A/N: tw: mention of suicide, description of anxiety attack

Chapter 9 - Fall Apart Again

Callie's eyes were glued to the window as she sat outside the conference room. She tried and failed repeatedly to tune out the quiet discussion, her ears straining to focus on the sound of the fluorescent lights' hum instead.

The snow, drifting sleepily down the early morning blue-gray sky, was a much needed distraction. Each flake traced a unique path across her field of vision and kept her mind occupied. Where one would disappear, it's short time with her over, another would appear to take over in the task of holding her together.

Even looking out at the cold chilled her. While she was more than happy to adjust her lifestyle for the sake of her career, she had never quite adjusted to Seattle winters. New York, however, had an insidious way of stealing the breath from her lungs even from the comfort of indoors. She'd have to remember not to move to a place with so damn many old buildings next time.

Next time? Unlikely.

Her distraction wasn't quite strong enough to stop the damp that spread across her palms, and the scratchy fabric of her skirt did little besides spread it around. The fibers of it felt stark against her skin.

The door to the conference room creaked open.

"We're ready for you."

She rose, drawing her shoulders back and lifting her chin modestly as she entered the room. All eyes moved with her as she took her seat beside her lawyer, some scrawny guy who's confidence competed with his boyish face.

Taking any more time to get to know him meant admitting that this was really happening to her.

The opposing counsel's neutral look penetrated her, and she returned it with what she hoped looked like a respectful nod, but felt more like a flinch. He pulled out a yellow folder and removed the documents within, making short, neat stacks.

"Let's get started."

Callie's eyes glazed over as the details of her case were read. She might have been able recite them herself at this point.

"Please describe the condition of the patient when she first arrived at the emergency department."

"Is-" No, try again. "The patient had been in a car accident. She sustained multiple injuries, including an open comminuted femur fracture. It was a complicated case; the bone had broken in many places, there was rotation, and there wasn't a great deal of surface area to work with as far as stabilizing it."

"How many cases like this would you estimate you've seen in your career?"

She bit her lip and her eyes lost focus. "I couldn't even guess. I've seen hundreds of fractures, with varying severity. I've treated a lot of femur fractures, including compound fractures. I always try to look at each case on its own." She straightened in her chair. "Comparing cases causes more problems than it solves, in my experience. Even the smallest difference can change the appropriate treatment."

She was actually a bit proud of her answer and the nerves began to settle in her chest. As they asked her about the stabilization method she chose and the surgical plan she had followed, she felt like she might be able to get through this.

Every explanation flowed out of her in an orderly fashion, packaged to perfection and delivered into the waiting ears of the people responsible for the fate of her career. Her emotional detachment from the subject matter was entirely unfamiliar to her, but it was a welcome change of pace.

And she was proud of how she'd handled it, truly. The fact that she was finally given a case with some meat to it meant she got to flex every skill she'd developed over her career. It was a challenge, but the test was open book. Even spending months on end with hip replacements hadn't dulled her surgical senses as far as the complexity involved in trauma cases.

It was complicated, but she had done complicated so many times that the word didn't mean anything. She built bones from scratch. There was nothing she couldn't handle.

"How did the patient present when she came in for her first physical therapy appointment?"

And just like that, the air left the room, and Callie was dry-drowning as two sets of eyes drilled into her. A silent death seemed all too appropriate. The only reaction she allowed herself was a blink.

"She was pale. The nurses in PT checked her temp and she was running a high fever, high enough that I wasn't sure why she wasn't brought in sooner." She swallowed and chased away the images that flooded her mind. "I got paged and I immediately went to get her a CT to check the leg, and there was an infection. I had to open her back up, and I remember thinking to myself that the incision and the surrounding skin looked inflamed."

"What was the extent of the infection?"

That surgery had been her last, so her recall was instantaneous. She'd had to cut away so much. Too much.

"The damage was everywhere. It seemed to originate in the incision, but it penetrated into the bone and throughout the soft tissue. There was almost no muscle salvageable, I was scaling down to nothing, and the amount of necrotic bone I had to remove… It was a mess."

"What were your concerns at this point?"

"I mean, I was obviously concerned about the infection recurring, but besides that, the infection had left her with a leg she would never be able to use. I knew she would likely be in pain for the rest of her life, and that even with any kind of titanium fitting to connect the bone, it would never move the same, carry her weight the same. It wasn't even much of a leg at that point, it was dead weight."

"So you spoke to the patient's mother."

