5

And they all went home.

Sitting on the empty metallic chair, Cristina wondered if Burke had arrived safely. She knew he was flying first class and the Chief had sent a nurse to accompany him, but that did not stop the cramps in her stomach. Why didn't Burke let her know? She could have taken a week off and gone to Birmingham with him. Was it really that obvious that she was not a nurse material?

It was barely midnight. How long did she have to wait till she could see the sun again? Scanning around the apartment in solitude, Cristina suddenly realized that she had become comfortable with the idea of having a home to return to each day. The thought of calling Burke's apartment her home enchanted her. It was a strange attachment she had never experienced, neither towards her million-dollar Beverley Hills mansion, nor the dumping ground her mother decorated near Capitol Hill.

She examined the apartment bit by bit, beginning with the pink orchid by the entrance and the two framed pictures above it. She let her fingers float freely on top of the back of each metallic chair around the table, tracing the memory of her first breakfast with Burke.

George was right. Cristina never asked. She did not know why the first drawer of the dresser was missing a handle. She did not know why Burke arranged his books in the Dewey decimal system. She did not know who it was in the photos by the bed lamp.

She did, however, know why his side of the mattress was not as firm—not because he was much heavier, but because they always ended up on that side, together.

People claimed that after you had been with someone for some time, you would begin hating each other by getting tired of his habits and mannerisms. It did not happen to Cristina.

She enjoyed knowing exactly which set of plates Burke would use for pancake and which ones for steak; which of his frowns could be soothed by a simple kiss and which ones were pure expression of mischief. Cristina never told anyone openly about these insignificant things, because in all honesty, she did not know why they made her smile.

As much as she craved challenges, there was something about the regularity in their relationship that kept Cristina warm and safe. If only someone had warned her life was as unpredictable as Seattle's weather. For the first time, Cristina questioned why things could not stay the same forever.

Before getting the answer she desired, Cristina had crossed the border to the land of dreamless sleep again.

Burke convinced himself it must be a dream when he walked into his apartment, although he was not exactly sure if it would be more appropriately called a nightmare.

The orchid was drooping like an ailing maiden, its leaves turning yellow and rotten. His living room couch was gone. When he opened the kitchen cabinet, he could not find his favorite red coffee mug and at least half of his plates went missing. His bedroom seemed alright—that was before he saw his shrunken curtains and the clothes in his closet, more wrinkled than his grandmother's skin. He quickly counted in his head to make sure he had only been gone for 12 days.

"Hey, you're back." Cristina gathered her energy and put forth a relaxed smile, although the shopping bags that filled up to her cheeks could not quite conceal the dark circles etched beneath her eyes.

"I miss the cool Seattle breeze."

"Oh." Cristina managed to flash another smile as she scattered her bags on the kitchen counter. "Really?"

"Cristina, what happened to my apartment?"

It was unnerving to Cristina that Burke was calling it his apartment, not their apartment anymore. "I was trying to tidy up the place while you were gone."

"Which involves hiding my coffee mug and plates?" Burke inquired in a manner that indicated neither anger nor humor.

"I broke a few plates and your cup when I washed them. You know, they get slippery." Cristina had her eyes fixated on the kitchen tile.

"What about the orchid?"

"I didn't know I'm not supposed to water it everyday."

"Where's my couch?"

"Mer told me I could use Windex, but I didn't know there are different kinds. Anyway, it was a mess." She rolled her eyes as if that would help convince him. "The harder I tried to clean the couch the bigger the stain became. We might as well get a new one."

"How about the curtains?"

"I only learned that they're dry-clean only after throwing them into the machine."

"And my clothes?"

"There must be something wrong with your iron. The longer I iron your shirts the worse they seem."

With each additional question, Cristina knew Burke was getting less satisfied with her replies. "I'm sorry, Burke."

"Never mind."

Not knowing what to say, Cristina attempted to change the subject, as she always did. "Have you eaten yet? We could order take-out."

"I'm not hungry." Burke's voice sent Cristina another step down the spiral of alienation.

For two people who had been with each other at least 10 hours a day in the past 6 months, not talking to each other for 12 days was a big deal. Both of them reckoned how hard it was to reconnect, especially since their prior communication style had never been something they took pride in.

"Cristina, we need to talk."

"I thought we're talking." Her unassuming smile did not neutralize the defensiveness that precipitated her voice.

"It might be better if you move out."

"What?" Cristina could not tell if he was kidding. "You're kicking me out because I broke a plate or two?"

"Listen, Cristina," Burke never imagined it would be harder to ask her to move out than to move in.

"I am listening. You can't punish me for no reason."

"I'm not punishing anybody. That's why it's better for you to move out. It isn't fun to live with a handicapped man. It isn't easy. I know you don't want to play nurse."

"Is that how you think of me? That all I want from our relationship is some fun? That it's been easy being girlfriend to Doctor Preston Burke, Head of Cardiothoracic Surgery?"

Had it been someone else, Burke might have caught the feeling of hurt in her voice. But it was Cristina, and Burke naturally assumed she was only being argumentative.

"Burke, you think you're the only person who's trying hard? You think you're making any sense?" Cristina caught her breath after hurling all her energy into her words. "If you want me to move out, fine, but stop giving me this crap about being handicapped. You didn't lose your arm for God's sake; you know the tremor is only temporary." Cristina finished her sentence with a stubborn stare.

"What if it's not? What if I am never the same Preston Burke again?" His anger made his hand tremble. Anger was easier to manifest itself than pain, but harder to tackle. Burke knocked his fist on the table with a loud thud, causing a wicked sensation of pain to spill to his wound and his whole body jerked.

Self-pity was something Cristina detested. But when she noticed the agony on Burke's face, instinctively her feet brought her closer to him. The only thing that stopped her from stroking his back to comfort him, ironically, was Burke himself. The moment Cristina touched him, he flinched.

It boggled Cristina's mind to realize that a man who was so full of loving care, someone who rocked her to sleep after she lost her baby, would be pushing her care away time after time when he was supposed to need it the most.

"Fine. I'll move out tomorrow."