Before the season opener.....
Title: Discovery
Author: Um.... me
Characters: Callie Torres, Erica Hahn, Callica
Summary: After the camera fades to black, what happens? Immediately post-S4
Spoilers: season 4 finale
Rating: Right now? PG-13, if that
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual. I don't own shit, please don't sue.
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Callie Torres, pulled away from Erica Hahn and the scorchingly hot kiss they were sharing, with closed eyes and a hum of appreciation. The sparkles were sparking, the fireworks were going off, and everything in her body was hot to trot. She tossed her head back, feeling the warm, deft hands of the top cardio-thoracic surgeon in Seattle, combing, gently through her hair.
“Wow,” she said, stepping in to rest her forehead on Erica’s shoulder. This was quite possibly one of the most physically amazing and emotionally satisfying kisses of her life. “Holy Mother of wow.”
The blonde cleared her throat, and wrapped strong arms around Callie, snaking her hands inside the resident’s jacket. To Callie’s satisfaction, Erica sounded as throaty and husky as the latina, “Yeah,” she rasped, beginning a gentle stroke up and down the silky purple shirt, which almost made Callie purr like a cat, “Wow.”
They stood there like that for a minute more, and as Callie caught her breath, she relaxed into the embrace more, laying her cheek down on Erica’s shoulder and nuzzling-nuzzling!- into her neck. Erica was warm, she smelled like L'air du Temps, and her skin was soft. The heartbeat under Callie’s ear was strong, steady, and just a little bit fast, which made her smile. It was different, being in a woman’s arms, Callie could feel the softness of breasts against her own, the gentle texture of smooth skin, different in every way from male stubble. Callie was on sensory overload, trying to take in every detail at once.
“Cal...” Erica murmured, edging them towards the bench as a small group exiting the hospital pushed past and around them, “We’re in the way.”
“Yeah,” Callie replied, lifting her head up, and meeting warm blue eyes, “I.. uh.. you want to go out for drinks or... something?” She stuttered her way through the invitation but it didn’t seem to phase Erica, who smiled very warmly, sending more tingles of effervescent feeling into Callie’s bloodstream. This blonde was like a shot of pure liquid crack to Callie’s system, making her heart pound, her head fuzzy, and her body scream for more.
“Joe’s?” asked Erica, seemingly not yet able, or willing, to let go of the latina. She let her hands drop to Callie’s waist, gripping her belt. “Or somewhere else?”
“Right now? Anywhere with a flat surface,” Callie said breathlessly, but at the immediate look of apprehension, she amended, “But I’ll settle for you and something strong.”
Erica became thoughtful for a moment, then offered, “I know this place, it’s a little out of the way...”
“Will there be booze?” Callie interrupted.
“Yes,” Erica responded with a smile.
“Then let’s go.”
They never found Erica’s keys, but instead drove Callie’s cute little powder blue Prius. They managed to skate into the liquor store before the 11 PM deadline, and hurry out with a bottle of very nice Bermuda rum, which Erica cracked the seal on, sitting on a park bench, overlooking the city’s waterfront, as seen from Alki Point, across Elliot Bay.
They’d also picked up a six pack of Coke on the way, at a service station, and when they got to the park, Erica chugged about a third of one of the bottles of Coke, poured in a healthy measure of the dark, flavourful rum, and plugged the top with her finger, upending the bottle, and deftly slurping up the fizz as it formed.
“Y’know, where I come from they call that a Cuba Libre.” Callie commented, simply sipping straight from the bottle. She thought diluting perfectly good rum was practically a waste, but knew that Erica didn’t really go for liquor straight, not that she couldn’t but it was something she just didn’t like.
“Really? Where I come from it’s just a rum and Coke.” Erica replied sipping tentatively at her fizzy concoction, and evidently satisfied, she settled back, kicking off her shoes to wiggle bare toes in the air. She leaned back, clearly relaxing, and Callie was amazed, both by the unconscious sexiness of the gesture, and its nonchalance.
A minute or so passed in silence, before Callie laughed nervously, “I-I-I don’t know what to say.”
Erica rolled her head on the back edge of the bench to look, “About what?”
“This,” Callie gestured with her rum bottle, “You, me, us... this thing”
“I’m a thing now?”
“No,” Callie replied, frustrated, “Between us... this thing.”
“You can say the word relationship. I won’t run away,” Callie was immediately outraged, but one glance at the warm, slightly sly, smile on Erica’s face was enough to assure her the teasing was gentle and kindly meant.
“You aren’t freaking out about this at all, are you?” she asked, amazed at Erica’s almost supernatural calm, “I’m sitting here trying figure out what the hell is happening to me, and you’re just... just... so incredibly, like, placid and serene.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know! That’s what I asked you!” Callie replied, her voice hitting a squeak and she took another healthy slug of rum to calm down.
“No,” Erica’s languid, intimate smile sent shivers down Callie’s spine. “Why are you freaking out?”
“Why!? I’m sitting here trying to reconcile and re-evaluate my entire heterosexual, penis-loving life, and you are just sitting there doing that ‘I’m-emotionally-impervious-to-everything’ thing that really freaks me out.” Callie knew she was being shrill, but couldn’t stop herself, visions of little mocking lesbians dancing around in her head.
“Cal...” Erica began, then sat up straight, leaning all the way over the park bench, and seized the brunette’s lips in a steamy, circuit-shorting, low-down tickle of a kiss, which effectively ended all cognitive thought. “Look at me, look, am I any different now, than I was six hours ago when we were chipping that guy out of his concrete jungle?” Callie, shook her head ‘no’ and Erica pressed on, “Are we different people because we decided, mutually, that kissing each other is a very,” Erica leaned in again and nibbled, “Very, good thing?” Callie shook her head in the negative again, “Then relax, and take this one step at a time. Right now, all I really want, is to sit here, with the most gorgeous woman in Seattle, drink a little, and make out like teenagers.”
Her lips again descended on Callie, and for a long, indeterminate period of time, the latina was completely oblivious to anything but the hot mouth of Erica Hahn and her nipping teeth, questing tongue, and positively killer hands. The bottle of rum was corked and set down, and Calliope Torres found herself on the end of the most erotic, naughty, and downright sexy kiss she’d ever received. Erica’s hands were on her hips, her ass, sliding up and briefly cupping one breast, and ending tangled in her hair, while Callie was helpless to do anything but feel and moan.
They parted, panting, and Callie opened her eyes, greeting the heat boiling in those gorgeous baby blues, and gasped, “You’ve done this before.”
“Most people start their kissing phase in high school, hon,” was Erica’s reply, with a naughty smile, as she leaned in and raked her teeth down Callie’s neck, sending lightening bolts of sensation zipping to Callie’s core. “I’ll admit to having some practice since then, but I can’t say I’ve ever had such a motivating partner.”
“I mean,” Callie protested, arching into the bite, “With a woman.”
“Actually,” Erica said, almost thoughtfully, “No, I haven’t.”
“Really?” Callie rasped, “You’re killing me.”
“Good,” Erica smiled, “Now hush.”
Languidly, they made out-right there on the park bench- for about half an hour. Leaning back into Erica’s embrace and looking over the moonlit Elliot Bay, ripping with mirrored waves, and the city all lit up with twinkling lights, Callie realised just how downright romantic it was to be sitting there.
It felt different, being in this position with a woman, but not in a bad way. Erica was warm to lean against, her arms were strong, and she had a vocabulary of soft, incoherent sounds which were reassuring. She didn’t have big, broad shoulders, her voice didn’t rumble deeply, there was no flat chest, or the omnipresent stubble, which Callie was accustomed to; but it was okay, Erica had soft lips, deft, cool hands, and a spell-bindingly amazing kiss. The blonde could be torrid, tender, and incredibly gentle, the slight pressure of her thumb against Callie’s cheek, stroking softly, made sensual awareness flow right down to the latina’s toes.
“Hey,” Erica murmured, complete lassitude dripping syrupy from her voice, “You ok?”
“Fantastic,” replied Callie, “One question?”
“Mmmkay,”
“How is it that you are amazingly well adjusted to this whole hot lesbian action, thing. I mean, two weeks ago, when Addie said: ‘Hey, are you speaking the vagina monologues’ I was completely floored, ran for the closest penis I could find, and treated you like crap for days. You just kinda cruised casually into the lesbian thing without any...” Callie lost some steam as she tried to describe it and ended up just saying, “Y’know?”
“Did she really say ‘vagina monologues’?” Erica asked humour lacing her voice, and she laughed out loud when Callie nodded, “Wow, that is so LA.”
“Seriously, though,” Callie wiggled a little, getting a better view of Erica’s face, “This didn’t just come completely out of the blue?”
