"Hey," Callie breathed as she stepped into the elevator.
"Hi," Arizona chirped — a little awkwardly, she knew — as her eyes ran down her ex-wife's curvaceous legs.
Callie stepped beside her, tapping the button for the ground floor. It was three a.m., and she was more than ready to get home to Sofia.
It had been a tough night. She had been paged for several difficult emergency surgeries — the weather was wet and stormy, leaving the roads wet and drivers more susceptible to injury. Much more susceptible, unfortunately. One of the women she had worked on had barely made it off the table because there had been so much blood loss.
"Big storm, huh?" Callie offered, generously ending the lengthy silence that always left her feeling jarred, when it came to Arizona.
Four floors to go. Then she would be able to function again. Then Arizona wouldn't be invading her every sense, forcing her to think and reflect and feel.
Feeling about Arizona was hard. It was more than hard. It was unbearable.
Three and a half floors to go.
"Yeah, really b-" Arizona began before, suddenly, she was cut short by the elevator coming to a cacophonous halt, its lights flickering before going out entirely.
Her eyes widened. Power outage, seriously? Now? "Really, really big, I guess."
Callie huffed. Shit. Getting stuck in a dark elevator with Arizona wasn't something she'd ever even considered might happen, but in that moment, she decided it was her worst nightmare. Damn it.
And Arizona wasn't feeling much better. She'd gotten back to a place where she knew she was hot and knew for a fact that at least several women were "lining up for her," so to speak. But that didn't erase her history with and feelings for Callie.
Callie had been her true love, and — maybe — she had been one of Callie's.
Callie was still her true love, really. Even while so much else had changed.
There was just so much leftover love there. Which could be dangerous in a cold dark elevator.
"Crap," Callie groaned. "Claudia's going to kill me.
Arizona raised her eyebrows, even without knowing whether Callie could see her face. "She's watching Sof this late?"
Callie nodded. "I didn't want to throw her into daycare, and Unibrow's looking for more hours, these days."
Arizona rolled her eyes, even while smiling. She crossed her arms, glaring at her ex-wife. "You still call her that? She waxes now!"
Callie smirked. She had hoped to make Arizona smile and was glad to have succeeded. God, she loved that smile.
"Force of habit."
Arizona shook her head disapprovingly, but Callie caught sight of the twinkle in her eye. "Callie Torres, you are cruel."
Callie laughed. "I know."
Wide brown eyes met playful blue, and for a second, it felt as if everything stood still. As if time stopped. As if nothing else mattered. Just for a moment.
The fact was that both women had learned a lot during the past few years.
In fact, Arizona had learned an entirely new specialty. But she'd also learned her own role in her marriage's disintegration. And how to love herself again.
She'd relearned how to be giving, and generous, and strong.
On the surface, it may have seemed as if she had returned to the person who had walked through the door of that dirty bar bathroom all those years before, but she wasn't. She was a person capable of so much more.
She had grown immensely, and she knew that. She was stronger, and better, and just...different. Different for the better, but different nonetheless.
And Callie was different, too. She'd done some serious soul-searching, too.
She had once hoped that ending their marriage would in turn end her own pain. Immediately. But it hadn't. Her pain over her life, her life with Arizona, and their own shared hardships had endured for a long time thereafter. The pain had subsided, but slowly. Too slowly. More slowly than she had expected.
She had put far too much blame on Arizona, who hadn't deserved it. Callie knew that now. So many things had been outside of their control but had affected their life together. It was no one's fault. She knew that now.
Callie had also learned an important lesson from Penny, the woman with whom she had once (erroneously) foreseen a future.
Penny has reminded her that not every relationship was superb enough to be long-lasting and beautiful, the way hers had been with Arizona. That — maybe — some relationships and people acted as reminders of what matters. As lessons of how to be better.
If nothing else, that's what Penny had given Callie. Honest self-awareness of both her flaws and her strengths. A reminder of what she admired in people.
Callie admired strength. And resilience. And intelligence. And a sense of humor.
She admired people who could go through Hell and come out on the other side: not unscathed, but having earned their own self-awareness and endless strength.
