Pieces of Dreams
Rating: Strong R, some sexual content.
Summary: Written for the drabble123 challenge. Except I suck at drabbles. So I pieced all 20 300-word prompts into one 6,000 word fic. Yes, it's an illness. Burke and Cristina start over again, essentially. It's all fluff. I'm so sorry.
Disclaimer: These characters are property of Shonda Rhimes/ABC and Grey's Anatomy. They do not belong to me. Reimbursement is not received for fictitious works.
I. Infatuation
One onyx curl tickles the underside of her chin and he can feel an ache in his fingertips to brush the curl away from her face. The ache spreads through his palm, begs to tangle his fingers into those curls, to feel their unruliness against his skin. The muscles in his arm start to experience the very same sensation, this time urging him to close his fingers around those curls and to tug gently, just enough to tip her eyes up to meet his.
From this point, the need to touch her moves quickly over his bicep, desire to feel her petite hands on his arms making his heart beat a little more quickly. There’s a pang in his neck to bend, his lips overtaken with the urge to brush against hers.
There’s pain in his heart when he sees another approach her and do the exact same thing he can’t stop thinking about.
Preston Burke thinks for a moment that he’s been caught when she pulls away from the other man and then looks in his direction. He steps calmly into the copy room, the blinds open so he can still see her but she can’t see him as easily.
Frustrated, he brings the fingertips of his thumb and index finger to the bridge of his nose and massages gently.
He knows that he’s made mistakes and he knows that making up for them would be almost, if not completely, impossible.
His hand drops at his side, the ache in his fingertips still there. There would be so many obstacles to overcome if he were to entertain the pain overwhelming him but he’d give anything just to have another chance. He’d give anything to see her really smile and laugh again.
He’d give anything for the ache to stop.
II. Hope
Cristina closes her eyes and lets out a deep breath, hoping that the niggling feeling that it’s all wrong will simply go away.
She’s not completely oblivious when it comes to other people’s feelings or whatever, she has them too. Cristina simply finds it best practice to ignore emotions. People who ignore emotions don’t get hurt and the sure as hell don’t end up crying over a heap of wrinkled wedding dresses.
Smart people ignore emotions.
Except she can’t ignore him.
It isn’t like she doesn’t already have enough problems with Owen. He has his issues and he needs her and she does love him but there’s that thought in her head that keeps telling her that it’s all wrong. There’s this voice in the back of her mind that continuously tells her that she shouldn’t be scared of a man that she loves and no matter how much she wants to help him that it’s just stupid to do the things that she’s doing.
Denying the danger.
Ignoring the feeling.
Once upon a time, Cristina used to be smart and she’s almost certain that it’s all Burke’s fault that she isn’t now.
This logic tugs at her with the feeling again because she knows that she shouldn’t be blaming it on her ex-boyfriend, fiancée, whatever. It’s supposed to be Owen’s fault, she’s supposed to be thinking about him. She’s supposed to be obsessing over some feeling related to the man that she’s currently seeing.
Not the one that she shouldn’t ever want to see again.
When she looks up, she sees Burke standing just a few feet away as he studies the OR board. His gaze catches hers and he offers a nearly imperceptible smile, his deep brown eyes sparkling faintly as he takes her in.
Cristina smiles back.
III. Comfort
“Stop staring,” she mutters at him and then looks in the opposite direction.
Burke can feel his blood boiling and his fists clench in his pockets. It doesn’t matter that she’s hiding the small purple welt across her cheek or that he did it in his sleep or that he has some mental illness. Never in his life has he felt the urge to physically harm somebody, not like this.
“It was an accident,” Cristina repeats, her arms wrapped around herself lightly.
“So you say,” he finally speaks. There’s a hint of disbelief in his voice, a hint of anger and a hint of concern. “It’s not like you to make excuses for somebody.”
“It’s not like you to stick around when things are less than perfect.”
Her words sting and rather than leaving a visible mark on his flesh, they tear and gnaw on his insides along with the rest of his regrets.
“I’m sorry,” he utters.
Burke knows that it’s only two words and that they can’t change anything that he’s done and that he can’t erase the past and start over. Despite his loathing for the words that follow, he knows that Cristina will enjoy them immensely.
“I was wrong,” he adds in a more humbled voice.
This earns a slight scoff mixed with a little bit of a laugh and an incredulous glance.
He knows that touching her will probably earn some sort of an unfavorable reaction but that knowledge doesn’t stop Burke from reaching out turn her face towards his. His fingertips trace the arch of her cheekbone lightly and his free arm wraps gently around her.
When he sees the sadness in her eyes, the other arm wraps around her and he holds her close and wishes that he could take her pain away.
IV. Kiss
Cristina stands frozen in front of him, her lips slightly parted and her fingers glued to the material of his shirt. She isn’t really sure how any of it happened, how she found herself in a place where almost kissing him could be considered normal behavior.
It’s not like they were seeing each other or dating or even screwing.
He said he wanted to be friends, she said that he could pretend that he was her friend. There was nothing in the agreement that said he could make her nearly kiss him, nothing about going through all of that crap again.
Not that he was the one who had done it.
Burke says her name but her eyes remain fixed on his chest.
Quickly, she tries to remember exactly how much beer they had consumed with their dinner and how many hours of sleep she had gotten last night. There had to be some logical reason for the slip up and when she can’t find any, she falters.
Cristina finally looks up when he says her name again and her breathing slows when their eyes meet. There’s no logical reason for why she tried to kiss him but she can’t exactly remember a time that emotions had ever had a hand in rational thought.
One hand loosens from the sleeve of his shirt and her hand creeps up his well-chiseled arm until her fingers are wrapped loosely around the back of his neck. She feels her flesh rise when his hand finds the small of her back and she closes the nearly non-existent space between them.
When her lips brush his, she feels something tug at her insides. She ignores it, parts her lips and finds her tongue with his.
She hasn’t ever realized how much she missed kissing him.
V. Endearments
“Baby,” he repeats with a small chuckle.
This earns a glare of contempt from Cristina, accompanied by a sharp pain in his side from her elbow. She mutters something about it being unintentional and that he can’t start making a big deal out of it because it means next to nothing.
Except it means everything to him, even if the word slipped from her lips when pleading with him to let her perform a CABG on her own.
Burke smiles when she mutters something else and places his hands in his pocket as they walk side by side through the hallway.
Formalities between them had been dropped weeks ago, the curt sound of Dr. Burke or Dr. Yang only a faded memory now. Just as before, he was Burke and she was Cristina.
And, apparently, baby.
He coughs to cover up another smile.
“You’re such a girl,” she mutters as they round the corner into an empty hallway.
The desolation isn’t lost on Burke and he reaches out to gently take hold of her hand. The word ‘what’ barely makes it out of her mouth and he knows that the look on his face answers her disrupted question.
There’s no real definition of what they’re doing and he’s doing his best not to ask or push. Instead, he kisses her tenderly and his fingers twine with hers. He figures it’s a favorable way of silencing himself whenever he does want to clarify exactly what’s going on between him.
Cristina never seems to mind either.
