Chapter 4 Ain't No Sunshine

03:08 PM, 12 August 2015. OR 1.

"It's not a big deal, okay? So let's just put this down and finish this surgery and get on with the rest of our lives. Okay?" Callie just rolled her eyes in response, muttering something under her breath. And though a mask hid her mouth, Arizona squished her lips together in discontent. She put on her Grizzly Mama-bear voice and said, "Don't you roll your eyes at me, young lady. I really appreciate the concern, but as the person involved in the situation, I say it's not a big deal."

"Okay, Mom," Callie said sarcastically.

"Again. Say it again, Calliope. Properly."

Callie glared at her, almost testing Arizona's patience, then shook her head in defiance. "You know what, no. It is a big deal!" she still bothered to stage-whisper despite her voice being heard by the whole OR. She began inspecting her incisions with a sharp gaze, meticulous yet grumpily babbling as only she can do. "You're a smart, confident woman, and not to mention, an award-winning surgeon. God knows the Carter Madison under your belt is not a fluke caused by being a pretty and blonde," she made the vaguest gestures with her hands before finishing with, "biscuit."

"Oh yeah. A biscuit. Because that's definitely a better description for me."

"Fine, you want better?" she huffed. "You won it because rainbows fly out from your butt, and the committee had the hots for said rainbows flying out from your butt, which just so happened to beat old, genius German butts and ate their dreams' butts for breakfast."

Callie's iron will thing could be a bit annoying (and weird), if not dreadful for the usual invasive conversations in the OR. But, amongst all the things Arizona could describe this phenomena with, it was also quite:

Cute.

Face flaring pink despite herself, Arizona mumbled, "I-, thank you, Callie. Really. I really, truly appreciate it. But that was... really an awful lot of butts," she concluded with a groan. "I'd like it very much if we never have to talk about old men's butts again."

The brunette sported a similar grimace on her face.

"Deal."

A few nurses chuckled in the background at their chatter, and the blonde menacingly gave them the side-eye. Which didn't help causes at all, seeing as the muffled laughter still persisted. The nurses now took great joy in their funny verbal spars ever since they'd given up on containing their none-too-personal talks with only each other. People were simply speculative, and they only wanted to be as open and transparent as they've never been before.

Even Arizona (the most private person Arizona herself ever knew) finds that it's made a lot of things easier. Especially, with her ex-wife.

Go figure.

"Everyone! I'm gonna say this once, and then I'm not gonna say it again. I don't mind you all listening to our stupid talks that much - but! I do want you to practice safe gossiping. So," she started cheerfully, "in light of that, I want to clarify that Dr. Torres is totally kidding. I have no history of eating old, German men in whatever context." She turned up her steely gaze, mouth in a firm line, seriously stressing, "I would never."

And just like that, they returned to their argument. If Callie had been amused at some part, she contained it rather flawlessly, "Look. I'd love to comment more on your mini-press conference but I still think you're missing the point."

The blonde grumped out a small noise. "I wasn't aware that you had a point." At 38 turning 39, her petty reactions might have passed its peak but she still pulled them off pretty well. She knew that. Callie knew that. Even the sleeping V.I.P. patient on their table knew that. But nobody ever talked about it in public. And nobody knew why either. What they don't know can't hurt them.

"She called you an Amy Poehler rip-off."

"Yeah. A pregnant lady did. A pregnant lady seven hours into labor." Arizona gave a disbelieving laugh, "I've been called worse things by other people since grade school. I've been called a banana once, though that only got me confused. Why are we even fighting about this?"

"Because..." then Callie sighed. "God... I don't know! I'm just so mad that it happened. And the fact that there's worse, makes everything... worse-er."

"That's not a word."

Callie ignored her and went on with her spiel, "I can understand the pregnant people part because labors hurt like a bitch in both theory and practice, but couldn't the others have seen that you're more and better than the things they've said? I mean, sure you can be a total freak with grammar sometimes. And sure your jokes are levels way lower than Amy Poehler's-"

Arizona frowned, "Hey!"

"-but you're also an incredible person," Callie hedged softly. "And-, and you're kind and sweet and supportive. And you work so hard even when you think no one's watching. You care about your patients and your people a lot, and that's what I..." the brunette paused and changed courses, muttering in an alarmingly high voice, "that's what makes you so special, Arizona."

Arizona paused, her eyebrows bobbing up like antennas.

Special?

Oh, she'd beg to contradict that. Laugh. Comment how the sudden stock-stillness of the room was super out-of-this-world and more special than anything.

(She definitely didn't want to comment on the first statement that had been cut off.)

Its fall was sudden, and with it came the subtle stares and the not-very-subtle ones. But, darn it, just as they had openness and transparency and shit, the foot-in-mouth awkwardness was still there. Sad as it may sound, the Grey-Sloan population have all nearly internalized this whole thing and collectively accepted it. As for them both, they mostly just persevere through it all.

Case in point: Callie briefly growing flustered with her movements, ducking her head self-consciously as she worked. And Arizona looking like something had just crawled up her butt, visibly dreading the moment.

Go figure.

Time paused, her mouth twitched, and time played again. Arizona's face was still flushed, eyes shut tight, when Callie began again, "Need I say more?"

The softness and coolness of her voice made the blonde gulp. Dissolve to red all over again. Arizona took a second to chance a glimpse up at Callie again, the rosy colors of their skin now mirroring each other.

She then refocused her eyes on the fetal monitor. Her lashes fluttered quickly against her cheeks, gaze flitting from chocolate brown eyes to any other place, as she shyly replied, "N-No."

She didn't want to stutter but she did. Her achievements and good deeds were things to be proud about, she knew that. Everybody who knew her did. But when it would still flow out of Callie's lips like that, a string of the most earnest (albeit, strangest) praises she's ever heard in her life, Arizona's just undone and reduced to a puddle of embarrassed goo, seeping through the cracks of the floor in an instant; into the ground; into the nearest magma chamber. Boiling and ready to just burst and be free out of a volcano, when people least expected it.

