Title: Extraordinary Measures

Author: J.M. Flowers

Rating: M

AN: Sorry for how late this is, I really did intend to post over the last weekend but I've been completely caught up watching Bones since the last chapter went up and I'm already halfway through season 7, so... If any of you are also Booth/Brennan shippers (and/or still in the beautiful world of pregnant Brennan where all is pretty and wonderful), I'll be posting a little one shot of them, too, tonight. As I saw, nothing beats off writer's block like a bit of fluffy smut!

Stay extraordinary xx


Alea iacta est

The die has been cast

The hospital looks different without the dark of night; without the heavy weight of exhaustion, confusion pushing against my skull. The day has brought sunlight, casting shadows across the building. My mind plays tricks on me, turning windows into eyes and making the opening and closing of automatic doors sound like breathing lungs. People disappear inside, swallowed whole, while I find myself listening for a wheeze.

"Callie?" Arizona calls, a few steps ahead, turning around to look at me.

Begonias line the sides of the path - a stark shade of purple. I can remember the daffodils of early spring, tulips so red that I gagged at the sight, but it's early summer now. Begonias are in bloom.

"Callie?" Arizona repeats, stepping closer, running a hand down my arm. "Are you okay?"

I shrug, shaking myself out of my reverie to meet her gaze. I feel a smile pushing at the edges of my mouth and begging me to give in. I forgot how that felt; that uncontrollable happiness connected with just looking at her. Just being near her is enough to set a butterfly loose within the confines of my stomach. She still takes my breath away.

"I'm okay," I promise, leaning forward to meet her lips with my own. "I love you," I whisper as we part.

"I love you, too," she says with a smile, slipping her hand into mine.

Together, we walk inside a lung. I stop listening for a wheeze; I'm too busy trying to remember what begonias mean. I think someone told me once.

#

"Dr. Torres," someone calls, sneakers squeaking as they round a corner too quickly. "Dr. Torres," they repeat, bounding towards me.

I turn to see a young doctor - her light blue scrubs and disheveled appearance making that blaringly obvious. She looks like the type of surgeon I used to be before I became an attending, willing to spend weeks at a time within the hospital in hopes that one special case would come along. And it appears one has, because she seems to bounce within her shoes, manila folder clutched against her chest.

"Senna Hamilton," she announces, holding out a hand for me to shake. I find myself staring at it instead. Now that she's closer, she looks familiar, but I can't seem to place her face.

She drops her hand and offers me the folder instead. I open it quickly, eyes scanning the page. Young girl, just 12 years old, intracapsular fracture of the femur. No wonder she's so excited; a break like this one is rare in anyone younger than 60. But it seems the girl was in a car accident, tossed around the back seat hard enough to crack the bone within her hip socket. She'll need surgery, indefinitely.

"Where is she?" I ask.

"They have her sedated in triage, Dr. Torres," the young woman answers, falling into step next to me as I continue down the hallway.

I'd give anything for a coffee, I think distractedly, suddenly feeling as normal as before. "Tell them to book an OR," I direct, "Page Dr. Robbins, she'll want to assist."

She nods, but instead of accepting my dismissal she speaks again. "Can I scrub in?"

I stop midstride, turning to look her over once more. I still can't seem to place her, her bright green eyes so familiar they're making me uncomfortable. She nudges a pair of dark framed glasses up off her face, setting them carefully in her messy, dark brown hair.

"I'm a resident," she offers, "Second year, but I'm interested in Orthopedics. I've watched a few of your Peds surgeries: Dr. Robbins was going to introduce us - she thinks I'd make a good candidate for your fellowship one day."

At the mention of my wife, I soften. "You were in the ER last night," I murmur, finally placing the stubborn expression and lopsided ponytail. "You told me to go home."

She nods.

"Go get our patient prepped," I tell her, "And I'll see you in the operating room."

#

"Oh, did you already scrub?" I ask, entering the room with two coffees clutched in my hands. Arizona stands at the basin, shaking her wet hands. "I come bearing coffee."

She sighs happily, reaching for a towel. "I did scrub, but I'll do it again if it means I get a coffee before we go in." She takes a cup from my hand, pulling a long sip out of it. "Thank you," she says in a breath between drags.

I laugh, setting my own cup against my lips to finish it off. Once I've swallowed the last drop, I toss it into the waste bin, reaching for some soap to begin my scrub.

"So, I met Dr. Hamilton," I offer as conversation.

"Senna? Yeah, she's wonderful," Arizona answers, dropping her own cup into the bin and joining me at the sink. "She's been an awesome help up in Peds, but she never stops talking about Ortho."

"She asked to scrub in for this one."

"Oh, yay!" Arizona giggles, nudging at my hip with her own. "I'll get you both acquainted, then. You'll love her; super smart, comes from a family of scientists and doctors."

I shake my hands, following my wife into the operating room where nurses help us into our gowns and gloves. The door opens, Senna and another nurse wheeling our patient in. There's a bubbly little smile on the young girl's face, one to match on the resident's.

