WIP: A Cristina Carol (Stave One: A Ghost)
Did you now that A Christmas Carol is public domain now? And that means I can sit down with the text and examine it and then write fic?
Yeah, I know, it's awesome.
In theory this will be part of something longer, but, um, with my attention span?
Yeaaaaaaaaah.
Merry Christmas, bitches. Have some Grey's Anatomy fic. Even if it has no title and a somewhat completely unoriginal plot. It's Cristina! What more do you need?
stave one . the ghost
The clock struck twelve- well, it ticked, kind of, or maybe just flipped, in the way digital clocks do- and that was when he appeared, an old white guy whose body was just vaguely transparent. Cristina blinked two, three times, and then stared. He wore what passed for the type of nightgown that other people's mothers wore, and also a lot of chains. Cristina wasn't one to comment on what people liked, but cross-dressing sadomasochism seemed a bizarre reason to sneak into Burke's on Christmas Eve.
Burke was still dead to the world next to her, which meant that she'd have to be the one to dismiss him. Not that she wouldn't have been anyway- Burke was totally a pussy when he was tired- but at least there would have been witnesses. This was not the kind of shit she could make up, but it would be so like Meredith to say she was just drunk when she tried to share the cool story at work the next day.
"Do you mind?" Cristina asked, and she pulled the covers up over her. She wondered if this was why Burke prefers to sleep clothed.
The guy didn't answer, and he didn't look away either.
Cristina sighed. "What do you want with me?"
"Much!"
Her eyes narrowed. "Who are you, anyway?"
"Ask me who I was."
"Who were you, then?" Cristina had just finished an eighteen-hour shift. Cristina was fucking exhausted. Cristina did not have time for this crap.
"In life, I was your-"
"Wait." Cristina shook her head. "What do you mean was? You're sitting here talking to me."
"Standing."
"Whatever. The point is, I'm a doctor. That means I believe in science. And that means that I think this whole... ghost thing? Is crap." She frowned. "And I'm tired. And possibly hallucinating from exhaustion."
Because she was. Tired. Seriously.
Seriously.
"You don't believe in me," the guy said.
"Not so much. No."
"What evidence would you have of my reality, beyond that of your senses?"
She shrugged. The comforter was warm, and she didn't remove her shoulders from underneath it, and although she wasn't sure if he could see, she also didn't much care.
"Why do you doubt your senses?"
"I've seen a man," Cristina said, "who smelled chicken all the time. Everything he smelled, was chicken. Was there chicken in the room? No, he just had a tumor which had a profound impact on his olfactory system. I've watched a surgery on a man who managed to poke his eye out with a stick. Literally. He was running. But he swore that in front of him he could see what was going on. Somehow, he managed to miss the retina. I've met a woman who thought I was a blonde. Was I actually a blonde? No, she was just crazy. Senses aren't perfect. Science is."
She knew she should have been scared. This wasn't the type of scenario that her life had prepared her for. But, well, that was what being a doctor was about. Rolling with whatever was going on. No matter how crazy.
There was the sound of jangling, then, and it came from the old white guy who was shaking pretty much every limb he had and letting the chains clang against each other. Cristina gripped the comforter further grounding herself, and made a mental note to tell Burke to call the super about this.
Damn it, Burke. He still felt warm beside her, but at the same time, kind of distant. Because seriously, Burke slept deep, but not this deep. It was like she was trapped in some kind of space-time bubble with the crazy old transparent guy- okay, Cristina, say it; this crazy old transparent ghost- and Burke was just having the time of his life, dreaming about whatever it was he dreamed about. And Cristina was not.
Which meant that, in all likelihood, one too many days working at Seattle Grace had actually caused her to snap. That was totally unlike her, really, but Cristina was okay with that, as long as she wasn't sent to those lunatics at psych. Which meant, if this hallucination was going to cause her to go crazy, she might as well go the whole way. At least that way she'd be handled in surgery first. And McDreamy would probably accidentally sever her brain stem or something and she'd be all better, because that was how the operating room worked. Meredith would probably find it deeply meaningful, or whatever.
