Heartbeat
What on Earth am I doing? What am I doing? First, I tell him I won't tell anybody. Then I don't sleep so I can study his surgeries so that we can operate, then I stay up after I study to schedule his boards so that he doesn't end up with a resident or in the gallery.
What I want to do is make it stop. It's too much.
Then today? Today he tells me he's camping and that he's canceled the surgeries I stayed up scheduling, trying to figure out how we could continue to hide this. But he's going camping. He cancelled all of my hard work. He cancelled out my way of showing that I'm trying to support him no matter what, my way of trying to show that I'm committed. So that he could go on a camping trip.
Thanks, Burke. I love you too.
Okay, well...maybe I've never said it out loud while you're awake, but you have to know that I do love you, right?
Whatever.
I finish my coffee and grab my keys. Burke is long gone, but I can smell his cologne in our kitchen, still lingering. I love the way he smells. It reminds me of lying in bed with him at night. Our bed...our bed is the only place that we're safe. That this is real.
It's real everywhere else, of course, but when we're at work, when we're sitting in the living room, when we're driving somewhere...there's so much stress.
But at night, we crawl into bed, I press my body against his and he puts his arm around me. It's automatic, like we've done it for years. And I can't live without those moments.
My drive to work is a long one without him. We've been riding together for the past 3 weeks, we may spat, we may not talk, and on a couple days, his hands would try to entice me to forget about the day and we could go home.
Maybe that was a sign that I needed to stop.
That I needed to stop scheduling surgeries, that I needed to stop covering for him.
But then what? He wouldn't operate anymore, and it's what he wants.
Even he said that his hands were the only things that were of any value to him. And I'm chopped liver. That still hurts to even think about it, though I'd never tell him about it.
Okay, I might, if he pisses me off, and I decide to turn into the Meredith of our relationship and ramble off everything in my head.
I arrive at the hospital 45 minutes early. I couldn't stay at the apartment without Burke, and now I don't want to be at the hospital without him. He's become a constant in my life and now?
Now he's camping.
I go to the OR board and look at it, his name is menacingly absent, another reminder to me that he isn't here.
What if he was never here again? What if while they were fishing or whatever nasty man thing they do, they figure out that he's got those...I don't even want to think about them.
His hands are the only thing of value to him.
Yeah. Still hurts.
Bailey, Izzie and Meredith show up next to me and we get our assignments. Then I look to Bailey, "Where do you want me?" I smile, ready to see something besides a heart getting worked on.
She takes me to a kid who needs his poop sifted through, and I remind her that the nurses could do this and it's not surgical.
"Why'd you erase my name from the board?"
Oh. Shit. Oh. Shit. I try to play it off, I try to play as if I don't know what she's talking about, but I know. And she knows that I know. Oh. Shit.
And he's camping.
I deal with Bailey, all day long. Digging through crap, hiding his secret, protecting him to the best of my ability. She's not going to let me see the inside of an OR until she hears why I erased her name from the board.
I am not going to tell her what I'm doing, so I guess I'm stuck on nurse duty.
My patient's bowel perfed and I didn't even get to go in, because she wanted me to tell her, so now I stand here, watching her with my patient. The patient I should've gotten to work on, and I hurt.
I don't hurt physically.
I hurt mentally.
His hands are the only thing of value to him.
And I'm protecting them.
Why can't he protect me from Bailey?
Why can't he value me?
I feel somebody behind me, and I jump to find Burke there.
"You came back?"
"Yes." A single word response. Typical.
"I'm glad you came back." I sigh, and lean against him. I feel his lips brush against my forehead and his arm tighten around my waist, and it's so automatic. It's almost like when we're in bed. I feel safe here.
Bailey can't do anything to me now. Not when he's here.
"Are you ready to go home?" I smile at him, wanting to leave this place, leave Bailey.
"Did you reschedule the two CABGs for tomorrow?" He asks, turning away from me.
"Oh, I haven't." The next question should be 'Do you want me to?'. That's what I should ask him. "I can." is all I say.
"Okay. I'll just see you at home."
"Burke, you don't want to wait for me?" I ask, stepping back. I feel hurt.
How I long for the days where we'd be counting the minutes until we could meet in the on call room, lock the door and ravish each other's bodies. Now he can't wait to leave me.
"Never mind. I guess I have to. Shepard dropped me off." he recounts, and sounds almost disappointed that he has to wait for me.
"You could just forget about the surgeries tomorrow, y'know. You seem..." I trail off.
"I'm fine. Just go schedule them Cristina. I'll be down in the lobby." and he turns on his heel to leave.
So I go to the OR board, and I look at the surgeries, and I move things around. It takes me nearly 45 minutes to get everything figured out, and I finally meet him in the lobby.
"Sorry, there were a ton of surgeries tomorrow, I had to do a lot of switching to keep you out of the gallery." I sigh, searching his expression for anything.
He's closed to me.
I don't know what's happened with our relationship. With us. I don't know how to fix it. It isn't just cut, suture and close, and cut, suture and close is all I know.
