Authors: BNScrubNurse, angelamermaid, hopecrowe, shli, and ohcyfan
Authors' Note: Thank you for sticking with this series this summer. We had a great time writing for all you. We hope you enjoy the Season 5.5 finale. Once again, thank you, thank you, thank you.

There's this feeling you get when you're about to jump into a pool on a hot day. It's a mix of longing and apprehension. With the sun beating down on us, there's nothing our body wants more than to feel the cooling sensation of the water against our skin, but our mind tells us that it might just be too cold. And no matter how many times we tell ourselves that we will jump in on the count of three, we bail at the last minute for fear of that moment of shocking contact. We want it and we don't want it...

"Your nose looks a lot better," Dr. Wyatt observed.

"Yeah, I know," Owen nodded with a half smile. "Now I just get stares from the little kids who come in. The adults seem okay with it."

"And Cristina? How is she recovering from what happened?"

"Okay, I think. She's finally taking the therapy seriously, and Dr. Patel seems to be helping her. But she won't tell me much about it, so I don't have any details."

"Therapy can be a very private matter, Owen, as we both know. She'll tell you when and if she's ready."

"I know. It's just hard to see her struggle and not be able to help."

"I'm sure you're helping her," Wyatt offered, "... just by being there. It's more than she was able to do for you."

"That was different. I almost killed her. It's not like I'm afraid she's going to strangle me in my sleep if I stick around."

"I know that. And I wasn't meaning to imply she did anything wrong by breaking it off when she did. What I mean is that she's got the benefit of having you with her during this time, and you had to do it all alone. It might be a bit easier for her than it was for you."

"Doubtful," Owen shook his head ruefully. "She's even more resistant than I was."

"And how resistant do you think you were?"

"Very... wasn't I?"

"You were," Wyatt nodded and sat forward in her chair, "but no more than anyone in your situation would be. It's a challenge we therapists face on a regular basis... and look where you are now."

"And where am I, exactly?"

Wyatt tilted her head and narrowed her eyes, as if trying to see if he meant that to be a serious question. "Do you really need me to answer that? Look at your progress. You're hardly ever having nightmares anymore, and the night terrors have stopped completely with the medication. You're sleeping at least seven hours straight at night, which is six and a half more than you were before you started seeing me. You're back in a steady relationship. I'd say you've made remarkable headway."

"Does that mean I can stop coming?" Owen ventured.

"What do you think?"

"I... I think I still need to come, but maybe not so often."

"I would tend to agree with your assessment, Dr. Hunt," Dr. Wyatt said as she bestowed him with one of her rare smiles.

"So... how often should I be coming?"

"Well... this has been a three times a week thing for the most part. What do you say we cut back to once a week and see how it goes? You can always come in for an extra session if something happens, and we can cut back further if that seems to be too much."

"Sounds like a plan." Owen was already calculating in his mind what he would do with the extra 2 hours a week. The sessions had moved from lunchtime to after work, and it kept him from leaving with Cristina on those days when they were on the same shift. A nice dinner out – or a cozy one in – came to mind. If that wasn't sufficient motivation for getting well, nothing was.

***

"And how is your Owen doing?" Dr. Patel asked. "Is he recovering well from his injury?"

Cristina suppressed a little grin at his reference to "her Owen." Yes, he was. He was her Owen. But no one had ever referred to him like that, and she kind of liked it.

"He's okay. He's the stoic type – doesn't complain much. But I think he's over the worst of it."

"And you? Are you over the worst of it?"

"What d'you mean? Owen and I are still together. We're fine. I'm fine."

"Cristina, we've talked about what happened a few times now, but I have the feeling there's something deeper you're not telling me. And you keep saying you find it hard to trust Owen when he's asleep. That doesn't sound fine to me."

"But you said yourself it was normal for me to be wary. I can still be fine and be wary, can't I?" she asked.

"Yes, as long as your wariness is grounded in reality," Patel explained, "...but you told me that Owen is on medication and that he hasn't had any more night terrors... plus you're still having nightmares about what happened. So I suspect there's more to it than that."

"Like what?"

"You use the word 'trust' a lot when you're in here, Cristina. I have to think it's significant."

"Why?" she snorted derisively, "It's just a word... like 'dog' and 'cardiomyopathy'."

Dr. Patel smiled with that annoying expression that said he had her all figured out already. "Do those words mean the same thing, Cristina?"

"Of course not."

"And you wouldn't use one when you meant the other?" he prodded.

"I'd be a really shitty doctor if I did," she laughed.

"Then stop acting clueless, Cristina. Words have meaning, and what we say matters."

Cristina looked away. He had her there. The verbal sparring was amusing, but it also kept them from getting to the point... as if she knew what the point was and wanted to defend it to the bitter end. The truth was she had no idea what the point was; yet there was still something about this whole therapy thing that made Cristina not want to give in without a fight – wherever they were headed.

"Okay, Dr. Patel, since you're so smart – what do you think it means, then?"

Patel smiled. "It makes me wonder, Cristina. That's all. Is it really Owen you don't trust?"

"Who else would it be? It's not like someone else broke into my bedroom and tried to strangle me."

"I realize that, but there were two of you in that room."

"And?" Cristina was getting frustrated. Where was he going here? She really wasn't up for another Chinese restaurant analogy. She got up and began pacing back and forth, clenching her fists in agitation.

"Do you trust yourself, Cristina?" Patel asked gently.

"Of course." She stopped and turned to him. "Why wouldn't I trust myself? What the hell does that mean, anyway?"

"I'll tell you, but first answer another question for me. Is Owen your first serious relationship?"

"No, but..."

"So maybe we'll get somewhere with this if you tell me something about the one before this one. Was it serious?"

Cristina gave a low chuckle and shook her head, "If you count having the groom walk out on your wedding as serious, then yes, I'd say it was serious."

"That sounds very serious," Patel replied. "What happened?"

"He decided we weren't right for each other – said he was trying to change me, blah blah blah. It doesn't matter now. He didn't even have the balls to come back and get his stuff from our apartment. He sent his mommy over."

Patel nodded thoughtfully. "Sounds like you made a big mistake with that one."

"I didn't think so while we were together..." Cristina's eyes softened for a moment, "...but yeah, I guess it was a big mistake."

"And if you didn't think so while you were together, but it turned out to be a big mistake – how did you feel about your judgment concerning men after that happened?"

