Story: Happiness And How To Achieve It
Title: Happiness And How To Achieve It
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Date written: 02/25-2007.
Status: Complete.
Word count: Around 1400.
Rating: PG-13.
Pairing: Cristina/Burke.
Summary: Futurefic. Sometimes, she still can’t believe that this is actually working.
Happiness And How To Achieve It
Some were amazed.
Others were amused.
The whispers in the hallway have long since died down, and now, it’s just a fact that Cristina Yang and Preston Burke are successfully married. There was a time when the marriage was the subject of constant gossip, but that time has come and gone, and no one wonders what drugs they were on anymore.
But to you, it’s still unbelievable most of the time.
On the good days, things are really, really good. On the good days, he brings you coffee and reaches out to tuck a stray curl behind your ear.
Those are the days where you suddenly pause and stare into the air, a small smile playing on your lips while you realize that you’re actually happy.
And then there are the bad days, the days where the doubt rears its ugly head. Those are the days where you come home late, and he sighs loudly because you speak in monosyllabic sentences.
It’s usually something stupid, an insignificant fight or a lack of sleep and coffee, that’s the catalyst for the bad days. Sometimes the bad days are the catalyst for the fights.
Today, the problem is the latter.
The shower was broken and the water was cold. You can still feel the sticky shampoo that you didn’t bother to rinse out behind your left ear. There was a huge hole in your pants, the only clean pair you had, and you spent too much time debating what to do about it before finally donning a pair of pajamas pants. By the time you left the bedroom, breakfast was cold and Burke had already left for work.
That was when you knew that today wasn’t going to be one of those days where you contemplate how good things are.
The car wouldn’t start, and you had to call Meredith and ask her to pick you up. She whined all the way in the car, rambling on and on about Derek’s family while spilling muffin crumbs all over her clothes.
Your first surgery had to be postponed because your patient was an idiot with a penchant for eating when he really shouldn’t be eating. Your second surgery, a simple valve replacement, went wrong, somehow, for no good reason, and the patient died on the table. When you called time of death, you were already beyond exhausted and the day had only just begun.
And since then, everything continued to go wrong. You forgot your ring somewhere, and you spent your lunch break searching for it. It was Izzie who finally found it, and because she is Izzie, she felt the need to lecture you about how you forgetting your ring means you don’t love Burke enough or some other bullshit like that she probably read in a self-help book.
It took all of your willpower not to slap her then.
When evening comes, you’re on autopilot. Your legs carry you towards the on-call rooms, and you’re too tired to argue with them. Burke follows you inside, closing the door behind him.
”You’re not on-call tonight, are you?” he asks you. His tone is quiet, polite, as if he can sense that this is not a good time to piss you off.
”No, I’m not.” To further make your point about not being in the mood for long, deep conversation, you kick off your shoes and lay down, burying your head in the pillow.
”Okay... when will you be home? We have tomorrow off,” he reminds you, still in that obnoxious supportive-husband tone of his that he’s become so used to using.
”I just need to sleep, Burke. Don’t ask questions right now when I’m so tired.”
There’s an ’okay’ whispered from him, and you lie still with your eyes closed, waiting to hear the sound of his footsteps as he leaves. But the next thing you know, the mattress is shifting under you, and he’s sitting next to you.
”What are you doing?”
”I’m tired as well,” he mumbles, and you know weariness is not the reason why he’s here. You almost tell him to leave, tell him to let you be cranky in peace, but it feels so good to stay like this with his arms around you, and you don’t really want him to go.
”Goodnight then,” you whisper and his grip tightens around you.
It’s several hours before you wake up, and you blink, unable to believe you’ve slept for so long. Usually, you wake at least a few times during the night, but now you feel incredibly well-rested.
“Good morning. Feeling better this morning?” he asks quietly, and you feel slightly guilty because of that tone of his that implies that he’s testing the waters to make sure you won’t bite his head off simply for existing.
“Yeah… I slept really well.” It’s not on purpose that you sound a little breathless, a little flirtatious. It is, however, on purpose that you lean in and kiss his jaw. Peppering small kisses along his jaw line, you feel at ease, the weight of the world lifting from your shoulders, and there’s definitely a point where he whispers your name and you press your lips to his, almost frantically.
