Archive of Our Own

You’re not yourself on Monday.

There were two days in between Friday and Monday, and you weren’t quite yourself on those days, either, because your left wrist was itchy, and you knew what it meant. You don’t really believe in soulmates, and you haven’t found a satisfactory scientific explanation for the phenomenon yet, though it’s not like you really keep track of the studies. Again, soulmates are not your thing.

You associate soulmates with your mother, who to this day tells the same ridiculous story about your stepfather having her Hebrew name on his wrist before she even planned to convert. And she maintains that he never showed her the mark, not until after she’d settled on the name. It’s laughable. You’re positive that she picked her name to match the mark and not the other way around.

However unscientific and silly and reminiscent of your mother the whole soulmate thing is, it’s happening to you. It’s happening to you while you’re engaged, too. And the name on your wrist is not Preston Burke, which has been obvious since Saturday, even when the letters were still faint.

By Sunday, it was clear. By Sunday, your left wrist said Meredith Grey.

You’ve been covering your wrist with a bandage since it showed up, to prevent anyone (especially Burke) from seeing it, but the itch is harder to control. It doesn’t help that your patient is scratching, too. It really doesn’t help that Burke already knows that you’ve been scratching all weekend, and that he knows the name isn’t his, because why else would you be hiding it from him? At least when he suggests you shouldn’t scrub in (which isn’t really a suggestion) he has the decency to pretend it’s entirely because of your distracted scratching, and not at all a passive aggressive attempt to get you to reveal the name.

You’re prepping the patient for the surgery you’re not allowed to scrub in on when they glance at you, because you’re scratching again.

The patient’s name is Avery. The patient’s chart does not say Avery, and you’re doing your best not to repeat the name on their chart. You said it once, and they corrected you, and you’re not in the habit of making mistakes, so you find yourself silently repeating “Avery” over and over in your mind, so you don’t forget.

“Dr. Yang?”

“Avery?” you say out loud.

“Are you okay? You’re scratching again.” They look at you with mild concern.

“Oh, it’s fine, you know how it is,” you mutter to yourself, slipping a finger under the bandage on your wrist to scratch a little deeper.

“It’s better if you don’t scratch it.”

“Last time I checked, I was the doctor here,” you say, but you’re too distracted to be stern.

“I think it’s kind of stupid,” they say, and you raise your eyebrows. “Not you being a doctor,” they clarify quickly. “I mean, the soulmate thing. The idea that there’s someone out there named, uh,” they say, squinting at their wrist. “Well, I can’t even make it out yet. And the idea that there’s someone out there with- well, hopefully with Avery on their wrist, not the other name, but I don’t really know. I don’t know how it works, and I don’t really like it.”

“That makes two of us,” you say, sighing.

You’re about to leave when Avery gets your attention one last time.

“Dr. Yang?” they ask again, and you turn around in the doorway.

“Yeah?” you ask, still distracted, still kind of in a rush, though you’re not sure where you’re headed next.

“Do you know who your soulmate is?”

“Okay, really?” you say. “Listen, I’m busy, I need to-“

“I’m sick,” Avery says. “I could be dying.” They fake cough a few times for good measure.

“You aren’t dying,” you say sternly. Then, you sigh. “And yes, I know who she is.”

“I knew it,” Avery says, grinning. “I knew there was no way you were straight.”

You roll your eyes at them.

“Yeah, well, keep it to yourself,” you mutter. “I thought you said this was stupid, anyway.”

Avery makes a gesture that you think must be some kind of scout thing, indicating that they’re not planning on telling anyone else about your problem. Not that you were ever a scout. You leave their room and walk down the hallway, scratching all the way.

Of course, Marlow is still here. And of course, he has the audacity to say something when he bumps into you in the hallway and notices you scratching again.

“My name finally showed up, then?” he asks, indicating the bandage on your wrist. He’s smug, as usual.

“Not your name,” you say hastily, and then you regret it, because there’s no way he genuinely thought he was your soulmate, but now he can tell he’s hit a nerve.

