Title: "The House That Jack Built"
Author: monimala/Mala
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Rating/Classification: mild adult content (one dirty word), Burke/Cristina
Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own them.
Summary: Filler/tag to the 5/1/05 episode and the flip side to Golden Gate.
His reputation precedes him. He's ruthless. Focused. An absolute bastard, according to some. A player, according to others. One of the best surgeons in Seattle, according to anyone that knows anything about the medical community.
"I'm a doctor," he'll say and score a gorgeous woman on his arm for an awards dinner. After the skeptical glance. And the "for real?" And the assurance of, "No, not a Doctor of Love. No, not like Dr. Dre." Can't a brother get a break? No... no, he can't. He's worked for everything he's ever had. He's worked to keep it.
Not one of those awards dinner dates has gone beyond what it needs to. His little black book has more cross outs than the world's largest game of tic-tac-toe. He does not form attachments. He does not screw up. Not anymore. He can't afford to.
That's what he tells himself every time she locks the door.
She's ambitious. Young. Athletic. The sex is possibly the best he's had in years. The equivalent of a daily work-out. His heart rate is up and there's even a spring in his step. Sometimes, he'll catch himself smiling for absolutely no reason at all...and he has to hide it because grinning like an idiot would ruin his reputation.. Destroy everything he's built for himself. Knock down his house of cards.
"Do you know how many black physicians there are in this country's top hospitals, Preston?" he'll ask the mirror. "Do you *know*?" His mama named him "Preston" because it sounded important, because it sounded like someone who wouldn't end up in prison or shot dead in the street and he's lived up to that. He's *somebody*. He was born to be somebody, to be the best, and that's all that matters.
And then he touches her face.
And he looks into her eyes.
He can read a patient in the time it takes most people to straighten out their stethoscope, but he can't read her. He could chalk it up to Asian mystique, but it's more than genetic impassiveness...no...the good Dr. Yang is closed to him. To *him*. Except when she's beneath him...when he can diagnose her from the way she gasps and moves and leaves scratches on his back with her blunt, unpainted nails.
What the fuck are they doing? What is this?
*Do you know, Preston?*
"Do you really want to be that guy?" The edge of derision is there, in her voice, bordering on insubordinate... but, then again...is he really her superior here? No. Not by a long shot.
He kisses her one last time before they dress. One for the road.
She finger combs her hair and he remembers how the messy curls feel against his stomach. How she never speaks but he knows exactly what she wants and how.
He waits five minutes before he leaves and when they see each other in Trauma, he simply nods, "Dr. Yang."
His reputation precedes him.
But it's too late.
He's all ready that guy.
According to a person that all ready matters entirely too much.
--end--
May 2, 2005.