A/N: This is art imitating life. I've had this vaguely running through my head for some time, and life experience gave it a plot. The title is taken from To Die For by Sam Smith. My current jam. Heavy Angst. Callica is a plot device, not the ship. I am Captain Calzona, and I have gone down with my ship and have risen with it, too. I didn't want to start something new without finishing my other stories, but this needed to be written. Reviews are, as always, much appreciated. They keep me writing.
Chapter 1:
She didn't want to be here.
Arizona Robbins failed to see why sitting in a room full of broken, incomplete people would make her feel better about her broken, incomplete self. She'd never have entertained the idea of going to such a ludicrous gathering had her mother not forced her here, or, more accurately, commandeered Arizona's car with her daughter hostage inside, driven to the local church that the meeting was held in, and left her there.
It'd been over two months since Arizona's leg was hacked off her body, and her parents were sick of her moping around the house, evidently, as she had for the past six weeks.
A month ago, Arizona was fitted with a temporary prosthetic, as her residual limb was still healing, and it would be another month until she got a definitive prosthetic. It was only the third time she'd worn the damned thing outside of physical therapy. She hadn't even planned on wearing it now – in fact, she was wearing Adidas sweats, a tank top, and a hoodie, because her mother had told Arizona that they were going to her usual physical therapy appointment until she drove past the hospital complex and to a local church instead. It took Arizona all of three minutes to realize that this was not a function of her mother becoming senile, but, rather, a ruse to get her to go to the stupid amputee support group her orthopedic surgeon praised to an impossible degree.
Arizona was content to stubbornly stand out in the parking lot, and even brave the cold of an unusually harsh Seattle winter without a coat for the next fifty-two minutes, but her leg was sore. In fact, sore was an understatement. The skin on her residual limb was raw and blistered, and it burned against the material of the sock covering it. But that pain paled in comparison to the pain she was feeling as she put weight on her residual limb, and it pushed against the harsh plastic socket of her prosthetic. There was an ache that set in what was now the base of her femur, that Arizona could feel it shooting up towards her pelvis and lower back. Supposedly this would become less painful over time, as she adjusted to a prosthetic. Arizona hardly spent more than a few hours wearing her prosthetic per week, opting to use crutches around her parents' house, where no one else could see her.
So, leaning against the stupid crutch on her right arm, Arizona hobbled through the church entrance, feeling that dull pain in her lower back intensify at the position the crutch left her in. Opening the door, she expected everyone in the room to turn and stare, as they did the two other times she'd worn her leg out in public. Even though strangers couldn't see her prosthetic beneath pants, they certainly liked to stare as she tried to walk, and the damned clunky thing squeaked along.
The first of the two painful previous ordeals was on her father's birthday when Arizona was required to go to a nice seafood restaurant by the water, because no one, not even his little girl, dared argue with The Colonel. Especially not on his birthday. The second was about a week ago, when Arizona's mother stopped going grocery shopping, and somehow got all the local pizza places to agree not to deliver to their home, so Arizona had to go out and pick up food or starve. She made it a remarkable two days before she went out.
It was a small victory when everyone glanced back at the sound of the door opening, but then promptly turned their attention back toward the person speaking. Maybe twenty people were sitting on metal folding chairs in a circle in the church lobby. Finding the closest seat, which was safely two seats away from everyone else, Arizona slumped into it. The small satisfaction Arizona felt at the relief of some of the pain in her leg was short-lived, as she remembered that just a couple of months ago, she was training for a hospital benefit marathon. Now, she became winded walking across a room.
There were quite a few people in attendance that Arizona would never have guessed were amputees, had they not been attending a support group for just that purpose. She caught sight of one guy in Army fatigues, and another guy wearing shorts in the middle of winter because he had two above the knee prosthetics. Arizona couldn't fathom having that sort of confidence even years from now. There were a couple people who had arm prosthetics, and, surprisingly, a decent amount who apparently forewent prosthetics altogether.
"Anyone else want to share?" A woman with a prosthetic arm asked. She appeared to be in charge of the group.
