Cheers, Darling
Cheers, Darling 1/1
Title: Cheers, Darling/Fade Into the Background
Rating: R
Pairing: Callie/Mark
Disclaimer: All characters, events, settings and situations mentioned in this work are sole property of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for profit, in constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context and are not intended to be defamatory or factual in anyway.
Summary: skiing, being code for drinking in a cabin
**************************************************************************************************************************************************************************
Cheers, darling
Here’s to you and your lover boy
Cheer’s darling
I’ve got years to wait around for you
cheers, darling
I’ve got your wedding bells in my ear
Cheers, darling
**************************************************************************************************************************************************************************
It’s been years since you’ve seen her. It’s been--two years to be exact. Twenty four months, if you want to get technical.
And seven hundred and thirty days, if you want to be honest with yourself and admit that your pathetic and you’ve been counting the days.
It didn’t happen abruptly. There was no huge realization of feelings for each other that slowly brewed until it got so intense someone blew up and started a huge fight that caused shouting and tears and accusations. Sometimes you wish it had been that way. Maybe things would have been different now. Maybe if either one had been a little more honest, you wouldn’t be where you are right now. You wish sometimes, that your daily lunches hadn’t dissolved into occasional coffee breaks.
Eventually, she asked you for the spare key to her apartment she’d given you, to make copies after losing hers, and it slipped your mind to ever ask for it back.
She stopped coming around late at night. Eventually, all the things she’d left in your hotel room--which she always said you should get rid of and get a real place to live--were gone. And all the things you had left in her apartment had been returned in some form or another.
Pretty soon, you were lucky to say two words to each other.
One day she was gone.
Started a fellowship in New York or something. You drank that night and didn’t speak or want to hear her name mentioned for about two months, and when you finally grew the balls to call her, her number was disconnected.
You still think back on how it all slowly ended and you wish it hadn’t. You dated Lexie. Callie pretended not to care and engrossed herself in one blonde after another. You were still good friends. You know she will always be the best friend you could never keep. You became enthralled in ignoring that you were in love with Callie by pretending you were in love with another woman. Lexie Grey.
Lexie Grey--you laugh sometimes when you think about your relationship--if you can call it that--with Lexie Grey. It was ridiculous and the one night stand that lasted eleven months and you have no idea how. You don’t even know what kept you there. You don’t even know what kept you interested enough to be faithful the entire time.
Derek knew before you that it was over.
And boy, were you glad when YOU knew.
Your life was a mess then. It was a mess when she left, and to say your life is a mess now, would be an understatement.
You have an apartment now. It’s big and clean and you have a leather couch that screams ‘eternal bachelor’. Now, you sit in your leather sofa, staring back at Derek because that’s all you can do after the news he’s just given you.
You’ve asked him to go skiing with you for the weekend--skiing, being code for drinking in a cabin--but he’s just informed you that he will be busy. You have asked him why, and after he apprehensively tells you don’t want to know, you call him a little bitch and make him tell you. You wish you hadn’t.
“Callie Torres is getting married.” He says and you’re sure you’re about to swallow your own tongue, “Meredith is a bridesmaid.” He adds with a chuckle, and as you keep staring back at him with a bitter taste in your mouth, you can see it dawn on his pretty little face that you might not be okay with that little piece of information just yet.
“She’s getting married?” You manage to choke out and add a graceful scratch of the chin to let him know that you are, in fact, okay.
“To some pediatrician she met in New York.” He pauses to clear his throat, “Are you okay?”
“Have you met him?” You ask, not really averting the question, but really just concerned about this jackass Callie’s apparently over the moon for. Callie WOULD marry a pediatrician, “What’s he like?”
“I’ve met him once. He seems nice.”
“Is he--” You wave your hand around and stammer because you don’t know how to ask, but then you decide you might as well just do it, “Is he good looking?”
Derek laughs, but stops when he realizes you’re serious, “Listen--she--” he rubs his temple with his index finger and shifts in his seat.
“What?”
“She sent you an invitation. I don’t know if you want--”
“Give it to me.” You say all too quickly and Derek looks at you in that way that tells you he wants to tell you to not get involved, because you always get involved too late, but you hold your hand out and ask for it again, “Give me the invitation.” You snatch the eggshell colored envelope form his hand and open it quickly. You read over HIS name once and then find yourself reading hers over and over, “This is in New York this Saturday?”
“You’re not really thinking of going…’
“Why not? I look good in a suit. I’ve got vacation time. I want to see my good friend, Callie Torres.”
“Mark--” Derek says, warning in his tone and all you do is repeat that you’re going.
+++++++
You didn’t think it would be this hard. You didn’t think about it on the drive to the airport. You slept through the entire flight. And you even checked out one of the guests as you arrived with Derek and Meredith to the ceremony.
It’s a huge cathedral. You didn’t expect anything else from Callie’s family.
