The King and Queen of Hearts 2/?
Rating: R for sexual content.
Summary: Their's is a love story that's unlike any other; a story of heartache and angst. One of emptiness and loneliness and learning the hard way that they were made for each other. It's not a story of holding gazes across a crowded room and smiles playing upon their lips. It's a story of tears prickling their eyes and fighting back angry words. It's a tale of hating and healing all at the same time.
Disclaimer: These characters are property of Shonda Rhimes/ABC and Grey's Anatomy. They do not belong to me. Reimbursement is not received for fictitious works.
Spoilers for episode 6.13
“I don’t like it.”
“Then make your own damn coffee,” Cristina answered, hiding guilty brown eyes behind her latest issue of The Journal of Cardiothoracic Surgery. She was well aware that the coffee wasn’t Owen’s current source of dislike but she wasn’t going to encourage him.
It was too early to make up excuses.
Owen started to answer and then closed his mouth again, looking at publication in her hand. “Your name is on the front of that.”
Cristina glanced up again and then casually closed the journal, placing it face down on the table. “It’s called a mailing label. Your name is on the front of your trauma journals.”
Wordlessly he walked over and picked up the journal before she could take hold of it once more. He flipped it over and scanned the cover to the spot where he had seen her name only moments before. A look of extreme displeasure crossed his expression when he saw her name coupled with his, “This,” he said, fingering her name written in glossy red italics across the bottom of the journal’s cover, “is not a mailing label. This is what I don’t like.”
“You don’t like me being published?” Cristina asked indignantly, pushing herself up from the table. “I’m sorry. I’ll work harder at being a mediocre surgeon. Or do I work less hard? I’m confused.”
“Don’t you start with me, Cristina. Don’t you start,” Owen snapped at her in frustration. “I don’t like it. I don’t want you to go.”
“I’m going,” she muttered in response, carrying her empty coffee mug to the counter for a refill. Her eyes momentarily glanced at the liquor cabinet and she wished that she could add something else to make this situation more tolerable. “Like it or not, I’m going. I’ve been waiting to get an invitation to this conference since I was in diapers. You don’t turn down this kind of an invitation, not without professionally shooting yourself in the foot.”
“There’s no reason for him to go with you.”
“Really? It’s not required for keynote speakers to show up for their lecture? Trauma conferences must be fairly uneventful if that’s how you people operate.”
“Quit playing games with me.”
Cristina looked up at him, chewing on the inside of her cheek. Guilt ate at her insides but she couldn’t tell him, she couldn’t just blurt it out. She couldn’t take back everything that she’d given to Owen. A part of her had wished that she had never given what little bit of her was left over to the man- she always thinks to herself that she had given him what was left of her heart because Burke had it first and he had never really let it go.
Owen would never understand that though.
“It’s a conference. It’s not some big secret thing, Owen. I’m going because I was invited, because it’s going to make me a better surgeon. It’s going to buy me more journal covers and more study opportunities.”
“It also gives him an entire week with you without me to deal with,” Owen answered, “How am I supposed to trust you on this when you’ve apparently been working on a study, when you’ve been putting together a headlining article and you haven’t once mentioned it to me.”
“Look at how you’re reacting,” she quipped with a pointed glance, “I didn’t want to deal with this. With whatever caveman behavior that you were going to throw at me.”
A behavior that was well justified.
“I don’t like it,” he repeated with a sigh, tossing the journal aside.
Cristina walked around the counter, abandoning her still-empty cup of coffee and took his hand, “You don’t have to like it. I’m not asking you to. I am asking you to chill out though. I’m running on three hours of sleep and I have a fourteen hour day in surgery let alone the charts and long call tomorrow.”
He squeezed her hand gently, reached up to brush curls away from her face. “I see how he looks at you, Cristina.”
“Your eyes are playing tricks on you.”
“He calls you Cristina. How many of his residents is he on a first-name basis with?”
“It’s habit.”
“He was gone for five years, it’s not a habit. The two of you hardly address each other in a professional manner.”
