My first day back at work starts with a bang.
Literally.
The things that people do to each other is quite sickening. A store clerk, the victim of an early morning robbery, is brought in with a bullet lodged in his throat. The EMT has his finger's wrapped around the man's jugular vein to stop the bleeding and I take his spot, receiving a liberal dousing of blood for my efforts. It hits my face, my hair, my trauma gown and horrifies the intern to my left, who starts to cry. Why, oh why does my first day back at work coincide with an influx of new interns? I tell her to get out of my sight because if she cries ... I may cry ... and then I see that I have an audience. All of this is transpiring in front of my wide eyed parents who have arrived to visit with Jasper and neither of them listen to Addison telling them to go upstairs. They stand and watch and I start sweating because knowing that they are witnessing the education that they paid for in action is enough to make me have a nervous breakdown. I really do not want to fail in front of them. Not today.
I'm so grateful when Mark arrives that I could scream.
We work in tandem, ordering tests, barking out orders and trying to rush enough blood into the patient to make up for what he has lost.
It's not enough.
His airway is too compromised.
When I let him go so that Mark can shock him ... he pretty much bleeds out and we're done.
It's over.
My parents have experienced me losing a patient and when I call the time of death and pull my gloves off ... they look as thunderstruck as I feel. Mark unties my gown and I pull off the face guard (that didn't do much) before I walk toward them. Lexie appears with a wet cloth and points at her own chin so I wipe mine, grimacing at the amount of blood that's on me. I need a shower. Stat. My mother has a hand over her chest as she watches me and when I'm a few feet away, she says, "Are you okay, sweetheart?"
"It never gets easier." I roll my head around to work out some of the tension, but it doesn't work. Traumas that roll in so quickly are always the ones that leave you halfway on your knees because your legs are too weak to support you. The mask of bravado that I'm wearing is so fake that they have to see it, they have to know. "But I'm fine," I lie.
"What happened to him?" Dad asks, shocking me. He's actually speaking to me now? "It - it was bad."
"Robbery," I reply. "Gunshot wound."
"Seattle's not very safe." That's my father for you. He assigns blame to inanimate things because he refuses to believe that people, not a place, are the truest form of evil in the world. I don't wear those kinds of blinders. We're all accountable. All the time.
The doors to the ER burst open behind us and a teenage girl rushes in, her eyes frantic as she looks left and right. She's carrying her worry on her features and I don't have to wonder who she's looking for. I hear her say something about her father and Mark steps out from behind the curtain. He's carrying a wallet in his hand and when the girl announces a name ... Mark's eyes find mine and he nods. It's one brief, curt affirmation and I can't watch anything else. He's about to break someone's heart and I'm still too raw over nearly losing Jasper to witness it. "Let's go," I tell my parents, nodding at the elevator. I grip both of their hands in mine. "Come on."
The doors slide closed before the girl sobs, but the sound of it travels after us and goes straight through me like the bullet that tore through her father.
I think about Izzie Stevens as I watch the numbers light up. You can never outrun pain. Ever.
I'm still holding my dad's hand and he's letting me. He's actually stroking the back of mine with his thumb.
It's enough.
Beside me, Mom clears her throat. "You did everything you could."
Lori Anne Torres has no idea if I did everything I could or not. She once treated a stomach ache with Nyquil so she's not really the authority on medicine, but I give her a smile because she tried to help me out. She returns it and pats me on the arm which is thankfully free of blood. My hair is sticking to me, however, and I can feel a steady trickle over my eyebrow. I dab at it with the cloth Lexie gave me and cringe when the acrid smell of it reaches my nostrils. Blood and death ... two things you will never, ever enjoy smelling.
When the doors open, Erica is standing on the other side flipping through a chart. She looks up, drops the chart and grabs me in one fell swoop. "Oh my god! You're hurt! What happened? Are you -"
"It's not mine. I lost a patient." I'd be lying if I said I wasn't enjoying her reaction. Erica Freakin' Hahn can remain stoic about almost anything ... except me. She's not the cold hearted bitch that people accuse her of being if I'm in the picture. She doesn't just wear her heart on her sleeve ... she dangles it by a tiny little thread that I control. "I'm okay, baby."
Apparently having an audience doesn't bother Erica. And neither does blood. She yanks me into her arms and hugs me, rubbing my back. "God, Callie! I thought you were - you gave me a heart attack!"
The elevator doors try to close on us three times before she lets me go and she only relents at all because my mother tells us to stop blocking the exit because we're making her claustrophobic. I note that my father looks amused as Erica demands to know why I don't have on trauma gear and threatens to report me for 'endangering my safety'. He pats her on the back, retrieves her chart, and points out that we both need a shower now, wrinkling his nose as the splattering of blood on her cheek. Erica takes my hand, pulling me down the hall without another word. My mother, I note, is so scandalized at the obvious connotations that she's rendered speechless. We're showering. Together. Stop the presses. I'm sure I'll hear about it later.
I explain what happened as Erica grabs clean scrubs for both of us. She's a great listener, but when she retrieves a couple of towels and turns the water on in the Attending's Bathroom (which is way nicer than the resident's!), I stop talking and watch her instead. She pulls her soiled scrub shirt off and tosses it into the corner. Her bra is slung across the bench and I hold my breath as she fumbles with the knot in her scrub pants. I know what's underneath. Blue panties. THOSE blue panties. And just a couple of hours ago ... I slid them back in place after I woke her up with my face buried between her thighs. She told me on the flight to Italy that she wanted to wake me up by tracing her name against me and that's exactly what I did. Her hands were tangled in my hair before I got to the second 'L' in my name and after she returned the favor ... I assured her that the 'R' in her name felt JUST RIGHT against me. So she did it again.
Addison wound up leaving without us, but she did leave a nice little note that read, 'Note to self: buy ear plugs when staying with the very loud lesbians.'