“There was a little blue,” Erica acknowledged gracefully, “But honestly, I’ve been drawn to you like a magnet pretty much since I got to Seattle Grace, so it’s not all that surprising, the urge to...touch,” Erica brought her hand slowly up Callie’s side, absently stroking, “If Addison Montgomery was what it took to to get you to see us together, then I should send her flowers or something.”
“Did I mention the freaking out, the two days avoiding you, and the marathon sex with Mark Sloan?” Callie replied, leaning into Erica’s hand.
“Ok, so maybe not roses,” Erica amended, with a lazy grin. Almost absently, she asked, “Was Dr. Montgomery upset?”
“About us? Addie? Hell no, she thought we were a couple, a really happy couple. She said she liked you, and was majorly supportive in a liberal, LA, kinda way.” Callie glared at Erica, “You still haven’t answered my question?”
“Which was?”
“How can you possibly be so normal and well adjusted?” Callie demanded, narrowing her eyes when the blonde simply laughed.
“Therapy,” Erica replied easily, with a small shrug, “Years and years of paying someone a ridiculous amount of money to sit and listen to my problems. Just because I can take things calmly, don’t be deluded into thinking I’m normal by any stretch. ” She paused, as if thinking, “Besides, I don’t have too much to adjust, it’s not like I’ve never been attracted to a woman.”
“You said you’d never done the ‘L Word’ thing before,” Callie replied with mild accusation, “You holding out on me?”
“No,” Erica replied, slowly, as if Callie was missing something major. “I haven’t had a relationship with a woman. That doesn’t mean I haven’t wanted to.”
Callie paused, genuinely surprised. “Seriously?” and Erica nodded, with a small smile. The idea of someone rejecting Erica’s overtures seemed ludicrous, after all the attending was a tall, gorgeous, goddess of a blonde with an amazing ability to listen, and a scary-good hand with a scalpel. So Callie asked, “Was she on crack?”
Erica tightened her hold on Callie, pulling the surgical resident so close it was almost painful, and kissed the top of her head, “I doubt it. The... opportunity never presented itself.”
They sat there for a while longer, until Callie’s ass started to go numb, and with a wiggle and a slap; which made Callie yelp in surprise and whirl on a bemused Erica. They headed back to the car, and Callie noted with some surprise, that Erica was holding her shoes in one hand, walking back on the gravel pathway barefoot. It hurt Callie’s feet just to watch, but without a qualm, Erica’s painted, Greek toes-her middle toe longer than the others-marched on like the pointy rocks weren’t there.
“I should say this,” Erica began, as she pulled out of the lot. “I... that is, I don’t play well with others.”
“What?”
“Damn it, I...uh,” Erica slid a shy, sidelong smile at Callie, and blurted, “I don’t share. Despite what I may have said to, ah, Sloan, I really don’t want...”
“A threesome?” Callie asked, wondering just where Erica was going with her rambling.
“More than that,” at Callie’s surprised arch of the eyebrows, Erica became very frustrated and slapped the steering wheel, “No not more, like, people more...um, more as in I don’t want to have to share you with Mark Sloan.” Callie’s jaw dropped, as Erica continued. “You are a beautiful, gorgeous, woman and I care about you, very much, more than I like to admit, however; I am not the kind of person to have sex in an on-call room. I am very much, not the kind of person to have a relationship with a co-worker.”Callie had begun to splutter as Erica ploughed on ahead, ignoring her passenger’s spluttering, “ That said, you... move me.”
Erica stopped talking somewhat abruptly as she merged, blonde hair flapping as she checked her blind spots, “You... I don’t know that I’ve ever met someone like you Callie Torres and I’m willing to be a little flexible, but I won’t share. Not with Mark Sloan, not with anyone, and if that’s a problem I want to know now.”
Callie sat silently, for about ten minutes, halfway beginning several sentences and abortively stopping, trying to process what Erica had said: it was intense. It was also, probably, one of the longest solo speeches she’d ever heard from the blonde. Erica wasn’t playing around, and the serious nature of her implication struck Callie; this wasn’t a causal relationship to the blonde surgeon. After having a marriage fall apart in her face, almost as soon as it started, Callie had to ask herself: was she really ready for another serious relationship?
It was a quiet ride, Callie paying little enough attention to their destination that when they pulled up to Erica’s house she was surprised. With a gentlemanly gesture, Erica swept open the passenger side door, and handed the latina out of the car, then held both her hands.
“No pressure, Cal, I just don’t want to have to deal with Yang tonight.” When she would have let their joined hands drop, Callie held on, stepping into the blonde’s embrace. She rested her head on Erica’s shoulder and held on, arms crossed over Erica’s shoulder blades. Feeling the voice under her ear as much as hearing it, Callie heard, “Listen: whatever you want, I’ll respect that decision.”
“I know,” Callie muttered into Erica’s lapel, soaking in the warmth and comfort of the other woman’s embrace. “Just another minute?”
“Sure.”
There was some sort of strange, animal magnetism going on, because Callie did not want to leave this spot. Erica took it with good humour, and held her there for quite a while, not moving or pressuring her in the slightest. Eventually, they made it inside. Erica didn’t live too far from Alki Point, she lived in the nearby West Seattle neighbourhood of Arbor Heights. For the world class cardiothorasic surgeon she was, the house was a relatively modest two bedroom affair, certainly nothing to the sweeping land Dr. Shepard bought, or the ultra-modern high-rise apartment where Mark Sloan lived.
The house was, however, home-like, which was more and more appreciated every time Callie visited. She particularly valued the place being cosy and clean especially, because she’d lived on Christina Yang’s sofa for a while, and that place, while convenient and close to her friends, was not always either. Erica’s home was well landscaped, however, with several hulking trees flirting with the moonlight and huge boulder-like rocks which edged the property, casting shadows like protective gargoyles.
Inside they fell into a familiar pattern, Callie had crashed at the house several times after long shifts and evenings out dancing, she knew where the bathrooms were and could navigate in the dark without tripping over the furniture. Erica presented her with a loose pair of dark shorts and a worn, grey, t-shirt that said ARMY, for sleeping attire. As Callie lay on the sofa, her argument had been if she slept on Christina’s sofa regularly, there was no point in putting Erica out of a bed, she made her decision. Callie cast off the blanket and padded softly on bare feet up the stairs pausing outside Erica’s bedroom. Softly she called out, “Hey, you still awake?”
“No,” was the muttered reply. Callie opened the door to a rumpled full size sleigh bed, with a rumpled Erica staring bleary eyed. “It’s zero-dark-thirty Cal...”
“I’ve decided.” Callie said softly, amazed at how quickly that got Erica’s attention. She rolled onto her back and sat up, revealing a very thin tank top as the blanket bunched around her waist. “I want to do this.” Callie asserted. “We’re friends, Erica, good friends, and I think we could be great together.” Callie stepped forward, reaching the edge of the bed, “I know I haven’t given you the best impression of my ability to stay in a relationship, but I can try, I-I want to try.”
Waiting for a response, scanning Erica’s face for the slightest hint of reaction, Callie was a little surprised that the only real response she got was a yawn, and and sleepy smile. Erica lifted one end of the blanket. Callie paused, and Erica said, “Relax, I doubt either of us are ready to become a full-fledged lesbians overnight, I’d just like for you to be near.” Callie climbed in, gingerly, not entirely sure how this arrangement was going to work. “Left, right or other?”
“Um, left side,” Callie replied, and Erica scooted over until she had enough room.
“Ok, you want to spoon, should I...?” Erica asked, and it seemed almost surreal, having a cute little domestic discussion about who got to cuddle whom.
“You’re taller,” Callie replied, “And bitchier, does that make you the ‘butch’?”
“It makes me, me.” Erica said softly, “Do I have to have a label to make it easier for you?”
Callie paused, all of her knowledge, her preconceptions, about a lesbian relationship were getting mowed down in the face of Hahn’s calm, nonchalant, matter-of-fact handling. She was out of her comfort zone and it was a little frightening, “Does it make me a bad person if I say yes?”
“No, not really,” Erica firmly tucked Callie’s back up against her chest, arranging blankets and pillows until she was satisfied they would be cosy, “If it makes you happy, you can think of me as a ‘butch’. I don’t mind.”
“Ok,”
It was sinfully delicious, a mattress and box spring, more pillows than God, and a warm, firm body cuddled close. Erica’s sheets were decadently soft, her blankets were fluffy and warm, and the soft breaths puffing on the back of Callie’s neck, were just reassuring enough to lull her into blissful oblivion.
Cristina only wished her couch was this awesome.
