"Robbins!" Liz yells from the lobby. Arizona is balancing on an off-kilter step ladder, paint roller in one hand, the other clinging to the handle. She's painting her office walls a pale shade of blue— periwinkle, technically, the tub says periwinkle.

"Yeah? What's up?" Arizona calls back.

Liz scurries into Arizona's office, clutching her omnipresent clipboard. "Thank God you're here, Dr. Herman is driving me insane with what the hell are you doing?"

Arizona shrugs, one strap of her overalls falling down her shoulder. "I didn't like the color."

"You know that the workers…" she trails off. "Nevermind. I can't believe you're the good boss."

"Hey! I'm a great boss."

Arizona frowns when Liz ignores her in favor of piling yet more paperwork on her desk. "It's chaos out there," the younger woman chatters. "The new students just showed up for orientation and they're, frankly, terrible, and we need to finalize the contract with the private surgical center, plus we really should be in talks with some local hospitals about using their O.R.s and patient recovery rooms." She's laying down a new set of forms for every task she lists, creating an impressive tower that Arizona kinda wants to topple.

"Also, if we start networking now, we may be able to source fellows from their residency programs next year," Liz finishes. She finally looks up at Arizona, who's still holding her little paint roller, dripping blue blotches onto the floor tarp.

"Woah, okay, so I…?" Arizona asks hopefully.

"You're a full partner. You have half of the administrative responsibility."

"Correct."

"So what hospitals do you have connections with?"

Arizona calls the chief of surgery at Langone to schedule a meeting and finds out that the only time he has available for the next two months is in less than an hour. There is a split second where Arizona has a choice between this meeting, which would help the Center, and peace, which would involve giving up.

The word yes is out of her mouth and she's slipping out of her overalls before she realizes she's even made the decision.

Her overalls are hanging from her waist by the time she remembers she didn't bring a change of clothes with her today. Arizona pokes her head through her office door, scanning the lobby for a second. One of the new fellows is meandering around, looking lost and panicked. Ah— a latecomer. Serves them right.

"You! Hey, you," Arizona waves the younger woman over. "I, uh, I need you to swap clothes with me."

The girl blinks at her blankly like she somehow doesn't understand the concept, clutching her notepad to her chest. "Is this some kind of hazing thing?"

"No. Sorry, but no."

"You're serious."

"As a heart attack," Arizona smiles. Raises her eyebrows expectantly. Makes it clear that no is not an option. "The future of the Center depends on it," Arizona says, pointing down the hall to her left. "There's a bathroom down the hall. I'll have Liz bring you something to change into."

Fifteen minutes later, Arizona is dressed perfectly acceptably for a work meeting and one of their fellows is looking sullen in a pair of paint-splattered overalls and a tank top. Arizona offers her a sheepish smile on her way out of the door but she really doesn't have time for pleasantries. Besides, she's the good boss. She'll be forgiven soon enough.

Thirty minutes later, she's stepping into the artificially cold lobby at Langone.

Langone is foreign to her, sharp and uninviting— so utterly New York, a city she doesn't even like. New York was always Mark's city. And Arizona was always Callie's wife.

Arizona still can't help but think of this as Callie's hospital as she walks through the entrance. She knows it existed before Callie, and she knows that it'll exist after her, but the minute she steps through the shining glass doors she's looking for Callie. Desperately, but also resentfully. As though Callie could be just around the next corner and Arizona can't decide if that would be a good thing.

She flags down an intern for directions and manages her way to the Chief's Office, somehow arriving a full ten minutes early. The Chief's secretary ushers her helpfully into the office and she settles into one of the overly plush visitor's chairs, alone and entirely aware of it. The huge space is disconcertingly empty, barely decorated, as though someone meant to do it but never quite cared enough to get it done.

She really doesn't like this place.

Chief Henley arrives late, waving her off when she tries to stand and sliding into the leather chair across from her without a word. He gives off the impression of being a particular kind of selfish: careless and having very little regard for others' comfort.

There's a long moment of silence where Arizona is expecting the Chief to start speaking. He doesn't.

He just stares at her from across the desk. Arizona gets the sense that he's trying to psych her out.

