He put himself to bed hours ago, the effects of the scotch wearing off. The sun would be bidding it's hello in just a little while but he remained wide awake though his body sluggishly craved unconsciousness. He could still smell her. She lingered in the hairs below his nose. Or maybe it was on his skin. Or in his blood. In any case she had latched herself onto him and for so many years he liked it, craved it even. A simple smile she'd flash and he'd feel like superman the entire day, zooming about saving lives and fixing them. Slowly he was becoming undone, starting on the night she shut the door on him.
He padded his way through the kitchen thinking a snack would help his sleep deprivation. He bit into a large red apple while balancing a glass to pour water into. He hadn't realized how thirsty he was. He poured another, mixing the sip with the bits of apple in his mouth. He continued to eat the apple as he walked in the living room. He looked over the shattered glass he had yet to clean up and the alcohol that remained. He couldn't remember doing it. He thought for sure that a stranger had inhabited him for those few drunken minutes. The flash of fear in her eyes made a sudden pang in his stomach. He ran to the bathroom quickly, vomit spewing after having barely making it to the toilet. He wiped his mouth, breaking heavily as he leaned against the counter. After a moment he stood, taking out his mouthwash from under sink and taking a swing. The liquid burned as it swooshed around before being spit out into the sink. He lifted his head, catching the reflection of himself in the mirror. "What'd I do?" he asked himself. "What'd I do?"
The shards of glass were swept up into a dustpan, the dried scotched scrubbed clean off the walls. He tossed the wet cloths and glass into the trash, pulling the trash bag from the bin. The air was cold as he stepped out but he was quick to toss the bag in the trash can. He was turning back to head back inside when a glint of something caught his eye. He squinted, walking back toward whatever it was.
She stood there, her mouth quivering as her body shook, wearing nothing but the sleeveless blouse and slacks from earlier. The moonlight hit the metal of her suitcase at an angle, making it glow as she stood beside it. Her arms were wrapped around her, her knees slightly bent as she rocked back and forth. Guilt swelled over him instantly. Callie Torres had never appeared more fragile.
He approached her slowly, a sinking feeling causing him to want to throw up all over again.
"Callie?"
He could hear the chattering of her teeth as her mouth moved, words he couldn't quite understand spilling out.
"Callie, what are you doing?" Genuine concern was in his voice as he watched her battle with herself, willing herself not to break.
"I'm not leaving." The words were muffled as tears spilled from her eyes. "I'm not leaving," she repeated.
The three words repeated from her mouth over and over between gasps of breath and shivers up the spine. He wasn't sure if she even knew that he stood before her.
"Cal? You're okay, Cal. You're okay."
His hands stretched out to her, hesitant to make contact only because he thought she'd crumble under his touch. His hands hovered over her shoulders before they finally grabbed her. She was freezing.
"I'm not leaving. I'm not leaving."
"Oh, Cal!" he cried out. He never wanted this.
Her eyes finally made contact with his, short, brisk inhales interrupting her chant. She fell into his embrace, her body continuing to shiver violently as he lifted her into his arms.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Mark."
He shushed her as he carried her back to the house, her hair sweeping across his face. He wanted to kick himself as he went.
"I'm sorry."
"Shhhh. You're okay. I gotcha." It was the role he was born to play, her savior. He was fooling himself to think otherwise. "I gotcha."
The sun made it's way up shortly after. He watched as the light filtered through the window, spreading across her sleeping form. She lay in his bed, clad in his old sweat pants and t-shirt. He stood, leaning against the doorpost, no sleep afforded to him. The sound of her cell vibrating stole his attention. It was a bit early for phone calls. He grabbed her slacks that hung over the end the bedpost, pulling the device free. A couple of missed calls, three voice mail messages and a text message from Cristina Yang that read: 'Blondie's practically harassing me, Torres. Running out of excuses.' His eyebrows dipped slightly in confusion. During their other breakups, Robbins practically made a show of not talking about or inquiring about Callie. Why was she harassing Yang? Was she ready to reconcile? A wave of jealousy passed over him. He shook it off.
The light dimmed on the phone so he placed it down on his nightstand beside her. It wasn't really any of his business anyway, though that didn't stop him from asking himself the question again in his head. She began to stir, a small shiver passing through her as her legs extended. He hoped she wasn't still cold. He had gotten another blanket just in case. And that's when he saw it, a bruise that circled her wrist. He could see where the imprint of his thumb pressed into the inside of it. Bile rose inside him, making him feel like a monster. That wasn't him. None of that was him. He wanted to kill whoever it was that did it, he would never hurt her, mentally, physically, figuratively or any other way. Never. His eyes remained fixed on it, a dark thought emerging in his head. Her wrist will heal. What about his heart? They were far from even.
She woke up to an empty room and a vibrating phone. The lids of her eyes fluttered as she tried to recall where she was, the memory of last night coming quickly. She closed her eyes again hoping that when they reopened she'd be some place else. She wasn't, and a sadness hovered along with embarrassment. She sat up, tossing the covers from her body as the phone continued to vibrate. She glanced at it beside her on the nightstand, wiping the sleep from her eyes. Her hand reached out to grab it, stopping when she saw the darkness around her wrist. She swallowed hard as her other hand went to touch it. It hurt. Anger rose and with it an excuse to give up.
"Hello?"