“I’m willing to bet it isn’t Dr. Burke’s, either,” he adds. “Why else would you go to such great lengths to hide it?”

“Shut up,” you say, not even caring about his status or the fact that he’s in the running for chief.

“I’d even bet that it’s someone you both know,” he adds. “A stranger’s name wouldn’t cause a dispute, though with someone as insecure as he is…”

“Okay, you know what? I’m done talking to you,” you say, and you turn your back on him and start walking away.

This proves to also be a mistake, because he shouts after you.

“Good luck with the wedding,” he calls out, and you’re afraid of what he might say next, so you turn down a hallway you weren’t planning on taking.

And Meredith is there, because of course she is. You almost bump into her, and she sort of catches you by the shoulders. You haven’t been this close to her since you realized it was her name on your arm, and it surprises you how it feels to have her hands on you. The heat of her palms feels intense, like her touch is burning a hole through your scrubs and touching your bare skin directly. You feel out of breath, and she’s just smiling at you gently, like she doesn’t even notice you’re flustered.

Fuck. You thought you could just glide through this whole soulmate business with minimal difficulties, because you weren’t attracted to her. You’re attracted to her. This is not good news for you.

“You okay?” she asks. “You seem distracted.”

“I seem pissed off,” you say, correcting her. “I am pissed off.”

“Boy problems again?” She wrinkles her nose a little. It’s cute. This is becoming more of a problem by the minute. “Or I guess man problems, really.”

“No, boy is more accurate, if they’re going to act like children.” You sigh, because Meredith problems aside, you really are frustrated with the men in your life, and if they weren’t there maybe you’d be able to deal with the soulmate thing.

Though if it weren’t for Burke, and the engagement, dealing with Meredith might take a different turn.

“Need to stay over again?” she asks.

“Yeah, maybe,” you say. It’s probably stupid of you to accept her offer, but maybe you need a little break from Burke and his suspicious glances at your wrist and his reassurances that he doesn’t mind you showing him the name.

She smiles.

“It’s a date, then,” she says, and turns to leave.

You duck into a supply closet, so you can groan and put your head in your hands for a moment. It’s what you need.

Later that night, you can tell Meredith is about ready to fall asleep, and you finally say something.

“I’m not sure,” you say. “About the engagement.”

“Cold feet?” she asks, and you think about making a joke of it and pressing your toes to her calf, and asking if they feel cold to her, but it doesn’t seem like the time. Your left wrist is still itching like crazy, but you’re trying not to scratch it, because the last thing you want is her getting more suspicious than she already is, and with the two of you so close and in her bed, you know the movement would draw her attention.

The itching is getting worse, though, even without the bandage on, and so when you think she’s given up on waiting for your answer, you risk running your nails over the mark on your arm, through the fabric of your shirt. At least that way, you think, if she notices you scratching and looks over, she won’t see the name.

Her name.

Of course, she notices you scratching. You realize that she’s lying face to face with you, eyes bright, propping herself up with her elbow. You sigh.

“Your mark showed up?” she asks, casually.

“Yeah,” you say. There’s no sense hiding it now, so you dare to scratch a little harder. “About three days ago, it started coming in. It itches like hell.”

“Mm, yeah, it usually does,” she agrees. It occurs to you that she’s never told you about her own. You know she has one, though, from when she first told you about sleeping with Derek. She was worried it might be his name when the itching started, but she never told you anything more about it.

“You’ve never told me about yours,” you say, because maybe you won’t get another chance to ask.

“Well, it doesn’t say Derek, that’s for sure,” she says with a laugh.

“Yeah, well, mine doesn’t say Burke,” you blurt out, “and he knows, and he knows I don’t believe in this crap, but that’s not stopping him from asking me to show it to him, constantly.”

“Does he feel threatened by it? He really shouldn’t. People don’t always wind up with their soulmates,” Meredith says, shrugging. “It’s not a rule.”

“Yeah, well,” you say, and you stop yourself.

