Disclaimer: If Grey's were mine, there'd be lots more sexytimes going on, and far less doctoring... just sayin'. (see profile for a REAL disclaimer)
A/N: This was found in the depths of my hard drive, dusted off and finished for LJ's Mini NaNo WriMo!
Cristina was alone.
Meredith was off making up with McDreamy in a house of candles and Callie was, as always lately, with her new gal pal the Wicked Witch of the East, otherwise known as Hahn. So that's how she found herself sitting at a table in the back of Joe's, wishing that just once someone would actually choose her. She was sick of being left behind. It sucked.
But no sooner had she come to terms with the fact that she was destined to become the crazy cat lady (who was only found dead by a neighbor after those precious cats had eaten half of her face off), did the one and only Mark Sloan appear beside her... with two beers in hand.
"Mind if I join you, Yang?"
He sounded just as defeated as she felt. But that didn't change who he was or how she, and every other female in the hospital, felt about him and the reputation that preceded him. She didn't want to deal with his bullshit tonight.
"Yes, I mind," she sneered, "Go away."
To her surprise, his face fell. She heard him sigh and clear his throat awkwardly, before turning and walking away.
Shit, now she felt bad.
"Wait."
He stopped, looking over his shoulder in her direction.
"Fine," she reluctantly ground out.
She knew she was going to regret this. She didn't do feelings.
Mark's brow rose in surprise, yet he still hesitated.
"Well?" Cristina glared, "Are you gonna sit or what?"
Apprehensively, he turned and made his way to the chair next to hers, "Thanks."
He sat there for a few minutes, his gaze resting no higher than the bottle in his hand, saying absolutely nothing. Not one peep. That seemed to be the theme tonight.
Great. Now what was she supposed to do?
Cristina sighed, "I don't speak girl."
That caught his attention.
"What?"
"This thing you're doing?" she gestured vaguely in his direction, "being quiet and all mopey? It's creepy. So either tell me who kicked your puppy so we can both be on our merry way, or let me get back to my brooding... alone."
Sighing, he traced patterns through the ring of condensation gathering on the table in front of him, his brow furrowed and lips pursed deep in though. Cristina thought he looked constipated.
"Hurry up before I change my mind."
She reasoned with herself that maybe she'd be better at this if she were more like Izzie. His face would have been stuffed with freshly baked muffins or he'd have spilled all of his deepest, darkest secrets to her with a simple flutter of her eyelashes. But she couldn't bring herself to stoop to that level. She preferred anonymity and a sterile OR above all else. So, she waited.
"I... want more."
The look in his eyes told her all she needed to know. She actually understood, saw the pain and loneliness inside of him because- though she'd never admit it out loud- it mirrored her own.
Cristina groaned. Why couldn't she have remained as clueless as she usually was when it came to this shit? Being clueless is so much easier.
"You're gonna have to stop whoring around, you know."
Mark chuckled, probably just as surprised that she'd actually given him advice as she was, "I know."
"You really think you can keep it in your pants?"
"I haven't jumped you, have I?"
"Touché."
Another silence settled over them, this time comfortable and reflective. They were invisible to everyone around them, frozen in a sea of happiness and celebration, just them and their beer.
"Can I ask you a question, Yang?"
She blinked, frowning in his direction, "Depends."
"On what?"
"Whether or not your question is going to be make want to castrate you with a ten blade."
Mark paled, his eyes wide and full of terror. Cristina, despite her best efforts, felt the corner of her mouth flicker with the faintest smirk in satisfaction.
"You gonna ask, or not?"
"Uh- yeah," he fidgeted in his seat, "I'm just curious. Why aren't you with you with the rest of your Scooby friends?"
Cristina shrugged, peeling the label off of the empty bottle in her hands, and for some reason she was compelled to tell him the truth, "Everybody's got someone."
He murmured something, maybe an agreeable sound tinged with a hint of annoyance, she wasn't quite sure. The only thing that Cristina knew, was that Mark was suddenly out of his chair and standing beside her, finishing his beer before turning to her with one of those cocky, charming smiles. It made her skin crawl. She hated when men smiled like that.
"Come on," he gestured toward the door, "let's go order a pizza and finish off the six pack in my fridge."
"Seriously?" she asked him, exasperated, "There's no way in hell I'm going back to your hotel room, McSteamy."
Mark plucked the drink from her hands and swiped the coat off the back of her chair before she could protest, holding it out for her, "You really want to stay here the rest of the night?"
Sighing, she stood, shoving her arms through the sleeves of her leather coat before turning to him with a stern glare, "If you think me agreeing to this insanity is me saying that I'm gonna have sex with you, you've got another thing coming."
He chuckled, following her toward the exit, "Come on, work with me here, I'm new at this friend thing. And, didn't I just tell you that I wanted more? Pizza does not equal sex. It equals pizza and beer and crappy movies."
As they reached the door Cristina rolled her eyes, and for the first time in weeks she felt a little lighter, "But, pizza used to equal sex. Callie told me about that night you and she-"
"Hey," he stage whispered, "none of that! No comparing notes. That's just... wrong."
She chuckled, reluctantly following him out into the night, "Fine, but if you think I'm watching some girly chick flick while we eat, I might actually barf."
He wasn't Callie, and he certainly wasn't Meredith or her stupid candle house, but he had a good sense of humor and free booze, so she supposed that he would have to do.
Maybe Cristina's fate as a crazy cat lady wasn't set in stone after all.
End.