SOUNDS LIKE A PLAN

Summary: Lots of familiarity just seem to factor in— car crashes, plane crashes, old habits that die hard— but Callie and Arizona slowly try to strike up new, little things in each of their personal spaces, wherein they might just learn how to deal with being together while apart. The key word being might.

Timeline: Pre-11x22 onwards.

Disclaimer: I hope to own cute overall shorts this Christmas. (But we don't always get what we want, do we?)

A/N: This is a reboot for my first fic, Of Gaps and Bridges, which I have now deleted. There are whole lot of tweaks, but I'm hoping to shed more of my true color and light on this one. Beware of the crack and pop culture references on all the chapters to come!

Chapter 1 Girls Just Wanna Have Fun

MEREDITH GREY (V.O.): We hear a lot of people say that time heals all wounds, even if nobody can tell how long it would hurt. Or if the hurt goes away at all. But us doctors like to think it true. We assess patients and patch them up. We medicate then silently hope against the pain.

And hope is really as far as we can get. And, sometimes, no matter how it rears its tempting head, hope's what scares us the most. We think of depressing laws and proverbs: Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong. Smile today, because tomorrow will be worse.

We develop a fear of trying. We turn and revert to what we know is safe. We stay on that other side of the line, always wondering. But it's okay to only wonder, to stay forever by that side. Because what's the point if you could get hurt again, right?

Painfully, excruciatingly, she felt her heart hit against the walls of her chest on repeat, her voice trembling with anxiousness as she spoke. As she breathed.

"All this time, you let me hold it against you." It was loaded with the fear of asking. "I-," she almost choked. Almost broke. "Why?"

And she did break when brown eyes peered into her own. It was gentle and made her stomach drop down the cold, linoleum tiles of the floor. Callie had always had dark, expressive eyes. With the warmest and softest of gazes that could melt you. They could give out what her words— or lack thereof— could not. And they were screaming the answer to Arizona right then. Arizona fucking got it then.

Callie worded it out, "I made the call."

Another nail just dug shallowly into their coffin. A hammer lightly tapped and deep, quick, it went.

"I mean, no matter what," she resumed, with her concerned voice and concerned eyes, "it was still me making the call to take your leg, and I knew that you were going to hate me." Teeth bit onto her lip. She paused, eyes flitting. Then whispered, "I didn't want you to hate Alex too."

Arizona felt like falling out from the blue, blue sky all over again. Callie just looked like she was two steps away from swallowing the sun. Like she was about to cry.

It was only subtle, still guarded and very unlike her, but her face eventually betrayed the restraint. There was only this one half-second in her life when she had seen this face as despicable, Arizona thought. That one time she had peed on the floor of their bathroom, among others. When Callie had caught her, pushed her against the wall, and cried with her in the shower, hot tears mixing in with cold water.

"I wanted you to have somebody."

And now, she won't be catching her anymore.

The realization came to her, crisp and stark white— if she fell, Callie wouldn't be there anymore. She smiled tersely, just a hint of it, and thanked her from a distance as if commending her for a duty well done. Yet out of instinct, solely without second thought, Arizona stepped closer, moved her arm, then finally, she hesitated. Stopped.

Because if she were to touch Callie now, she might cry. Fall head-first then apart. Callie might not have it in her any longer to watch. And she'd leave, while Arizona would stay, always stay, too weak, too gutless to tell her not to go.

So this time, it was her whose back had the courage to turn first, stony-faced but glassy-eyed. It was done with everything her barely-beating broken heart could take. She walked away, dizziness sprawled on her shoulders, just so she could-

Stew.

That's what her decision-making skills ended up with.

She was going to stew.

Arizona Robbins's going to process the hell out of this and tamp that bile rising up from her throat down where it won't see it coming. She will endure and emerge— the triumphant loser of probably one of the most ridiculous guilt-games that the universe has ever produced— while Britney Spears' life-changing rendition of Oops, I Did it Again played in the distance.

She'd unknowingly played with Callie's heart. Got lost in the game. Even when Callie used to look at her like she was sent from above. Even when Arizona herse;f was not that innocent. But neither was her ex-wife, really. She'd literally just admitted making up this big lie of hers.

Of sorts.

Technically, it was by omission. Out of regret over a broken promise. And Arizona had no idea of it in the first place because of her own stupidity. She gave in to her insecurities, but never gave Callie the benefit of the doubt since that fateful day. The day that changed it all.

The medical records only sat still, unopened in the deep recesses of her cabinet. The yellowing sheets with the pinpoint jottings that some medical scribe fetus had written while an oscillating saw cut through her left femur.

She didn't read those.

She couldn't.

Not when she was consumed by her raging want to just forget.

Arizona would stew about it now, though.

And she really had intended to go through with this plan of hers. It was brilliant and safe and rational— a standard Arizona Robbins procedure. But alas, for the last five minutes, the blonde had been thrown off, severely distracted by the tentative, nervous footsteps fretting loudly near her office. Every time her head swerved to the noises, they would stop— there would be nothing— and she'd look away from her blinds, satisfied with the quiet. And then they'd return, dragging her ears into an abyss.