Irritated, she began to pull away but found her body being pulled back against his. “What? Nothing I say is going to matter to you because you already know. You’re already convinced so what does it matter?”
Owen lowered his lips to hers in a possessive kiss, his arms tightening around her petite frame and pulling her against his much larger frame. Only when he felt her body weaken in his arms, dizzy from the lack of oxygen did he tease his lips from hers. “It’s only a conference?”
“You’ve seen the papers. The letter. You know what it is,” she answered breathlessly, her fingers still curled into the collar of his shirt, wrinkling the fabric.
“Tell me.”
“It’s only a conference.”
Gently, he released her not at all convinced by her words. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Cristina. His problem wasn’t with Cristina at all, his problem was with Burke. The moment he’d returned to Seattle Grace, Owen knew that the man was only there to stir up trouble for Cristina despite the fact that he’d arrived under the guise of an invitation from Derek Shepherd- the then acting Chief of Surgery after announcing the opening of a new Cardiothoracics Institute.
It took less than a week for the two men to share heated words with each other. It was well known fact to any of Seattle Grace’s hundreds of surgical residents that the men loathed each other to an unheard of degree and Cristina’s history with the two men was practically written into the plaque mounted to the cornerstone of the recently erected Seattle Grace Cardiovascular Research and Treatment Center.
Owen watched with steely eyes as she packed her bag with her journal and a few other miscellaneous items, “You’re not wearing your ring.”
Cristina glanced up at him, “I haven’t worn it to work since the day I had to call you because I lost it in a surgical towel.”
The memory wasn’t a fond one for him, her brand new ring swallowed up in a surgical towel in some random bag of soiled linens in the hospital. Every time he thought of it, his brain would begin to wonder exactly how her ring had slipped from her finger into a towel so easily without her noticing but then he would chalk it up to paranoia getting the best of him.
Burke was the problem. Not Cristina.
Not his Cristina.
“Stop thinking about it,” Cristina sighed, “It’s only a week. It’s one week and then I’ll be home and by then our marriage certificate will be ready and we can get the rest figured out.”
There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that what she was telling him was wrong, that using their impending marriage to shut him up was dastardly and cowardly but she couldn’t take anymore. She had fully planned on marrying him, on giving into what he wanted. Cristina loved him, there was some remote part of her that wanted it or she would have never agreed to it.
Things were just complicated.
Reluctantly, he let go of it. “When is your first surgery?”
“I’ve got an hour,” she mumbled glancing through her bag to make sure she’d gotten everything she’d need for the day. A small yelp of surprise escaped her lips when her body was pulled into his arms once more, this time with a more amorous purpose than before. A whimper of protest left her lips and she glanced at the time, “I can’t. I’ll be late.”
“He’s a big boy,” Owen uttered into her mouth, sliding his hands around to her ass and lifting her onto the counter. “He can start his own surgeries.”
She began to protest that he was interfering with her career when he was like this but her argument would have been invalid as she would gladly be a few moments late if for some reason she’d been eschewed from cardio on a high traffic general surgery day when they needed a set of experienced hands to pull appendices all day. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back ravenously, throwing herself into it.
Pleased with her response, Owen began to unbutton her clothes and she reached down for his pants to unbutton them. His lips moved over her neck and he scraped at her flesh gently with the stubble on his chin, already aching to bury himself inside her.
Rather than telling him to hurry it up and that he could take his time later, Cristina pulled his shirt open hastily, sending a pair of buttons sailing to the floor. Her hips rose as he tugged at her pants and panties and she parted her legs, pulling his hips into hers.
“You know how I want it,” Cristina murmured in a low and seductive voice, placing her palms firmly behind her to brace herself against his ruthless entry.
For only a few moments, she tried to force her impending surgery from the forefront of her mind and give herself to the man who loved her so desperately, whom she desperately wanted to love as much as she was sure that she once did.
Cristina’s eyes moved upward meeting his blue ones and her gaze faltered. She could see how much he was hurting, even if he wasn’t saying it. She knew that he wouldn’t understand and she didn’t expect him to. Hurting him had never been her intention.
