Stella Was a Diver and She's Always Down 1/1

[callieluvr]

 Stella Was a Diver and She's Always Down 1/1

Title: Stella Was a Diver and She's Always Down
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Pairing: Mark/Callie
Rating: PG 13
Disclaimer: Disclaimer: All characters, events, settings and situations mentioned in this work are sole property of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for profit, in constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context and are not intended to be defamatory or factual in anyway.
Summary: Baby Sofia has a favorite song. And Callie thinks it's a bit inappropriate.
Author's Notes: Set during Callie's maternity leave. And Mark's paternity leave. This is for all my mallie lovers still keeping the hope alive. We know what the outcome of them is, but the mallie torch still shines brightly.


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There's something that's invisible.
There's some things you can't hide.
Try to detect you when I'm sleeping
In a wave you say goodbye...

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A guitar strums quietly in Sofia's bedroom and the crying suddenly stops.

Callie seizes the drying of the glass in her hand and listens. Distinctly, she can hear Mark's soft murmurings, and the all the familiar sound of Interpol voicing over him. She bites her cheek and sighs heavily. She glances up at the ceiling. She's told Mark before she does not like Sofia listening to this song.

She sets the glass down on the counter, drops the dish towel and moves around the island counter to Sofia's room.

The light is off, the room is dark and the song is playing on as Mark holds their little bundle of joy against his chest, his lips pressed against her tiny head.

Callie smiles and for a second, she forgets why she's in here in the first place. For a second.

"I thought we talked about this song," She says sternly, but softly. She knows better than to raise her voice when Sofia is trying to sleep. She's learned the hard way. "In fact, I think we talked about it this morning."

Mark seems to ignore her. He keeps swaying along to the soft beat, humming against Sofia.

Callie chuckles, "Mark..."

"She likes it," he whispers defensively.

She shakes her head. He is hopeless.

"This is a song about a hooker, I hope you realize that."

"It is not," he says, seeming honestly offended as he finally looks at Callie, blue eyes narrowed.

"Uh--it is, actually," she steps further into the room, towards the small iPod boom box and starts the song over, "Have you listened to the lyrics?"

"Have YOU?" He counters, rubbing Sofia's back as she stirs slightly, "See? She doesn't appreciate you knocking her favorite song."

"This is NOT her favorite song...she doesn't have a favorite song, she's an infant."

Interpol is Mark's favorite band. It's one of Callie's. And throughout her entire pregnancy, he played their music to her belly. Every free second they had, he would put it on in either apartment, every fifteen minute break she got at work, which she used to put her feet up in whatever free on call room she could find, she would page him. These moments were reserved him alone. he shared everything else with Arizona and Callie thought, this, he could have. Every Arizona-free moment was spent with Interpol playing softly in their apartments, or with Mark's phone pressed against Callie's belly as she slept in the on call room.

Mark didn't see the point in ever bringing it up to Arizona. This was his. His only moments with his daughter that were really, truly, just for him. And if he were honest, his only moments with Callie. But he couldn't afford to be honest back then, can't afford it now either, but he keeps it all to himself anyway.

Neither really knows what it means. They still don't. When she was pregnant, Callie blamed it on hormones and on the fact that it was Mark that made the baby inside her, that was making overly emotional and contemplative. Mark told himself the same. After the baby was born, Callie told herself it was post traumatic stress disorder. Mark told himself the same.

"They're clearly singing about a street walker, Mark--" She tells him with a side glance, "--and then he sings about how she gave him a blow job."

He glares at her. He has suddenly become very aware of their surroundings and what is said around their daughter. He does not condone cursing. Callie was astonished at the earful Cristina got for saying "shit" after having dropped a cup and shattering it on the kitchen floor.

"Sorry," She holds her hands up, and feeling guilty herself, steps forward to kiss Sofia's cheek, "Sorry, baby."

"You're missing the whole point of the song," He mumbles against Sofia's head again.

They can't seem to get enough of this little girl. They can spend--and have spent--hours kissing and looking at her.

Callie kisses her hand, and looks up, "I am not." She ignores the way he catches her eye and holds her gaze for a second. They've been doing a lot of that lately. Looking.

