Chapter 3 Stand by Me
05:14 PM, 28 March 2015. Grey-Shepherd Residence.
They were all wearing black, something they'd been taught to do as a child. And it was like a reunion of sorts, she thinks. Cristina Yang's inside the living room, standing in true form. Probably hiding a big-ass loot of Swiss chocolates in the black purse on her arm. And then from Texas and via Skype, even Teddy Altman had offered her sincerest respects and heartfelt apologies of being unable to come.
The burial reaching its end three hours ago has yet to sink in, until a wild Addison Montgomery appeared on her sight with an unopened bottle of Merlot. Callie looked at Addison, then at the dark green bottle, before staring back at Addison again. She frowned slightly.
"Hey. Want some red?" Addison asked. She was dressed smartly with a handsome pantsuit and prim cuff links. But she spoke to her with the breath of a drunk.
Callie ominously eyed the Merlot in the other woman's hand again. Since that wine tasting class she'd went with Arizona pre-plane crash and all those years ago, her entire perspective on the wine subject has changed. Not just changed, but changed. At first, they'd just gone along with the wine sniffing and the 'proper way of holding a wineglass' to mock how elitist and strict and snooty everything was. But, in the end, they were devoured by the same snootyness, and immediately, Pinot Noir was of high appraisal to their tastebuds while Merlot practically made you a wine aficionado social outcast. Thus, the stark printed letters of m, e, r, l, o, and t on the label now bother her to certain extents.
"Callie?"
"Hm?"
"I asked you," Addison said, "if you wanted some wine."
"Oh! No thanks," she replied with a tight-lipped smile. "You're late."
"I am."
"Why? Where did you come from?"
"Hell."
Probably one of the most inappropriate things to mention after a funeral. "Addison," the brunette chastised even as she chuckled. "Seriously. You're late."
"Does it really make any difference?" Callie isn't sure if she'd just entered an alternative world and heard the other woman fake a sniffle. "I'm really hurt, Torres," Addison tipped her head down slightly, gray eyes shadowed. "Like, I know I didn't really call ahead or RSVP for this. I know that. Not that there were invitations but... I really, really thought that," she sighed in disappointment, "I'd at least get a welcome from you."
At first, Callie was silent. She'd counted the number of 'really's in her head out of playful instinct but has inevitably lost it. It was a poor attempt to call out on Addison suddenly being out-of-character in less than thirty seconds, but the brunette only grew— puzzled. "You didn't call?"
"Um, no...?"
"Um, why?"
Addison's natural prerogative was to fix her a look. "If you don't remember, you were quite pissed at me, Callie. And I admit that I deserved the piss, which is why I'm here in front of you. Low-key groveling on my knees." Callie's grin then became nothing short of a schmuck's. "Oh, shut that thing on your mouth off. I'm being the bigger person here, okay. It's my peace offering to you," the other woman asserted coolly in a low murmur, her manicured eyebrow arched ala-Addison and her contempt so obvious and so fake. And so inebriated. "And if I have the capability and resources and time to be here, of course I would come. Physical presence is much, much better than a phone call."
Jamming a hand in the pocket of her slacks, the brunette tapped her foot against the wooden floor of the dream house patio, deep in thought. She smiled ruefully.
"Well, you're really late."
Even as they'd already been let out, the words sat heavily in her throat. Addison wasn't late— she was too late. It was grim secret-speak only a few could understand.
(Because Derek's dead, and everyone is silent.)
"I know." Addison almost turned sober immediately despite the thoughts garbling in her head. "I was already there. I mean I was supposed to stand there with all of you. At the funeral. Maybe cry near the gravestone and put a bouquet of Sylvias for him," she muttered. "Derek used to like the most blue ones. He had a mini-garden of them back in New York." When they were married. When he was alive.
"We didn't see you at the cemetery."
"Yeah, but I saw you all. I still came," Addison shrugged. "I just couldn't handle it. So I hid behind an oak tree and ran and called for an Uber." Without contrite, she laughed, "Don't take this the wrong way, but your ignorance is quite reassuring. Thank god no one saw me. I must have looked like Cinderella having a mid-life crisis."
Surprisingly, Callie could imagine. She wanted to comment on how a Cinderella who'd dye her hair auburn was just an Ariel who talks to rats instead of crabs. But she opted on leaving it at that. It wasn't a hard issue to ignore, seeing as something funny-smelling from Addison had been wafting to her nose for a minute now. Callie had to subtly backpedal, quizzing the other woman to distract, "Oh. But why did you arrive just... now?"
Addison grimaced, "I went to the liquor store first."
