All of the characters in this story are property of ABC-I own nothing.

Present Day (Spring 2014)

Nobody told me.

There was no neon flashing sign. No great, powerful oracle. No premonition of any sort.

There wasn't a montage of memories that came flooding back; no moment of clarity.

There were no answers.

If anything, there were more questions.

And the worst thing a curious person can be…is alone.

Six Years Ago (Spring 2008)

Beep…Beep…Beep…

"Mmm no…"

There are two kinds of people in this world:

Beep…Beep…Beep…

"No."

The kind of person who swipes open their phone alarm, and the kind who presses snooze.

BEEP…BEEP…BEEP…

"OH MY GOD."

BE-

Callie Torres presses snooze.

It wasn't that she was overwhelmingly exhausted, or that she didn't enjoy mornings. No, she was fine on both fronts—she was just absolutely horrible at waking up. She considered it a skill; an art form, if you will. She had filed it under the 'undesirable' side of her traits list, the one that she had mentally compiled and stored away to work on later in life.

Much, much later.

"Callie?" came a muted voice from outside of her room. Red hair swished in through the crack left open between the wooden door and the painted forest green wall. The tall, lean girl rolled her eyes at her friend's seemingly comatose form. In a messy heap of sheets and limbs across her bed, Callie gave a half-hearted groan.

"I'm okay, Addie, I'm okay. Let's just all…let's just go back to…sl…"

An impressive snore filled the room.

Addison Montgomery uncrossed her arms, sighing as she braced herself for a fight. Leaning forward, she snagged a fist full of Egyptian cotton and tugged sharply.

"NOOOOOO!"

"Callie!" Addison shouted over her best friend's pathetic whimpering. She let a rush of air push past her lips as an impatient hand ran through her hair. Throwing the gathered sheets to the floor, she threw her hands up in exasperation.

"Fine! That's fine. But if you fail the final simply by not even showing up for it, don't come crying to me."

Addison waited for a moment, expecting her friend to have at least some sort of reaction. But the only thing that came of her outburst was a lazy smack of the lips and contended sigh from the sleepy brunette. Flicking her wrist up to her face, Addison bit her lip with worry as she regarded the hour. She didn't have time to drag her best friend out of bed today—she practically made herself late even doing this much. She had slept in, too.

"Alright, Cal," she said, "I'm going now. You have to be in class in TWENTY minutes, alright? Can you wake yourself up? Can you do that for me?"

"Mmyeah! Yeah, best friend, twenty minutes, you got it…" came the muttered response as Callie threw a wobbly thumbs up into the air. Addison shook her head as she gave a final goodbye, closing the door behind her as she left.

"SHIT!"

Callie's red plastic toothbrush stuck out of her mouth at an odd angle as she hopped around the tiny apartment trying to force her heel into her shoe. As soon as it snapped into place, she grasped her hair with her free hand and held it away from her face as she leaned over to spit in the sink. Rinsing her mouth out quickly and tossing the toothbrush back into it's ceramic holder, she grabbed the deodorant and rapidly rubbed it under her arms. Her phone sang a familiar tune in the kitchen next to the bagel that she never did eat, despite having half-way prepared it as a quick breakfast. Groaning, she ran across the carpeted hallway, picking it up and slamming her finger on it to silence it.

She had really had enough of that alarm.

Frantically looking around the living room, she allowed herself a moment's relief when she saw that her backpack was next to the La-Z-Boy, right where she always left it.

"Gotcha!" she exclaimed as she slung it over her shoulder. As she made for the front door, she snatched her black lanyard with her school's logo from it's holder in the entry way and, sticking it in her mouth as she reached over to grab the bagel from the now crumby counter, she yanked the door open, slamming and locking it quickly as she fumbled with all of her things.

She rushed down the stairs, taking two at a time when she felt bold enough. Practically jogging out into the open air of the crisp spring morning, she took off in the direction of the campus's science building. The school's gigantic clock tower chimed loudly, letting her know it was officially 9am…the exact time of her last final exam.

"Shit!" she announced again. She took off at a run now, her blue and white checkered backpack thumping heavily against her back as she did. Her hair hadn't gotten a chance to be brushed, and with the wind whipping it around, she knew she must have looked an absolute wreck.