Cristina opened her mouth to reply, but then stopped herself and sat down. She put her head in her hands and stared at the floor for a moment. "I didn't think much about my judgment. I just gave up. I vowed never to date another Attending."

"And your Owen... Is he an Attending?"

There it was again. Your Owen. She looked up and considered for a moment before answering. She didn't know where he was going with this, but Patel's questions were making her increasingly anxious. Her heart was thumping erratically in her chest, and her palms were getting sweaty – and Cristina Yang did not get sweaty palms, even under pressure. She resisted a strong desire to get up and leave the room.

"Yes, he's an Attending. He's the Head of Trauma."

"Ah," said Patel. "So even though you had a bad experience with an Attending, and you promised yourself you'd never date another one... here you are."

"And?"

"And you threw caution to the winds, went against your better judgment – and he strangled you."

"So? It's not like I picked an axe murderer or something. He was injured."

"That's true, and it may also be besides the point. Tell me something... did the strangling come out of the blue, or were there warning signs? Usually people with PTSD have other symptoms besides sleep disturbances."

Cristina stared at her hands. She didn't want to be reminded of how many of those signs she had purposely overlooked. "I guess," she replied reluctantly. "He showed up for a date really drunk and got in my shower with his clothes on, which is when I heard the details about some of what he'd been through in Iraq. And he would startle awake a lot... Once he threw me across the hall when I woke him up. I hurt my arm..."

"Why didn't you break up with him then?"

"Because I cared about him! And yeah, I saw he had PTSD, but I thought I could handle it... and I thought I could help him."

"So you stayed with a man who you knew was deeply traumatized, even though he had already hurt you once?"

She raised her head and glared at him. Could he be that dense? "He was asleep, dammit! It wasn't his fault. I surprised him."

"What did your friends think of this? Did anyone say anything to you?"

"Yes, but..."

"So the problems were obvious to other people as well?"

Cristina was feeling increasingly defensive. Why couldn't anyone else see things the way she'd seen them? "So what? Why does that matter?"

Patel looked at her but did not let up. "And when he finally strangled you, that's when you broke up?"

"Well, no... He wanted to, but I wouldn't let him. I told him I could handle it..."

"I see. You could handle being strangled?"

"No!" Cristina pounded her fist on her thigh in frustration. "It wasn't like that! I just didn't want to break up with him over something that wasn't even his fault..."

"So how long did it take you to break up with him after that? A few days? A week?"

"No... actually it was the next day. We made love... and then... I realized I was too scared to fall asleep next to him."

"So you made love after he strangled you?"

"Yes! But... I told you it wasn't like that. He was asleep when he hurt me. You know that! We talked about this already! He was so sorry, and we were both so miserable... and then it just... happened." Cristina hesitated. Giving this next piece away felt too intimate, but in the end she decided to reveal it. "It was our first time."

Patel looked at her, his eyes emanating kindly understanding. She wanted to smack him. "And how did you feel, Cristina, realizing that you had to break up with him after your first time making love?"

"Terrible! I felt... terrible. I didn't want to, but it just seemed impossible to stay together under the circumstances... But where are you going with this? I don't get how any of this explains my nightmares."

Patel squinted his eyes a little as he considered. "I honestly believe you know the answer to this yourself, but if you want me to spell it out for you, I will."

"Please do." He gave her too far much credit. She had no idea where he was going with this. Cristina leaned back in the big armchair, arms crossed, bracing herself for whatever was coming.

"You chose once, Cristina, and made a big mistake with a man who not only broke up with you, but humiliated you by leaving you at the altar. You must have loved this man a lot to agree to marry him, yes?"

Cristina met his gaze and nodded reluctantly. "Yes."

"Most people in a situation like that would have a crisis of confidence in themselves. They would question their own judgment in not seeing the warning signs – in choosing a man who was capable of such behavior in the first place. Can you honestly say that never crossed your mind?"

"No," Cristina admitted, "It crossed my mind." The post-mortem on her relationship with Burke had taken place largely in the privacy of her own thoughts, and it had been so brutal she had felt like she was the one being dissected. It had taken every ounce of her will – and one very distracting trauma surgeon – to close that one up and bury it.

"And now we go for Round 2," Patel continued. "This time you choose a man who is your superior at work, which you promised yourself you would not do, and which is in general a bad idea. Then you see the warning signs of his PTSD, but you ignore them. Finally, he nearly kills you, but you still hang on until it is simply impossible to stay together any longer." Patel leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and fixed Cristina with a steady and uncompromising stare. "And all this time, Cristina, does it not occur to you that you can not be trusted to choose a good man for yourself? A suitable man? Someone who will not have something so grossly wrong with him – a character flaw or a mental condition – that will make him disappoint you in the end?"

Cristina realized that she had stopped breathing, and she drew in a quick lungful of air. Patel's words were reverberating in her head, bouncing off the insides of her skull like tiny hammers, leaving painful dents in their wake. She squeezed her eyes shut for a second in an attempt to clear her thoughts, then leaned forward to catch the rest of his explanation.

"You are a very smart woman, Cristina. There has to be a part of you that recognizes how reckless you were with your own safety in this case. Is that not so?"

She shook her head. "No. I don't think so. I didn't see it that way. I told you – I thought I could handle it. I wanted to be there for him. How many times do I have to tell you that?"

"It's not me you have to convince, Cristina. It's you. If you really believed this with all your heart, you wouldn't be having nightmares. Deep down, even though you keep on insisting otherwise, you are not convinced. There's a part of you that knows the truth. This part wanted to protect you, but you ignored it in order to stay in a relationship with Owen. This part doesn't trust you to choose wisely because you won't acknowledge that you put yourself in danger. This part has seen you make at least two major mistakes with men – one that was emotionally dangerous, and another that was physically dangerous. This part needs to be heard, and if you won't acknowledge it consciously, it will come out sideways when your guard is down – such as when you're sleeping."

"So let me get this straight," Cristina asked incredulously, "This whole thing isn't about me being afraid of being strangled in my sleep – it's about me putting myself in danger, and not trusting myself to choose a good man?"

"Precisely. And the nightmares are that part of you that wants to protect you, that needs to be reassured you do finally get it. The brain will do many things to protect you if you will not protect yourself."

