(no subject)
Title: When The Sky Pours Down Like A Fountain
Part: 14/15
Pairing: Namely Mark/Callie but glimpses of others will be portrayed throughout.
Rating: R
Summary: Mark and Callie prepare for their son's arrival but nothing will go as expected
Previous parts can be found here.
A/N: I took some time away from this story, and I apologize for that, but I have it straightened out now, and there's one more part. Thanks for remembering, if you did, or rereading if you had to go that route like I did. Enjoy-
~-~-~-~-~-~
the Silence
~-~-~-~-~-~
When the pain becomes insurmountable, when they begin to stumble, it helps to have a fall back. Something or someone to rely on. It's a lesson in self-soothing.
People question how they are both upright, how they are on their own two feet when an event so unthinkable has occurred. And in the end the answer is that there is no other option. The world moves with or without you, and a participatory involvement is involuntary. Action and reaction. People need sutures, people need bones reset and screwed back together. People desire a hand, a friend, a calming voice through their medical turmoil. It's what they do. It's what they know. It is relaxing. The blood, the lacerations, the gore, every cut, every stitch. They are surgeons. It's a comforting routine.
For Callie there are other methods. Alcohol and nicotine are her choices of poison. At least, outwardly. But what no one knows, what no one cares to know is that there is a tiny blue sock in her coat at all times. When things become to hectic, when she feels like crumbling under the stress, her fingers find the reliable fabric. Squish, stroke, twine. Whatever the situation calls for. And it helps, to have that small part of her son in her pocket. Reachable but not whole, a piece but not the entirety of his essence. Just enough to keep her going. Just enough to keep her sane.
Mark had inadvertently devoted his life to one thing-the family he was building. So that when the bottom dropped out of that, and when Callie clear cut their home of any memorabilia, he was left with his memories and a crinkled picture in his wallet of the day Darren was born. He considers it a good luck charm, if nothing else. He carries it everywhere. In his shorts when he jogs, in his scrubs when he operates, and in his jeans while in transit. It's at the point where he can't imagine functioning without the scrap of paper burning a hole against his thigh, creased across Callie's face. Last week, in the midst of Callie's morning sickness, he thought he had misplaced it and suffered a mild panic attack until he located it in the pocket of his other dirty jeans. The picture, the only one he has, the only one he assumes still even exists, is what gets him through the nights of Callie hiding in the nursery that isn't theirs. It drags him through the long mornings where the world feels like it may collapse, and it holds his hand through the in between moments that like to mock them.
But are still searching, reaching for the coat tails of a permanent solution that is still ever so illusive in broad daylight. At the end of the week though, the little things-socks, pictures, memories-are only surface items. They keep the world spinning, but they don't keep anyone alive.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Inside their private hell, Mark clutches at the fingers of a woman he has hardly been privy to touch over the last few months. When she mourns, Callie is a private person. Her hurt echoes down the hallway to their bedroom where he lies awake with his own grief. But this, the new baby, it brought them together. Aligned for a moment amongst the expanse of stars and now that too has been viciously snatched away. "Did...Addison...confirm anything?" Mark chokes out after a few seconds.
He only gets a weak nod to which he chooses to take in slowly, brushing the knotted curls on her forehead out of the way. "It's okay," he assures her, saying what needs to be said, a trait he didn't even know he possessed before all this began.
Callie ceases her chant of 'I'm sorry' and looks up. She's done it. Brilliantly acted, if she does say so herself, but there's a pinch of something else. Something very real, lamenting over the fact that the baby that never existed is now no more. And all it takes is a touch of something slightly unbearable or mildly unpleasant to knock her off her horse and send her tumbling down again. The cries turn to sobs, the sobs to screams, and finally Mark takes mercy upon her and buries her pathetic face into his shirt, hesitantly stroking her back as if it may lash out and bite him.
And then they wait. Wait for someone to tell them it's time to stop, time to return to the real world. The place with responsibilities and expectations; no time for whining and moaning.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Addison glares at the lab work in her hands once more, hoping that if she distorts her vision enough she'll begin to see what she wants and not what is actually there. When it fails, she grumbles to herself, drawing the attention of nurses, and then drops her new cause of stress on the counter.
"Whatcha got?" Derek grins, hugging their daughter to his chest tightly.
"Nothing," Addison replies, grabbing Thea's hand and smiling.
"Callie sick?" Derek prods. "She didn't look that bad this morning," he recalls. He remembers her picking at her breakfast sadly, and the throwing up that happened beforehand. He's seen alcohol poisoning and she certainly was far from fitting the bill.
"It's nothing," Addison coos, her voice far from the strong doctor she was impersonating before being sent on maternity leave. But while she's notably distracted with her baby, Derek manages to leaf through the notes and exclaim, "Callie's pregnant!"
Addison feels her stomach bottom out, and her eyes widen instantly. "Damn it Derek," she swats the papers out of his hands, clenching her teeth furiously. "Don't you think it would be nice if they got to hear the news from their doctor instead of Nurse Olivia?"
"I thought-"
"No," Addison interrupts. "I haven't yet- I couldn't. And now you've ruined it."
"Sorry," Derek offers sheepishly, shielding himself with Dora.
"The baby will not save you from my wrath," Addison warns him, "but now I need to go deal with this. And you," she emphasizes, "will sit out here and wait for me without speculating or gossiping with anyone."
"I like when you pretend to be angry," Derek grins.
"I'm serious," Addison tells him, but fails on the delivery. To try and save face she stamps away, heels of her newly resized feet hitting the tile loudly as she goes.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"Sorry to interrupt," Addison gulps, noting how Mark and Callie pull away from one another like a jolt of electricity has just entered the room.
Mark stretches against his chair, back aching already. "Did you- I...she-ugh," he sighs. He's the most unprepared, overeducated person in the room.
Callie gives her head a subtle shake, indicating to Addison to please proceed with what they rehearsed in the car. The tears that cover her cheeks, however, were not in the rough draft. Performances sometimes need to be altered accordingly.
"Congratulations," Addison smirks, desperate to escape, "You're pregnant."
"What?" Callie swallows, feeling the remnants of bitter alcohol churn.
"She's okay?" Mark asks, eyes brightening, facing Addison as if she was his own personal savior instead of the woman who ruined his life. "The baby is okay?"
"Everything appears to be in order," Addison replies, dropping the paperwork onto Callie's lap. She's not screwing around here. There's really an innocent life hanging in the balance of these two fools, and in light of the fact that she hasn't worked since Theadora's birth, she's a little tender and out of practice. Plus Callie seems to still hate her most days, while asking for favors, and it rubs Addison the wrong way.
"But I- you said," Callie begins, "you said I miscarried Addison."
"Yes, well..." Addison grits her teeth and scowls, "Evidently, I was wrong."
"Wrong!" Mark shouts all of a sudden. "How- this is your fucking job Addison! This is a big thing to screw up!"
Addison thought he would be ecstatic, instead the pent up rage is about to be thrown in her very capable direction. "Tell him," she demands.
"Are you sure?" Callie croaks instead, not noticing the fury and tension that is mounting. She takes the edges of the reports delicately, afraid they might burst into flames. It could all end. Right here. Right now.
