9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: This is AU. I do not own any of the characters from Grey's Anatomy. I just manipulate them to my will. Also, any line or phrase or setting that seems remotely familiar from any other show, movie or book, also not mine. I borrow…

AN: Another chapter is up for ya'll. This one is a little longer than they usually do but I doubt I'll hear any complaints ;-) Enjoy!

Chapter 9

The waking of Team USA signaled the last week of their training and prepping for the Olympics in Oklahoma City. Friday would be their last official practice and starting early Saturday morning, they would be on the road to tour the best college teams America had to offer them. All in hopes of finding gold at the end of a long, hard, and sometimes broken path that 14 women now find themselves walking. Unfortunately, Head Coach Webber decided to kick off the girls last week of training by taking an 'easy' practice at the batting cages. At least… it would normally be considered easy. But nearly every one of the players are suffering from their extracurricular activities from the night before.

The pinging of aluminum bat hitting leather ball makes flashes of light and pain poke at the closed eyelids of a very hung over Latina. Callie rubs at her temples while also trying to cover her ears in attempt to keep the God awful noise from making her even more miserable than she already is. If waking up completely dry, confused and disorientated wasn't enough, she also found a waste can full of sick next to her. How that trashcan found its way to where it was, she doesn't know. All she knows is that by the condition her body was in upon awakening, she thoroughly enjoyed the teams night out. And by enjoyed… she means tequila, and lots of it.

"Why did they have to pick THIS morning?" Callie growls, the vibration of her own words making her head pound and stomach knot. She's hunched over herself, in the ready position just in case there still may be something left within her to throw up. The cool metal bench underneath her does little to bring comfort, nor does the swelling temperature of the indoor complex they all are currently stuck in.

"I don't know. But I wish the ground would stop moving." Meredith moans back, then stands and wobbles over to the Gatorade bin and downs an orange drink. Another loud ping of bat on ball, usually signaling a solid hit, makes all those on the side lines grimace in pain.

Naomi limply drops a bat from her hand and plops down next to her co-captain before shielding her eyes with a pair of sunglasses, copying nearly the entire team. It's not bright inside this decent size complex, but right now, any light is too much light.

"How much did we drink last night?" Naomi Campbell groans, hands grasping at her stomach in attempts to stop the muscle spasming that is trying to rid her body of the toxic drinks she poisoned herself with last night.

"Fuck if I know…" Torres growls."Do you remember ANYTHING? How the hell did we even get home?"

"The last thing I remember was you shooting three shots of tequila, pounding the table and telling some dirt bag to suck your dick." Naomi mumbles then closes her eyes and falls back onto the cool floor.

"Sounds about right…" The catcher says, silently cursing herself for getting so piss assed drunk. She never does that. NEVER. Sure, she drinks, gets a little tipsy. But not to the point of blacking out. And especially not around her team. They are supposed to respect her, trust her, look up to her. Why would they do that if she gets toasted every weekend and ends up embarrassing the whole lot of them?

Another sharp pinging sound, followed by hollering from Derrick Shepard makes brown eyes flick up and find the object of the commotion. She finds one of her coaches talking with a blonde, the new blonde. He's motioning to his hips, showing Arizona how to use the power of her hips and legs to drive through the hit harder, but all Callie can focus on is how that ass fills those silky black running shorts.

"You got good bat speed, but if you just drive a bit more off the back…" Coach Shepard says to the newcomer, finally getting some one on one time. He doesn't usually mess with a player's hack all that much because everyone is different; everyone has their own style that works. Derek wouldn't attempt to turn a batter like Arizona or Cristina or Lexie into a batter like Naomi or Callie. They are different players, they do different things. But with just an added ounce of velocity behind her hits, Shepard thinks that those little slaps and dribblers that are already dangerous could turn into a secret weapon.

"Got it, Coach." Arizona replies, setting up again and watching as her coach feeds a yellow ball into the machine. A whoosh of air and the ball comes flying towards her. Driving hard off her back foot, she brings the bat around and connects. A loud ping fills the air and blue eyes stare off into the distance, imagining it sailing high and long.

"Nice! That's what I'm looking for." Derek shouts over the din of the machines churning and the other three players taking their hacks at some pitches and completely oblivious to how the rest of the team on the side line are wincing at each syllable. "I'm gonna crank it down and see if we can't get you adjusted to a slightly slower change up. …Those Japanese love to use that pitch." The man adds, turning his attention to the pitching machine.

