Disclaimer: I don't own Grey's Anatomy like Shonda pretty much holds all control over my heart.
A/N: A little sappy hope for my downtrodden fellows, written for the brilliant Calzona50Ways movement on tumblr (which I heard has already reached over 50— yay, you all!). After the Paris attack, a news channel showed a dad telling his kid that the flowers and the candles are here to protect people against guns, and I can only wish the world this same anchoring reassurance in the midst of uncertainties. Hope all of you are well.
EDIT: Thanks to tumblr user mermaidsocks for the help with the Spanish! Grateful.
So I wait for you like a lonely house till you will see me again and live in me. Till then my windows ache. - Pablo Neruda
Nothing said super comfortable divorcees, slash co-parents, slash co-workers, slash oddball friends, like your ex-wife accidentally passed out, cutely snoring on your couch; in your living room; at your new apartment during one of your weekly family dinners.
Callie was now actually well-versed in this art of civility. And this talent was especially proven to exist with tonight's case— the matter of the fact was that she did know all about the high likeliness of this particular family dinner being held off.
Running nippily towards her, eyes and grin eager, Sofia snickered noiselessly.
"Mama has drool on her face."
And plump, full lips curled up, just a little bit, at the thought as Callie stirred the creamy, white sauce on the pan.
"Like mother, like daughter," she commented.
Sofia claps back, "You do it, too!"
"Oh, everybody does it, sweetheart. Trust me. You two just... have a very... severe case of the drool."
Over five months ago, the shocking story of Arizona Robbins, the phenomena who'd once kissed a stranger in a grungy bar bathroom, having no game had reached her ears. This formerly renowned ladies' woman had gone to a lesbian bar, her heels clicking in every nervous step, and left not with a damsel in tow but with a fatherly Webber— Arizona's wingman of choice, apparently.
She wasn't sure which of those things was most surprising but nothing should be, she guessed. It'd been two years. Time goes, feelings go.
And that also held true to her, around the same time, when she broke up with Penny Blake. It hadn't been as cordial as she'd wished. Nothing really could ever be cordial about breakups. If someone said there ever was a single one— trust Callie on this— that's just crap. Separations are only full of dirty, secret resentment, bitter lackings, and delirious what-ifs that would always be tempting, always trying to pull people back.
But then there were these facts, or perhaps artifacts, she should say. They started not saying the same funny things at the same time anymore. And there was Derek who laid six feet under, with Meredith standing and watching in the corner of her eye. And everything afterwards just became concrete silences, words lost in staccato. All too suddenly, it just didn't feel right.
It wasn't cordial, but it was quiet, too quiet.
Time goes, feelings go.
Naturally, that breaking news had been sucked too into the grapevine. Which, obviously, was then passed on to Arizona. Zip, lock, and load.
So one can only imagine, a whole week later from those spiral of events: the two of them coincidentally stumbling upon the same on-call room near Radiology at 1 AM, two sets of tired— somewhat lonely— eyes. Two sets of lips, lips, lips always and always locking in a few self-quips.
Yes, they had talked.
Between the funky-smelling orange chicken in the cafeteria, Karev's pissy my-girlfriend-turned-me-down look, and failed relationships (of sorts), they had talked in a state of muddledness, somehow winding up with low chuckles and steady blinks as their backs laid on separate bunks, the peculiar daze of sleep threatening to consume them whole. But the talk was good, her mind reminded her. The talk was good. And they barely had any awkward pauses, a thing of certain achievement.
That was until Arizona suggested, in an effort to cheer themselves up, for both of them to schedule and make time for a so-called family dinner— sometime, maybe, she had recuperated, just for one time, maybe. And Callie'd only remained silent seconds before letting out an 'oh'. Because that night had been the one and only exception to their unspoken rule of ex-lover indifference.
So that was a bit odd on its own right.
Right?
(Callie accepted right away.)
The next night, they had dinner. And the week after that, and the week after that, and then the weekly part of the arrangement blurred and cracked till 'weekly family dinners' pretty much grew to a thing for every other day, if not everyday. They took turns with playing host and guest each and every time. The name just really stuck. Almost as if it was stalling something in the distance.