The man in fatigues and a military crewcut nodded.
"Go ahead, Adam," the woman said.
"I'm officially cleared to be deployed again," he explained, and the whole crowd began to clap. "I'm looking forward to getting back to my unit. I miss my friends and I miss the sense of pride and purpose I have when I'm over there, though I know this time around will be harder on my fiancée and me."
God, for a second, out of the corner of her eye, she could have sworn he was Tim. He'd be so pissed with her right now, so disappointed in her lack of resilience. So much for a good man in a storm. If it were him – if the IED that killed him nearly six years ago had merely maimed him, and he'd lost a leg, he'd have taken it so much better. He'd be like Adam, eager to get back to the rest of the unit. Not hiding away in their parents' house to the point that he had to be tricked into leaving.
The door opened again, and Arizona turned around to find a raven-haired woman trying to quietly enter. The first thing that Arizona noticed about the newcomer was that she was sexy as hell. Three months ago, Arizona would have sweet-talked her into the bathroom, and her hands would have been all over her. She'd have pulled off that sexy leather jacket, kissed her senseless, and had an exquisite time slowly peeling those tight jeans off those long, long legs. She couldn't help but lick her lips, until reality set in. It wasn't three months ago, Arizona had one leg, and she'd probably never have sex again.
Fuck.
Arizona wasn't ready for a lifetime of sexual frustration. Sex was such a huge part of who she was, up until the crash. That was another thing the stupid amputation had taken from her, along with her independence, happiness, and job. She hadn't been back to Hopkins since her dad transferred her from Boise to Seattle Presbyterian after the crash. How was she supposed to face everyone?
Arizona adjusted in her seat, trying to ensure the dark-haired woman wouldn't make eye contact with her. She used to be so confident, so bubbly, and now every little interaction was painful. She just wanted to disintegrate into the air and never have to feel so empty and alone again.
The woman started moving closer, and Arizona closed her eyes tightly, hoping she'd just walk away, and not draw attention to the blonde's presence in the circle. Arizona definitely wasn't going to talk. She sure as hell wasn't going to analyze the ins and outs of how her amputation made her feel. She felt awful every minute of every day. There wasn't anything to analyze about that. Her life was a fucking nightmare.
Arizona had no such luck, however, as the hot stranger sat right beside Arizona. Damn. So much for keeping a low profile.
She wasn't sure if her heart was racing because people would probably notice her now, or because the mystery woman smelled really good. Not overly perfume-like, but fresh and sweet and exactly how a woman should smell in Arizona's mind.
"Hey, Cal, nice of you to join us," Adam joked as he finished speaking.
"Sorry, I had work. A surgery ran long," the woman explained, and Arizona went bright red.
She used to command the attention of an entire room with ease. Now, she dreaded being in someone's peripheral vision. How could anyone want to look at her when she could hardly look at herself without feeling sick?
The meeting was painfully slow. A bunch more people talked about their week, and on what was likely the fiftieth time she'd checked her phone, Arizona noticed the support group was set to end in less than fifteen minutes. That almost made her smile. She decided to text her mother.
Okay, so I'm here. I'm sitting in the stupid circle and listening to people talk about how much it sucks to lose a limb. When can you pick me up?
Her mother seemed to be typing a response for ages. Probably because texting for her involved reading glasses and only one index finger.
I'm proud of you, sweetie! Book club doesn't let out until 6:30. I can swing by after, or you'll have to find a ride home. Love, Mom.
You don't have to sign your texts. The concept of having a contact implies that I know it's you.
Just let me know if I should come pick you up!
Don't bother. I'll figure it out.
Arizona rolled her eyes. She'd have to call an Uber. Hopefully, the driver wouldn't be too talkative. She wasn't really one for talking these days.
When the meeting finally wrapped up, Arizona decided to remain in her chair until everyone left, wanting to avoid anyone holding the door for her or looking at her with pity. She hated being pitied more than anything.
