A reconciliation inspired by Adele's "Can't Let Go."

Did you find the note that I wrote?
I hid it in the seam of your coat
It was hard to write with a lump in my throat
Do you even know that I can't let go?

It was a note that made Callie miss Arizona. An old, crumpled note. One she'd never seen before, and one that tore her heart to pieces.

Callie, it read.

You are the only woman I want. You are the only woman I ever want to want.

I meant what I said on Day 29 and 30, and I still mean it on Day 47. I wish you still trusted me when I say those words.

I love you, and I'm never going to stop. But I hope that, whatever happiness you're searching for, you find.

-Arizona

It had made Callie fall to the floor. Well, not fall so much as crumble. And she wasn't even sure why. Arizona had assured Callie she loved her countless times, but seeing the words in writing was different. Seeing them in that moment was different. Seeing the assurance that, at least at the beginning of the divorce, Arizona was certain that her love would remain was...different.

What was also different was that, instinctually, Callie believed those words. She realized that — whether consciously or not — she hadn't believed Arizona's "I love yous" for a long time. For a long time, to Callie, the words had seemed like a desperate apology or plea to stay. What more could they have been?

Arizona had cheated. You don't destroy the person you love. And, yet, Arizona had destroyed Callie.

So, for a long time, Callie realized that she hadn't believed those words. And, apparently, Arizona had known that.

But, in that moment, Callie believed them. She wanted to believe them.

Because she was certain that she still loved Arizona. Even with Heather and Penny, Callie had always felt those butterflies — with wings sharp as knives — cut through her stomach whenever she saw Arizona's face. And she was familiar enough with the butterflies and her own body to know that they meant something:

That, no matter how hard she had tried, her love for Arizona hadn't dissipated. Not in the slightest.

And, with the clarity that two years of individual healing had provided her, Callie found that — after everything — she knew that Arizona had been telling the truth when she'd said she'd loved her.

Arizona had loved her. More than anyone else had loved Callie before, and more than anyone had loved her since.

Arizona had loved her. Fully, entirely, completely, selflessly, and generously.

Until the plane crash, anyway. Until the amputation. Until the resentment that followed. Until she'd sought to hurt Callie the way she'd hurt.

But, still. Arizona had been honest when she'd said she'd loved Callie. So, maybe, she also had been honest when she'd written that note. Maybe, she had been honest when she'd sworn she would love Callie and never stop.

Maybe, she hadn't stopped.

"April!" Callie ran through the hallway, hurrying to catch up to Arizona's best friend.

She needed some answers. Immediately. Because she had just heard Arizona and Richard, of all people, talking about going to Wildrose — a notable lesbian bar — that evening. And it was throwing her off. Big time.

Because, first: Why was Arizona going to a lesbian bar with her married ex-boss and senior general surgeon in his sixties? And, second, if Arizona did, in fact, still love her, why was she going out to a lesbian bar, anyway?

She needed some answers. Fast.

April turned to face her, offering a friendly smile. "Oh, hey, Callie," she greeted. "How are you?"

"I need to talk to you." Slightly out of breath, Callie stopped in front of the shorter woman.

"Uhh…" April began, looking around her. She had a lot to do, and frankly, Callie had always made her a little nervous.

"Why is Arizona going to Wildrose tonight?" Callie demanded.

"I, uh…" April paused. "I didn't know she w-"

"And why is she going with Webber? You won't go with her?" Callie crossed her arms.

"Did you…Did you want me to?"

"No!" Callie snapped. "I want to know if she's been with anyone."

Arizona pointed down the hall, towards anything else. She didn't like being caught in the middle of things. "I should probabl-"

"Kepner!" Callie growled.

April jumped, and Callie worked at softening her voice. She took a deep breath. "Can you just tell me…" She sighed. "If she's been with anyone?"

April shook her head and, exasperated, Callie groaned. "Why not?" Why couldn't April tell her? It was a simple question.

"She hasn't been with anyone," April verbalized in response. "Not that she's told me about. And she would tell me if she had."

Callie exhaled a shocked and, equally, relieved breath. "Okay," she breathed. "Thank you."

April gulped hard, then offered a question of her own: "Why?"

Callie silently met her eyes, deciding whether to answer. Finally: "I found something, and it's making me think about her."

