"Jesus fuck, you're kidding me," Cristina says. "This place can't be full."
The attendant cringes, looking nervously between the two women with piercing stares at the hotel counter.
"I'm so sorry," he says miserably. "Every room is taken. Between the conference and the homecoming game–"
Erica ducks her head, glances at Cristina.
"But our reservation was supposed to be for two rooms. They were booked months ago," Cristina interrupts. "Can't you check again?"
He complies, hitting a few buttons, then gestures helplessly.
"Our mistake, I'm sure," he says, wisely not looking up to meet Cristina's furious look, "but as I said, there's just one room listed. With…one bed."
"One bed? It's not a king, is it?" Erica almost sounds bored, which is annoying because Cristina is slightly, somewhat, bordering on hysterical.
"A queen, actually."
"Well, is there a cot you can send up, or something? Two cots, so we can push them together?" Cristina demands.
"No, I'm so sorry. We–we just ran out," he says, tripping over his words. "Kids, you know, there's a lot of families and–"
Cristina holds up a hand and growls "Whatever," then swipes the hotel key cards from the counter. Erica just sighs and starts muttering about incompetence under her breath.
"Also–" he says, as they're turning away. "The couch doesn't pull out. So sorry!"
Cristina tries not to grind her teeth in the elevator. All of the cardio conference's events would be at this hotel, so it didn't make sense to even consider going to the nearest other hotel, apparently a full fifteen miles away.
But her only other option is sharing a bed with Erica Hahn for three nights–so she does consider it.
They'd need another rental car, though, and the parking around the hotel is shit. Worse, she'd have to get up earlier to get to lectures on time.
She sighs, and sees Erica looking at her in her peripheral vision.
It'll be fine. Cristina will make it work.
They're quiet while they find their room and put their stuff down. It's not all bad, Cristina thinks; at least it's a suite. In addition to the couch, the bed and the bathroom, there's a table and chairs, a desk, a wardrobe. All told, it's pretty nice.
Though Cristina can't help but notice that the bed is kind of small. She's not saying it's a double, but it doesn't look like a queen.
"I can sleep on the couch," Erica offers, as if she agrees.
"It'll be fine, don't worry," Cristina says, although she's not exactly convinced of that herself. She has a bad habit of draping herself over the nearest warm body when she's asleep–she's woken up wrapped around Meredith more times than she can count.
Mer doesn't care, but Erica might kill her if she wakes up to find Cristina's face planted in her boobs.
"Seriously, I really don't mind."
Cristina stares at her.
"Don't tell me that thing looks comfortable to you."
"Well, no," Erica hedges. "But I could put blankets down to pad it."
"Don't be ridiculous. It's fine," Cristina repeats.
God, no one at Seattle Grace can ever find out about this.
Except Meredith. She needs to text Meredith immediately.
The conference starts tomorrow and Cristina is already exhausted, but there's an informal meet-and-greet mixer at the bar, so they go down to get a drink.
In the elevator Erica says, "I'm staying for half an hour, tops," and Cristina says, "Thank god." When she goes to conferences with Teddy, she always gets wrangled into meals with people she doesn't know, which she hates. There are upsides to hanging out with someone as antisocial as she is.
The mixer isn't that bad, though. Cristina gets a margarita and finds an old friend from medical school who's doing some very interesting research on artificial valves, and she sees Erica talking to former colleagues, whiskey in hand.
After an hour, Cristina looks up from her third margarita and spots Erica standing by the wall, chatting with some guy in a suit who's crowding her a little.
She looks uncomfortable, Cristina realizes. Which isn't that unusual, in and of itself. Erica is awkward; the only time she really relaxes is when she's performing heart surgery.
Somehow, though, this seems different.
As Cristina watches, Erica takes a small step back, and bumps into a table tucked in the corner. The man takes another step, leaning into her like he can't see how rigid she's become.
He places a hand on her elbow and she immediately moves her arm away, tucking her hands protectively around her ribs. Undeterred, he places his hand on her forearm; and Cristina can see Erica flinch from across the room, but there's nowhere left for her to move.
Cristina finally recognizes the man as the head editor of the most important cardio journal, and understands why Erica isn't breaking his fingers. There aren't a lot of people her boss wouldn't threaten, but he–unfortunately–is one of them.
Suddenly, like she can feel Cristina watching, Erica's gaze snaps up to meet hers.
Her blue eyes widen just a little.
Cristina is walking over before she registers making the decision to start moving.
