Disclaimer: This is AU. I do not own any of the characters from Grey's Anatomy. I just manipulate them to my will. Also, any line or phrase or setting that seems remotely familiar from any other show, movie or book, also not mine.

AN: So, Arizona is livid and so is Callie. Lets see if they get over it. Enjoy!

Chapter 14 – The Talk: Part II

The can. The lock. The brig. All synonyms for a prison cells…all synonyms for the surveillance van. Only…in a prison cell, you have room to move, you have light, you have air. Not so in the van. Especially since this van has been lived in for nearly three weeks now. It smells like the cab of an Indian/Chinese/Middle Eastern cross breed. Days old take out food rots in the trash can. The darkness of the van only broken by the glow of the many screens showing two doors and the downstairs of a well decorated home. This is my punishment…the one I inflicted on myself.

Its been five days since I've had to drag Dr. Torres back home, kicking and screaming. I haven't seen her in five days. …Well, I've seen her on the screens in this van, but not face to face. She hasn't seen me in five days. Childish?...maybe, but its all part of the plan. After I arrived back to my hotel room that night, my Marines T-shirt and jeans soaked, a mixture of sweat and Seattle rain, I came up with a game plan. …just stay away from her. Distance. That's what you need to do. Nothing said you had to be the one to cover her. You're the boss, delegate. So now, I'm the one in the can. Reed is now the agent that covers Callie during the day, while I remain in the van. Nights, Avery is on post while Karev is locked down. …the two highest members on this team are the ones doing to the probies work… But I had to punish Karev somehow. Yes, I told him to give her some slack, but not let go of the leash all together.

It's a boring job, which is why there is a stack of books, magazines, and newspapers as tall as the height of the van. But I use the time to go over the surveillance I've had Yang running. She has been trailing Erica Hahn's activities since that incident during the run. I still don't know if she is a problem or not…and I'm not talking about getting in the way of 'Callie and I'…there is no 'Callie and I'…there never will be. Something catches my attention so I pull out my phone and make a call.

"Oracle of Quantico. How may I save your ass today?" Yang's voice rings out.

"Yang…I'm looking over these phone records of Hahn's you pulled for me. …She seems to be getting a call from a different number every two to three days, then never again."

"That could be anything, telemarketers, wrong num-"

"Right, but then she always calls another number directly afterwards. 305 area code. …That's Miami isn't it?" I hear keys tapping away as Yang works.

"Affirmative."

"Run all the numbers that called her immediately before she called that 305 number." More clicking and typing. Some mumbling to herself about being paid double because she works better than two people do.

"Unregistered, untraceable cell phones. But they…." More clicking as she digs deeper "They were only used the once." …now that's something.

"And the 305 number?"

"I see where you're going with this…" she types away furiously. A couple seconds later "Dr. Jesus Rodriguez… cardiothoracic surgeon at Miami Methodist."

"Shit…" I growl. It makes sense that a heart surgeon would call another heart surgeon regularly, but the whole cell phone thing has my spidey senses tingling. "Dig up what you can about Hahn and Rodriguez. …Past employments, see if their paths crossed anywhere. As well as any one that is part of this case."

"Roger."

"Call me as soon as you get something."

"Copy that." And the line goes dead.

Its just after 6 pm and my shift is about over. Dr. Torres is due back from the hospital within a few hours, barring any emergencies, and then the night shift comes on. …Hahn gets a call from an untraceable cell phone. A different number every time. Then she immediately calls Rodriguez in Miami. Spanish name…could be Mexican. Passing information? She a middle man of sorts? But…why? Why not just contact Miami directly. Who is calling her that can't call Rodriguez directly?...and why? I'm stirred from my thoughts by the ringing on my phone. …Avery?

"Robbins." I answer.

"Robbins, Avery."

"What's up Ave?"

"I think I caught food poisoning from that Indian place earlier. I'm dying…" I hear him heave into the toilet and I pull the phone away from my head before I can hear that sickening sound of partially digested food hitting water.

"Just…rest. I'll cover your shift tonight." I yell towards the phone that I have at arms length. Hanging up, my body does that subconscious shiver it does, like taking a hit of cough syrup. "Gross…" I breathe out. …I warned him about that place. When there is a used tissue sticking out of the shirt pocket of the chef…don't eat there. One of the joys of being the lead, you are the first one to pick up the slack. So, when one of my team is sick, I cover them. It's my job. And since I'm not letting Karev out of his punishment early, that means I get the inside post tonight while he stays in the can. …had to see her face to face again eventually. Just act cool Robbins. Professional. You are a professional. And your relationship is professional. ONLY professional feelings.

When Karev pulls up in one of the sedans, he walks over and knocks on the door of the van.

"Hey boss..." His week in the can has cooled him but he's still pissed at me.

"You hear about Avery?" I ask as I gather my crap from the last twelve hours. He nods. "I'm covering his shift tonight. I'm expecting a call from Yang, if she sends anything to the printer, bring it in to me." The van has a wireless printer in it which is how Yang sends us hard copies of files in the field.

"10-4." He says as he climbs in the cabin of the van and slides the door closed. I walk to the empty house and let myself in. After a routine sweep, checking all the doors and windows, I settle down in my regular seat. Checking my watch, I see I still have a while before I can expect Reed to return with Callie. Reclining back, I close my eyes and let my body catch as much rest as it can get.

My light slumber is interrupted by the noise of shoes on the steps outside. Standing, I straighten out my shirt and suit and run a hand through my blonde hair. …stop it Robbins. You told yourself not to do this… Callie enters her home at her usual fast pace. When she sees my form standing in her living room, she halts so suddenly that Reed runs into the back of her. Quickly, her gaze drops from me and she moves on in further to her home. Reed looks between the doctor and myself, knowing something is up, but has no clue what to think about it. She gives me a questioning look, obviously not knowing why I'm here and not Avery.