Arizona clears her throat. "Thank you for arranging this meeting on such short notice, I know how tricky these things can be," she tries. The Chief just half-smiles graciously and nods in acknowledgement. Another long, awkward moment. "We're very interested in building long-term relationships with local hospitals, especially since we don't have any on site operating rooms."

Chief Henley hums, steepling his fingers. "We'd be prepared to offer you a significant salary increase from your last hospital."

Arizona stares at him, not understanding the strange non-sequitur. "I'm here to discuss the Center," she smiles slightly at him in her trademark way that makes the recipient feel a little stupid. "The… Robbins-Herman Center? Using your patient recovery rooms?"

"Sure, yes. Feel free to have your lawyers send over a contract. But we're looking to develop a Maternal-Fetal Department of our own," Chief Henley leans forward conspiratorially. "And we're not afraid to poach."

"Ah, uh, oh, well," Arizona says. "I'm— well, I'm flattered but uninterested. I'm very happy where I am."

Henley frowns and Arizona finds herself frowning back, wondering how she ended up in this conversation. She also wonders if Henley's policy on poaching would be the same if he knew the Center would be coming after his fellows in less than a year. Best not to bring it up.

"Nicole Herman can't offer you the kind of job stability I can, not for years. And I've heard she's not exactly the easiest boss."

Arizona's been wearing the same blank smile for the last two minutes and it's beginning to make her cheeks hurt. "I assure you, sir, I am fully invested in my work at the Robbins-Herman Center and my partnership with Nicole Herman. Now, about those contracts…"

"Oh, I get it now. You're partners," he waggles his eyebrows at her.

"I— what? No," Arizona stammers.

"No, no," Henley rises from his chair, having apparently decided that there was no point in trying to hire her anymore. Which means there's no reason to continue this conversation. "Makes perfect sense. I couldn't respect it more." He ushers Arizona towards the door, not unkindly but decisively.

"Chief Henley, I really think you've got the wrong idea here—"

"It's okay! This is New York, sweetheart, it's fine." He opens the door for her, holding his hand out for a handshake.

Arizona doesn't step out yet. Stands awkwardly in the doorway. "And the partnership between your hospital and the Center?"

"I'll sign anything you send, so long as it's fair. And I do trust that it will be."

"Yes, sir," Arizona reassures him. She squeezes his hand hard for good measure. He smiles with what might have once been charm, his full set of bleach-white teeth like an ad for dentistry.

Arizona takes a few steps down the hall before he calls after her, "You give me a call if things don't work out with Herman, ya hear?"

She smiles back at him instead of answering, desperately speed walking down the hallway.

That went… well? She's secured both operating rooms and patient recovery rooms for the Center, even if Langone's chief of surgery now seems to think that Robbins-Herman is hyphenated for more reasons than one.

Arizona takes a right down the next hallway, trying to navigate her way back to the entrance. She must have taken a wrong turn somewhere because she doesn't recognize any of this, has somehow led herself deeper into the heart of the hospital. One wrong turn bleeds into another and eventually she starts praying for a Peds Department just to know there'll be friendly people around.

She's about to ask for directions when she notices the sign Orthopedics— hanging above her head. Oh God.

Maybe Callie has the day off. Maybe she's off performing emergency surgery in the field outside of a burning building. Maybe she's meeting a cute firefighter.

Maybe she's headed straight for Arizona, eyes trained on her clipboard.

Arizona swings herself into a side hallway. She presses her body against the wall in an effort not to be seen, peering out from the corner at Callie conspicuously, tracking the way Callie moves through space.

She still walks like she's trying to put her heels through the floorboards. It was the first thing Arizona noticed about her; it's what she can't help noticing now. Callie walks like magic, like something unstoppable and earth-breaking. She's all heavy footsteps.

This is exactly what Arizona knew would happen.

She let her guard down for a second, one second, and gotten herself directly in her ex-wife's territory. She'd forgotten to be apprehensive, and now she knows seeing Callie is absolutely, without question, a bad thing. The bad thing.

She watches Callie walk right past where she's hiding without looking up once, so entirely focused on the task in front of her. It's both a relief and a misery.

