When The Sun Was Bleeding All Over You, Teddy/Cristina, R
Title: When The Sun Was Bleeding All Over You
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Pairing: Teddy/Cristina
Rating: R
Word Count: ~1600
Spoilers: This is set somewhere in late season 6, and there are definitely no spoilers beyond that. It's been sitting in my 'in progress' folder for ages and I thought I'd finish it for the Give to Receive Ficathon.
Summary: Teddy's been away all day and returns to the hospital where Cristina finds her. Written for the prompt 'uniform'. Think of this as a 'welcome to college' present for little_missmimi
Disclaimer: These characters belong to Shonda Rimes and Shondaland, ABC and etc. I'm just borrowing and making no profit. I disclaim!
Teddy looks damn good in blue.
Cristina sees her mentor, her rival, her boss, slipping into an on-call room and follows almost without thinking. Teddy will probably throw her out, tell her to go find Owen, or just flat-out ignore her until Cristina gives up and scurries away, but it’s a chance worth taking.
But today Teddy is in a different kind of blue, the same dress blues that Cristina has seen hanging in Owen's sparse closet and she needs to know why.
She doesn't knock, because she won't be able to disobey if told to leave. So with the practiced visual sweep of the corridor that they all acquired as interns, Cristina turns the handle and slips inside the quiet room.
Teddy is standing by the window, though the blinds are drawn and there's nothing for her to look at. The gold braiding on her uniform glints in the lamplight, and she breathes steadily without turning to acknowledge the intrusion.
"Dr. Altman?"
Teddy's head droops just a little, her posture remaining otherwise ramrod straight. Her fingers are latched together behind her back, and Cristina finds herself staring as the silence continues, letting her eyes trail down to the sensibly cut skirt and the shapely calves that follow.
Yeah, Cristina has always been a sucker for a guy in uniform, thought she can't ever ask Owen for fear of triggering his PTSD. The thought has always been enough, the quiet strength and steely determination that (sometimes) makes her feel safe when he holds her.
Trouble is, she's just realized that a Cardio God woman in uniform has pretty much the same effect.
Her voice is shaking, but she forces the words out regardless,
"Is there anything I can do for you, Dr. Altman?"
Teddy turns around at last, and Cristina takes in the colored stripes and carefully pinned medals over her left breast. The creases are sharp, the fabric immaculate, but when Cristina finally dares to look her superior in the eye she sees nothing but sadness.
Of course: another funeral. A day for Major Altman, who patched those guys up in sand dunes and jeeps, for whom bypass machines and lasers were a forgotten luxury.
Cristina is an expert at filling in the blanks by now, conjuring up the unspoken explanations for herself from all the conversations her boyfriend can't have. Her boyfriend who loves this woman, maybe as much as he loves Cristina, and she's tired of everything being such a fucking mess.
She summons up her humanity, the way she can with Meredith, and steps forward to place a comforting hand on Teddy's arm. Teddy tenses immediately, her slender bicep taut under Cristina's touch. It probably looks as awkward as it feels, because Teddy stares at Cristina's hand as though she can't believe what she's seeing.
And yet she doesn't pull away.
The contact thrills Cristina, though she really wishes it wouldn't because her life has been complicated enough without a non-surgical girlcrush. Meredith is going to have a field-day when she hears about this. She tries in vain to think of comforting words, her thumb absently stroking Teddy's arm through the thick material of her uniform jacket. Teddy reaches out and grabs Cristina's wrist, causing Cristina to flinch at the inevitable mortification.
She's stunned when it doesn't come, when she's allowed to luxuriate in the feeling of Teddy's fingers against her own exposed skin. The same fingers that she's already seen plugging aortas and performing the most complex dissections, and Teddy is leaving them there in a gentle kind of way that suggests she's in no hurry to stop.
Cristina knows that part of being a great surgeon, of becoming the best, is about being able to make the right split-second decisions in times of extreme pressure. So she takes one more look at the heartbroken expression on Teddy's face, weighs her own guilt at being the reason why Owen can't be there for his best friend when she needs him, and decides she has to do something.
