Story: In the Absence of Logic
Title: In the Absence of Logic
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Date written: 03/21-2007.
Status: Complete.
Word count: Around 2700.
Rating: PG-13.
Pairing: Cristina/Burke.
Summary: Post 3x18. She both hates and loves Preston Burke. Mostly, she just hates how much she loves him.
In the Absence of Logic
There is absolutely nothing logical about falling in love.
And that’s what she did. Those words, silly, school-girl-like words, are true. She knows it, has known it for a while, and she thought he knew, too, even before she managed to actually pronounce them.
But she was wrong.
Even with everything he’d said, all the promises he’d made that there was nothing she could reveal that would scare him off, she still liked the walls between them. Those walls, carefully built, weren’t ready to be torn down, or maybe she wasn’t ready to be known, because she knows that she isn’t as good or as perfect as she surely ought to be to deserve someone like him. He’s frustrating, aggravating, demanding, and just when she can’t walk away anymore, he takes one last hard look at her before turning around. He doesn’t look back.
She desperately wants him to.
She’s been reduced to this wanting, craving creature, and she hates that it’s not the amazing sex that keeps her coming back. At first, that was what it was all about; it was all about his hands under her top and the feel of his lips, trailing a path on her inner thigh. But now, it’s about something she shouldn’t want, something superfluous, incredibly unnecessary, and she wants it to go away - she wants to switch off her love for him.
But there’s no going back right now, and Meredith snores, oh, God, she snores so loudly and there’s no way to make it stop, and every time she closes her eyes, she sees him back in their - no, wrong pronoun; it’s his, only his, just like it was before her and would always have been after her. Before today, she knew, knew deep down that there’d be an after, even it terrified her, scared her, that the most right thing would someday come to an end - she sees him back in his apartment, twisting and turning, sleep not finding him either. What scares her more, though, is the thought of him safe and sound asleep, her absence unnoticed as he moves on with his life.
She has left marks all over his life; there are marks on his shoulder where her nails dug into skin last night while he whispered her name; there is a shirt in the bathroom that she borrowed from him when all her clothes were dirty; there is a bottle of vodka, Cristina style, hidden under the kitchen sink.
And right now, she wishes she had left more marks. Because Colin Marlowe’s presence has tainted what was sweet, not exactly innocent but definitely slightly naïve, just yesterday. Three years is too long to chalk it up to a simple mistake, too long for her to say ‘I was young, you know how it goes’. Because the truth is, she didn’t really know how it happened, why it happened or why she never cried when it ended. She seems to be crying all the time these days. She thinks it’s because she’s actually caring; it comes with the territory, but she’s curled up in bed next to Meredith right now, and there are definitely unshed tears in her eyes and she hates herself for knowing that he could probably heal her heart, heal a heart that’s not broken but very bruised.
This is what she has become. She now defies logic, and what she had with Marlowe wasn’t messy; it was clean. She was detached, like someone watching from a distance, and back then, she knew she would have been out of the relationship, (because that’s what it was, it was sex and it was going to the movies and sometimes it was eating food that he cooked, because Cristina Yang doesn’t slice vegetables, only people and only when it’s actually legal for her to do so); she would have quit the moment she stopped gaining from the relationship. Had it ever become a fight, a struggle, like it’s so often been with Burke, she would have left. It wouldn’t have been worth the fight. She stayed for three years because it was simple, mess-free, easily cleaned up. Her heart wasn’t involved, and when he asked serious questions, he was pacified with just a shrug of her shoulders. It was all she could give, and it was all he asked for.
And this is the messiest shit she’s ever seen. She can’t believe this is her life, that this is her, allowing someone to hurt her this way, but she’s so involved, she’s all in; all the clichés have become true, and she can’t imagine a future without Preston Burke. She’s everything she thought she’d never be, and before today, she was almost beginning to like it. But when the past is introduced to the present, the future always suffers. She should have known that this would happen sooner or later.
But this can’t be happening. Not really. Not like this. She should have been the one to walk away, and instead she’s left behind, hiding in her best friend’s bed, trying not to acknowledge that over might really mean over this time.
