Mistakes are how you learn

It took Owen Hunt months to understand how that first kiss could have been a mistake and then to accept that it was not. Nights lain awake drenched in the sweat of the After, wondering what he had invited her into. Moments staring into those dark eyes and seeing the mirror she so carefully concealed from everyone else. A pass in the hall, a glance, a prayer whispered beneath the draught of Scotch chased down with regret.

Telling her about Iraq was fair. He could not live with her confusion and disappointment, though Cristina Yang could not in good conscience admit to the latter. He did not expect reciprocation. Knowing her so suddenly and intimately was frightening. The job was solace—and then Timothy Miller arrived in a tangle of shattered limbs and he was right back to square one.

Mistakes

The second kiss was beyond his control. Its aftermath left him shaken, breathless and suffused with darkness somehow deeper than those first days after the RPG ambush. He watched her walk away and wondered what had kept her from screaming—and why he wasn't. It was a mistake. He could not want her that way. He did not deserve the shelter of her warmth, the comfort of consideration or even simple respect. He was ready to tell her so and then words failed him. Sitting on her steps only the barest, brightest of truths found voice. "I think you're beautiful." In contrast to the ugliness that drew the lines of their Befores and Afters.

Mistakes are how you learn.

Owen began anew. Exploring the depths of the hospital served two purposes. The first was simple; you cannot dream if you do not sleep. The second would have set Cristina Yang back on her heels and a part of him delighted in that prospect. He would know her by knowing her world. As it it turned out, he knew more than she did about the entity that refused to let them drift apart. Seattle Grace was a peculiar beast. It gently nurtured its bickering denizens through uncounted trials. Kept its secrets close and saved a space for more. There was room to mourn and to rejoice within her walls. Owen found 'the vent' Suddenly, for minutes at a stretch, he could breathe. This had to be shared. It had to be a part of Cristina's world. He waited.

I make mistakes and guys die by my hand, good guys.

No one died but Cristina had erred. Owen hated seeing her fall, though it was inevitable. Richard Webber's decision to lay the burden of choice on her shoulders was a unique kind of torture. Adding his voice to the unanimous vote of the other Attendings was the only solace he could overtly offer. She put on a brave front, tried to be clinical in the face of one of her biggest personal failures. The other Residents needed her honesty to become better surgeons. They did not deserve it however and he would not let her crash to the floor in front of their eyes.

I don't make that mistake again.

Cristina stumbled to a halt just around the corner from the observation gallery. He could see the muscles of her back taut and quivering beneath the thin scrubs.

"Not here."

Not where they can see and where you cannot stand.

Owen took her down into the warm, dark basement. The hospital pulsed rhythmically around them, speaking as only she could. A mother cradling her children close in her womb. Cristina hesitated but there was no strength in her protests just a need to know and be known. Words failed her.

He would not.