The kissing turns passionate and she presses into him. This draws a reaction from his body that he cannot attend to in the manner in which he would prefer, so he starts to pull away.
When she whispers that she wants it, he kisses her again.
VI. Vow
Claiming stupidity would be far easier than knowing exactly what the hell she was doing with Burke. She could blame a momentary lapse in judgment when he decided to ditch her again, blame mind-blowing sex (not that they were having any) on the decision to tell him that she wanted ‘it’.
It.
A relationship.
Since when the hell did she go around wanting relationships?
It was her decision and not a result of anything he did.
Only the things that he does to her.
Cristina groans softly and throws her forearm over her eyes, tries to shut her brain off.
Most people would call it second thoughts but she doesn’t because she doesn’t want to change her mind, she’s just scared.
That thought makes her sigh heavily and she rolls onto her stomach instead and buries her face in her pillow. She tries in vain to think of all of the things she could have done differently.
She wishes that she would have stopped him. He walked away from her but she just let him.
There’s no going back and Cristina knows it, knows that she doesn’t want to. Things weren’t bad before but they weren’t as good as they could have been. Going back means making the same mistakes and she doesn’t want that to happen.
She’s happy right now and she wants to stay that way.
Cristina swears to herself then that they’ll only go forward. She’ll let go of the past and he’s promised to not push their future and they can both focus on the present.
On what they have now.
She smiles when she hears the door of the call room open and she sits up to find Burke with two cups of coffee.
Some things will never change and Cristina is fine with that.
VII. Bliss
Once upon a time, Burke knows he would have been disappointed that he couldn’t get reservations at their favorite restaurant. He would have been disappointed about their first real night off together being reduced to Italian food in carry out containers in his apartment.
He likes that he’s learned to appreciate plans that don’t work out perfectly.
Idly, he flips through CDs until he finds the right one and he slips it into the player. Soft music fills the room and he reaches over to dim the lights before turning to Cristina.
“Now I can’t see to pour my wine,” she remarks dryly.
This earns a smile from him and he takes her hand to pull her from the couch and into his arms, “Dance with me.”
Rather than answering, she drapes her arms around his neck and settles her body against his.
They sway gently together, fingertips teasing and lips brushing sporadically. They both know how the night will end but they’re trying to take their time getting there.
They do have all the time in the world, after all.
His hand glides gently up her side, thumb brushing against her breast before halting there. He brings his lips to her neck then, caresses the flesh there and she whimpers softly from a combination of the teasing and the anticipation.
It only takes that unbidden noise to destroy his intention of taking his time with her.
She pushes his pants down and he pushes her dress up, their lips meeting in heated duel. He pulls her legs around his waist and swallows her moans when he fills her. Her back is against the wall and his hands are desperate. When they let go, it’s about so much more than getting lost in the sensation.
It’s about being whole again.
VIII. Home
Cristina tries not to visibly flinch when Burke suggests moving in together. She wants to point out that he promised not to push things any farther but she knows her argument is weak.
They’ve been together a year and while she’s very comfortable with where they’re at, she knows that another step has to be taken.
Moving forward involves actual movement, not staying where you feel safe.
It’s only instinct for her to provide some cryptic answer and she waits until that instinct passes to provide him with an answer.
She can’t help smiling at his surprised expression whenever she simply says ‘okay’.
Smiling is something that she does frequently as of late and she doesn’t try to hide it when she’s in front of him. It’s how she lets him know that she’s happy without having to express it in too many words.
Cristina wants to laugh when he awkwardly suggests that maybe they can look for a new place in a couple of weeks, one that’s a little bit bigger than their respective apartments. She knows that if given the opportunity that he’d drag her out the front door in this very moment to start looking.
So she suggests maybe looking over the weekend instead.
At this point she half expects him to pull out a stack of catalogs with prime real estate that he’s been eyeing for over six months but he shrugs.
“If you want to,” he says casually, “We can make dinner afterwards.”
Code for ‘If you take me house hunting on Saturday, you’re getting laid on Saturday night.’ or at least that’s what Cristina thinks that he would say if he was as blunt as she is.
“Dinner is good for me,” she answers.
She doesn’t say it but she’s looking forward to Saturday.
IX. Memory
Sometimes he wonders if she’s forgiven him yet, wonders if she’s ever going to forgive him. There’s nothing she does or says to make him suspect that she even still thinks about it. He simply can’t stop thinking about it.
“You’re thinking,” she whispers into his ear and traces a finger over his bare back, writing all of the words that she rarely says out loud.
Burke wants to glance over his shoulder to look at her but what she’s doing feels good and maybe it will be easier to bring it up if he doesn’t look her in the eye.
“I’m thinking,” he echoes, “I’m thinking about our wedding day.”
Her fingertip slows to a stop but she doesn’t pull away, “Our wedding day? Aren’t you supposed to ask a question before you start planning that?”
“You know what I’m referring to,” he states plainly.
“I don’t know why you are. It’s in the past. It doesn’t matter,” she shrugs and her fingertips resume their movements.
He rolls over then to look at her, rests his hand against her hip. “It matters to me.”
“Why? Do you plan on doing it again?” She asks, inching her body closer to his.
“Never.”
“Then,” she murmurs and then pauses to kiss him, “it doesn’t matter.”
He searches her eyes, doesn’t ask the question because he doesn’t have the right. He feels a certain relief when she answers him anyway.
“Just forget about it. I have.”
Burke shifts his weight over hers and kisses her ravenously. He feels her thumb trace lightly atop his ring finger and he pauses for a moment, “Do you want me to ask you that question?”
She smiles up at him and her words are affirmation enough, “Are you asking?”
“Later,” he murmurs and kisses her again.
X. Grace
Cristina smiles beneath her surgical mask, her eyes hinting at mischief while Burke makes the initial incision on their patient. She lets her eyes fall to his hands, fingers long and deft, curled around the scalpel glimmering under the harsh OR lights.
There’s no effort to keep it a secret that she loves watching the man she loves cut someone’s chest open.
If people can’t get it, she figures that they’re not worth her time.
Once the chest is open, she turns her focus to the surgery at hand and let’s go of all of the little thoughts that get her through induction. She watches his fingers as he works, mimics his movements from time to time and tries to master the sutures in her head.
This earns a slight chuckle, audible only to her and maybe the anesthesiologist who has learned to simply ignore it. The first time he did not was the last.
She asks for the suction to clear up his field and Burke holds up his hand to take it instead. Cristina is convinced he does these sporadic things just to get a reaction out of her. She never fails in delivering one either.
With lit up eyes, she takes her surgical instruments and tries in vain to suture as well as- if not better than- he did. Her fingers dance around the vessels of the heart, carefully sewing in grafts and testing their strength against antegrade flow.
As she finishes the last suture, his hand moves in to assess the heart wall and their fingertips brush.
It’s not an accident.
Once again, she smiles beneath her surgical mask and enjoys the moment, the end of the same dance they do every time they’re in the OR together.
It’s a dance that will never get old.
XI. Pleasure
“Open your eyes,” Burke urges softly, nuzzles the side of her neck with his nose before pressing his lips into the curve between her neck and shoulders.