Avoiding Callie has become Arizona's newest pastime. Throwing herself into her work, into finding her footing at the Center, keeps her busy enough most days. Sofia fills her evenings half the time. So, really, it's pretty easy to keep her distance from her ex. It's the deliberate edge to it that makes Arizona feel like she's doing something wrong; the way she'll avoid invitations to coffee and meetings to discuss Sofia's schedule and only co-parent over text. And when they do see each other, she can't seem to help but snap and push and poke at Callie.

Talking to Callie is just too much for her most days. Talking to Callie brings up too many things that Arizona can't deal with, like the first time she looked into her wife's eyes and realized that the only thing Callie felt towards her was tired. To Arizona, Callie is like having the wind knocked out of her. Not in a cute way, it's not charming. It's the feeling of being flat on her back with no air in her lungs, staring up at the other kids swinging from the jungle gym. Sun and tears in her eyes.

That's Callie.

So, yeah, she's avoiding her ex. Arizona's life is good right now, it's good in the same way everything has been good since the divorce— a plain-faced resignation to the reality of the situation. She's gotten used to the idea that she may never fall out of love the way Callie managed to. It's fine; she's fine. She's happier now, happier than she's been in a long time. And Callie makes her sad. It's short and it's simple and it's true.

Arizona is so fucking sick of being sad about Calliope Torres.

She finds her way out of the hospital on pure adrenaline, dials up Nicole as soon as her feet hit the pavement outside. "How good of a wingman are you?" she asks.

Nicole laughs. "That depends. How good of a wingman are you?"


They find a tiny bar three blocks away from the Center, dimly lit and crowded with a good enough ratio of men in khaki pants to women with carabiners.

Arizona has three tried and true methods of self soothing: booze, sex, cigarettes. From the minute she walks in, she knows she can get all three here. She feels the comfort of it settle into her fingertips and her movements get long, languid. It's like her heartbeat slows.

She and Nicole sit at the bar and Arizona flags down the bartender with two fingers and a smile, ordering herself a glass of white wine right before Nicole orders them two shots of vodka each. And a cocktail for herself.

"So," Nicole starts. "You saw her."

It's not a question and there's no ambiguity in who she is. Nicole has always seen too much pun unintended. Besides, they're getting to be close again. Arizona needs people, and Nicole may never admit it, but she needs someone too. She could've founded the Center alone, they both know that. She didn't need Arizona, not really. But she wanted her.

"Yeah."

Being wanted counts for something.

"You really need to get over this whole weird thing you two have got going on," Nicole taps her fingertips on the bar impatiently. "It's depressing to watch."

"Bite me, Herman," Arizona teases.

Nicole makes a face. "I already told you once, I'm not gonna sleep with you."

"Too bad," Arizona turns her back to the bar so she can scope out the other patrons. She makes eye contact with a pretty brunette from across the room and deliberately drags her eyes down the other woman's body before angling herself back towards Nicole. "The Chief at Langone already thinks you are."

Nicole lets out an obnoxious honk of a laugh right as four shots are set out in front of them. "He does? God, what a letch."

Arizona snorts, watching as Nicole uses her nail to feel around the edge of a shot glass before picking it up. "Speaking of, there's a guy checking you out. 2:00."

"You know that means nothing to me. Is he cute?"

"He's, like, the same age as a resident. No, worse—" Arizona downs one of the shots before she can change her mind, grimacing as it burns down her throat and makes her stomach turn. Her voice comes out low and muted. "—an intern."

"You would know," Nicole grins at her lasciviously like she's joking, and Arizona's stomach turns again.

"God! When are people going to stop bringing that up? I'm not, I'm not a monster, okay? I'm not... I made a mistake," she flicks the rim of her empty shot glass. "And trust me, I paid for it."

Nicole holds her palms up in a placating, ironic motion that Arizona hates more than she should. "Woah, take it down a notch, Robbins. I'm not judging."

Arizona gives her an indignant look for her own sake if not Nicole's. Seconds later the man from before swoops in and her friend is slipping away with a soft-fingered wave and a grin. Arizona lets her go happily. She doesn't want to talk about Callie. She definitely doesn't want to talk about Leah.

Arizona shakes it off, trying to sink herself back into that familiar, calm feeling. Her neck stretches back in a clean arc and she rests both elbows on the bar against her. She has to remember that she's here because she wants, she needs, something. Something unconnected from her culmination of personal failures. A new bad decision, fresh and bright and burning. Arizona needs to not belong to herself for a night. No consequences— all regrets.

