When Jasper was twenty five and I was thirty five, he had surgery to repair the damage in his brain.
There are some things that a person never forgets. I will never forget the way he smells when he's fresh from the ocean and the sun has warmed his skin. I will never forget the sound of his voice when it's heavy with sleep or the loud contrast when he's bellowing a greeting to a random stranger. The way his fingers stain orange from Cheetos, the way he rubs his head absently when he's trying to say something, the way he rose to his knees on the stretcher to wave goodbye as they led him to surgery. Those are the immediate things I remember, but as I follow Derek down the hallway toward a conclusion that I'd prefer to skip, I remember Jasper as a baby. He had rolls and rolls of fat and dimpled cheeks that were usually rosy with life. He never cried. He rarely screamed like other babies as he waited for a bottle and he'd kick his chubby feet to get our attention if we walked past him in his bouncing seat.
What I'm really concentrating on ... is the fact that Jasper was always so happy go lucky. There were moments in his childhood that were highlighted by a sour attitude or an angry outburst, but even before he was damaged ... Jasper was inherently good, almost angelic to a fault. I don't want his last realization to be that he's *wrong*, that's he's different, that he isn't like everyone else. No one should know that they have shortcomings beyond their control because the truth of it is ... every flawed human being has the ability to correct what taints them. If you're crass, you can tone it down. If you're rude, you can think before you speak. If you're prone to violent outbursts you can get help. Jasper can't do that. The mongoloid, as Rick so deviously called him, is incapable of changing himself on his own.
And the 'mongoloid' knows that he's 'retarded'. He's not whole.
That news hit him with the force of Thor's hammer and he could be dead or dying ... and the last cognizant thought he had is that he hates himself.
For being himself.
I'm rapidly beginning to realize that Erica Hahn is never wrong. She fought me tooth and nail about this surgery. She saw past his wrongness, past his brain damage, and was able to accept him for who he is, not who he could be. The woman who was able to wedge herself into my gut never saw him as anything less than a man and she tried to tell me. She tried to show me and make me see the error of my ways, but I refused. I don't know how someone who grew up with nothing can value everything so much, but she does. There is something incessantly valuable about love and loving Jasper the way he was at ten when he went into the ocean should never have been greater than the love I had for him after ten ... but ... God ... if I loved him just as much why would I have done this to him?
Jasper changed, but so did I.
Rick vocalized what I've obviously been thinking for fifteen years.
I just didn't say it out loud. Instead of finding the courage to speak it, I proved that it was in my heart by doing anything I could to change him.
'God, give me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change.'
I get it now.
Acceptance isn't giving in, it's going on. It's making do with what you have instead of pushing through life and death for what you think you're supposed to have.
My inability to accept Jasper for the man he became was only ever my issue. Not his.
He could be hemorrhaging in his head right now because of me.
If he's bleeding out as much as I am bleeding IN then he's probably already dead. If my pain could be tapped, it would not run from me in a steady crimson river, it would blow like a geyser and cover everything around me in my shame. Whether or not I did it for the right reasons doesn't eclipse the fact that I did. The wounds on my hands, the jagged, throbbing cut on my leg, the stinging cut in my scalp ... there only reminders that I'm here and I'm culpable.
There will be no expiation for me.
Regardless of what Derek says.
"Callie?"
I blink and glance toward Erica, but I don't see her. She's right in front of me and the only thing I can concentrate on are the light panels that make up three sides of the radiology department. We're not in the family room. I clock so many hours in this room looking at films that I should feel at home, but I don't. I can't. Not right now.
"I took the liberty of running a few X-rays to go along with the MRI," Derek says, flipping the light switch on the largest wall. "This ... is Jasper's scan before the surgery."
He points out key points on Jasper's sad looking hippocampus, underused and unresponsive in so many ways. I recognize the shape of my baby brother's nose and clench my hands into fists which is really the wrong thing to do. It hurts. The glass was as unkind to me as I've been to Jasper. I feel Erica's arm slide around my shoulders and I instinctively lean my head against hers for comfort, to breathe her in over the sterile finality of a fucking hospital. She presses her lips against my temple and stays that way as Derek takes a deep breath. She's not looking at the scan. I don't want to be looking either.
"And this is his film from a little while ago."
'God, grant me the wisdom to know the difference.'
He does.
It's undeniable and now I do hiss. It's a gasping, wheezing intake of breath and I pull away from Erica and step forward, unwilling to believe my eyes. I can make out the transmitters that were carefully placed inside Jasper's cranium. I can see the evidence of the stroke he had not longer after that. And his nose still looks the exact same, but it's a different brain. I has to be a different brain. The sound of fingers flying over a keyboard pulls me from my reverie and I turn around to look at the computer monitor that holds the results of the MRI.
It's all there.
It's clear.
"What does this mean?" Mom cuts through my thoughts and when I focus on her, she's frantically looking from the light panel to the computer screen.
"Callie?" Derek gives me his patented smile and the air rushes from me like I'm about to swoon. It has nothing to do with Dr. McDreamy and everything to do with my brother.
"It means," I say, stunned that my voice is there at all, "that Jasper is recovering. The stimulation is working and ... he's coming back."
Dad covers his face with his hands and makes a sound like a siren wailing for a split second, then he silently shakes as relief charges through him. Erica moves forward, hugging him, and he wraps both arms around her. She's a little taller than him and I watch him put his forehead against her shoulder as she pats his back. Mom and I are the resolute ones and we exchange evenly cautious looks before turning our attention to Derek. "What about the seizure?" Mom queries.
