Title: Essence (1/5)

Disclaimer: The characters in this story and the show Grey's Anatomy belong to Shonda Rhimes, ABC, etc. I am making no profit from this story, and it's even highly likely that I will return Erica when I'm done with her. Maybe 

Rating: T/K+ for mild language

Summary: Based on the premise that Erica is not gay, and we just were not privy to her private freak-out on the show over her budding relationship with Callie. Erica/Callie eventually.

A/N: I started this story at the beginning of July, but then life intruded brutally and it was forgotten. I rediscovered it recently, and I wanted to finish it before the new season started. I had originally intended to do a little bit more with the story line, but real life has barely allowed me to accomplish what I have. I hope it isn't too disappointing for the faithful Erica/Callie readers.

This has not been beta read. Any mistakes are entirely my own, and I apologize in advance.

EEEEE

I have always prided myself on my unswerving stability. When the people around me make a mess of their personal lives – some rather publicly at Seattle Grace, I've learned – I am able to rise above it all and focus in on the task at hand. My name will not be drug through the mud because I leave my personal life at the door every day before I enter the hospital. Mind you, I stay up on the latest gossip, almost involuntarily it seems, since all of my scrub nurses and most of my residents keep their mouths closed about as well as they keep their pants on.

Meredith and Derek are taking a break, and now he's seeing a nurse. Scandal of all scandals, the dream couple is on the skids. Again.

Christina Yang, bane of my existence that she is, now prefers to hang out with corpses because she has apparently "lost her groove." Maybe she should call Stella; come to think of it, maybe she should call Taye Diggs instead.

Izzie Stevens and George "I'm an Idiot" O'Malley fell apart as a couple about as soon as they got started. I took a particular sort of vindictive pleasure when I overheard two of my scrub nurses discussing the root of their problems – colossally bad sex. Thank God I didn't have my scalpel actually inside my patient's chest at the time. I probably would have cut something vital trying to suppress the tremors of silent laughter wracking my body.

Just the mention of O'Malley makes my blood boil underneath my cool demeanor. He had something so perfect, someone so beautiful, who was willing to do anything and be anyone for him…. And he fucked it up. Royally. I would have given up anything to have been in his shoes, even willingly taken a lifetime of second places next to Preston Bur-

Wait a minute!

Erica Marie Hahn, where is your head? First of all, you do NOT settle for second place to Preston Burke. That has to be a violation of one of the commandments. Maybe not the ones from God, but definitely the ones by which you live your life!

Secondly, did you just have a romantic thought about a co-worker, who happens to be your best friend, who happens to be a woman??

As the enormity of this mental admonishment slammed fully into my conscious self, I came to a dead stop in the middle of the bustling hospital hallway. My sudden stop interrupted the natural flow of people, and I was nearly run over by an over-eager intern scrambling to do someone's bidding. Granted, the collision was technically my fault, but since I am a nationally-known cardiothoracics surgeon and he is an intern, I felt no remorse whatsoever when I barked a crass insult his way. His eyes widened as he scurried away from my glare.

Unfortunately, the momentary distraction of the encounter with the intern evaporated as he slipped back into the flow of people and left my line of sight. I looked around me and ducked into the nearest doorway, a lounge area for doctors to prop up their feet and enjoy a soda between surgeries. Sighing in relief to find it empty, I slumped onto one of the tacky blue sofas and cradled my head in my hands, trying to sort through my muddled thoughts.

Okay Erica, take a deep breath. Callie is your best friend, your only friend at this hospital, and lately, the only person you hang out with after hours. It's only natural that you would develop a deep affection for her. It's not unheard of for a woman to love her best friend – in fact, it's kind of a requirement.

I was ready to buy this line of reasoning from the logical piece of my mind when that damn emotional side spoke up and asserted itself. Really, I'm not schizophrenic. This is just how I deal. Usually, the emotional side is bound and gagged, because there's no room for emotion in most of my internal dilemmas. But now, it's free from its bondage and as outspoken as my precocious, five year old niece.

Erica Hahn, is that really all you feel for Callie? Does a woman usually ponder how soft her best friend's lips must be? Or admire the curve of her hip where it joins smoothly with her torso? How about this one – should you really be wondering what those long legs would feel like wrapped around your wai-

"Stop it!" I shrieked out loud as I snapped up straight in my seat and my eyes flew open. A quiet choking sound drew my attention to the doorway where Callie stood, wide-eyed and frozen on the threshold, half in my haven-turned-prison and half in the chaos of the hallway.

"I was just – are you – do you want – should I just go?" Callie stuttered from her position in limbo at the door, pointing awkwardly back toward the hallway. I could only stare dumbfounded at her as I pondered my ridiculous luck to be interrupted by the one person I really wasn't sure I wanted to see right now. Not if I wanted to clear my head, that is.

