Dislcaimer: Don't own Grey's Anatomy. Nope, nope, nope
Author's Note: I've always been curious of the conversation that followed Callie's "I'm sorry" after Arizona's explanation of "Who she is". And lying in bed last night, this idea struck me. So do enjoy.
Summary: "And I am a person who stood in an airplane hanger and watched them unload my brother's body in a coffin and all we got was a flag."
Half-Mast-
-A Story
Arizona Robbins wrapped her arms tightly around her body.
There was a gust of air, strong and forceful, pushing against her and Arizona wondered if it was due to the wind or the fact that she was standing in an airplane hanger.
Next to her, her mother stifled a sob; face buried into her father's shoulder. Her father stood; his back straighter than a line. Silence engulfed them, despite the buzz of the giant machine before them. Silence. A soundless-noise that was so uncommon to the Robbins family.
This was what they had been reduced to.
Waiting. Silence. Bottomless pits of pain.
There was movement before her and Arizona was forced to look, though her entire will was to do anything else.
They carried it off the plane, six strong, uniformed men, moving in quiet synch as they unloaded the coffin.
Arizona watched them; barely aware of her mother's doubled sobs and her father's silent tears. She watched them. Unbelieving. Unwilling to think it was true.
They told her that her brother was in there. But she silently told them that they were wrong. The brother she knew wouldn't be able to lie still that long.
They told her that her brother was in there. But she thought they were crazy. Because her brother had promised that he would return unharmed.
They told her that her brother was in there. But she didn't believe them.
And she was running out of excuses.
And she was running out of time. She knew what was coming, as she watched them load the coffin into the car. They would get in the waiting limousine and follow the hearse to the cemetery where they would bury it in the ground.
Her brother. In the coffin. Buried the ground.
And she would never be able to see him again.
There would be no open casket. His body had been mangled by the explosion, it was better this way. He was far to hurt. She needed the lost thought of him, they told her, to be the person he had been.
But it wasn't that easy, her mind screamed as the men closed the hearse door and she felt her mother's hand pulling her towards the limousine. It wasn't that easy because her last thought of him would be this coffin. The haunting images her mind conjured of what her brother's body really looked like. His body, lifeless.
Her brother. In a coffin. Buried in the ground.
But it wasn't her brother, she tried to reason with herself. It was a body. A simple body, that had once housed who her brother was. It wasn't his smile. His dorky laugh. His piercing blue eyes. It was a body.
Nothing more, nothing less.
The door to the limousine closed. The car lurched forward and Arizona was surprised to find a single tear falling down her cheek.
They told her she was going to a funeral.
But she didn't believe them.
Callie Torres knew the exact number of times she had been in her girlfriend's apartment: fourteen.
And that wasn't including the eight times she had simply been outside the door, knocking to pick Arizona up for whatever the reason.
It wasn't that she didn't like Arizona's apartment. On the contrary, Callie liked it better than her own. It was warm and inviting; smaller than hers but that had a personality all its. Every nook, every corner, every last particle of dust said "Doctor Arizona Robbins". It said comfort and peace; serenity and love.
It said home.
It wasn't that she didn't like Arizona's apartment. Callie wished that they spent the majority of their time here. But her wishes were for naught. Because Callie's apartment was convenience, it was sense. Sense that Arizona spent her time there, because being right across from the hospital was more convenient than a twenty minute drive.
Callie's apartment was convenience and nothing more.
But tonight was not about convenience. And for that Callie was thankful.
There would be no on-call, no pagers; ready to sprint back to the hospital to help a poor soul in the middle of the night. Tonight, this weekend, they had off. And so they had retreated twenty minutes away to avoid interruptions and friends.
As much as Callie cared for Christina and Owen, as much as she cherished Mark; she loved Arizona all the more.
Tonight was not about convenience.
Tonight—was home.
Callie smiled as she turned the stove to low, allowing the Alfredo sauce to simmer. She opened the oven, put in their bread and turned on another burner, filling a pot with water to boil some noodles. She turned, looked around the apartment and sighed.
Fourteen times Callie had been in Arizona's apartment. Eight she had stood outside the door. But tonight, for the first time, she found herself in Arizona's apartment alone.
One.
Just as Callie was half way through preparing their dinner, Arizona had gone to pour them wine; white for herself, red for Callie. But then she had frozen, horror striking her porcelain features as she realized that she had forgotten to pick up a bottle of red.
Callie had insisted, saying it was alright. She would drink the white. The white was fine. But Arizona had heard none of it. With a chuckled "shut up" and a peck on the lips, Arizona had skipped from her apartment off to the store.
For her.