Sitting casually on the edge of the desk, Derek gives her his full attention. "I'd like to say that it's an isolated event, but I can't guarantee that. This could be his body's way of rebelling against the intrusion in his head. Or ... it could have been the first in a series. What matters the most is the fact that we were able to immediately control the seizure with medication and can give him preventative drugs to ward off anything else. And, Mrs. Torres, he's got a real chance of making a recovery in the ninetieth percentile of what we've seen previously in this clinical trial. That's outstanding."
"Lee?"
I look toward the doorway where Izzie and Jasper are standing side by side. She's wearing a pair of pajama bottoms under a thick coat and I wonder who summoned her to the hospital. I wonder if she came for him or for something else, but I don't dwell on it. I can't dwell on it. Jasper is standing there in fresh slipper socks with his hospital gown flapping around his bare legs as he worries the bandages on his own hands. They're just like mine. "I didn't mean it. I'm sorry. I'm real sorry, Lee. You okay?"
The brain releases chemicals for a myriad of reasons: serotonin, dopamine, endorphins. I feel like my brain unleashes every one and the sensation of drowning, of floating, of flying, of dancing through a raging fire ... rushes through me as I meet him halfway. In the middle of the radiology department, with only the lights from the back panel to illuminate us, I wrap my arms around Jasper and he hangs on so tight that it's painful. But adrenaline makes me immune. Love makes me immobile. And relief is kind to me as he mumbles in my ear that he loves me and chases away the tension in my body.
He shouldn't be out of bed yet.
But I'm not letting him go.
*~*~*~*~
It's almost midnight when we head for home. Erica holds my hand in the car and keeps casting furtive glances into the rearview mirror where her father solemnly imitates a statue and remains mum. I don't care that he's there. I could not care less that he's breathing my air or imposing on my hospitality because Jasper's going to be okay. He is. I think maybe I can believe that now. As I watch Halloween slide past on the glowing green dashboard clock and November First arrive, I consider how much we can torment ourselves. I was convinced just a few hours ago that Jasper's surgery made me a criminal, but my family ... even Derek ... acted like I was the second coming for pushing as hard as I could to get the approval.
Jasper didn't thank me. When we returned to his room, he climbed into the bed, pulled the cover up to his waist, and stared at the ceiling. He didn't want anything to drink, refused green Jell-O and shook his head when I offered him a Popsicle. His eyes closed when I kissed him goodnight and they stayed that way, even when I looked back from the doorway. Both of my parents are spending the night with him and part of me wanted to stay as well, but mental and physical exhaustion made my spirit cry for home and that's where I find myself lost in my thoughts.
I make it as far as the sofa as Erica goes into the kitchen and returns with a bottle of water. She also holds out a large pink pill that I recognize as Darvocet. Looking up at her, I raise a brow. "I thought you drug proofed the house."
"You're the most accident prone person alive, Lee," she replies, winking at me. "Would I really do that?"
"Where are -"
"If you go looking for them I'll break your arm. I mean it."
"Yes, ma'am," I reply, trying to look scared. Taking the pill, I wash it down with water as I listen to Rick creep around upstairs. He made a beeline for the guest bedroom the second we got home.
She leans down and kisses me, then sits on the coffee table across from me, her knees between mine. "You ready for bed?"
I shake my head. "Not yet. I - I think I need to ... process."
Rubbing my leg, she nods. "I'm going to go take a shower. Do you need anything?"
"I'm fine."
Her gaze moves toward the ceiling when Rick steps on a squeaky floorboard. "Maybe you should come with me."
"I'll be okay."
"What did he say to you? At the hospital?"
"Erica ..."
"I have a right to know."
"I'm really happy right now. I'm REALLY happy right now. I don't want to talk about that yet. Just let me ... bask."
When she inhales with defeat, her breath is shaky. She knows that something huge happened. And she also knows that what transpired has the potential of shattering her illusions of her father and that, more than my need to relish the glory of success, makes her give in. Her own sense of self preservation kicks in. She gives me another kiss as she rises and tells me not to stay up much longer. I assure her that I'll be in the bed before the pill renders me unconscious and she relents. She does pause and look back at me before she goes up the stairs and I give her a smile, letting her know that I was enjoying the view.
The pipes clang with authority five minutes later and I lick my lips as I imagine what she's doing right now. She always lets the water run while she brushes her teeth and combs through her hair to remove any tangles. I picture her in my mind's eye, sliding off her pants, tugging her sweater off. And it's tempting. Oh, how much I hate the cuts on me and the fact that I'll be out of the water for at least twenty four hours because of them. I want to touch her. I want to celebrate with my body so that my pulse can race my mind. Instead, I sit here with my thoughts and lose myself for a while.
I don't even notice that Rick has come downstairs until his cologne tickles my nose and the sofa shifts beside me. "Callie, I know that -"
"No, you don't know."
His hair is stark, solid white and standing up on one side. I imagine he's been dragging his hands through it in frustration. Or maybe in sorrow. I don't know. I don't want to know. I watch him extend his hand toward me and when he opens it, the prescription bottle that I landed on in the hallway is in his palm. I know it's the same one because it's misshapen, dented a little. "Look at it," he tells me, holding it a little closer to me.
I take it because it's practically under my nose and turn it around so I can read it. What I see makes my heart, something I would have sworn was immune to him, crack just a little. If you press a needle into an inflated balloon just so it will slowly lose its air. That's what happens to me. I don't explode with the severity of the situation, but I feel a sharp prick in my gut that makes me wilt enough that *I* can see the difference in myself. My shoulders slump, my throat constricts, I toe the line between anger and sorrow, but sorrow wins. "When did you find out?"