Sometimes, he's in charge of bottle prepping, while she's in charge of feeding.

She feeds Sofia and he sits at the kitchen counter, reading a magazine, and he watches when she's not looking.

Sometimes, Callie preps while he feeds, and she pretends to nap on the couch, listening instead, to him talking nonsense to Sofia.

They both wordlessly love the arrangement. When it's just the two of them. When Arizona surprises them and takes a day or two off, Mark is quiet and Callie hates herself for wanting her wife gone. There is no music and they have a hard time getting Sofia to sleep.

"The song is about a woman, who has to do things she doesn't want to do--" Beat, "probably a hooker--"

She laughs.

"--BUT, she's also loved. Someone loves her and she's gone. She's disappeared and this poor bas--this poor guy is missing her and searching for her in his sleep..."

She frowns, "That's sad."

"It could be about a happy hooker," He smiles.

Something tugs at her chest when their eyes meet again. Something tugs at every ounce of blood in his veins and he stops breathing momentarily.

Sofia gurgles and shifts against him, and it's then that he realizes he's stopped moving, "Uh-oh. Someone likes dancing with Daddy," He says quietly and resumes moving slowly.

Callie clears her throat softly and turns back to start the song again and selects the 'repeat' option, "Then Daddy better have his dancing shoes on." She remains facing the other way for a moment, trying desperately to suppress the sudden jolt her body is experiencing. She feels hot all over and her heart is beating erratically. She blames it on lack of sex. It's well past the 'no sex period', but she hasn't felt up to it. She further ignores the nagging thought in the back of her mind telling her that she hasn't felt like it with Arizona. She's tried. And Arizona has been great. She's been patient, and while, probably frustrated, she's been understanding.

Callie feels guilty. Addison says it's because of "not so deeply harbored feelings". Callie always hangs up on her as soon as she says anything of the sort.

Mark, meanwhile, has to concentrate on his daughter. His daughter. He's baby girl. Innocent and ignorant to her father's impure thoughts about her mother. Dead cats. Done. That always works.

"Well, I'll leave you two to it," Callie says quietly, turning to head out, only to have Mark gently hold her back, one arm hooked loosely around her middle, "Mark--" She attempts a protest but moves to his accord anyway. She wonders why the hell she can't just leave the room.

"Come on, Mommy, dance with us," he teases, holding Sofia securely in one arm, while the arm draped around Callie slips for his hand to find hers. He pulls it up until her arm is around his neck, then let's it fall again, into a gentle hold of her hip.

She doesn't move at first. She stands awkwardly in front of him as he continues to move the way he's been doing. Eventually, she licks her lips and begins to sway along. It's not necessarily a slow song. It's not something that would be played at a wedding or anything for couples to pace against each other on the dance floor, but if you play it really low, they way they do for Sofia, and you choose the right beat to follow, one can definitely find a good, soft enough sway that's not too slow.

It's a moody enough song, too. But the lyrics erupt in a splash of melancholy that quickly embraces the two in an unseen orb.

Mark begins to think this was a bad idea when Callie moves her hand and brings her body a little closer to his. He swallows hard. He wonders if she's heard him.

She has. And as his arm circles her waist, her shirt rides up and his hand accidentally brushes against the small of her back. A chill runs down her spine and her eyes flutter shut momentarily as the shiver works its way down to a flutter in her stomach, "Jesus..." She whispers without thinking.

His head inclines involuntarily. And it really is without knowing because he's never been able to process the act of free will when she's this close to him, breathing the way that she's breathing, warm the way that she is, smelling the way that she does. His lips brush her cheek and as he exhales slowly, she gasps, her fingers curling ever so slightly around the collar of his shirt, pulling gently at the material.

Her lips part and he hears the gently click as her tongue darts out to swipe over her lips. He swallows again.

"This song is so inappropriate--" She mumbles and leaves his arm without warning.

He's left standing still in the middle of Sofia's room, and after a moment, he realizes she's fallen asleep for the night. He waits, still. Because this is inappropriate and now they have more to think about. There is more than just jumping into bed and then dealing with what comes afterward when the time comes. Now they're connected in a way they couldn't have possibly imagined and everything they do from that moment on will have ramifications.