The dread had sat heavy on her shoulders from the second she realized what she needed to do. It was like she had blacked out in the hallway from the surgical wing to the waiting room and Teresa had been retroactively added to her vision at the end of her journey, muscle memory did most of the work.

"Yes, I let her know how the surgery was progressing and what the options were. I wanted to make sure she understood the risks associated with both before I made any more cuts."

Her hands had been shaking while she spoke.

"Could you clarify what the other option was, for the record?"

She remembered the look in that woman's eyes, both the fear and the resolve, her determination to keep her daughter safe.

"The other option was to amputate the leg."

"And what was your professional recommendation to her?"

Your fault. "I recommended amputation. She would have much greater function with a prosthetic, with minimal pain. It was also her best option to be sure that there wouldn't be more infection."

"And she agreed."

"Yes." Your fault. Callie pinched herself through her tights, willing herself to remain in the present.

"We're going to switch gears a bit here, Dr. Torres. Could you explain your understanding of informed consent?"

She paused at the new question. It wasn't that she didn't know the answer, but in all her preparation, she hadn't prepared for this.

"I-It's the right of a patient, or guardian, to education and information necessary to make a truly voluntary decision about their care."

The opposing lawyer flipped through one of his stacks. "Do you think you educated the patient's mother on all of the risks and drawbacks associated with amputation?"

She looked over to her own lawyer out of the corner of her eye, and he nodded almost imperceptibly.

"I do."

"Could you explain why?"

She took a quiet breath as she gathered her thoughts, her eyes searching the room to avoid the intensity of the ones across from her. "I have a lot of experience with amputees. A lot of my research has centered around trying to develop mechanical prosthetic limbs for veterans who lost their own in combat, so I know from them how… challenging it is to live like that. I did my best to explain how much of a struggle each day is for a person after they lose a limb, the sense of helplessness they feel, the adjustment to the new life they have to live, one they would never have chosen for themselves."

He flipped to the next paper. "Did you advise her on the rate of suicide for amputees?"

It was his indifferent tone that hit Callie like a punch in the gut. "Wh- Yes, I shared statistics with her, I gave her contact information for counselors, I even spoke with our prosthetist to get a few options so Isabella could meet with someone and get help."

The man looked up from the paper and deep into Callie's eyes. "The patient committed suicide barely two weeks after surgery. Do you think you did enough?"

"I-" Of course not. You've always been so fucking useless. "I did every single thing I could think to do. I made sure Ms. Huerta knew everything she needed to know before making this decision. I did everything I could."

The door slammed into the wall leaving a sizable dent as Teresa Huerta sped across the room towards Callie. Her lawyer leapt from his chair beside her at the last moment and collided roughly with Teresa, holding her back in his ineffectual grip as best as he could.

"You lying piece of shit, how could you fucking do this to me?!" she spat, fists flying in an attempt to get past the obstruction. "It wasn't enough to infect her with your disgusting ideology? You had to take her from me, too?!"

Callie felt a droplet hit her cheek as she stood and backed away, like if she moved slowly enough she could just vanish into thin air. It would probably be better for everyone.

"Somebody call security, now!"

"She was everything. She was my little girl!" Her rage quickly gave way and her chest rose and fell erratically as she began to wail. "All I h-had… She was all I had…"

And you killed her.

Two tall men in uniform walked in and wrapped their arms almost lovingly around Teresa, and they gently guided her out of the room as she continued to scream, her voice bouncing off the walls of the hospital corridor and the inside of Callie's skull.

"You did this, do you hear me?! You did this!"

Her lawyer smoothed his jacket as he turned toward Callie, who made her way ambling back to her chair. He watched silently while she dug her nails into the smooth leather as she steadied her breathing and silenced her mind. Then, he turned towards the opposition, his expression blank.

"We're done for the day. We can set up a follow-up for sometime in the next week. If I so much as catch a glimpse of your client in a square mile, I will make you wish you studied English."

The man across from him looked down and nodded.

That was what she took as her sign to run, or better yet, sneak quietly out of the room. In reality, it was more of a jerky mimicry of calm forward motion.

Her lawyer called something out to her, but Callie decided that if it was that important, he would email her about it later. She pulled the door closed behind her with a satisfying click.

The walk through the winding passages of the administrative wing of the hospital had given her time to find some relief. Once she stopped peeking around every corner, anticipating a repeat of earlier events, that is. She sat twirling back and forth in her chair at her desk, one moment facing the chaos she had left it in, and the next facing the inviting couch against the back wall.