And as it gets closer to six-thirty and the guests start to make their way inside, you following suit, you start to feel the loss you’ve managed to ignore this entire time. Your stomach is in knots and before you know it, the groom is standing at the altar with his best man. He’s tall and fit and seems like a nice enough guy--and that, for some reason, gives you enough reason to hate his guts and wish him a slow, painful death.
You still haven’t seen her. You’ve seen Cristina Yang, whom you see at work everyday, but never really talk to anymore and she’s asked you if you’ve spoken to Callie. You tell her no and all she says is, “Good.” Warning you with a glare to not fuck it up.
You can’t keep still now as the strings quartet starts to play and you smile, because only Callie Torres would request the song that plays as she walks down the aisle to be a Led Zeppelin song. Derek pats your shoulder reassuringly, but you shrug him off and tell him to get off you. Because you don’t need the pity and you don’t need a hand on your shoulder telling you it’s going to be okay. What you need, is a shot of something toxic. What you need is some scotch. What you need--is to remember to breathe, because the bridesmaids are making their way down the aisle right behind the cute little flower girl that looks a little like Callie.
You stand up with the rest of the guests as Callie makes her way inside and down the aisle and you really don’t’ give a shit if you’re breathing or not anymore because you’d be happy to just stand here and watch her.
You never thought of Callie as the traditional, white dress wearing bride. But she can pulls it off so well. She looks beautiful.
Her hair falls bellow her shoulders in soft waves, in a form fitting dress that hugs her entire body in a way that must not be appropriate, until the white dress falls into a long train. You smile at the almost modest cut of the front of the dress. Just like Callie to be just a little bit dramatic. There’s a white lily in her hair and her skin looks like it tastes just as sweet as before.
She walks past your pew and you kind of wish she would have seen you in passing. But she can’t stop looking at that idiot in the ill fitting tuxedo.
It physically hurts to sit there and watch as her father hands her over. You fight the urge to stand up, throw her over your shoulder and take her away from all of this. You want to sneeze or something to get her to at least look over.
It’s finally over and after you’ve used all the self control you have in your body to keep from ripping the guy’s head off when he kisses her, you watch sadly as he walks with her toward the double doors. For some insane reason, god decides to cut you a break for just a second, when her eyes drift for about a millisecond and she does a double take at spotting you in the crowd. You freeze as the smile that’s been planted on her face throughout the ceremony fades into shock.
You smile like an idiot at her as she loses you then finds you again through the pesky crowd. And then, much to your stupidly excited heart, she smiles. It’s small and it’s gone too soon , but it’s there and it’s yours, and you can almost hear your heart beating in your earlobes.
++++++++
It’s your fourth glass of scotch and you hate that Callie’s parents are so social because there are about four hundred people and even though your eyes have met exactly eight times, you haven’t been able to say one word to each other, because other people keep getting in the way.
The best man starts his stupid speech and you don’t notice that Callie watches you grab a bottle of scotch from the bar and head out because you’re really way too drunk for this and you get angry when you’re drunk.
You take a long swig of the beautiful bottle of scotch and you stumble out of the large party and into a hall.
************************************************************************************
The ring is too tight.
You’ve seen Mark, and suddenly, your wedding band is too tight. You’re engagement ring is too big and vulgar, and you hate it.
You were fine. You’ve BEEN fine. You don’t even know what demon possessed you when you decided it would be a good idea to send him the invitation. You didn’t expect him to show. You haven’t heard from him in two years or so, why would it be any different now?
You know you brought this on yourself. Everything was fine.
You were happy and content--maybe more content than happy--and you had a great man in your life waiting for you at the other end of the cathedral.
You were married. And content.
And then you see something resembling Mark Sloan and you lose your hearing and ability to speak. You turn over your shoulder and through the crowd, and sure enough, he’s standing there, behind Derek--you can’t breathe and you can’t help but smile, because in that instant, you’re happy.
You’re really truly happy to just see him, but the guilt doesn’t hit you until you reach the double doors, fresh air bathes your face and you feel a gentle tug at your arm, which is linked to your husband’s, and you don’t see him anymore.
You search the congratulating crowd for him, but you don’t see him.
You ask Cristina about him and she tells you to stop it. You ignore her and suddenly feel bothered by the way your now husband kisses you.
You hate this huge party. It’s too much, but your parents are ridiculously happy that you’ve finally done ONE thing the way they think it should go, and so you suck it up and sneak a sip of champagne here and there. The real party went down the previous night with just Cristina, Meredith and Sadie. You drank all day and didn’t really stop to think about him.
You realize now, as you shake hands and people that claim to have known you when you were a baby congratulate Steven and kiss your cheek and hug you, that you shouldn’t have sent that invitation out with Derek if you were expecting to focus on your wedding, instead of the man sitting in a corner table with a glass of alcohol in his hand.
You keep wanting to make your way through to at least say hi. Your body moves at its own accord towards him. It always has.
