Title: Breaking at the Cracks
Chapter: Seven - "End of May"
Author: laurenxx3 (iheartcallietorres on ff)
Pairing: Callie/Arizona, Callie/Addison (friendship)
Rating: PG-13 [for now]
Summary: Callie's devastated after Arizona leaves for Africa and now has no job, no place to live and no prospect of either. Addison comes to the rescue and whisks her away to California.
Disclaimer: You know the drill. All characters belong to Shonda Rhimes/ABC. I don't own anything. Any similarities to real life situations/persons are purely coincidental. Not for profit; for entertainment purposes only.
A/N: I have absolutely NO medical knowledge beyond what I see/hear on Grey's Anatomy, so forgive me of any medical-related errors. Also, this is un-beta'd, so all mistakes are mine. Please let me know if you come across any, but I'm pretty OCD about grammar and spelling, so there shouldn't be too many mistakes. As always, comments are much appreciated (and will encourage me to write more fics in the future - *hint, hint*).
A/N 2: This starts off after 7x07 and will NOT follow the events past that, except for maybe a few small things. I will *not* include spoilers for future episodes. Please be aware that Arizona is not present in the first several chapters since I'm more interested in how Callie is coping post-airport scream-fest. I love Arizona to death, but I just don't think I could do the Arizona working in Africa plot justice. She is in Africa, but we won't see her until she comes back to the states. I'm not going to tell you how long that will be, however. ;)
End of May
Golden haze
Another morning feels like yesterday
End of May…
Now you're gone and there's still bill to pay
And you know it doesn't help to make believe
That you're sitting next to me
It doesn't help to make believe
That you are right behind me
Saying it's okay…
::~::Michael Buble::~::
[Callie's POV]
Callie,
I'm so glad you wrote because I've been worried about you as well. I'm okay. I've been working here every day for the past few months, helping hundreds of children. You have to know how much leaving without you killed me. Every night when I try and fall asleep, I can't remember why I left, but then I get to save poor, malnourished children in need the next day and I remember. This is where I'm supposed to be. Seattle is where you're supposed to be. Fate just wasn't aligned for us.
I love you and miss you. Please, take care of yourself.
Arizona
I laid back on my bed and started out the window at the Los Angeles skyline as the sun started to rise. I had an amazing view, but all I could think about were Arizona's words in her e-mail reply. I'd gotten it six weeks ago, two weeks after I'd sent my e-mail to her. I debated whether I should e-mail her back or not. Violet didn't think it was a good idea. She said continued contact would probably keep me from moving on.
I knew she was right.
But I also knew that I didn't want to move on.
But I had no choice. I'm here in LA (I chuckled when I remembered Arizona's words about my place being in Seattle), and she's there in Africa. We might as well be on different planets. So I hadn't replied, but the words kept echoing in my head on a nonstop loop.
I've long since gotten over my anger towards Arizona. Violet had helped with that. She'd helped me see that Arizona had only been thinking of me when she made me stay behind.
Though I was no longer angry, I was still hurt. And a little bitter. I remembered telling the camera crew from the documentary that if it were me who'd been awarded the grant, I wouldn't have accepted it. I wouldn't have considered moving to another continent if it meant leaving Arizona behind. And I'd meant it.
I haven't shared this bit with Violet. I'm afraid that she'll judge me for it. I know I should tell her and work through it, but I need to keep something private.
It's now been just over five months since Arizona left.
I live in LA now, surrounded by friends. I work at St. Ambrose Hospital and get along with my colleagues. And I've been continuing my research and making a lot of headway on it. I even cut my hair after telling Addison I was thinking about it. She'd shown up unannounced on my day off and dragged me to her hair stylist. I'd tried to back out of it, but they'd eventually worn me down. I'm happy with the results, though. I'd needed a change.
I still didn't let Addison or anyone else set me up with a blind date. After the disaster with Tabitha, I decided not to even try yet. I knew I was far from ready to date anyone. Violet agreed.
I grunted in frustration and rubbed my tired eyes. Why the hell couldn't I just stop wallowing in self pity and move on? This isn't like me. I don't pine for ex's for months. I can usually move on easily. Why was this so different?
I didn't even have to think about that answer. This was different because I'd never really pictured myself spending the rest of my life with other ex's, even George. I thought, with George, that I'd spend the rest of my life with him, but I couldn't picture it. I couldn't picture us ten, twenty, fifty years from now living happily together in a big house.
But I could easily picture myself with Arizona when we were little old ladies, retired from medicine and traveling the world together. Sitting at home in front of the fireplace as grandkids played hide and go seek. Cuddled up in bed on cold, lazy mornings listening to music and watching sappy movies.
That's why. That's why this is so much worse than any other break up I've gone through.
But that didn't stop me from being mad at myself for becoming such a lovesick weakling. I'm Callie Torres, damnit! I'm a rockstar. Badass. I break bones for a living. I'm fucking hardcore and it's time I start acting like it.
I threw the covers off and quickly dressed, anxious to get to the hospital. Today, I'm going to re-immerse myself into my cartilage research. What's more hardcore than making cartilage from jell-o?
..::*~*~*::..
The sirens were nauseating. The high-pitched sound rang in my ears, making my head pound. I tried to open my eyes, but the harsh light of the sun caused me to snap them shut. I groaned in pain as I tried, and failed, to move my arm to rub my temple. What the hell?
"Ma'am? Ma'am, are you alright?"
The voice seemed far away and disembodied. Was it addressing me?
I tried to move. I whimpered.
"Don't, move," the voice instructed, seeming a bit closer this time.
