AN: Sorry, ladies. I swear I meant to update faster, I even had it planned out. But, then the show kinda killed my muse for the couple, sorta broke my Calzona heart, if you will. I actually completely cut myself off from Grey's for a while, which I realize was a little dramatic, but I've been over the show for a few seasons now, so without them to watch I lost interest... Anyway, I'm finding my muse again, so I started working on this story again. So, once again, thank you so much for your continued interest in this story, I do totally intend on finishing it, it just takes me a while. Enjoy!

My mind was blank. No thoughts. No plans. No awareness. Nothing except the registering of sensations. The feeling of water weaving through my fingers. Soap slipping against my raw knuckles. The chill of the water prickling my skin. Rough brushes of bristles scrubbing my finger nails. The sound of rushing water pounding against shiny metal. Familiar repetitive motions lulling my muscles into submission, manipulating a calm to rebuff my nerves' inclination to tremble.

I literally couldn't count the number of times I'd scrubbed in for surgery, but I could count the number of times I scrubbed in after being on leave because I lost a limb. Once. My first surgery since the crash and my mind was blank. A nine year old girl lay on the operating table on the other side of the thick glass, and I had no idea how to perform the simple procedure she was waiting for. I worked so hard to convince everyone, including myself, that I was ready to be back in the OR. Ready to hold a scalpel and save lives. Ready to take responsibility for a child's wellbeing and cut into her. And, up until that moment, I succeeded. I felt ready until I stuck my foot on the pedal and the water started to flow. As the water swirled down the drain, it seemed to take all my confidence with it.

Much too quickly, my scrub in ritual was complete and I stopped the water. The towel seemed to weigh a thousand pounds as I carefully dried my hands. Taking a deep breath, I tediously went through my pre-op checklist. Scrub cap, check. Scrub in, check. Staffed OR, check. Patient on the table, check. Patient chart, check. Plan A, check (at least, written out). Plan B, check. Plan C, check. Everything was ready. Everything except my mental state. But, I couldn't back out. Well, I could. There were many surgeons that could perform that particular surgery. But, if I backed out at that point, my confidence would only suffer more. With stuttering breaths, I pushed open the door to the OR and stepped in.

Familiar smells and sounds overwhelmed my senses, drawing out a multitude of emotions. The first was absolute comfort. The second was exhilaration. Th e third was terror. I rooted to a single spot. The third tile in from the scrub room door. That became my new home, I couldn't move. Elizabeth lay on the table, ready for me to fix her, but I couldn't walk over to her. My missing leg began to itch and throb in pain. Phantom pain seemed to swell with anxiety, and my anxiety boiled to the point of exploding. As I tried to spin and run away, a nurse broke through my inner freak out, "Dr. Robbins? Are you ready?"

Swallowing a hard lump in my throat, I nodded, barely squeaking out, "Yes, I am." The nurse's questioning gaze finally spurred my jerky movement forward. Shaky steps marked my journey to the table. The prosthetic, which had not caused problems that day, suddenly fit wrong, dragged lazily, and chaffed angrily. As I reached the patient, I became very aware of the many sets of eyes on me. I know that when people feel vulnerable and unsure they feel as if everyone is staring, and are usually just making it up. However, as I brought my wide eyes up to meet the other pairs in the room, I found every brown, blue, and green set watching me carefully. They either held sympathy, worry, judgment, or eager curiosity. Everyone was waiting to see if I would buckle under the pressure, break down, operate as the old Arizona, or do something else entirely. I was the last of the plane crash survivors to return to the OR, and people were eager to stretch the drama a little longer. That thought fueled the latent anger within me, helping for a brief moment, to alleviate the nervousness. It didn't last long, though. Nothing else needed to be prepared, the next step was for me to call for the scalpel. I couldn't do it. My mouth refused to form the words. Scraping panic tore through my insides, freezing me in place. Sounds and images assaulted my mind's eye and ears. Whirring engines, bloodied body parts, empty forest, twisting metal, screeches of pain, rushing wind, broken limbs, frosty air, howling wolves, groans of agony, whimpers of despair, endless-

"Calliope Iphigenia Torres."

