It's the first time they're both awake, in the house together, with Sofia asleep, in at least a month. Callie had come home with Sofia after work to find Arizona in the kitchen scrubbing the oven clean. She'd taken her leg off and had a pillow underneath her to help with balance.

They don't talk about why Arizona is cleaning the self cleaning oven. When pizza comes for dinner Callie wordlessly leaves a plate of it on top of the stove for her. After dinner she puts Sofia to bed and goes into the living room and sips wine and watches true crime reality shows and tries to ignore the sound of steel bristles scrubbing at old burned in stains.

Eventually the scrubbing stops. The microwave opens and closes and runs and opens and closes again. Arizona walks in, pizza in one hand and cane in the other.

"Can I join you," she asks shyly.

Callie scoots over so there's enough space between them and they watch the true crime shows in silence. They're about the crazy men women have married. Secret stalker husbands and murderers and even a famous bank robber.

It's weird to think of the limits these women went to to stay in their marriages. To make them work despite the madness knocking at their doors. And here Callie is sitting in the ruins of her own marriage with Arizona chewing on green peppers and sausage beside her.

She winces. Stands up. Pours another glass of wine. Then a second glass for Arizona who eyes it suspiciously when Callie puts it on the coffee table in front to her.

"I though you had a long surgery tonight," Callie says during commercials.

Arizona sets her empty plate down and reaches for her glass of wine. "Herman cancelled surgery. The mother died this afternoon."

Callie's glass pauses at her lips and she fights the urge to reach for Arizona. They used to be able to wordlessly comfort. To wrap up in each other and forget any death that lingered at the edge of their thoughts.

Now Arizona scrubs an oven that doesn't need scrubbing and Callie watches poor re-enactment of stories out of a twenty year old Reader's Digest.

She sips her wine.

####

Amelia's bracing herself against a shelf that shimmies with every thrust and they're both ignoring the clattering of supplies falling to the floor and Arizona is trying not to think about Callie and the way she whispered goodnight from down the hall as they went to bed in separate bedrooms.

She'd looked sad for the first time in days. Looked affected by the self-inflicted separation. And Arizona is trying to drive away those thoughts by fucking Amelia until her wrist aches.

The lights in the closet flicker on when Arizona's mouth is pressed against Amelia's shoulder and the gasp she hears is so familiar she thinks she might crack.

Amelia taps her arm to stop and she hears the joke in her voice. "This is awkward," she says.

And Arizona still can't turn to face the figures in the doorway because she knows who it is and she knows the look of fury she'll see on Owen's face and the look of shock on Callie's.

"You two need the room," Amelia jokes.

####

Jackson's the one that calls them in.

The boardroom is empty except for the three board members, the chief of surgery, and Amelia Shepherd.

Jackson paces. Pauses. Glares. Paces again.

The guy struggles to be authoritative except when he's angry. Then there's a trace of it mired in a childish fury that used to rankle on Callie but now just amuses her.

Except today. Today she's been called to the carpet.

All four of them have.

Jackson goes down the line. "You are the chief of surgery. Board member. The chief of neurosurgery. Former chief of pediatric surgery and board member."

Amelia bumps Arizona's shoulder playfully. "Overachiever."

Jackson glares, but Amelia's smirk is like Teflon.

"You can't just," his hands circles around and around as his whole self tries to put it into words. But he fails and instead returns to over serious child saddled with authority. "You're adults."

"Well aware," Amelia jokes.

"Which means you can't go around the hospital having sex in supply closets and getting into shouting matches."

Arizona scoffs and Callie has to agree. "You're one to talk," she challenges.

"Pretty sure you and April have done it more in supply closets than your own bed," Arizona mumbles under her breath.

Callie wants to high five her but resists.

They're in a fight.

One for the ages.

Arizona's hand probably still smells like Amelia and if Callie thinks too hard about it she'll be sick.

The other women Arizona at least tried to hide.

Amelia she stands close to almost proudly.

Like she and Callie are over.

Or never were.

"I think we can handle this ourselves," Owen growls. His arm is close enough to hers that she can savor the warmth.

She glances at Arizona. Arizona glances back. Bright eyes dark. They only turn on the accent lights when they filed into the room.

Jackson's voice is strangely soft. "I know things are tough right now, but the fights can't happen here. Not where staff—patients—can see."

"I don't think it will happen again," Owen assures him. His voice is soft too.

"Yeah, I think this was kind of the nail in the coffin," Amelia says. Even the dry snark softened by something else.

"It won't be a problem." Only Arizona's voice is even. Not soft or understanding. Just hard.

Callie is the first to leave the room. She throws up in a hazardous waste bin one floor down.

When Owen looks for her she sneaks into the women's bathroom and curls up on the toilet hoping the nausea consuming her will go away.

Later the door opens and closes and a too familiar gait can be heard.

"Callie," Arizona whispers through the door, her voice as weary as Callie feels. "Can we talk?"

"I said it was over," she chokes, "I can't…you obviously took what I said to heart."

"Please," Arizona begs. "Just…" Her forehead thumps against the stall door. "Please come out."

"Did you at least wash your hands?"

Arizona's sigh is heavy. Her sneakers squeak on the tile and then she sliding awkwardly down to the floor to sit. "I can't be the bad guy this time Callie."

"But you've gotten so good at it."

"We—you ended us because I keep hurting you. But…" She sighs again and Callie can hear her scrubbing her face, "we're done aren't we? You're with Owen now."

She knows that. But she squeezes her knees tighter.

"So when I'm with someone you can't act like its to hurt you. Because it isn't. It never has been."

"She's Derek's little sister—"

"And he's Cristina's ex-husband." It's the first time Arizona has really sounded hurt since Callie chopped her leg off. Not tired. Not worn down. Not irritated.

Hurt.