"What do you remember of me," she begins to ask her, "from back then?"
"Back then?" Amelia asks, though her eyes aren't on her. They instead peer at her defined clavicle, a feature that Amelia has become distinctly fond of, which she then traces gently with her finger. As if on cue and not yet familiar to increasingly familiar touch, goosebumps begin to appear on Arizona's chest, and so she moves in to kiss them softly. "Back when?" she asks, distracted, her voice masked by the skin against her lips.
Arizona seems adamant on an answer, though, and gently tips her chin up so that she's looking at her.
"Back then."
Amelia snorts at the seriousness of her expression, the determination in her eyes. She reaches up to kiss her on the chin, as if to rid her of the inquiry.
"Oh," she murmurs. Why is her skin so soft? "I don't remember then."
"Seriously?" Arizona sounds disappointed. She moves up to kiss the dimple on her cheek.
"I was a mess then," she whispers against her skin.
"So was I."
"Yeah?" Amelia asks, her tone uninterested, too distracted now to continue the blooming conversation. She kisses around her jaw now, but Arizona seems too lost in her own thoughts.
"Yeah. A horror show," she says. As if remembering something, she adds, "I coined it."
"What," Amelia murmurs.
"Horror show," she clarifies.
"You're so chatty, Robbins," Amelia complains, drawing back to look at her. She attempts an indignant expression, but the blonde just looks at her with wide eyes. "Can't you sense the mood?"
Arizona looks at her in confusion before wriggling her nose. Amelia snorts at the adorable gesture, and most of her just wants to cuddle now. Or kiss her. It still feels strange, she thinks, cuddling with this woman, cuddling at all, really - the body warmth, the touch of smooth skin, but then Arizona lowers her voice and says, "I can always sense your mood."
The sound makes Amelia grin. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," Arizona tells her, and flips her onto her back.
Amelia has never fucked so hard that the bed springs start to rock. She can't remember fucking that hard, anyway.
But she does with Arizona. She pants hard when Arizona is on top of her; she loses her breath when Arizona's fingers are deep inside of her, thrusting hard and fast, and never tiring. She loses herself when Arizona's mouth is on her. She can't recall ever panting so hard.
And she's fucked hard before.
Amelia calls it a fuck. Because that's what it is. They're fucking. It's hot and streamy and kind of passionless in the emotional sense, which is okay with her. She's playing it safe. She's learned enough to get this far.
But then it worries her, when she begins to feel the emotion that she is sure was absent.
And then, it draws her memory back and makes her realize that it's never been absent.
She allows the playfulness to take over. But then Arizona moves on top of her and she loses it.
It always happens this way.
"Now you're distracted," Arizona complains softly, still hovering on top of her.
Snapped out of her daze, she looks up at the blonde, who only gazes back at her with darkened eyes, narrowed and perceptive. "What's wrong?" she asks.
"Nothing," she whispers. And when Arizona kisses her neck, biting on the skin softly with nips and tugs, she whispers again, "nothing."
Blonde hair slowly trails down her body, and she feels her soft lips on her nipples, gently replaced with her teeth. Tugs.
Her lips are the softest, Amelia thinks.
And when Arizona goes down on her, she just has to admit it. She has to. If only in her head.
I'm just, she thinks, crazy about you. She tries to say it, but Arizona's tongue is delving deep inside of her and she can't vocalize anything but shaky breaths and loud moans.
Maybe the bed springs won't rock this time.
They did, though.
"Jeez!" she complains loudly. She brushes her hair back and falls onto the bed, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand before she continues. "I think I need to prepare myself before you fuck me like that again."
She receives a laugh almost immediately before the blonde gently falls onto her, her face planted against her chest.
"Too much?" Arizona asks, and she can feel her hot breath against her nipples. It's exhilarating, almost intoxicating, and makes her want it all over again.
"Too much."
