This soul is all fired up…
The music vibrated throughout her body. The heavy bass drummed through her bloodstream as her hips swayed in time with the beat. It moved every cell inside her--her heart beat gloriously in her chest as she breathed out, her hands above her head, her wrists twisting this way and the other as her hands seemed to dance like snakes in the air before they fell in in a sweeping motion to her cheeks and neck, swiftly over her breasts as she turned, her hips following the music seductively along with her fingers, which fell across her abdomen and over her hips. Dancing was the only thing Callie Torres never had to struggle with. It never bothered her, contradicted her or made her feel conflicted, because it came so naturally to her. Rhythm breathed through her. Like oxygen. And she allowed herself to let go. Eyes closed, hair swinging about over bare, sweat slick shoulders, she gripped the hips rising and falling in equal cadence with her own and released a heavy breath that seemed to trigger a surge of desire within her and her hands slipped over the sweep of a feminine lower back and lower to caress a firm bottom just before her lips were claimed in a heated kiss. She responded with an equal fervor that was almost desperate as thin, delicate fingers wrapped and tangled themselves in dark tendrils of hair in an attempt to pull her closer.
The music drowned out their collective moans of pleasure as bodies seemed to mesh together.
With a hiss, Callie pulled away from the redheaded stranger and hooded, alcohol glazed eyes fell upon the darkened, crowded dance floor as she leaned in to speak firmly over the roar of it all against the woman’s ear, “Let’s get out of here.”
The deafening sound of Mr. Jones flat lining coursed in through one ear, through her nervous system, and out the other ear, puncturing her eardrums in the process. She felt her body tense up in anticipation of the words that were already forming in the back of her throat.
She felt a number of pairs of eyes on her. Waiting. Expecting. Anticipating the worst, which, in actuality, would be great for the rumor mill, as it had been kind of dead for a while now. Her body numbed. From the tips of her fingers, to the balls of her feet, and the faintest of shivers made her skin crawl. Something snapped. Somewhere between all the crap in her life, she’d forgotten to react appropriately and it had finally happened. It was there now, in the crawling shiver.
She winced. It was barely there and no longer than a millisecond, but were it not for the thin layer of her mask, it would have definitely been evident. She waited no more than a second before removing it to expose her lips to exclaim in a steady tone, the time of death.
She breezed past the bodies standing around, waiting to assist, or to snap a picture with their camera phone of Doctor Torres killing a man after what was supposed to be a simple, quick and easy hip replacement. She glanced briefly up at the empty gallery and she felt Cristina trail behind her. The whole situation made her want to laugh. It was a stupid, simple procedure she’d performed a million times. She had the gallery--empty as it usually was during most of her procedures. Her field had never exactly been popular. And Cristina--well, Cristina was desperate for anything that meant she could get her greedy little hands inside a cavity. Not that Callie minded that. She didn’t mind it all. She understood it and somehow, sickeningly respected it, but it was all so ridiculously laughable. A chuckle escaped her as she rinsed off her hands.
After what was way too long for her, she was pretty sure Cristina had burned holes on the side of her face, and she looked up and to her left to meet her roommate’s blank stare--which could translate in Cristina speak as worry or constipation--and she raised expectant eyebrows, “What?”
“Nothing.” She replied in that defensive tone that seemed to imply that it was ridiculous that Cristina yang would ever take the time to care about anyone, even remotely, but she tended to give herself away, especially after adding, “You’re--okay right? I mean, I’m not going to have to pick you up off the floor after you break down, right? Because I’m not good at pep talks. I don’t’ do that.”
“I’m fine.” Callie nodded and laughed it off. Because despite the full body lightheadedness and numbing in her temple, she felt surprisingly well. “Complications happen. Another day, another death.” She shrugged, reaching for a paper towel.
“Macabre much, Torres?” Cristina stated behind her, “I like it.”
Callie grunted a response and released a heavy breath before replying, “Tell his family, will you? I’ll owe you one.”
Cristina sneered but agreed, “Whatever. They don’t look like huggers. And you can buy the first round at Joe’s tonight.”
Callie lead the way out of the scrub room and she released her hair from the tight hold of her beret, massaging her scalp with her fingertips, sighing at the sudden comfort, “Maybe some other night. I’m not going to Joe’s tonight.”
Cristina staggered a bit in her steps as she looked up at Callie with a slightly furrowed brow, “It’s Thursday. We always go to Joe’s on Thursday”
“Yeah, but--” Callie replied, briefly catching the eye of a redheaded nurse she’d caught checking her out a couple of times in the past. This time, Callie smirked back and gave her an appreciative once over as they passed her before continuing, “--I don’t feel like Joe’s tonight. It’s always so crowded and…I feel like there isn’t anyone new, ever. I’m going to go downtown.”
“Oh--” Cristina nodded wearily, feeling strangely like something was wrong but wasn’t quite sure, “--well, do you want me to come with you.”
“No, that’s okay. I’m feeling solitary tonight.”
“Alright.” Cristina brushed her off. Solitary probably meant she wanted to pick up chicks. Or Guys. She wasn’t sure with Callie lately. “Well, don’t call me if you need someone to drive you home because I plan to be HAMMERED by ten…”
Callie walked past her roommate, the distinct feeling that the other woman had been cut off in the middle of a sentence not turning out as effective as might have been any other day. No, not this day. This day had her feeling particularly tired, but peculiarly alert. She pushed the locker room door open and ignored the slight stinging on her palm as she entered and passed empty rows of metal compartments. With ease, she found her own and opened it. She wanted to sit. Her body wanted to sit and rest, but her mind would not allow it.
She pulled her scrub top off, letting it fall carelessly on the floor.
“I heard you killed someone.”
