green_medic

Erica’s day had been manic since her encounter with Callie that afternoon. There had been a serious road traffic accident nearby and Seattle Grace had been on alert throughout the evening. By the time she finished, Erica had performed two emergency surgeries and managed to plough on with both her rounds and two of her scheduled procedures. It was seventeen hours since she had left her house the previous morning and she was exhausted. She’d had barely a second to think about what had occurred a few hours previously, but the warmth of Callie’s earlier proximity and the soft texture of her skin still lingered in the back of her mind. She knew Callie had been equally as busy, if not more so, and wondered idly as she pulled her scrub cap off and slumped on the sofa in the attending’s lounge whether she would see her again before she went home. She was off for the next two days and really didn’t want to leave everything so ill-defined, despite the fact she had no idea how they might rectify that even given the chance. She stood to grab her purse from her locker and searched the contents for her phone. Flipping it open and scrolling down to find the name ‘Torres, Callie’ she contemplated what she might say when she answered. She decided to just call, just see what Callie had to say and to be just a little spontaneous for once. Spontaneity had worked fairly well earlier, she recalled, and as she pushed the call button she allowed her mind to wander around the curve of Callie’s hips that she had so nervously navigated. When the answer machine message kicked in she was drawn back to reality, the corner of her mouth creeping upward as she heard Callie’s cheerful greeting.

“Hey, it’s Callie Torres. I can’t answer the phone right now but leave a message and I’ll call you right back. Bye.”

“Hi Callie, it’s me... err, Erica. I just wanted to see if you,” she faltered a little and pulled at a loose thread at the hem of her scrub top, “just wanted to see if you’ve finished up for the day, I guess. I feel like I want to talk to you, you know? I feel like there are things to be said,” she cleared her throat and sighed a little, leaning against the same wall of lockers that Callie had been pressed against, “though I’ll be damned if I know what they might be. Also... well, it’s been kind of a crazy day and I could do with a friend and a bottle of wine, or three! So, call me if you get this in the next hour or so because any longer and I’ll have gone to bed, if not just dropped wherever I happen to be standing. O.K, well I’ll see you. Bye Cal.”

She wasn’t hugely pleased with what she’d managed to say. She felt it had been a little too much babbling but Erica realised that she hadn’t been able to maintain her cool and suave facade in front of Callie for a long while, so she didn’t overly fret. She gathered the rest of her things and headed out, hoping unusually that she might run in to the orthopod on her way out. No such luck, she arrived home having caught not even a glimpse of her and without a call or text to speak of on her phone. Reluctant to head to bed yet, despite the weight of her eyelids urging her otherwise, she hit the play button on her iPod dock and searched the cupboard for something to take the edge off her hunger. She found some ciabatta bread and halloumi which she grilled as the speakers in the living room started playing Regina Spektor.

Erica felt unusually calm. After such a crazy workload she would normally find it very difficult to wind down and let go of the day’s events at the hospital. But tonight, though it was after 1am and she was craving sleep, she felt decidedly calm. She knew that she had taken a step with Callie and although she remained petrified about the possible consequence, she had followed through on a decision and that was always a satisfying feeling to Erica. She also suspected that her tired mind, her synapses that were firing that tiny bit slower than usual, were allowing her to be more hopeful and whimsical about the possibilities than her usual level of function would ever permit.

An hour and a half after she had left the message Erica’s head lolled against the back of the sofa. She was fighting sleep in what appeared to be the vain hope that Callie might return her call. She adjusted her position, lifting her feet and allowing her head to rest on the armrest.

When the cushion below her depressed slightly it seemed that she had closed her eyes for only a few seconds but her hazy mind proved otherwise. Though she hadn’t opened her eyes she wasn’t startled because she knew that is was Callie sitting beside her. She felt now almost familiar fingers touch her own and allowed her lids to open very slightly.

“Hey.” Her husky drawl was even more pronounced as she greeted Callie with a sleepy smile.

“Hey,” she replied, a soft fondness in her voice, “I’m sorry to wake you, sorry it’s so late.”

“What time is it?” Erica shifted a little, taking Callie’s hand and allowing her more space on the sofa.

“4am,” she exhaled an incredulous laugh and moved into the space Erica had created for her, “I scrubbed out of my last surgery half an hour ago, if you can believe it. And I’m back on at twelve tomorrow.”

“God,” Erica grimaced and pushed a few blonde curls behind her ear, “I thought I’d had a busy day!”

“Listen,” Callie stifled a yawn that morphed into a smile and a roll of her eyes, “I know you want to talk. So do I, I really, really want to talk about this,” she placed her free hand on Erica’s hip and gestured at some invisible entity between them, “but I’m exhausted. I just want to sleep. I can barely form a sentence, Erica.”