"Your nipples are hard," Arizona murmurs, and Amelia feels her warm tongue on it. The light touch sends shivers through her body and makes her yearn for a taste that she hasn't sampled yet.
"Wait," Amelia demands. Arizona ignores her protest, so she tugs at her hair to bring her back to her lips.
"What," Arizona murmurs, kissing her before she has the chance to answer. Her lips are pink and bruised and soft, and they taste like her.
"Let me taste you," Amelia says against her lips.
"What?" Arizona asks. She pulls away to look carefully into Amelia's eyes and a sly grin appears on her face. "Seriously?"
Her playful disbelief makes something jump in Amelia's stomach, and it starts to irritate her, so she flips the blonde around and kisses her hard and long on her mouth. Her tongue finds hers, and she brushes against her firmly, as if taking her stance. It distracts the blonde long enough to allow Amelia to slip off her panties.
Her breasts are distracting, though, and she's annoyed and perplexed and enamored all the same, so Amelia takes her time searching them, and exploring them and feeling them against her lips and tongue. She marvels at their softness, wondering how her tongue would feel against Arizona's heat.
The anticipation drives her down the blonde's body. She likes that Arizona is loud, she likes that she trembles at her touches. She loves it when she loses her breath, when her skin becomes bright red and flushed from relentless kisses and bites.
"Have you ever," Arizona gasps out, and it sounds more like a rushed exhale than anything, "gone down on a woman before?"
"No," Amelia admits, attracted by the softness of Arizona's smooth thigh. She kisses it softly and rests her thighs against her shoulders. Arizona's scent reaches her nose now, and it spreads through her senses, and it's alluring and makes her shiver.
Why is she so alluring?
"Will you-" Arizona starts to say, as if to guide her, but she's interrupted by her own moan as Amelia places her mouth on her.
And it makes her feel so hot.
"You guys are so loud," Alex shoots, when he notices them from the nurses' station. He may as well have been shouting it across the hall, Amelia thinks, as she watches Arizona's eyes narrow defensively.
"Yeah, Karev," Arizona starts, "just yell it, why don't you."
"I'm just saying," he shrugs. "I hardly got any sleep."
"Just stomp next time," Amelia grins, linking her arm around Arizona's. The pull of her arm makes the blonde stumble over to Amelia's side, hanging onto her tighter.
But as comfortable as she seems to become being next to Amelia, her back goes rigid upon hearing, "Robbins!"
"Charon awaits," Amelia announces, bowing only slightly, "enjoy your stay in the underworld."
Arizona grins and almost leans into kiss her, but she doesn't. She pulls away and smiles.
"I'm not dead yet."
"I'm so tired," Arizona groans, leaning against the computer desk as Amelia flips through her files.
She still needs to clarify information before she gets started. She needs to plan it out. Word is growing. It's insane. Monstrosity. Enormous. She thinks about adjectives to use for her presentation, but settles for the sweet simplicity of a poem, instead.
"You didn't answer my question," Amelia says, "was he her second opinion or her third?"
"I don't know, Amy," the blonde murmurs, her voice masked by her arms, "ask her yourself."
Amelia frowns and places her iPad on her desk. She sits back on her chair and watches Arizona with her head down, arms obscuring her face. She reaches out and twirls a strand of blonde hair around her finger.
"Do you want to have sex," Amelia wonders.
"Tired," the response, muffled.
"Dang," Amelia retorts, "are we at that stage already?"
Arizona sits up and sighs, brushing her hair back. She really does look tired, Amelia notices.
"She's murder, huh."
"She's a bitch sometimes," Arizona tells her, "but I just," she falters and pauses, as if searching for the right words, "I need her, you know?"
Amelia knows what it's like to need. To need incessantly. To need something. Something, all the time.
"I know."
"Anyway," she says, standing up, "I have to go talk to April and Jackson now."