He clears his throat. "A few months ago. I started misplacing my keys and couldn't remember where I had left them. I left the stove on a few times and set off the fire alarm. I'd forget my phone number or where the grocery store was and I tried to dismiss it. Then I forgot the twins at the playground. I literally took them there and an hour later I wandered away trying to remember where I was. They say it's the early stages. If this is what the onset of Alzheimer's feels like then I dread the full blown affliction. I'm scared.
"I'm also very sorry for what I said to your brother. Looking at him felt like looking into a mirror and seeing what I'm destined to become. The only difference is ... he still has his youth. And I'll be an old man trapped in his head wondering how I got there."
"Does Erica know?"
"None of my children know, Callie. Except you." He pauses for a second and I'm tempted to reach out to him, to take his hand, but I don't. And he seems to understand my reticence because he plows ahead, seemingly undaunted, despite the fact that I didn't acknowledge that I'm his *child*, too. "I know that what I did to Erica and her mother was wrong. I have lived with it everyday for over forty years and I wasted every second of it wallowing in my own pain instead of repairing theirs. The time that I have left to get to know Erica, to assure her that I never once let her slip my mind, to introduce her to her siblings ... that's what I'm living for right now. And if you would let me do that ... it would be a lot easier to accept that I'm going to forget her eventually ... I'm going to forget everyone. This is my punishment for my transgressions and I accept it. Please accept me. You won't have to do it long."
I look back down at the bottle in my hand. Exelon. He's telling the truth about the disease that will inevitably consume him. When Jasper was ten and I was twenty, he had an *accident*. Rick's accident is coming a little at a time, but the result will be the same. Only ... it's inoperable. "Are you going to tell her?"
"It's my fervent wish that she not find out about this or what I said to Jasper. I'm not asking you to lie to her, but I'm asking you to omit this. It will change everything and I'm only just beginning to scratch the surface of what I'd like to have with her." He reaches out and plucks the bottle from my hand, stowing it in the pocket of his robe. "I'd never advocate keeping secrets from your loved ones. Lord knows, I experienced all the examples of why. What I said to your brother assassinated my own character, but I am not ready to be buried yet. Please. Please don't take this from me."
I hear our bedroom door open and Erica emerges. She draws up short at the top of the stairs and looks down at us with apprehension marring her features. When she descends a second later, I can practically see her moving on eggshells. It feels more like she's moving on me in a pair of sharp ice skates. You give your lover all the power in your life. You trust them with your body in its most intimate moments, you believe that they will aid you toward release and give you license with their own body. You can be shattered with a cross word or a look in the blink of an eye and always ... always ... always ... you hold them in the palm of your hand above boiling water. If you drop them, they're burned.
The smile that lights my face is hers alone, that phantom tugging that can wipe the angst off my face and surrender to the happiness that she alone brings. And it's genuine, despite the crushing longevity of the truth. I clear my throat and say, "I'm definitely sleepy now, Yellow. That pill -"
"I want to know, " she says, cutting me off. Her hands go to her hips, where her blue robe flares slightly. "I've had it. You've both exhausted my patience and I don't care if you're making nice now. Tell me what happened! I mean it!"
"I-" Rick begins.
His hand feels like leather when I cover it with my own. "I overreacted," I say calmly. "I could smell alcohol on his breath in the gallery when we were watching you operate. And I reminded him of what your parents put you through." I look over at him and his blue eyes are sparkling the ways hers always do. "So he reminded me that he's going to fix that. Everything's fine."
With his free hand, he brushes my hair aside and kisses my forehead. I don't have the urge to recoil now. I can't. "I'm very sorry. To both of you. It won't happen again."
I know that you strike a match next to a container of gasoline every time you lie to someone who loves you, but I still do it to give her this respite. I see a plethora of emotions play over her face in the span of time that it takes for her to register what I've said and then her chin trembles just a little, almost imperceptibly. It is reminiscent of the time she told me she didn't make friends easily as we stood at the scrub sinks. And it's the glimmer of pain I see in that quivering that makes me not regret lying to her.
Yet.
She would do more than teeter on the edge of hysteria if I told her the full scope of the situation.
It's better to assuage her than assault her.
*~*~*~
Chief Webber has a perverse sense of what constitutes 'light duty'. I show up for the work bright and early the following morning and he looks shocked to see me. In that moment, I realize what a toll my life has had on my job in the past year and a half. I got married, divorced, promoted, demoted, broke Mark, broke myself, had surgery, and then got engaged to someone of the same sex. It's no wonder he does a double take when I assure him that I'm ready to work my full shift and summarily dismisses the notion. He assures me that I will be better suited for a half day and tells me that I'm not getting near a scalpel with my hands the way they are. Instead, he gives me a pen and a stack of charts which is akin to dwelling in the twentieth dimension of Hell. I'm drawing sunflowers in the margin when Addison plops down beside me.
"I heard what happened with Jasper. You shouldn't be here. Are you okay?"
"I'm good. How are you?"
"Morning sickness can kiss my ass."
"That bad, huh?" I glance at her and grimace. "You're green. Why are you green?"
"I smelled sausage in the cafeteria which made me think of those little hard things you bite down on and ..."
I wrinkle my nose when she grabs the garbage can and heaves into it. This is what I look forward to the *least* about having a kid one day. If I'm anything like my mother, I'll lose a ton of weight in the beginning from barfing and then gain a ton at the end from eating everything that isn't nailed down. "You okay?"
"Children should be grown on the *outside* of the body, Cal." She wipes her mouth with tissue and leans back, clutching her belly. "If this brat breaks curfew, backtalks, acts Emo or attempts to listen to Miley Cyrus ... all bets are off."
