Oh, you know I have a paper to write when I start churning out ficlets. Three in two days, yeah!
Disclaimer: I don't own Grey's Anatomy. I do, however, own the dried out ink pen that I was writing my Imperialism paper with, should anyone be interested.
"I am Cristina Yang, an extremely smart, very competitive surgical intern. I have no tact, and I am not a good person. I am a person who hates cleaning, and on top of that I am a person who despises organization. The House of Wong is number 1 on my speed dial. And you, you are ridiculously arrogant man who arranges his books according to the Dewey decimal system. An OCD'd cardio-thoraxic surgeon who is so clean, I could perform surgery on your kitchen counter. You cook every one of your meals, and you make bad coffee. You are the most professional, possessive, and determinant person I have ever met. I am Cristina Yang. And I love you."
Cristina shifted nervously, running her hand unconsciously through her messy hair.
Meredith tapped her lips. "Maybe you should leave out the part about the coffee."
"Right." Meredith tapped some more. "And come up with another word that starts with 'p.'"
"What? Why?"
"Professional, possessive, determinant," she said. "The 'three p's' sound better than 'the two p's and a d.'" Cristina threw up her hands.
"I spend thirty minutes working on that and you nail me for alliteration? Gimme that." She grabbed Meredith's tequila bottle out of the blonde's hands.
"Like 'predictable.' That could work," she went on, ignoring what Cristina just said.
"I refuse to hit a dictionary just because my drunk best friend wants my speech to be poetic."
"Oh, or 'poetic'. You know, never underestimate the power of poetry," Meredith said, waving her finger in the air.
"Okay Mer, it is time for you to go to bed."
"Especially on days like Valentine's Day."
"Oh God."
"Which, by the way, is the result of a bunch of hammered CEO's who wanted people like us to have some day where we feel sorry for ourselves, when we really get the deal because all the candy is 75 percent off the next day, and—"
"I pull you through McDreamy, George, that stupid feeling, and almost being blown up and all I get in return is what, a conspiracy theory?" Cristina hauled Meredith up by her arm. "Time. To go. To bed." A few minutes later, she left the house muttering to herself.
"Shouldn't have brought up poetry."
Review, and the Penguin might find enough time to write another before she finishes that really boring paper.