Into the endless, dark oblivion of her disdain for seaweed, other scary things, and Dump Truck Idaho.

Bloody hell. Irritated, she quietly put her phone into her pocket before sighing, running a hand over her face. Arizona slid her window open, sharply looked around the empty hallway, then deemed it okay enough to bellow, "What do you want, Alex?"

The heavy paces skidded to a halt in an instant, as if surprised, and true enough, it was his scruffy face that timidly popped by the corridor later. Arizona would have laughed if she'd remained in the dark for one more day, and if she wasn't so tired and mortified and annoyed. Timid was a look that didn't work out well for Alex Karev.

"H-Hey. How'd you know it was me?"

He made, however, an excellent pleading voice.

Crossing her arms, the blonde leant her side against the window and told him conversationally, "The plane crash today gave me some magical powers, which is pretty neat, y'know. But it's temporary so I'm kinda just channeling it all in." She slightly raised her chin. "Tell me what's up in thirty seconds, Karev. One, two, go!"

Momentarily, Alex squirmed under her words, her authoritative stare, and his jaw tightened, only making him look— constipated. "Robbins, I-"

"Whoop, save it. Your time is up and I'm busy."

Flinching, he murmured pointedly, almost accusing, "But you were just playing Angry Birds."

She really was. The game was highly addictive, and the blonde could have sworn she was about to finally beat Mighty Hoax Level 4-14 with three gold stars— until Karev came, of course. Arizona narrowed her eyes at him, aloof at his nerve. "Exactly."

Alex opened his mouth again like he wanted to comment more about another one of her guilty pleasures. Ever since their roommate situation happened, he'd been a Columbus eager to 'discover' each and every one, easily excitable just at the thought of soaking up more blackmail material about his friends. Instead, he fiddled uncharacteristically with the sleeves of his lab coat. "But we'll," he swallowed, expecting, expecting, "we'll talk when you're ready, right?"

Talk? Ready? Right.

Arizona stared at him, at her one and only protege. At the surgeon who had to chop her leg off. And she slightly softened with an almost peculiar affection, just as she always had with her brother, when he'd repeatedly apologize for being an ass. "Of course," she reassured gently. Tim's been dead for years, covered by his blood, others' blood, and Afghan sands. He wasn't with her now to set her straight in dealing with Callie's confession, like he'd probably do.

But Alex was here.

"And you're gonna talk to Torres?"

Speak of the devil. Nose scrunching up, the blonde studied Alex again and coolly replied, "Sorry to say this, but I don't think that's any of your business anymore, Alex." And this time, her stare became more dubious, more skeptical. "Oh, don't tell me... did Callie put you up to this?"

At that, he immediately frowned. "What? No."

He sounded believable and honest enough. But not-very-subtly checking up on her would totally be a Callie Torres thing to do, right? That brought her lips to unconsciously curl up— until, oh, she remembered. Callie Torres wasn't going to be there, with arms wide open for her, anymore. She lost a leg, she cheated, they were divorced. And now, it was over. It was— "Okay."

He almost winced sympathetically. But he didn't. "Look, even if she asked me, I wouldn't dare go to Godzilla's lair for her. Okay? You of all people should know I'd only do it for myself. And for Jo." Alex's eyes shone distinctively like that of a puppy's. Like a brown Labrador, maybe, or a cute, dirty Pug. It was a new side of him that was at least slowly putting a silver lining on her day.

And for this snippy, gallant man, she could put on a show. Make some semblance that she was okay— which in simple and true Alex-and-Arizona fashion was: bad flirting. Grinning, the blonde exaggeratedly batted her eyelashes, "What about me, Dr. Karev? You won't do it for a pretty smile like this?"

A smile fought against his scowl.

"Dude," he whispered gruffly. "Freakin' creepy."

"Your blush is proving otherwise."

"I'm not blushing. I don't do blushing."

"Aw, come on! Humor me a little! You're seriously not even going to the boss level for your boss?" she teased. Till her smug smile fell. "Oh. I'm Godzilla."

"I'll neither confirm nor deny."

She burst out a laugh.

Like a frivolous teenage boy, his smile turned to a smirk, hardly masked as he shrugged his broad shoulders. Faintly, he gave her a final, silencing wave of a hand before shifting to stride away. And then Alex craned his head back to her. And he's never looked more like a man. "She's worried about you, you know," he said.

She?

Her beautiful and stupidly selfless-to-a-fault ex-wife?

Arizona only nodded and wore a small smile, because it just shouldn't matter anymore. It was over and it was okay after all. After closing the windows and blinds, she roamed into the middle of her office and awkwardly sat down on the floor, just needing to feel the numbing iciness in her limbs. Palms pressed against the floor, she gingerly tilted her head to the ceilings, thinking about washing her hands for later.