And you wonder how exactly it happened that he just wasn’t a part of your life any longer.
You lived a somewhat quiet life in New York. Some nights you thought about calling him, but your pride always won over and you never did--you had things to say. You had things you needed to tell him and demand and--you couldn’t. Eventually the need to hear from him was gone.
Not that he ever left your thoughts. He didn’t. You would be lying if you said he did. But, eventually you decided it was something that should have happened but didn’t and your chance had passed.
You met Steven and he was great. He IS great. He’s fun and outgoing and your parents love him. And when he proposed, he had a huge diamond ring and flowers. And you thought--this is a man who took the time to pick these out. You thought that it was time for you to deserve him. So you said yes.
When you make love, he looks at you and all the love you see in his eyes makes you look away. You don’t know why.
You see Mark slip out as Steven’s best friend, Josh makes a toast and you excuse yourself to go to the restroom. Cristina asks you where you’re going and you answer her with a look that says you both know where you’re going. She shakes her head and you brush her off.
You just want to talk to him. You just want to see him. Say hi. Maybe give him a hug and tell him you’ve missed him. See if he’s happy.
See if he’s happy with anyone in particular.
You twist both your wedding band and engagement ring and they feel so tight. You feel like they’re a noose around your neck and you let your hand fall to your side as you follow him down the hallway, just barely catching him slip into Minister Rogers’ office.
Its too easy.
You move too quickly and the doorknob is too soft to turn.
When you open the door and see him sitting there, you KNOW you should leave. You know you should keep your distance, because all these years of silence between you have suddenly reemerged and you want to tell him things. You could fight and argue. You could tell him he’s an asshole for not calling. That you thought he was a sleaze bag for dating Lexie Grey. That you’ve missed him.
But all the only thing that slips from your lips is, “Hi.”
************************************************************************************
You fucking hate the world. You fucking hate the fucking entire world and you just need a dark place to sit in and drink.
You jiggle doors and god damn it, they’re all locked.
But one isn’t. You push the door open, peak your head in and make sure there is no one there. It looks like an office of some sort. You spot a large cross in the wall and decide this is the Minister’s place of business.
“Fuck it.” You say drunkenly to yourself and close the door behind you.
You take a seat behind the large desk, in the huge, leather chair that smells like tobacco. You prop your feet up on the aged mahogany and smirk proudly to yourself as you take another long swig of the liquor you’ve stopped tasting a long time ago.
The door swings open and you quickly take your feet off the desk and quickly search your brain for an excuse. You got lost. You’re drunk. You were looking for the bathroom.
“Hi.” You hear and you stop and look up as the door closes and the lock clicks.
“Hey.” You reply and you squint in the dark. Yep, it’s her. She’s standing at the door. And she’s smiling--or at least, you hope she is.
She starts to move toward the desk and just as she reaches it, your legs move before you can tell them to, You’ve moved the rest of your body off the chair and you’re pulling her against you, your hand in the back of her head as you take a second to let the feeling of her against you sink in, your lips barely grazing as your breathing becomes audible in the otherwise quiet room.
Her hands are touching your face, her fingers are skimming your lips, and--she hasn’t said anything.
“You look beautiful.” You say because you mean it, but she doesn’t really want to hear it, because she tells you to shut up and crushes her mouth to yours.
You can melt on her lips. You can live right there. In the way they fit right into yours. And when you slide your tongue against hers and she sighs, your hand slipping under her hair to cradle her nape--yeah, you can pretty much just live there.
You push gently until she’s trapped between you and the desk and you can’t stop kissing. You pull away once in a while, your eyes meeting for only seconds at a time and you want to tell her so many things. You want to have that fight you never had. You want to tell her you’ve missed her. That she looks beautiful in that dress.
And that you love her.
But you know it will ruin it. It will ruin it, and right now, this is good enough.
Her fingers are treaded in your hair and she’s now moved down to kiss that spot just under your chin no one but Callie Torres has ever been able to find. You groan and grab two handfuls of wedding gown as you lift her onto the desk.
She’s reaching for you again, pushing your jacket off and undoing your tie as you feast on her neck and drown in her scent. She breathes heavily as she pulls the shirt tail from your pants and you push her hands away to look at her. You really look at her and she’s looking back. She looks scared. Sad, even. And you’re pretty sure you look the same to her.
You somehow manage to lift the gown over her legs and your lips find hers again, in a softer kiss now as you reach the thick, expensive fabric of the dress. You lower your head a little to take a peak and smile at the ruffles on the silky underwear and in that moment, you’re back at Seattle Grace, in the third floor on call room and she’s your Callie. She’s not the Callie Torres whose wedding you just attended--whose husband is out there somewhere, probably looking for her. It’s you and her. You pull her panties off. The panties that were meant for that other guy to see, and you take great pleasure in knowing he won’t. He won’t because you tuck those white, lace panties in your pocket, and you both pant in anticipation as you pull her closer to the edge of the desk and you quickly undo your belt buckle.