It was a reprise of the Pompeiian tragedy. Except with lush fields of swirling, fluffy pink flowers and pretty, pretty butterflies. But of course, she has to cradle it in. Hold this thing that has only grown stronger, stranger by the crevice of her hand. A small, balled fist clutching onto her chest. Figuratively, of course.

Arizona certainly didn't have any more strength to be subjected under another one of nurse Bokhee's infamous, knowing glances.

"Would you two just get it over with," a blunt voice spoke from behind. "You giggling BFFs are getting painful to watch."

Towering over between them, Karev stood like a buffer who looked like he wished to be stabbed in the head than be there, arms gruffly folded and conspicuously annoyed. After all, this silly argument's been on circles since the start of this complex tendon repair, and he was Alex Karev. "Am I still needed here?" he asked them.

For the third freaking time.

But it obliterated the brief white elephant in the room at least. Completely bypassing him— also for the third time— the ortho surgeon swiveled in her chair, shaking her head, "No, your ego still needs a little more stroking." Callie waved a drill at Arizona and proclaimed, "You're no Amy Poehler rip-off. You're Super Mom and Mother Teresa merged into one!"

And for the life of her, Arizona will never be able to understand the logic of how Callie made that sound so genuine. And she just, just couldn't stop the small grin that escaped her, even as she's finally able to huff back, "Now I think that's a little too much."

Thank god for the invention of surgical masks, the blonde internally mused. Hiding flattery and unwanted smiles that a former spouse would most certainly be smug-about-in-a-childish-debate since 1897.

"I'm with Robbins on this one," Alex chimed in.

Really, thank god also for the idea, which had popped in her head seven years ago, to take the Sassy and Thuggish Alex Karev under her wing. Besides molding him to be the great doctor that he was now, Arizona had really trained (or tamed she should say) him as a person very well. "See, Callie," she gloated to the brunette who promptly rolled her eyes, "even my boy Karev gets it. It's not downplaying, it's called 'being humble' and 'acknowledging the truth'."

Alex snorted incorrigibly, his only happy noise for today. "No, I don't get it, Mother Teresa. I just don't need your head to get bigger than it already is."

Her idea seven years ago might have also backfired.

It was still a wonder how their sometimes less-than-professional OR behavior is still being tolerated in the hospital. An outsider probably wouldn't know that this surgery was personally assigned to them by the Chief and was of high priorities. But that didn't stop triggering of fake gags, competitive streaks and bizarre tag-teams in their childish debates. None of them were especially surprised when Callie's eyes dramatically narrowed, her brows drawn together like it's their second nature. Even the anesthesiologist had stopped with his crossword puzzle and looked up, anticipating what the brunette's next move could be, while she stitched and stitched. With full suspense.

She instructed loudly, "Avery." Reclaimingly. "Have my back out here."

Said Jackson Avery, sitting at the other end and previously avoiding them (he was very entranced with a leftover skin flap), was jumpy when he was called out. He's been laying low since Kepner had left to Jordan. But like a scant, few things, it too, was never talked about in public. The plastic surgeon awkwardly peeped, "Uh, I'm not sure if I should-"

"No. None of that 'not sure' crap."

"Excuse me?"

The game ever so calamitous, Callie gave him the patriotic staredown. And it shut him up immediately. "What this OR needs right now," she started, an octave lower than usual, "is a solid team superior to this duo of preschoolers."

Cockily, Alex stepped up to the arena and challenged, "Preschoolers? Torres, that the best you can do?"

When the brunette ignored him again— cue, "Where's the tough actin' Callackson at!?" to Avery, like a livid basketball coach — nobody could tell anymore if it was intentional or not.

"Did she just say that?" Alex's head whipped to the blonde. "Is this the real life?"

Arizona shrugged, secretly endeared. Stupid, cute Callie and her stupid, cute quirks.

"She's just really into portmanteaus these days."

(They were actually both very into it. Making up wordplays has become one of their new things. So far, they'd giggled only about their friends in the hospital. Their current favorite name combination was 'Benanda' for Warren and Bailey— mainly, because it sounded funny and rhymed with empanada. A fact that they strangely adored.)

Their bickering all but lasted in a matter of seconds, though, as OR 1 quieted down when the surgery has reached its very climax. And Callie — well, she went into a sort of trance. Her eyes and energy were all focused on the ruptured tendon in front of her as she painstakingly sutured the irreconcilable ends, one by one.

Everyone, surgeon or not, knows it when they see one. That peculiar trance. When the stars would just seem to align, and they would witness a person in her zone and at that moment become - transcendent. Everyone has witnessed those moments.

And that's exactly what Arizona saw and some more.

Finally, Callie rose from her seat, clasped her gloved hands together, and cracked her knuckles, magical, brown eyes turning clearer and brighter all the while watching the results of her efforts and magic. Arizona just knew that beneath that surgical mask— was the biggest, possible smile on her face.

The ortho surgeon joked, "Is it just me or is that a leg with the most beautiful shade of pink anyone has ever seen?"

Everyone in the surgical staff shared smiles, with nurse Bokhee surprisingly chuckling, but Arizona was the one who took the other woman's excitement to heart and led the applause among them all. Because she was amazed as always. Mesmerized. "Congratulations, Dr. Torres," she cooed, with a playful hum and an extra mischievous squint.

Callie's eyes crinkled back cutely while the two of them giddily untied their masks, mirroring each other again, revealing the brunette's wide smile that just went on and on and on. "You too, Dr. Robbins. Great work," she cooed back.

Softly, unmindful of the other curious ears, of Karev's signalling glances at Avery, and of her own words, the blonde said, "No. That was all you."