For now, she'll sit in silence and recount their exchange all over again. Maybe wait for a cathartic drought.

The janitor's closet was a wrong choice for venue.

She was realizing that now as she backed away slowly, felt the steel frame of the rack for cleaning detergents, and sighed inwardly. This was crazy. What the hell was she doing? And why the hell was this space so confined and humid? Were there no ventilators? No Fight Club meeting would ever survive this heat. "Would you just," she whispered harshly, "do it?"

"What, why me?"

Her brows were furrowed in shock, in alarm.

"I just-, I need to know. And she has to not-know, okay— I-, don't you want to be the chosen one?" she hissed back. A thick bead of sweat rolled down her neck, and she gripped slim shoulders a bit tighter, a bit more desperate. God, was she desperate. "Do I have to turn to Derek about this?"

The other woman scoffed and incredulously shook her head, "Right." She's as fickle-minded as she knew, and at this moment, she knew she got her right where she wanted her. "Because, surely, Derek would do a better job in this type of reconnaissance mission. He'd be fantastic and not suspicious over the phone!"

"That's why I need your help!"

Which might have been a statement that sounded too enthusiastic than it should have, because her companion's eyes suddenly lit up like she knew something that she didn't before squinting decidedly to a glare. Mischievous and shrewd. "Well, why don't you do it?"

Yeah, why won't she?

Everything and nothing could answer to that.

But, dammit, she was having none of that confidence-oozing threat. None of the muss or the fuss. An enticing bribe just had to be made, and the daughter of Carlos Torres knew how to deal one impeccably. The rest would simply be up to fate. She turned the tables around and had their hands shaking on it in less than a minute. (Her chosen one was surprisingly easy.)

Indeed, it would all be up to fate. That had been her last thought as the other woman animatedly left— with a strangely overdone, consoling double thumbs-up— and threw back the door. The last curse-free thought as the hardwood frame had stubbed all five of her toes.

When a disturbingly grinning Amelia Shepherd— who was bouncing on her step— had approached her at the nurses' station out of the blue, Arizona began to wonder how else this day could get even more explosive and weirder. "Howdy there, Robbins," Amelia chirped out while she marched with her misplaced charisma.

"Shepherd."

It was meant to be a question, albeit, a trivial one about Southern greetings, but she decided against saying it out loud.

"How are all the wonderful, pregnant brains of our wonderful, pregnant patients and their wonderful, not-pregnant babies?" the neurosurgeon questioned, all voiced in one breath. Strangely overdone. The blonde's mind might have spoken too soon.

Arizona gestured towards the NICU, filled with cots and incubators, and proudly smiled. "They're all fine and still very wonderful and pregnant." And in a hurry, she added, "Except the babies, if you must know. They're still little peas— at peace."

"Wow, wow, yeah. That's great! Peas at peace are really," Shepherd was still smiling even as she struggled, wrestled with her words before emphasizing, "great."

"Yep," the blonde smiled back. An extremely uncomfortable smile. She actually didn't know what in the world was happening right now. "Super great."

Emphatically, the brunette nodded. "Great!"

And while her volume was still relatively low, Arizona winced at the brief, scratchy shrillness of her voice. Thankfully, the other woman seemed to notice, covering it up with a cough. Amelia then propped herself against the counter top. "So, uh, what about you? How's this day treated you?" she attempted asking casually.

Which was a question that the blonde really didn't have an appropriate answer for. Was she fine? Was she cool? Was she a temporarily, light-headed shell of if-only's and wonderments about the sanctity of doomed marriages? Arizona herself wasn't sure.

What she was certain of, though, was that a set of puffy, red-rimmed eyes— caused by the natural hazard called 'crying in the office during afternoon break'— had stared back at her in the mirror earlier. And it had been a bit of a terrible sight.

"It treated me fabulously."

No, it did not.

"Fabulous is good," Amelia grinned crookedly as if amused by her obscuringly private catastrophe. "My brother hasn't been answering any calls since five. Meredith was just Freaked-Out Meredith today. You know how the crazy goes."

Amelia didn't need to know that crazy was also Arizona Robbins and Meredith Grey hiding in a supply closet like trembling sheep in daylight, despite not being really friends. They were only plane-crashmates. And their hands had clasped so tightly together, veins popping roughly in bony wrists, for an hour. Holding on, holding on.

Dragging her sight down to her clipboard, the blonde tapped her pen against it, metrical knocks echoing, and waited for her breath to even.

"Crazy is always reasonable for this case."

Faulty engines in medplanes weren't.

"Yeah."

They remained solemn for a few moments in thought. Then the brunette smirked, playfully shrugging, "You know, I'm starting to realize that I'm quite amazing in handling this dark and twisty stuff right now. I almost talked statistics with her, minus the graphs." She twisted her lips. Shrugged again. "But I resisted the urge. Freaking her out more wouldn't have done any good."