Cristina walked quickly down the hall at Seattle Grace, Mercy West, heading toward the residence's lounge, phone pressed to her ear.
"Hello? Is that really all you have to say, Torres?"
The petite resident walked into the lounge, closing the door behind her as Callie answered her.
"I called you yesterday. You must have been in surgery or something."
"Yeah, I recall you performing those. Chief's kinda ticked that you didn't give him much notice. This temporary replacement guy is the worst. He smell like mothballs, Torres."
"Are we really talking about replacement guy?"
"Yeah, yeah, right."Cristina paused, watching as doctors passed the door. "I assume you're with him?"
"Yeah, I'm with him."
"Well?"
"It's not exactly going the way I imagined."
"So when are you coming back?"
Cristina could hear Callie sigh as a long pause passed.
"I don't know. I- things- everything's just rocky. You didn't tell, anyone did you?"
It was Cristina's turn to be silent.
"Cristina!"
"I only told Bailey. She gave me the Bailey eyes. It slipped."
Callie sighed again. Cristina began to pace.
"She won't tell anybody. She can keep a secret."
"What if she talks to Arizona?"
"She already has and she didn't say anything. Although I'm pretty sure roller girl knows I know something. She kept me off a really amazing case by the way. You need to get back here."
"Aw, do you miss me?"
"No, I miss my really amazing cases."
Callie chuckled over the line.
"Just," Cristina started, her voice turning serious. "Keep me updated, okay?"
"I will."
Callie tossed the phone on the bed, standing to walk toward the window. She yawned, stretching her limbs and twisting her torso back and forth. He had an amazing view of the ocean from his room, the sun's rays stretching over it. It was a nice place to vacation. But home was Seattle.
"You're awake."
She jumped, turning to see him standing at the open door, coffee mugs in hand. A look of shame passed over his face when his eyes unconsciously went to her wrist. He looked down at his mugs to divert his eyes.
"I made some coffee."
For several seconds neither made a move from where they stood. Callie could see his hesitation and instantly he was forgiven. She walked up to him, taking the red mug from his left hand to leave him with the blue.
"Thank you."
"I probably should have made tea."
The mug barely made contact with her lips before she looked back up to him.
"You drink tea, now?"
"Pete, he's uh, the alternative medicine man at the Wellness Center. He turned me onto it. Has calming qualities or some crap like that."
She arched an eyebrow, finally taking a sip of her coffee.
"Coffee's good," she assured, turning to walk back toward the window.
"Who were you talking to?"
"Huh?"
"On the phone?"
"Oh, it was Cristina. She was um...checking in."
He nodded, taking a drink from is coffee. He watched as she tossed her hair back, the sunlight catching it just right. He had to mentally check himself but damn if she wasn't beautiful.
"What the hell was that last night?"
Her tongue ran across her bottom lip as she stared down at her drink then up at him.
"You tell me," she answered.
"You could haven frozen to death last night."
"It's LA, I don't think anyone could have frozen to death."
"It was stupid."
"It got the point across."
"And what point was that?"
"That I'm not leaving."
His mouth closed with the shake of his head. Before he had always found her stubbornness endearing, now he found it a curse.
"If you don't want me here, that 's fine. I'll stay with Addison, or check into a hotel, but either way I'm not leaving."
"Until when? Until you get bored? Until Robbins finds that right thing to say?"
"Until you do."
Her hand went to tuck her dark hair behind her ear, his eyes once again landing on the dark mark. She caught his eyes on it and put the hand behind her, lifting the mug with the other to her mouth. He thought about apologizing, but he worried that if they words were said out loud that they would confirm that he was in fact a monster. He thought if he didn't she'd think it intentional, which made him an even bigger monster, but at least she wouldn't feel the need to accept the apology out of some kind of obligation, so he went with door number two.
"That was a crazy thing to do."
"That's what makes me Callie."
"What if I hadn't have found you?"
"You did. That's what makes you Mark."
She was being cute, though there was truth behind it and he couldn't help but smile, defenses falling a bit. She smiled too, eyebrows raising before she took another drink. Damn her and her hooks. He was being reeled in. He walked into the room, slowly making his way to her.
"Don't ever do something like that again."
His blue eyes were upon her, full of sincerity and concern. She wanted to make a joke but thought better of it.
"Okay."
His eyes went to her mouth. A mouth he's kissed a thousand times. He knew exactly how'd they feel if he were to kiss them now. Instead he raised his hand, pressing the back of it against her cheek. Her eyes closed at the touch.
"You're warm."
"I'm fine."
They'd come to stand closely together, separated by their mugs. Her eyes reopened to find so much of the anger from last night gone, longing in its place. If there a way to skip the whole rebuilding trust thing she'd do it and the spend the rest of her life just making love to him. His hand dropped and he inhaled deeply before the breath was let out.
"You should get back in bed. I'm going to take a shower. I have a meeting with the partners."
"Sounds serious."
He stepped back with a shrug.
"They want to make me a partner."
"A partner?"
He nodded, his smile going to the side.
"Wouldn't that mean... that you'd... have to stay living here?"
"That the idea, Torres."
Her face fell. She'd just been hit with a curve-ball. That wasn't the plan. The plan was to kiss and makeup and move back to Seattle. He was making it hard for her at every turn. She watched as he turned back to walk out of the room, taking with him any once of hope she thought she had just gained.