DISCLAIMER: Grey's Anatomy and its characters are the property of Shonda Rhimes and ABC. No infringement intended.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This was written as a post-ep to "Piece of My Heart" (the one where Addison comes back) – Just my take on how Erica and Callie might've gotten together after Addison's comments. Also, first time writing for this fandom, so I hope I got their voices right. *g*
SPOILERS: Up to the Season 4 finale. You've been warned.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
The Slow Reveal
By Manda
Erica watches Callie walk out of the bar with Mark Sloan, a slightly guilty smile on her lips as if Callie knows that what she is doing is wrong. As if she knows she's hurting Erica, but can't seem to help herself. When Joe comes over to clear glasses and take another order, she switches from the heavy red wine to whiskey.
Callie has her vices in Mark Sloan. Erica has Jack Daniels.
It's not a fair trade off.
Callie walks into the lounge the next morning, blushing as she spots Erica already there with a cup of coffee and a stack of charts.
"Good night?" Erica asks conversationally. She can pretend it doesn't bother her that Callie went home with the biggest man-whore in the hospital. She can pretend a lot of things.
"It was okay."
She smirks, unable to keep herself from muttering, "Just okay? Sloan must've been tired."
Callie feigns shock, but she's too tired to pull it off and too confused to understand why Erica's mild recrimination both angers and amuses her. "He wasn't the only one. I'm getting too old to drink and screw around all night then get up and pull a twelve hour shift."
Erica looks up, her eyes tracing the lines of Callie's face over the rim of her glasses. Callie swallows hard, the heat, the vulnerability in the look caressing her like a touch. "You don't look too old to me."
Her breath hitches, Addison's words ringing in her ears. She doesn't understand what this is, what's happening to her. When did her world get so muddled that she could no longer delineate between friendship and something more?
She backs up toward the door, too scared to ask the question. Even more afraid of the answer. "I, uh, gotta go do rounds. I'll catch you later."
Erica nods, the mask falling back into place, nothing but the cool, collected Dr. Hahn left. "Okay."
Callie nearly runs over Bailey in her rush to get out, apologizing profusely even as she bolts from the room. Bailey watches her go then looks at Erica. "What's her problem?"
"You want me to name all of them?"
Bailey snorts and keeps walking.
Mark's breath is hot and stale against her neck, his body an oppressive boulder trapping her against the door of the on-call room as he rocks into her body over and over again.
She lost interest in the sex at least twenty thrusts ago, but Mark's a good lover, and he isn't close to stopping any time soon. Callie counts his thrusts, then tilts her head back and counts ceiling tiles, trying to let her body find release. It's never been a problem with him before – not really with any of her lovers. Even George, who wasn't exactly an all-star. But at the moment, she can't even be bothered to help herself out. She just continues to count as he thrusts in, waiting for it to be over.
When it's done, Mark pulls out and chucks the condom in the garbage can. "You're pretty quiet," he says, pulling his pants back up.
She re-ties her pants. Runs a hand through her hair. "Just tired."
He smiles, that slow, sexy, lady-killer smile. She wants to tell him not to bother but she doesn't. "So, maybe we can do this again tonight?"
"Maybe."
She slips from the room, knots in her stomach, body still wound up. She nearly runs into Erica rounding the corner. The mask falls easily and in that instant Callie wants to fall on her knees and confess her sins. Mark comes around the hall a moment later, making her confession unneeded.
"Dr. Hahn."
"Dr. Sloan."
Mark keeps walking. Erica smiles sadly at Callie and moves on.
Callie closes her eyes and counts to ten. When she opens them again the halls are completely empty. She goes back to pretending nothing is wrong.
She sends Addison a text message halfway through the day. Just two words to convey her feelings: Fuck you.
Addison doesn't respond.
Callie orders another round, ignoring the looks from Joe. She's lost count of the tequilas. She keeps drinking them anyway. Every time the door opens she looks up, disappointment growing heavier with every person walking in. She thought Erica would be at the bar tonight. Had planned on it. Why else would she be drinking this much tequila? She needed the liquid courage to even face her best friend, who in the span of a day, had become something else entirely.
"You waitin' for me?" Mark's voice is slow, and steady, and rolls over her with easy anticipation. Callie looks up, trying unsuccessfully to hide her disappointment. It's a moment too late, and Mark sees right through her. "Apparently not," he grumbles, stepping away to find another conquest. The thought makes her panic and she reaches out, grabbing his sleeve.
"Wait… don't leave."
"Look, if you're not into this-"
Callie shakes her head. "I'm into this," she says, completely uncertain as to whether she is reassuring him or herself. "I'm totally into this." She tosses back her last tequila and stands up without looking back. Mark follows her out.
Mark isn't a bad lover. She knows he's been with a lot of women, and for good reason. It doesn't surprise her when he pushes her back on the bed with a smirk, tugs her pants off, and goes down on her without a moment's hesitation. He's done it before, and as she remembers, he does it well.