Arizona smiled, "Aren't you a good sister."

The other woman laughed, though it could've been more of a cackle, and clapped her arm firmly. "I'm a good Shepherd and a good sister when I need to be, my friend."

"Ah," Arizona's smile grew wildly, "Good Sister Shepherd."

It was only a slip of the tongue. But when the brunette's look ran comically cold and extremely offended, it became the truest catharsis for Arizona's soul. She'd felt utter rediscovered triumph, never happier to pounce on the opportunity. Arizona was finally gaining the upper hand for once in being the resident chirpy, blue-eyed oddball of this hospital. There was only one room for that label.

And it didn't belong to Amelia Shepherd.

"That sounds like an awful title in celibacy rankings. Or a brand for lamb meat. Especially— god, a name for a catholic school indie band?" Amelia cringed. Arizona only continued to be a glowing ball of delight. "It's surprisingly horrifying, is what it is. It's-," she shook her head and muttered raspily in disgust, "it's a travesty."

"Good Sister Shepherd?"

"Stop... you're making me gag."

"But it's holy. And invincible. Like a superhero nun."

The brunette did not appear wholly convinced. "I believe that's my cue to go to an on-call room and have the best dream of my life." She took a step backwards, and then another. "I'm off to a happy tomorrow with the most gorgeous quesadillas known to man. You're not. 'Good Sister Shepherd' is out."

One blink and she was out. Gone like the wind.

Huffing a breath after, the blonde pouted slightly. More than the immature joke-making with her colleagues, she missed simple, unadulterated happiness. Again, she stared after the empty space that Amelia had previously occupied, and her pout went deeper. It didn't even matter if the happiness was just for the mere, romantic thought of quesadillas.

But, right now, her need and want to take a break from her penance and just be sad inside the warm comfort of her blankets— with her bitter smiles and knees tucked safely around her arms— was stronger. The need and want for an embrace— even if not from another person, but from a pillow, a rabbit hole for people falling apart— was greater. And so much more than she'd like to admit.

Arizona Robbins wanted to go home. And the problem was, she didn't know where it was.

But Alex's place would do, for now. It could be her house too, for now. The rented, ghostly space wherein the grooves of her own hands would catch every drop of salt and water and feeling that'd break through her cracks, so that the old wood of the floor wouldn't rot. So that no one else would have to.

But it'll never be her home.

Some people loved to talk. In fact, almost a staggering 78% of the Grey Sloan staff loved to talk a lot. She— yeah, even she talked a lot. April Kepner was an exceptional, fierce veteran and only used to talk a lot. Her chosen one, Callie discovered, did not. Or at least, she hadn't shared the hospital community's benevolent devotion for it, earlier.

"Your ex made fun of me," she stated seriously.

Amelia Shepherd was volatile and could be as sly as a snake. However, it turns out that her suave swagger thing tended to lose it way when it came to social missions. She was also a strangely terrible sport when puns are made on her name. "But that's okay, it's cool," she tried to amend, forcibly shrugging like she had the last laugh amongst them all, "We're all winners here!"

Not all, per se.

The first part sounded like a complete disaster, Callie wanted to comment, but her mouth was still a little too busy fighting to retain its firm, straight line, fighting back a laugh in spite of the stifling pain in her swollen, swollen toes. She cleared her throat in hopes to return to their original discussion.

But Shepherd only turned to her, still oblivious to her predicament, and appeared slightly worried. "I'm still getting my payment, right?" Her lips then thinly set to another grimace. "I'm feeling it to be more of a good pension, to be honest. Sisters, co-workers— god, people are exhausting."

Brown eyes went wide. Plump lips froze.

Dammit.

Good Sister Shepherd had haunted her ever since.

Tiredly, Callie plunked her head deeper down the back pillow and sighed. She'd been holding solo base at the attendings' lounge for the better part of an hour. It had been a long day, in which her legs endlessly stood for seven straight hours. And yet, of all things, Callie Torres was irrevocably taken down by five stubbed toes. Which, she might add, was actually a legitimate reason for any person to be incapacitated overnight. That, and her ex-wife's humor.

She shook her head, laughed to herself again.

For obvious reasons, today was an experience. The brunette worried about Arizona earlier— something she's always done, something she should maybe stop doing. It wasn't her place anymore, like what she'd said to Alex. She's already had her due. Been overdue for it, even.

She held her ex's hand all through Dr. Herman's brain tumor debacle. So she was done with it by all means. But, yes, quite contrary to what she had just declared— with a pointer finger to dumb, old habits once more— Callie Torres was pulled by an unstoppable force and looked out for Arizona Robbins once again.

Not to her face. But looking out for her, nonetheless.

And it was, in a word, awkward.

How Callie herself had confessed— telling the other woman that one important fragment of the whole story— and how everything else had turned out, was awkward. A bit anti-climactic and quiet, but Callie guessed she can't imagine it in any other way. A wave of relief rolled through her, though, as she remembered the blonde mouth the words 'thank you' so genuinely and in such a small and vulnerable manner that poundings formed in her ears.

