Chapter Text
February 17th, 2017 (New York)
Antiseptic hung in the air, footsteps clicking on tiled floors as the staff of Torres Orthopedic Solutions worked. The hallways were bright and well lit, words spoken in hushed tones and green scrubs everywhere as a man walked down the hallway with a stack of white towels in his hands. There were white sneakers on his feet and a smear of blood on the collar of his scrubs, but his stride was as confident as his smile.
He knew his way around the halls like he knew the back of his hand — he’d worked there since open day, so six months going strong. It was hard work as an orthopedic fellow, but it paid off for him well and he’d been through worse in his residency at Mayo. His pay was comfortable, comfortable enough for him not to worry about much at all, but he didn’t do it for the money. He did it for the lives he would save, what he could learn, and the incredible job he got to do under the wise and watchful eye of his Chief.
“Excuse me,” he said quietly with a polite smile, slipping past a bed being wheeled past him by turning sideways and letting his back brush against the wall. He was on his way to the ORs, which were at the end of the second-floor corridor, just past the recovery rooms, and it seemed that the bed he had passed was doing the opposite journey of him.
On his way past a room containing a smiling old woman, he turned and shot her a grin. He waved and said, “morning, Dianne!”
She waved back with an adorably bright smile, clothed in a blue cardigan over her hospital gown. “Good morning!”
“Someone’ll be back to check your incision site in a minute,” he said, his demeanour relaxed and confident. This was a man who knew what he was doing and loved doing it. “I’m just dropping these towels off for the Chief,” he continued, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe, “so it may or may not be me.”
“Okay, love.” Dianne nodded and turned back to the TV in the corner, which was showing some generic baking show. She settled back into her pillows and picked up her knitting, the needles clicking as a ball of yellow wool unravelled beside her. The man chuckled and kept walking, scanning his badge at the Staff Only doors and pushing them open with his shoulder as he walked to OR two, where his Chief of Surgery was doing a knee replacement.
He knocked on the door and called, “boss, I’ve got those towels!”
Her voice came back through, muffled by her mask but welcoming all the same. “Hugh, is that you? I asked an intern!”
He laughed and pushed the door open with his back, turning around and staying back from the sterile OR as his eyes found the face of the woman he worked under. She was in dark green scrubs, the colour of her attendings, and a surgical gown of the same colour. The only pop of colour was the scrub cap tied at the back of her head — red swirls and white flowers. He’d never seen her wear anything different, and he knew that she had at least four of the same pattern. There was a nurse handing her instruments and an empty space opposite her for a resident to stand, anaesthesiologist at the head of the bed manning the medication. Her hands moved with swift precision, an echo of years doing the same procedure as monitors beeped steadily in the background.
“Any excuse to see you in action, Dr Torres.”
Callie rolled her eyes playfully, smiling. Hugh was her favourite surgical fellow – though she would never tell him that to his face – and he was the first man she’d really started training when her centre opened. He was a keen learner and wasn’t afraid to ask questions, or even question a decision she made if he wasn’t sure it was the right one. That made him incredibly valuable, and she was so glad to have found such a good fellow to teach. She looked up from the table and scanned him with a mildly amused expression playing around her eyes.
Hugh Willis was at least six feet tall, with big hands and wiry arms that were much stronger than they looked. He almost certainly had some kind of Irish descent, skin pale and hair ginger. It curled around his forehead, long on the top and shaved at the sides. His eyes were a myriad of different greens and shone when he made a joke, just like they were doing right now. The dimple in his cheek popped with a smile that showed off crooked bottom teeth.
Glancing back to the open surgical site, Callie made a careful cut. She said, “you’re a sweet-talker.”
“Especially when it comes to you.” Hugh winked, then sobered himself a little and shifted the towels in his arms when he asked, “where do you want these?”
Placing down a scalpel, Callie thought, then said, “could you put them on the table outside? I need them warmed and ready for Beth’s recovery room.” She indicated the patient on her table and continued, “she runs cold.”