Stepping out of the fake batter's box, the blonde takes a couple practices swings to stay loose while letting her mind wander. As much as she tries to deny it, or push it away, that sting of rejection is still eating at her. And what's worse… she didn't even put herself out there to be rejected. Arizona never made a move. Sure, there might have been some unneeded touching, and Robbins DEFINITELY took advantage of the view when Callie's back was turned to her, but still… was she being that forward that Torres had to cut her down? The way the Latina jumped away from her in the bathroom as soon as Amelia showed up was cause for concern too. Almost like Callie was afraid to be seen in such close quarters with the blonde. Not to mention that Callie didn't really go out of her way the other night to spend time with Arizona. Sure, the catcher invited her. But the blonde ended spending most of the night babysitting a drunk and love sick Teddy Altman.

Chancing a glance over to the bench where the rest of her teammates are hanging out, all waiting for their turn at the machines, blue eyes find the pained face of Callie Torres. The difference between this woman today, curled up in pain with a dark pair of sunglasses over her eyes is vastly different from the one Arizona saw last night. That Callie Torres was carefree and happy. Sure, some of that might have been the alcohol talking, but it was good to see her captain letting loose for once. Arizona, of all people, knows what it's like to work so hard you don't have a life anymore. Even the most serious and determined people need a night off every now and then. And when it comes to the Latina, now finding Arizona's gaze from behind her sunglasses, she is lucky that those nights don't come around too often, or she would be in serious need of a liver transplant.

"Robbins!" Derek shouts, pulling Arizona's attention back to the task at hand. "Step up." She steps back into the batter's box and sets up, preparing to unload all her disappointment and anger onto the ball flying towards her.

Dark eyes watch as her teammates take their turns in the batting cages. Usually this is one of her favorite places to be. Second only to crouching behind home plate, Callie loves being in the batter's box, an aluminum bat her only weapon against nine other women trying to get her out. Countless hours have passed in places much like this, and after years and years and years of swinging, she's mastered the art. With a practiced eye that comes from only catching for the best in the nation, Callie Torres is a force to be reckoned with. Powerful arm, deadly accuracy, and a swing that would make lumberjacks jealous, the Latina is, in a word, hardcore.

One last ping from the stall closest to Callie, and then Mark Sloan calls "Next!" Seeing that no one is making the effort to stand up, the catcher grabs her batting gloves, helmet and bat, and slowly stumbles her way to the cage. Just as she gets there, the previous occupant is leaving, holding up the net for the Latina to crouch under.

"How you feeling?" Erica asks, pulling her own helmet off and releasing her blonde ponytail, a trail of sweat slowly sliding down the side of her neck. For some reason her mouth has gone dry and her heart rate starts to rise. Most of last night was a blur to her, but she'd have to be six feet under to forget their lip lock.

"Like death warmed over." Callie groans while shoving her hands into her red and black leather batting gloves with cushioned pads. "You?"

"Not much better." The third base man mumbles, peeking over her shoulder to see if there is an audience watching. Erica isn't exactly sure who saw what last night, if their kiss is now known throughout the team or if it's a secret between the two of them. But she sees that no one is paying any attention to them, everyone content to wallow in their own drinking induced misery. "So…" Hahn drawls, watching as her crush pulls silky black hair up on her head and yanking on her helmet.

"So?" Callie asks, focused on strapping and restrapping her batting gloves, finding that perfect fit.

"Last night?" The blonde chances, blue eyes studying every feature on the Latina, looking for any sort of recollection. "We're good, right?"

"Yeah." Torres says with a smile, unsure why one of her best friends would ask such a question. "We're good, why wouldn't we be?" She asks.

Just as Erica opens her mouth to respond, Sloan yells "Torres! This ain't a sorority meeting. Move your ass." With an eye roll, Callie sends her friend as much of a smile she can through the throbbing of her brain, then turns on her heels and steps up to the batter's box.