******************
Waking up was an amazing experience. Erica Hahn was not the sort of person people touched, casually, or hugged, or cuddled. It was a pity, really, she felt a deep yearning for that feeling, and her psychologist would probably tell her she had a nice little self-defeating loop going on; she liked the feeling of emotional intimacy and reassurance that touch gave, but disliked the vulnerability and social interaction necessary for touching to occur.
Privately Erica always believed it was her need to touch, her desire for it, which drove her first into medicine, secondly into cardiac surgery as she could, literally, hold someone’s heart in her hands. Her psychologist said she was raised in a very ethnic, German speaking household, and was simply not touched very much as a child, hence her intense enjoyment of the sensation as an adult. Then again, her psychologist had a lot to say about her family, the least of which was how she was raised.
Well Hahn’s psychologist could kiss her ass, because Callie Torres was sleeping in her arms, drooling a wet patch of saliva on her right breast, and if felt like she was on top of the world. She checked the clock on the wall, it was early, but not too early, and she could lay there for at least another half-hour and enjoy the sensation.
Fingers combing through Callie’s hair, she marvelled at the silky-smooth feeling, during the night Callie had turned around, nuzzling into Erica’s chest. Erica’s left hand was free and she whirled it around the black curls an unconscious smile forming as she deftly wove patterns of dark hair against pale skin. The curves of the warm, soft, woman in her arms began to snuffle a little, in the natural patterns of waking up, and Erica kissed Callie, full on the lips, just as she judged the latina about to open her eyes.
There was a muffled noise of shock and inhalation, but it swiftly passed to a deep, thorough kiss. Callie was so soft, so very soft. She stroked the downy fine hairs on Callie’s cheek with reverent awe, feeling privileged to just be in that situation; be the one Callie snuggled against. Part of the appeal of the feminine, to Erica, was this softness, the different textures of skin and hair. She pulled away from Callie’s kiss, and smiled, “Good morning, gorgeous.”
Watching Callie’s dark eyes flutter open, was a pleasure, and she muttered, with a voice smoky with pleasure, “Damn straight. Hell of a way to wake up.”
There was a moment of concern, when realisation passed over Callie’s face about where, and precisely how she’d spent the night, but to Erica’s relief, she snuggled back, albeit somewhat further away, and said, “Your bed is amazingly comfortable.”
“Thanks, but I think you’ve just slept on the sofa for too long.” Erica reached out and stroked Callie’s lips with one finger. “That can’t be good for your back.”
To Erica’s surprise, and pleasure, Callie blushed; distinctly a red flush crept up from her cheekbones and the tips of her ears. “It doesn’t bother me, much.”
They split up, getting ready for the day. Erica went out for her usual morning exercise: Tai Chi and a nice, long, run. As she stretched out on the porch, she called in the door for to Callie grab the shower first. It was oddly easy for Erica to expand her personal space to include the latina. Doing hair and make-up together, picking out some clothes Callie could wear from the closet, even feeling pride when the latina exclaimed over her home cooked breakfast and gourmet coffee, were all easy feelings.
Erica caught herself staring a few times, but instead of pulling her eyes away, re-focusing them as she usually did in a more public setting, she let them go. It was nice and once Callie picked up on the lingering glances, she hammed it up for her admirer, giving an extra wiggle and swish. It was nice, it was fun, and it made the whole morning a little more lighthearted.
“Even when I was a resident, I had my own bunk,” Erica admonished, as Callie tucked into her whole wheat waffles. “Living with Yang can’t be a picnic.” Callie paused at that and Erica thought she may have made a mistake, mentioning Callie’s flatmate. They never talked about Yang.
Awkwardly she admitted, “I know. I’m hard on her.”
“She’s brilliant,” Callie observed, “Odd, disturbingly focused, and emotionally strange, but she’s brilliant. Did you know she’s dyslexic?”
“What?” Erica was shocked, the sheer volume of information that Christina Yang could spit out, particularly on extremely short notice, was nothing short of incredible for anyone let alone someone with a reading disorder.
“I live with her,” Callie shrugged, “She doesn’t advertise it, but when she labels things ‘stop’ and ‘snap’ instead of pots and pans, you catch on pretty quick. Yeah, and Burke, with that Harper Avery?” Erica nodded, as Callie shovelled in more waffle, “Yang did his surgeries.”
“No,” that was over the top, Preston Burke was a man she knew well, he was skilled, and on par with her own abilities, “No way.”
“When he got shot, in the arm, he developed a tremor,” Callie revealed, “He scrubbed in Yang on his surgeries, all of them, and she covered for him. Did the work. She earned his Harper Avery.”
This was disturbing information. Erica stood up abruptly, clearing her own plate to the sink, “You’re joking.”
Callie gave a sort of sympathetic quirk of the chin, “Look, I know we really don’t talk about Yang, and I understand. She’s your resident, you are the chief of cardio, and I live on her sofa, so it’s all awkward, but she is that good. That’s all I’m going to say, that’s it, just... she’s in a bad place, she’s my friend, and you are really not helping the situation.”
Erica paused, halfway through the only cup of coffee she allowed herself; she never knew when she’d be called into something delicate, and the slightest tremor in her hands from too much caffeine was simply not acceptable. Breathing deeply, she summoned the professional detachment and maddeningly analytical part of her personality which made her an excellent, as opposed to a good, surgeon.
“Dr. Torres,” she began, indicating to Callie she was no longer addressing her as a friend, “As a surgeon and a professional, would you go under her knife?”
“Yes, I would. She’s good. She’s a little weird, but she’s good.” There didn’t seem to be any hesitation, which surprised Erica a little, but remembering that Callie had seen a lot more of Yang, she let it stand.
“Ok, then,” “Would you want her to be your doctor?”
“I-” Callie was midway through her statement and paused, “Point, she’s not exactly warm and fuzzy, but y’know neither are you...” Callie stopped short again, “You...weren’t that bad. Where you?”
“I was, as a resident,” Erica admitted, shamelessly, “Focused, intense, cold... I’m not saying I’m much better now, but I am aware, and I like to think I try better, with the patients at least. Yang just doesn’t care.” Erica remembered the chief’s lecture with a grimace, “I have to do something about it, though, and I just don’t know where to begin.”
“Well, Dr. Hahn,” Callie emphasised, “Scrub her in, she’s good, and she will do anything for the opportunity.”
“Carrot and stick, hmm?” Erica sipped, slowly, “I don’t know that I can beat civility into anyone. Respect, possibly, civility... you have to want it.”
“Think of it more as... an incentive program.” Callie suggested, clearing her own plate and mug to the sink. “She will do anything to get on your service.”
“Devious, very devious, Dr. Torres,” Erica leaned forward, lowered her voice to a sexy purr, “I like it.”
Callie turned slowly, flirtatiously tossing her hair over one shoulder, “See anything else you like?”
The got Erica out of her seat and pressed up against Callie’s back in a heartbeat, “Ja sehe ich,” she murmured into the back of the latina’s neck, “Dass etwas, das ich mag.”
Callie leaned back, rubbing against Erica like a cat, “Jesus, I have no idea what you said, but that was hot.”
“What?” Erica asked, still holding tightly, “Oh, hm, I haven’t done that in a while.”
“You didn’t realise?” Callie turned, lacing her arms around the back of Erica’s neck, her hips still moving with a compelling rhythm, “It sounded kinda German-ish, which kinda fits, I mean-hello-your last name is Hahn.”
“Yes, I speak German,” Erica brushed it off, feeling that frisson of tension at the revelation, “I grew up speaking German, as I imagine you grew up speaking Spanish. I just haven’t inadvertently switched languages in a while.”
“It happens,” Callie brushed the event off, “I do that when I’ve been talking to my parents or hear it on the radio. No prob, in fact,” Callie threaded her hands into Erica’s hair and forcefully crashed their lips together, and murmured between breaths, “I think it’s really, really sexy.”
“Really?” Erica ducked her head down to nip at Callie’s neck, “Sie denken, dass dieses reizvoll ist?”
“Oh, yeah,”
It was almost disappointing to head in to the hospital, as Callie’s little whimpers of protest at the idea were almost enough to change Erica’s mind, which was an event that practically never happened. As Erica changed in her office, she sat for a moment, in her tank-top and scrub pants, she was first very grateful that the privacy of an office was hers, as a chief attending, and she didn’t have to share a locker room with her residents. It was a closet of an office, with only one, high window, but it was an office. Secondly, she needed to sit and try to summon back some of her professional detachment, before she went wading in the shark pool that was Seattle Grace.
Her door knocked and she unreasonably got the thought it may be Callie, stuffing that thought back into the personal space it belonged, she pulled her scrub top over her head. “Come in.”
“Dr. Hahn,” Miranda Bailey poked her head in the door, “You wanted to speak to me?”
