and Arizona shared the love that most believe you can only experience once in a
lifetime, stomped on too many times by life. Now they’re divorced and living on
opposite ends of the country. Can true love really be estranged, or are the two
women destined to find their way back to each other?
created them blah, blah, blah… So, this one will be shorter but I’m hoping just
as good as The Ride… Really hope you like it.
“Dear… Arizona’s been
admitted to the hospital.”
Who planned the layout
of this hospital? How does this even make sense? Getting turned around
again, Callie was now somewhere between frantic and frustrated. Or maybe she
was both. Panic… that’s what she was experiencing. It was panic. Standing in
the middle of the bland hallway, the ortho surgeon couldn’t seem to gather her
“Yes sweetie?” Clutching tight to her little girl’s hand,
dark eyes furiously searched their surroundings.
Dean has to drive Sam and Jess to a local art museum for some school project they’re doing and he’s stuck wandering around the place while they go be nerds or whatever. He’s never really liked art but as he walks aimlessly through the exhibit halls he starts to understand at least some of the fascination- some of this shit is crazy, and he gives a low whistle of approval while admiring a piece by- Rembrandt he thinks?- that gets him some nasty looks from strangers.
Maybe it’s the rebellious attitude he’s never quite grown out of or being completely possessed by an all-consuming sense of boredom, but Dean starts to touch all the art he sees. It starts off with him quickly looking over his shoulder and scoping out the room, making sure he’s in the clear, and he pokes the corner of one of the ornate frames. But then, after a couple of times of not getting caught, he gets bolder. Soon he finds himself in a room of statues, or as Dean thinks, a room of possibilities. With a sly grin and a devious chuckle, Dean reaches out to cup a cherub statue’s ass. He smirks triumphantly, hand still fondling marble, when he hears someone clear their throat loudly. He snatches his hand away quickly and looks around, expecting to see a disappointed security guard.
Instead he’s met with a thoroughly unimpressed guy about his age who’s got his arms crossed and a judgmental look in his piercing blue eyes. His sweater is rolled up to his elbows and his hair is tousled expertly. Dean groans inwardly, great, another pretentious art enthusiast, and a hot one too, just his luck. Dean turns to leave and the guy clears his throat again.
“Can I help you?” Dean asks irritably, wishing Sam and Jess would hurry the fuck up so he can get out of this hell hole.
“The signs explicitly say not to touch the art.” The guy hasn’t unfolded his arms yet and his voice is deep and rough and Dean is starting to seriously regret pissing him off.