The folder sat in the middle of the mess. She would need to go over it again before next week.

She let out a shuddering breath as she laid her head down, pressing her ear to the thick paper.

It felt wrong to count how many months it had been since she had seen Teresa. The thought of why she had seen her last didn't even form, the ideas censored before they could be accessed. But like any effort on Callie's part to block something out, it all bled through in the end and without warning she was confronted with every single thing she had ever done.

The edges of her vision swam and she tried to sit up, to force it down. But she saw that fragile and sickly girl turn away from her for the last time and she bit back a noise she was not allowed to make. The doctor doesn't get to feel, they don't get to cry. Crying is for the family.

The family holds vigil each night for the gap in the middle of the bed, the wall that they dare not cross. They make note of the weight leaving the other side, though their eyes never open, and the light from the bathroom warms the back of their head. They get to hear every sound of pain through the gap in the door, though the family is trying not to hear and the patient is trying not to be heard. Their tears are silent, out of respect for the dead, and they are invisible once the light turns back off, though the weight never returns to its side.

You really are fucking pathetic, huh? You would think you'd be better at this by now. You should be better by now. You're the one who fucked up, but somehow you're making yourself the victim? It's actually impressive how awful you manage to be. No fucking wonder she's dead.

Callie's chest collapsed in on itself, rising and falling faster and more frantically by the second, and she had to drag herself bodily from chair to couch as dead weight, the waves already overtaking her, her breathing morphing into a gasping, wheezing, choking senselessness.

God, you're like a child. One bad thing happens to you and you lose your goddamn mind. It's not always about you, you get that, right? And to think, she would have been eighteen a month ago. Maybe then she could have chosen a doctor who didn't solve a problem by removing it. Is it informed consent if you don't warn your patient that you're a cowardly piece of shit?

She had so much life left. So much fucking time just, poof, gone. All that love she had, all the more she could have had, all that time, and now she's in the ground.

All that energy, radiated out into nothingness, and now the universe is stuck with you.

She couldn't feel her face anymore even as it became coated with tears that pooled under her cheek. The act of air filling and leaving her lungs wasn't translating to the feeling of having used them, and she was dizzy from the effort of simply staying conscious. It just kept feeling like she was falling, like her head was going to leave her body and slip into some unknown black space between the couch cushions, but she couldn't sit up to rid herself of the vertigo that made her throat close and her stomach turn. She wasn't sure she even wanted to.

Distantly she felt a pressure in her pocket, but it didn't register to her as anything important until her phone began vibrating for the third time in the span of what was either five minutes or five hours. How long it had been, she had no idea. She yanked it out of her pocket and held it to her ear without looking.

"What?" she snapped.

"What's wrong, mija?" The gravely voice of her dad melted her frustration away in an instant.

She sat up quickly and cleared her throat as she swiped away any evidence of feeling from her face.

"Sorry, I was- I had a work thing and I've been busy. How are you?"

He cleared his own throat roughly, in the way only a father can. "Fine, fine. I need a favor from you, Calliope." There was a breathless quality to his tone.

"What do you need?"

"The family is getting together. We're hosting everyone at the house on Tahiti Beach."

A shiver ran down her spine at the mere mention of that house. The weekly parties that marked the passage of her childhood, every single relative gathered on the same twenty acres. Opulent didn't begin to describe it, it was excess beyond comprehension, and from a young age she felt entirely separate from those in her family who would spend the evening making nice with Carlos, kissing his metaphorical and occasionally his literal ring.

Callie had been a black sheep long before she came out of the closet. The role of a polite, well-bred daughter of the nouveau riche didn't suit her. The fashion was fine, the expensive cars were certainly a bonus, but she just could not even for a second pretend that any of the bullshit business discussions meant anything to her. It was all so deeply, horrifically boring.

Trashing her new Cadillac in a sand pit was a much more exciting activity as a teen, but even that didn't hold her attention for long. There wasn't a stretch of road in the city that lacked burnt rubber streaks from her midnight drag races. Her friends had been chasing a high, but she had been searching desperately for any feeling at all that might look like a purpose. A hundred and twenty miles an hour on a straightaway felt purposeful enough for a night.

When she heard about the Peace Corps, some real opportunity to make a difference, she didn't hesitate. It was exhausting in a way that planted itself in her bones and bloomed into intense passion. There was the feeling, finally. She chased that feeling through so many years of education that she felt herself become someone new.