Cristina was merely tired of hurting.
Summary: Their's is a love story that's unlike any other; a story of heartache and angst. One of emptiness and loneliness and learning the hard way that they were made for each other. It's not a story of holding gazes across a crowded room and smiles playing upon their lips. It's a story of tears prickling their eyes and fighting back angry words. It's a tale of hating and healing all at the same time.
Disclaimer: These characters are property of Shonda Rhimes/ABC and Grey's Anatomy. They do not belong to me. Reimbursement is not received for fictitious works.
Spoilers for episode 6.13
“I don’t like it.”
“Then make your own damn coffee,” Cristina answered, hiding guilty brown eyes behind her latest issue of The Journal of Cardiothoracic Surgery. She was well aware that the coffee wasn’t Owen’s current source of dislike but she wasn’t going to encourage him.
It was too early to make up excuses.
Owen started to answer and then closed his mouth again, looking at publication in her hand. “Your name is on the front of that.”
Cristina glanced up again and then casually closed the journal, placing it face down on the table. “It’s called a mailing label. Your name is on the front of your trauma journals.”
Wordlessly he walked over and picked up the journal before she could take hold of it once more. He flipped it over and scanned the cover to the spot where he had seen her name only moments before. A look of extreme displeasure crossed his expression when he saw her name coupled with his, “This,” he said, fingering her name written in glossy red italics across the bottom of the journal’s cover, “is not a mailing label. This is what I don’t like.”
“You don’t like me being published?” Cristina asked indignantly, pushing herself up from the table. “I’m sorry. I’ll work harder at being a mediocre surgeon. Or do I work less hard? I’m confused.”
“Don’t you start with me, Cristina. Don’t you start,” Owen snapped at her in frustration. “I don’t like it. I don’t want you to go.”
“I’m going,” she muttered in response, carrying her empty coffee mug to the counter for a refill. Her eyes momentarily glanced at the liquor cabinet and she wished that she could add something else to make this situation more tolerable. “Like it or not, I’m going. I’ve been waiting to get an invitation to this conference since I was in diapers. You don’t turn down this kind of an invitation, not without professionally shooting yourself in the foot.”
“There’s no reason for him to go with you.”
“Really? It’s not required for keynote speakers to show up for their lecture? Trauma conferences must be fairly uneventful if that’s how you people operate.”
“Quit playing games with me.”
Cristina looked up at him, chewing on the inside of her cheek. Guilt ate at her insides but she couldn’t tell him, she couldn’t just blurt it out. She couldn’t take back everything that she’d given to Owen. A part of her had wished that she had never given what little bit of her was left over to the man- she always thinks to herself that she had given him what was left of her heart because Burke had it first and he had never really let it go.
Owen would never understand that though.
“It’s a conference. It’s not some big secret thing, Owen. I’m going because I was invited, because it’s going to make me a better surgeon. It’s going to buy me more journal covers and more study opportunities.”
“It also gives him an entire week with you without me to deal with,” Owen answered, “How am I supposed to trust you on this when you’ve apparently been working on a study, when you’ve been putting together a headlining article and you haven’t once mentioned it to me.”
“Look at how you’re reacting,” she quipped with a pointed glance, “I didn’t want to deal with this. With whatever caveman behavior that you were going to throw at me.”
A behavior that was well justified.
“I don’t like it,” he repeated with a sigh, tossing the journal aside.
Cristina walked around the counter, abandoning her still-empty cup of coffee and took his hand, “You don’t have to like it. I’m not asking you to. I am asking you to chill out though. I’m running on three hours of sleep and I have a fourteen hour day in surgery let alone the charts and long call tomorrow.”
He squeezed her hand gently, reached up to brush curls away from her face. “I see how he looks at you, Cristina.”
“Your eyes are playing tricks on you.”
“He calls you Cristina. How many of his residents is he on a first-name basis with?”
“It’s habit.”
“He was gone for five years, it’s not a habit. The two of you hardly address each other in a professional manner.”
Irritated, she began to pull away but found her body being pulled back against his. “What? Nothing I say is going to matter to you because you already know. You’re already convinced so what does it matter?”
