*~*~*~*~

Everything you have ever heard about addiction is true.

It's mind altering. You feel like you will die without your daily fix. It can cripple you, pleasure you, drive you insane, and leave you begging for more. You become a glutton for punishment because you surrender yourself to the high every chance you get. And when you're without, you suffer horrific withdrawal that only one more hit can conquer.

My life? It has forced me to become an addict, but it's not a habit that I want to break.

My addiction is sleeping next to me, her fingers curled under her chin and when a smile plays over her features, I feel like I've been injected with the strongest substance in the world.

I like to call it love.

I've only experimented with a handful of drugs. All of my dabbling took place my freshman year of college when freedom overwhelmed me and I wanted to sample everything that life had to offer. I wanted to experience first hand what it was that made my adoptive parents such slaves to their weaknesses. I needed to know why being high was more important to them than I could ever be. I still remember what smoking pot felt like. I got a huge lump in my throat and everything was funny until I started to cry and couldn't stop. The one and only time I dropped acid, I believed that I was having an out of body experience and walked around asking people to touch me. I swear, none of them could. I was there, but I wasn't. There was comfort in that for me. It explained why I never could touch my parents. They hovered on the outside of my life and never caught me as I orbited them, even though I kept reaching out. They looked right through me, with their dilated, red eyes and never noticed that my own were red for very different reasons.

My addiction? She doesn't do that to me. Even though I get a rush of blood to the head when she touches me, even though I get dizzy watching her walk across the room, even though I would swear I'm hallucinating sometimes when she tells me she loves me ... Callie Torres also gives me clarity. For the first time in a long time, I can see past my own anger, fear, and frustration and I can forget the life that I had before her. Because the life I have with her right now makes up for everything. All the loss I've endured, all the pain and regret and sorrow that I knew growing up ... she somehow erases it and replaces it with a memory of her own design. She lets me live *her* life, with *her* family, with *her* happiness. I no longer stand on the outside peering into the life I want to have.

I'm addicted. Happily so.

It's Christmas morning. We're back in her childhood bedroom, stretched out on the same bed where we first made love. My head is on the very pillow that cradled my thoughts that first night we were together, when it kept me awake by replaying what it felt like to love her. I'm filled with the same flood of emotions that broke over me like waves when she kissed me for the first time. My heart is pounding the same, familiar rhythm it played that night as she fell asleep next to me. My skin tingles every time she moves and brushes against me, just like it did then. She still smells like cherries and eroticism (yes, that exists) and it still feels like I'm wrapping my arms around forever when she rolls into me and rests her head on my shoulder.

The only thing that has changed is that I no longer fear her leaving me.

Because I don't think I'm the only one with an addiction.

She needs me as much as I need her.

*~*~*~*~

Callie tried to prepare me for what Christmas in Miami would be like. I know that the Torres family has money. All you need to do is glance at the outside of their palatial mansion, with its cobblestone drive, grand front portico and large Greek columns to figure that out. I can't say a lot for Lori Anne's taste in decorating, but once you get over the initial shock of explosive primary colors, it's really not that bad. A bright red living room has its merits. At least it motivates you to maintain eye contact with whomever you're speaking with. And the dark blue kitchen makes you not want to revisit for late night snacks. So, there's a silver lining.

What I am not prepared for is the abundance of gifts that appeared overnight. Callie and I did our shopping online and had it sent directly to Miami, but we did not go overboard. When Jasper wakes us up by screaming that Santa came, Callie and I sleepily follow him into the family room and I can't imagine where her parents had everything hidden. Lori Anne is standing in front of the fireplace, holding a silver platter of coffee that smells incredible. I beat Callie to it and take a cup, giving the woman a smile of gratitude. She sets the tray down, takes my cup back, and opens her arms to me. I bend down to accommodate her short stature and she squeezes me tight, rubbing my back. As much as Callie always feels like coming home ... this right here? It does, too. I never really knew what a mother's touch should feel like.

I confess that there's a lump in my throat. I don't try to talk around it. I let Lori Anne know with my smile what her Christmas hug meant to me. She winks and pats me on the cheek, returning my grin. I dedicate my full attention to the coffee so no one can see that I'm already pretty misty-eyed. Just to be included in the festivities was a shock, but seeing a stocking with my name on it that is just as stuffed as Callie's ... that's pretty amazing.

I watch as Callie grumpily flops on the sofa, rubbing sleep from her eyes. She's dressed herself in the Torres Christmas Standard. It's a red pajama thing with feet that are candy cane striped. I escaped the horror of this tradition by misplacing (read: removing from the suitcase) my own matching one. My elation over dodging this particular bullet is short lived, however, because Lori Anne retrieves a bag and hands it to me. "You'll want to get changed, Erica," she tells me, innocently enough. "Our family photos won't be family photos if you're not in our ceremonial garb."

Keeping the revulsion off my face takes all of my resolve. "Thank you," I tell her, trying not to choke on the words.

I hear Callie laughing and glance her way. I really should not have told her that she looked like the demented cousin of an elf. I take my bag and what I can summon of my pride to the hallway bathroom and pull the pajamas out. Considering that it's eighty degrees outside, I plan on suggesting that we do photos right away. Having a heat stroke for Christmas is just ... wrong.

My fear is quickly waylaid when I step back into the hallway. Joel is standing a few feet away, adjusting the air conditioning, and he has ... snow ... in his hair. He's also wearing the footed suit of doom and he smiles apologetically. "This won't take long. The snow machine is only here for an hour and what it's blowing out there is melting fast. And the air is on as low as it will go."

"Snow machine?"