Unfortunately, medicine was not a noble career path when your family has been running a successful multinational business decidedly unrelated to health. If anything, it was for over-emotional saps who got played into working 80-hour weeks for chump change when they could be doing the real, rewarding work of sitting at a desk and watching a number go up. She'd actually had to comfort a concerned aunt when she told her about her volunteer work and assure her that she had chosen to go to Botswana, that she wasn't sent away to Africa as a punishment.

The way those people looked at her, not even with disdain, but complete indifference as to whether she lived or died, pissed her off to no end. The spiteful group united themselves only in the name of the fortune her father had built, and anyone who didn't fall in line with them or align with their interests actually may have been better off dead. Then they at least got a picture on the wall.

"Dad, you know I love you, but I can't."

"You can and you will, mija. I am not requesting your presence. I am telling you that you will be there. The flights are arranged and the drivers are scheduled."

Her disbelief knew no bounds. "Wha- why?! You know as well as I do that no one wants me there! What's the point of being there when Aria and Mom don't even talk to me?" It was insane. Who did he think he was, asking her to do this? How could he possibly think she would cross the country for this?

"I want you there. I need you to be there. Prométemelo," he rasped. There wasn't a world where her father didn't get his way.

Although she racked her brain for some kind of excuse, she knew in her heart that she was too old to be lying to him. She wasn't the kid who snuck out of the second story window anymore. Maybe that was for the best.

"I promise."

"Now we're going to move slowly into child's pose. Take a deep breath in with me. 1… 2… 3… and breathe out."

Arizona tried her best to match the posture of the woman in the video playing on her laptop on the floor in front of her, but she was wearing the wrong leg for it and her balance was uneven on her knees as she leaned forward. Her eyes fell closed and she dutifully inhaled as instructed, nearly choking on the chemical foam smell of the mat that mixed with the odor of years of old sweat having sat in the dark. It was hard enough to take a deep breath normally without being face first in dissipated foot stink.

The morning of "centering herself" and "opening to the possibilities of the universe" that she had been promised was falling short of every expectation. On the bright side, she hadn't expected much to begin with. She was feeling duped, either way.

"April, this is dumb."

"No, it's not. Now shut up and breathe."

Arizona gasped dramatically, leaning her face into the phone speaker as she blasted hot air into it. April did not dignify her stupidity with a response.

She guessed that her friend had noticed how unresponsive she'd been in the last few months. She had been kind enough, or annoying enough, to force Arizona to join her in morning yoga on her off days as a way to relax from her hectic schedule.

Her free time was all but nonexistent between her job, and the center, and being a mom, so Arizona's rather weak attempt at dating had been hopeless from the start. Beyond even her lack of time, she was too old to be running around town wasting her life courting what were clearly the most boring women in the universe, who must have won some kind of boring person contest before appearing out of thin air to spite her for the utter nerve of wanting companionship with someone three dimensional. Obviously, that was her bad.

Most of the stress in the last few months had been from getting the purchase agreement finalized for the center. Now they were waiting on contractors to clean up what little needed fixing, but even the waiting was full of activity as they made lists of all of the equipment they needed to acquire. They had to anticipate their caseload and balance it against their budget. The numbers just did not work for the lofty goals they had, and neither of them could tolerate any more sacrifices in the future quality of their care. Dr. Herman was in the process of applying for more grant money to supplement their already large sum.

Thankfully, there were no big scary numbers to think about at Mount Sinai. Small scary ones, sure. She lost her first patient in this new place, and it felt like her first patient all over again; even after a month she had been turning over the details in her mind trying to understand what went wrong.

The surgery itself had gone off without a hitch, every single complication she had prepared for was surprisingly absent. The baby was delivered to the NICU for monitoring and she went to bed for the night with a sense of pride that had her out like a light.

When she woke up to her pager going off, she didn't think much of it, since she knew how thin the department was spread. She thought twice when she got the second page on her way in the hospital's doors. Her wheels brought her speeding toward the NICU and she arrived just as the nurses turned the heart monitor off.

The baby had gone into sudden cardiac failure. The code team was unable to resuscitate him.

It was demoralizing to deliver the news. She had grown to like the Mustafis in their short time together, and all she could do was watch as the two of them clung to each other, holding onto their son. Something small ached within her, too.

"That's it for this video! Don't forget to like and su-" Arizona cut the noise off, closing her laptop with a smack.

