Chapter 2 What's on Your Mind

The following day started out weird enough: Callie asked her what she had for breakfast earlier.

They were on surgery, and it was while Arizona was babbling about something she can't even remember and holding a curette in her gloved right hand. And she was damn ready to help scrape a nasty cyst from their patient. But not for Callie's question. Hence, born on the crisp morning of March 26th, was one of the most painfully uncomfortable conversations she had ever gone through in her entire life.

But, at least, Callie's not ignoring her after last night. After their last, could-have-been-too-long-for-exes hug. Or the two of them, actually.

Those hugs.

Callie asked her what she ate, and because Arizona's easily giddy like that, her happiness transcended her physical body. Floated over the moon. Because the question, the concern itself meant that her ex-wife still somewhat cared about her life, right?

Right?

She's never felt this nervously clingy since the horrors of her journey through puberty and realizing her sexuality. The anxiousness of spreading her young, lesbian wings at high school? The fear of falling for her painfully straight, teenage best friend? Arizona had felt remnants of those feelings, in quadruple, and all in the same morning.

It wasn't a funny experience. She'd ended up throwing an impromptu speech about the bacon she had, with impressive detail, for which earned her very hearty laughs in the OR. It was still awkward, as everything seemed to be with them since the divorce. But it was definitely leaning towards friendly.

And Arizona could get on with that.

With starting to be friendly.

For what it's worth.

After being paged for a small peds consult, Arizona crossed over to the emergency room counter with a pep on her step to fill out a chart with some check-up notes, only to see April Kepner fidgeting on her seat. And because she's feeling preppy, her greeting is made with the brightest of all smiles.

"Hey, April!"

But, not even glancing up at her, the redhead only nodded. Which was kind of wounding for her ego, sure, but Arizona just settled on biting the inside of her cheek. Kepner was very much a woman of idiosyncrasies, who processed almost everything orally and aloud. And she used to find that prospect so exhausting, even if the feeling was second-handed— which should be saying something.

But with every disaster that has landed on this hospital over the years, people and things have changed. And along with it, were also her friend's rambling habits. So, yes, apparently even Arizona could miss something so unusual. People really never know what they have until it's gone.

"Did someone run over your puppy?"

April jumped out of her seat, as if she didn't notice her speak the first time. "What?"

A small pout threatened to take over the blonde's lips. "Nothing," she murmured. The ice-breaker question she'd thought for minutes wasn't even so much as acknowledged. "I just thought you looked like someone had ran over your puppy, or stolen your golden fleece," she added pointedly. "Something like that."

A confused Kepner said, "I'm allergic to dogs."

Right. And she'd had farm pigs as pets.

"Sure you are," Arizona reacted instead.

Slowly, the other woman rose from her swivel chair and straightened her lab coat, frowning as she did, "There's also no 'golden fleece'— that doesn't exist, anyway— and nothing about me! It's just-," and she sighed exasperatedly, "they said Meredith passed out at the lounge earlier."

"Oh?" Fainting was a trend these days, especially with the late March weather. It was common knowledge. And frankly, heat syncope is not as problematic as it seemed before. But, like playing an old trick, she could start talking about the obvious. That's what she'd been doing with Callie all morning, anyway. "Well, it is kind of getting hot right now. She okay?"

That might have been quite a strange thing to say, because April gaped at her, as if slowly and appalledly digesting her words. "Hot?" she enquired.

It wasn't a rhetorical question.

"Um, yeah. Hot," the blonde confirmed, drumming her fingers lightly on the vinyl counter. "I mean, it's the weather that's hot. Not Grey, if that's what you're thinking," and then she paused momentarily. Arizona literally just had to cringe and be creeped out at herself just for voicing that out. This is what happens when after so long, she's overwhelmed with glee— major word vomit.

April looked more disturbed than before if that's even possible. "I wasn't thinking that, at all..."

"Okay, so don't think about it! Just ignore it and… forget about it. She's pretty, you're pretty, as is everyone else in the hospital." A warning smile on her face, Arizona rashly added, "The past twenty seconds never happened, Dr. Kepner." April didn't currently have the balls to begin pushing on it, and the blonde could never be more relieved. "So what's with Grey again? Heat exhaustion?"

The redhead looked intensely at her, eyes wide as she asked, "You really haven't heard about it yet?" This time, it was truly rhetorical. And it almost seemed too suspenseful for Arizona's liking. Far too suspenseful and serious for surprise birthday parties.

"Heard what yet?"

Kepner's head stooped down low, eyes staring down at the floor, like she was calming a storm. When the other woman finally found it in herself to speak, when Arizona finally heard the words she's been asking for— she could swear that, for a moment, time had stopped. And she couldn't breathe.


"I haves'a book, Mami!"