She wanted to break into sobs. Everything went on too strangely, too quickly, for something that had spanned an entire lifetime. A minute-long, heartfelt conversation in the middle of a public space. Only because of a reminder of what had broken them in the first place.

They were too strange. They've turned into strangers. In a world where they used to be each other's.

Wow. She should write a poem.

She should write a poem, she thought, when the door squeaked open and when she instinctively turned her head to the sound. Then she stared. Then she stayed like that for a little while, silent, feeling the faint strain of the twist on her neck, and— god— she almost, almost voiced out a deep 'wow' for the sheer genius of the universe, because really. Wow.

In literature, there was something, Callie believed, that was called poetic justice. At the end of every story, the good guys win and the bad guys lose. And then the evil destroyers of happy endings receive cosmic karma from the gods and die on the hot fires of hell. Well, joke's probably on her and other seven billion lives, because there were simply no good or bad guys in the human world, and this wasn't it.

No, this was either a reality show or a longtime running soap opera. The timing, the situation— this moment was just perfectly crafted. Like it was scripted for some piss-poor, smart-alecky, catfight drama that the dreadful stuff telenovelas are made on. Morose cliches.

There it was: wide, blue eyes blinking repeatedly. The most horrified and laughable Callie has ever seen them in a while.

"Oh, hey," she heard.

Or at least Callie thought Arizona just said 'hey'.

It was a bit of a shaky sound, really, and her blue eyes were distractingly wide as saucers. So the brunette only remained silent in both their steads, her brain searching out for words to say, say, say, and coming up with fucking none. This was either purgatory or hell, yet it's really only life. Oh, herewith stupid, poem-worthy life.

"Sorry. Um, you know what, I'll just come back later," Arizona stammered out before turning back to leave and taking a subtle step backwards.

Then Callie all but shouted, "No, no, it's okay!" And she was pretty sure that the seconds that went by while she was saying them— and the seconds of silence that went after— made her die just a little more inside. "Come in!"

"What?"

Admittedly, the brunette also almost said 'what' back but she didn't. "Just come in. I was about to leave in a few anyway." As if to make a point, she good-naturedly lifted and wiggled her bare, still-swollen, still-purplish toes. Smiling awkwardly, she sing-sang, "Just resting my foot."

It could have been the worst split-involuntary thing she has ever done for a long time, because: one, did she just do that? And two, did she really just create a situation where she'll be alone and have a high probability of holding a conversation with a person she, equal parts wanted to avoid and look at all the time?

The blonde's sight drifted down to her right foot.

Yes. Yes, she did.

A lengthy pause ensued before Arizona quietly closed the door, inclined against the back of it for a while, and quietly asked, "Are you okay...?"

Callie tried to keep a straight face because apparently, they are going to talk. Which is totally cool and fine, except for the fact that she's freaking the hell out because this thing— holding what would probably be a serious conversation with her ex-wife while her foot that's in ridiculous, crappy pain is propped up on top of a coffee table— is actually happening.

She took a plunge of faith, "I'm fine."

"Oh. That's," Arizona, none the subtle, looked down at her foot again and said, "good."

"It's just a minor... injury. Nothing to fuss about."

The reply seemed to prod the blonde to enter since she finally began to actually go inside the room. They rarely ever exchanged smiles anymore, so it's become odder and odder as time went on. But still, Arizona gave her a small smile and she smiled back, and her heart ultimately skipped a long beat—something it's always done, something it should stop doing.

The room was engulfed with silent noises once again. Clatters of moving gurneys from the hallway, muted chatter, footsteps of other people, and both of their uneven breathing. Slumped down and on-edge at the same time. Callie stayed unmoving on her seat, while Arizona fumbled around the drawers, making the blonde's backside be directly in front of her.

This was a whole other stage of limbo, she decided. A new level of uncertainty where both parties are present and not at the same time.

Her Carpe diem mode's gone from 100 to 0.

She opted on silently watching Arizona instead. That's what she always did when she didn't know what to do. She studied, took in her features, her posture. Intently noted the obvious discomfort and fatigue in the way she moved, ever still an absolute sight: dainty, ivory hands roaming about; light, golden locks slightly falling to the side of a shoulder; her petite body turning around; and her perfectly-shaped brows a bit furrowed. Pink lips about to open.

"Callie?"

Oh.

The brunette literally jumped back to her senses, eyes wide and her face flushing to a deep red. "Sorry, I-," her voice faltered, "I wasn't staring." She wasn't fully aware of what came out of her mouth until a few seconds later.

Arizona's mouth opened in an 'o', "Um... okay." She returned slightly to her side again and flattened her lips, like she's suppressing an unwarranted grin. And like Callie had just damned herself to a hell of embarrassment. "I was just saying that I found your stash of sudoku issues from last month. They were near a bunch of stool test results," she said, waving said stash with a dimpled smile. "Alex probably hid this."

