AN: This is a slow burning Brucas fic, AU. At the beginning Lucas is a thirty-two year old surgeon, beginning a new job at Mount Sinai hospital, a fellowship in Orthopedic Surgery under Callie Torres. She is blatantly stolen from Grey's Anatomy. (To be honest, they tossed her away last season, and I'm just recycling. She is a great character.) His story follows closely the OTH storyline, except that there was no Brooke. He dated Peyton for two years in high school, and proposed at the end of first year in college. She turned him down and they broke up. Years later Lucas went to work in LA for a year and reconnected with Peyton. They dated for six months and then he caught her cheating. That was three months before the beginning of the fic, so Lucas is still hurting. This Lucas is a sweet, caring guy, but he never learned to have fun. He is deeply reserved and really protective of his own heart. Brooke in this fic shows up in a couple of chapters, sharing and apartment with Rachel. She is nineteen, grew up in California, and she is still very much a party girl. She is coming to New York to attend Parsons and to work an internship at Victoria's Secret. She never started Clothes-over-Bros and never fell in love. In fact, she believes herself incapable of falling in love. So, you imagine her surprise with the strange feelings that begin to plague her concerning the weird doctor in the apartment above. Specially when he is sweet with her and completely refuses to take her seriously...

Chapter 1

It's a fifty block walk, from the hotel to the hospital. It's early July, and hot as an oven. I could have taken the subway, but instead, I feel I need to get used to the idea of living in New York, and that means walking. My appointment is at nine, so I decided to leave the hotel at seven-thirty. First, I stop at a coffee house, and have an iced cappuccino and a blueberry muffin. I take the time to flirt with the barista, a lively green-eyed twentysomething brunette with agile hands. I seriously think of asking for her number, but decide I'd better focus on more practical matters like my new job, finding a home and furnishings for the next few days. It surprises me a bit to find the name Izzy, and a number, written small neat letters under my own name in the cup. I look up and smile at her, and I note she was watching me, and smiles right back. A very pretty smile. I send her a text.

"What time u free?"

"Six."

"Dinner and drinks?"

"Y ;)"

"C u then. xx"

"C u xox"

She blows me a kiss as I leave. I make a note, Starbucks, fifth and east seventy eight. Not a bad beginning to New York life, I hope.

As I keep walking, my mind wanders to the recent past. Recently, a three week rest, in sleepy Tree Hill, beginning with the fifteenth birthday party of my nephew Jamie and my sister Lilly. I used the time to catch up with my mother and my friends and write. I have a half-finished manuscript in my computer that will make my editor's dance with joy. It's been nearly three years since the last one, and my books tend to make a lot of money. Before Tree Hill, I had spent one year working towards a sports medicine certification at the UCLA medical center. I also spent six months dating my old high school flame Peyton, a beautiful, temperamental blonde, and a senior partner at Sire records. That crashed and burned last March, when an unexpected return from a trip rewarded me with the sight of my girlfriend naked in bed with a young, heavily tattooed rock star. Pretty barista is going to be my first date since.

I walk through the entrance hall and ask directions to the office of the Chief of Surgery. I arrive about five minutes to nine and I'm asked to sit, that Dr. Marsh will be available shortly. Five minutes later a short blonde woman in her fifties, skinny, with a thin severe mouth and kind eyes steps out of the Chief's office. She instructs the secretary. "Please have Dr. Torres report to my office stat?" Dr. Torres is Dr. Calliope Torres, Head of Orthopedic Surgery, my mentor and immediate boss for the next three years.

We enter her office, a fine wood-paneled room, with a large bookcase behind her desk, a wall of pictures and awards and a sofa to one side. She sits behind her desk and steeples her fingers, and I sit in one of the chairs across her desk.

"You must be Dr. Lucas Scott." She looks at me and, somehow, approves what she sees. I'm wearing dark jeans, a white short sleeve button down shirt and gray running shoes. I have my hair buzz cut nearly into nonexistence, and a small black backpack at my feet, with my whole life inside.

"Yes m'am."

"I'm Olivia Marsh, Cardiotoraxic surgeon and Chief of surgery at this hospital. I would like to welcome you to the staff of Mount Sinai."

"Thank you, m'am. It's a pleasure to be here."

"Have you signed your contract yet?"

"No m'am." She picks up a folder in front of her and studies it a bit.

"I understand your fellowship is partially funded by the Knicks. This means you have a part time appointment at their medical department, and you'll have an office at their facility in Tarrytown. You will supervise surgical care and post-surgical rehabilitation for the Knicks athletes, and you will either perform or assist in any of their surgeries, as Dr. Torres directs. We have a substantial medical services contract with the Knicks, and you will be our liason with them. This also means keeping current on developments concerning the surgical and non-surgical care of high performance athletes. You'll have a budget for attending conferences and you are expected to participate in research and publish original work. Any questions so far?

