TITLE Those Other Dreams
CHAPTER 1/2
AUTHOR Devylish
FANDOM Grey's Anatomy
PAIRING Callie/Mark
WORDS 3542
RATING PG13
WARNINGS/SPOILERS/SUMMARY Language. 5:20. Part one of my entry for the Mark_Callie LJ Blind Number Challenge. Items chosen: Mrs. Torres, Lab coat, Denver.
DISCLAIMER Disclaimer All publicly recognizable characters, settings, plot, etc. are the property of the creators of the TV show Grey's Anatomy. Any original characters, settings and plots are the property of devylish. devylish is in no way associated with the TV show Grey's Anatomy and no copyright infringement is intended. This work is an amateur fan effort and no profit is being made.
AN unbeta'd
"Very nice Calliope," her mother eyed the length and width and depth of her daughter's new apartment.
Callie sighed with relief. Her mother was wonderful, the epitome of a loving, caring, sweet, and strong woman; but her 'wonderfulness' was a huge weapon. The kind of 'I hate to disappoint her weapon that her kids… and husband were deeply afraid of'.
So getting her mom's nod of approval on her new place was big. Also big? Having her mother in town now that she, Callie, was persona non gratis in Miami.
"How's papa?"
Mrs. Torres plumped up a couch pillow before sitting down with a sigh. "He misses his bambina."
"Yeah well, he can see his bambina anytime he wants to admit that she is old enough to be in charge of her own life."
"Calliope…"
"No, mama! Daddy's being stubborn and, and… antiquated." She dropped down on to her knees at her mother's feet. "You know why I wanted to become a doctor?"
Her mother touched her cheek soothingly. "Because Juan stated he had a fleeting interest in becoming one?"
"No. Well, yes, a little bit, but really, I wanted to make daddy proud. To live up to his expectations." She turned and sat on her tush, leaning her head against her mother's knee. "When we were growing up, daddy always, always said how important it was to treat everyone with respect. And to help anyone who needed your help." Callie smiled at the memories. "He would stop and help Abuela Fischer -- a woman who never had a kind word for anyone -- with her lawn every week. Why? Because she needed the help. It didn't matter how mean she was…. And the Evans! When they moved into the house down the street, the uproar in the neighborhood – blacks, in 'our' neighborhood – Daddy stopped by and helped Mr. Evans with his car; he MADE Juan and the other boys go over and play with the Evans' boys… when no one else would even talk to them."
"Mr. and Mrs. Evans are wonderful people. She made the most wonderful chicken cacciatore for us last week."
"I know they're wonderful people. But no one knew that 25 years ago. And no one… NO one was even talking to them. Daddy did it because he said everyone deserved to be respected until they showed you otherwise…. And even then, sometimes they still deserved respect. How can he be so hypocritical?"
"Baby…"
"He finds out I'm dating…" her voice dropped, "I'm dating a woman – a wonderful woman -- and he wipes his hands clean of me. Where's the respect due me? The respect due Arizona?! At this point, I don't know if I want to be re-owned, or… or un-disowned… whatever."
"Calliope."
"What?"
"Your father and I had three boys. Three beautiful boys, and we were more or less done with having kids thereafter." She smiled as she petted her daughter's head, "We were done, that is, until your father convinced me to try one more time. And then we were blessed with a daughter. With you…. Your father was so excited when you were born; when he finally got the little princess, the little angel he was looking for. Oh don't get me wrong, he loves your brothers, but you… oh, sweetheart, you have always had his heart. Always. From the moment you were born, your father dreamed of your fifth birthday party, of your Quincenera…, your wedding day… your giving him grandkids. Granddaughters. More little girls to wrap around his heart." She shifted slightly and lifted her daughter's chin so that Callie was looking up at her. "I think… as open hearted, and caring your father is,.. the loss of some of those dreams has been very very difficult for him."
"We could have still had a wedding" Callie pouted. "Weddings for... for same sex relationships are possible in some states." Callie lowered her head back to her mother's leg.
"I am not saying I agree with your father's actions Callie. But… I want you to understand them… if you can."
"Why should I understand them? He won't even try to understand my actions. My feelings!"
"Sweetheart, he'll come around, you just have to give him time to accept; to… learn to change his dreams a bit."
"I thought parents' dreams were suppose to be for their kids to be happy and healthy."
Mrs. Torres laughed… a little, lilting, chortle. "Darling, when you have your own –" she paused, and rephrased her sentence. "Having children changes everything for you. And while, at heart, having a happy healthy child is all that truly matters, parents -- all parents I think -- imagine their children 'doing what they never did', becoming ballerinas, becoming doctors, becoming humanitarians. We want our children to have it all. What we envision as 'all'. Right now, your father is just having a difficult time adjusting his vision of 'all', to match your reality. To match your vision of 'having it all'."