Unsurprisingly, Callie could imagine.
"Oh."
"I knew I should have brought Henry." The redhead looked crestfallen, though it's masked behind a perfect poker face. Its form, its architecture, a childhood full of elitist dinner parties and fake smiles, was rather familiar. But the mask broke as Addison smiled. Uncharacteristically wistful. "Cute babies are the best buffers for any social interaction. He would've known what to do, he's a smart cookie."
"Why not Jake?" Callie had once been briefed about the spontaneous therapy-talking, thus naturally social, abilities of Addison's husband, Jake Reilley, and seemingly the rest of their private practice team. "He's the man-wife, and that's what man-wives are for. They're... buffers," she said.
Addison sent her a look, "Men are no help, Callie."
She searched for a rebuke. Came up with none.
"Besides, Amelia would just ignore me more."
Callie realized she couldn't argue with that either. "Hey. You of all people should know that it's not personal," was the sole best thing she could say to her friend.
"If I had to hear that my ex-husband died from my former mother-in-law— who I don't exactly see eye-to-eye with anymore— I'm having a real, hard time thinking that the silent treatment isn't personal." The redhead sighed, determined in emptying out her rant box, "But if I came with Henry? She would've had to look me in the eye for at least once before ignoring me and saying hi to him instead! His Auntie Amy should owe him that much, so help me god."
It sounded on the edge of sad and pathetic. Almost out of herself, the brunette thought as she pursed her lips. Mama Shepherd and the three Shepherd Sisters were quiet, Amelia especially quieter. But Meredith was the quietest. Her eyes since then had been wild and bitter and just silent at everybody's knowing looks and faded condolences. She reels the anger in, a small smile that she doesn't mean permanently sculpted on her lips.
Idly, Addison shook her head, raked her fingers through her hair. "Can we," she started quietly, "can we just become friends again? So I wouldn't look like a lonely pariah here? Because," she was still whispering as she said, "I don't wanna look like that, okay. LA people are hip and cool and lovers of margaritas, and I've converted to being an LA people. Or person," Addison corrected herself. "Whatever."
An entire month ago, when Callie had needed a person to talk to about how her ex had caught her kissing said ex's crazy ex (one of the oddest happenstances in her life), Addison had just laughed vulgarly at her. Asking where all the lesbians had come from all of a sudden. Joking about how her life had become a small, failed reboot of The L Word.
It was the happiest sound Callie's ever heard her make. Like her life has truly turned towards the greener side, at long last. Still, she had hung up, putting her foot down and never divulging any more of her 'hot dating situations'. Since then, Addison (by herself) had concluded their friendship to be on a break.
"Sure." The relieved look on Addison's face didn't take too long to make her grin. "How many glasses have you had to drink already, cool LA person?"
Eyes narrowed pointedly at her, glower nearing half-liddedness. "I'm kid-free for once, prude Seattle person. Gimme a break."
They shared a quiet laugh afterwards, and it had felt incredibly fake. Being happy in the midst of a reminder about deaths. But they could be happy, she thought. Life is to be celebrated, even if it's been lost. And they were both still alive. They had jobs, cars, and kids.
Addison just had a ring on her finger and Callie didn't. The gold band she had used to wear daily had gone untouched for months. Inside a leather box, placed in the deepest part of her dressing table's drawer.
Silently, the brunette sipped on her wine and turned her head. Watched the sight of Arizona— rocking their daughter, drowsy, snuggly, and close-to-sleep against her chest, golden tendrils framing her face slowly bobbing up and down, while swaying by the swinging bench on the terrace at the other side.
"So."
Addison was eager to jump on the extended olive branch, "So...?"
"Arizona and I are also friends now."
"Wow. You are," the other woman parroted. It was almost guised like a question but not. "Do you... want to talk about your second post-divorce life?"
Did she? Did Callie want to talk and mourn about the greatest love of her life while also mourning a dead friend? "No."
Though the covert, calculating gaze of her gray eyes didn't cease, all Addison had told her in reply was, "Okay." She'd always been privy, always trying to be respectful and be 'the objective one' if needed when grief would kick Callie in the chest. "So we're happy about this, right?"
"We are," she told her. "We are."
Addison could have nodded for all she knew, but Callie just ignored her immediate surroundings for a while. She only stared ahead. Didn't move to regard the redhead now unslyly peering and prying behind her shoulder and following her line of sight.