April crossed her arms. "You're wondering if she loves you." It wasn't a question. And Callie noticed — for the first time, maybe — how much April had changed. She was not the same woman she had been all those years ago, when Callie had been pregnant with Sofia. She was more confident. She was fiercer. Fearless.

Callie nodded. Yes.

April's reply was cryptic. "You're the only one." And, with that, she walked away.

She left Callie wondering. What did that mean? That Callie was the only one who wondered? Was that because, to everyone else, it was crystal clear that Arizona had moved on? Or was it because, to everyone else, it was clear that she still loved Callie?

Callie wasn't self-aware enough to know what April had meant, but she was going to find out.

She called a sitter to spend the evening with Sofia and decided that she was going to spend the evening at Wildrose. She would be there for however long it took. She just needed to talk to Arizona. She needed to get some answers.

She needed to tell the truth. That, even if Arizona had stopped loving her, Callie still loved Arizona.

She needed to tell Arizona that she'd forgiven her. She'd healed — once and for all.

And that she'd found happiness on her own. But she wanted more. She wanted the happiness that only Arizona could provide. The happiness that had always come with loving Arizona and knowing that Arizona loved her back.

The happiness she had missed, for longer than the two years they'd been apart.

Callie and Arizona had barely exchanged real, honest words since their last couple's therapy session, but in that moment, Callie had a lot to say.

And she was going to say it.

Arizona had become Wildrose's biggest customer. Not because of the women — though, certainly, she didn't mind flirting.

But no. She liked Wildrose for the cheap alcohol, the greasy food, and — believe it or not — the trivia. With Richard Webber by her side, she had learned to enjoy it. She couldn't help it. By nature, she was competitive, and with Richard's vast, seemingly endless knowledge, they had won Trivia Night nearly every time they played.

It was addicting. It kept them coming back, again and again. It was also comforting.

Even over two years after the divorce, Arizona still found herself lonely on the nights Callie had Sofia. She missed her little family, even then.

And Richard helped. He knew what it was like to cheat on someone. He knew what it was like to lose someone. He knew what it was like to regret that loss.

So Arizona had become Wildrose's biggest customer. Not because of the women, but because of the trivia, and the good company, and the familiarity of winning.

She liked it. It made her happy. It made her feel as if she wasn't missing something. Something as crucial to her as her blood, and bones, and brain.

Love.

Particularly, Callie's love. That was what she longed for. Callie's love in return. And her forgiveness.

Arizona had forgiven, but she understood that it might be harder, for Callie. With a persistent stabbing in her heart, she understood that Callie might never be able to forgive her entirely.

So Trivia Night helped. It was at least a distraction from the love she felt for her ex-wife.

And trivia was exactly what she and Richard were laughing about, when he suddenly stopped, eyes bulging.

"What?" Arizona worried, beginning to turn to look behind at whatever Webber had seen.

"Wait!" he warned. "Don't turn around."

Arizona laughed, ignoring him as she continued to turn her head.

"It's Torres!" he whisper-yelled conspiratorially.

She gaped. "What?"

"Torres!" he repeated. "She just walked inside." Unlike Arizona, however, who was only shocked, Webber was also pleased. Only he knew how much Arizona still loved Callie, and he was good enough at reading people to know that Callie wasn't there looking for women.

She was looking for one woman: Arizona.

"What is she doing here?!" Arizona whisper-hissed, using all her self-control not to turn and look at the woman she loved.

Webber looked up, inadvertently meeting brown eyes. He watched as Callie began heading towards them, with purpose.

"Looking for you, it seems."

Arizona's eyes bulged. What was she supposed to do with that? She knew that she loved Callie and always would, but she also acknowledged that it might not be enough. She had cheated.

She had just…been so resentful of the woman she loved. And, then, so had Callie. And it had ruined them.

"I'm gonna go." Webber hitched his thumb towards the door, grabbing his jacket to hurry off.

"Richard! Wait!" Arizona panicked. "What do I do?"

Webber sighed in sympathy, then placed a fatherly hand on the younger woman's shoulder. "Just hear her out and tell her the truth. The rest will come easy."

Before Arizona could even ask for — beg for — more advice, he was gone. And Callie had taken his place.

"Hi."

"Hi." Arizona gulped. Callie looked good. Though, in truth, she always did. Still, those days, it was rare that Arizona got to see her ex-wife in street clothes, and she delighted in the sight.

