Cristina:

It's just coffee.

Yeah, right.

Cristina Yang had been cynical for most of her life. She was conditioned that way. Cynical about love, about the clichés of the commitment to marriage and family – your Dad leaving you at two years old can do that to you. She watched her mother morph into a Stepford wife, and stake her worth on her husband.

"I'm Mrs. Saul Rubenstein, wife of the oral surgeon?" Everyone needed to know exactly who he was.

Her stepfather was always polite to her, she guessed, because he loved her mother, and she was part of the package. But he never tried to get to know her. She needn't take that personally; he didn't really know his own daughter.

Her stepsister was even more painful than her mother. Claudia was two years older than Cristina, and spent most of her high school career giving blowjobs to quarterbacks. "My Dad's like, a famous doctor, and I'm head cheerleader!"

That was her source of pride.

So, Cristina was cynical about the worth of family. What were they to her? Her examples of what she didn't want to become, about what it meant to be abandoned. They were a good means to an end – her stepfather's money bought her fantastic escapism as a child, and the best education as an adult. She didn't like him so much, but she liked the insight she got from him into the surgical world.

She appreciated that her mother had been broken by her father – but did she have to put herself back together in such a meaningless way? Appearances were everything.

Yeah, right.

So Cristina learnt to survive on her own. This meant she had trouble making friends at school and college. She was witty and smart enough to attract acquaintances – but real friends? What was the point of them? Only as she got older, and she was introduced to the curveballs thrown by adulthood did she begin to understand the role of friends, for support and distraction. But her walls were high and thick by then – people needed to be pretty determined to be her friend to grab the ladder and climb it, to see what was behind the walls.

And boyfriends, with actual commitment involved? Forget it. She'd never said 'I love you.' She'd never had an occasion to. Sex, she could do. There were a few flings at college. She had her most serious boyfriend, Jeremy, at med school. He was studying to be a pediatrician. She didn't think she was the type of girl to attract a pediatrician, but there he was. He stayed with her for a year, and they had fun. The sex was awesome. She opened up to him more than she thought she could. But it wasn't enough for him.

"I'm in love with you, and you sure do like me a lot," he'd told her one night, in the rain. She rolled her eyes. What a cliché.

He'd told her she'd had a heart of stone. Cristina took this as a compliment. She hated that it hurt when he left her. Is this what it was like for her mother, when her father left? Cristina's defenses were up in full force after that, and harder than ever to penetrate.

She was skeptical and cynical by nature and nurture. And when an attending like buying her coffee, and sending her smoldering glances, it wasn't just coffee.

She could admit they were smoldering at this point, and something that tugged at her insides. She was guarded, but she was still a woman. When a surgeon as skilled as Burke, with gifted hands, and more than a shred of compassion – he'd sought her out after Liz died hadn't he? – paid her attention, she noticed.

Plus, he was hot.

Still, she was head before heart. So she tried to rationalize what she thought it meant. It pissed her off not to have the answers.

Cristina's thought processes were annoyingly interrupted that day, by a party. Not just a party. The party. That's what Izzie was turning it into, a meet the boyfriend greet-turned invite every damned staff member in the hospital. "Why don't we start inviting patients?" she'd asked scathingly.

"I've got a bowel obstruction patient that wants to come," she'd replied with a grin.

"I doubt Meredith would want him in the house," George added annoyingly, and Cristina rolled her eyes.

Meredith had a crappy day – she had a possible lawsuit after admitting in front of a patient's husband she may have nicked his heart. She had a meeting with the Chief the next day.

Bailey set Cristina to do some detective work, when a towel – of all things – was discovered in a patient's body cavity.

She scoured the files room, trying to push Burke's face out of her mind. What half-witted, Jerry Springer-esque surgeon had left a towel inside that patient five years earlier? If Alex had been at Seattle Grace then, she would have bet a lot of money on him. Finally, she discovered the 'D' box. Pulling open the folder, her eyes widened when she saw the name printed next to 'surgical fellow':

Preston Burke, M.D

Oh, hell. This couldn't be good.

She was preoccupied all day, and half the night by it. As she scoured the place for good food at the ridiculously oversized party at Meredith's, she reviewed the days events in her head. She'd shown the file to Bailey, who asked her to keep quiet until it was sorted out. She'd seen Burke at one point, and watched him closely. He didn't seem bothered; so he couldn't know yet. He spied Bailey tell Burke, and watched her reluctantly hand him the file. Was Burke trying to sweep it under the rug? She'd expected more from him. Not just in a surgical sense, but as a matter of conviction.

So when she spotted Bailey that night – even residents had to unwind, she supposed – she approached her. "So, about that towel thing?"

"We're not going to talk about it," Bailey replied firmly, and wouldn't be swayed, despite Cristina's objections. She moved onto a more pressing topic. "Have you got any bourbon?"

As Bailey walked off, Cristina was worried. She hoped Burke was honourable enough to come forward. He had to be.

"God!" she exclaimed, grabbing a bottle of vodka. She worked hundred hour weeks. She was out of the hospital, at a party, and she was hot. She needed to shake this off. She downed a huge mouthful, and leapt up on the coffee table. It was time for some dancing.

