When Angels Fly Away
by greyeyedgirl
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He was laying in solitude, eyes open as he stared, not blankly, but obviously deep in thought, at the painting of a sailboat in the middle of the sea from his hospital bed.
Cristina closed her eyes at the memory, leaning farther against the door to the on-call room. She couldn't deal with it.
She was not afraid.
She was not nervous, and she did not get the feeling of nauseousness every time she thought about it, or she heard two nurses talking about it in the hallway.
She just did not! She could not.
She could not allow this to happen to herself. She could not let her mind grow hazy, as opposed to sharp. She could not—she could not—
She let out her breath in a soft whoosh of air. She was still sticky with sweat from the hot Seattle air, it was air conditioned in the hospital, but the 10 minutes she had been inside were not yet long enough to make her body completely comfortable.
She pulled at the bottom of her scrub top, wiping the sweat off her forehead, her eyes closed. Her hair seemed too long. She wanted to get it trimmed, but she knew if she did she'd regret it.
Cristina Yang didn't make big decisions easily. She didn't like the idea of not being able to back up, to rethink things, to change her mind. She didn't like the idea of getting her hair cut spontaneously and, if she didn't like it, not being able to do anything about it until it grew back out. Even if there was a chance that it would look great...To Cristina, it wasn't worth it.
She didn't like the idea of children, not just because she was horrid with them and didn't know how to talk to them or treat them and didn't like the idea of them messing up her career, but because she knew once the thing was born, there was nothing you could do about it. They were stuck with you, not just for 18 years, but forever. Cristina Yang didn't like the thought of that.
Surgery was different. It just felt right. She'd been wanting to be a surgeon for practically her whole life, or ever since her mother had brought her into Saul Rubenstein's private clinic when she was 2. Saul, in an obvious but inexperienced attempt to suck up to Cristina's mother, had let her see his tools. "As long as you don't touch, Cristina," he'd said, kindly but firmly. "They're very dangerous."
Surgery had created an excitement in her, a thrill, and she knew she'd been hooked. She'd played with everything sharp she could find, from scissors to butter knives, dissecting Judy dolls and even a dead frog outside their Beverly Hills mansion before her mother had caught her. "That's nasty, Cristina!" Helen Rubenstein had exclaimed, smacking her hand away. "Little girls should not be doing such things. Leave that dirty creature alone, I call somebody to come pick it up..."
Cristina could still see the dead flies swarming around the dead animal just a few shades darker than the bright grass, as her mother tugged her away.
"Cristina?"
It was Meredith's voice. Cristina sighed, closing her eyes. Pushing a strand of sweat-soaked curly black hair out of her face and behind her right ear, she stood, turning and reluctantly opening the door to the on-call room. Meredith stood there, a mess.
"Where were you last night?" Meredith asked in an odd voice, not sounding like herself. Her hair was bedraggled and she seemed to be leaning in a funny angle to one side.
Cristina braced herself. "Uh, I sat with Burke. And then I headed home."
"You didn't answer your phone or your pager."
Cristina held back a tired sigh. "Yeah I fell asleep."
Meredith squinted her eyes at her, but didn't question it. "Cristina...some stuff happened after the prom. And during the prom. And then after the prom."
Cristina looked at her blankly.
"Izzie?" She asked, figuring that was what she was talking about. Remembering the reality of the last time she'd laid eyes on her fair-haired friend, it was a legitimately worriable question.
Meredith looked at her, concerned. "Izzie quit," Meredith said weakly.
Cristina stared at her. "Uh what?"
"The program. She...she told the chief she cut the wire, and then she said she wasn't a surgeon. And she quit."
Cristina closed her eyes in pain, then turned, allowing Meredith to enter the on-call room as she collapsed onto the bottom bunk of a nearby bed.
"Did she come home last night?" She asked.
"Yeah. But she didn't say anything. I think George tried to talk to her, but--" Cristina could hear Meredith talking, but she managed to zone most of it out, hazy images floating carelessly through her mind.
"Are you really here to talk about Izzie?" Cristina asked, covering her head loosely with a pillow. As Meredith's best friend, she knew her well enough to know she couldn't carry a conversation, even a surgical one, without whining or mentioning something about dirty mistresses and unknown-about affairs.
Meredith paused. "I slept with Derek."
Cristina pushed harder on the pillow, hoping to suffocate herself.
Meredith's voice sounded harsh. "I don't know what to do."
Cristina whipped the pillow off her head. "Do?" She asked.
Meredith stared at her, then it transformed into a look of questioning. "Yes. Do. You know, actions." Her face reddened and her voice grew loud and even more hoarse. "In the face of becoming a real, live, actual dirty mistress and being in love and terrified!"
Cristina sat up. "Do you know how lucky you are?" She yelled. "Do you know how LUCKY you are?" She repeated, screaming, standing up so she and Meredith were facing, both of their faces ridden with anger. "You have the chance to get WHATever you want! It's yours! You and your McDreamy-" she spat, "And your McLife, it's all just so McPerfect and blah, blah, blah. You whine, and you complain, about how hard it all is, but what are you going to do when there's nothing to whine about, when you get a new damn McDog with your McDreamy or your McVET and it's all just so la-di-dah! What about the people with REAL problems Mer? What about the people who don't know, who don't know how things'll end up? What about the ones feeling real pain, who are laying in hospital beds with bullet holes, who---"
Meredith stared at her, frowning, taking a step back. Cristina closed her eyes again, her face red, trying to breathe, trying to collect herself, trying to clear her thoughts. She ducked her head, her hair falling in her face, before taking a step into the hallway from the on-call room, heading where she didn't know.
