Tittle: Carnations and a Gerbera (U is for United)
Author: Rachel2008
Disclaimers: They areThey aren't mine, no copryright infringement in intended, blah blah blah.
Spoilers: None.
Summary: Flowers, folks, flowers.
Rating: T, just to be safe.
Feedback: Like it, don't like it, just let me know.
Archive: No.
Author's note: This was written for the adorable Moviemaniac, at Livejournal. The lovely PrincessxLeah, whose fics are posted here, was again a very patient and generous beta and she is a great writer, too. Go read her work. Like, now.
People often thought she didn't believe in marriage.
That was a misconception.
She wasn't convinced that there was a superior being somewhere from whom she needed approval, she failed to see the legitimacy of a big white dress over anything else in her wardrobe and while the food was always her favorite part of any social event, she found it hard to see much veracity in tiny hors d'oeuvres with fourteen different mismatching ingredients.
She didn't believe in any of the fuss surrounding a wedding.
But she did believe in marriage.
She had seen more than enough evidence that it worked; on short, medium, long and ''till death do us part' terms. Proof also abounded that it failed; sometimes it eroded slowly and painfully, and sometimes it went down in apocalyptic flames, and the ache seemed to last forever either way.
She didn't have or need to get married, though. A piece of paper and a piece of jewelry would never convey the amount of love, faith and commitment in her relationship. But she wasn't naïve – or maybe the world was stupid – enough to believe that all this equaled to a kind of security no power of attorney could provide. Post-its galore wouldn't make it easier to navigate towards the intricate ways of insurance, property ownership, mortgage, survivor benefits and every other legality that may or may not come with those 40 years he had promised to her.
But, when the time came, almost five years after that first kiss that belonged to a whole other life, the taste of which she could still feel lingering on her lips, it didn't feel forced or rushed or like her soul was being sucked out of her body. She could breathe.
She wanted to get married.
It had been the most natural decision, now that her residency was over; now that her fellowship was coming to its end and that they were moving to a different city, to start a fresh life with great jobs at a world class hospital. It would have been right a few years earlier, and they had been a couple, in every sense of the word, long before that, but she had finally learned that things in life – and, why not, life itself – had their own course, and while there was some truth in the whole timing argument, the so-called right time was, many times, just an excuse to not move forward.
And she, Cristina Yang, had gotten past that phase of thinking that she would never change, that her opinions would always be the same; that considering a different path automatically meant to become someone she was not. Maybe it was growth, maybe it was acceptance, but she had finally understood that Cristina Yang would not became a shadow of herself if she didn't put up a fight or if she indulged in a romantic date or if she didn't have the last word all the time.
Wearing a simple off-white cocktail dress and nude flats, because her twisted ankle was not healing fast enough, no matter what Callie said, her hair loose, a bouquet of carnations, her father's favorite, with one single gerbera – because she knew Owen would remember - she still was who she had always been. The man in the crisp dress uniform standing next to her was not the same man she had met in a night of tales of patients being trached with pens and icicles falling from the sky, yet his eyes were as clear as they had ever been and she knew him more intimately than he could ever imagine and she loved him more that she could have ever pictured.
It had been just the two of them and the judge, because his mother had passed away a few months before and her own would have tainted her happiness one way or another. She could have invited Meredith, but Owen didn't have a person even though he had made good friends in Derek and Mark and it seemed kind of unfair, though he had insisted he didn't care about who was there as long as Cristina was. She hadn't wanted to take his name and he hadn't asked. She still didn't want kids and he was at peace with her decision, something she didn't take lightly for she understood what he was giving up for her.
A nice desk clerk had offered to take pictures of them with her camera and had emailed the photos, and much to Cristina's surprise, those had turned out exceptionally well, her favorite being a shot of their entwined fingers. Lying on their bed, late night, she couldn't help herself but look at her hand, the platinum band shining with an engraved You. Me. Us. on the inside, the clean lines in a sharp contrast with the other delicate, almost baroque ring on her hand, the one he had given her when they had decided to get married and which she had deeply cherished the moment she had put it on.
The sound of softly rustling sheets and of the shift of weight on the mattress derailed her train of thought while his arm found the curve of her waist.
"You know, it won't disappear if you stop staring at it," a sleepy voice whispered into her ear.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," she replied, fully aware that she was not fooling anyone, especially with the smile that he couldn't see touching her lips.
"Sure."
She elbowed him on the ribs, light enough to not hurt, heavy enough to make him squirm.
"The smug thing doesn't suit you," she lied, because she lived for those moments where he was cocky and proud and the twinkle in his eyes and the sound of laughter erupting from his throat.
"I got you to marry me, didn't I?"
She knew he was grinning against the back of her neck, for she could feel his beard tickling her skin and she did her best to smother her own smile.
"I believe in marriage," she pointed out, unwilling to concede the point, more out of habit than a desire to prove him wrong. "That went beyond you."
"Nah, you couldn't have done it without me," he teased back.
"Somebody's full of himself," she quipped, settling her back against his chest comfortably.
"Would you have me any other way?" he asked, kissing her shoulder.
She would, always, but she would never tell him that, or that the heat emanating from his body warmed her heart. "This close to wiping that smile off your face…"
There was mirth and mischieveousness in his voice as he responded. "What mine is yours. Help yourself."
Finis.