Callie just stood there — stunned into silence — as she freely explored her ex-wife's face, content just to look at it. It was rare to even sit so close to her, anymore.

"You here to pick up girls?" Arizona finally joked awkwardly, not knowing what else to say. She felt her hair standing on end. She felt her entire self buzzing with a definite energy, one that was oddly familiar and definitely unnerving.

Callie chuckled, shaking her head. "No. Are you?"

Arizona pursed her lips. "No." She didn't want any girls. Just one. She only wanted her wife back.

"Actually," Callie began truthfully, hesitantly meeting endless blue eyes. "I was hoping to talk to you."

Arizona felt her heart take off in her chest and, slowly, Callie pulled a slip of paper from her coat pocket. "About this."

She set it on the counter, and Arizona looked down.

Callie, it read.

You are the only woman I want. You are the only woman I ever want to want.

I meant what I said on Day 29 and 30, and I still mean it on Day 47. I wish you still trusted me when I say those words.

I love you, and I'm never going to stop. But I hope that, whatever happiness you're searching for, you find.

-Arizona

She knew that note. She'd written it while extracting all her things from their old house, over two years before. She still remembered how hard it had been to write, with a lump in her throat.

She had felt hopeless. She hadn't been able to let go, and Callie had. And Callie had continued to show it — how much she had let go — while Arizona had continued loving Callie, and no one else.

She couldn't believe Callie had found the note. She had figured she her ex had discovered it long before. And, equally, she had figured she would never find it.

But she'd found it. And now there she was.

Slowly, Arizona lifted her head, meeting deep brown eyes. "Are you mad?" she worried.

Proud shoulders drooped as Callie dissolved into her ex-wife's qualms. "No," she soothed. "How could I be?"

Arizona shrugged helplessly. "I don't know!" she defended. "It was after the divorce! I didn't have a right to-"

"To love me?" Callie interrupted.

Arizona swallowed. Hard. It wasn't that. Not quite. She knew that no one could help who they loved.

It was more that she felt like she didn't have the right to tell Callie about that love. About how little she could let go. She alone hadn't caused the downfall of their marriage, but she had certainly been an active participant.

Callie had tried to protect her, and Arizona had hurt her in return. She had broken her promise. She had broken her vows. How could she have asked the woman she loved to take her back, even while never feeling particularly apologetic? How could she have asked Callie to keep trying, when it was clear that resentment — on both ends — was still torturing them with its twitching tongues?

She couldn't have. She loved Callie, and so she wanted Callie to be happy. With or without her.

It hurt. It hurt daily, hourly, minutely. But it was love. Love was selfless. And she, in particular, owed Callie at least that.

Arizona sighed. "To tell you. To think that — after everything — it was still enough."

Callie nodded. "Yeah," she exhaled. "It wasn't. I had all the love in the world for you, and it still wasn't enough. It didn't take away the hurt."

Arizona took a deep breath. Inhaling, exhaling, trying to keep breathing.

"You said you were never going to stop," Callie pressed. "Did you mean it? Do you still?" she began. "Love me?"

Arizona raised her eyebrows incredulously. What Callie kidding? How could she even ask that question? Arizona had said she would never stop, and she had meant it. She couldn't let go. Ever.

Callie waited in silence, and finally, Arizona nodded in affirmation.

"I love you with all my heart."

Callie's expression fell right off her face as it bleached white at unexpected words. She wasn't sure what she had been expecting, but it hadn't been that. "You meant it," she breathed. The words were halfway between a question and a statement, as if she knew the truth, but didn't quite believe it.

Arizona furrowed her brows. People surrounded her, but all she saw was Callie. In that moment, there was nothing else. "Callie, what do you mean, I 'meant it'?" She pushed back. "There's no did-I-mean-it-or-didn't-I. I love you. It's a way of being."

Callie's eyes widened.

"It's a facet of me. I'm a surgeon, and I love you. I'm a lesbian, and I love you. I have blue eyes and love you. I'm disabled and love you. I cheated and love you. I love Sofia, and I love you." She took a deep breath, caressing Callie's soft face with her eyes. "Love just is," she explained. "I just am. And I just am in love with you. Like I've always been, and continue to be. Constantly." With each word she spoke, her heart began to thrum faster and faster in her chest. And, with the last word, her voice cracked. She needed to run. It wasn't fair for Callie to make her remember after so long.

