green_medic

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.