His nightmares always took him back to Iraq, back to the war and back to all of the horrible things he'd seen there. This night it wasn't a violent memory but a gut wrenching, awful memory of the despair on the dying men's faces, the cries of the wounded that made his stomach turn.
Christina awoke to the sound of retching coming from the bathroom. After a moment of groggy confusion she slipped from beneath the covers pausing momentarily when her feet hit the cold wooden floor. Owen was in the bathroom on his knees in front of the white porcelain bowl his shoulders heaved once more then went limp, his head dropped and he rested his chin against his chest. He hadn't heard her when she moved into the doorway "Are you okay?" The sound of her voice sent him spinning around to face her breathing hard. Once he registered her face and intense dark eyes staring back at him he slumped back against the wall hiding his face in his hands. Cristina entered the bathroom making her approach known to Owen she feared how he would react she always did but came closer still.
He wasn't a violent man by any stretch of the mind and would never intentionally hurt her but the nightmare drove all sense of reality from him because in nights like these that war still was his reality.
Lightly she laid her hand on his shoulder when he didn't react she slid down the wall next to him. "Owen..." She whispered his name pulling him into her arms as best she could, he was shaking, crying again for all those he couldn't save. It was a rare moment when he stopped acting as though he were fine.