The Artist
Title: The Artist
Fandom(s): Grey's Anatomy
Characters: Callie & Arizona
Pairing(s): Calzona
Rating: PG-13
Summary: One-shot. Possible final scene for Callie and Arizona in 8x07, in which Callie's work was dismissed by both Teddy and Owen. Callie's feelings and insecurities about their colleague's/friend's behaviour are exposed to Arizona.
Arizona had to supress a chuckle as she yet again turned down the flask Callie offered her. They had decided hours ago that after the first celebratory beer, Arizona would not have any more to drink so that she could responsibly drive them home. But that conversation seemed to have left Callie’s memory after her 6th beer, and as the flasks and bottles made continuous rounds along the bleachers, Callie had offered a drink to Arizona with every swig she took. Not that Arizona minded. In fact, she found it kind of cute. It reminded her of Sofia, who had recently entered a phase in which she was eager to share her toys with her mommies.
Callie had wrapped her arm around Arizona’s shoulders and it sat a little heavier than usual. Arizona used this weight to gage just how drunk Callie was. If it had been sitting as dead weight, Arizona would expect slurred speech, a stumbling Callie who would need to be half dragged, half carried to the car, and one hell of a hung-over wife the next day. This weight however, was just a little heavier than usual, indicative of an exceptionally chatty, slightly inappropriate and very affectionate Calliope.
As Callie took yet another swig from a flask and again offered the drink to Arizona, the blonde was roused from her thoughts and distractedly refused the bottle one more time. Callie passed the flask on to Alex, and Arizona shot him a look of disbelief as he attempted to hand it to Webber. Callie readjusted her arm on Arizona’s shoulders, and the blonde felt it settle just a little bit heavier than before. If Arizona wanted to spend the evening with fun-drunk Callie, now was the time to head home.
“Mmm, come on, we’ve got Mark as a sitter so,” Arizona dropped her voice to a slightly suggestive whisper, “I’m taking you home.”
“Mmm hmmm,” Callie replied, standing.
“His girlfriend’s gonna be okay, right?” Lexie asked, as the couple climbed down from the bleachers.
“Ah, it’s her boob. She’s in good hands,” Callie replied, laughing at her own double entendre.
Arizona rolled her eyes. There was the slightly inappropriate Callie, referencing her past sexual experiences with Mark to his ex-girlfriend. His clearly-still-in-love-with-him ex-girlfriend. She reached out and took Callie’s hand to lead her to the car, shooting an apologetic look at Lexie as they made their way to the parking lot.
When Arizona eased the car out of the lot, Callie reached over and rested her hand on her wife’s knee. As they drove, Arizona felt the hand migrate higher and higher, rubbing playfully against her thigh. Arizona bit her lip. Yep, here was the very affectionate Calliope.
Needing to stay focused on the road, Arizona said, “I heard you rocked your surgery this morning. You rebuilt a hand?”
“I am an artist!” Callie exclaimed enthusiastically.
Arizona smiled warmly. “Hmm, yes you are,” she agreed.
Callie pulled her hand back from her wife’s thigh and looked at her seriously for a moment. “You mean that right?” she asked. “You think what I do is important?”
“What?” Arizona asked, confused by the sudden change in Callie’s behaviour. She glanced over at her wife and saw that Callie wore a look of concern to match the tone of uncertainty Arizona had heard in her voice.
“You think that orthopaedics is important right? That what I do, it matters?”
“Of course it matters,” Arizona replied strongly, despite her complete confusion as to where this insecurity was coming from. “You rebuilt a man’s hand today. That’s amazing.”
“It is amazing,” Callie declared, flopping back against the seat. “I am an artist. The bones in his fingers were literally powder. I built him an entire new skeletal framework because he needed his fingers. He needed them!”
“Well then, that’s good,” Arizona replied, still unsure of where this conversation was going.
Callie didn’t seem to hear her wife as she continued ranting. “But no, it’s all, the hand is not the priority and Torres, I’m trying to save a life. I know he needs a heart to live. I’m a doctor. You think I don’t know that he needs a heart to live?”
Arizona looked completely bewildered and was grateful for the fact that Callie now seemed to be having this conversation with herself, as she continued without waiting for a reply.
“But he needed his fingers to live too! He needed them. They’re surgeons. How can they not understand that? If it was their crushed hand and I just gave them some room and chopped the thing off, they’d say, Torres! Why didn’t you save my hand! I’ll never operate again! And I’d say, the hand was not the priority.”
“Okay, Callie, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Arizona said.
“He fell off a garbage truck and then got hit by a car backing out of a driveway,” Callie replied.
“Your patient?” Arizona asked.
“Yes, my patient, Carl Shatler,” Callie nodded.
