Cristina is nervous as she walks towards Dr. Webber's office, a feeling that she doesn't enjoy. Her eyes focus in on her target, a wall of floor to ceiling windows so everybody passing by can bear witness to her failure so early in the game. The nerves only grow stronger.
Her hands are tied and if there's something she should be doing differently, she's not certain what it is. Granted there are other things she could do, pull his files, insist on scrubbing in, show up unwelcome, things that are completely obvious and only make her look more like the enemy than she already does.
Before she's even able to knock on the door, Webber greets her.
"Dr. Yang, please come in. Close the door behind you," he says without looking up from some papers on the desk. He continues to make notes on the papers until Cristina is seated before him and then he slides the file away, "thank you for coming. I know that you've had a busy few days. Your schedule has been rather impressive for a surgeon so new to this facility."
"It's not a problem, Chief," she answers, already painfully uncomfortable, "my schedule isn't as busy this morning and my follow ups are done for the day."
"Good, good," he answers, smiling, "your turnover times are impressive. You've already stirred up quite a big commotion in administration."
Cristina accepts the praise but reserves reaction for later, "I'm just doing my job, ."
"And you do it exceptionally well."
"I do my best," humility has never suited her but she's good at faking it for the right person. The awkward pause that follows his praise is what makes her shift in her seat and glance at her watch unintentionally. It's either lost on Webber or he doesn't comment on it, and she's hoping it's the former. Finally she looks back up at him, "I'm working on what you requested," she finally speaks, "I haven't gotten any definite answers for you as of yet but I'm still getting settled in, getting to know the ancillary staff."
Webber nods, "Of course. I had figured that it may take some time to adjust to the new hospital. It's understandable."
Another awkward pause causes her to shift again.
"Yeah."
"As I said, you're grabbing a lot of attention from the people who matter. Just keep doing what you're doing Dr. Yang and keep your eyes out for anything suspicious. We want to be the best here at Seattle Grace and you're going to take us there."
Cristina likes his words and she nods in agreement, "It will be my honor, sir," and it's the truth. There's nothing she'll enjoy more than accepting all the glory for putting Seattle Grace on the map for cardiothoracics once more.
It just means that she'll have to start playing a little bit dirtier.
-
Despite her intentions to dig up dirt on Burke's patients through medical records, Cristina finds herself at a loss as she glances over her notes. She's reviewed over twenty charts so far and nothing adds up.
No infections, no medication errors, slightly longer surgeries sporadically, stellar adequate surgical technique.
Cristina pauses for a minute and reviews the notes, trying to think of what she's missing. Webber has given her all the information, has told her that the patient's records are clean but she knows that something isn't adding up somewhere. She sighs and tosses down her pen down.
"He sucks," she says to herself, "this shouldn't be that difficult."
A quick glance at the clock tells her that she's going to have to resume trying to decide exactly where it doesn't add up later. She closes her notebook, grabs her pen and patient list and leaves her office to get to work.
She only makes it three steps before she stops, eyes fixated at a name on her rounding list: Grey, Ellis. The list hits the floor and she's digging frantically through her pockets for her notebook when she realizes that she left it on her desk. She runs back into the office, abandoning the list on the ground and flips open her notebook.
"No infections, no medication errors, slightly longer surgeries, adequate technique," she ticks off to herself and then flips back a few pages to review the common complications. She shakes her head in disbelief and adds to the list that she's compiled.
High risk patients? She quickly scribbles down and then adds the name, Ellis Grey.
Why would Burke be seeing patients that had already been under her care?
Cristina glances at the clock again and decides that if the nurses need her that they can page her. It's Saturday, nobody is being discharged and nobody needs immediate care. She's onto something and she refuses to walk away from it now.
-
The realization that Preston Burke is still a good surgeon, albeit a stupid one, has never crossed Cristina's mind. As she scans the records of one of his patients, a former patient of hers, she comes to the conclusion that not only does he have talent, he has a serious set to go with that talent.
Altering the medical records of a patient isn't only stupid, it's illegal.
