Hi. Set in the future, once Calzona are back together.
"Hey," Callie smiled as she walked into the kitchen, spotting Arizona on the couch in the living room a few yards away.
Coffee mug in hand, Arizona smiled at her wife. "Good morning. You sleep okay?"
Callie nodded, slipping two slices of whole grain toast into the toaster. "Yeah. I was a little cold this morning, though," she winked. She hated waking up alone.
Arizona laughed, but they both knew that it sounded a little strained. They both had the same day off which, most days, would have been reason for celebration. But that day wasn't any normal day.
It was the anniversary of Mark's death. And, no matter how many years passed, it never seemed to get any easier.
After Callie slathered raspberry jam onto her toast, she walked toward the couch, breakfast and coffee in hand. It was already after nine, so Arizona had already taken Sofia to preschool. It was just the two of them and the wet rain outside for the rest of the day.
"How are you?" Callie asked carefully, situating herself near Arizona but not quite crossing into her space - not sure whether or not she was welcome.
Arizona swallowed hard and pursed her lips. "Thinking about him. You?"
Callie nodded, working to maintain steady, meaningful eye contact with her wife. "Yeah. Missing him."
Arizona's lips turned up in a sad, close-lipped smile. She understood. "Thinking about all of it," she added absentmindedly, but it made Callie's ears turn up even as she took a bite of toast.
With furrowed brows, she questioned, "About the crash?"
Slowly, Arizona nodded. On rainy, lazy days like the one she was currently experiencing, her thoughts often wandered back to those unbearable days in the forest, and she couldn't help but feel melancholy. It was worst that day, though. Thinking of Mark, too.
Callie couldn't help but reach out and tuck a stray lock of blonde hair behind Arizona's ear. She hated how hard this day still was for them both, even half a decade later. And, even more, she hated how much the plane crash still managed to haunt her wife on some days, even after so long.
"I wish I understood better," Callie admitted regretfully. "I wish I knew and could take a little of your pain away."
Arizona shrugged, waving the seriousness off. "You know it's not a problem most of the time. Just today." And that was the truth. She had recovered from the plane crash, from the PTSD, from the resentment. From all of it. But those four days were still ingrained in her brain, and on the anniversary of Mark's death, she couldn't help but remember everything.
Callie was silent for a moment, just watching Arizona as if she was silently deciding something.
And she was. She was deciding whether to make a request she'd often had in the year after the plane crash. One that Arizona always shut down in the past, either because it hurt too much or because she wanted to protect Callie.
But things had changed since then. And Callie figured that, if ever, today would be different.
"Would you tell me?" she finally asked softly.
Arizona knit her eyebrows together, not understanding.
"About those four days," Callie clarified carefully. "About what they were like. For you."
Arizona felt tears sting her eyes at the thought alone, but she fought to hold them back. It was a fair question for Callie to ask. And, after so long, the blonde knew that her wife indeed deserved an answer. Callie knew the details would be unbearable to hear, but still, she wanted to know about Arizona's pain. She wanted to share that pain. She wanted to ameliorate it, maybe. Because everyone knew that it all hurt less once you say it out loud. It all hurt less when someone could be sad for you. With you.
"Are you sure?" Arizona whispered, giving Callie one last chance to back out, even knowing she wouldn't take it.
In response, Callie set her plate on the coffee table and inched toward the blonde, settling into a listening position. "Positive."
Searching Callie's face for any hint of uncertainty but finding nothing but love and curiosity reflected back at her, Arizona nodded in resignation. Determinedly, she began, "I've always hated planes."
Callie knew that. Arizona had confessed the fact early in their relationship, when they were first getting to know each other. She knew that her wife had always felt much closer to death in a plane.
"And I guess I had a reason to," Arizona attempted to joke, the weak smile falling from her face as she caught Callie narrow her eyes in worry. Sighing she continued, "I don't remember the crash itself, other than the chaos. And then the screaming." She rolled her eyes. "Cristina once told me that she still hears my screams in her nightmares."
Callie tightly shut her eyes, suddenly overcome with painful images of the woman she loved screaming in excruciating pain. It was hard to even consider, much less live.
But, soon, she felt a warm hand in hers and a reassuring squeeze. How ironic was it that Arizona was comforting her? Shouldn't it have been the other way around?