Callie was greeted by this particular yelp as soon as she entered the hospital daycare. Her daughter still had some of her adorable four-year old vocabulary intact, and while Callie sometimes itched to, she doesn't bother correcting it most of the time. It's just so excessively cute. And besides, it's probably gonna grow out in a few years. Self-proclaimed badassery be damned.

She'd savor in it for as long as she can. Because Derek Shepherd can't anymore, not even with his own children. Because Derek Shepherd was dead. (For today, and from now on, it could be something she'd do in memory of him.) After hearing the tragic news directly from Meredith, going away to see Sofia seemed like a cure for the bad day. Another dead colleague and friend again. It all started from Seattle Grace-Mercy Death, and now, they were here— at Grey-Sloan Memorial.

Fitting.

Sofia excitedly pulled on her arm, jogging up and down. "T'cher Jen gave me this super big book, then I saw a pretty picture, and then I copied it with my crayons." She then proudly showed her work to Callie, all smiles and sparks running on her eyes.

Which led her to where she was now— her sadness temporarily overthrown. Callie was no expert on analyzing visual arts or anything in spite of her mild appreciation for it. But truth be told, her daughter's drawing just basically looked like an A4-scale version of Arizona's cursive handwriting. Which was downright, extraordinarily terrible. If there was one stereotypical thing about the blonde, it was the scary, illegible doctor-scrawl. But Sof's drawing also resembled something else.

Cylindrical in shape?

Slightly thick in width?

Elongated, with two shapes hanging off it?

By all means, Callie Torres is a very mature person. But there are certain times when that declaration could be extremely debatable. Especially as her brilliant mind had now just concocted up her funniest green joke yet.

"Is that, um," she almost laughed, "is that a bird?"

It could easily be a classic, written down along with the best of the best.

But— "It's a plane, silly," the little girl calmly told her.

"Ah." Her amusement slightly waned. "Close enough. At least, I didn't say Superman, am I right?" Callie tried to joke again, nodding for effect.

Sofia's brows furrowed in complete confusion, and she shook her head to herself, dramatically sighing and muttering, "Grown-ups are super strange." Unsurprisingly, despite her sassy, colloquial quoting of The Little Prince, Sofia hadn't gotten her joke's lyrical reference. Callie should do something about that, some time.

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that." Sofia only blew her the cutest raspberry Callie has ever seen, and of course she completely and utterly swooned. "Anyway, I vote that that needs to be hung up on the fridge," she declared, gesturing at the drawing of interest. Callie gently tugged the child by her sides and sat her down on her lap, kissing her at the cheek, "I think you''ll make a pretty fine painter, if I must say so myself, baby girl."

Quickly, the little girl pulled out of the embrace. Not with flattered glee like she'd been expecting— but with a venomous, flabbergasted expression. And then Sofia looked at her. Dead in the eye.

"I only want to be a pilot, Mami."

Callie raised a challenging eyebrow.

"You do."

"I do."

"Seriously? What about being a doctor? Or the janitor you said you were gonna to be last week?"

Sofia gulped a little but still appeared hellbent on giving out another one of her intelligible arguments and reasonings when her attention got immediately frisked away, once she caught a glimpse of a shock of blonde hair by the doorway. She beamed the widest smile that blessed this Earth and shrieked, "Mommy!"

And suddenly, oh so suddenly, Callie froze. Unnerved. And she's not entirely sure if she was only imagining it, but she literally could feel a point-specific spot in her face freaking twitching. Like, really— there was blood pulsing and chanting murder against her skin.

The four-year old scrambled off from her position and bolted swiftly towards the daycare's entrance, Arizona crouching down in front of their daughter without delay, greeting her with a simple kiss on the hair. The trademark dimples on her cheeks almost betraying her serious expression, the blonde then stood straight and mock-saluted to Sofia. And Sofia mock-saluted back as if between her and her Mommy, she was the commanding officer.

Which, in fact, she was.

"Good day, Sofie-bear," Arizona said.

Though her chubby cheeks were all puffed up, the little girl still somehow remained stern as she nodded civilly, "Mommy-bear. Good day to you, too."

Sofie-bear and Mommy-bear giggled. Callie sighed.

What.

Freaking.

Dorks.

Whatever they lacked in biological connection, they made up with the brilliant smiles on their faces, these little games, and then some more. The salutation thing was of course part of their rituals. (In truth, she had always been secretly jealous of this thing. Many times before, she'd tried coaxing the little girl into at least calling her 'Mami-bear', and she failed all the same even with cookies as a bribe.)

After pressing a snug kiss on the little girl again, a grinning Arizona held a grinning Sofia's hand and walked over to where she was seated. Callie averted her eyes from watching the two so closely, her knees anxiously bouncing under the blue plastic table.

