Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from Grey's Anatomy, those characters are created and owned by Shonda Rhimes and ABC. The story is for entertainment only. I am not profiting financially from the creation and publication of this story.

Let It Be - Chapter 1

She taped up the last box, "How pathetic is it that my life, so insignificant, that it not only fits in a few boxes but can be happily stored away indefinitely, not missed by anyone, including me?" the woman pondered aloud.

"Work is…adequate, and that's the best thing I can say about my entire life these days. Knee replacements. Hip replacements, torn ACLs. Nothing challenging, nothing inspirational, because I am uninspired. My research has been tabled despite the award. One and done. I'm the one hit wonder of orthopedics."

After ensuring the medicine cabinet was empty, she shut its door. Taking a few seconds, she looked deeply at the face reflected before her. The brown eyes lacked the gleam that once sparkled. Where a jubilant smile once graced, pursed lips sat, neither angry nor sad, just there. She chastised the unfamiliar woman staring back at her in the mirror, "Who are you?"

An uncomfortable silence followed and with furrowed brows, she countered, "What? Fine, I allowed this to happen. I know, my choice. Who even cares at this point? You certainly don't." She had become her own judge and jury, scolding the face before her.

The monological conversation continued as she shut off the bathroom light and walked out. The woman acknowledged, "I am functional. My life is functional, my job is functional. If there is no rewarding, feel good moment at the end of each day, what's the point?"

The soliloquy cascaded from her lips, "No one is waiting for me at home, not any more. Not that this," she extended her arms to the surroundings, "is a home. It's serves a function, like its inhabitant."

Walking into the bedroom, she peered about and huffed, "Unfulfilled, unsatisfied, insecure, low - make that no self-esteem. Not even an exhaustive list of all the terms used to describe me by people. I can't remember when I last maintained a relationship, which includes with family. Maybe I am asking for too much, to love and be loved? To meet someone who completes me, understands me, challenges me, loves me for my strengths and my weaknesses, and apparently, there is no shortage of those. I appear to be waiting on some mythical definition of love. Thinking that will ever happen is as absurd as everything else in my life."

Satisfied the room was packed away, she shut off the light and walked out.

Making her way to the living room, she remarked, "The living room? There's irony for you, this room is so vapid that I feel like I'm the living dead when I sit here each night." She shook her head in disgust, "I'm done, clearly the problem is operator error."

Tossing the remaining periodicals on the bookcase into the trash, she came across an old photo frame that had fallen flat on the bottom shelf. She had forgotten about this picture. Sitting on the nearby ottoman, her glassy eyes stared intently at the one-dimensional faces, who seemingly were smiling at her. Happier times. "I always thought blood was thicker than water, just my luck, not in my case. My family has estranged themselves from me for a few years now."

After a momentary lull, she began to speak what could only be described as a harangue.

"How have I failed them, let me count the ways.

I don't fit the mold of a good Catholic daughter with my 2.6 children. I am unmarried, shunning all socialite qualities bestowed on me through my youth. Imagine, coming out twice, once as a sixteen year old debutante and another as a thirty year old. For the first, I was presented to society as a young lady available to male suitors. At the second, I let the world know it was the person, not the gender that mattered to me.

Yup, bisexual.

I am a divorcée. My parents could have tolerated the divorce because it would have only been a temporary label; they would have made sure it would have been deemed an annulment. I'm not sure on what grounds, it wasn't bigamy. I didn't realize I was bi at the time I married. We both wanted children. We certainly consummated the marriage, numerous times. I insisted calling it what it was, a divorce.

Another black mark against me.

It doesn't help that I don't need their money. I won't take it or depend on it; my trust fund sits untouched, accruing interest. The power my parents held over me, through high school, college and med school is non-existent now; I don't need their financial support. It irks them that I didn't get the materialistic genes. Aria must have gotten that entire lot of DNA. Their emotional support is another story, that would have been nice, but we appear to be past that point.

Not that it even matters.

