I've done this dance before (3/?)
Title: I’ve Done This Dance Before. (3/?)
Author: Lestobiosis
Characters: Callie Torres, Erica Hahn, Callica ship
Spoilers: Post Season4 finale, roughly the time when S5 will allegedly start.
Rating: NC-17.
Summary: Callie and Erica begin to figure out who they are and where they're going.
Disclaimer: Characters and settings belong to people who are not me. Those people are ABC and Shonda Rhimes.
Previous chapters can be found here:
Chapter One
Chapter Two
.-=-.-=-. .-=-.-=-. .-=-.-=-. .-=-.-=-. .-=-.-=-. .-=-.-=-. .-=-.-=-. .-=-.-=-. .-=-.-=-.
Callie leaned forward, resting her hands on the edge of the sink, and stared at herself in the mirror. For the first time in a really long time she didn't feel like the freaky hair-eating girl who guys liked in spite of her eccentricities, or because they got some kick out of dating the ball-busting Amazon who got so much attention. She stared at herself and saw a woman, just a woman, who was for the first time feeling completely naked. Because for the first time she was afraid of losing herself to someone who actually seemed to see her, past the labels and bravado. She wasn't chasing someone, trying to prove to something, defending in some way what and who she was. Callie was simply standing still, simply being herself, loud and brash and awkward, and somehow Erica had seen all of who she was and... Callie was falling for someone who didn't need her to change anything about herself. And it scared her.
.-=-.-=-.
Erica locked her car and slipped the keys into her coat pocket. She shifted the grocery bags, taking one in each hand, and scanned the building's exterior until she found the windows she was looking for. It was a reflex, a habit she'd had since childhood; growing up surrounded by impersonal buildings, she would search for the familiar windows of a friend's apartment and mentally catalogue the different rooms that looked out onto the street. She did that now, noting that tonight the shades were all drawn.
.-=-.-=-.
Brown eyes stared back, unblinking. Of all of the things that had pushed their way through her brain for the past two weeks, Callie found herself now at a loss for any rational thought whatsoever. She dropped her head, letting out a sigh as her chin fell to her chest.
The bottle of wine was back in the fridge, after having been placed on the table, moved to the fridge, moved back to the table, moved to the coffee table, then to the kitchen counter over the course of the past hour. Callie was at a loss about what she should do, both because she had no idea what was going to happen over dinner, and because she had no idea what she wanted to have happen. With George and Mark she had known; there was an attraction that made sense, a friendship and flirtation, pursuit and…consummation. It followed a path that she was comfortable with and that she felt safe going down. She felt completely safe with Erica, usually. Tonight she felt anything but.
The buzzer rang.
.-=-.-=-.
The buzzer sounded tinny in the small alcove.
A few seconds passed.
Erica pressed the button again.
Finally the 'click' of the lock release sounded and she pushed through the outer door into the building.
.-=-.-=-.
Callie was waiting in the doorway, leaning awkwardly against the sill. She didn't know what to do with her hands; her arms crossed in front of her chest, then her hands shoved into her pockets, one hand pushed her hair back behind an ear, then dropped to play with the edge of her shirt.
"Are you going to stand there, staring at me, or can I get you to take one of these bags?" Erica drawled with a smirk.
"Hey yourself." Callie pushed off of the sill and took a step into the hallway. "I was told alcohol was my job. Didn't hear anything about hauling food."
For all of her worrying, Callie managed to fall easily into the familiar best friend banter that she enjoyed and had missed so much when it was conspicuously gone. Erica handed over one of the bags and looked surprised when the second was taken from her as well.
Callie shrugged. "You're cooking. I'm hungry. C'mon." She kicked the door closed behind them and walked into the kitchen, watching Erica fold her coat over the back of a chair then slowly look around the room, pausing to linger on the couch.
"How long have you been sleeping on that thing, now?"
"If you're going to give me a hard time-"
"I envy you, you know that?" She turned to face Callie, gave a small smile to the confusion she saw on her friend's face, then looked away. "So. Wine? And you need to get out of my kitchen so I can get to work."
An eyebrow shot up. "Your kitchen? I see."
Erica nodded, her face serious as she walked across the room. "I'm just giving you fair warning, Torres." She moved past Callie, turning to lean against the sink. "This?" she gestured to the small footprint of the kitchen. "This is the holy zone. You," she stepped forward, placing her hands on Callie's hips, "are not allowed in the holy zone."
Callie's breath had caught in her throat when she felt the soft pressure on her hips, but escaped in a laugh when the pressure became more forceful and pushed her backwards out of the room. "Holy zone?..." She shook her head and raised her eyebrows skeptically as she walked around to lean on the other side of the counter. "Now I'm worried about what you've got in the bags."
.-=-.-=-.
Erica had never had any trouble talking about herself, as long as the conversation stayed to fairly impersonal topics. She was more than happy to discus work; actually, she really only talked about work. Anything beyond that wasn't safe, because she couldn't control it as well. Talking about herself left things open to impressions and interpretations the way that controlled facts and sterile, albeit humorous, anecdotes never did.