The crackling intercom broke through all my other thoughts and emotions. Callie's voice instantly overshadowed everything else. My unfocused eyes snapped up to the gallery, zeroing in on the mocha orbs of my former nurse. She stood at the glass, staring into the operating room, watching me closely. Her eyes held no doubt, concern, or judgment, only understanding. Callie, as she always did, understood what I was thinking and feeling, and knew exactly what to say. That concept both irritated and comforted me. I flashed back to our first grocery store outing, where she had used the same tactic to calm my nerves, telling me something that made her vulnerable to make me feel less alone. It worked again. I felt the tension begin to slowly filter out of my system as I held her gaze. All other people and things in the room ceased to exist as I locked my attention on the slightly smiling brunette. She couldn't see it behind my mask, but the corners of my mouth quirked into the beginnings of a grateful smile. Her words may have been meaningless in function, but they were enough to jar me out of my head, and slow my speeding spiral down the rabbit hole. Quiet sniggers trickled into my consciousness as the nurses and interns figured out that the complicated string of words she had just uttered was her full name. Pulling in a full breath, I nodded lightly at Callie, then turned back to the table. "If everyone is done giggling, lets begin. Scalpel."

The cool metal burned into my skin through the glove, but I ignored it. Habit took over as the blade neared the sanitized and dressed abdomen. The flesh gave away to the steel, marking a perfect horizontal line. With the incision made, I started to settle. My plans came back, my muscles functioned as intended, and my senses tuned to every detail of the room. Before I knew it, I was back in the scrub room, scrubbing out. The surgery went flawlessly. Every single thing went as it should, once I passed the panic. The overwhelming relief that came from clearing the hurdle of my first surgery back rushed over me, filling all aspects of my being. It was all so heavy, I started trembling and sunk to the ground. My face fell in my hands, quivering lips sucking in deep breaths. I had done it. I had completed a surgery on a fake leg after surviving a plane crash.

Replaying the surgery in my mind, a vision of Callie flashed through. Callie was a whole other topic of the day. She had shown up. Despite the fact that we weren't getting along, barely talking, fighting all the time, and not friends, she had shown up. She came to watch my first surgery back, likely to make sure I was okay. She didn't come to watch the procedure, she didn't come see if I fell apart, she didn't come out of curiosity. She came for me. She came to ensure that I made it through, not because she doubted me, but because she believed in me. That meant the world to me. I didn't want to think such intense and positive things about her, because they made things complicated and difficult. But, just as she knew me, I knew her. I knew why she showed up, and I knew why I was hoping she would.

When the surgery was over, I had glanced up to the gallery, just in time to see a thick mane of raven hair exit. It was time to go find her and put an end to the stand off, it was time to start something else. I knew whatever we started was going to be difficult as hell, but it was time to try. I had crossed nearly every other bridge that had formed from the rubble of the crash, and only one remained. The Arizona before the plane had never been timid, and it was time to regain some of that fearlessness. Pushing myself up from the floor, I pulled off my scrub cap and exited the small room. I looked both ways down the bright hall, attempting to figure out which way Callie might have gone.

"Hey, I heard your surgery went well. I tried to get over to watch, but my surgery ran long...um, hello?"

I shook my head, finally acknowledging Teddy's presence, "Have you seen Callie?"

Teddy frowned, but answered as she studied me, "Uh, yeah...I just passed her on third floor. She's the one that filled me in on your surgery. I think she was going to her office. What are you planning?"

I had already started toward the elevator, but stopped long enough to look back at her, "What do you mean?"

"You have that face. The face that says you're on a mission." Teddy pointed out, following me as I continued to the elevator.

"I just need to talk to her."

"Your face says you're looking to do more than talk. My bet's on make out or fight." Teddy guessed lightly.

I paused as I waited for the doors to open. With a sheepish expression, I mumbled, "Somewhere in between, I'd guess."