"Ran it four times," Addison tells her, looking away from Mark, who has jammed his hands into his jeans. "I'll need you to set up an appointment with your doctor before I release you Cal. You understand."
"I thought-" Mark pauses oddly. "Our next appointment was still a few weeks away Callie. You said Addison was-"
"She was," Callie looks up at Addison pointedly, hoping for rescue. "It's just...she's not back yet from maternity leave and she wants to make sure, after this episode, that I get double checked. Right Addison?"
Mark takes to staring at her too after a few seconds, and Addison straightens her shoulders. She said she wouldn't lie for Callie, she won't be untruthful with Mark, one of her oldest friends. Priorities must be made clear here once more. "I have to get back...Derek has Thea and he needs to scrub in soon. I'll send in a nurse."
"Addison?" Mark questions uneasily. He glances at Callie, who is twirling the blanket on her lap through her fingers. "What?" he asks her simply.
Addison said she wouldn't lie, she didn't say she'd be a convincing actress. It's a technical gray area, a place she is fairly comfortable in. She keeps her feet on the ground, back slumped, face concerned. If her appearance raises red flags from Mark then so be it. He deserves to know. He always deserves to at least know. "Callie," she nods.
"Callie what?" Mark asks, growing frustrated by the weird circle in the room.
"I follow patient's wishes. Sometimes no one gets hurt. Sometimes it's for the greater good. And sometimes I wind up in the middle of a lawsuit, but I listen to my patients," Addison says. "Callie you are my patient today. I heard you out. I did what you wanted within the scope of my abilities. I'm done now."
"Addison," Callie remarks sternly, surprising herself. "Go. I'll explain."
Addison lets out a quick laugh. "Right."
"Get out," Callie tells her once more, watching as she slips from the room.
When Mark turns to face her this time, she knows a few tears aren't going to save the day.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Mark's sneaker catches on the shiny tiles below his feet, causing him to stumble forward, reaching out a hand to steady himself on the bed. He watches her feet jerk back as the grip on the lab report tightens. He was hoping to be happy. As soon as he heard Addison save him, he expected some sort of rejoicing to be taking place. Their baby is safe and sound, he heard it from the best. But something is wrong, there's a strange pressure over the room, he feels as though the may explode at any moment. Tiny kernels of popcorn spilling out without notice. It wouldn't take much. "Callie," he croaks, crooking out a finger, beckoning the papers she is holding.
Working overdrive Callie's head spins wildly. There have got to be ways to explain this. She could lie and say she got a false positive, and that when she found out she just didn't feel like bothering him. It was minuscule, a minor detail in their busy lives. But she's only three weeks along. She doesn't know when she would have had to learn the news. It's far too recent to convince him of anything else. Her stomach flips turns as she relinquishes the power in her fingertips.
He's always read far too slow for her liking, choosing to scrutinize scribbles and lines. It's painful though, to wait for the crinkle in his forehead when he begins to understand.
"I'm confused," he mumbles, tossing the news down.
Perhaps she overestimated his capabilities. "Ok," Callie starts hesitantly.
"I don't understand. You said...you said, months ago- Callie. Months."
"Yes," she agrees, watching the wheels turn.
"You lied," he accuses.
"I thought I was," Callie corrects.
"But you weren't," Mark attempts to clarify, for his own sake, since he seems to be the one so far, far behind.
"No," Callie shakes her head, watching him begin to pace the room, arms flinging, slicing through the thick air.
"But you said."
"Yeah," Callie nods slowly, inching her way out from under the blanket. She hasn't had time to understand what the new pregnancy means, she had given up on being successful weeks ago.
"You lied."
"You looked so happy," Callie counters.
"Izzie," Mark breathes suddenly. Stevens and Grey found the initial lab work. Everyone but him has known. She made him a fool.
"What about-"
"So...today, you were in pain and Addison-"
"I called Addison," Callie fills in, suddenly realizing that this may work.
"You knew-"
"I was pretty sure...that I was this time," Callie mumbles softly. "Addison was on maternity leave, I wanted to make sure. She said I was miscarrying and I...I'm sorry I never told you Mark...I'm so sorr-"
"You're okay," Mark smiles insanely, looking back for the first time in a few minutes. "We're still having a baby Cal."
"Yeah," Callie gulps, the knot in her throat refusing to untie.
Somehow this feels so much worse than her initial plan. Suddenly there are too many people involved.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"Thanks a lot!" Callie shouts, dropping her purse on Addison's floor, ignoring Derek's greeting as she marches forward to the couch where the redhead has stationed herself.
"Do not start with me," Addison whispers, stroking Theadora's sleeping cheek.
"Addison, I asked you-"
"I said I wouldn't lie to him," Addison reminds her, not caring that her husband has come to referee the match, just in case.
"How dare you-"
"I did you a favor," Addison seethes. "One that went against a great many of the boundaries I have put in place for myself over the years. And you're ungrateful Callie. You're selfish. Do you know how much you drank last night?"
"I wasn't supposed to be pregnant!" Callie yells back, unsure of who she is more angry at.
"Wait," Derek interrupts. "You aren't pregnant?"
"Apparently I am," Callie spats. "I didn't know," she urges her friend. "I didn't know Addison."
"Fetal Alcohol Syndrome can be caused-"
"Oh my God, do not start with me-"
"And you smoke like a chimney," Addison reminds her.
"You smoke?" Derek asks, trying to keep up, both women ignoring him.
"You're underweight, you don't eat, you don't sleep. How can you reasonably expect not to lose this child too?"
Callie swallows angrily, wanting to snatch away Thea and hand her to Derek so she can do some real damage. "You don't get to preach at me-"
"Consider it a wake up call from your friendly neighborhood Gyno," Addison continues. "Be thankful, get your ass to a doctor, start taking your prenatal vitamins, and get out of my house. I don't want to see you anymore today."
~-~-~-~-~-~
Mark swirls the dark liquid around his cup two more times before taking another sip. It's a game he plays with himself lately, one he invented with Darren was born. There was no sense in going out and getting hammered drunk then so when he did need a gulp of something he made himself count the seconds, the swirls between swallows. This way he can have both. An evening of sitting in a bar, and still be lucid enough to be around small children should the need arise. Also, he found it particularly helpful when Darren went through his refusing to sleep stage. A headache and that kid's screams would have been enough to send Mark straight back from where he came.
"I heard," Meredith greets him, slipping onto a stool a mere space away.
"Suppose everyone has," Mark guesses, looking over at her tequila. "Bad day?"
"Just...not a good one," Meredith grins, smacking her now empty glass on the counter. She sighs and then gives in, Mark's wayward glance imploring her to speak up. "My intern punched Cristina's intern, and Bailey was...well, Bailey about the whole thing. I need a drink."
"And new interns," Mark points out cautiously.
"Yeah," Meredith grins, bringing Joe over to pour them each a shot. "One for the club," she tells him when his eyes need a reason.
"For the club," Mark agrees. Kindred spirits, many years in between, he knows what it is to be Meredith Grey, even when she doesn't.