Owen lowered his lips to hers in a possessive kiss, his arms tightening around her petite frame and pulling her against his much larger frame. Only when he felt her body weaken in his arms, dizzy from the lack of oxygen did he tease his lips from hers. “It’s only a conference?”
“You’ve seen the papers. The letter. You know what it is,” she answered breathlessly, her fingers still curled into the collar of his shirt, wrinkling the fabric.
“Tell me.”
“It’s only a conference.”
Gently, he released her not at all convinced by her words. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Cristina. His problem wasn’t with Cristina at all, his problem was with Burke. The moment he’d returned to Seattle Grace, Owen knew that the man was only there to stir up trouble for Cristina despite the fact that he’d arrived under the guise of an invitation from Derek Shepherd- the then acting Chief of Surgery after announcing the opening of a new Cardiothoracics Institute.
It took less than a week for the two men to share heated words with each other. It was well known fact to any of Seattle Grace’s hundreds of surgical residents that the men loathed each other to an unheard of degree and Cristina’s history with the two men was practically written into the plaque mounted to the cornerstone of the recently erected Seattle Grace Cardiovascular Research and Treatment Center.
Owen watched with steely eyes as she packed her bag with her journal and a few other miscellaneous items, “You’re not wearing your ring.”
Cristina glanced up at him, “I haven’t worn it to work since the day I had to call you because I lost it in a surgical towel.”
The memory wasn’t a fond one for him, her brand new ring swallowed up in a surgical towel in some random bag of soiled linens in the hospital. Every time he thought of it, his brain would begin to wonder exactly how her ring had slipped from her finger into a towel so easily without her noticing but then he would chalk it up to paranoia getting the best of him.
Burke was the problem. Not Cristina.
Not his Cristina.
“Stop thinking about it,” Cristina sighed, “It’s only a week. It’s one week and then I’ll be home and by then our marriage certificate will be ready and we can get the rest figured out.”
There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that what she was telling him was wrong, that using their impending marriage to shut him up was dastardly and cowardly but she couldn’t take anymore. She had fully planned on marrying him, on giving into what he wanted. Cristina loved him, there was some remote part of her that wanted it or she would have never agreed to it.
Things were just complicated.
Reluctantly, he let go of it. “When is your first surgery?”
“I’ve got an hour,” she mumbled glancing through her bag to make sure she’d gotten everything she’d need for the day. A small yelp of surprise escaped her lips when her body was pulled into his arms once more, this time with a more amorous purpose than before. A whimper of protest left her lips and she glanced at the time, “I can’t. I’ll be late.”
“He’s a big boy,” Owen uttered into her mouth, sliding his hands around to her ass and lifting her onto the counter. “He can start his own surgeries.”
She began to protest that he was interfering with her career when he was like this but her argument would have been invalid as she would gladly be a few moments late if for some reason she’d been eschewed from cardio on a high traffic general surgery day when they needed a set of experienced hands to pull appendices all day. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back ravenously, throwing herself into it.
Pleased with her response, Owen began to unbutton her clothes and she reached down for his pants to unbutton them. His lips moved over her neck and he scraped at her flesh gently with the stubble on his chin, already aching to bury himself inside her.
Rather than telling him to hurry it up and that he could take his time later, Cristina pulled his shirt open hastily, sending a pair of buttons sailing to the floor. Her hips rose as he tugged at her pants and panties and she parted her legs, pulling his hips into hers.
“You know how I want it,” Cristina murmured in a low and seductive voice, placing her palms firmly behind her to brace herself against his ruthless entry.
For only a few moments, she tried to force her impending surgery from the forefront of her mind and give herself to the man who loved her so desperately, whom she desperately wanted to love as much as she was sure that she once did.
Cristina’s eyes moved upward meeting his blue ones and her gaze faltered. She could see how much he was hurting, even if he wasn’t saying it. She knew that he wouldn’t understand and she didn’t expect him to. Hurting him had never been her intention.
Cristina was merely tired of hurting.