Cristina slumped back in her chair. "Assuming you're right – and I'm not assuming that at all, Dr. Patel, because this is still way too abstract for me – how do I make them stop? The nightmares, I mean."

"Well..." Patel gave her a small smile. "...it starts with admitting the truth to yourself. Once that part of you – the part that wants you to protect yourself – is acknowledged for what it is trying to do, you will be able to move forward."

"And then?"

"And then...forgiveness."

"I need to forgive Owen? I've already done that."

"Of course you have. No, Cristina. This is not about Owen. You need to forgive yourself."

"Forgive myself? For what? I didn't do anything wrong."

"Yes," he sighed, "...you did – or at least a part of you thinks you did. You compromised your safety. You'll need to acknowledge that or you will stay stuck in this place." Patel took a deep breath and paused a moment, then continued, "I'm not judging you, Cristina. It's clear that you had good intentions for everything you did – but your subconscious can be brutally judgmental. You will not trust yourself again until you can reassure yourself that you will be more careful in the future. The only way to do that is to see where you erred and acknowledge it. Then you need to forgive yourself for choosing wrong the first time, and for putting yourself in harm's way in order to maintain this current relationship as long as you did. Once you've done that, I believe you will begin to trust yourself again – and the nightmares will stop."

Cristina stared at Patel, her brain spinning almost to the point of vertigo. Everything she'd thought about this whole situation had suddenly been turned on its head – but in a weird way, it was starting to make sense to her. If he was right, it explained why Owen's exemplary actions since the incident had done nothing to quell the nightmares. This wasn't about what he had done or was currently doing – it was about the choices she had made. How could she trust herself to acknowledge and deal with future problems if she could not admit to the ones in the past?

"How do I do that?" Cristina asked, "Trust and forgive myself, I mean? It sounds so new-agey and hokey. It almost makes me want to barf." She realized she was actually starting to feel a little nauseous.

Patel laughed, the lilt of it mirroring the light accent of his speech. "There's nothing new-agey about forgiveness, Cristina. Check out the bible sometime. And I don't expect you to do this by yourself. This is what we'll work on when you come to see me."

Cristina nodded. She would have to think about it. Her scientific mind had trouble acknowledging that something as nebulous as her subconscious could have such a profound impact on something as tangible as her relationship with Owen. But enough of what Patel had said rang true for her to give it a chance.

She had promised Owen, she reminded herself, and she would follow through – not only for him, but for her own peace of mind.

***

George ran his clammy hands against the soft linen of the hospital-issued bed sheets that covered him, rubbing away an imaginary wrinkle. He glanced at the clock on the wall for the umpteenth time, heart racing in anticipation. It was a rare occasion where George was both awake and alone. He had gotten used to having company, but that was before he had driven away his most constant visitor. Idiot.

In a way, he was glad that Izzie was gone. If she had been alive, she would have nagged him till his ear fell off. As it was, Cristina, Meredith, and Alex had already given their spot-on imitation of Izzie, calling him all kinds of a fool for driving Amanda away.

A soft knock on his door awoke him from his thoughts.

Amanda stood partially in the doorway as if ready to bolt. George could see her hesitance in entering the room, and he felt all the worse for it.

"Hey," George said tenderly as to not scare her away. He hated seeing the apprehension in her eyes and the small wince she tried to cover up, as though she had expected more words of anger. She had no idea how badly he wanted to take those words back.

"Um, your friends said that you wanted to see me?" Amanda still refused to move closer, her eyes unable to meet his for more than a few seconds at a time. She fiddled with the imaginary lint on her knit top.

"Thanks for coming," George replied.

Amanda let out a small laugh, causing George's heart to quicken – it reminded him of before, before he turned into a jerk around her. "Well, your friends can be really persuasive."

George could only imagine what Alex, Meredith, and Cristina had said to Amanda to convince her to come see him. Alex had probably gone with the gruff, "George is an idiot" route; Meredith, the "George is a great guy" and trying to excuse his brutish behavior path; and Cristina, the "you shouldn't give up so easily" tactic. Having already lost Izzie and nearly losing George had made the three of them very protective – and in this case, he actually appreciated their meddling.

"Amanda," he said, trying to catch her gaze so that she could see his sincerity, "I'm really glad you came."

Amanda nodded, finally mustering up the courage to step inside. George held his breath as hope of reconciliation flared within him.

"About before…"

"It's okay," Amanda interrupted. "You were just speaking the truth."

"No, I was being an ass. I shouldn't have taken my frustration out on you…"

"No, George, you were right."

"…I was?" George couldn't help but be disappointed. Maybe Alex had been wrong. Maybe Amanda didn't have feelings for him.

"At first, I did feel guilty. I barely looked at you, and you saved my life. How could I ever repay that?"

"I don't want you to—"

Amanda put a hand up. "No, let me finish. I owe you my life. That will never change. But I didn't stay all this time because I felt like I owed you. I stayed because I truly do care about you." She probably even loved him, but her pride and fear of getting her heart broken kept her from sharing that fact.

George believed her. He spent the past days without her coming up with all the reasons why he probably shouldn't trust her feelings for him, but he was tired of being cautious. He was tired of always thinking he wasn't good enough. Why wasn't it possible that she had feelings for him?

"I'm so sorry for what I said, Amanda. And I was wondering if your offer was still open…"

She paused. "My offer?" She knew what he'd meant, but she didn't want to presume anything.

"To stay with you…if you'll still have me."

Had Amanda been a vindictive person, she would have let him stew for a while before answering. But this was her Prince Charming – once again – and she couldn't bear to do such a mean thing to him.

"Yes," she replied with a smile, stepping towards the bed.

George let out a huge sigh of relief and returned her smile with a wide grin of his own. "Good." Taking her hand in his, he stroked the back of her hand with his thumb.

Amanda closed her eyes, reveling in the touch. It reminded her of all the times she'd done the same to him while he'd laid there unconscious. Tears involuntarily sprung to her eyes – she'd always been a bit of a crybaby.

George noticed. "What's wrong?" Worry laced his voice.

"Nothing," Amanda replied with a self-conscious laugh, wiping the moisture from her lids. "I'm just happy, that's all."

After a moment of comfortable silence, George finally spoke up. "I'm getting discharged today, and my friends are throwing me a party at Joe's. Do you want to come?"

"I'd love to."

"Great. I may have to meet you there. Not quite ready to use crutches yet."

