Author's Note:

So, this is my first Grey's fic and I'm a little shaky about it, but I'm keeping a positive attitude, and hopefully, you'll all enjoy it! I do believe in other pairings, but much like my GPA, my opinions on pairings such as MerDer, Izzlex, Maddison, Bang, and any variations of those listed, fluctuate regularly, so there may/may not be strong focuses on parings other than CaGe, but I definitely intend on including the other characters. Don't worry, no AU, they're all doctors in the same fields as on the show, they all still work at Seattle Grace, and I refuse to include an OC simply because I think (no offense, others writers) that they ruin the story, plotlines, and relationships that were originally meant to surface. But this doesn't mean that I can't change any of that. Except the part about OC's. Ew. No.

Btw, this is just the intro., which takes place several months (five maybe?) after the description of my story. We begin with an argument. Read! Review! Enjoy! Whatever!

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"That's it. I can't take this anymore. I've been supportive, and kind, and whatever other stupid adjective I've been for the past three days while I've kept my mouth shut, well not literally, and tolerated all of your insane fetishes and unnecessary chatter and completely random need for midnight groping parties. And for the record, George, parties involve more than two people. We are two people! Not the foxy foursome or more that a party requires." Callie paced across the room, obviously frustrated, as she threw complaint after complaint at her poor, oblivious boyfriend. George sat on his still unmade bed at the other end of the room, bringing his knees towards his stomach and comfortably resting his chin upon them.

Just as obviously as Callie was agitated, as she normally was the early morning after a night of his incessant babble during sex, George was obviously paying the least attention to whatever she was saying. He was mumbling something to himself about how he was going to be late for rounds at the hospital and would miss all the really gory, make-you-wanna-mcvomit surgeries while Callie's tone grew more strident and impatient. Finally, she stopped pacing and stood directly in front of him, her hands placed firmly on her hips. Without moving at all, George snapped his lazy green eyes out of their dream-like focus and looked into Callie's.

"Did you hear anything I just said?" she asked, tensely.

He looked away. "Hey, uh, I was thinking we could all go to Joe's tonight. I mean, you, me, Izzie, Cristina, Mered-" Callie interrupted him by placing a finger over his mouth.

"George." She said, as calmly as her temper would allow.

"Hrmph?"

"Are you deaf? Do you have a mental illness? ADD?"

"You know, I like to call it selective hearing, actually." He smiled his happy, boyish smile and looked back up at her.

George really did love Callie, but there was something that kept him from showing her, truly expressing to her that he was committed and head-over-heels in love with her. There were days when he even doubted that he could take care of her which was exactly what Callie wanted from him. Those days were the most difficult between them; when George would talk, and talk, and talk to keep from having to answer her burning questions about their relationship, when he stared into space quietly as she asked him for the commitment that she so strongly desired. It was during those times when George's vulnerability and immaturity showed, and to his discomfort, Callie was always able to notice. She certainly noticed, and quite quickly and easily, picked up nearly every detail about her silly, charming boyfriend; his obsession with picking at food that he knew he wasn't supposed to touch, the more embarrassing moments when she caught him practically having late-night debate sessions with himself, and the most sentimental sides of him. And although neither of the two had come to the realization, they needed each other; they were a sort of tower of buildings blocks where occasionally one or two blocks would topple over, but the end result was always that more and more blocks would be added to the tower, making it all the more admirable and spectacular, and unfortunately, more vulnerable to crumble.

"You know what I mean, George. We just can't keep having these pointless discussions if we aren't even going to discuss." she persisted. George groaned exaggeratedly and fell face-first into an oversized pillow, placing both arms over his frowzy mop of hair (it had been several months after Callie had successfully cut his hair after he had tried himself, and failed miserably causing him to look rather hobbit-esque, but neither of them had ever found the time to cut it recently); he couldn't miss out on an insane surgery that he could possibly lose to another intern. Especially Christina. His already "soft and fluffy" male ego didn't have the strength to take another blow from her sharp, painful, and even truthful wit.

Callie, giving up as she usually had to because she would be late for some bone marrow transplant or whatever, threw her arms up in the air, defeated. Although she was unable to see it as she stalked into the tiny guest bathroom of her apartment to change into her freshly-laundered scrubs, George's adorable face forced itself into a wide smile as he buried his head into the confines of his pillow.

Several minutes later:

Callie, complete with clean, dark navy scrubs and necessary notes for the day's awaited surgeries, quickly sauntered out of the bathroom, rushing to tie her mass of thick black hair into a messy ponytail. She skidded into the kitchen where she found George licking his fingers of stray peanut butter from a half-eaten sandwich that she had leftover from last night's late dinner. She would always prepare several sandwiches early in the morning if either of them had been on call the night before and had to skip dinner, which was now happening more often than not.

Callie yanked George by the arm, forcing him from his barstool and tugged him out the door of her apartment and down the fire escape.

"B-but, my sandwich-" he pleaded. George stared pathetically back at the window of Callie's apartment as they rapidly raced towards her red Volvo, parked conveniently near the entrance of her weathered apartment building.

"Callie." He stopped her, placing his hands on both of her shoulders. "We're doctors, right? So of course, our patients expect us to know about proper nutrition and healthy eating habits," Callie lifted a dark eyebrow at a total loss for words.

George went on, "Well you know, healthy eating habits do not actually include not eating."

"George…"

"My sandwich."

"Wait ... what?"

"You took me from my sandwich, Callie. You can't just pull a man away from his sandwich! It's like an unwritten law-" He paused. "-maybe." George smiled brightly as Callie was finding it difficult not to snort-laugh at his ridiculousness. She rolled her eyes and George pulled her into him, slightly. He gently took her face in his hands, kissed her on the cheek, and took her hand in his as he two of them continued to rush down the rusted metal chain of ladders in hopes of being able to furtively sneak into the hospital, unnoticed. The couple agreed that the last thing that they wanted was to start World War III when Dr. Bailey, their very own Nazi, would catch them sneaking into work over thirty minutes late.