She does as he asks, looks at him through heavy lids. Her breath is ragged and her heart is racing and the look in his eyes only makes it beat harder. Their hips rock together gently and she half whimpers, half murmurs his name when he reaches a sinful depth inside her.
Their gazes lock and fingertips travel well known paths, each leading the other to a place better than ecstasy.
Cristina is the first to start moving in earnest, eagerly seeking release from the torturously slow circles that he’s rubbing around her clit. She begs breathlessly for him to not to stop and stop all at the same time, her lithe body writhing beneath his.
He gives into her and her soft moans and whimpers turn into louder cries, her fingers grasping for anything to take hold of, one shred of reality to keep her only slightly grounded. The only thing she can manage to hold onto is him, the only thing she needs is him.
Her gaze never leaves his as they come down and his hold on her tightens.
“You’re beautiful,” he breathes heavily, finally dropping his forehead to rest against her shoulder.
She smiles breathlessly at this and raises her had to kiss his neck softly. Cristina pauses at his ear and whispers, “I love you. Always.”
Burke looks down at her and fights the urge to ask her then, to make official what they know is coming. No matter how anxious he is, he knows it isn’t right. The time will always feel right but the place is not so he only responds, “And you’ll always have me.”
XII. Believe
Cristina’s stomach is churning and she isn’t really sure what she’s supposed to do or say. She knows that she’d like to cause some sort of physical harm to Preston for not warning her about his parents just ‘dropping in’ to Seattle. She knows that she’d like to disappear for how many ever days it is that the evil woman that he calls his mother is supposed to be in town. She knows that she really wants a stiff drink.
None of those, however, are the things that she’s supposed to do.
There’s really no reason that she should be so uncomfortable around his mother, minus the fact that she shaved her eyebrows off and tried to choke her with a piece of jewelry.
There’s that.
Jane studies Cristina with a cold and calculating glance wondering how it is that they’ve possibly lasted as long as they have this time. Despite her husband’s attempt and discussing the new recipe his son concocted for dinner, Jane stays the course of the discussion she wants to have.
“And what about grandchildren? Certainly you realize that neither one of you are getting any younger,” she says, knowing that it will be an area of contention between them.
Cristina can practically see the horns growing out of her forehead as Jane stares her down, causing her to shift uncomfortably in her chair.
“Mama,” Burke interrupts, his tone hinting at four letter words that he’ll never say to her.
“Preston?” She asks, knowing that he’ll back down.
Burke clears his throat and glances at Cristina for a moment before answering, “I don’t believe it’s any of your concern. Cristina and I are happy. She makes me happy. That’s all that matters.”
Cristina’s hand squeezes his beneath the table and she looks at Jane in triumph.
XIII. Dreams
There’s a hint of pride as Burke watches Cristina wrapping up her case from the gallery. It’s rare that he gets a moment to sit back and watch one of her surgeries from beginning to end. Sometimes he feels the need to go in the room with her, sometimes he likes to assist simply because he doesn’t want to stay away from her.
Sometimes he’s okay with simply watching her work.
Her hands exude passion as she sutures cautiously, her eyes exude fire as she tells the perfusionist to administer cardioplegia. Everything about her in the OR is entrancing to him, a sort of delirium he never wants to come out of.
The clock seems to slow as she finishes off her last suture and he can see her mask wrinkle from the wide grin beneath. He thinks momentarily that it should hurt more that she just obliterated not only his best OR time as a resident but as a fellow too.
It does not.
Instead, he’s beaming with even more pride and he moves quickly out of the gallery to meet her in the scrub room.
Cristina emerges, exhilaration painted over her expression and he realizes that he hasn’t stopped smiling since the OR clock stopped. She asks if he’s angry that she bested him and he shakes his head.
He’s the exact opposite.
Burke kisses her then, makes quiet promises of the evening ahead in celebration of her victory. When she smiles at the suggestions, he thinks briefly that maybe tonight is the right time for him to ask.
It only takes a few moments for him to decide against it.
This day is about her accomplishment and nothing more. They’ll have other days and he’s content to celebrate his dethroning with the woman he cannot live without.
XIV. Certainty
“Aren’t you supposed to be down on one knee?” Cristina asks, her words muted by her surgical mask.
“Aren’t you supposed to wear a ring?” Burke counters, grinning beneath his.
Cristina laughs at this and their conversation is interrupted by a nurse reporting that their patient’s pressure momentarily dropped. Cristina fires off some sort of sarcastic remark about the nurses’ competence which would normally earn some disapproving look from Burke but not today.
Today, he’s waiting with baited breath for a response from her.
She already knows her answer and she has for a long time but she’s enjoying watching him squirm so she keeps the game up a little bit longer.
“You didn’t buy me a ring?”
Burke shifts uncomfortably at this question and can feel the nurses staring at him. “Of course I did,” he answers. It’s a half truth.
“So you expect me to wear one even though you know that I don’t?” Cristina teases, this time it’s hard for her to keep an even tone.
It isn’t often that Cristina enjoys the company of the nurses in her OR but when they all seem to get a little bit of amusement out of his pain, she decides that she’ll have to rethink her stance on them.
Later, of course.
“Did I say that I do?” Burke asks, frustration seeping into his tone a little bit.
“Obviously you do if you bought one,” she prods.
Burke catches onto what she’s doing and he shrugs, “Fine. Nevermind that I asked.”
“Yeah right. You already asked, it’s a done deal. You’re stuck with me now.”
“I was kind of hoping for a yes,” he admits.
“You’ll get your ‘yes’ when I get my ring.”
Burke doesn’t show it but he feels a great sense of relief, “Well, alright then.”
XV. Date
Burke pretends to glance over the calendar when he’s really watching her play with the ring. He’s more than a little surprised that it’s off of the chain that he’d purchased with it.
He’d never really intended for her to wear it as more than just a necklace but now she was sitting in front of him, sliding it off and on of her ring finger while he was supposed to be narrowing down a date or three.
Cristina looks up at him, leaving the ring in place. “What?”
“Nothing,” he answers with a sheepish smile and looks back down at the calendar in front of him.
Though it’s only taken them a couple of years to get to this point, he feels as if it’s been forever, “Do we really need to figure out a day? Can’t we just,” he pauses for a second and tries to find the right words, “I don’t want to wait forever.”
The ring on her finger combined with his words suddenly makes it all that much more real. Her eyes linger on his face, an imperceptible smile crosses her lips and she reaches out for the calendar. “So the second Tuesday of next week isn’t good for you? Because I’m off that day and-”
“I would do it today if I could. I don’t care if it’s in between surgeries.”
Her smile widens and she pushes the calendar aside, “That sounds like it could be Friday if you’re going for in between surgeries. We’re pretty booked that day.”
“And it’s enough time to get the license back,” he concludes.
“Then we’ll do it on Friday,” she shrugs nonchalantly.
Burke absently muses how three days will never feel so long as the three long days that separate them from finally being husband and wife.
XVI. Rose
Cristina has never understood what it is about getting flowers. She doesn’t do flowers and she never will do flowers.
Well, unless they come like this.