Time goes, feelings go.
Bringing the ladle to her mouth and taking a small taste, Callie sighed in delight. "Your drooling Mama's gonna regret sleeping out on cooking Mommy's genius pasta."
Pouting, the little girl tilted her head. "We wake her up?"
"Well, we need to because this is too delicious to pass up!" Callie supplied, not missing a beat with turning the stove off and wiping her hands on a towel. "Plus, it's getting late and it's Monday tomorrow. And Monday is exciting because school is exciting, am I right?" she firmly added, though she was only met with silence. Stoically, maybe courageously, she turned around and faced the stuck-out bottom lip she knew Sofia would be sporting.
"But it's family night," the six-year old protested weakly.
A sign for the first crossroad.
So she pulled out fake damage control, abiding by the Torres protocol. "There will be punishment, then. For missing family night."
Startled, Sofia visibly paled. "Huh?"
Sofia feared punishments.
It was taking everything in her not to break character and split into laughs. "Vamos a darle una sorpresa [We're going to surprise her]," she murmured conspiratorially, an evil glint in dark eyes, "y vamos a dibujar por toda su cara [and we're going to draw all over her face]." And actually, Callie was half-serious about it— because now that she's worded it out, it was quite an interesting matter. Of great consequence, but interesting, nonetheless.
For the first few seconds, Sofia was stunned in her position, translating the words in her pretty, little head. The six-year old had just started taking Spanish lessons, as per her blonde mother's initiative, but she wasn't that fluent yet. It came a bit too late when she gasped quietly in horror. She stared at Callie, baffled, before composing herself and finding the voice to speak.
"That's really mean, Mommy."
Her expression was that of a typical reprimand-er, nose scrunched up and brows furrowed like a know-it-all— but still, still, Callie thought as she had many times before— that right there was nurture over nature in the works. It was true that, by all means, Sofia was her mini-me— but boy, did she have all the major Arizona quirks down cold. It was frightening, sometimes.
Softly, Callie laughed, gently pinching her daughter's cheek. "Sorry, you're right. That would be very mean, and I should know better."
Mean, sure.
But still— interesting.
She let her sight drift over to the blonde's slumbering form momentarily, lingering a bit on the fair skin of her neck. And yes, it was very much interesting. A sign for the second crossroad of the night. "What do you say to just letting Mama sleep for a while? I'll wake her up in around two hours so she can rest more," Callie amended.
"She's not gonna eat with us?"
In a flash, she felt trapped and slightly caught in the act, not entirely set on what to say. The turnings of this plight, if she may call it one, felt really as dramatic and suspenseful as it sounded. Callie glanced back and found the little girl looking at her straight in the eye. She couldn't tell for sure, but Sofia almost seemed knowing. Her gaze returned to Arizona, then again to her mini-me, who was now giving her a blank look that could rival her aunt Cristina's "not interested" face.
Maybe not knowing, after all.
So she grinned. Resolutely, impishly.
"I'll feed her after you eat and go to bed, babe. Promise."
Nuzzling her nose in daughter's neck, Callie wished Sofia goodnight with a kiss and a sweet squeeze on her hand. Then, she let her mature, adult mind click and close, proceeding on auto-pilot with The Plan in record time.
Callie thought that she and Arizona were good friends now. Of sorts. On the precipice of it, on the verge. They laughed, told jokes, and teased each other a lot. They fought at times about small things, then resolved them healthily by talking, talking, and more talking. Nowadays, she was, dare she say, most happy when they were together, with the little familial and familiar moments with her ex-wife have truly becoming the better part of her week. Everything felt easy now.
Everything felt easy, so easy, she mused, as she left her peacefully slumbering daughter's room. As she headed straight to the kitchen. And as her fingers groped and searched in the nearby drawer, looking for a quick-dry black marker.
And minutes of careful searching later, this was the odd situation that she found herself in: with a strong-smelling pen on her right hand and its cap on her left, Callie Torres sat cross-legged, arms raised and apart, in front of a drooling Arizona Robbins.