"I can come get you…" Amanda began.

George shook his head. "It's okay. I have to do some paperwork first before I check out anyways. Plus, I'm sure Cristina and Meredith will already be there. Joe's is their second home."

"Okay…roomie."

***

To the unseeing eye, the bathroom appeared to be empty. However, if one were to listen they could hear the sound of papers shuffling and boxes tearing open were the only sounds audible for a few minutes, followed by the typical sounds one would expect to hear in a bathroom.

Silence fell once more, once again providing a fall sense of vacancy until–

"Shit," Cristina muttered, looking at it. "It is. It's positive. I told you."

"Are you sure?" Meredith hissed, holding up the stick and looking at it. "You're sure the two lines mean that it's positive?"

Cristina sighed, pulling it away from Meredith for the third time and looking at it. "I've taken one before. I know what positive means. I have been pregnant before."

"It's just…how could it be positive?"

"Do you want me to tell you about the birds and the bees? Seriously, Mer. You know how people get pregnant. Why is it so hard to believe that it's happened?" Cristina muttered, dropping the test into the trash.

"What are we going to do?" Meredith asked quietly, dropping another test in over it.

Cristina pulled her hair back from her shoulders, tied it up. "What else do we do? I mean…it's happened, right? We just have to deal with it."

"I still can't believe it was positive."

"It explains the puking," Cristina shrugged, actively trying not to think about it.

Meredith leaned her head back against the wall and let out another deep breath. "I can't believe…I mean… a baby? Seriously? The kid is so screwed."

"We can handle surgery. And drama with our significant others. Babies can't be that hard right?"

The tone of pagers alarming squelched Meredith's answer and the two looked at each other, took a couple seconds to bury the pregnancy tests under some toilet paper and then run out the door.

Things were about to get interesting.

***

Alex looked frantically around the pit as the interns went to work on the sudden influx of trauma's from Friday afternoon rush hour. He felt overwhelmed like he couldn't do anything for them. They'd scattered and started doing things and he didn't have ten sets of eyes to watch them all.

He cursed under his breath and went to one of the intern's sides, picking out the one he'd previously noted to be the weakest. Silently, he observed as the young woman assessed a broken bone with trembling hands.

When she mumbled a list of diagnostic exams required and treatment he didn't bother with praising her. "Then what the hell are you waiting for? You know what you're doing, Dr. Lowe. Get it done."

Anybody who knew Alex knew that it was a compliment coming from him.

Webber watched with a hint of pride as Alex flitted from bed to bed. Finally, he moved to get to work himself. One of the interns was standing at the bedside of a ventilated patient and he noted the lack of a gastric tube in place. Webber grabbed the supplies from the cart and advanced towards the patient.

"Dr. London, you forgot to place a gastric tube on this placement. All ventilated patients must have a gastric tube to decom-"

"Decompress the stomach and prevent ulceration," Dr. London finished. "Y-yes sir. Except my patient has a basilar skull fracture. If we place a nasogastric tube, the patient could end up with a gastric tube in his cranial cavity. And then Dr. Karev would kick my ass. Sir."

Webber laughed and then set the tube down. "Yes," he answered, watching Alex. "Yes he would.

***

Lexie Grey paused when she saw Mark standing at the nurses' station – then squared her shoulders and moved forward. We are professionals – well, I'm a professional.

Mark looked up and nodded in greeting.

"How is the house coming along?" Lexie inquired politely.

Mark's face lit up. "I finally have the entertainment center fixed up the way I want. Karev came over and helped me finish the wiring this weekend."

She nodded again. They looked at each other – and then away. They took in deep breaths.

"This isn't working," Lexie said as Mark said, "We need to talk."

They looked at each other again and laughed.

"Sorry," he smiled as she said, "I'm sorry."

They laughed again.

"I'm, uh, thinking we've run our course," Mark said quietly.

"I noticed."

Mark raised his eyebrows.

"I've seen you talking with Sofia Moretti," Lexie said.

"Shit. I'm sorry," he said. "It's just been talking, so you know."

"We've run our course," she said. "And thank you for just talking with her up to now. Now you can do more than talk." She closed her clipboard. He placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Thanks for making me a better man," he smiled.

"Thanks for teaching me," she said. And she walked away.

***

Owen came out of an exam room and smiled to see Cristina and Meredith walk by. He started to follow them, intending to sneak up on them with a kiss for Cristina.

"Babies are such work," Cristina said. "They pee and they poop and scream all the time." Owen raised his eyebrows.

"But they're cute when they're not peeing and pooping and screaming," Meredith noted. "They even fall asleep for what, 15 minutes at a time? There's a lot you can do in 15 minutes."

"And then there is picking out a day care, there will be waiting lists for the very best ones. There will be nothing but the very best for McBaby."

Owen's mouth fell open.

"He'll definitely want the best for McBaby," Meredith agreed. "Boy or girl, he'll be wrapped around McBaby's finger in nine months. You know it's true." They turned a corner.

Owen stopped following them and leaned against a wall. His mind was racing. Cristina said she was on the pill – which is not 100% effective. He stayed there, stunned. I'm going to be a father.

***

Sofia was at the nurses' station, juggling several binders, and finding herself quite frazzled. She was a brilliant and focused surgeon, but after this particularly long and complicated surgery she found herself just…tired. And it wasn't just that. She knew that Cristina Yang staking her claim on Owen Hunt in front of the hospital was getting to her. She had lost – and not only was Sofia Moretti not accustomed to losing, but she realized that this put her back right where she started. The terrible state of her personal life was something she could forget about in the OR when she was so intently focused on chest cavities and hearts. But it was that moment right after she left the room to scrub out, when she was all alone with nothing but running water and the smell of latex when she remembered that this was all she had. All she had now – and by the looks of things, all she would ever have.

Then, in spite of her better judgment, her mind drifted towards the date with Mark Sloan and how surprisingly enjoyable it had been. Maybe it wasn't time to call time of death on her personal life. Sofia leaned on the counter for a moment to rest her head on her hand, when her elbow slipped and knocked three binders to the floor.

Fantastic, she thought, the cherry on top of my crap sundae. Sofia awkwardly slid down to her knees in her black pencil skirt and heels, the clatter and the spray of papers across the floor causing quite a scene. People were in a hurry and the mess forced them to slow down.

