DISCLAIMER: Watch out, this is femslash. Don't read it if you're not into that sort of thing. I own nothing of Grey's Anatomy. I'm only having fun with speculation to carry me through the summer.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I've noticed there's little, if any, fanfic out there written strictly from Hahn's point of view. Yet. So I thought I'd contribute my two cents, since I'm about as in love with Erica Hahn as Callie Torres is! This is my second Grey's Anatomy story, and – as in the first one – it makes an assumption about Hahn's sexual orientation that may turn out to be untrue (oh, but I hope not). This is not a sequel to my first story, Your Mouth That I Remember, but if you want it to be, then it is! Written in May, 2008. Note one shout-out to the Bard. Thanks, Will. Thanks also to my Mighty Editor Goddess, Brenda S. Further thanks goes to Jules68, first, for her invaluable insight into the tiny workings of Grey's Anatomy, without which I would have erred big time, and second (really the bigger of the two), for her ability to return the chapter I mistakenly deleted from my zip drive. Sheez, what a world.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
Closets are for Clothing
By DianeB
Chapter 1
Silly verse inspired by the final kiss scene:
Callie and Erica have a plot,
You can't tell me it's not hot.
First comes talk, then comes f--k,
Then comes loving what they've got!
Hahn spent the entire day avoiding direct interaction beyond business with the stuttering Callie Torres and thought she had successfully managed to evade the lovely woman for one more day.
That is, until she saw Torres exit the hospital at Sloan's side. Please, God, do not let her come this way. I've been so good all day, I deserve this. Please, just let her disappear with Sloan. Damn her unfortunate luck in losing her keys! How could she have possibly lost her keys? What manner of imp was loose in her life that could make her feel certain she had dropped them in her bag, only to be stuck here searching for twenty minutes without success? It was unheard of for her, abominable. She'd need to talk to Bailey, ask her about that Star Wars stuff. Perhaps she'd be able to identify the alien at work here. Please please please please please do not do not do not—
Intent as she was on her ridiculous pleading, Erica never noticed only Sloan had disappeared and that Callie was suddenly right beside her, speaking so softly Erica could barely hear her.
"Hey. I wanted to see if you wanted to grab a drink."
Torn between hope and despair of this beautiful woman, Erica fell back on her current dilemma, careful not to look up at Callie, pretending, in fact, that she had not heard her, making believe her lost keys were actually more important.
Of course, her sweating palms and thumping heart told her otherwise, but she persevered, if for no other reason than to give her heart a chance to ratchet down a notch. "I can't find my keys." She could feel Callie's eyes on her, could sense both confusion and trepidation radiating from her. Callie clearly had something on her mind, but Erica was afraid of what it might be, so she continued to keep her head bent over her bag, aware only of the fact that the sweat that had started on her palms had now migrated to her hairline. Callie spoke again.
"Maybe we could, um—I had something I wanted to talk to you ab—"
Unable to stand it any longer, Erica deftly cut her off, using the same brusque tone she used in the OR, but still not looking up from the bag she was digging around in. "I had the damn keys this morning. I put them in this bag, but I can't remember. This whole thing with Yang has got me so messed up—"
This time Callie interrupted her, in a voice that meant serious business. "Erica."
And now she was stuck. Against her better judgment and wildly pounding heart, she looked up, straight into a pair of burning black eyes, and her guts turned instantly to mush. She tried for brusqueness again. "What?" And achieved it to a degree, by the way Callie started a little. But Callie didn't cede.
"I'm saying something here."
That Callie was, indeed, "saying something here," was crystal clear. The set of her shoulders and the fact that she didn't move her eyes from Erica's indicated a determinedness that Erica, despite her own jangling nerves, had to give the woman credit for.
Still, it wasn't for nothing that she had tried to dodge this very encounter all day. There were no surprises here for Erica Hahn. Callie wanted her badly, of that she was pretty sure, and while it was supremely flattering to have such a goddess desire her, Callie Torres was a straight girl, fergodssake! Okay, she was a bi-curious straight girl, made all the more tempting by the fact that she was drop-dead gorgeous, and that did count for quite a bit, but, but. . .how many times in her past had Erica given in to this temptation? How many other dykes did she know who had equally succumbed – only to have their poor butch hearts broken after the straight girls slept with them, satisfied their curiosity, and then went skipping back to their dicks? It was tragic, really, the number.
Yet, here she was, ready to put her poor butch heart on the line once more. Heaven help her. She entertained a second's impulse to repeat her elevator performance by simply grabbing Callie and planting one on her before the woman could get her act together, but experience kept her from it. Teasing Mark Sloan about a threesome was one thing, but this was something else entirely. Even though she knew, knew, what Callie wanted, she couldn't risk misinterpreting, in case this was, in fact, a rejection.
Meantime, Callie, mistaking Erica's silence for attention, said, "I just wanted to say. . ." and then began that stuttering thing she'd been doing all day. "I just—I wanted to say. . ." and then, before Erica could even register the action, Callie stepped forward and beat her at her own game.
Um, no, not a rejection. Heaven. Help. Her.
