Hi! Finals are definitely preventing me from even trying to complete the job, but I was sick and tired of books and found myself translating the first scene of a Kierarktina fic I wrote a few months ago - help. Does this make any sense? I just woke up
Happy pride!š³ļøāšš©·One happier than what you're about to read, I hope
April 2018
"No way! What did Julian say?"
Mark can hear Cristina's voice in the background as he looks for a clean tablecloth to spread across the dining table. His girlfriend has invited a colleague over for dinner to discuss an important investigation they're working on, and Mark is trying to help as much as he can.
He's never met any of Cristina's coworkers from her new office. It's only been a few months since she started working for the Los Angeles Times, and he wants to help her make the best impression possible. He even had to ask Julian for advice (and yes, this is embarrassing) but as he carefully sets down a centerpiece and picks the glasses Cristina's mother practically forced her to bring from Home, he's admittedly pleased with the result.
She told Cristina how vital it is to have an elegant set around, to make sure guests would always feel welcomed. Neither Critina nor Mark had paid her attention at that time, but it turned out she was right.
To be honest, that woman scares him a little. And he's not entirely convinced she likes him, either. Cristina's only ex has one of those grand, old-fashioned job titles Mark can barely remember. He's devastatingly handsome, and appears incapable of doing anything remotely improper. He'a an old family friend, a real elder brother (one that wouldn't call his baby brother to ask where forks are to be set down), and, just to make things worse, he's Mexican like Cristina.
Well, not that it matters to Tina herself, but Mark suspects her mother cares about Perfect Diego more than anyone else on this planet - right afrer Cristina, of course.
And it's not like Mark thinks there's anything wrong with himself. It's just a feeling...
A deeply unpleasant one, but something he can deal with.
Mark gives a quick, confused glance at the pan, silently thanking Cristina and her amazing multitasking skills (something he'll never have). She has her phone balanced between her shoulder and ear as she keeps talking to Emma while lowering the flame on the stove and moving the pan around.
Mark walks toward the mirror they keep in the hallway, nervously studying his reflection. Truth is, he's scared he'll somehow embarrass Cristina: that he'll say something he shouldn't, speak with too much of an accent, or have his shirt buttoned incorrectly. He's scared Cristina and her colleague will start talking about something he's never heard before, and that her colleague will think she deserves more.
He probably wouldn't be too far off, would he?
"ĀæQuĆ© haces?" Cristina wraps her arms around him from behind. Feeling her forehead resting between his shoulder blades helps Mark relax a little, but he'd still love to hide under the staircase.
There are probably a lot of better and more mature ways to handle the situation, like blowing up the gas line and delaying lunch because of a giant fire.
"My hair's a messā¦" he mumbles. The robin that was about to build a nest in his hair would definitely agree.
"It's fine. I love your hair." He can feel Cristina's smile through the light linen of his shirt. Mark takes a deep breath and turns around to hug her.
"Are you ready?" he asks. Cristina nods and rises onto her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. As if on cue, the doorbell rings twice, lightly.
Oh God. Who rings a doorbell so politely?
Mark quickly kisses her back, then walks beside Cristina. As they head to the door, he focuses on literally anything else: Cristina's back covered in light cotton, the sheer tights definitely too light for the season, her dark hair falling down her back in locks she'd spent the evening perfecting.
He tries to foc us on why he's doing this.
Cristina brought peace into his life when all he knew was chaos. Within a few months they'd decided to move in together, and now, as they approached their second anniversary, Mark's existence had settled into a quiet harmony he found himself loving. Everything he has, he owes to her.
And that is why he opens the door with his best smile, setting aside all his fears to support her.
Mark watches him walk in with that alien grace he always has, pitch-black hair pinned back in a low bun, onyx eyes focusing on his host with a big smile. He hugs Cristina before letting his gaze wander around: the modest townhouse a few miles from the ocean, the garden where roses are steadily growing, the porch where Mark stands, about to throwing up.
Everyone. Absolutely everyone could have walked through that gate without testing Mark's good intentions. Cristina's stunning ex boyfriend, a dictator with his army, Mark's father fresh out the tomb, wearing a flower crown and dancing some mediterranean dance.
Everyone except him.
Mark barely reacts to Cristina's joyful smile as she walks up the porch steps to introduce him to her colleague. He fixes his eyes on the fake smile Kieran gives him as he takes Mark's hand and shakes it lightly.
Mark can feel Cristina's stare on him as he freezes, until he finally returns the handshake.
He hates the way Kieran's hand feels in his own, smooth skin that some part of him still thinks was made to belong on his own...
But Cristina is smiling again, already walking ahead of them.
When Mark glances at Kieran, he finds that he seems to have forgotten about Mark entirely. He matches Cristina's pace and compliments every detail she added to make the house feel like hers, as if he knows exactly what to say to make her happy.
Something about the vibrant colours of the rugs, the stunning fireplace they somehow managed to afford, and a few other bullshits Mark refuses to fall for.
(Haven't posted anything I wrote in a few lifetimes, this is when I disappear from earth and hide under my bed. Or under the staircase with Mark.)
