“are you seriously going to stand there and tell me i’m wrong?” callie’s voice cuts through the air, sharp but tinged with something deeper—something more personal. her arms are crossed tightly over her chest, the tension in her shoulders unmistakable.

you’re standing in the on-call room, the door shut behind you, but it doesn’t feel private. not with the weight of her gaze pressing down on you, her dark eyes blazing with a mix of frustration and disbelief.

“i’ve been doing this for years, okay? years. i know what i’m doing, and i don’t need you questioning every single call i make just because you don’t agree with it.” she’s pacing now, her scrub pants swishing softly with every agitated step she takes. “i get that you’re trying to advocate for the patient, but so am i. i’m always trying to advocate for the patient. so maybe stop acting like you’re the only one in this relationship who cares about what happens to them.”

her words are sharp, and they sting, but there’s a crack in her voice—barely noticeable, but there. it’s callie, after all. even when she’s furious, there’s an undercurrent of vulnerability that she can’t quite hide.

she stops pacing, turning to face you fully now, her hands on her hips. “do you even trust me? because that’s what this feels like. like you don’t trust me to do my job, to make the right call, to—” she cuts herself off, her jaw tightening as she takes a deep breath.

for a moment, the room is silent except for the sound of the hospital’s distant buzz bleeding through the walls. her expression softens—just barely—as she looks at you, and she shakes her head. “i just… i need you to be on my side. for once. can you do that? or are we really doing this here, now?”