It was one thing when she knew what someone expected of her; she could tailor her story to fit that mold, the way she'd learned to do back when she was still a kid. She had that down to an art form: study the subject, assessing behavior patterns that emerge following controlled antecedents, hypothesize their expectations based on responses to third-party actions. It only took a few moments of watching someone before she could figure out how to behave the way that the other person wanted her to, the way to which the other would respond best. It was another thing entirely to set out without knowing what it was the other person wanted to hear; to take a blind leap.
If everything she did was deliberate, and she knew the outcome of every action, then she wouldn't risk the danger of embarrassment or of people finding out that she was so much less than they expected her to be. She had slipped two weeks ago, letting herself get caught, get blindsided, when everything happened with the Chief and Yang. There was so much going on, and she had gotten too wrapped up in Sloan, the tension with Callie, and caring about the kid in the concrete; she'd dropped her guard and had pushed out too far. The Chief's words had stung her, both in the OR and later. Having it happen in front of Yang just twisted the knife further. In the subsequent two weeks she'd worked to rebuild the distance between herself and everything she did. Pulling back and making it clear that she didn't care about what had happened made the whole thing less painful, less important. At least, she hoped that's what it looked like. She was a better teacher to Yang, and the isolating wall around her, keeping everything at a distance, did make dealing with the resident more bearable.
Everything was more bearable, once she got used to shutting off being a person and focused instead on being the cold cardiothoracic doctor that she was paid to be. The problem was the woman standing across from her, who made her want to slide back into being a person.
.-=-.-=-.
Callie relaxed against the wall, propped up against the counter, watching Erica prepare to cook. She was meticulous, which was no surprise; the woman approached this task the way she approached every task Callie had seen her take on. Each bag was unpacked, the ingredients piled in groups along the counter, cutting board and knife pulled out and set next to the sink. Erica seemed deep in thought, only looking back at Callie as she moved to the sink and began scrubbing her hands.
"What?"
Callie couldn't help it, she was grinning. "You. It's like watching you prep for surgery or something."
"Oh please, don't even-"
"No," Callie shrugged quickly, "it's cute." The second of silence roared through Callie's ears before she quickly spoke again. "So nothing scary in the bag, but holy zone? I'm still waiting for the explanation."
Erica smiled, but it didn't travel up to her eyes. There was something about the smile that Callie thought seemed almost timid, or withdrawn.
"Ah yes. The holy zone." She dried her hands and continued speaking as she began to rummage through the cupboards, pulling out pots and setting water to boil. "When I was growing up we had a small kitchen, kind of like this one. Everything was on top of each other and when my mother would cook, if anyone else went into the room they'd be underfoot. So she referred to the area around the fridge and the sink, where she was working, as 'the holy zone', and wherever that was, we weren't allowed in. When I was little it was because I'd get in the way. When I was older it was either a habit or a control issue."
There was a pause as she finished smashing a handful of garlic cloves, deftly scooping them into a shallow sauce pot. Callie continued watching her, without comment.
"What.”
"Hmm?"
"You're being very quiet."
"I'm just listening."
"You? You're never this quiet. It's strange." Erica squinted her eyes at Callie in mock suspicion.
Callie smiled. "I like listening. You never talk about yourself - outside of work things,” she quickly added, cutting off Erica's opening mouth before she could argue. "I mean, I don’t help with that since…I really have a lot of drama to talk about, don’t I? Anyway. You. Talking about you. It's nice."
"Yeah, well…" She trailed off as she turned to rinse the knife. "I don't… I don't talk. A lot." She laughed at herself, then looked up at Callie briefly before focusing intently on smoothly dicing the tomatoes in front of her. "But you? You get me to talk. And that makes me nervous."
"I make you nervous?"
"You don't make me nervous. Talking makes me nervous. Talking about myself. I don't do that and I don't like to do that…but you make me."
"You don't have -"
"You make me want to." She sighed and wiped her hands on a towel. Callie watched her fold the towel, clearly deep in thought.
"Wine?"
Erica smiled at her friend. "Wine would be good."
Callie pushed herself from the wall, pausing as she got to the kitchen entrance. "The holy zone? Can I?" She grinned. "Is it safe to come in?"
Taking Erica's scowl, followed by a smile, as a yes, Callie entered and removed the bottle of wine from the fridge. The two worked silently side by side, one smoothly opening the bottle and finding glasses, the other finishing the final preparations and sliding a tray into the oven. Bringing the timer with her, Erica followed Callie across the apartment. They stopped in front of the couch, not needing to speak as Erica took her glass and watched Callie fill it. She noted the way her lips tightened slightly as she finished the pour, twisting the bottle just enough to stop the drip, and how they relaxed again as she filled her own glass.
Callie glanced up and caught Erica watching her. She set down the bottle and turned to face her friend. "So."
"So."
"Listen, Erica, I really…I really don't know what I'm doing, here, I just…" She trailed off.