A defenseless, drooling Arizona Robbins.
The brunette winced but shrugged it off. Chewing on her bottom lip, she creeped nearer— unsurely, always unsurely— to the other woman who somehow managed to still snore soundly despite her new and more awkward sleeping position. Legs on a sitting angle, the blonde's upper body now laid on the side, head propped on the sofa arm, while her hands curled in loose fists, a scarce touch away from her chin.
Callie was experienced at drawing on people's faces back in college but, now, as her hand shook as she reached out, she could freaking feel herself, her nerves, extend to the felt tip of the pen that was coming closer and closer to milky, white skin when-
"Mh-mm."
In a fit of sheer panic, Callie immediately skidded to a halt, eyes popping open. Accidentally dropping the marker and the cap. Which consequently and unmistakably and painfully made— thud— sounds as they both— thud— made contact with the wooden floor, ringing out in stupidly slow motion, before retreating for a roll that goes on and on and on.
That was the specific moment that led Callie Torres to think that, tonight, the universe was quite apathetic to what could be Callie Torres's doom.
Hearing another whimper, the brunette involuntarily swallowed down the bitter ash of failure that had gathered in her throat. But giving up can't be an option— she just needed to go with a new game plan. Except there was no existent ready-made plan B. Nothing past plan A had been logically concocted at all. She just went ahead and got a marker with the intent of making a stupid prank. On her ex-wife. But then the blonde let out another sleepy groan, and Callie was just really in full-on panic mode and had, had, had to do something to stop any sort of waking up from happening.
It was goddamn neon.
The sign for her third crossroad was painted in neon.
So she surrendered. Helpless to her own muscle memory, she did what she always did. Or what she used to do.
It was almost reverent, really, how her fingers sifted and stroked through the softest golden hair, the pad of her thumb slowly grazing the slope of the other woman's cheekbone, before she moved her hand down by the smooth nape of her neck, caressing and soothing her back to sleep, to which Arizona only purred sleepily.
She'd always been like a baby kitten.
The lights were off in the living room and there was only the dim lighting from over the kitchen that cast an enigmatic, orange glow on the blonde's face, scantily basking over her messy and tousled curls and dry, parted, pink lips, a soft shadow on the dip of her bare clavicle. And that made her more strange, more beautiful.
She was just beautiful.
However, languid as it went, the moment was over too soon when blue eyes fluttered open, much to her surprise, and stared right into her, Callie's heart promptly hammering impossibly hard in her chest, her hand still managing to continue with its lulling movements, hushed but also with a grit of her teeth.
"Hi."
Arizona's voice was husky and gravelly from sleep, eyes blinking ever so slowly, as if she might still doze off. And sleepy Arizona was adorable. But right now, sleepy Arizona was the last thing her plan B needed.
"Hey," Callie replied calmly. Though, inside, she was screaming.
The blonde rolled to her back, yawning something that sounded suspiciously like 'sorry' in the middle, and ran a hand over her face. When she reached to the part of her mouth, she colored to an embarrassed red and groaned, "I fell asleep." Tiredly yet determinedly, Arizona tried to sit up on her elbows but gave up after a few more attempts, collapsing again on the deeper end of the sofa arm, sheepishly meeting Callie's gaze. "Your couch really looked comfy. And I really planned on just sitting on it."
"Looks like your plan didn't work out so well."
"Clearly."
"Okay, shut up," Callie ushered her, gently tugging the blonde's legs up the couch and putting a throw pillow under her head. "Go back to sleep. I know you got called in at 3 AM and never left until seven, so don't even try to argue with me. You're going to stay here and take your leg off and nap. Again. And when you wake up, I'm going to heat up the godly pasta I placed aside for you and you're going to eat it. That's your new plan."
Arizona grinned sleepily at her, eyelids drooping.
"It is? That's a lot to do."
"Don't worry. You're going to enjoy every second of it."
"Bossy," she quietly snorted.
