You are my voice, so take me on, Burke/Cristina, PG
Title: You are my voice, so take me on
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Characters/Pairings: Cristina Yang, Burke/Cristina
Rating: PG
Warnings/Spoilers: Not unless, you haven't watched it since season 3
Word Count: 1064, concise is not me
Summary: When he comes back, he doesn’t give a big speech, he doesn’t really say much of anything.
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libellous, defamatory, or in any way factual. All song-lyrics mentioned belong to their respective owners, not to me.
Author’s Note: for nursebadass, who prompted 'City Hall'
She brushes her curls out of her face, back behind her ears.
She splashes cold water on her face, watching it trickle down her cheeks and neck, as she wipes it with her sleeve. Her eyes flutter shut and then open again, taking stock of herself in the mirror. Everything seems to be there. No parts missing.
More parts, if anything. She looks full.
She presses her hand to the mirror, watches the pads of her fingers turn whiter against their own reflection.
“Okay.”
She wipes her hands on the back of her jeans, pulls her hair out from her jacket, and walks out of the bathroom.
A blur of white lace and toulle rush past.
“I thought the point of city hall was that you didn’t have to do all of that,” Meredith flicks through a magazine on the bench just outside, finally looking up.
“Yeah, well, that’s why the wedding industry’s always on the up. Brides are idiots.”
“You’re a bride.”
“And look what happened last time.” She slumps down next to her, “This feels ridiculous.”
“It’s perfect.”
---
When he comes back, he doesn’t give a big speech, he doesn’t really say much of anything.
He looks at her thoughtfully from behind his glasses and when it looks like he might say something like “you’re looking good” or “nice to see you” or “yes, I am that person you never wanted to see again”, he presses his lips to hers and snakes an arm around her back and doesn’t really give her the option to push him away.
Her fingernails digging through his jacket as she grasps onto his shoulders, pulling him closer, tells him he’s probably okay to let go.
He doesn’t.
(He made that mistake before.)
---
It gets explained like this:
“We’re trying again,” she says to a dubious Meredith.
“How… is that ever going to work?”
“It just is.” It has to. “My expectations are lower. My eyebrows have grown back. And if it doesn’t work, it doesn’t.” Meredith opens her mouth to speak. “I’m okay, Mer. I’m feeling… okay. And if it lasts forever or it lasts for a day, I’m still going to think that I was right because I feel okay for the first time, since Owen--” She straightens up, looks at Meredith briefly. “Everyday is casual Friday.”
She nods, “Okay-- You’re okay, I’m okay. We are okay.”
“We’re okay.”
---
He says sorry. Just the once.
---
It gets decided somewhere along the way that he won’t come back to Seattle Grace.
The official reason, published in imaginary headlines, is that they’re working on keeping the people they’ve got, the attendings, to the nurses, to the cleaners, not bringing more people in.
The unofficial, discussed between bed sheets, is that having to look at him over a crowded ER and between walls that ache with the whispers of the two of them and what they were, might just be a little too much, too fast.
He takes her face in his hands, runs his thumbs just under her eyes, “It’s… fine…” He sucks her bottom lip, not letting her argue anymore. And then he smirks, “Besides, you guys are only number 12.”
She sneers, pushing herself onto him, “Shut up.”
---
“I’m not leaving.”
---
Two bridesmaids in yellow taffeta walk past, murmuring to each other.
“If she wanted a big wedding so bad, why aren’t we in a church?”
“All the men she slept with over the years? I’d be surprised if churches didn’t make her skin burn.”
Meredith leans in, “Thank you for not putting me in one of those.”
“You’re welcome.” She sighs, leaning her elbows on her knees. “Mer, what are you doing here?”
“You’re getting married. You, Cristina Yang. And no matter where you do it, it’s a big deal. I’m your person and I want to be there for things like this.”
“Fine… Whatever…” but she leans over and squeezes Meredith’s hand as a thank you.
---
One sorry is all she needs. Needed. Wants.