Amelia nods as Arizona leaves the room, forgetting to even kiss her. Such fatigue reels anyone into singularity, Amelia thinks, and she wonders why she is not more concentrated on the surgery ahead of her the way Arizona is concentrated on hers.
She realizes that Arizona has the confidence. She wonders if she's there yet.
She has to be. For Arizona. For everyone. For herself.
The blonde was tired.
She stands up and quickly runs out of her office, following Arizona's retreating form down the hallway.
"Arizona!" she calls.
The blonde seems surprised when she turns around, and her hair whisks quickly and it makes Amelia remember things she is sure had been forgotten.
"You're amazing," she lets her know.
The blonde looks at her with delighted wonderment before smiling. And though it's the hallway, she cups Amelia's cheeks and kisses her softly. Amelia stands rigidly, but finds herself melting to the touch. Her lips are soft and alluring and she's sure she'll be drawn to them forever. Arizona's fingertips thumb her cheeks gently before she releases her, a dimpled grin appearing on her face. She says nothing, and simply turns around and all Amelia sees is a whisk of blonde hair as Arizona turns around the corner and then she remembers.
Later, she forgets.
It doesn't take long before Amelia slams her office door in frustration. Her iPad lands hard on the table, and she has to check it quickly before settling down herself. She doesn't want to break important surgical plans.
She needs to break something else. Something useless.
So she looks over to her computer and watches the stale, bored boxes that sit stacked upon each other. It doesn't take much contemplating before she kicks the boxes straight to the floor. She was aiming for the wall.
The first falls, and she hears kitchen ware rattle. The second falls, some clothes. Pink and blue. Fuck. The third falls and she reaches out to catch it, but she doesn't and glass tumbles out before shattering noisily and deliberately onto the floor.
Shit, she thinks.
Those aren't her boxes.
Fuck.
She looks down to the floor and watches as shattered glass kisses the tips of her shoes.
"What are all these?"
"Cases. Fetuses. Each card represents a fetus that I'm going to teach Robbins how to fix."
She looked at her. Arizona looked up from her notes and back at her. Lifted her pen up. Beamed. Winked. She wanted her just then, even with her surly mentor in the room.
Those dimples, she thought. God.
"Then I estimate what we can get to in the time I have."
She looked at what her hands were clasping. More index cards. More Robbins to the rescue.
"And those?"
"These? No, these are the ones that I could save if I, uh, had time."
She paused. She sensed the doubt. It's in the tone, in the look.
Herman looked at her then. "You should just think of them as babies who will die if it turns out that you're full of crap and can't take out my tumor," she said, simply. Nonchalantly. She wonders how the blonde deals with her cynicism.
She didn't know what to say. Amelia was startled. She nodded, slowly. "No pressure," she joked. She's good with the jokes.
"Oh, no," Herman said. "Pressure. I mean, we're on a timeline here, right?" she said. "Try being me."
Arizona had to look up. She felt her eyes on her just then. Skeptical eyes, worried eyes. For who, she wondered. Who. Arizona agreed and she knew it.
There were doubts. There are always doubts.
Amelia looked at her skeptically, though Arizona only eyed her mentor in the same manner.
She looked at Herman and back at Arizona. "Okay," she laughed, backing away. Her place was not everywhere. Certainly not here. She stepped back again and turned around and felt Arizona's eyes on her retreating back.
Doubts, doubts, doubts.
She needed to break something.
"I can do it," she tells Arizona, when she hears her enter the office.
"I know you can."
"You don't believe me," she determines, looking up at Arizona. Her eyes are hesitant. She's grown to know this look.
"You know I do," Arizona reasons, "I wouldn't be pushing it if I didn't."
"You wouldn't be pushing it if I weren't her only option," Amelia retorts. "You don't believe I can do it."
"Amelia, please don't-" she starts, but then she notices the mess on the floor and stops herself. Her eyes survey the glass carefully before landing on Amelia. Wide, blue eyes. Disbelief. It's a new look. "You destroyed my boxes?"