"Sick." I answer her unspoken question. She nods and then goes to the front door. I follow her out and ask "Anything new?" A shake of the head in 'no' and she gets in the car and drives off. Walking back into the house, I lock the door and check up and down the street. I take a deep breath before returning to the living room. When I get there, I take my seat again and hear Callie moving around in the kitchen. Soon, smells that make my mouth water waft into the room. After an hour, she still hasn't come out of her kitchen, and my nerves are on end. …I need to do something. Something calming. Moving to my bag, I grab my cleaning kit and lay out a towel on the coffee table in front of me. Unholstering my gun, I clear the chamber and release the magazine in it. Checking again that the gun is cold, I disassemble my weapon and begin the methodical cleaning of it. Its something I've done whenever I need to calm down, to stop thinking. The steps are always the same, the feeling of the cool metal in my hands centers me. My hands still, my mind stills.

"Hey." An uncertain voice calls from the archway to the kitchen. I don't look up, but continue wiping down the barrel of my gun. She moves into the living room and takes a tentative seat on the other end of the couch. "Guns make me nervous…" She says finally.

"Sorry." I say flatly, still not looking at the woman.

"They kill people." She states, trying to explain her earlier admission.

At this I look up and make eye contact with her. "Guns don't kill people. People kill people." She gives a tight nod then breaks my gaze. I go back to my weapon.

"So…" She drawls. "…what happens if you have to use your gun to protect me while you have it in pieces like that?" She tries to joke. I lock my eyes onto hers again then reach down and pull out my back up weapon from my left ankle.

"Ah, two guns…" She states, her eyes wide. I nod and place the secondary weapon on the table next to the pieces that make up my primary. Another tense couple of minutes pass. I've cleaned my gun and assembled it again. Cocking the empty chamber, I pull the trigger and hear the fresh clicking of the gun spring into action. Then…I take it apart and start cleaning it again. I need to keep thoughts of this woman out of my mind so…if I have to clean my gun 100 times during this night shift to do so, I will.

"He's not my boyfriend." She blurts out. I don't react. "I just…I feel like I need to explain myself to you."

"You don't, Dr. Torres." I say coolly. "I'm not here to judge you. I'm here to-"

"Protect me… yeah, I know." She gets up and starts pacing in front of me, but I don't watch her. My eyes are glued to the disassembled gun in my hands. "I'm sorry! Ok?" She cries out, then adds softly "…I'm sorry."

"What about?" I ask, finding her eyes.

"…all of it." She sits again, this time closer to me. "I…was a bitch, a huge HUGE bitch to you and your team. …And I challenged you at every step. I knew what I did was wrong, and then when you… I felt so embarrassed… I didn't want you to…see… that… So I got pissed off at myself and exploded at you." Again, she pauses for me to add something but I focus on cleaning my already pristine handgun. "Where were you? …The other agents, they wouldn't say."

"I was doing my job." I say coolly. Turning to look in her eyes I say, "I was watching you. …I just…" my voice fades out. …don't Robbins. No emotions. No feelings. Strictly professional. Callie reaches out and put a hand on my leg. The warmth of her flesh seeping through the fabric of my pants and burning my skin.

"Just what?" She says softly. Our eyes meet, the look on her face tells me that she wants me to continue. She wants to know what I am thinking…what I am feeling. The gun clicks as I pull the trigger and the empty chamber fires in my hand, making her jump. Standing up, I force her to break contact.

"I just needed some space." I continue as I clean up my mess and sit back down in an armchair, way from the magical hands of the doctor that make my well placed walls come tumbling down. She stares at me, studying me. I meet her gaze, second for second.

"He's not my boyfriend." She says again.

"You already said that." I reply shortly.

"I just… I'm confused… about Erica and-" She starts to ramble. I can't listen to her do the whole girl talk so I cut her off before she can get going.

"Please…Dr. Torres. I don't need specifics." …my mind is already torturing me enough. "I'm still trying to find a brain squeegee to get the image of Sloan's bare ass out of my head." I say it in complete seriousness but Callie laughs at the memory. I give her a look like 'I'm not playing' which just makes her laugh more. The deep tremble of it makes me smile. It the first time I've seen her laugh, like actually laugh out loud.

After she calms down she says "He's scared shitless of you now, just so you know. …Calls you Private Blondie." This makes me smile. "What did you say to him?"

"That if he did that again he'd become the newest play toy in a prison shower somewhere." I say with a small smile on my face as I recall the fear that his face was full of.

"That if he helped me ditch Karev again? ….. or if he slept with me again?" She inquires softly, her eyes on mine. …both. We hold each others gaze for a couple seconds. "Teach me." She breaks the silence.

Giving her a confused look I ask "Teach you what?"

"How to protect myself. …Take down a big man like you took down Mark." She says, a smile on her face.

I laugh at the thought of getting close enough to her to teach her. These ten feet between us is still too close for me, let alone actually touching each other. "No, I'm here to protect you. Not to teach you."

"What if I manage to get caught or something… away from your protective hands and…" she eyes up and down my body, stopping at each place a weapon is located "…guns. I should know how to at least try to fight them off, right?" She has a point. She should know at least something.

After a minute of trying to find some reason why this is a bad idea, OTHER than it means getting in close quarters with the doctor, I come up with nothing. "Fine." I say finally. "Tomorrow, we'll go to a gym and I'll show you some moves." Callie's mega-watt smile crosses her face. She leans back in the couch and props up her feet.

She turns her sexy, seductive eyes onto me "That's all I ask, Agent Robbins."

…this is such a bad idea.

AN2: Seems like progress, yes?