She shivers lightly at the sensation of the petals dragging lightly over her spine and she arches her back slightly. Burke uses this opportunity to flip her onto her back and start teasing the more interesting side of her body.
It’s not like premarital sex was boring for them, it was anything but. Somehow though, he’s managed to make sex way more interesting and they’ve barely been married for eight hours. He’s doing things with stupid flowers and lighting candles and eliciting noises that she’s pretty damn sure she’s never made before.
His wedding band is cold against her hip and she wonders if it’s a feeling she’ll ever stop appreciating, if any of it will settle into some sense of normalcy.
Cristina never wants it to.
Their lips meet and she moves her hand to rest atop his, her thumb rubbing over his ring.
Burke pulls away to glance down at her hand and she takes in the softness of his eyes, knowing that it’s hit him again that they’re actually married now.
She wonders if she’s as obvious when she keeps making the same realization.
“I don’t want to go to work on Monday,” she announces unceremoniously, drawing his eyes back up to hers.
His eyebrow raises high on his forehead in question, “I’m sorry, what exactly have you done with my wife?”
Cristina smacks his arm a little harder than intended and laughs when he makes some sort of comment about the abuse already setting in. Her laughter is silenced by a searing kiss and she pulls away just enough to mumble against his lips, “No, really. I’m serious about Monday.”
VXII. Sweet
Meredith makes a sour face at the two of them across the bar and reaches for her drink. When Cristina finally arrives at her side, she grumbles at her, “When is this nasty sweet crap going to stop? You’re giving me a headache.”
“We intend to keep going until you stroke,” Cristina comments dryly, “and we weren’t doing anything.”
“Yes you were. You were making those eyes at each other. Like you’re talking about doing something dirty right here in front of me. Without talking,” Meredith’s voice is slurring slightly but it doesn’t stop her from downing the infusion of juice and tequila in front of her.
“Like a secret language?” Cristina mocks.
“I don’t like happy you. I like dark and twisty you. I like you that understands my pain whenever Derek is talking about babies and crap.”
“I still understand babies and crap. I don’t have to be dark and twisty to get it,” Cristina laments, takes a sip of her own drink.
“Yeah, but it’s fake getting it. You’re happy,” Meredith explains, then smiles as she repeats, “you’re happy.”
Cristina agrees, every word and emphasis, “Yes, I am.”
Meredith’s smile fades again, “I hate happy you.”
“Maybe I’m doing it just to piss you off for being all happy when you and Derek first signed the post-it.”
“You’re obviously not. You’re a disgusting cheesy newlywed. You should probably hate yourself.”
“I probably should,” Cristina agrees.
Meredith finishes her drink and pushes it aside, “You know I would have kicked his ass if he left again?”
“I wouldn’t have agreed to it if I thought he would,” Cristina says quietly.
“I know,” Meredith mumbles, “He better know how lucky he is.”
“He does.”
Seemingly accepting this, Meredith waves to Joe for another drink, “So Derek wants more babies.”
VXIII. Rare
It was usually the little things: wet towels left on the bathroom floor, clothes strewn all over the bedroom, pants that he’d intended to wear sitting wrinkled at the bottom of their closet.
Typically, it was after a long and trying day at work and it was a place to take out frustrations when they were simply too tired to take out their frustration in the usual manner.
Typically.
This fight was different and there was no resolution.
Cristina didn’t quite understand what the big deal was. Yes, Meredith had another baby. Yes, Burke was with Shepherd and gawking at the little boy and thinking a lot of things that he shouldn’t be. She was fine with him thinking about things.
Asking for them was another story.
“You told your mother that it didn’t matter!” She snaps at him, throws the cover back and flops into their bed.
“So what? What are we supposed to do with our lives then?” Burke asks, staring her down over thick black glasses.
“We work,” Cristina bites back, “we go on vacations. We drink wine and eat at nice restaurants and avoid having cookie crumbs, baby vomit and French fries end up in the backseat of your expensive car.”
He sighs and climbs into the bed next to her. There’s this image in his head of what their child would look like and he can’t let it go. Burke knows that she doubts what kind of mother she would be, that babies aren’t her thing.
“I understand,” he mumbles in a pathetic voice and reaches for a book.
“How long do you plan to hold this against me?” She asks, more to the wall than to him.
Burke doesn’t answer her because he doesn’t know.
He does know it’s a fight he won’t win.
XIX. Surprise
“Cristina, what the hell is this?”
His voice is a less thrilled, a little more than confused and at least a little bit disgusted. It’s not exactly what she was hoping for.
“It’s a dog,” she answers casually, “a baby dog if you want to get technical. I think some people call them puppies.”
“I’m well aware of what it is,” Burke answers frustrated, “Why is it here?”
She looks over at the puppy, pawing eagerly at his leg for attention. “You wanted something that eats, poops, makes messes and needs attention. Killing a dog because I forget to feed it will not land me in prison.”
“You’re equating a baby with a dog?”
“Hey, I brought something home that totally interrupts our life. It’s the best I can do. Take it or leave it,” she mutters and walks into the kitchen.
Cristina doesn’t say so but she’s mad that he wasn’t at least a little amused with her giving him a baby, even if it was with a baby of the wrong species. She pulls out a bottle of wine and fills a glass to the rim.
She’s ready for this fight to be over.
Silence lingers throughout the house and she sighs to herself. A few moments later, she hears him say something and she peers around the corner.
He has the dog in his arms and he’s saying something she can’t hear but he looks at least a little interested. The puppy licks his face and he smiles a little, fighting off the attack and then finally relenting.
Burke looks up, catching her staring from around the corner and then looks down at the dog, “We can try it. If it doesn’t work, we’re having this talk again.”
Cristina smiles, knowing it’s an idle threat.
“Fine. Whatever.”
XX. Infatuation, reprise.
It’s hard to imagine now the things going through his mind on that day so long ago but it’s no longer a regret. Once upon a time she had told him that they would have just ended up divorced and miserable.
Today, they’re anything but.
“Baby?” Cristina calls out, dropping her bag on the floor by the front door. He doesn’t answer, not that it matters because she knows exactly where she’ll find him anyway. Cristina steps inside the dimmed room and frowns slightly.
“She fell asleep,” he explains apologetically, easing their sleeping daughter into her arms. “We tried to stay up but she wasn’t having it.”
“It’s okay,” she whispers, “long case today. I’m off tomorrow so it doesn’t matter.”
Burke kisses her gently, turns to leave the two of them alone for a few minutes. He pauses at the doorway, watching as Cristina gently sways with their daughter to one of his Eugene Foote CDs. There’s warmth in his eyes and his heart swells in his chest. He’s sure that his life couldn’t possibly be any better than it is right now. It’s almost impossible to tear his eyes away from them.
A while later, Cristina joins him in bed and he sets his book aside.
“I can rub your back,” he offers in a low voice.
She snorts, “It’s never just a backrub with you.”
“I’ve never heard you complain about that.”
Cristina grins then, rolls over and kisses him gently. “I’m not going to start tonight.”
“I didn’t think so.”
Burke reaches out and brushes her hair away from her face before claiming her lips. Making love to her will never get old, holding her will never become monotonous. He’ll never be able to get enough of her and he wouldn’t want it any other way.