Callie nuzzled her cheek against her mother's leg for a second and then she climbed off of her spot on the floor.
"Yeah well, if he'd bothered remaining in contact with me, he'd know he doesn't exactly have to re-envision his dreams just yet." Callie mumbled as she padded to the kitchen, the only room in the apartment that was completely unpacked, and de-boxed. Opening the fridge she pulled out a bottle of Riesling and grabbed two wineglasses.
"Do you want to explain that little statement?" Her mother followed her to the kitchen, seating herself on a stool at the breakfast bar.
"… Arizona and I broke up…, a month ago."
Her mother accepted her glass of wine before speaking. "I'm sorry honey. What happened?"
Callie threw back her glass of wine in one swallow and poured herself a second glass. "I don't know," she responded bitterly. "She said something about not thinking I was as 'in to her' as she was 'in to me'." Callie glanced at her mom. "What the fuck does that even mean?" She ignored the wince her mother gave at her 'inappropriate language' and continued. "Who fucking gave up her family for whom?!" Callie muttered and sipped at her wine.
"Oh Callie…"
"Why does this always happen to me mama? I mean, I find a guy," she blinked, "or a girl who I think is wonderful, and who seems to find me equally wonderful, at least for a while, and then they drop kick me to the curb. And I would like to point out that it is always THEM who drop kicks me…" she gave a small spin, "is there really a 'kick here' sign on my ass?"
"Callie, language please! And no, there is no –"
Brrrrrrrzzzzz. Brrrrrrrzzzzz.
Callie cocked her head to the side, who the hell was ringing her bell? Moving to the buzzer, she pressed the button. "Hello?"
"Torres!" A well recognized voice bellowed at her.
She blinked then pressed the speaker button again. "Sloan?"
"Let me up Torres."
What the fuck is Sloan doing here? "Now isn't really a good time Mark."
"Why not? Have another guy up there? Or another girl? If it's another girl definitely let me up."
Callie's mom cleared her throat and Callie remembered her presence.
"What do you want Mark?"
"World peace?"
"Asshole."
"Callie," Her mom admonished.
"Callie, let me up."
"Fine, you have three minutes then your ass is out of here." She pressed the buzzer.
Turning back to the kitchen, Callie frowned. Mark was like a bad penny, always turning up when she least expected or wanted him.
Her mother touched her face, smoothing the frown off of it. "So 'Mark'? Is this the Mark your father had slammed against a wall? The Mark who I sometimes hear you talk about?"
Callie sighed and hugged her mom for strength. "The same." She pulled away and headed to the door to open and unlock it. "I should probably warn you, es muy lascivo. I'm sorry in advance."
Her mother simply smiled. Esteban had been a bit lascivious when he was younger too. Her smile widened, as a matter of fact, he was still lascivious.
Callie padded back to the kitchen and was pulling out a third wine glass for Mark, when the door to her apartment was shoved open.
"Jesus Christ, Callie! Could you have found an apartment with more stairs?" He pushed into her new home, his two gift bags in one hand, and a bottle Jack Daniels in the other. Coming to an abrupt halt at the sight of a woman he didn't know in the middle of Callie's new place, his mouth dropped open. Before him stood a woman who was the spitting image of Callie. An older spitting image, but just as striking.
"Mark meet my mother Anastacia Torres; Mom, Dr. Mark Sloan."
Mrs. Torres extended her hand and, well, smirked at the open mouthed Mark. "Dr. Sloan, it's a pleasure to finally meet you."
Oh, yeah, Mrs. Torres was much, much nicer than Mr. Torres. Mark stopped staring, closed his mouth and took her hand. "I'm going to say what I'm thinking –"
"Like that's anything new," Callie interjected.
Ignoring Callie, Mark continued, "Wow!"
Mrs. Torres looked over her shoulder at her daughter who was pouring Mark a glass of wine. "Es un coqueteo, no es él?"
"Es incorregible, simplemente no lo animan."
"Me gustan mis hombres un poco picante."
"Mama!"
Mark cleared his throat,
"I'm sorry Dr. Sloan, we're being rude. I was just telling Callie how handsome you are."
Callie groaned and handed Mark his glass.
"Mark. Please call me Mark. And I don't believe you could be rude, Mrs. Torres."
"Anastacia; if you're Mark, I'm Anastacia."
"Beautiful name for a beautiful woman."
"Excuse me while I go puke," Callie exclaimed as she wandered into the living room.
