Owen ran his fingers through the thick black curls scattered across his chest. Cristina’s breathing was deep and even. He watched the steady rise and fall of her shoulders draped over his ribs. Ever so softly, he brushed the raven locks away from her beautiful face. She shifted slightly in her sleep, and his hand paused in the air. When he was sure she would not wake, he began to stroke her cheek with his thumb in time with her breathing.

He remembered when he’d met her, an icicle in her abdomen and anger in her veins. He recalled with chagrin the lurch his stomach had given, and the addling of his brain. He’d been helpless against his own body; his mouth had a mind of its own. He hadn’t intended to kiss her – his limbs overcame his will. But he knew his will had secretly been batting for the other side. And his will was certainly strong when he had taken the job at Seattle Grace. His will, his limbs, his heart; they were all in on that one. The only one left behind was his mind; it had no idea what was going on.

Cristina moved again, stretching so her head rested in the crook of his neck. He tightened his arm around her waist as her breath warmed his skin. Everything about Cristina was warm, including her heart. You merely had to crack the hard, protective exterior that came from heartbreak in the past. He ran his fingertips over the smooth curve of her back and, on the edge of consciousness, she arched it. Her breaths came quickly now, and he knew he had less than a minute before she woke and he would be unable to watch her mind and body at peace any more.

She groaned, stretching her arms and legs, pointing her toes, but her eyes remained closed.

‘Good morning,’ he whispered. She groaned again, opened her eyes, and used his chest to push herself up on her arms. She looked at him for a few seconds through a haze of sleep, and collapsed across his chest again. He laughed and she slapped him weakly. ‘Not a morning person?’

‘Shut up.’

‘Maybe I’ll leave before you get up and decide you want to throw something at me.’

‘I hate you.’ He laughed again, causing her head to bounce. She flung herself off him and lay on her back, staring at the ceiling. Owen turned his head to look at her, and she turned hers so their noses brushed against each other.

‘I’m sorry I ruined our date.’ She rolled her eyes at him and slid an arm over his chest again, curling up to his side.

‘It’s better this way. At least I didn’t have to ask you what your favourite thing is about being a surgeon.’ He thought for a moment.

‘That would have been embarrassing.’ She slapped him again, but she was smiling. ‘I’ll make it up to you next time.’

‘Give me a couple of weeks – I need to think of something normal to say,’ she mumbled into his shoulder.

‘What about tonight? Can you think of something by then?’

‘Well, that depends on where you’re taking me.’

‘Dinner and I’ll be sober.’

‘Some conversation could be arranged.’ He smiled, turning onto his side. He put his hands on her waist and pulled her up so her face was level with his.

‘But, as our shifts don’t start for a few hours, what are we going to do with ourselves in the meantime?’ he asked, a wicked smile on his face.

‘Make coffee and good conversation?’

‘Wrong answer, Dr. Yang.’