He nods and then holds out his arm to me. "Let's go walkin' in a winter wonderland. The kids love it."

Money? It can buy snow in Miami. The beach is covered and it's peppering down like a blizzard when we all go outside. There are Christmas trees, live deer, a sleigh and a Nativity Scene. We're posed, prodded, and grouped up with each other, then alone, and then it's just me and Callie. She wraps her arms around me and leans her head on my shoulder. There's ice in her eyelashes when she looks up at me and I swear ... the suit is worth it just for that. I give her a kiss and no one says a thing, but I hear the camera clicking rapidly.

I really don't think that *this* is what a normal family does on Christmas morning, but I'll take it.

Oh yes, I will.

*~*~*~*

"Wanna go for a swim with me, Yellow?"

I'm lying on Callie's bed, watching her slide her new bathing suit on. It was a gift from her mother and I heartily approve of it. It's a one piece that leaves nothing to the imagination. It's black, with sheer netting around the middle and just enough fabric on top to cover a fraction of her breasts. I can see everything. I know *everything*. I've memorized every inch of her. "I ate so much I'd sink."

She puts her hand on her hip and smiles at me. It's her devilish smile. Callie has three smiles. There's a flirty one where she does this thing with her eyes and you know you're about to get laid. Then there's the sad one, where it doesn't quite reach her eyes and I know that something is on her mind. And then there's the devilish one. It's the one full of suggestion, full of invitation, full of trouble. I'm getting that one right now. And I love all that implies. "Are you undressing me with your eyes, baby?" she asks.

I shake my head and stand up, walking to where she's standing. I slide my thumbs under the top straps and slowly pull it down, exposing her breasts. "Not with my eyes, no."

"You know, we are home alone."

"Is that an invitation?"

"Do you need one?"

I shake my head and watch her lick her lips. God, those lips. It's the first thing I noticed about her. I was at Seattle Grace to do surgery on George O'Malley's father and I saw her in the hallway. She was biting her bottom lip, clearly troubled about something, and I had to stop walking altogether and just look at her. I saw her again in the cafeteria and I swear to God ... the things she did with her fork while she picked at her lunch nearly killed me. She'd slide the food into her mouth and then chew with the prongs resting against her lower lip. I think she was flipping through a magazine, but honestly ... I didn't look that low. I got to her breasts and then alternated between those and her mouth. I'm pretty sure that I undressed her with my eyes right then ... and every moment I was in her vicinity after that.

I knew that I wanted her. Actually, I never had such a strong reaction to a woman before, not even with Rachel. It was instantaneous with Callie. The moment I laid eyes on her ... I couldn't look away. And she's a big part of the reason that I accepted Webber's offer to fill Burke's vacancy. I actually checked the Seattle Grace website to make sure that she was still on staff before I agreed to leave Mercy West. And then I spent weeks following her around like a stalker while I tried to get up the nerve to speak to her. Mark Sloan was chasing after me like the dog in heat that he is and she seemed to be pretty friendly with Sloan ... so I caught them in a room together after a bad day and asked them both out for drinks.

To say that I ignored Sloan in favor of her would be putting it mildly. The second I heard her laugh I couldn't get enough. I kept her drink full, her spirits high, and hung on her every word. She was funny, quirky, had a vocabulary to rival a sailor's and everything about her was infectious. Her personality, her openness, her dead pan humor and sarcasm ... I was hooked. I knew I would be, but getting to sit next to her and breathe her air and have her look into my eyes while I talked to her was incredible. She was a toucher. She would rest her hand on mine as she made her points and she'd touch my arm when I said something to make her laugh. All of me would warm instantly when she did that and I knew I was either fucked or screwed. Either way ... I wanted to go there.

But then Mark Sloan stopped falling over himself to get my attention and turned to Callie.

I was devastated when she told me that she was sleeping with him. I was even more devastated when the rumor mill kicked into overdrive and I heard that they were "official". Mark and Callie had become ... Mark and Callie. A couple. And I didn't know if she was even bisexual so I don't know why I thought I'd have a chance, but I still wanted it. I needed it. I hung onto those fantasies until she went to Canada for vacation with Sloan. When she came back and told me all about their dressing room romp ... I decided to move on.

Helen was only ever supposed to be a one night stand, but she stuck around for a while.

I slept with her because her hair was just dark enough with the lights off to make me see Callie there. I had to close my eyes any other time. She was convenient. I never lied to Callie about that, but I did enjoy her. Helen was raunchy and daring and willing to try anything. I could lose myself for hours in the physical act because it deadened my emotions. I had no feelings for her. There wasn't even a modicum of fondness there, because she was self-involved, self-indulgent, and had an IQ that had to be less than President Bush's, but she was willing. And I was able.

Part of me knew that Callie and Mark would implode and I counted the days. Literally. I counted every second of it and would lie awake at night wondering if she was having sex with him. I never thought for one second that she would be making love with him. Whether she realized it or not, she kept him at arm's length and the piece of my heart that she already owned was convinced that she was doing that for me. I wasn't shocked when they broke up. I wasn't shocked when she appeared on my doorstep and announced that he had cheated and I wasn't shocked when she called him every name she could think of except his given one. But I was shocked that she curled up in the bathroom floor and sobbed until she threw up. Repeatedly. I was scared then. What if she really did love him?

They say that everything happens for a reason and when Callie's father had a heart attack she didn't have to invite me to go to Miami with her. I couldn't let her hurt alone. There was never a possibility of that. Callie Torres was my best friend, but beyond that, she was also my entire life. I had nothing outside of work except her. I wanted nothing outside of work except her. So, I flew to Miami with her and I operated on her father, fell in love with her brother, and fell in love with her as I watched her with him. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I loved her already, but seeing her with her 'buddy' and experiencing this other side of her character through her family, I fell in love.

