-maggie-

On the morning of January 2nd, you are attempting to discuss a patient's treatment when it becomes impossible to ignore what you've started.

"Doctor Pierce," Arizona's voice rings out, and you turn to see her blonde curls powering down the hallway towards her. That's her I'm an Attending walk. "A consult?"

You barely get a chance to excuse yourself from the nurse before she sweeps you into an on-call room. The door is still closing when she visibly deescalates her professional demeanor and semi-gently smacks you in the arm.

"Ow, what—"

"Oh, shh. How come you made me think you wanted me to go check on Amelia when you," she puts her hands on your cheeks, "just want to know if you want to kiss her?" and by now your ears are probably as red as they feel. But she quickly searches your eyes, leans in and kisses you. The fact that it's so gentle, so tender and genuine catches you off-guard almost as much as the fact that it's happening at all. It's a friend kiss, that much is clear, but one that says I love you. And then after a tiny, I want you to be okay second kiss, she pulls away. "So what do you think?" She's asking: what do you think about kissing girls. You open your mouth and not even a sound comes out. Well.

"Well." You brace yourself. "I think I liked kissing her better."

"WHAT. And what exactly—"

"But I don't know if she's talking to me and I'm kind of freaking out," you cut off Arizona's tirade, waving a hand nervously. "Wait, you talked to her?"

"Because you just have a giant crush on her."

Your hand falls as you feel your mouth drop open disbelievingly. "How is that a helpful response?"

"Okay okay," she changes tack. "I've dealt with this before."

"I bet you have," you scoff back.

"Hey," she warns, but she can't act like it wasn't a fair response. "Well, what happened after you kissed?"

"It was awful. I mean, it was okay, but no one said anything about it and it was after this really emotional… thing and, and I kind of just went home after a while."

"What emotional thing, was it about you two?"

"No, it wasn't about me. But that's all I can say."

Arizona pulls a face kind of like yikes, which is entirely unhelpful. "Well that's not super encouraging. Wait, what do you even want this to be anyway?"

"Oh, my god, I don't know."

"Okay, well you can work that out. I've stayed colleagues and friends with lots of girls I've kissed."

"Even straight ones?" She hesitates to answer, and there goes your hand again.

"Yes, yes, even some of the straight ones. It'll be fine, it's gonna be fine," she finishes with a winning smile, the kind you've seen her use on what she calls the makers of the tiny humans.

"Great, this talk was super calming," you grouse. "And, by the way," you give her another face, "I haven't said I've never kissed girls before." While you turn to leave, you catch a glimpse of her doing that irritatingly cute Arizona thing: briefly looking up and tilting her head in consideration.

-amelia, minutes later-

You slide up next to Callie, who is seemingly absorbed in a chart. "Hey, Callie."

"Hello, Doctor Sheperd," she sings back cheerfully.

"I got kissed yesterday."

"What—who, Owen?"

"Nope. They do work here though. What is going on with this hospital, I mean really?"

"Oh I know, right? At first it was great; I could meet people who can't keep their hands off me while I'm walking down the hall. But then, they couldn't keep their hands off anyone else either," she finishes dryly, looking up from the chart to emphasize her disgruntlement. You can't help an amused smirk. "But what about this? Was it good?"

"It was… a surprise."

"Is it going anywhere?"

"No. No! It was friendly."

"It was… a friendly kiss?"

"Well… it was a friend."

"Yeah, look out for those, they got me in—hoo boy, did they get me in trouble. So good luck with that," she adds with a raised eyebrow before she gestures at something and walks away.

-arizona, a few hours later-

You would know that walk, that hair, anywhere. You immediately try to shake the thought, and decide to almost spite it by catching up to the woman striding down the hall.

"Hey, Calliope." She smiles at you. Good sign. "You know, hey, you should be friends with Amelia. I think you'd get along."

"Who, Dr. Sheperd? No, she doesn't wanna be friends with me, c'mon, she's a little more party than I am these days," she dismisses, as usual at the idea of anyone possibly enjoying her, her company or whatever... her smile... or anything other than her medical skills. "Although… she did come talk to me about something this morning…."

"About what, about—about what?" you anxiously jump on the lead, trying to keep pace with Callie.

"She said somebody kissed her, didn't say who though, only that they work here." You're quiet a few moments too long, because she stops cold and finally turns to you. "But you know, don't you." Narrowed eyes. Not a question.