Erica catches my eye and winks at me and my heart does a flopping dance in my chest that is almost painful. Almost. It races full steam ahead when she lifts my shirt and it joins hers in the floor. I just watched a man die, yet I've never felt more alive. I've never been reminded more of why I'm here, why I'm a doctor, why I try.
Everyone should have moments like this.
Everyone sick should be healed long enough to feel this kind of love just ONCE before they die.
She unties my pants and I toe my shoes off, then my socks. When she pulls me into the shower ... I close my eyes and let the water wash away the blood. I don't watch it turn the water pink or think about loss at all. I think about what I've gained. I got the girl I wanted. My brother woke up. I'm alive and I'm here and she's massaging shampoo into my hair that kind of stinks because it's hospital grade, but I don't care.
We don't just bathe and I wish we could take our time and slowly love each other, but that's not going to happen. We're at work, but she makes great use of her hands, very quickly, to get me off. I return the favor and she whispers that I scared her, that just the thought of me being hurt terrifies her.
I promise her that I'll always be okay.
How can I not be perfectly fine when she's in my life?
"Oh wow. You still work here, Calliope?"
"Zip it, Elvis."
"What did you do to your hair?"
I self consciously touch my head. I had to use the hand dryer in the bathroom and without any product my hair so curly and thick that I broke my scrunchie trying to put it in a ponytail. It really is tragic looking. Cristina said I looked like a Chia Pet. "Asks the idiot who uses so much gel that he looks like an oil slick."
"You're just jealous that you obvious didn't have any. And you desperately needed it."
"Go away."
Denying my fervent command, Gavin pulls out the seat beside mine and flops into it. I'm attempting to make notes in my own chart when he drops the one he's holding down on top of it. "What do you think?"
I move it aside. "Do you mind?"
"Can you give me a second opinion?" He pushes it back toward me. "I'm serious. This is truly work related."
I shoot him the dirtiest look I can possibly muster. I'm in an exceptionally good mood because I was able to spend time with Jasper after my very productive shower. I took him a snake and he wolfed it down, then ate mine. He's doing great ... actually, Derek used the word 'amazing' to describe Jasper's progress. His color has returned and they have taken his catheter out (which he did NOT care for and told us repeatedly that we broke his private) so that he can use the restroom on his own. I don't even mind that he had an accident and forced me to change his bed sheets because he kept hugging me, kept telling me he loves me, and told me that I was his favorite Lee. He's my favorite Jazz and it's almost lunchtime now. I want to spend it with him. I want to spend every second with him because he's back. And I was desperately afraid he would never come back at all.
I open the chart that is 'truly work related' and scowl down at the colorful flier inside. "What the hell is this?"
"Just read it." Gavin props his chin on his elbow and stares at me, grinning devilishly. "And then say 'yes, Dr. Cole, I'd love to'."
"'Charity Fundraiser'," I read aloud. "'Do you have a talent? How would you like to showcase your mad skills and help the Denny Duquette Memorial Clinic raise funds? If you can sing, dance, paint, belch the alphabet, or do armpit farting ... please sign up below or speak with Dr. Gavin Cole, who is organizing this year end event'." I close the binder and scowl. "Armpit farting? Seriously?"
"It's an art. And guess what?"
"I'm afraid to."
"Your mother saw me making that clever little notice and assured me that you can sing like you swallowed an angel. So, put your name down and if you're really nice to me ..."
"Never happening." I pick up the chart and thrust it into his lap. "No way."
"Which part? You're not singing or you're not being nice to me?"
"Both."
"Aww, man!" He looks like a little boy who just missed the ice cream truck. "Come on! I let you operate on Emma! I even let you survive calling me 'Elvis' when all the little voices told me to suffocate you. You owe me. And I'm collecting!"
"I don't owe you a thing! You 'let' me operate because it's your job and the fact that you have survived calling me Calliope -"
"This isn't up for discussion. You either sign up or you're not in on Emma's NEXT surgery!"
That stops me cold. "Emma's having another surgery?"
He nods. "Eventually. We're going to be working with plastics to build her a set of ears and redefine the bone structure around her eye sockets. And if you want in on that -"
"You can't keep me out of surgery!"
"Your girlfriend does it all the time with Dr. Yang." Gavin helps himself to the chocolate covered raisins that I bought a few minutes earlier. "Besides, no one else has signed up yet and if you do it ... maybe they will."
"I thought the clinic was doing just fine! Miranda said that it's making money now."
"It's breaking even. Besides, it stands to reason that people who need a free clinic also need free medicine. We should stock up on the things that we routinely prescribe."
"And you actually think that people are going to pay to see a bunch of doctors makes asses of themselves?" I shake my head at him. "You've lost your mind."
"I don't think so. I did this same thing in Boston. We had a clinic that needed a little help so I organized some entertainment." He offers me MY candy like it belongs to him, then laughs when I snatch it from him. "And I'm not just talking about doctors performing, Cal. I have pretty famous friends and I can make things happen."
"Then let your famous friends sing. I'm not doing it."
"It'll be fun."
"No."
He puts his hand over his heart, looking miserable. "I sure will miss you in Emma's surgery. And you're going to regret this because Discovery Health Care has decided to film a documentary about her. You'd get a lot of exposure and that's pretty damn good for someone who's going to be finishing up their residency and shopping around for a fellowship. You wouldn't need an introduction after this ... they'd be knocking on your door."
Well, shit. I lean back in my chair and study his face. He doesn't break eye contact, doesn't even blink. I know he's telling the truth. "Would you actually let me operate again?"
"Yes."
"And you wouldn't make me look like an idiot on camera?"
"You don't need any help." He laughs out loud when I hit him with my chart, then massages his arm. "Is that a yes?"
"It's an 'I'll think about it', Cole," I reply, getting to my feet. "Has Mark agreed to perform the surgery on Emma?"