Teddy grinned as the doors dinged open, "About time. If it matters, I think it's a good thing... The making out, not the fighting."

I stepped in the car and pressed the three, "It matters. And, I'm not making any promises. I'm just going to talk to her."

When the doors closed on Teddy's supportive grin, I took a deep breath, savoring the quiet in the small space. Arriving on the third floor, I burst out of the elevator and headed toward her office, going quickly to ensure I didn't lose my nerve. I came to her office door and didn't hesitate to knock twice. My heart thudded loudly and my hands shook. A mental thank you was sent to my hands for waiting until after the surgery to shake. "Come in." Callie's smoky voice came from inside.

I grabbed the door knob, twisting and pushing. I managed to make it through the door, over threshold, and had the door closed before Callie looked up from her desk. Her eyes widened slightly, but then drifted back to her paperwork. Unsure of how to start, I simply uttered a wobbly "Hey."

"Hey. Listen, I've got a ton of paperwork to finish, so maybe we could postpone whatever fight we're about to have until tomorrow." Her tone sounded exhausted and detached. She sounded as if she'd given up, and that hurt more than anything. At least, when she was yelling at me I knew she cared about something. That voice said she didn't.

I almost walked away, but reminded myself of her care to come to my surgery, and my purpose for being there, then steeled myself. "The surgery went awesome-"

"I know, I was there." Callie cut in tiredly, then looked up. Her tone softened, "You did great in there."

Bypassing her sentiment for the time being, I continued, "The surgery had gone so well, we had saved the little girl's life." Callie cocked her head, confusion now coloring her expression, as she processed my flat, wavering tone and fidgety posture. "Then, after checking her post ops and declaring everything was fine, we boarded the plane to return to Seattle." Callie's eyes widened, and I could see her breath catch as she realized what I was saying to her. She put down her pen, showing me she was fully listening. My pulse was pounding now, and my limbs vibrated with nerves and fear. I hadn't talked about the crash with anyone except the counselor assigned to us after the crash, and Cristina. "We were all laughing and joking around, all on that awesome surgery high. Just as we were discussing our plans for Thanksgiving, there was this loud screeching and thumping sound. The cabin started shaking and the lights flickered. The pilot came on and announced that there was a problem with one of the engines. The oxygen masks came down, and everyone started yelling as the plane started falling."

I paused, reliving the feeling of dropping out of the sky as my friends and colleagues screamed around me. Callie stood up and walked around her desk, moving to get closer to me. But, I held up a hand, and she stopped, understanding my call for space. So, instead of getting closer, she took a step back and leaned against the front of the desk. "We starting descending faster and faster, the sound of air rushing over us was so loud. Everyone was screaming and yelling. Everything was so loud, yet I could hear every word in my head. Every word telling me that we were about to crash. Every word telling me that almost no one survives plane crashes. I don't know how long it took to reach the ground. It seemed like a year, but also like a blink. Then, we hit..." I gulped, mentally recalling the sensation. My stomach knotted, and my legs swayed. I quickly moved over to the small couch in her office and collapsed onto it.

"Arizona." She spoke the first words since I started my story, and her voice was tender and low, "You don't have to tell me it all, if you don't want to, or can't..." Callie offered me an out, understanding that even starting the story was a huge step for me.