For the first time in my entire life ... I told someone the painful truth about my upbringing. I had never shared that with anyone. Rachel never knew the extent of it. Rachel was the type of person to ... dismiss people's pasts in order to avoid the hurt that accompanied it. She was content to live in the here and now and not look back. As a social worker, she spent enough time in the troubled childhoods of her cases. I didn't want to be a case for her. She only liked to look forward and while that spared her an enormous amount of my pain, I don't think I was ever able to be myself with her. Not my REAL self. Not the abused kid who grew up hungry for food, love, and attention. I don't think Rachel was disinterested, but she never asked and I never told her. It was simply easier that way. She loved me for who I was, not who I had been, but Callie taught me that I needed to be loved for that. I earned the right to be loved for that. Callie does love me because of that or perhaps in spite of it.

"Hello? Erica?"

I'm pulled from my thoughts and do a double take. Callie is completely naked. The bathing suit is pooled on the floor and she's standing there, all mocha colored skin and eagerness. I missed it. I missed the big reveal. "I should catch up."

She stills my hands as I start to tug at my shirt. "Where were you just now?"

My fingers move over her cheek, dancing along the contours of her face. "Reliving you. Everything that brought us here."

Her nose wrinkles and she shakes her head. "I hope you only relived the highlights."

"Every second with you is a highlight."

She pulls my shirt off for me. "I was already a sure thing, but that just solidified it."

I chuckle as she unfastens my bra and slide my arms out for her. One of the best things about her ... is that she can make the act of undressing me the most erotic thing in the world. It doesn't matter if she's in a frenzy and yanks at me until I'm bare or if she takes her time like she's doing now. There's something about the hunger that always appears on her face when she's doing it. There's pure, unadulterated lust all over her features and my body will start to tingle the second she touches me at all. I'm tingling all over when she arches a brow and pushes me back on the bed. She kisses the valley between my breasts as her fingers work at the buttons on my shorts and she slides down my stomach, licking and nipping at my skin, as she slowly inches the last articles of clothing over my hips.

As soon as she has my panties and shorts down around my thighs, she presses a kiss on my lower stomach and then eases her thumb against me. She's testing me ... she wants to see if she's succeeding and when I feel my own wetness I return the sly smile she gives me. I try to lift my legs to give her a hint, but she shakes her head and traps me by pressing my shorts down against the bed with her elbow between my legs. I'm pinned. I can't lift my hips, I can't squirm nearly enough, and I watch through narrowed eyes as she reaches up with her free hand and pulls the clip from her hair. Her long, raven curls fall around her shoulders and it's so shiny that the sunlight through the windows makes it look blue. And then she shifts, letting the ends of those curls spill over my abdomen. I hiss, arching my back into her touch and I catch the twinkle in her eye before she fastens her lips just above my pubic bone and gives me a hickey.

"Callie," I growl.

"Hmm?" She's still sucking at me and her eyes find mine, unblinking, pinning me, making me forget the sting of what she's doing.

When she leans back to examine her handiwork, I push myself up onto my elbows and survey the damage myself. It almost looks like a heart, but the reprimand dies in my throat when she places an open mouthed kiss against it, soothing it with her tongue. I fall back against the bed, boneless and completely over it. She shifts and pins me with her knee now, holding my shorts against the bed, still halfway down my thighs. I watch her crawl up my body and her tongue darts out against one nipple, then the other. I hold my breath as she finds the spot on my neck that forces a million goose bumps to dot my flesh and finally, her mouth is on mine and her tongue is doing things to mine that would make me weak-kneed if I wasn't already there.

I drag my nails over the rounded globes of her ass up her back, earning a hiss. "Sit on my face," I murmur, trying to tug her upward.

She kisses me again, taking her sweet ass time to give me what I want. Seconds stretch into minutes before she stands up and I enjoy the view. Oh, how I enjoy the view. I open my arms to her, ready to guide her down onto me, but she turns and faces my feet before she lowers herself. Finally ... finally she's going to take off my shorts and I try, I really do try to kick them off, but she catches them and moves them down at her own excruciating pace. She also keeps her sex just out of range by following them down. When they clear my ankles, she starts kissing there and doles out equal affection to my legs and knees before she gives into my persistent tugging and lets me taste her. As odd as it is to admit this ... I can and have gotten off just by doing this to her. She doesn't even have to touch me in return. I can taste her, hear her, and feel what I do to her and it's enough to push me over the edge.

I am not in danger of going it alone, however, because her talented mouth is all over me and I get off before she does. It feels like she was only touching me for two seconds before I let go and I feel her smile against me, I feel her chuckle and I know she's about to rub it in that she's *that* good. We already established that fact MONTHS ago, but she's a bragger. Before she can say it, before she can open her mouth to do anything more than moan, I slide two fingers into her and her moan becomes a squeal. It's my turn to smile, it's my turn to laugh, but I don't because she starts to rock her hips and lowers her mouth to me again and well ... the road to hell is paved with good intentions. I'll be damned if she doesn't throw me off my game and get me off *again*. When I finally pull myself from the coma she has put me in ... she's lying on her back beside me, her face is even with mine and she's grinning at me like a Cheshire cat.

"Don't say it," I growl.

"My youthful exuberance *clearly* just owned your *old* ass, Hahn. It's two and oh and from the looks of you ... you may be down for the count."