They’ve been through so much together. They’ve been through Hell together, and yet they’ve always managed to come out stronger on the other side. And the thought that this, that Colin fuckin’ Marlowe might ruin this for good is so absurd, so stupid that she wants to laugh. But if she starts laughing, she’s afraid she’ll start crying, and crying would be too much like giving up.
Giving up is not a possibility. She’s a fighter, and she’ll fight for this, because when she sees herself 40 years into the future, he’s there with her, his hair gray, and that’s how it has to be.
So she kicks off the heavy comforter, letting her feet slide slowly to the floor. Meredith turns and Cristina freezes for a moment, afraid she’s woken her and that she’ll have to explain, but the loud, chainsaw-like sound continues and she exhales harshly. Her hands are shaking, just a little, and that notion is so silly, because her hands never shake - not when she’s in surgery, not when she’s holding someone’s life in her hands. Never. She’s never nervous; she’s always in control. But with him, she has to surrender control. And she has to do it willingly. She just wishes he could understand that that is a huge step for her.
The whole house is quiet, too quiet, as she walks through it, and she feels like her every breath reverberates loudly. She pads down the stairs quickly, trying not to think through what she’s doing and what she’ll say to him. He’ll be expecting explanations, grand gestures, declarations of love, but how can he expect her to explain the inexplicable? This shouldn’t have happened. Cristina Yang and Preston Burke, falling in love, shouldn’t have happened. But it did. And she’ll marry him, make sure they do the whole happily-ever-after thing, and if he ever tries to walk away again, she’ll pull him back.
That’s what she’ll tell him. That she’s in this for the long haul, and he doesn’t get to walk away because he isn’t satisfied with her past or her reasons for marrying him. That no matter what, they have to work through this, and that if she’s through with walking away, so is he.
The drive to their - his - apartment has never felt longer. There are at least five times when she considers turning the car around, going back to Meredith’s place and saying, ‘screw this. Cristina Yang doesn’t care’. But if nothing else, she wants to clear this mess up in private. Since she came to Seattle Grace, privacy is non-existent. Everybody knows what’s going on with her life before she even knows, and it’s exhausting. This time, she needs to have the upper hand; she needs the advantage of talking it through before he sees Colin Marlowe again and decides to go all cave man on him.
When the key turns in the lock, there’s just one moment of hesitation and this is the defining moment, really; after this, she’ll be past the point of no return. Old Cristina will cease to exist, and the new, sorta caring Cristina will prevail. So with her heart pounding loudly in her chest, she pushes the door open. The living room is dark, but there’s light coming from the bedroom, and her steps are slow (because she remembers the door closing in her face, and she remembers how humiliated, how hurt she felt, and if he chooses to shut her out again, chances are, she won’t have any fight left in her anymore).
He’s in the bed, sitting up and clearly awake. He looks just as tired as she feels, and it comforts her to know that she’s not the only one unsettled by their fight. She leans against the doorframe, and he looks up and meets her eyes. He doesn’t look surprised to see her, but he doesn’t look angry, either.
“Can’t sleep?” she asks simply, as if he didn’t basically tell her today that he doesn’t want to marry her. He just shakes his head, and that’s when she knows that he isn’t going to do anything to make this easier on her. The ball is in her court now.
“This is nothing, Burke. Think about all the things we’ve been through. What makes this time so much different?”
“I thought… when you agreed to marry me, I had a naïve idea that it would change this. That you might even open up to me someday. But I can’t figure out what is going on inside that head of yours, and you will never let me in. I can’t keep doing this for the rest of my life, Cristina.”
“You knew this going in. You knew I’m a private person,” she argues, and somehow, it comes out sounding like an accusation.
“You’re not private; you’re completely incapable of communicating,” he snaps, and it feels like a slap to her face. Her feet want to carry her away, but she forces herself to stay where she is.
“You’re right. I probably should have told you about him. But that’s the thing. If you want this - really want this - you have to be prepared for situations like this. I will always have secrets, and there will be things I forget to say or things I simply don’t think matter. I don’t come with an instruction manual, alright?”