He sets Sofia down gently, making sure that she's secure and asleep before turning to leave the room, leaving the music to play for a little while, just in case.

Callie breathes slowly in and out, willing her body to relax as she busies herself with folding the clean laundry that's been sitting in the light blue basket for two days now. She folds one garment, puts it away, taking extra time in the task to allow herself more time. She hears Mark outside the bedroom. She hears his shoes against the hardwood floor and she imagines him exit Sofia's bedroom across the apartment. The walking stops and she hopes for a second that he's going across the hall, back of his apartment.

The walking continues and she grows weary as the sound tip taps closer still. Thankfully, she's redecorated since giving birth and the dresser that usually sits by the door, now rests against the wall at the far right of the room.

When he walks in, while she can feel him standing in the doorway, watching her, she cannot actually see him. She folds and unfolds the shirts over and over.

"Are you okay?" He asks and she wants to kick him for being so god damn considerate.

"Yeah," She lies. Blatantly lies because she just wants him to go. She wants him to go away so she can do something about all the feelings. Not just the physical urge, but the feelings surging suddenly with him so close again.

"Okay. I believe you."

She nods, "Good."

"So turn around and look at me when you say that."

She continues folding and unfolding, her breathing suddenly ragged.

"Cal."

"Hmm?"

"It's okay. Nothing has to happen," He has never hated any string of words the way that he does now. "Not if you don't want it to."

"But, I do." She says it too quickly. Too quickly for her liking, and she stops doing what she's doing, pushing the drawer shut instead and bracing herself on the edge of the dresser.

Silence.

"I do, too."

"I'm a horrible person," She breathes, then, "You should go. You need to go so I can clear my head and get over this."

"Is that really going to do it for you? Because I'll go. But--what about tomorrow? I'll be back tomorrow, or you'll be over at my place and we'll be alone."

"We'll leave the door open--" She tries lamely. They both know exactly what's going on and what it will be like in the future for them, still, the magnitude of what that means is exponentially stupid. Stupid because they should have figured this out. They should have figured it out before Callie allowed Arizona back into her life, way back before Mark even slept with Lexie. Just way back...

She won't look at him and it kills him. He doesn't want their relationship to turn into this. Hiding from each other, avoiding all eye contact at all means necessary. Their connection made less because of complete lack of better judgment to begin with.

"I miss you," He tells her, sees her shoulders tense up, "I do."

She closes her eyes, tilting her head to the side as his words wash over her in an almost painfully soft wave, "I do too."

"I can't go back now."

She breathes in deeply and replies honestly, "Me either."

She doesn't know how long she stands there with her back to him, head fallen forward, eyes closed, but she knows she doesn't hear or feel him move until he's standing behind her and wraps his arms warmly around her waist.

The initial gasp she releases dissolves into a sigh as she leans back against his chest and she doesn't remember ever needing someone's touch the way she does now.

He kisses her shoulder with no underlining reason other than for the sole purpose of reassuring her. Of holding her. But she molds against him and his lips move to press against the crook of her neck.

Her head falls back against his shoulder and he kisses higher. Slow, small kisses against her pulse point, behind her ear, and her nape as her head falls forward again.

His lips part now, his breath hot against her skin and she bites back a moan.

With a low exhale she steps away quickly, head in her hands as soon as they're safely apart, "No, we can't this, Mark."

He breathes out just the same, turning the opposite way, scratching his chin as they try to put as much distance between them as possible.

Callie looks at the bed, needing to sit, but not daring to occupy a space she shares with someone who is not the person in the room. She leans against the wall instead, inches away from the open doorway. Just in case.

Mark wears a plain white tee shirt and she can see his shoulder strain. His shoulder blades shift with every swift movement and she knows he's trying to keep to himself until she says it's okay.

A small yellow cloth peaks out of his back pocket and she squints to get a better look in such dim light. Her heart races and warms all over again at realizing that it's one of Sofia's bibs from earlier that day.

"I don't know what to do now, Mark." She admits, dropping her hands to her sides. This should be the big picture. Her and Mark, folding laundry while Sofia sleeps. Being in love with her best friend. It's ideal. So why do they always get everything wrong?

