but I think I'd rather keep the bullet.

It's mine, see, I'm not giving it up.

Penny is ruddy skinned and grimacing in the corner of their shared living room, pressed into the navy blue wall, and Callie can't hold back the thought that she looks truly unpleasant right now. It's an ugly thought, an unfair, awful one that Callie kind of hates herself for. But looking at Penny used to be easy. Penny was the opt out, the off switch. Door number three. She doesn't know what to do now that Penny isn't a door marked exit anymore.

Callie turns her palms up to the ceiling but keeps her eyes on the floor.

"It's just… everything is so hard with us." Callie says. "It wasn't supposed to, to, to be hard! If I was going to do hard I would've just," she bites down on her tongue.

"Just what, Callie?" Penny asks. Her face flushes red beneath her freckles, casting her in an angry glow. "No, say it. We both know what you were going to say. Say it."

It's dead air between them. It has been for months, but they're both stubborn, difficult women at the end of the day. Somewhere along the way Callie had made Penny difficult.

And it always, always comes back to this.

"I would've done hard with Arizona."

The sound of Callie's phone ringing cuts through the silence, and she answers it without looking down, startling at the sound of Arizona's voice. God, it's like that woman has a sixth sense for Callie's mistakes. Spidey-senses for Callie fuck-ups. Callie realizes her hands are shaking.

"Callie, hey, um. Listen I was… I was thinking, and I think, I think that—" Callie watches as Penny begins to pace around the room like a caged animal.

"I think that Sofia should move back to New York with you," Arizona says.

Callie straightens up, bringing the phone more tightly against her face. Her heart pounds. "Are you serious?" she murmurs, small-voiced.

"Mhmm. Yeah."

"Really? Okay. Okay, yeah, of course."

"And I think I need to move back with her."

The shaking travels up through her fingers into her whole body. Her relationship is over. Dead. If she says yes, Penny will never forgive her. Callie knows that Arizona is still the one thing that can ruin her life.

She could always say no. Let Sofia and Arizona stay safely tucked away in Seattle. Make the decision to choose Penny, again, blow everything to pieces for a woman she isn't sure ever meant all that much to her in the first place.

Or she could loosen her clenched fist.

"Of course." she repeats. "Whatever you need. Just keep me updated."

She hangs up, then looks Penny in the eyes. She deserves at least the dignity of that. "Arizona and Sofia are moving to New York."

Penny laughs something mean out of her chest like an exorcism. And then she doesn't say anything at all— just grabs her purse, her keys, and leaves. Callie doesn't try to go after her and she knows she won't be back.

Turns out Penny could be easy again. All she had to do was leave.

"Ward, present." Callie crosses her arms, staring down the intern. His shoulders fold in on themselves.

"Ava Gale, age 12. Presented with extreme knee and hip pain for the last two years, diagnosed six months ago by you," he looks at Callie, "with stable slipped capital femoral epiphysis. Multiple pre-existing conditions. Surgery is currently postponed so we can try to get her a little bit stronger. Her mother has requested text updates on her condition hourly, which Dr. Torres is personally responsible for."

On cue, Callie slips her phone out of her pocket and shoots off the text, ignoring the constant low thrum of pressure at treating her only friend's only child.

After she's done, Callie looks back up at Ava expectantly. Ava knits her fingers together, placing them delicately on her lap from her seat on the hospital bed.

"Six point five," Ava says and Callie tsks. She speaks clearly and emphasizes her consonants the way a child does when they believe they're an adult. Ava's eyes are deep brown, lined with black lashes. Her hair is the same brown as her eyes and braided in a fish-tail down her back, topped off with a bright blue scrunchie.

Callie can't help but think of Sofia, four years older, bright and sharp and full of magic. Sick in a hospital bed for two years.

"You hear that, Ward? Six point five," Callie smiles. "That's the best score she's given an intern in months."

Ava blushes. She opens her mouth but is interrupted by Callie's resident bursting through the door. Andrea Jones, third year, as promising an Ortho resident as Callie had ever seen. Currently hyperventilating in the doorway of Ava's room.

