Disclaimer: I don't own Grey's. Or any of the songs. Although I really wish I did...
A/N: Alright, well... I was going to wait until I had this all written and my NCIS story was finished to post this, but with the flashback episode coming out soon I figured I may as well go ahead and post this. It has a lot to do with Callie's past, because at the moment we really don't know much about her life pre-season 2, and I know that's going to change with the next episode (which I'm really looking forward to). Anyway, I hope you like it, and please - let me know what you think, whether you like it or hate it or are somewhere in between. (:

The Scars to Prove It
Chapter 1 : Three Weeks

"Busted bones, dreams and tears
Tattoo my heart like souvenirs
Life is just a word till you go through it,
I've got the scars to prove it"
"I've Got the Scars to Prove It" - The Roadhammers

For the past three weeks, the room has remained nearly the same. The same clothes are still in a pile on the floor, the empty glass still sits on the nightstand by the bed, and the picture frame still lays face-down by the foot of the bed. Everything but the bed and the clothes in the closet has stayed completely untouched.

Work has been work. She goes in when she's supposed to and does her job, and she does it well. She's done some of her best work in the past few weeks. But that's all it's been - work. It hasn't been the same as it used to be, and all of the hospital staff - even those that don't really know her - can tell the difference. There's no music in her OR. She doesn't smile, she doesn't dance, her tone doesn't change when she asks for a scalpel, and her eyes don't light up while she sets a bone back into place. She doesn't care for the patients like she used to. She doesn't stand up for them against their family, she doesn't tell them they'll be okay, she just doesn't seem to care anymore.

Everybody's noticed. She's kept herself from falling apart by throwing herself into her work, by distancing herself from everything and everybody. She's stopped eating lunch at their usual table, she's stopped relying on her friends like she used to, she's stopped trying to call her family. Mark's seen her go to George's grave more often and Addison has told him that they've been talking more than usual, but she won't tell him what about.

She'll barely even talk to him now. As far as Mark knows, she doesn't talk to anybody about anything other than work, excluding Addison, and, if she absolutely has to at home, Cristina.

Three weeks is too long. Everybody hates seeing her like this. Everybody is tired of seeing her like this.

He flips the switch and the room lights up for what he can only guess is the first time that day. Callie throws her arm over her eyes. "Shut that off," she orders, but her voice is weak and raspy and the words come out cracked.

"No." She feels the bed dip as Mark sits down gently beside her. "Come on, Cal. It's been three weeks. Let's go out."

Callie flips onto her other side so she's facing him. "Only if there's alcohol," she compromises, knowing he won't let it go this time, and slowly sits up as he nods in agreement. She doesn't miss the worried look that flashes across his face even though it's only there for a brief second. They've all been worrying about her lately, and it makes her feel guilty. She doesn't want them to worry; they don't need to worry. She'll be fine. Eventually. She always is, isn't she? She always finds some way to bounce back. All she needs is a little bit more time, time that they need to give her.

"Joe's?" Mark suggests. Callie finds herself nodding as she grabs clothes out of her closet. She doesn't want to go to Joe's, not really, because anybody could be there and that's where this whole thing started. She doesn't want to deal with a bunch of people she knows right now, and she especially does not want to deal with her.

"Give me thirty minutes," she says, heading to the bathroom to take a quick shower.

Mark runs a hand through his hair once she has disappeared through the doorway. She hasn't been the same lately, and the whole hospital has noticed it. They want Callie Torres, bad ass ortho-surgeon back. He just wants his best friend back.

-----

They step into Joe's, and as they do, Callie takes in a deep breath. She shouldn't be this nervous. It's just Joe's, and she has been here a million times before. She forces herself not to look around the restaurant, simply because she doesn't want to know if anybody she knows is in here. Instead, she silently follows Mark to their usual seats at the bar, her eyes fixated on his back.