Which the blonde might have noticed, judging by the same, old smirk she's masking on her face at this very moment. Slowly, though, as she came even closer to her, the smirk softened down a tad to a soft, warm smile, "Hi."

Callie mirrored her smile. Albeit a bit more awkwardly. A lot, if she could be honest.

"Hey."

They haven't talked at length about the more substantial matters since last night— when they both decided to take small steps into a possible friendship. Kind of. Again, nothing was really officially spoken of, but Callie was quite, pretty sure they were on the same page yesterday in terms of what they wanted to do.

She observed the gleam in Arizona's eyes.

Yep, she's pretty sure about it.

During their partnered surgery earlier, Callie was a disastrous mix of stutters and verbal diarrhea. The blonde, however, was patient and sweet and understanding and just as adorably frazzled as she was. And Callie had been startled— pleasantly so— when she had been approached at the locker room with a cup of freshly-brewed coffee before they started preparation at the wee hours of five in the morning. It rang to her as a good sign, all in all.

Arizona had been spontaneous, laughing sweetly, suddenly gabbing about a funny comic she'd read on the newspaper like it was any ordinary day. Callie then set to wonder if it actually was because— she's said it before and she'll say it again— this was new. Uncharted waters. And they were both going in blindly, with no concrete plan of what to do.

But then one look at a subtly eager, expectant, and trying Arizona, and it was just what was needed to jump-start her out of her comfort zone.

So, in return, she'd casually asked the blonde what she had for breakfast. That's what normal people would do. Talk about food. Talk about Sofia's steady progress in putting her own shirt on. Last night's Cupcake Wars re-run and actual green eggs and ham. About one fish, two fish, maybe. Red fish and blue fish.

Really, how does one become friends with an ex?

Callie doesn't know much about the subject. Alex, George, and Mark all hardly counted as exes who became her friends. (Last night, she'd searched Adele's lyrics on Google, which are notorious for being about ex-lovers, before she realized that it didn't seem like the right resource for help unless she wanted to sob her eyes out till daylight came.)

Arizona frowned, blue eyes stormy and almost dulled. She settled on the small beanbag, Sofia sitting in between her legs. "I... I heard about Derek," she uttered in a quiet yet determined voice. Her head then tilted in a manner like she's trying to seek out her eyes, "How's Meredith doing?"

The brunette sighed.

If only someone really knew.

"Webber admitted her to a room. She was really dehydrated when she came in." Callie's eyes followed after the pale fingers combing through Sofia's unruly raven strands. Thinking about the way Meredith looked much paler earlier— like she was on a state of hallucination while mumbling about her dead husband— made her stomach sick. "She hasn't woken up, so no one's exactly talked to her yet."

"What about Amelia? Is she holding up?"

She also had no idea, actually. Just an hour ago, the ortho surgeon had been doing a two-hour procedure with the other brunette who was completely clueless about her dead big brother. And that made her yearning to fucking throw up grow tenfold.

"I don't know."

"What about you?"

Callie smiled sadly. "I'm... coping."

Scooting down the edge of her seat, Arizona then moved closer and grasped her thigh, squeezing it a bit as a show for support. Callie could only nod at the gesture, sucking in a quick, inaudible gasp. Wallowing slightly at the warm touch. She closed her eyes.

Sofia watched her parents in bewilderment, "Something bad happen?"

"Yes," Arizona simply kissed her daughter's cheeks again. "We'll tell you soon, okay? Mami and I are just having a really rough and sad day," was the brief explanation as she slightly hoisted the little girl up to hold her tightly in her arms.

Despite the arguments during the early days of their relationship, Arizona was nothing short of an amazing and wonderful mother. It was almost an unanswerable mystery why the other woman had ever thought otherwise. But then again, she wouldn't be herself if she was an open enigma.

They'd never talked about it since then. She'd never tried to ask for anything more after the hospital shooting. Callie had always been terrified of Arizona slipping away if she ever did. The result?

Africa. And shortly after that, Sofia.

Nevertheless, seeing Arizona to be always so kind and attentive to their daughter has never failed to bring a comfortable warmth and swell in her chest. And in spite of her present nervousness, wow, Callie was actually kind of excited at the prospect of being friends with her ex-wife.

And as we all might know, excitement usually also called for being prone to terrifyingly stupid ideas. Which have currently wrapped inside Callie's head. Completely without her conscious permission. And she tried to calmly whack it down— oh, she really tried to be all zen about it— but.

There was always a but.

A few minutes of her mental battle quietly passed, and she almost didn't notice the four-year old decisively ease out of the hug she was formerly in. Sofia turned around to get hold of her paper, lightly gripping it with her tiny fingers, and almost shyly passed it out to Arizona. "I drawed a plane."

"Drew, Sof," the blonde gently corrected her. Always a human grammar checker.