I push myself up to my elbow, looking at the moisture on her chest. "Your youthful exuberance is awfully sweaty."

"I was doing a lot of work."

"Are you implying that I wasn't, Torres?"

"I'm implying that you can do better."

I'm on her before she can even finish the sentence. I've got her legs over my shoulders, my hand at her center, and my mouth is on hers when the last syllable is out.

I take her there *three* times.

And stop just shy of the fourth because we hear her parents arrive from their wonderful afternoon of helping deliver all the loot they bought for Trevor and Savannah.

I watch her dress in her bathing suit again and grimace when she tosses me the red one that Lori Anne chose for me. It's pretty. It's definitely pretty, but it's also incredibly modest. It looks like something that would be vetoed in the Summer Olympics for covering up too much flesh. Either Lori Anne doesn't want to see my goodies or she doesn't want Callie to see them.

Oh, if she only knew.

*~*~*~*~

The changes in Jasper are nothing short of miraculous. Callie and I gave him hand held video games and all the Superman movies for Christmas. He sat on the sofa for hours playing Zelda, randomly announcing that he was at a new level and telling us all the secrets. Watching Callie watch him, listening to her instruct him on the game and seeing him understand her was an amazing gift in and of itself, but the best thing I got for Christmas was a wedding scrapbook from Lori Anne. Our names, mine and Callie's, are engraved on the cover and Lori Anne had written me a letter on a wedding invitation ... inviting me to join her family. That's what I'm thinking about as we sit down for lunch the day after Christmas. Our flight to Nebraska is scheduled in a couple of hours and I already miss this. I miss this ... happiness of being surrounded by something so pedestrian, something that everyone takes for granted, something like home.

I've been thinking about the Hahn's. Friedrich Hahn was no blood relation to me. He married my aunt and begrudgingly took me in. He gave me his name, but that was all he ever gave me willingly and I want no part of it. I'm going to be meeting the Salingers in a few hours ... my real family ... in Nebraska. I will meet my sister, my two brothers, my niece and nephew ... and I'll meet Rick again. My dad, my biological father. Rick Salinger. As much as I love my dad, I don't want that name either. As I finish off my yeast roll and Jasper hands me another one, carefully cradling it in the palm of his hand, I know that I want *this* family.

I want *this* name.

I want everyone to know that I am a Torres, that I am a part of something that I always thought was unattainable. I want to wear Callie's name on my lab coat, I want it on my driver's license, I want to publish articles as Dr. Erica Torres and sign that name officially instead of doodling variations of Hahn-Torres and Torres-Hahn on my notepad during M&Ms. I want to be called Mrs. Torres more than I've ever wanted to be called Dr. Hahn. Being Dr. Hahn meant bringing credit to a surname that didn't deserve my success. My success? It belongs to Callie now. I want her to own that as much as she owns me. I want her to achieve as much as she can in Ortho, make a name for herself, and everyone to know that she's mine ... and I'm hers. I want the Torres name to be in JAMA every month for whatever reason. I want it to be OUR name.

I clear my throat and glance at Lori Anne. She's snapping at Santos for refusing a second helping of sweet potato casserole and I watch as she browbeats him into submission. After she drops a huge helping onto his plate, she glances my way and offers me the bowl. I take it even though I'm full. When I set it on the table, I catch her eye again and say, "Thank you again, Lori Anne, for the beautiful scrapbook. I can't wait to fill it up."

She beams at me. I've seen all the photos from her pageant days in Georgia, but I think she's beautiful now. I think the wrinkles on her face, the smile lines and crinkles around her eyes, make her breathtaking. I would never admit to Callie that the months that Lori Anne hated me caused me to feel rejected by my mother all over again. I felt unlovable. I was this broken, tossed away baby that my biological mother couldn't keep and my adoptive mother didn't want. Lori Anne's disdain for me, her scorn and horror at my homosexuality, made me wonder if my other mothers had seen that in me back then. Did they always know that I was 'different'? Did it make it easier for them to pretend I wasn't there? Was Callie the only person who would ever see my soul?

Lori Anne clasps her fingers together, her long red nails shining. "I'm glad you liked it, honey. I don't know if you noticed, but the inside of the back cover has a removable name plate. I don't know the date that you girls are planning or I would have gotten it engraved for you."

"You were probably wondering about the name, too," I prompt, hoping she'll take the bait.

She doesn't disappoint. "Well, I didn't know what happens in ... same sex marriages. Does the person who is oldest have their name listed first? How does that work?"

I glance at Callie and see that she's leveling her mother with a glare cold enough to make snow start falling on the dining room table. These curious conversations with Lori Anne have notoriously turned very ugly in the past. She has an opinion about everything and isn't afraid to voice it at the drop of a hat, even if it's insulting and full of condemnation. I reach out and cover Callie's hand with mine, but she doesn't look at me. Can I just say that if I was on the receiving end of this particular look ... I'd probably turn around and run? I try to calm her down by rubbing my thumb over her wrist. It doesn't soften her exterior at all so I turn my attention to Lori Anne and say, "Uh, well, actually I don't think that there are any rules. Gay marriage is still so new that -"

"Anything goes?" Lori Anne suggests.

"Mom, I swear to God -" Callie begins.

"What!?" Lori Anne unclasps her hands and holds her palms up. "I need to know what you're going to call yourselves if you want monogrammed towels."

"We don't," Callie tells her.

I can't keep the smile off my face. "Erica and Callie Torres."

I look at Callie when I say it and the demonic look vanishes from her visage. "What?"