Two sets of blue eyes watch their co-captain swing after powerful swing. Erica mind replays the way the Latina tasted on her lips, the way her tongue moved against Callie's, the way that curvy body felt pushed tightly against her own. Arizona, on the other hand, chastises herself. Callie told her she wasn't interested, that there was nothing between them. Whether the rumors about Callie and Erica were true, whether she is gay or not, it doesn't matter anymore because the Latina said no. Even if it hurts Arizona, she needs to respect that fact. Because, after all, they are a part of a team. A great team. An amazing team. A team that is less than a month away from heading to London in search of Gold. And Arizona knows better than to risk everything for the sake of a girl who doesn't want her. So… with one last sigh, for completely different reasons, both sets of blue eyes tear themselves away from the beauty before them and return to practice.

"Seriously… how are you not dying?" Teddy groans as she and her three other roommates file back into their apartment after morning practice at the batting cages. Both Charlotte and April are barely functioning, Altman feels like a stake is being ramming into each eyeball, while Arizona has taken on a perky persona. As per usual, when she is hurt or upset, the newcomer over compensates by upping the bright and shininess.

"Because I didn't try to drink Joe's out of business." The pitcher says playfully as the first base man falls back on the stained and beat up couch.

Dropping her bag on top of the others, April slumps against one of the armchairs and starts massaging at her temples. "I found an olive in my bra when I woke up."

"You're lucky you found TWO eyes when you woke up." Robbins adds with a smile before opening the fridge and pulling out a large bottle of Gatorade. Filling up three large glasses, the blonde also pours out three aspirin each then says "Alright girls, breakfast is served."

"What's this?" Charlotte groans, stumbling out of her bedroom with one sock on.

"Breakfast of champions." Arizona replies. "Drink up, come on. It'll help, promise." The three woman all give their newest teammate a confused look. It's been about four hours since everyone got up and dressed for practice, and though their hangovers may not be as bad as they were… it's still pretty painful.

When she sees her fellow roommates are reluctant to put anymore fluids in their bodies, Arizona shrugs and sighs "Fine. Be miserable." As she plods away from the kitchen and heads towards her own bedroom, Robbins peeks over her shoulder and sees all three have taken her advice.

"Alright ladies, this week is going to work a little differently." Mark announces to the group of pitchers and catchers around him. Not only are his starters there, but also the reservists, as in Meredith Gray, Addison Montgomery, Charlotte King, and Naomi Campbell. As much as the man wishes he could make it on just two pitchers, he knows that once the Games start it's nearly as challenging as a chess match to decide when to pitch who, and for how long. There is always the risk of a pitcher or catcher being injured, so he can't put all his eggs in one basket. Even if the basket is as good as Callie Torres, Amelia Shepard or Arizona Robbins.

It's the second practice of the day, and by now most of the girls have recovered from their hangovers from last night. Callie still has a slight throbbing behind her eyes, and her body feels as dry as a month old sponge, but at least her joints don't grind together when she moves. After batting practice, she curled back up into the dark hole of her room and pleaded with her God to just take her. But He didn't, which is why she is fully suited under the hot Oklahoma sun.

Next to her, dressed in her own blue catchers gear, Erica rocks from heel to heel. The blonde is lost in her own musings. Callie doesn't seem to be upset about her actions last night, even if the Latina didn't initiate the kiss. Erica knows that there are rumors about the team the she and Callie have been a 'thing' in the past, which is what first brought the blondes attention to just how beautiful the Latina really is. …And how the idea of being with Callie, in that way, didn't seem crazy to her. That if something were to happen, Erica wouldn't be upset. But this is a whole new territory for her. Up until now, the only lips that have pressed against hers have been men's. Now that she has something to compare it to, Hahn can't believe how much better a woman's lips taste and can only imagine what it would be like going further. Just thinking about it does funny things to her body, things that make her want to touch and be touched.

Across from Callie and Erica stands a very cranky Amelia Shepard. To say today has been painful is an understatement. The shorter brunette came in second in terms of alcohol consumption, and is definitely feeling it. Mix that with her other extracurricular activities she's been participating in lately and her body is pissed as hell. But even through the fog of misery, the first string pitcher doesn't miss how those blue eyes of Erica Hahn glance to the Latina next to her. She doesn't miss the longing in her friends' face, only to be replaced with a mask of nonchalance the next second. Something tugs at her mind, trying to bring up a memory from the vodka and tequila filled night. It starred the same Latina, and a blonde haired blue eye woman as well.

"Shepard!" Mark snaps when his player doesn't respond after a question.

"What?" Amelia snaps, turning covered eyes to the taller man.