"Callie is okay, right?" Meredith wonders aloud a few minutes later, after they've drifted off into their own minds.
"Yeah," Mark nods. He doesn't know where she is, he doesn't know if she's coming home, he doesn't know if he trusts her to say a single word of truth anymore, but she is, if nothing else, bordering on okay.
"Good," Meredith decides, leaving her notice of acquiescence, if he should ever need anything, left unsaid.
On the way out the door, headed home to where he hopes Callie is already stationed and resting, Karev tells him to get a better handle on his woman. To which he receives a strong punch to the jaw and an oxygen-sucking shove against the heavy wall.
Mark can't say it didn't feel good.
~-~-~-~-~-~
It takes Callie two laps around her new suburban neighborhood to realize that she doesn't know the layout of the streets as well as she thought she did. She circles the pool once more, lungs steady under her control, mind frustrated by the same damn scenery. Spring is struggling to come to life, buried listlessly under late February frost. The trees barren, shrubs frozen solid, curbs swept clean of dead, soggy leaves. She imagines in the calmer months of the year the area may actually be pretty, but for now it is as dead as her heart, heavy as lead.
Her feet tread along the new pavement, keeping her eyes down as nosy people have surely begun to stare. She's panting roughly, saliva caught in the back of her throat, and her lungs feel like shredding, but it's worth it. The euphoria at the top of the ride, it's all she needs.
She decides to walk the rest of the way back, biding her time.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"Callie," Mark breathes, swooping into the newly opened space on the busy counter. He hasn't seen her in two days, one her on call night, the other his. She looks dead on her feet and a part of him swells with immediate concern, however useless it may be.
"Mark," Callie acknowledges, her head down.
"What time are you off tonight?"
"Seven," Callie answers truthfully, the grip on her pen imperceptibly tightening. His breath lingers over her neck, warm and moist.
Mark nods, gulping back his anticipation. He's been awake for over twenty-four hours and the plan is sounding better and better. A nice dinner, a quick walk around town, and then a serious talk about their future. He's had enough of being love struck, of being complacent in taking what she'll give. It's time to be adults, to collectively decide to move on.
Dr. Wyatt has helped immensely, though he'll never admit it. Mostly, it's just nice to have someone to talk to who isn't Derek, who is hardly paying attention as it is. And while his son's death will always be associated with anguish in his mind, in his soul, the new life they have created is eclipsing his need to mourn.
The step between wanting to move forward and getting to, however, is one of the most difficult.
"I was thinking," Mark clears his throat, his trademark smirk not even traceable as he faces her, "We could have dinner tonight...together."
"Yeah, sure," Callie mumbles into her chart.
"Good," Mark smiles, brushing her arm. "Good."
Callie catches on eventually, her face confused as he bounces away, coffee in hand.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Dinner is tense, filled with the looks of disdain and disappointment that have become a regular statue in their lives. The waiters sense it, Callie thinks, never once asking how they are enjoying their meal. Mark tries to engage her, asks her about work and patients, but fails to notice that ever since she's returned to work, while she may be completely immersed, she doesn't really care.
It's about going through the motions. Treading water until that break comes. What she'd give anything for a drop of hope.
She could count the words she said to him on two hands by the time he escorts her out onto the pier, Seattle's pretty shimmering lights wavering over the water's edge. She takes to it, watching the ripples against the strong wooden planks. Everything is easier than talking to him, being with him.
She's spent the better part of the last two months, Darren's "birthday" excluded, working her ass off to please him. She's tired, nay, exhausted and he doesn't see it. Every sentence is carefully constructed, replies thoughtful. Every outing is worked up to, planned in order to provide the most serenity. Every night at home a constant battle between her heart and mind. She wants to scream until her voice gives out, she wants to run until her legs break.
She wants to be the woman who is still curled into her couch, staring at walls blank as paper. Instead, she's here.
"Come on," Mark instructs, pulling her into his arms, slouching against the railing for a moment before pulling her away and dragging her towards the end of the pier. The moon hangs high in the sky, stars covered by notorious clouds. He's lucky it isn't raining.
They rest upon the damp wooden rails, waiting. Then he begins. "We should talk-"
"I- can't," Callie says back quickly. It's been coming all night, really all week.
"Callie," Mark scolds.
"Mark."
"Fine," Mark huffs, fingers finding his pocket for a moment of sanity. He doesn't need to see the faces of the pictures to know where they are, he doesn't need to feel the glossy side to know that that day was the happiest of his life. He wraps his coat around himself and starts to walk back to the car alone, feeling that she is somewhere behind him.
"Wait!" Callie calls, the shadows of trees intimidating her. He stops, forward facing, and stalls. "Mark," she says softly when she reaches him, a finger running along his chin. "I don't...know how...we do this."
Mark smiles sadly. He doesn't know how it goes either, both of them seemingly taped together until the end of time. Fate seems to want things her own way lately. "I want you to start seeing someone Callie. Someone you like this time, someone you can trust."
"No."
"I know you think that maybe you aren't ready, but we can't wait anymore. We don't have any luxuries. I want it to be different this time."
This time, Callie echoes to herself. Last time there was joy, there was laughter, there was trepidation. She doesn't know how to get any of that back. She doesn't know how to feel anything. "It won't fix anything," she argues instead.
"It has to be different," Mark demands, his face hardening protectively. He can't bring a child into the mess they've made, the nest of deceit, trickery. Children don't deserve that.
He's fighting for his child, but she's fighting for her life.
Callie's mouth trades in anger. Of course she is the one who needs to change, of course he is the perfect one now. He's ready, and she's stuck. He's willing, and she's tied to the past. "You're right," she agrees suddenly. "Maybe...it should be completely different this time. Maybe you should move out," she chokes at the end a little, playing her bluff.
"Wait- what?"
"You can't control me. And you don't get to tell me what I will and will not be doing Mark. I get that you're all whole and healed now, but...I'm not. I'm not! Move on and move out."
"I don't want to," Mark retorts childishly. This was supposed to be going the opposite direction. He was going to cuddle her when she cried, and rub her feet until she fell asleep. He was going to be there from day one as a father this time. They aren't meant to be nearly screaming at each other in the dead of night while other restaurant patrons slowly filter to their vehicles.
"Then I will," Callie decides. She smashes a hand into her small purse, retrieving her cellphone, dialing a familiar number. The operator tells her that a cab will be there shortly, but Mark hasn't stepped away yet. If anything he's gotten closer.
"Callie-" Mark reaches out for her, but receives a stern push against his chest, it serves as a temporary warning. "Cal, baby, this...is ridiculous. We...can talk about this," he repeats, months of therapy giving way to him not throwing a temper tantrum and taking off to squeal the wheels of his car in her face.
That was the old Mark. This is the new Mark, or rather the guy trying to be the new version. Temptation beckons him though.
"I don't want to talk! Why don't you get that? Why?" Callie yells at him, pacing toward the curb, hoping her driver knows the meaning of lightning fast.
"I didn't want to upset you," Mark reveals, looping a hesitant arm around her back. "Just...get in the car and we'll go home. Please. Please Callie," he begs, seeing the shine of headlights up the road.