Her eyes slide closed with the first sweep of his tongue, but it isn't pictures of him that fill her mind. Instead, she pictures Erica, on her knees, worshipping her. Fingers honed from years of surgical precision sinking deep into her body, her mouth lapping, sucking at her clit. Everything moving, working in tandem, forcing her higher and higher. She lets herself go, lets her mind drift into the fantasy. She doesn't realize she has said someone else's name until Mark pulls away, a confused look on his face.
"Did you… did you just call me…?" He can't finish the question, but his bemused expression is enough.
Callie flushes angrily. "Shut up."
"Oh my god, you did." He smirks, but Callie manages not to throttle him for the gesture. "Didn't think you had it in you."
Callie reaches for her panties and jeans, tugging them both up forcefully. She can't face this conversation. Can't face his recrimination. "Shut up, Mark," she hisses again, mortified.
"Hey, wait, you don't have to go – we were just getting started."
"And now we're finished." She grabs her purse, drunkenly lurching out of the bedroom.
"Callie-wait," he calls after her, but she's already out of the apartment.
Mark stares after her, his hard on fading as he starts to laugh mirthlessly, thinking just once it would be nice to go to bed who wanted to sleep with him and not somebody else.
Erica stumbles through her darkened apartment, flipping on the hall light a moment too late as she slams her toe into the corner of her desk. She mutters dark curses to whoever is pounding on her door and tugs her robe around her. One glance through the peephole and she knows who it is.
She waits a beat then opens the door. "Callie, it's three a.m. What are you doing here?"
Callie pushes into the apartment, heedless of the fact Erica hasn't invited her in. "You didn't come to the bar tonight."
"No," Erica answers slowly, easily smelling the liquor on Callie's breath. "I didn't."
"You were supposed to come to the bar," Callie slurs, one finger pointed at Erica in accusation. "It was supposed to be you, not him."
Erica doesn't ask which 'him' Callie is talking about. She's got a pretty good idea already. "Callie, you should go."
"I don't want to go." She pauses, swaying unsteadily. "I fucked Mark."
"I figured." The words feel like a slap against Callie's skin. She had no idea two words could hold so much bitterness. So much regret.
"I didn't want to…"
It's too much. Erica's temper snaps to life, but she's too tired to reign it in. "Then why did you?"
"Because I wanted to fuck you."
The admission is stunning, but more so for Erica than Callie. In a way, Callie's known this was coming all along. She takes a step, and then another, and by the time Erica realizes what's going on, Callie's words still buzzing in her head, Callie is in front of her, leaning in. Her defenses kick in even as her heart trip hammers in her chest. "No." The protest is half-hearted at best, but it has Callie hesitating.
"No?"
"No," Erica repeats more firmly.
"Why not?"
"Because I stopped sleeping with drunk straight girls in med school."
Callie steps back, her expression nothing short of crushed. "I thought… I thought…" Too many words, and not enough, race through her mind. "I thought you wanted…"
"I want you," Erica snaps, her emotions blurring into something she can't quite name. "Not drunk-Callie, or desperate-Callie… You. All of you."
"I fucked Mark," Callie repeats miserably.
"Yeah, you've really gotta stop doing that."
"Do you hate me?"
"Would it make this easier?"
"No."
Erica smiles mirthlessly. "Good, because I don't think I could ever hate you."
Callie closes her eyes and lets out a deep breath. It isn't much, but it's a start.
Erica is updating charts at the nurses' station the next day when Mark walks past. She pretends not to notice his smirk. She can't, however, ignore his presence when he sidles up beside her.
"Dr. Hahn."
"Dr. Sloan, did you need something?"
His smirk turns downright lascivious. He leans in, voice pitched low. "It's not me who needs something."
Erica puts her pen down slowly, precisely, and looks him in the eye. "You don't want to do this with me."
"Why not?"
"Because I will take that gigantic ego of yours and crush it… crush it so hard you will weep like a little boy. I will crush you so hard there will be nothing left but the husk of an empty man who can't remember what it's like to have the love of a real woman."
Sloan swallows hard, sweat breaking out on his forehead.
Callie walks up, eyeing the unusually silent plastic surgeon with something akin to fascination. She leans in, asking Erica conspiratorially, "Did you break him?"
Erica smiles. "Not yet."
Mark's eyes drift between the two. Silently, he walks away.
There's no bar. No loud music. No lost inhibitions. Just a bottle of good wine, some take-out Chinese, and a quiet evening on the couch, decompressing after a long day.
Callie leans over and places a soft kiss to Erica's cheek.
"What was that for?"
"Being patient."
"For a doctor, you can be incredibly dense sometimes."
"You're just now figuring this out? I married O'Malley and had no idea he was sleeping with Stevens. I am not, by any stretch, the brightest crayon in the box when it comes to relationships."