"Sorry," she said, waving her hand to a nurse pushing someone by in a wheelchair. "I just…" She put a hand on her forehead, messing up her perfectly styled hair and took a deep breath.

"Hey, clear this out!" someone yelled at her, almost slipping on one of her papers while running off to help run a code.

"I'm working on it!" Sofia yelled back, grabbing angrily at some of her papers. A few feet away, Mark Sloan had just received his afternoon cappuccino from an overly enthusiastic intern. Hearing a familiar voice yell out in a tone that sounded like anger trying to cover frustration and defeat, he looked over to see Sofia kneeling in a mess of paperwork. He walked over with a few steps and extended his hand to her. Sofia looked up at him with a vulnerability she hadn't let him see up to his point. It disarmed him for just a moment.

"Here," Mark said, offering his hand to help her to her stand.

"I have to pick all this up. I'm blocking this side of the hallway," she said, motioning to the mess. Mark gave an exasperated sigh. Any other day, he would have been on the other side of her, probably checking out just how tight her skirt was, but he could tell Sofia was having a tough day. He felt compelled to help her, even if she wasn't interested – in him, or the help.

"Would you just get up?" There was a rare seriousness in his tone that made Sofia take his hand. Once she was standing, he promptly bent down to pick up her papers. As she watched him crawling around on the floor picking up her papers, Sofia cocked her head to the side in a bit of a stunned silence. Once he had finished and placed everything back on the counter, he felt his breath catch for a moment as Sofia reached out and brushed a dust cluster that had settled on his right shoulder.

"Thanks for the help," she managed, looking at him intently.

"You're welcome," Mark said with a smile that didn't seem to reach his eyes. "And...you know...hang in there. Hunt didn't deserve you." He gave the bottom of her chin the softest little tap upwards with his finger and turned to leave. Mark was hoping that as he walked away, Sofia would call out for him, tell him something – anything. He almost expected it to happen. This had to be the moment. He knew that look he had seen in her eyes. But whatever he had thought it was – it wasn't, because he didn't hear anything. Mark didn't want to look back to see if she was still there. Instead, he was resigned to the fact that his pursuit of Sofia Moretti had reached its unfortunate conclusion.

***

Cristina wandered the cafeteria with a sour look on her face. She hated getting down there after the lunch rush. The only thing ever left was an overly greasy piece of pizza, frozen lettuce or lunchmeat that had been sitting out for far too long.

Just as she was ready to give up, she felt an arm slip around her waist and a hand give her butt the slightest squeeze. She smiled faintly before turning up to look at Owen. "That could be sexual harassment y'know."

"You wanted it. I could tell by the look on your face," he answered in a low voice. "I happen to have an extra salad that I picked up."

"Oh? Trying to make sure I eat now?" Cristina asked, her eyebrows raised slightly.

"Something like that," Owen confirmed cryptically. If he was going to be a father, he wanted to make sure that she was getting enough to eat for the both of them.

"Alright," Cristina shrugged and then grabbed a bottle of water. After paying for it, she joined Owen at his lunch table and settled into the seat next to him. "I'm exhausted."

"It's to be expected."

She looked over at him in question. "It is?"

Owen silently cursed himself. He wasn't supposed to let on that he knew. She would tell him all in due time. "Well, yes. How many nights have I kept you up now?" he quickly covered.

"Not nearly enough," she answered, her exhaustion quickly fading into something else. Her foot brushed against his under the table and she grinned. "Do you really want to eat lunch right now?"

As much as Owen wanted to forego lunch in lieu of what she was suggesting instead, he knew that she had to eat. He was almost upset that he knew.

Almost.

"I have a surgery coming up. What I would do to you right now takes time," he promised her in a near growl. "Tonight. Definitely tonight."

"Whatever happened to quick and dirty?" she teased, stabbing her fork with a salad half-heartedly. Cristina could have definitely used the pick me up.

The two ate in silence for a moment before Owen finally spoke again, "So…is there something that you want to tell me?"

Cristina stopped picking through her salad and put her fork down slowly. She cleared her throat and glanced around. "What do you mean?"

"I just…I heard there might be something you wanted to tell me," Owen shrugged. "If you don't want to, if you're not ready it's fine."

After a moment of hesitation, Cristina finally reached into her pocket. "Callie is moving. She can't afford the rent anymore and she feels bad. So…she's moving."

It wasn't quite the news that Owen was looking for. "That's too bad. Are you going to be able to make it on your own there?"

"Yeah," she mumbled, playing with something in her pocket. "I'll be fine."

"It's a big place for one person," he commented. "I may have to come over and keep you warm from time to time."

Cristina glanced up at the time and decided she was overdue for an escape. This was hard enough as it was – she couldn't discuss it anymore. Not now.

Baby steps. Cristina needed baby steps.

She dropped an envelope in front of him on the table with a resounding thud and then stood up. "I have to go. I'll find you later." Her response was rushed and her tone hushed.

Owen watched with his mouth opened slightly with an unformed question lingering on his lips. He picked up the heavy envelope in front of him and opened it up. Cool metal met his fingertips and he pulled out a silver medallion keychain with the image of the Westpoint Lighthouse pressed into it.

Attached to the keychain was a key.

The key to Cristina's apartment.

***

Lexie wrapped her scarf around her neck and pulled her coat closed as she prepared to head out for George's celebration. It had been a long day, and a drink was definitely looking tempting tonight. It sure beat spending time alone in Meredith's house, shacked up in the attic reading medical journals. Or lying in bed thinking about how the men she fell for kept on moving onto other women. She was starting to feel like a way station: Alex, George, Mark – they all left her. Lexie sighed. It was a waste of time to ponder on things like that.

As if her thoughts had conjured him, Lexie caught sight of Alex in the main lobby of the hospital, leaning on the nurses' station counter. Lexie's steps slowed as she paused to decide whether or not to approach him or continue on her way to Joe's. Always the sympathetic one, Lexie changed directions and walked towards Alex. Losing Izzie had been so hard on him, and he'd been trying so hard to pick up where she'd left off in teaching the interns.

"Hey," she murmured softly, not wanting to startle him. "Aren't you going to George's party?"

Alex rested a hand on his hip, pushing aside his white lab coat to reveal his light blue scrubs, and shook his head. "Not yet. Still got some work to do," he remarked, gesturing to the notepad he'd been scribbling on.