If it was possible, that got the other woman to smile even wider.

Unfortunately, circumstances had directed for Callie to be called upon on another immediate emergency surgery right after, so Arizona was left to do the post-ops with Alex and her creepy-ass, post-surgery giddiness. After they informed the parents of the huge success, they went off to the nurses' station to dock off their tablets; Arizona humming along the bubbliest version of Madonna's Material Girl, and Alex worriedly staring at her like she's mad.

A slight furrow came between his brows when she started to subtly bob her head up and down to the tune of her hum. Then inquisition locked behind his intensive gape when she drummed her palms rhythmically on the counter top. His mouth slightly twitched.

"So... great surgery."

"It was, wasn't it!" Arizona chirped.

Pause again.

"Sure," he said.

"Gee, you act like you didn't enjoy witnessing our OR magic," she observed. "You do know I'm still your teacher, right? 'Cause I compare us with The Karate Kid on a daily basis, and that's practically a bond of fate. For life, Dr. Karev. For life."

Alex almost seemed utterly disoriented at her latest height of enthusiasm. It was like seeing a hologram of the exact, same, refreshing mentor from a few years back: the Ghost of Arizona Past. It was a little unsettling. "Yeah, uh, sorry." He scratched the back of his neck. "It's just been... a strange day. But you and Torres did really good in there."

"Yeah," she grinned proudly. Almost— dreamily. "My wife's pretty amazing, huh." Continuing with her hums, Arizona went back to tapping on her tablet's screen, too happy to instantly notice her slip of the tongue and the sudden and knowing flare in Alex's eyes. Suddenly, she was pulled by him into the empty office room near the counter. "Hey, what the hell-" she broke off from his grip when his back was to her as he locked the door. She was about to protest the wrongs of his manhandling when she took in the utter ambivalence on his face. "... What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Do you want me to shatter your glass?"

"What? What glass?"

"Just answer the question. Do you want me to shatter your glass?" he asked in a deadly serious voice. It unnerved Arizona a little, made her fists clench for a moment before she regained the breath she didn't even notice has slipped from her body's grip. She nodded imperceptibly, unsurely, as her fingers shook in the sudden gravity that's befallen, and Alex only strengthened his stance, evenly declaring:

"You just called her your wife."

It took her a blink.

At first hearing, nothing seemed wrong with it.

Callie was her wife.

She knew that.

But then— Callie was also not her wife.

It took her another blink.

Oh.

Right.

Callie wasn't her wife.

Callie isn't her wife.

Karev tilted his head in the dark. "Robbins..."

"No," the blonde declared squeamishly, breaking out a slight sweat. "No, okay? Let's just forget about this and never speak about it ever again, alright Dr. Karev?"

He scowled at her dismissal. "Look, don't 'Dr. Karev' me. You just called her your freaking wife in front of me with your McFreaking heart eyes or whatever. I'm your friend. That's not something I should ignore."

His bluntness made her up her walls again, rigid and steep. Arizona felt confined, like she was trapped in her own crawling skin. But she wasn't about to let up without any amount of fight. Not this time. "Okay, I did! So what!? Us divorcees slip all the time! I-It was just a mistake, Alex. It's not a big deal."

"But it is," he said. Pity now filled his eyes. And she absolutely hated that oh so familiar look above all. "She's not your wife, Robbins. Not anymore."

"Don't you think I know that!?"

"Of course, I know! That's why I'm not gonna just stand by and watch you pretend being 'friends' with Torres because you're still pining over her after two long years, and because you're still too scared to move on. You don't think I don't hear you crying at night when Sof's not around at home? Because I do. And I'm not gonna do nothing and fucking watch you kill yourself like that. I won't do it."

Arizona set her lips on a firm line.

Well, fuck.


07:42 PM, 20 September 2015. Karev Residence.

Callie Torres's world stopped turning the minute Arizona Robbins asked her, "Cup of tea?"

And the question itself wasn't out of the ordinary. It shouldn't be. Arizona's done similar things in the past. It would start then with an innocent want some coffee?, and end with a slightly threatening I need your coffee. And she was doing it now, though this time with a few changes.

First of all— the blonde had gone gung-ho recently on being a manic goodie for organic this and leafy that. Coffee Junkie Arizona had officially switched to Tea Drinker Arizona. Bailey apparently lured her into her cult for kale smoothies. Naturally, it was Arizona's obligation to hack her into this as well. (And Callie let her.)

So here she was: clean of Seattle's Best lattes and other fantastic coffees since the start of the month. It was a milestone in her whole adult-ing life.

Secondly— last weekend, Callie had been given a cosmic sign while she was in the middle of the supermarket. Due to both Arizona's nagging for the purpose of healthier living and Callie's own personal curiosity, she had started on more-fervently reading the nutritional facts behind every product before putting it in the cart.

It's transformed completely into a habit of her own. Like an awakening, of sorts. But the exact point of epiphany was when she had a cereal box in her hands, and her arms were all stretched out in front of her, eyes scandalously squinted.

They say the first stage of grief was denial. And for her, denial needed venting. So she badgered the blonde, all freaked out as hell. (And thank goodness for Arizona Robbins because the other woman had really helped her a lot with that.)

During this processing, Callie had also found that Arizona being calm and rational about the whole thing, was because she was already a complete pro. Turns out Arizona had been there, done that, when they were at the awkward, avoiding post-divorce phase. Callie felt bad, but at the very least: help for farsightedness, she was offered; help on how-to's at the optical shop, Callie received.

Lastly— well. They were divorced.

But they were A-plus friends.

Absolutely.

Which was why she's having a problem now.

Not with the homemade, surprisingly delicious, Robbins-brewed oolong. Not with their suspiciously-matching reading glasses. But it was with the way Arizona Robbins looked at Calliope Torres in this very moment, or what she looked like, while doing it.