Cristina sighed. "Dreadful apparition," she said. "Why do you trouble me?" And she yawned, maintaining eye contact the whole time.
"Woman of the worldly mind!" he replied, "do you believe in me or not?"
"Sure," Cristina said. "Fine. Whatever. But why would spirits walk the earth, and why would you come to me anyway?"
"It is required of every man," the ghost said, "that the spirit within him should walk abroad among his fellowmen, and travel far and wide; and if that spirit goes not forth in life, it is condemned to do so after death. It is doomed to wander through the world -- oh, woe is me! -- and witness what it cannot share, but might have shared on earth, and turned to happiness!"
He cried out again, and shook his chains. Cristina raised an eyebrow and just watched til he calmed down. It took a while, but, well, it wasn't like she was going to shake a rattle at him or anything.
"So," she said when he stopped. "What's with the handcuffs?"
"I wear the chain I forged in life," he told her. "I made it link by link, and yard by yard; I girded it on of my own free will, and of my own free will I wore it. Is its pattern strange to you? Or would you know the weight and length of the strong coil you bear yourself?"
"You're standing here, staring at me in my underwear while wearing a nightgown, and you're asking if the pattern is strange?"
"Your chain was full as heavy and as long as this, seven Christmas Eves ago. You have laboured on it, since. It is a ponderous chain!"
"Seven Christmas Eves ago, my mother was asking me if any of the women at Smith were pre-law and might want to come over for Chanukah to meet the family. Any chain-building was richly deserved."
"I cannot comfort you with this," the ghost replied. "It comes from other regions, Cristina Yang, and is conveyed by other ministers, to other kinds of people. Nor can I tell you what I would. A very little more, is all permitted to me. I cannot rest, I cannot stay, I cannot linger anywhere."
"Sucks to be you," Cristina said with a shrug. "Can I go back to bed now? I have work tomorrow morning"
"Oh! captive, bound, and double-ironed," he cried out, "not to know, that ages of incessant labour, by immortal creatures, for this earth must pass into eternity before the good of which it is susceptible is all developed. Not to know that any Christian spirit working kindly in its little sphere, whatever it may be, will find its mortal life too short for its vast means of usefulness. Not to know that no space of regret can make amends for one life's opportunity misused! Yet such was I! Oh! such was I!"
"Of course you were," Cristina said. "I get it. You've been talking for ages. I'm not deaf."
The ghost continued as though she hadn't spoken. "At this time of the rolling year, I suffer most. Why did I walk through crowds of fellow-beings with my eyes turned down, and never raise them to that blessed Star which led the Wise Men to a poor abode! Were there no poor homes to which its light would have conducted me!"
Cristina yawned.
"Hear me!" cried the Ghost. "My time is nearly gone."
"I'm right here," Cristina said. "God. You know, if you just said whatever it is you have to say, you could go off and wander a lot more."
"I am here to-night to warn you, Cristina Yang, that you have yet a chance and hope of escaping my fate. You will be haunted," he explained, "by Three Spirits."
"Of course I will." Cristina sighed. "And this will do what for me?"
"Chance and hope," the ghost reminded.
"How about if I pass on that, and give ten dollars to the Salvation Army guy who's camped out in the lobby at work?"
"Without their visits," said the ghost, "you cannot hope to shun the path I tread. Expect the first tomorrow, when the bell tolls one."
"Couldn't I take them all at once, and get it over with? Seriously, I am exhausted."
"Seriously," the ghost said, "You can expect the second on the next night at the same hour. The third upon the next night when the last stroke of twelve has ceased to vibrate. Look to see me no more; and look that, for your own sake, you remember what has passed between us!"
And with that, he walked off, straight through the wall.
Cristina considered everything he said for a minute. What if... what if...