Cristina's first reaction is to run to Webber, but she doesn't. She can't. There has to be a reason that he's doing it, a damn good one at that. Nobody would waste that much talent without good reason. Initially, she thinks that maybe he's trying to be a hot shot, a show off, in some sort of way trying to prove that he can operate on just anybody without blinking an eye. She drops the idea just as quickly because it wasn't like he was winning awards for it.
He's hiding the fact that he's doing it.
The potential that the patients can conceal their histories is a great one, but the odds of that happening with every patient he's ever seen is completely improbable. There's something bigger going on and she's close to figuring it out.
"Dr. Yang," the sound of his voice causes her to jump and she scrambles for the mouse, minimizing the record she was reviewing.
"Dr. Burke," Cristina speaks after taking a millisecond to calm her nerves.
His brow furrows slightly at the reaction but he disregards it, "The nurses on the floor tell me that you didn't round on our patients until three in the afternoon on Saturday. Care to explain?"
"I'm sorry, I wasn't aware that I had to answer to you," Cristina says casually, trying to exit out of the minimized screen. When she realizes that she can't, she simply turns the computer off by holding down the power button, "and I was tied up. They could have paged me if there was anything emergent."
"It's not a matter of emergency on the weekends. There were three patients that could have been transferred to a lower level of acuity," Burke speaks authoritatively, irritated by her disregard, "they were short staffed with heavy patient loads. It's our job to round in the mornings and get orders for those patients to go to free up our ICU and the nurses there. More than that, it's good patient care."
Cristina stands up in attempt to bring herself up to his level at least a little bit more, "I'm sorry, are you saying that I don't give good patient care?"
"I'm saying that the patient comes first. Not whatever you were working on, not whatever you found to be more pressing at that moment. These are things that you should be aware of, Dr. Yang," Burke lectures, fed up with her attitude. Ever since she's joined this unit, she's threatened his work, insulted him personally and given at least one of his residents an inferiority complex.
"Oh, I'm very aware of your standards of patient care, Dr. Burke," she hisses and walks into the copy room behind him. She anticipates that he'll follow her because she's walked away from him in a heated discussion before and he always follows. When the door meets its frame harder than structurally intended, Cristina turns to face him, "Ellis Grey."
"Excuse me?" Burke asks, masking any sort of reaction. In reality, the name causes a pit to form in his stomach. The optimist in him wants to believe that she could simply be bringing up a patient that has another complication, questioning his work once again.
The realist in him knows better.
"Ellis Grey," Cristina repeats, "length of stay, 45 days. It took her seven days to come off the vent. Chronically on dialysis and hypotensive, requiring vasoactive drips on and off. Has wasted almost two million health care dollars becoming a permanent resident of the ICU. Ellis Grey."
"Do you have a point, Dr. Yang?" Burke asks, well aware of her case. She was complicated and he expected complications. Her daughter insisted that the surgery be done and he did it, making Meredith fully aware that it was going to be far from an easy road. It isn't lost on Burke that Cristina fails to mention that Ellis Grey can now walk down the hallway without getting short winded and that the chronic and debilitating chest pain she suffered from the severe ischemia in her heart has resolved.
It's more important to her that the patient has spent two million dollars.
"She's not a candidate for open heart surgery, Dr. Burke. At all. She has a history of stage two chronic kidney disease, diabetes mellitus, hypertension, peripheral vascular disease, frequent falls due to orthostasis. I could keep going. I could write a textbook from her history."
"So you're familiar with the case, so what?"
"Except, Dr. Burke, I'm not. Because when I reviewed the history and physical on the patient the only history dictated is a history of hypertension and diabetes. There's no mention made that the patient is on chronic dialysis. The patient reported history reflects the same," Cristina rattles off, "her record isn't the one that I know and I know her case well because her daughter asked me to operate, twice, and both times I told her that it wasn't possible."
"Clearly you were wrong," Burke says, turning to leave the room.
"Hey!" Cristina snaps at him, follows on his heels, "I'm not done talking to you."
Burke ignores her words and continues walking. For the first time he acknowledges to himself that what he's done, what he is still doing, is truly at jeopardy- including his career and the career of his friends.
He just doesn't know what he's going to do about it.
