A/N: I would like to thank/blame someone I met on reddit for this one-shot, because the whole idea made me wanna scream and eat my own hair, so I had to write it! Obviously! Let me know if you like it :)
The storm outside was raging harder than any time in memory. Thunder crashed loudly enough outside that Arizona flinched even from her relative safety, curled up on the couch under a blanket, a good book in hand and soft music playing from the speakers.
The worst adjustment of her life was realizing that she had to pick the song now, and that she had to like it. No one would swoop in and scold her for her choices, her "lame oldies", when she would turn on Peter, Paul and Mary, or James Taylor. No one would grab her by the waist after changing the music to something "more appropriate" and press soft hands into hers, whispering the lyrics in her ear like she was giving a secret concert and Arizona was the best and only person in the crowd. Like Arizona was the only person she would ever look at.
There was no dancing now. It was never really her thing. It was their thing, and the cliches don't lie when they say it takes two to tango. She never got the whole idea of dancing in your underwear. The lack of care, the freedom of it felt foreign, but the thought was nice, and she loved the exchange. Her offer of oldies for an offer of swaying in the kitchen, sometimes too wild, knocking things off the counters in their boisterous love.
The second worst adjustment was getting through a page without interruption, without worrying what goop might be coating small, unfailingly sticky fingers, like the stickiness was simply a by-product of childhood. Her leg wouldn't be crushed under a small mass of tangled hair and horseplay. She would finish a paragraph for the first week and let her eyes sweep the room for intruders, and by the second week she was finishing a chapter and setting the book down, putting it away, out of sight so she didn't have to be reminded of the loss.
Each trip to the store, her cart would leave with exactly what she intended, nothing sparkling or purple or unicorn-shaped would make a surprise appearance by the time she reached the check out. There would be no game of shock, of "where did this come from?" or "how did this get here?", of buying everything she wanted anyway, because she had inherited brown eyes that Arizona had never been able to resist.
Even the new fact of her solitude didn't stop her from peeking up, checking for an audience to see if she should be embarrassed by her overreaction to the natural sounds.
It was a weird feeling, knowing that she was alone. Again.
She almost thought she would forget how to do it, but she picked up where she had left off without sparing a look back, more out of necessity than anything true. There was that familiar control, the need for sureness of her every move, and the truth of that need came rushing back the second she saw Callie and Sofia off at the airport a month ago. Had it really been that long already?
It was a haze of surgery and administrative bullshit and filling the time and savoring any small piece of Sofia she got, be it through picture or video or phone call, clinging to the remnants of her family where she could.
The bed was cold. The house was colder. She created warmth with whatever she could find.
It was starting to become obvious that her book was one page away from reminding her of her newest grief, but she wanted to push through, to know what it would be like, to be okay like this. To be okay at all.
A knock on the door nearly went unnoticed for the thunder that split the sky, a flash of blinding white illuminating the room in a haunting glow for not even an instant.
It was dangerous to be out in a storm this late at night. It was also dangerous to live alone this late at night.
Arizona walked past the kitchen on her way to the door, swiping a can of mace from a drawer. She didn't like the idea of using it, but having it was a comfort.
The knocking came again slightly harder this time, gaps between fistfalls at seemingly random intervals, but she paused, her face splitting with recognition.
Because that pattern was theirs.
The canister slipped uselessly from her grip as she sped to the door, and she flung it open.
"Okay, so picture this. I'm in New York, and everything's great," Callie started, making no move away from the step and out of the downpour that had already soaked her down to her very bones.
Dark waves of hair ebbed and flowed down the smooth tan skin of her face, plastered down in mesmerizing patterns, though in the darkness and from the rain she had an almost pallid glow. The only thing reflecting water was the leather jacket wrapped around her shoulders.
The only thing keeping Arizona standing were her arms, wrapped around her waist.
She can't be real. She can't be here.
"And the people are so nice, and the hospital is amazing, and I'm doing work that actually feels important, like- like I can actually see that I'm making a difference," she continued, the rain pouring around her masking the dryness of her throat, raw from use and overuse.
Brown eyes met Arizona's so hesitantly she thought she might break. And they welled up like it was all they had ever done, the slightest quiver in her chin that only Arizona would notice. "But I'm crying, like, constantly," she whispered. "And then Penny finally asks me what's wrong and I say "I miss my wife"."
The air slowed and Arizona's heart beat out of time, because none of this could be real. It was a dream and she didn't deserve it and she was trapped in the vision that played out anyway. And she watched from above when Callie stepped inside, closing the door behind her with the knob turned to silence the click.
There was no baby to wake this time.
Callie turned back on Arizona with her wet smile shining through the din. "So then, she asks me if I want to go back," she said, so softly Arizona could barely hear it over the sound of her own heartbeat.
"And I can't even bother telling her "no"," she whispered, reaching out to still a hand Arizona hadn't even noticed was shaking. The touch sent ripples of warmth out into her every cell, something dormant activated by this small gesture. "So I said "yes"."
The woman of speeches was made speechless. The words left her and she stood for what felt like years, trying to make sense of them. And then Callie opened her arms, and she left words behind as she stepped forward and fell headfirst into them.
There was no thought of the damp when she clung to Callie, hands digging into the wet hair, arms wrapping around her shoulders, her nose returning to its place in the crook of Callie's neck, inhaling her smell, the one she had tried so hard not to wash away. Only the heat radiating off of her, off of both of them, their chests pressed together, rising and falling in time.
They molded together with a ferocity, unwilling to be apart any longer, Callie's arms against her back, nails clawing into her shirt.
Her mind and body resounded with one word.
She leaned back only enough to catch brown eyes filled with comfort, everything she had ever known and loved, and her fingers left dark hair behind for a soaked cheek, coaxing a shiver out of Callie, drawing heat out of the cold.
"Stay."
A hand found her own cheek, a different damp, and soothed away any doubts.
Callie leaned down and brushed her nose against Arizona's, hot breath caressing her cheeks, invading her every sense, refilling her world with light.
"I'm yours, honey."
All confusion fled when Callie cupped Arizona's face and brought their lips together. It was so soft, almost tentative, and Arizona could feel every movement as they kissed like it was the first and last and only time. It was dizzying enough just to be touched by Callie again that she had to concentrate to keep her knees from buckling, but she held strong, wrapping her arms around her neck and letting Callie's move down to grip her waist, the fingers digging into her skin, afraid to let go, steadying her.
There was no fanfare but the crash of that thunder, and no drum but the beating of the rain against the roof. It was coming home from war, less a triumphant return and more a bittersweet reunion; it was obscene to cheer when others had lost so much. Years of loving and suffering and trying and failing came to a head and all they could do was find each other, over and over again.
And they did. They found each other, despite everything, and made their own quiet way to celebrate.