You should care about things like morning breath and the door that you doubt is locked, but this is Burke, and his hand is undoing the strings of your scrubs and you don’t really care about anything else.
His hand slides over the smooth skin of your hip, and the cold metal of the ring on his finger makes you catch your breath like it always does, the significance making your head spin. Then your own hands are moving, tugging at the fabric of his scrubs, touching warm skin with strong muscles beneath. You know him so well, and yet this never bores you. Your fingers draw a map of him, taking in the texture of the scar from the bullet that almost stole him away from you over two years ago, spanning a territory that’s most definitely yours and yours alone.
You are a surgeon, and ninety-nine percent of the time, you are a surgeon first. That’s why you have an obsession with hands, especially his avid hands. And right now, this one percent of the time when you’re Cristina first, you can’t get enough of his touch. He’s an artist and you’re the canvas, and every small stroke brings you both one step closer to the perfection that’s waiting right around the corner.
He whispers ‘I love you’, and usually you’d wish he wouldn’t, because those words are always accompanied by the expectation that you’ll say them back and you’ve only told him twice and only once while he was actually awake. But today, you accept the words; you drink them in and you know he knows how much you love him already and that to him, this is probably one of those moments where he feels happy, too.
There’s fluidity to this, to this dance of yours. There’s some kind of recognition between you that was there from the very beginning and only continues to grow stronger. It’s a bond that’s been pulled at, almost torn in two at times, but it’s still there, more intense than ever, when he enters you and his lips silence the moan you can’t hold back.
Afterwards, there’s a shared laugh, because you’re both behaving like love-struck teenagers. You point out that the door was unlocked the whole time, and the terrified look on his face makes you love him more than ever. This is Burke, and you’re Cristina, and together, you are one of those annoying married couples who can’t get enough of each other - and you actually like it.
When you leave the hospital that morning, your hand in his, you hear people whispering, talking about how the new chief of surgery spent the night with his young, cranky surgeon wife in the on-call room. And you smile, a huge, bright smile, because this is one of those days where happiness just sneaks up on you.
Some are amazed.
Others are amused.
You’re just content to be happy.
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Date written: 02/25-2007.
Status: Complete.
Word count: Around 1400.
Rating: PG-13.
Pairing: Cristina/Burke.
Summary: Futurefic. Sometimes, she still can’t believe that this is actually working.
Happiness And How To Achieve It
Some were amazed.
Others were amused.
The whispers in the hallway have long since died down, and now, it’s just a fact that Cristina Yang and Preston Burke are successfully married. There was a time when the marriage was the subject of constant gossip, but that time has come and gone, and no one wonders what drugs they were on anymore.
But to you, it’s still unbelievable most of the time.
On the good days, things are really, really good. On the good days, he brings you coffee and reaches out to tuck a stray curl behind your ear.
Those are the days where you suddenly pause and stare into the air, a small smile playing on your lips while you realize that you’re actually happy.
And then there are the bad days, the days where the doubt rears its ugly head. Those are the days where you come home late, and he sighs loudly because you speak in monosyllabic sentences.
It’s usually something stupid, an insignificant fight or a lack of sleep and coffee, that’s the catalyst for the bad days. Sometimes the bad days are the catalyst for the fights.
Today, the problem is the latter.
The shower was broken and the water was cold. You can still feel the sticky shampoo that you didn’t bother to rinse out behind your left ear. There was a huge hole in your pants, the only clean pair you had, and you spent too much time debating what to do about it before finally donning a pair of pajamas pants. By the time you left the bedroom, breakfast was cold and Burke had already left for work.
That was when you knew that today wasn’t going to be one of those days where you contemplate how good things are.
The car wouldn’t start, and you had to call Meredith and ask her to pick you up. She whined all the way in the car, rambling on and on about Derek’s family while spilling muffin crumbs all over her clothes.
Your first surgery had to be postponed because your patient was an idiot with a penchant for eating when he really shouldn’t be eating. Your second surgery, a simple valve replacement, went wrong, somehow, for no good reason, and the patient died on the table. When you called time of death, you were already beyond exhausted and the day had only just begun.