Sensing that the room was appropriately clear, Arizona grabbed her crutch, wincing as she put weight on her prosthetic. She made her way out the door, pulled out her phone, and ordered an Uber, only to find that the driver was nine minutes away. That wouldn't have been a problem were it not for the fact that Arizona was in some serious pain and she was worried that she wouldn't be able to stand for that long. She leaned against one of the stone pillars supporting the awning, but the positioning only made her residual limb hurt more.
She felt a lump in her throat and realized that she was teetering on the verge of tears. She was in constant pain and completely and utterly miserable. She didn't want to live like this anymore. Arizona was just a shell of herself, and what kind of life was that?
"You okay?"
Arizona was startled to find the hot stranger who sat beside her in the meeting coming back towards the church. She looked concerned, and Arizona was sick of people being concerned about her. She had enough of that back home.
"I'm fine." Arizona plastered on a smile, hoping the woman would leave.
"Are you sure?"
Jesus, the stranger wouldn't just mind her own damn business.
"Do I look okay?" Arizona snapped.
There was silence for a beat.
"It probably won't do you too much good right now, but it does get easier down the line." The stranger smiled softly. "I'm Callie."
"Well, Callie, what the hell would you know about my situation?" Arizona just wanted her to leave. Her leg hurt and she was cold and her Uber was still eight minutes away.
"Well, for one, I'm an orthopedic surgeon."
Arizona rolled her eyes. She vaguely remembered that Callie had said something about a surgery ran long when referring to her lateness, but Arizona had been in too much pain to process that comment at the time. "Oh, how lovely. Do you come to these meetings to see if you can round up new patients, then?"
Callie smiled tightly. "I'm going to go," she said, walking into the building. She walked back out a moment later. "Forgot my phone," she explained, holding up an iPhone in a black case. "Do, um– do you need a ride?"
Arizona shook her head. "My Uber will be here in seven minutes. I'm fine." She adjusted her leg and bit her lip, trying not to wince in front of Callie. She just wanted to be left alone.
"You don't look fine. Why don't you let me look at your leg? I deal with this every day. Or, at least, let me give you a ride."
Arizona had a burning desire to thank Callie and promptly tell her to fuck off, but her leg was killing her. She sure as hell wasn't getting a look at Arizona's leg, but a ride couldn't hurt, could it? It would get her off of her leg faster. "Fine. You can give me a ride if we can stop talking about this."
"Fair enough," Callie said with an annoying smile. "I'm this way."
Arizona trudged behind as the duo made their way to a black Audi SUV which blinked as Callie pressed the key. She was silently grateful that Callie didn't press the issue of examining her leg or insist on helping the blonde make her way to the car. She was beyond sick of people making a fuss over her, and people trying to help her walk often just made it harder on Arizona. As they got closer, Arizona discerned that Callie's car had handicapped license plates. Looking over at the Orthopedic surgeon, and her perfect, even gait, she scoffed. Bullshit.
"Hold up," Arizona said, putting a hand on her hip.
Callie turned around in front of her car.
"Do you seriously have handicapped plates? Because if you think this is some sort of perk of the job, getting to write yourself off has handicapped, you're sick." Arizona was livid. Handicapped people had daily struggles, and the notion that someone like Callie could take advantage of a position of power just for better parking, now that was twisted and cruel.
Callie didn't seem phased, she just leaned down to pull her right pant leg up, revealing shiny metal where her calf should have been. She knocked on the prosthesis for good measure, and the metallic sound echoed in the empty parking lot. "I don't usually park in handicapped spots for things like this," Callie explained, adjusting the hem of her pant leg over her prosthesis once again. "But at work, I park closer because, after a twelve-hour shift or a marathon surgery, the trek to my car would completely do me in."
Before Arizona could formulate a response, the woman got into the driver's seat and started the car.
Following her, Arizona opened the passenger door and bit her lip as she hoisted her sore leg into the car after her. She closed the door and slammed her eyes shut, resting her head against the seat. It felt so good to get the weight off her prosthetic, but she also felt like a complete asshole for writing Callie off so quickly and speaking so harshly. "Look, I didn't mean– I mean, I didn't realize that you–"
Callie met Arizona's gaze and smiled genuinely, stopping her apology in its tracks. "I get it. I've been where you are – in pain, forced to adjust, angry at the world – and you don't need to apologize. Certainly not to me, anyway."