I shook my head, and sucked in a shaky breath. "I told you that someday I would tell you this story...I think it's time." I saw her nod in acceptance, which gave me the resolve to continue. "We hit the trees first. The branches made the most awful sound as they scraped the plane and crunched beneath us. Parts of the plane had began to fall off as we fell, and it became even more mangled as we tumbled through the trees. When we finally crashed to the ground, I was thrown from my seat and I could feel the worst pain ever as pieces of metal fell on me. I blacked out after that. When I woke up, I couldn't see right away. I could hear people frantically yelling, the plane engine still whining, nature sounds, and someone screaming. It wasn't until Cristina snapped at me to stop, that I realized that it was me screaming." I could see Callie's hands flex on the edge of the desk, knuckles turning white as she tried to hold back whatever she wanted to say or do. "When I was finally able to pull the large sheet of metal off of me with the others help, I saw the large gash in my thigh. I knew I was in trouble. It hurt so much, and I could barely stop the bleeding. We assessed the damage and gathered all the survivors, which there was a surprising amount of us. We found one doctor pinned, and wounded beyond help. She died within hours. We spent the rest of the day gathering whatever supplies we could find. It got so cold that night. So cold. We couldn't get a fire lit, so we all huddled together. I held my friend who had been severely hurt, and was likely going to die if we didn't get rescued soon. He ended up surviving until we were found, but died shortly after. Anyway, the days passed without us knowing if or when we would be rescued. We didn't have much food or water. We could hear wild animals fighting over our friend's body at night. My leg kept getting worse. Logically I knew that the infection was bad, too bad for me to have hope of keeping it. But, I hoped anyway...at first. You could see it in our faces. Everyone said words of hope, but it wasn't too long before we stopped believing we'd be rescued. We were fading. I'd never felt like that before. Hopeless, out of control, desperate, unsure. As you know, as surgeons, we try to avoid those feelings at all costs." Callie nodded in understanding. "Four days and three nights came and went with no news or sign of rescue. When we finally heard that helicopter approach and lower in the field next to our site, we were all so delirious and exhausted. I'm not sure we really registered what was happening."

I wrung my hands anxiously, breathing deeply. I had passed the difficult part of the story, but next part was difficult in a whole different way. Callie approached quietly, offering me a bottle of water. Shooting her a weak smile, I accepted the water. Unscrewing the cap, I took several large swallows. It helped. This time, Callie sunk down next to me on the couch, instead of returning to the desk. I found I didn't mind her proximity, I reveled in it actually. "They sedated us for the plane ride back to Seattle. For the first few days, the doctors gave me hope that they might save my leg. The others were all fighting to recover from the crash, mostly mentally. In the end, I contracted an infection they couldn't fight. I crashed and they had to cut off my leg to save my life." I lowered my eyes, crinkling in the plastic bottle between my fingers. "And, well, you know the rest."

Callie reached over and clasped my hand with hers, "I know that was hard for you, but I'm really glad you told me." Her voice was so quiet, I almost couldn't hear her.

My insides felt like Jello, and I suddenly felt too tired to hold myself up. Before I could process what I was doing, I turned and tucked my head onto Callie's shoulder, almost nuzzling her neck. She smelled good. Her arm immediately wove around my waist, and she pulled me closer. I closed my eyes, "Callie, I know that I owe you so many apologies. I am so sorry for everything. I'm sorry for how I treated you, I'm sorry for reacting the way I did that night, and I'm sorry for making your life hell since I've been back at the hospital. I don't want to fight anymore. I'm just so tired of fighting. I want...I miss you, Callie...I never thought I'd say that, but it's true...And, if you're willing, I want to start over. Maybe be friends, or something. I'd understand if-"

"I can't say I've forgiven you, yet." Callie interrupted my rambling. "But...I think I could. I miss you, too. And, I think I'd like to try to start over."

I smiled, "Good. And, I totally understand, I'll wait as long as you need. And, thank you, for coming today. I didn't realize how much I wanted and needed you there, Calliope."

A husky chuckle met my ears, "You're welcome, and I'm pretty sure I told you not to call me that."

"You did, but I like it. Plus, I like the look you give me when I do." I snuggled a little deeper into her side.

"What look is that?" Her hand started to slowly trace up and down my side.

"It's half complete irritation, and half like you want to rip my clothes off." I answered casually, already smirking at her expected reaction.

Callie scoffed, "It is not. Well, I am irritated, but not so much on the clothes thing." Her words were a little jumbled, like she was flustered.

"I don't believe you. You're all nervous just from me talking about it, so there has to be some truth to it." I argued, taking a strange comfort in our bickering.

Callie was quiet for a moment, "Fine...perhaps I enjoy the way you say it, just a little."

"That's all I'm saying."

AN: Alright, let me hear ya.