Not that she could ever forget.

Still, she needed to run. She couldn't face the incoming rejection. She was a plane and needed to fly far, far away.

"I meant it, Callie," Arizona repeated, slipping on her coat and grabbing her purse to go. She had meant it, and that was all she knew. There was no reason, or explanation, or answer in the name of love.

No solutions, either.

Callie's eyes widened in alarm as she watched the woman she loved prepare to go. Why was Arizona so desperate to escape her?

Arizona stood up. "I mean it," she vowed. "More than I've ever meant anything." And, with that, she headed out - not towards the cold air outside, but to the back, towards the bathroom. She knew that there was no way she could drive with her blurred eyes. She saw nothing but grief. Grief over what she'd lost.

Again.

Callie only needed a moment of pause to decide her next step. Then, her legs were moving towards the bathroom, and she had no choice but to follow.

She wanted to follow.

Gently, she turned the knob and slipped inside the yellowed bathroom, shutting the door behind her. Swallowing hard in preparation, she turned to Arizona. The blonde was leaning over the long counter of sinks, attempting to slow her breathing with closed eyes.

"Please don't run."

Arizona turned to face her. She had no choice. She had said those words during a time of childlike fear, and now, Callie had repeated them.

It was a plea for a truce. To stay. To talk. To listen.

So, softening her features, Arizona prepared to listen.

How could she explain it?: how she couldn't let go, either. "I didn't seek you out just to make things harder for you," Callie promised.

Arizona's eyes stayed fixed on hers, unblinking.

"And I know what you meant about 'meaning it,'" Callie continued solemnly. "Like love is just a part of you. You love me. You just do."

Arizona nodded. Exactly.

"Just like I love you." She helplessly raised her shoulders towards her neck. "I just do."

Arizona's heart sped up in her chest. Did Callie mean it? "Right," she mouthed.

"And I don't have a choice whether I do or don't. But I still choose you." She stepped towards Arizona, desperately breathing in the air that was so close to the woman she loved. It felt somewhat intimate that they shared it.

Still, a few feet separated them.

"I cheated," Arizona whispered meekly. She had cheated. She hadn't felt all that apologetic about it, either. Not until she had learned how much Callie had sacrificed for her to be okay after the crash. Not until she had realized how wrong her decision had truly been.

"I know," Callie nodded. In return, she offered, "I cut off your leg." An eye for an eye.

Arizona shook her head, unwilling to let Callie accept the blame for the amputation for any longer. "You saved my life. And you kept saving it, every day after. Just by being there."

Callie offered a poignant smile. "You saved mine, too," she breathed. "By being there. By living." She relished looking into Arizona's bright, stormy eyes that always managed to ground her when she felt the rest of the world exploding. "And then you cheated. But you've been making amends ever since."

Arizona cocked her head. "How?" She hadn't done as much as she should have. She hadn't been sincere in her apologies. She hadn't made it clear how entirely she loved Callie still. And how entirely she'd messed up.

"April said you haven't been with anyone," Callie explained. She remembered, "You said you 'didn't need much'-"

"Again," Arizona gulped. "I meant it." She had said I need Sofia, and I need you, and she had meant it. She only wanted, and needed, and loved Callie. So she hadn't been with anyone else.

Callie's lips curled up into a smile. "I know you did. Just like I mean it when I say I haven't been able to let go of you. And I don't want to."

"You…don't?" What was Callie saying?

Callie shook her head. "I don't. And I won't. And you won't."

"I won't," Arizona swore, wiping at her tearful eyes. "Now I'm crying," she pouted, offering something between a chuckle and a sob.

And then Callie needed to touch her. Words were no longer enough.

She stepped completely into Arizona's space, wrapping the woman she loved in her arms. She expelled a relieved breath at the way their bodies seemed to fit together perfectly. It was unlike anything she'd ever felt. It was extraordinary.

Callie pulled away, and her big, warm thumbs wiped at wet cheeks. Arizona stroked her hands down a long waist, unable to help herself.

With hot, happy tears stinging her eyes, Callie countered, "We'll cry together."

She realized it wasn't the most romantic of sentiments, but it was real. To cry together, to laugh together, to live together, and to die together was all she wanted. Happiness, love, and redamancy with Arizona was all she wanted.