Then she shrugged, rolled over, and curled into Burke before falling right back to sleep.
Yeah, I know, it's awesome.
In theory this will be part of something longer, but, um, with my attention span?
Yeaaaaaaaaah.
Merry Christmas, bitches. Have some Grey's Anatomy fic. Even if it has no title and a somewhat completely unoriginal plot. It's Cristina! What more do you need?
stave one . the ghost
The clock struck twelve- well, it ticked, kind of, or maybe just flipped, in the way digital clocks do- and that was when he appeared, an old white guy whose body was just vaguely transparent. Cristina blinked two, three times, and then stared. He wore what passed for the type of nightgown that other people's mothers wore, and also a lot of chains. Cristina wasn't one to comment on what people liked, but cross-dressing sadomasochism seemed a bizarre reason to sneak into Burke's on Christmas Eve.
Burke was still dead to the world next to her, which meant that she'd have to be the one to dismiss him. Not that she wouldn't have been anyway- Burke was totally a pussy when he was tired- but at least there would have been witnesses. This was not the kind of shit she could make up, but it would be so like Meredith to say she was just drunk when she tried to share the cool story at work the next day.
"Do you mind?" Cristina asked, and she pulled the covers up over her. She wondered if this was why Burke prefers to sleep clothed.
The guy didn't answer, and he didn't look away either.
Cristina sighed. "What do you want with me?"
"Much!"
Her eyes narrowed. "Who are you, anyway?"
"Ask me who I was."
"Who were you, then?" Cristina had just finished an eighteen-hour shift. Cristina was fucking exhausted. Cristina did not have time for this crap.
"In life, I was your-"
"Wait." Cristina shook her head. "What do you mean was? You're sitting here talking to me."
"Standing."
"Whatever. The point is, I'm a doctor. That means I believe in science. And that means that I think this whole... ghost thing? Is crap." She frowned. "And I'm tired. And possibly hallucinating from exhaustion."
Because she was. Tired. Seriously.
Seriously.
"You don't believe in me," the guy said.
"Not so much. No."
"What evidence would you have of my reality, beyond that of your senses?"
She shrugged. The comforter was warm, and she didn't remove her shoulders from underneath it, and although she wasn't sure if he could see, she also didn't much care.
"Why do you doubt your senses?"
"I've seen a man," Cristina said, "who smelled chicken all the time. Everything he smelled, was chicken. Was there chicken in the room? No, he just had a tumor which had a profound impact on his olfactory system. I've watched a surgery on a man who managed to poke his eye out with a stick. Literally. He was running. But he swore that in front of him he could see what was going on. Somehow, he managed to miss the retina. I've met a woman who thought I was a blonde. Was I actually a blonde? No, she was just crazy. Senses aren't perfect. Science is."
She knew she should have been scared. This wasn't the type of scenario that her life had prepared her for. But, well, that was what being a doctor was about. Rolling with whatever was going on. No matter how crazy.
There was the sound of jangling, then, and it came from the old white guy who was shaking pretty much every limb he had and letting the chains clang against each other. Cristina gripped the comforter further grounding herself, and made a mental note to tell Burke to call the super about this.
Damn it, Burke. He still felt warm beside her, but at the same time, kind of distant. Because seriously, Burke slept deep, but not this deep. It was like she was trapped in some kind of space-time bubble with the crazy old transparent guy- okay, Cristina, say it; this crazy old transparent ghost- and Burke was just having the time of his life, dreaming about whatever it was he dreamed about. And Cristina was not.
Which meant that, in all likelihood, one too many days working at Seattle Grace had actually caused her to snap. That was totally unlike her, really, but Cristina was okay with that, as long as she wasn't sent to those lunatics at psych. Which meant, if this hallucination was going to cause her to go crazy, she might as well go the whole way. At least that way she'd be handled in surgery first. And McDreamy would probably accidentally sever her brain stem or something and she'd be all better, because that was how the operating room worked. Meredith would probably find it deeply meaningful, or whatever.