April sighed contentedly. It was unnerving. "See, don't you feel so much better?"

"Hmm," Arizona paused, as if to seriously consider the answer while she rolled up the mat. "Nope!"

She unceremonious shoved the thing back into the closet, where it would likely live out the rest of its days in darkness.

"Arizona!"

"What?! It was… fine." She tossed her phone onto the couch where she soon joined it, turning on the TV. "I still think Bake Off is way more relaxing."

April huffed. "How is that relaxing? You're always texting me about it, freaking out that your favorite baker didn't win!"

"Well, they usually should have!" She pressed play and settled back into the cushions, wrapping a blanket around herself to keep out the chill. "The whole point is finding the best baker, not the best 'nice person', or whatever. It's not a popularity contest."

"Matthew's a pretty good baker, actually."

Arizona was too distracted to catch April's completely obvious redirection. "Ooh really? How is that going?"

A giggle bubbled up through the phone's shitty speaker. "It's going really well. He's sweet, and he's so good with Harriet."

The challenge this week was scones. How the hell do you dedicate an entire week to scones? "Well, I'm glad you kids found a way to work it out."

April cleared her throat lightly. "Speaking of working it out," she prodded hesitantly, "is there anything you would like to tell me about?"

She was not subtle. That facet of her personality had simply failed to develop. It was cute sometimes, but not this time.

"Oh, yeah, New York is working out great. Everything is falling into place with the center, the job is… awesome! Sofia is loving her school and making so many friends." She was animated verging on cartoon-ish. "You know, I bet Matthew would love New York. You all should really visit sometime. He can bake us all some…" she trailed off as her eyes wandered back to the TV, "...scones! Does he bake scones?"

"You're an idiot."

"Okay, so he doesn't bake scones."

"Are you okay? You haven't talked about Callie since the wedding, and I really thought you would tell me if anything happened, good or bad, especially since I told you about Matthew…" April sighed.

The flavor combinations the bakers were coming up with ought to be listed in some important book as crimes against humanity. Who made a scone savory? Tomato and feta? It all sounded so gross. "We're fine. Civil. That's all that matters."

"It doesn't sound like that's what you want, though."

Arizona found some other awful pastry to focus on and successfully tuned out her friend. I mean, seriously, some of these bakers were insane. In the rush to get everything prepped, one woman had completely forgotten to preheat her oven.

"Are you really not going to talk about it?"

Arizona shut her eyes, reluctantly pausing the TV. "I would really rather not."

"You do realize that Matthew and I didn't just run into each others arms in slow motion, right? I hurt him. It took time for him to trust me again."

All of the frustration that had been lying dormant, heaps of it sat unnamed in the corner of her brain, collecting dust, burst out of Arizona.

"She did trust me! At least I thought she did, I don't know. April, we we're friends, it…" She couldn't even figure out where to go from there, because that's all there was to it. They were friends. Maybe they weren't attached at the hip, having girls nights out, but they got along pretty well after Callie had left Seattle.

Nothing made any sense about Callie the last few months. She was so friendly when they were with Sofia, and barely a word passed between them when they were alone. Any conversation was entirely centered around the custody schedule. It hadn't even been this bad during the trial, at least she knew what Callie was thinking back then. Now, she didn't have the first clue.

"Why didn't you tell me? I've been waiting for you to come to me about it and then you just pretended you were fine."

"Because its none of your business," Arizona said flatly.

April let out a dark chuckle. "Oh, sure, yeah. I'll keep that in mind the next time you get pregnant with Callie's baby."

She winced and pinched the bridge of her nose, squeezing her eyes shut. "I said I was sorry about that," Arizona said softly.

"And I accepted your apology on the condition that you would think before violating patient privacy laws," April replied with all the condescension of a mother disciplining her child. Her voice softened. "I can't accept you not talking to me though. I won't accept it."

Arizona owed a lot to April, more than she could begin to repay. She was her one real friend after nearly every one of her coworkers had turned their backs on her.

"Fine."

"Good. Because seriously, you just need to find a way to be her friend again. I don't think it has to be that complicated, just try to be supportive. Matthew and I have been doing trust exercises, and it's been really-"

"Oh my gooood, are you lecturing me now?" Arizona rolled her eyes as she hit play. She would be more humbled by the tables turning on her if she weren't so worried about how this poor woman would make a new batch of scones before time ran out. She reminded Arizona of her mother.

"No, its not, I just think-"

Her phone buzzing pulled her attention away from both April and the TV.