Summary: Written for the drabble123 challenge. Except I suck at drabbles. So I pieced all 20 300-word prompts into one 6,000 word fic. Yes, it's an illness. Burke and Cristina start over again, essentially. It's all fluff. I'm so sorry.
Disclaimer: These characters are property of Shonda Rhimes/ABC and Grey's Anatomy. They do not belong to me. Reimbursement is not received for fictitious works.
I. Infatuation
One onyx curl tickles the underside of her chin and he can feel an ache in his fingertips to brush the curl away from her face. The ache spreads through his palm, begs to tangle his fingers into those curls, to feel their unruliness against his skin. The muscles in his arm start to experience the very same sensation, this time urging him to close his fingers around those curls and to tug gently, just enough to tip her eyes up to meet his.
From this point, the need to touch her moves quickly over his bicep, desire to feel her petite hands on his arms making his heart beat a little more quickly. There’s a pang in his neck to bend, his lips overtaken with the urge to brush against hers.
There’s pain in his heart when he sees another approach her and do the exact same thing he can’t stop thinking about.
Preston Burke thinks for a moment that he’s been caught when she pulls away from the other man and then looks in his direction. He steps calmly into the copy room, the blinds open so he can still see her but she can’t see him as easily.
Frustrated, he brings the fingertips of his thumb and index finger to the bridge of his nose and massages gently.
He knows that he’s made mistakes and he knows that making up for them would be almost, if not completely, impossible.
His hand drops at his side, the ache in his fingertips still there. There would be so many obstacles to overcome if he were to entertain the pain overwhelming him but he’d give anything just to have another chance. He’d give anything to see her really smile and laugh again.
He’d give anything for the ache to stop.
II. Hope
Cristina closes her eyes and lets out a deep breath, hoping that the niggling feeling that it’s all wrong will simply go away.
She’s not completely oblivious when it comes to other people’s feelings or whatever, she has them too. Cristina simply finds it best practice to ignore emotions. People who ignore emotions don’t get hurt and the sure as hell don’t end up crying over a heap of wrinkled wedding dresses.
Smart people ignore emotions.
Except she can’t ignore him.
It isn’t like she doesn’t already have enough problems with Owen. He has his issues and he needs her and she does love him but there’s that thought in her head that keeps telling her that it’s all wrong. There’s this voice in the back of her mind that continuously tells her that she shouldn’t be scared of a man that she loves and no matter how much she wants to help him that it’s just stupid to do the things that she’s doing.
Denying the danger.
Ignoring the feeling.
Once upon a time, Cristina used to be smart and she’s almost certain that it’s all Burke’s fault that she isn’t now.
This logic tugs at her with the feeling again because she knows that she shouldn’t be blaming it on her ex-boyfriend, fiancée, whatever. It’s supposed to be Owen’s fault, she’s supposed to be thinking about him. She’s supposed to be obsessing over some feeling related to the man that she’s currently seeing.
Not the one that she shouldn’t ever want to see again.
When she looks up, she sees Burke standing just a few feet away as he studies the OR board. His gaze catches hers and he offers a nearly imperceptible smile, his deep brown eyes sparkling faintly as he takes her in.
Cristina smiles back.
III. Comfort
“Stop staring,” she mutters at him and then looks in the opposite direction.
Burke can feel his blood boiling and his fists clench in his pockets. It doesn’t matter that she’s hiding the small purple welt across her cheek or that he did it in his sleep or that he has some mental illness. Never in his life has he felt the urge to physically harm somebody, not like this.
“It was an accident,” Cristina repeats, her arms wrapped around herself lightly.
“So you say,” he finally speaks. There’s a hint of disbelief in his voice, a hint of anger and a hint of concern. “It’s not like you to make excuses for somebody.”
“It’s not like you to stick around when things are less than perfect.”
Her words sting and rather than leaving a visible mark on his flesh, they tear and gnaw on his insides along with the rest of his regrets.
“I’m sorry,” he utters.
Burke knows that it’s only two words and that they can’t change anything that he’s done and that he can’t erase the past and start over. Despite his loathing for the words that follow, he knows that Cristina will enjoy them immensely.
“I was wrong,” he adds in a more humbled voice.
This earns a slight scoff mixed with a little bit of a laugh and an incredulous glance.
He knows that touching her will probably earn some sort of an unfavorable reaction but that knowledge doesn’t stop Burke from reaching out turn her face towards his. His fingertips trace the arch of her cheekbone lightly and his free arm wraps gently around her.
When he sees the sadness in her eyes, the other arm wraps around her and he holds her close and wishes that he could take her pain away.
IV. Kiss
Cristina stands frozen in front of him, her lips slightly parted and her fingers glued to the material of his shirt. She isn’t really sure how any of it happened, how she found herself in a place where almost kissing him could be considered normal behavior.
It’s not like they were seeing each other or dating or even screwing.
He said he wanted to be friends, she said that he could pretend that he was her friend. There was nothing in the agreement that said he could make her nearly kiss him, nothing about going through all of that crap again.
Not that he was the one who had done it.
Burke says her name but her eyes remain fixed on his chest.
Quickly, she tries to remember exactly how much beer they had consumed with their dinner and how many hours of sleep she had gotten last night. There had to be some logical reason for the slip up and when she can’t find any, she falters.
Cristina finally looks up when he says her name again and her breathing slows when their eyes meet. There’s no logical reason for why she tried to kiss him but she can’t exactly remember a time that emotions had ever had a hand in rational thought.
One hand loosens from the sleeve of his shirt and her hand creeps up his well-chiseled arm until her fingers are wrapped loosely around the back of his neck. She feels her flesh rise when his hand finds the small of her back and she closes the nearly non-existent space between them.
When her lips brush his, she feels something tug at her insides. She ignores it, parts her lips and finds her tongue with his.
She hasn’t ever realized how much she missed kissing him.
V. Endearments
“Baby,” he repeats with a small chuckle.
This earns a glare of contempt from Cristina, accompanied by a sharp pain in his side from her elbow. She mutters something about it being unintentional and that he can’t start making a big deal out of it because it means next to nothing.
Except it means everything to him, even if the word slipped from her lips when pleading with him to let her perform a CABG on her own.
Burke smiles when she mutters something else and places his hands in his pocket as they walk side by side through the hallway.
Formalities between them had been dropped weeks ago, the curt sound of Dr. Burke or Dr. Yang only a faded memory now. Just as before, he was Burke and she was Cristina.
And, apparently, baby.
He coughs to cover up another smile.
“You’re such a girl,” she mutters as they round the corner into an empty hallway.
The desolation isn’t lost on Burke and he reaches out to gently take hold of her hand. The word ‘what’ barely makes it out of her mouth and he knows that the look on his face answers her disrupted question.
There’s no real definition of what they’re doing and he’s doing his best not to ask or push. Instead, he kisses her tenderly and his fingers twine with hers. He figures it’s a favorable way of silencing himself whenever he does want to clarify exactly what’s going on between him.
Cristina never seems to mind either.
The kissing turns passionate and she presses into him. This draws a reaction from his body that he cannot attend to in the manner in which he would prefer, so he starts to pull away.