Oh. "Oh." Swallowing her entire pit of embarrassment, Callie proceeded to smile stupidly, "Thank you." Sudoku was a start. Quite a start. After the atmosphere went all quiet again, she thoughtfully put in her two cents, "Karev's dumb, sometimes. Doesn't have taste for real games."

Arizona agreed, grinning slyly, "Yeah, sorry 'bout that. Unfortunately, my work husband's quite a goof."

A chuckle broke over Callie's lips, and they simply held each other's gazes, still smiling, still smiling all the while. Blue eyes glistened curiously as the blonde then motioned to her foot, gently questioning, "So what's the backstory for that?"

The brunette pondered on the question, finally relaxed. Surely, Amelia wouldn't have disclosed any kind of detail from their deal— most especially to the object of interest, of all people. She wouldn't have been that bad. "Long story short, I sorta made this deal. We were both hysterical and... stupid, in retrospect. Then..."

"Voila?"

"Pretty much. My foot accidentally hit the door."

"Ow. Yikes," Arizona winced, brows knitted together adorably. "But all for a great cause, yeah?"

Looking intently at the other woman, Callie cheekily remarked, "Definitely worth all the stubbed toes." Unbeknownst to her, a grin that reached ear-to-ear had graced her face— but, unfortunately, not for long. Glancing at her watch, she let out a long breath and sat up. "I think I'm gonna go now," the brunette announced while she slipped in her sandals. "Sof and I are in for a surprise grocery trip tonight."

At the mention of their daughter, the blonde smiled. It almost looked sad at some instant, but the stiffness of it went as swiftly as it was there. Now, it was accepting and hushed. "Ah. Homemade pizza day already?" she asked. Her tight smile didn't waver as a more comfy silence arose.

And she could understand it. The tight smile, the light tone. She knew the feeling well and felt it too, at times. "Nope," she said, carefully standing up. "Tomorrow actually became homemade quesadilla day," Callie muttered, rolling her eyes. "It's my unfortunate consequence for the stupid deal."

Arizona only blinked.

It wasn't slow, nor was it gradual. But it seemed instantaneous, the lit-up, recognizing spark in bright, blue eyes. They had a lot of things left unsaid, going in, between, and above their words. It would be immediate. Right at first sight. It was always easy, so easy, even when it was hard. Since the divorce, it was still there, but they never knew when would one come to the other, never knew what to expect. And now, she was caught, trapped in that forever mysterious glance. Like Arizona was in complete, shocking awe of her. Like she knew.

And Callie was not quick enough to run.

"Oh," the blonde mumbled. "Quesadillas."

At this moment, the word had practically almost leveled with 'rosebud' from Citizen Kane in Callie's dictionary. Which was bad because Callie hated that movie with a fucking passion. But as a last resort, she attempted to go against her nature, schooling her pained expression to something neutral and controlled. And this face was months, perhaps years, of taxing work— Callie Torres did it like a real, thick-skinned champ.

Arizona Robbins, surprisingly, did not.

She licked her lips nervously in that way that she did, looked straight into her eyes, and sighed. For the second time today, the blonde looked incredibly vulnerable. Like their roles had seemingly reversed. Her sigh gave much of what she was feeling right away. "Callie..."

The brunette steeled herself, "... What, Arizona? What?"

"I... we don't have to talk now, if you don't want to," Arizona whispered into the silence, her voice trying to remain steady.

"What do you even want me to say?" she silently snapped back, testing the breath rattling between her teeth. Callie reined in her disbelief. She is tired and bitter and, this time, allowed herself to be a little mad. It wasn't everyday that her gorgeous and blindly pensive-to-a-fault ex-wife and the word 'talk' were willingly combined together. The air only continued to thicken. They breathed it in, and their chests heavily rose and fell. Rose and fell.

Arizona dipped her head a little like a child trembling imperceptibly, tears starting to pull out from her eyes. She lent the syllables to her, deathly quiet and pronounced.

"I-I don't know," she said. She shook her head. "Nothing. You don't have to say anything."

"Then what-"

"But I do, Callie— I have something to say. Because I've hurt you. When I should've been the one protecting you and our family, I have hurt you. I-I wasn't strong enough. And I am so a-angry at myself because I've hurt you so many times and I-"

And Callie didn't want to hear any of it. It hurt too much. So as the world around them froze over; as her chest, filled with ghosts, clenched with erratic thumps; as unspoken words failed them both, she seized the moment and took Arizona in her arms. And hesitantly but desperately, she pulled her body closer. Tighter.

She hushed her in a heavy sigh, "Don't."

Callie knew of proxemics. And she knew that their distance now was close to none. While there were times when it only felt like they were fragile strips of paper, barely held together with tape and glue— this feeling of belongingness, in the way Callie's cheek brushed against Arizona's pierce-studded ear, has never gone away. It's always been there.