I chuckle, drawing a stem on the flower. "In other words, you want to push an adult out of your vagina. Think long and hard about that, Addison. You're pretty tall."
She snarls, crossing her arms over her chest. "Fine. Babies aren't that bad."
"Mark certainly seems to agree. He was taking excellent care of the little Eeyore last night at the party."
"Until it pooped. And then he handed it off to the nearest taker."
"He's a work in progress."
Addison shakes her head. "No. I think maybe he's the finished product."
"Oh yea? Is he a da Vinci or a kindergarten finger paint."
"Definitely da Vinci. But he does nice things with his fingers."
I pretend to heave. "Didn't really need to know that, but thanks for sharing."
She grins. "We're moving in together. Officially."
"Really?"
"He'll close on the house in a few days. We've been shopping for stuff and squirreling it away."
"Well, stop that because I'll throw you guys a housewarming party."
When Addison Montgomery beams at you, it's kinda breathtaking. "Yay! You got my hint before I had to embarrass myself by asking you to."
"Well, I've pretty much got this friendship thing down pat now."
"I've noticed."
It's really amazing how much two words can touch you. I look at her for a few seconds, then back down at my chart. What do you say in response to that? "Webber's got me doing paperwork. Do you want to buy me a coffee to thank me for the fucking invitations I'll have to address by hand? And the people I'll have to pretend to like in order to get you some loot?"
"I'd buy you steak and eggs, Torres, but the sight of it would make me hock up a lung. So ... coffee it is."
I leave my partially completed work without a second glance or any guilt because really, not even interns should be charting. It's mind numbing and my mind is already incapable of much more than breathing. Erica is off again today, but she more than made up for that this morning before I left. Waking up with someone tracing certain areas with their tongue? Great start to the day. I'm just saying. But then Jasper dampened my mood considerably. He refused to eat breakfast with me, even though I stopped and bought him his favorite from Burger King. I couldn't even entice him with hash rounds. He simply rolled over and went to sleep. I think. It's possible he was faking. My parents said that he was withdrawn and sullen the entire night. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't worried. I am. Very much.
"What's on your mind?" Addison asks, looping her arm through mine as we make our way to the cafeteria. "And don't make me drag it out of you. I'm weak. And coffee free. Which means that I get to sit and watch *you* have coffee while I suffer."
"Get a decaf."
"Mark will still kill me. He has a built in radar when it comes to *anything* that could be bad for the baby." She presses the elevator button, arm still through mine. "You know, not to rain on our parade or anything, but he's actively denying that this baby may not be his."
"I know." I watch her worry her bottom lip between her teeth. "But you could also say that he's actively hoping that it is and that hope is keeping him sane."
"Erica's been good for you, Miss Diplomat. All this talk of hope. I named that fucking dog 'Hope' for you and she chewed up my favorite Louboutin heels. I should have named her 'Hate'."
"She's a puppy. She'll grow out of it."
"Yes, she'll grow *bigger* and start eating my purses."
The elevator pings and we board, exchanging wary looks as the doors slide shut. I glance up at the floors. "This is the *same* fucking elevator we almost died in. Look at what you've done to me, Addison! I told you I'd never ride this one with you again."
She reaches down and grips the handicap rail. Who puts a handicap rail in a freight elevator. "Don't talk like that. I feel nauseated because of the motion as it is."
"Puke on my new sneakers and you're dead."
With a nasty look at my shoes, she says, "They'd look better if I did. They're ugly."
"Bite me."
The elevator bounces to a stop and Addison bends over, vomiting up whatever is left of her breakfast.
Mark is on the other side of the door when it opens and he springs into actions before I can do little more than sidestep out of his way. I hold the door open as he leads her to a nearby chair and kneels in front of her. As he speaks to her in a low, soothing voice ... I find myself picturing their baby in my head. Red hair, I think. Bright, cerulean eyes. Dimples. Thin little lips and unfortunate ears because they both were over blessed in that regard.
I know it's pushing it because I've already been given so much ... but I send up a prayer for the baby to have Mark's DNA.
Because I think he's earned that.
*~*~*~
"Jasper."
"Leave me alone."
"You need to eat something, buddy."
"I'm not a buddy."
"You're my buddy. You always have been and you always will be."
"I'm bad."
I grip his chin and force him to look at me. "No, you're not."
He reaches up like he wants to push my hand away, but he stops himself at the last minute. This is a side of him that I really don't know how to handle. When I first came into the room ... he yelled at me to leave. I refused so he threw a pillow at me and then climbed out of the bed and apologized profusely, kissing my cheek a million times. He looks at me now, almond shaped eyes filled with moisture. "I swim?"
"You can't right now. I know you want to, but you can't."
Flopping onto his back, he stares up at the ceiling. "Hate it here."
I fumble with the side rail, trying to let it down, but he shakes his head and holds it firm, wrapping his hand around it to keep it in place. He doesn't want me getting any closer to him and that's scary. I don't know if he's mad at me for the right reasons or the wrong. I catch my father's eye and he nods at the door. We leave my mother standing at the foot of Jasper's bed watching him and close the door behind us, leaving her alone with him. "Something's wrong with him, Dad."
"I know."
"When I was researching the Fellman-Caputo, there was a lot of discourse about patients becoming withdrawn and angry. I mean, of course he's angry. He's lost fifteen years of his life and he can't get that back. But -"
"Derek stopped in earlier."
Something in his tone makes my stomach flip a few times. "And?"