“But why didn’t you tell me? I mentioned him numerous times, and you never told me that you were with him for three years. ”
Loudly, she sighs. She drops the keys to the table and moves to sit down on the bed next to him. “This has never been a normal relationship, you know. It started with hot sex in the on-call room, and then I got pregnant, and you dumped me and -“
“If you plan to summarize everything that has happened since we first slept together, this is going to take a while,” he comments dryly.
“Shut up,” she retorts. “My point is, we’ve done all of this backwards, and we should probably have talked about things like this. But when we’re happy, it just doesn’t occur to me that you might care about the men I’ve slept with before. I certainly don’t want to know about all the women you’ve slept with,” she adds, feeling a flare of jealousy that she immediately quenches.
“You didn’t just sleep with him, though. You were in a relationship with him.”
“Yes,” she agrees.
When he says nothing, she almost wishes she hadn’t just admitted that. But he said earlier that he doesn’t want her to placate him, and she’s really trying to be honest. “I’m going to tell you something now, and you can’t use this against me. Not ever. You cannot bring this up again.” She doesn’t wait for him to agree. “When I was pregnant, I kept hesitating. Part of me didn’t want to have an abortion. Do you know how absurd that is? And when you asked me to marry you, not only did I hesitate, but I agreed. Marlowe, he asked me several times, and each time I said no, without hesitating. This - you and I - we’re different.”
“Did you love him?” He does his best to make the question sound casual, but he fails miserably, and she knows how much her answer will mean to him.
“No,” she replies, and it’s the truth.
“But that still doesn’t change the fact that you agreed to marry me to make me happy.”
“Burke. I’m not big on weddings. I really don’t need a piece of paper to prove that I love you. I don’t - “
“That’s the first time I’ve actually heard you say those words,” he interrupts her to point out, and there’s an almost desperate edge to his voice, as if he wants to make sure this is really happening, that he didn’t just imagine her saying it.
She rolls her eyes, knowing how pathetic the action must seem, and that small smile, that small smile he reserves for her, appears on his face. Something inside her snaps, breaks, and the anger seems to evaporate and the energy to fight for this has returned. “Yeah, so I said it. Whatever. Feel free to bask in your joy. But as I was saying, marriage means something to you. And if it makes you happy, it will make me happy.”
“But do you even want this to last? Forget about marriage for a second - do you even want to spend the rest of your life with me?” he asks. This, right here, is the crux of the matter: he’s an arrogant ass, but when it comes to their relationship, he’s insecure, just like she is. That somehow calms her frazzled nerves a little.
“Yes,” she answers promptly and truthfully. This time, there’s no hesitation. She likes that; not hesitating feels like old Cristina, and maybe someday, old Cristina and new Cristina will mesh together and she’ll finally feel comfortable in her own skin.
That one word, that simple answer, satisfies him, and the next thing she knows, his arms are wrapped around her, and she’s sure he’ll never let go again.
“Are there any other big things I need to know about?” he asks after some time.
“I don’t look good with short hair,” she says.
“I said big things,” he reminds her before adding, “and I’m sure you’d look beautiful.”
She snorts at the compliment, and then she takes a deep breath before taking the plunge. “My father died when I was nine. In a car accident. I still miss him,” she adds, and it feels freeing, cathartic, to admit that last part. Burke just tightens his hold on her.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I told you, and now you know, and we don’t need to talk about it. Besides, I think that’s enough sharing for one night,” she says, and he chuckles. There are still other matters that need to be dealt with, like that old boyfriend of hers, but for now, all the other problems don’t matter. She’s here with him, in their apartment, and it feels too right to be wrong.
“I think you’re right. Let’s just go to sleep,” he mutters. She closes her eyes, relaxing completely in his eyes. Just before she drifts off to sleep, she feels his hand squeezing her hand and she smiles.
“Burke?”
“Yes?”
“I’m so glad you don’t snore.”
“If that’s your odd, Cristina-way of saying you love me, I love you, too. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” she returns, and she can’t believe that she just opened up to her and he’s still there. Maybe they really are done with walking away. Maybe they are starting to make sense in their own way.
They might be indefinable; they might defy common sense and logic, but sometimes, she loves how much she loves him.