"Dr. Torres," she wheezes. "Your osteomyelitis patient that you sent me to round on? I think he's having an MI. They're sending him up to O.R. 3 now."

"Damn it. Damn it!" Callie says. She yanks her stethoscope away from Ava's chest, throwing it carelessly around her own neck and grabbing the chart Jones holds out to her before storming out of the room.

"Move, people," she yells at Jones' interns, crossing the hallway in seconds, not looking behind her long enough to see the group of students scurrying after her. "And somebody page Andaya!"

The elevator comes too slowly, she's clumsy-footed and off balance. Worst of all were the six children trailing after her, always a step behind, always stuttering and stumbling. Callie likes teaching, sure, but sometimes she wishes that it didn't take years to learn how to goddamn hustle. When she's finally scrubbed and gowned, Dr. Andaya is already in the operating room with a scalpel hovering over Callie's patient.

Callie immediately jumps in. She takes a 10-blade from the waiting hand of her favorite scrub nurse. "How is he?" she asks Andaya.

Gloria Andaya shrugs, concentration carved into the sharp corners of her eyes. She has the singular, blunt-edged focus of a Cardio god. "He's unresponsive to the antibiotics you had him on. You'll have to remove a portion of his radius."

"Yeah, I got that." Callie rolls her eyes. She makes the first incision to his lower arm, draining the infection first.

"Someone's touchy today," Gloria says, glancing up at Callie. "Is it the wife?"

"Ex-wife." Callie responds as she widens the incision, pushing past the first layers of muscle between her scalpel and the rotting bone she knows she'll find underneath. If she cuts a little harder than usual, well, it's not like he can feel it. "Is this really what you want to talk about? Because I just saw Ava and—"

She holds up one blue-gloved hand. "Please do not make me think about my own problems right now. I want to hear about your problems, they're much less depressing. Somehow."

They hold each other's eyes for a long minute, two inflexible women quietly deciding who would get her way for the rest of this conversation. It's a staring contest, a stand-off.

Callie blinks first.

"No," Callie sighs. "It's not her, I think. I don't know. She's honestly been weirdly great about the whole thing. I mean… weirdly, really great. They get in today and she hasn't even said anything passive aggressive about planes," Callie gives a short, breathy huff of a laugh and starts removing necrotic tissue. "And trust me, from her? That means something."

Gloria hums absentmindedly and doesn't bother to respond quite yet. Callie decides to let the silence be comfortable as she begins to pull the diseased bone from the healthy, righting what was once made wrong. She thinks, idly, about Sofia, glancing up at the clock on the wall to see if she and Arizona would be at the airport yet.

She knows Arizona would usually take half a Xanax before a flight, no matter how short it was. She also knows that Arizona would never let herself for a flight with Sofia on it, which means there is a very real chance that her ex is fighting off a panic attack at this exact moment. And flying out here anyways. Like she said, Arizona's been weirdly great.

Callie honestly doesn't know what to do with any of it.

"So, tell me about her. You never really talk about your ex," Andaya asks, unassuming.

"Who, Arizona?" She never really knows what to say about Arizona these days. "I mean, she's Arizona. She's nice, I guess. But not really, she isn't nice at all, actually. She's kind. She's the type of person who knows the difference between niceness and kindness and cares about that sort of thing." Callie blows air from between her teeth, slowly, feeling it catch on the inside of her mask and push back into her face. "Like I said, she's Arizona."

Gloria doesn't look up from their patient's split-open chest, but Callie can feel herself being observed anyway. It's the loud, uncomfortable, conspicuous feeling of being seen.

"The only good thing I can say about my ex-husband is that he's still currently breathing," she says carefully.

Callie chuckles. "It got easier once I didn't have to see her every day. Way easier."

"And now she's moving here?" Gloria sounds judgmental, but Callie can't be sure with her surgical mask covering half of her face. She isn't sure she wants to know, either.

"Uh, yeah. Now she's moving here."