-
Addison stands on the walkway, her arms crossed as she surveys the scene before her. A grin spreads from ear to ear when she sees Webber stand up, clearly pissed at the occupant of his office. This may have just turned a bad day into a great one.
"You know," George says, looking from the office to Addison, "you look really evil when you smile. Kind of like Satan."
"Shut up," Addison says, batting him away, "I'm enjoying myself. Immensely."
"You would. You're such a sadist."
"I'm not," she contends and pauses to take a long sip of her hot cocoa, "I just believe in karma and Dr. Yang has had karma coming to her for a long time."
George looks back in the office and watches as Webber paces for a moment and then turns to face her again, "He does look really pissed. I wonder what she did."
"Be herself," Addison mutters, "she hates everybody and everybody hates her. It was only a matter of time. I knew she wouldn't last."
Addison was far from sure that she wouldn't last but seeing the scene unfold before her, she's comforted by the fact that she was wrong. She's happier now that it means their project is safe and that nobody is getting fired any time soon. She had enough to worry about with Burke being left alone and George's sloppiness. She's more than happy to lose one of her problems, especially if it's Dr. Yang.
-
Cristina walks down the hallway as if in a daze.
The word disappointment keeps ringing through her head and she doesn't like it. She's never been called a disappointment and she's not going to be called a disappointment again. Though she felt as if she was onto something, she felt the safe answer was to simply deny knowing anything as of yet.
Admitting that she knew something only to divulge later she was wrong or even slightly inaccurate would only end up in embarrassment, or so she thought.
She knows now that she should have simply told Webber she had a hunch, a clue, anything to make him realize that she was anything but a disappointment or a mistake. She has been working overtime to figure out what was going on in his department and at least a hunch would have been proof of that.
The only thing she did was make herself look stupid.
Burke's office is empty when she passes it and she glances at the clock, figures that he's probably still in surgery since a simple bypass takes him all day. She lingers for a moment and settles on going straight to the source for her answers.
The same answers she'll deliver to Dr. Webber tomorrow morning.
-
Burke watches as the hall lights flicker off outside his office door and a heavy sigh of relief escapes. It's the signal that he has the hospital to himself at least for the next few hours. He has a lot of clean up to do, a lot of questions to answer, and he can't do it with distraction.
He checks his pager once before setting it aside and spins his chair to procure a box from the stack behind him to review records. When he turns back to his desk, Cristina is standing in the doorway with a few files of her own in hand.
Their gazes meet, his as cold as hers, "Now is not a good time, Dr. Yang."
Ignoring his words, Cristina flips open a file, "Andrew Rice, 53, birthdate May 7, 1958. History of hypertension, reflux, and a broken arm in 1993. Suffered a massive heart attack while raking leaves six months ago. Underwent coronary artery bypass, five vessels. Despite the patient's unremarkable history, he was incredibly difficult to wean from the ventilator post operatively and underwent tracheostomy and bought a feeding tube before transferring to a long term care facility."
"Which he was discharged from two months ago," Burke adds, "do you have a point?"
Cristina pulls another file out from underneath the file that Seattle Grace has, "Andrew Rice, 53, birthdate May 7, 1958. History of small cell carcinoma treated in 1993, discovered after fracturing his arm. Underwent intensive treatment for eight years including chemotherapy and radiation and has been in remission. Subsequently, the patient has suffered from chronic kidney disease, reflux, diabetes and chronic anemia, all secondary to the cancer treatment. Patient had a massive heart attack while raking leaves and taken emergently to Seattle Presbyterian hospital's cardiac cath lab. Patient was found to have severe three vessel disease, however, due to his chronic conditions and history, the patient was not a candidate for surgery."
Burke leans back in his chair and folds his fingers behind his head, listening intently as she pulls out another file. "Ellis Grey, 62 year old female patient. I know that you're well aware of her history here at Seattle Grace."
"Yes," he answers in a somber tone, "yes, I am."
Cristina holds up another file obtained from Seattle Presbyterian, "I think you're familiar with her history at Seattle Presbyterian as well."
He pauses to lick his lips before acknowledging the accusation, "Yes."
His answer catches her off guard and she closes her mouth though she was prepared to argue with him. Cristina watches him intently, trying to process the fact that he's not even trying to hide it from her. He obviously doesn't know that she's talked with Webber several times. Or he does and he simply doesn't care anymore, "Why?"