Erica stepped in closer, lifting her free hand to push a lock of hair back from Callie's face. "I don't know either." her hand trailed around from behind Callie's ear to cup her face. "I’m not worried."
Callie's lips parted, her eyes darting from Erica's deep blue eyes to her lips and back again. "Right. So…okay? You’re, and we're, okay?"
The rest of her thought was cut off by soft lips pressing against hers. It was a tender kiss, tentative and slow. The women broke apart hesitantly; Callie smiled and leaned her head, nuzzling into the hand that lingered by her cheek. Erica watched as she raised her hand to Erica's, then sighed. When she opened them, there was something behind her brown eyes that made Erica's stomach knot.
"What's wrong?"
Callie forced a weak smile. "Nothing." Seeing the concern on Erica's face, Callie softened; her smile dropped, then reappeared slightly, but this time genuine. She took Erica's hand in her own, leading her to the couch and sitting. Their fingers remained intertwined and Callie stared at them, running her thumb along Erica's knuckles as she spoke.
"Nothing's wrong. Believe me. I'm happy, I just... I'm happy that you're here and you're talking to me again -"
"You weren't talking either, you know."
""Yeah, well." She took a long drink and leaned forward to set her wine glass on the low table, releasing Erica's hand as she moved. Settling back into the couch, Callie angled her body so that they were facing each other. "The thing is... it's that... well, I'm not..."
"Gay?”
"Yeah." She exhaled the word, nodding.
"Mm. Well, I'm not either, so you're not the only one a little panicked here."
"You're? I'm not. Panic? No."
Erica smiled. "Callie. You've told me about you and George. And I saw you doing whatever dance that was with Sloan." She rolled her eyes, then paused, speaking deliberately. "Honestly, you tend to move pretty quickly. But. I don't rush into things. I really don't do anything unless I know exactly what the outcome is going to be, and this? Not something I know anything about. And so you might not be, but I'm a little... I don't, um..." She shook her head and looked directly at Callie, holding her gaze. She knew that she should trust her friend but the words were almost too difficult to form.
The kitchen timer sounded. Erica stood, "saved by the bell, huh?"
"Erica," Callie reached out and stopped the other from walking past. "I don't know what's going on here, but I'm not running away. I've done the stupid chasing thing, and just, don't... are you, are you running away?"
Erica smiled and leaned over the couch. "I'm not running away." She kissed the top of Callie's head, then repeated the words quietly in her ear before tilting the brunette's chin towards hers and kissing her lightly on the lips.
Callie sat on the couch and watched Erica quickly finish the meal. It was true; she knew that she wasn't going to run away, but she was determined not to run into anything too quickly either. Not after George, not after being left feeling so lost and alone. The word "gay" echoed in her head and pulled her thoughts out of the warm kitchen and back towards the hospital.
"Hey, you." Erica's voice snapped her back into the room. "Come eat."
"Wow." Callie mumbled through a mouthful of pasta. "This is really good." Erica smiled, embarrassed by the compliment. "No, I mean really good. What else can you make?"
She laughed. "I don't know... um... a lot of things? I like cooking." Erica shrugged. "It's cathartic. Even if you screw up, you can still eat your mistakes.”
"But you don't cook like this, this stuff all the time... do you? You do?" Callie exclaimed at Erica's nod. "Alright. I'm seriously reconsidering this panic thing now."
"Oh really?"
"If it means you'll cook like this? You can do whatever you want to me." Callie blushed furiously and focused her attention on a piece of bread as soon as the words escaped her mouth.
Erica stifled a laugh and poured them both more wine. "Maybe we can talk sexual favors another time, Torres. Right now, let's just have dinner."
"So, is this... is this a date? Are we on a, did you ask me out on a date?" Callie grinned. "In front of Cristina?"
"I...guess, you're right." Erica smiled. "I guess I did. You, Dr. Torres, are an amazingly bad influence on me."
"What?"
"Pulling me down into your world of... on-call room dating..." Callie watched Erica, saw something in her eyes change as she went from laughing to pulling back into herself.
"Hey." She reached over and took Erica's hand. "Where'd you go?"
"Hmm?"
"You went away for a second there. I like having you here. Don't. I'm not going to hurt you. Are... do you think...?" She laughed. "I have no idea what I'm saying, clearly, but whatever you're worried about, you can tell me."
"What did Yang tell you about the surgery?"
Callie's eyebrow shot up. "It, um, it went well? You had her go in through her side."
"I heard her telling you about it." Callie nodded. "And about wearing a dress to prom...?" Callie nodded again. Erica pursed her lips together in thought as she carefully set her fork down and reached for her wine. After taking a sip, she began talking, her eyes flitting over the table but never moving to Callie's face. Callie watched her intently.
