The menorah is a symbol of hope, a symbol of victory. In the year 165 BCE, the Jews were to celebrate their victory over the Hellenist Syrians by dedicating a temple by lighting a menorah as a symbol of their victory, but they were only able to find a minute amount of undefiled oil. Normally, this amount of oil would've only sustained the light of the menorah for one evening, but miraculously it burnt not for one night, but for eight nights until new oil fit for use in the temple was able to be obtained. This is the miracle of Hanukkah.
Cristina drove the streets of Seattle often anymore. She'd drive up and down the slick city streets looking for signs.
Signs that he missed her.
Signs that he still cared.
She would drive by their favorite coffee shop, just looking for a glimpse of him.
She wanted to know that he was okay.
So she drove the streets of Seattle.
She hadn't seen him since he closed the door in her face, and that was nearly a month ago. There was no sign of him at the hospital, nobody talked about him. His name was menacingly absent from the board.
It was as if Preston Burke had never existed.
It was if their relationship had never existed.
She longed for a chance to start fresh. To forget their indiscretions.
To move forward, to move away from their pain.
So she drove the streets.
Christmas lights lined the main drag, Santa Claus and his elves decorated storefronts. Christmas trees gleamed from windows of houses and apartments. Fake snow was sprayed into windows in erratic patterns.
How could anybody be happy? she would wonder to herself as she drove.
It had been nearly a month.
No phone calls.
No e-mails.
No pages.
She reached his street and made the right turn that panged her heart with sadness as she lifted her eyes towards their...no, his apartment window.
Looking for him.
She saw no lights on in the apartment, and started to look away and caught something glowing in the window out of the corner of her eye.
A Menorah?
She continued down the street and turned around in the parking lot of their coffee shop. "A menorah..." she spoke silently to herself, her heart aching.
She pulled against the curb outside of the apartment complex and looked up towards his apartment once again.
It was there.
It wasn't a figment of her imagination.
There was a menorah with one candle lit, a beacon in the night.
A beacon calling her home.
She turned off the car and fingered the large key on her key ring.
Dare she use it?
Dare she expose herself to the pain, the heartache that may lie within those walls?
She let out a sigh as she pulled the key from the ignition and grasped at the door handle.
Everything seemed to move in slow motion as she stepped out on to the wet pavement, looking up towards the light in his window.
It was a glimmer of hope.
She quickened her pace as she crossed the street and reached the door of the complex and she froze.
"What am I doing?" she muttered to herself, dropping her hands to her side. "He would've called me."
She kicked her boots around on the pavement, pacing back and forth. He'd always taken the steps in their relationship, and when she took one, it was because he had to hold her hand.
The cold rain pelted her curly black tresses, causing them to stick to her forehead, the water droplets masking a couple tears of frustration and trepidation.
She pulled the door open and jogged up the stairs to their apartment. It was her turn to take the step. It was her turn to help the relationship to go forward.
She reached apartment 8 and her hands shook with anticipation as she slid the key into the lock.
That's a step.
She slowly turned it to the left, her hands unsteady, her heart aching.
What if he pushes her away again. She couldn't bear the thought. "Dammit." she muttered, ready to retract the key from the lock, but something in her pushed farther.
Something within her caused her to reach for the doorknob and turn it.
The door slid open and she took a breath, stepping inside.
There he was.
On the couch.
He was just sitting there. He wasn't reading, he wasn't listening to music, he wasn't playing his trumpet. He was just sitting. Staring at the menorah in the window. Staring at her beacon.
"Burke." she breathed slowly.
He looked to her, his face unreadable as he stood.
"Burke...I'm...I'm sorry." she mumbled, looking down.
Just to see him again was a breath of fresh air, a relief. He was still there. He didn't fall of the face of the planet, he didn't cease to exist.
He was still there.
He moved to her quickly, pulling her into his arms, "Cristina..." was the only thing he said.
She had never loved the sound of her name so much. "Burke, I'm so sorry..." tears began to slide down her face, "I'm so sorry...I saw...I saw the menorah in the window, and I thought maybe...I thought that maybe you had forgiven me, and I had to know. I had to see you." she rambled as she buried her face into his chest to hide the tears.
"Cristina." he whispered, running his fingers through her wet hair, "You used the key."
"I used the key." she repeated.
He reached down, tipping her chin up so that he could look into her eyes, "I want you to use it again...I want you to come home." he mumbled, longing to kiss her.
She smiled, closing her eyes. It was what she had wanted to hear. "I want to be home." was all she could get out.
He nodded, his hand sliding up the back of her neck, but before he could kiss her, she pressed her lips against his in a hard and passionate kiss.
A kiss that rekindled the love lost. A kiss that in the 15 seconds that it lasted, washed away the pain, the betrayal, the angst.
A kiss that renewed their faith that their love would last forever.
TBC
A/N: Yes, I know that I said I would never do a WIP again after The Line, but this one, I can do. Hanukkah has eight nights.
That makes for eight chapters of fluff, Bang Demanders.
