A reconciliation inspired by Adele's "Remedy."

This ain't easy, it's not meant to be
Every story has its scars

But when the pain cuts you deep
When the night keeps you from sleeping
Just look and you will see
That I will be your remedy
When the world seems so cruel
And your heart makes you feel like a fool
I promise you will see
That I will be, I will be your remedy

"Hey!" Callie prompted, hurrying toward Alex. "Have you seen Arizona today? How is she?"

Alex looked up from his iPad, offering Callie a head-nod in greeting. "Yeah, we just kicked ass on a surgery. Then she said she was tired and was going to take a nap."

Callie rushed off, toward the on-call room she knew her ex-wife liked best. It had been their room once, but no more.

And, well, more than a small part of her wished it still were. Even more than that, she wished that Arizona were hers again, and that she were Arizona's. She wished for another chance, to have what they had always wanted: a lifetime together.

A lot had come between them. Enough that it'd all made Callie hate their life together. She had been desperate, to find a way out of her hard, hard world and finally breathe. And — when she'd ended the vicious cycle of pain between her and Arizona — she had finally gotten the chance to do so. To breathe. To let her scars heal.

Initiating the divorce between her and Arizona had been the hardest thing she'd ever done. Out of all the painful experiences Callie had endured, it had by far been the worst — and that was saying a lot.

She had been miserable. Miserable. And, then, she'd focused on her career. And, then, she'd attempted to move on. And, then, through all that, her wounds had healed.

And so had Arizona's. Callie could see that. All the pain that the plane crash and its aftermath had caused had faded to mere scars.

The divorce had made her miserable. Callie knew that. But it had also given her the space to take care of herself — something she needed to do. It had allowed her to become the person she was meant to become: someone who was immeasurably beautiful, confident, brilliant, and deserving of all good things.

Arizona was just special. It was a fact Callie had always known, but lately, it had become particularly clear. Arizona was special. And, not just that, she was special to Callie. To Callie, she was that person.

She was the person Callie was in love with. She wasn't the person Callie had first fallen for — not exactly. And Callie knew that, surely, Arizona would continue to change. But Callie loved every part of her, every piece of her, every change in her.

Callie had healed, and so had Arizona. And Callie loved her. Callie remembered how much she loved her. No matter what. Callie's love for her was apparent. It was rampant. And, most of all, it was adaptive. It only continued growing and changing as she and Arizona changed, too.

Even in that moment, even years after their divorce, Callie loved her.

And, because she loved her, she needed to find her. She needed to take care of the woman she loved.

She gave the door three quick, consecutive knocks, then slipped inside, silently shutting the door behind her. She turned toward the bed, and there Arizona was. Watchful. And curled up into a ball. And looking sad. Carefully, she had laid her prosthesis on the floor beside the bed.

"Hey," Callie breathed. She wasn't sure what else to start with. She knew she owed Arizona an explanation for why the hell she was there. She knew she was out of bounds, given how little they'd talked, lately.

She knew she owed Arizona an explanation, but all her thoughts dissipated when she realized she was alone in a room, with only one person right before her eyes: her ex-wife. And, at that, her heart came to life, hammering in her chest, again and again.

"Hi," Arizona breathed. She figured she might have offered Callie an explanation as to why she was curled up into a ball in an on-call room during the middle of the day, but then she realized that Callie had been the one to walk in on her. What was she doing there?

"I, um," Callie walked toward one of the small chairs on the side of the room, dragging it toward the bed. She sat down, several feet from Arizona, and pulled out something from her pocket, handing it to her. "I know today's a tough day for you."

With curious eyes, Arizona inspected the inside of the white paper bag. Her lips curled into a smile when she saw what it was: a chocolate frosted old-fashioned donut. Her favorite.

"You remembered."

"Your favorite donut?" Callie asked. She chuckled. "It's pretty hard to forget." Arizona had eaten them often, and by the dozen.

Shyly biting her lip, Arizona shook her head. "No. Tim."

Oh. Oh. The anniversary of Tim's death.

Yes, Callie remembered. Of course she remembered. She remembered everything about Arizona. The bad and the good. She bathed in the memories. She savored them.

It was the closest she could come to savoring Arizona herself.

Gently, Callie nodded. "Of course I remembered. I wanted to make sure you were okay."

A little self-consciously, Arizona sat up in bed, wanting to lessen the height difference between them. "I'm okay," she assured her. "I just..." Miserable wet tears began falling from her eyes.

"What?" Callie asked. She practically begged the question. She was desperate for an answer. She was desperate to help, somehow. Arizona cried so rarely, and each time she did, it broke Callie's heart.

And she never, ever felt as helpless as she did in that moment. If Arizona were hers — and she Arizona's — she would have wrapped the smaller woman in her arms and held her. They would have cried together.

But Callie couldn't do that. And that…shattered her.

With one hand, Arizona wiped at her eyes, desperately attempting to stop the stubborn flow of tears. She sniffled. "We used to talk about our futures. Timothy, Nick, and me. And…I'm just remembering all the things that I thought I wanted to be. A doctor. A surgeon. Cindy Crawford's wife." She smirked. Then, bravely and honestly, she continued. "I just never envisioned the kind of life I had with you."