"Patent ductus arteriosus," Callie smiled slightly as she recognized Erica seamlessly slide over into being the controlled and measured Dr. Hahn. "in a four year old, wasn't caught on initial echocardiograms, follow-up electrocardiograms were also negative. The murmur was discovered during a routine annual physical exam, she went in for follow-up, was non-responsive to indomethacin. The parents met with their physician as well as another surgeon at Seatlle Presbyterian, both of whom initially recommended using a transcatheter device closure. When they examined further they found that the PDA was too large for an endovascular coil. Apparently the family wasn't comfortable with their doctor, there was a disagreement of some kind and, for whatever reason, they decided to come to me to do the surgery instead. Layla did present signs that she might develop infective endocarditis or bleed into her lungs if we did not treat, so we scheduled the surgery and that was that."
Erica paused again to take another sip of wine. Her eyes softened, but her face remained impassive.
"I met with the family to review the procedure, a few days ago. Layla was dancing. She's a beautiful little girl... she insists on wearing all pink, and her parents tie a pink ribbon around her head. Because of her PDA her hair is still very short, and apparently when she was younger, people would think that she was a boy... until very recently... so her parents put a pink ribbon around her head to try to let people know..." She trailed off momentarily. "Anyway. She was dancing, and we were still in the waiting area, and there were a number of people there, watching her. She fell, tripped I think, and I watched her completely change. She went from being so free... She didn't cry. She just stood up and walked straight back to her parents, kept her eyes on the ground in front of her the whole time."
Callie could see Erica's mind replaying the scene as she stared through the table in front of her.
"I've never seen... This amazing little girl, she just closed down. She was crying, but she wouldn't let herself...she had tears in her eyes but she wasn't making a sound. Four years old. She..." Erica blinked and turned to face Callie. "I know what it's like not to have any self-confidence." She shook her head. "I don't... I know that I am good at what I do. That I am. very.” Her chin quivered briefly with the emotion she was working to contain. “Good. At what I do. But that doesn't always sink in more than skin deep. And Layla... I know what the rest of her life is going to be like. She's four years old and she's already learning to build those walls so no one can see her get hurt."
Erica smiled slightly and looked away, picking her fork up to poke at the food on her plate.
Callie's voice sounded loud in the silence as she finally spoke. "So that's why you didn't want her to have a scar on her chest."
"The zipper club.” Erica nodded and took a deep breath. “I didn't want her to be in the zipper club. Not a girl like Layla. She doesn't need one more thing to carry around, to have to hide or laugh away. So. Yang. Yang is a very capable surgeon. She followed the scapula. She did a beautiful job. And now Layla has a scar that hides under any bra or bathing suit she'll ever wear."
They sat in silence for a minute, then Callie picked up her plate and stood. She reached for Erica's and smiled gently. "Dinner was amazing. Thank you."
"Let me-"
"Nuh-uhn. You cook, I clean. House rules."
"You clean?" Callie glared at her. "This I have to see."
Erica settled back into her chair and smiled. It was amazing how easily Callie was able to make her feel safe, even as she opened up to her more than she had to anyone in years. The way in which she listened without judging her, and the way she was able to say the right thing at the moment when it was most needed, made Erica more confident in her actions that night.
"Well, the show's gonna have to wait," she said, depositing the plates in the sink. "Because right now I'm full, and I need a couch and some wine and have I mentioned that I don't have a roommate tonight?"
Erica laughed as she stood and walked to the kitchen. "As much as I'd love to follow your-"
"Dirty thoughts?"
"Your dirty thoughts, it's getting late and I should be getting home." She wrapped her arms around Callie's waist and pulled her closer, grinning. "If you repeat anything I've said tonight, I'll have to kill you, you know that right?"
Callie grinned back and looked into her deep blue eyes. "Yes. And I also know that your humor-as-defense thing could use some work."
Erica smirked; Callie saw a familiar glint in her eyes. “Hey. Easy there Torres. I bare my fragile ego to you?-“
“I mock,” Callie gently stroked Erica’s cheek, “because I care.”
She leaned in tentatively for a kiss. Erica’s hands tightened their hold on Callie’s waist, pulling her in closer, one hand snaking up her back. Their lips parted as the kiss deepened, a tongue hesitantly traced the other’s bottom lip eliciting a groan that sent shivers through both women. Callie traced her hands along Erica’s sides, coming to rest at the top of her ribs, pressing against the gentle swell of her breasts.
Erica pulled away, running her tongue across her lower lip and looking, in Callie’s eyes, like someone who very much did not want to go home. “Your dirty thoughts… Dr. Torres…”
“I don’t think they’re just mine.” Callie moved back in for another kiss but Erica stepped back, breaking out of the embrace.
"I really do have to go. I don't think I need to tell you that I'd rather not." She blushed. "About tomorrow..."
"I'll see you at work." She paused, "Dr. Hahn."
"You’re okay with... I don't mix my life with my work. I mean, this, is...” she smiled broadly. “But I don't - "
"I know it might seem like I'd be the last person to say this, but I am perfectly fine with no one at work knowing my business. Believe me. Besides," she pulled Erica back into her arms, kissing her just enough to make the other woman regret her decision to leave. "I kinda like just having you to myself."