Our ride home is silent, with only the occasional comment about camping and O'Malley getting in a fight with evil spawn.
When we arrive home, he heads straight to the bedroom and lies down, I trail behind him quickly, just wanting to hear his heart beat. It used to beat for me. I don't know what it beats for now.
"No books tonight?" he asks casually, once again brushing my forehead with his lips, sending shivers down my spine.
"No books. It's all stuff we've done before." I reply quietly, lying my head against his chest, listening for that rhythmic beat.
But he lifts my chin so that our lips meet and engage in a kiss.
They're not as passionate as they used to be. The passion is still there, no doubt, and I still feel that same spark, but it's muddled. It's muddled with the stress of his injury and the stress of keeping this secret.
"Turn of the lights, Burke." I whisper to him, as I pull myself on top of him, and lean in to kiss him again.
And the lights go out without argument.
The sex is good. It's always good, he's amazing in bed, but he gets so self-conscious with his hand, because it seems like the more excited he gets, the more he tremors, and I have to remind him that it's me, and it's okay.
After we're done, I lie against him, and put my head against his chest, knowing that right now his heart is racing because of me, even if it isn't beating because of me.
But then he gets up. "I can't sleep now." he mutters, and goes in the living room, leaving me by myself in our darkened room, in our cold empty bed.
And for the first time in a long time, I allow myself to cry. Not tears sliding down my face, not quiet weeping. I allow myself to full out, no holds barred, sobbing.
What can I do? I question myself.
His hands are the only thing of value to him. I think.
Now the sex isn't even enough to keep us connected.
I'm sobbing loudly now, and my head isn't even buried in the pillow, but he's not coming.
He must not be able to hear me.
Or he doesn't care.
I sob more. The one time I want him to comfort me when I'm upset, the one time I don't care if he sees me cry, he's not here. He's in the living room. He's hiding from me.
I finally wear out, and turn my body to face the wall, and I feel him slide into bed about 15 minutes later.
He pulls my body close to his, and puts his arm around my waist. It's so automatic.
Another kiss brushes my forehead, but I don't respond. I just pretend I'm sleeping.
The next morning, we're getting ready for work and he's shaving. He's gotten much better at it, and he doesn't nick himself as much anymore. I still offer help, but he refuses and looks at me like I think he's an invalid.
Can't he see that I'm just trying to support him?
The day goes by in a blur. I can't focus on anything at all.
Bailey is still hot after my tail, George's dad is ill and he wants Burke to operate, but he knows that there's something wrong with Burke. He knows that I'm hiding it.
What do I do? This guilt is destroying me. It's destroying our relationship.
I operate with Burke 4 times today, including on George's dad. He says less than 25 words to me the entire time that have anything to do with anything but surgery.
George's dad had some complications, but he's going to be fine. But I think George is upset with me.
I'm upset with me too.
I find Burke at the end of the day, "I'm on call tonight." I mumble, reaching to place my hand over his.
"I can get a ride home." He replies in a sullen tone.
"Well, I kinda thought that maybe we could just stay here tonight, Burke...in the on-call room. And we could lock the door. Like old times?" I suggest wistfully, pushing my way into his arms.
"Cristina, I just want to go home."
I look down at the floor and nod. "O-okay. I'll take you home."
He turns on his heel without a word and we head for the car so that I can take him home. Another silent ride. No mention of George, or his dad, or any of his feelings. Not even a kiss before he gets out of the car.
"I'll see you tomorrow." he mumbles, and closes the door.
His hands are the only thing he values errantly runs through my mind and I try to lock it out.
The night is busy and I only sleep for a couple hours before it's time to get up and go again. Burke is only scheduled for a CABG today.
I pull on my shirt, and sit in the hallway outside of the OR, reading a textbook when I recognize the angry stance of Bailey.
"Yes ma'am?" I look up to her.
"Yang, the Chief wants to see you. Now." she spits at me, her lips puckered and her hands on her hips.
I know what it is, and I nod curtly before running down the hall. I need to find Burke first. I need to find him, I need to know what I'm supposed to do.
I freeze on the skywalk. He's in the Chief's office. He's actually in the Chief's office. I sit on the ground and stare through the window, wondering if I should barge in, try to save him. Or if I should let him fight his own fights.
But I fight for him.
He takes notice of me and jerks his head in a motion that commands me to come in and I shudder with fear and anxiety.
I place my hand on cold steel door, and push a strand of my unruly black hair from my face and enter. "You called to see me, Chief?" I ask, looking past him through the window.
"Yang..." he starts, but he doesn't seem to know where to go with it.
"Cristina, you don't have to hide anything anymore." Burke cuts in. "He knows about the tremors."
I look up to Burke and I feel like some weight has been lifted off my shoulders, and I begin to think about the implications that lie because of this revelation, and I feel heavy again.
"Yang, you don't have to worry about Bailey. I'll take care of it, and you'll be able to go about your regular internship starting Monday." the Chief tells me, sitting at his desk and studying me.