"Sloan? I haven't asked him. I was thinking of calling in -"
"If Mark doesn't do it ... I'm not interested."
Gavin gives me a bemused grin. "Oh reaaaaally? You still carrying a torch for the guy or what?"
"Happily engaged, remember?" I flash my hand at him. "And my personal life is still, as always, off limits to you."
"Then let's talk about the professional life that you have been shirking for days. In the future, I expect to be notified if you're going to be absent because you had six surgeries on the board that I had to readjust my schedule to take care of and I don't appreciate it." He stands up as well, casually stretching. "How do you expect to learn anything if you're never here?"
"Excuse me, but I had a family emergency and -"
"That's funny, Dr. Torres, because your family was HERE and you weren't. Don't make me put you on probation for your attendance."
My bottom jaw drops open. "Who do you think you are? Chief Webber?"
"It's my job to make sure my department is controlled. That means that you, Miss Never Here, answer to me and I answer to the Chief." He picks up the chart and gets to his feet, tucking it under his arm. "I'll let it slide this time on the condition that you sign up for my fund raiser and don't disappoint me."
"You better cling to that damn chart really tight because the little voices in my head are telling me that it would fit nicely up your ass."
He grins at me. "I can't wait until rehearsals start. Should be fun."
I watch him walk down the hall and he's whistling. He's actually whistling.
I wonder if it's too late to change my specialty.
I bet I'd be a great general surgeon.
I seek refuge in Jasper's room for lunch, just as I had planned. He is so happy to see me that he knocks his pitcher of ice water into his lap and I find myself changing his bed for the second time. Erica comes in while I'm working and helps him put on a fresh gown. I notice that she makes him do the majority of the work and gently corrects him when he tries to put both arms through one hole. She doesn't do it for him. She doesn't do ANYTHING for him. When he tells her that he's thirsty, she takes him down the hall to refill his pitcher and I know that she lets him do it because I can hear him exclaiming over the ice dispenser all the way back in his room. When they come back (he has a new sticker on his gown), she steadies his hand as he pours his own glass of water and hands him a straw which he painstakingly unwraps. If my mother was not in the cafeteria, she would be furious that Erica's making him struggle for everything.
I'm not really crazy about it either, but Jazz is so eager to please her and earn praise that he doesn't mind.
In my gut, I know that it's GOOD to make him self sufficient, but my heart wants me to take care of his every need while I can because if this surgery works ... he won't need me much longer.
Erica tucks him into the bed while I put his sheets in the hamper and when I turn around she's hugging him. Her hair has suffered as much as mine since our shower and Jasper notices. He runs his fingers through it and shakes his head when she stands up. "You hair need help! Lee! Where my comb?"
I find his bag and pull out his favorite brush. It's the same one that I used on Emma when she asked for a braid. "He's going to make a mess of your ha-"
"He's going to make it beautiful," she corrects me, taking the brush and handing it to him. She sits with her back to him and he happily combs through her golden locks, dragging his fingers through it behind every stroke. I'm pretty sure that she's enjoying it as much as he is and I lean down and give her a kiss. She keeps me there for a second one and that's what we're doing when my parents come back from lunch.
"Oh for heaven's sake!" Mom says. "You live together, girls! Can't you ... control yourselves?"
"No," I reply honestly, running the back of my hand over Erica's cheek. "We can't."
"What is that smell? It's flowery."
"It's my lotion," Erica tells her. "The hospital soap here is horrible so I tried to mask it."
"Is it ... it's lilac, right?" My father asks, breathing deep. "It smells wonderful. I like it."
"Callie hates lilac," Mom says, fussing over Jasper's blanket.
Erica looks at me, brow raised. "Do you?"
"I love lilac." I'm prepared to wax poetic about how much her lilacs haunted me, but my mother doesn't let me.
"Calliope Iphigenia Torres, you buried a lilac bush in our backyard! I had to save the damn thing and nurse it back to health." She plumps Jazz's pillow next, speaking to Erica now. "She enlisted Jasper to help her dig a hole big enough to put a Volvo in and -"
"We buried it!" Jazz bellows. "In the sand! Flowers!"
"Really?" Erica looks thoroughly amused. "When was that?"
"A few days after Jasper's birthday." Mom readjusts the IV tubing, fussing over every detail. "She took Addison to the airport and came back with that huge plant. I had no idea what she was doing. I was sure she was drunk again when I saw what she was up to."
"Okay, number one ... I was not drunk the night that Addison nearly got us arrested and number two ... it just ... felt like the right thing to do." I cross my arms over my chest. "Number three ... quit talking about me."
Erica is grinning so big that I KNOW what's coming. "This was right after your little text message tantrum, wasn't it?"
I narrow my eyes at her. "You provoked me."
"Yeah. I know." She gets to her feet and kisses my forehead. "If it helps at all ... I bought a comic book just so I could burn it."
I have to smile. "What kind of comic book?"
"Captain America."
I gasp. "That's blasphemy."
Jasper starts laughing. "Blazz Phemey!"
Erica's pager goes off and she groans, making a face when she sees the message. "I have to go."
She drops a kiss on Jasper's head, thanks him for combing her hair and tells my parents she'll see them later. When she hugs me, she whispers, "You so have it bad for me."
"Shut up."
I watch her leave like the lovesick freak that I am.
I don't make apologies for it either.
Jasper's lunch arrives a second later and my stomach gives a mighty growl. Dad lowers his newspaper a fraction of an inch to look at me over it. He doesn't miss a thing, my dad.
And neither does Jasper.
"You hungry, Lee! You have this!" Jasper offers me his tray, but I shake my head and cut up his Salisbury steak for him. He's got half of it devoured by the time I finish and I rub his head, watching him scarf it down. There's gravy all over his teeth when he smiles at me and he belches enthusiastically. "Good dinner! 'Scuse me!"