When she thinks of it that way, it doesn't even seem completely batshit insane to lean forward and kiss Teddy Altman, in an on-call room, in Seattle Grace. She doesn't add the 'Mercy West' and she doesn't have to think about the consequences, because dammit, Cristina Yang is a rockstar in the making and she can make people feel better, with or without a scalpel.
Oh, there's a few seconds of panic when Teddy doesn't quite respond at first. Cristina hears the sharp, shocked intake of breath and wonders if this is like making the first incision in the wrong place; if there's a way to recover without any lasting damage.
But then Teddy kisses back, nowhere near as tenderly as Cristina had started the kiss, and worrying becomes someone else's job. Cristina moves her free hand, the one not currently held captive by Teddy's, and traces a delicate path along Teddy's neck as the kiss deepens in intensity, and in urgency.
Cristina can't quite catch her breath when their lips finally part, and she pauses for a long moment, giving Teddy the opportunity to flee. Teddy responds by yanking Cristina's scrub top roughly over her head.
Well, who can argue with that?
Allowing herself to be directed back against the door, Cristina reclaims her hand and sets to work in unbuttoning Teddy's jacket, her fingers uncharacteristically clumsy with the stiff metal buttons. She refuses to be rushed though, and doesn't increase her pace even as Teddy's impatient kisses make their way along Cristina's throat. When the jacket is finally undone, Cristina slides it carefully from Teddy's shoulders and doesn't allow it to fall to the floor. On their stumbling route across the room to the waiting, uncomfortable bed, Cristina takes a moment to drape the jacket over a chair.
The same treatment is reserved for the white shirt and dark blue skirt that Cristina peels off with patience, leaving Teddy in her underwear on the cot as Cristina stands over her in her bra and scrub bottoms.
Once Teddy pulls those pale blue pants down, Cristina allows herself to be pulled down onto the mattress. She stops keeping score of who does what to whom, because by the time Teddy has unfastened Cristina's bra and focused a lot of really awesome attention from her tongue to Cristina's very responsive nipple, it's getting pretty hard to think of anything at all beyond Oh God or more, now.
It's always about impressing, about doing her best, and Cristina certainly seems to succeed as her hands wander across the warmth of Teddy's body. Putting everything she knows about anatomy--with a postgrad education in drunken hookups--to good use, Cristina finds herself way too invested in the sights and sounds of Teddy responding to her every touch.
Cristina wants to ask if it’s helping, if this is somehow taking away some of the sadness that Teddy carries in the slump of her shoulders and the dark circles beneath her eyes. Cristina wants to know if, here, like this, she’s finally good enough for Dr. Altman’s impossible fucking standards.
Teddy comes silently, her back arching and her lips parting in a silent gasp. Cristina has three fingers buried in her and is sucking hard on Teddy’s nipple but she feels every second of it, instantly wanting to do more, to do it again. She thinks maybe being yelled at in the OR, or hurting Owen or telling Meredith will be worth it, if Cristina just gets the chance to do this again.
She loses her train of thought as Teddy turns on her, mouth and fingers relentless in a way that Cristina is trying really hard not to love. Her body betrays her too quickly, surrendering to an orgasm that makes the world go white at the edges, a pleasure so sharp it might start to hurt.
They lie there, not touching, and breathe.
Eventually, Cristina turns back to face the woman who drives her halfway insane, biting her lower lip as she struggles to find words. Teddy reaches out with a steady, if damp, hand and caresses Cristina’s cheek. Teddy’s eyes slip closed as she whispers,
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Cristina replies, stunned to discover she means it. She doesn’t want Teddy to be sorry, she doesn’t want Terry to be sad, and she doesn’t want Owen like this.
Oh. Shit.
Teddy’s watching Cristina intently, like she knows the end of the thought process and is just waiting for Cristina to catch up. There’s no way to hide the realization, so Cristina takes a deep breath and meets Teddy’s questioning stare.
“This is pretty fucked up,” Cristina says, at last. Teddy’s hand is on her hip now, thumb stroking with the promise of more.
And Teddy laughs at the truth of it, a deep and genuine laugh that Cristina doesn’t think she’s ever seen before.
“There are worse things,” Teddy says, when she gets a grip of herself again. “There are worse things than being fucked up.”
