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George Watch 2007 had officially commenced and Callie found herself sitting next to his bed. He was lying on his back, snoring lightly. She wished she could have joined him, fallen asleep with her arms around him, but she was afraid that she would not wake up if he needed anything. It was painful, but she sat.

The first hour had passed relatively quickly. She had been content to watch the two fish in Georgeís tank swim lazily back and forth, trying to remember what he had told her their names were. The second and third hour were less comfortable. By the time the fifth hour passed, she had counted the ceiling tiles, unraveled a loose thread on her sleeve, and chewed every one of her fingernails down to the quick. The sun set, deepening the shadows in the room, and she sighed, wondering if her rumbling stomach would wake him up. The only light in the room came from the tank, so she turned her attention back to the fish. Had he called them Elmo and Kermit? Burt and Ernie?

"Callie!" George sat up abruptly, rubbing his face.

She leaped to her feet and hurried to his side. Sitting next to him, she laid a hand against his cheek. "Iím right here."

"I was dreaming about you." He pulled her against him, hugging her close. She had been his rock the past couple of days, his anchor. As he tightened his grip, she cried out in obvious pain. "Whatís wrong?"

"Your computer chair is not ergonomically designed," she replied, easing away from him a little.

"Iím sorry. I donít even remember drifting off. One second I was telling you about dadís car project and -" He caught himself and glanced at her. "And heíll never finish it."

"Itís a great car. Your dad was obviously proud of it. Jerry was telling me that itís dog tracking really bad so itíll need an alignment and Ronnie knows some random guy who is willing to rip the chassis for free."

George studied her for a second. "I have no idea what you just said, but it was impressive."

"I have four brothers. They all had lemons and were constantly working on them. I was the wrench girl."

"Wrench girl?"

"Yep. I sat next to them while they worked and handed them the wrench." She rotated her shoulders and groaned a little.

"You okay?"

"I think I pulled a muscle yesterday when I set this big guyís tibia. I was up on the table trying like hell to align it and he kicked me. I went flying."

"Oh my god! Why didnít you tell me?" George stood and moved around the bed. "Where does it hurt?"

"All over." She shrugged and grimaced.

"Take your shirt off."


"Let me see."

"Itís fine."

"Did someone at the hospital look at it?"


"Then let me."

Callie had seen the impressive bruise when she dressed that morning. A perfect outline of the utility cart that she crashed into had left a long, black, L-shaped imprint on her back and shoulder. Her armpit and the back of her arm also had swelling and discoloration and she opened her mouth to protest, but he reached for the hem of her shirt. "George-"

"Iíve seen you before. Many times."

With a sigh, she eased her good arm from the shirt sleeve. George gingerly pulled it over her head and slipped it over her injured arm. When he drew in his breath behind her she closed her eyes, expecting him to tell her how foolish she had been to not have it checked out. Instead, she felt his fingertips grazing the worst of it, stroking underneath the black strap of her bra. "Itís bad," he whispered, his voice hoarse.

"It looks worse than it is."

"The bra isnít helping."

She gasped when he quickly unfastened it. It dropped into her lap and she picked up her discarded shirt, holding it over her naked breasts. "So whatís the diagnosis?"

"It's pretty with all those blues and blacks."

"Very funny."

He pressed a few key areas. "It's definitely a pulled muscle. I hope the ligaments aren't torn."

"I'll give it a couple of days. If it doesn't get any better I'll have Bailey check it out."

George stared down at her mottled flesh, then upwards to her unscathed neck and shoulder. The scent of her hair was nostalgic, reminding him of the many times he had tangled his fingers in it, losing himself in her warmth. He had felt cold for so long, frozen inside. Numb. As his fingers skimmed the nape of her neck, he could feel himself begin to thaw. "Callie," he whispered. "Did I thank you for everything you did for my family?"

She swallowed hard, feeling the hairs on her neck begin to dance upward under his touch. "You donít have to."

"I really need to." Leaning down, he fastened his mouth to the tender spot where her neck met her shoulder. His tongue darted out, tasting her flesh and she gasped. Wordlessly, he reached around her and slipped his hand past the shirt she still held before her. As he cupped her breast, he leaned against her ear and whispered, "I need you."

Callie closed her eyes, losing herself in his familiar touch. Her mind screamed that it was wrong, so wrong, but her body had been starved for him for so long that it responded immediately. Arching her back, she pushed herself against his nimble fingers and sighed his name.

They were both undressed within minutes and to her shock and surprise, he was inside her without preamble. She cried out, her body not ready for his eager thrusts. Her hands dug into his back and it spurred him on, despite her efforts to slow him down. "George, wait," she cried, trying to use her legs to stop him.

He pushed her legs over his shoulders, her knees almost against the head board. "You feel so good," he mumbled.

She gripped the cover in her hands, willing her body to relax, hoping that the knowledge that it was George would prepare her in the ways that he had not. She breathed a sigh of relief when he stiffened and came rather quickly. He collapsed on top of her, her legs still over his shoulders, and she squirmed a little. George didnít take the hint. Instead, her movements seemed to renew his lust. He slammed into her again, causing her to cry out.