Lexie glanced down at the paper, unable to read Alex's chicken-scratch handwriting. "What is it?"

"Just brainstorming ideas for tomorrow's intern medical challenge," he replied, refocusing his attention back to the task at hand.

Lexie took advantage of the moment and just looked at him. There was a barely noticeable gauntness in his face and the ever-present shadow of sadness in his eyes. She'd been so caught up with the Mark and Sofia business that she hadn't paid attention.

"You're doing a great job, Alex," she said. Her hand moved to touch his arm but she retracted it. They didn't have that kind of relationship. They'd never been a real couple – though she'd wanted it. Unfortunately, Alex had had other plans, and those plans included Ava/Rebecca at the time.

Alex surprised her by looking her in the eyes with a grateful look. "Thanks, Lexie. I'm definitely trying."

Lexie was taken aback by the man that stood before her. Yes, he was still rough around the edges and prone to angry outbursts, but he was softer now. Losing Izzie had changed him. Getting married had changed him. She could love this man.

Lexie took an inadvertent step back. She had no idea where that thought had come from. She'd literally just broken up with Mark. Now was not the time to jump right back on that boat. With Alex looking at her oddly, Lexie covered up her awkwardness with a nervous smile. "Do you need any help?"

"Don't you want to go to O'Malley's shindig?"

"Yeah… But if I help you, you can be done sooner. Then, we'll both go. I'm sure they'll be at Joe's for a while."

Alex contemplated Lexie's offer. He wasn't usually one to ask for help, but he really did want to be able to celebrate George's discharge from the hospital. "Okay," he said finally.

"Great! What can I do?" Lexie asked brightly, feeling better than she had in the past couple of weeks.

"First, I need you to…"

***

The jingle at the door to Joe's sounded once again, and Amanda shot upright in her chair, craning her neck to see who had entered. Just some other guy, not George.

Cristina turned from looking at Amanda and back to the bar where she was sitting with Meredith.

"You know what that reminds me of…" Cristina started, a smirk on her face as she recalled not too long ago a particularly anxious Meredith was waiting for Derek to walk through the door to "pick her, choose her, love her."

"Yes, and like a true friend, you called me pathetic."

"Well, you were. Like a true friend, I was honest." Cristina batted her eyelashes smugly. Joe came over with two classes of clear liquid.

"You sure about this?" he asked, eyeing them. They both nodded uncertainly. "You know, unless you're both pregnant, one of you can drink."

"It doesn't work like that Joe…" Meredith sighed, taking a drink of water. "Drinking is contagious." Joe shrugged and walked away. The jingle of the door sounded again and neither of them looked over.

"If drinking is contagious, maybe we should stop meeting our boyfriends at a bar…" Cristina suggested.

"Boyfriend and husband," Meredith corrected, smiling. Cristina raised her eyebrow skeptically. "Fiancé, at least," Meredith insisted.

"Fine, to meet our fiancés," Cristina repeated. Meredith's eyes grew wide as she gaped at Cristina. "No, no, no, sorry. I meant fiancé and boyfriend. Boyfriend," Cristina emphasized at the sight of Meredith's expression. Soon Meredith's eyes slid back to normal size, but a smirk stayed on her face.

"But we love Joe's…even if we give up drinking for nine months, we can't give up Joe's."

"Maybe if I close my eyes, I can pretend it's vodka," Cristina said hopelessly, swirling the drink around. There was a dull cheer in the background and Meredith turned to see George in a wheelchair being pushed by Olivia. He rolled to a stop by Amanda's booth and she smiled at him.

"George!" Meredith yelled, waving at him. George smiled and motioned that he would be over in a minute. He said something in Amanda's ear that made her smile and he turned to ask Olivia to help him over. Once he came to a stop, Olivia walked away to get herself a drink.

"Well look what the bus dragged in…" Cristina said, raising her glass to George.

"It feels so good to be out of the hospital…it's really no fun when you're the patient"

"Can you drink? We'll buy you something."

"No…either way, I'm too tired. I'm actually staying with Amanda for a couple weeks while I rehab." George said, a small smile growing on his face. Meredith raised her eyebrow suggestively.

"Oh god, so none of us can drink? Is this the ninth circle of hell?"

"Okay, it isn't that bad. Cristina, we can do this. It's only nine months."

"Oh my god…nine months. No alcohol, yet somehow you still end up puking every morning…what kind of warped justice is that?" She took a sip of her water. "We can do this. We have to." Cristina said resolutely.

"Wait…nine months…you're…you're both pregnant?"

"Only one," Cristina said, taking another dull sip. A moment of silence passed where clearly George expected some illumination.

"Well?" he prompted.

"You're not finding out before the father, Georgie," Cristina said, her eyes twinkling playfully. Meredith just shook her head with a smile as she lifted their glasses for Joe to refill.

"Well, I could just see which belly is a little bigger…" he said, leaning in to examine their stomachs. However, he quickly straightened up when they both fixed him with death glares. "Alright, alright…maybe not now. But we'll all know eventually." George called over his shoulder as Olivia turned to help him go back to the booth.

"Nine months," Cristina said, sighing.

"Nine months," Meredith repeated anxiously.

"…of getting huge and no drinking and sore feet and crap…"

"This is going to suck."

"This is definitely going to suck." They paused, raised their glasses, and clinked them together.

***

"Are you okay?" Derek asked, seeing an uncharacteristic amount of nervousness in his colleague.

Owen jolted as if he had been lost in thought. "Uh, yeah…I'm fine," he muttered unconvincingly. He wasn't fine. He'd been distracted all day, ever since he'd overheard Cristina talking about babies – his baby. She was pregnant, and for some reason, she wasn't telling him.

The familiar peal of the bell that hung above the door rang in Owen's head as he and Derek walked into Joe's together to meet Cristina and Meredith. His eyes immediately scanned the various individuals, searching for the wavy mane of his ladylove – his ladylove who was currently responsible for driving him insane. Impending fatherhood was a big deal, and he needed to know.

Cristina's throaty laugh caught his attention, and he signaled Derek that he'd found the two women at the bar. He watched as Cristina and Meredith downed matching clear liquids as though they were nothing, and Owen couldn't help but feel concerned.

"Are you sure you should be doing that?" Owen asked as he reached Cristina's side, gesturing to the glass.