Arizona's shocked just as she is but eventually melted to her embrace. Her nose burrowed its way into her hair, her hot breath hitting right at her nape as she brokenly whimpered, "I-I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I don't even-, I-I didn't-"

"I know."

Arizona instinctively pressed more into her touch, clutching at her scrubs, as if afraid to let her go. "I didn't know," she breathed.

Callie tried hard not to appear as broken and overwhelmed as she was. "I know," she whispered. "I'm sorry, too."

It was closure this time, and they both knew it.

Tanned fingers padded down through soft, golden curls, calming down the beating drum of her own heart and the few, drying tears that splayed by her face. Seeking for more nearness, Arizona wrapped her arms more strongly around her waist, burying her forehead comfortingly on the bare skin between her neck and shoulder.

It was a second too late when she realized she'd placed a sweet, feather-light kiss by the blonde's temple, vaguely chapped skin touching smooth. A movement that— despite the oxygen going into her brain at even intervals— wasn't exactly thought through.

Thought through in a way that she's supposed to, in regards and respect to their utterly complicated history. Actions that were always planned and carefully calculated. Provided minimal physical contact. And the hugging should probably be also considered out of bounds, on second thought.

Beneath her, the smaller body tensed slightly but otherwise seemed calm. Callie's breathing, on the other hand, was anything but. She felt her heart rate start to pick up and go rampant. Thrumming against the blonde's steady rhythm, which was clearly trying to make hers synchronize along, slow down.

"No. No. Please don't panic," Arizona pleaded in a small voice. "Don't walk away." And Callie could sense her lips weakly smile against the material of her shirt. "That was-," she began with what confidence she could only muster and concluded, "that was old habits."

The brunette stared at the blank wall in front of her. And she also tried to smile, just as weakly. Maybe a lot more.

"Yeah. Old habits."

The other woman nodded faintly into her shoulder. Their embrace turned looser but didn't part. Arizona put her hand lightly by her shoulder blade and spoke, "Callie?"

"Hm?"

"You didn't cry, did you?"

Her breath hitched for a moment, like she'd been caught red-handed. Which, in a way, she really was. "I, uh. No." She paused purposely to clear away her obviously lying and wide doe-eyes, in case they sprung apart. "W-Why? Did you?"

"Almost. But I didn't." Arizona didn't explain any further. And, of course, she also didn't buy her answer. "But you were, I think, just now," and she had murmured this innocent accusation so silently and so disjointedly but with all the conviction in the world. It was absolutely ridiculous, how this person could manage such a thing.

"Wha-, What?" Her pitch was unintentionally much higher than she'd anticipated. Callie drew back a bit to testify the resolve in her defiance, although, a small laugh that had been bubbling at her throat immediately betrayed her best efforts, "I wasn't crying, Yoda."

The overt denial prompted for Arizona's thumbs to take a swipe, deliberately slow and firm, at her cheeks, trailing the unmistakably wet tracks that apparently ran all over her face. She broke out into a playful, wide grin. "You were," she teased.

She was.

"I won't be a six-year old with you, Arizona."

"Sorry," the blonde sheepishly conceded.

"I didn't cry. For the record."

"Okay," she grinned, "okay."

But she knew.

Because Arizona knew Callie, and Callie knew Arizona. And the opposite end also held true— she didn't really know her and vice versa. It's how it's always been. That made everything a whole lot crazier than it already was, and she certainly didn't want to talk about everything. It'd be too unbearable for one night.

When she made no move to answer back, the blonde's gaze was watchful as she observed, "You have this really funny look on your face."

Rendered curious by the sudden statement, the brunette probed, "What funny look?"

"Like you need to go to the groceries now."

Some things, indeed, do stay true.

She smiled widely.

"Maybe, I do."

When they walked out together to the staff parking lot at six in the evening— with Sofia fast asleep on Callie's arms, and a colorful mini-backpack slung over Arizona's right shoulder on top of her own gym bag— it almost felt like everything's fallen back into place.

But Arizona had noted the shocked, widened eyes from the people they saw in hallways and wards everyday, and the harshly-whispered murmurs of a nurse to an orderly. And she realized that things didn't seem so normal anymore, after all.

She didn't think anyone could possibly still be interested in the happenings between the one-legged, gay peds surgeon and the wife she cheated on, but anything was adequate enough to be picked up by the gossip radar, really. The dismaying reality for this night's whirlwind turn of events.

In the wide stretch that went by, they've never really made their way to act positively friendly to each other in front of others. Their workplace relationship was always, only, at a satisfactory level of amicability. If surrounded by friends, they just exchanged common courtesies. Anything to make them appear like they were over it.

Over each other.

Sometimes, they would also share morbid jokes. (Exhibit A would be her saying days ago: "I only thought about maiming you once, Callie, and I told you that the second I thought it.") But aside from that, surgeries with her ex-wife had been efficient, still best in what they do together.

Professional but tense, with no idle chatter.