“What, is it someone you know? Someone you like?” She looks at you curiously.

“It’s someone I’m afraid could come between us,” you say, truthfully.

She gives you a sympathetic smile.

“You’ll figure it out,” she says, reassuringly, and then sort of snuggles against you.

You tense up. You stay tense until she falls asleep, and then you relax a little, until you’re almost holding her. It feels nice. It feels natural. It’s confusing as hell.

At lunch the next day, the topic of soulmates comes up.

“I mean, I just don’t think it’s always a romantic thing, you know? Take George,” Meredith says.

You hear a sputtering sound and realize Izzie is almost choking on her water.

“What about George?” you ask, passing Izzie a napkin.

“Well, he has a soulmate, but like, platonically,” she continues as Izzie continues to cough into her napkin. “And he’s married. And Izzie knows, right, that she’s his soulmate, and Callie knows, obviously, so it’s not the end of the world.” She smiles at Izzie. “It all worked out, right?”

“Right,” Izzie says weakly.

You kind of want to press her on the whole choking, coughing, and looking really guilty thing, but then Meredith glances at your arm again, and you think maybe you have more important things to worry about than whatever might be going on with Izzie.

“Plus,” Meredith adds, “Callie has a name on her wrist, and George doesn’t take issue with that, right?”

Izzie snorts this time.

“Yeah, Callie has a name all right,” she says, snickering. “And personally, I feel sorry for her soulmate.”

Meredith frowns at her.

“I’m not making fun of her this time,” Izzie says defensively. “It’s just- well, have you seen her mark? I’m not even convinced her soulmate is a real person. The name sounds so fake.”

The conversation continues like this for some time, but luckily for you, no one notices your bandaged wrist, which is finally healed enough to not itch, and Meredith has the good sense to not tell anyone about your new problem. When the three of you part ways, you’re almost convinced that there isn’t a problem at all.

But Meredith pulls you aside, and your heart is hammering in your chest, which is new. Or maybe it’s not new, maybe you’re just noticing it now that you know that’s she’s the one. Which is not the way you ever thought you’d refer to your soulmate, once you got one, but it makes sense to think of her like that, which is another terrifying development.

“I haven’t told anyone,” she says. “Just so you know. It’s your business.”

“Yeah, okay, I didn’t think you would,” you say quietly, glancing around to make sure no one’s listening.

“You can tell me,” she says. “I mean, you don’t have to tell me, of course, but…”

You can tell she’s a little hurt that you haven’t trusted her with this information, and now you feel guilty, but there’s no way you’re telling her right now. You frown.

“I know,” you say. “Just…trust me, there’s a reason I’m not telling you. Yet.”

“Okay,” she says, and she gives you a small smile.

“You’re still my person,” you manage to say. “Soulmates aside, that’s not changing.”

“Good,” she says, grinning at you like she has no idea what you just tried to tell her. Which is hopefully the case, because you’re so not ready for that conversation.

Today is the day, you’ve decided. The day you finally break up with Burke.

You’re in the apartment, which is good, because it means no one else is around to hear your conversation. Burke is absorbed in some book you don’t care about. Your stubborn refusal to wear the ring is coming back to bite you, because you can’t start this conversation by giving the ring back to him, which means you have to use words to get it going. Which, given your history of sometimes not talking directly to each other at all, is pretty daunting. So, you take a deep breath first.

“What’s that about?” Burke asks. He’s still focused on his reading.

“I’m breaking up with you,” you say, which is one hell of a way to start.

He looks up at you and puts his book down, marking his page with a napkin.

“Because of my soulmate,” you add, “which is ridiculous. I mean, it’s not really about her, it’s about me, but that’s what made me realize that I’m not happy here. I mean, frankly, I haven’t been happy here for a long time, but I didn’t want to admit it.”

“You’re stubborn. Or determined. You don’t like giving up,” he says, showing that he at least gets some part of you.

“Right,” you say.

“Your soulmate is a woman?” he asks, and he picks up his book again, like you didn’t just say you didn’t want to marry him or date him.

