AN: Hey, guys. How is everybody? Good? Great. Here's the next chapter, I hope you like it. Also, since the site just removed one of my other stories for not being rated correctly, I'm going to change the rating for this story to M. It's not quite there yet, but it will be and I just wanted to warn you all now, in case you have filters on. On that note, I'm changing all my stories that should be M to M (including In Flame), so if you're following In Flame, know that it will be M and no longer show up if you have filters on. Anyway, thanks for reading and continuing to show interest in the story even when I'm slow on the update.

"Harder."

Beads of sweat collected on my forehead and upper lip as I exerted my tired muscles, straining to keep a swift pace, desperate not to lose momentum.

"More, Arizona, I need more." Callie's gruff voice demanded gently.

Searing heat singed my thighs and abdomen as my muscles ached for release. Small grunts escaped my trembling lips as I focused my energy, knowing we were close.

"Don't stop. Keep going. Faster." Callie chanted, trying to provide extra motivation.

Growling through harsh pants, I squeezed my eyes shut, "Oh, my God, it's physical therapy, not porn!"

"Wow, someone's mind is in the gutter." Callie replied flippantly. I continued with my crunches while keeping tension against Callie's hand on my shortened limb. As she pushed even harder, forcing me to groan in frustration, she leaned forward, and lowered her voice, "Harder, Arizona. It's sooo good."

Scoffing, I smacked her on the arm before collapsing back onto the carpet. "You suck."

"Yeah, sometimes." Callie smirked.

I propped myself up onto my elbows just long enough to glare at her, "Shut up."

Callie laughed, "Ok, we're done. Great work today."

I could feel my entire body slick with sweat and my muscles felt like Jello. Groaning again, I let my body lie completely motionless as Callie started massaging my spent limb. "Great work, my ass. I can't move."

Her firm hands rubbed soothing circles up and down my thigh, causing a warm tingling sensation, "Come on, you know how this works. We have to keep your muscles strong. The more we work out your core and leg now, the less pain you'll be in when you get the prosthesis. You'll thank me later."

Sucking in a sharp breath as her hand strayed a little high and inside, I shook my head, "I don't think you're trying to help, that was clearly torture. You hate me." Finally finding the energy, I pushed myself up to lean back on my hands, watching as she continued to help my muscles cool down.

She chuckled, "I don't hate you. But, I can't deny that I enjoy making you sweat and moan."

Rolling my eyes, I chucked a pillow at her, "How have you never been sued for sexual harassment?"

"Who says I haven't?" Callie asked seriously.

"Have you?"

"No."

"How is that possible?"

"I'm nice to look at."

"Well, I suppose that's a legit reason."

"Sure is." Callie grinned and handed me a towel. "Flip over and I'll get your back."

Dabbing my face and chest with the soft towel, I maneuvered my body to lay on my stomach. Instantly, Callie's hands were kneading the tightening muscles of my neck and shoulders. I had to admit, the post therapy massage made the preceding torture worth it. The work out tank top I was wearing allowed her dexterous hands to move across my bare skin…it felt very nice. When she began moving down from my shoulders, I folded my arms under my head, turning and laying my head to face her. I watched the muscles in her arms shift as she applied pressure between my shoulder blades and light smile rest on her lips. She looked so content. "Why aren't you a surgeon anymore?" My voice came out way quieter and softer than I had intended, and it wasn't quite the question I meant to ask, but it would do.

Her brows furrowed as she glanced at my face, "You know why. The accident damaged my hand. I can't safely operate anymore." I noticed her movements get stiff for a few moments before relaxing back into a soothing rhythm.

"Yeah, but you could still do research, teach, consult, or practice some related medicine. How did you end up doing this?" I asked curiously. I couldn't imagine just leaving surgery behind. It would kill me. I'd been out of commission because of the plane crash, but even through the anger and depression a big part of me was still itching to get back into an OR.

Callie cleared her throat, smoothing her hands over my scapulas, her fingers brushing the sides of breasts. My breathing hitched a bit as she answered, "I tried…I tried teaching and consulting, but it was too hard. I couldn't handle being so close to an OR, but not being able to cut…" I watched her face cloud, her eyes tracing her hands moving down my back, but obviously not seeing anything.

