Callie's POV

The next morning, I bring Arizona coffee in bed and we spend the morning talking and laughing, our legs tangled beneath the sheets.

And she is the same enchanting woman that she was yesterday, and the day before – Except that now things are different somehow. I know that it is not her that is changing, but rather my perception of her. That somewhere along the way I have come to view her as simultaneously flawless and flawed; that is, knowing her faults yet finding her perfect.

And I think that this is quite the oxymoron. Because only rarely do you allow yourself to be so completely irrational. There is something entirely liberating about giving yourself over to this feeling, knowing full well that you're only really half-sane around this person and being totally on board with that.

So as we kiss goodbye, heading our separate ways to work, I know that things between us have changed. Because now that she's imperfectly perfect to me, I know that there can never be anyone else.

Arizona's POV

I have been absolutely walking on air the last two days, the love-making with Calliope giving me a high that I have yet to come down from. And this constant smiling is a bit of a problem – it's made delivering a prognosis difficult in a completely new and unchartered way.

So, yes, I am aware that my feelings for Callie are interfering a bit with my day-to-day life. But isn't that point? And shouldn't I get to enjoy that feeling of being utterly distracted for as long as it lasts?

I know that I'm treading in dangerous waters but it feels disarmingly safe to me, and I know that things between us have changed. Because now that she's the one and only thing on my mind, I know there can never be anyone else.

Later that night, I call Calliope to find out what her plans are. It's loud where she is, and she excuses herself to step outside.

"Hey, baby. Sorry about that," she says. "A few people from work just stopped to have a drink. Why don't you come meet us? You can meet some of my friends, have a drink, and then take me home?" I can practically hear her smile.

I agree to meet her, quickly hailing a cab. And while this is a completely natural social situation, I can't help but feel that this night is bigger than that. I'm meeting her friends. Which means that she wants me to meet her friends. Colleagues, no less, which means that she trusts me to meet her friends.

I pay the cabbie as I get to the bar, a charming little dive near Mt. Sinai. And despite feeling nervous, her friends instantly put me at ease. Sure, they're a little odd, but in a completely irresistible way. Fortunately, we take to each other fairly quickly.

Many of them are quite drunk by the time I arrive; even Callie has a bit of a buzz. My game plan for the night is to stay relatively sober-minded, especially if I want to make a good impression. While her colleagues might enjoy watching me dancing on the bar, that isn't exactly the type of first impression I want to make.

So I am completely sober as the evening winds down and Mark sidles up next to me at our table. Callie is only half paying attention to our conversation; Cristina is trying to teach her a trick she learned in her short stint as a bartender.

"I'd ask you what your intentions are with my best friend, but I'm too drunk," Mark says, his eyes droopy. He has this drunken smile plastered to his face that hasn't faltered once in the last hour.

"Plus Callie already gave me the low-down," he mumbles, happily.

"Oh yeah? And what's that?"

"You know, about you guys doing the casual dating/fucking thing," he says, raising his glass. "Cheers to that." Except we don't clink glasses, and he doesn't notice.

Callie keeps looking over while trying to appear as though she is listening to Cristina, but I can tell she is only barely picking up the thread of this conversation.

"Well that's not exactly—"

"No, no," he cuts me off. "I think it's great. Callie's pretty lousy at relationships anyway."

"Hey!" she yells from across the table, a slight pout forming. Mark waves her off.

"Well, you are," he says. "Anyway," he turns back to me. "Where was I?"

"Pretty lousy at relationships…"

"Oh, right. So that's why I think the casual thing is a great idea. She and I have a casual thing, ourselves."

My eyebrows furrow, and I hope that what he means is the exact opposite of what he's saying.

"Now before you get upset," he slurs, "let me clarify. We don't have a casual dating thing. Just the fucking."

I feel like the wind has been knocked out of me. Sure, we'd discussed dating other people but with the way I felt about her now, that had changed. For me, at least.

"What's going on over here?" Callie asks, her conversation with Cristina over.

"We were just talking about the arrangement that you and Mark have, in which you 'casually fuck'," I say. I get the feeling that she is a bit too tipsy to understand the gravity of this situation. Either that or, for her, this situation isn't grave at all. Which is much worse.

"I… wasn't aware that you slept with men."

"Oh, I don't. Just Mark. And that's more of a convenience thing."

"No strings. It just works," Mark adds.

I'm silent for a moment before Callie hurriedly adds: "But that hasn't happened for a few weeks," she counters.

I know this is supposed to make me feel better, but it doesn't. How I can I judge her for having that sort of relationship with someone when that's the type of relationship we originally had?

Of course, I am most hurt by my assumption that things between us had taken a turn the other night. I feel foolish; embarrassed, for thinking the feeling was mutual.

Putting on a brave face I allow the conversation to veer away to something else. After about 20 more minutes, I smile and excuse myself for the night.

Callie walks me out.

"Hey," she says softly, grabbing my arm. "I thought you were supposed to be taking me home?"

"I'm sorry, Calliope. Not tonight. I'm kind of tired," I lie. It is the first time that I've turned her down.

"Oh. Okay." She looks hurt and my first instinct is to take back what I've just said. My pride, however, has other ideas.

I lean in and kiss her cheek.

"Goodnight Calliope."

"Night," she says, to my now retreating form.