Arizona's POV
My first surgery of the day went well. I have one more scheduled. I don't know if it is runner's high or what but, ya know how when your body is absolutely drained and you think you can't go any more but on comes a burst of energy and you push through? Well that is where I am. Come to think of it, it is probably the four cups of coffee after breakfast. Runners high, caffeine overdose. Eh, same shit. I have thought about Patient X a lot today. I just wonder where she is, what her story is, if she is safe. I can't imagine anyone I know going through that alone, if she even is alone. For all I know that was her boyfriend that did that to her. I wish I could have gotten her name. But oh well, she is just another chart. Can't save them all. I just can't help but wonder why I was able to calm her so much. Why she trusted me.
I tried to catch up on some rounds before my last surgery so that I can head home early but just as I am about to start I get paged to the ER. It's not a 911 so I hurry through my rounds and head down to the first floor. I greet the charge nurse as I exit the elevator and ask her about the page. "Bed 1," is her only response. I walk toward the bed and pull back the curtain expecting to find a little human under the sheets. But instead, it's her. And it's worse than before.
A staff doctor and nurse are cleaning and assessing for fractures in her face and she has a death grip on both rails of the bed. The doctor motions me over and I stand beside him, taking note of her clenched shut eyes and swollen face. "She keeps saying your name. Over and over. Do you know her?" The doctor looks at my quizzically and I am suddenly at a loss for an answer. What kind of self-respecting doctor would associate with a hooker and if I tell him that I know her that is exactly what he will think. But if I say no then how do I explain her asking for me. A mistake? Another Dr. Robbins?
"Yes." With my word her eyes open and she finds me, standing at the head of her bed. She takes a deep, ragged breath and tears fill her eyes. My arms are folded over my chest, a common practice in the ER when you aren't gloved. She lets go of the rail and reaches toward me, finding only my jacket but taking a handful and holding it tightly. She knocks me off balance as she pulls me toward the side of her bed causing both staff members to look at me. "Just, give me a second, ok?" They both nod and step behind the curtain. I quickly pull up a seat and replace my jacket in her hand with my own. "Jesus, again?" She clenches her eyes shut again but it does little to stop the stream of tears from escaping. She opens her mouth several times to say something but settles for just a nod of her head. This woman... this patient in front of me... I don't even know her name but my heart breaks into a million pieces at her pain. I hold her right hand with my left and stroke her hair away from her face with my right. "Tell me what happened. Why were you asking for me? Who did this to you?" Her tears fall harder and her chin quivers at my questions. "Ok, ok. You don't have to tell me. Just relax, ok? Let um... lets start with something easier. Is anything hurting? Besides the obvious? Can I get you some meds? Water? Anything?" She shakes her head. We sit in silence for several minutes until her breathing calms and her tears slow.
"What's... what's your name, Dr. Robbins?" That was the first time I heard her voice. It was low and strained. It was sultry but shaking. It was... beautiful.
"Um... I'm Arizona. What's your name?" I ask, half expecting an answer and half expecting a "fuck off". Her voice breaks.
"Ca...I'm Callie."
"That's a pretty name, Callie. It fits you." I smile at the patient… at Callie and she holds my gaze for only a few seconds before awkwardly looking away. She looks at the curtains surrounding her and at her monitors. She glances to our hands several times before I begin to feel that she is uncomfortable and promptly let go. When I do she bites her bottom lip, probably out of habit, and grunts as her teeth find the newly split skin. She runs her tongue over her bottom lip, feeling the damage. It was not an intentional sexy act, it wasn't even something that she meant for me to see. But I did. And wow. I can see how she could stay in business. And that thought disgusted me. I felt horrible for thinking about her in that way. Especially if it led her to this. But I couldn't stop staring. She was… breath taking.
Callie's POV
I don't remember anything after shielding myself from his kicks. He apparently landed one to my mouth because that shit is ruined. The cops found me. Again. Called me all sorts of derogatory names and dropped me at the hospital door. Again. I didn't even fight this time. I know they don't mean it. They have offered me help more times than I can count. Putting me up in shelters, giving me money and NOT expecting favors, talking to me when no one else would. But they are fed up. And I get that. I am fed up, too. They arrest me when they have to and look the other way when they can. They always find me. They always get me help. But I know that they feel that it is a losing battle. That they will find me dead one day and all of their time will have been wasted. And to be honest, I am quite certain that will happen as well.
I don't really remember much, just that I wanted her to be with me again. I honestly thought they would just ignore what I was asking and go about their business. But the one, the tall guy with the soft voice, he always listens. So I kept asking. For her. And she came. I don't know what it is about her or why I felt comfortable with her there. She didn't do anything that others haven't done. But when she talked to me I just felt better. Not safe, so much. Just better. And when I heard her voice again I had to feel her. To smell her perfume again. To feel her skin again. To see her eyes. Those were the last things I saw in my head before everything went black this morning. To say that I was emotional would be an understatement. This woman has seen me cry more in the last 24 hours than my mother has seen since I was 5. She runs off a list of questions. None of which I am attempting to answer at this moment. I asked her name, trying to change the subject. Arizona. I like it. And she asked mine. Such a simple question, right? Except I haven't had to answer that question in a long time. The people I know don't care. I am "whoever you want me to be, baby". That's who I am, what I've made myself. Except for in that moment. I would have given anything to stay "Callie" for a few minutes longer.
She brushes her fingertips across the knuckles of my hand, causing me to flinch more so because of the contact than the pain. It feels like ages since she spoke last and when she does her voice is different. In place of her calming, child-like inflection, she speaks now in just above a whisper. "At least you fought back." I look to the scrapes and bruises on my hand and laugh sarcastically just before meeting her eyes. I was going to tell her that I fought back. Was going to tell her that the bastard got what he deserved. But I know she would see right through it. But I couldn't say it, still. I couldn't say that I've learned that it just gets worse when you fight back. I couldn't tell her that I couldn't fight because, asshole or not, he gives me food and a place to sleep when I need it. I couldn't tell her that I've learned how to accept it. I couldn't say it. So with as much of a smile as my swollen mouth would allow, I just took her hand and looked away. "Yeah, I fought back."
