Insert prototypical "I'm a nerdy fangirl" here. I'm a lover not a fighter. But I'll fight for what I love. 24. Doodler of random things. A roughian to some. Roughian.livejournal.com
Co-moderator of calzonaconfessions.tumblr.com
You all might hate me a little bit. But here’s a sneak peak.
Set about 1.5 years after The Storm.
That title might not stick.
The sun hangs low in the sky, finally retreating after a full day of scorching heat. The children playing in front of the nearby pavilion are beginning to silhouette, their giggles marching on as the first few fireflies start to soundlessly ping their arrival. It’s officially summer; as whispers of the oncoming fireworks show start to make their way over the smattering of people.
Grey-Sloan Memorial, formerly Seattle Grace Mercy West, formerly Seattle Grace has begun the tradition of an annual Independence Day picnic at Blue Park. Doctors and their families and loved ones are all welcome, with a special invite to a new manufacturer of sterile hospital gloves, which signed, sealed and delivered Dr. Bailey to the top of the attendance list.
Certainly not all of the doctors are in at the picnic, but those that could make it nervously check their phones. No seasoned resident or attending likes the ominous feeling that looms overhead. Too many close calls with the eerie reputation of Seattle Grace Mercy Death.
“I have to say,” Derek Shepherd says as he takes a seat on the picnic bench beside Callie Torres, sizing up the impressive burger on his paper plate. “Brooks is always going to be a very odd girl, but she can grill a serious hamburger.”
Callie looks up from her hawkeye on her three-and-a half year old, who is playing with Zola, Cristina, and Alex about a hundred yards away. Cristina is blowing bubbles at the girls as they toddle over to try and catch them. Each time one pops in their hand, they screech with giggles. The sight warms Callie’s heart, even though she’s sure stumbling toddlers are making Cristina laugh too. In that creepy schnaeudenfreude kind of way.
“I didn’t get a chance to try anything. Sofia isn’t running out of gas any time soon,” Callie smirks, watching her rambunctious daughter nearly tackle Zola, warranting a quick “Hey!” from Alex which remedies the problem.
“Go ahead, I can watch them. I’m pretty good with the boo-boos and bumped heads,” Derek winks and takes another bite of his burger. “Just ask Mere.”
“That’s okay, I’m not very hungry,” Callie says as she watches Sofia try to tackle Zola for a bubble again. She knows she should ask about Meredith and the baby, but she can’t bring herself to care right now.
“M’ija!” Callie shouts sternly. “Calmate! Don’t hurt Zola.”
Sofia freezes in place, the exhaustion of the day catching up with her. Her brows knit, her lip juts out in a pout and… yep.
There goes the tears.
A young boy nearby spies Sofia crying and erupts into a loud sob himself. Callie abandons her post on the picnic bench and jogs over to where Sofia is having a meltdown. Scooping her up, she cradles her close, kissing her head.
“I’m sorry if I scared you, baby,” Callie whispers. “Mami’s sorry. Shh, it’s okay.”
Callie notices the little boy’s mother has come over to calm him, and she spins to get a better angle, mostly to apologize for becoming one of those people who yells at their children at picnics, in turn frightening innocent bystanders.
“Hey, I am sorry if I scared your son, I-”
Callie stops, taking a moment to drink the woman in fully. The blonde hair is what she notices first, coupled with the tan shoulders exposed by the straps of a simple, white tank top. The accent is next, British and polished, perfectly soothing to the young man whose name is Clint, from what Callie has gleaned. The blonde sends her boy off to play and stands up just in time to shake her head.
“Clint is awfully sensitive to things since the move,” she smiles. “I’m sorry to have alarmed your little one further.”
Writing post-cheating crazy fic…40 pages in two days? Well, then…