"Are we disturbing your day dreams or would you like to join the rest of the team?" Coach Sloan asks, crossing his arms across his broad chest and leveling his glare at the woman. Very rarely does a player cause him trouble, but he's not afraid to dole out some punishment if it needs to be done.

Seeing that she had zoned out for a good five minutes, completely missing the instruction of her coach, the pitcher immediately gets back into line and steps up to the empty pitching rubber waiting for her. Arizona is warming up on the one to her right, while Charlotte is on her left, pitching to a geared up Naomi. Gray and Montgomery have rejoined the rest of the team on the field for practice, leaving the top three to get some pitches in.

"So, have a good time last night?" Amelia asks between huffs as she pitches to Callie behind the plate. Arizona looks around her in confusion, trying to find who Shepard could possibly be talking to. But the catchers are too far away, and Mark is currently instructing Charlotte at the other end of the bullpen.

"You talking to me?" The newcomer asks the veteran.

"Yeah, Kentucky. I'm talking to you." Amelia replies, sending another pitch straight to Callie's glove, a loud slap echoing through the air.

Arizona lets out a sarcastic laugh, then sneers "I get it… you've run out of states starting with 'A', so now you're moving on to the rest of them. …Clever." Amelia sends the blonde some sort of cross breed between a smile and a snarl, then catches the burning throw coming from her catcher behind the plate.

"What's got stuck up your ass?" Amelia snaps back, taking her stand on the rubber then letting a perfect curveball go sailing.

Sending a knuckle to Erica, Arizona catches the rebound and whips around to face her competition head on. "You know what Shepard, I've had-"

"Robbins!" Mark hollers, making all six players snap to attention. "Shut your yap and get to work. What do you think this is, a pizza party?" Blue eyes roll in their socket as Arizona grinds her teeth in frustration. Holding her tongue, she steps back on the rubber and pitches a scorcher that leaves Hahn's catching hand burning.

From behind her mask, Callie chances a glance over to the blonde who seems to be trying to throw her arm out. Arizona drives off hard, pitch after pitch. Trying to work off some of her pent up anger. Erica just chuckles, loving that the usually congenial and perky blonde has been worked up so much. Mark moves on from Charlotte, and takes a position behind Arizona to watch how she is coming along. When the newest player sends pitch after pitch, a slow smile spreads across the coach's face. Because when you got players like Arizona Robbins, you can't help but picture how a gold medal will look around your neck.

After a catching a good knuckle and throwing it back to her pitcher, Erica glances over to Callie next to her. Blue eyes drop to the woman's ass, poking out very nicely in the Latina's squat, the soft material of her shorts riding up toned and tan thighs. Another knuckle flies, and a loud snap pulls Hahn out of her gaze.

"So…" She chances between pitches. "Feeling any better?" Erica asks loud enough so that only the catcher next to her can hear.

Dropping her glove in time to scoop up a stray ball, Callie replies "Yeah, a little. The sun and this suit ain't helping much but… yeah."

"You were pretty gone last night, Cal." Hahn says after a grunt of exertion as she throws a yellow ball back to the blonde on the rubber.

"Tell me something I don't know…" Torres grumbles, then dives after a runaway curve that Amelia sent flying. "Come on Shepard, stop messing around!" The Latina hollers as she throws the ball back.

"I just… I wanted to make sure that you were ok. You're ok, right?" Blue eyes catch brown as they peer through their masks. Callie has no idea what Erica is asking about, and turns back just in time to not get knocked off her ass by the next pitch Amelia sends to her. Hahn isn't as fast though, and before Arizona can hold it back she lets go a scorcher that nails the unsuspecting catcher right in her face mask. Erica falls back on her ass, the wind rushing from her lungs as her body reacts to the sudden shock of the collision. The metal wiring of her face mask is the only thing that has prevented the blonde catcher from catching the fastball right in the teeth.

"Erica…" Callie breathes out, up and out of her stance and next to her friend in a second. "You alright?"

"God damn it!" Mark yells, then strides to the fallen player along with the other four players working in the bull pin.

"Just breathe." The Latina instructs her co-captain, gently pulling off the blue helmet and meeting steely eyes, a sheen of tears ghosting over them. Callie has been on the receiving end of many a fastballs, and knows that even after years and years, the shock of getting hit like that is still scary. "Come on, Hahn. Man up." She plays, trying to get her friend to calm down.