***********************************************************************************
You want him to touch you. And even though his hands are desperately grabbing at you and tugging at you--the damn dress is too complicated and definitely not coming off. He kisses you as his hands roam over your breasts and thighs. You don’t tell him you’ve been ready for him the second you saw him in the church, but you simply pull at his waist gently and slip your hand further south, working him slowly with your hand until he tears his mouth from yours in a low groan and you brace yourself, your eyes glued to his as he grips your hips firmly and slips inside in one, firm stroke.
***********************************************************************************
It’s hot and intense, and everything you remember about being inside her, except, it’s more. Better even.
Her legs are wrapped around your waist, one arm wrapped round your neck while her free hand grips the edge of the desk.
You need to catch your breath, but you can’t stop kissing her. You’re afraid that if you stop, she’ll be gone--
But she moans against your lips and you have to see her, so you force yourself to pull away.
Her brow is slightly furrowed, her eyes dark as she smiles through a quiet moan, and the slow, firm strokes your applying become more forceful. It’s apparently okay with her because her eyes shut close and she throws her head back with a louder moan.
“Your dress is going to wrinkle.” You tell her. And you don’t know why you’ve just said that, and you don’t know why it matters, but she looks up at you, face flushed, the slightest hint of a bead of sweat on her temple.
She groans and leans in close, “I don’t care.”
She’s always known exactly what to say to you. And this time is no different.
She pulls you in for a bruising, sloppy kiss that is all teeth and tongues and moaning from both sides as she urges you to thrust harder into her. She comes fast, and hard, her forehead pressed against yours as she moans loudly and pulls you along with her over the edge.
It must be around ten minutes of kissing, her legs still wrapped around you, your pants around your ankles, your fingers in her hair.
When you finally pull away, breathless and lips bruised.
You don’t know what to say.
************************************************************************************
“Thank you for coming.” You say, and it’s not long before the two of you dissolve into giggles.
He pulls away and you both put yourselves back together. You turn away as he fastens his pants and when you turn back, he’s picked up your flower from where it’s fallen on the floor and he leans in close as he puts it back in your hair, smiling warmly before placing a kiss on your lips.
And that’s when it hits you.
Maybe you should have thought this through before seriously misplacing your panties.
You chest is tightening up and you feel like the air has been suddenly sucked out of the room.
“Shit.”
*************************************************************************************
“Callie--” You say, calmly and cautiously, because she’s repeating ’shit’ over and over and she won’t even look over at you, “--calm down.”
“SHIT!” She says, then catches your eyes for a second and there are actual tears--and she’s panicking. She panicking because she’s breathing pretty heavily.
“Callie--” You say her name again, coming out as a plead and when your eyes meet, she shake her head because she knows what you’re going to ask her.
“No.” She says sternly, “Don’t, Mark.”
“Come with me.” You take a step forward and she takes one back, “Just come with me.”
“It’s too late.” She tells you, and she sounds angry, “It’s TOO. LATE. This was--”
“Don’t say it.” You says firmly, “Don’t say this was a mistake. If I’ve ever done anything right, it was bringing you into my life.”
“But you let me slide right back out.” She says with a bitter chuckle, “You let me go, and now, Mark? It IS too late. I’ve just married a man and he’s waiting for me outside, and he’s not afraid to tell me he loves me.” She says accusingly.
“I didn’t have to--” She laughs again and you quickly step between her and the door, “--I didn’t have to.” You repeat bitterly, “And if it really was too late, than what are you doing in here with me?”
“Stop it.”
“You don’t want him.”
“I do! I did--”
“Then why did you invite me? If you didn’t want me to still want you--if you thought I didn’t still want you and that I wasn’t going to show, then you must have been seriously delusional.” She looks away for a second and you step closer, invading her personal space, “Don’t’ think about him. Don’t think about your parents and all those guests. All those people out there don’t matter. WE matter. You and me in here. That’s it.” You tilt her chin up and make her look at you, “Go out there and fake smiles and pretend you still want that life if you want.” You smile sadly at her, “I’m going to be waiting for you. I’m staying at the Hilton downtown. Room fifteen-oh-eight. I’m not leaving without you.”
She stares back for what seems like an eternity before wordlessly moving past and slipping out the door, and you feel like you’re going to lose your footing. You hope she shows.
You turn sharply as the door opens again and her mouth is against yours again. She smiles as she slips back out into the hallway.
You smile to yourself and take a deep breath, “She’s going to show.” And you can literally feel your life come into shape.
***********************************************************************************
You take a few calming breaths as you make your way back to the reception and smooth your palms over your dress. Your stomach flip flopping with nerves. And anticipation. And anxiety because you just want to this to be over soon so you can head back home.
You figure you can deal with the aftermath when it comes. You smile and relax because you know you won’ t be alone.
