CHAPTER FOUR

Arizona desperately needed air. She needed out. She needed to get of the hospital, out of her office, out of her own head. She quickly made her way through the Peds wing, careful to dodge the tiny human makers, the gossiping nurses, and the annoying residents. She caught a glimpse of the Chief rushing down the hall, but ducked into an empty patient room, holding her breath as he ran past her. She had a place she needed to escape to and it was so close, and not even her authority issues would stop her. She eluded stretchers as they buzzed around the wing, smiling briefly at the kids as she passed them, no need to be rude, after all, and glided herself down the stairs, sweeping through the automatic doors that welcomed her to the outside world.

She closed her eyes and breathed as deeply as she could, relishing in the bright sun as it warmed her face, such a contrast to the piercing pain that was slowly beginning to engulf her heart. She opened her eyes and tried her hardest to catch her breath and center herself once again.

She walked for a while, past the entrance of the hospital, to the park, their park. As she sat down on the bench, their bench, rummaging through her pockets, searching for a loose cigarette. She laced it between her fingers at first, and then smiling to herself, she began flipping it over every one of her knuckles. It was the parlor trick Isaac had taught her when they were in high school, many, many years ago. She smiled softly, remembering how hard he'd teased her because it took her forever to get it just right.

Focusing intently on the stick, she contemplated bringing it to her lips and lighting it. Ever since she became a resident, after that one night when she royally, royally fucked up everything in her life and faced a shit storm of yelling and screaming because of it, she always left one in her pocket, just in case, as a physical reminder to always be the best. Always be in control. And always, always remember what she had done and what she could never have again because of it.

Back then she never thought twice about lighting it up, letting the smoke fill her lungs, the high of that first drag wash over her, releasing all the bottled up tension she had no other method of release for. But ever since she became a surgeon, and especially since Callie had reacted so strongly against it the night she came home to her flipping the lighter and cigarette between her fingers, she never really smoked unless things were too unbearable. And even then, she took every precaution so she wouldn't get caught. It was a comfort thing. To know that, no matter how badly she screwed up, personally more so than professionally, relief was only inches away.

It was beginning to feel like she had pushed herself right up to that threshold, teetering dangerously close to stepping right over it. She closed her eyes and willed her hand to bring the object to her lips.

She was so lost in her thoughts she hadn't even noticed that Mark Sloan had followed her outside until he sat down next to her, the creek of the bench under his added weight the only giveaway.

"And what, exactly, are you going to do with that, Robbins?"

She could all but feel the smug satisfaction in his tone, as he let the question hang in the air. She knew she'd been caught. As she glanced sideways at him, one eyebrow raised, his sly grin only confirmed it. She knew the whole "smoker" persona was totally out of her character profile, if not for the fact that she was a surgeon, for the fact she was a perky kid surgeon. But it was her secret weapon, the one thing in her arsenal that just oozed rebellion. Something she and her brother shared, she thought.

"Nervous habit," she quietly responded, twisting the cigarette one last time before placing it back into her pocket, allowing both hands to find shelter in their respective pocket homes.

She glanced over at Mark once more. He sat there, staring out into the clearing, a completely blank look ghosting his strong features. He must have talked to her, texted her at the very least. She had to have called him, or gone to Joe's to do shots; they must have done whatever it is they do together at least once since the fight.

It was certainly a friendship she could never completely understand, but nevertheless, she accepted it as it was. He was obviously a constant that Callie could always depend on, and while they used to be fuck buddies and just the thought made her want to puke, Arizona had to respect his unwavering support and presence in Callie's life.

Mark, uncomfortable with the silence that had fallen between them, cut off her internal ramblings. "Have you heard from her?"

"What? No. Haven't you?"

He looked down to his lap, shaking his head softly from side to side. "She won't answer my calls or texts. I'm worried about her Arizona, even though Yang hasn't led me to believe she's anything but alive." He softly chuckled and shot Arizona his signature grin. Taking a deep breath, he looked deep into her eyes. She smiled slightly; mimicking the sadness she saw gazing back at her. He cleared his throat and hardened his jaw. "She'll talk to us when she's ready."