And just like that, with the blonde's eyes closing again, their small banter ended, and the brunette was left quiet and helpless with the small smile playing across her face. Still seated on the floor, she then sunk slightly against the couch, elbows resting on the cushion, and her fingertips tenderly slid in and behind Arizona's ear. After a minute or so of idle watching, those blue eyes opened again and a cold, calloused hand placed atop of hers, squeezing it. "What are you doing?"
"Uh, I," Callie started, throat closing up for a millisecond, then resumed, "am petting you."
The blonde lazily repeated, nodding, "Petting me." When it finally sunk to her seconds later, she slightly became more alert of the words' utter gravity and giggled to herself. "Why are you 'petting' me?" she mumbled playfully, toying with her pillow's ends.
"Not that way, jerk. I was trying to make you go back to sleep," Callie huffed, sitting back and making a face. "There was just this idea in my head that seemed funny at first... but on second thought, it's childish... and insane... and all kinds of stupid."
"Then you're brave for still going through with it."
"I'm aware that's an insult, but thanks."
"Just spill. It sounds like a good bedtime story."
"What, you want curiosity to kill Arizona the cat? No, thank you."
Arizona only hummed at her, mischievous, and the brunette grunted, annoyed. Which she truly wasn't— this was one of the small things that she enjoyed, that she missed for two years and then some. The new better part of her day that she loved. Callie slumped and let a hand under her chin. "Fine. I was going to draw on your face and make you look like a clown. With a permanent marker. Happy now?" she quipped.
But she didn't get a quip back like how it would usually go.
The blonde curiously stared at her for a few moments, blue eyes studying and fixed on her face. Then Arizona just smiled dreamily in the way that she does, erupting out surges of small chuckles before softening down altogether. still holding her gaze— and it was in that way like it's just her that she sees and nothing else, just her, just her, the mere thought of it making her stomach clench then swell.
The white noise settled in between them, palpable. Mocking. Taunting at the unfinished slips of the tongue.
"What?" Callie finally asked.
She was agitated. Something has shifted in the oceans and she just felt like exploding. It's deep and raw and unguarded, the way Arizona looked at her. Like she might kiss her.
But time goes and feelings go.
"I love you."
Time goes and feelings go.
"What?"
"I love you," Arizona told her again. This time, louder, clearer, her smile, airy and open and brilliant all at once while her chest unheaved a quick, deep breath, like she's withheld it for hours. Days, months, years. A lifetime. "I've been in love with you forever."
Time goes, feelings go.
Callie said nothing, unable to make a sound. Her heart was about to beat out of her body, a long hitch reaching and clawing at the fragile muscle of her lungs. Which was nonsense because it wasn't just a hitch, she knew that. But she just could not— for the life of her— fucking breathe.
The blonde spoke softly, "I don't expect you to come back to me. I just wanted you to know that... the Calliope I got to know and be friends with, these past few months, is different from the Calliope before. She's still the same but... at the same time... she's changed. Y'know?" She appeared at peace, an annoying, patient, content composure drawn on her face, as their gazes locked. Callie felt everything but at peace.
She rasped out, "What changed?"
Time goes, feelings go.
"Everything. And nothing," Arizona simply answered, low and heavy with remembering, orchestrated in nostalgia. "She just feels different now. Like I'm different— and I'm still terrified of that. And I think she is too, every time I watch her. Even if she doesn't know it yet."
"What makes you say that?"
The question earned her a cryptic smile.
"She became my best friend."
Now, she absolutely wanted to cry. Now, she absolutely got it. The buzzing stares and the tight, bright smiles.
"Yeah," the brunette agreed, barely holding back a sob. "She really did."
A tiny drop made a wet spot on the cotton fabric of her shirt. A light rain shower failing to be thwarted into becoming a full-blown storm. Now, she knew that Arizona looked earnest and light. All this time, she always has.
"For so long, I've acted proud around her, you know. But then, one day, I realized that she doesn't need that. Nobody needs proud. People deserve honest, and I used to be the most honest person that I knew. And I wanted to be like that with her again."
"Why?"
"Because that's what she at least deserved. Because I hurt her a lot in the past. And I wanted to take all the happy I can get for her. Even if we're not together."
Now, Callie really saw them. How the pools of deep blue have always been too doting and fond, too affectionate. Too bright.
