Summary: A/U, somewhat future-fic/my own timeline. Callie is speaking at a major medical conference in Miami, after moving back there after Mark's death. Arizona went to Africa years ago, but didn't come back. Will things change for Callie at the conference? Chapter 1 is a test chapter to see if there's any interest.
Rating: A VERY strong MA/NC-17 for sexual situations and some strong language. Don't like lady lovin'? Prolly best to not read this and just move on!
Disclaimer: All I own is a 14 year old van; I don't own any of these characters except the ones I introduce. All Grey's Anatomy characters, quotes and material is not mine, it belongs to ABC, Shonda and many, many other rich folks. Any and all song lyrics written or implied don't belong to me, only the folks who wrote them. Anything that sounds remotely familiar from a TV show, movie, song or book belongs to those folks as well. I'm only scratching the mental itch of this story bouncing around in my head, not making a profit from it. I love music, and frequently songs will pop up. I didn't write any of them.
A/N 1: This is my first ever fic that's more than a quickie. Beta'd by the amazing CalzonAlways (Chapter 1 not beta'd at all), but all mistakes are mine only. Any and all constructive criticism is welcomed, but if you're just going to hate on it, go away! This story has been in my head for a long time, and it needs to come out, before it drives me any more insane than I already am! Rated M for sexual situations and some strong language. Hope y'all enjoy!
A/N 2: I am going by my own timeline. If the dates/ages/years don't add up, don't sweat it.
A/N 3: I have NO idea what conditions are like in Africa or Afghanistan or anywhere else, except the midwest. I'm way too familiar with it. *sigh* So, I'm making it up to fit MY story. Again, don't sweat it. This is MY story, and therefore I can make it however I want it to be! See how that works? Literary license is AWESOME! Lol!
Beautiful
Chapter 1
Callie Torres sat back against the cool tile of the bathroom wall, wishing to be anywhere but where she was right now. She was NOT a public speaker! Her nerves were shot and she hadn't properly slept in days, maybe even weeks. How in the hell did she get talked into this? Chief Richard Webber and his "Big plans". That's how. God, she hated the man for getting her in this position. And she was nervous. So freaking nervous! But, it secured funding for her research lab, so she had to do it. And if she were being honest with herself, she missed Arizona right now, too: remembering how she had ever so gently wiped the puke out of her long, black hair, brushing it gently. So long ago, before a similar, albeit, much smaller, speaking engagement.
Arizona Robbins: a name she honestly hadn't thought of for a while. But here, now, she missed her with a pang of longing that took her by surprise. She hadn't heard a word from the blonde who first stole her heart by kissing her in the bathroom at Joe's such a long time ago. Arizona then ripped said heart to shreds by refusing to bend on her need to one day, have a child of her own. Then after the horrors of Gary Clark, had come back to her, kissing her passionately telling her that they'd have 'all kinds of kids, because I can't live without you and our ten kids', and then, only months later, left her in the airport, sobbing, saying that Callie was 'ruining Africa' for her, and leaving her without so much as a look back. And in doing so, tore Callie's heart to pieces again.
Thank God for Mark Sloan. He came and picked Callie up from the airport and held her tightly while she cried her eyes out. God, she missed Mark. And our children. With this thought, she took her phone from the counter and called the nanny for the fifth time that day, to ask how her kids were: was Sofia still picking on her little brother? Was Tomas still refusing to nap? Once reassured that Maria had her children well handled, Callie was free to think of her upcoming presentation again. Her stomach rolled with another wave of nausea.
Speaking at this medical conference in Miami had certainly not been her idea. After Mark's death, she'd promised Richard Webber as part of her transfer from Seattle to Miami, to be closer to her family; she would speak at the conference about her cartilage research. And as much as she loved being near her father and other family members in Miami, she missed Seattle. She'd found a family of her own at Seattle Grace Mercy West: she'd found her husband there. Two of them, actually. But it was Mark who was her "real" husband. She'd fallen in love there: first to Orthopedics, then to George; developed a "friends with benefits" relationship with Mark; she had her first lesbian experience with Erica Hahn; fell in love with Arizona, and then Mark. It was kind of embarrassing, how many times she'd fallen in love in Seattle. She'd even learned to love the city and its weather. And the coffee! She'd yet to find a decent cup of coffee in Miami compared to that of Seattle, even with Starbucks' best efforts in play. But that was in the past. Miami had been her childhood home, and was home once again.
