The attendings' lounge at Seattle Grace was quieter than usual for a Friday night.
Not silent—never silent. There were charts spread across the table, coffee going cold in paper cups, and the distant hum of the hospital pressing in through the walls. But for once, instead of trauma reports or surgical footage, the television mounted in the corner had everyone's attention.
Callie Torres sat on the couch with a patient file open in her lap, though she hadn't turned a page in ten minutes.
Tonight, Stanford was in Pullman, Washington, taking on Washington State on their home court. Four hours from Seattle. Close enough that Callie would have gone if she hadn't been on shift.
So instead, she was here.
Her little sister, Maria, flickered across the television screen.
At twenty-four, Maria Torres was already the kind of person people noticed the second she walked into a room. Six-foot-two, black hair tied back tight, dark brown eyes that missed absolutely nothing. She was a sophomore at Stanford University School of Medicine, determined to become a surgeon just like her older sister.
And because apparently being terrifyingly ambitious wasn't enough, she also played for Stanford's women's basketball team.
She'd picked Stanford because it was close to Seattle without being too close. Close enough that Callie could drive down when schedules allowed. Far enough that Maria could still pretend she was independent.
Callie understood. She'd done the same thing once.
Across from her, Mark Sloan was pretending to review scans. Beside him, Arizona Robbins had her legs tucked under her, flipping through a chart while somehow keeping one eye on the game. Meredith Grey sat in the armchair with a pen in hand, and Lexie Grey leaned against the table, looking between the screen and the stack of files in front of her.
On the television, the announcer's voice suddenly rose.
"And it's number 23, Maria Torres with the ball. She passes to number 11, Sara Logan... Logan passes back to Torres and— and OH IT'S IN! And Stanford is leading 49 to 31!"
The lounge filled with the roar of the crowd from Pullman.
Callie couldn't help the small grin tugging at her mouth.
On screen, Maria was already jogging backward down the court, expression steady, not even a flicker of celebration. Like draining a three-pointer in a packed arena was just another thing on her to-do list.
Mark stared openly at the television.
"That's your baby sister?" he said. "She's hot."
Callie didn't even turn her head.
"Shut up, Mark. Maria is our daughter's tía. And furthermore, our parents would murder you if you flirted with her."
She put just enough emphasis on tía to make it sound like a formal legal warning.
Lexie pressed her lips together to stop herself from laughing.
Mark lifted both hands. "I'm just making an observation."
"An unnecessary one," Callie muttered.
Arizona didn't look away from the screen.
"Besides, Mark," she said casually, "you wouldn't stand a chance. Maria's a lesbian. The last guy she was with was her high school boyfriend."
Meredith snorted.
Mark blinked. "Okay. First of all, rude. Second of all, I still feel like I could—"
"No," Callie and Arizona said at exactly the same time.
That got an actual laugh out of Lexie.
On screen, Maria stole the ball cleanly from a Washington State guard and drove down the court with long, easy strides that made everyone else look slow. She cut left, drew two defenders, and kicked the ball out to Sara Logan for an easy layup.
"God," Lexie said softly. "She's really good."
Callie tried for casual. Failed completely.
"Yeah," she said. "She is."
Meredith glanced over. "You talk to her a lot?"
"More than she'd probably like," Callie admitted.
Arizona smiled faintly. "That's not true. Maria calls you every time she has anatomy practicals."
"That's because she panics."
"She's in med school and plays Division One basketball," Meredith said. "How does she even sleep?"
"She doesn't," Callie answered immediately.
Another whistle blew from the television.
Maria was at the free-throw line now, bouncing the ball once, twice. Calm. Focused. Unbothered by the entire arena trying to throw her off.
Mark leaned forward again.
"She's going to end up here one day, isn't she?"
Callie watched her sister lift the ball.
Swish.
"She wants surgery," Callie said quietly.
Another free throw.
Swish.
"And if she keeps going the way she's going..."
Maria turned and ran back on defense, jaw set, already onto the next play.
Callie smiled, pride slipping through no matter how hard she tried to keep it contained. "...yeah," she said. "She probably will."