"Just Torres," I repeat, then I watch the birth of a fourth smile appear on her face. This one is a little stunned, a little emotional, and a lot beautiful. This is a smile that I want to install on her features every day for the rest of our lives. It takes my breath, my heart skips a good four beats, and I don't care that we have an audience at all. I run my thumb over her lip, tracing the curve, memorizing the angle so I can catch it anytime she does it again, and then I kiss her.

"NAUGHTY NAUGHTY!" Jasper bellows. "Do you think I should kiss Geneva like that? I think I should. She sometimes smells like gummy worms and that's probably what she tastes like. The red ones are her favorite. What does Callie taste like, Yellow?"

Santos chokes on his water and Lori Anne clasps her hands under her chin again. "Our Father, who art in Heaven, give me the strength not to have a heart attack right now."

"Erica's a heart doctor." Jasper picks up his knife and hands it to me. "Just in case. You be ready."

We all dissolve into laughter and then listen to Lori Anne give Jasper very clear, concise, and over the top warnings about kissing girls. When he asks if he should kiss a boy instead ... our lunch officially ends.

I'm loading the dishwasher when Lori Anne says my name behind me. I swallow hard and turn around to face her. I brace myself for the riot act or a warning or for her to relapse into her hatred of me, but she's looking pretty harmless. She leans against the island, nibbling on a cookie, and says, "Erica Torres has a nice ring to it."

I finally breathe. "Yeah, it does."

"Your parents ... they weren't good to you, were they?"

"No, ma'am," I admit and it's an act of God to keep the hurt out of my voice. "They weren't."

"And your father, this Rick, you have a lot riding on him, don't you?"

I think about that before I answer her. "No, I don't. The only person on the face of the earth that I ... let a lot ride on ... is Callie. She's never disappointed me. I trust her."

"You don't trust Rick?"

"Rick seduced my mother when she was sixteen. He was married and ended things with her when she was pregnant with me. It's because of him that I didn't have parents who were good to me. So no ... I don't trust him. But I want a family, Lori Anne. And he's ... he's blood."

She reaches across the island and takes my hand, turning it over. She traces the blue vein in my wrist and puts her own wrist beside it. "We're all blood, Erica. Flesh and blood. And you don't have to look for a family with Rick. You'll always have one here."

A tear spills over my cheek and she reaches up, dabbing at it with her napkin.

Callie chooses that moment to come sashaying in with her plate and she nearly drops it when she sees that I'm crying. "What did you do!? Mother!"

Lori Anne shoots her a look. I know *exactly* where Callie gets it now. "Must you always assume the worst, Calliope? For Heaven's sake, you would think I raised you like 'Mommy Dearest'."

"No, you morphed into her when you found out that I'm gay! What did you say to her?"

"I welcomed her into the family, ass!" Lori Anne snaps. "And you better watch yourself or I'll kick you out and keep her. I'm liking her better right about now."

Callie cuts her eyes over at me and I nod, confirming Lori Anne's story. Putting her hands on her hips, Callie says, "You don't want her, Mom. She's *old*. She can't keep up with me."

I throw the dishtowel at her and give chase.

She darts out the open back door and sprints across the dunes.

I catch her on the steepest and we roll down the side, legs and arms entangled. I tickle her until she pees her pants and then she forces me into the ocean with her.

We both have to shower before our flight to remove sand from ... sensitive places ... and if Callie's parents realize that our bras and panties will be washing up on shore eventually ... neither say a thing.

*~*~*~*

Callie falls asleep while we wait for the plane to take off. Her eyes are puffy from crying the entire time she was telling her parents goodbye. They'll be joining us in Seattle for the New Year, bringing Jasper with them, but Callie still cried and clung to her brother until our final boarding call. I hate it. I haven't broached the topic with her yet, but I want to make it very clear to her that Jasper is welcome to live with us when he's rehabilitated. Even now, even though he still has a ways to go, our home is his home if he wants it. If she wants it. I certainly want it. Of course, Lori Anne would likely rethink her change of heart and string me up by my toes over a swarm of sharks, but that's not the points. I'd happily risk pissing Lori Anne off for life to make Callie happy.

We're delayed for an hour and I'm happy that Callie sleeps through it. She fidgets on a plane more than anyone should. When we finally do throttle down the runway, I lean my head back and watch her. Even in sleep, her lips tremble and I wonder if she's dreaming about leaving Jazz behind again. Something amazing happened when he told her the truth about the boat ride that damaged his brain. His simple admission, that he had caused the accident, allowed her to throw off the chains that had been choking her for fifteen years. She didn't just throw them off, she sent those confines rocketing into orbit and I had to hold on to her to make sure she didn't follow suit. She floated after that. As much as she liked the tickets I gave her to Italy for Christmas ... the gift that Jasper gave her, by unlocking her prison, is the one that she loved the most. It's the one that she *needed* the most.

Prisons.

I wonder if Callie realizes that she unlocked mine for me. When she first suggested that we go to Nebraska and visit family grave sites, I came close to breaking up with her. I figured it would be easier for me to live without her than live with her knowing the dirty, disgusting truth about the poverty that surrounded me. I had only revisited that hell in my dreams and when she made it clear that she was determined to see it for herself I wanted to die. Dying would be easier, I thought, than exposing her to the filth that I never feel washes off me completely. I thought that I would prefer the loneliness again, but then I looked at her and I knew that I would go back and relive it step by step for her because she could wash it away.

And she did.