Disturbingly quiet.

They avoided being in the same OR most of the time, so when she thought of the countless eyes looking at them like they're ancient aliens, she could kind of understand. And the current thing was, Arizona didn't know where they stood now. After finally breaking this one barrier.

Up until now, she couldn't quite believe that the whole thing had just happened. It was either an effect of light-headedness, or a sliver of light on the odious opinion that she really might be dense. Arizona Robbins was still quite wrecked in the middle of her stewing process.

"You ready for our curettage on Louie tomorrow?

Blinking, she looked up at the other woman in question then lifted an amused eyebrow, slightly relieved at the turn-up of a simple talk. Surgery. Yes, she could rock talking about surgery. "Very," the blonde softly smiled. "It's a nasty blastoma. But a beautiful-looking one, nonetheless."

"Yeah, I wouldn't miss it for sleep," Callie grinned. Surgery talk about beautiful, benign tumors with her ex-wife, Arizona decided in that moment, was one of the seven wonders of the world, and something that was truly missed.

They stopped their tracks in front of a jet-black SUV. While the brunette searched for her keys with one arm and strode over to the car's right side, Arizona just followed behind her. Awkwardly.

Normally, she'd be the charming, chivalrous woman that she was and open the door by the backseat for Callie— but this wasn't normal. And that was back then. Tonight, she would be keeping her space. She didn't want to look like she was hovering. Like she was a dying animal desperate for great adult companionship.

Especially after that thing they'd just shared.

After finally pulling the door open, Callie secured the still-slumbering little girl into her booster seat. A 'thanks' was muttered, when Arizona handed her their daughter's bag, and the uncomfortable, post-heart-to-heart-talk awkwardness finally began to appear, much to both their chagrins. And neither one of them wanted to break the quiet, until-

"So..." Callie started tentatively, clearing her throat. "I think it's safe to say that I have no idea how to do this."

She didn't say what 'this' exactly meant, but Arizona could also somehow understand it.

On a whim, the blonde enthusiastically proposed, "Another hug? Could be a nice start." And— dear lord — it was all kinds of horrifying just how eager and clingy she had sounded in suggesting that. Her brain might literally be fried, with all the shit, abort chants ringing out inside her head.

Callie didn't seem to think anything of it, though, as she breathed out to the cold air, a kind smile forming in plump lips.

"Yeah. Okay, that'd be nice."

At the evident sigh, Arizona almost believed that the brunette wanted it just as much as she did. Her stomach dipped at the thought, with funny, fluffy flips.

Returning the smile brightly— in double, even— the blonde edged closer to the other woman afterwards and dropped her gym bag to the ground. But her steps were rather dragged-out and short. Callie noticed this and nodded encouragingly at her, quickly putting on her own effort to gravitate towards her as well. That caused Arizona's heart to tremendously skip a beat.

That had confirmed it, for her. That this hug was certainly of mutual interest.

It's Callie who motioned her body forward to a relaxed hug, pulling her in and cosily putting caramel arms around her neck. Arizona loved her hugs that were just like this. She could weep to her goddamn father on just how much she loved it.

She gave in all at once, cradling the other woman by the hips with all she has. Her chin was tucked into a strong shoulder, and her nose was buried into raven locks, breathing in Callie's homey fragrance. Feeling the deep inhales also against her skin, she repressed the shudders coming up her body. "I hope this doesn't sound weird, but you're a really great hugger, Callie."

The brunette briefly laughed, "Thank you?"

"You give really amazing hugs," Arizona emphasized.

The other woman leant her face more comfortably against her, gently touching on the fine hairs behind her neck.

"You're not so bad either."

Shaking her head into dark hair with a quiet chuckle, the blonde clarified, "No, I just... I think I needed tons of this. Especially today."

"A hug?" Callie asked.

"An adult hug," the blonde called it as her fingertips snaked onto the other woman's back. "Feels like I haven't had even a single one for a long time."

Callie nodded then pulled her closer, "I'll hug you then. If you ever need one, tell me and I'll hug you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she murmured happily under her breath. "Adult hugs are always nice once in a while. I'll tell you when I need one, too."

Still wrapped around familiar arms, Arizona found herself secretly elated at Callie jauntily, freely making these deals with her. But for her reply, she just gave a m'hmm sound, helpless to the obvious, wide grin curling up in her lips, and it prompted the other woman to let out a sweet, infectious snicker as if she knew what exactly was going on behind her back.

They stood there for a few more minutes, holding onto each other, listening to their inhales and exhales. What was to be a quick goodbye hug in the half-full parking lot turned out to be one a hell lot more like a hello. And what made it frustratingly wonderful was, they both didn't even realize it.

A/N: A girl can be Jaqen H'ghar from Game of Thrones and hope that the dear reader liked the first chapter and plans to leave reviews, despite her being a total moron for pulling this stunt. Nonetheless, a girl will still love you all even if you hated her. *peace out*