Fic: Smoother Landing
New fic! It's post-finale Grey's Anatomy, so there are spoilers, obviously. I'd really love feedback on this one, cause it's a little different.
Title: Smoother Landing
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Cristina/Burke
Summary: How many roads we’ve traveled/How many dreams we’ve chased/Across sand and sky and gravel/Looking for one safe place
He’d asked her once, what she wanted. She had responded that she didn’t know. That was no less true now than it had been then. At least then she’d known who she was.
When she caught that glimpse of him lying there, so still, blue black with his own blood soaking the pillow, she wasn’t Cristina Yang, M.D. She wasn’t even Cristina Yang.
“I slept with Derek.” Meredith was having trouble looking Cristina in the eye, she noticed.
Cristina sighed and wondered exactly how much emotional upheaval one person was supposed to take before admitting defeat. She was new to this friendship stuff.
There is a reason surgeons aren’t allowed to operate on members of their family. She watched Burke flail and bit her tongue.
The smell of chocolate chip cookies baking hit Cristina in the face as she let herself into Meredith’s house.
*
Cristina was not upset about Burke.
Cristina was not upset about Burke.
No one seemed to get that.
Not Meredith, who, in the midst of explaining the new McDreamy/McVet/McWhateverthefuck crisis was acting hideously concerned.
How typical of Meredith, the minute she became somewhat less than fatally self-centered is the one time Cristina just wanted to be left alone.
Not Bailey, who was Burke’s messenger of doom, summoning her from surgeries if he was asking for her, or rooting her out of their basement hideout to hold his hand during the rehab. The worst part was that she seemed to think that she was doing Cristina some kind of favor.
They at least were concerned about how she was taking all of this - needlessly concerned, but concerned.
The people who were concerned, not about her but about Burke, they were the worst. They watched her, judging, though they had no right to.
Not McDreamy (maybe McCheater now, she hadn’t decided) who was glaring at her when they passed in the hallways. As if he had any right to accuse someone of being a negligent significant other.
Not George, who always seemed to want to discuss Burke, his diagnosis and prognosis and spirits and go away George! Couldn’t he see that she was busy? Busy being a surgeon, busy running labs, busy trying to figure out how to put herself back together?
Dr. Montgomery-Shepherd and the chief seemed preoccupied with other things (surgical things! Why couldn’t anyone else be preoccupied with surgical things?), but she was sure that had they been paying attention, every minute she spent away from Burke would have earned her their eternal scorn. She was tired of eternal scorn.
She was sure, if she’d seen Izzie, that Izzie would yell at her to be there for Burke while he was still around. Still alive to coddle and cuddle and love. If Izzie could fit the lecture in, in between crying jags and 24-hour baking, that is.
At least that was the situation according to George and Meredith, who were out of their minds with worry. Cristina’s newfound loyalty extended to lying to the chief, but comforting bereaved friends was a little beyond her capabilities, plus she was smack dab in the middle of an emotional crisis herself, thank you very much.
It was when Callie gave her a scornful glance in the hallway as they passed with clipped “Dr. Yang” and “Dr. Torres” greetings that Cristina finally snapped.
Storming into Burke’s room she let him have the full extent of the patented Cristina Yang rage.
“What, are nurses going to be harassing me next?” She was aware of her own loss of control; ironically it spurred her to even greater heights of melodrama.
“I’m doing the best that I can! You know I’m not supportive girlfriend material, you know being emotional doesn’t come easily; I’m trying my best. And I’d appreciate if you called off your little cadre of spies and well wishers and - “ She paused to catch her breath, leaning against the wall in a gesture of defeat.
“Cristina,” he interrupted quietly. “What on earth are you talking about?”
She might have been imagining it but she would have sworn that she’d seen a little bit of a “who is this crazy person in my room and where is someone who will make them leave?” panic in his eyes.
She took a deep breath. Put her hand on the bed, touching his leg. She sat down and put her head in her hands.
*
She was different now than she had been growing up; during college; all through med school. She’d had friends, of course, but not friends like Meredith and George and Izzie were friends.
She’d had boyfriends, lovers, but none of them got under her skin the way that Burke did.
Surgery was her life. It was enough.How could it not be?