From the breast pocket of his jacket, Dad pulls out a folded piece of paper and gives it to me. I open it, stunned at how steady my hands are, but that's short lived. I only make it through a few lines before I realize what's happening. Dad clears his throat and says, "He wants to keep him in or around Seattle so that he can remain his surgeon, Callie."
"Derek want him institutionalized!?"
"Jasper needs therapy, Callie. He needs someone to help him wade through these new waters and we're not equipped to do that. He can't stay here at Seattle Grace indefinitely, honey, and you can't take him home with you. With the hours that you keep here at the hospital ... he'd be left alone all the time."
"You and Mom -"
"He had another outburst earlier. He knocked your mother down and I'm too old to fight with him." Dad takes a step forward and wraps me in a tight hug. "It's not forever. It's just until he reaches a plateau. We can't handle him like this. We can't."
"Dad!" I gasp, starting to get light headed and dizzy from the blood rushing to my head. "That's giving up on him! He's part of our family! We can't just send him off somewhere! He'd die! He needs us! He needs *you*!"
"Hey! I am not giving up on him!" Dad snaps, his voice deeper than usual. "I have to do what's best for him! We agreed to this surgery! It was scary and hard to do, but we did it! Now we have to agree to let him heal and we can't do that for him! YOU can't do that for him!"
"I can damn well TRY!"
"It's decided, Calliope! Now look over that list of centers and help us figure out which one is the best for him!"
"NO!" I wad the paper into a tight ball and, fully embracing my tantrum, throw it at him.
I start to cry before I make it to the stairwell and nearly trip as I hastily pull my phone from my pocket. There's only one voice I want to hear right now, only one person who can help me. Erica answers on the second ring, "Hey, baby! How's your day going?"
It's hard to get the words out. It's nearly impossible to push them past the vise that has gripped my throat. "They want to have him committed! They're sending him away!"
"What?"
"My parents are putting Jasper in a *home*, Erica!" I cry. "They're going to kill him!"
"Whoa! Slow down! Breathe!"
I oblige, taking a deep breath as I rush down another flight of stairs. "They can't do this!"
"Calm down before you make yourself sick. What are you doing? It sounds like you're running."
"I'm going to the basement so I can punch something! I can't believe they'd do this! Bring him back just to throw him away! That's so fucked up!"
"I'm a Joe's with my dad. I'm coming."
I hit the spot in the hospital where no cell phones work and the call disconnects. I cut across the lobby, still sobbing, and then march through the service hallway, interrupting several resident's lunch. I don't register faces or *care* that they're seeing me fall apart. My sneakers squeak on the tile as I yank open the door to the basement and rush to the area that I called home for so long. There's a laundry cart there, oversized and filled with sheets, so I grab it and toss it against the wall. I upend a model skeleton, sending it flying. Next, I attack a broken portable IV and it sails across the room like a javelin.
I reach for a box of files, intent on ripping everything to shreds, but a hand covers mine before I can lift the lid. I see a shock of blond hair through my tears and for a moment ... I think that it's Erica, but then Izzie Stevens speaks. "Callie, please stop ... your hands are bleeding. Did something happen to Jasper?"
I draw my arm over my eyes, clearing away the moisture. "He's *changed*."
"I know."
"And my parents can't control him. They'd rather send him somewhere. An institution."
Her bottom jaw drops open. "What!? Oh my god!"
"So," I choke out, sobbing anew. "I fought to bring him back just so they could give him away."
"No, no, don't think like that!"
When she steps forward and hugs me ... it's like a good dousing from a water hose. A portion of the fire raging in my veins is considerably extinguished, replaced instead with my skin crawling. This is *Izzie Stevens*. Hugging me. I'm torn by whether to shove her away or hit her in the gut. I shock myself by settling on standing there, letting her squeeze me reassuringly while she murmurs that she's sorry, that she'll try to help me. I teeter on the brink of violence for a good sixty seconds and then she lets me go and gives me a sheepish look. "I'm sorry," she say, straightening her shirt. "I - I just - I wish that - well -"
"If you're attached to your arms, Stevens, don't put them on me again."
"Sorry. I was trying to make you stop destroying the basement."
"By filling me with the urge to destroy you?"
"Ouch."
I can't help it. I laugh. I actually laugh and it takes me a second to realize that her own laughter has joined mine. I'm certifiable. I should be the one sent to an institution because here I am, with my sworn enemy, standing in the middle of dirty sheets that I tossed all over the place ... and she *hugged* me. And lived.
I've lost my mojo.
I lean back against the wall after a while, lifting my foot and bracing it against it. She gingerly sits down on the box of files that I wanted to shred and says, "So ... he's getting better. I - I know that I'm not involved in the case. I'm technically not even back at work yet, but I looked at his chart. And his scans."
"Oh really?"
"I'm sorry for interfering." Her hair is shorter now, barely skimming her shoulders.
I wonder if she cut it so severely to remove the memory of Alex's fingers in it, but I don't ask. Instead, I study her face for any sign of deception. The only thing present on her features is a look of compassion. Interest. Concern. I want to kick her. "Why?"
"Why am I sorry?"
"Why are you interested?"
She crosses her arms over her chest and then thinks better of looking defensive. She opts for lacing her fingers together in her lap instead. "How could I not be interested?"
"You're intrigued by the medical aspect of it?"
"No, I'm intrigued by Jazz and his ability to say and do everything that matters."
I nod at her. "He does tend to do that."
"I probably would have died if he had not been around after ... everything that happened. I know that you and I are not friends, but he is. My friend. I don't want to ever see him hurt."
"And maybe you think you can somehow make amends for all that you did to me by helping my brother?"
She doesn't blink. "It's not about you, but if it helps you see me as something other than a bitch ... I won't complain."