“You got it,” Hugh nodded and saluted, quickly dropping the towels outside.
As he did that, Callie called, “if you’ve got time, you could join me!”
A grin crossed Hugh’s face. “Always got time,” he replied easily, despite being fully capable to complete a knee replacement on his own. There was just something magical about operating with Callie Torres, surgical legend in the orthopedic community.
Callie smiled. It hadn’t been easy to find someone like Hugh, but she knew the search would be worth it, and it was. He was a good kid. Lively, sure, but eager. Everything she used to be before life caught up with her. As he scrubbed in, she looked to the nurse handing her instruments and asked, “hey, how’s Jason now? Piano lessons going well?”
The nurse laughed softly. “Abandoned after three sessions.”
Callie chuckled too, remembering Sofia doing the exact same thing with violin. She voiced this, then said, “it’s still in her closet. I’m considering donating it to her school, but she doesn’t want to part with it. Still don’t know why.”
The door to the scrub room opened and Hugh stepped out, hands held aloft as a second nurse stepped up to gown and glove him.
“Thank you.” He smiled, eyes shining. He stepped up to the table and instantly took up irrigation and suction, knowing what Callie needed without even asking. Callie didn’t thank him, instead asking, “did you look at Beth’s chart?”
Hugh nodded. “Yes. Bethany Jones, 86. Replacement is being perfumed after years of rheumatoid arthritis, which caused inflammation of the synovial membrane and has resulted in excessive synovial fluid. That in turn causes pain and stiffness, which can be debilitating.” He breathed in, “she’s off her blood thinners for surgery, so we’ll need to reinstate those with her other pain meds in post-op.”
Callie fought to hide a smile. It was so nice to have someone who knew everything without having to be probed toward an answer. Instead, she nodded. “Good.”
“There’s a reason I’m your favourite.” Hugh grinned.
Huffing, Callie said, “I’m not allowed to have favourites. Gates and Lennox are just as good as you are.” She grunted as she worked to remove the damaged surfaces of the knee joint. A grimace pulled her mouth at the state of the patella as she placed it into a kidney dish with a clink of bone on metal.
“I’m still your favourite.”
Callie fixed him with a harsh glare over her surgical loupes. “Less of your cheek or I’ll get you doing the pre-op enemas with the interns.”
Hugh rolled his eyes but shut up.
They worked together to complete Beth’s knee replacement, which went by well and without complication. Callie let Hugh close though she stayed close by as they laughed about nonsensical stories, usually about Hugh’s Cat, Nickel.
“He’s such an idiot,” Hugh said fondly as they scrubbed out to take Beth to recovery. “He didn’t realise the food was in his bowl and pestered me to feed him, despite it already being there!”
Stripping off her gloves, Callie chuckled. “And this is why I will never have a cat.”
“Oh, she’s worth it though.” Hugh smiled, turning to look at his chief.
“I’m sure she is,” Callie said, letting her mind wander back to Sofia asking her for a pet. It had been months ago, just before Callie opened the Center and was working all the time. She’d refused because of how much work a pet takes — she just didn’t have the time — and had promised that sometime in the future, when the work the Center needed was less and Callie had more free time, that she would get them a pet then. But it just hadn’t come. Weeks went by with Sofia asking every day, and then she just stopped.
And Callie loved what she had created in New York. Adored that she had paved her own way and now owned the Orthopedic Center of her dreams. But the cost it had taken on her and Sofia’s relationship had been palpable – she told herself that she would work to fix it. Would take some time off and spend that valuable time with her daughter before it was all too broken to even try, but she seemed to just put it off. In her head, Callie penned it in for next weekend. She had less patients, less work, and could hand off some of her duties to her receptionist and attendings, after a large work event that she’d been working on for a long while.
Unknowingly, Callie let out a long sigh. Her hands rested on the edge of the scrub sink, left ring finger unadorned by jewellery that used to clank whenever she did the same thing back in Seattle. It wasn’t even pinned inside her scrubs, held over her heart with a prayer and a kiss before every surgery, because she no longer had a wedding ring. No longer had a wife. No longer was a wife.