Cristina sighed. "Dreadful apparition," she said. "Why do you trouble me?" And she yawned, maintaining eye contact the whole time.
"Woman of the worldly mind!" he replied, "do you believe in me or not?"
"Sure," Cristina said. "Fine. Whatever. But why would spirits walk the earth, and why would you come to me anyway?"
"It is required of every man," the ghost said, "that the spirit within him should walk abroad among his fellowmen, and travel far and wide; and if that spirit goes not forth in life, it is condemned to do so after death. It is doomed to wander through the world -- oh, woe is me! -- and witness what it cannot share, but might have shared on earth, and turned to happiness!"
He cried out again, and shook his chains. Cristina raised an eyebrow and just watched til he calmed down. It took a while, but, well, it wasn't like she was going to shake a rattle at him or anything.
"So," she said when he stopped. "What's with the handcuffs?"
"I wear the chain I forged in life," he told her. "I made it link by link, and yard by yard; I girded it on of my own free will, and of my own free will I wore it. Is its pattern strange to you? Or would you know the weight and length of the strong coil you bear yourself?"
"You're standing here, staring at me in my underwear while wearing a nightgown, and you're asking if the pattern is strange?"
"Your chain was full as heavy and as long as this, seven Christmas Eves ago. You have laboured on it, since. It is a ponderous chain!"
"Seven Christmas Eves ago, my mother was asking me if any of the women at Smith were pre-law and might want to come over for Chanukah to meet the family. Any chain-building was richly deserved."
"I cannot comfort you with this," the ghost replied. "It comes from other regions, Cristina Yang, and is conveyed by other ministers, to other kinds of people. Nor can I tell you what I would. A very little more, is all permitted to me. I cannot rest, I cannot stay, I cannot linger anywhere."
"Sucks to be you," Cristina said with a shrug. "Can I go back to bed now? I have work tomorrow morning"
"Oh! captive, bound, and double-ironed," he cried out, "not to know, that ages of incessant labour, by immortal creatures, for this earth must pass into eternity before the good of which it is susceptible is all developed. Not to know that any Christian spirit working kindly in its little sphere, whatever it may be, will find its mortal life too short for its vast means of usefulness. Not to know that no space of regret can make amends for one life's opportunity misused! Yet such was I! Oh! such was I!"
"Of course you were," Cristina said. "I get it. You've been talking for ages. I'm not deaf."
The ghost continued as though she hadn't spoken. "At this time of the rolling year, I suffer most. Why did I walk through crowds of fellow-beings with my eyes turned down, and never raise them to that blessed Star which led the Wise Men to a poor abode! Were there no poor homes to which its light would have conducted me!"
Cristina yawned.
"Hear me!" cried the Ghost. "My time is nearly gone."
"I'm right here," Cristina said. "God. You know, if you just said whatever it is you have to say, you could go off and wander a lot more."
"I am here to-night to warn you, Cristina Yang, that you have yet a chance and hope of escaping my fate. You will be haunted," he explained, "by Three Spirits."
"Of course I will." Cristina sighed. "And this will do what for me?"
"Chance and hope," the ghost reminded.
"How about if I pass on that, and give ten dollars to the Salvation Army guy who's camped out in the lobby at work?"
"Without their visits," said the ghost, "you cannot hope to shun the path I tread. Expect the first tomorrow, when the bell tolls one."
"Couldn't I take them all at once, and get it over with? Seriously, I am exhausted."
"Seriously," the ghost said, "You can expect the second on the next night at the same hour. The third upon the next night when the last stroke of twelve has ceased to vibrate. Look to see me no more; and look that, for your own sake, you remember what has passed between us!"
And with that, he walked off, straight through the wall.
Cristina considered everything he said for a minute. What if... what if...
Then she shrugged, rolled over, and curled into Burke before falling right back to sleep.