Title: Making Circles
Author: Lauren
Rating: PG
Summary: Semidrabble set at the end of Scars and Souvenirs. "My mother is dead." "Yeah, she is."
Spoilers: Through 3-18.
Author's notes: This is my first Grey's fic. Constructive feedback would be very much appreciated.
Disclaimer: The characters within do not belong to me.
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Meredith's breth is soft on the back of her neck, barely noticeable. The snoring Shepard made such a big deal about is audible, but not unbearable. Burke snores, sometimes, when he's overly tired.
Burke. Damn it. She is never going to sleep because she can never get that man out of her head. They've been living together, for the most part, since Christmas. They should understand each other by now.
But, of course they don't. He's soft where she is not – luckily only in the emotional sense.
Her train of thought is cut off by movement next to her as Meredith presses closer. God help her, if Mere thinks she's McDreamy and takes this cuddling any further…
But that does not seem to be the case. Her arm tightens around Cristina, but the gesture seems more tense than sexual. Cristina is unsure, as she often is when it comes to physical intimacy.
Meredith's breathing increases, her body pressed completely against Cristina's back now. Cristina turns her head just enough to try and make her out in the dark.
It is a struggle, but what she can see is not pretty. Meredith is tense, face scrunched in discomfort. Cristina reaches over to turn on the light, hoping that will snap her out of it, whatever the hell it is, but Meredith will not let her move.
"Meredith," she murmurs. Of course, the smaller girl does not react. "Mere?" she tries again, knowing it is useless.
She gets her arm free, but instead of reaching for the light, she reaches back and touches Mere's shoulder. She just leaves her hand there, heavy and awkward on the tense muscle. And then, tentatively, she slides her fingers around, rubbing in awkward circular motions.
A sound is ripped from Meredith's lips, half whimper, half sob. Tension leaks from her as though Cristina has flipped a switch and she begins to cry.
b Shit. Shit, shit, shit. /b Cristina freezes at the pressure of tears on the back of her neck. Meredith is quiet, the sobs even less noticeable than the snores.
But the tears cannot be ignored, soft and wet on Cristina's skin. Her body shakes ever so slightly, breath ragged and punctuated by low cries. Cristina's arm is beginning to hurt with the angle it is in, but letting go of Meredith is not an option.
She begins making circles again, her fingers clumsy against the cloth of Meredith's shirt.
b Pretend it's a procedure, /b she directs herself. But no, she decides, that isn't right. Procedures are automatic. They are adrenalin inducing and competitive.
Meredith is none of that. She is… she's Meredith. She is not something Cristina can become emotionally detached from.
So she rubs a little harder, half massage, half caress. Meredith cries and Cristina's arm still hurts. But it does not matter.
When they wake in the morning, this will not be discussed. It's just part of the grieving process, Cristina determines. Or the being friends who share beds process. Maybe both.