"You alright Blondie?" Coach Sloan asks as he kneels down to his fallen player. Arizona looks on, a slight hint of guilt nagging at her as she sees one of her superiors down because of her. Even if Hahn is a total bitch, the newcomer would never intentionally hurt someone. Definitely not while playing the game she loves and respects so much.

"Yeah, I'm good." Erica says and accepts Callie's hand to help pull her up. "Just caught me off guard, that's all." She adds while running a hand over her face, checking to make sure that the mask actually did its job.

Once his fear of injury is quelled, Mark stands and yells "That's because you were running your trap!" Turning back to the rest of his group, he continues. "What the HELL is wrong with you ladies? You are a month away from the Games and you are treating practice like a day at the beach. When you step into MY bull pen, you are on MY time. You cross those chalk lines, you hustle. You run. You bust your ass until you have no ass to bust! Is that clear?" Silence from his players greets his ears, and that doesn't make him happy. "I asked, IS THAT CLEAR?"

"Yes, sir." The six women yelp, never having seen this man get this angry. Mark has the tendency to yell and get excited easily, but that little vein on his forehead has never popped before, and Arizona is sure that it's not normal for a human being to turn that red.

"There's only one way I know to keep you from talking. You know what that is?" He asks, smiling at himself. Again silence meets his question so he answers it himself. "Running." A collective groan from the six players immediately fill the air. "That's right. You brought it on yourself. I want laps. Now." Six sets of eyes stare at him, pleading with the man not to make them run in this kind of heat. But Mark is past feeling sorry for his players. "I said NOW! And I want your mouths sealed SHUT!"

Another set of eye rolls, and then the three catchers start to ungear while Charlotte and Arizona take off at a jog around the perimeter of the four fields. Callie, Erica, and Naomi all fall into step not fifteen seconds later.

Amelia, already on the verge of punching someone in the face, snarls at her coach. "How many?"

"Until I say stop! Now move your ass, Shepard. Before I move it for you!" Mark yells, pointing towards the rest of the running ladies. Dark eyes roll in their sockets and Amelia has to bite her tongue until it bleeds to keep from flinging back a VERY bad comment to her coach. Dropping her glove with the rest of the ladies, she takes off at a steady jog, cursing Coach Sloan at every stride.

"You ladies have a nice run?" Teddy asks her roommate smugly. Arizona and the rest of the pitchers and catchers spent the rest of their time, about an hour and a half, running around the four leaf clover of fields. And Coach Sloan was right, they didn't have enough energy left to talk, all they could do was barely move by the time Coach Webber let out the last whistle calling practice to an end.

"Shut up." Arizona growls while plopping down on one of the training room benches. The fake leather covering sticks to her sweat covering legs, and her entire body aches and throbs. Altman just laughs to herself, revealing in a teammates misery when the newcomer says "Will it still be funny when I tell Hunt how you want to suck him like a cherry jolly rancher?" The laughing stops immediately as the first base man's eyes go wide.

"You wouldn't." Teddy whispers, making Arizona laugh now. Just then the door to the training room opens and in hobbles Callie Torres, Amelia Shepard and Erica Hahn. Alex Karev, a trainer, lets out a growl in frustration as he realizes that date he has in forty five minutes will probably not be happening. Thirty seconds more, four more of team USA strides into the room and start a line in the row of chairs along one wall of the room, all waiting their turn for some sweet relief.

"Stop bitching, Karev, and do your damn job." Erica spits as she hops up onto a padded table.

With only two trainers working the entire room, there is a lull in activity as they work through all of the team members here for treatment. While Karev takes a couple minutes to reschedule his date, Jackson Avery, the other trainer, starts on the first player, Teddy. During her wait, Arizona scans the room and meets the gaze of chocolate brown eyes directly across from her. Callie has taken the last available bench, between Amelia and Erica, and directly in front of the newest addition to their team. The Latina sends the blonde a small smile, and the grin she gets in return seems forced. Arizona's dimples don't pop, and the light doesn't make it to her pretty blue eyes. The catcher is immediately on alert for what might be troubling the newcomer, replaying their practice looking for an incident that might have upset her. But the raven-haired player comes up empty.

Just as Callie is about to ask if Arizona is alright, Karev comes barreling back out of his office and stands immediately in front of the blonde, blocking their line of sight. "Alright, what's wrong with you?" He asks with a snap in his tone.

