Falling slowly
By jtmalone70 (Edited by freakycalzona)

Disclaimer: We own nothing and borrow lots. No, really... lots. Like every other character past or present on Grey's Anatomy which are the sole intellectual property of Shonda Rhimes, Shondaland and ABC.

Ratings: Overall R.

Story Information: This is Alternative Universe fanfiction. None of the characters have the occupations that Shonda Rhimes intended. We simply asked ourselves how career choices can change the directions of the characters lives, but not who they are as a person.

Summary: AU (Callie's POV) love comes when you least expect it

Editor's Note: All the credit to this fic goes to jtmalone70 of LE . com I just asked his permission to edit this one for our otp..

Chapter 7:

Arizona was a few inches shorter than me, and she most certainly had the figure of an athlete, perhaps more that of a dancer. Long, slender legs extending up to a small round butt. She was wearing jeans and a white, buttoned shirt with the sleeves rolled slightly up her thin forearms. And down from the back of her head cascaded her long blonde hair, stopping midway between her shoulder blades.

That was the first time I consciously thought of her as an attractive woman. But, of course, she was. There was no denying it. Any man in his right mind would find her attractive. I also noticed how she moved with a certain ease and grace, her limbs seeming to flow, as she walked and gestured and went about the mechanical business of being a hostess. There was a degree of finesse in her every movement, even elegance, as if choreographed and rehearsed many times over, but coming at such short notice as to be wholly an unconscious act. When she laughed, her body would gently bend like a lithe reed, slowly arcing back, her hands clasped around the glass of wine they held in front, counterbalancing her delicate movement. And then her teeth would shine, as her lips slowly receded and her jaw dropped, almost like that of a marionette, straight downward, while her eyes narrowed and brows rose high. And her smile was infectious. When Arizona smiled, so did everyone else.

She kept me close to her side, as she made the rounds between friends, introducing me to all of them and actively engaging me in whatever conversations we stumbled upon or initiated, and there was nothing contrived about her performance. When she asked me what I thought about one thing or another, the sincerity of her interest was evident in her blue eyes, how they wrinkled at the corners and her nostrils would twitch and flare. And it was intriguing to watch her speak, as she did so not only with her voice, but her entire being, moving her body and hands and legs, gesturing and touching someone with a delicate hand. Several times, I'd feel Arizona's hand on my arm, my shoulder, my back; a soft touch, as she spoke to me or someone else. Then she'd turn to me and smile, a soothing grin. And, as the evening wore on, I slowly became more enamored by her subtle grace.

After we had made an appearance at each small circle of friends, we found ourselves alone and sitting on the couch. Arizona asked if I was having a nice evening, and I couldn't help but notice how she seemed to avoid looking at me, when posing the question, as if too embarrassed to make eye contact. When I said yes, she rolled her nearly empty glass of wine between her fingers and smiled and nodded.

"I'm glad," she replied, glancing at me with a smile, but quickly hid behind her glass, as she held it to her lips.

My stomach fluttered and my gaze drifted down to the glass in my hands.

"Can I get you some more?" she asked, with a light gesture.

"I'm fine," I replied. "I got to drive home, anyway."

Arizona turned more toward me, lifting one knee onto the couch.

"I'm sorry," she said, almost plaintively, resting a hand on my thigh. "I should have asked first, if maybe you'd like a soda or something instead of wine."

"it's ok," I replied, taking my turn to hide behind my glass.

Then I felt the hand on my thigh give an almost imperceptible squeeze, and then pull away.

The party was slowly winding down, and soon the conversations became less animated and more demure. Arizona and I spoke quietly on the couch, sometimes giggling, sometimes leaning close and speaking in nearly a whispered tone. And the topics ranged widely and changed smoothly. Arizona knew how to live and enjoy life, expertly combing for the smallest morsels and finding joy in them, something I had long since abandoned. We discussed books and movies and songs and the people we knew and those we didn't. She told me about her mother and sister, the friends she had in high school and college, as well as those with whom she worked and those in our presence. And she listened with great intensity to my story, though never broaching the subject of my husband, something I came to assume my daughter may have already imparted to her.

One by one, and sometimes in pairs, people slowly departed, stopping by to thank Arizona for inviting them and shaking my hand, taking a moment to say it was nice to meet me, to which I replied in kind. She would stand and escort them to the door, and, when she came back, she always seemed a bit sad to see them leave. When the last of the partygoers had left, Arizona came and plopped down onto the couch next to me with a long sigh.

"...the one thing I've never liked," she remarked, as she leaned to the coffee table to pick up her glass.

"What's that?" I asked.

Arizona took a long sip.

"Whenever a party ends," she replied.

We sat for a moment, gazing around the now empty living room. Music was still playing on the stereo, though so low as to be nearly inaudible. A few empty cups sat about, one in the windowsill and another on an end table. Arizona inhaled deeply, and then let out another long, exasperated sigh.

"Well," she said, slapping her hands to her knees and motioning to stand. "It's getting late," she said and smiled at me.

I looked down at my watch and gasped. It was five after ten.

"What is it?" she chuckled. "Got a curfew?"

I snickered and explained how I had told Sofia I'd be home by ten. Then Arizona gestured toward the kitchen.

"You can call her, if you'd like. Phone's right over there."

While Arizona walked around the room cleaning up, I called my daughter to let her know I'd be home shortly.

"How was it?" she asked.