"What? Taking shots of water and pretending that it's my usual vodka tonic?" Cristina gave him a pointed look, unsure of how her drinking was anything new.

Owen relaxed. He should've known that Cristina wouldn't do anything to harm the baby. The baby… She still hadn't said anything. He tensed up again as he took a seat on the barstool next to hers, gesturing to Joe to bring him a beer. He was going to need it.

Next to them, Derek pecked Meredith on the cheek as he settled in beside her. "Returning to your old habits of getting drunk and picking up strange men at the bar?"

Meredith smiled. "Nope. I'm a married woman now, you know."

"Yes, you are," Derek replied with a satisfied grin, kissing her on the lips. As he drew back, he licked his lips. "Hmm… You don't taste like alcohol."

"Unfortunately, I'm stuck with water."

Joe placed Owen's beer on the counter atop of a green napkin and refilled Cristina and Meredith's glasses with more water. He paused, as if to say something, but thought better of it, moving on to his next customer.

"Don't forget vodka and cranberry…minus the vodka," Cristina interjected.

"Wait," Derek said, confused, "why are you both not drinking? Developed a sudden allergy to alcohol?"

"No," Meredith said slyly, winking at Cristina.

Cristina just rolled her eyes. She tipped her head back and proceeded to drink her imaginary vodka tonic.

Owen caught the exchange and couldn't stand the suspense anymore. He was done waiting for Cristina to tell him.

"Cristina," he said without preamble, "I know you're pregnant."

Cristina coughed, spraying water all over the bar.

"Hey!" Joe yelled, disgruntled over having to mop up the mess.

Still choking, Cristina could only manage a wave to convey her apology. It was Owen's fault anyways.

Owen patted Cristina on the back, regretting his choice to pick that moment to reveal what he knew.

"Congratulations!" Derek exclaimed as Meredith hid her face behind a glass as to not give anything away.

Cristina started shaking her head, laughing hysterically and coughing at the same time. When she could finally catch her breath, she turned to Owen with tears of mirth in her eyes. "I'm not pregnant. Meredith is. No McBabies for us."

Derek's jaw dropped. "What?" He couldn't have heard right. He looked back at Meredith, seeking the truth. She nodded slowly, apprehensively gauging his response.

Derek downed the shot of whiskey that Joe had placed in front of him and paused as his world shifted around him.

"Derek?" Meredith asked softly. They had already talked about babies, babies with her crappy DNA. She had been expecting shouts of joy, not this frozen stance of shock.

"We're having a baby," Derek said slowly. Saying the words out loud for the first time made it seem more real. "We're having a baby."

"I think you broke him, Mer," Cristina said with a smirk.

Suddenly, without warning, Derek shoved away from the counter, knocking down his stool in the process, and faced the entire bar. "I'm going to be a father! Drinks are on me!"

Ignoring the cheers and applause, Derek dipped Meredith in his arms, causing her to giggle, and planted a doozy of a kiss on her lips.

"Get a room," Cristina said jokingly.

Owen waited for Derek to return Meredith to an upright position before clapping the other man on the back. "Congratulations, Shepherd." Owen wasn't sure how he felt. It wasn't that he wasn't happy for the couple – he was – it was just that he had spent almost the entire day believing that it was him and Cristina who would be having a little rugrat that he almost felt like he'd lost something.

But there was one good thing that had come out of the entire confusing situation: it was that if there had ever been any doubts as to whether or not he wanted children with Cristina, there weren't any now. And seeing the unmasked look of pleasure on Cristina's face as she watched her friend's happiness, Owen could almost already hear the pitter-patter of miniature feet.

***

Sofia Moretti sat parked on a bar stool. She thought that she had been spending entirely too much time in this position lately, watching other people's lives go on around her. She saw Cristina and Meredith at the other end, laughing about something. Whatever. She looked at the far corner, where Mark Sloan was sitting by himself, deep in thought, staring into a mug of beer as if it held answers. She recalled the feel of her hand in his, earlier that day. Odd thing to remember.

She turned as the door opened. Derek and Owen walked in. They scanned the bar – and Owen's face lit up when he saw Cristina and Meredith at the bar. She watched them make their way to their respective women.

Sofia noted that it didn't bother her so much to see the way Owen made a beeline to Cristina. Fine, they really are meant for each other. She took another sip of her drink.

She looked again at Mark. Her body slid off of her bar stool, almost as if it had a mind of its own. She grabbed her drink and her purse and made her way over to Mark.

"Mind if I join you?"

He looked up from his drink and smiled in surprise, gesturing for her to sit. She set her things down on his table and sat down beside him. She tried to think of what to say.

"You look – different – tonight," she observed.

He shrugged. "I broke things off with my girlfriend this morning. It was civil. I'm not used to that."

She felt a queer feeling in her chest. "Are you – having second thoughts?"

He shook his head and took a drink. "No. We had fun together for a while but we ran our course. Our hearts weren't in it any more."

"Oh. Well, I'm sorry."

They sat in an uncomfortable silence. Sofia found herself observing Mark's hands. They were strong, with well-manicured nails. She liked a man who took care of himself and his appearance. Her eyes traveled upwards. He has nice eyes, she decided. She had seen them warm, amused, blazing with desire. Now they were subdued, contemplative – and intriguing. What kind of man is really behind those eyes? She knew the answer. The one man who has shown an interest in me.

She blushed as she realized that he was gazing back at her.

"You're staring at me," he said, with a note of surprise. It gave her a small thrill to know that she was having an effect on him.

"So?" Sofia quipped.

Mark smiled. He had absolutely no idea why Sofia was suddenly interested in his company, but he decided not to question it. She is so fucking gorgeous right now. She smiled back.

"Got tired of the floor show?" Mark asked, gesturing towards Owen and Cristina, his eyes fixed on hers.

"What floor show?" Sofia breathed, leaning in closer. She decided she liked the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled.

"I'm going to be a father! Drinks are on me!" Derek Shepherd announced to the whole bar. They turned and applauded. Sofia took the opportunity to edge a little closer to Mark as he cheered and whistled.

"Okay, I didn't mean that floor show," Mark laughed. He turned back to Sofia and smiled in confusion. She was giving him room to move away or pull back as her face inched towards his, but he didn't. He saw that her eyes were sparkling and could think of nothing else.