I feel my jaw tighten just a little. "At least you've finally figured out how to weave honesty into your life."
"Jasper *changed* my life. And I will help him any way that I can. I'll help ... you."
"Well, you helped me not vandalize the hospital so I guess we're off to a decent start."
She gives me a half smile that makes her seem less like the barracuda I've always seen her as and more like a human being.
I want to gouge my eyes out.
Hating her felt pretty fucking good.
I hear a door open behind a rack of supplies and footsteps clattering across the cement floor. Erica appears a second later, her umbrella in one hand, and draws up short when she sees the two of us amidst the mess I created.
Izzie hops down from her perch. "Cavalry."
"Yeah." I grin the way that only a person who has someone like Erica Hahn in their life can grin. With her on my team, who in the hell would go against me?
"Cavalry."
Five minutes later ... I want to scream.
And not in ecstasy.
We're still in the basement, Erica has taken Izzie's seat, and the way she casually swings her legs back and forth after what she JUST said to me is pissing me off. I pace back and forth, punctuating each step with four letter words that would curl the toes of the most prolific linguists. Her umbrella is leaning against the stack of boxes she's sitting on, dried now, and I kick it across the room. "FUCK!"
"Callie-"
"YOU DON'T GET TO AGREE WITH THEM!"
"Yes, actually I do."
"God damnit, Erica!"
"Hey, I pulled glass out of your head last night. I watched Gavin *Cole* stitch your ass up and had to deal with his attitude on top of that." She stops swinging her legs and reaches out, tugging my arm. I let her pull me forward and she touches the frown line on my forehead. Her calm exterior is jarring my frayed one. "What you didn't plan for when you pushed for this surgery ... was this. You expected Jazz to come back instantly, baby, because he was *instantly* taken away from you, but that's not how it works."
The tightness in my chest is painful now. "Sending him away from us -"
"You're not sending him away. You're bringing him home ... you just ... have to let him go a little while before you can." She catches one of my tears with her thumb. "I know this hurts you, but you'll be hurting *him* if you don't let him get all the help he can possibly get. We can't do it for him. YOU can't do it for him. And your parents are certainly not in a position to help him out. I mean, your mother coddles him. She babies him. She doesn't expect him to do anything on his own and the only way he will learn that he CAN is with the freedom to do that."
"You know what those places are like. You *know*."
She suddenly gets a frown line that matches mine. Her bottom jaw drops open just a little and she presses her fingers to her lips as she gazes past me. I actually turn to see if something or someone is there, but it's still just the two of us.
"Erica?"
"Oh my god."
"What?"
"Rachel's clinic," she says softly. "I - why didn't I think of this sooner? Jim is a licensed rehabilitator. The clinic has round the clock psychologists and acute care for anything that could go wrong and it's ... it's thirty minutes from the house. Derek could go out there and see him anytime he wanted to. The nurses could bring him here for his checkups. I mean, you've seen the people there, Callie, they're happy. And the staff is extraordinary."
My mind flashes to Geneva, sitting next to me at the piano as I played song after song during the party that Erica took me to. I remember the way she resolutely played her fake piano on the dinner table, unable to stop her mind from working through the notes even though her hands had been rendered incapable of actually doing so. I can hear all of their voices, those men and women who welcomed me as a family member, like distant thunder rolling through the fog in my head.
They didn't care that they were different.
Could they teach Jasper the same thing?
"Come here." Erica pulls me into her arms and I stand between her legs, my shaking hands restlessly lying on her shoulders. She tilts my chin until she can look me in the face. "This is a lot to take in. You've had a very rude awakening today and it's understandable that you'd have this reaction."
"I know, but -"
"Listen to me." She shakes her head just a little. "Look at the mess you made down here."
I glance behind us, taking in the sheets that I upended, the broken laundry cart, and all the rest. "I see it."
"And you know how to process it. You know *why* you felt the need to do it. Jasper doesn't know that right now, Lee. He did the same thing last night in the bathroom with you right there in front of him and you couldn't stop him. He needs someone who *can*."
I narrow my eyes when I look back at her. "I hate it when you use logic."
"You know what I love?" she asks, but doesn't wait for me to reply. "I love that we get daily reminders of why we're supposed to be together, why things happened the way they did. Rachel lived and died to prepare me for you. And what she left behind ... she left that for Jasper. For you. And I'm supposed to give that to you."
I realize that I'm crying again halfway through her declaration, but I don't pay attention to it. I'm sure that my nose is bright red, that my cheeks are flamed with color, that my eyes are swollen and bloodshot, but she doesn't seem to mind. So I can't mind. I lean forward and kiss her and I'm pretty sure she knows all the things that I can't say.
Because I can feel her saying them back loud and clear.
*~*~*~
Erica and I are holding hands when we emerge from the basement. She insists on cleaning and reapplying the bandages on my palms, but I don't mind at all. Even her threat of rubbing alcohol doesn't affect me. I'm unaffected because she's *here*. Several people greet us amicably by name and a couple of attendings call out to Erica that they're giving the interns a hard time while she's on vacation. One brave intern even says that he misses her, but he receives an elbow in the ribs from a timid looking girl who clearly does NOT miss Erica in the least. It's nice to know that she hasn't lost *her* mojo. She can still strike fear in the hearts of interns. Hell, even me.
It shocks me that no one reacts to us being a couple anymore. That's what I think about as we walk through the lobby and into the memorial clinic. What Dr. Savoy did to us was on the extreme end of the spectrum. Since then, Erica and I have had it relatively easy. There are no sneers or ugly comments about us, but we've relaxed enough with one another that we don't notice if there are. At first, I looked other people in the face to see if they were going to respond to our clasped hands. Now? I'm usually too busy looking at her to care.
