The Things Change: Chapter Thirteen, Part I
Title: The More Things Change
Rating: T
Summary: “Hours later Callie felt her best friend slip away silently into the cold and inexorable night while they were all still trapped amidst the wilderness. She held onto him, tighter now; somewhere a slight distance away Kepner was being mauled by the sinister gifts of the wild.” In a world where Arizona wasn't in Seattle when the plane crashed. Three years & PTSD, can she get Callie back?
Author: Pasha
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to SR and ABC. I make not profit. No copyright infringement intended.
Canon Till: 7 x 07
Pairing: C/A
Thirteen, Part I
No, Maybe, Nope, Yeah, Damn! (I)
Down the Rabbit Hole
A breath, then thought,
All soon forgot,
Till lying still, we're all but not,
And this rabbit hole is just a grave;
And Alice smells of daisies.
- Pasha D.
A/N: Thoughts, sarcastic comments, Calliesque word jumbles are in 'single quotes.'
Dreams and Flashbacks (& sometimes tonal emphasis in narrative and dialogue) are in Italics.
Some spellings may differ on account of me being Indian and growing up with the Queen's English.
All mistakes on this one are mine.
Read, Review and Enjoy! Feed this hungry writer with a review shaped candy.
Onward
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
The bath was warm and lazy. Her book was laid away on the side on a box-table, but the glass of red she'd picked out for herself was ever more a part of the experience. Warm wisps of steam slithered into the air, a luxuriant paralysis almost incumbent in the moment. The heat lapped at her skin, till it seeped into her muscles and her bones; she felt herself slipping into slumber, unaware of the caustic fear that would soon claw at her - right in the middle of her chest…making its way…traveling outwards…till it owned all of her…till there was nothing left.
Her chest was heavy and tight. Dull aches chased her into a state of semi-consciousness. This wasn't as simple as falling asleep, or slipping into a vast and apathetic emptiness. This was hard and painful. She was in the middle of the woods, in a junk yard, in the biggest, most elaborate coffin manufactured for mankind. The cold had made its way right into the core of her being, blossoming and growing strong, dulling her heart and taking her light with it. In her lap lay a dead man; if she were lucky she would join him soon enough. 'Where was he? Where was Mark now?' She hoped it was somewhere warm.
It was still painful; the cold. But, it was now easy enough to give into. It was more painful to fight it.
The thunder outside beat down in a frantic staccato and the darkness echoed with her name. It was odd though… the voice didn't spell out her name in that almost informal welcoming caress it should have. No whispers of "Calliope," making her heady, luring her into a pleasurable abyss…just the frightened and escalating, near jarring call -
- "Dr. Torres?! Dr. Torres?!" - Her name punctuated by the thunder. It all made her curious; curious enough to once again meander through the darkness till she pushed its heavy veil up.
"Dr. Torres! I'm not being....." - The words were garbled and syncopated in the thickness that enveloped her - "just worried.....answer.....leave you alone......open...please!"
Her eyes were wider still as her mind slowly crept towards consciousness. This wasn't the night sky; above her was the cream coloured ceiling, swimming like an image through the smoke, until she realised where she was.
Callie shot up with a chocked cough, shivering as her lungs screamed for air. In the upward motion, her hand caught the sharp edge of the faucet sideways. The pain barely registered as she kept gasping for air. Suddenly she could feel everything all at once, but the most acute of them all was the excruciating cold that prickled on her skin and hollowed her chest, and the loud banging at her door.
She struggled out of the bath tub, walking with unsure footing, and stopped at the door to put on a bath robe.
The woman at the door saw a sopping mess open it. Dr. Torres looked like a drowned rat. She had no way of knowing if the woman, who was such a torrential success on the stage just a meager forty minutes ago, was this same woman - the water from her hair seemed to mix with that around her eyes - 'had she been crying? How could anyone someone so messed up look so enticing?' Her skin was pale, and her lips looked to be a light shade of blue as she stood there in the doorway, shivering.
"Oh my God, Dr. Torres?! Are you alright?!" - Her voice was flooded with real concern, the kind that was professional, but personal all the same.
Callie tried to reply, but only her teeth chattered in a muted and indiscernible yes, but the message was clearer once she thought to nod her head.
"Well" - the woman replied with a tremulous smile, as she began to lightly but firmly force her way into the brunette's room - "you'll forgive me if I don't believe you."
Callie watched her with a look full of shy curiosity and wide eyed wonder. She stood at her door for a while and then decided on following the other woman inside.
"I was outside" - said the woman while looking around the room. She stopped to scratch her head and gave out a tiny and frustrated sigh - "where's your doctor's kit?"
Callie dumbly pointed at her cupboard. She was now feeling the chill abate as sense began to creep into her, making her feel more and more alert - "why?"