---
He’s been living with her for maybe three months now, it’s all just a blur or familiarity that fades into last time- till it’s not like two separate lives anymore.
She crawls over him, legs clambering over warm skin. She wraps herself around his body.
“…What?” he mumbles, half-sleeping. “Cristina…?”
“I…” He feels her tears splash onto his back, drip down onto the sheets. “I missed you.”
It’s the first time she says it. He doesn’t ask why.
He looks over his shoulder, sees her curled over into him, feels her arms tighten. “I’m not going anywhere, Cris--”
“I know, I just-- It doesn’t matter.” She kisses just between his shoulder blades. “Go back to sleep.”
“Do you want to talk?”
“I just did.”
She hooks her leg over his thigh more, presses herself against him more. She sleeps well for the first time since he came back.
---
“I’m not gonna freak out.”
---
They’re walking towards her wedding now, down past other ones, and people paying their taxes and fighting parking tickets.
She grabs hold of Meredith’s wrist, stops exactly where she is. “What if he isn’t there?”
“He’s there.”
“Yeah, but--” She sighs, “Look, I know he’s in there. But--”
“No buts, Cristina. He’s in there, he’s waiting for you, you just have to sign some papers and go home. You are Cristina Yang, and you are getting married today.”
“What if I can’t do it?”
She walks behind her, hands on her shoulders, “It’s easy, just--”
“No, not the walking part. I know how to walk. I mean, the wife part.”
“Nothing changes. You just tick a different box now.”
“What if I miss my old box? What if I liked my old box?”
“Cristina, I didn’t want to be the one to tell you this, but that box? It’s crappy. It’s a crappy box.”
---
“What’s wrong?” he says, without looking up from his newspaper.
“I hate the coffee you buy,” she finally says.
“Mm?”
“And the way you-- the way you’re shoes are lined up. In the closet.” She wrinkles her nose, “Who does that?”
“Just say you want to marry me, Cristina.” His eyes flick up to her face. “Just say… Yes.”
---
Weeks, months, years later, she opens takeout boxes and splits an order of egg rolls between the two cartons.
“Happy anniversary.”
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Characters/Pairings: Cristina Yang, Burke/Cristina
Rating: PG
Warnings/Spoilers: Not unless, you haven't watched it since season 3
Word Count: 1064, concise is not me
Summary: When he comes back, he doesn’t give a big speech, he doesn’t really say much of anything.
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libellous, defamatory, or in any way factual. All song-lyrics mentioned belong to their respective owners, not to me.
Author’s Note: for nursebadass, who prompted 'City Hall'
She brushes her curls out of her face, back behind her ears.
She splashes cold water on her face, watching it trickle down her cheeks and neck, as she wipes it with her sleeve. Her eyes flutter shut and then open again, taking stock of herself in the mirror. Everything seems to be there. No parts missing.
More parts, if anything. She looks full.
She presses her hand to the mirror, watches the pads of her fingers turn whiter against their own reflection.
“Okay.”
She wipes her hands on the back of her jeans, pulls her hair out from her jacket, and walks out of the bathroom.
A blur of white lace and toulle rush past.
“I thought the point of city hall was that you didn’t have to do all of that,” Meredith flicks through a magazine on the bench just outside, finally looking up.
“Yeah, well, that’s why the wedding industry’s always on the up. Brides are idiots.”
“You’re a bride.”
“And look what happened last time.” She slumps down next to her, “This feels ridiculous.”
“It’s perfect.”
---
When he comes back, he doesn’t give a big speech, he doesn’t really say much of anything.
He looks at her thoughtfully from behind his glasses and when it looks like he might say something like “you’re looking good” or “nice to see you” or “yes, I am that person you never wanted to see again”, he presses his lips to hers and snakes an arm around her back and doesn’t really give her the option to push him away.
Her fingernails digging through his jacket as she grasps onto his shoulders, pulling him closer, tells him he’s probably okay to let go.
He doesn’t.
(He made that mistake before.)
---
It gets explained like this:
“We’re trying again,” she says to a dubious Meredith.