"Have you eaten today?" Mom asks me, opening Jasper's apple juice as he stuffs a roll into his mouth.
"Not yet," I reply, tugging on the roll until it tears in half so that he doesn't choke on it. "There was a lot of paperwork after this morning."
"Santos," Mom cuts me off, "why don't you take your daughter to the cafeteria and buy her lunch? I'll stay here with Jasper."
The newspaper goes back up and Dad feigns deafness as he hides behind it. Mom narrows her eyes and then stalks across the room, snatching it from him. She rolls it up and whacks him on the head with it. "I've had it with your stubborn pride. Now get!"
"Are you actually accusing me of having stubborn pride, Lori Anne?" His voice is mocking. "Surely you realize that I've learned from you."
"You will be thanking your lucky stars that we are in the hospital if you don't move it, buster," Mom tells him. "Go on!"
Dad stands up before she can hit him again and puts his hands on his hips. "Perhaps she doesn't want to eat with me."
"Why would she?" Mom growls. "After the way you've behaved? Honestly, Santos, this is your daughter and yes, she was incredibly stupid to do what she did -"
"Standing here!" I say. "And he doesn't have to go with me. I know where the cafeteria is."
"He's going!" Mom points at the door. "And he better come back here and tell me that the two of you have mended fences because I will not tolerate this jack assery another second. Jasper, tell your father to buy Callie something to eat."
"She hungry, Dad! Belly goes grrrrr." Jasper points at my stomach. "Loud."
"Fine!" Dad stalks past me and opens the door. "Are you coming, Calliope?
Great.
Why do the men in my life resort to calling me that?
The elevator ride to the cafeteria is so tense that I hold my breath. Dad walks along beside me in the hall and stands a few feet behind me as I pick out a greasy slice of pizza, fries, and a Coke. He adds two pieces of chocolate cake to my tray and I tell myself that it's a peace offering, but I really don't believe it. We find a table in the corner and I load my fries with ketchup while he watches me. I feel fourteen again and I've just been caught stealing his car for a joyride. I put the ketchup bottle down and lean back in my chair, ignoring my food in favor of looking at him.
"Eat. Right now."
"I can't eat when you're so pissed at me, Daddy. I'm sorry. I was wrong and I know that."
"Do you?"
"Yes. I just - I couldn't handle it."
"Why?"
I worry my bottom lip between my teeth. "Because it felt like it was all my fault. And I didn't want to be awake and see you guys blaming me. I was blaming myself enough. So ... I just ... bowed out."
"Bowed out? Bowed out!? You put yourself into a coma like a cowardly little shit!" he snaps. "You know better. You have no right to behave this way! I'd like to shake you until your teeth rattle!"
"I can assure you that Erica rattled my teeth enough for the both of you."
"Don't expect me to sympathize. You're lucky that I didn't drag you across my knee." He narrows his eyes when I sigh. "I still might so you would be well advised to keep that in mind."
"I said I'm sorry."
"And that's supposed to make me feel better about you almost dying?"
"I did not almost die, Dad! I knew what I was doing."
"You have more than proven that's not the case at all, Calliope! You most certainly did NOT know what you were doing."
I don't even attempt to stop the tears that have been burning my eyes from falling. I let them go and I know it's a cheap, girl thing to do, but I can't help myself. "The possibility of losing Jasper made me crazy, okay? You guys get him all the time. You get to see him and hug him and have him! I don't! So if he was going to die ... I didn't want to see it! I couldn't see it! I see enough death and suffering. How can you expect me to watch him leave me when I'm guilty of always leaving him!? I felt like failed him."
"You didn't leave him! You grew up. He didn't. It's not YOUR fault and it's not HIS fault. What happened to Jasper could happen to anyone. It's what we do with him and for him NOW that matters. And you disappointed him and me by what you did, but you let yourself down more. You failed YOURSELF, Callie."
Dad's glare feels like scalding water as it rakes over my face and then he reaches forward with a napkin and dabs at my cheek. When he leans back, he looks a little softer around the edges, but I know that the bite isn't completely gone. I watch him take a deep breath and brace myself for it. He doesn't disappoint.
"You are a Torres! You are strong, you are beautiful, and you can handle anything ... ANYTHING ... because I raised you to be able to do so. Don't you ever ... under any circumstances ... play Russian Roulette with your life again. Because it will be the last thing you do if I find out about it and I mean it! Do you understand me?"
"Yes, sir."
"Now eat."
My eyes are burning with fresh tears and I know that I can't possibly swallow any food past the lump in my throat so I keep sitting there. I watch Dad pluck his piece of cake from my tray, but I don't move. I can't move. He moves for me. He slides into the chair next to me instead of across from me and unwraps my fork, stabbing it into the remaining piece of cake. "You always asked for dessert first, mija, and this time I'm saying yes."
I let him brush another tear off my cheek and put my hand over his. "I really am sorry."
He leans over and kisses my forehead. "Then don't do it again. I won't be as forgiving a second time."
Eating dessert first is overrated. It makes my pizza taste like hell when I finally get to it, but I still finish it off. Dad talks about Jasper's surgery and I answer all of his questions as best I can and then he asks me about Erica. I assure him that we're fine, even though I'm a little pissed at her. I don't mention that part. He takes my hand and studies my ring, smiling proudly. It thrills me to know that he is genuinely happy for me. As he strokes the diamond I remember that Erica's own father is going to be making an appearance.
"Daddy?"
"What, honey?"
"Do you think you could get a private investigator to check someone out?"
"Absolutely. Who did you have in mind?"
I tell him.
Everything.
By the time my pager goes off and I have to leave ... he's already on the phone.
There's something wonderful about scrubbing in on a surgery where the stakes are high and you rise to the challenge despite the tension of the day. That's what I do after lunch. A three car pile up puts four people in our emergency room and one of those, a woman with two kids that she tells me all about, needs my help putting her leg back together. She will be in traction for a couple of weeks, but really, she's alive and I'm almost positive she won't have a limp. These are the kinds of surgeries that a doctor lives for. You give someone BACK to their family with only a few scars.