Her eyes lock with the same woman from across the bar.

Fuck it.

The woman approaches like Arizona thought she would, taking Nicole's barstool with the slightest bit of nervous hesitation. Arizona pretends not to notice.

"I'm sorry your friend ditched you," she leans in close enough that Arizona could count her eyelashes if she wanted to. She doesn't, but she could.

She's tall. Short hair and big brown eyes. Killer smile that she uses a little too recklessly. Arizona decides her name might be Nina or Nora or Natalie.

Arizona leans in too. "I'm not."

She throws back her last shot and takes the woman by the hand, leading her to the tiny, sad dancefloor of this tiny, sad bar. Lets her turn Arizona so that their bodies are pressed together, back to front, her breath against Arizona's neck and her hands sliding across Arizona's abdomen.

Arizona lays her hands over Natalie's, holding them close to her body. She allows her partner to lead. Moves her hips the way the other woman wants her to.

It's a good thing she's already decided to do this because it's happening fast.

"Do you live around here?" Her lips ghost over the shell of Arizona's ear.

Arizona shivers. "No," she lies. "You?"

"I do, actually," Natalie spins Arizona so they're facing each other. "So?"

"So?" Arizona repeats coyly. Then she hums like she just realized what their whole night has been building up to, like she hasn't been planning this since she saw Callie stalking the halls at Langone. "Oh… I think, I'm pretty sure, that you're about to show me your apartment."

Arizona spends the ride in the taxi with Natalie's hand brushing up and down the outside of her thigh, higher and higher until they spill out onto the sidewalk, cab fare split evenly down the middle. Natalie fumbles with that same nervousness as she's unlocking her door, Arizona's arms wrapped around her from behind and her tongue on Natalie's neck.

She doesn't have time to look around because she's being pulled into the bedroom as soon as they get in, unlocked door kicked closed as they kiss a trail through the living room.

Arizona pushes Natalie onto the bed, hard, lording over her. She's splayed out in front of her for a second and it makes something electric shoot through Arizona. It's everything good about having sex with a stranger. There's no history, no sense of expectation. Everything comes down to what feels good and this feels incredible.

"That's how it's gonna be, huh?"

Arizona crawls over her body without answering. Hovers. Natalie lifts herself onto her elbows, looking up at Arizona with those big brown eyes. She really is pretty.

The next few hours happen in flashes.

She grips the curve of Natalie's waist, holding her in just the right position and thinks of a bow releasing as Natalie shudders and writhes. Of that snap that happens just before the end of things.

Natalie bites down on Arizona's bottom lip and Arizona sees the glint of Callie's teeth when she smiles.

Natalie digs her nails in Arizona's back and Arizona remembers the last night of her marriage. Memory is vile and rough with her. So is Natalie, but she likes that part. She's a little rough back.

And after it's all done and over, after she's scratched that particular itch, Arizona tries to sneak out in the blue morning light. She'd accidentally fallen asleep with her prosthetic on, the pain a dull throb by the time she wakes up.

Maybe she'll push it and walk home. At least then she can smoke.

"You're leaving." Natalie's voice is sad, sleep soaked and gravely. Arizona pulls her shirt over her head.

"My daughter comes home tonight," Arizona explains. It's not a lie, but it is a blatant excuse.

She sits up and the blanket falls down to her waist. Arizona averts her eyes from the other woman's body, suddenly uncomfortable. It feels a step too far to be naked in the daylight.

"Can I have your number?" Natalie asks. Arizona still won't look at her.

"I don't think so. But thank you for asking," Arizona lilts her voice up into an inappropriately peppy range. She gathers all of her hair over one shoulder to have something to do with her hands. "Last night was so fun."

Arizona finally turns so that they can look at each other. She keeps her eyes on Natalie's face. "Maybe I'll see you around," she grins, kissing the other woman sweetly on the cheek.

Natalie slumps back against the wall. "Yeah, maybe."

After that, Arizona sees herself out of the apartment and quietly decides that she will walk home, no matter the damage it does to her body. She'll take the pain today.


Notes: Comments mean so much to me! It's been great to talk to everyone and see your reactions to this journey we're on :) you can find me pearlcages on tumblr.