It's only a while later before the other woman aired out to her, "Derek and I spent fifteen years together. Fifteen. I married him when we were on med school, when life was... fine and dandy. But I don't think we've ever been friends." She paused. Crossed her arms over her chest. "But he's dead now, and I'm here at his funeral now, and..." Addison's nose was turning red. Almost sloshedly, she put an arm on Callie's shoulder then leant her forehead over it, breaking out a noiseless laugh, "God, I can't believe I'm at his gorgeous, gorgeous house in the woods for the first time while I'm fucking drunk."
Smiling acquiescently, Callie commented, "Well, your non-sequitur is quite telling of your drunken state, so that's one way of putting it."
"I was gonna lead up to the point of my pep talk." Addison lifted her head up from her shoulder and took a moment to watch her, "You really don't want to talk about it?"
"No. It's okay... I get what you want to say. I know."
"Are you sure?"
Callie's lips slightly trembled. "No."
Addison sighed, "Callie, honey..."
"But it's fine and we're fine and that's what's important," she stressed in a low, quiet voice. "I mean, would you want to talk about it? About him? Now?"
The disappointment in Addison's voice was obvious as it can be when she tilted her head to the vision by the terrace and echoed lowly, "No."
"Good."
They continued to stare under this blanket of quiet, as if reaching a tacit mutual understanding. Because everything should be understandable.
Sofia, with her formerly-braided hair all in a mess of strands and twisted locks, falling into deep slumber, the way Arizona used to doze in on that area between Callie's neck and clavicle— ivory, toned arms wrapped tightly right below her breasts, a button nose nudged on her skin— as if gently sucking in all of her peppermint fragrance and breathing it on even patterns— should be understandable enough.
03:56 PM, 07 April 2015. Peds Floor.
A few days have gone by when they'd discovered that Meredith and the kids have disappeared out of plain sight. A new month has rolled in when they had started to realize that they were not coming back.
It's been two days past Easter, and April was telling of an enlistment with Hunt on a tour. The news led her to be delighted for three seconds and half. At least, before dreadfully asking about her silently grieving friend's silently grieving husband.
Her question was simply met with a low, sardonic laugh. And while it didn't suit April too well, it was the only answer Arizona needed. Arizona also laughed when she was asked to offer advice for marriages on the rocks. But she did it anyway, in her own roundabout manner— "Just hope that he'll understand it soon." Words of wisdom that she herself should have followed, before it was all too late.
"You mean, blindly hope?"
Shrugging slightly, Arizona offered, "If all else fails, just do whatever. I don't know... you could pray?"
April's voice was only low and quiet, still not quite her, "Right... pray." And then she gave her something akin to a half-smile, what she could only muster, a different sort of light now behind her eyes, "I'll just keep it in mind. Thanks."
And much like what her brother had used to do to her all the time, Arizona ruffled the redhead's hair affectionately. Then she left wordlessly. She didn't want to make everything sadder than it already was.
It was something that Tim had loved doing often to her. (And she had loved it, too.) Warm comfort had been in the manner his calloused hands would seem smooth, when it slightly grazed her scalp, when his fingers gently slid through her hair— how it felt so natural, which she could never and would never learn to fathom. Because Timothy Robbins was dead. As were Derek, Mark, Lexie, and George— the list could go o-
"Arizona!"
The blonde yelped, dropping her paper cup, when a warm hand reached atop her shoulder, making her jump a little. Like she'd been electrocuted. A touch far too familiar. Trigger-happy with all her defense mechanisms at any time and any place.
Wincing, Callie shifted her weight between her feet and quickly picked up the trash that had fallen. After recovering, she abashedly spoke, "Oh, god. I'm so sorry, uh, I just," and Arizona's starting to hate how she's so weak against the nervous and oh-so-vulnerable Torres puppy eyes, "I just have a favor to ask... of you. It's no biggie, really."
Callie's reputation as person who'd never say 'biggie' has just collapsed, but— "Hey, no, it's fine. It was empty already!" the blonde exclaimed, with a grin too wide and radiant, like she had all the joy in the world. Cheerful and always overcompensating. "Um, what's up?"
Plump lips flattened, frowning, as Callie reluctantly straightened to her full height. Her eyelids flicked almost rapidly. She opened her mouth. Closed it. And her puppy look took an entire new level.
Arizona almost snapped.
"Sofia," the brunette finally drawled out, fingers toying with the cup's rim, "wants us to help her bake lasagna for dinner." A pink flush pressed on her skin, "I wanted to ask you if that's okay. If, y'know, you want to play pretend-cooking just for three hours, tops. Like… a family dinner?"
And while her brows were probably winged up right now in amusement, the blonde was pretty sure that something new and different had really just taken over them. It had, for a while now, she realized. But it still felt frustrating.
Still too damn familiar.