I spot Mark standing at the nurse's station and sidle up to him, nudging him with my shoulder. He needs a shave and his hair is a mess, but he smiles when he sees me. "Hey, Cal. I have it on good authority that I should thank you for getting me into Emma Foster's reconstruction surgery."
"What?" I raise a brow.
"Dr. Wannabe Rockstar said that you're going to sing for him in exchange for me leading the plastics portion of her surgery. This is massive. It's a documentary and -"
"That god damned asshole!" I slap a hand to my forehead. "Help me kill him, Mark. Please? I'll do the dirty work if you just dig the hole."
Mark laughs. "Why would I let you have all the fun? I hate the bastard, too."
"Why do you hate him?"
The smile fades from his face. "I don't want to talk about it."
"Oh come on! Tell me!"
He leans a little closer, shooting covert looks left and right. "I haven't gotten laid since ... Addison ... and it's because of him that the nurses are -"
"Shut up!" My eyes widen. "He's sleeping with the nurses? Ew. Who in their right mind would -"
"No! He's not. He has them brainwashed into little support groups for singles and has talked enough shit about fraternizing that every woman in this place has locked down so tight that a crow bar wouldn't even help." Mark scratches his chin. "And I'm always here. My dating options are limited to here. And he's pissed in my punchbowl."
"Support groups for singles? Jesus Christ! Cole really does think he's the second coming, doesn't he?"
"I know! Just because he's celibate he obviously thinks that everyone else should be, too."
I watch as Mark rakes a hand through his hair in exasperation. "Or, you know, you could make up with Addison."
"Not. Happening. Did you see how she was this morning? She's been drinking your girlfriend's venom and spewing it all over me."
"Mark -"
"I knew that she had sex with Karev before she moved to California. I saw the two of them coming out of the on call room and I knew," he snaps. "I did not know that she slept with him since then until she blurted it out to me after he died."
"Okay, in her defense, the two of you were not together. Mark - Mark, look at me."
He does and his jaw is tight. "Do not defend her."
I put my hand on his arm, patting it. "She loves you. And you love her. Just ... talk to her."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"Yeah, Mark ... why not? You're the one to blame."
I grit my teeth and turn around. Addison is a few feet behind us. She's still wearing her street clothes under her lab coat and she looks beautiful. She looks like a woman in charge, completely put together, and a force to be reckoned with. I see Mark looking her up and down out of the corner of my eye. This? It's uncomfortable. I try to leave. I really, truly attempt to get the hell out of dodge, but Mark grips my lab coat and holds me hostage.
"Do you see this?" he growls. "You almost killed her."
"I most certainly did not!" Addison taps her foot and there's something about a Manolo on the floor that sounds like a gun being loaded. "She's an adult. I can't help it if she's a crazy adult."
"Someone should take your prescription pad away from you," he suggests. "And burn it! You saw the shape she was in!"
I feel someone smack his hand off my shoulder and turn around to see that Erica has joined us. This has all the makings of World War III and I really want nothing more than to take off my white coat and wave it around in surrender. Erica walks around us and stands next to Addison and I swear on all things Nintendo ... I actually see the battle line appear on the white, sterile floor. It's ugly. And I'm tempted to move around just so I can straddle it. "Go away, Sloan," she says.
"You look like shit," Mark tells her, wrinkling his nose. I'm pretty sure that he has noticed the stench of my hair, but he looks at Erica when he adds, "And check it out. You smell like it, too."
"You really are going to be six years old forever, huh?" Erica snaps, putting her hands on her hips. "Why don't you toddle on down the hall, Sloan, and leave her alone."
"Callie!" Mark snaps. "Tighten the chain on your pit bull before I -"
"I'M SWITZERLAND!" I cry, throwing my hands up. "Do not bring me into it!"
"You are in it! She nearly killed you!" Mark points at Addison. "You - you're an over-prescribing malpractice suit waiting to happen!"
"She's SWITZERLAND!" Addison growls. "SHE DOESN'T SUE!"
"And she did it to herself!" Erica adds. "Don't make excuses for her when you can't even make a decent one for yourself."
"What is that supposed to mean?" Mark demands. "This isn't my fault! I didn't -"
"I didn't say it was your fault," Addison interjects. "I said that I was going to blame you."
"You're blaming me for your inability to keep your pants zipped?" Mark's eyebrows shoot skyward.
"Pot, kettle." Erica points back and for between the two. "Don't you have a nose to rebuild, Sloan? A lip injection to get to?"
"Don't you have a heart to rip out with your teeth?" Mark counters. "Beast."
"I'd rather be a beast than a -"
"STOP IT!" I shout. "Just ... all of you. Shut up! Erica, stay out of it!"
Erica and Addison both look at me like I just violated Article 4, Section 1 of the 'Vagina Carriers Solidarity Handbook', but I keep the steely look on my face and lift my chin defiantly. Mark's pager goes off and I swear I feel it like a divine act of intervention when he swear and stalks off. Addison and Erica give each other a high five and put their heads together, then Addison says, "Toddler!" in a very, very loud voice.
Mark doesn't turn to look back.
And he's not the only one who isn't laughing.
My parents are gone and Jazz is sitting on the bed staring out the window when I check on him before my shift ends. He doesn't hear me come in and I enjoy the view. He's so innocent, so handsome as the light plays across his face. I wonder what he's thinking. I wonder what it's like to be trapped with a mind that doesn't know what betrayal feels like, or jealousy, or worry. Is that such a bad place to be? I think I'd gladly trade with him sometimes. I'd like to look outside with that childlike sweetness that he has and not think about anything else for a while.
"Lee?"
