FanArt/ Fanfic/ Fanvideo Challenge "Scare up some Fun"
video by COforever1
Title: Wouldn't You Like to See Something Strange?
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Pairing: Owen/Cristina
Rating: PG-13. Suggestive but nothing explicit.
Spoilers: Season 7/8, nothing specific.
Summary: Non-canon take on Cristina doing something she doesn't normally do.
Word Count: 1,427
(by PrincesLeah)
"Cristina?" Owen stepped on the landing of the firehouse, confused and slightly apprehensive. "Cristina?"
"In here."
Rather than reassuring him, her perfectly calm, even relaxed response sent chills down his spine. It wasn't so much what she had said or her tone of voice, though, so much as where her voice seemed to be coming from...it wasn't normal and he was, if he was to be honest with himself...terrified beyond belief.
"So how was your day, dear?"
The sarcasm flew over his head completely as he stared slack jawed at the picture in front of him. The terror was now paramount and his head began to reel with the possibilities and whether or not he should take her in or if he should just call Derek right then and now to come over and examine her.
"Owen? Owen, you're...really, really pale. Like...more than usual."
He managed to shake himself from his stupor long enough to form a single word. "Cooking."
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His wife, Cristina Yang of Beverly Hills, who, to put it mildly, did not enjoy serving people...was indeed standing over the hot stove with a potholder in her hand and a twisted smile on her face at his utterance. There were several pans on the burners and the delicious something he had smelled while coming up the stairs that was not Chinese, pizza, Thai, or any other form of takeout he had grown accustomed to on the nights she took care of dinner.
Cristina Yang of Beverly Hills...was cooking. And cooking a real, actual, delicious dinner, if the smells were anything to go by.
"How...why...?" he attempted to ask, tentatively stepping closer. "Uh...are you feeling all right?"
"Well, I did hit my head pretty hard when you had me up against the door in the on-call room yesterday." She picked up one of the spoons on the counter and stirred the contents of one of the pots slowly, whether or not just to screw with him he wasn't entirely sure. "Maybe I should get a consult with McDreamy."
For a few moments all he could do was watch her incredulously while his vocabulary returned to one of decidedly limited variety. "You're...cooking..."
"I think we established that, Sherlock." She rolled her eyes and turned off one of the burners. "Don't get too excited. Your mom brought all this by the other day, remember? I think she thinks I'm starving you or something because of the whole cereal-from-a-box thing." Cristina licked the spoon experimentally. "I was hungry. So I decided to heat it all up for dinner." She offered the spoon to him casually. "And the one place was way too long a wait for pad Thai, I don't care what awards they've won. And we're out of Cracklin' Oat Bran."
He took a taste from the spoon tentatively, immediately recognizing his mother's chili and relaxing slightly at the knowledge that Cristina hadn't lost her mind or suffered cerebral trauma. "Okay. I was just...confused."
"Clearly." Cristina shook her head at him. "I could cook, you know. I just...choose not to."
"Duly noted." Now that he had recovered from the immediate shock and confusion, he began to relax further and suddenly appreciated just how gorgeous his wife was when she was offering him a taste of what she was cooking, or heating up, and how much of a turn on it was to watch her try her hand at being domestic. "You know, you look good behind that stove..."
"Yeah, well, don't get used to it." She opened the oven door and proceeded to bend over to check the progress of the dish in there. "Do you remember how long your mom said to heat the cornbread for?"
Owen wasn't all that interested in how long the bread needed to be warmed up and watched Cristina intently as she leaned to study the dish and whether or not it was ready. "Nope."
She turned her head while keeping her body in the same tantalizing position. "Hey. Do you want to eat or not?"
He smirked at her choice of words. "I do."
It was her turn to smirk as she grabbed a couple of potholders from the counter and bent back down to take the glass dish from the stove. "You like the housewife thing."
"I like the domestic thing." He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. "I like coming home and spending time with you."
"While I bend over a hot stove," Cristina teased, giggling as he began to bury his face into her neck and nibble playfully at the soft skin. "Stop it. Do you want me to start a fire?"
"Mmm," was Owen's inspired response, muffled as his mouth and nose were currently covered by her mass of curls. "We have fire extinguishers."