"Good luck with that," she says. Pulls her tools away from the man's beating heart and moves to close. They sit in silence for a long moment while Gloria staples up his chest and Callie finishes attaching the rod in his arm. Then she starts to close up herself.

As they finish, Gloria claps her hands. "Now. Did you hear that the new peds guy is already screwing Rhonda from pathology?"

Callie doesn't own a car. At least, not in New York. She's been meaning to have her old T-bird shipped from Seattle, where it had been gathering dust under a tarp in Meredith's garage for the past two years, but she never seems to find the time, and honestly she's never really needed a car in the city before.

All this to say that Callie has absolutely no business offering anyone a ride home.

She'd promised to pick Arizona and Sofia up from the airport anyways, catching a cab down to JFK over an hour before they're scheduled to land in New York and sitting awkwardly on one of the benches outside with her forearms slouched into her knees.

If asked why she offered to pay a taxi $30 to stand there while her ex-wife pays a second taxi $30, she wouldn't know how to answer. She just wants to see them. For the first time in a long time, Callie really wants something.

Sofia emerges first, running headfirst at Callie. "Mama!" she screams. She looks taller and it breaks Callie's heart.

"Hey, big girl!" Callie grins, pulling Sofia into her arms as she stands. Sofia wraps her arms around Callie's neck, and then her feet around her waist, digging her heels into Callie's back painfully. "God, look at you! I missed you."

Sofia leans back, smiles at Callie. "We missed you too!"

We.

Callie looks past Sofia for the first time and there she is. Her hair is pulled into a looping, messy bun, her torso leaning against the cart carrying her and Sofia's luggage. She looks terrible. Exhausted. She also looks exactly like Callie remembers, heart clenching, and Callie can't decide if that's a good thing or not. "Hey," Callie says with a small, awkward wave after securing Sofia in a one-handed hold.

Arizona gives her a tight smile. "Where's your car?"

"Oh, I don't— I mean, I just, I thought we'd grab a cab," she smiles at her, a nervous thing in sharp contrast to Callie's special Sofia-grin. She takes a deep breath. "My car's still in Seattle."

Arizona blinks. Then she cocks her head slightly, a crease tugging at her eyebrows. "Oh."

Sofia starts twisting in Callie's arms, silently and insistently asking to be put down and Callie lets her slide down to her feet without looking away from Arizona. She moves towards her ex, reaching to put her hands on the cart handle. "Here, let me take that," she says but Arizona pulls back.

"I've got it, Callie." Arizona tries to smile encouragingly and Callie wants to roll her eyes, but instead she jerks her head towards the taxi bay across the crosswalk. Arizona looks at her gratefully, and as they make their way across the street, Sofia fills the silence with chatter about the flight and the airport and the people she and Arizona had created backstories for while they waited at the gate.

Arizona is limping. Callie can see her limping. Arizona can see Callie seeing her limping. Sofia, eight, oblivious, can see only the white lines of the crosswalk as she carefully places her feet on top of each one.

Callie delicately places her hand on the yellow handle. "Please." she says, knowing better than to look directly at Arizona in this moment.

Arizona huffs but lets go. "Fine."

Callie hails them a cab and helps the driver load the trunk while Sofia and Arizona settle into the back. Sofia sits between her mothers on the drive to Arizona's centrally located, well-to-do apartment building. Callie stares as Arizona watches the sun bleed out on the other side of the car, staining the horizon a violent red.

The building is tall, with an elevator tucked into the corner closest to the entrance that carries the three of them up to the 7th floor. Arizona grabs the keys she received during a visit last month when she'd signed the lease, unlocking the door and holding it open for Callie and Sofia.

Sofia tugs Callie into the living room by her fingertips, throwing her arms out and spinning in a wide, happy arc before draping herself over the arm of the couch, the only furniture in the apartment that isn't either Arizona's bed or dismembered in a box somewhere.

Callie and Arizona share a look at the peals of laughter coming from the sofa.

"I don't think she's coming home with me," Callie says, which makes Arizona laugh and shine and loosen some of the tightness in her shoulders.