"No more talking?"
"I promise," Mark agrees.
"Fine."
~-~-~-~-~-~
"I didn't mean to make you angry," Mark tells Callie when they arrive home, her climbing the stairs toward their room instantly. Sometimes he thinks it's a wonder they still sleep in the same bed.
"You didn't, don't worry," Callie replies, kicking out of her shoes, loosening the grip the rubberband has on her hair.
Despite her yelling, her proclamations of not needing to be taken care of only a short hour ago, Mark decides to accept the fact that she isn't genuinely upset with him. "I'm scared too," he comforts her.
"I'm not-" Callie begins, rolling her eyes. She's isn't scared, she's paralyzed with fear, and things haven't even really sunk in enough to comprehend.
"Nothing is going to happen this time."
"You don't know that," Callie reminds him. She's been unkind to her body lately, unkind to the child they created again and it's only been a few short weeks.
He doesn't know that, but it doesn't stop him from repeating it like a mantra. They've had enough, their turn is over, the bad has stopped. He has to believe it. "I know this is hard," Mark nods.
"You promised we wouldn't talk-"
"- but I just wanted to tell you that...I'm here. It may not feel like it sometimes Cal, but I can do this now. If you need anything..."
"I need to sleep," Callie interrupts curtly, slipping the sheets of the bed back and encasing them in darkness.
She doesn't reply to his sweet wishes of good dreams, she doesn't push his hand away when it comes to a rest on top of her no longer empty womb. The tears course into her pillow silently, having perfected the art of being quiet, and eventually she hears Mark's deep breathing, feels his shifting.
She doesn't sleep that night, but it's nothing new.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Callie swings her legs impatiently, kicking back against the exam table. She took Addison's advice, seeking out another professional opinion, and she's antsy as hell. It needs to start and be over all within the first second. And while she knows, intuitively, that everything is perfectly fine, a part of her wishes it wasn't.
A part of her needs that excuse, another reason to hate the world. It'd be easier, without this other life inside of her.
"Dr. Torres," Dr. Ferguson greets jovially, bounding up to shake her hand.
"Callie," she corrects. If they are going to be all up close and personal, they may as well be on the same page.
"Callie," he agrees. "Dr. Montgomery sent over your paperwork this morning. Everything looks good, but I'm going to run some more tests, just to be safe. You know the drill."
He prepares to draw blood, happiness not quite contained, and she can see that he thoroughly enjoys what he does for a living. It's refreshing, he's untainted by what he's experienced. "Do you have any questions for me?" he asks Callie, trying to distract her.
"I-no, well...it's just...before I knew...about this, I had a stupid night of drinking and I was wondering-"
Dr. Ferguson rubs her arm slowly, she's nervous, he can tell, and from Addison's briefing on the patient, on the situation, he is doing his level best to be supportive instead of critical. "We'll keep an eye on it Callie. Everything looks good for a three-week fetus, growth is consistent, heart rate is strong."
"Okay," Callie gulps, pushing down the stress. Mark should be here, but in light of last night, she feels it's better that he play with his burn victim instead. That's an emergency, this is not...yet. Besides he would fret over all that fake cramping that wasn't happening earlier in the week when this whole mess began. It was so much easier then, the lies are becoming so twisted in each other that she is having a hard time keeping them straight.
"I'll let you know if I see anything abnormal come up," he assures her.
"It's...it was a lot...of alcohol...I blacked out."
"Okay," Dr. Ferguson nods, making a quick notation in her chart before cautiously pressing down on her shoulder, trying to get her to lie back, and relax. "Stirrups," he instructs and she obeys willingly.
He pokes, prods, notes, and attempts to get her involved but Callie can't get her mind off that night. The absolute feeling of failure sets in by the time he snaps his gloves off, and she doesn't even know what she's been saying to him for the last thirty minutes, if anything.
She doesn't know how she can possibly go through with this knowing that there could eventually be something wrong with her child, and that it is, once again, all her fault.
"I'll see you in a few weeks Callie," Dr. Ferguson urges, trying to get her to come back to him. "If you need anything, please call me."
~-~-~-~-~-~
After receiving what some would deem joyous news of her growing child safe and sound, Callie takes to the streets, this time content to walk the frozen sidewalks. She weaves in out of pedestrians, carefully avoiding their shopping bags and whiny children. Her thumb finds her mouth at the third stoplight, and she chews nervously until the glares of the group stop her.
Her mind spins madly in all different directions, different solutions, as her feet slowly propel her forward. It's inconceivable, keeping this child, the one she's given up on having for well over a month now. Irreversible damage has been done, and she knows enough to know she can't handle anything short of a perfectly healthy child in the future. She's not strong enough.
The thought of even spending another night awake changing diapers and struggling to stay awake for feedings is mind boggling. That's not her life anymore, not a part of the person she's become.
Conversely, there is Mark. He was doting, he was new, whole, changed. To take this from him after what they've gone through would be despicable of her and she's not the villain, she just can't stand to be hurt again, by either circumstance. The sun sets in the sky, barely noticeable behind the rain clouds that are trying to invade, and Callie shivers against the cool chill the wind brings with it. Her teeth begin to chatter, but she's stuck walking into the night. Alone.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"Derek, please," Addison sighs, shooing him away with the flick of her wrist.
"Addie," he whines, hands working their way into her shoulder.
"Stop that, stop it," she insists, dropping her glasses on the table. "I need to work-" The baby's cries in the other room save her from explaining for the hundredth time why exactly it is important that she be up to speed when she returns at the end of next week. The doorbell, however, is an unwelcome addition to her noisy atmosphere. At the rate she's going she won't be ready before the end of the month, let alone in a few days. "Coming!" she shouts at the front door, check the clock on her way up the steps out of the living room. It's late, she's aware, but they've become rather nocturnal ever since Theadora's birth.
"Who is it?!" Derek yells, before she even has a chance to get to to her destination.
Addison ignores him in favor of finding out for herself. "Callie?"
"I don't know...," Callie sputters, shoving her hands in her pocket, the tiny sock balled up in her fist. She walked through town in her scrubs, lab coat fastened around her waist.
"Are you okay?" Addison asks, looking her over, drinking in her disheveled appearance.
"I'm leaving Mark."
~-~-~-~-~-~
Sometimes the little things, they help. On occasion the ruined picture in Mark's hands can help him get through a night, a morning with Callie locked in the bathroom, her cries obvious through the thin walls. But there will be no help in the coming days as he scours the country trying to figure out where his girlfriend has taken off to. When Richard pulls him aside the following morning and asks him to explain why the hell there is a resignation letter in his hand, and if he can expect another one to follow.
Callie will willing give her sock, her refuge, away. She'll donate it to Thea when she loses one of hers out in the park, and when Addison asks where it came from, where it's mate is, Callie will never answer. Just like she won't answer her cellphone, she won't answer her voicemails, emails, and pages. Just like she won't answer her friends when they demand, threaten, and manipulate her into going back to Mark.
The meaning, the significance, behind tangible things eventually fades away. It dwindles until all that's there are the fuzzy memories of a time that feels so far away it's hard to imagine that it ever existed.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Part: 14/15
Pairing: Namely Mark/Callie but glimpses of others will be portrayed throughout.