Erica leans in, smiling softly, and brushes a kiss over Callie's lips. "Neither am I." She kisses her again, longer, lingering over the taste of her lips, the intense familiarity. "But I make up for it in other ways."
"Care to demonstrate?"
"Not on this couch. If we're doing this, we're doing it properly. In a bed." Erica stands up, holding out her hand.
Callie smirks and takes it, following Erica into her bedroom. "Candles? A little Marvin Gay?"
"If that's what you want," Erica demurs, kicking a random shoe under her bed and out of the way.
Callie tugs on her hand, turning her around, nothing but the light from the hallway illuminating the room. It isn't the darkness that makes her bold, but the look in Erica's eyes. "I just want you," she whispers, closing the distance between them to kiss the other woman softly.
They don't talk for a while, but they don't rush.
Rushing would waste the moment, and they can feel it, even if they can't exactly name it, that this is something special. Something that should be savored.
It seems like they've been kissing for hours, stretched out on the bed, when Callie's hands roam lower than the expanse of back she's confined herself to, running over Erica's hips, and lower across her ass. It feels exactly the same and completely different than anything she's felt before, but the way Erica moans, her breath hitching in her chest, and the flutter of nerves and arousal it causes in Callie, says this is something for the record books.
Shirts come off in tandem. Callie is surprisingly adept at undoing another woman's bra; Erica is better. And because they are both naked, and they know exactly where this is heading, they pull away just long enough to shuck the rest of their clothes off too.
They slide into bed together, crisp sheets cool against heated skin. It seems natural when Erica rolls Callie beneath her, smiling devilishly, still reeling at the fact this is happening. Callie smiles up, just as wickedly, laughter in her eyes, and kisses her again.
Fingers trained with all the skill and dexterity of a world-class surgeon tease their way over hardened nipples, working lower and lower until they slip between Callie's thighs to the wetness there. The soft gasp, the feel of Callie digging her nails into Erica's shoulders, is like heroin. It hooks her instantly; instantly she needs to hear it again, feel it again. Know that the way she is touching Callie, loving Callie, is unlike anything anyone has ever done before.
Two fingers slip deep inside; her thumb makes a lazy pattern over Callie's clit, just enough to tease, not enough to fulfill. Gasps turn into moans turn into breathless exclamations of praise.
Callie winds her fingers in Erica's hair, holding her tight, kissing her hard, her hips moving in counter-rhythm to the delicious pace of Erica's fingers.
"Don't stop… don't stop…"
It's a useless request. If her life depended on it, Erica knows she couldn't stop now. She shifts up, just a little, changing the angle, her mouth dragging wet, open mouthed kisses over Callie's neck. One hand grips Erica's shoulder, Callie's grip almost painful, the other fists in the sheets, as Callie tries to hang on just a little longer, to ride the wave of please just a little higher…
Erica leans in, her mouth, teeth, brushing against Callie's ear as she whispers, "Come for me" and the world explodes in colors and lights and sounds.
Languid, senseless, Callie blinks in the darkness, her eyes still fuzzy, synapses firing randomly, slowly realizing Erica is still moving.
She watches as the blonde, still leaning over her, reaches between her own legs, fingers disappearing into wetness, rocking against Callie's leg. The image is wanton and beautiful and it stirs something in Callie she hadn't even known existed until a few days before.
Callie reaches out, latching onto Erica's wrist as she draws the other woman's hand away. Erica opens her mouth to protest, but the look in Callie's eyes keeps her silent. Awestruck, all she can do is stare as Callie draws her hand to her lips and slowly licks the glistening wetness off Erica's fingers. Someone moans, Erica isn't sure who, but she can't be bothered to figure it out as Callie reaches out, her hand replacing Erica's.
The feeling is… unbelievable… She holds Callie's gaze as she moves against the other woman's fingers, rocking against her hand, watching Callie's eyes go dark and feral as she moves faster. It doesn't take much – it feels as if Erica has been building to this point for weeks – and then she is coming hard, Callie's name a broken sob echoing through the silent room.
Erica isn't much of a post-sex cuddler, but for Callie she makes an exception. Sweaty, exhausted, body sated but mind reeling, they hold onto each other, a mass of tangled limbs. The world feels as if it has tilted, like the turn of a lens that suddenly brings everything into focus. Callie settles against Erica's chest, lulled into sleep by the steady heartbeat beneath her ear. Erica holds on tight and closes her eyes.
Outside the sun starts to come up.
They walk in the next morning, together, laughing at a shared joke. Mark is waiting, two cups of coffee in hand.
"Thought you might need this." He hands them over with a knowing smile. "So… chances of a threesome?"
Callie laughs and leans in, kissing him on the cheek before moving on.
Erica watches her walk away and takes a sip of coffee. She looks at Mark and smiles. "I'll give you this: you're not a total bastard."
Sloan grins. "Hey, I'm growing."
The End