Callie described everything Arizona was feeling with more accuracy than anyone had up to this point, and while on one hand, she knew Callie was saying this to make her feel less alone, it only served to piss her off more. "Can you just stop doing that? I'm fine. I don't need you pretending to care like all the other surgeons I've talked to."
"I, um, I didn't catch your name," Callie said, backing out of the parking space and meandering to the end of the parking lot.
"That's because I didn't tell you my name," Arizona replied. She realized she was being harsh and juvenile. Arizona took a deep breath. "It's Arizona. Arizona Robbins."
"Oh!" Callie seemed to be making a connection. "You were– I was called to consult on your case. Dr. Carlson, right? Over at Seattle Pres? He called me and asked for my opinion. Aren't you a maternal-fetal surgeon?"
Oh, great. That's just what Arizona needed. Another surgeon knowing more than they ought to. As if the entirety of Johns Hopkins' surgical staff leaving serial voicemails wasn't enough.
Arizona took a deep breath. She felt that lump in her throat return. Yet another way that her body was betraying her. She couldn't let herself cry in front of Callie. Arizona Robbins never cried in public. "I was a maternal-fetal surgeon."
"Are you thinking of switching specialties?" Callie asked. She seemed genuinely puzzled by Arizona's answer.
Arizona let out a dry chuckle. "I already did that. I was in Peds."
"And now you're doing incredible work only like 8 people in the country are capable of. So why the past tense?" Callie asked.
Did she not get it? Arizona's job depended on her body. She needed steady hands, a focused mind, and strong legs to carry her through the procedures. Now she could barely make it across a room.
Arizona swallowed audibly. "I can't walk across a room without wanting to collapse. Standing alone is incredibly painful. If my body can't support myself, I sure as hell am not trusting it with another two – a mother's and a fetus'." Arizona took a ragged breath. She needed to get a grip. She sure as hell wasn't going to cry in a stranger's car.
Callie was silent for a second. Arizona thanked the heavens Callie didn't go into yet another your life isn't over speech. Sure, plenty of amputees lead full lives. Arizona just couldn't see herself being one of them.
"You need to turn right up here," Arizona said. "And then the neighborhood is a few miles up on the left."
Callie did as Arizona said silently. She must have gotten the message that Arizona wasn't looking to hold hands and sing Kumbaya and while sharing their experiences with missing limbs.
Moments passed in silence. It wasn't necessarily comfortable, but it was a hell of a lot more pleasant than talking.
About a half a mile from Arizona's destination, Callie cleared her throat. "Do you want to get a drink or something?"
Arizona couldn't help but laugh. Months ago, she'd be sweet-talking Callie to a bar. Now, she couldn't imagine she was anything resembling decent company. "You want to get a drink? With me?"
"I really like that little bar and grill place just a bit past your neighborhood. They have really good food, and they make a mean gin and tonic." Callie explained.
"That sounds lovely. Why don't you find someone altogether more pleasant to go with? I'm not exactly a peach." Arizona wasn't a moron. She knew she'd been a complete asshole to everyone unfortunate enough to cross her path since her amputation. Callie was no exception, and Arizona wasn't going to become her new project. She didn't want someone with savior syndrome sweeping in and thinking they could fix what'd happened to her. Short of someone figuring out how to introduce starfish cells into her body so she, too, could regenerate limbs, she wanted to be left the hell alone.
"You just–" Callie turned to look at Arizona as they sat a stoplight. "You look like you could use a friend."
"I'm perfectly fine, thank you very much. Unless you can bring my leg back, I'm good. I don't need your friendship, or your misguided attempt at fixing me with your surgeon savior syndrome, or whatever else you're peddling." Arizona's words were venomous.
"I–" Callie swallowed. "I'm not looking to fix you, Arizona. I just– Maybe I could use a friend right about now."