Undettered, the little girl politely repeated herself, nodding, "I drew a plane, Mommy" A wide, toothed grin on her face, she finished, "Maybe this will make you and Mami still have the best day. Remember my rainbow mermaid and jellyfish?"

"Ooh, I remember them well," Arizona candidly answered, winking. "Okay, you've made me enough of a curious monkey. Let me see!"

Just like that, Callie could not help the guffaw that escaped from her lips. Like her, the blonde also got visibly shocked by the drawing's uncanny similarity in shape with a certain something. Arizona instantly glared her blue eyes at her, though obviously still baffled, with the wildest expression ever. Callie felt like she was being scolded by a stare.

And it might be really true— she really was being scolded by a stare.

The moment was quickly lost as soon as the blonde smiled, patted her good thigh, and urged Sofia to come closer. Arizona yanked the little girl gently to another embrace, pressing her nose on Sofia's silky hair, breath softly tickling her ear. "That's... an interesting thing you got there," she offered, almost unsurely. "Abstract, modern art stuff. Right, Mami?"

Blinking, Callie chimed in, "Right." That was an evident call for back-up. "It's a smart portrayal of," she paused in thought, mouth slightly twitching, "uh, the cultural male dominant role and misogyny. By using the unique image of an airplane."

Arizona's eyes comically widened. She must just have realized that it was, indeed, a plane. (This was one of the realities of their co-parenting teamwork, both at its best and worst.) "Yes. Exactly!" she assured the four-year old enthusiastically. "A plane that promotes social awareness and a youthful stance on contemporary feminism! It's really, super brilliant, bear— a real keeper for MoMA."

The fact that MoMA is most probably a Robbins-made acronym that stood for 'Museum of Mommy Arizona' made Callie's mood lift even more.

"I don't get it," Sofia fiercely concluded. Her cherubic face screwed up in worry. "But did it work? Did it make you feel better?"

"Oh boy, it sure did," the blonde whispered in her ear. "And I'm not forcing you to be a doctor or anything— but that's a sureball sign for Dr. Sofia the Artist, right?"

"I can be both?" Her big, sickeningly innocent eyes sparkled. "What about a pilot? Can I also be a pilot?"

Arizona hummed, sporting a thoughtful expression, "I think you can be all three." Putting her chin on the top of their daughter's head, she stated nonchalantly, her face as serious as her tone, "But you have to start really early, Sof. I mean, if I'm not wrong, we could get you a pilot's license by senior high. So, like, after a few stints, you go to college for a fine arts degree first before going to pre-med. And then med school." Like a complete and total mom, she gushed, "Oh, you're a Da Vinci incarnate, I just know it!"

"I don't think she already knows about Da Vinci, Mommy," Callie said, terrifically amused.

"She'll learn about him soon." Obviously, Arizona still wasn't finished. "How about Harvard, bear? Mami studied in Harvard for med school, you know."

"Study also in Harvard with Mami?"

"Oh," and the blonde chuckled. "I don't know if she's gonna go back to school with you, sweetie. Why don't we ask?"

Yeah, Callie most absolutely did not want to return to school. But, not wanting to instantly crush four-year old Sofia's hopes and dreams— "We'll see," she shrugged, half-heartedly smiling. Then she smirked, "You know, I can't wait to remind you about this when you get older."

Chuckling, Arizona agreed, "It's truly some potential teasing material. But for the meantime," blue eyes then locked with the child's brown ones while the blonde let go of her hold, "if you keep on being this cute, maybe our tickle-fest next week will be earlier after all."

And at the mentioned tickle-fest, the little girl stifled her giggles, putting a hand over her mouth, and escaped to run away from her Mommy's grabby hands. She took off to the daycare's play area and never gave signs of leaving it for the following hour or so. That left her two mothers alone and hot and bothered.

Maybe not hot. But definitely bothered.

Freaking tickle-fest.

Suddenly (and thankfully?), Arizona's pager beeped off, making the blonde grumble, "Karev's enjoying my fetus-free caseload way too much." She glanced up from her pager to look at her. "Callie? You have her tonight, yeah?"

With that, the brunette jolted back into the present. The present where they had interdependent yet individual child-rearing duties. "Oh, I don't." Callie explained, "Sof's having a sleepover with Hailey. The daughter of Dr. Norsbery from Oncology?"

"Oh. You mean, the one who...?" the blonde's voice trailed off, eyes squinted and her expression crumpled in a funny way.

Because this one was sort of an old inside joke between her and Arizona. It was during Zola's fourth birthday party when Hailey Norsbery— a girl one year older than Sofia— had pulled them both to a private corner. And cautiously warned them to: never, ever stick your fingers up your butt.

It was a memory quite difficult to forget.

"Yes, that Hailey." Palm over her face, Callie breathed out, "God, I'm really sorry. I-I forgot to mention it to you yesterday."