When she whispers that she wants it, he kisses her again.
VI. Vow
Claiming stupidity would be far easier than knowing exactly what the hell she was doing with Burke. She could blame a momentary lapse in judgment when he decided to ditch her again, blame mind-blowing sex (not that they were having any) on the decision to tell him that she wanted ‘it’.
It.
A relationship.
Since when the hell did she go around wanting relationships?
It was her decision and not a result of anything he did.
Only the things that he does to her.
Cristina groans softly and throws her forearm over her eyes, tries to shut her brain off.
Most people would call it second thoughts but she doesn’t because she doesn’t want to change her mind, she’s just scared.
That thought makes her sigh heavily and she rolls onto her stomach instead and buries her face in her pillow. She tries in vain to think of all of the things she could have done differently.
She wishes that she would have stopped him. He walked away from her but she just let him.
There’s no going back and Cristina knows it, knows that she doesn’t want to. Things weren’t bad before but they weren’t as good as they could have been. Going back means making the same mistakes and she doesn’t want that to happen.
She’s happy right now and she wants to stay that way.
Cristina swears to herself then that they’ll only go forward. She’ll let go of the past and he’s promised to not push their future and they can both focus on the present.
On what they have now.
She smiles when she hears the door of the call room open and she sits up to find Burke with two cups of coffee.
Some things will never change and Cristina is fine with that.
VII. Bliss
Once upon a time, Burke knows he would have been disappointed that he couldn’t get reservations at their favorite restaurant. He would have been disappointed about their first real night off together being reduced to Italian food in carry out containers in his apartment.
He likes that he’s learned to appreciate plans that don’t work out perfectly.
Idly, he flips through CDs until he finds the right one and he slips it into the player. Soft music fills the room and he reaches over to dim the lights before turning to Cristina.
“Now I can’t see to pour my wine,” she remarks dryly.
This earns a smile from him and he takes her hand to pull her from the couch and into his arms, “Dance with me.”
Rather than answering, she drapes her arms around his neck and settles her body against his.
They sway gently together, fingertips teasing and lips brushing sporadically. They both know how the night will end but they’re trying to take their time getting there.
They do have all the time in the world, after all.
His hand glides gently up her side, thumb brushing against her breast before halting there. He brings his lips to her neck then, caresses the flesh there and she whimpers softly from a combination of the teasing and the anticipation.
It only takes that unbidden noise to destroy his intention of taking his time with her.
She pushes his pants down and he pushes her dress up, their lips meeting in heated duel. He pulls her legs around his waist and swallows her moans when he fills her. Her back is against the wall and his hands are desperate. When they let go, it’s about so much more than getting lost in the sensation.
It’s about being whole again.
VIII. Home
Cristina tries not to visibly flinch when Burke suggests moving in together. She wants to point out that he promised not to push things any farther but she knows her argument is weak.
They’ve been together a year and while she’s very comfortable with where they’re at, she knows that another step has to be taken.
Moving forward involves actual movement, not staying where you feel safe.
It’s only instinct for her to provide some cryptic answer and she waits until that instinct passes to provide him with an answer.
She can’t help smiling at his surprised expression whenever she simply says ‘okay’.
Smiling is something that she does frequently as of late and she doesn’t try to hide it when she’s in front of him. It’s how she lets him know that she’s happy without having to express it in too many words.
Cristina wants to laugh when he awkwardly suggests that maybe they can look for a new place in a couple of weeks, one that’s a little bit bigger than their respective apartments. She knows that if given the opportunity that he’d drag her out the front door in this very moment to start looking.
So she suggests maybe looking over the weekend instead.
At this point she half expects him to pull out a stack of catalogs with prime real estate that he’s been eyeing for over six months but he shrugs.
“If you want to,” he says casually, “We can make dinner afterwards.”
Code for ‘If you take me house hunting on Saturday, you’re getting laid on Saturday night.’ or at least that’s what Cristina thinks that he would say if he was as blunt as she is.
“Dinner is good for me,” she answers.
She doesn’t say it but she’s looking forward to Saturday.
IX. Memory
Sometimes he wonders if she’s forgiven him yet, wonders if she’s ever going to forgive him. There’s nothing she does or says to make him suspect that she even still thinks about it. He simply can’t stop thinking about it.
“You’re thinking,” she whispers into his ear and traces a finger over his bare back, writing all of the words that she rarely says out loud.
Burke wants to glance over his shoulder to look at her but what she’s doing feels good and maybe it will be easier to bring it up if he doesn’t look her in the eye.
“I’m thinking,” he echoes, “I’m thinking about our wedding day.”
Her fingertip slows to a stop but she doesn’t pull away, “Our wedding day? Aren’t you supposed to ask a question before you start planning that?”
“You know what I’m referring to,” he states plainly.
“I don’t know why you are. It’s in the past. It doesn’t matter,” she shrugs and her fingertips resume their movements.
He rolls over then to look at her, rests his hand against her hip. “It matters to me.”
“Why? Do you plan on doing it again?” She asks, inching her body closer to his.
“Never.”
“Then,” she murmurs and then pauses to kiss him, “it doesn’t matter.”
He searches her eyes, doesn’t ask the question because he doesn’t have the right. He feels a certain relief when she answers him anyway.
“Just forget about it. I have.”
Burke shifts his weight over hers and kisses her ravenously. He feels her thumb trace lightly atop his ring finger and he pauses for a moment, “Do you want me to ask you that question?”
She smiles up at him and her words are affirmation enough, “Are you asking?”
“Later,” he murmurs and kisses her again.
X. Grace
Cristina smiles beneath her surgical mask, her eyes hinting at mischief while Burke makes the initial incision on their patient. She lets her eyes fall to his hands, fingers long and deft, curled around the scalpel glimmering under the harsh OR lights.
There’s no effort to keep it a secret that she loves watching the man she loves cut someone’s chest open.
If people can’t get it, she figures that they’re not worth her time.
Once the chest is open, she turns her focus to the surgery at hand and let’s go of all of the little thoughts that get her through induction. She watches his fingers as he works, mimics his movements from time to time and tries to master the sutures in her head.
This earns a slight chuckle, audible only to her and maybe the anesthesiologist who has learned to simply ignore it. The first time he did not was the last.
She asks for the suction to clear up his field and Burke holds up his hand to take it instead. Cristina is convinced he does these sporadic things just to get a reaction out of her. She never fails in delivering one either.
With lit up eyes, she takes her surgical instruments and tries in vain to suture as well as- if not better than- he did. Her fingers dance around the vessels of the heart, carefully sewing in grafts and testing their strength against antegrade flow.
As she finishes the last suture, his hand moves in to assess the heart wall and their fingertips brush.
It’s not an accident.
Once again, she smiles beneath her surgical mask and enjoys the moment, the end of the same dance they do every time they’re in the OR together.
It’s a dance that will never get old.
XI. Pleasure
“Open your eyes,” Burke urges softly, nuzzles the side of her neck with his nose before pressing his lips into the curve between her neck and shoulders.