"No m'am."

"Have you been to Tarrytown yet? Have you talked with Dr. Phillips?" Dr. Phillips is the head of the Knicks medical department, and my other boss for the next three years and Tarrytown is where the Knicks training facility is located. It's about twenty miles north of here.

"No m'am. I have an appointment there tomorrow morning."

"Do you know how to get there?"

"They're sending a car."

She purses her lips. "Of course they are." I guess Dr. Marsh doesn't entirely approve of my situation here. "Normally, surgical fellows are required to take part in E.R. rotation, with at least one twenty-four hour turn per week. Given the specifics of your contract, you are not required to do it, but it might be a good idea anyways. Would you be interested?"

"I do not know yet how much of my time will be taken by the work with the Knicks, but I would like to keep myself current on emergency work. I also expect to participate on other surgical cases, at Dr. Torres convenience. I've studied her work on prosthetic, and I'm looking forward to learning from her. Please, give me a few weeks to get a grip on my obligations, and I'll get back to you on that."

She nods in approval. I find myself liking this woman, despite her lack of enthusiasm for my job here. I understand a lot of very smart, decent people think professional sports is a frivolous activity, corrupted by too much money and attention. They are not wrong. I love the game, but I don't like what all that money does to it. My job is to advocate and care for the athletes, not the interests of the team, and I made that clear to Dr. Phillips when I interviewed with him. I assume my being offered the job means Dr. Phillips supports my position. And I hope Dr. Marsh will understand that in time. There's a knock on the door, and a gorgeous late thirties latina with a huge smile walks in. I know from photographs this is Dr. Calliope Torres, but I wasn't prepared for the sheer presence of the woman.

"Callie, meet Dr. Lucas Scott, your new fellow."

I get up. She shakes my hand. She's got large, strong hands and a firm handshake. I get the impression of huge physical power, tightly under control. A vibe I usually get from athletes, not doctors. I also note the wedding band in her left ring finger.

"It's very nice to meet you, Dr. Scott." She doesn't meet my eyes. Shy?

"Please call me Lucas. It's an honor, Dr. Torres. I'm looking forward to working under you."

She laughs a bit, and still doesn't meet my eyes. She is nervous. "I will, if you call me Callie." I exchange a glance with Dr. Marsh, and I see fondness and respect in her eyes, together with a bit of exasperation. "I've read your paper on recovery from MCL knee injury, Lucas, and I really liked it. I think we can learn from each other."

"Thank you, Callie. I've read about your work with prosthetics, and I'm sure I can learn a lot from you." I touch her arm as I speak, and she flinches a bit, but then she finally meets my eyes and I smile softly at her. Finally she relaxes a bit and smiles back. I confess I'm rather captivated by my new boss. She turns to Dr. Marsh. "Is there anything else, Olivia? I'd like to show him around, if that's ok."

"Well, Dr. Scott needs to get squared away at Human Resources. Why don't you take him there, and you can show him Ortho afterwards. There's one other thing." She directs herself to me. "Due to your joint appointment, you have more responsibilities, and you make more money, than most of our junior attendings. I expect a level of performance compatible with that. In particular, this is a teaching hospital, and I hope you will commit yourself to that aspect of out work, fully engaging in the training of our surgical interns and residents. They will regard you as one of the attendings. Please, familiarize yourself with that aspect of your duties, and talk with Dr. Maynard Boyd, head of our residence program, about the details. As of this moment, you have full OR privileges at Mount Sinai. Dr. Torres will help you with assigning surgical teams, but, other than that, you're on your own. I hope you enjoy working here."

"I'm sure I will. Thank you Dr. Marsh."

"Thank you, Dr. Scott. And I'll see you later, Callie."

Callie takes me to Human Resources. "Let's meet for lunch, Lucas, around half past noon at the cafeteria. I'll introduce you around."

"That's perfect. Thanks."

"Listen. I'm placing a hip prosthesis this afternoon at four. Thirty-year-old male, car accident fracture. Would you mind assisting? Just to get your feet wet."

"It would be a pleasure. How complex?"

"Open and shut. Just an acetabulum crack. We should be done by five thirty, six, barring complications. After lunch we'll go over the case, and we go see the patient."

"Very well Callie. It's a date." That yields a broad flirty smile. Past the shy, there's a world of sexy.

"I'm sorry. :( something came up. Rain check?"

"Drinks at 9?"

"Where?"

"O'Donnells. 63rd near 3rd."

"C U there."