“Yes, it’ll be quick,” Erica stood to gather her stethoscope and white lab coat, “I know Yang has bothered you to get her on my service roster.”
“Has she ever,” Dr. Bailey responded, “You gonna do something about that?”
“I have to,” Hahn replied, “Chief's orders, unless some thing unusual happens, she’s with me.”
Miranda whistled, rocking back on her heels a little, “Them’s pretty tall orders.”
Knowing that whatever she said would be spread around the hospital in about ten minutes, Hahn chose her words carefully, “Apparently I have to overlook my distaste for her personal life and unfortunate bedside manner, to teach her instead of ignoring her. ”
Miranda thrust her hands into her white coat, nodding, “Ah, you gotta rise above.”
“Like an eagle,” Hahn smiled, “So put her on the roster, unless she screws up royally, I am stuck trying to teach her something.”
“Will do,” With a swish of her lab coat Dr. Bailey was off and scheduling, and her remarks about Yang would run through the surgical staff about ten minutes after the schedule was put in place. Speaking of scheduling, Hahn pulled her own calendar out and did a little tidying. As chief of cardiothorasic she rode herd on almost two hundred surgical scrub nurses, equipment techs, surgeons, general cardiologists, and support staff.
It wasn’t exactly hard, she’d gone into active duty with the Army Medical Corps after Johns Hopkins to pay for medical school, and stayed in, through her residency and fellowship. Now she was on reserve, mainly so that she could still catch cardiac cases on military healthcare.
Ironically enough, she’d been in the service long enough to be thinking about taking an early retirement. Four years enlisted as an undergrad, training as a 91-W or Field Medic, another four years as a medical student while also working at Bethesda Naval Hospital as a Paramedic, then Officer Candidate School, a year of internship back in Ft. Sam, Texas, five years of active duty residency as a Battalion Surgeon, two more for her cardiac fellowship in Iraq, yet another two for her transplant fellowship at Madigan Army Medical Center here in, Washington, at Ft. Lewis, and a year reserve duty in Seattle. It added up. She enlisted at seventeen and now, at thirty six, she could think about hanging up her uniform for good.
After learning to perform surgery in a wool tent under enemy fire, a few paltry hundred staff members of Seattle Grace wasn’t exactly a challenge. Hahn liked the Army, mostly, she liked the structure, the discipline, and the expectation of total obedience to a superior officer. The rank structure of a hospital was sort of similar to the Army. Enlisted persons would be techs and support staff, non-coms would be interns, junior officers were nurses, captains were residents, majors would be attendings, and so on. Hahn, as a chief of cardio, would be a full Colonel, which would have been her promotion had she stayed on active duty, so it made sense to her how orders and responsibilities flowed down the chain of command.
It was much looser at the hospital; here she could make friends with residents or nurses, and display some decidedly un-officer-like humour, the downside was, the hospital didn’t let you throw people in the brig for insubordinate behaviour. She gathered charts and sighed, Hahn realised why her Army experience was going through her mind now. One of the top charts was a soldier she’d treated previously, as a member of a Forward Surgical Team in Afghanistan.
Impulsively, she opened the top drawer of her desk, and among the paper-clips, quarters, pens and pencils, were her dog tags. Unlike many surgeons she wasn’t terribly superstitious, no ‘lucky’ scrub cap, but she did have her dog tags, which she wore, occasionally, when things got tough, to remind her that she was trained to be stronger. She slipped them over her head, tucking them down her shirt, as she went to collect her residents and their interns, to do rounds.
Wisely, Erica saved Sgt. Silva for last, because after going through all her other patients with Yang and interns in tow, she was on her last thread of patience. The Asian cardiac savant had responded to her placement on Hahn’s cardio service with the same over-enthusiasm and bootlicking which made Hahn cringe every other time she’d seen Yang.
“Okay, last patient,” in the hallway outside the room, she turned to address her entourage, “Sgt. Daniel Silva, talk to me...” as Yang started to monopolise the discussion, yet again, Hahn stopped her by saying, “Yang, open your mouth one more time and the closest you will get to surgery today is the gallery.”
Cristina’s mouth snapped shut, with a click of her teeth, and she finally let her interns have the chance to discuss the diagnosis. Lexie Grey spoke up first, “Um, he was a referral from a different hospital, and was diagnosed with a benign tumour in his left ventricle, which has since started to impair the valve, and he was brought here for surgery. The primary on the case was Dr. Fitzgerald from uh, Fort Lewis.”
“Good,” she had her eye on Lexie Grey as a future cardio surgeon, she had an aptitude, and quiet competency, which was a reason she was assigned to Yang as an intern. “We do indeed have a myxoma to remove this morning. Can someone tell me the pre-op drug regimen for this type of surgery?”
She quizzed her interns for a little more, why they were operating, how the surgery was performed, and other basic questions she knew Dr. Yang had the answers for; the Asian woman was physically quivering with the effort to not speak, but holding it in, and Hahn could see that this might well be a tactic to keep her muzzled down to a manageable level.
“Ok, nice job,” she praised her interns, who preened a little, and Hahn turned, “Dr. Yang,” the resident nodded fiercely, “I want you, when we’re finished here, to prep this man for surgery.” When Yang went to open her mouth, Hahn held up a hand, “Before I allow you to scrub in, I want you to tell me five items of personal information about Sgt. Silva. Which means, Yang, that you have to talk to him, politely, and engage in a meaningful personal dialogue. No dialogue, no surgery. If you’re having problems, ask Grey, she seems to have a knack for bedside manner. Am I understood?” Mutely, Yang nodded again, and Hahn smiled, “Excellent.”
She opened the door to his room and greeted, “Good morning Sargent, Mrs. Silva, how are we doing?”
He sat up stiffly in the bed, to military attention, and crisply saluted, “Good morning, Colonel Hahn,”
Truly pleased, Hahn, grinned, and came to attention herself, returning his salute softly, “You remembered, I’m surprised, that was a while ago.”
“You saved my leg, ma’am” was his prompt response, “You don’t forget stuff like that. When I heard my surgeon was gonna be you, well, let’s say I was a lot happier about gettin’ cut open.”
“I appreciate that,” Hahn felt that trickle of pride enter her voice, “I’m not on active duty anymore, though, just reserves.”
“You’re in the Army?” squeaked Lexie Grey, voicing the astonishment the others were feeling.
“How are you planning to pay for Med School, Dr. Grey?” she asked, rhetorically. “I had no desire to be in debt until I’m forty.” Hahn took in the wide-eyed shock from the interns, and the eyebrows of Cristina Yang almost in her hairline, “Consider yourselves lucky you’re learning from a civilian institution, when I was doing my residency and fellowship, things like fraternization,” she made eye contact with Yang, “or insubordination, were punishable by arrest and court martial. I learned how to suture under fire in Afghanistan. The concept of a regulated 80 hour work week? Not happening.” The assembled company took in their attending with even more awe, “The Army doesn’t care about your feelings, does it Sgt. Silva?”
“No, ma’am,” he grinned, and they shared a moment of perfect understanding.
Her beeper went off and she checked the number, “Trauma page, Grey, come with me. Yang take care of this, and remember,” she smiled sharkily at Yang, “Dialogue.”
The trauma was unfortunately quick, the rig brought in a MVC who was throwing DVT’s and before they really had a chance to figure out what was wrong he started seizing. They kept him going for about ten minutes, but he had a pulmonary embolism, and coded before they could get him to surgery.
“Damn it,” she exclaimed, throwing her ER gown forcefully into the waste bin, “Damn it, we almost had him.”
“Whoa there, tiger,” The familiar voice had Erica’s heart literally skipping, “Lose one?”
Hahn looked over into the warm, compassionate eyes of Callie Torres, also kitted out in ER gown and gloves. Her fingers physically twitched, the urge to reach out and touch was so strong. Erica closed her eyes and took a deep breath in through her nose, trying to control herself, after humiliating Yang so badly for a lapse in discipline, referring to her fraternization, there was no way Erica could justify taking the comfort Callie would inevitably offer. It was unacceptable; after all her intern, Lexie Grey was standing not two feet away.
“I’m fine,” she said levelly, controlling her tone severely, “Thank you, Dr. Torres.” She made eye contact with Callie, knowing her face was set like stone, and begged with her eyes that the latina would understand.
Sympathetically, Callie addressed Lexie, standing just behind Hahn, with a smile, “You see, this is why I like ortho. Less of a chance you get called in on a code blue. It’s sucktastic, isn’t it Dr. Hahn?”
Relief washed over Erica and she even smiled a bit, as she replied, “Yes, sucktastic.” She turned to her intern, “Let’s go, we have a tumour to excise before lunch.”
“Ooo, tasty,” Callie teased, as Erica left, the youngest Dr. Grey in tow.