"Yeah, I can understand that. But, what about your cartilage research? You could do a clinical trial without full use of your hand. I thought it sounded amazing." I smiled softly when she shot me a very brief, and very small grin.

"Yeah, I could…but…I don't know. I guess, I'm a little scared."

When her expression turned thoughtful, I shifted the conversation away from not operating, "So, the nurse thing? How did that happen?"

Callie sighed, moving her hands to rub firmly at my lower back, "My, uh, my mom had cancer. For a long time. But, after my accident and I had mostly healed, she got bad. The treatment wasn't working and the doctors gave her five months. So, having no career to get in my way, I moved in with her and took care of her. It was really tough, but I'm glad I got to spend so much time with her in those last months of her life. Had I still been a surgeon, there would have been no way for me to see her that much or even a decent fraction of that time. Anyway, after she…one of the nurses that had been very involved in her treatment complimented me on how well I took care of her. She said that if I wanted some work, she could set me up with the in-home care company she had worked with, because they were always looking for people. I said that I had no interest in working with dying people everyday. But, she said they do all kinds of care and an orthopedic surgeon would be in high demand…and that was that. I sort of just settled into it and never bothered looking for something else."

I studied her for a few moments, both of us contemplating her revelation in silence. "You're still healing, and this job provides a low stress environment for you to try to deal with losing your fiancé, career, and mother in one swoop."

Callie arched an eyebrow, "You think you're low stress, Dr. Phil?"

I grinned, "I'm a delight…you know what I mean."

She shrugged, "Yeah…it's easy, I guess. I can hide out here until I'm ready to venture out and find something that really makes me happy."

"Are you scared of trying to be happy again?" I asked without thinking.

She looked surprised by the question, but considered it for a minute, before mumbling, "Yeah, I think I am… I'm not convinced it's really possible… Does trying to be happy again scare you?"

"Maybe…I don't know what I feel anymore."

"Tell me about the plane crash." It was phrased as a demand, but her tone made it a gentle plea.

I shook my head, but maintained eye contact with her, whispering, "Not yet."

"Ok." We both slipped back into silence as she refocused on my massage. She moved her hands to my hips, digging her palms into the flesh on the sides of my ass. When she reached the area just under my thinly covered butt cheeks, heat started to spread through me. I realized that the tingle from her earlier touch had never subsided, and now that her thumbs were stroking the inside of my thighs, the tingling was only increasing. It's not like she was doing anything overtly sexual or inappropriate, but that didn't stop the panic that accompanied the recognition that her touch was turning me on. That was a first. I'd never been turned on by that process before. Suddenly, I felt extremely suffocated in feelings, and needed to make it stop.

"I think, I'm good." I stated abruptly, pushing myself up and pulling away from her.

"Ok. Then, why don't you go take a shower, and I'll make lunch." Callie said, offering her hands to help me to my foot.

I grasped her hands, heaving myself up to one foot. Using one hand, I steadied myself on her shoulder as she placed a hand on my hip, and grabbed my crutches from their resting place against the wall with her other. "Are you saying that I stink?"

Callie smirked, "No…but, you look like you need a shower."

I pinched her arm and scoffed, "You are like the least supportive nurse ever."

"That's ridiculous, you haven't met every nurse." Seeing me glower at her, she added, "I'm only kidding, you always look great." When I rolled my eyes, she turned around and chuckled, "Go. I'm going to make some turkey sandwiches."

Still irritated, I spun to follow her to the kitchen, "I hate sandwiches."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do."

"You always eat sandwiches."

"Because, I have to. But, I hate them."

"No, you don't. You just hate me."

"Yes, I do."

"Hate sandwiches, or me?"

"Both."

"No, you don't."

I huffed in annoyance, "Why do I feel like this conversation is going no where?"

"Because this isn't a conversation, this is you being annoyed with me and taking it out on my sandwiches." Callie replied nonchalantly.

"Because I hate sandwiches."

"No, you don't. Go take your shower. I'm making lunch, so I get to choose." When I failed to move toward the bathroom or remove the pout/glare combo I had aimed at her, she flourished her hand, "Scoot."