Rating: R
Summary: Mark and Callie prepare for their son's arrival but nothing will go as expected
Previous parts can be found here.
A/N: I took some time away from this story, and I apologize for that, but I have it straightened out now, and there's one more part. Thanks for remembering, if you did, or rereading if you had to go that route like I did. Enjoy-
~-~-~-~-~-~
the Silence
~-~-~-~-~-~
When the pain becomes insurmountable, when they begin to stumble, it helps to have a fall back. Something or someone to rely on. It's a lesson in self-soothing.
People question how they are both upright, how they are on their own two feet when an event so unthinkable has occurred. And in the end the answer is that there is no other option. The world moves with or without you, and a participatory involvement is involuntary. Action and reaction. People need sutures, people need bones reset and screwed back together. People desire a hand, a friend, a calming voice through their medical turmoil. It's what they do. It's what they know. It is relaxing. The blood, the lacerations, the gore, every cut, every stitch. They are surgeons. It's a comforting routine.
For Callie there are other methods. Alcohol and nicotine are her choices of poison. At least, outwardly. But what no one knows, what no one cares to know is that there is a tiny blue sock in her coat at all times. When things become to hectic, when she feels like crumbling under the stress, her fingers find the reliable fabric. Squish, stroke, twine. Whatever the situation calls for. And it helps, to have that small part of her son in her pocket. Reachable but not whole, a piece but not the entirety of his essence. Just enough to keep her going. Just enough to keep her sane.
Mark had inadvertently devoted his life to one thing-the family he was building. So that when the bottom dropped out of that, and when Callie clear cut their home of any memorabilia, he was left with his memories and a crinkled picture in his wallet of the day Darren was born. He considers it a good luck charm, if nothing else. He carries it everywhere. In his shorts when he jogs, in his scrubs when he operates, and in his jeans while in transit. It's at the point where he can't imagine functioning without the scrap of paper burning a hole against his thigh, creased across Callie's face. Last week, in the midst of Callie's morning sickness, he thought he had misplaced it and suffered a mild panic attack until he located it in the pocket of his other dirty jeans. The picture, the only one he has, the only one he assumes still even exists, is what gets him through the nights of Callie hiding in the nursery that isn't theirs. It drags him through the long mornings where the world feels like it may collapse, and it holds his hand through the in between moments that like to mock them.
But are still searching, reaching for the coat tails of a permanent solution that is still ever so illusive in broad daylight. At the end of the week though, the little things-socks, pictures, memories-are only surface items. They keep the world spinning, but they don't keep anyone alive.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Inside their private hell, Mark clutches at the fingers of a woman he has hardly been privy to touch over the last few months. When she mourns, Callie is a private person. Her hurt echoes down the hallway to their bedroom where he lies awake with his own grief. But this, the new baby, it brought them together. Aligned for a moment amongst the expanse of stars and now that too has been viciously snatched away. "Did...Addison...confirm anything?" Mark chokes out after a few seconds.
He only gets a weak nod to which he chooses to take in slowly, brushing the knotted curls on her forehead out of the way. "It's okay," he assures her, saying what needs to be said, a trait he didn't even know he possessed before all this began.
Callie ceases her chant of 'I'm sorry' and looks up. She's done it. Brilliantly acted, if she does say so herself, but there's a pinch of something else. Something very real, lamenting over the fact that the baby that never existed is now no more. And all it takes is a touch of something slightly unbearable or mildly unpleasant to knock her off her horse and send her tumbling down again. The cries turn to sobs, the sobs to screams, and finally Mark takes mercy upon her and buries her pathetic face into his shirt, hesitantly stroking her back as if it may lash out and bite him.
And then they wait. Wait for someone to tell them it's time to stop, time to return to the real world. The place with responsibilities and expectations; no time for whining and moaning.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Addison glares at the lab work in her hands once more, hoping that if she distorts her vision enough she'll begin to see what she wants and not what is actually there. When it fails, she grumbles to herself, drawing the attention of nurses, and then drops her new cause of stress on the counter.
"Whatcha got?" Derek grins, hugging their daughter to his chest tightly.
"Nothing," Addison replies, grabbing Thea's hand and smiling.
"Callie sick?" Derek prods. "She didn't look that bad this morning," he recalls. He remembers her picking at her breakfast sadly, and the throwing up that happened beforehand. He's seen alcohol poisoning and she certainly was far from fitting the bill.
"It's nothing," Addison coos, her voice far from the strong doctor she was impersonating before being sent on maternity leave. But while she's notably distracted with her baby, Derek manages to leaf through the notes and exclaim, "Callie's pregnant!"
Addison feels her stomach bottom out, and her eyes widen instantly. "Damn it Derek," she swats the papers out of his hands, clenching her teeth furiously. "Don't you think it would be nice if they got to hear the news from their doctor instead of Nurse Olivia?"
"I thought-"
"No," Addison interrupts. "I haven't yet- I couldn't. And now you've ruined it."
"Sorry," Derek offers sheepishly, shielding himself with Dora.
"The baby will not save you from my wrath," Addison warns him, "but now I need to go deal with this. And you," she emphasizes, "will sit out here and wait for me without speculating or gossiping with anyone."
"I like when you pretend to be angry," Derek grins.
"I'm serious," Addison tells him, but fails on the delivery. To try and save face she stamps away, heels of her newly resized feet hitting the tile loudly as she goes.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"Sorry to interrupt," Addison gulps, noting how Mark and Callie pull away from one another like a jolt of electricity has just entered the room.
Mark stretches against his chair, back aching already. "Did you- I...she-ugh," he sighs. He's the most unprepared, overeducated person in the room.
Callie gives her head a subtle shake, indicating to Addison to please proceed with what they rehearsed in the car. The tears that cover her cheeks, however, were not in the rough draft. Performances sometimes need to be altered accordingly.
"Congratulations," Addison smirks, desperate to escape, "You're pregnant."
"What?" Callie swallows, feeling the remnants of bitter alcohol churn.
"She's okay?" Mark asks, eyes brightening, facing Addison as if she was his own personal savior instead of the woman who ruined his life. "The baby is okay?"
"Everything appears to be in order," Addison replies, dropping the paperwork onto Callie's lap. She's not screwing around here. There's really an innocent life hanging in the balance of these two fools, and in light of the fact that she hasn't worked since Theadora's birth, she's a little tender and out of practice. Plus Callie seems to still hate her most days, while asking for favors, and it rubs Addison the wrong way.
"But I- you said," Callie begins, "you said I miscarried Addison."
"Yes, well..." Addison grits her teeth and scowls, "Evidently, I was wrong."
"Wrong!" Mark shouts all of a sudden. "How- this is your fucking job Addison! This is a big thing to screw up!"
Addison thought he would be ecstatic, instead the pent up rage is about to be thrown in her very capable direction. "Tell him," she demands.
"Are you sure?" Callie croaks instead, not noticing the fury and tension that is mounting. She takes the edges of the reports delicately, afraid they might burst into flames. It could all end. Right here. Right now.