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Date written: 03/21-2007.
Status: Complete.
Word count: Around 2700.
Rating: PG-13.
Pairing: Cristina/Burke.
Summary: Post 3x18. She both hates and loves Preston Burke. Mostly, she just hates how much she loves him.
In the Absence of Logic
There is absolutely nothing logical about falling in love.
And that’s what she did. Those words, silly, school-girl-like words, are true. She knows it, has known it for a while, and she thought he knew, too, even before she managed to actually pronounce them.
But she was wrong.
Even with everything he’d said, all the promises he’d made that there was nothing she could reveal that would scare him off, she still liked the walls between them. Those walls, carefully built, weren’t ready to be torn down, or maybe she wasn’t ready to be known, because she knows that she isn’t as good or as perfect as she surely ought to be to deserve someone like him. He’s frustrating, aggravating, demanding, and just when she can’t walk away anymore, he takes one last hard look at her before turning around. He doesn’t look back.
She desperately wants him to.
She’s been reduced to this wanting, craving creature, and she hates that it’s not the amazing sex that keeps her coming back. At first, that was what it was all about; it was all about his hands under her top and the feel of his lips, trailing a path on her inner thigh. But now, it’s about something she shouldn’t want, something superfluous, incredibly unnecessary, and she wants it to go away - she wants to switch off her love for him.
But there’s no going back right now, and Meredith snores, oh, God, she snores so loudly and there’s no way to make it stop, and every time she closes her eyes, she sees him back in their - no, wrong pronoun; it’s his, only his, just like it was before her and would always have been after her. Before today, she knew, knew deep down that there’d be an after, even it terrified her, scared her, that the most right thing would someday come to an end - she sees him back in his apartment, twisting and turning, sleep not finding him either. What scares her more, though, is the thought of him safe and sound asleep, her absence unnoticed as he moves on with his life.
She has left marks all over his life; there are marks on his shoulder where her nails dug into skin last night while he whispered her name; there is a shirt in the bathroom that she borrowed from him when all her clothes were dirty; there is a bottle of vodka, Cristina style, hidden under the kitchen sink.
And right now, she wishes she had left more marks. Because Colin Marlowe’s presence has tainted what was sweet, not exactly innocent but definitely slightly naïve, just yesterday. Three years is too long to chalk it up to a simple mistake, too long for her to say ‘I was young, you know how it goes’. Because the truth is, she didn’t really know how it happened, why it happened or why she never cried when it ended. She seems to be crying all the time these days. She thinks it’s because she’s actually caring; it comes with the territory, but she’s curled up in bed next to Meredith right now, and there are definitely unshed tears in her eyes and she hates herself for knowing that he could probably heal her heart, heal a heart that’s not broken but very bruised.
This is what she has become. She now defies logic, and what she had with Marlowe wasn’t messy; it was clean. She was detached, like someone watching from a distance, and back then, she knew she would have been out of the relationship, (because that’s what it was, it was sex and it was going to the movies and sometimes it was eating food that he cooked, because Cristina Yang doesn’t slice vegetables, only people and only when it’s actually legal for her to do so); she would have quit the moment she stopped gaining from the relationship. Had it ever become a fight, a struggle, like it’s so often been with Burke, she would have left. It wouldn’t have been worth the fight. She stayed for three years because it was simple, mess-free, easily cleaned up. Her heart wasn’t involved, and when he asked serious questions, he was pacified with just a shrug of her shoulders. It was all she could give, and it was all he asked for.
And this is the messiest shit she’s ever seen. She can’t believe this is her life, that this is her, allowing someone to hurt her this way, but she’s so involved, she’s all in; all the clichés have become true, and she can’t imagine a future without Preston Burke. She’s everything she thought she’d never be, and before today, she was almost beginning to like it. But when the past is introduced to the present, the future always suffers. She should have known that this would happen sooner or later.
But this can’t be happening. Not really. Not like this. She should have been the one to walk away, and instead she’s left behind, hiding in her best friend’s bed, trying not to acknowledge that over might really mean over this time.