"Are you asking if I want to spend more time with our daughter," Arizona struggled to halt her smirk from forming, "who I only see every other week?"
Unlike her, Callie didn't even try not-smiling.
"I'll take that as a yes, then?"
Before her face could be devoured by pearly whites, the blonde just sketchily half-shrugged, turning away as abruptly as she could. Cool and disaffected. But it wasn't too long before she looked back at the other woman, who merely stood there. Thunderstruck and mouth hanging open.
Swiftly, the brunette first made a stop by the garbage can to throw the cup and quick-stepped along her side. "Wait, I-, I know I can be really dense sometimes but— did I miss something?" Arizona remained quiet, still continued to laughingly ignore her, and so Callie huffingly called out, jogging more quickly, "What's going on? I thought-"
She faced her again— Callie's face, wild-eyed, was rather making it hard for her not to enjoy it. Not to tease. It's been so long since she felt this light. Arizona almost spared her till an elated feeling overcame to her. Her expression turned theatrically solemn as she smiled with a deliberate hint of hurt and said, "Callie... the fame thing isn't real, you know."
The other woman stopped. Her mouth slightly hung open again. She's still the most confused person in Seattle right now, but her eyes flashed in recognition at that starting line. Arizona knew that Callie knew that line like the back of her hand.
"What?" she asked anyway.
"Don't forget... I'm just a girl... standing in front of another girl," Arizona channeled the thickest Julia Roberts accent she could have. And slowly, she enunciated, "Taking issue on the 'pretend-cooking' comment."
Callie was speechless again.
Eventually, Arizona's cheeks went red from trying to contain a laugh. And she was pleased, because why wouldn't she be? She just fucking nailed that Notting Hill ad-lib to placate a few insecurities. The movie, after all, was a favorite of Escapist Romantics Callie-and-Arizona. It's, like, another string that can't be severed for their budding friendship. (She has no idea what she's talking about, but she was going with it.)
However, now, it just seemed to heighten the other woman's discomfort. Making Arizona finally come to her senses. Cringe at herself. The only thing that wasn't happening right now, was her peeing her pants. The idea of adapting a famous romantic film reference into mundane dialogue (with her ex-wife, nonetheless) seemed much prettier and more pink in her head. And, yes— it was really something that had just passed through her rational mind.
The brain is the human body's most mysterious organ.
"What, you don't cook," the brunette chuckled awkwardly. Apparently, Callie was more shocked by that, compared to her improvised acting. Arizona couldn't help but take it to true offense.
"Did you seriously just ignore the most embarrassing Julia Roberts impersonation in the world? Who are you?"
"You don't cook," a flabbergasted Callie emphasized.
"I do cook, Callie," Arizona insisted. "And I can cook a mean beef stroganoff. I watched the special Rachel Ray episode for it last week, and I'm ninety percent sure nothing can compare. I made it my bitch."
Callie's look turned questioning, as if it was saying 'I'll get back to you on that'. But dark eyes only glazed and shifted upon a somber new color as she said, "No, no, I'm sorry. I'm getting this out all wrong... I know you can cook." Her smile became ever-so-slightly quelling. Crooked and meek. "But you haven't... not since..."
Oh.
Mark.
Arizona should have seen that coming. But she didn't want to hear his name. And nor did Callie, she thought. Not now, not when fresh memories of another death close to them were still haunting their halls. So she cut into the similarly dead air, "I know," she smiled, "I know. But it's different now."
"Yeah... I can see that."
"In the House Karev of Seattle, I'm kind of the esteemed chef," she joked. Stealing a sideways glance at the other woman, while starting on their saunter, Arizona smilingly and unobtrusively declared, "I've changed."
And in that barely-there moment of silence, she was answered only by a squeak. A noisy squeak that could only be from rubber soles skidding on the polished floor. She took a half-circling step back, then swallowed it in. The demeanor has shifted, the wheels have turned.
"That's true."
Callie's words were adrift in her ear, voice up and alight in the air, and the blonde side-eyed her, even as she felt her body go limp, "You think so, too?"
She nodded. Smiled. "We're changed people now."
Arizona wondered if she knew what that meant.
She'd actually found that feeling again, long ago. The one she thought she would never find again, the one that had gone with Tim. Still, she'd screwed it up and lost the feeling she couldn't even name yet again. But then— simple nudges on the elbow and tanned fingers light on her arm happen, and all her mind could do is remember, remember, and remember. And so, fleeting instances become the very, same things that root her to the ground. That keep her in.