And as much as it pains her to concede, Cristina has to admit that Teddy is right.
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Pairing: Teddy/Cristina
Rating: R
Word Count: ~1600
Spoilers: This is set somewhere in late season 6, and there are definitely no spoilers beyond that. It's been sitting in my 'in progress' folder for ages and I thought I'd finish it for the Give to Receive Ficathon.
Summary: Teddy's been away all day and returns to the hospital where Cristina finds her. Written for the prompt 'uniform'. Think of this as a 'welcome to college' present for little_missmimi
Disclaimer: These characters belong to Shonda Rimes and Shondaland, ABC and etc. I'm just borrowing and making no profit. I disclaim!
Teddy looks damn good in blue.
Cristina sees her mentor, her rival, her boss, slipping into an on-call room and follows almost without thinking. Teddy will probably throw her out, tell her to go find Owen, or just flat-out ignore her until Cristina gives up and scurries away, but it’s a chance worth taking.
But today Teddy is in a different kind of blue, the same dress blues that Cristina has seen hanging in Owen's sparse closet and she needs to know why.
She doesn't knock, because she won't be able to disobey if told to leave. So with the practiced visual sweep of the corridor that they all acquired as interns, Cristina turns the handle and slips inside the quiet room.
Teddy is standing by the window, though the blinds are drawn and there's nothing for her to look at. The gold braiding on her uniform glints in the lamplight, and she breathes steadily without turning to acknowledge the intrusion.
"Dr. Altman?"
Teddy's head droops just a little, her posture remaining otherwise ramrod straight. Her fingers are latched together behind her back, and Cristina finds herself staring as the silence continues, letting her eyes trail down to the sensibly cut skirt and the shapely calves that follow.
Yeah, Cristina has always been a sucker for a guy in uniform, thought she can't ever ask Owen for fear of triggering his PTSD. The thought has always been enough, the quiet strength and steely determination that (sometimes) makes her feel safe when he holds her.
Trouble is, she's just realized that a Cardio God woman in uniform has pretty much the same effect.
Her voice is shaking, but she forces the words out regardless,
"Is there anything I can do for you, Dr. Altman?"
Teddy turns around at last, and Cristina takes in the colored stripes and carefully pinned medals over her left breast. The creases are sharp, the fabric immaculate, but when Cristina finally dares to look her superior in the eye she sees nothing but sadness.
Of course: another funeral. A day for Major Altman, who patched those guys up in sand dunes and jeeps, for whom bypass machines and lasers were a forgotten luxury.
Cristina is an expert at filling in the blanks by now, conjuring up the unspoken explanations for herself from all the conversations her boyfriend can't have. Her boyfriend who loves this woman, maybe as much as he loves Cristina, and she's tired of everything being such a fucking mess.
She summons up her humanity, the way she can with Meredith, and steps forward to place a comforting hand on Teddy's arm. Teddy tenses immediately, her slender bicep taut under Cristina's touch. It probably looks as awkward as it feels, because Teddy stares at Cristina's hand as though she can't believe what she's seeing.
And yet she doesn't pull away.
The contact thrills Cristina, though she really wishes it wouldn't because her life has been complicated enough without a non-surgical girlcrush. Meredith is going to have a field-day when she hears about this. She tries in vain to think of comforting words, her thumb absently stroking Teddy's arm through the thick material of her uniform jacket. Teddy reaches out and grabs Cristina's wrist, causing Cristina to flinch at the inevitable mortification.
She's stunned when it doesn't come, when she's allowed to luxuriate in the feeling of Teddy's fingers against her own exposed skin. The same fingers that she's already seen plugging aortas and performing the most complex dissections, and Teddy is leaving them there in a gentle kind of way that suggests she's in no hurry to stop.
Cristina knows that part of being a great surgeon, of becoming the best, is about being able to make the right split-second decisions in times of extreme pressure. So she takes one more look at the heartbroken expression on Teddy's face, weighs her own guilt at being the reason why Owen can't be there for his best friend when she needs him, and decides she has to do something.