"Hey, Callie!" a familiar voice shouted at her, confusion marking the person's features as they saw her sprinting.

"Can't talk—gotta take my final!" she shouted over her shoulder. As she approached the center of the school's courtyard, she mentally weighed her options. She could take the preferred route, which meant she had to go to the right through another building in order to get to where she needed to be. Or…she could take a chance to the left and try to make her way through the marked off construction zone that would have taken her directly to her destination. She allowed herself to pause momentarily and weigh both options. She wasn't supposed to go through the construction zone. Students could get fined if they were caught sneaking around in the blocked off sections of the school. But as she looked at the clogged hallway that led through the arts department, she knew there really wasn't a choice. Her professor had warned them the week before that he would close the doors at 9:05.

Callie shifted her backpack more securely on her shoulders and took off at a run straight for the flimsy yellow caution tape.

"Shit…shit…shit…shit…!"

It had become her mantra as she watched her every step, careful not to roll her ankle on one of the many pieces of rubble that was seemingly everywhere. She could definitely see how students weren't allowed back here yet—the place was nowhere near completed. Squinting her eyes and shaking her hair out of her face, she looked up momentarily to try to determine how far she was from the science building. She smiled as she saw the top of the off-white structure come into view. The giant chrome roman numeral four shone silver in the sun's rays, beckoning her to it. Just a few more turns and—

Callie's movements jerked. She froze, panting loudly as her bag full of crap nearly swung passed her, confused as to why they had stopped. The jiggling of her things made her pause for a second longer, just in case she had missed whatever sound she had heard. She waited, her heart slamming in her chest as she tried to force her breathing to come slower and more quietly. A bird chirped overhead in a large oak tree nearby. She admired the light filtering through the bright green leaves as she allowed the quiet to engulf her. After a moment's pause, she decided that the noise she thought she had heard must have been in her head. Brushing her hair out of her face sloppily, she lifted a foot in the direction of her class, fully intending to take off at a sprint to room 422. But just as she did, she heard a feeble groan, followed by the distinct sound of rocks tumbling.

Callie jerked her head back around in the direction of the noise.

"Hello?" she called out. She waited for something to happen. Faintly, she heard the sound of rocks shifting again. She bit her lip as she bounced up and down on the balls of her feet, not sure of what to do. She had to take her final, that much was certain, but she also couldn't shake the feeling that someone, rather than something, had been making that noise.

And they didn't sound to be in good shape.

Callie pulled out her phone, clicking the home button and growling low in her throat with frustration as the clean font displayed the time:

9:06 a.m.

"Well," she muttered, "that settles that."

Straining her ears, Callie cautiously set out to find the source of the uneasy sound. Her mind was racing with all of the possibilities. What if it was some construction worker, and when he saw her, he'd try to turn her in to the Dean? What if it was some guy snorting coke off a cement block? What if it wasn't a human at all, but a cat that made really, really strange sounds?

She didn't have to wonder much longer.

As she turned a particularly messy corner, her eyes grew wide as her jaw dropped open in a soundless gasp. Fear filled her face as she took in the scene before her.

A child, no older than eight, was standing slouched like a rag doll next to a concrete beam that was jutting out from an unfinished wall. To Callie's absolute horror, a sharp and jagged piece of wired steel was protruding from the child's chest. Thick blood had blackened the boys yellow and blue flannel shirt, and when Callie's eyes assessed his cherubic face, she saw the sticky remnants of semi-dried redness streaming from his lips and down his neck to his throat, disappearing under the collar of his shirt. His eyes were hazy and unfocused, but blue as the morning's clear sky. His blood caked hands hung limply by his side and it was then, after mere moments of shock, that she sprung into action.

Her mind ran on auto pilot as she checked the boy's vitals. She tried asking him questions. Her hands were everywhere and nowhere at all, afraid that moving him would do more damage. Everything was spinning. The smell of metal was in the air. Her fingers were wet and red. Her hair was in her eyes and stuck to the corners of her mouth. She knew she was speaking, but she didn't know what she was saying. Asking his name, probably. Wondering what his favorite color was. If he had any siblings.