Arizona swallowed. She hated going out in public now. She looked like crap and people stared when she walked. She was angry at everything. Arizona was ready to buy a flamethrower just to watch something beside her world burn around her.
But maybe she needed to consider something that wasn't below her left hip. Maybe she needed to consider that the world was still turning, despite Arizona's own world crashing down around her, like that plane.
Arizona took a deep breath. "You're buying."
Somehow, Arizona was able to enter the cutesy nautical-themed neighborhood restaurant without causing any major scene, and by the grace of God, nobody, including Callie, tried to help her. They sat at a booth in the corner of the bustling restaurant. Perhaps at one point, she would have been irked by the noise level, but it was nice because it meant nobody was paying attention to Arizona.
She took a sip of the gin and tonic before her and had to admit Callie was right. It was crisp and refreshing and just boozy enough to take the edge off.
She'd texted her mom letting her know that Arizona had stopped for a drink. She didn't dare mention the fact that she had company, for fear her mother would go ecstatic and think this somehow meant Arizona was coping better.
She was still miserable, just in a new location.
"Thanks," Callie said, sipping her own G&T. "For coming here, I mean. I don't usually do this. I don't really even like people generally."
"That makes two of us," Arizona snarked, pulling the paper straw between her lips, taking an undignified gulp.
"I was angry, too," Callie said softly. "After my amputation."
"What makes you think this is situational? That I'm not like this all the time?" Arizona rolled her eyes.
"I've watched your TedTalk. I've seen you speak. I know you're not –"
"I'm not what? An asshole? A completely miserable person? A shell of a person?" Arizona suggested.
Callie said nothing. She pursed her lips.
"If we're going to do this," Arizona said, gesturing between them, "I would recommend you drop the holier-than-thou-I-know-everything bit. You don't know me. You have no idea what I am or was like, or what I have gone through. You know nothing."
Callie looked down at her drink, swirling it with her paper straw. "You're right. I'll stop."
Arizona didn't know what she had been expecting, but it wasn't that. She at least assumed Callie would stand her ground.
Arizona felt bad. Not bad enough to apologize or anything, but maybe she'd be a little gentler. Callie meant well, after all. This all wasn't her fault.
"I used to roller-skate," Arizona said softly.
"I'm sorry?"
"I grew up a military brat, and my family used to move around a lot, which was really scary. But whenever we'd get somewhere new, first thing, my dad would take me skating. And no matter where I was in the world, that would stay the same. And I felt safe. I did it in college and I did it in med school, and then I did it when I first got my job at Hopkins."
Arizona had no intention of saying this much, but in an attempt to be kinder, the words began spilling out. She wished she could stop, but her mouth opened once again and she had no such luck. "I worked with kids at the time, and so it kind of made them feel safe, too. And then I was in an accident. And they told me that that I would lose my leg. And all I could think about was how I'll never be able to skate again. And a lot of my life would change, but that seemingly tiny thing felt like... I felt like my whole life was being taken away from me. And that all the stuff that my dad had given me, you know, all the magic and all the safety, was just gone." Arizona took another gulp of her drink.
"I played volleyball," Callie offered. "All through high school, and then I did it competitively in college. Then, during my sophomore year, I tore my ACL at a game. When I had surgery to get it repaired, I got an infection, and it spread. After my amputation, I thought I'd never play again. But now I play on a team at the rec center." Callie smiled softly at Arizona. "I'm not saying it's the same, but I adjusted. You will, too."
Arizona bit back the urge to chew Callie out again. How the fuck could she know Arizona would adjust?
But Callie was trying. Arizona looked at her phone. It was getting close to 7. "Don't you have someone to get back to? A husband or something?"
"Recently divorced," Callie said, displaying a left hand devoid of a ring.
"Oh," Arizona swallowed. "Sorry to have asked."
"Don't be. It's the best thing that could have happened." Callie laughed. "What about you? Do you have someone here with you? Or is he back in Maryland?"