"Hey, Buddy," I tell him, crossing the room. He must've noticed me while I was lost in thought. "How do you feel?"
"I can walk? Outside?"
"Aww, sweetie, you can't go outside yet." I rub his cheek when his face falls. "But I can walk you around in the hallway. Would you like that?"
"Sticker! Yellow give me!"
"Yeah, I can find you a sticker, too."
"Okay!" He shoves the cover down and wiggles his bare toes in excitement. I rummage in his bag and locate a pair of plaid pajama pants and his slippers and he nearly knocks me over in his haste to put them on. He listens intently as I explain that he has to hold my hand and not run, because his IV tubing isn't very long. I let him hang the saline bag on the rolling IV and watch him wrap his hand around it and take a few steps. He runs over his foot and almost falls, crying out in shock.
"Tell you what, buddy," I say, taking his arm in mine, "you let me pull the IV and you pull me, okay?"
"I not pull! I hold you hand!"
He does just that, looping his fingers through mine as we walk across the floor together. In the hallway, he draws up short, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath. I don't know what he's doing but I mimic him, trying to experience life his way. When I open my eyes he's smiling at me. "See it, Lee?"
"See what, Jazzy?"
"Happy. Walk now."
He saw happy and looking at him ... I do the same. I find him a sticker at the nurse's station and he lets me put it on his gown. A couple of the nurses greet him sweetly and he waves, telling them that 'his Lee' is walking him. He's proud to be with me. And I'm floating along beside him in a pure joy because he's HERE. We travel the length of the hall and he chatters non stop about his shoes, his pants, the heavy heart monitor in the pocket of his gown, and about me being hungry. He remembered that and it must have bothered him. We reach the end of the corridor and can go left, right, or back ... and he chooses left. I tag along, feeling like I'm following hope. I'm so busy listening to him that I don't realize where he's led me.
We're outside the chapel and someone is sobbing inside.
The sound makes me reach for his arm to pull him along, but he has other plans. He takes the portable IV in his own hand and moves it from the linoleum to the carpet of the chapel with absolute ease. Something is obviously pulling him forward .. something that neither of us can control. I don't want to make a scene and if I grab him and try to force him to leave ... he may start to cry himself. I docilely follow along behind him, ready to apologize for the intrusion, when I recognize the blond head in the front pew. I'd know her anywhere. She's haunted enough of my dreams.
Izzie Stevens has her head down in a choking, sobbing, prayer and her fingers are working through her rosary beads as she cries.
Jasper sits down beside her before I stop him and puts his hand on her shoulder. "There there, lady. God no want you cry."
I see Izzie turn her head toward him and he rubs her cheek, then her hair. She lets him, muttering, "Hey."
"Hi, lady, hi," Jasper touches her beads. "That?"
"My rosary beads," Izzie tells him, holding them out. "You want to see?"
"My daddy gots 'em, too," Jazz tells her, taking them and gingerly sliding his fingers over them. "You sad?"
"Yeah," Izzie replies. "I'm sad."
"Why?"
Every instinct I have is to rush forward and stop them, to let her grieve in peace, but my feet will NOT do it. I hold my breath as Izzie says, "My baby died. And then my best friend died, too." She cries so hard when she says it that I have doubts Jasper will understand her. "I - I should have died. It should have been me."
"No. You not die." Jazz moves closer and puts his arm around her. I watch him close his eyes and move his head back and forth slowly. "Jesus love me 'es I know fo da Biple tell me so."
Izzie blows her nose and cries even harder as Jazz continues to mutilate the song. I'm stunned a moment later when she puts her head on his shoulder and he pats her blond ponytail like he would pat Buddha. "I can't believe he's dead," she sobs. "Alex is dead."
"Not dead, lady. Heaven." Jasper points up at the large Jesus sculpture behind the altar. I made fun of it once ... when I saw them installing it. I'm ashamed ... because it gives him some measure of comfort. "Him see us all. Hear us, too."
Izzie continues to weep for a man and her baby.
Jasper continues to warble church songs that he gets confused with Barney songs.
And I step outside the chapel so that I won't be an unwelcome invader if Izzie turns around to see who else is there.
I don't know how much time passes, but I do a lot of thinking. I think about second chances and living life to the fullest. I think about how easily I could have died and how it could be Erica sitting in that front pew crying with Jasper. I wanted to sleep through the aftermath of his surgery and I could have put myself to sleep forever. I could have left Jazz behind to comfort everyone ... and miss me.
This day really, truly needs to end.
Now.
It startles me when Addison puts her hand on my arm and says, "I took the test."
"And?"
She runs a hand through her hair. "I'm am officially one of those women that I used to make fun of. Who's the daddy? Is it Sloan or Karev?"
"WHAT!?"
There are moments in life that happen in slow motion. I can hear the shock and desperation in the voice behind us and I know that when I turn around ... Izzie Stevens will look broken, devastated, and lost. There was actually a time that I prayed for Stevens to get her comeuppance. I actually asked God for any number of calamities to befall her. I didn't want to see her destroyed, but I wanted to witness something that could make me feel a little better about what she had put me through. I asked for pimples, crabs, or green hair ... anything to make her something more human than the blond, stacked, centerfold who slept with my husband and then tormented me by rubbing that fact in my face. Never, ever ... did I want this and when I do finally look at her, where she's standing bent a little with a hand on her empty belly, I wish I could take it all back. I wish that I was in a position to hug her or extend my hand or be the one helping hold her upright. I've only wanted to trade places with Jasper a few times.
This is one of those.
He has his arm around her and she's clutching at his hand while she pushes her IV with the other. I reach out and instinctively pull it over the hump where the carpet meets the tile, but she doesn't walk forward with it. Her brown eyes, sunken and red rimmed, are on Addison. I don't know what she's thinking. I don't know if seeing the woman who couldn't save her baby actually carrying one of her own is hurting her as much as I think it is. Or maybe it's the fact that Addison, in her forties, still has the equipment that she had to take from Izzie ... who is only in her twenties. Whatever it is ... it causes an ache in my own womb, that's where I feel it, because I can only imagine what it's like to know that you gave away the only thing you can never have again. She had a baby at sixteen ... I don't know if it's a blessing or a curse now.