Still, Callie opened her eyes and was met with Arizona's worried cerulean blues searching her face.
"You can stop me at any time," the blonde whispered softly.
Callie gulped but shook her head. She squeezed Arizona's hand back and urged, "I want to hear everything you're willing to tell me."
After a moment, Arizona nodded in understanding, taking a calming breath. "Meredith, Cristina, and Mark had gone in search of Lexie and Derek, so I managed to sit up on my own. And I remember ripping open my scrubs and staring at muscle and bone."
"God," Callie breathed. Hearing what Arizona had gone through was unbearable, but still. She was grateful for the chance to know, after so many years of wondering.
Then, a sarcastic little smile crossed Arizona's features as she admitted, "And then I started laughing."
"What? Why?" Callie was appalled.
Arizona rolled her eyes at herself. In retrospect, it wasn't funny. It was the furthest thing from funny. But – in her defense – she had been in severe shock. "I told Jerry it was ironic. I was married to you, an orthopedic surgeon, and I was staring at my bone."
Callie's eyes widened in shock, and Arizona smiled at her appalled expression. "It would be funny if it weren't so wrong. Right?"
Callie balked. "You have a morbid sense of humor."
Arizona shrugged, sobering up. "It was a morbid reality."
Morbid. Pertaining to death and diseased parts. Arizona was right. The plane crash had most certainly been that.
"Right," Callie breathed. She looked down, staring gratefully at their intertwined hands, thinking only about how grateful she was that Arizona had lived. And that, after their split, they had found each other again and learned to make each other happy again.
And that they could be like this: loving and supporting each other. Trusting each other with all their hearts.
Callie brought her other hand to Arizona's arm, her fingers tracing soft, soothing patterns on porcelain skin as she patiently waited for her wife to continue.
"It hurt most when I splinted it," Arizona confessed.
Callie's eyes shot up to her face. "You splinted it? Yourself?"
Biting her bottom lip, Arizona nodded.
Callie took in a sharp intake of breath. It was unimaginable. The pain she must have endured. The self-inflicted pain. How had it come down to Arizona having to splint her own leg?
"Lexie was dying and Jerry needed c-spine!" Arizona defended. It was true. Her coworkers had other places they needed to be. She was a good man in the storm. She always had been. She had been able to take care of herself.
"Arizona…" Callie began. She couldn't stomach it. The woman she loved had gone through so much more than she had ever even imagined.
Arizona shook her head, determined to continue. "I don't remember much else. Everything hurt. We were hungry. I don't even know whose pee I drank. I couldn't move. Cristina thought I might have a pulmonary embolism. I knew I was in hypovolemic shock…" she paused, thinking back.
Stunned into silence, Callie only continued ghosting her fingers along smooth skin, letting Arizona know that she was there and listening.
"Meredith debrided my leg with the little water we had, and I remember passing out." At that point, she was recounting the story clinically. It was easier just to state the facts. Nothing more.
"God," Callie whispered, her voice haunted.
Arizona looked up and smiled weakly at Callie. "It's fine, now, Callie," she reassured her. "I barely even remember any of it."
Callie released a tremulous sigh. It wasn't fine. Nothing about what Arizona had experienced – what they'd both lost – was fine. "You had a nightmare the other night," she reminded the blonde.
"Yeah," Arizona conceded. It was true. But it had only been because of the awful, awful case she'd had that day. At this point, it was nothing more than a stress response. So, still, she maintained, "But it's fine. Really."
Callie knew better than to argue further. "Okay, so you were in hypovolemic shock."
"Right," Arizona remembered. "And then the hours just kept ticking by. Cristina wouldn't let us sleep. Meredith kept crying. And Mark kept dying on me. Literally, dying. On me. His head was helping to put pressure on my leg, while I was making sure he kept breathing. I told him we needed him, and he insisted that we would be fine. That you and Sofia had me, and…" she inhaled a thick breath, unable to expand any further.
And Callie watched in silence as Arizona got to the edge of her resolve and quietly fell apart: blinking away a lone tear. She wasn't crying, or sobbing, or screaming, or pushing Callie away; she wasn't in hysterics but instead silently folding into herself, as if punched in the gut. She was quiet as she digested her own words. Her own past experience.