Arizona rolled her eyes. "Of course, I don't. I'm an–"
"Amputee?" Callie suggested casually. "Are you implying we amputees can't date?"
"Of course not," Arizona scoffed. "This," she said, gesturing to her leg, "is new and sort of all-consuming. It's better this way. I'm not sure any relationship could have survived that."
"Did he end it?" Callie asked.
"I did," Arizona said softly. "It wasn't all that serious anyway. She didn't sign up for this." Arizona looked down at her shirt. It wasn't something she liked recounting. The break-up wasn't particularly traumatic – it was, as she said, casual – but it was relinquishing yet another piece of who Arizona used to be.
Callie took the new information in stride. "It's her loss."
"Obviously," Arizona deadpanned. "Plane crashes and traumatic amputations are so sexy."
Callie laughed softly. "Can I ask you a weird personal question?"
"Haven't you already been doing that?" Arizona cocked an eyebrow. "Go ahead."
"How did you know? I mean, how did you know you were–"
"A lesbian?" Arizona supplied. "In middle school, I would have these pretend crushes on boys. I'd pick one and tell my friends I liked him so I didn't feel left out. I just sort of assumed that I wasn't attracted to anyone yet. I was young. Then in 7th grade P.E., there was this girl named Ally. I figured it was a fluke, but as years passed and there were more Ally's and never any boys, it started making sense."
"So you've never… with a man?"
"Woah, getting right into it there, aren't you?" Arizona laughed, and then shrugged. "I was never interested. I just kinda always knew."
"That makes sense," Callie replied, nodding.
"Is there a reason you're asking all of these questions? I mean, surely you've met other gay people before." Arizona set aside the menu she'd been glancing at.
A moment passed in silence. As if Callie was thinking about how or if she'd respond to that.
"Well, I, um– I have this friend. Her name is Erica. And we– she– I…" Callie took a deep breath. "Another friend came to visit and thought we were a couple. She pointed out that we act like a couple. But I've never been into girls before." Callie laughed. "It's silly."
"Why did this friend think you and Erica act like a couple?" Arizona asked.
"Erica doesn't make friends easily. She can come off as harsh, but she's a really good listener and has a good heart. We actually initially bonded over the fact that we both don't usually like people. But she outdrank me and still beat me at darts, which is pretty impressive, and we started getting close. And she doesn't really have all that many close friends, so when she's close with someone, I guess she gets really close? Addison – the friend who is visiting – pointed out that she can be touchy, especially when she pulled a strand of my hair out of my lip gloss, but some people are just touchy, you know?"
Arizona nodded. "That seems pretty reasonable."
"But ever since Addison said that, things have been feeling weird. I can't look Erica in the eye. I've been avoiding her, and," Callie looked at the wooden floor, scuffing her shoe against it, "sleeping with my best friend, Mark."
"Has Erica noticed this? You avoiding her?" Arizona asked.
"Yeah, she confronted me about it. She said that she doesn't make friends easily and she is awkward and bad at small talk. She said she is not mad that I'm sleeping with Mark, but mad I didn't tell her."
"Don't you think you ought to be telling Erica this? If what Addison said isn't true, is there any reason to feel awkward? Shouldn't you just tell Erica? Then you two can laugh about it together?" Arizona suggested.
This was almost nice for Arizona. The drinks, the appetizers, the small talk – it made her forget her current situation, if only for a moment. She didn't hate this. And that was high praise for anything in her life these past few months. A brief reprieve from her new residence in hell.
When Callie dropped Arizona off at her parents' house, Arizona had a small smile. Perhaps the first true smile she'd had in a while.
"Thank you," Callie said softly. "For coming with me, I mean. I appreciated the company and the advice."
"No problem," Arizona said, opening the door and swinging her leg and prosthesis to the side of the passenger seat. She began preparing her crutch for the descent to the driveway. "It was… It was nice."
"Yeah, it was. It's nice to meet you, Arizona." Callie smiled. "Would you– would you want to do this again sometime?" Callie asked.
Arizona nodded. "Yeah. I'd like that. Give me your phone. I'll put my number in."