Arizona cut in with a soft smile, "That's okay. We were-" And her loud pager went off again, as if it was intentionally stopping whatever it was she was still about to say. "Sorry, this," she twisted her pink lips, glaring at the device, "consultation seems a bit too excited." She smiled, almost looked innocently hopeful, "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"W-Wait," Callie grabbed hold of her hand, fingers loosely curling onto the other woman's wrist. Something that her body wasn't supposed to do. "Wait."

Arizona's gaze moved from the tight tug at her hand to the brunette's face, obvious surprise creeping in her expression. She didn't let go.

"Yes?"

Callie could feel her caramel skin grow hot, to a faint shade of pink. At first, she didn't budge. Perhaps it was because of their excessively close proximity on such a public setting. With people— around. Watching them. Actual. People. She couldn't quite believe her heart rate was actually calm when they'd hugged twice last night. What in fuck's name was she thinking— hugging and staring at and holding her ex like this?

But she just needed to know.

"We can be... friends now. Right?"

It felt weird letting her guard down after so long, and in front of her ex-wife no less. It was freeing. And then about one, full minute passed, when Callie started thinking of completely otherwise. Neither had spoken. Only questioning stares.

"Oh, my god." It was the first thing her mind was able to articulate. "I totally misread last night, didn't I!?" She shook her thoughts out, panicking, "You were sad, and I was sad, then I assaulted you! Because— I'm— I'm an assuming creep," she whispered the last part out, wary of the kids and staff around them. "I'm a total, freaking creep who bombarded you with deals and hugs, and I-"

The other woman broke out from her stunned silence and firmly grasped Callie's forearms with both her hands. "Stop talking," she instructed. Then a wide smile played across her face, "Yes, Callie. Of course."

Which was an answer she couldn't really comprehend at first.

"To me being a creep?"

"For the most part, yes. I suppose," the blonde flippantly said, a long-lost, familiar glint in ocean blues. "But we're also soon-to-be friends."

Callie almost breathed a sigh of relief.

And just before she could crumble down to her mouth-splitting grin, the damn pager buzzed off again, for the third time. Giving her one last, tight-lipped apologetic smile, Arizona then left her to herself, golden locks swirling and the turn-up of the corners of her mouth so obviously growing permanent, as she spun. At that moment, she felt like she could only describe her as a hurricane. Swooping in, swooping out, and carelessly coiling knots in Callie's insides on her wake.

Damn, she was floored.

In a quick turn of things, though, Callie realized that she was actually wrong. Like dead wrong. If she wasn't floored thirty-three seconds before, she was definitely floored now— because Arizona suddenly burst again into the daycare's room, breathlessness and the heaving of her chest, her hair wild and draped haphazardly over her shoulders instantly filling in Callie's sight.

"Drinks," she emphatically declared. Her eyes were lively and clear and practically shining as she grinned lopsidedly at her, "We should get drinks some time. If you're up for it."

The brunette found herself agreeing too happily.

Six hours later, Callie hopped off early from her shift, having no more surgeries or bones to reset and wild-eyed with subtle excitement. She drove home with Sofia to pack for the little girl's things. The little girl, too, as excited and bouncy, obviously too ready to go to her playmate's house - the utter energetic childishness making her mind drift off, for some reason, to Zola.

And remembering Zola was the Titanic that struck her in the gut with the full-force reminder that Derek Shepherd had just died the other night. For about six hours or more, she'd forgotten all about it. She'd actually forgotten how death happens to people. All the time.

It felt absolutely awful.

Before chauffering the four-year old off to the Norsbery residence, Callie decided to lock herself at the main bathroom for a minute— to think and then not think. And because she needed to cry about it. Because the night that she and Arizona had literally taken a step in making peace with each other, Derek Shepherd had died at some hulla-wah hospital miles away from civilization and his home.

As if it was an omen.

The pair left the house moments after and parted in their separate ways— the little girl to a fun, fun, super fun slumber party, and her to a maybe less fun, more bitter and mature drinking party with her 'soon-to-be friend'. Because they are going to become friends, that much was now true.

In spite of stupid history and stupid omens, Callie Torres and Arizona Robbins are going to be friends.

The loud clinking of beer mugs and cheers brought her back to the here and now, drowning all of her hearing. Nearly enough to seep out the worries embedded in the pores of her dark skin. She ordered a goblet of red wine first, like appetizer. Then one of strong whisky, second.

Usually, Callie would only settle for the former whenever she went out (or stayed in, for that matter), but she decided that a little hard liquor was needed for the night, if she wanted to survive. Which was why she arrived twenty minutes early. So she could— prepare. She wasn't necessarily asking for a bad hangover— she just needed to both loosen up for tonight and still have her pride intact by tomorrow. And not do something utterly stupid in front of Arizona.