She swallowed hard — it wasn’t often that she was struck with a sadness for what she walked away from in that therapist’s office. It had been three years since, and she was happy with her life. At least, that was what she told herself.
Callie steered the conversation back to Beth before her thoughts could get out of hand. “So, you’ll take her to post-op and speak to her son? I need to get some lunch; I have some admin to do this afternoon.”
“Sure.” Hugh nodded. “I’ll get her back on her blood thinners and ease her out of her anaesthetic, then speak to her son and bring him up to see her.”
“Good.” Callie managed a half smile. “You’re manning the post-ops all afternoon. Gates can do it with you; Lennox is hosting skills lab for the interns.”
“You got it.”
With that, Callie left the scrub room and grabbed her white coat from the hook, shrugging it on and straightening out her scrubs at the same time. The embroidery beneath her name – ‘Chief of Surgery’ – made a smug smile lift her lips as she strode down her own hallways. Then she made her way downstairs to the café just along from the waiting room. Everything was sleekly designed, for both ease of use and to soothe any patients and family members who would walk the halls. Callie had made sure that it was easy on the eye — mint green and off white with black accents to go back to her ‘bat-cave’ origins.
Even the linoleum tiles beneath her feet were green and white, in a marbled pattern that hid most of the dirt from shoes.
Callie walked with confidence as she entered the café, her hands in her pockets while she stood in line, then stepped up to order.
The woman behind the counter looked up and smiled, “the usual, Chief Torres?”
“Yes, thank you, Melissa.” Callie smiled and tapped her card, then stepped aside to wait for her order.
She zoned out while she stood there, eyes glazing over as she stared down at the floor. She was still thinking of Sofia, of pets, of walking out of therapy. Subconsciously, her thumb rubbed over the base of her ring finger. Maybe she was deluding herself, but she could swear there was still an indent from the ring Arizona placed there. A ring that sat in a box in the bottom of her wardrobe, with the heart necklace and the printed pictures of their wedding.
“Hallucinating again?”
A voice broke Callie out of her thoughts and she lifted her head to see both her receptionist and New York best friend Michelle standing there. Michelle was at least a foot shorter than Callie and had her frizzy hair pulled back into a bun at the back of her head, glasses perched on her nose that she looked at Callie over with sharp eyes. Still, a quick kind of humour played around her lips.
“Hey,” Callie said as her food turned up, her mouth twitching with something fond and tired. She grabbed the tray and waited for Michelle to order before they both walked to a table in a far corner, next to a window. As she sat down, Callie said, “I was not hallucinating. I merely zoned out.”
“Sure.” Michelle fixed her with a disapproving glare. Her accent was thick and German — if you didn’t know her, she could be a little difficult to understand. Luckily for Callie, they’d been friends for the whole almost two years Callie had been in New York. Since the day Michelle saw her looking morose at school drop off one day and decided to adopt her as her best friend.
Callie had been in a dark place, and Michelle had been the no-nonsense friend she needed to survive that time.
“You were rubbing the place of your ring again,” Michelle said. Not a question, a statement. “Unhealthy habits die hard, Torres.”
Stabbing at her chicken noodle soup, Callie scowled. “I didn’t mean to.”
Michelle hummed as Melissa brought over her black coffee, dropping a sugar cube into it and waiting for it to dissolve while staring at the woman across the table. “What was the therapy for, Callie, if not to stop habits that tied you to your old life?”
Callie mulled over the words for a moment. She’d completed a six-month course of therapy since arriving in New York and it had been helpful, but she didn’t like Michelle tossing it back at her like that. Especially since the therapist had retired. She took a mouthful of soup so that she didn’t have to answer right away, chewing dolefully.
Michelle seemed to notice that and rolled her eyes, saying, “you’re avoiding me while sitting right in front of me.”
After a moment, Callie muttered, “I can’t cut ties with my old life. I have a daughter from that life, and I can’t just- Michelle, please.”