My mother is certain that the final resting place of my soul will be in eternal damnation. The way I see it, it will be a long-awaited reunion. My eternity will include lots of family time, since I am confident that their views and actions are not what God intended. In my mind, you can't buy-off God.

If I am destined for Hell, then so are they."

She hesitated a moment, gazing intently at the photo, ruminating whether it belonged in the bin or the box. She tossed it into the last box and taped the carton shut.

"Who is going to miss me? Joe will miss me. I'm a good customer. Actually, I'm probably his best customer - not really something to brag about," she drolly scoffed.

The woman stood up, and mentally went through her checklist, "Opened PO Box, set-up bills on auto pay, movers will be here in the morning, tickets, passport, visa, shots. All that is left is to say goodbye to Joe and our good friend, Señor Cuervo."

Pausing a moment, she glanced at her watch, "Wow, it's already 12:30. Got to go."

Turning around to view her neatly packaged past, she mulled, "Crazy? I am. At least that's the consensus."

Callie Torres shut the door to her apartment and walked down the street to Joe's so she could enjoy last call one more time at the place that had become her home away from home.

Walking to the bar, the woman started the motivational part of her self-serving speech,

"Tomorrow I leave for a third world continent that is lacking in many basic necessities. Much of the country does not even have access to clean drinking water, despite the money rolling in from the oil. Where I'm going is not so desperate, but it still is a far cry from my present lifestyle. My life here is only keeping me in a stranglehold. What I will be doing is to help lots of people who never had access to an orthopedic surgeon. I can still perform the basic knee and hip repairs, but hopefully much more. There is a national soccer team, maybe I can keep my hands in the sports medicine side. I will just be going off the grid for a while, taking a break from life here for a year or so, just looking to be anonymous.

I need to find out who I am or who I am supposed to be.

While I'm not prepared to return to the Peace Corps at this stage in my life and live a more bohemian lifestyle, this is a decent option. I will have an apartment, my own space, a bed, a bath and running water. Joining a more established medical agency was a thought, but then I would be immersed with people on a more intense, intimate basis, which undoubtedly would mean feeling obligated to share my space, my life and my history.

Too much information.

Ah yes, the expected courtesies of working closely with an established group, the understanding that you need to be a team player, socialize and develop friendships. And share. I don't want that. I don't know me, what's to share? I am choosing alone, far away and my medicine.

It's all good.

My parents. I haven't said as much as a 'hello' to them in ages, never mind letting them know that I'm moving. Do you think they will figure it out before I return? We'll see. We have not been in touch for a few years. My email address has stayed the same; they can contact me if they need to. My efforts to reach out fell on deaf ears, so I'm done trying.

To them, I'm extinct.

My friends or better yet, former friends, I severed ties with. I stopped returning phone calls, joining them for outings, preferring lunch in the solitude of my office and dinners alone in my apartment.

Really, who is left?

Mark is dead. George is dead. Meredith isn't really a friend, we are more of acquaintances. Really, just Derek? Derek I enjoy, but for nothing deep, and of course that brings me back to Meredith. Package deal those two. Cristina I'll miss. She used to be my partner in crime at Joe's, drinking buddies. Her research has consumed her lately, she is making a name for herself. Good for her. She'll never know I'm gone.

Then there is Bailey….

Bailey, I shut her out of my life because she could see my soul. She was Wonder Woman with her X-ray vision. I couldn't lie to her, I didn't need to. She saw the truth in my eyes. She always said my eyes couldn't fib. When she and Tuck relocated to LA to join Ben, the last person I felt accountable to was gone. She would not have tolerated my choices, allowed my isolation, nor supported my decision. But, out of sight, out of mind. She made it easy to walk away from that friendship.

My new life starts tomorrow.

It is dangerous? Probably not, but who cares. It's a relatively tame area, I should be fine. If I was to die, would it really matter? Would the world miss me? I left my mark in the medical world with my cartilage work. My name is now forever etched into science posterity.

My physical presence is superfluous."

Joe smiled when his friend walked through the door. He was already pouring her beverage of choice, tequila. It was strong, biting, and allowed for amnesia, albeit temporarily.

