Day Four

"I really wish he would've prescribed another antibiotic." Cristina mumbled nervously, her hair strewn about his chest as she lay against him, waiting for the patient transport to come and take him to surgery. "It has too many adverse reactions."

"Are you an attending Cristina?" he teased, sensing her tension, trying to lighten her mood.

"I will be. One day. And nobody will remember your name ever again." She threatened, looking up to him with a heavy heart.

"I look forward to that day, Dr. Yang, though it will be many, many, many years in coming." He scoffed, emphasizing her professional title.

There was a knock on the door and George stood in the doorway, "It's time, Dr. Burke." He mumbled low, looking to Cristina as he advanced to the bed.

"I'm coming in." Cristina pulled herself from the bed, a sudden and unexpected rush of emotions coming over her as George pressed on the brake.

"No, you're not. We discussed this last night, Cristina." Burke grabbed her hand, and pulled her down, "You're not coming in there."

George opened his mouth for a moment, then closed it again, remembering very vividly the threat that Dr. Shepherd had uttered to him if he spoke of the wake-up test anywhere outside of the OR.

"Burke, I can do this..." She mumbled, her heart aching in her chest, "I can do this."

"It's a short surgery, Cristina. Only a couple of hours. No time at all." He reassured her, "Go find Meredith like I told you to, go get some coffee."

She felt as if she were gasping for air and nodded, unable to respond.

"Cristina?"

She leaned over the bed and into him, "Yeah, baby?"

"I love you." His voice was a near whisper, and he looked longingly to her, wanting to hear the words.

But Cristina knew that she didn't have the strength to say them in that moment. She couldn't bring the syllables to her lips, so instead she pressed hers against his, uncaring if George was there.

She'd always be able to tell him later.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"Vital signs are holding stable." George reported to Derek as he finished removing the last of the scar tissue, his movements steady and deliberate.

"That's the last of it, now we have to see if he's free from these damning tremors." Derek sighed through his surgical mask, nodding to the anesthesiologist.

They slowly weaned down the Brevital drip and waited for a few moments, idly chattering over Burke's still unconscious form, until they saw the spike in is his vital sign indicating that his central nervous system was no longer under the effects of the depressing agent.

George leaned over, "Hey, Burke...Burke."

He stirred slightly, but still wouldn't come around, "He's as stubborn drugged as he is when he's awake." Shepherd joked.

After several more unsuccessful attempts, George smiled inwardly, knowing exactly how to get Burke's motor running. "Hey Burke, remember that time...that I lived with you, and Cristina came out of the bedroom naked."

Burke's eyes opened wide and he caught George's eye for only a moment as he began to thrash on the table violently, and George grabbed his face.

Burke struggled against the tube, biting down on it, his eyes rolling back in his head as he tried to force himself to focus on something, focus on the wall, the ceiling, anything in the room.

His eyes finally came to focus on a solitary figure in the gallery, long black curls covering a reddened face and he began to relax, thankful that she was stubborn, that she wouldn't listen.

Thankful, that this time she was there.

"We're going to compress the muscle now." Derek leaned over him as he slowed, "Then you can go back under."

Burke tried to swallow against the tube as he felt as shooting pain from his shoulder to his chest, and he groaned in pain.

"His vitals are all over the place!" George exclaimed as Burke began to move more under his grasps.

Shepherd looked up to the monitor, "Shit, he's in v-tach...push 1 of atropine, try to slow the rhythm down."

Cristina looked on horrified, the numbers on the screen at first lurching upward at a rapid rate, and slowly working their way down on the monitor. She laid her hand on the glass, watching them work quickly and methodically, pushing meds on him to bring his heart rate back up and she turned away, sliding down the glass to the floor, her knees drawn to her chest as she heard the commands being shouted from Derek in rapid and angry fashion.

Pain continued to shoot from Burke's chest towards his shoulder as he felt the burn of meds flushing their way through his system, his heart pounding in his ear and he fought with his own body, trying to look up to the gallery again, trying to find her, trying to get a glimpse of her, and all he could see was the top of her head, those wild black tresses he loved so much.

And everything around him faded to black.

"We have no rhythm!" Cristina heard the words in her ear through the speaker of the gallery, and squeezed her eyes closed, it was a bad dream.

It couldn't happen like this. It wouldn't end like this.

They had more time.

The scuffle of a code blue situation played itself out in her ear, and she drew her hands up to the side of her head, trying to muffle the noises of them placing the paddles to his chest and the rhythmic tick of the watch that he'd purchased for her on a whim soothed her.

The tick was dramatically slower than her respirations, the rate of her heart beating, slower than the thoughts racing through her head, but it gave her a focal point.

The sound of time, running out, running away was the only thing keeping her detached from the cruel reality going on right behind her.

She laid on the floor of the gallery, her body wrenching in pain from the work it took for her to refuse the tears building up in her eyes to fall as she heard the words.

"Time of death, 7:45."