"Ice bath." Arizona answers, already hopping off the table and walking into the room just off to the side of the main one. Not even waiting for a trainer to set it up, the blonde scoops ice from a giant freezer into a stainless steel tub. It's deep, and just wide enough to fit an average size football player, which means the blonde will be able to swim in it. But that's what she wants. She needs the coldness to hit her bones, numb the pain that is throbbing throughout her body, in her shoulder, and that sharp, tearing feeling that has somehow filled her heart.

Within five minutes, the tub is filled with ice and frigid water. Stripping out of her sweat ladened tank top and dirty running shorts, leaving her in a black sports bra and black sliders, Arizona slowly lowers herself into the tank. A string of curses leave her mouth as the pitchers body immediately reacts to the freezing temperatures. Sinking down enough to cover her shoulder, an already shaking finger pushes the button on the egg timer and begins the seven minute countdown.

At two minutes in, the cracking of tired ankles pull the blonde back to reality. Blue eyes peek over her shoulder and find the woman of her dreams hobbling up next to the side of Arizona's tank.

Pulling on her best smile, even though sadness is filling her body, Arizona greets her. "H-hey."

"Hey, I was wondering if I could…" A finger points to the ice waters at the foot of the basin. "Those guys are taking forever and my knees are-"

"Yeah." Arizona cuts her off. "Yeah of course, Callio- uh, Boss." The blonde corrects herself, which does not go unnoticed by the Latina. After a bit of maneuvering, Callie sits on the side of the tank and dangles her legs into the water, the surface coming up just over her knees.

"Damn that's cold." Callie groans, a wave of pain hitting her immediately. The change from extreme heat to extreme cold washing over her body like a tidal wave. "How are you still alive?" The Latina asks, trying to make her newest teammate smile a real smile. But all she gets back is a strangled laugh, blue eyes never straying away from the wall directly across from her.

The seconds tick by slowly, and Callie Torres can't help but feel the awkwardness between them. It was just yesterday she and Arizona were practicing during off hours, chatting and laughing… maybe even flirting a little. Now the blonde is as cold as the waters she's sitting in. What changed? What could have happened?

All the while, Arizona replays exactly what happened through her mind. Callie jumping away from her in the bathroom. The words 'I don't want to kiss you' rolling off those plump lips. Just the memory of those words makes the blondes stomach flip and knot, do barrel rolls and nose dives. Anything a stomach can do, hers does it. Because before anything even started, it ended. And Arizona finally realizes what they mean when they say you never know what you have till it's gone. Even if it was a possibility… it's gone.

Brown eyes watch as those beautiful blues glaze over, a far off look hazing the gorgeous features of the blonde. Chancing a question she doesn't know if she has the right to ask, the Latina questions "You alright, Battleship? You seem a little… distracted."

"I'm fine, boss." The blonde answers, not meeting her gaze.

It doesn't take a mind reader or profiler to know Robbins is lying, so Callie pushes her. "You don't seem fine. …Is something wrong?" Finally blue eyes find brown, and the pain that is evident in the newcomers gaze is palpable. A fire roars within the Latina, an unknown need to protect this woman urging the catcher into action. "Because you can talk to me."

All Arizona can do is shake her head and bit her tongue. What good would it do to come out and say 'you broke my heart' to the woman who flat out told the blonde she wasn't interested? None, that's what good it would do. It'd only make things awkward and uncomfortable… and the gossip would tear through the team like a bad taco from a roadside vendor. No. Arizona is not going to be THAT woman, the one who falls for the straight girl. The unavailable girl. Arizona Robbins is a good man in a storm, and she has resolved herself to be that now. Professional, polite, and civil. Nothing more, nothing less. It's not personal, it's business.

"Arizona…" Callie whispers and places a soft hand on a naked shoulder, covering the purple and pink butterfly that masks an old surgical scar. Robbins' mind clears immediately at the woman's touch. "Did I do something to-" But the Latina is cut off by the beeping of the egg timer, signaling the end of Arizona's torture.

Not giving her a chance to finish her question, Arizona stands from the tub, water rushing everywhere and splashing onto the woman sitting at the edge. As nimbly as a frozen body can, the blonde extricates herself from the silver basin and wraps a warm towel around her. The Latina can't help but take this sudden escape as a means to get away from her.

