AN: Can I just say that I'm utterly speechless…I cannot believe the response I got for the first chapter of this story. I'm am so grateful for all of you that read and reviewed. I'm super excited that you all seem just as excited about this story as I am. Thank you all so much. Here's the next chapter, keep letting me know what you think. Thanks again and have a good new year!

"I hate her."

"You don't hate her."

"Yes, I do. I hate her a lot." I whispered harshly into the receiver, willing Teddy to understand the utter truth and suffering in my voice.

"She makes you nervous because she won't take your shit. That's not hate, that's fear." Teddy pointed out, causing some of my hate to shift toward my best friend.

"I'm not scared of her, you ass. I. Don't. Like. Her. She's perky and ridiculous." I explained as I fiddled with the wheel on my chair. I hated the chair, too.

"You just met her, like ten minutes ago. Relax. Plus, there's plenty of people that have described you in the exact same way." Her tone was calm and just a little chastising.

"Yeah…well…people don't say that about me anymore," I stated with a self-deprecating mumble.

"I thought I said no pity parties." A firm voice came from behind me, instantly curdling my blood.

Rolling my eyes and jerking my head toward the horrible woman, I snapped, "This is a private conversation."

Callie scoffed, "Yeah, I got that. But, you suck at whispering. And, I'm not perky, I'm badass and passionate." Our eyes locked in a silent, heated battle as she stalked to the kitchen. "Now, hang up so we can talk."

"No. You can't tell me when I can and can't talk to my friends." My lips twisted in a defiant snarl, daring her to talk back.

Instead of saying anything, Callie rounded the kitchen island and purposefully approached me. Without warning or apology she yanked the phone from my hand. "Hello?"

My jaw dropped, "Hey, you can't just-"

She held up her hand and backed away, "Shh. I'm on the phone." I continued to glare holes into her face as she smirked and redirected her attention to the phone. "Oh, hey, Teddy…Yeah, I just got here…it's going well, I think she likes me…yeah, well, her personality could use some polishing, but she's easy on the eyes, so it all evens out…"

My face flushed as renewed rage seared through me. She was worse than I had originally thought. "Give me the damn phone, you arrogant bitch!" I couldn't see straight and she barely even flinched.

"Ok, Altman, I have to go. Arizona is getting a little cranky, so I should go make her lunch. I'll talk to you later." Callie hung up the phone without letting me talk anymore. Glancing at my expression, she added, "Oh, I'm sorry, did you still want to talk to her?"

I clenched my fists, practically shaking with anger, "Yes! She's my friend, that I called! And, you took the phone! What gives you the right to-"

Callie suddenly strode over and squatted in front of me, a hand on each arm of the chair. After a moment of looking me directly in the eyes, her voice came out even and sincere, "Listen. I know you don't want me here. I know that your life sucks harder than it ever has before. Just by knowing that you're a surgeon, I know that not having control of every single thing in your life drives you crazy. This job isn't my first choice, either, but my sole focus, right now, will be to help you heal and get back in the OR. We're not always going to get along, but I promise it will get better."

My anger didn't ebb, but I didn't say anything else. She must have taken that as some form of acceptance, because she nodded once and stood. Heading to the kitchen, she called over her shoulder, "What do you want for lunch?"

"Nothing," I pouted in return.

"Ok, I'll choose…it looks like you've got the stuff for chicken salad sandwiches. I make an excellent chicken salad." She began to busy herself with gathering ingredients and setting up to cook. "Do you like olives?"

"No."

"Ok, do you like cucumbers?"

"No." I crossed my arms over my chest.

She glanced at me and raised an eyebrow, "Do you like chicken?"

"No."

With a half smile, she asked as she poured something into a bowl, "Are you going to say yes to anything I ask, right now?"

"No."

A small laugh came from her, "Ok. Got it. So, what do you like to do, that isn't work?" When I just stared at her without changing expression, she mumbled, "Oookay…"

After several minutes of silence; me sitting and glaring, her preparing lunch, she finally broke the stand off, "Since you don't want to chat, I'm going to tell you a little about my plans for my time here." Seeing me open my mouth to object, she added, "Yes, I'm here to be at your beckon call, but I'm also here to move you forward and I have plans on how to achieve that."

My jaw twitched in irritation, but I allowed her to continue.

"So, in addition to aiding you in your daily routines, because of my background and experience in Ortho, I will also take a very active role in your injury and healing. I'm experienced in physical therapy with amputees, so I will require some of those activities be done at home as well as your weekly appointments. When I feel that you're ready, I will be taking you to get fitted for a prosthesis and aiding in that process of acquiring it and learning to use it. Any errands that need to be ran for your house, you will accompany me on. Leaving your home on a regular basis is an important step in recovery. I know that asking for help, especially from me, is the last thing you want to do, but just get over it as quickly as possible and ask. I will not, at any time, for any reason, be judging you, pitying you, or entertaining the idea that you are any less than a beautiful, intelligent, and competent woman just because you have one leg."

