Cristina stood over her arm, that she'd placed at least a 16 inch laceration scaling through the antecubital up to the axillae, trying to weave her needle in and out of the laceration in a running whipstitch, but it wasn't coming together.
"Just this stitch..." she told herself quietly, still working at it until she heard his key slide into the door.
She glanced at the clock on the stove to see that it was nine p.m, she'd been going at the whipstitch since about three hours after he'd left and she still couldn't get it down. She couldn't get her mind or her fingers wrapped around it.
She dropped the hemostat as he walked into the door and walked across the room to make it look like she hadn't been standing there all day long.
"Cristina?" he questioned lightly, looking over to the scene of the crime, "Have you rested at all today?"
"Rule 8." she mumbled, looking away from him.
"Stipulation 10, I can ask and if you haven't I can make you." he reminded her.
"There is no such thing as stipulation 10, and you know it." she muttered under her breath, coming back to the counter to pick up her work again.
"What stitch are you working on?" he asked her, peering over her shoulder.
"You're still talking." she replied quietly, trying not to make it sound like she was angry at him.
"I am still talking, because you haven't rested, and I'm allowed to do that. What suture, Cristina?"
"The reverse." she mumbled, lying to him, hoping that her whipstitch was bad enough that he couldn't tell the difference.
He let out a long exhale, knowing that she was working on the running whipstitch and nodded, "It looks good."
It looked like the work of a 5 year old with a needle, but he wasn't going to take away what she was doing, and he wasn't going to interrupt her any longer. "I'm exhausted, and it's been a very long day, so I am going to go to bed." he pressed a kiss to her forehead, "I hope that you'll come to bed soon as well."
She nodded quietly, and continued to work as he flipped on the bedroom light and gently closed the door to the bedroom, giving her privacy to continue working. She dropped the tools to the counter and slid down to the floor, resting her head in her knees.
She needed help. He'd taught her before, showed her how to do it just at home one night, while he was recovering from his gunshot. The way he'd slid around behind her, and grasped her hands, guiding them as he sutured the chicken back together through her was uniquely romantic in a way that two normal people would never understand.
Cristina squeezed her eyes shut, trying to remember the steps in her head, but when he was with her, everything seemed to glide into place perfectly as it was meant to be there all along.
She heard him stir a little in the room and jumped back to her feet, glancing down at the text next to her and then back to the arm.
One more stitch and she could go to the chief. She could tell him that she wanted to come back, that she needed to prove herself.
That she could make it as a second year resident.
She could make it.
She picked up her needle again and continued to work at it, pulling and puncturing the flesh of the mannequin, pulling it together, removing stitches, pulling it back apart, "It has to come back to me. The rest of them did." she muttered to herself, setting down for a moment to study the pictures.
The text made it look so simple to her. Just a simple in and out pattern, with an alternating x and purse string finish to prevent separation or deproximation of the wound, most commonly used on hearts to fix thick lacerations and attach vessels to the graft site.
The words were so simple. The idea of it was easy.
But why were the motions so hard.
She looked to their bedroom door, pondering asking him for help. Giving into a moment of weakness and asking him to once again guide her hands, show her the movements.
But she quickly changed her mind, citing that if she needed him to show her how to do it a second time, that would be average, unacceptable.
Cristina Yang always caught on the first time around.
She pulled at the proline, delicately straightening it between two fingers before threading her needle into the arm, and pulling it out gently, weaving it around, trying her best to remember method as she disappeared into her own mind.
Burke watched quietly from the doorway as she continued to work on the suture that he'd taught her, and she continued to become more and more frustrated.
She was the only intern at Seattle Grace to do a running whipstitch, and she would be the only second year resident to know the running whipstitch if she could just get it down again.
He waited patiently, knowing that she wouldn't ask for his assistance, but knowing if he just waited a little bit longer, maybe she would accept it.
He pressed the door closed again, quietly, sadly, and fell into their cold empty bed.
He would give her time to figure it out on her own.
A/N: That's all for tonight. I'm going out. :)