“How… is that ever going to work?”
“It just is.” It has to. “My expectations are lower. My eyebrows have grown back. And if it doesn’t work, it doesn’t.” Meredith opens her mouth to speak. “I’m okay, Mer. I’m feeling… okay. And if it lasts forever or it lasts for a day, I’m still going to think that I was right because I feel okay for the first time, since Owen--” She straightens up, looks at Meredith briefly. “Everyday is casual Friday.”
She nods, “Okay-- You’re okay, I’m okay. We are okay.”
“We’re okay.”
---
He says sorry. Just the once.
---
It gets decided somewhere along the way that he won’t come back to Seattle Grace.
The official reason, published in imaginary headlines, is that they’re working on keeping the people they’ve got, the attendings, to the nurses, to the cleaners, not bringing more people in.
The unofficial, discussed between bed sheets, is that having to look at him over a crowded ER and between walls that ache with the whispers of the two of them and what they were, might just be a little too much, too fast.
He takes her face in his hands, runs his thumbs just under her eyes, “It’s… fine…” He sucks her bottom lip, not letting her argue anymore. And then he smirks, “Besides, you guys are only number 12.”
She sneers, pushing herself onto him, “Shut up.”
---
“I’m not leaving.”
---
Two bridesmaids in yellow taffeta walk past, murmuring to each other.
“If she wanted a big wedding so bad, why aren’t we in a church?”
“All the men she slept with over the years? I’d be surprised if churches didn’t make her skin burn.”
Meredith leans in, “Thank you for not putting me in one of those.”
“You’re welcome.” She sighs, leaning her elbows on her knees. “Mer, what are you doing here?”
“You’re getting married. You, Cristina Yang. And no matter where you do it, it’s a big deal. I’m your person and I want to be there for things like this.”
“Fine… Whatever…” but she leans over and squeezes Meredith’s hand as a thank you.
---
One sorry is all she needs. Needed. Wants.
---
He’s been living with her for maybe three months now, it’s all just a blur or familiarity that fades into last time- till it’s not like two separate lives anymore.
She crawls over him, legs clambering over warm skin. She wraps herself around his body.
“…What?” he mumbles, half-sleeping. “Cristina…?”
“I…” He feels her tears splash onto his back, drip down onto the sheets. “I missed you.”
It’s the first time she says it. He doesn’t ask why.
He looks over his shoulder, sees her curled over into him, feels her arms tighten. “I’m not going anywhere, Cris--”
“I know, I just-- It doesn’t matter.” She kisses just between his shoulder blades. “Go back to sleep.”
“Do you want to talk?”
“I just did.”
She hooks her leg over his thigh more, presses herself against him more. She sleeps well for the first time since he came back.
---
“I’m not gonna freak out.”
---
They’re walking towards her wedding now, down past other ones, and people paying their taxes and fighting parking tickets.
She grabs hold of Meredith’s wrist, stops exactly where she is. “What if he isn’t there?”
“He’s there.”
“Yeah, but--” She sighs, “Look, I know he’s in there. But--”
“No buts, Cristina. He’s in there, he’s waiting for you, you just have to sign some papers and go home. You are Cristina Yang, and you are getting married today.”
“What if I can’t do it?”
She walks behind her, hands on her shoulders, “It’s easy, just--”
“No, not the walking part. I know how to walk. I mean, the wife part.”
“Nothing changes. You just tick a different box now.”
“What if I miss my old box? What if I liked my old box?”
“Cristina, I didn’t want to be the one to tell you this, but that box? It’s crappy. It’s a crappy box.”
---
“What’s wrong?” he says, without looking up from his newspaper.
“I hate the coffee you buy,” she finally says.
“Mm?”
“And the way you-- the way you’re shoes are lined up. In the closet.” She wrinkles her nose, “Who does that?”
“Just say you want to marry me, Cristina.” His eyes flick up to her face. “Just say… Yes.”
---
Weeks, months, years later, she opens takeout boxes and splits an order of egg rolls between the two cartons.
“Happy anniversary.”