“Yeah. Aren’t you upset?”

“That your soulmate is a woman?” he asks, continuing to read. It’s infuriating.

“No, that I’m breaking our engagement, and breaking up with you, and generally making it clear that I’m not happy being with you,” you say, frustrated. “You’re barely reacting at all. Is this about winning? Is this what winning looks like to you, or something?”

“Winning, in a relationship?” He glances at you. “That’s more your thing than mine.”

“Oh, don’t lie,” you groan, frustrated with Burke, and frustrated that this breakup is turning into another one of the fights you’d have while you were dating.

Burke puts down his book.

“Okay, fine. I am upset. It’s not an unexpected development, but it is disappointing. I knew this could happen even before you got that mark, but that adds another element to it. And if we’re breaking off the engagement, and ending our relationship,” he says, “I’d like to know who we’re doing it for.”

“For me,” you say again. “And for you, because I know I’d make you miserable. I’d be a terrible wife.”

“Can I see the mark, though?” he asks, still infuriatingly calm.

You let out a long sigh. Slowly, you remove the bandage from your wrist, roll up your sleeve, and show him. He looks at the mark for a long time, taking it in.

“Ah,” he says. “Meredith Grey. Of course.”

“Of course?” you repeat.

“I had my suspicions,” he says. “I wasn’t sure, but…well, I’m not surprised.”

“Really?” you ask. “Because I am.”

“You never thought…?” He takes off his glasses and wipes his eyes. “Cristina, your relationship with Meredith has always been…intimate. Not romantic, but intimate. And I always wondered if it might take that turn, if you were ever given the chance. So, no, it doesn’t surprise me. Not at all.”

You stare at him.

“What, you’re still in shock?” He laughs, not unkindly. “You call this woman your person. Some people might call that a term of endearment.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t think she would,” you mutter.

“Does she know?” Burke asks.

“Not yet,” you say, honestly. “I don’t know if I’m going to tell her.”

“Yet you’re breaking up with me.”

“Yes,” you say. “Like I keep saying, I’m not doing it for her. I’m doing it for me. For my happiness.”

“I understand,” he says. He sighs. “We’ll talk about the apartment tomorrow.”

“Right,” you say. You realize that beyond breaking off the engagement and leaving him, you didn’t really have a plan. Except maybe talk to Meredith, which will be complicated in its own way, especially when she inevitably asks why you left him.

You’ve had enough of this soulmate garbage, all things considered.

You break the news to Meredith first, naturally, even though it puts you at risk of revealing more than you wanted about your reasoning. She listens to you recounting most of the conversation with Burke, minus the parts about her, nodding, but by the end of your story, she frowns.

“So, you’re leaving him for your soulmate?” Her frown deepens. “Even though you haven’t talked to them at all about this.”

“Not exactly,” you reply. “I’m leaving because of my soulmate, but not for them, if that makes sense. It’s really for me, and what I want, the soulmate thing was just the catalyst.”

“I see,” she says.

You sigh.

“Besides, it’s not like I know if I’m that person’s soulmate, too, right? I can’t picture my name on anyone’s wrist, anyway,” you say. “I’m pretty sure I wasn’t meant to be anyone’s soulmate.”

Meredith makes a funny face that you haven’t seen often, if at all. It’s an expression you can’t read. You frown at her, and she looks down, to where her hands are resting in her lap. She’s quiet for a while, and you have no idea what she’s thinking about, but she’s thinking hard.

“That’s not true,” she says, finally. “That’s not true at all.” And then, more quietly, she adds, “I can prove it.”

She rolls up her left sleeve slightly, holds her wrist out to you, and of course, it’s your name there, bold and striking against her pale skin.

You don’t hesitate to roll up your own sleeve, exposing your own mark, letting her see her name, too.

She breathes out audibly.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” she says quickly. “I mean, obviously it means something, about how we’re important to each other, or whatever, but I don’t need some weird, practically magical phenomenon to prove that, you know?” She smiles. It’s genuine, but nervous. “Anyway,” she continues, “soulmate doesn’t always mean romance, right? It can mean whatever we want it to mean.”