Jasper touches my arm and says, "ZZ said 'what', Lee. You answer!"
His voice makes Izzie look at him and then at me. Her eyes focus and the most breathtakingly beautiful smile I've ever seen on anyone's face in my life breaks across hers. She lets go of the IV and reaches for Addison, and when she hugs her, the redhead looks at me in confusion. She rubs Izzie on the back and says, "Uh ... how ... how are you feeling, Dr. Stevens?"
Izzie backs up a step. The hysterectomy was invasive and when he hand goes back to her stomach I realize that she's putting pressure on the incision. It must be hurting. Or itching. Or maybe she has to touch it to remember that it's real. I hold my breath when she lets Jasper go and reaches out again ... this time touching Addison's stomach. "Alex - he said that he was going to tell everyone that my baby was his. He told me that he always wanted a baby and he'd take mine any day. We were on our way to look at a crib when we wrecked ... when I wrecked. He said that he wanted to put it together and he would keep it in his room." She laughs, but it's really a sob and my eyes fill with tears. "He joked and said that he would use it to keep his laundry in, but I knew that he was going to put a stuffed bear in it. You - you can have the bear now, Dr. Montgomery. For - for his baby."
Addison's cheeks are wet with her own tears as she puts her hand over Izzie's. "I - I don't know that this is - it could be -"
"I heard you," Izzie tells her in a quavering voice, "but I - I think it has to be Alex's. He couldn't really have left us all with nothing. Right? Not when he had so much to give. Right? Right? Dr. Montgomery ... right?"
Izzie starts to sob and I look behind her, where Jasper is watching with wide eyes. He's terrified. I can see it. He can't wrap his head around this kind of pain and when his chin quivers. "Jasper, let's go back to your room. You need your medicine."
I give Addison a pointed look on 'medicine'. She needs to be very liberal with Stevens' medication and she nods her red head in confirmation. "Izzie," she gently says, "why don't you come with me?"
"Where ZZ going?" Jasper's voice breaks over the words as Izzie steps around him and lets Addison lead her down the hall. "I go?"
"Not this time, buddy." I firmly grip his arm and his IV and drag him along with me. He walks sideways, keeping his eyes behind us and I give up trying to get his attention. When we get to his room ... he throws up his hand and I turn.
Izzie Stevens is waving at my brother from the end of the hallway.
And he smiles at her before she disappears around the corner. "ZZ," he tells me, "yellow, too."
"Yeah, I guess she is."
"Sad."
"She's sad," I agree, helping him into the bed. I take off his slippers and settle him underneath the cover. "Are you okay? Does your head hurt?"
"No, Lee." He touches his incision, then moves his hand to his heart. "I hurt here."
I lean down and press a kiss where he indicated and lean my head against him. I can feel the steady strumming of his heart and close my eyes when he hugs me. "Is that better, buddy?"
"Not this time."
I hope he hangs onto that honesty if he comes back to me all the way.
No ... not if.
WHEN he comes back to me.
I'll remind him to always tell the truth.
"You're really quiet tonight, Callie."
Erica has her head in my lap and I glance at the clock. Almost an hour has passed since we settled on the couch to watch something on television. I think it was a show I wanted to see, but I haven't paid any attention to it. I stop threading my fingers through her blond hair when she rolls onto her back and looks up at me. I can't believe I ever thought that green eyes were the best because her blue eyes are perfect. They reflect the lamp light and tell me everything I need to know. She's worried about me and she's questioning me with those cerulean orbs so intently that I have to smile. "I love you."
She purses her lips. "And that's bothering you?"
"It makes me hot and bothered," I reply, grinning at her. "Is that what you're asking?"
"I don't ask questions with obvious answers." Reaching up, she rubs my cheek. "What's on your mind?"
I look back at the spot on the wall that held my attention so thoroughly for the past sixty minutes as if it can answer her question. I was so lost in thought that I can't pick any one out of my head. "This has been a really, really strange day."
She sits up, leaning across my lap so that her face is just a few inches from mine. Her hand moves to my shoulder and then I feel her fingers on my neck. "Is this about the patient that died this morning?"
"Not really." She blurs a little around the edges and I know that my own eyes are betraying my emotion. "I guess ... now that I have everything I've ever wanted ... I'm just more aware of the people who don't."
"Aww, baby." Her thumb moves under my eye and wipes away the moisture there. "We paid our dues to get here so don't feel bad that we finally got it right. For a long time, Cal, we were those people. I was living out here with a damn hateful dog and I didn't have anything to come home to. And you ... you were sleeping on Yang's couch and crying yourself to sleep at night -"
"Did she tell you that?"
"No. You told me that. I saw it on your face all the time."
"Did you?"
"Before I ever invited you out for drinks," she says, "I thought ... 'well, there's someone who looks just as lonely as me'. And you were beautiful, so damn beautiful and so damn sad ... I wanted to see you smile. I wanted to make you happy."
"You did so much more than that, Erica. You found me."
"No ... I found myself. In you."
She kisses me and it's long, slow, and sweet. Her tongue brushes against my bottom lip and I open my mouth, letting my own meet hers halfway. It feels like a first kiss ... something that makes your stomach flutter and your toes curl with anticipation. How in the world can it still feel so new? I've mapped every inch of her so many times that I could pick her out in a darkened room of a million other woman, but she can still take my breath without trying. One touch, one look, one whisper of her breath against my skin and I feel like I'm sixteen and life has really just begun. I feel young with her. I feel older and wiser. I feel weak and strong. I feel cracked, but never broken. I'm uneasy, but calm. How is that possible?
