There Were Blond Curls In Her Hair
Part 1/1
AN: So, I've had a shocker of a working week, culminating in way too much young death and work with traumatically bereaved children. And this was my cathartic, 'I can't have a wine until tomorrow night', fic. :-) I hope you can indulge my introspection and clear transference onto fictional characters with this relatively short one-shot!
Some days I'm humbled by my job; and at other times I wish I serve coffee for a living. I do make a very mean latte. There's still paint under my nails and images of crying children clouding my vision. And I wish, not for the first time in my career, that absorbing death and grief isn't my job. But I'll come back tomorrow, because I always do; it's not my life, not my world. I just witness it for such a brief moment in time - the luxury of my work is that I get to go home at the end of my shift to my life, my people. What I do, it's a privilege, not a curse.
But that doesn't mean there aren't days that are so incredibly hard.
X X X
"Callie?"
"Yeah?"
"You good?"
"Yeah."
"Really?"
"Nah."
"Is the family…"
"Gone home."
"Right. So, you don't need anything?"
"Like what, Karev?"
"I don't know; a drink at Joe's. A coffee."
"Yeah, 'cause a drink will stop me thinking about that little girl, holding her dead Mom's hand."
"S'pose. Is Robbins at home?"
"Probably."
"Tell her that she didn't lose her ability to be a wife when I took her leg."
"Yeah, yeah. I'll do that, Karev. I'll get right on that."
Callie walked home, which was unusual for her after sunset, but she needed a few moments to think and to gather her emotions. She savoured the dark sidewalk, utilising her anonymity to shed some silent tears. She was haunted by the fact that where she was going home to check on her sleeping daughter, there was a little girl who would never be checked on again. Never held; never kissed. Never whispered words of adoration and pride to.
She got death; she did. And she had a baby girl of her very own that would never know her father, never remember the way he swelled at pride with the mere mention of her. But there was something different in her gut, when she thought about a daughter losing her mother. Maybe it struck a little too close to home; a reminder of her own lack of invincibility. Or perhaps it was a reminder of the gap Arizona was leaving in Sofia's life, each and every day, physically close yet emotionally absent.
Sofia had stopped asking for her Mama in the middle of the night. And Callie wondered, who does a ten year old learn to ask for?
It wasn't often Callie was tasked with delivering the death message but unable to control the trauma, nor the resultant death, Callie had told the girl and her father in a small room to the side of the emergency room. Bailey stood a silent witness behind her, quietly coughing away her emotion; interns rushed past, heads bowed. Residents skimmed the charts and took notes for their exams, anything but engage in the horror of holding death in the palm of their hands. They were yet to find the balance between over-involvement and being so inhumanely detached. Empathy; empathy came with experience.
And when the femoral bleed can't be halted; when the artery pulses and tears further and further, there's only empathy left. All the medical training in the world can't save the un-saveable.
When she arrived home, Callie hesitated at the door to their apartment, a set of keys tangled through her fingers. She missed her wife; her colleague, her mentor, her confidante. She desperately wanted to tumble through the door and swiftly grab a bottle of pinot by the neck and two glasses before sinking into Arizona for the longest of tender hugs. Then they would drink and share; spend time dissecting the injury and intervention before moving on to the impact. Eventually, after a few tears and challenged self doubts, they would fumble over some humour and slip into a bath and then bed. When they would either succumb to exhaustion or allow tender kisses to draw them into an extended climactic dance.
But that sequence of events wouldn't happen that night. Still, that didn't mean that Callie didn't need it to.
"Hey Arizona," she said softly as she opened the door to Arizona using her crutches to cross from the television to the kitchen.
Arizona stilled for a moment, not missing the puffiness of Callie's eyes and the small areas of reddened skin where black eyeliner would usually be. "Hey," she responded, "I thought you were going to be home earlier."
Sighing, Callie offered only a pitiful and defeated glance though Arizona quickly held her hands palm open away from the crutches; a surrender of sorts. "Surgery," Callie murmured hastily.
"Yeah, I figured. I just meant that your dinner is in the oven."
"Dinner?"
"Umm, yeah; nothing spectacular, but Sofia didn't complain."
Placing her handbag over a hook by the side of the door, Callie could only manage a weak smile. She was waiting for the catch. "You cooked, Arizona. That's…that's well, I'm starving."
Arizona's eyes were clearer than they had been in months and Callie just suddenly noticed that her hair was curled. She couldn't remember the last time it was curled; tying it back in a ponytail had been the extent of Arizona's styling since she had woken up in a hospital bed.