.-=-.-=-..-=-.-=-..-=-.-=-..-=-.-=-..-=-.-=-..-=-.-=-..-=-.-=-.
Author: Lestobiosis
Characters: Callie Torres, Erica Hahn, Callica ship
Spoilers: Post Season4 finale, roughly the time when S5 will allegedly start.
Rating: NC-17.
Summary: Callie and Erica begin to figure out who they are and where they're going.
Disclaimer: Characters and settings belong to people who are not me. Those people are ABC and Shonda Rhimes.
Previous chapters can be found here:
Chapter One
Chapter Two
.-=-.-=-. .-=-.-=-. .-=-.-=-. .-=-.-=-. .-=-.-=-. .-=-.-=-. .-=-.-=-. .-=-.-=-. .-=-.-=-.
Callie leaned forward, resting her hands on the edge of the sink, and stared at herself in the mirror. For the first time in a really long time she didn't feel like the freaky hair-eating girl who guys liked in spite of her eccentricities, or because they got some kick out of dating the ball-busting Amazon who got so much attention. She stared at herself and saw a woman, just a woman, who was for the first time feeling completely naked. Because for the first time she was afraid of losing herself to someone who actually seemed to see her, past the labels and bravado. She wasn't chasing someone, trying to prove to something, defending in some way what and who she was. Callie was simply standing still, simply being herself, loud and brash and awkward, and somehow Erica had seen all of who she was and... Callie was falling for someone who didn't need her to change anything about herself. And it scared her.
.-=-.-=-.
Erica locked her car and slipped the keys into her coat pocket. She shifted the grocery bags, taking one in each hand, and scanned the building's exterior until she found the windows she was looking for. It was a reflex, a habit she'd had since childhood; growing up surrounded by impersonal buildings, she would search for the familiar windows of a friend's apartment and mentally catalogue the different rooms that looked out onto the street. She did that now, noting that tonight the shades were all drawn.
.-=-.-=-.
Brown eyes stared back, unblinking. Of all of the things that had pushed their way through her brain for the past two weeks, Callie found herself now at a loss for any rational thought whatsoever. She dropped her head, letting out a sigh as her chin fell to her chest.
The bottle of wine was back in the fridge, after having been placed on the table, moved to the fridge, moved back to the table, moved to the coffee table, then to the kitchen counter over the course of the past hour. Callie was at a loss about what she should do, both because she had no idea what was going to happen over dinner, and because she had no idea what she wanted to have happen. With George and Mark she had known; there was an attraction that made sense, a friendship and flirtation, pursuit and…consummation. It followed a path that she was comfortable with and that she felt safe going down. She felt completely safe with Erica, usually. Tonight she felt anything but.
The buzzer rang.
.-=-.-=-.
The buzzer sounded tinny in the small alcove.
A few seconds passed.
Erica pressed the button again.
Finally the 'click' of the lock release sounded and she pushed through the outer door into the building.
.-=-.-=-.
Callie was waiting in the doorway, leaning awkwardly against the sill. She didn't know what to do with her hands; her arms crossed in front of her chest, then her hands shoved into her pockets, one hand pushed her hair back behind an ear, then dropped to play with the edge of her shirt.
"Are you going to stand there, staring at me, or can I get you to take one of these bags?" Erica drawled with a smirk.
"Hey yourself." Callie pushed off of the sill and took a step into the hallway. "I was told alcohol was my job. Didn't hear anything about hauling food."
For all of her worrying, Callie managed to fall easily into the familiar best friend banter that she enjoyed and had missed so much when it was conspicuously gone. Erica handed over one of the bags and looked surprised when the second was taken from her as well.
Callie shrugged. "You're cooking. I'm hungry. C'mon." She kicked the door closed behind them and walked into the kitchen, watching Erica fold her coat over the back of a chair then slowly look around the room, pausing to linger on the couch.
"How long have you been sleeping on that thing, now?"
"If you're going to give me a hard time-"
"I envy you, you know that?" She turned to face Callie, gave a small smile to the confusion she saw on her friend's face, then looked away. "So. Wine? And you need to get out of my kitchen so I can get to work."
An eyebrow shot up. "Your kitchen? I see."
Erica nodded, her face serious as she walked across the room. "I'm just giving you fair warning, Torres." She moved past Callie, turning to lean against the sink. "This?" she gestured to the small footprint of the kitchen. "This is the holy zone. You," she stepped forward, placing her hands on Callie's hips, "are not allowed in the holy zone."
Callie's breath had caught in her throat when she felt the soft pressure on her hips, but escaped in a laugh when the pressure became more forceful and pushed her backwards out of the room. "Holy zone?..." She shook her head and raised her eyebrows skeptically as she walked around to lean on the other side of the counter. "Now I'm worried about what you've got in the bags."
.-=-.-=-.
Erica had never had any trouble talking about herself, as long as the conversation stayed to fairly impersonal topics. She was more than happy to discus work; actually, she really only talked about work. Anything beyond that wasn't safe, because she couldn't control it as well. Talking about herself left things open to impressions and interpretations the way that controlled facts and sterile, albeit humorous, anecdotes never did.