“What do you want it to mean, though?” you ask her.

She looks away from you then. She doesn’t answer you.

“Meredith, look at me,” you tell her sternly. She doesn’t listen, and you still have a grip on her wrist, so you tug on her arm slightly. She doesn’t move. You let out a frustrated sigh. “Okay, this is ridiculous. You just said it’s not a big deal, and now you can’t even look at me?”

“Derek,” she says. You roll your eyes, not that she can see.

“Yeah, okay, Derek, I get it,” you start to say. Meredith gives you a look, finally, and it’s a stern look, but her eyes are wet.

“Derek,” she says again, “as I was about to say before you cut me off- “

“Sorry,” you blurt out.

“- before you cut me off for a second time,” she adds, “anyway, Derek asked me, when I showed him my mark, if I’d shown you, which I hadn’t. And he asked me if I was planning on showing you, and I wasn’t.” Meredith’s eyes shine and go wide, like she’s trying to keep the tears from falling out of them with willpower. It’s not enough.

And it’s not usually your style, but you find yourself reaching your free hand towards her face. She shakes her head, and you pull away, strangely disappointed. Your attempt at comfort, it seems, only makes Meredith cry harder, so you hastily dig around in your pocket for tissues. Eventually you dig out a rough brown napkin from the cafeteria, which will have to do. You offer it to her, and she accepts, and you frown, because you’re still wishing she let you brush the tears away with your hand, for whatever reason.

That reason probably being that you’re in love with her.

“Like I was saying,” she says, sniffling, “he wanted to know if I was ever going to show you, and when I said no, he asked why.”

“I’m wondering the same thing,” you say. “I mean, you could’ve told me. Did you think I’d freak out or something?”

She shakes her head, and takes in a deep, shuddering breath.

“When it first showed up, I already was close to you,” she says. “I was already your person. I think I already loved you, you know, as a friend. It didn’t seem weird to me that you’d be my soulmate, but it made me feel stronger about you. So, I told Derek that I was afraid that if I told you, I’d fall in love with you for real.”

“Oh,” you say, as calmly as you can.

“And,” she says, “I was right.”

And then she cries again, harder, her whole body shaking, and this time, you put your arms around her, and she doesn’t push you away. She leans against you, into your arms, buries her face in your neck. You let her cry there for a minute, and then you gently push her face away from your neck, so you can look her in the eyes.

“You’re getting me all wet with your tears,” you say, but you smile slightly so she knows you’re not actually mad.

“You’re the one who pulled me in that close,” she says, sniffling and smiling back. “So, now what?”

“Break up with Derek?” you ask.

She glares at you.

“Seriously?” she asks.

“Seriously,” you say. “What if you break up with Derek, and- and go out with me? I mean, you just said you’re in love with me, or implied it at least. And it’s not like he didn’t know this was a possibility, right? He knew about your mark, he knew about how you felt, so…”

“You’re going to date me? Out of what, pity?” Meredith snorts.

“No, out of- out of love, Mer,” you say, and then you look away, embarrassed.

“You love me too, huh?”

“Yeah,” you say, your voice breaking. “Yeah, I think I might. I think maybe I have for a while now, I just didn’t realize it.” You grimace. “It’s cheesy, right?”

“Totally,” she agrees, but she’s grinning at you. “Extremely cliché. Can I kiss you now? I think that would be appropriately cheesy for this moment. And, you know, also really nice.”

“Yeah,” you agree. “Yeah, I think that would be nice, too.”

She leans into you, and puts her left hand on your cheek, and you can kind of see your name on her wrist before you close your eyes and feel her lips on yours. Her lips are just a little dry, but they’re soft, and she’s making little satisfied noises as you kiss her back. You don’t kiss for very long before she pulls away, and you frown at her, which makes her laugh and kiss your nose.