"Not paying you enough attention Callie?" Mark questioned.
"Pffft!"
He turned and smiled apologetically to Mrs. Torres before trailing after Callie. "If it makes you feel any better, I come bearing gifts for you." He held up the gift bags he held in his hand. "Although, um," the look he gave Mrs. Torres this time was more sheepish than apologetic. "Umm, you better open the big one in private."
"Why?" Callie settled on her new couch and stared up at him confusedly. After a few seconds, realization of the kind of gift Mark probably had inside of the 'big bag' hit her. She blushed and glanced in her mother's direction before turning back to Mark. "You can just keep dreaming Mark. It's so not happening."
They hadn't 'been together' for two years now. No nookie, no calling one another to shoot the shit, no sharing of tears or laughter. It had been a Lexie filled, Arizona filled, Mark/Callie free, two years. Arizona had been great, and she supposed, Lexie had been great, but the no Mark/Callie part of that time frame? It had sucked. It had sucked big hairy balls.
But they were both free now. Lexie had dumped Mark. Yeah, that's right Lexie dumped Mark, about six months ago. And she was now engaged to Dr. Raj Majapal, an extremely nice, extremely handsome, ob gyn.
Lucky bitch. First she gets Mark, and then she breaks up with him and immediately finds the man of her dreams; while Callie… Callie found herself all alone again.
But she wasn't thinking about that today. Today she was thinking about spending a few days with her mom. And ignoring the suddenly reoccurring inappropriate come-ons from Mark Sloan.
He responded, "I have patience. I think I can outwait you."
Mrs. Torres watched the exchange between her daughter and Mark, listening to them bicker in a way that could only be described as sexual. She studied Dr. Sloan. Tall, almost sinfully good looking. I wonder just how much he really likes my Callie? A twinkle in her eye, and she decided that maybe she could do more good for Callie these next few days than she had planned.
"So Mark, you're staying to have dinner with the two of us, are you not?" Mrs. Torres flashed a brilliant smile in his direction. An undeniable unfightable smile.
"I," Jesus she looks like Callie! Mark glanced at Callie who was giving him a death stare. He decided to do what he wanted to do versus doing what was probably wiser; i.e. leaving. "I'd love to stay. What are we having?"
"Callie is a brilliant woman, but one of the few things she doesn't know how to do, is cook. I'm teaching her how to make my Arroz con pollo y mi salsa verde."
"If it tastes half as good as it sounds…"
Callie got up from the couch -- still shooting Mark a look that would shrink a man with a smaller ego -- and she interrupted the disturbing love fest between her mother and Mark. "My mother is a fabulous cook… and I'm hopeless in the kitchen; unfortunately, she hasn't come to accept that fact yet, so… if she really insists upon having me do the cooking tonight…. I apologize in advance, Mark." She switched topics quickly, "So what IS in the bags?"
Mark handed her the smaller of the two bags, and she scrunched up her nose as she looked at him, trying to decipher the look that passed over his face. A look of awkwardness; hell, he almost looked embarrassed. But Mark Sloan didn't embarrass, nothing ever pushed him far from confidence that was inherent in being McSteamy.
She pulled at the tissue papers - yellows and reds – that were sprouting out of the bag, and her hand closed around… a cd case. A mixed cd, he made me a mixed cd?
Mark started speaking before Callie could mock the cd – his mind berating him for stupidly taking the time to make a gift. I should have just fucking bought her earrings or a necklace or something.
"I – we had that talk a while ago, a couple of years ago, about music? And a week or two ago I was just thinking that I wanted to share some of my favorites with you…. It's' nothing special." And could I sound MORE like a dork? Shit! Derek's sissyness is finally rubbing off on me.
And then she hugged him. She hadn't touched him or been closer than two feet from him in years. To have her in his arms, smell her hair again, feel her breath at his neck….
"Thank you Mark. It's the perfect gift." She pulled away from him, her eyes bright, "new music, for my new home, from an old… friend."
Mrs. Torres studied the way the two of them looked at one another, forgetful, unaware, that someone else was in the room with them. Oh there was something there all right. There was definitely something there.
***
Mark had just left, after a long afternoon and evening of food, drinks, and laughter, and to Callie her home suddenly felt – emptier. The space too big, the walls too cold, too hard. She wrapped her hands around her arms as she followed her mother back into the living room.
"So are you going to tell me about you and Mark?"
Her mother's question pierced through the bubble of self focus Callie had been in. "Me and Mark?" She played dumb.
Her mother tilted her head to the side, and raised a brow.
"Mark is – was – is a good friend."
"A friend who… shared your bed?"
"Mama!" Callie turned beet red.