She bathed it off with her tears, she soaped me with her love, and she rinsed me in her soul. Her strength became mine and I truly knew what it felt like to be exposed, but held. I was stripped bare in front of the headstone that was *wrong* for my adoptive parents, but she cloaked me and kept me warm. I was afraid that returning there would put the coldness back in me, I was afraid it would chase away all the compassion that she had taught me, but it didn't. I sank into her and she was like an inferno. Courage is something that Callie Torres has an abundance of and I always pretended to have it, but it was just that - a pretence. I was Attila the Hahn on the outside, but inside ... I trembled.

The same way Callie's chin does now.

I lean into her, my mouth next to her ear. "I love you, Lee. So much."

She shifts and moves closer, her head on my shoulder. One of her arms falls over my lap and I lace our fingers together.

Rachel was very petite in size. She barely reached my shoulders and I always felt gangly and large next to her. The fact that her hand could disappear in mine and my slippers dwarfed her feet filled me with a million and one body issues. My shirts fit her like dresses and I could barely squeeze my shoulders into her biggest t-shirts. When she got sick, in those last few weeks of her life, I could lift her frail body from the bed and carry her to the bathtub and it felt like I was lifting a child. She joked that I was her 'husband' and I would always smile, but the truth was ... I didn't want to be masculine. I didn't want to be the husband. I wanted to be her equal, but the difference in our sizes made it hard to do that.

With Callie, we're evenly matched. We can swap jeans, shirts, and some shoes. The only thing we can't swap is our rings. Her fingers are a full size larger than mine. It's from how much she uses power tools in the operating room. Every time she complains about that ... I remind her that large fingers on a lesbian means that she's 'well endowed'. And Callie is certainly well endowed. All over. She's curvier than me and I like it just fine. My jeans fit me a little loose, but they hug her in all the right places. Anytime she wears my pants I'm uncomfortable in the ones I'm wearing because I'm that wet. Knowing that she's in something of mine does something to me. I knew the moment I saw her that I COULD love her; I knew that I wanted to, but when she chooses to wear something from my side of the closet I fall just a little more. Because she said she likes to feel me around her ... and that's incredible.

When Callie and I first got together, I compared her to Rachel a lot. I never did it out loud, but I would do a mental inventory in my head. It wasn't fair to Callie and I don't think she ever suspected that I was doing it, but I catalogued everything. All the differences, all the faults, all the similarities, everything became a list that my brain organized on a daily basis. Rachel was a health food nut, health food makes Callie nuts. Rachel wanted complete order in the house and Callie is content to leave her things all over the place and then spend hours trying to find it. Rachel didn't like to be touched at night because she would get too hot, but Callie gets offended if I don't hang onto her. Callie wants sex as often as we can possibly have it, but Rachel was the opposite. She wasn't opposed to sex, she just lived her life by a schedule and spontaneity in the bedroom was ... planned. It wasn't uncommon for me to find a sticky note on the refrigerator door to remind me of 'dirty time'. She was usually the one that needed reminding and if she was distracted with her job as a social worker or if there was stress over a specific case ... I was usually left to my own devices.

I didn't mind back then, but now that Callie has unleashed every sexual fantasy I have EVER had, I fully realize what I was missing out on. The funny thing is though ... I'm really glad that there's so much "new" with Callie. I may have had a few women before her, but she's my first in so many ways.

I loved Rachel. I was so in love with her that I settled onto her backburner and never asked to move. We were best friends, we were lovers, and she was my world, but I wasn't always hers. She was married to her job first and foremost. I was so damn proud of her accomplishments. She never named me in her thank you speeches when the community would give her another award. She would never make eye contact from the stage or mention my contributions, but I knew she was happy with me. I knew that she was my biggest fan the same way that I was hers. I know that because when she got sick, when the leukemia ravaged her, I was the only person she wanted near her. The closeness in those final months more than made up for the nights I sat alone. In those last days, she said everything that I ever wanted to hear and then she released me. She made me promise that I would move on and find love again. If it hurt her that I readily agreed I never knew it. All I knew was that there was more to life than what we had and if I had to experience it all without her ... I was ready to do that.

I once told Callie that I would do anything to have Rachel back healthy and whole. It devastated Callie and I didn't think before I said it ... because if Rachel had been alive today ... this thing with Callie probably wouldn't have happened.

I say probably.

But I really think it would have.

I really think that if Rachel were alive today ... I would have left her for Callie because the moment I saw Callie at Seattle Grace ... I knew that soul mates existed and I wanted her to be mine.

Now she is.

Everything happens for a reason.

And when the plane hits turbulence and jars Callie awake ... I know that it's really meant to be. She's supposed to rescue me from my thoughts because I'm starting to feel introspective and moody. She yawns, rubs her eyes, and signals the flight attendant for some water. She also asks for a blanket. I notice the dirty twinkle in her eye the second she spreads it over us and she wastes no time slipping her hand under the waist band of my comfortable jogging pants.

My toes are curled in my shoes for the final hour of the flight and the things she whispers in my ear makes me euphoric.

I don't even know that the landing was bumpy until I overhear the people next to us mentioning it and we hang back until the flight clears out. She folds the blanket, carefully wiping her hand on it, and then she grins my way. "You ready for a *real* white Christmas? I called Rick before we left and he said they have about ten inches. Should make driving fun."

"Should make driving a horrifying nightmare. Tell me you didn't rent another smart car, Lee, because if you did ... I'm flying home."

She shrugs and I groan. Her priorities really are questionable.

The moment we step off the plane and into the jetway to head into the airport, we're blasted with cold air. My teeth are chattering by the time we make it inside and I see that Callie isn't faring much better. We both stop and dig our coats out of our carry on bags, but I know that we grossly underestimated how much padding we would need. I glance around, trying to see if there is an outfitter nearby and then do a double take at a gaggle of people standing a few feet away. There's a strange tugging in my stomach when my eyes move over a tiny blond woman. She's staring back at me with MY eyes. They're exactly my eyes. The second I smile, she does.