FIN
Title: Cheers, Darling/Fade Into the Background
Rating: R
Pairing: Callie/Mark
Disclaimer: All characters, events, settings and situations mentioned in this work are sole property of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for profit, in constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context and are not intended to be defamatory or factual in anyway.
Summary: skiing, being code for drinking in a cabin
**************************************************************************************************************************************************************************
Cheers, darling
Here’s to you and your lover boy
Cheer’s darling
I’ve got years to wait around for you
cheers, darling
I’ve got your wedding bells in my ear
Cheers, darling
**************************************************************************************************************************************************************************
It’s been years since you’ve seen her. It’s been--two years to be exact. Twenty four months, if you want to get technical.
And seven hundred and thirty days, if you want to be honest with yourself and admit that your pathetic and you’ve been counting the days.
It didn’t happen abruptly. There was no huge realization of feelings for each other that slowly brewed until it got so intense someone blew up and started a huge fight that caused shouting and tears and accusations. Sometimes you wish it had been that way. Maybe things would have been different now. Maybe if either one had been a little more honest, you wouldn’t be where you are right now. You wish sometimes, that your daily lunches hadn’t dissolved into occasional coffee breaks.
Eventually, she asked you for the spare key to her apartment she’d given you, to make copies after losing hers, and it slipped your mind to ever ask for it back.
She stopped coming around late at night. Eventually, all the things she’d left in your hotel room--which she always said you should get rid of and get a real place to live--were gone. And all the things you had left in her apartment had been returned in some form or another.
Pretty soon, you were lucky to say two words to each other.
One day she was gone.
Started a fellowship in New York or something. You drank that night and didn’t speak or want to hear her name mentioned for about two months, and when you finally grew the balls to call her, her number was disconnected.
You still think back on how it all slowly ended and you wish it hadn’t. You dated Lexie. Callie pretended not to care and engrossed herself in one blonde after another. You were still good friends. You know she will always be the best friend you could never keep. You became enthralled in ignoring that you were in love with Callie by pretending you were in love with another woman. Lexie Grey.
Lexie Grey--you laugh sometimes when you think about your relationship--if you can call it that--with Lexie Grey. It was ridiculous and the one night stand that lasted eleven months and you have no idea how. You don’t even know what kept you there. You don’t even know what kept you interested enough to be faithful the entire time.
Derek knew before you that it was over.
And boy, were you glad when YOU knew.
Your life was a mess then. It was a mess when she left, and to say your life is a mess now, would be an understatement.
You have an apartment now. It’s big and clean and you have a leather couch that screams ‘eternal bachelor’. Now, you sit in your leather sofa, staring back at Derek because that’s all you can do after the news he’s just given you.
You’ve asked him to go skiing with you for the weekend--skiing, being code for drinking in a cabin--but he’s just informed you that he will be busy. You have asked him why, and after he apprehensively tells you don’t want to know, you call him a little bitch and make him tell you. You wish you hadn’t.
“Callie Torres is getting married.” He says and you’re sure you’re about to swallow your own tongue, “Meredith is a bridesmaid.” He adds with a chuckle, and as you keep staring back at him with a bitter taste in your mouth, you can see it dawn on his pretty little face that you might not be okay with that little piece of information just yet.
“She’s getting married?” You manage to choke out and add a graceful scratch of the chin to let him know that you are, in fact, okay.
“To some pediatrician she met in New York.” He pauses to clear his throat, “Are you okay?”
“Have you met him?” You ask, not really averting the question, but really just concerned about this jackass Callie’s apparently over the moon for. Callie WOULD marry a pediatrician, “What’s he like?”
“I’ve met him once. He seems nice.”
“Is he--” You wave your hand around and stammer because you don’t know how to ask, but then you decide you might as well just do it, “Is he good looking?”
Derek laughs, but stops when he realizes you’re serious, “Listen--she--” he rubs his temple with his index finger and shifts in his seat.
“What?”
“She sent you an invitation. I don’t know if you want--”
“Give it to me.” You say all too quickly and Derek looks at you in that way that tells you he wants to tell you to not get involved, because you always get involved too late, but you hold your hand out and ask for it again, “Give me the invitation.” You snatch the eggshell colored envelope form his hand and open it quickly. You read over HIS name once and then find yourself reading hers over and over, “This is in New York this Saturday?”
“You’re not really thinking of going…’
“Why not? I look good in a suit. I’ve got vacation time. I want to see my good friend, Callie Torres.”
“Mark--” Derek says, warning in his tone and all you do is repeat that you’re going.
+++++++
You didn’t think it would be this hard. You didn’t think about it on the drive to the airport. You slept through the entire flight. And you even checked out one of the guests as you arrived with Derek and Meredith to the ceremony.
It’s a huge cathedral. You didn’t expect anything else from Callie’s family.