I tried to open my eyes again, this time squinting. I saw dented metal and broken glass. I smelled smoke and tar. I heard sirens and shouts of panic. I felt pain over my entire body. I tasted blood.
"Ma'am, you've been in a car accident," the voice said calmly. I moved my eyes up to see the face of a man in yellow gear. A firefighter. I groaned, still not fully comprehending what was going on.
"Ma'am, can you tell me your name?" the firefighter asked.
I coughed and sputtered on the blood in my mouth. "C-Callie," I managed to say. I tried to move again, to turn my head to take in my surroundings, but the man stopped me.
"Don't move," he coaxed, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder and keeping me from moving my neck. Even though his touch was gentle, it sent a current of pain through my entire body and a wave of nausea ran threw me. My vision blurred and I whimpered again. The world began to fade to black.
"I need help over here!" I heard him call out as darkness encompassed me.
..::*~*~*::..
[General POV]
"What do we got?" the trauma surgeon at St. Ambrose hospital asked as she opened the door to the ambulance.
"Multiple MVC on the 405," the paramedic rattled off as he jumped from the back of the ambulance and they moved the gurney quickly inside the ER. "This one is female, early- to mid-thirties, several severe injuries to head, neck, abdomen and right leg. Sustained a severe concussion and looks like internal bleeding. Vitals dropped in the field and she lost consciousness. BP and heart rate are both low, but stable."
"Move on three," the surgeon, Dr. Jennifer Lakota, said once they'd reached a trauma room. The team of doctors gripped the sides of the backboard and prepared to lift. "One, two, three."
Once successfully moved to the bed, they went to work to try and save the woman's life.
"Someone might want to look at her cheekbone," the paramedic said. "It looks like she could have a severely fractured right zygomatic bone that may have pierced the optic nerve."
Dr. Lakota nodded and indicated for a resident to check it out. The resident lifted the bandages covering the majority of the patient's face and gasped aloud. It wasn't the sight of the wound on the right cheekbone or even the massive bruising and obvious trauma to the right side of the face that made the young man gasp. It was at the realization that this was no random person from off the street.
"Dr. Lakota!" the resident cried out.
"Kind of busy saving a life here, Dr. Freeman," the surgeon said without looking up as she quickly assessed the right leg of the patient, hoping it could be saved. "Someone page Dr. Torres to look at this leg," she barked out.
"Dr. Lakota!" Dr. Freeman cried out again. "This is Dr. Torres!"
Everyone in the room stopped and looked up, gasping when they realized that the young doctor was right.
The heart monitor suddenly hummed in a single-pitched, long line.
"She's coding!" Dr. Lakota yelled. "Someone page Dr. Noble and the Chief! STAT!"
..::*~*~*::..
[Arizona's POV - Blantyre, Malawi, Africa]
I was dead on my feet. I'd worked a fifteen hour day saving little kids and making families happy. That made everything worth it. To see that joy when a parent who would otherwise be burying their child receives the good news that their child would live.
At least, it was worth it in the moment. Like now. I watched as a mother praised her God as she sat by her now healthy son's bedside. I'd removed a tumor earlier in the day. Without the surgery, he have been dead within a few weeks. I'd been able to save him.
That's what this was about.
I forced myself to remember that at night when I was lying in bed alone, wishing that a certain raven-haired Latina was lying curled up next to me.
"Why don't you go on back to your apartment, Dr. Robbins?" a voice pulled me out of my daydreams. "I can close up here."
I turned to see Dr. Wells, a young but very talented surgeon from Finland, looking at me with concern in his eyes. Dr. Wells and I had formed a friendship over the past several months. We both shared similar stories, both having left loved ones behind.
I sighed and rubbed the back of my neck. "Are you sure?" I asked.
He nodded. "Go. You look exhausted."
"Thanks," I murmured and left the clinic we'd set up. It wasn't much, just an old building with three make-shift OR's. But those make-shift OR's have saved hundreds of children already.
I climbed the rickety stairs of the apartment building that the grant paid for. It wasn't much considering the run-down area of the city we were in, but it had electricity and running water. Granted, the water wasn't quite as hot as I'd like, but it was better than no running water.
I let myself into the small apartment, glad to alone, yet scared to be alone at the same time. I wasn't scared for my safety or anything; the grant foundation had also hired security workers to accompany us and secure the building just in case there was trouble. So far, we've had no trouble whatsoever. No, I was scared because when I was alone, I started thinking about Calliope - Callie, I corrected myself.
I sighed as I fell back onto an old, lumpy couch, kicking off my shoes and turning on the cell phone that the grant foundation had given me. Surprisingly, it worked here. I'm no technology expert, but I didn't think that I'd be able to call home on a cell phone. Granted, I had to dial a bazillion numbers to do so and I was limited to 200 minutes a month, but I was still able to call home and receive calls as well.
I quirked my eyebrow when I noticed that I had nine missed calls and my voicemail was full. I dialed my voicemail and put the phone to my ear. What I heard caused me to tense and nearly drop the phone as a wave of panic and nausea rolled over me.
"Arizona, it's Teddy. I-I just got a phone call from Addison in LA. She… uh, there's been an accident. I, uh, I hate to have to tell you this on your voicemail, but it's-it's Callie. She's been hurt. Badly. They… they're not sure that she'll survive the next 24 hours. You need to come home."
Longer days
More time to sit and watch the pendulum sway
In quiet rage I'm staring at this empty notebook page
In times like these you feel like you are done with feeling
You feel you want to stop the pain from healing
Because you feel like you are the only one
Who feels this way…
::~::Michael Buble::~::