Callie watched her ex-wife — eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed — futilely press the elevator buttons, attempting in vain to get them out.
She raised her eyebrows. "Arizona, the power's out. It's useless."
"I know," Arizona huffed. Callie was right. "But there might be more kids down there. So I'm trying, anyway."
Callie smiled softly. "It won't help. We should just sit down and wait for them to get the power back on."
Arizona pouted out her lower lip, grumbling, "Fine."
Callie offered out her hand, chuckling when Arizona looked down at it with wide eyes. "The floor's a long way down," she explained.
"Oh," Arizona understood, suddenly thankful. Indeed it was. She wouldn't be able to sit very gracefully on the floor with her prosthesis and no help. "Thanks."
Callie twinkled at her, wiggling her long fingers to encourage the blonde to take the proffered hand.
Feeling a shiver run up her spine in anticipation, Arizona grabbed her ex-wife's caramel hand, instantaneously intertwining their palms.
God. Callie's skin felt like home.
After all, it had been home once. Arizona had made Callie's skin and body her home. It was where she had most wanted to go when life got hard. Not to her parents' house or to her and Callie's old apartment or house, but instead: to wherever Callie was.
Arizona hadn't even cared where. She had just known that she was home when she was with Callie.
It was both that simple and that inexplicable. Because she could always buy her parents' old house after they were gone, or her old apartment or house, but she couldn't do anything about the fact that she was no longer welcome with Callie.
She'd had to make an entirely new home for herself alone (sigh...and with Dirty Delucca), and sometimes, it still didn't feel right or complete.
It felt like somewhere to keep refuge until, one day, she would find a place — or, well, a person — that would truly feel like home again.
Arizona slowly lowered herself onto the cold floor, and Callie immediately sat beside her, sighing contently.
Neither woman seemed to notice that their hands were still entwined.
"This is kind of nice, if you think about it," Callie offered after a quiet minute.
Arizona turned to face her, silently urging the brunette to continue.
"It's a break from everything," Callie explained. "It's like it's just us, and there's no outside world."
Arizona closed her eyes, attempting to enjoy the moment. "It is nice," she hummed contently, leaning her head back against the elevator wall.
Callie silently watched her, giving herself a little time to take in the blonde's undeniable beauty. She couldn't help but take advantage of the moment, knowing that her ex-wife couldn't see her.
Arizona comfortingly squeezed Callie's hand, then her eyes popped open as she came to a realization that they were still touching. How had she not noticed?
"I- I'm sorry." She quickly released Callie's hand, her own hovering in midair as she decided where to set it down. Finally, she settled on placing it on her own thigh.
Better. Her own body warmth felt like a cheap substitute for Callie's, but it was something.
"Oh!" Callie jumped. How had she not realized they'd still been touching? "It's fine. I mean, I didn't mind."
Even in the darkness, Arizona could have sworn she saw Callie's cheeks redden as she continued.
"You're warm."
Arizona's eyebrows shot up as she attempted to read her ex-wife's face. After a long silent moment passed, she held her hand out towards her. "I didn't mind, either."
"You sure?" Callie's voice sounded breathy.
Dimpling, Arizona nodded reassuringly. "You can even sit a little closer, if you want. I don't want you to be cold." And that was the truth. Her and Callie's love had always been selfless. They had always preferred to endure each other's pain than let the one they loved suffer.
Deciding she had nothing to lose — after all, they were stuck in a dark elevator and had very little comfort within the chrome space — Callie accepted Arizona's porcelain hand, and even scooted a few inches closer.
Which was close enough, apparently, for their shoulders and arms to brush. And, almost simultaneously, they each leaned into the touch, reveling in it.
Callie closed her eyes, and Arizona exhaled a long, calming breath. "Better."
Callie nodded in agreement.
Arizona smiled. Callie had always been good at keeping her warm, and she was devoted to providing the same level of care at any chance she had. Unthinkingly, her thumb began rubbing soothing circles against the back of a caramel hand, and Callie felt her stomach flutter.
