Cristina Yang had the territorial instincts of a shark and the investigative persistence of a bloodhound. Christopher was leaning against a nursing station, his eyes flicking over a text from Jack—"8 PM it is. I'll bring the scotch, you bring the cynicism"—when a shadow fell over his shoulder.
"You're smiling," Cristina stated. It wasn't a compliment; it was an accusation. "The boy wonder doesn't smile. He scowls, he belittles interns, and he performs miracle surgeries. Smiling is a sign of distraction."
Christopher didn't startle. He slowly tucked his phone into his lab coat pocket and turned to face her, his expression instantly resetting to its default setting: bored brilliance. "And hovering is a sign of insecurity, Dr. Yang. Do you have a patient who needs my superior intellect, or are you just here to study my facial muscles for your next anatomy quiz?"
Cristina narrowed her eyes, stepping closer. "That wasn't a medical page. The vibration pattern was wrong. You have a life? Outside of these four walls? I find that statistically improbable for someone who spent their puberty in a med school library."
"Unlike you, Cristina, I don't require a hospital gown to feel a sense of identity," Christopher drawled, his sarcasm sharpening to a lethal edge. "Some of us are capable of multitasking. I can save a life and maintain a social life simultaneously. It's called being gifted. You should try it, though I suspect the 'social' part might be a struggle for someone with your... prickly charm."
Cristina bristled. "I'm not prickly. I'm focused."
"You're transparent," Christopher countered, stepping around her. "You want to know who I'm talking to because you think it's a weakness you can exploit. It's not. Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe Dr. Burke is looking for someone to prep his bypass patients. Try not to scare them with your lack of bedside manner."
He walked away before she could retort, feeling the heat of her glare on the back of his neck. He knew exactly what she was thinking—that he was hiding something. And he was. He was hiding the fact that he knew her entire future with Burke, the wedding that wouldn't happen, and the Harper Avery she'd eventually chase across the ocean.
Once he was safely tucked into the privacy of an empty on-call room, he pulled out his phone. The clinical coldness of the hospital felt a million miles away as he looked at Jack's name on the screen.
He typed back: "8:30. The cynicism is built-in. And make it a double. I've spent the day being interrogated by a human surgical robot."
He hit send, a genuine, private smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Outside the door, the code blue alarms began to wail in the distance. The plot was moving forward, relentless and cruel. But for a few hours tonight, Christopher was going to step off the stage and see if he could find a version of himself that wasn't written in the stars.