It's a rough day. Herman rips Arizona a new one in front of half her peers, and she's still smarting from Alex telling her off for trying to take one of his cases, and April and Amelia are stuck in surgery until sunrise. Arizona finds herself adrift, wandering the hospital and fighting back embarrassing tears. She doesn't want people to see it. They don't need to see a former golden girl of the hospital now devolved into a sniffling fellow who isn't even allowed to sit at the same table as her former peers.
She slips into a supply closet off the beaten path. Makes her way to the far corner where the lighting is always miserable. Sits down.
Cries.
It's shameful. Then it isn't. Then it's cathartic.
But when the big sobs people can go whole years without heaving well up inside of her the door opens and she hears quiet murmurs and giggles.
Being fair skinned she knows she looks splotchy and red. She knows that she won't be able to laugh it off as pain or allergies. She's sobbing in a supply closet after a long, hard day and there's no escaping that.
So she gets quiet. She sniffles back a gob of snot and presses herself against the shelf and hopes the couple just on the other side of the shelf doesn't hear her or does and goes away.
They kiss. Loud. Breathless.
Someone giggles and it's too familiar. She closes her eyes and presses her face to her knees.
The kissing stops.
There are low voices.
A sigh.
Heavy footsteps. Then softer ones. Closer.
Callie stands opposite her and stares down at her and says nothing.
And Arizona tries to smile, but it's Callie and she can never smile with Callie when her she's breaking in two. So she doesn't even try.
Callie, to her credit, looks sympathetic. But she doesn't make a move to kneel or hug or comfort.
Because that's not who they are any more.
Instead she slides down onto the floor opposite Arizona and just. Sits.
Arizona catches her studying her. Once again like she's bones to be mended. But Callie seems to realize what she's doing and stops herself.
Then she smiles apologetically.
And Arizona smiles too.
"What," Callie catches herself again. She takes a breath. "How's Amelia?"
Callie doesn't care about Amelia. "She's in surgery."
Callie nods. She's struggling with this "conversation" and wriggling with the effort. "And April?"
"Surgery."
"Alex?"
"Kicked me out of the NICU."
Callie winces. "Do you—"
"No." She does not want to talk about.
Callie nods again. Then something clicks in her head. An idea forms. And she flashes one of those smiles that always lights up Arizona's whole world. "What have you been up to?"
The way she says it—the way it is so obviously about all the things they won't talk about—has Arizona laughing. "Not much."
"Threaded any jello lately?"
"All the time."
"Which saves babies." She says it carefully. A reminder.
"Symbolic babies." Arizona sounds bitter.
Callie taps Arizona's knee with her foot, "Those count."
She rolls her eyes.
"Though I do think its safe to say Sofia is never going to want jello again when this fellowship is up."
Their fridge is packed with bulbous platters of gelatin and the pantry has even more packets of the stuff. They've been sending it to pre-school with Sofia every day to middling success. "Maybe I'll try something else. Flan would work right?"
"Little hard to see where the thread is going."
"Mousse."
Callie snaps. "Jello shots—" Her excitement falters comically, "and that's still—"
"Jello."
They both giggle. Like they did so long ago Arizona can't even remember. One of those first days when pizza in bed and sex until dawn was enough.
But the laughter dies down and they're just sitting there. All alone.
Arizona tries to look for a way to continue the conversation, but nothing easy presents itself. She sighs again. Her head bumps against the shelf.
Callie looks down at her hands and fidgets.
There's no ring there for her to play with.
The air conditioning clicks on overhead and they let it drone.
"I'm sorry."
It's hard to hear over the AC and Arizona has to look up at Callie's face. "What?"
"When we were—when the fighting was really bad and I said we weren't married? I'm sorry."
Arizona doesn't have anything to say even as her mind scrambles for words.
"I just—" Callie stands. She's looking up towards the vent and there's just a sliver of light to illuminate her. Big flowery words she hasn't used since Art History in college invade Arizona's brain.
Callie can be awe inspiring sometimes and all it takes is a tilt of her head.
"I'm sorry," she says again. "We were married."
"Were?" Arizona can finally find a word and it's not a good one. She hates the hope that laces it.
Callie frowns. "Yeah."
They keep looking at one another. Callie has an expressive face but all Arizona sees is the sadness.
The air conditioner clicks off.
Arizona stands. Her foot's asleep and she stumbles.
But Callie catches her. Strong hands on her elbows that support her.
Always.
Even when she was a monster.
Especially then.
She tries not to notice how good Callie smells. How different from Amelia. Tries not to notice how close they are and how inviting and soft Callie seems.
She misses kissing Callie but in the moment she misses her hugs even more. Secure and safe and right.
Callie licks her lips and Arizona is back to missing the kisses.
She opens her mouth to apologize for what she's about to do, but snaps it close and kisses Callie instead. Fast before Callie can stop her. Just long enough to make the longing worse. Long enough that she can breathe through her nose and almost pretend her marriage is still a thing that exists.
Callie breaks away first. Gives her that sad look all over again. "I'm with Owen," she whispers. Like that's the reason. "And you're with Amelia." Her hands are still on Arizona's elbows. "We're…" Callie can't say it.
Arizona nods and steps away. The chill on her arms is awful and she wishes she could cry again.
"We're done," she announces.
And Callie just nods.
####
Three days after the incident in the supply closet that they never talk about Callie comes home to a dark house. She takes Sofia inside. Feeds her. Puts her to bed.
She sits on the couch and waits for Arizona to come home.
By one she's done and when she stumbles into her bedroom with her eyes half closed she almost misses the letter.
It's neat and cruel and so final.
Arizona's moved to Alex's so they can have space to make their own lives.
She shoves the letter into her sock drawer and collapses onto the bed and when she starts to sob she's shocked by the sound.
They're done.
And it hurts like hell.