She arrives before she comes up with a plan. The guy doesn't notice her at first–maybe because he's entirely too focused on breathing on Erica's hair.
"Hi there," Cristina breathes in the man's ear, enjoying the way he recoils. He backs up instinctively and she strolls past him.
Following a strange impulse, she slips her arm around Erica's waist and presses a kiss to her jaw. Erica is half a foot taller, so she has to boost herself up on her toes to murmur a soft "Hey" in her ear, but it's worth it when Erica shivers.
"Hey," Erica says back, looking down at her curiously. She looks uncertain for a moment, but recovers quickly and puts an arm around Cristina's shoulders.
Cristina is weirdly happy to find that she fits into Erica's side perfectly. She curls her fingers possessively over Erica's hip, pressing herself into her warmth, and takes a moment to savor the strength she can feel in the arm wrapped around her and the hard muscles of her back.
It is possible that Cristina is a little more tipsy than she realized.
"Dr. Peterson, have you met Dr. Yang?" Erica says to the man, who's now eying Cristina speculatively.
"Baby, this is casual, remember?" Cristina says, smiling like a shark. "Hi, I'm Cristina. Nice to meet you."
Shit, I meant to say babe, not baby, Cristina thinks, determinedly not looking at Erica. She doesn't want to know what kind of side eye she's receiving.
"Cardio as well, I presume?" Peterson asks, as though they aren't all there for a conference on cardiothoracic surgery.
"Of course," Cristina says. "Learned everything I know from her, actually. Best teacher I've ever had."
She giggles like she's drunk, when really she is rather tipsy at most, and adds a wink for effect.
"Cristina," Erica hisses, but Cristina is having way more fun than she expected at this mixer. She's not about to stop now.
"I know, baby, I teach you things too. That's why we make such a good pair," she says, squeezing Erica's hip gently and narrowing her eyes at Peterson.
Fuck. Babe, not baby. C'mon, Yang.
"That's great," Peterson says uncertainly. "You, uh…do a lot of research together?"
"Always looking to break new ground," Cristina says matter-of-factly, letting her voice drop just a little bit lower. "We do love to experiment."
Peterson swallows, and breaks eye contact with her, shifting his feet. Cristina bites back a smile and chances a look at Erica's face.
Surprisingly, Erica is not glaring at her. She looks flustered, actually. Her cheeks are flushed pink, and she's biting her lip, and her eyes flicker to Cristina's only briefly before moving back to Peterson.
Cristina stares at her for a moment longer, then looks at the irritating man as well.
"That's…that's great," Peterson repeats, looking suitably intimidated. "Nice meeting you, Dr. Yang."
Cristina bares her teeth at him again, and doesn't dignify him with a response.
"A pleasure as always, Dr. Hahn," he says, and walks off hurriedly.
"Well," Erica says after a long moment. "Thanks. I think."
"Anytime," Cristina says. Reluctantly, she dislodges herself from her comfortable place tucked into Erica's side, and immediately misses her warmth. Not to mention the solidness of her body under Cristina's hand. And her scent, clean and soft, like a spring breeze.
God. Maybe I am drunk.
They stand there for another few seconds. Then Erica says, abruptly, "I think I'm done for the night."
"Yeah, me too," Cristina says, eying the currently unstaffed bar. "Meet you at the elevator, okay? Just a second."
"What are you doing now?" she hears Erica say, but she's already busy grabbing a couple of six-packs that she's sure no one will miss. Erica rolls her eyes at her when she catches up to her at the elevator, but there's a laugh playing around her mouth, so Cristina just grins and says, "Don't worry, I'll share."
In the suite, they settle into slightly embarrassed coexistence. It's weird to be sharing a room with the head of her department, but…also maybe a little bit nice? Erica irons her clothes and hangs them up carefully. Cristina reads a book and drinks her beer and tries not to watch Erica's even, steady motions, or the way she narrows her eyes when she's concentrating.
Finally Erica puts the iron down and her suitcase away, and goes into the bathroom. When she comes out, she's wearing a worn gray tee that says HOPKINS MEDICAL and flannel pajama bottoms.
Cristina uses the bathroom next, and when she emerges, the lamp on Erica's nightstand is off and Erica's eyes are closed, her face peaceful.
Cristina stands and looks at her for a moment. She can't be asleep already, she thinks. But Erica doesn't move. Not while Cristina is looking at her, and not when she slips into bed beside her, turning off her own lamp and casting the room into darkness.
Limbs to yourself, Yang, Cristina pleads with herself internally as she falls asleep. Keep your arms and legs on this side of the ride…