He turns to look at her and feels almost defenseless. Placing his hands on his hips, he breathes in and out slowly before asking, "What do you WANT to do?"

"I don't know if this means that I want to be with you."

He nods once. Inhales. Exhales. "I do. I do know."

He expects her to protest. He expects her to tell him to for get about it and shut up. Which makes her following remark even more remarkable.

"How do you know?" She is earnest. She is literally requesting an answer to appease a troubled conscience, which seems to be in the midst of a deprecating battle between staying in this bedroom with him or staying in her marriage instead.

He shrugs, "I just do. I think I've always known. It was just never the right time."

She laughs. He laughs. It isn't the right time now either.

He nods, "I know. I don't know, Callie. It just happened."

"Just now?"

"No. I think it happened gradually. With Sofia it was kind of cemented for me though."

She can't help the silent anger creeping up inside of her at the mention of their daughter's name. "There is someone else in her life. There is a third person involved--who loves her and--" She sighs, because she's beginning to blame herself--blame them both for being so dense to begin with.

"I know," Mark replies, crossing his arms over his chest as if the action would hold him together. Would hold them together. "I've always known I love you. I know you probably--haven't." It hurts to say the words out loud. He's always thought that Callie loved him less. He'd been captivated since he met her and had always hoped for more. While he pursued other potential lovers, one always remained in the recesses of his heart and that someone was always and would always be Callie, "But I've known."

Callie's gaze drops to her feet in shame, and maybe even guilt, "I think I've known. I just didn't--want it to be true. I don't know why."

"Do you love me?" He asks, hopeful, but mostly just curious, "Are you in love with me?"

"Yes." The quick speed in which the three letter word leaves her lips astounds her. One little syllable that means more in this moment, in this room, than any other conversation lasting hours in their entire history together.

Together, she thinks. Because, whether attached or not, they have always been a single unit.

"Are you in love with Arizona?" He asks.

This answer takes her a moment. Not because she doesn't know. But, because she can't believe that everything she and Arizona have been through, everything that Callie herself, has been through to be with this woman, has come down to this moment, this answer. This two letter, one syllable word, "No."

"But you love her."

"Yes."

There. It's done. In a matter of minutes, the conversation they should have had years ago, is dissolved in the air between them and it's done.

He realizes she has not met his eyes since the declarations began. So he tries for a statement that will do it, "I think we owe it to ourselves to be together."

She looks up. Pools of dark brown melt against a blue stare.

It is then, that any self retention dissolves around her. She doesn't burst into sorrowful tears. The guilt doesn't eat her alive in front of him. She simply gives in with a heavy sigh as her shoulders fall forward and into his embrace, which she welcomes while wrapping her arms around his waist.

He smells of cologne and baby formula. She smells of gardenias and Sofia.

There is an odd mixture of urgency between them then. There is the urgency of being together. Of touching and of feeling what they've denied themselves for so long now. Too long for them. Mark and Callie as protagonists of this story. And the urgency to get away and do things correctly. This urgency is more demanding. Because so much rests upon it. If they start now, before Callie tells Arizona, they're off to a rocky start. Callie believes in karma and if there is a third party, and if they don't do things the right way, their entire future will always be tainted.

Still, subconsciously, hands roam slowly, hesitantly, over cotton. Fingers trail delicately over hemlines in their embrace, once in a while, grazing skin. She rolls her head to switch from resting her cheek on his chest, to pressing her forehead against it. She fits perfectly there and he rests his chin atop her head. Her breath is warms against his skin every time she exhales. the fact that he can feel it through his shirt makes his mind dizzy.

There is no way to vocalize the comfort in the simple nature of wrapping their arms around each other. There is no exchange to be made with their voices that that isn't already emitting from their bodies with the gentle touch. There is so much love and respect, and admiration between them already, that there is no need for such proclamations.

Still, a swift movement brings Mark's lips to Callie's ear and he whispers hotly against it, "I love you."

It is an almost harsh murmur, and she shivers. Tears sting her eyes because she blames herself.

She breathes out and without so much as a thought, lifts her mouth up to his.