Burke stands and carefully replaces the box that he had retrieved only a few minutes ago. He calmly retrieves his jacket, car keys, and cell phone from on top of his desk and he walks towards the door. "Close the door," he says quietly as he brushes past her.
"What are you-"
"Do you want to know why or not?" He asks.
Cristina lingers for a minute and closes his office door before following him down the hallway, files still in hand. He pauses at her office door, "Leave the files. They don't need to leave the building."
"Like you're one to tell me how medical records should be handled," she scoffs and walks into her office to leave them. She grabs her keys and momentarily wonders exactly where the hell they're going but she's more curious as to what the hell he's doing- most likely because her job depends upon that curiosity.
They walk out of the hospital in silence, keeping a fair amount of distance between them. He leads her through the parking lot to his car and unlocks the doors. She stands back a few feet from the car, "Where are we going?"
He looks up at her as he pulls open the driver's side door, "Are you going to get in or not?"
Cristina hesitates and then pulls her door open before sliding in the car, "For the record, Burke, this is a little creepy."
"The walls have ears," he states simply before starting the car and pulling out of the parking lot.
The pair ride in silence, Cristina watching out the window as the lights of the city fade away in the side view mirror. She doesn't question the distance after his explanation. Their colleagues all live within twenty minutes of the hospital, per protocol. Making the drive to a coffee shop thirty minutes north of the city ensures that they'll have privacy from the people who threaten his career the most.
Predictably so, the shop is practically empty save for one old man sitting in the corner flipping through a book. The teenager with greasy black hair passes their coffee over the counter and returns to her previous position leaning against the counter, cell phone in hand. Indie music, the soundtrack of Seattle, plays overhead and it gives a weird ambiance to the moment. Cristina feels like she's in some sort of horror movie and she doesn't like the detour from normal.
They take a seat at a small table in the corner and Burke takes a moment to pull the thick black rimmed glasses from his face and wipe down the lenses, "Why did you become a surgeon?" he asks without looking up at her.
"What?"
"Why did you become a surgeon?" he repeats, holding the glasses up to the light to see if he's eliminated the annoying spot disrupting his line of vision. Satisfied that it's gone, he replaces the glasses and tucks the cloth away.
"What is this? Med school?"
Burke looks at her unamused by her answer, though he's not surprised to discover she's as much of a pain in the ass outside the hospital as she is inside it.
When it becomes painfully evident that he's not going answer her, she sighs, "I wanted to save lives." The answer is cliché but she's not in the mood to go into the long answer.
"And do you?"
Cristina smirks, "I think you're well aware of that."
"So, the answer is no then," he concludes before lifting his coffee cup to his lips.
"Excuse me?"
"You don't save lives," Burke elaborates, "you pick and choose the people who you operate on. You spend your time concerned with numbers and statistics and less time concerned about the quality of life after your outcomes no longer matter. You may save a life from time to time, traumas, patients who may die eventually without surgical intervention but only through a series of qualifications and stipulations."
"There's a reason that we follow those qualifications and stipulations."
"Why?"
"Because. Operating on patients who are high risk leads to greater complications, longer hospital stays, more healthcare dollars spent," Cristina rattles off, still not following his point.
"So you didn't go to medical school to save lives," he says, "you went to medical school to save a hospital a couple dollars."
"What kind of quality of life is sitting in a hospital for 45 days?" She counters.
"And what kind of quality of life is spending the rest of your life wondering when the inevitable is going to happen?" Burke asks.
"I suppose that it isn't," her voice is soft, a concession of sorts, but not fully, "it's beyond our control though. There are regulations for a reason."
"Is there any good reason to send a middle aged man home to die, Cristina?" Her first name feels awkward on his lips, but now is not a time for formalities, "You know the symptoms of heart failure, shortness of air, renal failure, fatigue, fluid retention-"
"Spare me the medical school review, Burke. I know what congestive heart failure does to the human body," she sighs, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms.