And since then, everything continued to go wrong. You forgot your ring somewhere, and you spent your lunch break searching for it. It was Izzie who finally found it, and because she is Izzie, she felt the need to lecture you about how you forgetting your ring means you don’t love Burke enough or some other bullshit like that she probably read in a self-help book.
It took all of your willpower not to slap her then.
When evening comes, you’re on autopilot. Your legs carry you towards the on-call rooms, and you’re too tired to argue with them. Burke follows you inside, closing the door behind him.
”You’re not on-call tonight, are you?” he asks you. His tone is quiet, polite, as if he can sense that this is not a good time to piss you off.
”No, I’m not.” To further make your point about not being in the mood for long, deep conversation, you kick off your shoes and lay down, burying your head in the pillow.
”Okay... when will you be home? We have tomorrow off,” he reminds you, still in that obnoxious supportive-husband tone of his that he’s become so used to using.
”I just need to sleep, Burke. Don’t ask questions right now when I’m so tired.”
There’s an ’okay’ whispered from him, and you lie still with your eyes closed, waiting to hear the sound of his footsteps as he leaves. But the next thing you know, the mattress is shifting under you, and he’s sitting next to you.
”What are you doing?”
”I’m tired as well,” he mumbles, and you know weariness is not the reason why he’s here. You almost tell him to leave, tell him to let you be cranky in peace, but it feels so good to stay like this with his arms around you, and you don’t really want him to go.
”Goodnight then,” you whisper and his grip tightens around you.
It’s several hours before you wake up, and you blink, unable to believe you’ve slept for so long. Usually, you wake at least a few times during the night, but now you feel incredibly well-rested.
“Good morning. Feeling better this morning?” he asks quietly, and you feel slightly guilty because of that tone of his that implies that he’s testing the waters to make sure you won’t bite his head off simply for existing.
“Yeah… I slept really well.” It’s not on purpose that you sound a little breathless, a little flirtatious. It is, however, on purpose that you lean in and kiss his jaw. Peppering small kisses along his jaw line, you feel at ease, the weight of the world lifting from your shoulders, and there’s definitely a point where he whispers your name and you press your lips to his, almost frantically.
You should care about things like morning breath and the door that you doubt is locked, but this is Burke, and his hand is undoing the strings of your scrubs and you don’t really care about anything else.
His hand slides over the smooth skin of your hip, and the cold metal of the ring on his finger makes you catch your breath like it always does, the significance making your head spin. Then your own hands are moving, tugging at the fabric of his scrubs, touching warm skin with strong muscles beneath. You know him so well, and yet this never bores you. Your fingers draw a map of him, taking in the texture of the scar from the bullet that almost stole him away from you over two years ago, spanning a territory that’s most definitely yours and yours alone.
You are a surgeon, and ninety-nine percent of the time, you are a surgeon first. That’s why you have an obsession with hands, especially his avid hands. And right now, this one percent of the time when you’re Cristina first, you can’t get enough of his touch. He’s an artist and you’re the canvas, and every small stroke brings you both one step closer to the perfection that’s waiting right around the corner.
He whispers ‘I love you’, and usually you’d wish he wouldn’t, because those words are always accompanied by the expectation that you’ll say them back and you’ve only told him twice and only once while he was actually awake. But today, you accept the words; you drink them in and you know he knows how much you love him already and that to him, this is probably one of those moments where he feels happy, too.
There’s fluidity to this, to this dance of yours. There’s some kind of recognition between you that was there from the very beginning and only continues to grow stronger. It’s a bond that’s been pulled at, almost torn in two at times, but it’s still there, more intense than ever, when he enters you and his lips silence the moan you can’t hold back.
Afterwards, there’s a shared laugh, because you’re both behaving like love-struck teenagers. You point out that the door was unlocked the whole time, and the terrified look on his face makes you love him more than ever. This is Burke, and you’re Cristina, and together, you are one of those annoying married couples who can’t get enough of each other - and you actually like it.
When you leave the hospital that morning, your hand in his, you hear people whispering, talking about how the new chief of surgery spent the night with his young, cranky surgeon wife in the on-call room. And you smile, a huge, bright smile, because this is one of those days where happiness just sneaks up on you.
Some are amazed.
Others are amused.
You’re just content to be happy.