They’ve been through so much together. They’ve been through Hell together, and yet they’ve always managed to come out stronger on the other side. And the thought that this, that Colin fuckin’ Marlowe might ruin this for good is so absurd, so stupid that she wants to laugh. But if she starts laughing, she’s afraid she’ll start crying, and crying would be too much like giving up.
Giving up is not a possibility. She’s a fighter, and she’ll fight for this, because when she sees herself 40 years into the future, he’s there with her, his hair gray, and that’s how it has to be.
So she kicks off the heavy comforter, letting her feet slide slowly to the floor. Meredith turns and Cristina freezes for a moment, afraid she’s woken her and that she’ll have to explain, but the loud, chainsaw-like sound continues and she exhales harshly. Her hands are shaking, just a little, and that notion is so silly, because her hands never shake - not when she’s in surgery, not when she’s holding someone’s life in her hands. Never. She’s never nervous; she’s always in control. But with him, she has to surrender control. And she has to do it willingly. She just wishes he could understand that that is a huge step for her.
The whole house is quiet, too quiet, as she walks through it, and she feels like her every breath reverberates loudly. She pads down the stairs quickly, trying not to think through what she’s doing and what she’ll say to him. He’ll be expecting explanations, grand gestures, declarations of love, but how can he expect her to explain the inexplicable? This shouldn’t have happened. Cristina Yang and Preston Burke, falling in love, shouldn’t have happened. But it did. And she’ll marry him, make sure they do the whole happily-ever-after thing, and if he ever tries to walk away again, she’ll pull him back.
That’s what she’ll tell him. That she’s in this for the long haul, and he doesn’t get to walk away because he isn’t satisfied with her past or her reasons for marrying him. That no matter what, they have to work through this, and that if she’s through with walking away, so is he.
The drive to their - his - apartment has never felt longer. There are at least five times when she considers turning the car around, going back to Meredith’s place and saying, ‘screw this. Cristina Yang doesn’t care’. But if nothing else, she wants to clear this mess up in private. Since she came to Seattle Grace, privacy is non-existent. Everybody knows what’s going on with her life before she even knows, and it’s exhausting. This time, she needs to have the upper hand; she needs the advantage of talking it through before he sees Colin Marlowe again and decides to go all cave man on him.
When the key turns in the lock, there’s just one moment of hesitation and this is the defining moment, really; after this, she’ll be past the point of no return. Old Cristina will cease to exist, and the new, sorta caring Cristina will prevail. So with her heart pounding loudly in her chest, she pushes the door open. The living room is dark, but there’s light coming from the bedroom, and her steps are slow (because she remembers the door closing in her face, and she remembers how humiliated, how hurt she felt, and if he chooses to shut her out again, chances are, she won’t have any fight left in her anymore).
He’s in the bed, sitting up and clearly awake. He looks just as tired as she feels, and it comforts her to know that she’s not the only one unsettled by their fight. She leans against the doorframe, and he looks up and meets her eyes. He doesn’t look surprised to see her, but he doesn’t look angry, either.
“Can’t sleep?” she asks simply, as if he didn’t basically tell her today that he doesn’t want to marry her. He just shakes his head, and that’s when she knows that he isn’t going to do anything to make this easier on her. The ball is in her court now.
“This is nothing, Burke. Think about all the things we’ve been through. What makes this time so much different?”
“I thought… when you agreed to marry me, I had a naïve idea that it would change this. That you might even open up to me someday. But I can’t figure out what is going on inside that head of yours, and you will never let me in. I can’t keep doing this for the rest of my life, Cristina.”
“You knew this going in. You knew I’m a private person,” she argues, and somehow, it comes out sounding like an accusation.
“You’re not private; you’re completely incapable of communicating,” he snaps, and it feels like a slap to her face. Her feet want to carry her away, but she forces herself to stay where she is.
“You’re right. I probably should have told you about him. But that’s the thing. If you want this - really want this - you have to be prepared for situations like this. I will always have secrets, and there will be things I forget to say or things I simply don’t think matter. I don’t come with an instruction manual, alright?”