She still mourned the event that had taken so much from her, and she still mourned Mark – a man who came to act as a sort of foster brother to her. She ached, eyes closed, as she internally crumpled.
And Callie watched. She watched the stoic, independent woman she loved refuse to break down. And the brunette knew that – in part – it was for her benefit. Arizona didn't want Callie to worry. She didn't want Callie to think that she was anything but fine, even though the day's date was taking an equal – if not bigger – toll on Arizona.
She was holding strong. Sitting up straight. Stiffening her upper lip. Closing her eyes and searching for inner strength.
But collapsing internally. Callie knew her. She knew her. And she could see it.
As she stared at the woman she loved suffering in silent agony, she felt her stomach clench. Then at last, three honest words managed to prance off her lips. "You're so strong."
She didn't know what to say and how to be the person Arizona needed in that moment, but she knew the truth. Her wife was so, so strong. Impossibly strong. And she wanted to remind her of that. Of her value and worth. Callie wanted to show Arizona that she saw her progress. That she saw her.
Arizona's eyelids lifted, and her eyes widened as she heard those simple but somehow comforting words. And – when she met Callie's generous eyes – her heart swelled with pure love and warmth. "We both are," she threw back, wanting to also acknowledge her wife's own resilience.
"Maybe," Callie surrendered. She had so many thoughts clotting inside her, and she wished more than anything that she could somehow innately know the right thing to say. How to explain to her wife how appreciative she was of her honestly and of how entirely she loved her.
But she didn't have beautiful words, and she didn't know what to say. Because – sometimes – real love meant messiness. At times like these, it could be clumsy, unpolished, and raw. And Callie didn't know what Arizona needed to hear, but she knew what she wanted to say:
That Arizona brightened her. Even on her darkest day, she made Callie feel brighter. And softer. And stronger. And better. By merely existing, and by existing with her. Arizona just made her better.
She made everything better.
Finally, she continued, "Maybe we're both strong, but I am in awe of you, Arizona. And I love you." She reached, up, cupping a soft cheek with one of her hands, sweeping her thumb along ivory skin.
Arizona appreciatively melted into the touch, her eyes becoming lidded at the feeling as she smiled wanly at Callie. She was so grateful for their current healthy, beautiful marriage built on mutual love and trust. She was so in love with her wife. And she loved loving her.
With a small smile, Callie added, "I'm so lucky to love you. And you're going to have to let me love you a little extra today."
Arizona smirked challengingly, but her eyes were filled with pure love. "How can I do that?"
With utter seriousness, Callie pulled back and held out her arms, silently inviting Arizona into them. All their talk about plane crashes, death, and loss just made her want to hold Arizona protectively and never, ever let go. "Let me hold you. For a really long time."
Even as Arizona rolled her eyes, she inched closer to Callie, aching for comforting, supportive arms around her. Keeping her safe and grounded. Reminding her of how far they'd come.
As soon as Arizona fell into Callie, the taller woman wrapped her arms tightly around her, and Arizona, in turn, pulled their bodies even more tightly together as her hands came to splay against a strong spine.
In tandem, they released contented sighs – never feeling more whole and at home than together, in each other's arms.
Arizona relished in Callie's softness and warmth, as Callie inhaled Arizona's sweet suppleness, leaving gentle kisses on every inch of skin her lips could find.
She felt so much purpose, being exactly what Arizona needed. And having Arizona be exactly what she needed: someone to fall on.
They always caught each other. And moved forward together.
After a few long, silent minutes of blissful touch, Arizona's hot, tired breath tiptoed across Callie's shoulder as she whispered an almost imperceptible, "Thank you for loving me."
And Callie loved her. Effortlessly, exhaustlessly, endlessly. These days, Callie always loved her. Even when she disliked her, she loved her even more.
It was something many people never got the chance to experience, in their entire lives. It was something that was almost unimaginable. It was something magical, what she and Callie shared. The depth of their love was beyond. Beyond words, beyond expectation, beyond reason. Just…beyond. And Arizona knew it.
Pulling Arizona more firmly against her, becoming one, Callie smiled. The emotion she felt for her wife was beyond love. It was immeasurable. And it was just so…simple. It was entirely void of selfishness, loving Arizona. It just…
It just was.
"Don't thank me," Callie whispered, nuzzling her nose against Arizona's skin. "Loving you is the best thing I've ever done."