Somehow, though the feeling should have been unnerving, it completely calmed her. Callie felt sated. Having butterflies around Arizona was such a familiar feeling — though often willfully ignored — and it felt almost...homey.
With Arizona, she associated the feeling with comfort, trust, and love.
A minute later, Arizona at last decided to be honest. To talk to Callie. To use their less-than-ideal situation (she would have greatly preferred to not be stuck in an elevator) for good. "Callie?"
Arizona's whispery voice was so breathy and haunting that Callie stiffened as her eyes flew open.
Arizona was looking at her intently. Intensely. With a tenderness that no one had ever been able to recreate.
Arizona took a deep breath. "You're the one."
Boom.
A beat of silence. Then, the almost expected: "What?"
What was Arizona talking about? What did that even mean?
Arizona smiled patiently. She knew Callie. "You are...the one," she repeated. "My one real, true love. It's you. It's only you. It's always you."
Callie gaped at her. Not speaking. Not running. Not breathing, either.
"And I know you," she continued. "I know the depth of your ability to love. You have so much love to give, and I know you don't believe in one singular soulmate."
It was true. Callie believed in love and second, and third, and fourth, and fifth chances. She believed in hope and redemption. And Arizona knew it. Arizona knew her.
Arizona knew her.
"But you believe in me. And...I don't know. I think there might be one person out there who we're meant to love forever. And...I believe you're that person for me."
She nervously licked her lips, nodding solemnly as she continued. "You are the one, Calliope. And I'm the one for you."
Callie felt her breath hitch, a silent sob catching in her throat. "You...you're saying we're made for each other."
Arizona passionately kept their eyes locked. "We are."
Callie expelled a shaky breath.
God. She'd loved Arizona, and she'd lost Arizona. She'd had her heart broken, and she was sure that she'd broken Arizona's. In their selfless attempts to put the other's happiness before their own, they had hurt each other. Again and again.
And then they had lost each other. A person could not understand the pain of losing someone they were still in love with unless they had experienced it personally.
It was incomprehensible, that kind of pain. Callie had felt it radiating out her fingers and toes. It had seeped through her skin, invading her entire world. It had dissolved her heart for a long, long time.
She had been in love with Arizona, and she had left. For Arizona.
And Arizona hadn't called after her. Not because she hadn't wanted to, but for her.
They always put each other's happiness first.
And, sometimes, the other's potential happiness and their own coincided.
So Arizona clearly believed that she could make Callie happiest, and that Callie could do the same for her.
And she was right. In her heart, Callie knew Arizona was right.
Arizona prodded Callie's shining eyes, anxiously awaiting some sort of answer.
Callie's lips quirked up, her features relaxingly settling against her face as the worry disappeared. "You're right. I don't believe in singular soulmates." She paused.
"At least...I didn't."
Arizona felt her heart take off in her chest, butterflies suddenly rampant not only within her, but all around her. Everywhere.
"But I'm in love with you," Callie continued, wanting to give Arizona the same sense of warmth, and safety, and love that she'd just received. "I'm always in love with you. I can't not be. Even if we didn't get stuck in this elevator and didn't talk and never repaired things between us, I'd keep loving you. You're the one I want to make happy, and the one I want making me happy."
"Me, too," Arizona agreed.
Callie openly explored Arizona's face, knowing that a "perfect person" would pale next to her.
Callie had wanted to marry the perfect, free-of-flaws knight in shining armor when she was younger. Even in recent months, she'd dreamed about it.
Now, she knew that Arizona was better.
She wasn't perfect, but she was exactly what Callie wanted and needed.
And Callie was what Arizona wanted and needed. Callie was so perfectly imperfect and different from her that they complemented each other. It was as if together — and only together — they were complete. Blissfully, beautifully complete.
"I want us to spend the rest of our lives together." Arizona felt like she had to say it. Even after everything, she wanted to be clear. She wanted more than this half hour of elevator honesty with Callie. She wanted a life.
"We will," Callie promised. All she ever wanted was a long, happy life with Arizona. Now, she was more sure than ever that that was what she would get. She smiled shyly. "And it's true."
Arizona knit her eyebrows together.
"I was made...for you."