And, finally having it, she was going to appreciate it in full.

With veneration, Arizona traced Callie's body with the palms of her hands, appreciating her in full. She ran her hands over those strong shoulders she loved, shyly meeting loving brown eyes.

Unblinking, Callie looked deep into Arizona's cerulean orbs, losing herself in them. She felt her form seeping into the blonde, creating one physical body of love incarnate.

Arizona's eyes fell onto full, plump lips, and Callie's breath hitched as she watched a tongue line pink lips with desire.

"Arizo-" Before Callie could even finish forming the whimper, Arizona's lips finally covered her own, wrapping themselves around her, tasting her with softness and undeniable need.

As Callie felt her body warm up and vibrate with the simple ecstasy that Arizona's mouth always managed to evoke.

Eagerly, she molded her tongue around the blonde's, stroking it with her own.

Arizona moaned, pulling Callie impossibly closer, mending their hearts and heartache as they became one. They wanted every part of each other: bones, organs, blood, tissues, arteries, veins, and sinews that bound them. And, since they couldn't have it all, they settled for lips and flesh.

"I love you, Calliope," Arizona promised between committed, wet kisses.

Callie pulled away, resting their foreheads together and intimately breathing in the little oxygen Arizona exhaled against her. "I love you, too."

Arizona committed the words to memory. She had ached to hear them again for years, and they had cascaded from Callie's tongue like water. Easily.

"Should we go?" Really, Callie was in no rush. They had a lifetime. But she could certainly think of better places to kiss than the dirty bar bathroom at Wildrose.

Arizona nodded and, hand-in-hand, they walked towards the parking lot, not caring whose car they rode in to get home.

"What are we doing?" Arizona pressed. "Am I going home with you?"

Callie nodded. "Sof is there with Claudia. After we get her, we can go to your place, if you would rathe…"

Arizona shrugged. "It doesn't matter. As long as we're together."

"Right." Callie squeezed her hand. "Because I'm never letting you go again. You're going to have to do surgery one-handed."

Arizona threw back her head and laughed, feeling lighter than she had in years.

Callie sighed contently, loving the sweet music of Arizona's laughter. Shyly, she admitted, "But, seriously. I can't wait to sleep with you again. I missed you." She'd never slept curled around anyone like she had with Arizona. She'd missed being able to protect her, even in sleep.

Remembering the delicious feeling of Callie's arms around her at night, Arizona shuddered. She'd missed it, too. Then, she worried, "If I wake up in the middle of the night tonight and see you, how will I know I'm not dreaming?"

Callie looked thoughtful for a minute, then smiled slyly as she devised a response.

Making a similar leap, Arizona warned, "Don't say it." That only further proved how copacetic they were, even after being apart for so long. She knew exactly what Callie was thinking, and she jokingly rolled her eyes as her lips curled into a knowing grin.

"I have to!" Callie laughed. "It'll make for a good story at our wedding."

Arizona's eyebrows shot up. If this were anyone else, the hastiness of the night — of all that had changed — would have sent her running. To Malawi. But this was Callie. And Arizona wanted to move fast with her. She wanted them to move back into each other. To reunite, in mind, body, and soul. To find their way back home: to each other. "Wedding?"

Callie nodded solemnly, beaming. "I want to be with you every way possible," she confided. "And, again, I want to be able to call you my wife."

"Me, too," Arizona exhaled, her voice breathy.

"So…" Callie prompted, swinging their intertwined hands into the air like a school girl during recess. "Ask again."

Arizona huffed, but even so, it was loving. She couldn't believe she had become this woman. Callie had made her this woman: the one who loved babies, the one who loved baby showers, and even the one who loved the cheesiness of her soulmate's sense of humor.

"'How will I know I'm not dreaming?'" Arizona repeated. There was a hint of sarcasm in her voice, but when Callie turned towards her, she immediately sobered, her face softening with love.

Callie turned to her, facing her head-on. She brought two cold, milky hands to her lips, running knobby knuckles against her warm mouth as she memorized their shapes. Finally, she pulled Arizona against her, initiating a meeting of lips.

A hair's breadth away from kissing, Callie winked conspiringly, and Arizona dimpled at their change of roles.

Brushing smooth lips, Callie finally mouthed the words, loving the way Arizona shuddered as she felt them vibrate against her lips.

"I think you'll know."