“But why didn’t you tell me? I mentioned him numerous times, and you never told me that you were with him for three years. ”
Loudly, she sighs. She drops the keys to the table and moves to sit down on the bed next to him. “This has never been a normal relationship, you know. It started with hot sex in the on-call room, and then I got pregnant, and you dumped me and -“
“If you plan to summarize everything that has happened since we first slept together, this is going to take a while,” he comments dryly.
“Shut up,” she retorts. “My point is, we’ve done all of this backwards, and we should probably have talked about things like this. But when we’re happy, it just doesn’t occur to me that you might care about the men I’ve slept with before. I certainly don’t want to know about all the women you’ve slept with,” she adds, feeling a flare of jealousy that she immediately quenches.
“You didn’t just sleep with him, though. You were in a relationship with him.”
“Yes,” she agrees.
When he says nothing, she almost wishes she hadn’t just admitted that. But he said earlier that he doesn’t want her to placate him, and she’s really trying to be honest. “I’m going to tell you something now, and you can’t use this against me. Not ever. You cannot bring this up again.” She doesn’t wait for him to agree. “When I was pregnant, I kept hesitating. Part of me didn’t want to have an abortion. Do you know how absurd that is? And when you asked me to marry you, not only did I hesitate, but I agreed. Marlowe, he asked me several times, and each time I said no, without hesitating. This - you and I - we’re different.”
“Did you love him?” He does his best to make the question sound casual, but he fails miserably, and she knows how much her answer will mean to him.
“No,” she replies, and it’s the truth.
“But that still doesn’t change the fact that you agreed to marry me to make me happy.”
“Burke. I’m not big on weddings. I really don’t need a piece of paper to prove that I love you. I don’t - “
“That’s the first time I’ve actually heard you say those words,” he interrupts her to point out, and there’s an almost desperate edge to his voice, as if he wants to make sure this is really happening, that he didn’t just imagine her saying it.
She rolls her eyes, knowing how pathetic the action must seem, and that small smile, that small smile he reserves for her, appears on his face. Something inside her snaps, breaks, and the anger seems to evaporate and the energy to fight for this has returned. “Yeah, so I said it. Whatever. Feel free to bask in your joy. But as I was saying, marriage means something to you. And if it makes you happy, it will make me happy.”
“But do you even want this to last? Forget about marriage for a second - do you even want to spend the rest of your life with me?” he asks. This, right here, is the crux of the matter: he’s an arrogant ass, but when it comes to their relationship, he’s insecure, just like she is. That somehow calms her frazzled nerves a little.
“Yes,” she answers promptly and truthfully. This time, there’s no hesitation. She likes that; not hesitating feels like old Cristina, and maybe someday, old Cristina and new Cristina will mesh together and she’ll finally feel comfortable in her own skin.
That one word, that simple answer, satisfies him, and the next thing she knows, his arms are wrapped around her, and she’s sure he’ll never let go again.
“Are there any other big things I need to know about?” he asks after some time.
“I don’t look good with short hair,” she says.
“I said big things,” he reminds her before adding, “and I’m sure you’d look beautiful.”
She snorts at the compliment, and then she takes a deep breath before taking the plunge. “My father died when I was nine. In a car accident. I still miss him,” she adds, and it feels freeing, cathartic, to admit that last part. Burke just tightens his hold on her.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I told you, and now you know, and we don’t need to talk about it. Besides, I think that’s enough sharing for one night,” she says, and he chuckles. There are still other matters that need to be dealt with, like that old boyfriend of hers, but for now, all the other problems don’t matter. She’s here with him, in their apartment, and it feels too right to be wrong.
“I think you’re right. Let’s just go to sleep,” he mutters. She closes her eyes, relaxing completely in his eyes. Just before she drifts off to sleep, she feels his hand squeezing her hand and she smiles.
“Burke?”
“Yes?”
“I’m so glad you don’t snore.”
“If that’s your odd, Cristina-way of saying you love me, I love you, too. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” she returns, and she can’t believe that she just opened up to her and he’s still there. Maybe they really are done with walking away. Maybe they are starting to make sense in their own way.
They might be indefinable; they might defy common sense and logic, but sometimes, she loves how much she loves him.