It's a mystery to me.
I never want to solve it.
Not knowing how she has such power over me means that I'll never be able to get rid of it.
She pulls away and I try to tug her back against me, but she stands up and extends her hand.
I look at it. I look at her long, milky fingers and her short, rounded nails. I look at the ruby eternity band and the watch that matches it so beautifully and then I look a little higher and I know that the real match ... is us. Her intention is perfectly clear in the dirty twinkle in her eyes and I put my hand in hers. She may as well be touching me between my legs because the feel of her courses through me and settles there and when I stand ... I'm aching so badly with need for her that I have to bite back the groan.
We walk down the hallway, past our photos, and I feel like I'm experiencing Ital and every other location we've ever been in together. It's exhilarating.
I've always heard that good sex starts in your head and words its way down and I think that theory is right.
When I close our bedroom door and watch her long t-shirt slide over her head ... I think I could come from the visuals alone. We argued over the shower when we got home and she won. I almost followed her, but I'm glad that I didn't. Because it would have been quick again and now ... now I know that I'd much rather take my time. As much as I love the blue panties ... there's something to be said for the black ones. I watch her hook her thumbs in the waist and slide them down, licking my lips in anticipation.
"You're overdressed, Cal."
I stop looking at her thighs and realize that my own are covered in snowmen. She's standing there naked and Venus-like and PERFECT and I have on snowmen flannel. I used to have the sexy thing down pat, but I think I've been so domesticated now that I've lost it. You can NOT undress flannel in a sexy way so I don't even try. I simply get rid of the pants as quickly as I can and then yank my shirt off. She's standing in front of me when it clears my head and her hand moves over my panties. Those? Are sexy. They're yellow and lacy and I bought them just for her ... and I know she likes them as she runs her palms over my backside and pulls me against her.
"I love you, too, by the way," she tells me, sliding one of her legs between mine.
I bite my bottom lip when her hands move to my hips and she pushes me down against her leg, urging me to rock back and forth just a little. Just enough. I lean into her, rubbing my bare breasts against hers and she hisses. I can feel hot wet I am and I know that she can. Her fingertips bite into my skin as she pushes and pulls my hips, sliding me over her leg and it's enough, but not enough. I want more. I need more. "Erica-"
She shifts and slides her hand between my legs, pushing aside the crotch of my panties. Her knuckle rubs against my clit as her mouth captures mine again. I cling to her face, her hair, anything I can reach as two of her fingers glide into me. My eyes close and my head falls back and she latches onto my neck, nipping, sucking and licking. She bites the tender skin over my clavicle and moves her face between the hollow of my breasts and I am so close ... I am right on the edge ... when she takes her hand away and smirks at me.
Why ... why did I have to fall for someone so diabolical?
She points at the bed and I start to take off my panties, but she stops me. "Leave them."
"Really not a good idea."
"Trust me."
I flop on the bed with my new yellow panties covering up what I would much rather have exposed and she kisses my knee, then my stomach. When she moves her head between my legs ... I really expect her to move my panties aside again, but she doesn't. She runs her tongue over the lace and ... oh ... my ... god. I have had clumsy fingers move over my panties and fumble around for the right spot, but she finds it without trying. Even though there's a thin barrier between us ... it feels AMAZING. I can feel me and her wetting my panties and it's warm, then cool when she blows against the lace. She sucks at the fabric and at me and the sound of it, the feel of it, the KNOWLEDGE that every time I put these panties on again ... she has marked them ... and me ... is enough.
I get off hard and fast and loud, crying out my release in the form of her name.
I'm still soaring when she slips my panties down my legs and runs her tongue the length of my cleft. It starts it all over again and another orgasm rocks through me. As I look down at her, watching her, I can see my left breast shaking over my tumultuous heartbeat. She follows my gaze and rests her hand over and I twine my fingers through hers. Whatever I want to say ... she knows it.
I'm still trembling when she moves over me. I open my mouth to invite her to sixty nine or to sit on my face or anything she wants, but she takes one of my legs and pulls it upward. I can only watch in amazement as she rises to one knee and positions her sex on mine. She's wet. I'm wet. And I push up on my elbows to watch as she rubs up and down, up and down. I can see that she's swollen with need, with anticipation, and when she grinds against me and hits MY spot ... I know that she's hitting hers, too.
It's so damn languid, almost lazy. She doesn't hurry, there's no rush. It's almost like she's sealing something as she pulls my leg a little higher and settles herself until we're so intimately pressed together that her heat becomes my heat and her body is part of mine. I watch her head fall back, I watch her throat constrict when she swallows and she continues to undulate, driving me out of my mind.
She doesn't verbally invite me to touch her, but she lifts herself off me just long enough for me to understand it.
I barely graze her clit with my thumb and she picks up the pace. The sound of our flesh rubbing together is quickly replaced by the sounds of it slapping together. Her hand covers mine a second later and she guides my fingers into her. She drops my leg, splaying her hands on my chest as she moves up and down, but I push them off and sit up, capturing her mouth as she rides my fingers. Her breasts bounces over mine and she wraps her legs around my waist. When she leans back a little, bracing her palm on the bed, I seize the opportunity to capture her nipple and worry it between my teeth.
That's all she needed.
That's the last little push.
And I keep pushing and pushing until we're spent.
It takes a while for either of us to start breathing normally again. She's on her back and I'm between her legs with my head resting on her stomach. Sleep is creeping up on us and I begrudgingly rise from the warmth of her body and lie beside her instead. She takes me into her arms and kisses the top of my head. "Callie?"
"Hmm?"
"You know how I said that I didn't want anything special for my birthday?"
"Yeah, but -"
"I changed my mind. I want to do this again. Exactly like this."
"Why wait?"
I hear her chuckle. "True."
Sleep ... doesn't have a chance of claiming either of us for a while.