"From before we were born. And you're not a fireman, no matter how much you roleplay it with that old hat we found." She tried without much effort to squirm away from him and laughed in defeat as he began to suckle on her collarbone. "Speaking of roleplay...I could get changed...if you want to try the housewife thing." She lowered her eyes seductively as she stirred the contents of the two remaining pots on the stove. "I could even go retro...wear a dress, those thigh high stockings you like...stilettos..." She paused for dramatic effect. "That pearl necklace..."
He shivered slightly at the idea of Cristina dressed as an old-fashioned housewife, though he didn't know if it was out of desire or not. "Cristina Yang as a housewife..." He kissed her neck and lazily swirled his tongue on the spot. "It's hot and creepy at the same time."
Her sudden gasp made him nearly take off a chunk of her skin instead of gently biting his way to her jaw. "That's it!"
"What's it?" He was lost in confusion once again until all of a sudden the grin on her face clicked the lightbulb on. "Oh..."
***
"I don't think you put on enough gel." Cristina eyed him critically as they made their way up the stairs of what was formerly her apartment building.
"Cristina, you can see your reflection in my hair with all the gel I used." Owen pointed out patiently, far too used to her drive for perfection even in Halloween costumes. "I still think we should have saved this just for us."
"We can when we go home," she promised, before her expression turned into one of mirth. "You're just upset because you didn't get the costumes you wanted. I told you I would do those at home too."
Owen shot her a look. "You always come down with a headache when I suggest it."
"Tomorrow night. You and me. Luke and Leia, all right? I'll even do my hair in those bun things." Cristina’s voice was flippant as she smoothed her costume.
"Han Solo. Han Solo and Leia." He sighed as he prepared to knock on the door to Callie and Arizona's apartment. "Would you also consider watching the movie at some point so you could get some background...?"
"No." She stood at the door, the gleeful smile already spreading across her face in anticipation. "Go ahead."
Owen shook his head at his wife and smiled at her only reason for actually coming to the Halloween party Callie had wheedled them to attend-to scare the crap out of the people she called friends.
“Oh, hey…” Callie trailed off as she opened the door for them. “…Crap, that’s terrifying.”
“I know.” Cristina smirked as she preceded Owen into the living room.
The entire room full of people fell dead silent at Cristina and Owen’s entrance, more specifically at Cristina, who had taken the 1950s housewife idea and made it her Halloween costume, complete with a proper dress and apron, tasteful heels, pearls, and the cake that Owen’s mother had baked for them in a tin in her hand.
Owen wasn’t sure if it was the eerily perfect costume she had put together or the demented smile on her face in response to everyone’s reaction to the costume no one ever thought they’d see her wear that was catching him off guard, much as he had been when he had walked into the firehouse the other day to witness Cristina Yang behind the kitchen stove, but then it was his Cristina that spoke, all sarcasm and snark, and he relaxed at the familiarity and just enjoyed the mild terror in the eyes of the people around him at the picture she presented.
“Boo.”
Cristina Yang of Beverly Hills...was cooking. And cooking a real, actual, delicious dinner, if the smells were anything to go by.
"How...why...?" he attempted to ask, tentatively stepping closer. "Uh...are you feeling all right?"
"Well, I did hit my head pretty hard when you had me up against the door in the on-call room yesterday." She picked up one of the spoons on the counter and stirred the contents of one of the pots slowly, whether or not just to screw with him he wasn't entirely sure. "Maybe I should get a consult with McDreamy."
For a few moments all he could do was watch her incredulously while his vocabulary returned to one of decidedly limited variety. "You're...cooking..."
"I think we established that, Sherlock." She rolled her eyes and turned off one of the burners. "Don't get too excited. Your mom brought all this by the other day, remember? I think she thinks I'm starving you or something because of the whole cereal-from-a-box thing." Cristina licked the spoon experimentally. "I was hungry. So I decided to heat it all up for dinner." She offered the spoon to him casually. "And the one place was way too long a wait for pad Thai, I don't care what awards they've won. And we're out of Cracklin' Oat Bran."
He took a taste from the spoon tentatively, immediately recognizing his mother's chili and relaxing slightly at the knowledge that Cristina hadn't lost her mind or suffered cerebral trauma. "Okay. I was just...confused."
"Clearly." Cristina shook her head at him. "I could cook, you know. I just...choose not to."