(The 'pretend-cooking' ended with her face smeared with ricotta cheese mixture and meat sauce, and her heart unapologetically stopping as her eyes raked in two similar, mega-watt smiles. Like she'd been electrocuted.)
10:19 PM, 15 May 2015. OR 3 Scrub Room.
She stomped the sink on with her foot and leaned in to wash her hands. "I heard you handed Dreyfuss's ass off to her at the cafeteria, by the way." It sounded even more ridiculous and awe-striking, saying it out loud. And it felt weirdly energizing for the mind— knowing that her antagonist for the week had been told off by her ex-wife. "I know I should feel sorry for her, but— wow," she laughed, "what you did is just insanely amazing. Like hardcore amazing. Like badass amazing. Like-"
"Alright, alright, I get it."
Callie raised an eyebrow. "Wow, grumpus much?"
"No, no... I'm sorry. It's just, y'know," Arizona just droned absently, cheerlessly, and Callie couldn't help but notice. "It's just one of those days that's no different from any other day but sucks more out of you than it should. I'm just... tired."
Her forehead was crinkled under the pink, flowery scrub cap, and it was so tragically obvious how the other woman was just steeling herself, an underlying grimace on a paling face. It's the most sour she has ever seen her for a long time. As if bad blood has gone between them again. But Callie saw in her heart that they were in a good place. God knows that there was nothing to be anxious about.
Or was there?
She gulped loudly. Arizona might have heard her but didn't act like it. And when Callie had finally gathered the guts to ask, the inquiry was pacifying and soft, "Not feeling well?"
Again, there was the particular grimace darkening Arizona's blue eyes. And it grew significantly deeper, more of a look that could scare a chicken and make it lay an egg. "No," was her automatic answer, of course. "Just kind of peachy, I guess." The blonde finished with scrubbing out, teeth drawn between lips. She grabbed a towel and dried her hands off, then gave in, sighing, "It's just a really bad day for the bad leg."
Callie froze. Almost whimpered out of pride.
Way to go, Arizona! Baby steps! Unlearn everything you've learned! Communication! Is! Key! Vulnerability! Is! Completely! O! Kay!
Their friendship thing is going fast and amazing, contrary to both of their initial thoughts. She didn't really know how, but, well, it had practically happened overnight. So to speak. Some people still saw it as something superficial or fake (she would too, if she wasn't one of the damn main characters of this gossip), but it still somehow and somewhat flowed naturally.
Of course, it wasn't easy for her, at first, when Arizona had started to appear in every turn she would make or in every existing corner there was.
In fact, Callie liked to believe that this was very, very difficult for both of them. Yet it's still happening— and Arizona's fucking everywhere, and she is torn, sometimes, between screaming out loud and grinning like an idiot.
But she didn't want to think about it too much, nor did she want to say anything out loud. So she would just keep the hold on her tongue, sucking it up. Act like nothing's new even when everything has completely changed, while the other woman would run her mouth, now turning more confident and more unfiltered and more sincere (with her) every single day. Just shockingly honest, for the lack of a better label.
Sometimes, Callie would find herself trying to find a way out of it. It's unconsciously done and she always hated it when it would happen. She'd search for a slip-up or any hint of reluctance she could catch from Arizona— just to get the hell away and not face her. Not face the situation.
It's her who would always pull back and try to flee the scene. Callie would attempt to, for the most part.
"Would you want me to take a look?"
Arizona asked, "What?", though it had come out similar to a scoff. And yet her voice was really, terribly small and had sounded to be in so much pain. So Callie just overlooked it. She also overlooked the blonde licking her upper lip as she always did before her mouth curled decisively into a frown.
"Your leg," Callie explained carefully, taking a step closer, invading more into her space. "Can I take a look? See if I can help?"
Weakly, Arizona shook her head, hip settled against the sink, and right hand tugging on her pink scrub cap's strings. "No, Callie. You don't have to-"
"Okay, you're right, I don't have to. But I want to do it," the brunette insisted. Attentively, adamantly. Yet still, softly. "I want to." And damn it, she did want to. Which had surprised her as equally as it terrified her. But her face managed to remain stern, while she moved even closer, in spite of the blonde pulling away, sorely trudging backwards and sliding her hip across the edge of the sink.
Arizona began, her tone warning, "Callie, I can't-," then she almost slipped, her hand suddenly grabbing hold of the steel. A smack-dab bang resounded through the soundproof room. Blue eyes were clenched shut, hiding under a near-broken facade. But the visibly shaking arms braced on the sink instantly gave her away. "C-Crap."
Callie tried to give her space, "Are you okay?" She knew she wasn't. Callie just didn't know what else to ask. It's just one of those things that seem like it was right to be said, like 'everything's gonna be alright'. 'Tomorrow will be a better day'.