"I'm sorry, why what?" - asked the woman as she retrieved Callie's doctor's kit and gingerly sat down in one of the cushiony chairs. She pointed for Callie to take the seat in front of her. Her manner was calm, soft, and jovial even, but she definitely had an air of authority about her.
Callie slowly sat down in the chair, very consciously righting her robe so as to guard herself from the searching eyes of her present companion - "why were you banging at my door?"
The woman looked at her for a moment, searching to see if the question had in it an edge of animosity, but her search came up empty. It would seem Doctor Torres was just plain curious.
"I…uh…wanted to check one last time if maybe you'd consider joining me…us…for dinner and drinks?" - She answered, although her eyes were now attentive to the task at hand. She had found the antiseptic, the cotton and the adhesive gauze packaging to tend to Dr. Torres's wound.
"Your hand" - she said, nodding at Callie's left arm.
"What about it?" - The brunette asked bluntly, still feeling a little lost.
"It's bleeding, Dr. Torres."
"Oh."
"Yeah" - the other woman smiled, it was oddly comforting and alluring, the smile moved slowly, almost glacially so, from her lips to her eyes; Callie was quick to note that she had intelligent eyes - "oh is right! You mind if I?" - She let the question hang as she pointed towards Callie's injured hand.
Callie nodded her agreement.
As she examined the hand, the woman felt this need to fill the obtrusive silence that made the air between them dense - "hmmm… doesn't look too bad" - she nodded to herself - "it just needs a wrap, no stitches" - she said with a slightly excited smile while she began dabbing on the wound.
Callie looked up from the hand, hissing from the sting of the antiseptic.
The other woman looked up, into her eyes and felt a moment of just blankness wash over her, she stuttered next as she tried to maintain her visage - "I never thought a hardcore Bone-doc like you'd be such a baby, Dr. Tor…" -
- "Callie…" - the brunette spoke out of turn - "You can call me Callie."
"Alright, then! Callie!" - She said with a cheery, almost suave smile that made Callie feel a sense of deja vous, but the woman's warm fingernail tracing a line on her wrist made her almost cringe - "I'm Dr. Boswell" - she looked up from the hand she was treating, Boswell's eyes were something of a growing mystery to the brunette…she hadn't been looked at like that in a while - "but, you can call me Lauren."
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
A/N: I know, short as heck. But, this needs to be in parts. Chill out, have faith and stick around for more. It's about to get interesting folks.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
The Mystery Guitar Man, he's already somewhat of a celebrity. Him, I love.
It (the vid) is pretty old though...
Rating: T
Summary: “Hours later Callie felt her best friend slip away silently into the cold and inexorable night while they were all still trapped amidst the wilderness. She held onto him, tighter now; somewhere a slight distance away Kepner was being mauled by the sinister gifts of the wild.” In a world where Arizona wasn't in Seattle when the plane crashed. Three years & PTSD, can she get Callie back?
Author: Pasha
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to SR and ABC. I make not profit. No copyright infringement intended.
Canon Till: 7 x 07
Pairing: C/A
Thirteen, Part I
No, Maybe, Nope, Yeah, Damn! (I)
Down the Rabbit Hole
A breath, then thought,
All soon forgot,
Till lying still, we're all but not,
And this rabbit hole is just a grave;
And Alice smells of daisies.
- Pasha D.
A/N: Thoughts, sarcastic comments, Calliesque word jumbles are in 'single quotes.'
Dreams and Flashbacks (& sometimes tonal emphasis in narrative and dialogue) are in Italics.
Some spellings may differ on account of me being Indian and growing up with the Queen's English.
All mistakes on this one are mine.
Read, Review and Enjoy! Feed this hungry writer with a review shaped candy.
Onward
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
The bath was warm and lazy. Her book was laid away on the side on a box-table, but the glass of red she'd picked out for herself was ever more a part of the experience. Warm wisps of steam slithered into the air, a luxuriant paralysis almost incumbent in the moment. The heat lapped at her skin, till it seeped into her muscles and her bones; she felt herself slipping into slumber, unaware of the caustic fear that would soon claw at her - right in the middle of her chest…making its way…traveling outwards…till it owned all of her…till there was nothing left.
Her chest was heavy and tight. Dull aches chased her into a state of semi-consciousness. This wasn't as simple as falling asleep, or slipping into a vast and apathetic emptiness. This was hard and painful. She was in the middle of the woods, in a junk yard, in the biggest, most elaborate coffin manufactured for mankind. The cold had made its way right into the core of her being, blossoming and growing strong, dulling her heart and taking her light with it. In her lap lay a dead man; if she were lucky she would join him soon enough. 'Where was he? Where was Mark now?' She hoped it was somewhere warm.
It was still painful; the cold. But, it was now easy enough to give into. It was more painful to fight it.