Erica needed no further incentive and rolling herself into the foetal position she pulled the weary form down beside her. Callie kicked off her shoes, wriggled out of her jacket and moulded her back into Erica’s soft shape; black curls tickled Erica’s face until the blonde brushed them over the arm of the sofa. She felt a sense of complete calm and total contentment as she threaded her arm under Callie’s and allowed it to rest on her rounded stomach. She inhaled deeply, the sweet smell of everything Callie filling her lungs as she drifted back to an easy sleep.

 

She had slept poorly; the night was punctuated by unnerving dreams and long periods of lying awake and evaluating the life that had led her to the verge of disintegration the previous evening. Her eyes were puffy and irritated by the tears and as she looked in the mirror she felt even more indifferent to what she saw than usual. She tried to purge the restless night from her mind and body with a shower so cold that the breath was knocked out of her as the icy stream hit her back. It did little by way of clearing her mind but as her head lolled back on her neck and the water hit her closed eyes she decided that she had to speak to Callie. She had no idea what she intended to say yet but she knew that she had little choice but to confront the situation head on.

She was uncharacteristically sluggish in her morning routine and took much longer than usual to prepare and eat her conservative breakfast of fruit, bran flakes and coffee. It wasn’t until she was heading to the garage that she realised just how late she was. It was 8.20 and she was supposed to be scrubbing in for a coronary artery bypass in ten minutes. She wasn’t even with Callie and she was losing Dr. Hahn more and more by the second. It did nothing but convince her that she had made the right decision.

The surgery went well and she had only been twenty minutes late to scrub in, something she could easily blame on traffic. After leaving Yang to close she scrubbed out quickly and headed to the attending’s lounge for another quiet lunch of avoidance. As she opened the door she ran straight into Callie who was heading out in the opposite direction.

“Shit, Erica!” She cried as the two collided.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Callie waved her apology with one arm but Erica was acutely aware that the other hand remained on her bicep, where it had landed when they had come together. “I was just looking for Derek,” she continued with an awkward laugh, “for a consult. I know I’m not supposed to be in here, I’m gone in less than a second.” Callie went to dodge Erica and make for the door but as her hand slid from its resting place down Erica’s forearm the blonde allowed impulse to take control for a few short seconds and caught Callie’s fingers between her own.

“No,” she whispered almost inaudibly, “I... I wanted to speak with you, Callie. Will you stay for a second?” Callie looked down at their intertwined fingers and swallowed hard. It made Erica want to run for cover when she saw the nervous expression settle over her features. But she couldn’t remember the last time she hadn’t followed through on a decision and this was absolutely not the time to begin a new trend.

She had every intention of launching into an eloquent and lengthy explanation for her recent behaviour but as she opened her mouth she realised that she hadn’t thought this through at all. She hadn’t considered what she wanted to say let alone how she might say it. She certainly hadn’t factored in the haze that would descend over her mind as she felt nothing but the long, dextrous digits that were caught in her own and the heat emanating between their two bodies that were now so close.

“I...,” she tried again to form the words but as she met Callie’s eyes, searching and glistening with emotion, she completely faltered. Her heart pounded and both their chests rose and fell quickly. Feeling completely devoid of free will Erica leaned in to close the small gap between their forms. She could feel the ragged, shaky breath escaping Callie’s lips and stopped short of making contact when Callie’s back hit the wall of lockers. She had nowhere to go and her eyes searched Erica’s face for a hint of what might be about to happen. Erica’s free hand shook as she lifted it to Callie’s waist and toyed with the starchy material of her scrubs before settling her hand on the protuberance of her hip. She brushed her bottom lip against Callie’s cheekbone, inhaling the heady scent of her perfume, her make-up, her conditioner. As she tilted her head to bring their lips together the piercing interruption of a pager startled Erica so profoundly that she jumped a few inches back. Exhaling their irritation both doctors checked their devices.

“It’s me,” Callie sighed, “sorry; I know what it’s about, complicated case. I have to answer it.”

“Of course,” Erica insisted, nodding vigorously, “absolutely, go.” Neither woman made a move to leave and Erica felt a swell of heat encompass her as Callie merely adjusted her grip, completely linking their hands and tracing her free fingers across the pair of knuckles.

“You have to go, Callie,” Erica reminded her reluctantly, a thousand thoughts coursing through her mind as to the million other things she’d rather say or do than encourage her to leave. Callie nodded and seemed to shake herself as if to return to some semblance of normality. She smiled shyly and Erica thought she glimpsed a faint blush creep across her caramel skin just above the neckline of her scrubs. Before she could be sure, Callie’s soft lips were pressed against her own. It was short and somewhat chaste, but it spoke volumes. Their hands remained linked as Callie slipped past her towards the door, fingertips parting company only when their outstretched arms could maintain contact no longer.