It was one thing when she knew what someone expected of her; she could tailor her story to fit that mold, the way she'd learned to do back when she was still a kid. She had that down to an art form: study the subject, assessing behavior patterns that emerge following controlled antecedents, hypothesize their expectations based on responses to third-party actions. It only took a few moments of watching someone before she could figure out how to behave the way that the other person wanted her to, the way to which the other would respond best. It was another thing entirely to set out without knowing what it was the other person wanted to hear; to take a blind leap.
If everything she did was deliberate, and she knew the outcome of every action, then she wouldn't risk the danger of embarrassment or of people finding out that she was so much less than they expected her to be. She had slipped two weeks ago, letting herself get caught, get blindsided, when everything happened with the Chief and Yang. There was so much going on, and she had gotten too wrapped up in Sloan, the tension with Callie, and caring about the kid in the concrete; she'd dropped her guard and had pushed out too far. The Chief's words had stung her, both in the OR and later. Having it happen in front of Yang just twisted the knife further. In the subsequent two weeks she'd worked to rebuild the distance between herself and everything she did. Pulling back and making it clear that she didn't care about what had happened made the whole thing less painful, less important. At least, she hoped that's what it looked like. She was a better teacher to Yang, and the isolating wall around her, keeping everything at a distance, did make dealing with the resident more bearable.
Everything was more bearable, once she got used to shutting off being a person and focused instead on being the cold cardiothoracic doctor that she was paid to be. The problem was the woman standing across from her, who made her want to slide back into being a person.
.-=-.-=-.
Callie relaxed against the wall, propped up against the counter, watching Erica prepare to cook. She was meticulous, which was no surprise; the woman approached this task the way she approached every task Callie had seen her take on. Each bag was unpacked, the ingredients piled in groups along the counter, cutting board and knife pulled out and set next to the sink. Erica seemed deep in thought, only looking back at Callie as she moved to the sink and began scrubbing her hands.
"What?"
Callie couldn't help it, she was grinning. "You. It's like watching you prep for surgery or something."
"Oh please, don't even-"
"No," Callie shrugged quickly, "it's cute." The second of silence roared through Callie's ears before she quickly spoke again. "So nothing scary in the bag, but holy zone? I'm still waiting for the explanation."
Erica smiled, but it didn't travel up to her eyes. There was something about the smile that Callie thought seemed almost timid, or withdrawn.
"Ah yes. The holy zone." She dried her hands and continued speaking as she began to rummage through the cupboards, pulling out pots and setting water to boil. "When I was growing up we had a small kitchen, kind of like this one. Everything was on top of each other and when my mother would cook, if anyone else went into the room they'd be underfoot. So she referred to the area around the fridge and the sink, where she was working, as 'the holy zone', and wherever that was, we weren't allowed in. When I was little it was because I'd get in the way. When I was older it was either a habit or a control issue."
There was a pause as she finished smashing a handful of garlic cloves, deftly scooping them into a shallow sauce pot. Callie continued watching her, without comment.
"What.”
"Hmm?"
"You're being very quiet."
"I'm just listening."
"You? You're never this quiet. It's strange." Erica squinted her eyes at Callie in mock suspicion.
Callie smiled. "I like listening. You never talk about yourself - outside of work things,” she quickly added, cutting off Erica's opening mouth before she could argue. "I mean, I don’t help with that since…I really have a lot of drama to talk about, don’t I? Anyway. You. Talking about you. It's nice."
"Yeah, well…" She trailed off as she turned to rinse the knife. "I don't… I don't talk. A lot." She laughed at herself, then looked up at Callie briefly before focusing intently on smoothly dicing the tomatoes in front of her. "But you? You get me to talk. And that makes me nervous."
"I make you nervous?"
"You don't make me nervous. Talking makes me nervous. Talking about myself. I don't do that and I don't like to do that…but you make me."
"You don't have -"
"You make me want to." She sighed and wiped her hands on a towel. Callie watched her fold the towel, clearly deep in thought.
"Wine?"
Erica smiled at her friend. "Wine would be good."
Callie pushed herself from the wall, pausing as she got to the kitchen entrance. "The holy zone? Can I?" She grinned. "Is it safe to come in?"
Taking Erica's scowl, followed by a smile, as a yes, Callie entered and removed the bottle of wine from the fridge. The two worked silently side by side, one smoothly opening the bottle and finding glasses, the other finishing the final preparations and sliding a tray into the oven. Bringing the timer with her, Erica followed Callie across the apartment. They stopped in front of the couch, not needing to speak as Erica took her glass and watched Callie fill it. She noted the way her lips tightened slightly as she finished the pour, twisting the bottle just enough to stop the drip, and how they relaxed again as she filled her own glass.
Callie glanced up and caught Erica watching her. She set down the bottle and turned to face her friend. "So."
"So."
"Listen, Erica, I really…I really don't know what I'm doing, here, I just…" She trailed off.