And as it gets closer to six-thirty and the guests start to make their way inside, you following suit, you start to feel the loss you’ve managed to ignore this entire time. Your stomach is in knots and before you know it, the groom is standing at the altar with his best man. He’s tall and fit and seems like a nice enough guy--and that, for some reason, gives you enough reason to hate his guts and wish him a slow, painful death.
You still haven’t seen her. You’ve seen Cristina Yang, whom you see at work everyday, but never really talk to anymore and she’s asked you if you’ve spoken to Callie. You tell her no and all she says is, “Good.” Warning you with a glare to not fuck it up.
You can’t keep still now as the strings quartet starts to play and you smile, because only Callie Torres would request the song that plays as she walks down the aisle to be a Led Zeppelin song. Derek pats your shoulder reassuringly, but you shrug him off and tell him to get off you. Because you don’t need the pity and you don’t need a hand on your shoulder telling you it’s going to be okay. What you need, is a shot of something toxic. What you need is some scotch. What you need--is to remember to breathe, because the bridesmaids are making their way down the aisle right behind the cute little flower girl that looks a little like Callie.
You stand up with the rest of the guests as Callie makes her way inside and down the aisle and you really don’t’ give a shit if you’re breathing or not anymore because you’d be happy to just stand here and watch her.
You never thought of Callie as the traditional, white dress wearing bride. But she can pulls it off so well. She looks beautiful.
Her hair falls bellow her shoulders in soft waves, in a form fitting dress that hugs her entire body in a way that must not be appropriate, until the white dress falls into a long train. You smile at the almost modest cut of the front of the dress. Just like Callie to be just a little bit dramatic. There’s a white lily in her hair and her skin looks like it tastes just as sweet as before.
She walks past your pew and you kind of wish she would have seen you in passing. But she can’t stop looking at that idiot in the ill fitting tuxedo.
It physically hurts to sit there and watch as her father hands her over. You fight the urge to stand up, throw her over your shoulder and take her away from all of this. You want to sneeze or something to get her to at least look over.
It’s finally over and after you’ve used all the self control you have in your body to keep from ripping the guy’s head off when he kisses her, you watch sadly as he walks with her toward the double doors. For some insane reason, god decides to cut you a break for just a second, when her eyes drift for about a millisecond and she does a double take at spotting you in the crowd. You freeze as the smile that’s been planted on her face throughout the ceremony fades into shock.
You smile like an idiot at her as she loses you then finds you again through the pesky crowd. And then, much to your stupidly excited heart, she smiles. It’s small and it’s gone too soon , but it’s there and it’s yours, and you can almost hear your heart beating in your earlobes.
++++++++
It’s your fourth glass of scotch and you hate that Callie’s parents are so social because there are about four hundred people and even though your eyes have met exactly eight times, you haven’t been able to say one word to each other, because other people keep getting in the way.
The best man starts his stupid speech and you don’t notice that Callie watches you grab a bottle of scotch from the bar and head out because you’re really way too drunk for this and you get angry when you’re drunk.
You take a long swig of the beautiful bottle of scotch and you stumble out of the large party and into a hall.
************************************************************************************
The ring is too tight.
You’ve seen Mark, and suddenly, your wedding band is too tight. You’re engagement ring is too big and vulgar, and you hate it.
You were fine. You’ve BEEN fine. You don’t even know what demon possessed you when you decided it would be a good idea to send him the invitation. You didn’t expect him to show. You haven’t heard from him in two years or so, why would it be any different now?
You know you brought this on yourself. Everything was fine.
You were happy and content--maybe more content than happy--and you had a great man in your life waiting for you at the other end of the cathedral.
You were married. And content.
And then you see something resembling Mark Sloan and you lose your hearing and ability to speak. You turn over your shoulder and through the crowd, and sure enough, he’s standing there, behind Derek--you can’t breathe and you can’t help but smile, because in that instant, you’re happy.
You’re really truly happy to just see him, but the guilt doesn’t hit you until you reach the double doors, fresh air bathes your face and you feel a gentle tug at your arm, which is linked to your husband’s, and you don’t see him anymore.
You search the congratulating crowd for him, but you don’t see him.
You ask Cristina about him and she tells you to stop it. You ignore her and suddenly feel bothered by the way your now husband kisses you.
You hate this huge party. It’s too much, but your parents are ridiculously happy that you’ve finally done ONE thing the way they think it should go, and so you suck it up and sneak a sip of champagne here and there. The real party went down the previous night with just Cristina, Meredith and Sadie. You drank all day and didn’t really stop to think about him.
You realize now, as you shake hands and people that claim to have known you when you were a baby congratulate Steven and kiss your cheek and hug you, that you shouldn’t have sent that invitation out with Derek if you were expecting to focus on your wedding, instead of the man sitting in a corner table with a glass of alcohol in his hand.
You keep wanting to make your way through to at least say hi. Your body moves at its own accord towards him. It always has.