"I'm fine," she said tersely. Arizona rubbed an arm on her eye. "The floor's just slippery. Sorry."
Between them, 'sorry' had always meant a lot of things. It had always been the hardest to say and the hardest to hear. But it's different now. (Maybe if they kept on saying it to others and to themselves enough times, it would become real. Everything would be okay.) The brunette comfortingly murmured, empathetic, "You don't have to say that. You don't always have to be-"
"No, I have to be! I am," the other woman all but sadly choked out. "I can't make you do things like this anymore, Callie, I just can't!"
Callie could only sense the world around her just falling apart. Deflate immensely at how raw and bitter that had just been. Her throat almost closed up. She wasn't holding her breath, but she was still getting that same tightness in her chest that she'd feel whenever she went without air for too long— so she swallowed again.
"Arizona. You're not making me." The blonde only stared at her, gape still and considering. Focused. And her insides swelled with a peculiar warmth till she trembled with delirious apprehension. Callie tried again, urgency all leaked out, "Look... just let me help, please?"
She heard Arizona's tongue make a loud click sound. "Don't," she said.
"Why?"
"I don't," and she sighed deeply, almost painfully, as if just regaining hold of her breath, "want you to be my doctor again. Ever again."
The small crack in the blonde's voice was just too much. Too much. She was going to explode. "I won't be your doctor then," the brunette whispered, the calmest she could be, despite being scared out of her mind. "I'll just be me."
There came the stony silence again. Normal people would probably call this a staring contest. The blonde, though, had dramatically titled this phenomena a 'battle between glances' once or twice. And now, Callie felt like it was more of a war.
"You don't understand." Bright, crystal clear blue eyes peering, Arizona whispered back, smiling tightly. Defeated. "I'm not your problem anymore, Callie. I can't be."
And from then on, something quite unnatural happened in that very room. A somewhat well-thought out comeback to that emotional revelation— very much worthy to be from award-winning scriptwriting, she realized in the heat of the moment— which would usually only come up to her approximately two days after any important conversation she'd have, popped into Callie's dead. It drove and crashed tight splendidly, all in one instant. And she was possessed.
"But... but you won't be!" she told her as she inched forward and pulled ivory hands in hers. Gripped them gently yet tight. "You're gonna be Groot's problem!"
Of course, on this complete turn of events— plot twist— reared its ugly head for the third time was the most tense and awkward of silences. By now, she probably looked as titillated as a madman. Goosebumps and sweat threaded and swam underneath her skin, panic simultaneously building up with trembles, shivers. Adrenaline pumped pure into her bloodstream, heart rate up through the roof-
Finally interrupting, Arizona let out a choked sound in between a laugh and a sob.
"I'm sorry, what?"
Her mind on overdrive and running in circles, Callie thought that came out wrong and actually said, "That came out wrong."
The other woman only hum-grunted in pure agreement, brows drawn together in puzzlement, but her posture now beginning to relax, at the very least. Which was really all Callie could ask for one at a time. She let go of their hands, embarrassed.
"I mean, you're not a problem— not at all! It's just-," the brunette attempted to clarify, throat constricting, "G-Groot... can take good care of you." As much of a clarification as that can be.
Jaw a bit clenched, the blonde cleared her throat, "Groot... Groot's the talking tree, right? From Sof's movie of the month?"
The world stop spinning for about a millisecond. Her mouth dried. "Right," Callie confirmed. Solemnly. "The talking tree." Sweat gathering in her palms, she lightly gripped the sides of her scrub pants as the light atmosphere wavered, quieting. "I-I can be me, Arizona. I can be a talking tree if that's what you and I can be comfortable with," she amended slowly. Arizona watching her every move so closely was making her out-of-this-world nervous, and so she made up her mind, going for the final blow, "But just do it for me, please! Let me-"
"Okay," Arizona relented her answer quickly and quietly in an exhale that Callie almost couldn't hear. She loosened down to a fit of small, tight nods, mumbling, "Yeah... okay."
Callie visibly brightened up, "R-Really?"
Embarrassed, the blonde turned her head away from her and bit back a thankful smile, "I... yes. But... I'm only doing this for you."
"Because I asked so nicely?"
"Because you were so persistent," she groused.
There's a dazzling spark, however, in her eye that she could identify immediately, which twisted her insides up. Snarky comebacks from Arizona were always a good sign, and thus, Callie yielded by her own will— "Great." — unreservedly making her succumb to the biggest, shit-eating grin ever. "Just do it for me."
