In the Wake of It All
by jalen_mara

Disclaimer—These characters are not mine, nor have they ever been. However, if Owen does end up having a little sister and by some miracle I get cast, I *will* lay claim to her. I make no money off of this, so for the love of God, don't sue me.
Porn Battle Prompt—Against a wall.

A/N—Contains likely spoilers based on what most of us have heard re: casting for next season. Still, this fic is all speculative on my part. The gift of clairvoyance comes and goes.  Also, I seem to believe that Owen and Cristina can only have angst!sex. You have been warned, but I hope you enjoy it anyways.

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It seemed only fitting to hold O'Malley's wake at Joe's. According to Seattle Grace scuttlebutt, both Grey sisters had wanted to hold it at the house they shared (and that apparently O'Malley had once lived), but with Stevens still in serious condition and Cristina being as un-domestic as they came, the majority of the planning had fallen upon the younger Grey who for a solid twenty-four hours could not be seen anywhere without either a candy bar or a cheeseburger in either fist. A redheaded nurse had claimed often and loudly that she had seen her with both at the same time a minimum of three times. It had been Sloan that had announced to the staff of SGH that with all due respect to everyone involved, Joe had been kind enough to close down for an evening so that the staff could descend upon the local haunt to pay homage to one of their own. A compromise, but a good one at that.

Owen shoved open the door to Joe's not sure what to expect, but a loud party in full swing was certainly at the low end of the spectrum. He shrugged out of his jacket, taking a moment to stop at the table set up directly inside the door. A picture of O'Malley was framed, the eyes that he had last seen staring lifelessly out of a massively deformed face no longer recognizable to those who had considered him a close friend stared back at him, sparkling with some untold joke. He didn't recognize the events of the candid snapshot, but that didn't surprise him. He took a steadying breath before snapping a quick salute at the picture. "We would have been proud to have you, O'Malley." He murmured before turning to face the chaos of the rest of the room.

He finally found Cristina in a booth close to the back, alone but for the three empty glasses keeping her company, He threw his jacket onto the seat opposite her and slid into the booth beside her. "You're late." She said, her attention on the makeshift stage that was now hosting the very inebriated Drs. Torres and Robbins and their rendition of a song that according to the screen housing the karaoke lyrics was called "For Good" from the musical Wicked. He wasn't sure if it was supposed to be some sort of homage to O'Malley, or to each other, and decided it would be better for all if he didn't ask.

"Hazards of being Head of Trauma." He said quietly, motioning to Joe to bring over a pitcher of water, his gaze following Cristina's to the next table where the Grey sisters and their significant others had taken up residence. Bailey and the Chief sat at the next table over, talking to Joe and Walter, a gaggle of toddlers seemingly belonging to any combination of them surrounding the group. "How's it been here?"

"Oh, just peachy." Cristina nodded. "As you can see," she motioned towards the song and dance routine still going on, "We've run out of sad stories and remembrances, so now the party can really get going." Owen could hear the bite in her tone that had been creeping in for the past three days. Not that he had seen much of her since he had been the one to pass on the news.

Truth be told, that moment had almost killed him. Her eyes had been bright, shining with the hard fought victory of Izzie's struggle, and with a few sentences he had destroyed that exuberance. He had watched as her face fell and hardened, held her hand as she took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and then turned to him to see how he was handling everything. He had marveled then and there at the kind of woman he had instinctively known Cristina to be, but at every turn managed to surprise him more.

She had listened intently to everything he had to say. He told her about every medical procedure that they had tried and failed, every moment of doubt through the surgery, and about the pain of a mentor losing a student. She had studied him for a long hard moment before reaching around him to give him a hug, folding her slight form into his, letting him know physically and mentally that it would all be ok. They would make it through this, somehow. It wouldn't be easy, but in her own way, Cristina was making good on her promise to meet him half-way.

She had disappeared after that, needed elsewhere to break the news to Karev, to fight for Izzie, to comfort Meredith. He had heard from Shepherd the next shift that for the first time he hadn't minded Cristina's presence in his home in the early morning hours, shoving him out of bed to make room for her to be there with what Shepherd had referred to as "her person." Cristina and Meredith had a way with each other that transcended almost any other relationship that the two embarked upon.

Cristina and he had seen each other in passing, and had traded phone calls each night, both seeming to need to hear the sound of the other's voice and the reassurance that the events of the past few days would not hinder the declaration of new love, although to say it hadn't put a damper on the circumstance would be a lie.

"Did you check on Izzie before you came over?" the edge in her voice was back, belaying the deliberate nonchalance with which she had asked the question. A particularly sour note from Dr. Robbins incited a reaction from half of the room, but Cristina remained still, focused on nothingness. If she had been like this for the past few hours it was no wonder that he had found her alone when he had finally arrived.