Like she did yesterday.

And earlier.

While she was sober.

(Callie was kind of screwed either way, it seemed. But, yeah, safety measures like these shouldn't have to hurt.)

Her initial anxiousness started to dissipate as she sat comfortably on the secluded stool by the bar counter, taking small sips from her third drink, a martini. She drank away. Waited. Ordered cheese fries. Ate cheese fries. Waited.

Arriving early meant that the fifteen minutes past eight was virtually an eternity. On Callie's customized scale, Arizona was already between the line of 'fashionably late' and 'I invited my ex-wife for drinks and stood her up because she's a manic bitch'.

It was a very thin line.

At exactly 8:17:43 PM, though, the chimes by the bar's main entrance clinked and clanked, revealing a faintly disheveled Arizona, with her hair still down into soft, loose curls, clutching onto her beige coat as she entered. Smiling brightly at Callie out of acknowledgment, the blonde headed straight over to her. "Hey! Sorry, I'm a bit late."

A bit? 'A bit' almost became a reason for her to drink gin at nine in the morning. Alcoholic Callie needed to shut her trap. Overthinking Callie needed to not read much into anything. Sarcastic Callie, however, could be useful. "Yeah, I noticed that." The other woman glanced at the line of empty drinks in front of her, and the brunette had the decency to look sheepish, "I, um, started the party early on my own, I hope you don't mind."

"No, no, not at all," Arizona chuckled. "Besides, I'm the one who's late. I had to go to an emergency surgery with Hunt." She slid easily onto the seat beside her and sat down, smiling contentedly. "Accident in the shower. Both mom and baby were slightly unstable after a small stumble."

Despite knowing exactly what might have happened, Callie still asked, "How did it end?" The outcome could be seen from miles away, judging from Arizona's quirky grin.

True enough— "It hasn't ended yet. But there will be a cute, healthy baby boy for the Martinez family in five months," she beamed. "And for that," the blonde began almost unsurely, forcing and plastering a weak smirk on her lips, "I think I'd love a free drink. From you."

Which caused Callie to slowly stop with her movements. Hook, line, and sinker. Checkmate. The reality wasn't sinking in yet, but— huh. Free drink. The quietness must have gone on too long, since Arizona began to laugh uncomfortably.

"That's 'assuming creep' for you, Callie."

She flinched, remembering her ramble earlier, "Sorry about that, by the way, in case I haven't said it yet."

"It's fine," the blonde waved her hand dismissively. "So. Free drinks are too soon, huh? I'll keep that it mind."

Was it? Too soon?

Didn't feel like it.

"I don't... I don't think it's too soon."

Arizona smiled sympathetically, "You sure?"

Swallowing heavily, Callie nodded then dumbly offered the black plate to her left, with an equally unsure smile.

"I have cheese fries."

Then a light blush crept up to her ears, when the other woman sent her a coy smile and removed her thin jacket, showing a black cotton sweatshirt that hugged her arms and the curves of her waist, which contrasted well with her milky, pastel skin. If she had yet to mention it, it was an off-the-shoulder top.

Arizona was wearing an off-the-shoulder top. And incidentally, Callie really, really, really loved off-the-shoulder tops on Arizona. She was doing a relatively good job of not reading too much into anything.

Pushing on with what might be newly-found courage, the blonde attempted to jest with a small grin, "So you have cheese fries and a line of drinks. And I have nothing." Maybe fake courage. "Interesting."

She's not so sure if the other woman knew what she was insinuating, what she was going into. Or what they are going into. Would it be against the rules, for marriages-that-ended-on-a-bad-note and in attempting to be friends with an ex, to buy her a drink? Callie didn't know any answer to that.

But buying drinks— friends could do that to each other. Friends do that. And she thought she'd want to be like that with her.

"What would you like?"

"I'll have white wine, please."

Callie smiled at her choice and beckoned the new bartender for a glass for the woman sitting next to her. Some points haven't changed, and she felt incredibly giddy by the fact— it's still white wine and red wine for the two of them. Plenty of things are not the same, though.

They're divorced, they take care of their child in separate quarters, they don't wear their matching heart necklaces and rings. And they're starting to be friends, she thought. Only friends.


Two bottles, one empty and one half-finished, now laid for them on the tabletop. These had been the inanimate witnesses to a misery, which they'd both thought was simply an enjoyable conversation about fistulas. A guy had come to them at some point in the middle of their dialogue, perhaps to hit on them, but he'd left them quickly like his life depended on it, shock written all over his face. The night, so far, has been equal parts tragic and amusing.

Arizona laughed over her wine, "Wow, where do kids these days even get their pick-up lines?"

"Some blog, probably. It's both a blessing and a curse of the internet," and Callie eyed her for a second, squinting her down. Then she giggled. Giggled. "I think you broke him and his yuppie heart."