It's not out of obligation. She knew it in herself that it never was. And as she looked into the gaze staring back at her, terrified and bright, the sky clearing out of clouds, she knew it too— that Arizona also, finally, really understood it now. All these first breaking-of-the-barriers were really overwhelming for her heart. But she didn't care that much anymore.
"You're really gonna do Groot's voice while massaging my stump?" the blonde cheekily questioned. Apparently, Arizona could also still manage to teasingly ask about that, making her groan and roll her eyes.
A pained look overtook Callie's face as she spoke, "Please forget about that. For me too." Indeed, she didn't care much for others' thoughts and two cents anymore.
They could go suck it.
01:06 PM, 08 June 2015. Hospital Cafeteria.
By June, she was learning that she infinitely sucked at it. It's an ongoing thing, though, so it should be on present tense; therefore, she sucks at it.
Because, yes, Arizona could admit it to herself now— how she completely sucks at not feeling ridiculously sunny after every shared Chinese takeout with her ex-wife. At not looking away fast enough from the mere sight of her ex-wife. At not enjoying her banters with her ex-wife. All those little things that would just stick to her.
"Bailey's giving us the evil eye again," Callie mused almost schemingly, her back facing the said evil eye. "It's like she patented it or something."
In true Grey-Sloan Memorial Hospital fashion, once the news of their little emotional debacle in OR 3's scrub room came out, it came out. Complete with flying colors, it had spread via hushed whispers within that very day, and had endured to stay in circulation for roughly three weeks now. Despite it being mostly false theories. A trauma nurse only saw their conversation muted, after all, and everybody knew trauma nurses were kind of horrible with gossip.
For a short while, they had been thankful and very much appreciative of the power of soundproofing. But the hot topic seemed like it wasn't meant to die a quick death. So, eventually, they'd both thought eh, what the heck and just proceeded with their lives to ignore, go out with it, and repeat.
"That's not entirely impossible. She's Bailey."
Ever so perky these days, the blonde slurped on her straw purposefully loud.
There were only two possible choices on who she's been trying to annoy more. Firstly, it could be Miranda Bailey, the intimidating observer sitting on the table near them, with a glare that could eat people alive. Secondly, it could be Callie, the nervous protagonist mentally chewing on her hair. Arizona herself couldn't decide her decided victim. But she can't deny the satisfaction she felt, lips quirking up slightly to a small grin, when she saw gritted, white teeth.
The brunette hissed, "Stop that." Her dark eyes went all-out alarmed, "She's gonna know we're talking about her."
"Oh, of course." Again, and strictly for the scientific purposes of friendly teasing, Arizona peeked openly at the object of their attention, even going so far as giving her a small, casual wave, nodding to Bailey with a smile. Faux-conclusively, she said, leaning in to the other woman, "I'm pretty sure she hasn't noticed."
And despite the restrained amusement and the half-formed grin on her face, Callie chastised her, "That's nice, but shut up, really. And I mean that in the most respectful manner, Dr. Robbins." So, clearly, 'Dr. Robbins' in that tone just really translated to 'get your head out of your ass'. Right?
"My apologies, Dr. Torres," she played along for a second with a chuckle. Then, putting the cup down to her tray and hooking stray golden strands right behind her left ear, Arizona silently mulled over something. Something she's been thinking about for a while now. "Callie?"
"What?"
"Do you really think it's bad?"
She didn't have to say anymore. They both had gone into this, knowing that they'd be fools if they were going to think that this would be a complete and total piece of cake— which, to be fair with scientific facts, it isn't. Because this thing is really, really, really hard. It's arduous, it's annoyingly difficult.
And it is absolutely a very fine piece of cake.
Dark brown eyes are quick to hold onto her blues. "Never," she said firmly. Her tone was one of finality. Decisive and unbowing.
Arizona breathed out, "Okay, good." The word 'never' continued to repeat in the back of her head, lowering in octaves and staying and lingering. And the blonde is more than slightly amped up to go and run off to the most red of sunsets. Or, perhaps, change the topic. "She must really think that this is beyond weird. How many times has it been now?"
"Uh," and Callie scrunched her forehead, pausing in thought, before pouting, "I'd say about twenty-two? If we count from the first lunch date."
There's also that— Arizona takes the word 'date' in stride now, as well as the one whole beat that her unfortunate heart skips.
Because that's what it was, what all these twenty-two meetings were. A lunch date. She had always known what it meant, they both did. They understood it. They just don't talk about it too much, not in depth— because what else was there that they could talk about now? Certainly, not the fairy tales and romance that they'd had once with each other.