She sat at the desk surrounded by case notes, ethical guidelines and an overwhelming sense of unease that seemed to be originating in the pit of her stomach. Placing her pen to paper and her free hand to her temple she attempted yet again to form a coherent sentence without imagining the soft pad of Callie’s thumb against her fingers. Her failure was complete as she closed her eyes only to see the caramel skin and raven curls manifest themselves on the inside of her lids.

She threw her pen down in anger and surprised herself at the ferocity with which it flew across the room and hit the opposite wall. This was exactly why she had walked away from the one thing her soul most craved, twice. This inability to become Dr. Hahn when she needed to be was unacceptable to a woman who had for so long judged her own value on how successfully she could command an OR, how many green gilled interns she could reduce to quaking shadows; and how expertly she could remove a heart from a cadaver and encourage it to successfully pump the blood around the body of another living human. She couldn’t do all this, be all this, whilst allowing her own heart to beat for another person, a colleague, a woman.

It wasn’t even all that much about Callie being a woman. O.K, she conceded to herself, it was a little about Callie being a woman. But it was infinitely more about Callie being a co-worker, a junior and a friend. She leant back in her chair deciding that she was fighting a losing battle with herself tonight and that research would have to give way to the musings of a closeted subconscious.

She worried the gold chain at her neckline and stifled the odd yawn over the next half an hour or so, considering the colossal consequences she imagined would occur if she were to pursue this crippling attraction. Feeling her face ageing as the worry lines set across her brow she bodily shook herself from her train of thought and stood from the chair. Her fatigue was obvious and she decided to go home, eat copious amounts of Thai food and hope that she was tired enough to fall asleep without craving the warmth of Callie’s gently breathing form beside her.

Grabbing her purse and jacket from the back of the door she headed out. She worried little about running into Callie now, doubting her ability to do any more damage than last time. Crossing the suspended walkway toward the elevator she observed the quiet, pulse-like hum of the hospital at night. It wasn’t as frenetic as it was during the day but the hive of activity was still evident. It comforted Erica to know that even the building itself, as well as the people that worked within it, continued to pulsate as though life had not just been turned irrevocably on its head. As she paused to observe, leaning on the glass barrier, she caught sight of Callie stood talking to a gaggle of interns almost directly below her. Erica noticed how she commanded their attention easily, with effortless wit and animated hand gestures she appeared to lighten the mood of the work-weary group despite her certainty that she must be adding to their already gargantuan workload. It crossed her mind for a terrifying and elating second that Callie managed to do all of this despite the fact that she’d had a very public and very messy relationship with a colleague. Allowing herself another minute or so of quiet observation she eventually pushed back from the hand rail and continued to the elevator, certain enough that Callie looked busy enough not to notice her quick escape.

Sinking into the hugely comfortable (and hugely expensive) couch in her living room with a box of her absolute favourite Thai dish and a glass of wine was the first time the knots in her shoulders had even slightly allayed in the past twenty or so hours. She was content to sit, eat and drink in an easy silence. So, when she felt the hot trickle on her cheek and the salty tang on her lip, she was stunned. She hadn’t seen it coming because for Erica such obvious displays of emotion scarcely occurred. Placing her wine on the floor she wiped impatiently at the tear running down her chin, attempting to erase any trace of weakness with the sleeve of her pyjamas. It was of little use, however, as the hot liquid kept coming, now in perfect accompaniment to the heaving of her shoulders and the guttural sobs escaping her throat. She despaired for a few moments at the ludicrousness of the whole situation. She also attempted to laugh it off but as she realised there was absolutely no-one there to share in her comedic, cartoon-like sobbing; alone on the obscenely expensive sofa she concluded it wasn’t even remotely humorous and gave in to the wave of grief that enveloped her for the life she was convinced she would never allow herself to have.

Callie had anticipated this moment. They worked at the same hospital, often on the same patients, how could they not run into each other, eventually? Despite both their best efforts the moment she had equally craved and dreaded had arrived and she was totally unprepared. Erica’s name had sounded foreign on escaping her lips and as the seconds passed in complete, excruciating silence she did nothing but pick at the chipped paint on the stair rail. She almost said something at least three times, each opening sticking in her throat as though she were literally choking on the atmosphere between herself and Erica. Eventually she flicked her eyes toward the blonde once more and on seeing that she was just shuffling uncomfortably on the spot she exhaled a deep sigh and descended the rest of the flight on which she has stopped. Erica was worrying the paint at the bottom of the rail much like Callie had been a few moments before, picking away at the tenuous protective covering was somewhat cathartic and busying her hands made her feel at least a little less anxious. As she reached the bottom step, now facing Erica but continuing to avoid really looking at her she eventually found her voice.

