Title: "Golden Gate"
Author: monimala/Mala
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Rating/Classification: no real adult content, Cristina/Burke, ficlet.
Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own the characters.
Summary: She analyzes it. Breaks it down. Looks at the facts.
She analyzes it. Breaks it down. Looks at the facts.
Theoretically, this is all wrong and she should stop doing it and--hey--didn't she pretty much have the big green envy for Meredith doing the very same stupid thing? Not that envy is any kind of reason to have sex with an attending. If Prissy Pants Meredith Grey jumped off the Golden Gate bridge, would she?
If the Golden Gate bridge looked like Burke...?
Oh, Hell yes.
Theory has never been her strong suit. Theory is too close to dreams and she's nothing if not practical. So, she always has a condom on her. Tucked in her sock, in the cup of her bra, down her pants. And she leaves the drawstring on her scrubs loose, so only one tug is needed to untie it. No need to waste precious seconds working on a knot. Not when they could be using that time much more efficiently.
And there aren't minutes to think "this is wrong" or moments to pause and wonder if she put Mr. O'Leary's chart back in the right place. No, there's just the lock and the light and the hands. The hands. A surgeon's hands. Precise and steady and God-like. And maybe an hour later, they're scrubbing up and he tips his head, "Dr. Yang," like he wasn't whispering "Cris...Cris..." in her ear. Not even the whole name because he can't seem to get the rest of the syllables out.
The sex would probably tank if he called her "Crissy."
She doesn't call him anything at all.
Unless you count "Damn, Burke" as she swipes George's orange juice and flops down on a gurney for a five-minute power nap. Certainly not "Preston." Good God. *Preston*. Could there be an unsexier name to scream out in an on-call room during illicit sex? All right, there probably could. But it doesn't matter because she doesn't scream. There isn't time to. Why scream when she could be kissing him?
"Bailey saw us," Meredith whispers to her as they rush down to Trauma.
"Us?" She glances sideways as she shoulders through a stairwell door.
"Me and..." Meredith keeps whispering even though there's no one else listening. "Derek." Maybe she has a terminal whispering condition. Tracheal blockage. Some days, Cristina would gladly shove a pen into her throat to alleviate the pressure.
Bailey hasn't seen her. Bailey *won't* see her.
Envy only goes so far.
She's nothing if not practical.
Even when she jumps.
She keeps her eyes open.
And she knows where she'll land.
--end--
April 26, 2005.