When she started to edge away, I finally shook myself out of my stupor and stood.

"Wait, Callie, of course you can come in. I was just…. Having a discussion with, uh, myself." I felt my cheeks heat up at the absurdity of my explanation and ducked my head to avoid the amused glint in her eyes.

"Well, you know, what I walked in on sounded a lot like an abusive relationship to me. As a doctor, I feel as though it is my duty to report this to the social worker on call." Those lips I had been so recently fantasizing about pulled themselves into a smirk as she closed the door behind her and moved to my couch.

"Shoot, I should probably report myself. Sitting here alone, arguing with no one… This place is turning me into a damn basket case." I grumbled good-naturedly, giving her a wry grin as we sat down on the couch.

Callie turned her body to face me on the couch, drawing one leg up under her and tossing her loosely curled hair over her shoulder. She cocked her head sideways, and I could tell by the steadiness of her gaze that she was dissecting my mood, trying to determine how upset I might possibly be, despite my attempt at levity. I offered her a small smile and leaned my head back against the couch as I exhaled and closed my eyes to avoid the scrutiny coming from my right.

As I sat there pondering my conflicted feelings, I felt my hair shift near my temple, and my eyes came open again to see Callie gently finger-combing and restoring order to my blonde hair. I hadn't bothered to run a brush through it when I freed it from my scrub cap after surgery, but I trusted her to remedy any issues with my hair.

I relaxed into her hand and into her gaze, allowing myself to study her features as she patiently detangled my hair. Her own hair was swept carelessly back from her forehead, with a few soft curls from her temple resting near her cheek. The lines of worry and tension that have been on her face for months following the disintegration of her marriage to George are nearly non-existent now. Her eyes are brighter, her demeanor much lighter and carefree; she strikes me as a woman just entering the world, full of pep and unbreakable enthusiasm for life.

I reach out and take her hand from my hair, giving it a squeeze and holding onto it as they come to rest comfortably on the cushion between us. I can't help but touch her like this, stolen little moments of friendly intimacy – well, mostly friendly – and the smile that lights her face warms my soul.

"You know," she begins playfully. "You do happen to have this ultra convenient emotional outlet that you can go to when you are struggling with something. I mean, it's not like your best friend doesn't work with you, in the same building, or spend basically all of her free time hanging out with you."

I laughed lightly as I felt a surge of affection for the woman sitting with me. "You're right, and I will remember that fact when I have a real issue in my life, one that me, myself and I cannot handle on our own."

Callie tossed her head back in laughter at my dry wit, and I tried to ignore the way my heartbeat sped up in reaction. She lifted our still joined hands to lay against her cheek while her eyes danced with lingering merriment.

My own chuckles stilled suddenly when the back of my hand met the soft skin of her cheek, and I swallowed reflexively against the lump in my throat. Confusion flooded me in waves as I tried to reconcile the tingling warmth that her nearness triggered in my gut with the simple reality that this was Callie. She was my confidant, my buddy, my ally... When did that turn into so much more? Was I sleeping, or just blissfully floating through life, as my platonic feelings evolved into a deeply-rooted attraction?

Holy shit, did I just think that?

The very sudden acknowledgement and awareness of my own feelings ignited a panicky denial in my usually well-ordered mind. I abruptly released her hand and stood up off of the couch. "I need to go check on Annemarie Davis. She had some difficulties during her surgery this morning, and I don't trust Yang to page me if she develops complications."

I spouted off my weak excuse, and quickly left the room. Glancing briefly over my shoulder as I passed through the doorway, I caught a glimpse of the startled look that crossed Callie's features.

Muttering under my breath in self-derision and annoyance, I hurried to the elevator at the end of the hallway and jabbed the button. My thoughts raced while I waited.

I am NOT attracted to girls! I like men, for Pete's sake! One of the first things I noticed when I came to Seattle Grace was how unbelievably attractive Derek Shepherd and Mark Sloan are, and I seem to recall referring to them as "Pretty and Prettier" to Richard! I like men!

The elevator arrived with a cheerful ding, and I stepped to the side to allow its passengers to exit. I moved into the vacated interior and absently pressed the button for the floor of the ICU. As the doors slid shut on the busy hallway, Callie emerged from the lounge and briefly made eye contact before she was erased from my view. I was left staring into the reflective metal of the elevator doors, trying to understand the emotion raging in my body that creased my forehead into lines of worry. As much as I wished to continue my internal "I like men" rant, I couldn't quite smother a nagging voice in my heart that seemed to steadily gain strength until it was all I could hear.

Callie means more.