Miranda Bailey had done in a few hours what Callie couldn't have managed in a lifetime.
"Okay," Arizona answered awkwardly, and slipping behind the kitchen bench and grabbing a mitt, she bent down to the oven. Callie watched, quietly in awe. "It's just pasta bake, but you used to like this sauce." Placing the towel clad dinner plate on the top of the stove, and closing the oven, Arizona leant heavily on her crutches, balancing. "Don't make a big deal," she instructed quietly.
Callie nodded, swallowing heavily. "Watch tv with me?" she asked quickly, voice unsteady.
"Yeah sure, I'm going to have another glass of white, you want one?"
"Like you wouldn't believe," Callie said, exhaling loudly and nervously laughing. "Thank you," she added, taking the plate and striding over to place it on the coffee table in front of the sofa before rushing back to the kitchen. "Let me?" she half asked, half instructed, holding both glasses in her hands as Arizona filled them to the rim. "Are you already watching something?"
Shaking her head, Arizona screwed up her nose. "Nope, I resorted to ancient episodes of Seinfeld earlier. Your choice, maybe there's a movie on." She didn't go so far as to suggest Callie put on an old romantic comedy from their collection, but it was close. It was a habit they had engaged in for years, whenever they needed a time out from work, to de-stress and forget for an hour or two, they would put a DVD on. And they collected them too, whenever there was a sale or something particularly cheesy caught their attention, then they added to the growing DVD tower. It had to be trash though, that was the rule. Anything that required intellectual thought or had the potential to win an award, that was out.
"Okay," Callie murmured, crouching in front of their movie collection whilst flicking through the various cable channels. "How was your day, Arizona?" she asked softly, tensing at the possibility of a barrage of retorts being hauled at her back.
Taking a moment to respond, Arizona nodded at the room. "Okay," she answered, "good, yeah, a good day." She hesitated momentarily, licking her lips. "I ah, spoke with Hunt actually. We thought I might go back to work next week, start slow. But yeah, go back to work."
Callie spun on the balls of her feet, swaying with the momentum before falling heavily on her knees. She winced at the sharp twinge that shot through her left knee. She stumbled over her words, lips open wide and tongue moving as if her brain and mouth weren't connected. "Wow," she eventually managed, watching a slight smile tug at the corner of Arizona's lips. "That's, that's huge."
"I'm ready."
"Well, yeah, I mean, you're so good with standing and walking now. I think that's amazing, you've done incredibly." Tentatively observing Arizona, Callie watched as her shoulders seemed to square and her chest inflated a little. Then she exhaled; her features relaxing and a wider smile spread across her lips. "I know that you probably don't want to hear it, but I'm so proud of you. I really am, words can't describe just how much."
Arizona nodded. "Thanks," she said, not a detectable amount of anger or resentment in her voice.
"And I'll be there, you know that right? Whatever, whenever you need it. And others will be too, Karev, he's been like a kid waiting for his mother to come home." The words were out of her mouth before she felt the chains on her shoulders draw her back to the hospital; to the patient she worked for two hours on in the emergency room. Her face clouded.
"Yeah, he hasn't really hid that well; I've had about fifty text messages over the last few days, ever since the rumour mill spread about Bailey's case." She laughed lightly, a sound so foreign, as it resonated in the room. Callie nodded, feeling her throat constrict. There was happiness in their apartment, genuine smiles and laughter; and she was missing it, with the heaviness in her chest and the memories of her shift. "You should eat something, before it gets cold."
Again, Callie nodded automatically; there was care emanating from Arizona. And when Callie closed her eyes briefly, and the missing limb disappeared from her vision, she felt a calm tenderness that threatened her tenuous control. She felt a familiar tenor in the room, one she hadn't felt in what seemed like forever. "I think I lived on coffee today, so probably a good idea." Her dark eyes glistened with a film of moisture.
"You're upset,' Arizona acknowledged quietly, unwilling or unsure as to explore the reason. She feared the guilt that might shadow the lightness she was feeling, if Callie were to identify her as the trigger.
Callie shrugged and shook her head. "I'm okay," she stated, transparently empty. "It's just that, well, this is nice," she explained awkwardly. "You've had a good day."
"A good few days," Arizona agreed, shifting her weight on the sofa as Callie tossed the remotes between them and sat heavily in front of her plate. "But you haven't?" she prompted gently, concerned.