The thunder outside beat down in a frantic staccato and the darkness echoed with her name. It was odd though… the voice didn't spell out her name in that almost informal welcoming caress it should have. No whispers of "Calliope," making her heady, luring her into a pleasurable abyss…just the frightened and escalating, near jarring call -
- "Dr. Torres?! Dr. Torres?!" - Her name punctuated by the thunder. It all made her curious; curious enough to once again meander through the darkness till she pushed its heavy veil up.
"Dr. Torres! I'm not being....." - The words were garbled and syncopated in the thickness that enveloped her - "just worried.....answer.....leave you alone......open...please!"
Her eyes were wider still as her mind slowly crept towards consciousness. This wasn't the night sky; above her was the cream coloured ceiling, swimming like an image through the smoke, until she realised where she was.
Callie shot up with a chocked cough, shivering as her lungs screamed for air. In the upward motion, her hand caught the sharp edge of the faucet sideways. The pain barely registered as she kept gasping for air. Suddenly she could feel everything all at once, but the most acute of them all was the excruciating cold that prickled on her skin and hollowed her chest, and the loud banging at her door.
She struggled out of the bath tub, walking with unsure footing, and stopped at the door to put on a bath robe.
The woman at the door saw a sopping mess open it. Dr. Torres looked like a drowned rat. She had no way of knowing if the woman, who was such a torrential success on the stage just a meager forty minutes ago, was this same woman - the water from her hair seemed to mix with that around her eyes - 'had she been crying? How could anyone someone so messed up look so enticing?' Her skin was pale, and her lips looked to be a light shade of blue as she stood there in the doorway, shivering.
"Oh my God, Dr. Torres?! Are you alright?!" - Her voice was flooded with real concern, the kind that was professional, but personal all the same.
Callie tried to reply, but only her teeth chattered in a muted and indiscernible yes, but the message was clearer once she thought to nod her head.
"Well" - the woman replied with a tremulous smile, as she began to lightly but firmly force her way into the brunette's room - "you'll forgive me if I don't believe you."
Callie watched her with a look full of shy curiosity and wide eyed wonder. She stood at her door for a while and then decided on following the other woman inside.
"I was outside" - said the woman while looking around the room. She stopped to scratch her head and gave out a tiny and frustrated sigh - "where's your doctor's kit?"
Callie dumbly pointed at her cupboard. She was now feeling the chill abate as sense began to creep into her, making her feel more and more alert - "why?"
"I'm sorry, why what?" - asked the woman as she retrieved Callie's doctor's kit and gingerly sat down in one of the cushiony chairs. She pointed for Callie to take the seat in front of her. Her manner was calm, soft, and jovial even, but she definitely had an air of authority about her.
Callie slowly sat down in the chair, very consciously righting her robe so as to guard herself from the searching eyes of her present companion - "why were you banging at my door?"
The woman looked at her for a moment, searching to see if the question had in it an edge of animosity, but her search came up empty. It would seem Doctor Torres was just plain curious.
"I…uh…wanted to check one last time if maybe you'd consider joining me…us…for dinner and drinks?" - She answered, although her eyes were now attentive to the task at hand. She had found the antiseptic, the cotton and the adhesive gauze packaging to tend to Dr. Torres's wound.
"Your hand" - she said, nodding at Callie's left arm.
"What about it?" - The brunette asked bluntly, still feeling a little lost.
"It's bleeding, Dr. Torres."
"Oh."
"Yeah" - the other woman smiled, it was oddly comforting and alluring, the smile moved slowly, almost glacially so, from her lips to her eyes; Callie was quick to note that she had intelligent eyes - "oh is right! You mind if I?" - She let the question hang as she pointed towards Callie's injured hand.
Callie nodded her agreement.
As she examined the hand, the woman felt this need to fill the obtrusive silence that made the air between them dense - "hmmm… doesn't look too bad" - she nodded to herself - "it just needs a wrap, no stitches" - she said with a slightly excited smile while she began dabbing on the wound.
Callie looked up from the hand, hissing from the sting of the antiseptic.
The other woman looked up, into her eyes and felt a moment of just blankness wash over her, she stuttered next as she tried to maintain her visage - "I never thought a hardcore Bone-doc like you'd be such a baby, Dr. Tor…" -
- "Callie…" - the brunette spoke out of turn - "You can call me Callie."
"Alright, then! Callie!" - She said with a cheery, almost suave smile that made Callie feel a sense of deja vous, but the woman's warm fingernail tracing a line on her wrist made her almost cringe - "I'm Dr. Boswell" - she looked up from the hand she was treating, Boswell's eyes were something of a growing mystery to the brunette…she hadn't been looked at like that in a while - "but, you can call me Lauren."
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
A/N: I know, short as heck. But, this needs to be in parts. Chill out, have faith and stick around for more. It's about to get interesting folks.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
The Mystery Guitar Man, he's already somewhat of a celebrity. Him, I love.
It (the vid) is pretty old though...
Click to view