Callie shook her head; unable to hide a smile at how incredibly spoiled she felt.
But now she was alone, waiting for dinner to be complete, waiting for Arizona to return and she wondered what to do.
Sit? Watch TV? Turn on the radio? Read a magazine?
Callie clucked her tongue as she looked around the apartment, wondering, wondering, wondering—until.
Her eyes fell on the far corner of the apartment and she felt her breath hitch.
Fourteen times and Callie had never gained the courage to wander to the far corner of Arizona's apartment.
If every aspect of this apartment screamed Arizona Robbins, then the far corner was her heart and soul.
And still, Callie had never taken a close look.
She couldn't say why she hadn't. It wasn't that Arizona had forbidden it. Quite the contrary, she knew Arizona had caught her looking; peering to get a better, closer look. And still, she'd yet to venture further.
She hadn't asked about it and Arizona hadn't explained.
It wasn't something they talked about. Not since the night in the lounge when a broken Arizona had barged in on her and given her what-for. Not since she had watched Arizona speak with such quiet, teary conviction. Not since she had realized that she was the cause for the broken, yet always strong, woman before her.
And even then their conversation had been brief. There had almost been no time with the emergency of John Doe. Of a missing George. Of that horrid shock when they realized that a missing George was their John Doe. The conversation had been pushed to the back burner, almost forgotten as they struggled to get on with their lives.
Callie hadn't asked. Arizona hadn't explained.
But the constant reminder was there, every time Callie stepped into the apartment. Questions dancing on the tip of her tongue, begging to be spoken; dying when she lost the nerve. Because every second she looked to the far corner of the apartment, Callie felt her courage die; withering under the weight of her own words. Words she had spat at Arizona before their conversation. Words that had made the blonde flinch and defend herself, her family, her country.
Her brother.
Callie had been so wrapped up in protecting George, making sure that no harm came to him with such a passion (a passion that Arizona repeatedly told her she loved) that she had refused to hear what Arizona had to say. Until she had pushed to far, affronting Arizona in a way that she had not yet realized existed. In a way that she had refused to see until her girlfriend had forced her to listen.
And so Callie stayed away from the corner. Because, though she knew she was taking it slightly to the extreme, Callie felt she had yet to earn the right to venture further into this part of who Arizona was. She knew that Arizona would tell her she was being ridiculous. That there had been no way of her knowing---that it was okay. She could practically hear the whispered words of reassurance in her ear. But Callie couldn't help it.
This was who she was.
But now, alone amongst Arizona's belongings--belongings she knew all to well, Callie felt herself compelled. Drawn to a corner she had dared not approach.
Callie took in a deep breath and walked forward, slowly approaching the corner as apprehension and a sense of foreboding filled her, pumping blood through her veins; feeling as though she should be doing anything else but this.
But then she reached her destination and she couldn't look away; compelled and drawn, she took in the sights.
The wall was covered in photographs. Pictures of Arizona and her brother when they were children; a wide-eyed boy following his older sister in wonder. Pictures of the entire Robbins family; birthday parties, graduations, reunions, holidays. A picture of Arizona and her brother as she graduated from med school. A picture of the two of them as her brother completed basic training.
Covering the wall, telling a story of years and love.
Callie's eyes traveled down across the pictures, smiling at each smile she saw, at the bright blue eyes that never failed to sparkle, until her eyes fell on the center piece of the memorial.
A small table stood before her, holding nothing but two items.
A flag. Folded and weathered from a few years of dust. Standing strong and tall before her; whispering words of bravery and freedom.
A single picture. A coffin, covered in the flag, a wreath of flowers resting atop it; men in uniform saluted. Quiet and solemn, bravery and loss.
Callie carefully picked up the picture, running her fingers along the frame, wondering where Arizona had stood when the picture was taken. Wondering at what angel she had watched them lower her brother into the earth.
A silent prayer played at her lips.
Callie set the picture down, exactly where it had been before. She looked at the flag, hand outstretched, ready to touch, to feel this man's bravery between her fingers, when she paused; unable to bring herself to reach any further.
She looked. Unable to do anything but look; unsure why she couldn't reach any further, not wanting to disrupt this man's final resting place.
"You can touch it, you know."
Any other time, any other day, Callie would have jumped. Frightened out of her wits at finding out that she was no longer alone. She would have screamed, turning and clutching her chest; surprised and scared.
But now, it didn't happen. She simply stood, arm out stretched; frozen. Because, a part of her knew, she had been expecting the voice all along.
"It's not going to break," Arizona's voice spoke again, followed by a quiet thud as she, Callie could only guess, set the wine bottle she had bought on the counter.