Callie took a few deep breaths and looked over her speech again. She'd been working on this thing for so long that all the revisions seemed to blur together and she couldn't remember if what was on her cards now, was what was really supposed to be there. As another wave of nausea hit, Callie was once again hovered over the toilet, heaving. Thankfully, there was nothing left to come up, but the nausea was still there. Her hands shook and she was sweating. This was pure torture. As soon as her speech was done, she was going to call Dr. Richard Webber and give him a piece of her mind. As there were only two hours until her call time, that would have to wait. She stood and brushed her teeth, again, then stripped to take what would hopefully be her last shower before her presentation, which was to be delivered to over 5,000 of the country's finest medical professionals.
She looked herself over in the mirror, noticing the dark circles under her chocolate brown eyes. She had more lines around her mouth than she remembered from not so long ago, and the crinkle lines around her eyes seemed deeper as well. If only Mark were here… She'd been married to a plastic surgeon! Why in the world didn't he, of all people, fix these for her? Then she remembered how Mark loved every line on her whole body: telling her, in his deep, gravelly voice, it gave her character; that he loved her just the way she was; that the lines told her story.
Damn the man for dying on me! I need him with me right now. Our children need him, too. Sofia was only three years old when Mark died, but still asked about Daddy regularly. Tomas had only been six months old. Six months was all he'd gotten with his father. They deserve so much more. Mark, even with all his flaws, had been an excellent, loving and committed husband and father. Damn the man! Callie then remembered where she was, and why, and she tabled the rant that was a regular part of her day, saving it for later as another wave of nerves washed over her.
While she showered, she tried to let the hot water wash the tension from her neck, shoulders, and back. If only it worked. Oh well. "The show must go on," as they said. She toweled off, and began to fix her make-up and hair. She dressed slowly in the outfit that, at the time, she was sure the sales clerk at the upscale boutique was trying to hustle her into purchasing. But now she had to admit it was stunning. A simple black A-line skirt with a gentle flare at the bottom, a burgundy lace long sleeved button-up top that showed a perfect amount of her long neck and just a whisper of cleavage, and with a black jacket that matched the skirt made a striking combination. Her time in the Miami sun made her skin glow a rich, golden bronze, so thankfully she was able to skip the pantyhose step, and slipped into a pair of black heels and simple jewelry consisting of her mother's ring that Mark had given her on their last Mother's day together, a gold ring with the birthstones of their children nestled between their own birthstones. Big silver hoop earrings, and her wedding set on a chain around her neck that settled perfectly into the top of her ample cleavage completed the look. She noted the time and after taking one last glance in the full length mirror in the bathroom, she sent a silent apology to the clerk at boutique. Her confidence bolstered by her appearance, and one last swipe of mascara and lipstick, she left her room and made her way to the large auditorium where her speech was scheduled to be given.
Thanks to this being such a large event, she'd provided an employee a copy of her final speech and her power-point presentation days ago, so all she to do was wait for her introduction. After being expertly shuffled to the wings of the stage, where other event staff were standing by with extra combs, brushes and hairspray, lipsticks, powder and other make-up, just in case. She absently thought about asking one if they had any Xanax or maybe even some weed. She heard her name and one last bout of nerves prompted her to send a silent prayer up to whoever might be listening. She swore she heard Mark whisper in her ear, 'Go. Walk tall, Torres! You're a rockstar! You've got this!' and then blinked into the bright lights shining down on her.
She forced a huge mega-watt smile for the crowd, thanked the one who introduced her, and took a deep breath. She was ever so relieved to see that she couldn't actually see anyone in the audience due to the lighting. Letting out a shaky breath she started. "Hello, and, uhhh, thank you for joining me-us, uhhh, me, this afternoon. I'm Dr. Callie Torres and I, umm, work with cartilage. Ummm, I'm an Orthopedic surgeon by trade." Another shaky breath in and out. "I, uhhh, try to help people get back to their way of life after an injury." She consciously had to stop her foot from bouncing when she realized that she couldn't read her notes as well as she liked. She took another deep breath and held it for a beat, and then told herself to settle down and just talk. She couldn't actually see any of the audience. Clenching and unclenching her fists, then giving her sweaty hands a small shake behind the podium, she let the nerves drain away and pretended that she was giving the speech to the dog… Again. Her nerves calmed immensely, and she settled into her speech.
"Articular Cartilage: it's what makes our joints move easily and softens the blow. I've discovered how to grow it in a lab, but I also know about needing things to run smoothly; and, especially, in life how sometimes we need something to soften the blow. After being widowed, with two small children, I really needed something to soften the blow and make our lives run more smoothly…"
AN 4 What do you think? Should I continue or scrap the thing all together? Let me know!