Amelia feels silly. She wants to stop her, she wants to go back.
"I thought they were mine."
Arizona says nothing and the beeping of her pager interrupts the silence.
"I have to go," Arizona tells her.
She goes.
She doesn't see her after that, though she's seen Herman countless times. Arizona was busy with Jackson and April and Herman. Which is fine, Amelia reasons. She is not obligated. Certainly not to her.
Surgeons are only obligated to their professions.
But then Jackson and April's baby dies. Everyone lights candles in hope for happiness, unsure of what that might be. They needed to do something. So they do this.
Amelia does it first. She suggests it and she does it and breathes heavily and lets go. She wants to let go.
Something about this day brings terror to her, and she can't quite verbalize why. Verbalizing the terror is always so very hard for her. She's better at laughing. She likes to laugh.
She wants to laugh now, but she can't. Not with parents in mourning. Not with another child dead.
It's a day of mourning and the hospital grows quiet.
It puts her on edge throughout the day. The silence makes her remember.
No brain, but brilliant. Nobody, but a hero.
Her superhero baby.
She tries to fall asleep to the flickering of the candles, but she can't. She sits in silence and finds solace. It's there, somewhere, she thinks. Somewhere in the form of organs and ashes and breathing, living people.
Superhero.
She hears the creaking of the chapel's doors. Footsteps. One sound lighter than the other. One real, one hollow.
Arizona.
Amelia closes her eyes and takes a breath and she feels Arizona standing and watching her before taking a seat beside her.
Even with her eyes closed she knows the blonde is looking at the candles.
"They're all lit," she notes.
"Yeah."
"Beautiful," Arizona says.
They sit there, and Amelia breathes. She smells her. Smells the place. The memories filter out. She doesn't want them to go, not yet.
But she needs to.
"My baby died," she tells her.
A moment. A pause. She feels Arizona's hand take her own. She holds it tight, but somehow, the touch feels light to her. So light.
This woman makes her feel light. She feels the blonde's gaze on her before she turns to look ahead.
She waits.
"Mine too."
Amelia has to look at her now, she has to rip her closed eyes away from the candles and open them to look at Arizona. There aren't tears in her eyes, though, just a glossy look that kind of makes her tremble.
She feels her hand against her own again, and now it's not light or heavy, it's just warm.
"I break things," Amelia says, "so I don't break myself."
"I know."
"I'm sorry," she says, and she means everything.
"I know," Arizona says. She tilts toward her only slightly and Amelia feels her head on her shoulder.
They stay like that, and eventually Amelia leans into her too.
Her hand never lets go.
And it makes her feel so warm.
They spend a couple of hours doing nothing. The television is blaring nonsense in front of them, and Arizona seems concentrated on it, though Amelia knows she isn't. Amelia has her head on the blonde's lap, while Arizona's fingers gently thread through her hair. Her blue eyes look dark from this angle, and Amelia watches as she blinks. She counts the blinks. Her breathing is relaxed.
And she remembers.
"Back then," she starts. Arizona turns to look at her, her blue eyes cast down and focused on her own. Her heart wavers for a minute, and she pauses to reach up and twirl a blonde strand of hair around her finger.
She remembers the newness of it all - the school, the drugs, and the blonde bouncy hair, and Arizona's heelys, and how it was the topic of conversation - the blonde prodigy with child's shoes. The restlessness of her hasty feet. The sharp alluring eyes, only dimmed by loss years later.
The only significant moment, she tries to remember. She only recalls blonde hair whisking away. Away from her. She only watched.
"Your feet never touched the ground," she tells her.
But that is what she remembers. Watching her glide away, with her feet never touching the ground.
She hesitates. She remembers Herman. She wonders what tomorrow will bring. What the days ahead will leave behind for her.
If nothing, she hopes it's Arizona.
Just her would be enough.
"That's what I remember."