Slowly, Callie lowered her hand and turned. Arizona stood before her, head tilted to the side her hair wind whipped and out of sorts, a smile of bemusement and solemnity gracing her features.
They looked to each other, one questioning the other waiting and Callie found small amusement in the fact that the last time she had felt like this was when she was six and her mother found her ruffling through her make-up drawer.
Slowly, Arizona began to move forward, Callie watching her every step until they stood side by side; brown and blue eyes looking at the memorial in the far corner of the apartment.
"It's a bit over-the-top, don't you think?" Arizona said, eyeing her own creation with a scrunched nose and a smile.
"No, not at all," Callie replied, watching her girlfriend look at the different pictures. She could practically see the memories playing across Arizona's eyes.
Arizona laughed lightly and shook her head. "Don't lie Calliope it's way over the top. Which is exactly why I did it." She paused, her smile turning to a smirk as her eyes fell on a picture of her and her brother on a camping trip. "Charlie would have hated it."
"What?" Callie asked, turning towards the woman next to her. She was perplexed and certain she looked it. This was not the direction she had thought this conversation would take.
Arizona sniggered in delight as another memory flashed across her features. "When we lived at home, I treated the walls of my room like four large scrapbooks. I had pictures everywhere."
Callie felt a smile pull at her lips at the image that she conjured in her mind and she wondered if Arizona's room had actually been as pink as she was imagining it to be.
"And Charlie hated it. And when I say hated, I mean unadulterated loathing. So much so that once, when he was at sleep away camp, I spent the week covering his room with pictures. He threatened to burn his own room down if I didn't take them down."
Arizona laughed again, her voice trailing off as her eyes landed on the final picture of the coffin sitting on the table. Callie reached out, brushing her hand against the porcelain one before her, offering comfort as she watched the memories fade from childhood and happiness to ones of sorrow and loss.
"So after the funeral, when I decided to set up this little memorial, I naturally had to do this." Arizona's smile morphed again, this time to sadness as she ran her hands down the side of the flag. "He may be gone but I still can't help to push his buttons."
"A sister through and through," Callie said quietly, slipping her arm around Arizona's waist and pulling her close; their bodies melding, like they always did, to compliment the other's perfectly.
Arizona hummed in response.
"Why do you have it?" Callie felt herself asking after a moment's peace.
"The flag?" Arizona asked, her voice vibrating through both of their bodies at their close proximity.
Callie couldn't help it. She smiled. She would never grow tired at the fact that she and Arizona seemed to share one mind; a connection deeper than just mutual affection and attraction.
"Yeah," Callie said into her girlfriend's blonde locks as their eyes once again fell to the flag. "I thought it was usually given to the parents."
Arizona shrugged into Callie's body, pushing them closer together. "There's only a year difference between Charlie and me—almost to the day. Growing up we were inseparable." She paused and silence engulfed them once again, their breathing and their pulses synching as the seconds passed. "My parents live where his memory is. They gave me this."
And there was silence again. But, Callie knew, nothing more needed to be said—not now at least. For now there was simply this. No questions, no wonderings, nothing for conversation. A simple state of being. Together. And nothing more.
Serenity.
From the kitchen, a timer sounded.
"Are you burning my dinner?" Arizona asked, pulling back slightly so she could look at Callie's face.
Callie playfully rolled her eyes as she moved forward, placing a light kiss on Arizona's lips. "Never."
Together they turned as Callie led Arizona back to the kitchen, their fingers linked as one.
Arizona Robbins wrapped her arms tightly around her body.
Had someone told her a year ago that she would be putting her brother in the ground she wouldn't have believed them. But here she was, standing in the cold as Father Henry spoke. As they folded a flag. As gunshots sounded through the air.
As the coffin was slowly lowered until she could no longer see it.
"Colonel Robbins," A man in uniform approached their family, the flag that had once draped her brother's coffin folded in his arms. He handed it over with an understanding, "Sir."
Her father nodded taking the flag as her mother sobbed again, seeking comfort in her husband's embrace once again. The man looked to each of them, his eyes—has blue as Charlie's had been—landed on her. He nodded solemnly before he turned, walking away with precise steps.
And for the briefest of moments Arizona could have sworn her brother was walking away from her.
"Arizona". Her father's voice whispered beside her. Arizona forced herself to tear her eyes from the retreating man to the one beside her. One arm was cradled around her mother; the other was outstretched; handing the flag to her.
Carefully, Arizona took the proffered item, cradling it like a new born child. Slowly, she turned and watched as they covered her brother's coffin with dirt.
They told her it would be a beautiful grave..
They told her---but Arizona didn't believe them.
Fin