She does as he asks, looks at him through heavy lids. Her breath is ragged and her heart is racing and the look in his eyes only makes it beat harder. Their hips rock together gently and she half whimpers, half murmurs his name when he reaches a sinful depth inside her.
Their gazes lock and fingertips travel well known paths, each leading the other to a place better than ecstasy.
Cristina is the first to start moving in earnest, eagerly seeking release from the torturously slow circles that he’s rubbing around her clit. She begs breathlessly for him to not to stop and stop all at the same time, her lithe body writhing beneath his.
He gives into her and her soft moans and whimpers turn into louder cries, her fingers grasping for anything to take hold of, one shred of reality to keep her only slightly grounded. The only thing she can manage to hold onto is him, the only thing she needs is him.
Her gaze never leaves his as they come down and his hold on her tightens.
“You’re beautiful,” he breathes heavily, finally dropping his forehead to rest against her shoulder.
She smiles breathlessly at this and raises her had to kiss his neck softly. Cristina pauses at his ear and whispers, “I love you. Always.”
Burke looks down at her and fights the urge to ask her then, to make official what they know is coming. No matter how anxious he is, he knows it isn’t right. The time will always feel right but the place is not so he only responds, “And you’ll always have me.”
XII. Believe
Cristina’s stomach is churning and she isn’t really sure what she’s supposed to do or say. She knows that she’d like to cause some sort of physical harm to Preston for not warning her about his parents just ‘dropping in’ to Seattle. She knows that she’d like to disappear for how many ever days it is that the evil woman that he calls his mother is supposed to be in town. She knows that she really wants a stiff drink.
None of those, however, are the things that she’s supposed to do.
There’s really no reason that she should be so uncomfortable around his mother, minus the fact that she shaved her eyebrows off and tried to choke her with a piece of jewelry.
There’s that.
Jane studies Cristina with a cold and calculating glance wondering how it is that they’ve possibly lasted as long as they have this time. Despite her husband’s attempt and discussing the new recipe his son concocted for dinner, Jane stays the course of the discussion she wants to have.
“And what about grandchildren? Certainly you realize that neither one of you are getting any younger,” she says, knowing that it will be an area of contention between them.
Cristina can practically see the horns growing out of her forehead as Jane stares her down, causing her to shift uncomfortably in her chair.
“Mama,” Burke interrupts, his tone hinting at four letter words that he’ll never say to her.
“Preston?” She asks, knowing that he’ll back down.
Burke clears his throat and glances at Cristina for a moment before answering, “I don’t believe it’s any of your concern. Cristina and I are happy. She makes me happy. That’s all that matters.”
Cristina’s hand squeezes his beneath the table and she looks at Jane in triumph.
XIII. Dreams
There’s a hint of pride as Burke watches Cristina wrapping up her case from the gallery. It’s rare that he gets a moment to sit back and watch one of her surgeries from beginning to end. Sometimes he feels the need to go in the room with her, sometimes he likes to assist simply because he doesn’t want to stay away from her.
Sometimes he’s okay with simply watching her work.
Her hands exude passion as she sutures cautiously, her eyes exude fire as she tells the perfusionist to administer cardioplegia. Everything about her in the OR is entrancing to him, a sort of delirium he never wants to come out of.
The clock seems to slow as she finishes off her last suture and he can see her mask wrinkle from the wide grin beneath. He thinks momentarily that it should hurt more that she just obliterated not only his best OR time as a resident but as a fellow too.
It does not.
Instead, he’s beaming with even more pride and he moves quickly out of the gallery to meet her in the scrub room.
Cristina emerges, exhilaration painted over her expression and he realizes that he hasn’t stopped smiling since the OR clock stopped. She asks if he’s angry that she bested him and he shakes his head.
He’s the exact opposite.
Burke kisses her then, makes quiet promises of the evening ahead in celebration of her victory. When she smiles at the suggestions, he thinks briefly that maybe tonight is the right time for him to ask.
It only takes a few moments for him to decide against it.
This day is about her accomplishment and nothing more. They’ll have other days and he’s content to celebrate his dethroning with the woman he cannot live without.
XIV. Certainty
“Aren’t you supposed to be down on one knee?” Cristina asks, her words muted by her surgical mask.
“Aren’t you supposed to wear a ring?” Burke counters, grinning beneath his.
Cristina laughs at this and their conversation is interrupted by a nurse reporting that their patient’s pressure momentarily dropped. Cristina fires off some sort of sarcastic remark about the nurses’ competence which would normally earn some disapproving look from Burke but not today.
Today, he’s waiting with baited breath for a response from her.
She already knows her answer and she has for a long time but she’s enjoying watching him squirm so she keeps the game up a little bit longer.
“You didn’t buy me a ring?”
Burke shifts uncomfortably at this question and can feel the nurses staring at him. “Of course I did,” he answers. It’s a half truth.
“So you expect me to wear one even though you know that I don’t?” Cristina teases, this time it’s hard for her to keep an even tone.
It isn’t often that Cristina enjoys the company of the nurses in her OR but when they all seem to get a little bit of amusement out of his pain, she decides that she’ll have to rethink her stance on them.
Later, of course.
“Did I say that I do?” Burke asks, frustration seeping into his tone a little bit.
“Obviously you do if you bought one,” she prods.
Burke catches onto what she’s doing and he shrugs, “Fine. Nevermind that I asked.”
“Yeah right. You already asked, it’s a done deal. You’re stuck with me now.”
“I was kind of hoping for a yes,” he admits.
“You’ll get your ‘yes’ when I get my ring.”
Burke doesn’t show it but he feels a great sense of relief, “Well, alright then.”
XV. Date
Burke pretends to glance over the calendar when he’s really watching her play with the ring. He’s more than a little surprised that it’s off of the chain that he’d purchased with it.
He’d never really intended for her to wear it as more than just a necklace but now she was sitting in front of him, sliding it off and on of her ring finger while he was supposed to be narrowing down a date or three.
Cristina looks up at him, leaving the ring in place. “What?”
“Nothing,” he answers with a sheepish smile and looks back down at the calendar in front of him.
Though it’s only taken them a couple of years to get to this point, he feels as if it’s been forever, “Do we really need to figure out a day? Can’t we just,” he pauses for a second and tries to find the right words, “I don’t want to wait forever.”
The ring on her finger combined with his words suddenly makes it all that much more real. Her eyes linger on his face, an imperceptible smile crosses her lips and she reaches out for the calendar. “So the second Tuesday of next week isn’t good for you? Because I’m off that day and-”
“I would do it today if I could. I don’t care if it’s in between surgeries.”
Her smile widens and she pushes the calendar aside, “That sounds like it could be Friday if you’re going for in between surgeries. We’re pretty booked that day.”
“And it’s enough time to get the license back,” he concludes.
“Then we’ll do it on Friday,” she shrugs nonchalantly.
Burke absently muses how three days will never feel so long as the three long days that separate them from finally being husband and wife.
XVI. Rose
Cristina has never understood what it is about getting flowers. She doesn’t do flowers and she never will do flowers.
Well, unless they come like this.
She shivers lightly at the sensation of the petals dragging lightly over her spine and she arches her back slightly. Burke uses this opportunity to flip her onto her back and start teasing the more interesting side of her body.