Erica stepped in closer, lifting her free hand to push a lock of hair back from Callie's face. "I don't know either." her hand trailed around from behind Callie's ear to cup her face. "I’m not worried."
Callie's lips parted, her eyes darting from Erica's deep blue eyes to her lips and back again. "Right. So…okay? You’re, and we're, okay?"
The rest of her thought was cut off by soft lips pressing against hers. It was a tender kiss, tentative and slow. The women broke apart hesitantly; Callie smiled and leaned her head, nuzzling into the hand that lingered by her cheek. Erica watched as she raised her hand to Erica's, then sighed. When she opened them, there was something behind her brown eyes that made Erica's stomach knot.
"What's wrong?"
Callie forced a weak smile. "Nothing." Seeing the concern on Erica's face, Callie softened; her smile dropped, then reappeared slightly, but this time genuine. She took Erica's hand in her own, leading her to the couch and sitting. Their fingers remained intertwined and Callie stared at them, running her thumb along Erica's knuckles as she spoke.
"Nothing's wrong. Believe me. I'm happy, I just... I'm happy that you're here and you're talking to me again -"
"You weren't talking either, you know."
""Yeah, well." She took a long drink and leaned forward to set her wine glass on the low table, releasing Erica's hand as she moved. Settling back into the couch, Callie angled her body so that they were facing each other. "The thing is... it's that... well, I'm not..."
"Gay?”
"Yeah." She exhaled the word, nodding.
"Mm. Well, I'm not either, so you're not the only one a little panicked here."
"You're? I'm not. Panic? No."
Erica smiled. "Callie. You've told me about you and George. And I saw you doing whatever dance that was with Sloan." She rolled her eyes, then paused, speaking deliberately. "Honestly, you tend to move pretty quickly. But. I don't rush into things. I really don't do anything unless I know exactly what the outcome is going to be, and this? Not something I know anything about. And so you might not be, but I'm a little... I don't, um..." She shook her head and looked directly at Callie, holding her gaze. She knew that she should trust her friend but the words were almost too difficult to form.
The kitchen timer sounded. Erica stood, "saved by the bell, huh?"
"Erica," Callie reached out and stopped the other from walking past. "I don't know what's going on here, but I'm not running away. I've done the stupid chasing thing, and just, don't... are you, are you running away?"
Erica smiled and leaned over the couch. "I'm not running away." She kissed the top of Callie's head, then repeated the words quietly in her ear before tilting the brunette's chin towards hers and kissing her lightly on the lips.
Callie sat on the couch and watched Erica quickly finish the meal. It was true; she knew that she wasn't going to run away, but she was determined not to run into anything too quickly either. Not after George, not after being left feeling so lost and alone. The word "gay" echoed in her head and pulled her thoughts out of the warm kitchen and back towards the hospital.
"Hey, you." Erica's voice snapped her back into the room. "Come eat."
"Wow." Callie mumbled through a mouthful of pasta. "This is really good." Erica smiled, embarrassed by the compliment. "No, I mean really good. What else can you make?"
She laughed. "I don't know... um... a lot of things? I like cooking." Erica shrugged. "It's cathartic. Even if you screw up, you can still eat your mistakes.”
"But you don't cook like this, this stuff all the time... do you? You do?" Callie exclaimed at Erica's nod. "Alright. I'm seriously reconsidering this panic thing now."
"Oh really?"
"If it means you'll cook like this? You can do whatever you want to me." Callie blushed furiously and focused her attention on a piece of bread as soon as the words escaped her mouth.
Erica stifled a laugh and poured them both more wine. "Maybe we can talk sexual favors another time, Torres. Right now, let's just have dinner."
"So, is this... is this a date? Are we on a, did you ask me out on a date?" Callie grinned. "In front of Cristina?"
"I...guess, you're right." Erica smiled. "I guess I did. You, Dr. Torres, are an amazingly bad influence on me."
"What?"
"Pulling me down into your world of... on-call room dating..." Callie watched Erica, saw something in her eyes change as she went from laughing to pulling back into herself.
"Hey." She reached over and took Erica's hand. "Where'd you go?"
"Hmm?"
"You went away for a second there. I like having you here. Don't. I'm not going to hurt you. Are... do you think...?" She laughed. "I have no idea what I'm saying, clearly, but whatever you're worried about, you can tell me."
"What did Yang tell you about the surgery?"
Callie's eyebrow shot up. "It, um, it went well? You had her go in through her side."
"I heard her telling you about it." Callie nodded. "And about wearing a dress to prom...?" Callie nodded again. Erica pursed her lips together in thought as she carefully set her fork down and reached for her wine. After taking a sip, she began talking, her eyes flitting over the table but never moving to Callie's face. Callie watched her intently.