Her head turned so quickly in the direction of the male voice, she could have heard her neck snap. She snorted an air filled chuckle at placing the voice she hadn’t recognized, with the face that was more than familiar. She quickly turned back to search her locker for a clean top, completely missing the way Mark’s face fell guiltily.
“Kidding.” He added, swinging one leg over the empty bench to sit as he straddled it. He watched her closely, rummaging through her things in silence. He never quite understood why she kept her locker even after becoming an Attending. He cleared his throat and picked up his foot, using it to nudge her hip playfully, “Let’s go get a drink after work.” Yang had cornered him only minutes ago to kindly inform him that Callie had killed someone and was being weird. And also that he should handle it.
“Uh…no…” She replied offhandedly as she pulled out a fresh shirt. She dropped it on the bench before pulling off the one she wore. Upon doing so, she caught Mark’s questioning stare and she sighed. She hated explaining herself. Especially this day. She shrugged, “I kind of have plans already,” She said, her hands grasping the dirty shirt against her stomach.
“Yes,” She lied, thinking it better than having to explain the empty feeling in her esophagus.
She sighed exhaustedly. She didn’t mean to cause that face he was giving her, but she couldn’t help it. She couldn’t handle any familiar faces, “I don’t know yet.”
He paused for a minute and examined her features. He saw nothing. He was usually able to tell what was wrong with Callie Torres immediately. Since day one. And now, he saw nothing, “Cal, you okay?”
With every ounce of strength she could muster and every fiber in her body, she mastered a smile and she threw her shirt at his face, “I’m tired. And stop staring at my boobs, pervert,” She accused playfully as she pulled the clean top over her head.
“How can I not?” He replied with a smirk, feeling a little at ease with the friendly banter as he pulled the shirt off his face, “They’re looking at me.”
“Shut up.” She turned back towards her locker. She really wished he would leave. Her face could not handle smiling.
“Alright.” He sighed, standing up and heading towards the door, “If you change your mind…”
‘I know where you’ll be.” She nodded, another smile in his direction as he disappeared out the door. Once it closed behind him, she sighed and closed her eyes monetarily. She couldn’t place the feeling inside her because it didn’t feel like anything. She felt dizzy and grounded all at once. It felt a little like being on drugs, she thought.
Maybe if she cried…
Nope. Tear ducts empty. She groaned up at the ceiling and quickly pushed her scrubs down and off her hips. “Whatever.” She mumbled to herself and decided leaving work early sounded really, really good.
Five daze filled minutes later, she sneaked out of the locker room and went thankfully, unnoticed by her colleagues all the way out to the parking lot. But before she could breathe a sigh of relief, she felt a massively annoying form behind her. Annoying, because she did not feel like talking, period.
She turned slowly, to find Cristina quickly catching up to her. She bit her cheek briefly before re plying dryly, “Hey--I’m tired, I’m taking off early.”
“Okay.” Cristina replied, trying to seem disinterested, but keeping her eyes trained on her friend, studying her features to see if she could find something indicating anything. Something she could pick up on for Sloan to fix. Fixing people was definitely not her thing. Meredith was easy, but--other people had real feelings. With layers. She did not have the patience to peel layers, but she had the instinct of a panther, so she was hunting for a fallout for the right person to fix. “I was just going to ask you--you think you could--pick up--milk? we’re out.”
“Milk.” Callie inquired, incredulous as to the lameness of Cristina’s efforts. She knew exactly what she was doing and she sucked at it.
“We’re out.” Cristina shrugged then sneered, “Just get it, it’s like five bucks!”
Callie snorted and rolled her eyes before turning away, “Okay, Cristina--” She said under her breath, “--I’ll get the fucking milk.”
The smaller woman groaned inwardly and made another attempt, “Cal--Callie, wait!”
“What, Cristina?” She asked slowly, stopping to turn and look at her. “You want me to pick up some eggs, too?”
“No, just--” She stomped her foot lightly and searched her brain for any words of consolation. Nothing. “--if you feel like you want to kill yourself, you should go see Abrams. Everybody’s doing it.” She shrugged again, “It helps, apparently.”
Callie met Cristina’s eyes for a minute, and she could have laughed at the painfully uncomfortable expression on her roommate’s face. “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”
Cristina’s hands fell to her sides helplessly and she looked about for anyone better equipped for the mess she was witnessing.
She welcomed the stale, air conditioned air that whiffed against her face as she entered the club. She was dressed more scantily than she would normally dress to place like this. But then again, she’d never really allowed herself the indulgence of going to lesbian club to get picked up, or pick someone up. Whatever. Her top was loose, but cut low, front and back, then thins straps providing even more skin than she initially intended and the white silk fell swiftly against the expanse of her stomach and kissed the waist of the tightly fitting skinny jeans that met that ankle length boots that she never really wore because they were too uncomfortable for work and too slutty for Joe’s. They seemed just right tonight.
Six white gold bracelets adorned her right wrist as she walked through the maze like entrance and eyes roamed over her body like lions over pray. It was exhilarating.
She found the bar, tucked away in the far end of the building, a perfect view of the dance floor from where she sat, freshly ordered drink in her hand. She looked around the and absorbed the scene, taking sip after sip of scotch, until she had ordered a fourth one and she then realized she hadn’t moved from her seat since she got there. She shook her head and hopped off the bar stool and aimed her gaze at the exit. Maybe she’d come back the next day and she’d get up the nerve to actually talk to someone.
“You’re leaving already?”
She turned at the soft voice in her ear and was met with an inviting smirk. The same inviting smirk she had seen earlier that day. The redheaded nurse. “Uh--” She shook her head, “No--I wasn’t. Do you want to dance?”