In preparation for harsh words, Callie's face hardened. She leaned back in her chair. "I'm sorry, I just-"

"Wait," Arizona demanded. She licked her lips, attempting to work up the courage to share her truth. "You were the one thing I never saw coming. My life with you was something I never knew I wanted, but something I miss." She paused, sniffling ineffectually. Finally, she choked out, "Constantly."

Those words certainly hadn't been what Callie had expected, and she savored them: as if sucking a mango for every drop of nectar it held. Arizona was miserable, and in tears, and — even so — her words were sweet nectar.

"So I'm okay, except I'm 100%, totally, super not okay," Arizona continued, carelessly tossing the bakery bag toward the end of the bed. "Because all I can think about is that the world seems so cruel. Tim wanted to be a colonel and a daddy. He died. Nick wanted to change the world. He died. Mark wanted to have a family with Lexie. He died. And now, here I am, alive but miserable, Callie."

"Arizona…" Callie breathed, infinite compassion in her voice. There was so much she wanted to say. So much she wanted to refute.

"I am," Arizona repeated, her voice decisive. "Not always. But today. Because, here you are, and I'm stuck remembering. I'm remembering when I had everything but couldn't appreciate it. I'm remembering when I had you."

Callie attempted to swallow back the lump in her throat. Her vision blurred.

Arizona shrugged again, wanting to lessen the overwhelming emotion that coated the room. "I'll be fine," she assured Callie. "I'll move on like you did. Eventually."

"Don't."

Arizona furrowed her eyebrows. Don't what?

"Please don't," Callie amended. "Don't move on." She exhaled a long breath. "I don't want you to, Arizona. Because I haven't moved on from you."

Arizona waited, blood pounding in her ears and her stomach doing somersaults. What was Callie saying?

Callie moved closer, crossing into Arizona's space as she sat on the bed beside her. She turned to the blonde, blissfully admiring her face. "I love you," she proclaimed. "More than anything. And I can't stand to see you hurting — especially over me. Especially because I miss and want you more than anything in the world, and you don't even know."

Arizona's eyes bulged. "You…"

"I'm in love with you. Now and forever." She let out a little laugh, unable to stop herself at the admittance of the truth. She was in love with Arizona constantly. The love adapted but never abated. It always remained. "And I want to be there when you're hurting. I want to be there…forever. God, Arizona. I want to be there for it all, with you. And I want you to be with me."

A slow, tentative, extraordinary smile slowly lit up Arizona's tear-soaked face. "Me, too. All I want is you, Calliope. Whatever a life with you brings us."

She wanted everything with Callie. Everything. The good and the bad. The tears, the laughter, the fights, and the forgiveness. She wanted it all, because just looking at Callie made her feel better. Just hearing her, and smelling her, and having her near felt like medicine for her soul.

Callie readjusted herself, lying down in the bed. She kept a foot of distance between her and Arizona, her back nearly touching the back wall. She didn't want to push the blonde into anything, even after establishing the most incredible thing: they both loved each other. Still. And eternally. They were both in love with each other. And they both wanted a life together.

Arizona turned toward Callie, a question written on her face.

Callie patted the mattress, inviting the woman she loved to lay beside her. "This is a good thing — and, on this day next year, we'll also be able to celebrate our first re-anniversary, or whatever — but today's still a hard day because of Tim. And I really, really want to touch you. So come here."

Arizona didn't need any more convincing than that. She lowered herself onto the bed, turning onto her side to face Callie. She met big, brown, magical eyes that seemed to dance with delight at the sight of her.

She herself wanted to dance with delight at the sight of Callie. She was so in love with her.

Tentatively, she reached up, tracing caramel features with her shaking thumb. "I love you."

A remarkable smile bloomed on Callie's face, and she reached for Arizona. Reverently, she set the palm of her hand over a soft waist, scooting closer.

Her voice was a devout promise: "I love you, too." She pulled Arizona to her, wrapping her arms tightly around the smaller woman.

Eagerly, Arizona returned the favor, holding Callie to her with all the strength she had. Pulling their bodies tight against each other, and feeling their bodies meld, and melt, and merge together. Just as they always had. She inhaled delicious-smelling black hair, and she was certain that she felt Callie breathing in her skin, too. She exhaled a relieved breath, feeling as if she were finally home.

Then, she chuckled. "You're always saving me."

It was true. Callie had given her strength when Wallace had needed surgery. Callie had shielded her from Gary Clark. Callie had saved her life, and Callie had attempted to save her leg. Callie had made all her dreams — dreams she hadn't even known she'd had — come true. She had always saved her, and continued to. She'd made her hurt a little less over Tim. And she'd taken away so much of her pain over her own life. Arizona had been mourning her lost life with Callie, but now, she didn't have to. As it turned out, that life wasn't lost. Not in the slightest.

Callie offered up a genuine chuckle in return, her warm breath setting Arizona's skin on fire and leaving her with goosebumps.

"You saved me," she argued. "You save me, constantly." Arizona had saved her from self-flagellation in that dirty bar bathroom all those years ago. She had saved her from her father disowning her. She had saved her in the car crash. She had saved Sofia. She saved her every day, just by breathing. Just by existing. The fact that someone as perfectly wonderful as Arizona even existed — much less loved her — still amazed her. And she knew it always would.

Then, reveling in the feeling of Arizona's arms — of being completely surrounded by her, engulfed by her, enveloped by her — Callie released a contented sigh, deciding,

"But, fine. If you keep saving me, I'll keep saving you, too. I will always be your remedy."