"Hey, Apes, I gotta go. I'll text you."

The face of that sweet old woman froze on the screen and Arizona answered the phone.

"Hey."

Callie's voice came through shaking slightly. "Hey, I-I'm really sorry to ask, but could you take Sofia next weekend?"

"Oh! Um, sure, I think I can make that work. Why?" That last word almost didn't form, and she was certain that it could only lead to trouble, if anywhere.

"My- I, uh-" She was silent a moment. "I'm going to Miami."

"...Oh!"

"Yeah."

Arizona had only ever gotten the cliff notes version of the extended Torres clan. All offenders of various petty crimes nameless, faceless targets of a resentment that Arizona had nursed within herself, as if taking on the task of hating them for Callie. She hadn't had any need to think about them in a long, long time. It was obvious Callie hadn't either.

With Carlos, it was a different story entirely. She would never be able to face that man again. It was a small blessing that she hadn't seen him in years now, because Arizona knew all too well what kind of hell he was capable of putting her through. The look in his eyes when she picked Sofia up, at the height of the Travis Reed trial, burrowed into parts of her heart she had tried to shut off.

"Are… you okay?"

"I- Yeah, I'm fine," Callie replied.

There was a second there when Arizona thought she might get a real answer, but it was quickly shut down. She brushed it off. It wasn't her place anyway.

"O-okay. Anyways, just let me know when you're bringing her over."

Callie sighed heavily. "Great. Awesome."

It was the emptiness in those words that set something off in Arizona. Something moved independently inside of her and she opened her mouth before she could think about what she was doing.

"I just-" Oh, I can't believe I'm doing this. "Maybe it won't be as bad as you think. It's been a long time, you're a different person now." As the words poured out of her she leaned forward and grabbed hold of a pillow, hugging it against her body. "You're a badass, and just, so much better than all of them. They're lucky to stand in the same room as you." She finished softly, "Just… ignore them."

The line was dead for what felt like years as Arizona held her breath.

"Thank you." Callie's voice came out in a throaty whisper.

Arizona leaned back and pulled her knee up onto the couch, taking her pillow under her chin. "Of course. And who knows, maybe Aria and your mom wi-"

"Yeah, I gotta go," Callie muttered, cutting her off.

"Wait, no, I'm sorry, I didn't-" Arizona floundered as she tried to salvage the conversation.

Callie's tone was cold now. "No, seriously. It's fine."

"No, seriously, it's not. I... I'm sorry I said that. You don't owe them anything," Arizona maintained as she rubbed her eyes, exasperated with herself, with the situation. Why did she have to open her mouth?

Callie scoffed in her ear. "I know that," she insisted.

This was pointless, and stupid, and all other things. How was she so bad at just talking to this woman she had been married to for years? It felt like sneaking around landmines. There was nothing Arizona would ever be able to say or do to bridge the gap any more than temporarily. She couldn't even ask herself why she bothered. She already knew the answer.

All she wanted to do was help, somehow, for some reason she couldn't just let this go. Watching Sofia was "helping", technically, but even if they didn't get along anymore, it was frustrating as hell to end another conversation on this note.

You can't help someone who doesn't want it, that's true, but Arizona decided to take a page out of her best friend's book and offer it anyway. Horse, meet water.

"You could text me. I-If you want to look too busy and cool to talk to anyone, I mean." She felt the room heat up even as she watched the snow fall outside her window. "I guess you could also just type in a note, or pretend, or something. It's not like they're going to check your phone. At least, I hope they don't check. That would be really weird."

The silence lasted long enough that Arizona swore the call dropped for a moment, and she pulled the phone back from her ear to check, watching the seconds tic upward one by one. She couldn't feel her face from concentrating so hard on the muted sound of breathing coming out of the speaker.

She was hoarse as she began again, "Sorry, that was…" After clearing her throat, she continued. "Forget I said anything. You'll be great!" Her voice rose on the last word, and she was certain that Callie thought she was insane now. Certifiably, even. Suppose it didn't really matter at this point.

And then she heard it. It wasn't a laugh. It could barely be considered a chuckle, but it was there, and it was the closest thing to either that Arizona had heard in months. The relief that washed over her almost knocked her out when Callie finally spoke.

"No, uh… it's okay. Maybe I will."

A/N: Hope you liked it! I appreciate your patience with me :) I'm working hard on ch 9 right now and its already looking like a long one, so look forward to that!