"What?"
"I can't talk to you about – I won't talk to you about my sex life."
"So Mark IS part of your sex life?"
Callie sighed. "Past tense. All done. No more. Separated by a ten foot pole."
"Simple question. Long answer."
Another sigh, "We have a long complicated past."
***
Callie had spent most of the rest of the night, ignoring, navigating, answering, her mother's probing questions about the status of her relationship with Mark Sloan. Finally tired of getting only half-answers from Callie about the size, length, and breadth of Mark/Callieness, Mrs. Sloan had taken to bed, racking her brain for a way to get Mark Sloan and Callie together.
If nothing else, the fireworks would be interesting to watch.
***
Callie was seated on the couch - the television on low, its flickering screen the only light in the room - as she fingered the white lace. She didn't know whether to laugh or scream or cry at Mark. She'd opened gift bag number two, now that her mother was asleep, and… the man had bought her underwear. Expensive, lacy, sexy, underwear. In her size. When the hell had he learned my size?!
It was beautiful underwear – demibra, boy shorts, and sheer white thigh highs – but, Mark couldn't give her these kind of things anymore. Not that he ever had bought her underwear or lingerie before, but… before, before Lexie, before Arizona… there had been a 'them' -- a Mark/Callie – that would have allowed for there to be the exchange of lace and silk and satin.
There wasn't a 'them' anymore. She wasn't that person anymore. She wasn't 'his' Callie.
And he definitely wasn't her Mark.
Although, as she touched the lace she wondered if this was his way of saying he wanted to be her Mark again.
She lowered her head to the chair of the arm curling the cloth up against her chin and tucking her legs up against her body. She didn't think she could do it again. She couldn't open herself up to someone…anyone… him – just to get shot down, or ripped apart, or shattered when they left her. Because they always left. She had a track record of scaring them away, or 'hurting them' away, or, or… 'just being herself' them away. And it hurt.
It hurt to think that her touch, her words, her presence wasn't enough to keep them. Or maybe it was the opposite, maybe her touch, her words, her presence were too much to keep them close. Either way. She was so tired of being broken. So tired of being left behind.
Being the one left behind was always so much more destructive, so much more scarring to the body and soul… and heart. And Callie had never been very tough to begin with. So with each separation, each break-up, she'd broken a bit more. Smaller pieces. New cracks. Harder to put back together.
Most of her lovers offered salve… and comfort. They offered glue and attachments. But they couldn't see all of the breaks. All of the blemishes and marred surfaces. And eventually the world seeped in to those hidden cracks, making her heavy and cumbersome. So she became too much; too much for them to hold together.
And they let go.
And Mark; Mark's 'letting go' always seemed to hurt so much more than the others. Being with him - being 'his'- was always so… breathtaking, so deep; so much like being whole. She could feel him everywhere. Every single time he touched her; every time he wrapped his hands around her shards and slivers and pulled all of her pieces together and held them there, in perfect moving balance -- tenuous and fleeting and flawless.
She couldn't take it again. Being held – perfectly -- then let go.
She shoved the lace outfit back in its bag, used the remote to turn off the tv, and pulled a blanket down over her frame. Sleep would be good.
***
"So Daddy thinks you're in Denver?" Callie pulled into the parking structure at SGH, and pulled the car to a stop.
"I will be stopping in Denver, I don't want to lie to your father, I just wanted to make certain I got a chance to see you too." Mrs. Torres patted Callie's arm.
"But he didn't know you were coming to see me at all; he just thought you were going to visit cousin Marisa?"
"Your father doesn't need to know what I do every second of my day."
Callie snorted and pushed her door open.
"He'd have a cow if he knew you were even talking to me."
Her mother smoothed the material of her skirt before linking her arm with her daughter's. "He'd yell, in case you haven't noticed, he's good at bellowing, but your father would also ask how you were doing. He misses you."
Another snort from Callie; she so wasn't getting into another discussion about her father's maligned sense of right and wrong. How he could have fought for equal rights for so long and so adamantly, and still be such a bigot…?
Hugging her mother closer, she changed the topic. "So, I'll take you around the hospital, show you the OR and locker room and stuff and then… shopping?" Callie had been surprised by her mother's early morning request to get a tour of SGH, but her insistence that she wanted to see where her daughter performed miracles was hard to deny.
"Yes Love, we'll do the tour, you can introduce me to your friends, and then… shoe shopping!" The two women grinned at one another. Even stubborn stupid men could be forgotten when beautiful shoes were being looked at.
Author's note: The mixed cd can be found at playlist . com ..... remove the spaces: http: //www .playlist .com/playlist/16177808907/standalone