"Arizona…" She tries again, addressing the back of the retreating blonde.

The pitcher halts midstride and takes a deep breath. She knows that it must start now. Right now. In order to stay in control, to keep confidence throughout the team, Arizona must remain professional and polite. She can't get emotional and jealous. She can't be ruled by emotions. Emotions don't belong in sports, they don't belong on that medal podium. There is no room for tears. There's no crying in softball.

One last steadying breath, and a dimpled smile forms on the blondes face. Turning to meet concerned brown eyes, Arizona replies "Like I said, Callie. I'm fine. Really." Her voice doesn't falter, her smile doesn't waver, and her heart doesn't come spilling out of her mouth. "Have a good night, and I'll see you tomorrow, Boss." She adds, then turns and continues her retreat without waiting for her captain to respond.

Amelia watches as her competition quickly dries herself and flees from the training room. Then turns her gaze to her catcher, now sitting alone on the edge of a silver tub, a look of confusion and a dash of hurt making Callie's face scrunch up. The bits and pieces from last night slowly start to piece together, and based off of today's antics, Shepard can only come to one conclusion.

"Amelia!" The woman next to her calls, shoving the brunette slightly to get her attention. Dark eyes spin around and find those of her sister in laws… or ex-sister in law… however that works now that she And Derek are getting divorced. Apparently Addison Montgomery had been yammering on for quite some time while Amelia was lost in her own thoughts.

"What's going on with Callie?" The pitcher asks, ignoring the redheads' questions all together.

Addison immediately goes on alert and greenish-gray eyes look up and find the sulking figure of her best friend. Last night is mostly a blur to the red head as well, but she wasn't drunk enough to miss that kiss between Callie and Erica. Especially because the redhead is the one who sent the blonde out on the dance floor in the first place. But Addison has yet to find the opportunity to have a good sit down with the Latina and do the girl talk thing. What does it mean? Is it serious? Do you like her? How long have you liked her? All those questions that always pop up as soon as initial contact is made.

Deciding that playing stupid is the best thing, Addison replies "Nothing. Why?"

"She just…" Amelia starts, trying to find the right words. "I don't know." She says. When it comes to her team, Amelia is protective and friendly. It may not seem that way to outsiders, but that's the point. They are outsiders, they don't belong in this group of tight knit friends. And besides her sister, Addison, Callie is the one person on the team she feels closest to. That's what happens when you work so closely for so long. Callie is Amelia's catcher. And Amelia is Callie's pitcher. It's just the way things are.

"I think she kissed someone last night." Amelia chances, turning her gaze back to Callie who is currently standing and removing herself from the tub. Addison just sits there, giving a noncommittal hum. "Someone on the team." The pitcher adds, then looks at the redhead next to her. Again, Addison remains silent, letting the brunette make her own conjectures.

"I walked in on them in the bathroom and they jumped apart like they were on fire." Shepard keeps talking, keeping her voice low enough so only the redhead sitting on the bench next to her can hear.

"Wait, the bathroom?" Addison questions, immediately interested in this topic of conversation. She distinctly remembers the kiss on the dance floor, then Callie going to the bathroom. But she losses track of where Hahn went. Did she go after the Latina, following her to the bathroom? She doesn't think so.

"Yeah, she had this guilty look on her face. Asking what I was doing in there, like I was disturbing them." The pitcher keeps talking, foggy pieces of last night slowly making its way to the front of her mind while Addison tries her best to follow Erica in her memory after Callie left the dance floor. Then something clicks. "And Utah looked like she had been well on her way to getting buck wild."

Addison's mind goes racing. "Wait, NewGirl? She kissed NewGirl?" The redhead hisses.

"And who knows what else if I hadn't shown up." The brunette adds before Jackson steps up next to her bed and starts treatment. Addison Montgomery's mind is reeling, wondering what the hell happened last night, and how suddenly everything started spinning out of control. Because if anything, Callie Torres is all business and there is no way the Latina would jeopardize her team for the sake of a kiss. One way or another, the redhead is going to get to the bottom of this.

AN2: Ok so… a web is being weaved. A lot of dancing going on, don't you think? Can you feel the slow burn happening? Since when is it as easy as walking up to someone else and calling them out? Never! That's what I'm saying. Being on a team of 12 plus women has given me great insight into team dynamics. And I'm telling you, females are snakes. So buckle up for an interesting ride.