He poured them both a glass of water which Cristina steadfastly ignored and took a sip while nodding. "Condition is the same, serious, but stable." He studied her profile as her mouth quirked in what might have been construed as a smile, but was gone before he could make any confirmation. That particular battle may have been won, but the war was far from over, and other wounds cut more deeply than anyone would have guessed. "Karev said to pass on his regards."

Cristina snorted. "Yeah…" she brought her glass to her lips before raising it in a silent salute and downing the contents without once looking in his direction. "Alex says 'Hi.', Bambi." She finally turned towards him long enough to catch Joe's attention behind him and wave for him to bring her another round. Owen took a breath as he studied her carefully. She had been so strong for all of them for the past three days, but he could see the signs of the strain. The dark circles under her eyes were becoming more prominent. She hadn't been sleeping. The selfish part of Owen hoped that it was because of what had happened to O'Malley and not lingering effects of the nightmare that still haunted them both. A glance at the empty glasses on the table confirmed that she had been wearing lipstick, why, he had no idea. Her hair was loose, but messier than normal, the curls frizzing as if she had run her fingers through them a few times too many.

Joe placed the drink on the table and drifted back towards the bar where a group of nurses and interns were mingling, subdued conversation giving way to raucous laughter as the atmosphere turned from somber to celebration. Cristina reached for the drink, but stilled as Owen's hand closed gently around her wrist.

He marveled at how small she was, how his fingers could close completely around her wrist and have room to spare, but at the same time how much strength lay within her slight frame. "Everything looks good." He said, his fingers gently stroking the soft skin at the underside of her wrist. "I'm sorry I couldn't be here earlier, but it looks like you did a good job."

She finally met his eyes, and Owen could see straight through to the pain that she was struggling to hide from the rest of the world. "How did you know it was me?"

Owen ducked his head slightly, trying to stifle the chuckle. "Sloan would think of making sure there was an open bar, but you would think of a way to make sure that there would be no way for you to have to help clean up."

The smile she gave him didn't reach her eyes. "I guess."

He reached out to brush a stray curl out of her face, his hand lingering on her cheek, feathering against that neck he loved so much. He half expected her to flinch back away from him, but she surprised him once more by leaning ever so slightly into the touch. "How are you doing?" he murmured.

She swallowed tightly and licked her lips, her gaze suddenly a glassy sheen of unshed tears he knew she could shed if she let down her wall. However in the crowded bar, surrounded by her "competition" there was no way that she would ever let them fall. She nodded once and reached for her glass, breaking the gentle contact he had with her wrist. "I'm fine." She took a sip of her drink. "I'm fine." A shuddering breath. "I'm fine. I just…" her voice trailed off.

Owen waited, quietly, figuring that the patient approach would be best. She was behaving like a deer in the woods, skittish and not at all like the Cristina he had come to know and love, nor the Cristina he had seen be the pillar of strength for the rest of them the past few days. "I just didn't get to fight for him, you know?" She lifted her head, her eyes suddenly ablaze. "I was focused on Izzie. We saved Izzie, even though she didn't want it, but we saved her. And George? We didn't even know until it was too late. I didn't know until it was over. I never got to fight."

Owen understood the helplessness she was feeling more than she knew. He reached for her hand, entwining their fingers. "No, you didn't." he said softly. "But I did." He made no other move to comfort her, but studied her profile as she threw back the last of her drink and stood. Her grip on his hand tightened as she pulled him to his feet and nudged him out of her way so she could clear the booth. "What?" he asked, sliding his hand up to her shoulder as she grabbed his jacket from the opposite seat and shoved it into his chest. "Are we going somewhere?"

She fixed him with a gaze that surprised him with its mix of intensity, anger, and yet vulnerability. "We're awakening your savior complex." She tugged his hand firmly, pulling him with her towards the door. "You couldn't save George, but maybe you can save me."

To Owen's surprise, she was steady on her feet, although the grip on his hand was strong enough that he slipped a precautionary arm around her waist, stepping forward towards the front door before she shook her head and dug in her heels. "Not that way." She tugged on his hand again, leading the way towards the back door that emptied out into the alley behind Joe's, the same alley he had tried to escape through those many months ago. She had followed him that night, and his aggression had stalled their relationship for precious months.

"Are we taking the long way back to the hospital?" he asked as she suddenly turned on the spot, pressing her body to his, grabbing him by the front pockets of his jeans and dragging him forward a few steps.

"We're not going to the hospital." She purred backing further into the alley and further away from Joe's. Her lips were on his before he could ask his next question, his surprise taking him back a few steps until the brick wall behind him hindered his movement. His hands automatically went to her hair even as her lips continued their bruising ravishment of his own.

