep, with no terrors or memories, just warmth and company against the things that can go bump in the night.

The End