The mention of Sofia made something awkward settle in her chest, just as it played out on her face.
Michelle stared at her with narrowed eyes for a moment, then let the moment fall. She changed the subject, and Callie was thankful. “Is Sofia still on for a sleepover with David tonight?”
“Yes.” Callie smiled, still grateful for the shift. “She’s excited and took her favourite soft toy to school today so that she’ll have him when Harvey picks them up.” Stirring her soup, Callie smirked. “Think you can handle them all on your own?”
Michelle tutted. “Do not underestimate the power of a German accent. Say anything with enough power and they obey.”
Callie chuckled, knowing that it was true. Sofia and David were the same age while Harvey was nearly twenty. Both boys were from Michelle’s marriage, which ended when her husband Cliff passed away in a work accident. David had only been two at the time, so Michelle threw herself into parenting and work, claiming to have no time for a new man, though Callie knew she still missed her late husband. So, for all Michelle’s coaxing for Callie to give up her ‘old life’, she still held onto hers.
They stayed there for a while as Callie ate lunch and Michelle thrived on black coffee, before they had to part ways. Callie walked with Michelle back to the reception desk, where she slumped into the chair behind it and span a pen around her fingers.
“See you later.” Callie shot her a smile, tapping her hand on the desk before she turned to the elevators.
Michelle called after her, “remind me why I spend my hours behind this freaking desk?”
“Because I’m the best!” Callie threw back over her shoulder. “Or would you rather be flipping burgers for double the time and half the pay?” She cocked a brow and watched Michelle roll her eyes.
It had been obvious to Callie to offer Michelle the receptionist’s job to save her from the gruelling fast food shifts she was having to work to be able to pay her rent and feed her two growing boys. She saluted Michelle as she pressed the button for the elevator and singsonged, “you’re welcome!”
“Stop being cocky!” Michelle shot back. “I’m only here out of the goodness of my heart!”
“Heart?” Callie questioned as the doors slid open and she stepped on. “I didn’t think you had one of those.”
Michelle flipped Callie off before turning to a woman who’d stepped up to the desk, instantly slipping into her slower customer service voice as the doors to the elevator closed and took Callie up to the third floor. Once there, she walked to her office at the end of the hall, past the physiotherapy department, and unlocked it as she eyed the plaque on the door.
‘Dr Calliope Torres, Chief of Surgery’
She tamped down the grin that threatened to spill across her face, tracing the letters with her thumb before she stepped inside. Immediately, she groaned at the enormous pile of paperwork she had to do. She had a secretary who helped with most of the more boring stuff, but all stuff on her desk all needed her signature or approval. Besides, there was a week until they opened their new orthopedic trauma centre — an ER but for purely focused orthopedic injuries, though they had a double board certified orthopedic/general surgeon on staff too — and that meant more piles of paperwork.
As she slid into the large, leather armchair behind her mahogany desk, Callie found herself hoping that the admin would lessen soon. She was spending so much time at work that she barely had time for Sofia, and she hated when that happened. Especially since Sofia was struggling enough as it was. With her and Arizona on other sides of the country, Sofia was finding it difficult and Callie couldn’t blame her.
The only person she could really blame was herself, but she didn’t know if she was ready for that conversation with herself yet.
Before her thoughts could spiral, Callie grabbed the first pen and paper she could find, clicking the pen as her eyes scanned the words.
Four hours later, Callie’s hand ached from all the signing she’d done. It had been a gruelling effort, and she was only halfway through everything she had to inspect, but she was doing it.
Callie forced out a long breath through her nose as she worked the cramp out of her thumb and leaned back in her chair. It creaked beneath her weight but she ignored it, taking a moment to breathe and relax before the fifty-five minute drive home.
When Callie had accessed her trust fund for the first time in eight years to purchase an already insulated, work ready warehouse, the only one that had been available was on the outskirts of New York City. She’d leapt on it when she found it — running water, gas, and a coffeeshop already on the bottom floor — and hadn’t worried about the distance between it and where she actually lived.
