Fic: There's no fixing me, so I'm kind of glad you're broken too; {GA-- Cristina Yang/Owen Hunt}
Title: There's no fixing me, so I'm kind of glad you're broken too.
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Characters/Pairings: Cristina Yang/Owen Hunt
Rating: G
Warnings/Spoilers: Nahh, not really.
Word Count: 500 approx.
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libellous, defamatory, or in any way factual. All song-lyrics mentioned belong to their respective owners, not to me.
Summary: The misted glass clears where her fingertips flush against it and she pulls it to her mouth, taking note of his expression and whether she recognises it or not.
Author’s Note: Written for the ga_lfas Round #2, with the prompt 'salt'. It had to be 100-500 words, and written in a week. I've decided not to edit it when I repost it, so all its flaws are still present. ^_^ So yeah... Hope you like it. Comments make me happy. You know it.
She hears the clink of beer bottles as he opens the door, holding it with his shoulder and closing it behind him. Her chin rests on her knees, watches him make his tired way over to the sofa, taking off his jacket. The misted glass clears where her fingertips flush against it and she pulls it to her mouth, taking note of his expression and whether she recognises it or not.
She sits back and plays with the label, her eyes flitting to his preoccupied face. He takes in her bare apartment, devoid of festivity and tradition and any sign that this time of year could be more meaningful than usual, and he feels grateful- because there’s something calming about it all. There’s something to be said about Cristina and her soft features in the dim glow of the room, of her nimble hands, and the fact that this silent moment would be awkward with anyone else.
“They’re salting the roads.” he finally mentions, “And there’s, uh, Christmas lights going up…” He laughs quietly and watches her face change, a precarious mixture of anticipation and understanding, “And I didn’t really think about how… that would make me feel. Until I saw them.” She reaches forward with her chilled hand and cups his face, running a deft thumb over his tired lines and lips before letting it rest again around her bottle. “This is my first Christmas.” He nods once, adding, “In the after.”
“Mm…” is all she can manage, the sound inconsequential and perfect at the same time. She leans forward, resting on her elbow; she runs cold fingers through her hair and looks up, “My dad loved Christmas…” she breathes it out like she hasn’t really thought about it for a while, and he finds his head tilting to take in more of the moment- the quiet smile, the distant face, “He said he felt… ‘very… American’ at Christmas.” Her eyes glass slightly, “Tree, decorations, this huge--” She laughs a little, gesturing, “Turkey. That no one could finish. He--” She straightens up, “I’m not--”An empty sigh, “It’s just… In my after. It’s always the first Christmas.”
She smiles and kisses him, her lips pressed like she’s worried about crying or what she might say or how long that conversation could go on for if she really let it. And all it was really about was reminding him that he’s not alone, that she’s there. Her head’s resting on his shoulder, arm snaked around his front, a fragile ‘Merry Christmas’ whispered and a soft hum close to his skin. He smiles quietly and closes his eyes, and focuses on the warmth of her (breathing) body and not those cold in the ground, letting himself have one of the rare moments where he feels connected to something bigger than just him.
A few more beers and he falls asleep and it’s her turn (for once) to lie awake and think about how some things should be different.
Please, read and review ^_^
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Characters/Pairings: Cristina Yang/Owen Hunt
Rating: G
Warnings/Spoilers: Nahh, not really.
Word Count: 500 approx.
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libellous, defamatory, or in any way factual. All song-lyrics mentioned belong to their respective owners, not to me.
Summary: The misted glass clears where her fingertips flush against it and she pulls it to her mouth, taking note of his expression and whether she recognises it or not.
Author’s Note: Written for the ga_lfas Round #2, with the prompt 'salt'. It had to be 100-500 words, and written in a week. I've decided not to edit it when I repost it, so all its flaws are still present. ^_^ So yeah... Hope you like it. Comments make me happy. You know it.
She hears the clink of beer bottles as he opens the door, holding it with his shoulder and closing it behind him. Her chin rests on her knees, watches him make his tired way over to the sofa, taking off his jacket. The misted glass clears where her fingertips flush against it and she pulls it to her mouth, taking note of his expression and whether she recognises it or not.
She sits back and plays with the label, her eyes flitting to his preoccupied face. He takes in her bare apartment, devoid of festivity and tradition and any sign that this time of year could be more meaningful than usual, and he feels grateful- because there’s something calming about it all. There’s something to be said about Cristina and her soft features in the dim glow of the room, of her nimble hands, and the fact that this silent moment would be awkward with anyone else.
“They’re salting the roads.” he finally mentions, “And there’s, uh, Christmas lights going up…” He laughs quietly and watches her face change, a precarious mixture of anticipation and understanding, “And I didn’t really think about how… that would make me feel. Until I saw them.” She reaches forward with her chilled hand and cups his face, running a deft thumb over his tired lines and lips before letting it rest again around her bottle. “This is my first Christmas.” He nods once, adding, “In the after.”
“Mm…” is all she can manage, the sound inconsequential and perfect at the same time. She leans forward, resting on her elbow; she runs cold fingers through her hair and looks up, “My dad loved Christmas…” she breathes it out like she hasn’t really thought about it for a while, and he finds his head tilting to take in more of the moment- the quiet smile, the distant face, “He said he felt… ‘very… American’ at Christmas.” Her eyes glass slightly, “Tree, decorations, this huge--” She laughs a little, gesturing, “Turkey. That no one could finish. He--” She straightens up, “I’m not--”An empty sigh, “It’s just… In my after. It’s always the first Christmas.”
She smiles and kisses him, her lips pressed like she’s worried about crying or what she might say or how long that conversation could go on for if she really let it. And all it was really about was reminding him that he’s not alone, that she’s there. Her head’s resting on his shoulder, arm snaked around his front, a fragile ‘Merry Christmas’ whispered and a soft hum close to his skin. He smiles quietly and closes his eyes, and focuses on the warmth of her (breathing) body and not those cold in the ground, letting himself have one of the rare moments where he feels connected to something bigger than just him.
A few more beers and he falls asleep and it’s her turn (for once) to lie awake and think about how some things should be different.
Please, read and review ^_^