And then Vivian Salinger, my sister, is rushing toward me and announcing to anyone in the vicinity that she would recognize me anywhere. She's followed by two burly men and I know they're my brothers, but I'm gazing at her. If I was five feet of nothing but blond hair, perfect teeth, and the straightest, silkiest hair that a human being could have ... she would be me twenty years ago. Her chin is more pointed than mine, her smile is a little wider, but if I passed her on the street I would do a double take and wonder if we were related. I have to bend down to hug her and she grips me in a rib crushing hug that causes my bones to crackle in frustration. Or elation, I don't know.

When she speaks, her voice is a lot like Lori Anne's. There's a Southern inflection there and I can't wait to find out where she got it. "Hey," she says, still hugging me. "You don't even know how excited we were to find out that you were coming. Damn, that you existed at all. My life," she leans back and gazes up at me. "just got a whole hell of a lot easier since I'm not the only girl anymore. Those buffoons back there can start giving you the third degree instead of saving it all for me. Let me tell you, Erica, you don't know over protective until you grow up with Brutus and Beefcake sneaking around reading your diary and trying to eavesdrop on your phone calls. I'm more than happy to share the wealth, let me tell you. OH! You must be Callie! Dad's told us all about you! Did you really threaten to break his brittle bones? I would have paid to see his expression after that. Nobody around here will say 'boo' to him, but you made an impression, let me tell you. And you're so pretty. Latina women get all the great genes. I dyed my hair black one time and cried for a week because I looked like a corpse, but you look like a movie star. Is that your natural color?"

One of the men reaches around Vivian and covers her mouth with his hand. "I'm sorry," he says, smiling at me. "We accidentally charged her batteries. I'm Richard. Ritchie, actually."

I extend my hand toward him and he grabs it, pulling me into his arms. I don't have a lot of experience with hugging men. I thought that my dad had the broadest chest I had ever been pressed against, but Ritchie is all muscle, all strength. I rest my head against his shoulder and I think that it would have been incredible to be able to cry against it during Rachel's funeral. Instead, I cried into a tissue wishing that Jim, Rachel's brother, could have joined me on the pew. He was a pallbearer and sat on the other side of the church. A pillow, Rachel's pillow, is what held me that night as I screamed my agony into it and tried to let her go. I wish I could have let her go right here because I think Ritchie could have held me together. I feel him rub my back and let him go. He stares at my face, pouring over it, mapping it. I do the same. He's older than me, but he's so much like me it's startling.

Ryan shoves him out of the way by swatting him on the back of the head and then he's hugging me. It's not the rib crushing kind that either of his ... no ... our siblings gave me, but he cups the back of my head and softly says, "Welcome home, Rico. That's your 'R' name."

It touches me so much that I feel tears burning my eyes, but I swat them away as my dad tugs me in for his turn. I watch over his shoulder as Callie is greeted with the same fanfare that I was. She's thoroughly hugged, complemented, and fawned over. I puff up with pride as my brothers and sister admire her engagement ring and listen to her tell them that she actually proposed to *me* because she's younger and always beats me to the punch. She'll pay for that, I think.

Vivian gasps suddenly and punches Ryan in the shoulder. "You idiot! You left their coats over there! If someone stole them -"

"Relax, Rudolph, I've got them right here."

Sure enough, Ryan picks up two puffy marshmallow coats and holds them out to us, saying that he's certain we didn't need them in Miami. They fit perfectly, Callie's is solid white and mine is black. I find matching gloves in the pocket and smile when Vivian pulls my hood on for me, assuring me I'll need it. My brothers are soon laden down with our luggage while Rick loops his arms through mine and Vivian escorts Callie into the cold, blustery snow. The awaiting limousine is an SUV model, heavy, large. I notice the snow chains and feel relieved that I won't be driving us anywhere.

Vivian dominates the conversation as we pull away from the airport. She's still dominating it, grilling Callie about Orthopedics, and trying to wrap her head around why anyone would want to hold a drill all day when Ryan points out the window and tells me we're home. We ease down a driveway that is canopied with lights and it's at least half a mile long. I see a large pond and Ryan tells me that we can ice skate if we want to. I don't break his heart by telling him I'd kill myself if I attempted it and then we're pulling up in front of a house that isn't quite as grand as Callie's mansion in Miami, but it still takes my breath away. Almost every inch of the house is covered with Christmas lights. They're sparkling on the banisters of the wrap around porch and blinking on the columns. Solid lights have been used to create stars and Christmas trees on the side of the house and there are two inflatable nutcrackers standing sentry on either side of the oversized front door.

My brothers won't let me help with the luggage and I take Callie's hand as we climb the stairs. This is a huge moment for me. Huge. Huge isn't even the right word. This is a moment that I have dreamed about so many times in my life that I need her to ground me so that *I* don't float away. I used to conjure images in my head of who my real father was. Every time I felt the bitterness that came from knowing Friedrich Hahn, I would lie on my bed and conjure a life that he had no part of. My father became presidents. He became actors, musicians, poets, Walt Disney, even the founder of Wendy's for a while. Shut up, it's valid. I never got fast food.