"But do you know what it does to the human spirit? To that man's family? I watched my father die because even the best surgeons in the country refused to touch him. He battled and beat prostate cancer, because of the modern miracle of medicine. When he had a heart attack, the surgeons told him that the radiation treatments he received had left him in such a state that he was not a surgical candidate. They sent him home with medications to manage his blood pressure, diuretics that kept him up all night to try to manage the fluid retention, and a death sentence. Because of the same medicine that saved my father's life, I had to watch my father deteriorate and die a slow and painful death over a period of years. Why? Because some surgeon wasn't willing to give him a chance, because some surgeon wanted to protect his track record," Burke levels his gaze on hers, "You didn't go to medical school to save lives. I went to medical school to save lives."
Cristina fights for words, his explanation affecting her more than she would prefer. She can see the pain in his eyes and it may not be a pain she's completely familiar with, but she can't just consider him stupid or incompetent anymore. Not when she knows that his intentions are so ridiculously noble, "Look, Preston-"
"Burke," he corrects her, "I…Nobody really calls me Preston. It's Burke."
"Burke," she repeats, "there has to be a better way to do what you're trying to do. Proper channels." Cristina knows the approval of getting something so high risk approved by any hospital review board is not just unlikely, it's almost impossible. "What about your career?" She asks weakly.
"My career is not more valuable than a human life," he says evenly, "there's always going to be a cost to what I'm doing, whether it's health care dollars or human lives. We both know which one is more valuable."
-
Cristina paces back and forth in her office, a patient's file in hand. It's the first rejection she's had since she spoke with Burke and for some reason she's struggling with it. His words echo in her head, nag at her ability to simply walk into the room and tell the patient that she's not a surgical candidate. Suddenly the promises that they'll manage the symptoms with medications seem empty. Not when she knows that there's a chance that they could get better, even if it is a struggle.
What she's contemplating though, it could cost more than this job, it could cost her entire career, everything she's worked for. Her career may not be worth the price of a human life, but it's her life and the only one she knows. She's worked for years for this job, to be where she is now.
For countless minutes she battles with herself about what to do, how to approach it, and bargains with herself, the culmination of which ends up with her standing in Burke's office, door firmly closed behind her.
"I need your help," she says quietly.
"Okay," Burke is caught off guard by her demeanor, how somber she is. It's a stark contrast to the egotistical surgeon he's become accustomed to.
"I," she pauses for a moment, "I have a patient." Cristina knows that she should elaborate on what that means but she hopes that he'll just know because saying it out loud really does incriminate her and she's still trying to come to grips with the fact that she's even considering what she's considering.
Fortunately, he understands what she's talking about and holds his hand out for the chart, "I'll take care of it."
"Excuse me?" She says, "I don't think so. This is my patient. I just said I needed your help. I didn't say that I wanted you to take over."
This is the Dr. Yang that he's used to: somewhat offensive, cocky, and very territorial. Typically it's off putting but today he's bemused by it, "And what of your statistics?"
"One case isn't going to make a difference," she shrugs it off.
"You think you're only going to do it once?" he asks, "It runs a lot deeper than that, Dr. Yang."
"I didn't ask for a lecture," she said, already desperately trying to ignore the implications of the facts that she's even asking for his help, "I asked for your help. Now are you going to do this or not?"
"Of course," he answers without hesitation, "how emergent is the case? Does the patient need to go to surgery now or can they wait?"
"Her heart is a disaster but she's not requiring any meds yet. I have her in ICU as a precautionary measure," Cristina explains, sliding the chart over, "longstanding history of juvenile diabetes, chronic kidney disease and peripheral vascular disease. She's not a chronic dialysis patient but she's required dialysis for a bout of renal failure two years ago while battling an infected wound on her foot."
"You've already dictated her history and physical?" Burke questions.
"No," she says, her stomach starting to churn. This is illegal. This is so illegal and it's something that she's going to do, "but the ICU nurse has already entered it into the computer."
"Then she's an emergent case," he concludes and reaches for the phone. He asks for an OR to be opened immediately for Mrs. Beyer and then proceeds to call in the heart team for an emergent procedure. After he's procured the necessary equipment and people, Burke places the phone in its cradle and turns back to Cristina.