"Ran it four times," Addison tells her, looking away from Mark, who has jammed his hands into his jeans. "I'll need you to set up an appointment with your doctor before I release you Cal. You understand."
"I thought-" Mark pauses oddly. "Our next appointment was still a few weeks away Callie. You said Addison was-"
"She was," Callie looks up at Addison pointedly, hoping for rescue. "It's just...she's not back yet from maternity leave and she wants to make sure, after this episode, that I get double checked. Right Addison?"
Mark takes to staring at her too after a few seconds, and Addison straightens her shoulders. She said she wouldn't lie for Callie, she won't be untruthful with Mark, one of her oldest friends. Priorities must be made clear here once more. "I have to get back...Derek has Thea and he needs to scrub in soon. I'll send in a nurse."
"Addison?" Mark questions uneasily. He glances at Callie, who is twirling the blanket on her lap through her fingers. "What?" he asks her simply.
Addison said she wouldn't lie, she didn't say she'd be a convincing actress. It's a technical gray area, a place she is fairly comfortable in. She keeps her feet on the ground, back slumped, face concerned. If her appearance raises red flags from Mark then so be it. He deserves to know. He always deserves to at least know. "Callie," she nods.
"Callie what?" Mark asks, growing frustrated by the weird circle in the room.
"I follow patient's wishes. Sometimes no one gets hurt. Sometimes it's for the greater good. And sometimes I wind up in the middle of a lawsuit, but I listen to my patients," Addison says. "Callie you are my patient today. I heard you out. I did what you wanted within the scope of my abilities. I'm done now."
"Addison," Callie remarks sternly, surprising herself. "Go. I'll explain."
Addison lets out a quick laugh. "Right."
"Get out," Callie tells her once more, watching as she slips from the room.
When Mark turns to face her this time, she knows a few tears aren't going to save the day.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Mark's sneaker catches on the shiny tiles below his feet, causing him to stumble forward, reaching out a hand to steady himself on the bed. He watches her feet jerk back as the grip on the lab report tightens. He was hoping to be happy. As soon as he heard Addison save him, he expected some sort of rejoicing to be taking place. Their baby is safe and sound, he heard it from the best. But something is wrong, there's a strange pressure over the room, he feels as though the may explode at any moment. Tiny kernels of popcorn spilling out without notice. It wouldn't take much. "Callie," he croaks, crooking out a finger, beckoning the papers she is holding.
Working overdrive Callie's head spins wildly. There have got to be ways to explain this. She could lie and say she got a false positive, and that when she found out she just didn't feel like bothering him. It was minuscule, a minor detail in their busy lives. But she's only three weeks along. She doesn't know when she would have had to learn the news. It's far too recent to convince him of anything else. Her stomach flips turns as she relinquishes the power in her fingertips.
He's always read far too slow for her liking, choosing to scrutinize scribbles and lines. It's painful though, to wait for the crinkle in his forehead when he begins to understand.
"I'm confused," he mumbles, tossing the news down.
Perhaps she overestimated his capabilities. "Ok," Callie starts hesitantly.
"I don't understand. You said...you said, months ago- Callie. Months."
"Yes," she agrees, watching the wheels turn.
"You lied," he accuses.
"I thought I was," Callie corrects.
"But you weren't," Mark attempts to clarify, for his own sake, since he seems to be the one so far, far behind.
"No," Callie shakes her head, watching him begin to pace the room, arms flinging, slicing through the thick air.
"But you said."
"Yeah," Callie nods slowly, inching her way out from under the blanket. She hasn't had time to understand what the new pregnancy means, she had given up on being successful weeks ago.
"You lied."
"You looked so happy," Callie counters.
"Izzie," Mark breathes suddenly. Stevens and Grey found the initial lab work. Everyone but him has known. She made him a fool.
"What about-"
"So...today, you were in pain and Addison-"
"I called Addison," Callie fills in, suddenly realizing that this may work.
"You knew-"
"I was pretty sure...that I was this time," Callie mumbles softly. "Addison was on maternity leave, I wanted to make sure. She said I was miscarrying and I...I'm sorry I never told you Mark...I'm so sorr-"
"You're okay," Mark smiles insanely, looking back for the first time in a few minutes. "We're still having a baby Cal."
"Yeah," Callie gulps, the knot in her throat refusing to untie.
Somehow this feels so much worse than her initial plan. Suddenly there are too many people involved.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"Thanks a lot!" Callie shouts, dropping her purse on Addison's floor, ignoring Derek's greeting as she marches forward to the couch where the redhead has stationed herself.
"Do not start with me," Addison whispers, stroking Theadora's sleeping cheek.
"Addison, I asked you-"
"I said I wouldn't lie to him," Addison reminds her, not caring that her husband has come to referee the match, just in case.
"How dare you-"
"I did you a favor," Addison seethes. "One that went against a great many of the boundaries I have put in place for myself over the years. And you're ungrateful Callie. You're selfish. Do you know how much you drank last night?"
"I wasn't supposed to be pregnant!" Callie yells back, unsure of who she is more angry at.
"Wait," Derek interrupts. "You aren't pregnant?"
"Apparently I am," Callie spats. "I didn't know," she urges her friend. "I didn't know Addison."
"Fetal Alcohol Syndrome can be caused-"
"Oh my God, do not start with me-"
"And you smoke like a chimney," Addison reminds her.
"You smoke?" Derek asks, trying to keep up, both women ignoring him.
"You're underweight, you don't eat, you don't sleep. How can you reasonably expect not to lose this child too?"
Callie swallows angrily, wanting to snatch away Thea and hand her to Derek so she can do some real damage. "You don't get to preach at me-"
"Consider it a wake up call from your friendly neighborhood Gyno," Addison continues. "Be thankful, get your ass to a doctor, start taking your prenatal vitamins, and get out of my house. I don't want to see you anymore today."
~-~-~-~-~-~
Mark swirls the dark liquid around his cup two more times before taking another sip. It's a game he plays with himself lately, one he invented with Darren was born. There was no sense in going out and getting hammered drunk then so when he did need a gulp of something he made himself count the seconds, the swirls between swallows. This way he can have both. An evening of sitting in a bar, and still be lucid enough to be around small children should the need arise. Also, he found it particularly helpful when Darren went through his refusing to sleep stage. A headache and that kid's screams would have been enough to send Mark straight back from where he came.
"I heard," Meredith greets him, slipping onto a stool a mere space away.
"Suppose everyone has," Mark guesses, looking over at her tequila. "Bad day?"
"Just...not a good one," Meredith grins, smacking her now empty glass on the counter. She sighs and then gives in, Mark's wayward glance imploring her to speak up. "My intern punched Cristina's intern, and Bailey was...well, Bailey about the whole thing. I need a drink."
"And new interns," Mark points out cautiously.
"Yeah," Meredith grins, bringing Joe over to pour them each a shot. "One for the club," she tells him when his eyes need a reason.
"For the club," Mark agrees. Kindred spirits, many years in between, he knows what it is to be Meredith Grey, even when she doesn't.
"Callie is okay, right?" Meredith wonders aloud a few minutes later, after they've drifted off into their own minds.