Callie shuddered at the compassion, fork held stationary in the air. "I'm sorry," she offered sheepishly and when she glanced at Arizona, she found intense blue eyes fixed on her. They weren't staring over her head or to the right of her shoulders, they weren't unblinking and vacant; they were narrowed, clear and Arizona forehead was creased in worry. It wasn't so much what they were, it was everything they weren't.
"Eat Callie; have some wine." Arizona continued to flick through the channels, stopping at a twenty four hour news station and lowering the volume. The background noise was reassuring and provided them both with something to distract and focus on.
Callie swallowed a few mouthfuls slowly before sipping from her glass. "This is really good," she said softly to the room, "I'm even hungrier than I thought." She missed another smile from Arizona. "So," she started after a few moments silence, "is there a plan for your first week back?"
Arizona nodded ambivalently, moving her arm to extend along the back of the sofa. "Not really, Owen is happy for me to do what I'm comfortable with. I could do a return to work program but I'd rather just do consults and chart reviews, build up to getting back into the OR. I'm kind of hoping there's hour or two hour simple procedures so I can reassure myself that I haven't forgotten how to use a scalpel."
"Oh you haven't, I know you haven't," Callie quickly murmured.
"I know…I just don't want to be waiting days and getting all anxious waiting to get back in there." Another soft laugh passed her lips.
"You'll tell me…what's helpful or what you need?" Callie asked, lowering her fork to the plate and drinking from the glass. She savoured the warm tingling feel of the wine as it travelled down her oesophagus. "I'll want to be around, that's all and I don't want to crowd you."
"Hmm mmm," Arizona offered her agreement, choosing not to elaborate. Her unwillingness or difficulty in accepting support from Callie hadn't disappeared; it was just dormant at the moment, in the momentum of her clear gains. "Anyway, it's not 'til next week so plenty of time to figure out the potential dramas."
They watched the news quietly as Callie finished the pasta and pushed the plate aside, leaning back and placing her outstretched legs on the coffee table. She closed her eyes and exhaled heavily, body slowly relaxing. Arizona observed silently, taking in her puffy eyelids and the dark circles that emphasised her sockets. The makeup she would have applied early that morning had faded, leaving her skin slightly pale and the natural variation in pigmentation evident. Her lips were dry and chapped, no time to apply even a basic gloss or balm.
"You can tell me, about your day, if you want," Arizona said quietly and a little hesitantly, fingertips tapping at the glass in her hand.
Callie bit at her bottom lip before allowing her head to drop to the side. She opened her eyes to meet Arizona's gaze and they both sat painfully still, staring at each other as if rediscovering or rememorising the detail. "You sure?" she asked and Arizona's eyes widened as she nodded. Callie remembered that expression, and her stomach twinged at the involuntary reaction she felt; the instinctual responses that she wouldn't have ever known she had. "I don't have to; this is good, sitting here with you, is good." Again, tears swelled and she was powerless to stop the catch in her voice.
"What was the case, Calliope?"
A soft hiccupped cry escaped her lips and she kept her eyes fixed on Arizona's, frightened to lose the connection. She breathed slowly, trying not to lose herself in the old style of interaction, knowing it was likely only fleeting. Her angry, resentful and perpetually hurt wife would screech back without warning. "I had a patient die, in the ER this afternoon. That's all."
Arizona's breath quickened and she leant her head back, emulating Callie's position. "Oh," she whispered, "that's kind of unusual. What happened?" She was concerned, interested.
"An entrapment from an MVA, took them a while to get her out and she had a femoral rupture. We couldn't get her stable enough to get to the OR and she ended up bleeding out in the ER." Arizona waited patiently; it was one of the shortest explanations Callie had ever given when discussing a case at home; short, direct and painfully clinical. "I tried to clamp it off, but the tear would just extend. I don't know, maybe there was already a weakness or an aneurysm there," Callie murmured, partially to herself and partially to Arizona. "Everything else seemed okay, she had no head or abdo stuff, just an open fracture…I pushed three units of blood, but it barely hit the sides. I mean her blood pressure was non-existent."
"I can imagine the chaos…" Arizona trailed off.
Callie coughed a sad laugh, rolling her eyes. "So many people were screaming at me, as if they could have done better."
"They couldn't have."
Shaking her head, Callie shrugged. "I don't know. Grey questioned my objectiveness; Bailey kicked her out. I blocked everything else out, just that crap loud background noise that doesn't make sense. It doesn't change that fact that she died with both my hands in her leg and pelvis." A tear fell from the corner of her eye and onto the material of the sofa.
"You did all you could."