Arizona smiled. Even in her intoxicated state, Callie knew her patient’s name. Most of the surgeons Arizona knew couldn’t remember the name of a patient an hour after the surgery. But Callie was different. Callie cared. And Arizona loved that.
“They brought him into the ER and Owen kicked me out. He said I was in the way. He wouldn’t even let me stabilize the hand first. And then, when I was in the OR, Carl’s pressure tanked and he had electrical alternates. I paged cardio and they found a dissection. Teddy told me to clear out.” She paused and shook her head. “That was my OR. It was my procedure. You don’t just tell someone to get out of their OR like that.” Callie sighed, and when she continued, the anger in her voice had been replaced with defeat. “I get that trauma and cardio deal with a lot more life threatening problems than ortho. I know that people can live without their limbs but not their vital organs. But some people don’t want to live after that. Quality of life has to matter. It matters to me, that’s why I do everything I can before I have to amputate. Owen and Teddy, they don’t respect what I do. They think it’s not important. So many people that we work with think that ortho is just carpentry. That what I do doesn’t matter.”
Arizona pulled the car into their parking space and killed the engine. Callie let out a dejected sigh and unbuckled her seat belt, reaching for the door handle.
“Calliope, no,” Arizona called softly, reaching out and gently grabbing her arm so that Callie settled back down in her seat, and turned to face Arizona with a desolate look in her eyes.
“What you do,” Arizona said, slowly, clearly and forcefully, wanting to make sure that Callie took in everything that she was about to say, even in her intoxicated state. While it might have been a drunken rant, Arizona knew her wife well enough to know that these feelings and insecurities had not simply arisen from this one case, that Callie had clearly been feeling unappreciated for some time. Arizona berated herself for needing a drunken tirade to alert her to these feelings, and she swore she’d make it up to her wife.
“What you do,” Arizona said again, “is amazing. And it is essential. So many doctors think that if the patient has a pulse and is breathing that they’ve won. That the patient is alive. But you, your bar is so much higher than that. You don’t just make sure that your patient has a pulse, you make sure that your patient has a life. You do a hip replacement, and a grandmother can play with her grandkids again. You do a meniscus repair, and an athlete doesn’t have to give up their dream. Other doctors save patient’s bodies. You save patient’s lives.”
Callie felt tears welling in her eyes. On some level she knew that she was drunk. She knew that she wouldn’t have offloaded on and ranted to Arizona like that if she wasn’t. But suddenly she was so glad that she had. She had never been a weepy drunk, but she was fairly certain that Arizona’s words would have brought her to tears even if she was sober.
“Thank-you,” Callie replied quietly.
Arizona tenderly brushed the back of her hand across Callie’s cheek. She slipped the hand around to the back of Callie’s head, and gently pulled her towards her, leaning in for a kiss that was soft and understanding. Arizona pulled back an inch and waited for Callie to make eye contact with her. “I love you,” Arizona said, quietly but firm.
“I love you too,” Callie replied. “I…” she tried to continue but couldn’t find the words and instead leaned in for another kiss, knowing that Arizona would understand.
When Arizona finally pulled back from the kiss she giggled. “You taste like rum,” she said. “We might have to have this conversation again tomorrow.”
Callie shook her head. “I’m never going to forget what you just said,” she stated simply.
Arizona just smiled as she opened the car door and Callie did the same. She rounded the car and found Callie waiting for her, arm outstretched. Arizona took her hand as they made their way to their apartment.
“So what did he… what does Carl do that he needs his fingers for?” Arizona asked.
“Oh, he’s an artist too!” Callie exclaimed, and Arizona was glad to see that their serious conversation hadn’t completely sobered the Latina. Sex with fun-drunk Callie was just too good to pass up on. “He does wood prints, wood carving, I saw them and they were sooo beautiful. He’s talented. He has talented fingers. I couldn’t just cut them off.” Arizona glanced at Callie to see if she would catch the double entendre of what she had said. “And his wife,” Callie continued, oblivious, “she was so happy too. She was so happy I didn’t cut off his talented fingers.”
Arizona snorted. She couldn’t help herself. Her wife’s laughter seemed to alert Callie to the sexual meaning of her words, and she smiled playfully as the elevator door opened to their floor.
“He and I have a lot in common,” Callie said, as they entered their apartment. “We’re both artists. We both have talented fingers. We both have wives who love our fingers.”
Arizona laughed. “Oh, Callie, you shouldn’t try for the smooth talk when you’re drunk.”
Callie paused. “That’s right, I’m drunk. I like sex when I’m drunk.”
Arizona laughed again. “Yes, blunt is much better.”
“I like sex when I’m sober,” Callie continued, “but I like sex when I’m drunk.”
A coy smile played on Arizona’s lips as she took a step towards her wife. “I can help with that.”
