Title: Can't Sleep
Author: A. Windsor
Pairing: Callie/Arizona
Rating: G
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
Summary: Callie still has nightmares.
Author's Note: I'm apparently still dealing with 7x07 by writing fluff. Very similar themes to my previous fic, Sea-Tac, but you don't have to read that to understand what's going on. Thanks for the great response before, and I hope you enjoy! Also, there's some Spanglish up in here, but I think most of it is self-explanatory. Let me know if you need a translation!
"We're standing in the airport screaming at each other. We're already over."
The breath leaves her lungs, doubling her like a blow to the middle, eyes burning and all coherent thought gone except that Arizona is walking away from her, from them, from their future with their ten kids and a whole coop full of chickens...
Callie gasps as she wakes, disoriented, face wet, throat sore as if she's been crying, heart pounding in her chest.
"Vamos, Lena! We're gonna be late!"
Ugh, it is absolutely impossible to get a solid chunk of sleep around here, what with a surgeon's schedule and her absolutely rowdy brood.
Wait, her rowdy...
She remembers the time and place with a relieved sigh, rolling over and enjoying the familiar clatter from down the hall in the kitchen. She looks to her right and smiles, letting the last vestiges of her dream-memory fade away.
It had been awful, the worst pain she'd ever felt, hyperventilating in that terminal, but Arizona hadn't been walking away from them. Impossible as it had seemed at the time, those had been the first steps towards their future with their, well, not ten kids. They'd settled for four. Which is a lot.
If Callie had gotten on that plane that day, she would've thrown their future away. Fake smiles would've given way to screaming and resentment and then apathy and destruction.
It had been hard finding their way back to each other, but so utterly worth it, because they'd come back together on even footing and a steady foundation of aired dirty laundry. And wanting babies someday had soon become needing babies tomorrow.
Sixteen years later and no one could get a good night's sleep in their giant suburban house because it was so beautifully full of their four kids and all of their wonderful noise.
Like, for example, the chainsaw buzzing emanating from the perfect little body to her right.
Mateo Robbins-Torres snores with abandon, tucked in close to Arizona's back, one of his gawky eight-year-old legs flung towards Callie, one arm slung around his oblivious mother's neck, his milk-chocolate skin in sharp contrast to the just plain milk of the blonde's.
Arizona has called Teo, their youngest, their perpetual motion machine, 'Tiny Dancer' since he was a newborn who would squirm any time anything resembling rhythm and melody reached his ears. Last night, he'd crawled into their bed after a nightmare, and his Momma sang for him to "Hold me closer" until he drifted back to dreamland. The boy who courageously poo-poos any teasing and attends his dance classes three days a week has certainly taken the nickname to heart.
"Lena!"
"One sec!"
Callie groans and looks at the time.
"I will kill them both if they don't get to each other first," Arizona moans in reference to the oldest two Robbins-Torres children. "Oof. There's a Teo in my fifth vertebrae."
"Here, let me extract that for you," Callie grins, hauling his growing frame towards her so that Arizona can roll over.
A dimpled smile, dampened only by sleep, greets her.
"He's too big for this."
"No! He's the baby. He'll never be too big," Callie objects.
"Get back to me when he hits six feet like his brother is about to," Arizona teases, leaning over their snoring son to kiss Callie good morning. "Sleep okay?"
"Before the howler monkeys? Not really."
"Bad dream?" she questions, noting the tear tracks, wiping at them with her thumbs. Callie nods. "Anything I can do?"
"No. No, you're here and it's past. That's enough."
Arizona frowns a little, knowing the likely culprit from that short description. She knows apologizing is pointless, so she just nods and presses another warm kiss to Callie's lips, this one interrupted by a Teo snore and then their bedroom door bursting open.
"Make 'em stop yelling," the disgruntled eleven-year-old in the doorway begs sleepily.
"Oh, poor little Caroline," Arizona half-teases, scooting over so that there is enough room for their daughter.
Dark circles around brown eyes, long black hair falling straight down her back, Caroline pads into the room, grumbling and throwing herself onto the bed.
"Oye, Mami, ¿dónde están mis cleats? Oh, good morning!"
Callie can only smile as their fourteen-year-old appears in the doorway, blonde curls in short twin braids, sweats slung low on her hips, looking more and more like her mother every minute. The only one of their children to be created with Arizona's egg (but carried like two of her siblings by her mamita), Lena has a habit of saying, "Teo may be adopted, but I'm the sore thumb!"
"By the garage door. Have fun at practice. Don't kill your brother."
"Lena," said brother joins them with exasperation. "C'mon."
"Cálmate, Asa. Me voy. We won't be late," Lena grins.
Asa has his madre's eyes and coloring, towering over all of them at sixteen, Naval Academy bound if he can get the right recommendations. And he will, because he's Asa, and he's a good man in a storm.
"No fighting in the car," Arizona says sternly, with a surprising about of gravitas for a half-awake woman in an oversized USMC shirt and wild bedhead.
"Yes, Momma," Asa and Lena agree.
Teo grunts and rolls away from the light as Caroline puts a pillow over her face.
"Aw, we're missing the pajama party," Lena smiles.
"Gonna miss practice if we don't get a move on it," ever-responsible Asa reminds. "We'll be back for lunch."
"Drive safely!" Callie calls after them.
Arizona looks at the clock. "Guess I better go feed the coop."
"Chickens?" Teo bolts upright, scratching at his head.
"Weirdos," Callie rolls her eyes. "Have fun. Cari and I will be here, sleeping."
She snuggles back in with her eleven-year-old as Arizona and Teo stumble out to the backyard to feed their beloved chickens.
Yep, it's impossible to get a solid block of sleep in this house. Good thing they've all gotten great at sleeping when they can.
el fin