Erica wasted no time evening the score. Bringing both hands (palms thankfully dry) to the sides of Callie's face, she leaned in closer, and this time did not fool around with anything as chaste as hesitation. Callie broke the kiss and then immediately leaned in for another. When she did, Erica took the lead, pressing her lips firmly against Callie's, pushing her mouth open so her tongue had full access to the soft interior. She was pleased when Callie did not shy away, pleased also to feel her own body's pleasure centers kicking in.
This kiss did not end until both women had to come up for air, and Erica took that opportunity to insert a reality check. Callie was swaying, her eyes closed, her full, wet lips sparkling in the security lights. She looked so heavenly, Erica was almost afraid to break the mood. But they were, after all, right in front of the hospital, in full view of God and everybody. "Callie?" She patted Callie's cheeks gently. "You still with me?"
The black eyes opened and focused on her, and Callie gifted her with a fifty-megawatt smile. "Oh, yeah."
Erica returned the smile (at less wattage, of course), let her hands drop into Callie's, and asked the crucial question. "You sure you want to do this? I mean, we've been dancing around it for weeks, using Sloan as a whipping boy, and some of it hasn't been pretty, at least not for me." She sighed, looked away, and then back at Callie. She opened her mouth, ready to bare all, but nothing came out. She must have looked a fright, because Callie was instantly on the alert, all concern and furrowed brow, giving Erica's hands a quick squeeze.
"Erica, what's wrong, what is wrong?"
Callie looked positively stricken, and Erica realized she had backed herself right into a corner. Coming out just never gets any damn easier, not even when I'm coming out to an absolutely stunning woman who wants me so badly I can taste it. You'd think I'd've learned by now that it's a life-long process. But no. Screwing her courage to the sticking place, she plunged in. "Callie, listen to me. You--are a beautiful oh my yes beautiful woman. And I—but I—I'm, uh—" Oh, great, what was this, some kind of communications virus going around? She tried again to string enough words together to make herself understood, knowing there were really only two that would get it across without further verbal breakdown. "I'm gay." But she took care not to lower her eyes or show anything but pride in the disclosure.
Callie blinked, but again to her credit, did not in any way indicate she was repulsed by this knowledge. Instead she smiled a darling little half-smile, cocked her head and said, "Yeah, I kinda got that. Am I supposed to have a problem with it?" She paused and added, "Are you supposed to have a problem with me?"
Oh, for heaven's sake, how could she be the big old dyke if this straight woman was asking all the intelligent questions? Still, she recalled her heart, hanging out there on the line, and knew she wouldn't risk cardiac arrest without first putting all the cards on the table.
"I'm just saying. If you're curious, you know? Just want to see 'what it's like' to sleep with a woman, please don't use me as your guinea pig, okay? I may be a chrome-plated bitch in the hospital, but I've got a few feelings in my back pocket that I don't care to have crushed, and I'm having enough trouble just seeing you every day. If you break my heart, I swear, I'll dig yours out with a fork. And, believe me," she added, with a wink and a smile to take the sting out of the words, "I can do it." She noticed their hands were still joined, and absently wondered who might be watching them. But the thought dissipated as Callie spoke.
"Okay, you're not a chrome-plated bitch – or at least not chrome-plated, not all the time."
"That was a compliment, right?"
Callie snickered and then switched gears. "Listen, what I'm saying is, I—I like you, I like you a whole lot, but I have a confession to make."
Uh oh, Erica thought, here it comes.
"You know—you remember what I told you about what Addison said about us—about us being—"
"Lesbians, was I think the word you used."
Callie had the good grace to wince. "Ah, yeah. Well, um, what I didn't tell you was that I didn't just deny it, I freaked so badly I could tell by the look on her face that she didn't believe me, and that made me very nervous, even though I know you and I aren't lez—no, well, I mean I'm not—um, I mean, you and I, we never—but—here's the thing, I've been thinking about it, and I think, I think—seriously?" Callie stopped to suck in a ragged breath, as if this admission was using up more than its rightful share of oxygen, "I think the reason why I suggested a threesome in the first place wasn't because I wanted a threesome with Mark, it was because I wanted. . .um. . .I wanted a twosome with you, and that'd be the only way I'd get it, you know? God," Callie chided herself, looking inward, "that didn't come out right.
"Wait. Okay. I liked going out with you, we had fun, right? But what Addison said about us made me uncomfortable and so I lied to you about being with Sloan, and I'm sorry I did that. What I'm saying is—what I'm trying to say—when you kissed me in the elevator, it felt wonderful, and it didn't feel like you were just teasing Mark. When you bolted, it was all I could do not to follow you and I'm not sure why I didn't, and now, now, even though I've been avoiding you, and I'm so scared, and it sounds all crazy, but I can't stop thinking about you, I can't, and if I do you wrong, if I hurt you, I'll bring you the fork, I promise." Callie finally stopped, her lungs spent. "Sorry. I'm sorry," she said, drawing in a huge breath before offering another adorable half-smile. "Can we please go back to your original question?"
Erica, lost in what Callie was saying, in hearing so many of her own feelings being reflected back to her, almost missed Callie's question, but then it clicked. Taking Callie's face in her hands again, she asked softly, "Are you sure you want to do this?"
"Yes."
Erica smiled. "So am I."