Bullet Holes and the Prom

By greyeyedgirl

Summary: Cristina Yang's POV Post Grey's Anatomy season 2 finale. Drabble, but worth-reading drabble. Written for the Cristina and Burke forum (More Than Coffee)'s ficathon.

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The dress slipped over her head as she stood in front of the mirror in the Seattle Grace Hospital locker room. She shook her hair out from underneath the straps, watching the wild curls bounce.

None of this mattered.

She leaned closer to the mirror, rubbing the foundation over her skin, putting on the mask, and as she cloaked her face, she tried to also cloak her mind, like pulling a curtain over her thoughts, so no one would be able to see them.

Oh, oh, god, what was she doing?

Mascara, to highlight her already-long lashes. Her brown eyes now popped, the wide set chocolate-colored orbs now rimmed and glowing. She rubbed the bronzer over her cheeks, closing her eyes momentarily.

She examined her reflection. It was missing something.

She took the lipstick off the counter, closing her eyes for another second before leaning closer to the mirror, her warm breath leaving a spot of condensation on the glass.

Slide the lipstick down the bottom lip, all the way across. Pout. Pucker.

Done.

She pulled her hair back loosely, slipping the hair-tie off her wrist, not even glancing at herself one last time before stepping away.

None of this mattered

He would never see her all dressed up in this. She was about to relive one of the stupidest nights of her high-school career, pushing away random memories of Debutante balls and carrying her trumpet while wearing her band uniform at the football games.

Would he see her all dressed up like this?

She could stop by his room. She should stop by his room.

She most honestly and definitely was not going to his room.

Cristina Yang didn't do pain. She didn't do love.

Cristina stood on the sidelines at the 'Prom,' watching the happy and not-so-happy couples dance, arms wrapped around each other, cheek-to-cheek with eyes closed as they moved slowly to the music.

How could so, so many people be so happy? Or, at least, content? Not dying? Didn't they understand what was happening?

Cristina shook her head quickly. She could, could not do this. She was going to be there for Burke eventually, but she could not deal with it right now. She could not.

He needed to see her in this dress.

She needed to see him.

She needed to touch him.

She needed him to know that she was not leaving him, she was not abandoning him, she was not, she was not...

Cristina closed her eyes, leaving the room full of high schoolers and surgeons, band geeks and scrub nurses, and ran, it felt like she was running, but she kept her head up, her legs controlled, her back straight.

She was going to lose it, but she was not going to lose it in front of all these people. She was not.

She leaned against the closed door of the on-call room, chest shaking, lungs burning. Memories spilled in and around throughout her mind, memories of high school, memories of college, med school, memories of Seattle and Burke and of learning how to do her first Echo.

She wiped the tears from her face, silently thankful that her make-up was water-proof. He could not, could not see her like this.

"I knew one day she would snap. I always say that happen."

"I WILL KILL HER!"

"Shhh. Shhh."

Preston's lips against her head, Preston's strong arms around her shoulders.

Preston's arms wrapping around her and picking her up and kissing her in this very on-call room...Watching him dance, laughing, getting a rose from him on Valentine's Day, watching him lighting the Menorah for her on Hanukkah, calling her mother on her birthday and sucking up just like any good boyfriend would.

He was there for her. Always.

She had collapsed in his OR, and for the first time she truly understood how scared he must have been, how worried, how shocked, how sorry.

It seemed like every time a big problem arose with them, tragedy struck and bonded them back together. Almost like it was their own problems that always give hints to the end of them, but fate always stopped it, always made sure that they were in the right place at the right time, that they felt the same love, that they cried the same tears.

Cristina did not even realize that she had left the on-call room until she had reached the outside of Burke's hospital room. She did not allow herself to spend several seconds staring through the window, she could not succumb like that. She had to be strong. Yes, Burke could take care of himself. But he could not deny that he loved her, one bullet had nothing to do to change that. And if he could not handle loving her right then, she would love enough for both of them.

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