Author: Um.... me
Characters: Callie Torres, Erica Hahn, Callica
Summary: After the camera fades to black, what happens? Immediately post-S4
Spoilers: season 4 finale
Rating: Right now? PG-13, if that
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual. I don't own shit, please don't sue.
***************************
Callie Torres, pulled away from Erica Hahn and the scorchingly hot kiss they were sharing, with closed eyes and a hum of appreciation. The sparkles were sparking, the fireworks were going off, and everything in her body was hot to trot. She tossed her head back, feeling the warm, deft hands of the top cardio-thoracic surgeon in Seattle, combing, gently through her hair.
“Wow,” she said, stepping in to rest her forehead on Erica’s shoulder. This was quite possibly one of the most physically amazing and emotionally satisfying kisses of her life. “Holy Mother of wow.”
The blonde cleared her throat, and wrapped strong arms around Callie, snaking her hands inside the resident’s jacket. To Callie’s satisfaction, Erica sounded as throaty and husky as the latina, “Yeah,” she rasped, beginning a gentle stroke up and down the silky purple shirt, which almost made Callie purr like a cat, “Wow.”
They stood there like that for a minute more, and as Callie caught her breath, she relaxed into the embrace more, laying her cheek down on Erica’s shoulder and nuzzling-nuzzling!- into her neck. Erica was warm, she smelled like L'air du Temps, and her skin was soft. The heartbeat under Callie’s ear was strong, steady, and just a little bit fast, which made her smile. It was different, being in a woman’s arms, Callie could feel the softness of breasts against her own, the gentle texture of smooth skin, different in every way from male stubble. Callie was on sensory overload, trying to take in every detail at once.
“Cal...” Erica murmured, edging them towards the bench as a small group exiting the hospital pushed past and around them, “We’re in the way.”
“Yeah,” Callie replied, lifting her head up, and meeting warm blue eyes, “I.. uh.. you want to go out for drinks or... something?” She stuttered her way through the invitation but it didn’t seem to phase Erica, who smiled very warmly, sending more tingles of effervescent feeling into Callie’s bloodstream. This blonde was like a shot of pure liquid crack to Callie’s system, making her heart pound, her head fuzzy, and her body scream for more.
“Joe’s?” asked Erica, seemingly not yet able, or willing, to let go of the latina. She let her hands drop to Callie’s waist, gripping her belt. “Or somewhere else?”
“Right now? Anywhere with a flat surface,” Callie said breathlessly, but at the immediate look of apprehension, she amended, “But I’ll settle for you and something strong.”
Erica became thoughtful for a moment, then offered, “I know this place, it’s a little out of the way...”
“Will there be booze?” Callie interrupted.
“Yes,” Erica responded with a smile.
“Then let’s go.”
They never found Erica’s keys, but instead drove Callie’s cute little powder blue Prius. They managed to skate into the liquor store before the 11 PM deadline, and hurry out with a bottle of very nice Bermuda rum, which Erica cracked the seal on, sitting on a park bench, overlooking the city’s waterfront, as seen from Alki Point, across Elliot Bay.
They’d also picked up a six pack of Coke on the way, at a service station, and when they got to the park, Erica chugged about a third of one of the bottles of Coke, poured in a healthy measure of the dark, flavourful rum, and plugged the top with her finger, upending the bottle, and deftly slurping up the fizz as it formed.
“Y’know, where I come from they call that a Cuba Libre.” Callie commented, simply sipping straight from the bottle. She thought diluting perfectly good rum was practically a waste, but knew that Erica didn’t really go for liquor straight, not that she couldn’t but it was something she just didn’t like.
“Really? Where I come from it’s just a rum and Coke.” Erica replied sipping tentatively at her fizzy concoction, and evidently satisfied, she settled back, kicking off her shoes to wiggle bare toes in the air. She leaned back, clearly relaxing, and Callie was amazed, both by the unconscious sexiness of the gesture, and its nonchalance.
A minute or so passed in silence, before Callie laughed nervously, “I-I-I don’t know what to say.”
Erica rolled her head on the back edge of the bench to look, “About what?”
“This,” Callie gestured with her rum bottle, “You, me, us... this thing”
“I’m a thing now?”
“No,” Callie replied, frustrated, “Between us... this thing.”
“You can say the word relationship. I won’t run away,” Callie was immediately outraged, but one glance at the warm, slightly sly, smile on Erica’s face was enough to assure her the teasing was gentle and kindly meant.
“You aren’t freaking out about this at all, are you?” she asked, amazed at Erica’s almost supernatural calm, “I’m sitting here trying figure out what the hell is happening to me, and you’re just... just... so incredibly, like, placid and serene.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know! That’s what I asked you!” Callie replied, her voice hitting a squeak and she took another healthy slug of rum to calm down.
“No,” Erica’s languid, intimate smile sent shivers down Callie’s spine. “Why are you freaking out?”
“Why!? I’m sitting here trying to reconcile and re-evaluate my entire heterosexual, penis-loving life, and you are just sitting there doing that ‘I’m-emotionally-impervious-to-everything’ thing that really freaks me out.” Callie knew she was being shrill, but couldn’t stop herself, visions of little mocking lesbians dancing around in her head.
“Cal...” Erica began, then sat up straight, leaning all the way over the park bench, and seized the brunette’s lips in a steamy, circuit-shorting, low-down tickle of a kiss, which effectively ended all cognitive thought. “Look at me, look, am I any different now, than I was six hours ago when we were chipping that guy out of his concrete jungle?” Callie, shook her head ‘no’ and Erica pressed on, “Are we different people because we decided, mutually, that kissing each other is a very,” Erica leaned in again and nibbled, “Very, good thing?” Callie shook her head in the negative again, “Then relax, and take this one step at a time. Right now, all I really want, is to sit here, with the most gorgeous woman in Seattle, drink a little, and make out like teenagers.”
Her lips again descended on Callie, and for a long, indeterminate period of time, the latina was completely oblivious to anything but the hot mouth of Erica Hahn and her nipping teeth, questing tongue, and positively killer hands. The bottle of rum was corked and set down, and Calliope Torres found herself on the end of the most erotic, naughty, and downright sexy kiss she’d ever received. Erica’s hands were on her hips, her ass, sliding up and briefly cupping one breast, and ending tangled in her hair, while Callie was helpless to do anything but feel and moan.
They parted, panting, and Callie opened her eyes, greeting the heat boiling in those gorgeous baby blues, and gasped, “You’ve done this before.”
“Most people start their kissing phase in high school, hon,” was Erica’s reply, with a naughty smile, as she leaned in and raked her teeth down Callie’s neck, sending lightening bolts of sensation zipping to Callie’s core. “I’ll admit to having some practice since then, but I can’t say I’ve ever had such a motivating partner.”
“I mean,” Callie protested, arching into the bite, “With a woman.”
“Actually,” Erica said, almost thoughtfully, “No, I haven’t.”
“Really?” Callie rasped, “You’re killing me.”
“Good,” Erica smiled, “Now hush.”
Languidly, they made out-right there on the park bench- for about half an hour. Leaning back into Erica’s embrace and looking over the moonlit Elliot Bay, ripping with mirrored waves, and the city all lit up with twinkling lights, Callie realised just how downright romantic it was to be sitting there.
It felt different, being in this position with a woman, but not in a bad way. Erica was warm to lean against, her arms were strong, and she had a vocabulary of soft, incoherent sounds which were reassuring. She didn’t have big, broad shoulders, her voice didn’t rumble deeply, there was no flat chest, or the omnipresent stubble, which Callie was accustomed to; but it was okay, Erica had soft lips, deft, cool hands, and a spell-bindingly amazing kiss. The blonde could be torrid, tender, and incredibly gentle, the slight pressure of her thumb against Callie’s cheek, stroking softly, made sensual awareness flow right down to the latina’s toes.
“Hey,” Erica murmured, complete lassitude dripping syrupy from her voice, “You ok?”
“Fantastic,” replied Callie, “One question?”
“Mmmkay,”
“How is it that you are amazingly well adjusted to this whole hot lesbian action, thing. I mean, two weeks ago, when Addie said: ‘Hey, are you speaking the vagina monologues’ I was completely floored, ran for the closest penis I could find, and treated you like crap for days. You just kinda cruised casually into the lesbian thing without any...” Callie lost some steam as she tried to describe it and ended up just saying, “Y’know?”
“Did she really say ‘vagina monologues’?” Erica asked humour lacing her voice, and she laughed out loud when Callie nodded, “Wow, that is so LA.”
“Seriously, though,” Callie wiggled a little, getting a better view of Erica’s face, “This didn’t just come completely out of the blue?”