The brunette had been extremely late at dropping off a snoozing Sofia over at her Mommy's, and when she'd called Arizona's phone by the door, the other woman had been 'busy in the cooking department' and just told Callie to let herself in. So she had gone ahead. She put their daughter to bed and headed down to the kitchen.

And then there she was.

There she was— in all the glory of her light, tousled waves. A white camisole clung to Arizona's sides, seamlessly outlining the curve of her breasts yet not bothering to hide the straps of her bra (which were a soft beige— which she wasn't staring at, at all), and black eyeglasses were perched delicately on the lower end of her nose. It was Callie's first time seeing this look. And her mind did not drift off to the two words, 'librarian' and 'hot'.

At.

All.

If not for the pajama pants with the ridiculous print, she would have thought the scene was like that of predictable rom-coms. (Did anybody also get that soft-porn vibe?) And for a while, Callie just dumbly stood there. Kind of tantalized and confused all at once. Until she found her voice.

"Hey," she said. "You have new Goofy pajamas."

Tearing her gaze away from her cookbook, the blonde shifted her blue eyes towards her. Then looked down at herself. Stupidly, brown eyes followed, only to find themselves drawn and stuck on the scatter of freckles peeking above the shirt's low cut line. And that damn mole on Arizona's chest that was slowly making its way into her memory again and— honestly? She needed to do something other than wanting to look at her ex-wife forever.

"Oh, yeah," Arizona said. She brushed off invisible dust from her pants. Stretched the loose, cotton fabric between her fingers. "There was a sale again the other day. Me and Sofia have matching pairs."

Callie distractedly nodded at her answer, afraid to breathe. God, why did it feel like the mole was staring back at her? Was that even possible? Was it alive? Everything she knew about the human body was temporarily forgotten. She chewed on the inside of her cheek, mulling for her fucked life.

A lone mole was wishing for her wit's end.

A mole.

She glanced up at the other woman whose eyebrows were now raised then smiled.

"That's great."

The kettle on the stove whistled louder.

"Why," Arizona asked. "Do you want one, too?"

She only answered with a low laugh. After a few more seconds of staring at Arizona's face, Callie realized that the blonde wasn't kidding. She was actually dead-serious. And Arizona genuinely looked so thoughtful, so sweet, and so innocent, and the fact just quickly turned Callie's mild embarrassment into something painfully nostalgic.

Flutters of wings roused fire in her insides. But, oh, she knew that these aren't butterflies running rampant in her stomach anymore. Maybe— maybe flamingos, she thought. Pink, tall, its limbs long and flimsy as they padded on her shallow depths. Splash, splash, splash ringing out in every ripple.

She's come to hate this. Definitely not Arizona. But how she could still make her feel - be it making her want to listen to Sinatra under the moonlight while writing cheesy poetry in her head, or bite the hell out of her nails and revert back to the age of thirteen. It's as if something about her just always, always has this permanent and powerful hold over Callie. Always, always pulling her in.

Maybe everything about her.

But they're not together now because of reasons.

Because they can't be.

If there was a lesson the two of them could pick up along their numerous break-ups and make-ups, it's that perhaps they weren't meant to be. Maybe they were only meant to be friends. Plus, there was this trill of a tiny voice in her head. That manipulative, wicked voice that was always eager to argue that, We all have feelings for our girl friends, Calliope. It doesn't mean you have to act on them.

And the truth behind that statement was quite chilling. Even if she didn't know how the Dana Fairbanks situation could entirely apply on her own, maybe it was still true. Maybe despite the freakishly large flamingos that she still felt for her ex-wife now, the seven-year story of Callie and Arizona was really, already over. Maybe these feelings were born only out of aftershocks. Nostalgia.

"Are you okay?"

No, she wasn't.

"I'm fine," Callie told her, "I'm perfect."

She'll be fine. Soon.

Soon.

Gears turned in the blonde's mind, then she raked her fingers through her golden locks. She looked like she's slowly realizing a mista- "Oh no," dropped from coral pink lips. "Callie. That's-, is that the withdrawal talking?"

The jumpy and too energetic tone caused Callie's sentimental mood to wane a little, and she couldn't help but just— smile. That's Arizona Robbins, Peds surgery for you. Sunshine incarnate who waltzes up to bathrooms and kisses sad strangers. Also an extensive neurotic.

As quickly as she could, Arizona switched the heat in the stove off and whirled back to her, looking downright terrified. "Oh god, I'm so, so, so sorry, I-I should've known better than be a tea pusher," she muttered softly, worriedly.

Callie laughed, "Tea pusher?"

The blonde rolled her eyes but nodded coyly in affirmation. "Don't mock the tea pusher," she said, coming closer. "I'll just make you some coffee, yeah? I'll steal from Wilson's pack and pay her later." Then she touched and felt for the temperature on her temple. She held it there for a while, gaze almost reverent, touching, and touching, almost intimate— longer than she should have, then Arizona blushed, Callie blushed, and they both tried to repress it. It only served to make the brunette more nauseated.

Fuck her life, really.

"No fever," Arizona offered her a small smile. She pulled her hand away like she'd been burned. "Bad headache?"

(I have a cure for headache that doesn't involve coffee.)

Nostalgia's really one big liar, Callie began to think. She can barely grasp the gist by its tail but she's familiar with it. It's always brought about a desperation for what she didn't, couldn't have anymore.

"Yup. Just a bad headache."

Nostalgia always came and settled down. Roots of mangroves digging deep into her skin, into her bones. Waiting till she would quietly fall.

Callie didn't move. But Arizona did. Her legs brought her to the kitchen counter, and her right arm was already stretched out toward the silver kettle when she asked, "Would black be okay?"

The blonde's smile was bright, quiet, and the roots of nostalgia grew. Reached for deeper waters, even if they might have nothing to twist around on anymore. Ocean blues shimmered brighter. And it stung, it sucked her soul in and out, and it strangely made remembering just be— exquisitely beautiful.