"Patent ductus arteriosus," Callie smiled slightly as she recognized Erica seamlessly slide over into being the controlled and measured Dr. Hahn. "in a four year old, wasn't caught on initial echocardiograms, follow-up electrocardiograms were also negative. The murmur was discovered during a routine annual physical exam, she went in for follow-up, was non-responsive to indomethacin. The parents met with their physician as well as another surgeon at Seatlle Presbyterian, both of whom initially recommended using a transcatheter device closure. When they examined further they found that the PDA was too large for an endovascular coil. Apparently the family wasn't comfortable with their doctor, there was a disagreement of some kind and, for whatever reason, they decided to come to me to do the surgery instead. Layla did present signs that she might develop infective endocarditis or bleed into her lungs if we did not treat, so we scheduled the surgery and that was that."
Erica paused again to take another sip of wine. Her eyes softened, but her face remained impassive.
"I met with the family to review the procedure, a few days ago. Layla was dancing. She's a beautiful little girl... she insists on wearing all pink, and her parents tie a pink ribbon around her head. Because of her PDA her hair is still very short, and apparently when she was younger, people would think that she was a boy... until very recently... so her parents put a pink ribbon around her head to try to let people know..." She trailed off momentarily. "Anyway. She was dancing, and we were still in the waiting area, and there were a number of people there, watching her. She fell, tripped I think, and I watched her completely change. She went from being so free... She didn't cry. She just stood up and walked straight back to her parents, kept her eyes on the ground in front of her the whole time."
Callie could see Erica's mind replaying the scene as she stared through the table in front of her.
"I've never seen... This amazing little girl, she just closed down. She was crying, but she wouldn't let herself...she had tears in her eyes but she wasn't making a sound. Four years old. She..." Erica blinked and turned to face Callie. "I know what it's like not to have any self-confidence." She shook her head. "I don't... I know that I am good at what I do. That I am. very.” Her chin quivered briefly with the emotion she was working to contain. “Good. At what I do. But that doesn't always sink in more than skin deep. And Layla... I know what the rest of her life is going to be like. She's four years old and she's already learning to build those walls so no one can see her get hurt."
Erica smiled slightly and looked away, picking her fork up to poke at the food on her plate.
Callie's voice sounded loud in the silence as she finally spoke. "So that's why you didn't want her to have a scar on her chest."
"The zipper club.” Erica nodded and took a deep breath. “I didn't want her to be in the zipper club. Not a girl like Layla. She doesn't need one more thing to carry around, to have to hide or laugh away. So. Yang. Yang is a very capable surgeon. She followed the scapula. She did a beautiful job. And now Layla has a scar that hides under any bra or bathing suit she'll ever wear."
They sat in silence for a minute, then Callie picked up her plate and stood. She reached for Erica's and smiled gently. "Dinner was amazing. Thank you."
"Let me-"
"Nuh-uhn. You cook, I clean. House rules."
"You clean?" Callie glared at her. "This I have to see."
Erica settled back into her chair and smiled. It was amazing how easily Callie was able to make her feel safe, even as she opened up to her more than she had to anyone in years. The way in which she listened without judging her, and the way she was able to say the right thing at the moment when it was most needed, made Erica more confident in her actions that night.
"Well, the show's gonna have to wait," she said, depositing the plates in the sink. "Because right now I'm full, and I need a couch and some wine and have I mentioned that I don't have a roommate tonight?"
Erica laughed as she stood and walked to the kitchen. "As much as I'd love to follow your-"
"Dirty thoughts?"
"Your dirty thoughts, it's getting late and I should be getting home." She wrapped her arms around Callie's waist and pulled her closer, grinning. "If you repeat anything I've said tonight, I'll have to kill you, you know that right?"
Callie grinned back and looked into her deep blue eyes. "Yes. And I also know that your humor-as-defense thing could use some work."
Erica smirked; Callie saw a familiar glint in her eyes. “Hey. Easy there Torres. I bare my fragile ego to you?-“
“I mock,” Callie gently stroked Erica’s cheek, “because I care.”
She leaned in tentatively for a kiss. Erica’s hands tightened their hold on Callie’s waist, pulling her in closer, one hand snaking up her back. Their lips parted as the kiss deepened, a tongue hesitantly traced the other’s bottom lip eliciting a groan that sent shivers through both women. Callie traced her hands along Erica’s sides, coming to rest at the top of her ribs, pressing against the gentle swell of her breasts.
Erica pulled away, running her tongue across her lower lip and looking, in Callie’s eyes, like someone who very much did not want to go home. “Your dirty thoughts… Dr. Torres…”
“I don’t think they’re just mine.” Callie moved back in for another kiss but Erica stepped back, breaking out of the embrace.
"I really do have to go. I don't think I need to tell you that I'd rather not." She blushed. "About tomorrow..."
"I'll see you at work." She paused, "Dr. Hahn."
"You’re okay with... I don't mix my life with my work. I mean, this, is...” she smiled broadly. “But I don't - "
"I know it might seem like I'd be the last person to say this, but I am perfectly fine with no one at work knowing my business. Believe me. Besides," she pulled Erica back into her arms, kissing her just enough to make the other woman regret her decision to leave. "I kinda like just having you to myself."
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