Sofia, bored of her mothers already, abandons the couch in favor of stumbling her way through the rest of the apartment on the elephant's feet she inherited from Callie.

"Mama! There's glitter in the walls!" Sofia yells from the bathroom. Callie lifts her eyebrows at Arizona, who looks sheepishly proud of her taste in apartments.

"It's just the shower tile," Arizona explains as if that would make it better. "And, well, and the counters."

"I love it here!" Sofia calls from the bathroom.

Arizona laughs, looking smug. "Yeah, definitely not going home with you."

Callie tries not to take it personally. She'll have to keep trying not to take it personally every time Sofia chooses Arizona over her, but there's always that small, selfish part of herself that not only wants to be loved but loved more.

Plus, this is a new apartment, a wide open space begging to be filled up and lived in. Potential. It's a nearly irresistible thing. Who is Callie to stand in the way of that joy? Worse, who is Callie to stand outside of it, nose pressed against the glass, wanting nothing more than to be invited inside?

"You know, Sofia's bed still needs to be put together," Arizona says quietly. "You could stay if you want. For a bit. You were always better with a screwdriver."

It's an olive branch and they both know it. An offer of more time with their daughter. "Well, you know what they say about ortho."

"Carpenters," they say at the same time, exchanging another look. Arizona sticks her tongue between her teeth in a little, playful smile and Callie glares at her.

Sofia peeks her head out of the bathroom, which makes her pigtails swing. "We're making my bed?"

"You know, we could've gotten a cab on our own. I do actually know how to do that." Arizona says softly, Sofia laid passed out on the carpeted floor between them. I can take care of myself sits, unspoken, unsettling, in the space between them. It has since the months following the plane crash.

"I know," Callie catches her eye from across the mostly-finished bed frame. She does know, even if Arizona never quite believes it. "I wanted to."

Arizona nods very, very slightly.

Callie clears her throat nervously, wiping her hands on her jeans. She inserts the last screw, twisting it into the cheap Ikea wood which ribbons a little at the edges of the hole.

"I should get going," she smiles. Sofia snores. "Good luck getting that one to move."

Arizona stays seated on the floor for a long moment, clearly working herself up to stand again after the hours of travel. She just looks so tired, but Callie knows that telling her not to get up would only backfire. She's pushed her luck enough today already. Arizona isn't hers, it isn't her job to be pushy and take care of her. Or tell her when she's being too hard on her body.

Arizona finally forces herself to her feet, walking Callie to the door more slowly than usual. All Callie wants is five minutes where she could actually ask Arizona how she is and know she's getting an honest answer without the weight of the last decade pressing down on them. They've been in this apartment for less than a day and already the air is so heavy. The space between them burns.

Callie opens the door, half-stepping into the hallway before she turns back. "I almost forgot," she says, fishing around in the pocket of her jacket for the ring of keys she carries everywhere and unclipping the newest one. She holds it out to Arizona. "Here's the spare your landlord gave me."

"Keep it." Arizona clings to the doorjamb. She leans heavily on her right foot. "Just in case Sofia needs something."

"Right, of course. Sofia. I'll get you a copy made for my place, too." Callie tries to sound up-beat, or, at the very least, normal, but lately she seems to really suck at that. It's been a long day.

"Well. You could always give me Penny's," Arizona snorts.

She slaps her hand over her mouth like she's surprised she said it out loud, eyes bright and wide. Callie's responding laugh is abrupt and short, shocked, because she hasn't heard Arizona say Penny's name all year, nevermind heard Arizona joke about her.

Arizona shakes her head. "I'm really glad we're doing this, Callie."

"Me, too." Callie says, stepping backwards into the empty hallway.

Arizona closes the door. Callie hears the lock turn a second later.

Come talk to me pearlcages on tumblr! I have roughly the first 7 chapters of this already written so hopefully (hopefully!) the initial posting schedule will be pretty consistent. After that... well I'm gonna finish this thing if it kills me, so, you know. It'll get done.