For half a second, Arizona got distracted. Callie's smile was so bright and dazzling that stars could be born from the whiteness of her teeth and Arizona Robbins could be a producer of one whole heap of cliches.

"What, I broke him?"

"Oh, don't be like that. Don't act innocent. I don't have to spell it out for you," she said, raising her eyebrows at her expectantly, as if the blonde would get her point more if she did. Arizona still didn't get it. "The Dimples, Arizona. It's The Dimples with capitals T and D and a little trademark sign by the top."

Warmth spread over the blonde's face as she chuckled at the description, "Okay, fine. Guilty as charged for possession of The Dimples."

"And for exploitation," the brunette smirked weakly before a ghost of a frown came to her lips, "but it's not just that." And this time, Arizona raised her eyebrows. "You're just… you're kind of dressed up tonight. Casual... but still standing out, y'know," Callie mumbled to her, while biting down on her fry. "Were you supposed to be someplace else?"

"Aside from Alex's?" Arizona twirled her wineglass, looked into it, and took a sip. Bottles, dinnerware, and the sound of ice cracking inside buckets clattered around them. "No," she smiled, "not really."

"And?" the brunette tried to press on, her expression still puzzled. Still intrigued.

"And nothing, Callie." The blonde blushed again slightly, a corner of her lips quirking up a bit as she looked away, "I just haven't had the time to do laundry, okay. Our go-to dry-cleaning was closed for the week, so all my 'professional doctor' clothes are-," Arizona drunkenly mouthed a poof sound, making Callie laugh. (Both of them didn't miss the use of the word 'our', but they don't address it.) She motioned to her sweater, "This gem was just hacked off the mall".

"Well, it's a gem, alright."

She supposed that was the extent of their hour-long small talk. Fistulas, laundry, and everything else. But it was still incredibly and incredulously nerve-wracking despite it being only about those— like, really, the nerves are practically just there, ticking her off, like the constant gratuitous violence in Robocop. Arizona used to share personal stuff with Callie all the time. And so much more.

Sometimes, it'd be on bed. On the couch.

In the shower.

Against the kitchen counter.

(The key term being used to.)

"You did always not like it," Callie commented, filled another round in her glass. She took a long sip. "You always hated having to resort to hand-wash all our clothes."

There was the 'our' again.

"That I did."

And the other woman laughed again, her sense of humor now probably clouded from drinking. Callie has always had such a sweet, happy laugh. A very melodious sound to get caught up on. It always had a nice ring in it, the way it would kind of just rumble out of her chest. It rarely happened that the sound be shared around her, since all types of stony awkwardness went to them.

Tipsy at the least, Callie erupted into laughs once more, out of nowhere. But Arizona doesn't tire of it. She could never get enough of it. After all, it has been even more uncommon that the cause of that sound be something she herself had said, something she had done.

Her— Arizona Robbins.

The self-destructive wife who had resented and cheated on Callie Torres. The woman who had left Callie Torres in Sea-Tac for ruptured spleens in Africa. The same woman who Callie Torres left in the therapist's office seven months ago.

It would be a bad lie if she would say that the brunette's laughter didn't make her feel sunny.

Suddenly, the air dropped around them. Callie finished up her wine, set it carefully on the counter, and spoke, "I checked on Mer. Before I went home earlier."

It wasn't a conversation Arizona really wanted to have in a bar. In anywhere else, really. The entire hospital had been in complete shambles as soon as the news of Derek's untimely death came. Shook the gossip mill straight to the core.

She wasn't particularly close to him. But they had been through a lot together, she could admit— especially during the darker times. When everything in life just seemed to be all about the plane crash, even when they'd silently begged for it not to be. The event itself was catastrophic, but what'd come after was more so. And they had gone through that together.

To hell and back.

"Yeah? What happened?"

"I don't know. She was quiet. But she told me some stuff before I left her alone. He-," her voice shook imperceptibly. But she carried on, sighed out, "Derek— uh, Derek was involved in two different car accidents on his way to the airport."

Arizona held her glass close to her mouth. Looked up to brown eyes. "Two?"

"She said he saved this bunch of people, the first time. Got them all safely into ambulances."

"McDreamy-style."

"Yeah," she bitterly smiled. "Always living up to his McName." Until McDreamy died. But that was left unsaid. "It was the second time," Callie stopped a moment to close her eyes, hold her bearings, "when a truck came out of nowhere." Her voice trailed off at that, and they both fell silent.

The fact that he had been on a car accident in itself was already digging out a lot of bad feelings, and, god, it was too much. The universe was too much. Reminding her all over again of the worst day of her life. Because a fucking truck came out of nowhere. "Dead-on-scene?"