"No, I really—"

"Arizona, spill it, who?"

"All right all right," you wave her down and lean in just a bit to lower her voice, ignoring your thoughts when Calliope also leans in, "Maggie Pierce."

Callie's eyebrows go right up. "Maggie Pierce, as in Meredith Grey's sister, who is Amelia's sister-in-law? Is that, is that allowed?"

"Oh come on, they're not related."

"Practically though. Like pretty much."

"Oh shush, but what did she say about it?"

"I quote. It was friendly." Even with how oblivious Callie can be at times, she has no trouble reading your reaction. "But that's not your side, is it. Oh my god, Maggie Pierce!"

"I know, right? But oh my god what do I tell her?" Callie responds with a face like yikes, as if to say good luck with that, and just turns to continue striding down her path.

-maggie, that afternoon-

Of all the supply closets in all the hospital, of course she's in this one.

"Oh, um… Dr. Sheperd, I'm so sorry…" you try.

"Maggie," she nods, some kind of frustratingly knowing twinkle in her eye.

"Listen, I shouldn't have," you falter on saying the words kissed you, "and I mean, that was such terrible timing, I'm just, I'm so sorry, if there's anything I can do to make it up to you…"

In a low voice, and with a smile, she suggests, "stop apologizing?"

"What?"

"Believe it or not, you're not the only one who's ever made a pass at a friend at a bad time." It's not a kind voice, but it's friendly.

It takes a minute, but you finally go, "oh. So… friends?" The relief that blooms under your xiphoid process could save a small town.

"Yeah, we're friends, goofball."

-maggie, weeks later-

You're home, although you don't know why. Why would you be here, when Meredith showed up only hours ago? So far, you've undercooked the dinner you haven't eaten; you've spent most of your time just existing anxiously when you hear a familiar knock.

It takes only seconds to throw the door open, whereupon you find her in a soft white sweater and black pants, pulling at the edges of her sleeves: she watches you, and though the concept wouldn't occur to you until later, it's almost warily. "Amelia! Did she tell you anything? What did she say?"

She just keeps looking at you, eyes shiny. Despite the bigness of whatever's happening in her head or her heart, she seems small.

You are only eyes and a constricted throat and hands that have forgotten what to do, and when she sees this, she nods once to herself and seems to make some decision. She steps through the doorway, and closes the door behind her, with both hands behind her back, chin tilted like the girl who dared you to change on Christmas Eve. You distinctly notice that her hair, drawn into a ponytail, is parted on the left, almost as if most of you doesn't know how to handle comprehending everything else that's happening, or how quickly, because the shift in her demeanor has not released her hold on your airway, but it has reminded you that you have palms and fingers and ribs and a whole cardiovascular system. Amelia steps strategically to your left, so you instinctively take this half step diagonally backwards to make space for her in the narrow area, but she fills the space immediately and takes more, so you feel the wall on your back and anticipation pressing your chest as she places her hands on the wall on either side of your shoulders.

Both of your shallow breathing is unreasonably loud to you, as is your awareness of the space between her body and yours, until it drops silent. The request comes quietly. "Can I kiss you?"

You nod. And her mouth is on your neck, her nails digging into your waist, like she's trying to pull something out of you that is no longer there. Not your breath, but she's taking every hot gasp of it too, along with every push of your palms and pull of your lips.

She doesn't settle, she's always pushing back, even when you take her wrists and kiss her carotid artery until she half-moans something that could be part of your name. Something more powerful than you had let yourself think about surges along your sternum, some kind of idea about what you could be to her. Your fists are full of that soft white sweater; she nods, her open lips catching yours, and you drag it upwards until she takes over, taking the hem around her arms and you can put your hands flat on her bare skin, pressing into the soft give, and from there individual moments mostly blend, leaving extreme awareness only in flashes. The tips of your teeth drawing the texture of the inside of her lip. The tension of your bra, released. How your skin reacts to open air, tightening. The changes in her breathing, sharp inhalations and slow gasps. Her, her, her.

When her hands have left tracks on your back and started tracing the waistline of your pants, she slows. Her lower lip gently snags yours before it falls back into place as she rests her head against the wall. Whatever she was looking for, you don't see it in her eyes. She thanks you. She nods one more time, but this time is not permission. It is apology. She doesn't touch you. She doesn't close the door behind her.