"Duly noted." Now that he had recovered from the immediate shock and confusion, he began to relax further and suddenly appreciated just how gorgeous his wife was when she was offering him a taste of what she was cooking, or heating up, and how much of a turn on it was to watch her try her hand at being domestic. "You know, you look good behind that stove..."
"Yeah, well, don't get used to it." She opened the oven door and proceeded to bend over to check the progress of the dish in there. "Do you remember how long your mom said to heat the cornbread for?"
Owen wasn't all that interested in how long the bread needed to be warmed up and watched Cristina intently as she leaned to study the dish and whether or not it was ready. "Nope."
She turned her head while keeping her body in the same tantalizing position. "Hey. Do you want to eat or not?"
He smirked at her choice of words. "I do."
It was her turn to smirk as she grabbed a couple of potholders from the counter and bent back down to take the glass dish from the stove. "You like the housewife thing."
"I like the domestic thing." He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. "I like coming home and spending time with you."
"While I bend over a hot stove," Cristina teased, giggling as he began to bury his face into her neck and nibble playfully at the soft skin. "Stop it. Do you want me to start a fire?"
"Mmm," was Owen's inspired response, muffled as his mouth and nose were currently covered by her mass of curls. "We have fire extinguishers."
"From before we were born. And you're not a fireman, no matter how much you roleplay it with that old hat we found." She tried without much effort to squirm away from him and laughed in defeat as he began to suckle on her collarbone. "Speaking of roleplay...I could get changed...if you want to try the housewife thing." She lowered her eyes seductively as she stirred the contents of the two remaining pots on the stove. "I could even go retro...wear a dress, those thigh high stockings you like...stilettos..." She paused for dramatic effect. "That pearl necklace..."
He shivered slightly at the idea of Cristina dressed as an old-fashioned housewife, though he didn't know if it was out of desire or not. "Cristina Yang as a housewife..." He kissed her neck and lazily swirled his tongue on the spot. "It's hot and creepy at the same time."
Her sudden gasp made him nearly take off a chunk of her skin instead of gently biting his way to her jaw. "That's it!"
"What's it?" He was lost in confusion once again until all of a sudden the grin on her face clicked the lightbulb on. "Oh..."
***
"I don't think you put on enough gel." Cristina eyed him critically as they made their way up the stairs of what was formerly her apartment building.
"Cristina, you can see your reflection in my hair with all the gel I used." Owen pointed out patiently, far too used to her drive for perfection even in Halloween costumes. "I still think we should have saved this just for us."
"We can when we go home," she promised, before her expression turned into one of mirth. "You're just upset because you didn't get the costumes you wanted. I told you I would do those at home too."
Owen shot her a look. "You always come down with a headache when I suggest it."
"Tomorrow night. You and me. Luke and Leia, all right? I'll even do my hair in those bun things." Cristina’s voice was flippant as she smoothed her costume.
"Han Solo. Han Solo and Leia." He sighed as he prepared to knock on the door to Callie and Arizona's apartment. "Would you also consider watching the movie at some point so you could get some background...?"
"No." She stood at the door, the gleeful smile already spreading across her face in anticipation. "Go ahead."
Owen shook his head at his wife and smiled at her only reason for actually coming to the Halloween party Callie had wheedled them to attend-to scare the crap out of the people she called friends.
“Oh, hey…” Callie trailed off as she opened the door for them. “…Crap, that’s terrifying.”
“I know.” Cristina smirked as she preceded Owen into the living room.
The entire room full of people fell dead silent at Cristina and Owen’s entrance, more specifically at Cristina, who had taken the 1950s housewife idea and made it her Halloween costume, complete with a proper dress and apron, tasteful heels, pearls, and the cake that Owen’s mother had baked for them in a tin in her hand.
Owen wasn’t sure if it was the eerily perfect costume she had put together or the demented smile on her face in response to everyone’s reaction to the costume no one ever thought they’d see her wear that was catching him off guard, much as he had been when he had walked into the firehouse the other day to witness Cristina Yang behind the kitchen stove, but then it was his Cristina that spoke, all sarcasm and snark, and he relaxed at the familiarity and just enjoyed the mild terror in the eyes of the people around him at the picture she presented.
“Boo.”