It’s not like premarital sex was boring for them, it was anything but. Somehow though, he’s managed to make sex way more interesting and they’ve barely been married for eight hours. He’s doing things with stupid flowers and lighting candles and eliciting noises that she’s pretty damn sure she’s never made before.
His wedding band is cold against her hip and she wonders if it’s a feeling she’ll ever stop appreciating, if any of it will settle into some sense of normalcy.
Cristina never wants it to.
Their lips meet and she moves her hand to rest atop his, her thumb rubbing over his ring.
Burke pulls away to glance down at her hand and she takes in the softness of his eyes, knowing that it’s hit him again that they’re actually married now.
She wonders if she’s as obvious when she keeps making the same realization.
“I don’t want to go to work on Monday,” she announces unceremoniously, drawing his eyes back up to hers.
His eyebrow raises high on his forehead in question, “I’m sorry, what exactly have you done with my wife?”
Cristina smacks his arm a little harder than intended and laughs when he makes some sort of comment about the abuse already setting in. Her laughter is silenced by a searing kiss and she pulls away just enough to mumble against his lips, “No, really. I’m serious about Monday.”
VXII. Sweet
Meredith makes a sour face at the two of them across the bar and reaches for her drink. When Cristina finally arrives at her side, she grumbles at her, “When is this nasty sweet crap going to stop? You’re giving me a headache.”
“We intend to keep going until you stroke,” Cristina comments dryly, “and we weren’t doing anything.”
“Yes you were. You were making those eyes at each other. Like you’re talking about doing something dirty right here in front of me. Without talking,” Meredith’s voice is slurring slightly but it doesn’t stop her from downing the infusion of juice and tequila in front of her.
“Like a secret language?” Cristina mocks.
“I don’t like happy you. I like dark and twisty you. I like you that understands my pain whenever Derek is talking about babies and crap.”
“I still understand babies and crap. I don’t have to be dark and twisty to get it,” Cristina laments, takes a sip of her own drink.
“Yeah, but it’s fake getting it. You’re happy,” Meredith explains, then smiles as she repeats, “you’re happy.”
Cristina agrees, every word and emphasis, “Yes, I am.”
Meredith’s smile fades again, “I hate happy you.”
“Maybe I’m doing it just to piss you off for being all happy when you and Derek first signed the post-it.”
“You’re obviously not. You’re a disgusting cheesy newlywed. You should probably hate yourself.”
“I probably should,” Cristina agrees.
Meredith finishes her drink and pushes it aside, “You know I would have kicked his ass if he left again?”
“I wouldn’t have agreed to it if I thought he would,” Cristina says quietly.
“I know,” Meredith mumbles, “He better know how lucky he is.”
“He does.”
Seemingly accepting this, Meredith waves to Joe for another drink, “So Derek wants more babies.”
VXIII. Rare
It was usually the little things: wet towels left on the bathroom floor, clothes strewn all over the bedroom, pants that he’d intended to wear sitting wrinkled at the bottom of their closet.
Typically, it was after a long and trying day at work and it was a place to take out frustrations when they were simply too tired to take out their frustration in the usual manner.
Typically.
This fight was different and there was no resolution.
Cristina didn’t quite understand what the big deal was. Yes, Meredith had another baby. Yes, Burke was with Shepherd and gawking at the little boy and thinking a lot of things that he shouldn’t be. She was fine with him thinking about things.
Asking for them was another story.
“You told your mother that it didn’t matter!” She snaps at him, throws the cover back and flops into their bed.
“So what? What are we supposed to do with our lives then?” Burke asks, staring her down over thick black glasses.
“We work,” Cristina bites back, “we go on vacations. We drink wine and eat at nice restaurants and avoid having cookie crumbs, baby vomit and French fries end up in the backseat of your expensive car.”
He sighs and climbs into the bed next to her. There’s this image in his head of what their child would look like and he can’t let it go. Burke knows that she doubts what kind of mother she would be, that babies aren’t her thing.
“I understand,” he mumbles in a pathetic voice and reaches for a book.
“How long do you plan to hold this against me?” She asks, more to the wall than to him.
Burke doesn’t answer her because he doesn’t know.
He does know it’s a fight he won’t win.
XIX. Surprise
“Cristina, what the hell is this?”
His voice is a less thrilled, a little more than confused and at least a little bit disgusted. It’s not exactly what she was hoping for.
“It’s a dog,” she answers casually, “a baby dog if you want to get technical. I think some people call them puppies.”
“I’m well aware of what it is,” Burke answers frustrated, “Why is it here?”
She looks over at the puppy, pawing eagerly at his leg for attention. “You wanted something that eats, poops, makes messes and needs attention. Killing a dog because I forget to feed it will not land me in prison.”
“You’re equating a baby with a dog?”
“Hey, I brought something home that totally interrupts our life. It’s the best I can do. Take it or leave it,” she mutters and walks into the kitchen.
Cristina doesn’t say so but she’s mad that he wasn’t at least a little amused with her giving him a baby, even if it was with a baby of the wrong species. She pulls out a bottle of wine and fills a glass to the rim.
She’s ready for this fight to be over.
Silence lingers throughout the house and she sighs to herself. A few moments later, she hears him say something and she peers around the corner.
He has the dog in his arms and he’s saying something she can’t hear but he looks at least a little interested. The puppy licks his face and he smiles a little, fighting off the attack and then finally relenting.
Burke looks up, catching her staring from around the corner and then looks down at the dog, “We can try it. If it doesn’t work, we’re having this talk again.”
Cristina smiles, knowing it’s an idle threat.
“Fine. Whatever.”
XX. Infatuation, reprise.
It’s hard to imagine now the things going through his mind on that day so long ago but it’s no longer a regret. Once upon a time she had told him that they would have just ended up divorced and miserable.
Today, they’re anything but.
“Baby?” Cristina calls out, dropping her bag on the floor by the front door. He doesn’t answer, not that it matters because she knows exactly where she’ll find him anyway. Cristina steps inside the dimmed room and frowns slightly.
“She fell asleep,” he explains apologetically, easing their sleeping daughter into her arms. “We tried to stay up but she wasn’t having it.”
“It’s okay,” she whispers, “long case today. I’m off tomorrow so it doesn’t matter.”
Burke kisses her gently, turns to leave the two of them alone for a few minutes. He pauses at the doorway, watching as Cristina gently sways with their daughter to one of his Eugene Foote CDs. There’s warmth in his eyes and his heart swells in his chest. He’s sure that his life couldn’t possibly be any better than it is right now. It’s almost impossible to tear his eyes away from them.
A while later, Cristina joins him in bed and he sets his book aside.
“I can rub your back,” he offers in a low voice.
She snorts, “It’s never just a backrub with you.”
“I’ve never heard you complain about that.”
Cristina grins then, rolls over and kisses him gently. “I’m not going to start tonight.”
“I didn’t think so.”
Burke reaches out and brushes her hair away from her face before claiming her lips. Making love to her will never get old, holding her will never become monotonous. He’ll never be able to get enough of her and he wouldn’t want it any other way.