A Love That Will Never Grow Old

Chapter four, by greyeyedgirl.

A/N: More reviewsfaster updates. :D Thanks for the ones I've gotten so far!

When Cristina was in high school, she had read a book called "Killing Mr. Griffin," by Lois Duncan. The book had told about a plan made by a few high school seniors to "kidnap," as a joke, their hated twelfth grade English teacher. Though in the book, Mr. Griffin had died due to an unknown heart condition, the kids involved had still set up a plan in order to not get caught. They'd enlisted the help of a goody-goody, Susan McConnell, who would act as the decoy to get Mr. Griffin where the others needed to be in order to gag him. Mr. Griffin never suspected Susan, one of his favorite students, to be in on it. He trusted the sweet, book-smart 16-year-old.

Cristina had stopped reading this book right after the death of Mr. Griffin. The book evoked some terrible emotions in her, and shoving her way through them wasn't worth it, in her opinion.

Nine or ten years later, Cristina stood just inside the lobby of the apartment building she lived in, her iPod hooked to the belt loop on her jeans. Damien Rice played loudly.

A storm was coming. She watched the small claps of lightning from the clear glass door, seeing the wind blow the leaves on a small patch of trees.

Her mother had made her go to a therapist afterwards, but she'd stopped soon after. The 'doctor' hadn't seen the point in them continuing. Cristina refused to talk.

One of the things, the few things, that Dr. Holloway had gotten out of her was that she remembered things funny. Sometimes, when she was sleeping, mostly, she'd remember it how it really happened. From her own point of view. Mostly, though, when the images, the terrible memories that haunted her, drifted their way into her mind, she remembered them as an Outsider, a fly on the wall, someone distant and unconnected to the surroundings around her.

She'd only been a toddler when her father had started molesting her.

Yet she could remember when it had started.

Her mother hadn't been home much. She'd be off with friends, oblivious to child crying, complete confidence existing in her stocky, handsome husband.

He'd given her a bath.

From her fly-on-the-wall perspective, Cristina heard herself giggling. Her father had let her hold the baby on her lap, and he'd been smiling at her. Then he'd done the bad thing.

Strangely, though, he hadn't laid a finger on little Ashley. His eyes had stayed locked on Cristina, right until the tears came.

Four months. For four months, he had hurt her, leaving her in chronic pain. Cristina hadn't told anyone. Her was her daddy, he loved her, she trusted him, and she didn't understand what was going on. He was her Susan McConnell.

Until That Night.

Cristina shivered, in sync with the rustling trees.

Bailey was back from maternity leave. It was strange to see her back in her light blue scrubs and white lab coat, her hand on her hips as she yelled at the interns that this was not a tea party, they were saving lives here!

"Has Burke forgave you for lying about the apartment?"

Cristina shot a Death Glare at Meredith, rushing down the hall as she attempted to clip back her hair at the same time. "Yes."

Meredith smiled. "How come?"

Cristina snickered to herself. "He is Preston. Burke."

Meredith glanced at her. "Sorry?"

"I'm sorry, did Mr. Beattie decide to heal himself?"

The two girls jumped at the sound of Bailey's voice, before hurrying into the intracranial hytosis patient's room.

It was just past midnight, and the storm was raging outside, unbeknownst to the doctors and patients within. Cristina laid by herself on a small cot in the on-call room, thinking devious thoughts about her and Burke. She slowly allowed herself to resect old memories, these ones much less malignant than the ones that had been weighing down on her previously. These ones had happy endings.

She had just took a shower after scrubbing out of Shepherd's Tucker Jones surgery. Her movements were frantic and worried as she thought of her boyfriend and her best friend stuck in a room with the bomb. She'd taken a seat on a bench in the locker room, her nails clawing delicately into her soft skin. She was the only one there.

Then the door had opened. Burke looked exhausted, there was sweat on his face and his arms looked dusty. Her head had shot up when he entered the room, and her breath had caught at the sight of him, alive. Safe.

He took a seat next to her. She watched him with glimmering eyes.

"The bomb went off."

Cristina couldn't breathe.

"Dr. Grey is being examined by Dr. Stevens. She seems to have only minor injuries. She's pretty covered in grime and blood, though."

Cristina kept her gaze locked. Burke lowered his voice. "It got the bomb squad guy."

Cristina shook, feeling her eyes fill as she leaned into Burke. He wrapped his arms around her, softly rubbing her hair. "It's all right," he whispered smoothly.

Cristina kissed his cheek. His lips caught hers, and the kiss was deep and full of passion. Neither one of them pulled away.

The door opened with a bang. Cristina and Burke sprung apart, and Cristina gasped at the sight of Meredith, being led carefully by Izzie into the locker room. "Sir," Izzie said weakly to Burke, pulling Meredith forward, "They need you downstairs, the chief has paperwork-Dr. Shepherd is waiting-"

Burke nodded, as Cristina started to stand up, moving towards Meredith. Burke put his hand on Cristina's arm, stopping her. Her put his head just a few inches from hers. "I'll see you at home."

Cristina squirmed uncomfortably. Burke leaned closer, kissing her softly, and Cristina moved forward to help Izzie and Meredith, as Preston left the room to accompany Dr. Shepherd.

Since then, there was a bond that had formed between Burke and Cristina, even stronger than what they'd felt before. They didn't need to say it out loud.They loved each other, and both of them knew it. The looks they exchanged while laying in bed held more significance, the kisses had more depth.

The door to the on-call room opened, silently. Cristina's eyes were closed.

"Hey."

Cristina sat up. "Hey."

Burke laid next to her on the cramped cot, kissing her cheek. "Wanna talk about it?"

Cristina rested her head in the small place next to his neck between his head and shoulders. "No."

He turned his head, kissing her. "Cristina."

"It was a long time ago. It doesn't matter anymore." Cristina rolled over on the cot, so she was laying on top of Burke. The tiny area suddenly seemed a lot more comfortable.

"Of course it doe-" He was broken off by her kisses. His response was soft at first, then eager. Her hands slid up his shirt, carefully feeling each dip and bulge of her boyfriend's muscles. Burke's voice drifted off, and nothing more was said about the Bad Thing or the nightmares.