"Head up to the ICU. Order dobutamine and Lasix. Put an order for levophed on the chart as well, even if the patient doesn't have low blood pressure," he instructs her.
"You mean neosynephrine," she says, "levophed is a horrible drug. I can't believe you still use it."
"It's better than the massive doses of neosynephrine you put your patient on to manage a slightly lower than average blood pressure," Burke says, hiding a smile. He's never had anybody disagree with his choice of medications.
"Sure. If you're trying to kill the patient, which I'm sure that you've made clear that you're not."
"Regardless, go write your orders, tell them the patient is going for surgery and meet me back in the scrub room in thirty minutes. I'll handle the rest."
Cristina takes her chart back from him and walks away wordlessly. Her heart is beating rapidly and she thinks that she must look completely obvious to the people around her, as if everybody knows that she's doing something very, very wrong.
It's only going to be a matter of time before she gets caught.
-
"I can't-" Cristina says, still smiling from ear to ear, "I can't believe that. I can't believe I did that."
Burke smiles at her reaction, the enthusiasm glowing in her expression. It's what he least expected from her but he enjoys it nonetheless, "You did that."
"Have you ever seen that before? I mean, her heart was destroyed, and we put her on bypass and reperfused and when we took her off it was like new. I've had patients who have gotten better, heart muscle that has pinked up but-" Cristina shakes her head in disbelief, "her heart was dead."
"And now it's not," Burke says softly, pushing her drink towards her, "congratulations, Dr. Yang. You saved a life today."
Cristina's smile grows wider if it's even possible and she lifts her glass to her lips. There have been precious few times that she's experienced such exhilaration from surgery and she's not certain it's ever been like this, "Is it always like this for you?" She asks, "Do you always get this high?"
"Always," Burke answers, raising his glass in her direction, "To saving lives?"
Her glass meets his with a resounding clink and she agrees, "To saving lives."
-
Cristina sits at her desk, studying the call schedule for the next week and trying to work out some open slots for emergency cases if necessary. She's not giving in to doing cases all the time, but if something truly necessary comes through the doors, she'll consider it. Or at least refer the patient to Burke. It's not like he wouldn't do it.
She's just not as comfortable adjusting things like he is.
A knock on her door draws her attention upward and she sees Dr. Webber standing in her doorway. She slides the schedule aside and stands up immediately, "Dr. Webber," she says, "what can I do for you?"
Webber approaches her desk slowly and lowers his voice, "I think that you know exactly what you can do for me, Dr. Yang. The question is have you done it?"
Cristina's gaze shifts from Webber down to her desk and then back up, "I'm researching it, sir. There are no deviations from the standards of practice that I've seen. No infections, no-"
"Dr. Yang," he interrupts, his voice rising with her name and then falling again. "I didn't pay you to be Dr. Burke's mouthpiece. I paid you to find out the truth of what's going on in this department. I can't take your excuses to the board. I can't justify your position and your salary to the medical review board if you're not doing the job you were hired to do. Are we clear?"
"Are you saying…" Cristina trails off, knowing exactly what he's saying.
"Dr. Yang, if you can't produce results, I'm afraid that I won't be able to defend your position to the medical review board. You will be terminated from Seattle Grace Hospital."
The words kill her. This isn't the kind of treatment she's used to and she knows that she's in over her head, in more than one way. She simply gives a nod as she watches Webber walk out of her office. She catches Addison's eye, standing just outside her office door and Cristina looks away, back to her schedule.
Uninvited, Addison enters Cristina's office, "You seem to talk to Dr. Webber a lot."
Cristina jerks her head upwards and looks at the one person in the hospital who seems to be still against her, no matter what she does, "He's the Chief of Surgery," Cristina mutters, tucking the schedule away.
"Yes, I'm aware," Addison says, arms crossed, "what I'm not sure of though, is what you could possibly have to say to him so frequently."
"It's none of your business what I say to the Chief of Surgery."
"It is if it's about this department, about Preston."
Cristina studies the woman for a minute, remembering what Burke had said about nobody ever calling him Preston. She had suspected there was something more between the two of them but she wasn't certain of it until now. For some reason, it bothers her, "As I said before, it's none of your business. Now please get out of my office. I have work to do."
