When Major Owen Hunt first arrived at Seattle Grace, it wasn’t just his military precision and calm under pressure that made an impression—it was the way he looked at Maya. She was sharp, driven, and had walls up so high it made most people turn away. But not him.

Their first meeting wasn’t in a surgery, but in a trauma bay—her trauma bay. Maya had slipped on ice rushing to help an incoming trauma and been impaled with an icicle. She was being treated as a patient, barely holding it together, masking her fear with sarcasm and defiance.

Owen was the one who pulled the icicle out—delicate, precise, calm. He didn’t flinch. And when it was done, he lingered by her bed just a second longer than he needed to. Long enough for her to notice. Long enough for her to feel it.

Later that day, he kissed her. No warning, no words—just something raw and real in the middle of the chaos that surrounded them.

He left not long after. But then, he came back as the Trauma attending,For her.

They started seeing each other, falling into something unexpected. Maya, always in control, found herself rattled by how much she wanted him. How much he saw her. But then the cracks started to show.

Owen had demons. PTSD followed him like a shadow. One night, the spinning of a ceiling fan triggered something deep. In his sleep, thinking he was back in the field, he reached out—to fight, to survive—and his hands found Maya’s throat. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak. And for a terrifying moment, she thought this was how it would end.