"Yeah," Mark nods. He doesn't know where she is, he doesn't know if she's coming home, he doesn't know if he trusts her to say a single word of truth anymore, but she is, if nothing else, bordering on okay.
"Good," Meredith decides, leaving her notice of acquiescence, if he should ever need anything, left unsaid.
On the way out the door, headed home to where he hopes Callie is already stationed and resting, Karev tells him to get a better handle on his woman. To which he receives a strong punch to the jaw and an oxygen-sucking shove against the heavy wall.
Mark can't say it didn't feel good.
~-~-~-~-~-~
It takes Callie two laps around her new suburban neighborhood to realize that she doesn't know the layout of the streets as well as she thought she did. She circles the pool once more, lungs steady under her control, mind frustrated by the same damn scenery. Spring is struggling to come to life, buried listlessly under late February frost. The trees barren, shrubs frozen solid, curbs swept clean of dead, soggy leaves. She imagines in the calmer months of the year the area may actually be pretty, but for now it is as dead as her heart, heavy as lead.
Her feet tread along the new pavement, keeping her eyes down as nosy people have surely begun to stare. She's panting roughly, saliva caught in the back of her throat, and her lungs feel like shredding, but it's worth it. The euphoria at the top of the ride, it's all she needs.
She decides to walk the rest of the way back, biding her time.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"Callie," Mark breathes, swooping into the newly opened space on the busy counter. He hasn't seen her in two days, one her on call night, the other his. She looks dead on her feet and a part of him swells with immediate concern, however useless it may be.
"Mark," Callie acknowledges, her head down.
"What time are you off tonight?"
"Seven," Callie answers truthfully, the grip on her pen imperceptibly tightening. His breath lingers over her neck, warm and moist.
Mark nods, gulping back his anticipation. He's been awake for over twenty-four hours and the plan is sounding better and better. A nice dinner, a quick walk around town, and then a serious talk about their future. He's had enough of being love struck, of being complacent in taking what she'll give. It's time to be adults, to collectively decide to move on.
Dr. Wyatt has helped immensely, though he'll never admit it. Mostly, it's just nice to have someone to talk to who isn't Derek, who is hardly paying attention as it is. And while his son's death will always be associated with anguish in his mind, in his soul, the new life they have created is eclipsing his need to mourn.
The step between wanting to move forward and getting to, however, is one of the most difficult.
"I was thinking," Mark clears his throat, his trademark smirk not even traceable as he faces her, "We could have dinner tonight...together."
"Yeah, sure," Callie mumbles into her chart.
"Good," Mark smiles, brushing her arm. "Good."
Callie catches on eventually, her face confused as he bounces away, coffee in hand.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Dinner is tense, filled with the looks of disdain and disappointment that have become a regular statue in their lives. The waiters sense it, Callie thinks, never once asking how they are enjoying their meal. Mark tries to engage her, asks her about work and patients, but fails to notice that ever since she's returned to work, while she may be completely immersed, she doesn't really care.
It's about going through the motions. Treading water until that break comes. What she'd give anything for a drop of hope.
She could count the words she said to him on two hands by the time he escorts her out onto the pier, Seattle's pretty shimmering lights wavering over the water's edge. She takes to it, watching the ripples against the strong wooden planks. Everything is easier than talking to him, being with him.
She's spent the better part of the last two months, Darren's "birthday" excluded, working her ass off to please him. She's tired, nay, exhausted and he doesn't see it. Every sentence is carefully constructed, replies thoughtful. Every outing is worked up to, planned in order to provide the most serenity. Every night at home a constant battle between her heart and mind. She wants to scream until her voice gives out, she wants to run until her legs break.
She wants to be the woman who is still curled into her couch, staring at walls blank as paper. Instead, she's here.
"Come on," Mark instructs, pulling her into his arms, slouching against the railing for a moment before pulling her away and dragging her towards the end of the pier. The moon hangs high in the sky, stars covered by notorious clouds. He's lucky it isn't raining.
They rest upon the damp wooden rails, waiting. Then he begins. "We should talk-"
"I- can't," Callie says back quickly. It's been coming all night, really all week.
"Callie," Mark scolds.
"Mark."
"Fine," Mark huffs, fingers finding his pocket for a moment of sanity. He doesn't need to see the faces of the pictures to know where they are, he doesn't need to feel the glossy side to know that that day was the happiest of his life. He wraps his coat around himself and starts to walk back to the car alone, feeling that she is somewhere behind him.
"Wait!" Callie calls, the shadows of trees intimidating her. He stops, forward facing, and stalls. "Mark," she says softly when she reaches him, a finger running along his chin. "I don't...know how...we do this."
Mark smiles sadly. He doesn't know how it goes either, both of them seemingly taped together until the end of time. Fate seems to want things her own way lately. "I want you to start seeing someone Callie. Someone you like this time, someone you can trust."
"No."
"I know you think that maybe you aren't ready, but we can't wait anymore. We don't have any luxuries. I want it to be different this time."
This time, Callie echoes to herself. Last time there was joy, there was laughter, there was trepidation. She doesn't know how to get any of that back. She doesn't know how to feel anything. "It won't fix anything," she argues instead.
"It has to be different," Mark demands, his face hardening protectively. He can't bring a child into the mess they've made, the nest of deceit, trickery. Children don't deserve that.
He's fighting for his child, but she's fighting for her life.
Callie's mouth trades in anger. Of course she is the one who needs to change, of course he is the perfect one now. He's ready, and she's stuck. He's willing, and she's tied to the past. "You're right," she agrees suddenly. "Maybe...it should be completely different this time. Maybe you should move out," she chokes at the end a little, playing her bluff.
"Wait- what?"
"You can't control me. And you don't get to tell me what I will and will not be doing Mark. I get that you're all whole and healed now, but...I'm not. I'm not! Move on and move out."
"I don't want to," Mark retorts childishly. This was supposed to be going the opposite direction. He was going to cuddle her when she cried, and rub her feet until she fell asleep. He was going to be there from day one as a father this time. They aren't meant to be nearly screaming at each other in the dead of night while other restaurant patrons slowly filter to their vehicles.
"Then I will," Callie decides. She smashes a hand into her small purse, retrieving her cellphone, dialing a familiar number. The operator tells her that a cab will be there shortly, but Mark hasn't stepped away yet. If anything he's gotten closer.
"Callie-" Mark reaches out for her, but receives a stern push against his chest, it serves as a temporary warning. "Cal, baby, this...is ridiculous. We...can talk about this," he repeats, months of therapy giving way to him not throwing a temper tantrum and taking off to squeal the wheels of his car in her face.
That was the old Mark. This is the new Mark, or rather the guy trying to be the new version. Temptation beckons him though.
"I don't want to talk! Why don't you get that? Why?" Callie yells at him, pacing toward the curb, hoping her driver knows the meaning of lightning fast.
"I didn't want to upset you," Mark reveals, looping a hesitant arm around her back. "Just...get in the car and we'll go home. Please. Please Callie," he begs, seeing the shine of headlights up the road.
"No more talking?"
"I promise," Mark agrees.
"Fine."