"I could have done more, surely. It's not good enough is it? Just to say that there's no other options?"
"Mmmm, and sometimes we do all we can, you know; and it's still not enough. That isn't anyone's fault. Body's fail, that's nature, not surgeons." Sometimes antibiotics don't work and legs, not surgeons, demand amputation in exchange for life.
"There's an eight year old kid without a mom tonight."
"Ohhhh, God. I'm…that's awful. I'm sorry." Two week's ago, Arizona would have shrugged and ambivalently dismissed the trauma in Callie's sentence. Because life isn't perfect and crappy things happen to a lot of people; crappy things happen to her. And it would have taken energy she didn't have to acknowledge, that there's always someone, somewhere, that is facing worse circumstances than her. And when your life falls apart, that's more difficult a thing to accept than people realise. It's easier said, than lived. "Was there a father?"
"Yeah," Callie sniffled. "He was just in shock, of course; they stood in front of me like I was telling them in Spanish. I don't think he believed me until I took them in to see her."
"Of course."
"You should have seen their faces though, just pure amazement or disbelief, when they saw her lying on the gurney."
Arizona nodded. "That's not your message, your communication though. That's normal; I've had parents point blank tell me that it's not their kid that has died, that it couldn't possibly be."
"I screwed up, Arizona."
"What? You did what you could."
"I forgot the little girl's name; I asked her, but then I forgot. I couldn't ask her again; what kind of person does that?"
Waiting quietly, Arizona held her challenge until Callie brought sodden eyes back from the space between them. "The kind of person that has a daughter of her own at home; the kind of person that has just had months of their own…loss. Did you refuse to speak with them? Did you ignore them or treat them badly? Did you talk to them like they were an inconvenience to your day?"
"No, no, of course not. I took them in to the patient; they wanted locks of hair and hand prints, so I did all that."
"You didn't screw up."
"I stayed with them. I didn't want to, but I did."
"Then you really didn't screw up."
"I hate dead bodies, I hate touching them. And I know that's ridiculous, but I really, really hate it."
"No wonder you're upset," Arizona whispered, shaking her head as she finished the remnants of wine from her glass. She leant forward and awkwardly pushed it on to the table, before resuming her position.
Callie did the same. "She held her mom's hand and told her that she loved her and would miss her. She was so little. And Sofia…Sofia won't ever remember Mark. At all, she'll have some photos and a couple of video recordings, that's it. That will be her relationship with her dad. I should have done something more for her, to connect her with him. Something." And something to connect her with her mother, when she walks, prosthetic attached, out the door and never comes back. The unsaid; the fear, was palpable.
"We'll make sure she knows, Calliope."
We'll.
Callie nodded, drawing an open palm to her face, thumb and index finger pressed to her eyes as her shoulders trembled. "I hate this so much," she gasped, "it's too much."
"I know," Arizona murmured, wincing at the effort it took to balance as she reached across the vacant space between them. She curled her fingers around Callie's forearm in a tender grip.
"Please don't," Callie managed to blurt out between soft cries. "I need you so much and I can't ask you for that; I can't ask when you're…" When we haven't even begun to mend the broken parts.
"Yes you can; God, you can ask for this. After what I've asked of you," Arizona said, shaking her head to keep her own emotion at bay.
"There's so much I want to say to you."
Nodding, Arizona tugged harder on Callie's arm, pulling at her until she folded at the waist and sunk into the couch. Her head came to rest on Arizona's thigh, ear pressed into the firm, muscular stump. She instinctually curled on to her side, her other arm crossing the edge of the cushion, where a knee should be, until her fingers could bundle the pyjama material of her fully formed leg. "Me too," Arizona whispered, one hand motionless in Callie's hair whilst the other stilled on her shoulder. She didn't know where to start, or where she would continue even if she did start. Nor, where it would end.
Callie sobbed harder in response, tears falling steadily from her eyes and her entire body shuddering with the effort. It seemed like a dream, Arizona's soft palms starting to stroke feather light over her arm and fingers pick soothingly at strands of hair. She was waiting for the nightmare to start, for the bubble to shatter around her. But it didn't, the soothing touch rhythmically continued and a barely audible whisper broke the agonised cries every now and then. "It's okay."
They stayed that way until, a tiny voice crackled through the monitor, sleepy and fearful of the dark. "Mama." And Sofia's Mama rose from the sofa, crutches tucked under her arms and headed towards her bedroom.
And when soft blond curls fell in front of her eyes, she tucked them behind her ears.
Fin.