"xox"

We're adjusting the prosthesis to its emplacement, before screwing it in place. Callie is an incredible surgeon, perhaps the best I've ever seen. She's fast, precise and her mind is greased lightning. It's going to be a joy working with her. A phone rings in the OR, and one of the scrub nurses answers it. "Dr. Torres, you're are being paged to the ER stat. Severe crush injury."

She looks at me. "Do you mind finishing it?"

"Go ahead. I can handle it from here."

"Please, come looking for me before you leave."

"Will do, boss."

"Don't call me that."

I smile at her under the mask. "Whatever you want, boss."

"I think I'm going to enjoy working with you."

I'm pretty sure she will. "We aim to please,... boss."

She leaves the OR giggling.

I finish the procedure a little past six, and after taking care of the post-op recommendations, I change out of the scrubs and I go hunting for Callie. I find her at radiology, looking and a set of scans. "Ouch! That must have hurt." She is looking at a severy crushed pelvis. "What happened?"

"Construction accident. An I-beam fell of the guy. I'm going to try a mesh reconstruction, and some special prosthesis. You in?"

I look at the scans again. This is going to be half a dozen surgeries. "You betcha. When are you starting?"

"I need to put together a plan and build the mesh. Will you be here tomorrow?"

"I have a meeting at the medical department of the Knicks tomorrow morning. I can probably come back in the afternoon."

"Very well, text me when you know what time you'll be here. We need to stabilize him as soon as possible, so, first surgery the day after tomorrow. I have a fourth year resident doing a below-the-knee amputation tomorrow afternoon. I'd love it if you could assist. It's scheduled for three."

"Push it to six and I'll be here."

"All right. See you tomorrow, then."

"Lucas."

"What?"

"It's the second time you looked at your watch. What's the rush?"

"Eh... I have a date."

"I thought you got here yesterday."

"It's the barista from the coffee shop I had breakfast today."

She slaps my back and smiles. "Good job! She cute?"

I stare at her for a second. "What am I thinking? Of course she's cute. I want details tomorrow."

I'm already more comfortable with Callie than with people I've known for years. "Nothing is going to happen, Boss.. It's just a first date."

"So? You have to keep yourself open for the possibilities..."

I laugh. "Bad break-up, too recent. Still sore."

"Then I'm glad to see you back in the saddle." She looks into my eyes. "Very cute." I nod.

"Would you come to my place for dinner on Friday? My partner is a great cook and I suspect my daughter will like you."

"How old is she?"

"Six, going on sixty."

"Do you have a picture?"

She shows me a picture of this pretty little brunette "Meet Sofia."

"Cute."

"You remind me a bit of her father, in a sort of quiet way."

"What happened to him?"

"He died before she was born. One of the Seattle Grace Five. His name was Mark."

Everybody in the medical community heard of that story. "I'm sorry. I have a fifteen-year-old sister whose father died before she was born. She still cries sometimes, when she thinks nobody is looking."

"I'm not sure how much she thinks of him. But he would have been a great father."

I stand a bit there, thinking of Keith. He was a great father. "I have to go."

"Bye, Lucas."

"Bye, Boss."

I get to the bar with about five minutes to spare. I took the subway back to the hotel, got a quick shower, a shave and changed into tan slacks, a light blue polo shirt and nice black leather shoes and walked to the bar. It's a nice place, with a long wooden counter, some high tables and booths, and an old-fashioned jukebox at the corner. A sparse Monday night crowd of lost souls and neighborhood habituals grace the place. I sit at one of the high tables and order a beer and a burger. She arrives about fifteen after, perfectly in time with the last bite of my burger. She is wearing a short dark green dress, her thick dark hair in soft curls, large silver hoop earrings black stockings and short black boots with three inch heels. Very, very cute.

I wave at her, and she smiles when I catch her eyes. She draws near, and I stand up to greet her.

"Hi, Izzy. Glad to see you." I greet her with an air kiss, which she deftly maneuvers into a little kiss full on the lips. She smells of strawberry, with an undertone of coffee and cognac.

"Hi, Lucas. I'm happy to see you too." Her voice is a pleasant low register.

I pay attention to her. She is relaxed, eyes a little unfocused, coordination intact. I'd say, a couple of doses in the past hour or so. "I'm sorry about dinner. Something came up on my new job, and I couldn't get away. Did you eat?"

"No. Actually, I'm starving. Was the burger any good?"

"Adequate. You look very nice, by the way."

She preens a bit. "Thanks. You look good too."

She calls the waiter and asks for a mojito and the menu. Polite and dry. She's focosing all her flirting on me. And she is good at it too. I ask for another beer.

I can hear the new yorker in her speech, but I ask anyways. "Did you grow up around here?"

"Brooklyn. Blue collar all the way. My father was a plumber, drank himself into an early grave a few years ago. My mother still is an elementary school teacher, nearing retirement. You?"