“There was a little blue,” Erica acknowledged gracefully, “But honestly, I’ve been drawn to you like a magnet pretty much since I got to Seattle Grace, so it’s not all that surprising, the urge to...touch,” Erica brought her hand slowly up Callie’s side, absently stroking, “If Addison Montgomery was what it took to to get you to see us together, then I should send her flowers or something.”
“Did I mention the freaking out, the two days avoiding you, and the marathon sex with Mark Sloan?” Callie replied, leaning into Erica’s hand.
“Ok, so maybe not roses,” Erica amended, with a lazy grin. Almost absently, she asked, “Was Dr. Montgomery upset?”
“About us? Addie? Hell no, she thought we were a couple, a really happy couple. She said she liked you, and was majorly supportive in a liberal, LA, kinda way.” Callie glared at Erica, “You still haven’t answered my question?”
“Which was?”
“How can you possibly be so normal and well adjusted?” Callie demanded, narrowing her eyes when the blonde simply laughed.
“Therapy,” Erica replied easily, with a small shrug, “Years and years of paying someone a ridiculous amount of money to sit and listen to my problems. Just because I can take things calmly, don’t be deluded into thinking I’m normal by any stretch. ” She paused, as if thinking, “Besides, I don’t have too much to adjust, it’s not like I’ve never been attracted to a woman.”
“You said you’d never done the ‘L Word’ thing before,” Callie replied with mild accusation, “You holding out on me?”
“No,” Erica replied, slowly, as if Callie was missing something major. “I haven’t had a relationship with a woman. That doesn’t mean I haven’t wanted to.”
Callie paused, genuinely surprised. “Seriously?” and Erica nodded, with a small smile. The idea of someone rejecting Erica’s overtures seemed ludicrous, after all the attending was a tall, gorgeous, goddess of a blonde with an amazing ability to listen, and a scary-good hand with a scalpel. So Callie asked, “Was she on crack?”
Erica tightened her hold on Callie, pulling the surgical resident so close it was almost painful, and kissed the top of her head, “I doubt it. The... opportunity never presented itself.”
They sat there for a while longer, until Callie’s ass started to go numb, and with a wiggle and a slap; which made Callie yelp in surprise and whirl on a bemused Erica. They headed back to the car, and Callie noted with some surprise, that Erica was holding her shoes in one hand, walking back on the gravel pathway barefoot. It hurt Callie’s feet just to watch, but without a qualm, Erica’s painted, Greek toes-her middle toe longer than the others-marched on like the pointy rocks weren’t there.
“I should say this,” Erica began, as she pulled out of the lot. “I... that is, I don’t play well with others.”
“What?”
“Damn it, I...uh,” Erica slid a shy, sidelong smile at Callie, and blurted, “I don’t share. Despite what I may have said to, ah, Sloan, I really don’t want...”
“A threesome?” Callie asked, wondering just where Erica was going with her rambling.
“More than that,” at Callie’s surprised arch of the eyebrows, Erica became very frustrated and slapped the steering wheel, “No not more, like, people more...um, more as in I don’t want to have to share you with Mark Sloan.” Callie’s jaw dropped, as Erica continued. “You are a beautiful, gorgeous, woman and I care about you, very much, more than I like to admit, however; I am not the kind of person to have sex in an on-call room. I am very much, not the kind of person to have a relationship with a co-worker.”Callie had begun to splutter as Erica ploughed on ahead, ignoring her passenger’s spluttering, “ That said, you... move me.”
Erica stopped talking somewhat abruptly as she merged, blonde hair flapping as she checked her blind spots, “You... I don’t know that I’ve ever met someone like you Callie Torres and I’m willing to be a little flexible, but I won’t share. Not with Mark Sloan, not with anyone, and if that’s a problem I want to know now.”
Callie sat silently, for about ten minutes, halfway beginning several sentences and abortively stopping, trying to process what Erica had said: it was intense. It was also, probably, one of the longest solo speeches she’d ever heard from the blonde. Erica wasn’t playing around, and the serious nature of her implication struck Callie; this wasn’t a causal relationship to the blonde surgeon. After having a marriage fall apart in her face, almost as soon as it started, Callie had to ask herself: was she really ready for another serious relationship?
It was a quiet ride, Callie paying little enough attention to their destination that when they pulled up to Erica’s house she was surprised. With a gentlemanly gesture, Erica swept open the passenger side door, and handed the latina out of the car, then held both her hands.
“No pressure, Cal, I just don’t want to have to deal with Yang tonight.” When she would have let their joined hands drop, Callie held on, stepping into the blonde’s embrace. She rested her head on Erica’s shoulder and held on, arms crossed over Erica’s shoulder blades. Feeling the voice under her ear as much as hearing it, Callie heard, “Listen: whatever you want, I’ll respect that decision.”
“I know,” Callie muttered into Erica’s lapel, soaking in the warmth and comfort of the other woman’s embrace. “Just another minute?”
“Sure.”
There was some sort of strange, animal magnetism going on, because Callie did not want to leave this spot. Erica took it with good humour, and held her there for quite a while, not moving or pressuring her in the slightest. Eventually, they made it inside. Erica didn’t live too far from Alki Point, she lived in the nearby West Seattle neighbourhood of Arbor Heights. For the world class cardiothorasic surgeon she was, the house was a relatively modest two bedroom affair, certainly nothing to the sweeping land Dr. Shepard bought, or the ultra-modern high-rise apartment where Mark Sloan lived.
The house was, however, home-like, which was more and more appreciated every time Callie visited. She particularly valued the place being cosy and clean especially, because she’d lived on Christina Yang’s sofa for a while, and that place, while convenient and close to her friends, was not always either. Erica’s home was well landscaped, however, with several hulking trees flirting with the moonlight and huge boulder-like rocks which edged the property, casting shadows like protective gargoyles.
Inside they fell into a familiar pattern, Callie had crashed at the house several times after long shifts and evenings out dancing, she knew where the bathrooms were and could navigate in the dark without tripping over the furniture. Erica presented her with a loose pair of dark shorts and a worn, grey, t-shirt that said ARMY, for sleeping attire. As Callie lay on the sofa, her argument had been if she slept on Christina’s sofa regularly, there was no point in putting Erica out of a bed, she made her decision. Callie cast off the blanket and padded softly on bare feet up the stairs pausing outside Erica’s bedroom. Softly she called out, “Hey, you still awake?”
“No,” was the muttered reply. Callie opened the door to a rumpled full size sleigh bed, with a rumpled Erica staring bleary eyed. “It’s zero-dark-thirty Cal...”
“I’ve decided.” Callie said softly, amazed at how quickly that got Erica’s attention. She rolled onto her back and sat up, revealing a very thin tank top as the blanket bunched around her waist. “I want to do this.” Callie asserted. “We’re friends, Erica, good friends, and I think we could be great together.” Callie stepped forward, reaching the edge of the bed, “I know I haven’t given you the best impression of my ability to stay in a relationship, but I can try, I-I want to try.”
Waiting for a response, scanning Erica’s face for the slightest hint of reaction, Callie was a little surprised that the only real response she got was a yawn, and and sleepy smile. Erica lifted one end of the blanket. Callie paused, and Erica said, “Relax, I doubt either of us are ready to become a full-fledged lesbians overnight, I’d just like for you to be near.” Callie climbed in, gingerly, not entirely sure how this arrangement was going to work. “Left, right or other?”
“Um, left side,” Callie replied, and Erica scooted over until she had enough room.
“Ok, you want to spoon, should I...?” Erica asked, and it seemed almost surreal, having a cute little domestic discussion about who got to cuddle whom.
“You’re taller,” Callie replied, “And bitchier, does that make you the ‘butch’?”
“It makes me, me.” Erica said softly, “Do I have to have a label to make it easier for you?”
Callie paused, all of her knowledge, her preconceptions, about a lesbian relationship were getting mowed down in the face of Hahn’s calm, nonchalant, matter-of-fact handling. She was out of her comfort zone and it was a little frightening, “Does it make me a bad person if I say yes?”
“No, not really,” Erica firmly tucked Callie’s back up against her chest, arranging blankets and pillows until she was satisfied they would be cosy, “If it makes you happy, you can think of me as a ‘butch’. I don’t mind.”
“Ok,”
It was sinfully delicious, a mattress and box spring, more pillows than God, and a warm, firm body cuddled close. Erica’s sheets were decadently soft, her blankets were fluffy and warm, and the soft breaths puffing on the back of Callie’s neck, were just reassuring enough to lull her into blissful oblivion.
Cristina only wished her couch was this awesome.