She stopped there, turning to retrieve two plates from the cupboard. The last part threw me. If we met as professionals or friends, I might like her. I could never like her in this situation, but it was difficult not to respect her…but, not impossible. Callie walked over and set a plate with a sandwich and small handful of chips on the table next to me, following it with a glass of iced tea. "Here, eat." When I made no move to even acknowledge the food, she shrugged, "Or don't. That's your choice, but I think it'll make you feel just a little better…" When I still refused to react, she nodded and returned to the counter. She took a large bite of her sandwich, humming with content, "Oh, so good. You're missing out."

When she turned to grab some napkins, I chanced a glance at the food. In all honesty, it looked and smelled fantastic. From a brief glimpse at the cut edge, I could make out shredded chicken breast, olives, cucumbers, and artichoke hearts all mixed in mayonnaise and what smelled like pesto, topped with avocado. My mouth betrayed me by watering at the sight.

"So, since you're not going to offer any information, I'm just going to ask questions." She plopped down on the couch much closer to me than I would have liked. Setting her glass on the table, and balancing her plate on her lap she gazed at me, thoughtfully chewing before saying anything. "So, what do you do all day?"

Grinding my teeth, I stayed quiet, glaring at the wall across the room. I didn't want to talk to her about anything to do with my life. I also decided that I needed new wall paper.

As if reading my thoughts, she stated, lightly, "I really have no problem sitting here until you talk to me. I'm not asking for your life story, just a few tidbits so that I know something about the woman I'm living with…"

Without looking at her, I break and murmur, "I read. And, watch TV."

Callie took a drink, "What do you read?"

"Mostly gossip magazines."

"What do you watch?"

"Reality shows and the History Channel."

"Interesting. Do you find that indulging in crappy media entertainment eases the stress of your high-pressure and extremely rewarding career?" Callie continues, placing a chip in her mouth with a loud crunch.

"Yes. Was that a judgment?" I growl challengingly.

Callie giggles, "Nope. I like the same things, for the same reason. Except the History Channel. I find that incredibly dull." When I flash her a quizzical glare, she giggles again, "Ok…tell me about the plane crash."

My stomach dropped and my veins turned cold. Gripping my pants in sweaty hands, I ground out, "No. I don't talk about the crash. Especially not with you."

I could feel her eyes study me closely, "That's fair. At some point you will, though."

Turning my still frigid eyes to hers, I snidely asked, "Ok, you turn. Why don't you operate anymore?"

For the first time, I saw something dark and tortured cross her eyes. They flashed for a moment, then lightened again, and she sighed, "Sorry. You're not entitled to that story, yet."

I took a small amount of satisfaction in the knowledge that I had shaken her, that I had touched an intimate and sore spot inside of her. If I couldn't escape her prodding, I might as well poke back.

"Alright, another question. Should I be expecting someone to be coming by to see you? A boyfriend or something?" Callie asked gently as she cleaned up her plate.

Another wave of nausea and self loathing washed over me. Averting my eyes, I shook my head and breathed, "No."

Once again, her dark brown eyes seemed to absorb every movement of my facial muscles, every light change in my eyes. Leaning back on the couch, she asked in a soft tone, "Let me guess…you had someone up until a few weeks after you lost your leg. Then, suddenly, he was gone because he couldn't handle the mood swings and demands of supporting you."

My nostrils flared and my stomach churned. Other than the reference to a male, she had it exactly right. Not knowing why, I commented on her assessment, "Carrie left three weeks after they... She said that I wasn't me anymore and she couldn't deal with the emotional rollercoaster or my issues."

"I'm sorry. No one should have to deal with the person they trust and care about leaving when they need them most. Not that I doubt you were giving her a run for her money, but it's wrong and a total dick move." Callie answered sincerely, seemingly undeterred by my revelation that I was with a woman.

"Um…yeah, it was. Thanks." I mumbled.

"I didn't peg you for a lady lover, though." Callie remarked causally, destroying the momentarily non-hostile atmosphere.

"That sounds like a judgment. Is that going to be a problem for you?" I asked, briefly hoping that if she had an issue with me being gay, she would quit.

"Not at all. I just usually have a better…gaydar, or whatever…you are proving rather fascinating, Arizona Robbins." Callie stated as she observed me carefully, while finishing off her drink.

"I'm not here for your freaking entertainment. If it was up to me, you wouldn't be here at all." I was getting uncomfortable with her compassion and interest in me. Sturdy walls of solitude and anger were quickly re-enforced as I stared dangerously at her.

z

Callie nodded slowly, then held up her hands, "Ok. Ok. I hear you loud and clear. Do you need anything?"

I shook my head and stared at my lap, "No. I'm fine."

"Good. Then, I'm going to go into my room and take a very short nap. You can take that time to eat what I made without me seeing you and giving me any satisfaction in knowing that you need me or like my cooking. However, I'm a light sleeper, so if you need anything, please come get me or call me." With one last pointed look and quick wink, she went back to her room and gently closed the door.

I waited a few minutes to ensure she wasn't returning, then gingerly picked up the sandwich that still sat next to me. I took a tentative bite. Groaning at the discovery that it was exactly as delicious as it seemed, I set it back down on the plate. Licking my lips, I took a small sip of iced tea and stared warily at her door. Callie Torres was…a pain in my ass.

AN: I'm seriously having so much fun with this one. I didn't think I'd ever like to write anything that involved Arizona losing her leg, but this one is straight up entertaining for me. I hope for you all as well. Lots of love and gratitude to you all!