"Baby, you made it!" she exclaimed when she saw Meredith walk in. The two girls and Bambi had some fun drunken revelry that night: dirty dancing on George like teenagers, and whipping his ass at strip poker. Honestly, Cristina recognized, the two were amateurs.

Cristina had no desire to know what time it was when she stumbled into a cab. She was stopped by someone on the way. "Want to share?" a voice slurred.

She looked up, and found a vaguely familiar face glancing down at her. She had a vague memory of Izzie rating him as an 8 out of 10, when he passed them in the hospital halls. Not a bad offer. But…

"Do you work in peds?"

"Yeah, I'm Alistair Sinclair."

He was a pediatric resident. No way was she going down that road again. "I don't think so."

At her apartment, she kicked a path to her bed, and collapsed onto it still in her clothes. When her alarm went off a couple of hours later, she groaned loudly. She almost burned herself to death under a hot shower, and finally opened her eyes long enough to have her ultimate hangover food: reheated pizza. She had shoved two slices in her mouth, grabbed a thermos of coffee, and dashed out the door.

The caffeine was finally beginning to kick in when she hovered with the others outside the Chief's office midmorning, wondering what would happen to Meredith. Cristina disdainfully commented that Meredith would get kicked out on her ass, and Burke would get off. Oh, she would be pissed. If Meredith was punished for something that wasn't her fault, and he got off scot-free for leaving a towel inside a patient.

Cristina looked up as Meredith strolled out. McDreamy quickly checked on her – obviously wanting to know if his booty call would still be around – and then she approached them. Cristina wasn't sure what she expected Meredith to say, but she was surprised when the first thing out of her mouth was, "Burke saved my ass in there."

"What happened?" George asked.

"I got one month's probation. The hospital lawyer was grilling me, but Burke totally defended me. Apparently he was the one that left the towel in Mrs. Graves yesterday."

"Seriously?" asked Izzie.

Meredith nodded. "He went on about how doctors should be able to speak up about their mistakes, without it ending their careers. The Chief talked down the lawyer, so we're all good."

Bailey hurried them off to work at that point, but took Cristina aside. "He was always going to tell, he was just waiting for the right time. Information is power." She gave Cristina a look, then strode after her interns.

So, he'd spoken up. He hadn't just been honest, he'd saved Meredith's career. She gazed at him for a long moment, and he met her eyes. God, it was a strong look. She quickly ran away.

He was on her mind all day, but out of sight, in the O.R. She felt the need to say something to him. He'd bought her the coffee, she had a feeling it was her move in this cryptic game of theirs. Should she thank him for what he did for Meredith? That didn't seem right. Maybe, she could thank him for the coffee. Yes, that would do.

Lame exclaimed an inner voice that she told to shut up.

But she still hadn't seen him by the time they were all packing up for the day. "It's clean up time!" Izzie announced, determined to make it up to Meredith, who smiled grudgingly. "It sure is. You coming?" she asked Cristina.

"I've got a couple of things to finish here, then I'll be there."

Meredith nodded. Still in her scrubs, Cristina hurried to the on-call rooms, where she expected to find Burke. She hoped he was still awake.

What she hadn't expected was to find him standing semi-naked. How did a man who lived in the hospital get time to look that like that? He glanced up, silent, his eyes full of feeling. She hurriedly closed the door. And then she did something without the permission of her brain, something distinctively un-Cristina.

She locked the door. He lowered his head when she did this. The air was thick.

Say something! Her mind screamed.

"Thanks for the coffee," she let out, and he looked up at her. She held her breath.

The next thing she was aware of were his hands. Such large hands, covering half her face as he held her head and kissed her hungrily. Their first kiss was long and deep, and the second even deeper. This was no gentle, tentative first kiss. This was hot, probing, exploring. His tongue delved into her mouth, and her body was crushed against his. She half held, half-clung to him as she readily returned his kisses, struggling to stay standing, her body slowly melting. His fingers swiftly untied her scrub pants, and she kicked them off. His hands quickly moved under her scrub top, his fingers leaving a trail of fire. They fell back on the bunk, his body flat on hers.

She'd never experienced anything like being with Burke. It was more than the fact that he was obviously experienced, and knew what a woman wanted – he was passionate, sometimes even to the point of desperation. Preston Burke did nothing halfway – not surgery, or sex, apparently.

Cristina rarely loss control but, she cried out – too loudly, given that the hospital was alive with activity on the other side of the door.

It took a while to get their breath back, and to cool off. They lay in silence for a long time afterwards. Cristina didn't usually do this after one night stands. Burke was stroking her hair. Beyond the passion, she guessed he was a tender man. She shifted slightly to look at his face, and he opened her eyes to meet hers. There was something in those chocolate depths, beyond just sexual desire. Perhaps too much feeling. Cristina's brain kicked back in.

"I have to be somewhere."

"Okay," he said quietly. He averted his eyes as she fished for her clothes, sensing the change in her. Pulling her scrub top back on last, she finally looked at him. He was semi-dressed by this stage also. She swallowed. What was she supposed to say?

"I guess you should get some sleep."

"Yeah, I guess so."

"But…thanks."

He smiled lazily. "Right back at you."