And you wonder how exactly it happened that he just wasn’t a part of your life any longer.
You lived a somewhat quiet life in New York. Some nights you thought about calling him, but your pride always won over and you never did--you had things to say. You had things you needed to tell him and demand and--you couldn’t. Eventually the need to hear from him was gone.
Not that he ever left your thoughts. He didn’t. You would be lying if you said he did. But, eventually you decided it was something that should have happened but didn’t and your chance had passed.
You met Steven and he was great. He IS great. He’s fun and outgoing and your parents love him. And when he proposed, he had a huge diamond ring and flowers. And you thought--this is a man who took the time to pick these out. You thought that it was time for you to deserve him. So you said yes.
When you make love, he looks at you and all the love you see in his eyes makes you look away. You don’t know why.
You see Mark slip out as Steven’s best friend, Josh makes a toast and you excuse yourself to go to the restroom. Cristina asks you where you’re going and you answer her with a look that says you both know where you’re going. She shakes her head and you brush her off.
You just want to talk to him. You just want to see him. Say hi. Maybe give him a hug and tell him you’ve missed him. See if he’s happy.
See if he’s happy with anyone in particular.
You twist both your wedding band and engagement ring and they feel so tight. You feel like they’re a noose around your neck and you let your hand fall to your side as you follow him down the hallway, just barely catching him slip into Minister Rogers’ office.
Its too easy.
You move too quickly and the doorknob is too soft to turn.
When you open the door and see him sitting there, you KNOW you should leave. You know you should keep your distance, because all these years of silence between you have suddenly reemerged and you want to tell him things. You could fight and argue. You could tell him he’s an asshole for not calling. That you thought he was a sleaze bag for dating Lexie Grey. That you’ve missed him.
But all the only thing that slips from your lips is, “Hi.”
************************************************************************************
You fucking hate the world. You fucking hate the fucking entire world and you just need a dark place to sit in and drink.
You jiggle doors and god damn it, they’re all locked.
But one isn’t. You push the door open, peak your head in and make sure there is no one there. It looks like an office of some sort. You spot a large cross in the wall and decide this is the Minister’s place of business.
“Fuck it.” You say drunkenly to yourself and close the door behind you.
You take a seat behind the large desk, in the huge, leather chair that smells like tobacco. You prop your feet up on the aged mahogany and smirk proudly to yourself as you take another long swig of the liquor you’ve stopped tasting a long time ago.
The door swings open and you quickly take your feet off the desk and quickly search your brain for an excuse. You got lost. You’re drunk. You were looking for the bathroom.
“Hi.” You hear and you stop and look up as the door closes and the lock clicks.
“Hey.” You reply and you squint in the dark. Yep, it’s her. She’s standing at the door. And she’s smiling--or at least, you hope she is.
She starts to move toward the desk and just as she reaches it, your legs move before you can tell them to, You’ve moved the rest of your body off the chair and you’re pulling her against you, your hand in the back of her head as you take a second to let the feeling of her against you sink in, your lips barely grazing as your breathing becomes audible in the otherwise quiet room.
Her hands are touching your face, her fingers are skimming your lips, and--she hasn’t said anything.
“You look beautiful.” You say because you mean it, but she doesn’t really want to hear it, because she tells you to shut up and crushes her mouth to yours.
You can melt on her lips. You can live right there. In the way they fit right into yours. And when you slide your tongue against hers and she sighs, your hand slipping under her hair to cradle her nape--yeah, you can pretty much just live there.
You push gently until she’s trapped between you and the desk and you can’t stop kissing. You pull away once in a while, your eyes meeting for only seconds at a time and you want to tell her so many things. You want to have that fight you never had. You want to tell her you’ve missed her. That she looks beautiful in that dress.
And that you love her.
But you know it will ruin it. It will ruin it, and right now, this is good enough.
Her fingers are treaded in your hair and she’s now moved down to kiss that spot just under your chin no one but Callie Torres has ever been able to find. You groan and grab two handfuls of wedding gown as you lift her onto the desk.
She’s reaching for you again, pushing your jacket off and undoing your tie as you feast on her neck and drown in her scent. She breathes heavily as she pulls the shirt tail from your pants and you push her hands away to look at her. You really look at her and she’s looking back. She looks scared. Sad, even. And you’re pretty sure you look the same to her.
You somehow manage to lift the gown over her legs and your lips find hers again, in a softer kiss now as you reach the thick, expensive fabric of the dress. You lower your head a little to take a peak and smile at the ruffles on the silky underwear and in that moment, you’re back at Seattle Grace, in the third floor on call room and she’s your Callie. She’s not the Callie Torres whose wedding you just attended--whose husband is out there somewhere, probably looking for her. It’s you and her. You pull her panties off. The panties that were meant for that other guy to see, and you take great pleasure in knowing he won’t. He won’t because you tuck those white, lace panties in your pocket, and you both pant in anticipation as you pull her closer to the edge of the desk and you quickly undo your belt buckle.