It didn’t matter, she told herself, that it took her fifty-five minutes on a good day, sometimes double that on a bad one, to get to work and back. And Sofia’s school was on the way, so that wasn’t really any extra time apart from the carpool line.
Callie’s back cracked as she stood form her chair and changed out of her scrubs into jeans and grey sweater, the February night already creeping in as the heating clicked on. Callie looked out of the window, across the parking lot and toward the city as black cloud rolled across the sky.
“Crap,” Callie groaned, pulling out her phone and checking the weather. A giant black raincloud filled the screen just as it filled the sky, red warnings beneath it that warned of the roads possibly being unsafe. “An ice/rainstorm,” she muttered. “Great.”
Still, she pulled her boots back on and turned to the mirror that hung on the back of her office door, running her hand through her hair and scanning her own face. She looked better, she thought. The gauntness from her face was gone, and there was life back in her eyes. As she smoothed her hair back to tie it up, she turned her head to the side just a little and caught sight of the ink behind her right ear.
The tattoo was a musical note, a double quaver maybe half an inch square, and she’d gotten it the day she decided to get her life back on track. It reminded her that life was worth living, that the music never stopped even if you stopped dancing to it. That tattoo was an homage to her name and her family, but also to what she’d survived and what she had left to do in the world. It was a reminder that she had a voice and she needed to use it – her heart was a constant base drum, the blood thrumming in her veins the plucking of a string instrument and her voice the melody to complete the song.
Callie’s mouth twitched with something like fondness as she scanned the careful lines, head twisted to the side and happiness in her eyes for the first time in a long while. After she’d tied her hair out of the way, she made her way down to post-ops, checking in on her patients for the night.
“Hey, Dianne,” she greeted with a smile. “How are you doing?”
Dianne Frances was two days post-hip replacement and looked surprisingly happy for it. Her grey curls bounced around her face as she gushed, “I am just lovely, Dr Torres! Your staff are so kind to me, and I hardly feel any pain. That young, ginger fellow got me up and walking around the ward this afternoon.”
“Willis?” Callie asked. “Hugh?”
“That’s him!” Dianne clapped her hands together. “Then he watched my baking show with me. Lovely man, he said he would try my flan when I’m back home to make it!”
Callie’s eyebrows rose but she said, “that is so nice of him, Dianne. I’ll make sure to pass along the compliments. Goodnight.” She smiled and slipped away as Dianne waved.
“Goodnight!”
She laughed to herself as she made her way to the nurse’s station, just a small desk at the end of the hall. She didn’t have a huge staff, but it was more than she ever thought she’d get as she smiled and greeted nurses, then spotted Hugh. He walked over with a smile, a chart in his hand as he said, “Dianne’s been ambulated around the ward; she took it like an absolute champ.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Callie smiled, tired. Her entire body felt sluggish and her back was cricking from being bent over paperwork, but she was happy. “She likes you.”
Hugh laughed. “She’s sweet. She flirted with me all afternoon.”
Callie leaned forward with a smirk playing around her mouth. “Does she know?”
“I’m guessing not. I’m sure it’s quite obvious, but I like to humour her.” Hugh pointed to the rainbow badge pinned to his lanyard. “I’m not exactly hiding it, especially with Raymond working a floor down.”
Callie chuckled. “Bless her. Well, you did awesome — see you tomorrow morning.”
“Yes, boss.” Hugh saluted with a wink. “I’ll keep Dianne entertained.”
Callie rolled her eyes, saying, “you do that. Goodnight, Hugh. Give my love to Raymond.” She turned and walked down the stairs, because it was probably quicker than the elevator for traversing merely one floor.
She smiled to herself as she walked through the atrium, past the black chairs in the waiting area and the reception desk. She was proud of what she’d created.
Torres Orthopedic Solutions had been in her mind for years before she even started planning, but New York felt like just the start to put down her roots. So, when the attending job she found was absolute trash, she started to plan. Going back to Seattle wasn’t an option, so Callie found other ways. Planning late into the night, consulting technicians and engineers once Sofia was asleep, working herself half to death while still making an income at the job she hated.