Their lips meet for the first time in almost a year. Every relationship they put between them, every fight, every conversation and every encounter otherwise seems to implode in its mediocrity. Nothing else matters but the meeting of their lips. His are smaller, hers are luscious. Somehow, they fit perfectly even here. Her chin tilts upward and his tilts downward. His tongue brushes over the roof of her mouth and suddenly every nerve ending is on full alert.

Her head angles to the right, and his to the left, their lips seemingly capturing and grabbing on in a single, heated, stilled kiss where his neck is cradled in her hand and her body is crushed against his body.

She can feel his heart accelerated, pounding in his chest, the same way hers must be.

He opens his mouth and so does she, and they close against one another. Their tongues meet again, hesitant, careful. She moans and he squeezes her tighter, pushing backward until her back hits the nearest wall softly.

They cling to one another through slow kisses they are trying to keep as non exciting as possible, but her hips rock against his involuntarily and a growl erupts from the back of his throat, strumming against his vocal chords like the soft tune seeping out of Sofia's room.

She tears away first, panting against the underside of his jaw line, his eyes closed and his breath heavy against her shoulder.

"I'm going to talk to her tonight," She says hoarsely, her hands sliding smoothly down his torso before wrapping his arms about him.

The front door opens, however and she freezes momentarily, her eyes widening up at him before they pull apart simultaneously.

She pulls down at the hem of her shirt, combs her fingers through her hair once, then again. She breathes in deeply.

"Hello?" Arizona calls from the kitchen.

Mark feels guilty. But mostly, he hates the fear in Callie's eyes. He hates what she has to do tonight. And he hates that it's going to be written all over their faces when they step out of the bedroom.

Callie comes out first, straight faced and calm, Mark right behind her.

Arizona must sense her, because she turns quickly, dimpled smile faltering as her eyes move from Callie to Mark, then back again.

They don't have to say a word.

She swallows audibly and licks her lips, staring blankly at the pair as if she's been waiting for this particular moment.

"Oh," Is all she says.

It hits Callie like a bucket of cold water. She's angry at the presumptuous response. She has never cheated. She has respected Arizona and forgiven her countless times.

"No," Callie says sternly, holding her hand up.

Both Arizona and mark are surprised.

And so is Callie for a moment as she continues, "Do not assume. It is not what you're thinking. This is not an 'I knew it' moment for you. Nothing has even happened between us." Her tone is settled and strict.

Mark feels suddenly sorry for a teenage Sofia being on the receiving end of that tone.

While Arizona's jaw sets, she turns a soft shade of pink that he recognizes as fury.

Callie's tone softens now, "But we do have to talk."

Mark turns quickly into Sofia's room, "I'll take her..."

In the comforting darkness of his daughter's room, something feels like it will all be okay tomorrow. He takes comfort in that. In her tiny, sleeping form against his chest.

He shuts off the music and wraps Sofia up in a fuzzy yellow blanket, stepping through the doorway, and through the living room, where Callie and Arizona are still staring down in silence.

The blonde's eyes drift briefly over to Sofia and he wonders if she'll want to see her in the future. He lingers at the door an additional moment, in case this is the last exchange between them, brief as it may be.

Finally, the door shuts behind him.

For two hours, Sofia sleeps in the crib in his apartment. For two hours, he fidgets and wonders if Callie has changed her mind. He tends to always fear the worst when it comes to her. And them.

He lifts his head from off the backrest, on the sofa, where he's been soaking in nerves and bitterness.

The door across the hall opens, slams shut.

He waits.

Twenty minutes later, the door opens again. It clicks shut softly this time. And seconds later, there is a soft knock on his door before it opens.

"Hi," He sits up as Callie walks in and looks at him where she stands.

Her eyes are red and puffy. No doubt, she's been crying for the better part of the night.

She manages a weak smile before sitting beside him and scooting in close under his arm. She sighs against him, closes her eyes and drapes an arm over his middle as he kisses her crown.

"Everything will be better in the morning." She tells him.

His body relaxes, holding her in his arms like this. He nestles them deeper against the cushioned leather couch and in no time, they drift off to sleep.

FIN.