As Rick opens the door and lets us walk into the house past him, I know that nothing my imagination afforded me can compare to the real thing. I smell leather immediately and see a library, stocked with wall to wall and floor to ceiling books to our left. I imagine myself at ten years old, not quite as scrawny as I was in real life, curled up in the comfortable looking recliner in the corner as I pour through the collection. Then I imagine myself reading to Vivian as a little girl and glance at my sister. She's waiting for a reaction and I don't know if she wants me to tell her how beautiful the house is or how great it feels to be there. I take off my coat while I weigh my options and Callie does the same. Ritchie hangs them up on a loaded down hall tree and I clear my throat, ready to say something ... anything.

"Oh for heaven's sake!" Vivian cries. "Look up, you two!"

Callie and I oblige her and see a huge amount of mistletoe hung on the ceiling. We both break out into giggles and shake our heads. "KISS HER!" Vivian coaxes. "I've got my camera! And we always get pictures of the family under the mistletoe. Unfortunately Ritchie and I haven't had a date in years, but Ryan keeps us amused with Nuru, that's his wife, she's pretty amorous so we've seen it all. Kiss her, Erica!"

"Stop living vicariously, Rudolph," Ryan tells her.

I wink at my sister and give my fiancé a kiss for her. Vivian tells us to hold it, hold it, hold it and gives us plenty of direction. She wants my hands on Callie's face, then Callie's hands on my face, and then Callie and I are laughing so much that we have to stop. "You might be a pervert," Callie tells Vivian.

Vivian nods in agreement. "Go through a three year dry spell and see if you don't need a new outlet. Photographs are mine. I take pictures of everything, anything, and anyone who is willing. You should see my scrapbooks. I have one for everybody and I've already started yours. I'm making you one as a couple. I'll capture everything on this trip for you. This will be the first picture in there. Dad said you like photos, too, and I've been going through all our albums and getting copies made. One of your Christmas presents is a big old box of pictures so you can see for yourself that our brothers never grew into their ears and I was always the cutest one in the family. Of course, that definitely changes now, Erica, because you're just drop dead gorgeous and I would give anything to be as tall as you. I think I deformed my feet by wearing such high heels my entire life. The first shoes my mother ever bought me for school were heels. I was in a really low percentile for height and she hated it. She was awful tall, but I didn't get that from her. And I didn't get it from Dad either. I always thought I wound up in the wrong family because I'm like three inches away from being a little person when all these men are over six feet, but seeing how much we look alike makes me realize that I belong in this family. And so do you. I'm just so glad to meet you. I'm so glad you exist at all. I always wanted a sister."

Vivian stops talking and drags in a deep breath. I swear, I think it's the first one she's taken since she began her speech. Her eyes land on Callie and she launches again. "And now I have *two* sisters. You're really tall, too. I'm jealous. And you do have the prettiest hair I have EVER seen. Do you think you can curl mine like that? Yours is probably natural, right? Don't tell me if it is ... I'd have to cry or something. My hair won't hold a curl at all."

"Erica has naturally curly hair," Callie tells her, getting herself out of the hot seat. "Springy curls that go everywhere."

Eyes like mine are narrowed in my direction and I can see Vivian studying my semi straight hair. Callie dried it for me. "I hate you on principle, Erica."

My reply is cut off by the arrival of two curly haired moppets. Hayden and Hartley, my six year old niece and nephew, come barreling down the stairs. They are both bellowing at their 'Papa' and I watch with a smile as they attack Rick's legs. He squats down to their level and says, "I saw Santa in town. He's coming tonight so you'll want to be extra good."

I gasp and look at Callie, who is just as shocked as I am. "You - you didn't celebrate -"

Rick shakes his head. "No, honey. We wanted to wait until the family was all here. Now you are."

"Hi!" Hartley, the little girl says, running to me. I squat down the same way Rick did and she rests her hands on my shoulders. "You're my Aunt Erica?"

I nod at her, my hands on her hips. "Hello, Hartley."

"I hope you know bedtime stories. Aunt Vivi don't know any! And she don't know any good voices."

"It's true," Vivian says, ruffling Hayden's hair. "I suck as an Aunt. It won't be hard for you to be the favorite."

Hayden is staring at Callie and when he steps toward her, she squats down beside me. He touches her hair and then his own. "You gots colors like me!"

"Pretty close," Callie agrees, reaching out to poke him in the belly. He giggles and then gives her a kiss on the cheek. "You smell real good. What's your name?"

"I'm Callie."

"Are you an Aunt, too?"

Callie glances at Rick and he says, "She sure is. That's your Aunt Callie."

Hayden turns and sticks his tongue out at Vivian. "Now you gots competition so you better be nicer!"

"*You* be nice, son!"

I turn at the sound of the voice and see Nuru, my sister in law, coming down the stairs. She's beautiful. Her long ebony hair is pulled back from her face and her chocolate colored skin is flawless. Her cheekbones are sharp in a glamorous way and her smile lights up her entire face. I'm sure that Vivian takes rolls upon rolls of film of her, I certainly would. Nuru is breathtaking. She hugs me then gazes into my eyes for several moments. She finally nods and says, "You have an old soul, Erica."

"She's pretty old. It suits her," Callie says, earning a swat from me.

Nuru turns her attention to Callie and studies her the same way she did me. She finally hugs her and says, "And you, Miss Callie, bring some much needed diversity into this overly blond and pale family. You and me, we'll be quite a team."

And just like that ... we belong.

Me and Callie.

Callie and me.

We're still a team. We're still an army of two who can stand up against vandals, fight off the skeletons in our closet to make our own way out of it, and lean on each other for everything.

But now there are more people to bring into our life.

And if Callie Torres has taught me anything it's that my heart is big enough to love.

I plan on loving enough in this trip to make up for the forty plus years that I lost with these people.

I am, after all, addicted to it.

*~*~*~*~

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