She just couldn’t stay at that attending job — Callie was used to being listened to, used to being taken seriously, used to being able to make her own decisions in her job, and she wasn’t allowed any of that whilst working under Dr Jameson Green. He was a balding man in his fifties who viewed men as the superior sex, despite all of Callie’s achievements from her time in Seattle.
It had been a decision and a half to break into her trust fund, but she did it. She did it, and she got it all ready before she quit.
Scanning the mural of fossils on the far wall of the atrium, Callie smiled. It had been commissioned from a local artist to celebrate the day Callie left her old job to spend all of her time at TOS, and Callie couldn’t help but hold back a laugh as she recalled the day she’d given in her letter of resignation and smirked at Dr Green.
The man had sneered, “going back to Seattle, Dr Torres? Found the big apple a bit much?”
Callie merely straightened her back, rolled her neck and replied easily, “oh, no, Dr Green. I’ve made somewhere better.”
His smile fell immediately. “What?”
She dropped a business card on his desk. “Torres Orthopedic Solutions. My own centre. I own it, I control what happens there. I look after my staff. I operate on my terms; I teach on my terms. I research. I’m my boss now, Dr Green.”
He shifted in his seat and scoffed, “a woman? Running such an institution? Torres, you’ll be lucky to find anyone to work under you. Your position here won’t remain when your little game plays against you.”
“That’s no problem; I already have.” Callie smiled, dropping her branded white coat onto his desk with a thud and hooking her thumbs into her waistband, fighting the urge to fist bump the air. “I have a fully-fledged staff, Dr Green. I have three fellows begging to work under me, twenty-five nurses, four attendings and eight residents. You under-utilised who you had here, and now she’s going to make her orthopedic centre into the best in New York.” She leaned over his desk and met his grey eyes with a smile. “People are going to come to me. Which means that they’re not going to come to you.”
Callie walked out of that office with a spring in her step as she walked away from the job she’d gotten for convenience and towards the job she’d created for herself.
She found herself lost in memories until a call of her name got her to look up. Michelle waved with a half smile, lugging a large black purse over her shoulder as she said, “you want to walk with me?”
“Absolutely.” Callie grinned. “I was just reminiscing. Feels like years since I walked out of Dr Green’s office.”
Michelle laughed. “It feels like years since I sat in that chair for the first time. Six months is no time at all, but it feels like I’ve never known anything else.”
Callie chuckled softly as they walked toward the glass double doors that led into the parking lot.
The air was crisp, and the sky filled with clouds when the front doors of Torres Orthopedic Solutions opened and they stepped out after their long shift. Callie shivered, hands in her pockets and purse over her left shoulder.
Callie held the door open as Michelle stepped out too. She was in a thick coat and had a scarf wrapped around her neck as she said, “fuck, it’s cold.”
Holding back a snort, Callie replied patiently, “it’s five pm in February. It’s going to be damn cold.”
Swatting at her friend, Michelle huffed, “you only no care because you lived in Seattle for so long. Frozen your ass as well as your soul.”
Mock offended, Callie held the door and then let it swing shut as she stepped out of the path of a man, Dr Edward Jameson, in dark green scrubs.
“Chief,” he greeted as he walked into the building for an overnight shift.
The title still made Callie smile. Michelle noticed, and smirked. “Ooh, Chief Torres feels all warm and fuzzy inside.”
“Shut up.” Callie scoffed, then said, “wait, aren’t you German? Doesn’t it snow like hell over there? Why are you complaining about the cold?”
Michelle scowled. “Just because I am German doesn’t mean I get on with the Germanic weather. Why do you think I moved here? Certainly wasn’t for the coffee.”
Holding back a laugh, Callie crossed her arms tightly, hoping to retain some desperate heat as they walked away from the building. Past the stone fountain on the small, circular lawn and into the parking lot. They quietly discussed a patient on the way to their neighbouring cars, a chilling wind already whipping Callie’s shoulder length hair around her ears.