When she’d received the acceptance letter to the Seattle Grace Surgical program she’d done a little dance in the privacy of her own apartment, and then kept the news to herself for a week and six days.
*
He twitched under her touch, as if during his time in the hospital he’d forgotten it. Forgotten them.
The florescent lights beat down on her, washing her out and trying to force her into the role they thought she should play.
She was trying.
*
She’d talked to the chief about her edge, her missing edge.
That night she dreamed of knives and scalpels and saws and everything sharp, everything hard and unyielding; everything that cut.
She dreamed of Burke.
She woke with a start, the hard plastic of the hospital chair digging into her lower vertebrae. In the bed Burke was snoring softly. She fought the urge to climb in next to him.
*
Burke, more than anyone else she knew, was wholeheartedly and unapologetically himself. He cooked. He cleaned. He listened to classical music. He played the trumpet.
He was Preston Burke. Who could she be in the face of all that certainty?
With George/Izzie/Alex she was Cristina the psycho-competitive friend. The friend who would push you down and mow you over if you got in her way.
With Meredith she was the occasionally-sympathetic-best-friend. The friend who would listen to you talk about McDreamy, but would also give you hell about it.
Burke clearly had bad taste in women. Seriously.
*
She always held his hand now. Force of habit.
She would walk in, check his chart and move toward the bed, taking his hand before she even thought about it. If he was out walking the halls from boredom she would catch up and grab his hand, slowing her pace to match his. They got indulgent glances from nurses, doctors, even Bailey.
It made her want to vomit.
*
She finished a routine appendectomy, flawless, and her first thought was of him.
When she passed George in the hallway outside of the scrub room he asked, “How’s Burke doing?”
The chief nodded to her as she approached Burke’s room, having just left there himself.
Meredith brought her coffee on the mornings she got to the hospital early to be there for Burke’s physiotherapy.
When had she stopped being Cristina?
*
She entered his room, smiled as he set the lunch tray off to the side, and moved to take his hand like always.
It was warm and smooth in hers, a surgeon’s hand. Burke’s hand.
Maybe it was ok to not be that Cristina for a while.
*
She sighed, and sat down on the bed. Burke's smile was brilliant.
Title: Smoother Landing
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Cristina/Burke
Summary: How many roads we’ve traveled/How many dreams we’ve chased/Across sand and sky and gravel/Looking for one safe place
He’d asked her once, what she wanted. She had responded that she didn’t know. That was no less true now than it had been then. At least then she’d known who she was.
When she caught that glimpse of him lying there, so still, blue black with his own blood soaking the pillow, she wasn’t Cristina Yang, M.D. She wasn’t even Cristina Yang.
“I slept with Derek.” Meredith was having trouble looking Cristina in the eye, she noticed.
Cristina sighed and wondered exactly how much emotional upheaval one person was supposed to take before admitting defeat. She was new to this friendship stuff.
There is a reason surgeons aren’t allowed to operate on members of their family. She watched Burke flail and bit her tongue.
The smell of chocolate chip cookies baking hit Cristina in the face as she let herself into Meredith’s house.
*
Cristina was not upset about Burke.
Cristina was not upset about Burke.
No one seemed to get that.
Not Meredith, who, in the midst of explaining the new McDreamy/McVet/McWhateverthefuck crisis was acting hideously concerned.
How typical of Meredith, the minute she became somewhat less than fatally self-centered is the one time Cristina just wanted to be left alone.
Not Bailey, who was Burke’s messenger of doom, summoning her from surgeries if he was asking for her, or rooting her out of their basement hideout to hold his hand during the rehab. The worst part was that she seemed to think that she was doing Cristina some kind of favor.
They at least were concerned about how she was taking all of this - needlessly concerned, but concerned.
The people who were concerned, not about her but about Burke, they were the worst. They watched her, judging, though they had no right to.
Not McDreamy (maybe McCheater now, she hadn’t decided) who was glaring at her when they passed in the hallways. As if he had any right to accuse someone of being a negligent significant other.
Not George, who always seemed to want to discuss Burke, his diagnosis and prognosis and spirits and go away George! Couldn’t he see that she was busy? Busy being a surgeon, busy running labs, busy trying to figure out how to put herself back together?