"Hello, Thea," Arizona greets, leaning over the operating table once our patient is situated on it. "I'm Dr. Robbins, and over there is Dr. Torres. We're going to fix your hip, okay?"

The young girl nods, clearly heavily sedated. She'd probably been screaming when the ambulance first brought her in. She mumbles something and Arizona leans closer.

"What was that, Thea?"

"Call me Teddy," she says louder, "Like my friends."

Arizona seems to pale, straightening herself and then looking to Senna for an explanation. They both wait, silently, until the mask is placed over Teddy's face and she slips from consciousness.

"I'm sorry," Senna whispers, "She was scared, so I told her the doctors are her friends. Her mom and dad call her Thea, but all her friends -"

"Call her Teddy," Arizona finishes. She turns to a nurse. "You might want to change that on her chart."

"I'm sorry, Dr. Robbins," Senna apologizes, "I didn't know."

Arizona shakes her head, pushing a smile onto her face beneath her mask. It doesn't reach her eyes, though, which makes my stomach churn slowly. "How about we get started?" she asks instead, looking to me.

I nod, stepping up to the table. But my mind is busy racing backwards, trying to find some memory I just don't have. Because I know that look, the one taking over Arizona's face though she's trying very hard to hide it. It's the one that brings home donuts and needs a hug. The furrowed brow, slightly glassy eyes; it's the remains of grief.

#

The surgery goes just as expected. I reduced the fracture before deciding on a single compression hip screw - a choice that made Senna bounce, once again, with her delight. Arizona remarked pleasantly on the lack of avascular necrosis, the blood supply still in the femoral head a vote of confidence for our young patient's recovery. We scrubbed out on a high, Arizona suggesting an early lunch in the cafeteria.

Which is where we sit now, two empty salad containers pushed away on the table and an open bag of chips between us. Arizona crunches thoughtfully, eyeing Cristina as she wanders over to join us.

"Hey," Cristina announces, dropping in a chair opposite, her tray hitting the table loudly. Lexie trails behind her, lowering herself into another seat.

I set a hand on Arizona's thigh, squeezing gently in a silent apology for our loss of alone time. She offers me a soft smile in return.

"You look tired," I say, turning to Cristina, certain that such a comment will result in an exciting tale of surgery. But instead Cristina furrows her brow.

"I haven't been getting much sleep; Karev's screwing some second year and she's a screamer."

Lexie's face darkens to a deep shade of red while I stifle a laugh. Arizona has the gall to look surprised. "Please not Dr. Hamilton," she exclaims.

Cristina shakes her head. "It's not Hamilton."

"Senna's always here," Lexie adds on. "Her dad's a patient."

I look to Arizona, watching as her eyebrows rise higher on her face, a sure sign this is information she didn't know.

"Yeah, he's down in general," Lexie continues. "Liver failure."

Arizona tilts her head. "She told me her dad was a scientist."

Lexie nods emphatically. "Oh, he was: his name was pretty big in the development of various SSRIs. I've read a few of his papers on memory recollection after traumatic events."

Cristina makes a face, biting into a carrot forcefully. "He's comatose," she says around her mouthful, "Not like he's very interesting, now. They're just going to pull the plug in a few days anyway."

"He's dying?" Arizona murmurs, looking to Lexie. "She hasn't said anything."

Lexie shrugs. "She's always in his room when she's not working, I figured everyone knew."

Arizona shakes her head, features soft when she turns her head in my direction. "We should stop by and offer our condolences."

I simply nod in agreement, entranced by her expression - one I haven't seen since she hovered over me last night. When I thought she was a mirage, and yet, here she is. She's alive. And she's so beautiful. I fight the urge to lean forward and capture her lips, aware of the presence of patients' families all around us. My breath hitches as I realize how easily I've fallen back into being with her, how effortlessly I've forgotten what it was like before. How simple it's been to just adapt to this new... reality. The reality that I fixed it, I saved her.

She squeezes my hand on her thigh, pulling me from my reverie. "We could go now?" she asks. "I have a little time before my next surgery."

I nod once more, standing up and pulling her with me. I run a hand down her arm as we say goodbye to our tablemates, before escaping into a quiet stairwell just outside the cafeteria.

I slip my hand into hers in our new found privacy, tugging her against my body so I can press a kiss to her lips. She smiles as we part, eyelids opening slowly.

"What was that for?" she whispers.

I shrug. "You're just so beautiful."

She hums, leaning forward for another quick peck. "Flattery will get you everywhere."

I laugh, lifting a hand to run it through her blonde hair. "Are you okay?" I ask softly.

She nods, her eyes finally dropping away from mine, her hand absentmindedly playing with my lab coat. "It just caught me off guard," she says quietly, "to hear her name when I wasn't really expecting it. I haven't really talked about her that much since the accident."

I feel her breathe in sharply as I try to backtrack through my head. Whose name? Does she mean the car accident? Is this the grief I saw on her face in surgery, the reason Senna apologized so profusely?

"It's just so hard," she murmurs. "She's supposed to be here. Teddy isn't supposed to be dead."