I grumbled incoherently, but headed to my bedroom. Once stripped and in the shower, I sighed in contentment. I still wasn't quite used to how long it took me to do simple things, like preparing for a shower, since losing my leg, but I was getting there. The hot water washed away the sweat and tension from the physical therapy, while relaxing my muscles. Shifting on my shower seat, I leaned back against the cool tiles and let my eyes close. My hand absentmindedly ran the stream from the detachable shower head over my arms, legs, and chest. As my mind started to drift, I unconsciously recalled the feeling of Callie's fingers on my body. I could tell she was a surgeon. Her hands always moved with precision and strength, pin pointing the exact spots that needed her attention. It had shocked me a bit that I had such a reaction to her that day. Not only had I never reacted to her that way, but I hadn't been turned on by anything since the crash. In a way, it was a relief. It meant that, all those things I lost in the crash had potential to come back. Obviously, not my leg, or the people that died. But, the other things, like my confidence, sexual appetite, security, sanity, comfort, and passion might come back some day. That gave me hope.

Allowing myself to indulge in the small victory, I didn't try too hard to stop thinking about her hands on me. The tingling returned, more persistent than before, but I gave myself permission to not shut it down immediately. It was a good thing, I figured I should celebrate every good thing that came my way, no matter the form. As I let my mind replay images and feelings, I suddenly gasped when the flow from the showerhead landed between my legs. The gentle, but steady pressure from the stream of water provided a very pleasurable sensation. Swallowing hard, I engaged in an internal battle. Keep going or stop? Before I could decide, a flash of Callie getting out of the shower in all her naked glory invaded my mind's eye. Apparently, the decision was made as my legs opened a bit more, granting the rushing water more access. I sighed at the feeling, squeezing my eyes shut, still half-heartedly fighting my unwanted desires.

Just as I resigned to the fact that I didn't want to stop, and began enjoying the warmth rapidly gripping my body, there was a loud knock. A second later, Callie's head popped through the door. Eternally grateful that the glass was fogged and there was no way she could see what I was doing, I quickly shifted the showerhead and sat up straighter. Her voice broke through my hazy and panicking mind, "Hey, you're taking forever, and lunch is ready."

Clearing my throat, I snapped back, "Are you afraid that you're stupid sandwiches are going to get cold?"

"Yes, so hurry up." The loud clicking of the door let me know that she had left. Groaning softly, I ran my hand over my face. After rolling my shoulders, I reached over and turned the water to almost ice cold. I definitely needed to cool off. And, that line I crossed was going to need to be dealt with at some point.

Finally out of the shower and dressed, I opened my bedroom door and was greeted with a delicious smell. "What the hell did you make?" I asked as I hopped into the kitchen.

"Turkey sandwiches." Callie replied sarcastically.

"That does not smell like turkey sandwiches." I pointed out as I made my way to the counter. "Fajitas? You made fajitas for lunch? I thought you were making sandwiches?" I questioned while my mouth began watering at the sight and smell of the spread.

"Now, you're going to complain about me not making sandwiches? If I make lunch, I get to choose." She turned to me and made her voice high pitched and whiney, "And, I hate sandwiches."

Smirking, I popped a pepper in mouth, "No, you don't." When she rolled her eyes at my comment, I teased, "You're such a softie."

Narrowing her eyes at my smug look, she huffed, "No, I'm not. I'm hardcore. And, I'm never doing anything for you ever again, cause all you ever do is give me grief." She grabbed her plate and dished out her food.

I giggled, plating my own food and following her to the bar, "You have to do stuff for me, it's your job."

"Don't talk to me." Callie grumbled and angled herself so her back was to me.

I gasped in mock adoration, "And, you didn't even put onions in them! You soooo like me!" Her scowl caused me to giggle again. After taking a huge bite, I moaned, "This is amazing, Calliope. Thank you."

"You're not welcome." Even though her answer was a disgruntled mumble, when she glanced at me I noticed a definite twinkle in her eyes.

AN: How 'bout them apples?

And, remember, next time I upload a chapter, I'm changing the rating to M.