"When she's ready." Arizona reiterated sadly, hardening her features with a small nod of agreement. She repeated the words in her mind, hoping she could convince herself Callie would contact her again, that she still loved her after what she said, that she would come back, even though she knew the control was completely out of her hands.

Halfway through the third day, after Cristina's rude awakening, literally, Callie decided she needed a break. Too many things reminded her of Arizona. The living room and the bathroom, and the kitchen for that matter, weren't much help either. She left a post-it note for Cristina, saying simply that she needed some air and would be back later. The last thing she needed was a search party, an unenthusiastic one at that, coming after her. Especially since she decided against calling Mark, she wasn't in the mood to go over every little detail with him. She was already beating herself up enough for both she and Arizona, she wasn't going to hear shit from him, too.

She walked through the park, finding an unoccupied bench under the shade of a beautiful blooming tree. She expected to battle conflicting thoughts and emotions regarding their fight, it's all she could think about, every second, and it was slowly killing her inside. She hoped the park, their park, would bring her some clarity that the apartment or hospital couldn't. She needed the fresh air, the feel of nature around her, the rays of the sun she so desperately missed from home as they graced her face. She closed her eyes and instantly realized her mind was a complete blank. She felt nothing, she thought nothing; she had become nothing. There was suddenly a complete disconnection, a feeling of utter still and emptiness.

Fuck.

She was letting Arizona get to her. She was letting Arizona change her. She had let her in; let her be the one person she needed to survive. Arizona wasn't like anyone else she'd ever had in her life, in any context. She made her feel amazing. She found out how to get through to her when no one else could. She saw her; really saw her, the first person to ever do that. She also healed her when she was broken into a million little pieces, and then fixed her, shiny and new, coming out better than ever before. She wasn't the kind of person who would tear her apart. Not like George. Certainly nothing like Erica. Because, plain and simple, Arizona was different. Because there were butterflies. Not just once in a while, not just when they kissed, every second of every day.

She, Callie Torres, badass, hardcore, Ortho rock star had never ending, mother fucking, butterflies.

Callie shot up from the bench, taking off in a dead sprint. She had no idea where she was going; she just needed to leave, needed to run. She followed the paved path, ignoring the sideways glances and glares that were certainly questioning her impromptu running attire. She didn't care, screw 'em, she needed to run. Fast. Hard. Away. Anywhere. Her feet roughly pounded the pavement as the vicious burn began to shoot through the muscles in her legs. And just as she acknowledged the welcomed pain, she felt warm tears forming in her eyes. Yet, she had no idea what was causing them. She was over thinking about it, over thinking about her, all she wanted was to keep running, to keep breathing, to keep feeling this alive again.

The burn was building as she quickened her pace, her lungs felt like they were ready to burst if she continued another step. It didn't even matter; she pushed herself even harder until she reached a shaded patch of grass, which looked out over the Seattle skyline. Her knees buckled and she collapsed onto the ground, gasping frantically for the air she'd deprived her body of, thrusting it back into her lungs as quickly as she could. That was exactly what she needed.

Fuck Arizona Robbins. She wouldn't break Calliope Iphigenia Torres if she had any say in it. She was a new woman, and if she'd learned anything over the last year and a half they'd been together, she was worthy of being loved and respected and adored.

And if Arizona wasn't that person anymore?

Fuck her.

A/N: Thanks so much for reading! Hopefully you have enjoyed reading it as much as we have enjoyed writing it. We know it's angst/drama heavy, hopefully that hasn't deterred you from wanting us to continue. We'd love some input to see if you're happy with how the story is progressing, with the writing, and where you'd like to see it go. Don't worry, we love happy/sexy Calzona too, but the yummy drama is all a part of the overall plan. Thoughts? Suggestions? Shall we continue? Thanks everyone!