Addison stares at her coldly. She knew that the woman was bad news from the start and that ignoring Preston's requests to be civil to her were completely justified. She turns out of the office and pulls out her phone to text Preston.
She has a lot to tell him.
-
Cristina pulls open the door with a twenty dollar bill in hand, fully prepared to pay the delivery man for Chinese food and her eyes widen slightly when the guest at her door is Burke instead. She immediately crosses her arms over her chest, feeling immensely naked wearing just a tank top and a pair of sweatpants in front of her colleague, "Burke, what are you doing here?"
"What are you doing?" He retorts, "I thought we had an understanding. I thought that we were-"
"Wait, wait…what are you talking about?"
"You know exactly what I'm talking about," Burke explains, "Addison told me about Webber. Your little conversations with him. I should have-"
"Burke," she sighs, realizing that she should have known that Addison was going to go to him, "come in."
"I'd rather not."
"No, I'm serious. Come in. Let me explain this to you," Cristina says, trying to keep her voice low, "it's complicated. It's not what you think it is."
"Then what is it?" He presses.
She pulls the door open wider and stands back, "Come in and I'll answer everything you want to know."
Burke reluctantly steps into the apartment, hands jammed angrily into the pockets of his jacket. He should have known better than to trust her and tell her the truth. He had mistakenly trusted her each time she didn't go running to Webber immediately with the information that she'd found, he'd trusted her even more when she brought a patient to him.
Now he knows he was wrong.
Cristina starts to close the door but her food comes and she quickly pays the delivery boy and shoos him off. She abandons the food on the counter, reaches into her refrigerator for two beers and extends one to him, "You may need this."
Without hesitation he takes the beer from her and twists it open. He's certain that she's right, "Thank you," he says, though he doesn't feel like pleasantries are deserved right now.
"Look, I know what you're thinking. And if I were you, I'd think it too. But you're wrong. Just, don't close yourself off and don't get up and leave until I'm done, okay?" Cristina asks, "Give me a chance. I gave you one."
"I'm here, aren't I?"
"I'm half expecting you to walk out when I tell you why I was hired," she mutters, placing herself in the chair that's situated between him and the door, "there wasn't an opening. Webber made a position for me and he recruited me."
Cristina sees his jaw tense and she sighs, "Look, he wanted to me figure out what was going on in the department. Why your numbers suck so much. And he's been after me and onto me and asking me why I haven't told him anything. I keep telling him that I'm working on it, and at first I was. I'm not now though. Addison just saw him in my office and jumped to conclusions and they're not right."
"Really?" Burke asks in disbelief, "Then why are you still here? Why even bother? You have to give him an answer eventually. Even if you don't produce an answer, you know that my job is at stake. If you're not after something, then why would you bother staying?"
"Because you're-" Cristina stops and tries to gather her thoughts that are moving at a million miles an hour, "what you're doing is good. But you're doing it wrong. You work in an educational facility. You don't have to falsify medical records and operate in such a secretive manner. "
"Obviously I do when Webber has hired you to report me," he objects before taking a long drink of his beer.
"I think that I have a way to get around all of that, though."
"Not to be blunt, but why do you even care? A few weeks ago you were obsessed with numbers and statistics. Why waste the time trying to save something that you don't believe in?"
The label of her beer bottle shreds between her fingers and she averts his gaze, "You're not the only one with a dead dad, y'know," she mumbles, "my dad didn't die slowly. It was quick. Unexpected. But he was the reason that I became a doctor, to save lives. And I started out idealistic, I did. But I was good at what I did, and there were awards and recognition and perks and I lost sight of that, of him. I did it for the awards. I can't claim that I don't want the awards, because I do. But what you told me just made me think. It made me realize that I'm not always doing this for the right reasons."
Burke takes in her words, mulls on them in silence for a few moments, "So you want to make what we're doing public knowledge," he finally speaks, "how?'
Cristina looks up, thankful that he's hearing her out, "Got anywhere else that you need to be?"
His brow furrows and he shakes his head, curious as to what she's up to.
She smiles as she stands up, "Good, hold that thought. I'm going to get my computer and you can help me eat this food. We've got a long evening ahead of us."