“Are we ever going to be able to talk about this, Erica?” Her tone was defeatist, so unlike Callie that Erica couldn’t help but look directly into her eyes, searching for a glimmer of the woman she knew so well, the woman she so hoped was still fighting for them, even if she couldn’t say it or even admit it to herself.

“I don’t know”, Erica answered as honestly as possible, a pained expression colouring her features as she futilely wished she could give her more, more of what she thought Callie wanted to hear and more of what she, in her most honest of realities, wanted to tell her. “I just hope so,” she gripped the hand rail tighter watching her knuckles whiten under the force, “because I...” she shook her head and exhaled as if to physically force the words from her mouth with the motion of it, “...I miss you, Cal. I miss you, Callie.” Erica averted her gaze almost immediately and felt the flush of embarrassment and elation, regret and relief flood to her face once more. She turned on her heel to leave and on releasing her hand from the rail she felt the slightest pressure of Callie’s thumb across her fingers. It was almost enough to make her stop and turn to face her once more. Almost. But she continued toward the door of the stairwell, closing her eyes and attempting to control her heart rate as she heard the soft thud of Callie sitting on the step behind her.

 

Erica had been doing a lot of research. She had been bringing her own lunch and eating surreptitiously in quiet corners of the hospital. She completely avoided Joe’s and made for the doors at the end of each shift with stealth worthy of any covert agent. At just past eleven on a Friday night she was craving chocolate to fuel her late night number-crunching and felt reasonably sure that it would be safe to visit the third floor vending machine.

She had easily convinced herself that narrowly missing out on the Harper Avery this year was reason enough to regress to hermit-like behaviour. Denial was a powerful weapon in Dr. Hahn’s arsenal, and when she could conceal it behind the convenient excuse of medical innovation and career progression, it was ever more potent.  

It was a rare occurrence that Erica even allow herself to acknowledge the real reason behind her newfound industriousness, let alone to seriously contemplate it.  As she pushed the button to call the elevator however, her mind inadvertently wandered to that foolish point-scoring performance she had made to gain the upper hand from Mark Sloan. Previous to that direct skin-on-skin contact with Callie she had been able to cling, albeit by her bitten fingernails, to the safe haven of heterosexual denial.

She had been able to share a salad with her friend at lunch, had been able to laugh with her at the bar after a trying day and had felt personally valued for the first time in a long while. That kiss had changed everything. Although the shift was ill-defined, their relationship was, without doubt, spinning on a different axis from that moment. She cursed the impulse that had caused her to stroke her thumb against the velvety skin of Callie’s cheekbone, the unfamiliar thrill that had encouraged her to maintain contact for far longer than was necessary to elicit the desired response from Sloan; and the obvious fact that her actions had stirred emotions in Callie that she may never have otherwise recognised.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the metallic doors of the elevator as the ping signalled its arrival. Her hair was unkempt and her white coat needed a good iron. She was dishevelled and had been for the past two weeks, in more than just appearance. McBrilliant? She thought to herself and exhaled a snort of laughter at the thought of this amusing quasi-compliment Callie had once bestowed on her. McCloseted, more like, she allowed herself to think for one hundredth of a split second before shaking all frivolous thought from her mind and returning her focus to the tens of waiting case studies to be evaluated upon her return to the office.

There was disappointingly little available in the vending machine. There appeared to be various packets that contained sweets Erica was sure must be highly radioactive and only a few options by way of chocolate, all of which were contaminated in some way by peanut butter; a concept she had never understood. She stood for a couple of minutes contemplating whether she should venture down to the canteen for something slightly less synthetic. She eventually decided to plough on with her research for another hour or so and work up a real appetite for her favourite Thai takeaway on the way home. Judging by the previous meanderings of her thoughts, avoiding the elevator seemed a good idea if Erica was to keep her focus on the task in hand so she headed towards the stairs.

As soon as the doors had swung shut behind her, blocking any route for quick, unnoticed escape, she caught a glimpse of the red trainers descending one flight above her. Blind panic hit her square between the eyes. Everything about that night that she had so successfully erased from her memory came flooding back, at once precipitating the most intense and inconvenient gay panic. Suddenly she felt the passionate memory of Callie’s lips upon her own, of handfuls of black curls, of soft form pressed against soft form and of utter speechlessness and embarrassed retreat. As if life were in slow motion she stared helplessly around for anywhere she could be but exactly where she stood. Her feet seemed glued to the spot, allowing her to do nothing but wait and listen as the approaching footsteps beat time to the inevitability of their first contact since that moment.

As Callie rounded the corner and caught sight of the blonde curls and blue, stupefied eyes, she froze. They simply stood staring and one and other, crimson blush creeping up Erica’s chest and settling on her cheeks. Callie’s breath hitched in her throat, she quickly averted her gaze and searched for the right words, any words that might alleviate the incredible tension.

“Erica,” was all she seemed able to say, barely a whisper in the cavernous stairwell.