Seeing memories with new eyes? All the more.

"No," Callie smiled, "I'll just have the tea."


09:26 AM, 24 October 2015. ER Ambulance Bay.

The perk was too powerful, out of hand, and Arizona herself wouldn't be surprised if her butt was glowing through her scrubs. Her morning was the usual but it'd felt so unusually delightful, it made her light on her fleshy and robot feet. She's never felt more euphoric with all the baby-saving and intern-ass-saving. This day was just gonna be great, she decided, because she could just feel it.

And she'd been meaning to spread the joy— share all of that to this person, who had been her go-to place these recent months. Sparkling white teeth and sparkling dark eyes.

After putting on the chafy, yellow trauma gown, she immediately spotted the back of who she'd been looking for and grinned. They haven't had a moment alone since last week, so she didn't chastise herself, this time, when she pranced over to the ambulance bay. Arizona happily took it upon herself to help tie the other woman's gown up. However, she noticed how Callie's shoulders squared, tensing a bit at her speechless intrusion.

But the brunette didn't say anything, her breath just forming a small cloud in the late October air. Faint sunlight streamed by on Callie's person, her dark hair up in a short ponytail, exposing the soft, caramel skin of her neck. Suddenly, she reached for her tie and let the waves down— which was a bit of a shame. Arizona was a second too late to stop her dreamy sigh.

Callie had such a gorgeous nape.

The firmness. The smoothness.

The sweet-smelling scent of her neck.

Other stuff that Arizona shouldn't be thinking about.

Jesus. Reluctantly, Arizona had to swallow down the track of her thoughts. It must be the aftereffects of officially being celibate for a year and some more. For all her 'slutty tendencies', it was quite a feat. And it was also terrifying. The blonde put on the brightest, most friendly grin ever, gently patting her knot like a good, innocent Girl Scout, "There, all done!"

She was going to open her mouth to speak more. Evade feeling like a total jackass who'd been subtly perving on her friend, and open up with a joke about a man who wasn't an eggplant but was instead retarded. But then the other woman came first, wide-eyed. And she blurted out to her:

"I had a date last night."

Which— was totally fine, she supposed. Arizona has always been vaguely aware of Callie's dating life. Her supposedly, slightly unattended dating life. Meaning she also knew a lot more than she should about Callie's few, failed first dates and the brunette's minor and implied disinterest to said dates. Which they'd never made a point to actually talk about. (At least, they evolved past pressed small talk, right?)

In her defense, though— as the dreadful ex-wife— it's not like Arizona had any right or desire to know. Unless it's getting serious— a scorned discussion for another time. And it's also not like she didn't want to know, either. Right now, they were virtually attached by the hip. Plus, Callie could always tell her anything. But still.

What the hell?

She just smiled, even as she felt lights of humongous gas lamps blow up behind her eyes. The image was heavily morbid. But it's cool, she's cool. Gosh, it was completely fine. "Oh. A date. That's-," the blonde tried to smile even wider, "that's nice."

The winds blew over them. Silky strands of jet black tresses swished to her, lightly brushing against her face, as Callie turned her head towards her. And she looked very irked at the surprising enthusiasm. What Arizona was realizing right now was, that she probably looked like a smiling psycho killer from those low-budget slasher movies. And so she dialed it back on a level where it was ex-wife-appropriate. And where she won't want to punch the nearest resident at the same time.

Callie just nodded as she breathed, "... Um, yeah. It was. Nice, I mean."

"That's-, wow. Cool. Smart," she commented eagerly. "Good call."

Arizona ran out of neutral, amicable remarks about things she doesn't care about like dates. Ooh. Dates, huh. The carton of fresh milk she just opened today also had a date, and it should only be expiring next week. But then again, she also caught Alex drinking straight from the box this morning, and that manchild's saliva certainly didn't help preserving its already short fridge-life. She inwardly sighed. Poor, spoiled milk.

Wait, where was she?

"Her name was Penny."

Right. But the horrid name had immediately piqued the blonde's interest. She could poke a little fun on it, right? Think the name of one of Callie's potential love interests to be incredibly stupid? Like they were two normal and proper divorcees, who mentally stab each other on the back. Find a Penny, pick it up. Arizona got the strongest urge to laugh. "O-Oh?"

Callie caught her look.

"Are you smiling?"

Apparently, her cheeks were all bundled up, reddening, and the corners of her lips were curled in the weirdest way. Why, yes, Calliope Torres— Arizona Robbins is smiling hard and secretly picking on your date last night. Because of reasons. Which she can't exactly pinpoint at the moment. But this Penny seems like she was a delight. Callie wouldn't go out with someone who wasn't smart, funny, and pretty, yeah? If she wasn't, Arizona would be pretty insulted, speaking from an ex point-of-view.

But Penny would probably roll with it.

"No, I'm not," Arizona said.

It wasn't enough to quash Callie's perfect, shot-up left brow and her suspicions. "Wait. She's not blonde, by the way," she clarified briskly, frown lines showing. "Penny's a redhead."

Blonde? Redhead? Arizona Robbins didn't care. And Arizona Robbins is a proud, natural blonde named after a battleship that was named after a state. What about Penny? Was Penny named after a coin? Arizona gnawed on the inside of her lip, clicked her tongue two, three times, before letting out the most incredulously induced cackle.

"Penny the Redhead. Right."

Brown eyes narrowed their stare at her, less mirth than she's used to, but trying. Always trying. "Of course, she's no zombie kid either. And, of course, you know that," the brunette forced out, eyelids rapidly fluttering, "I just... I think I know what you're thinking." She smiled hardly. "I know you and your TV shows and nerd jokes."

Clearly, Callie didn't know what she was thinking, but— "Gotcha," she assured her, elongating the vowel theatrically to seem lighter. Feel lighter.