~-~-~-~-~-~
"I didn't mean to make you angry," Mark tells Callie when they arrive home, her climbing the stairs toward their room instantly. Sometimes he thinks it's a wonder they still sleep in the same bed.
"You didn't, don't worry," Callie replies, kicking out of her shoes, loosening the grip the rubberband has on her hair.
Despite her yelling, her proclamations of not needing to be taken care of only a short hour ago, Mark decides to accept the fact that she isn't genuinely upset with him. "I'm scared too," he comforts her.
"I'm not-" Callie begins, rolling her eyes. She's isn't scared, she's paralyzed with fear, and things haven't even really sunk in enough to comprehend.
"Nothing is going to happen this time."
"You don't know that," Callie reminds him. She's been unkind to her body lately, unkind to the child they created again and it's only been a few short weeks.
He doesn't know that, but it doesn't stop him from repeating it like a mantra. They've had enough, their turn is over, the bad has stopped. He has to believe it. "I know this is hard," Mark nods.
"You promised we wouldn't talk-"
"- but I just wanted to tell you that...I'm here. It may not feel like it sometimes Cal, but I can do this now. If you need anything..."
"I need to sleep," Callie interrupts curtly, slipping the sheets of the bed back and encasing them in darkness.
She doesn't reply to his sweet wishes of good dreams, she doesn't push his hand away when it comes to a rest on top of her no longer empty womb. The tears course into her pillow silently, having perfected the art of being quiet, and eventually she hears Mark's deep breathing, feels his shifting.
She doesn't sleep that night, but it's nothing new.
~-~-~-~-~-~
Callie swings her legs impatiently, kicking back against the exam table. She took Addison's advice, seeking out another professional opinion, and she's antsy as hell. It needs to start and be over all within the first second. And while she knows, intuitively, that everything is perfectly fine, a part of her wishes it wasn't.
A part of her needs that excuse, another reason to hate the world. It'd be easier, without this other life inside of her.
"Dr. Torres," Dr. Ferguson greets jovially, bounding up to shake her hand.
"Callie," she corrects. If they are going to be all up close and personal, they may as well be on the same page.
"Callie," he agrees. "Dr. Montgomery sent over your paperwork this morning. Everything looks good, but I'm going to run some more tests, just to be safe. You know the drill."
He prepares to draw blood, happiness not quite contained, and she can see that he thoroughly enjoys what he does for a living. It's refreshing, he's untainted by what he's experienced. "Do you have any questions for me?" he asks Callie, trying to distract her.
"I-no, well...it's just...before I knew...about this, I had a stupid night of drinking and I was wondering-"
Dr. Ferguson rubs her arm slowly, she's nervous, he can tell, and from Addison's briefing on the patient, on the situation, he is doing his level best to be supportive instead of critical. "We'll keep an eye on it Callie. Everything looks good for a three-week fetus, growth is consistent, heart rate is strong."
"Okay," Callie gulps, pushing down the stress. Mark should be here, but in light of last night, she feels it's better that he play with his burn victim instead. That's an emergency, this is not...yet. Besides he would fret over all that fake cramping that wasn't happening earlier in the week when this whole mess began. It was so much easier then, the lies are becoming so twisted in each other that she is having a hard time keeping them straight.
"I'll let you know if I see anything abnormal come up," he assures her.
"It's...it was a lot...of alcohol...I blacked out."
"Okay," Dr. Ferguson nods, making a quick notation in her chart before cautiously pressing down on her shoulder, trying to get her to lie back, and relax. "Stirrups," he instructs and she obeys willingly.
He pokes, prods, notes, and attempts to get her involved but Callie can't get her mind off that night. The absolute feeling of failure sets in by the time he snaps his gloves off, and she doesn't even know what she's been saying to him for the last thirty minutes, if anything.
She doesn't know how she can possibly go through with this knowing that there could eventually be something wrong with her child, and that it is, once again, all her fault.
"I'll see you in a few weeks Callie," Dr. Ferguson urges, trying to get her to come back to him. "If you need anything, please call me."
~-~-~-~-~-~
After receiving what some would deem joyous news of her growing child safe and sound, Callie takes to the streets, this time content to walk the frozen sidewalks. She weaves in out of pedestrians, carefully avoiding their shopping bags and whiny children. Her thumb finds her mouth at the third stoplight, and she chews nervously until the glares of the group stop her.
Her mind spins madly in all different directions, different solutions, as her feet slowly propel her forward. It's inconceivable, keeping this child, the one she's given up on having for well over a month now. Irreversible damage has been done, and she knows enough to know she can't handle anything short of a perfectly healthy child in the future. She's not strong enough.
The thought of even spending another night awake changing diapers and struggling to stay awake for feedings is mind boggling. That's not her life anymore, not a part of the person she's become.
Conversely, there is Mark. He was doting, he was new, whole, changed. To take this from him after what they've gone through would be despicable of her and she's not the villain, she just can't stand to be hurt again, by either circumstance. The sun sets in the sky, barely noticeable behind the rain clouds that are trying to invade, and Callie shivers against the cool chill the wind brings with it. Her teeth begin to chatter, but she's stuck walking into the night. Alone.
~-~-~-~-~-~
"Derek, please," Addison sighs, shooing him away with the flick of her wrist.
"Addie," he whines, hands working their way into her shoulder.
"Stop that, stop it," she insists, dropping her glasses on the table. "I need to work-" The baby's cries in the other room save her from explaining for the hundredth time why exactly it is important that she be up to speed when she returns at the end of next week. The doorbell, however, is an unwelcome addition to her noisy atmosphere. At the rate she's going she won't be ready before the end of the month, let alone in a few days. "Coming!" she shouts at the front door, check the clock on her way up the steps out of the living room. It's late, she's aware, but they've become rather nocturnal ever since Theadora's birth.
"Who is it?!" Derek yells, before she even has a chance to get to to her destination.
Addison ignores him in favor of finding out for herself. "Callie?"
"I don't know...," Callie sputters, shoving her hands in her pocket, the tiny sock balled up in her fist. She walked through town in her scrubs, lab coat fastened around her waist.
"Are you okay?" Addison asks, looking her over, drinking in her disheveled appearance.
"I'm leaving Mark."
~-~-~-~-~-~
Sometimes the little things, they help. On occasion the ruined picture in Mark's hands can help him get through a night, a morning with Callie locked in the bathroom, her cries obvious through the thin walls. But there will be no help in the coming days as he scours the country trying to figure out where his girlfriend has taken off to. When Richard pulls him aside the following morning and asks him to explain why the hell there is a resignation letter in his hand, and if he can expect another one to follow.
Callie will willing give her sock, her refuge, away. She'll donate it to Thea when she loses one of hers out in the park, and when Addison asks where it came from, where it's mate is, Callie will never answer. Just like she won't answer her cellphone, she won't answer her voicemails, emails, and pages. Just like she won't answer her friends when they demand, threaten, and manipulate her into going back to Mark.
The meaning, the significance, behind tangible things eventually fades away. It dwindles until all that's there are the fuzzy memories of a time that feels so far away it's hard to imagine that it ever existed.
~-~-~-~-~-~