***********************************************************************************
You want him to touch you. And even though his hands are desperately grabbing at you and tugging at you--the damn dress is too complicated and definitely not coming off. He kisses you as his hands roam over your breasts and thighs. You don’t tell him you’ve been ready for him the second you saw him in the church, but you simply pull at his waist gently and slip your hand further south, working him slowly with your hand until he tears his mouth from yours in a low groan and you brace yourself, your eyes glued to his as he grips your hips firmly and slips inside in one, firm stroke.
***********************************************************************************
It’s hot and intense, and everything you remember about being inside her, except, it’s more. Better even.
Her legs are wrapped around your waist, one arm wrapped round your neck while her free hand grips the edge of the desk.
You need to catch your breath, but you can’t stop kissing her. You’re afraid that if you stop, she’ll be gone--
But she moans against your lips and you have to see her, so you force yourself to pull away.
Her brow is slightly furrowed, her eyes dark as she smiles through a quiet moan, and the slow, firm strokes your applying become more forceful. It’s apparently okay with her because her eyes shut close and she throws her head back with a louder moan.
“Your dress is going to wrinkle.” You tell her. And you don’t know why you’ve just said that, and you don’t know why it matters, but she looks up at you, face flushed, the slightest hint of a bead of sweat on her temple.
She groans and leans in close, “I don’t care.”
She’s always known exactly what to say to you. And this time is no different.
She pulls you in for a bruising, sloppy kiss that is all teeth and tongues and moaning from both sides as she urges you to thrust harder into her. She comes fast, and hard, her forehead pressed against yours as she moans loudly and pulls you along with her over the edge.
It must be around ten minutes of kissing, her legs still wrapped around you, your pants around your ankles, your fingers in her hair.
When you finally pull away, breathless and lips bruised.
You don’t know what to say.
************************************************************************************
“Thank you for coming.” You say, and it’s not long before the two of you dissolve into giggles.
He pulls away and you both put yourselves back together. You turn away as he fastens his pants and when you turn back, he’s picked up your flower from where it’s fallen on the floor and he leans in close as he puts it back in your hair, smiling warmly before placing a kiss on your lips.
And that’s when it hits you.
Maybe you should have thought this through before seriously misplacing your panties.
You chest is tightening up and you feel like the air has been suddenly sucked out of the room.
“Shit.”
*************************************************************************************
“Callie--” You say, calmly and cautiously, because she’s repeating ’shit’ over and over and she won’t even look over at you, “--calm down.”
“SHIT!” She says, then catches your eyes for a second and there are actual tears--and she’s panicking. She panicking because she’s breathing pretty heavily.
“Callie--” You say her name again, coming out as a plead and when your eyes meet, she shake her head because she knows what you’re going to ask her.
“No.” She says sternly, “Don’t, Mark.”
“Come with me.” You take a step forward and she takes one back, “Just come with me.”
“It’s too late.” She tells you, and she sounds angry, “It’s TOO. LATE. This was--”
“Don’t say it.” You says firmly, “Don’t say this was a mistake. If I’ve ever done anything right, it was bringing you into my life.”
“But you let me slide right back out.” She says with a bitter chuckle, “You let me go, and now, Mark? It IS too late. I’ve just married a man and he’s waiting for me outside, and he’s not afraid to tell me he loves me.” She says accusingly.
“I didn’t have to--” She laughs again and you quickly step between her and the door, “--I didn’t have to.” You repeat bitterly, “And if it really was too late, than what are you doing in here with me?”
“Stop it.”
“You don’t want him.”
“I do! I did--”
“Then why did you invite me? If you didn’t want me to still want you--if you thought I didn’t still want you and that I wasn’t going to show, then you must have been seriously delusional.” She looks away for a second and you step closer, invading her personal space, “Don’t’ think about him. Don’t think about your parents and all those guests. All those people out there don’t matter. WE matter. You and me in here. That’s it.” You tilt her chin up and make her look at you, “Go out there and fake smiles and pretend you still want that life if you want.” You smile sadly at her, “I’m going to be waiting for you. I’m staying at the Hilton downtown. Room fifteen-oh-eight. I’m not leaving without you.”
She stares back for what seems like an eternity before wordlessly moving past and slipping out the door, and you feel like you’re going to lose your footing. You hope she shows.
You turn sharply as the door opens again and her mouth is against yours again. She smiles as she slips back out into the hallway.
You smile to yourself and take a deep breath, “She’s going to show.” And you can literally feel your life come into shape.
***********************************************************************************
You take a few calming breaths as you make your way back to the reception and smooth your palms over your dress. Your stomach flip flopping with nerves. And anticipation. And anxiety because you just want to this to be over soon so you can head back home.
You figure you can deal with the aftermath when it comes. You smile and relax because you know you won’ t be alone.
FIN