When she thinks of it that way, it doesn't even seem completely batshit insane to lean forward and kiss Teddy Altman, in an on-call room, in Seattle Grace. She doesn't add the 'Mercy West' and she doesn't have to think about the consequences, because dammit, Cristina Yang is a rockstar in the making and she can make people feel better, with or without a scalpel.
Oh, there's a few seconds of panic when Teddy doesn't quite respond at first. Cristina hears the sharp, shocked intake of breath and wonders if this is like making the first incision in the wrong place; if there's a way to recover without any lasting damage.
But then Teddy kisses back, nowhere near as tenderly as Cristina had started the kiss, and worrying becomes someone else's job. Cristina moves her free hand, the one not currently held captive by Teddy's, and traces a delicate path along Teddy's neck as the kiss deepens in intensity, and in urgency.
Cristina can't quite catch her breath when their lips finally part, and she pauses for a long moment, giving Teddy the opportunity to flee. Teddy responds by yanking Cristina's scrub top roughly over her head.
Well, who can argue with that?
Allowing herself to be directed back against the door, Cristina reclaims her hand and sets to work in unbuttoning Teddy's jacket, her fingers uncharacteristically clumsy with the stiff metal buttons. She refuses to be rushed though, and doesn't increase her pace even as Teddy's impatient kisses make their way along Cristina's throat. When the jacket is finally undone, Cristina slides it carefully from Teddy's shoulders and doesn't allow it to fall to the floor. On their stumbling route across the room to the waiting, uncomfortable bed, Cristina takes a moment to drape the jacket over a chair.
The same treatment is reserved for the white shirt and dark blue skirt that Cristina peels off with patience, leaving Teddy in her underwear on the cot as Cristina stands over her in her bra and scrub bottoms.
Once Teddy pulls those pale blue pants down, Cristina allows herself to be pulled down onto the mattress. She stops keeping score of who does what to whom, because by the time Teddy has unfastened Cristina's bra and focused a lot of really awesome attention from her tongue to Cristina's very responsive nipple, it's getting pretty hard to think of anything at all beyond Oh God or more, now.
It's always about impressing, about doing her best, and Cristina certainly seems to succeed as her hands wander across the warmth of Teddy's body. Putting everything she knows about anatomy--with a postgrad education in drunken hookups--to good use, Cristina finds herself way too invested in the sights and sounds of Teddy responding to her every touch.
Cristina wants to ask if it’s helping, if this is somehow taking away some of the sadness that Teddy carries in the slump of her shoulders and the dark circles beneath her eyes. Cristina wants to know if, here, like this, she’s finally good enough for Dr. Altman’s impossible fucking standards.
Teddy comes silently, her back arching and her lips parting in a silent gasp. Cristina has three fingers buried in her and is sucking hard on Teddy’s nipple but she feels every second of it, instantly wanting to do more, to do it again. She thinks maybe being yelled at in the OR, or hurting Owen or telling Meredith will be worth it, if Cristina just gets the chance to do this again.
She loses her train of thought as Teddy turns on her, mouth and fingers relentless in a way that Cristina is trying really hard not to love. Her body betrays her too quickly, surrendering to an orgasm that makes the world go white at the edges, a pleasure so sharp it might start to hurt.
They lie there, not touching, and breathe.
Eventually, Cristina turns back to face the woman who drives her halfway insane, biting her lower lip as she struggles to find words. Teddy reaches out with a steady, if damp, hand and caresses Cristina’s cheek. Teddy’s eyes slip closed as she whispers,
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Cristina replies, stunned to discover she means it. She doesn’t want Teddy to be sorry, she doesn’t want Terry to be sad, and she doesn’t want Owen like this.
Oh. Shit.
Teddy’s watching Cristina intently, like she knows the end of the thought process and is just waiting for Cristina to catch up. There’s no way to hide the realization, so Cristina takes a deep breath and meets Teddy’s questioning stare.
“This is pretty fucked up,” Cristina says, at last. Teddy’s hand is on her hip now, thumb stroking with the promise of more.
And Teddy laughs at the truth of it, a deep and genuine laugh that Cristina doesn’t think she’s ever seen before.
“There are worse things,” Teddy says, when she gets a grip of herself again. “There are worse things than being fucked up.”
And as much as it pains her to concede, Cristina has to admit that Teddy is right.