Her cheeks were wet. She realized this as she pulled away, staring up into the foggy face of a tiny body. It wasn't until that moment that she noticed that in her rush to check on the boy, she had forgotten the most important step.

She shakily wiped off her right hand on the thigh of her black skinny jeans. While on her knees in front of the boy, she twisted her body so that she could reach for the bag she had let drop the instant she had feeling return to her limbs moments before. As she carefully held the corner of the bag with her bloody left handed fingertips, she tugged the zipper open with her right. Licking her dry lips to try to get moisture back into her mouth, she blindly shoved her hand inside and felt around for the familiar rectangle. She fumbled around briefly, flicking away the errant pen or pencil. The moment she closed her hand on her cell phone, a slurping sound from behind her hit her ears. Not a second later, she spun around, and the body of the lifeless boy dropped into her arms.

Terrified and shaking, she was shivering from head to toe as she regarded the innocent lost soul in her arms. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think. She couldn't look at the open, empty eyes for a second longer. Trembling beyond belief, she dialed 911.

The conversation was strange. Looking back, she couldn't remember what was said. She couldn't even remember responding to their questions. All she knew was that one second she was worried about having to retake a test with 10 points off of her final grade, and the next she was checking a small child for signs of life.

She hung up the phone after they said they were on their way. She wasn't sure why.

She glanced up at the sky then. She looked to her left, where she had originally turned the corner minutes ago to come upon this heartbreaking, gruesome scene. She saw the tree that she had been admiring. She heard that same bird chirping. How cruel a fate, she thought it was, that the whole world kept on thoughtlessly spinning while hers had come to a traumatizing halt.

She forced herself to look at him now. As her eyes swam with tears unshed, she allowed herself to blink them free. They rolled over her tan cheeks, following warm trails down her pained face. She took in the child's appearance. His mouth was ajar, allowing her to notice he was missing one of his front teeth. She wondered how proud he must have been when it had fallen out. Did his mother put something under his pillow for him? Did he like whatever it had been?

Callie raised a shaky hand up to his brow and pushed his dark brown hair back from his face. She sniffled loudly as she let a sob break free. Time was going by so normally, and that bird was still chirping. A cloud covered the sun momentarily, casting a shadow upon the earth.

Perhaps it was the sudden chill in the air that made her do it. Maybe it was the way the first two buttons of his shirt had come undone, whether on purpose or by accident, making him look even more vulnerably disheveled. It could even have been the way his tiny lips were turning blue. She wasn't sure. All she knew was that there was a sudden urge, a tender desire in her, whether it was maternal instinct or human nature, that led her to do what she did next.

Leaning forward as a salty tear caught at the corner of her lips, she closed her eyes, and pressed them softly, carefully, against his.

What happened next was something that changed the course of her entire life. Something that she had never anticipated—that she would never forget.

The boy took a deep breath in.

News anchors flooded campus that following week after the…incident. Oversized foam microphones were shoved into my face repeatedly. They looked at me and saw a story, not a person. Journalists craved my comments, but I gave them none. All I could think to do was to hole myself up in my apartment. And that was where I stayed, pensive and mildly frightened, for the entirety of my summer.

By the end of it, I made one of the hardest decisions of my life. Looking back, I should have done it differently. I should have gone to my counselor and changed my mind—asked about the engineering program, picked up a 'Technology for Dummies' handbook, something. But naively, I followed my heart instead of my head.

I walked into that school all over again to get my Doctorate of Medicine.

And suddenly there I was four years later in this huge hospital in Seattle next to my best friend, my light blue scrubs noting my status as the lowest on the totem pole. A big part of me wanted to run away in fear, or break down in the closest on-call room. But I made a promise to myself a long time ago that I would follow this through the normal way; the way that I had trained to do for the past eight years of my life.

A nudge to my ribs from a pale, bony elbow made me smirk in the middle of the chief resident's speech. Addison's excitement was radiating off of her, nearly contagious in it's outreach. As a hectic bustle of bodies in uniform shuffled in through the sliding glass doors of the pit, the group of us made our way over to the body being wheeled in on the swiftly moving gurney. I remember giving a full fledged smile, snapping my powdery surgical gloves into place.

I was going to save lives.