Dr. Montgomery-Shepherd and the chief seemed preoccupied with other things (surgical things! Why couldn’t anyone else be preoccupied with surgical things?), but she was sure that had they been paying attention, every minute she spent away from Burke would have earned her their eternal scorn. She was tired of eternal scorn.
She was sure, if she’d seen Izzie, that Izzie would yell at her to be there for Burke while he was still around. Still alive to coddle and cuddle and love. If Izzie could fit the lecture in, in between crying jags and 24-hour baking, that is.
At least that was the situation according to George and Meredith, who were out of their minds with worry. Cristina’s newfound loyalty extended to lying to the chief, but comforting bereaved friends was a little beyond her capabilities, plus she was smack dab in the middle of an emotional crisis herself, thank you very much.
It was when Callie gave her a scornful glance in the hallway as they passed with clipped “Dr. Yang” and “Dr. Torres” greetings that Cristina finally snapped.
Storming into Burke’s room she let him have the full extent of the patented Cristina Yang rage.
“What, are nurses going to be harassing me next?” She was aware of her own loss of control; ironically it spurred her to even greater heights of melodrama.
“I’m doing the best that I can! You know I’m not supportive girlfriend material, you know being emotional doesn’t come easily; I’m trying my best. And I’d appreciate if you called off your little cadre of spies and well wishers and - “ She paused to catch her breath, leaning against the wall in a gesture of defeat.
“Cristina,” he interrupted quietly. “What on earth are you talking about?”
She might have been imagining it but she would have sworn that she’d seen a little bit of a “who is this crazy person in my room and where is someone who will make them leave?” panic in his eyes.
She took a deep breath. Put her hand on the bed, touching his leg. She sat down and put her head in her hands.
*
She was different now than she had been growing up; during college; all through med school. She’d had friends, of course, but not friends like Meredith and George and Izzie were friends.
She’d had boyfriends, lovers, but none of them got under her skin the way that Burke did.
Surgery was her life. It was enough.How could it not be?
When she’d received the acceptance letter to the Seattle Grace Surgical program she’d done a little dance in the privacy of her own apartment, and then kept the news to herself for a week and six days.
*
He twitched under her touch, as if during his time in the hospital he’d forgotten it. Forgotten them.
The florescent lights beat down on her, washing her out and trying to force her into the role they thought she should play.
She was trying.
*
She’d talked to the chief about her edge, her missing edge.
That night she dreamed of knives and scalpels and saws and everything sharp, everything hard and unyielding; everything that cut.
She dreamed of Burke.
She woke with a start, the hard plastic of the hospital chair digging into her lower vertebrae. In the bed Burke was snoring softly. She fought the urge to climb in next to him.
*
Burke, more than anyone else she knew, was wholeheartedly and unapologetically himself. He cooked. He cleaned. He listened to classical music. He played the trumpet.
He was Preston Burke. Who could she be in the face of all that certainty?
With George/Izzie/Alex she was Cristina the psycho-competitive friend. The friend who would push you down and mow you over if you got in her way.
With Meredith she was the occasionally-sympathetic-best-friend. The friend who would listen to you talk about McDreamy, but would also give you hell about it.
Burke clearly had bad taste in women. Seriously.
*
She always held his hand now. Force of habit.
She would walk in, check his chart and move toward the bed, taking his hand before she even thought about it. If he was out walking the halls from boredom she would catch up and grab his hand, slowing her pace to match his. They got indulgent glances from nurses, doctors, even Bailey.
It made her want to vomit.
*
She finished a routine appendectomy, flawless, and her first thought was of him.
When she passed George in the hallway outside of the scrub room he asked, “How’s Burke doing?”
The chief nodded to her as she approached Burke’s room, having just left there himself.
Meredith brought her coffee on the mornings she got to the hospital early to be there for Burke’s physiotherapy.
When had she stopped being Cristina?
*
She entered his room, smiled as he set the lunch tray off to the side, and moved to take his hand like always.
It was warm and smooth in hers, a surgeon’s hand. Burke’s hand.
Maybe it was ok to not be that Cristina for a while.
*
She sighed, and sat down on the bed. Burke's smile was brilliant.