What the hell, she decided, opening her mouth slightly, placing her lips on his mouth. She felt him smile as he responded. Her body temperature shot up as they started kissing in earnest. Her hands came up to hold his face as his hands found their way to her waist. Her tongue met his and she made a small contented noise in the back of her throat. That tiny sound was like a lightning bolt to his groin.

"Oh yeah," he murmured huskily, breaking apart for air. They smiled at each other.

"You hardly know me," Mark said softly.

"You're the man who noticed me," she told him, before she kissed him again. "Now I'm noticing you."

Cristina was laughing at something Meredith said when she spotted Sofia and Mark across the bar. She nudged Owen and pointed out the game of tonsil hockey that was happening. He laughed in surprise. "I guess Mark did learn a few moves from me," he teased. Cristina rolled her eyes and elbowed him. She decided that she needed to buy Mark a drink. Or ten.

***

The crowd began to slowly dwindle at Joe's. It started with Moretti and Sloan leaving, still very attached to each other and touching each other in ways that shouldn't be carried out in public. Closely behind them, Derek and Meredith made their exit – much in the manner that Moretti and Sloan had, only a little more discreet to the unseeing eye.

As much as they were worried about what would happen with a baby around, secretly they were excited as well.

Cristina watched with softened eyes as Amanda gently guided George through the door, her hand gingerly placed on his arm. She wondered for a fleeting moment how a woman could love somebody that she barely knew, that needed so much time and attention – that had so much damage. Her eyes moved to a set of blue staring back at hers and the question answered itself.

Sometimes you just can't help it.

"You're thinking about something," Owen murmured, taking her hands in his. "Tell me."

"Just changes," she admitted quietly. "Everything has changed."

"For the better, I hope," he commented, squeezing her hand gently. His rough palms were such a contrast to her smooth skin and it was a sensation he never wanted to lose.

Cristina was something he never wanted to lose.

"Kind of."

Owen searched her face, "Only kind of? Can I make it better?"

"You could use your key," Cristina mumbled, her gaze downcast. She felt the heat rising in her cheeks and she hated herself for it.

He'd turned her into such a girl.

"That's it? Just use the key?" he asked with a tone of surprise. "Nothing more?"

"Nothing more," Cristina repeated, looking up at him. "I mean, unless you want to move in. With me. Callie is gone and the apartment is too big for just me and I–"

"You want me to move in?" Owen asked, his brow raised in surprise.

"Ye-yeah," Cristina stammered slightly. "I do."

***

"What do you have in here?" Cristina asked, struggling under the weight of the cardboard box she was carrying.

"Just my clothes. I told you that you should've let me carry it," Owen replied, carrying two boxes stacked on top of each other. He peeked to the side to see where he was going. No need for him to fall down the stairs and have to start all over again.

"Psh. I'm deceptively strong." Though in reality, her arms were screaming for her to drop the box where she stood. "Almost there," she muttered to herself, distracting herself by counting the steps.

Owen knew better than to question her, so he remained silent. Thankfully, these were the last boxes from his truck. All his furniture was in storage, to be unpacked and dealt with another day.

"Finally," Cristina breathed, dropping the box with a resounding thud. Leaning down, she slid the box the rest of the way. Once she reached her bedroom, she stood back up and let her arms hang by her side, feeling the circulation return to her arms.

Owen carefully balanced his own boxes on top of the one she had just set down and placed his hands on his hips. Moved in... At one point, he never would have believed that they could have come this far. But even with the proof in front of his eyes, he nearly had to pinch himself to keep from thinking that it was all a dream. Reality set in and a niggling doubt crept into his thoughts.

"Cristina… Are you sure about me moving in here?"

"Uh, yeah. I keyed you, didn't I?"

"No, I meant. Are you sure about me moving in here," he repeated, gesturing to emphasize her bedroom.

Cristina walked over to Owen so that she was facing him and loosely wrapped her arms around his waist. "No more sleeping in separate beds or separate rooms. And if one of us is having a bad night, we still have the spare room… You were right."

Owen rested his hands on the curve of her back, feeling the muscles expand and contract with each breath. "About what?"

"Therapy was a good idea…" she muttered, stringing the words together as fast as she can. She paused for a beat. "But don't go telling Wyatt that. I cannot stand that woman."

Owen chuckled from deep within his chest and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, causing Cristina to sigh with pleasure. And there they stood, perfectly content to be in each other's arms. Cristina rested her head on Owen's shoulder as they swayed slightly to an imaginary song only they could hear, their bodies molded together in a flawless fit.

After a moment, Cristina let out an involuntary yawn. Sensing her exhaustion, Owen eased himself away from her, just enough to help her out of her jeans. Cristina sleepily let Owen undress her and carry her over to her bed, their bed. Depositing her gently onto the mattress, Owen tugged the covers over her before working on taking his own jeans off. Stripped down to his shorts and boxers, he laid down next to her, adjusting the blankets around them.

Cristina immediately scooted backwards so that her body curved with his, her back to his front, and pulled his arm around her so that he was embracing her. Interlacing her fingers with his, she rested their joined hands on her stomach and let out a little hum of satisfaction before settling deeper into the pillow.

"I love you, Owen," she whispered sleepily.

"I love you, too," he whispered back, though she was already too far gone to hear him.

He stroked her fingers with his thumb in a soothing motion and thought about the ring that he planned to place on one particular finger of hers…one day. The ring that was now hidden deep within his box of kitchen appliances. His grandmother's ring – given to him by his mother with a knowing smile and a prideful hug. It was a simple and plain ring, no muss, no fuss – just the type of ring he knew would suit Cristina.

His mother had been right about Cristina being the one who'd end up wearing his grandmother's ring. But then again, mothers did always know best.

Drifting off to sleep himself, he thought back to his first couple therapy sessions and how he'd told Wyatt that he felt shameful. But those days of darkness were far behind him. Now… now, he was thankful. For the woman who saw him when no one else could, who stuck by him in his time of need, who completed him as any soul mate should. He was thankful for another chance… Another chance to be a part of her life, to dream of a future together… to feel alive again.

Eleanor Roosevelt once said to do one thing every day that scares you. Maybe it's something simple – like jumping into the pool on a hot day. Maybe it's something not so simple – like letting down your guard, opening your heart and extending a key that could open up an entirely different set of issues. Chances are, even if you're scared, if it's something that you want? It's totally worth taking the leap.