Her hands were busy pulling his shirt out of his jeans before he realized exactly what her intentions were for the two of them. "Cristina." He pulled back; his hands brushing down either side of her face and gathering her hair at the base of her neck. She refused to meet his eyes, but kept her hands busy, now working on his belt buckle. "Cristina." He repeated softly, his hands drifting down her shoulders to gather her hands in his, anything to make her stop for a moment, to meet his eyes.

"What?" she hissed, trying to pull her hands out of his grasp. "C'mon, this could be fun. A little on the wild side." She finally lifted her face to his, but seemed to be trying to look past him to something that he couldn't see, and that they couldn't share.

"Cristina, are you drunk?" he let go of her hands to let his fingers flit up to the line of her jaw, lightly caressing the spread of her sudden blush.

"You were late." She retorted, her hands resuming their previous project, leaving Owen to wish he would have kept hold of them. She leaned forward, planting a kiss at the point where his throat met his jaw, lightly nipping and sucking even as her fingers danced dangerously downward, one deft set working on the button to his jeans even as the other worked their way to the taut skin of his stomach, playing with the elastic band of his boxers. His breath caught in his throat as the button and zipper gave way under her attention and her talented surgeon's hands found his length, already responding to her despite his concerns.

"Just let me take you home." He ground out, rubbing her arms and noticing the chill-bumps there. "Where's your jacket?" he fought to keep his attention on her, on taking care of what she needed. "I don't think…"

"Shhh." Her hand covered his mouth before she replaced her hand with her lips, placing a torrid kiss that had him reaching for more. "I don't need a jacket. I have you." She squeezed him lightly as his arms circled her waist, spinning her around so that her back was against the wall.

"Cristina…" he groaned as her lips left his again, trailing down his jaw, past his throat to the open collar of his shirt, her hands now working in earnest, his groin tightening more and more painfully every nanosecond that he didn't put a stop to this nonsense. But now it seemed as if his hands had minds of their own, travelling down her back to cup her shapely ass, surprised to find that she was wearing a skirt instead of her normal jeans or scrubs.

She responded immediately, wrapping one leg behind him, anchoring herself to him as he found his earlobe with her mouth, suckling and teasing. "Owen, please…" he could barely hear her over the pounding of his own heart, the rush of blood roaring in his ears. "I need to feel alive…" a soft sigh. "I need you." She crushed her lips to his, her tongue swirling past his parted lips seemingly trying to swallow him whole. "Owen, I need you."

The last of his resolve crumbled as did the last vestiges of Cristina's self control. He had the presence of mind to lift her up and carry her to a more ill-lit portion of the alley, mentally counting the steps before her could finally pin her against the wall and bury himself deep inside her, to feel her walls closing in around him, to feel every piece of her respond to him as no one ever had or could or ever would. The scent of her hair in his face, the gasp as a particularly painful nip at her throat was soothed by his tongue aching to sample her sweetness. His hands grappled at her delicate hips roughly lifting her up just enough to impale her upon himself, her fingernails clawing at the bricks above them, desperately seeking a purchase, a way to anchor herself in the here and now, to lose herself in these feelings, to keep the nothingness at bay.

Owen understood more than she knew, giving himself to her in the only way he knew how at the moment, seeing to her needs, riding together through the waves of pain and pleasure, the gasps and muffled cries. He wrapped her legs around his waist his fingers raking down the outside of her thighs as he thrust into her harder and harder, their breathing more and more labored, his lips and tongue fighting to convey every message of love and comfort he wanted to share with her, but the words failing now as ever before.

She came with a shuddering gasp—every part of her trembling. Finally, with that release came the tears that she had been holding back for so long. Owen cradled her to his chest, reveling in the moment of just being able to hold her, wishing that he could absorb her pain as easily as his shirt was absorbing her tears. Her legs slipped from his waist, yet she still clung to him, almost as if she was afraid if she let go, she would go careening off into the darkness, never to be heard from again. Owen pressed a kiss to her temple, helped her straighten their clothes and with his arm firmly around her waist walked her home.

With his military background, it only took him eight minutes to have her tucked into bed, noting the ceiling fan hanging haphazardly from the ceiling and already planning on heading back to his apartment the next morning for his toolkit to fix it for her. She still clung to his hand, the tears never abating or slowing. He made for the living room, but she stopped him. "Stay with me until I fall asleep?" she asked, even now not ready to ask him to stay.

Owen wiped a stray tear from where it clung stubbornly (just like the one who had shed it) to the corner of her eye. "I'll stay."

She turned over, cradling his hand between her breasts and breathed a sigh of relief. "Now I can breathe." She whispered.

Owen propped his head on his other hand, watching as the hiccups that accompanied her tears subsided and her breathing became slower and more regular. He smoothed her hair back as the grip on his hand finally loosened. He eased off the bed, pressing another kiss to her temple before walking towards the door and quietly slipping through it.

"Take care, now."