But there were no eccentric nerd jokes under her sleeve this time. Not anymore.

Their talk was saved by the siren.

What Arizona didn't tell her was, that she wasn't laughing about The Big Bang Theory, or all the other Penny's from all the other TV shows. She wasn't laughing about anything, at all. What she didn't tell her was, that she had just caught on something about her relationship with Callie. And she finally understood.

She only had her by part.


9:22 PM, 04 November 2015. Torres Residence. House 830.

What Callie didn't mention to Arizona was, that the first date with Penny the Redhead— was most undeniably the last and only date with Penny the Redhead. What she also didn't mention was, that her date with Penny the Redhead had been mentioned to her on a whim, out of fear. For Arizona. Which was irrational.

And— god-failed-to-forbid— the nickname actually fucking stuck to her.

Lately, she'd been secretly and absolutely frustrated at the other woman. At herself. At both of them. And she was also greatly confused for good reason. It was already a universal truth that Arizona could be an impeccable avoider if she wished to— and for more than a week, she'd done it so. Like it wasn't even hard. The hospital had a lot of floors, right?

Callie avoided her too. In return and in petty protest.

So their set-up now was just a tiny bit odd and difficult, since they'd been wordlessly dodging each other's sole company for a total of eleven days. Sofia, who newly turned five today, had cajoled both her mothers earlier to lay down on her very small, small bed— with her on the middle, of course. Nonetheless, it was a complete low blow, because they didn't want to. But the puppy eyes were too out of their league and it was her birthday and 'birthday girls should get whatever they want', so it was something they had to do.

And they're managing. Magnificently. The child had literally just fallen asleep after an hour of sweet-talking, and now, the two of them didn't know what to do.

Hence, the procured, pregnant silence. Callie didn't normally do things head-on now. She'd already learned enough from baring her heart through the years— she'd don a faux-invincible mask. Think, calculate, recalibrate. But some things still slip. Especially with Arizona.

"Are we okay?" she first asked.

And Arizona looked at her, cheeks slightly flushing like she's guilty. Ashamed. And she understood like she's always did. "Of course, we're okay," she said. "We always are."

Not always.

Callie bit her lip and stared at the ceiling above.

Silence fell on them again.

"I don't know what to do with this house anymore," the brunette said the first thing on her mind, breaking their false peace. "It's too..." Exhausting to clean up. Too big. Too depressing, too empty.

Instead, the blonde politely supplied, "Roomy?"

Roomy? Sure. Roomy was fine; emotionally distant. She nodded tautly, feeling the air between them drop, "For two and a half people."

Humming, the blonde repeated in a dazed murmur, "Two and a half, huh?" And she snorted quietly, sleepily, looking down at the restful, little girl on her left, "That's a good one." Her elbow then settled by the pillow, more relaxed, and she swayed an inch nearer. "You-know-who really has such a big personality. Could be bigger than the two of us combined," Arizona jokingly deadpanned, jaw resting against the soft flesh of her palm, glassy eyes now a little distant and tentative. "What do you say we change it to 'too roomy for three'?"

"I say, that's disturbingly appropriate." Because it was true— as per Sofia's request, her birthday was spent as a private family affair on the aviator museum and the horse-riding track for the whole day. Suffice to say, both Callie and Arizona weren't able to keep up with all the squeals and the circumnavigating. "Seriously, though," Callie muttered. "She didn't get this insane stamina from me. And Mark… you know him. Mark's obnoxious and vain but mostly-"

"A pansy too arrogant for his own good."

"Exactly!" Callie quietly chuckled. "He couldn't even run one straight kilometer without taking a break every five minutes, remember?"

"I remember." The most tender smile graced Arizona's lips. It had a slight haughtiness mixed with certain melancholy, though, and Callie could tell that the blonde was remembering. (Early on their relationship, Mark Sloan had once challenged the athletic Arizona Robbins for a race. He surrendered by handing her an expensive gift certificate from Barney's an hour later that was politely declined. In exchange for a six-pack of beer.) "The shy Callie Torres genes must be recessive," she whispered, still smiling.

"Hmm, maybe," the brunette played back, feeling the lightness return to them again. "Or— she just gets that bunch of sun energy from you. That's a higher possibility."

"Maybe," Arizona half-smiled before neutralizing her expression. "Do you really want to sell it?" Her voice shook a little. She's testing the waters, Callie thought, her toe not too eager to dip, with the way she asked it.

"I don't know." She could only be honest.

"So," Arizona drawled calmly, turning to her, a shallow dimple made on her left cheek. Only one. "Raincheck, then."

She smiled back, "Raincheck." Now, they had a million and one things left unsaid— however, there was one that Callie could put into rest now. "You remember that thing Grey and Yang used to spout a lot?" she asked.

Arizona laughed softly, "What thing? Because those two spouted a lot of things."

"Person, person stuff. All that yada-yada."

"Ah," and the blonde paused, recognizing it and tilting her head up in thought. Then her coral pink lips later parted open, like she's about to say something of important, important consequence, but she seemed to check on whatever instinct it was as she only smiled crookedly and whispered, "That was actually very sweet."

Callie snapped her head to the blonde frantically, laughing, in a sudden mood to mock. However, she decided to come out and just be honestly, freaking charmed of the other woman's sheer and same old, same old child-likeness instead. Arizona Robbins' ironically mature naivety was just fascinating to watch. "You think it's sweet?"

"Don't you?"

She did. Sometimes.

"I'm sorry but I'll have to ignore that question."

The blonde lightly slapped her on the arm, laughed musically, and Callie swatted her back. It was alchemy's first law of Equivalent Exchange. Man cannot gain anything without first giving something in return. To obtain, something of equal value must be lost. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. They laughed at each other again and at the hilarity of the circumstances they always seem to tread with each other. It was a miracle that Sofia's still asleep and dead to the world. (Just like her Mami when she's asleep.)

