Set sometime between 9x01 and 9x03.

Inspired by Charlotte and Cooper in 4x09 of Private Practice.

In the few—but seemingly endless—days since Arizona had been released from the hospital, she had barely left her rehabilitation bed. In fact, she'd barely done anything at all; she was anchored to the depressing bed, just as she was to her new life. She couldn't escape it.

She had refused to see Sofia. That was hard, but she didn't want her baby girl to see her like this.

She had refused to see Callie. That was harder.

Because Callie was Arizona's wife. The love of her life. The one with whom she'd chosen to spend her life.

And she'd broken her promise. She'd cut off Arizona's leg.

And, yet, despite the blonde's desperate and anger-filled pleas, Callie refused to leave her alone. No matter how much Arizona berated her, she always came back: bringing in water (which she didn't drink), meals (which she didn't eat), and occasionally helping her into the small bathroom adjoining the room.

Mostly, Callie was quiet these days. Cold, monstrous Arizona had finally managed to scare her into silence, and she no longer made futile attempts at an apology.

She knew that Arizona couldn't hear it. Arizona didn't want to hear it.

Trying to hate Callie was the hardest thing she'd ever done, but somehow, it was easier than trying to understand.

So, day in and day out, Arizona stewed. She laid in bed, a pot of water on high heat that was constantly on the brink of boiling over but never quite did.

Not yet, anyway. So, Callie waited in wary anticipation, and Arizona's anger continued to froth: bubbling, churning, and seething with every hour that passed.

A little after seven, Callie gingerly turned the knob of the door, carefully walking inside and balancing a tray of dinner on Arizona's bedside table.

Most people would think to give a recovering amputee (or any patient, really) soup. Or, maybe, if they were being creative, a sandwich.

But the last time Callie had brought soup, Arizona had hurled it across the room, and Callie knew she didn't like sandwiches.

So, instead, she'd brought her wife pizza.

And if she'd done such a thing even two weeks before—say, if the blonde were sick with a nasty cold instead—Arizona would have laughed and appreciated it. She would have fallen in love, just the tiniest bit more. If that were even possible.

Because, even before Callie and Arizona were officially "girlfriends," pizza had meant something to them. They'd celebrated with it on momentous occasions, and it always acted as a comfort food on the hard days, when they would just curl around each other on the couch, allowing their bellies to be warmed by the warm, soft dough and rich cheese and their moods to be warmed by each other.

As little as two weeks ago—before the plane had fallen out of the sky—had she and Callie been fighting, Arizona would have accepted the peace offering.

Now, though, she found that she had too much anger in her to do much of anything.

As Callie set down the tray of food, she inspected her wife's worn face. Despite the insurmountable pain she must have been in, Arizona's face was hard, and she refused to look anywhere but down. She didn't want to see Callie, and she definitely didn't want to forgive her. She couldn't. Maybe she never would. Callie could see that.

And the thought of that made Callie stop breathing.

"Arizona..." Callie breathed, and she could feel the palpable desperation in her voice.

Arizona flinched at the care in Callie's voice, but her wife didn't notice.

"Can we talk? Please?"

Again, Callie was met with nothing. No movement. No recognition. Nothing.

She sighed, and she felt a pinch behind her eyes. "Please. I love you. Don't walk away."

At that, Arizona finally looked at her, her eyes piercing. They bored into Callie, sharp as glass. With a voice like ice, she scoffed, "Even if I wanted to, I couldn't. Thanks to you."

Callie wanted to sob. She sharply inhaled, then worked to steady her breathing. "You know that's not what I meant," she whispered, looking down. Anxiously, she looked back at Arizona's face: she was a double pained window, refusing to crack despite its wear. It should have shattered by now, but it was standing strong. "Tell me what I can do," she begged. All she wanted was for Arizona to be okay. It was all she ever wanted.

"Just go. Leave. You've done enough," Arizona's sharp words sliced into her, and Callie slunk onto the floor. She couldn't even stand. She couldn't hold herself up. She couldn't so much as function. Not with the woman she loved in this...state.

She collapsed onto the floor, and Arizona did nothing. Callie probed her face. She didn't know what to say. She didn't know what to do. All she wanted was to pull Arizona into her arms and keep her safe forever, but she couldn't.

Instead, after several minutes of silence, she managed, "Look," she paused. Arizona made no attempt to look toward her, but Callie continued anyway. "I know you're mad at me. Furious," she quickly corrected. "And for now, that's okay."

She watched for a shift in Arizona's face but found none. No matter. "As long as you're thankful later, it's okay that you're mad now. I know I broke a promise. I know this isn't the life you wanted. I...I know you said you'd rather die than live without one of your legs, but I think a part of you knows how wrong that is. And a bigger part of you knows how wrong it was to ask me—your wife—not to save your life. Because I love you."

Ever so slowly, Arizona's head had begun turning toward Callie, still tensed on the cold, unforgivable floor of what used to be their bedroom. "I love you," Callie repeated solemnly, continuing without hesitation, "I'm in love with you. I'll love you...forever. No matter what. This doesn't..." she paused. "I'm yours, okay? I'm yours."

And, even as she heard the shift in Arizona's previously slow and steady breathing, Callie knew she shouldn't stay and expect a response. She wouldn't get one. So instead, she stood up, pausing standing above Arizona's rehabilitation bed only to say, "Stop telling me to leave, because I'm not going anywhere. And, please, eat something. I know you might want to die, but can you...live? For me?" Callie looked like she wanted to stay more, to beg, but after a moment, she idly headed toward the door.

Right as she shut it, she saw movement out of the corner of her eye. She wasn't sure, and she might have been crazy, but she could have sworn it was Arizona reaching for a slice of pizza.