Fandom(s): Grey's Anatomy
Characters: Callie & Arizona
Pairing(s): Calzona
Rating: PG-13
Summary: One-shot. Possible final scene for Callie and Arizona in 8x07, in which Callie's work was dismissed by both Teddy and Owen. Callie's feelings and insecurities about their colleague's/friend's behaviour are exposed to Arizona.
Arizona had to supress a chuckle as she yet again turned down the flask Callie offered her. They had decided hours ago that after the first celebratory beer, Arizona would not have any more to drink so that she could responsibly drive them home. But that conversation seemed to have left Callie’s memory after her 6th beer, and as the flasks and bottles made continuous rounds along the bleachers, Callie had offered a drink to Arizona with every swig she took. Not that Arizona minded. In fact, she found it kind of cute. It reminded her of Sofia, who had recently entered a phase in which she was eager to share her toys with her mommies.
Callie had wrapped her arm around Arizona’s shoulders and it sat a little heavier than usual. Arizona used this weight to gage just how drunk Callie was. If it had been sitting as dead weight, Arizona would expect slurred speech, a stumbling Callie who would need to be half dragged, half carried to the car, and one hell of a hung-over wife the next day. This weight however, was just a little heavier than usual, indicative of an exceptionally chatty, slightly inappropriate and very affectionate Calliope.
As Callie took yet another swig from a flask and again offered the drink to Arizona, the blonde was roused from her thoughts and distractedly refused the bottle one more time. Callie passed the flask on to Alex, and Arizona shot him a look of disbelief as he attempted to hand it to Webber. Callie readjusted her arm on Arizona’s shoulders, and the blonde felt it settle just a little bit heavier than before. If Arizona wanted to spend the evening with fun-drunk Callie, now was the time to head home.
“Mmm, come on, we’ve got Mark as a sitter so,” Arizona dropped her voice to a slightly suggestive whisper, “I’m taking you home.”
“Mmm hmmm,” Callie replied, standing.
“His girlfriend’s gonna be okay, right?” Lexie asked, as the couple climbed down from the bleachers.
“Ah, it’s her boob. She’s in good hands,” Callie replied, laughing at her own double entendre.
Arizona rolled her eyes. There was the slightly inappropriate Callie, referencing her past sexual experiences with Mark to his ex-girlfriend. His clearly-still-in-love-with-him ex-girlfriend. She reached out and took Callie’s hand to lead her to the car, shooting an apologetic look at Lexie as they made their way to the parking lot.
When Arizona eased the car out of the lot, Callie reached over and rested her hand on her wife’s knee. As they drove, Arizona felt the hand migrate higher and higher, rubbing playfully against her thigh. Arizona bit her lip. Yep, here was the very affectionate Calliope.
Needing to stay focused on the road, Arizona said, “I heard you rocked your surgery this morning. You rebuilt a hand?”
“I am an artist!” Callie exclaimed enthusiastically.
Arizona smiled warmly. “Hmm, yes you are,” she agreed.
Callie pulled her hand back from her wife’s thigh and looked at her seriously for a moment. “You mean that right?” she asked. “You think what I do is important?”
“What?” Arizona asked, confused by the sudden change in Callie’s behaviour. She glanced over at her wife and saw that Callie wore a look of concern to match the tone of uncertainty Arizona had heard in her voice.
“You think that orthopaedics is important right? That what I do, it matters?”
“Of course it matters,” Arizona replied strongly, despite her complete confusion as to where this insecurity was coming from. “You rebuilt a man’s hand today. That’s amazing.”
“It is amazing,” Callie declared, flopping back against the seat. “I am an artist. The bones in his fingers were literally powder. I built him an entire new skeletal framework because he needed his fingers. He needed them!”
“Well then, that’s good,” Arizona replied, still unsure of where this conversation was going.
Callie didn’t seem to hear her wife as she continued ranting. “But no, it’s all, the hand is not the priority and Torres, I’m trying to save a life. I know he needs a heart to live. I’m a doctor. You think I don’t know that he needs a heart to live?”
Arizona looked completely bewildered and was grateful for the fact that Callie now seemed to be having this conversation with herself, as she continued without waiting for a reply.
“But he needed his fingers to live too! He needed them. They’re surgeons. How can they not understand that? If it was their crushed hand and I just gave them some room and chopped the thing off, they’d say, Torres! Why didn’t you save my hand! I’ll never operate again! And I’d say, the hand was not the priority.”
“Okay, Callie, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Arizona said.
“He fell off a garbage truck and then got hit by a car backing out of a driveway,” Callie replied.
“Your patient?” Arizona asked.
“Yes, my patient, Carl Shatler,” Callie nodded.