"But, Chief, today is Monday." I state, feeling nervous.
"You need to go home. You need a week off...this stress, that you've been under, it's not healthy, and I'm not going to subject my patients to you until you decompress. No arguments, Yang." he states in a very matter of fact voice. But I can hear a twinge of caring in there as well.
"Yes, Dr. Webber." I nod, and look at Burke and walk out the door. I only make halfway down the skywalk before Burke stops me, grabbing my hand from behind.
"Cristina. Cristina!" he hisses at me, turning me around.
I look at him and search his expression to determine what he's feeling. His brow is furrowed, his eyes narrowed, and his lips are tightly sealed in a narrow frown.
He's angry. What at though?
I look away from him and out at the lobby where families await the news that their loved ones have been healed, that they're going to be fine. That everything will be normal shortly enough.
I wish I was one of them.
"You don't get to be mad." he mutters, looking at the families with me.
I turn to face him. "Why don't I get to be mad?"
"Because...for the past month, you've gotten to do some groundbreaking surgeries, you've gotten to exploit my...my disability. You don't get to be mad." he spits out, turning to face me.
I turn away.
He grabs my shoulders and makes me face him, "Look at me!" he snaps, loud enough to startle passerby.
I pull away from him, tears welling in my eyes. He doesn't get to see me cry right now. He doesn't get to see my hurt.
"We'll talk about it at home. Obviously I need to go." I mutter, looking down, a tear splashing onto my lab coat.
"I need to see Dr. Shepard first." he states matter-of-factly.
"I'll wait in the on-call room for you. I didn't get any sleep, and I need to rest before I drive us home." I mumble without even looking at him.
He nods, and turns to leave me.
I run to the on call room. I run. And when I get there, I fall onto the bottom bunk, the first place we ever made love, and I bury my face into the pillow and begin to sob again.
Twice in three days. I'm getting weak.
I never fall asleep. My heart is aching and breaking, and I can't concentrate on sleep. I feel like I'm dying inside.
The door to the on call room opens, and Burke is there, a tall shadowed figure against the bright lights of the hallway.
"Are you ready to go, Cristina?" he asks, his voice low and steady.
"Yeah." I mumble, standing to exit the bunk, but then he closes the door.
I hear the lock click.
"Cristina, I need to talk to you about...about us."
I sit back down. I know what's coming. "No." I whisper. I feel my heart breaking...shattering into a million pieces.
"What did you say?" He crouches in front of me.
"I said no. You don't get to end this. You don't get to tell me that it's over."
"Cristina." he chides.
"You don't get to end this. I have busted my ass for you for the past month. I have stayed up studying your surgeries, I have lost sleep trying to schedule the board to keep residents out of your OR and to keep you out of the gallery. I have blown off my friends, and I have blown off my life for you. It wasn't about the 'cool surgeries'. It wasn't about the power trip. It was all for you. It was all about you. It had nothing to do with me. This...our relationship, hasn't had anything to do with me since you got shot. And that's fine, Burke. I know that you needed the attention, and I stayed. I stayed, and I put myself at risk, and I did it for you." I vent, tears welling in my eyes again. "You do not get to end this."
My voice is welling with anger. And the more I unload, the angrier I get, but at the same time I'm starting to feel relief.
"I may have been 'running your life' for the past month, but I was trying to protect you. I was trying to give you what you want. You want to be Preston Burke. You want to be the best. You want to be that man. The humpty-dumpty surgery? I kept on it because everybody would suspect if you sent it onto Houston. The Preston Burke doesn't refuse a textbook writing surgery. The CABGs? Part of me hoped that if you did enough that you'd get better and able to do them on your own. The stents, the VSD/PDA repairs. I'm so tired of staring at a heart that I can't take it anymore. This. This has all been for you. This is not for me. The surgeries aren't even exciting anymore. This is all for you. You do not get to end this." My voice cracks, and I feel another rush of emotion come over me.
His hands close over mine as a tear silently slides down my cheek.
"Your hands..." I breathe, "They're the only thing of value to you." I whisper to him. "What about me?" I cry freely now, feeling as if I'm on the border of sobbing again, "What am I to you if your hands are the only thing of value to you?"
It's still dark in the room, with only the light from the hallway seeping in under the door, but I barely see his well chiseled features freeze with...regret?
"Cristina..." he sighs, his voice only a little louder than a whisper, "I had no idea..."
"You don't have to apologize. I don't want you to." I stop him. "But you do not get to end this."
His hand leaves mine, and it cups my cheek instead, and I lay against his hand. "My hands are the only thing of value to me." he whispers. "But you...I cannot live without. If anything in the past month, or in the past year hasn't indicated it, you...just now, have. So yes, my hands are the only thing of value to me. But my heart? My heart beats for you."
Fin
A/N: Yeah, I know the breakup is coming. I can smell it. I have to do some anticipatory grieving. Gimme feedback.