Not sex, not dating. Certainly, never love.
But Arizona still wanted to ask something, tempted and tired of not always giving in to the small but always significant wants of her poor, poor heart. So she just came right out with it, voice trembling a little, "So... do you also think that, then?"
"What do you mean?"
"That this is beyond weird."
Idly, Callie stopped to stare at her, swirling the straw on her iced tea. Then she grinned wryly as she replied, "You're asking a whole bunch of questions today."
"I guess... it's because I'm a little unsure." Arizona added quietly, "Of how you think. I-I don't know if we're on the same page as I think we are."
Callie's face softened. "Of course we are."
"Then... is it weird? Still?"
The brunette shrugged, "Well, you know. I don't see why it's not. Some things are bound to be weird in some ways."
"Oh," the blonde mumbled, sight averting to her lap. "Yeah... I suppose." And she nodded tautly to herself, as if thoroughly convinced of this whatsoever feeling she couldn't really name right now before sagging down to the table. Chin gingerly placed atop her folded arms, she released an inaudible sigh, "I mean, the Groot thing was kind of strange, wasn't it?"
The other woman looked like she was about to spit on her drink, and it almost, almost seemed like it really was going to happen. Arizona slightly felt a tinge of worry— if she's finally pushed this friendship thing too far. Because she seemed to screw up everything that's good in her life, no matter what it was. It was the only logical assumption. But then Callie immediately sobered up, agreeing with her, laughing and looking happy while with her, and they're so much of a familiar and unfamiliar picture in the open for all their colleagues to see, and now, Arizona just sort of felt like having big fat tears well up in her eyes.
"You're not going to let me live that down ever, are you?"
"Well, I'd want Groot to live."
Laughing, the brunette remarked, "Imagine if it'd really happened. That probably would've been the freakiest roleplaying we've ever done."
They can joke about it now. It's funny now. And it should be, Arizona determinedly thought. Because Callie was suffocating and needed to be free from being stuck with a person who's stuck.
And so she laughed with her too.
06:58 PM, 04 July 2015. Seattle Waterfront Park.
When this particular thing had happened, they were with an over-excited Sofia running on sugar rush, and had winded up deciding to watch the fireworks display in the nearby park. And like other recent 'family bonding activities', Callie and Arizona did and went to it together. But not together.
Boundaries, they never forget.
She was sitting by a small picnic table, not too mindful of the clinking coins noisily rolling down on change-operated telescopes, as the dusk airs had settled in languorously on the port district, the clock tick-and-tocking closely to eight.
And the particular thing that had happened, was straightened light tresses flying along the breeze, contrasting with the descending twilight. To be more specific, it was Arizona pacing towards her with three hotdogs-on-sticks in her hands. And calling out to her. She was only nine long steps away, and yet she was yelling her name.
However, it wasn't really her name, per se. It's not the name that she normally went by in her daily life. Not the name she'd first introduce herself with to strangers. But then it's the same one— and she remembered this because she always would— the same set of syllables that would cause for her to wince and shudder in disgust. Mainly because she was teased for it a lot, as a kid.
Yet it'd also make her heart set out on warm somersaults when it would perfectly roll off Arizona's tongue. Like it's meant to be. Because every time she would say it, it's as if it's this really, really special thing. And her eyes would be all sparkling and blue and intense while they'd lock with hers in a gaze.
It was endearing, the careful way she would say her name. And so freaking warm it was insane. Like it's a treasured, little secret between them.
The blonde's voice was loud and booming and distinctive amidst blurred chatter, as she bellowed for her again, now five steps closer. It might seem fair and fitting to the watching eyes who didn't know their story— the freaking, disarmingly brilliant smile on the fair face directed at her— but it was quite an alien feeling, actually.
And it just delighted her to no end.
So when Arizona finally arrived, asking her if she had some extra coins to give, because the stall owner had no change for bills, and called her Calliope while doing it— like she hadn't even noticed the change— all in the same instant, Callie sensed the fireworks exploding. Both above her head and in her chest. And she could only think about how right everything in that moment truly was.
A/N: I've long accepted that I'm a mess in writing and updating this, but thank you for all the added support! Really, it means a lot to me. Hopefully, with my upcoming break, I can make time for the next (perhaps longer) one.
Also, I stand in solidarity with the rest of the Calzona fandom, as we shall continue to witness our ladies' new romances with others for the following episodes. Grey's is getting harder and harder to watch, especially if you're also one who dies a little inside every Callie/Penny kissing scene.
EDIT: Sorry, small upload drama. The next will be up tomorrow, or at most, as soon I have my laptop again.