The second time was the same. He kept her legs over his shoulders, but changed the angle, drawing her upward against him. She was happy that his own spendings had left her wet enough because she certainly was not enjoying the roughness, the bare boned *sex* of it. It wasnít making love. It wasnít sweet or tender. It was harsh and her already sore body felt the punishment loud and clear.

He leaned down, kissing her, and she pushed against his chest, hating the way he seemed to bend her into two pieces. It hurt. It hurt her back and her feelings. Once again, he was oblivious to her discomfort and he didnít notice the look of relief on her face when he got off for the second time.

George rolled off her, onto his back and threw his arm over his head. Sweat coated his naked body and he took a deep breath. "Youíre amazing," he whispered.

Callie, who was lying on her back trying to figure out if her legs would ever work again, said nothing. She was genuinely baffled. She had read about people having sex after losing a loved one, but not rough, angry sex. In the past, he had been a considerate lover, determined that she find release first. This was not the George she knew and loved. This was ... a sex machine. There had been no emotion. He had been mechanical, driven to one goal and that goal did not include taking care of her needs.

George sat up and pulled the folded blanket on the end of the bed over them and patted her leg. "Iím exhausted."

Within minutes, his heavy breathing signaled that he had fallen asleep again. She lay beside him, shivering under the cover, feeling worse than she ever had in her life. The physical and mental stress that she had been under had taken its toll, however, and she rolled away from him, drawing her legs up. She cried herself to sleep, wondering when Izzie or Meredith would be home and could give her an easy escape. As much as he hurt her, she couldn't bear to leave him alone. She wondered if he realized that she felt alone even when he was with her.

She woke up on her stomach to the feel of light caresses on her back. Yawning, she turned her head and glanced at George, who was watching her intently. "What time is it?"

He kissed her shoulder and got to his knees, moving between her legs. "Itís time for another round."

For the briefest moment she had forgotten the events of the evening. When he reached between her legs, fondling her tender flesh, she shook her head. "George, I should-"

"Get on your knees." He pulled at her hips and she finally eased upward.

The third time was just as indifferent on his part. When he flopped onto his stomach, spent, she had enough. She grabbed her bra and panties off the floor and pulled them on. He watched her from the bed, his eyes hooded. "Where are you going?" he asked. "Iíll be good to go again in a second."

She had come to terms with being the rebound after Meredith, but she could not allow herself to be convenient. It was degrading. If he had taken a wad of cash out of his wallet and threw it her way she wouldn't have been surprised. She was about to tell him so when Izzie knocked on the door announcing food. "Iíll get it," Callie said, relief pulsing through her body. "I gotta go to the bathroom anyway."

"Hurry back." He frowned. "Hey, why are you taking your things?"

"Oh, thank god youíre here!" Callie said, when she opened the door to reveal Izzie standing on the other side, laden with a tray full of baked goods. She bypassed the blond, bending down to separate her wadded up clothing. She shoved her shirt over her head and said, "I canít take it any more! Three times already tonight and heís getting ready for a fourth!"

"What are you talking about?" Izzie asked, then looked away. "Ohhh."

Callie continued to dress as she ranted. "And you know ... Iíd get it if he were depressed or crying and I know, I know, we all deal in different ways, but this is not grief. This is my legs being bent in ways that my legs do not go! And I know, I know his dad died. I get it. I feel horrible for him."

Izzie looked away, clearly embarrassed. "Okay. Iím gonna give you guys some privacy. Iím gonna go-"

"NO! No no no!" Callie grabbed her. "You stay! You take over for me!"

Scandalized, Izzieís mouth dropped open. "Callie Torres!"

Realization dawned on Callie and she shook her head. "No! Not like that. I am giving him to you. You are now officially on George Watch 2007. Okay? You are his friend. Yay!" Her face fell when Izzie started to protest again. "And I need a break. I need to heal. I need to heal. I'm broken!"

The two woman talked over one another for several seconds and then George shouted, "Callie?"

Both women spun, facing the door with the same expression. Callie threw her hand up. "Thank you! Good bye!"

Bolting from the house, Callie jumped into her car and burned rubber exiting the driveway. Every piece of her body ached. She had had dirty sex before, but this was worse than anything she could remember experiencing with anyone. Her heart had never been involved with any of the other guys and now her heart was broken. George had used her and she had allowed him to do it. Three times. In the back of her mind, she had considered a million and one scenarios in which they would get back together. None of them played out the way the past few hours had played, though. She should have been relishing the fact that he wanted her again, that he had touched her at all. As she made her way across town, however, she was hollow. She hated the feel of her own skin.

She didnít know how she would face him the next day.

But one thing was for sure ... she didnít want to face him at all.

After an extremely hot shower, she lay back on her bed and stared at the ceiling. She found herself wishing, not for the first time, that there was someone, anyone, who cared enough about her to call. Her phone remained silent as the night wore on and she finally closed her eyes, praying that dreams would not find her.

The End Back to Grey's Fic