A/N: This is another story I wrote a few months back. I just decided to post it here. Please read and review.
The Chief of Surgery had rescinded his decision to retire. I was rather disappointed. The office and the prestige and respect might have been nice, and the opportunity to needle dear Cristina would have kept me laughing until I became senile. But that position is no longer in my grasp. Perhaps I still had a chance with my other endeavor.
I strolled to the intern locker room. If I remembered anything about Cristina Yang, she never left early. There she was inside with only one other doctor. She had changed into normal clothes and looked as beautiful as she did back at Stanford. I should have never let her go, but she left without telling me. That had put a bit of a dent in my plan to propose to her for the sixth time.
"It will be small and non religious. I just want you there and you can bring McDreamy if you want." Who was this McDreamy? Cristina had always been fond of mcnaming people; perhaps he was another doctor. Regardless, what was this "it" she was referring to?
"So you're actually doing it? You, Cristina Yang, are walking down the whatever?" The other doctor seemed surprise and rightly so.
"No aisles at City Hall, Meredith." Hmmm, she was still marrying that man. Apparently I had not spread enough doubt.
"When?"
"We haven't decided. I just wanted to tell you cause you're my person and all." Person? Cristina never had people at Stanford. She hated people, mocked them, and enjoyed it.
"So you're really getting married?" I wanted to hear this answer. Cristina Yang thought marriage was for the weak, that it was a patriarchal tool and now she was marrying someone?
"Yeah I am." A smile broke out on her face, one I had never seen before not in three years.
The other doctor, Meredith, hugged her. Cristina never allowed acts of affection, but here she was with another woman hugging her and no resistance. In fact she was laughing, no giggling. Cristina never giggled with me, maybe sardonic chuckles but never giggles. She hugged her back.
I sat down, stunned. She laughed and hugged in Seattle. This was not the Cristina Yang I knew. The two of them exited the locker room, presumably to go home. I followed behind and saw Preston Burke waiting for her. They grasped each other's hands. Cristina had never held hands with me.
"Let's go home." She lived with him? Cristina had adamantly refused to live with me though I had asked her as many times as I proposed.
"I'm making chicken." He cooked for her. They lived together, shared an apartment together. She never shared anything with me, not even our keys. She leaned her head on his shoulder, another gesture she never gave to me.
I was Colin Marlow of the Marlow transplant. I had prestige and respect. I was more widely renowned than Preston Burke. I was older and had more to teach her than he could even dream of. I had a three year relationship with her! What did he have that I did not?
Then I realized something that Preston Burke had over me. I never truly had Cristina Yang because I never managed to infiltrate that bitter, cynical exterior. But Preston Burke had done something I had never been able to and now he had something I never had.
He had her, and I hated him for it. He had Cristina Yang and I could never compete, not with the way they were looking at each other or the casual affection they used. Never.
Preston Burke had her love.