"Small town in North Carolina. Raised by a single mother, small business owner. She lives there with her husband and my baby sister. Sorry about your father."

"I loved him, but I hated him. You know the feeling?"

"I guess I know what you mean. Any siblings?"

"One younger brother. Cop."

The waiter brings back our drinks and a menu for her. He waits, while she studies it a bit and orders a BLT. She returns the menu and turns to me with an embarrassed half-smile "Can we share a desert afterwards?"

"What do you have in mind?"

"Apple pie a la mode."

"Oh, you're on, girl." She gives me a bright smile that lights up the room. The big hurdle hasn't come up yet, but I begin to think she may be worth a second date.

She picks up my hand and starts to play with my fingers. Her fingers are long, thin and strong, with nails painted dark blue and cut short. "Did you think it was strange, giving you my number on the coffee cup?"

"Bold and decisive. Actually, I was debating with myself about asking your number. Do you do that often?"

Her voice raises in pitch a bit. "I never did it before. Two years working there. I've been asked out plenty of times, accepted twice. But I thought there was something different about you... You had never been there before, and I suspected that, if I didn't make a move, I'd never see you again."

"You know for a fact I hadn't been there before?"

She flushes and looks at the table, speaking in a near whisper. "I would have remembered."

She raises my hand to her mouth and caresses the tip of my index finger with her tongue. Then she lifts her eyes, and looking straight into mine with a mischievous glint, gently bites my finger right below the nail. There is no pain, and the answer comes immediately from my groin. I get up, go around the table and lift her chin, giving her a brief deep kiss, caressing her tongue with mine. Her lips are firm and sweet and she tastes of her mojito and a distant coffee accent. I sit back at my place, while the waiter brings out her sandwich. She is a charmless eater, taking big bites, chewing fast and talking, which is a refreshing change from most girls I know. Very soon she is done, and she asks for another mojito and the apple pie, with two spoons.

"Two years at Starbucks. What comes next?"

"I live with my mother, and I've been saving to open my own coffee shop. In six months I'll be there."

"That was my mother's small business. A little cafe and diner. It's a hard living."

"I know. The thing is, I hate these impersonal chains. I took business and hospitality classes in the community college, and I've been learning the practical side at Starbucks. I think I can make a good run at neighborhood cafe that everybody will love. I even have a location in mind."

"Well, you certainly seem to have it all figured out. Good luck with it."

"I know. I dream small..."

"No you don't. You dream of a small business which will make a whole neighborhood a better place to live That's a big dream in my book."

"Thanks." The apple pie arrives, and we begin eating it. "What about you? You haven't said a word about your work."

An here's the big hurdle. I think about lying, saying I'm an accountant, or a high school teacher, but what's the point? I sigh. "I'm a doctor."

"Really? What kind of doctor?"

"A surgeon. I fix bones, muscles and tendons. My new boss asked me to help repairing a hip bone this afternoon. That's why I had to cancel our dinner plans."

Suddenly she is tense and self-conscious. "Wow. A surgeon." She picks up my hand again and looks at it. "How long have you been doing it?"

"Six years. I trained in Pennsylvania and LA, and I just came to New York for a new job at Mount Sinai."

"Did you always want to be a doctor?"

"No. I grew up wanting to be a basketball player."

"Where you any good?"

"Better than good. But a hereditary heart defect killed my dream when I was in high school. That's when I begun to get interested in medicine, specially sports medicine. I found out I was really good with my hands and I ended up a surgeon."

"I'm so sorry."

"Well, don't be. I wouldn't trade surgery for the NBA these days. I get the same high in an OR that I used to get on the court, and I also help people."

The problem with being a doctor is that a perfectly suitable little fling candidate, which is all I can handle at the moment, suddenly becomes boyfriend, bring-him-to-mommy, husband material. I can see the change in little Izzy's demeanor, and I feel my beers churn in my stomach. And that's before they know the size of my bank account. Damn. I ask for the check, and pay. She can feel my loss of interest and looks confused.

"What? What did I do wrong?"

I give her a tired look. "You didn't do anything wrong, Izzy. I'm sorry. I had a long day, and I'm going to have an even longer day tomorrow. You're headed to Brooklyn?"

"I was planning to crash at a friend's house a few blocks away."

"Let me walk you, then." We walk slowly and in silence, until we reach the door of a four-story walk up.

"This is me."

"Thanks, Izzy. It was fun."

"Thanks, Lucas. I enjoyed myself too. Call me."

I give her a short sweet kiss in the lips. "Bye."

She opens the door and walks in, climbing the stairs without looking back. I hail a cab.

The Marriott Grand Marquis. Broadway and Forty-nine."

I sigh. It was fun.