The brunette shook her head. Touched, more like fidgeted, on her fries again. "He went under surgery, but the hospital wasn't very adept with trauma," she said, shifting in her chair, her irises dimming slowly. "He was brain-dead after one craniotomy."

"And Grey pulled the plug," Arizona finished for her.

She nodded. Sighed, "And Grey pulled the plug."

Derek Shepherd had survived robbers with guns, bombs, hospital shootings, plane crashes— and some car crashes. He was a doctor, a brilliant one— and he'd died because of several doctors' incompetence? That made her angry out of her mind. But most of all, it just made her sad.

He was truly a dear, good man. Probably deserved a star to be named after him on his own right. And to have made a hard, permanent decision such as pulling the plug for him? Meredith Grey is outlandishly brave.

Difficult doesn't even begin to cover the choice, or the lack of it, of letting things go— of letting people go. Sometimes, you could only be left at a standstill for so many times between fighting for what you love most, not giving anything up, and setting them free. Arizona knew how broken you could be, if that battle became too much. And she also knew how it's possible, no matter how she may have thought of otherwise before, to rebuild yourself by yourself. Entirely from scratch.

Arizona knew all of that.

"Want to get shots? Drink this out?" she proposed.

Because they just needed to drink this out. It's a new thing, she decided. A new thing for new things. Dancing it out right now would feel disrespectful to the dead, the wife who had been left, and the person who had gone off to to the brilliant unknown.

As Callie's dark eyes slowly went wide, as did Arizona's. Maybe it was also disrespectful to drink this out, she mentally mused. But then the other woman just suddenly chuckled at her, and somehow, it had made everything better. A cure for a rainy day.

"We should."

They decided to drink, everything in and for memory. She decided for herself that it was for all the demise and capping love surrounding them.

They ordered five shot glasses each. As soon as they were served, Callie immediately tipped two down in succession, throwing back her head. Arizona was rendered speechless. She watched marks from a dark scarlet lipstick bond divinely to the transparent surface, before the glasses were consequently slammed down the table. Blue eyes transfixed of their own accord, Arizona resolutely glanced up at Callie to snap out of it. Watched the bar's incandescent, orange light play on her face.

But then she got drawn to a more dangerous part. Something she loved but shouldn't. Probably shouldn't. It was like candy for a sugar-loving diabetic. Arizona could still remember how Callie's lipstick had always tasted like candy— bubblegum, really— and she tried, oh, she tried to shake herself out of her thoughts. It probably tasted different now, anyway. The color tonight was of a shade she didn't know.

She drank a shot too. Then another.

Taking a chance to glimpse on her right, Arizona saw the brunette openly lick her lips after taking another shot. She also noticed the other woman woman notice her notice. The blonde attempted to look away, afraid of a reaction about to come. Nothing came, though, much to her relief and not. It was as confusing as it seemed.

Already done with her five shots, Callie then gave her a goofy grin, her head slightly swaying to the lull of music in the background. "I win," she sang. She was now on the verge of being drunk, most probably. Raising a child and other activities of domestic variety had somewhat tamed both their alcoholic streaks.

"It's not a competition," she reminded her.

"Or," the brunette waggled her eyebrows, "is it?"

"No."

That was the only thing she could manage to voice out— no drunken confidence in her three glasses of white and two of tequila shots. Almost forming a small routine, the blonde smiled weakly again. Averted her sight again. It's become a habit.

"Your sweatshirt looks nice on you, by the way," she heard Callie husk, and Arizona cocked her head to the side, willing herself to look straight into brown eyes this time. Callie held it, the gaze, almost intimately, and leant forward a little, whispering, "It's like... you glow."

Arizona smiled. Weakly again.

"Thanks."

This should stop— they both should. Stop getting stuck into prolonged eye contact. Callie needed to stop coming closer. Arizona needed to stop staring at her lips. But it tingled her spine, exhilarating rushes all over, fine hairs rising on the back of her neck. Those dark eyes also wandered down to her mouth, in a way they weren't supposed to, and Arizona could notice a similar struggle. She notices, because she also looks. The two women smiled at each other, then looked away. And then they giggled like they were not adults as if playing a funny game of their own.

Except they were adults. They were both grown-ass women. Alcohol-drinking, grown-ass women. So maybe they were adults on the outside, but never grown-ups. People don't really grow up, she thought.

"'It's like you glow'," Callie suddenly mocked herself, blurting it out over a loud laugh. "Now, that's bad flirting 101."

Plastering a smile on her lips, Arizona said, "Yep. Bad flirting alright."

The human life is too short for people to grow up.

Arizona downed her third shot.

They were going to be friends.


A/N: I really appreciate all of you who are still picking this up! This one felt all over the place; college hell week is really screwing me up. And this is kind of irrelevant, but— Maggie/DeLuca's pretty great. Maggie is a fabulous character this season, period.