******************
Waking up was an amazing experience. Erica Hahn was not the sort of person people touched, casually, or hugged, or cuddled. It was a pity, really, she felt a deep yearning for that feeling, and her psychologist would probably tell her she had a nice little self-defeating loop going on; she liked the feeling of emotional intimacy and reassurance that touch gave, but disliked the vulnerability and social interaction necessary for touching to occur.
Privately Erica always believed it was her need to touch, her desire for it, which drove her first into medicine, secondly into cardiac surgery as she could, literally, hold someone’s heart in her hands. Her psychologist said she was raised in a very ethnic, German speaking household, and was simply not touched very much as a child, hence her intense enjoyment of the sensation as an adult. Then again, her psychologist had a lot to say about her family, the least of which was how she was raised.
Well Hahn’s psychologist could kiss her ass, because Callie Torres was sleeping in her arms, drooling a wet patch of saliva on her right breast, and if felt like she was on top of the world. She checked the clock on the wall, it was early, but not too early, and she could lay there for at least another half-hour and enjoy the sensation.
Fingers combing through Callie’s hair, she marvelled at the silky-smooth feeling, during the night Callie had turned around, nuzzling into Erica’s chest. Erica’s left hand was free and she whirled it around the black curls an unconscious smile forming as she deftly wove patterns of dark hair against pale skin. The curves of the warm, soft, woman in her arms began to snuffle a little, in the natural patterns of waking up, and Erica kissed Callie, full on the lips, just as she judged the latina about to open her eyes.
There was a muffled noise of shock and inhalation, but it swiftly passed to a deep, thorough kiss. Callie was so soft, so very soft. She stroked the downy fine hairs on Callie’s cheek with reverent awe, feeling privileged to just be in that situation; be the one Callie snuggled against. Part of the appeal of the feminine, to Erica, was this softness, the different textures of skin and hair. She pulled away from Callie’s kiss, and smiled, “Good morning, gorgeous.”
Watching Callie’s dark eyes flutter open, was a pleasure, and she muttered, with a voice smoky with pleasure, “Damn straight. Hell of a way to wake up.”
There was a moment of concern, when realisation passed over Callie’s face about where, and precisely how she’d spent the night, but to Erica’s relief, she snuggled back, albeit somewhat further away, and said, “Your bed is amazingly comfortable.”
“Thanks, but I think you’ve just slept on the sofa for too long.” Erica reached out and stroked Callie’s lips with one finger. “That can’t be good for your back.”
To Erica’s surprise, and pleasure, Callie blushed; distinctly a red flush crept up from her cheekbones and the tips of her ears. “It doesn’t bother me, much.”
They split up, getting ready for the day. Erica went out for her usual morning exercise: Tai Chi and a nice, long, run. As she stretched out on the porch, she called in the door for to Callie grab the shower first. It was oddly easy for Erica to expand her personal space to include the latina. Doing hair and make-up together, picking out some clothes Callie could wear from the closet, even feeling pride when the latina exclaimed over her home cooked breakfast and gourmet coffee, were all easy feelings.
Erica caught herself staring a few times, but instead of pulling her eyes away, re-focusing them as she usually did in a more public setting, she let them go. It was nice and once Callie picked up on the lingering glances, she hammed it up for her admirer, giving an extra wiggle and swish. It was nice, it was fun, and it made the whole morning a little more lighthearted.
“Even when I was a resident, I had my own bunk,” Erica admonished, as Callie tucked into her whole wheat waffles. “Living with Yang can’t be a picnic.” Callie paused at that and Erica thought she may have made a mistake, mentioning Callie’s flatmate. They never talked about Yang.
Awkwardly she admitted, “I know. I’m hard on her.”
“She’s brilliant,” Callie observed, “Odd, disturbingly focused, and emotionally strange, but she’s brilliant. Did you know she’s dyslexic?”
“What?” Erica was shocked, the sheer volume of information that Christina Yang could spit out, particularly on extremely short notice, was nothing short of incredible for anyone let alone someone with a reading disorder.
“I live with her,” Callie shrugged, “She doesn’t advertise it, but when she labels things ‘stop’ and ‘snap’ instead of pots and pans, you catch on pretty quick. Yeah, and Burke, with that Harper Avery?” Erica nodded, as Callie shovelled in more waffle, “Yang did his surgeries.”
“No,” that was over the top, Preston Burke was a man she knew well, he was skilled, and on par with her own abilities, “No way.”
“When he got shot, in the arm, he developed a tremor,” Callie revealed, “He scrubbed in Yang on his surgeries, all of them, and she covered for him. Did the work. She earned his Harper Avery.”
This was disturbing information. Erica stood up abruptly, clearing her own plate to the sink, “You’re joking.”
Callie gave a sort of sympathetic quirk of the chin, “Look, I know we really don’t talk about Yang, and I understand. She’s your resident, you are the chief of cardio, and I live on her sofa, so it’s all awkward, but she is that good. That’s all I’m going to say, that’s it, just... she’s in a bad place, she’s my friend, and you are really not helping the situation.”
Erica paused, halfway through the only cup of coffee she allowed herself; she never knew when she’d be called into something delicate, and the slightest tremor in her hands from too much caffeine was simply not acceptable. Breathing deeply, she summoned the professional detachment and maddeningly analytical part of her personality which made her an excellent, as opposed to a good, surgeon.
“Dr. Torres,” she began, indicating to Callie she was no longer addressing her as a friend, “As a surgeon and a professional, would you go under her knife?”
“Yes, I would. She’s good. She’s a little weird, but she’s good.” There didn’t seem to be any hesitation, which surprised Erica a little, but remembering that Callie had seen a lot more of Yang, she let it stand.
“Ok, then,” “Would you want her to be your doctor?”
“I-” Callie was midway through her statement and paused, “Point, she’s not exactly warm and fuzzy, but y’know neither are you...” Callie stopped short again, “You...weren’t that bad. Where you?”
“I was, as a resident,” Erica admitted, shamelessly, “Focused, intense, cold... I’m not saying I’m much better now, but I am aware, and I like to think I try better, with the patients at least. Yang just doesn’t care.” Erica remembered the chief’s lecture with a grimace, “I have to do something about it, though, and I just don’t know where to begin.”
“Well, Dr. Hahn,” Callie emphasised, “Scrub her in, she’s good, and she will do anything for the opportunity.”
“Carrot and stick, hmm?” Erica sipped, slowly, “I don’t know that I can beat civility into anyone. Respect, possibly, civility... you have to want it.”
“Think of it more as... an incentive program.” Callie suggested, clearing her own plate and mug to the sink. “She will do anything to get on your service.”
“Devious, very devious, Dr. Torres,” Erica leaned forward, lowered her voice to a sexy purr, “I like it.”
Callie turned slowly, flirtatiously tossing her hair over one shoulder, “See anything else you like?”
The got Erica out of her seat and pressed up against Callie’s back in a heartbeat, “Ja sehe ich,” she murmured into the back of the latina’s neck, “Dass etwas, das ich mag.”
Callie leaned back, rubbing against Erica like a cat, “Jesus, I have no idea what you said, but that was hot.”
“What?” Erica asked, still holding tightly, “Oh, hm, I haven’t done that in a while.”
“You didn’t realise?” Callie turned, lacing her arms around the back of Erica’s neck, her hips still moving with a compelling rhythm, “It sounded kinda German-ish, which kinda fits, I mean-hello-your last name is Hahn.”
“Yes, I speak German,” Erica brushed it off, feeling that frisson of tension at the revelation, “I grew up speaking German, as I imagine you grew up speaking Spanish. I just haven’t inadvertently switched languages in a while.”
“It happens,” Callie brushed the event off, “I do that when I’ve been talking to my parents or hear it on the radio. No prob, in fact,” Callie threaded her hands into Erica’s hair and forcefully crashed their lips together, and murmured between breaths, “I think it’s really, really sexy.”
“Really?” Erica ducked her head down to nip at Callie’s neck, “Sie denken, dass dieses reizvoll ist?”
“Oh, yeah,”
It was almost disappointing to head in to the hospital, as Callie’s little whimpers of protest at the idea were almost enough to change Erica’s mind, which was an event that practically never happened. As Erica changed in her office, she sat for a moment, in her tank-top and scrub pants, she was first very grateful that the privacy of an office was hers, as a chief attending, and she didn’t have to share a locker room with her residents. It was a closet of an office, with only one, high window, but it was an office. Secondly, she needed to sit and try to summon back some of her professional detachment, before she went wading in the shark pool that was Seattle Grace.
Her door knocked and she unreasonably got the thought it may be Callie, stuffing that thought back into the personal space it belonged, she pulled her scrub top over her head. “Come in.”
“Dr. Hahn,” Miranda Bailey poked her head in the door, “You wanted to speak to me?”