Luckily, as Callie owned the damn place, her car was relatively near the front door — her spot was even marked with a gold plaque proclaiming her name. Gravel crunched underfoot as they walked.
White flakes began to fall from the sky, settling on their clothes, and it made Callie smile as she thought of a certain blonde-haired, blue-eyed woman. Arizona had always loved the snow. She recalled a day where the pair of them simply sat at the window of their apartment and watched it fall, hot cocoa held in their hands.
It had been a trademark Seattle day — clouded over, cold as fuck — but when they made it home, it began to snow. Arizona’s eyes lit up like Callie had never seen, like a child on Christmas morning, and before she knew it they were under a blanket and watching it like a movie. Callie had kissed Arizona’s forehead and held her close, and they fell asleep there. It was before the kids break up. Before Africa. Before the plane. It had all been so simple then, Callie mused as she recalled Arizona’s face in that snowstorm, the shadows of the flakes cast on her face from the light of a street lamp. It made something fuzzy start in her gut, and it certainly wasn’t being called ‘Chief’ that time.
As she always did, Michelle managed to burst that bubble with a muttered, “this place is going to ice over. Wet ground means snow won’t settle; cold temperatures means that it freezes. You be careful, a storm is forecasted.”
“I know it is. I do look at the weather,” Callie said with a crooked grin, still walking and wishing she’d put on more than a tee and a sweater. Luckily her car had good heating. “Besides, it’s so cold, of course some kind of stuff is going to fall from the sky.”
Michelle didn’t look amused. She turned and scowled. “Be careful.”
Glancing sideways at her friend, Callie sighed, “I’m not eight, Michelle. I know my way around frozen roads.”
“You’d better,” Michelle said firmly, already lined face creasing in concern, “Those country roads to your house, not good, especially not in storm. Do you want to stay at mine? Sofia wouldn’t mind.”
Callie was grateful, not only for her friend’s offer but also for the surreptitiously pointed reminder that she wasn’t spending enough time with her daughter. She swallowed thickly, remembering the chores she needed to do at home, and shook her head. If she couldn’t maintain a home, then she didn’t feel like she deserved to spend time with her daughter. Once her home was out of disarray, once the trauma centre was open, then she would treat her and Sofia to a vacation. She would make sure that she had time for Sofia. Would make sure she wasn’t the absent parent that she never wanted to become.
As they finally reached their cars, Callie let out a long breath. She dug in her pocket for her keys and pressed the button, causing the mirrors to flip out at a light beeping sound. Callie’s was a shiny black Jeep — smooth and sleek and badass, though her sky blue '83 Thunderbird was still in her garage — and Michelle’s was a little green Honda. Together, Callie thought they looked a little like kid's toys, mismatched but endearing in their stark difference.
“I appreciate it, but I’m looking forward to an empty house tonight.” Callie smiled tightly. “I have household stuff to do. The plan is music and takeout.”
Unlocking her car with the key in the door, Michelle saluted her with a shudder. “Light your fire. No frostbite, please.”
Callie shot her a glare. “I know how to survive the cold! Frozen soul, frozen ass, remember?”
“Later, boss.” Michelle managed a short, almost pained smile as she pulled her door closed. Callie laughed to herself as she unlocked her own car. She liked it when she managed to pull that expression to Michelle’s face, having not seen her smile for such a long time when they met, overworked as she was.
Flicking on the heating and humming to herself, it didn’t take long before Callie was on the road.
When her and Penny broke up mere months into her time in New York — a mutual decision on both sides, though it culminated in an argument that could have knocked down a house — Callie had hit rock bottom. A little too much wine, not enough sleep. She’d been so angry, and that was when she met Michelle. That was when she decided to fix everything, which started with regular trips to a therapist. Then, after weeks of talking through everything, Callie had started work on herself and her house, a lovely estate a few kilometres into a woodland area that Callie now owned.
She’d spent more money than she ever had to build herself a life in New York, far away from everything she'd left behind, everything she'd abandoned, in Seattle.
Everyone.