Feeling her throat hurt after their prolonged giggles, Callie silently coughed and swallowed an imaginary pill of courage. She stayed quiet, comfortable this time, and stared up again at the ceiling for a few more moments. She didn't know why she was nervous for what she was about to ask. But she was. And she's gonna do it anyway. "Do you want… to be hired," the brunette had to make her expression completely flat, "for that position?"

"What?" Then little by little, Arizona pouted. "Sorry, this is out of topic, but I kinda hate that I'm the one that keeps on saying that now instead of you. What have you done to our symbiotic relationship, Evil Dr. Torres?"

The cute sideline instantly purged her fretful nerves. God, Arizona could always make everything hard and complicated and easy and comfortable all at the same time. "Shut up," the brunette laughed despite her sore throat.

And the blonde yawned despite her inexplicable curiosity, "So... what job is it?"

"Nothing, sleepyhead." Smirking, Callie teased, "Apparently, Evil Dr. Torres has already hired you for the job without either of you knowing it."

Arizona then sleepily shifted to her side and moved her arm across Sofia's middle, accidentally touching Callie's hand. But she didn't fight on removing it anymore. Instead, she held it lightly and posed a ghost of a smile with her eyes drooping to a close as she mumbled, "Tell me."

And Callie couldn't be more happier to weave their fingers together, enveloping their arms more around their daughter, and squeeze her hand back. And like singing a song that lulls a lover to sleep, as the airs evened, softly, she told her the truest of truths like they were the only people in the world:

"You're my person."


2:38 AM, 26 December 2015. Torres Residence. House 830.

Nothing good ever happens after 2 AM. Somehow, the night after Christmas, the two of them had wounded up drinking a few glasses of wine hours before dawn. Arizona and Callie had both decided to spend Christmas day together. As a 'family'. And it probably wasn't the best and smartest idea, seeing as it might further confuse Sofia. But, again, they're handling it - they were happy and that's what matters.

Sofia had been disappointed earlier at the light snow shower mixed with rain and had complained, "Moms, why does it always, always only rain in here?". But she smiled brightly all the same, because it was always exciting when they were all laughing and hanging up stockings by the fireplace and together.

Long ago, her Uncle 'Lex had given the five-year old a DVD box set of the Avatar series. So, instead of their usual tradition of watching the three Home Alones for the holidays, Sofia had convinced both her mothers if they could please, please, please watch the first few episodes together.

Thankfully, Arizona wasn't on-call for the night so she thought, why the heck not? Plus, it was no secret between the three of them that Mommy was weak when it comes to cartoon shows. She'd defend how it was a really great show, and the other two would only raise their eyebrows full of power. (The fact that she mouthed along and had most of the lines memorized in many episodes was left unspoken.)

So, they'd opened the first season and watched together in harmony. But then, everything changed when Arizona was about to leave. The wisps of snow suddenly grew with cold, deafening howls of the wind. And the heaviest blanket of white that Arizona's ever seen in the years she's lived in Seattle had spilled all over the front yard, covering the grasses, the porch, and of course - her car.

Arizona panicked, Sofia bubbled up with delight, and Callie, for the second time, had her stay the night.

(Callie told her to make herself at home.)

(Arizona still didn't know what that meant.)

After tucking in the little miss to bed, they sighed. Smiled tiredly at each other. Then telepathically decided on rummaging through the kitchen together.

"I'm hungry," Arizona declared, twirling the glass in her hand. Aimlessly, she circled the small kitchen island once more while Callie watched her drunken ways in amusement. "We should make," and she sipped on her wine again before she sloppily finished with, "pancakes."

"At two in the morning?"

"Sure. Why the heck not?" Clearly, that's become her motto for the day.

"One, because you haven't slept for the past thirty-four hours and you have to. Two, because it takes away the balance in 'balanced diet', and all the ATP you'll have produced would go to waste once you fall asleep. And three, because you're a double-board certified doctor, and the whole medical community would be obliged to get worried if I have to explain all the other reasons to you.

"Damn, Gina!" Arizona jeered. "I was just kidding."

Callie looked disappointingly at her. "You need to stop calling me 'Gina' every time my sass becomes too much for you."

"Gina."

"Seriously?"

"Gina. Gina. Gi-, ugh," she sat down then flopped a side of her face down the table, feeling comforted by its coldness against her skin. "I'm too tired and too hungry to even annoy you. Hearing you talk about ATP makes my mitochondria scream for pancakes. They're screaming, Calliope! Screaming."

Chuckling, Callie took the wine from her hands and said, "Alright, Mackenzie, I think it's time you stop with the wine."

The blonde pouted when her glass was taken but didn't have any more energy to protest. Callie smiled at her childish antics when she noticed (because she always does) and silently came closer, tucking hairs that have gone astray behind her ear. Arizona leaned against the feeling of her knuckles, enjoying the attention, then frowned as she realized— "How come my nickname's more horrible than Gina? I don't wanna be called 'Mackenzie'. 'Mackenzie' sound mean."

"That just means it's served its function." The brunette smirked and flicked her forehead softly. "You not liking it would exactly be the point, Mackenzie."

Arizona rubbed her forehead. Frowned more.

"You're mocking me."

Callie raised her chin. Smirked more.

"I like mocking you."

She stared hard at her face before suddenly breaking into giggles. "That's uncanny. That's exactly what my classmate in kindergarten used to say." Arizona happily let Callie thread her slim, warm fingers through her hair once again as she proceeded to babble, "It was so annoying. He used to pinch my cheeks and pull my pigtails all the time. It was really hard to braid them back on, but I had to because Tim would definitely notice and Mom would explode."

Callie watched her animatedness with a tiny smile she could barely suppress. "He must've had a huge crush on you, then."