She makes quick work of repairing the damage I inflicted on myself and forgoes the use of rubbing alcohol in favor of antibiotic cream. The fact that she kisses my knuckles in full view of Cristina is a comedy of errors. Yang grabs a wastebasket and pretends to heave into it. Erica threatens to have Yang blacklisted from the surgical board. They go back and forth, but their banter lacks the venom it used to have. And Erica even surrenders the reigns a little and lets Cristina put an unneeded stitch in my hand ... to remind me to watch my temper, she says.
My palm is throbbing, despite Cristina's finesse, when Erica and I head into the cafeteria together. I notice that Rick is sitting with my parents and they're all lost in conversation as we approach. Erica pulls out the chair for me and I sit down, carefully avoiding my father's eyes. There's a moment of awkward, unsettling silence before Rick says, "We were wondering where the two of you had gotten off to."
"Sorry," Erica says, smiling at him. "I didn't mean to leave you hanging."
"She had to help me out," I say, holding up my hands.
Mom quirks a brow. "In a hospital of hundreds of doctors, she's the only one that can wrap a piece of gauze and tape it?"
"She's the only one I want to wrap a piece of gauze and tape it."
"I can understand that," Rick assures me. He winks at Erica and adds, "I'm still amazed at what you can do in the operating room. You are truly gifted."
"Thanks."
In the harsh light of day, Rick appears much older than he really is. Actually, I think maybe I'm simply looking a little closer now that he's exposed himself so thoroughly to me. His skin is sallow under the fluorescent lights of the hospital and when he sees me studying him, he casts a weary glance at me. I think he knows that I've been crying and maybe he's scared that I told her the truth. I force myself to shake my head just enough to reassure him, then lean back in my chair while I listen to everyone discuss the economy, the weather, and Rick's flight out, which will happen later in the day.
What I don't do is hang around to talk to my parents. When they finish their lunch and get up to return to Jasper's room, I keep my eyes on the table. Dad shakes Rick's hand, telling him it was nice to meet him, and then he walks off without a backward glance. Mom actually gives Rick a hug, then she pats me on the shoulder, leans down and says, "Making this harder on us is not the answer, sweetheart. We need you right now."
I don't reply.
Or watch them leave.
My shift is over and I head into the locker room to change. Erica follows me and helps me with the zipper on my jeans, which leads to me assuring her that pants should be optional in every walk of life. When we walk back into the hallway, Lexie is waiting with a chart for me. I doodled over something pertinent and she can't read what it says. I take it and attempt to decipher Addison's handwriting. I finally figure it out and turn in time to see Rick handing Erica a red rose from a candy striper's cart.
The smile on her face is incredible. There was a time that I alone was responsible for its presence. I always knew that Erica would change *me*, but I don't think I fully appreciated how much I've changed *her* until right now. She's not mellow. She'll still go toe to toe with anyone (even me) and she's still got razor sharp edges that can cut you in the blink of an eye, but the walls are gone. The high, stone fence that she had carefully constructed around herself has vanished and I'd like to think that I bulldozed through it the same way she plowed over mine.
A year ago, Erica would not have welcomed Rick into her life so easily. If she had never met me, she never would have gone back to Nebraska and there never would have been a note for him to find. She would still be clinging to her ghosts, saturated in the blood of her past, and she would never let Yang stitch anything unless it was her own mouth. I really believe that I loved her ghosts away ... and she exorcised my demons with the same boldness.
Before I met her, I was the girl in the back of the glass who ate her own hair. Erica continually pulls my hair away from my mouth and out of my lip gloss. She's taught me that being myself, no matter how flawed I am, is okay at the end of the day. And most of all, she's taught me that letting go of someone, the way I had to let go of her for a while and will inevitably let go of Jasper, is just one step ... of a lifetime. You have to say goodbye before you can say hello again. It makes coming home that much sweeter. Until her, I was sleepwalking my way through existence, but now? Now I'm awake and alert and firmly in the present. I am *home*.
I don't have to keep revisiting my past with Jasper because my transgressions with him will be put to sleep one day. I won't be putting a wreath on Jasper's headstone, but I do have to put a wreath on my guilt for what happened with him. It's time to recognize that I can't change anything except the here and now. I have to bury my guilt in order to live again. I know that now. Instead of clinging to it like its a life raft, I have to let it drop beneath the water because it's really a heavy stone ... threatening to drag me down.
As much as I hate it, what happened to Jasper set the course for my life.
And just look at where it has led me.
*~*~*~
Airports.
Coming and goings. Greetings and goodbyes. Formalities and farewells.
Erica goes into the bathroom before her father flies out and I stand next to him, my shoulder rubbing his as we wait for her. This is the part where she needs to be alone. She has to collect herself and she doesn't want either of us to see just how much she's already feeling Rick's absence. I know that Erica has a need to hold onto what she loves with both hands. I feel it acutely at night when she wraps me in her arms and falls asleep easily because she's holding all that matters to her.
She can't do that now.
She has to open her hands and lose her father to distance. Miles and miles will separate them and his voice on the line, regardless of how smooth it is, can never replace the warmth of his arms or the broad chest that she leaned against while we checked his luggage.
"I appreciate what you did for me," Rick says softly. "More than you'll ever know."
"I didn't do it for you. I did it for her. Don't make me regret it."
"All I can give you is the word of an old man, but I'd like to think it means something."
"The old man saying it was also a *lawyer* and a *judge*. That automatically makes you lose credibility." I can't help but laugh at the look on his face. "What? I didn't say I'd be making this easy on you."