Arizona smiled. Even in her intoxicated state, Callie knew her patient’s name. Most of the surgeons Arizona knew couldn’t remember the name of a patient an hour after the surgery. But Callie was different. Callie cared. And Arizona loved that.
“They brought him into the ER and Owen kicked me out. He said I was in the way. He wouldn’t even let me stabilize the hand first. And then, when I was in the OR, Carl’s pressure tanked and he had electrical alternates. I paged cardio and they found a dissection. Teddy told me to clear out.” She paused and shook her head. “That was my OR. It was my procedure. You don’t just tell someone to get out of their OR like that.” Callie sighed, and when she continued, the anger in her voice had been replaced with defeat. “I get that trauma and cardio deal with a lot more life threatening problems than ortho. I know that people can live without their limbs but not their vital organs. But some people don’t want to live after that. Quality of life has to matter. It matters to me, that’s why I do everything I can before I have to amputate. Owen and Teddy, they don’t respect what I do. They think it’s not important. So many people that we work with think that ortho is just carpentry. That what I do doesn’t matter.”
Arizona pulled the car into their parking space and killed the engine. Callie let out a dejected sigh and unbuckled her seat belt, reaching for the door handle.
“Calliope, no,” Arizona called softly, reaching out and gently grabbing her arm so that Callie settled back down in her seat, and turned to face Arizona with a desolate look in her eyes.
“What you do,” Arizona said, slowly, clearly and forcefully, wanting to make sure that Callie took in everything that she was about to say, even in her intoxicated state. While it might have been a drunken rant, Arizona knew her wife well enough to know that these feelings and insecurities had not simply arisen from this one case, that Callie had clearly been feeling unappreciated for some time. Arizona berated herself for needing a drunken tirade to alert her to these feelings, and she swore she’d make it up to her wife.
“What you do,” Arizona said again, “is amazing. And it is essential. So many doctors think that if the patient has a pulse and is breathing that they’ve won. That the patient is alive. But you, your bar is so much higher than that. You don’t just make sure that your patient has a pulse, you make sure that your patient has a life. You do a hip replacement, and a grandmother can play with her grandkids again. You do a meniscus repair, and an athlete doesn’t have to give up their dream. Other doctors save patient’s bodies. You save patient’s lives.”
Callie felt tears welling in her eyes. On some level she knew that she was drunk. She knew that she wouldn’t have offloaded on and ranted to Arizona like that if she wasn’t. But suddenly she was so glad that she had. She had never been a weepy drunk, but she was fairly certain that Arizona’s words would have brought her to tears even if she was sober.
“Thank-you,” Callie replied quietly.
Arizona tenderly brushed the back of her hand across Callie’s cheek. She slipped the hand around to the back of Callie’s head, and gently pulled her towards her, leaning in for a kiss that was soft and understanding. Arizona pulled back an inch and waited for Callie to make eye contact with her. “I love you,” Arizona said, quietly but firm.
“I love you too,” Callie replied. “I…” she tried to continue but couldn’t find the words and instead leaned in for another kiss, knowing that Arizona would understand.
When Arizona finally pulled back from the kiss she giggled. “You taste like rum,” she said. “We might have to have this conversation again tomorrow.”
Callie shook her head. “I’m never going to forget what you just said,” she stated simply.
Arizona just smiled as she opened the car door and Callie did the same. She rounded the car and found Callie waiting for her, arm outstretched. Arizona took her hand as they made their way to their apartment.
“So what did he… what does Carl do that he needs his fingers for?” Arizona asked.
“Oh, he’s an artist too!” Callie exclaimed, and Arizona was glad to see that their serious conversation hadn’t completely sobered the Latina. Sex with fun-drunk Callie was just too good to pass up on. “He does wood prints, wood carving, I saw them and they were sooo beautiful. He’s talented. He has talented fingers. I couldn’t just cut them off.” Arizona glanced at Callie to see if she would catch the double entendre of what she had said. “And his wife,” Callie continued, oblivious, “she was so happy too. She was so happy I didn’t cut off his talented fingers.”
Arizona snorted. She couldn’t help herself. Her wife’s laughter seemed to alert Callie to the sexual meaning of her words, and she smiled playfully as the elevator door opened to their floor.
“He and I have a lot in common,” Callie said, as they entered their apartment. “We’re both artists. We both have talented fingers. We both have wives who love our fingers.”
Arizona laughed. “Oh, Callie, you shouldn’t try for the smooth talk when you’re drunk.”
Callie paused. “That’s right, I’m drunk. I like sex when I’m drunk.”
Arizona laughed again. “Yes, blunt is much better.”
“I like sex when I’m sober,” Callie continued, “but I like sex when I’m drunk.”
A coy smile played on Arizona’s lips as she took a step towards her wife. “I can help with that.”