Joe is starting to pour their regular drinks when Callie stops him by saying, "I'll take something a little bit stronger tonight." He nods in understanding and finishes pouring Mark's normal drink then her's. He slides them both onto the bar in front of them and she doesn't miss the slightly worried glance he gives Mark, or the small shrug Mark gives him in response. Even Joe has noticed, and that makes her feel worse about what she has put them through.

"Thanks for coming tonight," Mark says after taking a sip of his alcohol, focusing on Joe walking around serving the people around them instead of his friend.

"You wouldn't have let me say no." Callie forces a smile at him, then downs whatever it is that Joe poured for her. She wasn't paying enough attention to know what it was and frankly, she doesn't even care. She winces at the burn as it slides down her throat, but she likes the feeling. She's not much of a masochist, but there's something about the few seconds of pain that she can't help but like, especially when every part of her inside feels like it's falling apart.

Joe refills her glass and Mark watches, the concern once again etched on his face. "You know, it's probably better if we don't get drunk tonight," he tries.

"I don't have to go into work tomorrow," Callie refutes, "so it'll be okay." She's fully aware at the meaning behind his little hint. She respects it. She's even a little bit grateful. But right now, all she really wants to do is get drunk and forget about all of it, if only for a night. There's so much more to it than he knows, than he understands, and she just wants one night of peaceful sleep. Who cares if it has to be induced by large amounts of alcohol?

Mark sighs in defeat. He watches her circle the rim of her glass with one finger, then pushes away his own. If she's going to be drinking as much as he expects her to - and very rarely has she had less to drink than he thought she would - than it would probably be best for him to lay off his own drink a little bit. He orders a water instead, muttering a "Thanks" as Joe silently sets it down in front of him with a nod and takes the alcohol away.

They drink in silence. Callie finds that she both appreciates it and absolutely hates it. She likes that he isn't bugging her about the drinking or about her pushing everybody away, but she hates that she has this time to think and remember. She doesn't want that. She wants to forget. That was the whole reason she even came. That, and she wants to try to convince him - no, all of them - that she's fine.

Then something catches Callie's eye and she turns around towards the door to watch out of reflex. Blond hair meets her eyes. Blond hair that she is used to seeing every day, strands of it touching red hair she has never seen before. A hand she is used to holding in her's wraps around the redhead's waist. Lips that she is used to having pressed against her's are instead being pressed lightly against the redhead's cheek. Feet she are used to seeing walk towards her are walking away.

And then they are both out the door, the redhead whispering something and Arizona grinning in the way Callie was used to seeing before they shared a long night alone together.

And then she has turned around and shoved that clear liquid down her throat before Mark could even figure out what to say to her.

"Callie," he says desperately, wanting her to put down the glass and look at him, talk to him.

She simply shakes her head, her hand still on the glass as she wants impatiently for Joe to refill it. "Not now," she says, the pain evident even through the slight slur of her words. "Maybe tomorrow. Not now." Her hand tightens around the glass as she swallows all of the liquid in it and holds it out for yet another refill.

This is where she met Arizona. This is where they had their first kiss, in that dirty bathroom, with her back inches from the sink. This is where they would come after work, sitting around a table with their friends, laughing and talking and -

She shouldn't be hurt; they've already broken up, so now, now they're both free to do whatever the hell it is they want. And besides, it's as much her fault as it is Arizona's.

She shakes her head, this time at herself. That's wrong, she tells herself. "It's all my fault," she mutters, thinking out loud more than anything, and Mark looks at her sympathetically.

The refill is down as soon as Callie realizes Joe finished pouring it moments ago. She doesn't want to explain.

Mark just sits and watches, his hand placed lightly on her shoulder. He's rubbing circles on her shoulder blade with his thumb, but it's more for his benefit than hers. He bites his lip and sighs as he silently hopes that he's not watching his best friend finally fall apart.

"It is just wishful thinking
That all this hard drinking
Might lure you back to my ramshackle stable,
There's no point in trying...
And if you know what's true
Then you know I love you."
"Hymn for the Alcohol" - Hefner