My smile seems to take the weight of the world off his shoulders. He stands a little taller, beaming now. "I'd be upset if you did. I like that you'll fight for her."
"She fights for me, too."
"Yes, I know. She made it excruciatingly clear today at lunch that she will cut me out of her life if I do anything to upset you. She didn't bring my brittle bones into the equation, but I still feared for them."
I don't know why, but that fills me with something akin to euphoria. It blinds me with happiness, makes my head swim, and joy rush through my veins. When I was dating George, even when I was married to him, I had this image in my head of who I wanted him to be. I wanted someone who would fight for me, someone who would put me first, someone who could make me feel their shelter in the fury of life's storms ... and that ... that is who Erica is to me. It's like every person before her was a pit stop in a race toward the finish line of love.
I'm here.
And when she comes out of the bathroom, looking a little pale and subdued, I walk forward and give her a kiss. She cups my face, then rubs her nose against mine before we walk Rick to the escalator. I say my goodbye first, giving him a hug and telling him to let us know he's landed okay. After he kisses my cheek ... I give them space to say their goodbyes. I don't go too far, just enough to be out of earshot and away from any intrusion.
We can't take him all the way to his terminal and when he throws up his hand and waves at me, I join Erica in the throng of people. My arms wind around her waist and she leans back against me, letting me support her, allowing me the luxury of holding her upright. He turns and waves one more time before he disappears into the crowd and Erica lifts her hand in response, leaving it suspended there long after he's gone. When she lowers it, she rests it on mine.
Words don't come easily, but she finally says, "Are you going to tell me what *really* happened between the two of you?"
I'm really glad she can't see my face. I'm so eternally grateful that her back is to me that I can barely stand it. I'm sure I look like someone just paraded Sasquatch in front of me; my eyes are saucers in my head. Her question presses the repeat button in my mind and all I can think is 'oh shit oh shit oh shit'. When she turns in my arms and regards me with *that* look ... I shake my head. "No, Yellow. I'm not."
She purses her lips, but nods. "Okay."
"Okay?"
"Okay."
I take her hand when she holds it out to me and we walk silently to the car. She unlocks it and opens the passenger door for me. It's overkill and I know she's pulling out all the stops to make me feel as guilty as she possibly can for keeping something from her. When she slides into the passenger seat and puts the key in the ignition, I swallow so loudly that she pats me on the leg. "How do you know that I -"
"You can't lie to me, Lee. You suck at it" She turns a little in the seat to stare at me. "And you're not a hypocrite. You wouldn't lose your temper just because my dad had something to drink. You drink. So the next time you lie to me ... at least make an effort to be convincing."
"I'm sorry. I -"
"I trust your judgment. If you think it's something I don't need to hear then I don't need to hear it."
My skepticism is evident on my face. "Is that right?"
"As long as *you* know whatever it is, I'm confident that it's handled. And ... I'm happy right now. I'm happy that he's in my life. Being oblivious works for me."
It's her way of telling me not to rob her of her contentment. And I wouldn't do that if my life depended on it. I can't hurt her and the truth ... would.
"Do you want to go back to the hospital and see Jasper?"
It takes me only a moment to shake my head. "No. I want to go home and see you."
"Let's go eat dinner first. How about that place you like? The one with the loud jukebox and greasy tables? You like the waffles there. What are they called?"
"'Sunrise waffles'," I reply. "And you hated it."
She shifts into reverse and eases backwards. "I didn't *hate* it. After all, I can thank places like that for clogging the arteries I get to clear. They keep me busy."
"So, you're encouraging me to eat there so that you'll have a reason to crack me open again."
She glances at me. "If I wanted to crack you open ... you'd crack."
"True." I rub my thumb over her cheek, then over the pulse in her neck. "I always do."
After we eat our fill, we head for home. We drive past Seattle Grace and just like I did in Miami on the day that my mother found me in bed with Erica ... I turn in my seat the watch the hospital fade from view. I imagine that I'm pinpointing the square window of dim light that is Jasper's room and I wonder if he's sleeping. I wonder if he knows that his own journey is about to begin.
I wonder if he knows ... that I'm here, just outside ... where I've always been.
"Are you sure you don't want to stop?"
"It's late. He's probably tired."
"It's going to be okay."
I believe that the conviction in her voice is not misplaced. I believe that her ability to make everything okay within *me* will somehow extend to the rest of my family ... to Jazz most of all.
I also believe that she can make me forget and that's exactly what she does in the shower. She scrubs my back, my scalp, and my chases away any kernel of doubt that remains.
The same way that she trusts me ... that's exactly how I trust her.
And when I kneel down in front of her, hot water washing away the remnants of the day, she opens herself up to me. An open book, that's what she is and I read her with my tongue, sliding against her, making her keen. She undulates against my face, her long fingers in my hair as she tells me in explicit detail what she wants me to do. Moments after she comes, my name like a plea on her lips, she pins me back against the wall and does things to me with her hands that make *me* blush.
I grip the handicap rail along the back of the shower with both hands when she kisses a path down my body. I begin to tingle all over and spread my legs a little wider for her. She gives me a tongue lashing the likes of which I've never experienced in my life and the force of my orgasm apparently imbibes me with hitherto unknown strength.
I pull the rail off the wall and fall, taking her with me.
We dissolve into a fit of laughter as pieces of tile shower down on us.
Then we take full advantage of being horizontal until the water runs cold.
I don't think we ever will. Run cold, I mean.
There's a warmth in completion, an inferno in happiness, and a blaze of glory in finally getting it *right*.
*~*~*~*~