“Yes, it’ll be quick,” Erica stood to gather her stethoscope and white lab coat, “I know Yang has bothered you to get her on my service roster.”
“Has she ever,” Dr. Bailey responded, “You gonna do something about that?”
“I have to,” Hahn replied, “Chief's orders, unless some thing unusual happens, she’s with me.”
Miranda whistled, rocking back on her heels a little, “Them’s pretty tall orders.”
Knowing that whatever she said would be spread around the hospital in about ten minutes, Hahn chose her words carefully, “Apparently I have to overlook my distaste for her personal life and unfortunate bedside manner, to teach her instead of ignoring her. ”
Miranda thrust her hands into her white coat, nodding, “Ah, you gotta rise above.”
“Like an eagle,” Hahn smiled, “So put her on the roster, unless she screws up royally, I am stuck trying to teach her something.”
“Will do,” With a swish of her lab coat Dr. Bailey was off and scheduling, and her remarks about Yang would run through the surgical staff about ten minutes after the schedule was put in place. Speaking of scheduling, Hahn pulled her own calendar out and did a little tidying. As chief of cardiothorasic she rode herd on almost two hundred surgical scrub nurses, equipment techs, surgeons, general cardiologists, and support staff.
It wasn’t exactly hard, she’d gone into active duty with the Army Medical Corps after Johns Hopkins to pay for medical school, and stayed in, through her residency and fellowship. Now she was on reserve, mainly so that she could still catch cardiac cases on military healthcare.
Ironically enough, she’d been in the service long enough to be thinking about taking an early retirement. Four years enlisted as an undergrad, training as a 91-W or Field Medic, another four years as a medical student while also working at Bethesda Naval Hospital as a Paramedic, then Officer Candidate School, a year of internship back in Ft. Sam, Texas, five years of active duty residency as a Battalion Surgeon, two more for her cardiac fellowship in Iraq, yet another two for her transplant fellowship at Madigan Army Medical Center here in, Washington, at Ft. Lewis, and a year reserve duty in Seattle. It added up. She enlisted at seventeen and now, at thirty six, she could think about hanging up her uniform for good.
After learning to perform surgery in a wool tent under enemy fire, a few paltry hundred staff members of Seattle Grace wasn’t exactly a challenge. Hahn liked the Army, mostly, she liked the structure, the discipline, and the expectation of total obedience to a superior officer. The rank structure of a hospital was sort of similar to the Army. Enlisted persons would be techs and support staff, non-coms would be interns, junior officers were nurses, captains were residents, majors would be attendings, and so on. Hahn, as a chief of cardio, would be a full Colonel, which would have been her promotion had she stayed on active duty, so it made sense to her how orders and responsibilities flowed down the chain of command.
It was much looser at the hospital; here she could make friends with residents or nurses, and display some decidedly un-officer-like humour, the downside was, the hospital didn’t let you throw people in the brig for insubordinate behaviour. She gathered charts and sighed, Hahn realised why her Army experience was going through her mind now. One of the top charts was a soldier she’d treated previously, as a member of a Forward Surgical Team in Afghanistan.
Impulsively, she opened the top drawer of her desk, and among the paper-clips, quarters, pens and pencils, were her dog tags. Unlike many surgeons she wasn’t terribly superstitious, no ‘lucky’ scrub cap, but she did have her dog tags, which she wore, occasionally, when things got tough, to remind her that she was trained to be stronger. She slipped them over her head, tucking them down her shirt, as she went to collect her residents and their interns, to do rounds.
Wisely, Erica saved Sgt. Silva for last, because after going through all her other patients with Yang and interns in tow, she was on her last thread of patience. The Asian cardiac savant had responded to her placement on Hahn’s cardio service with the same over-enthusiasm and bootlicking which made Hahn cringe every other time she’d seen Yang.
“Okay, last patient,” in the hallway outside the room, she turned to address her entourage, “Sgt. Daniel Silva, talk to me...” as Yang started to monopolise the discussion, yet again, Hahn stopped her by saying, “Yang, open your mouth one more time and the closest you will get to surgery today is the gallery.”
Cristina’s mouth snapped shut, with a click of her teeth, and she finally let her interns have the chance to discuss the diagnosis. Lexie Grey spoke up first, “Um, he was a referral from a different hospital, and was diagnosed with a benign tumour in his left ventricle, which has since started to impair the valve, and he was brought here for surgery. The primary on the case was Dr. Fitzgerald from uh, Fort Lewis.”
“Good,” she had her eye on Lexie Grey as a future cardio surgeon, she had an aptitude, and quiet competency, which was a reason she was assigned to Yang as an intern. “We do indeed have a myxoma to remove this morning. Can someone tell me the pre-op drug regimen for this type of surgery?”
She quizzed her interns for a little more, why they were operating, how the surgery was performed, and other basic questions she knew Dr. Yang had the answers for; the Asian woman was physically quivering with the effort to not speak, but holding it in, and Hahn could see that this might well be a tactic to keep her muzzled down to a manageable level.
“Ok, nice job,” she praised her interns, who preened a little, and Hahn turned, “Dr. Yang,” the resident nodded fiercely, “I want you, when we’re finished here, to prep this man for surgery.” When Yang went to open her mouth, Hahn held up a hand, “Before I allow you to scrub in, I want you to tell me five items of personal information about Sgt. Silva. Which means, Yang, that you have to talk to him, politely, and engage in a meaningful personal dialogue. No dialogue, no surgery. If you’re having problems, ask Grey, she seems to have a knack for bedside manner. Am I understood?” Mutely, Yang nodded again, and Hahn smiled, “Excellent.”
She opened the door to his room and greeted, “Good morning Sargent, Mrs. Silva, how are we doing?”
He sat up stiffly in the bed, to military attention, and crisply saluted, “Good morning, Colonel Hahn,”
Truly pleased, Hahn, grinned, and came to attention herself, returning his salute softly, “You remembered, I’m surprised, that was a while ago.”
“You saved my leg, ma’am” was his prompt response, “You don’t forget stuff like that. When I heard my surgeon was gonna be you, well, let’s say I was a lot happier about gettin’ cut open.”
“I appreciate that,” Hahn felt that trickle of pride enter her voice, “I’m not on active duty anymore, though, just reserves.”
“You’re in the Army?” squeaked Lexie Grey, voicing the astonishment the others were feeling.
“How are you planning to pay for Med School, Dr. Grey?” she asked, rhetorically. “I had no desire to be in debt until I’m forty.” Hahn took in the wide-eyed shock from the interns, and the eyebrows of Cristina Yang almost in her hairline, “Consider yourselves lucky you’re learning from a civilian institution, when I was doing my residency and fellowship, things like fraternization,” she made eye contact with Yang, “or insubordination, were punishable by arrest and court martial. I learned how to suture under fire in Afghanistan. The concept of a regulated 80 hour work week? Not happening.” The assembled company took in their attending with even more awe, “The Army doesn’t care about your feelings, does it Sgt. Silva?”
“No, ma’am,” he grinned, and they shared a moment of perfect understanding.
Her beeper went off and she checked the number, “Trauma page, Grey, come with me. Yang take care of this, and remember,” she smiled sharkily at Yang, “Dialogue.”
The trauma was unfortunately quick, the rig brought in a MVC who was throwing DVT’s and before they really had a chance to figure out what was wrong he started seizing. They kept him going for about ten minutes, but he had a pulmonary embolism, and coded before they could get him to surgery.
“Damn it,” she exclaimed, throwing her ER gown forcefully into the waste bin, “Damn it, we almost had him.”
“Whoa there, tiger,” The familiar voice had Erica’s heart literally skipping, “Lose one?”
Hahn looked over into the warm, compassionate eyes of Callie Torres, also kitted out in ER gown and gloves. Her fingers physically twitched, the urge to reach out and touch was so strong. Erica closed her eyes and took a deep breath in through her nose, trying to control herself, after humiliating Yang so badly for a lapse in discipline, referring to her fraternization, there was no way Erica could justify taking the comfort Callie would inevitably offer. It was unacceptable; after all her intern, Lexie Grey was standing not two feet away.
“I’m fine,” she said levelly, controlling her tone severely, “Thank you, Dr. Torres.” She made eye contact with Callie, knowing her face was set like stone, and begged with her eyes that the latina would understand.
Sympathetically, Callie addressed Lexie, standing just behind Hahn, with a smile, “You see, this is why I like ortho. Less of a chance you get called in on a code blue. It’s sucktastic, isn’t it Dr. Hahn?”
Relief washed over Erica and she even smiled a bit, as she replied, “Yes, sucktastic.” She turned to her intern, “Let’s go, we have a tumour to excise before lunch.”
“Ooo, tasty,” Callie teased, as Erica left, the youngest Dr. Grey in tow.