"Pretty nice," I replied, holding the phone close to my mouth, as I watched the hostess from the corner of my eye move deftly about, picking up one item or another. Then I told Sofia I'd be home within half an hour.

When I hung up, Arizona was walking into the kitchen with the empty cups and stepped over to the trash. I stood for a moment, fidgeting with my hands and asked if there was something I could do to help.

"Nah," she said. "There's not much. I can get it."

Then a peculiar mood seemed to sweep down between us, something I hadn't felt in years, but when I recognized it, I felt my face turn red and blush. Arizona seemed to sense it, as well, and when she hooked her thumb over her shoulder toward the room with my coat, I smiled sheepishly and nodded.

"Um... You want to get your..."

"Yeah," I stammered. "It's getting kinda late."

I followed her down the hall to the room, and she leaned inside to flip on the light. I slipped past her to get my coat, draping it over my arm, and then back down the hall we went, stopping at the front door. As I pulled the keys from my coat pocket, I could see Arizona jam her hands in the back pockets of her jeans and rock gently on her heels, as if she were nervous. When I looked up, she was staring down at the floor, pursing her lips tightly, almost as if she wanted to say something. And then my keys jingled and she looked up and smiled, brushing the hair from her face. I grinned fitfully in reply and reached for the doorknob.

"I guess I should..."

"Yeah," she replied quickly, nodding her head. "Can I, um... let me walk you out? That ok?"

I pulled my hand away from the door and nodded with a sputter.

"Oh, uh... yeah, sure."

Arizona chuckled nervously and reached for the door.

"Can't be too safe," she added with a tense giggle.

Then she opened the door and gestured for me to go ahead of her. As I walked out into the quiet hallway, I felt as though I were on a date, back when I was a teenage girl.

We walked downstairs and out to my car in the parking lot, and the entire way neither of us spoke. Honestly, I wouldn't have even known what to say. With each step, I was consciously trying not to think of Arizona as being a lesbian and how peculiar she was acting toward me. In fact, if I had to describe it accurately, it was just as I said, no different from when I was in high school and on a date with a boy who was nervous about how the evening would end.

She stopped at the front of my car, while I took the last few steps to the driver's side door. Then I carefully pushed the key into the lock and looked over at her. Arizona was standing there with her arms folded tightly against her chest, her bosom hardly visible, and a broad smile on her face. But it wasn't merely a smile, a simple display of politeness, rather a grin expressing a genuine happiness within. And, when I saw it, I couldn't help but feel the same way. Warmth suddenly filled me, and my stomach fluttered at seeing her standing there like that. I blushed and looked down at the door and slowly pulled up on the handle. The door gently popped loose, and I stepped back to open it.

"Well... Thanks again for inviting me," I said softly, not quite sure what more to say, but feeling as though those few words weren't nearly enough. And, when I gazed over at her, I giggled, as she stood there still wearing that precious grin for me.

"Thanks for coming," she replied with a little wave of the hand.

I fidgeted with my keys, smiled nervously, and, as I stepped down into the car, Arizona spoke.

"Oh... Um... Hey."

I quickly poked my head out the door and tried to stand.

Arizona held out her hand, saying, "I was, uh..." Then she chuckled and glanced down at her feet, playfully kicking one foot, adding, "I was wondering if, uh... if you'd like to go to lunch maybe... sometime... no, uh... no big deal." And then she snarled her lip for emphasis, giving a wave of the hand for more effect. Just a routine departing question, was what she seemed to be implying.

My eyes darted to the steering wheel, as my brain tried to register this sudden and unexpected request. It was beginning to feel more like a date.

"I, uh... Yeah, yeah... Um... Sure, you know, yeah. That'd be fine. Sure. I'd like that."

Arizona's smile returned and she shrugged, leaning from one foot to the other and asking if any particular day would work best for me. My eyes roamed the interior of the car once more, as I tried to think and make sense of all that was happening before me. Then I noticed my hands beginning to tremble.

"Any... Any time would, uh..."

I cleared my throat and tried to speak again.

"Any time's ok... with me," I stammered. "I, uh... Did... Did you have a certain day that'd, uh... work for you?"

She brushed a hand over her forehead and looked off for a moment, as if in thought. Then she slowly shook her head.

"Um... No, not really. Would, uh... Would tomorrow be ok? Would that work?"

My head jittered up and down.

"Yeah, sure. That'd be fine. So... Should I call you?" I asked.

Then I looked around the dashboard for a pen and paper to write on. When I finally found something, I turned back to Arizona, ready to take down her work number, but found that she had stepped over to the door. I looked up and blinked, as she stood there in front of me with her arms still folded. I went to place the small scrap of paper I'd found on the door to write, but saw that my hands were now visibly shaking, so I quickly pulled them down to my lap, placing the pen and paper on my thigh. I glanced up and nodded, and she gave me a number I could reach her at during the day.

So it was settled. I'd call her in the morning to arrange meeting her for lunch. We then parted with a few more quick, uneasy goodbyes, and, as I pulled out, I watched as Arizona slowly trudged back inside, staring down at the sidewalk, her arms folded and wrapped tightly around her chest. And in that instant, I felt sorry for her. I could empathize with her, and it ached my heart that someone like her, so alive and wonderful, would have to return to a darkened, desolate room to be left alone. But what made a tear come to my eye was the knowledge that I was now doing the same thing, what I'd been doing for the last several years, and I did so passionately hate it.