“You’re so grumpy,” she teases. “And cute. But maybe we shouldn’t kiss any more until I actually break up with Derek, okay?”

“You’ll do it, though? For real?” you ask, betraying a little of your anxiety.

“Yeah,” she says, nodding. “We talked about this. We knew it might happen, so…”

“It’s still going to suck for him,” you say.

“Yeah,” she says, glumly. “But I’m pretty sure he’ll find someone. He’s been scratching his arm a lot lately…”

“For real?” you ask.

“Seriously,” she answers, laughing. “I was almost relieved to see the name didn’t look like mine.”

A week later, you’ve stopped hiding your wrist at all.

You don’t put your mark on display, or anything tacky like that, but if someone notices, you don’t lie, and you don’t try to cover it up. And people do notice, from time to time. It catches Bailey’s eye one morning and she reads it quickly, then looks up at your slightly embarrassed expression.  

“Huh,” she says. “Well, what do you know. Guess I’ll have to separate you two more often now,” she adds, glancing at Meredith. “Can’t have you distracting each other.”

“Okay, well, you didn’t even see Meredith’s wrist,” you say as you follow her down the hallway.

“I don’t need to,” she replies. “Grey’s been attached to you since day one. Soulmate or not, I saw this coming. If anyone needed the push to express her feelings, it was you.”

You stand for a moment with your mouth open, partly out of shock, partly because you were going to say something in return. Meredith walks by you, smiling.

“I’d drop it if I were you,” she whispers, and squeezes your hand.

It isn’t just Bailey who notices. Word spreads quickly around the hospital, as usual, and pretty soon people are either stealing glances at your wrist or outright asking if they can get a closer look. You didn’t anticipate the popularity, but maybe you should’ve, because your mark was the catalyst for two significant hospital breakups, and everyone loves gossip. By the end of the week, you’re too tired and too busy to fight it, and maybe just a little smug about it, too. You don’t hate Derek, but you feel a little pride about winning out over him anyway. You can’t help it.

After some convincing, you even show Olivia Meredith’s name on your wrist, who gushes about it being romantic. You roll your eyes, but you smile at her after, because it is a little romantic after all, though you’re never quick to admit it.

Things with Burke are strained, but tolerable enough to continue living with him until you can find your own place. They might even be a little less strained than when you were engaged. He’s nice enough to offer to take the couch, but not so nice to decline when you suggest he keep the bed for himself. Meredith, thankfully, does not immediately suggest you move in with her. She does suggest you stay the night again, though.

And this time, it’s definitely more than a friendly invitation. You’re not at all surprised when, that night, you switch from casual conversation in her bed to making out in her bed, and you’re not surprised that the eventual, inevitable sex is good, either.

“That was really good,” Meredith says, after. She’s still a little out of breath. “You are an incredibly fast learner. But I knew that already.”

You smile at her.

“I think maybe,” she continues, “just maybe, that was really close to the best sex I’ve ever had.”

“Just close to it?” you tease. “Not the best ever?”

“If I say it was the best ever, then there’s no room for it to get better,” she explains.

She snuggles a little closer to you. It’s a little weird, being naked next to her, so casually intimate. It’s nice, though. You still don’t really believe in things like soulmates, beyond this phenomenon you’ve both experienced, that hasn’t been explained by science yet but hopefully will be someday, but in this moment it’s hard not to feel like this was meant to be.  You think maybe you should tell Meredith about this, because it’s the sort of thing she’d appreciate.

But she interrupts your thoughts.

“You don’t have to move in,” she says. “I know better than to rush you on that. But the couch can’t be that comfortable, so, if you wanted to do a trial run, or just a really extended sleepover, I’d be okay with that. Just saying.”

You look at her. She’s talking casually, but you can tell by the way her mouth twitches slightly that she’s suppressing a smile. You get the feeling that she wants you to stay with her like this every night, and honestly, you think you could get used to that.

“I’ll think about it,” you respond, closing your eyes.

You feel her settle against you. For the first time since the itching began, you feel like yourself again.