A couple drinks later, Callie stood up to leave for the final time.

Joe looked at her, smiling and said, "Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine."

She laughed. The two had enjoyed Casablanca often enough during the evenings, along with a slew of other movie classics. The classics and their lines never got old on a slow sports day.

"Here's looking at you kid," Joe added with a tinge of melancholy in his voice as he downed the shot of tequila, hoping to hide the tears in his eyes.

Callie Torres returned a thoughtful smile and warm hug to the person who had become her sole friend, and she walked out of the bar without looking back.

§

While surfing the web a few months back after a particularly tortuous day, Callie fantasized about positions as far away from Seattle, Washington as she could possibly get. A job ad popped up that seemed perfect for the depressed orthopedic surgeon.

As she read the listing, she thought, "Why not? Africa was not necessarily at the top of my list, but Equatorial New Guinea is a Spanish-speaking country, drenched in black gold. Knowing the language makes it a viable option. The price is right, not that I need the money, but the decent paycheck doesn't hurt. The bonus being I can continue to ignore my trust fund. An Ortho position with a blank check. They want me to set up the department to be 'cutting edge'. Do they even know what that is? Probably not. But it means I can create at least a sterile environment and the basics of an OR. I won't need to use a rusty saw to remove a limb on someone who does not even have the benefit of anesthesia. However, I am going to a continent where anesthesia is a luxury. Scary, right?"

The Bata hospital president jumped at the chance to get the renowned orthopedic surgeon on his staff as a department head. The contract was only for a year, but the presence of the American doctor would certainly raise the credibility of the hospital and community immeasurably. Though women were infrequently given these professional leadership roles, the résumé of Dr. Calliope Torres was heads and tails superior to anyone, male or female, who applied for the job.

Dr. Emilio Montalban flew to America to interview the surgeon, but really it was a done deal before he even left the country. He brought the contract for her to sign. It turned out she asked for very little. After he had already offered her an administrative assistant, driver and a few other small perks, he realized he may have been unnecessarily generous. Her only request was access to an assistant who was fluent in English, Spanish and the local dialect. He could see her point. So much of the information she utilized was in English, she needed someone who could independently and competently translate. Dr. Montalban was quite pleased with his new acquisition, he was certain the donors would be too.

§

Quotes: From the movie Casablanca:

1) "Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine."

2) "Here's looking at you kid,"

§

Author's Note

If you are still reading, thank you. I truly appreciate it. This A/N is the only one I plan on including for this story. It is meant to apply to this and all future chapters.

This AU story is entirely written. With that being said, I will take a little time in between posting chapters, just to allow me an additional chance to review, make a few more edits and quadruple check it. You will notice a few references will tie in with the show's storyline, other times it will not. This is something that I have worked on here and there for a while. Over that time some characters changed. At a future point, the rating will be changed to "M", since there are "references to some violence, or coarse language." There is some violence and implied abuse. On occasion there are a few four letter words. When I change the designation, I will also make note of it at the beginning of the chapter.

Things you should know: This is a make-believe tale, though some of the issues raised are very real. Because it is fiction, I ask that you allow some literary license in my storytelling. The characters you don't recognize from Shonda Rhimes & Grey's Anatomy are ones I made up and are totally fictitious. The ones you do recognize from Grey's Anatomy belong to Shonda Rhimes. The medical references are meant to be plausible, but I have no medical background and used the Internet as my resource. In regards to the real and make-believe organizations mentioned in the story, I have no clue how they specifically work, but again ask readers for some leeway in how I have interpreted them operating.

This is a story about Callie and Arizona, though initially, it may feel Callie-centric as the first few chapters are about solely about her. At some point, readers may feel the focus is more on Arizona. It does balance out. When the story begins, they don't know each other. It will take some time before they end up in the same chapter. If you decide to continue, thank you. If not, I understand, this story is not for everyone. As for the title, it is inspired by the Beatle's song of the same name.

If you have a question or concern, just PM me. Thanks!