"What? Ew. We were just little kids," she pulled a face before making a comeback. "So, what, that translates to you having a crush on me, too?"

"Well," Callie mulled over it for a while, licking her upper lip before shrugging. "Yeah."

Needless to say, Arizona was too shell-shocked in Callie's new forwardness to think up of another response.

"I mean, if you don't mind," the brunette started again, turning up her charm as she batted her eyelashes at her, making it seem to her that it's one of their games, "I just so happen to have a bigger crush on you than your classmate in kindergarten, Arizona Robbins. So I'm really hoping you find girls who chew on their hair and sit at the back of the class attractive."

Of course, the only choice besides jumping into a frying pan was (fake?) flirting back. "Um, right. Yeah. Maybe not in kindergarten, though - maybe high school. 'Cause... by then, you know..." her voice trailed off because she was suddenly very, very distracted and Callie's face was suddenly very, very close. "... we would've already had some sense of ourselves, a-and... I think I would've had more confidence to ask pretty girls out," Arizona blurted while subtly tilting her head away. She almost lost track of her thoughts when she glanced at Callie's face again.

Where the hell was all this coming from?

The brunette persistently chased after her gaze and cocked her head in her direction. "What, why do you get to ask me out? I ask you out. That's how it's supposed to go."

"What," the blonde scrunched her nose in defiance, still avoiding Callie's eyes, "no, it's not."

"Yes, it is."

"No, Callie. Because... I would be that starstruck, tomboy-ish new kid, and you would be that kind, kind sweetheart who would help me on my first day," she decided on confessing out loud. It was a longtime fantasy of hers that she'd actually dreamt up in her sleep way, way back when they were married. There were multiple versions of them, really; one where they were co-workers who first hated each other; one where they were roommates in college. But all of them ended the same. Breathing unevenly, she stared into glazed brown eyes and said, "We would become fast friends. And I'd fall faster..."

"... Yeah?" Callie's stare softened.

"Yeah. And maybe... when I feel like the time's right... I'd do the cheesy love-letter-in-a-locker thing-"

"Then we would fall in love," Callie finished in complete certainty. The other woman breathed deeply, took her hand into hers, and gave her a warm smile. And suddenly, the whole thing didn't feel like it was a game anymore, for how cruel a game could be to play with matters such as falling in love.

"I..." Arizona fumbled, curious and wary at the same time.

Yes.

Yes, we'd fall in love, she wanted to say.

We always do.

The brunette placed a hand on her cheek, and Arizona was instantly brought back. Her thumb, soft yet firm, stroked her skin, and her voice, light yet close to breaking, hummed a few mere inches against her lips. "Can you imagine it, too? Our parents being so happy for us. And then us dating and fighting bullies in school. And maybe we reach a point where we also fight and almost break up. But we won't. We'd go to prom and drink the spiked punches and dance and kiss. And maybe we make it to the real world, maybe not. Maybe... maybe we get back together, maybe not. But in those moments, every single happy thing in fairy tales would have come true. And they would have made all the difference," she told her, only five centimeters away from a touch. "What do you think?"

"I think..." and Arizona glanced down Callie's lips, "you're insane."

When she sounded the whisper, it was practically a soft pant. Like a plea coming from the sudden closeness from their lips.

Callie leant closer. "You're insane."

She had that look on her face. Along with that peculiar, tight smile. When the world was pushing for the painful inevitable and she was helpless to catch her parted lips and kiss her because it was just the natural thing to do.

So she does.

Callie pressed her lips slowly and tentatively over hers, pushing against it with a little more force on an impulse of her own. Arizona froze but soon gave back as much as she was given, tugging jet-black waves and pulling Callie more into her. Then it was all fervent lips, tongue, teeth, and hands. And as impulsively as it started, as hunger built in the midst of the sound of steady downpour, they were able to break off with one chaste sweep, eyes fluttering with slow exits of labored breath from their chests.

Callie's mouth was softer and wetter than Arizona remembered. And she thought of how the kiss was like coming up for air.

But the silence after seemed to scream doom and regret and soon, Callie only whispered, "Sorry," in her ear and pulled away. She composed herself like nothing for the past twelve seconds had ever happened and moved to stand up. She tilted her head and smiled warmly at Arizona, "Still want pancakes?"

And it hurt like hell.

The brunette's lips still glistened in the lowlight, still looking like she'd been feverishly kissed, and the blonde hesitated to trace the tremble in her bottom lip. But she set her palms on Callie's forearms gently instead and pulled her down all the same. She sighed loadedly, closing her eyes, even as she leant her forehead against hers and nudged their noses together, "This is probably a bad idea, right?"

Callie didn't answer. She only looked up at her with sad, dark eyes before placing a lingering kiss under her jaw. Sighing, Arizona savored the feeling of lips pressed on her skin. She then grasped the other woman's cheeks in her palms and kissed her square on the mouth again. And they kept and kept on giving an giving back the most tender and light and hurting things, until it became too much burden, too much love for each of them to bear. And they had to stop and look into each other's eyes. And they just - knew.

They blame it on the wine and never speak of it again.

Some people say, that for someone who doesn't feel anything about you, no grand amount of strings of words can ever satisfy. But for someone who might and might just love you? Every silence speaks an eternity. Every look is worth the world's library. Arizona wants nothing more than to believe that it's true. Because, really, it's either that or maybe it's the other saying that some people believed in, too.

Maybe nothing good really happens after 2 AM.


A/N: Sorry this took ages to post! I got too caught up with school and I didn't think anyone other than myself still read this. But I had loads of fun and took great creative liberty with this because it's really entirely for my emotional relief (it's a fucking messy blast, I love it). PS, the "Gina" thing is an ode to one of my fave Calzona writers, baxley8030. The second to the last lines were inspired by what my Sociology prof said in class last week. He was quite intense.

Enjoy and leave reviews! Or not! But till the next.