"Why are you telling me this now?"
With a strained smile, the blonde shook her head into the pillow. And suddenly, her face was very, very close, and she inhaled and exhaled while her head dipped lower, into her, into her space. But she pulled away at the last second, nose nudging on her brow instead. "I don't know, it just came out. But it feels good. Saying 'I love you' to you after not saying it for so long."
"That's crazy," the brunette sighed.
"I'm sorry," Arizona said. She moved to the side, her forehead turning to rest on hers gingerly, not like she meant to. "You don't have to do anything."
"No, don't," Callie said softly, eyes fluttering to a close, "don't." Ocean blues stared, gentle and peering, but the blonde remained silent and so did she, until a dam broke and burst inside of her. The heels of her palms grasped on Arizona's jaw, pulling their mouths closer and closer, and she whispered near warm, pink lips, "I'm really fucking scared."
The blonde backed away from her touch again as she shifted to properly sit up, cautious and hesitant, a tiny hint of trembling the brunette almost couldn't catch. Then she smiled down at her as if to say everything's okay, everything's okay, and Callie knew right there and then, when the tightness marring those lips bubbled to an unsparing gleam, that-
"On a scale of 1 to 10, how scared are you?"
She'd always been a master of turning things around.
Callie dropped her head to the sofa and swatted the blonde's thigh, muttering, "You're a mood killer, Arizona Robbins."
"Just entertain me!" Arizona smiled. She would do anything to make Callie happy in any way she can. "Pick a number."
"Infinity."
"Infinity's not part of the choices. It's not even a number." Then, the blonde smiled sadly. Earnestly, earnestly. "But the sentiment of that hurts, I guess. Which is okay, because we-"
"Arizona," the brunette butted in, looked and looked up into the too brilliant, too blue eyes. Hoisting herself up on her knees, she took toned shoulders into her own hands, her grip so tight she could sense the flush of Arizona's skin through her shirt. "I'm out-of-this-world-scared. To the tenth power. And I don't want to hurt anymore. Okay?"
Because time goes and feelings go.
The other woman deflated a little but nodded to that in response, like she knew her words somehow, understood them far better than her, and has already known of them this whole time. "Okay," she said and her eyes shone unwaveringly, glass ready to be shattered. "Okay."
"But I know that I'll still get hurt," Callie stated. "Because with you— all the time— I'm sad and annoyed and angry-"
"And bruising a girl's ego," Arizona faked offense while Callie only fixed her a glower.
"-And crazy happy and just me!" then she dramatically paused, blinking rapidly, finding what's next, what's next, what else was there to say. "On the other hand, you are this complicated, challenging thing that I sometimes just can't understand." Slowly, her hands then slid by the curve of Arizona's neck, the drumming of a racing pulse in her palms, something she was certain that she mirrored herself. "But it feels easy and amazing with you. And I'm out-of-this-world happier than I'm out-of-this-world scared."
The brunette leaned further so that she would be in between Arizona's legs, her abdomen pressed against the seat. The blonde was hardly any less than stupefied.
"You are."
It wasn't a question.
When Callie brought her hands up to cup her face and tug her down, it wasn't much of a question either.
When their lips met in a kiss, morning dawned at nine in the evening. The warmth, tender in the way her knuckles brushed with light curls, tender in the way ivory fingers dug to her arms, awoke rekindled in their insides, swaying and never unhurried. Not quite like lightning has struck, not yet.
But when thunder came and when lightning did strike, she was sucking on a soft bottom lip, parting and parting her lover's mouth ardently, before slipping a tongue, as she got pushed and as she pushed back. It's deep, the kiss this time, it's deep. A little less about memory and a lot more about relief in how they tangled and how the strongest of shivers ran through their spines.
And when they broke for air, she knew that this, she can always return to. This, she will always return to, her heart always whole and in her sleeve, but now growing and growing in each and every touch, more and more to give. And she tried to reclaim her breath immediately, smiling because this was real, true, and finally— oh, finally— she filled the blanks with what was always there.
"I'm in love you, too, you moron."