AN :/ Thanks for your reviews. I love to read your thoughts on what will happen! Hope you'll like it.
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Callie Torres slammed the front door of her penthouse harder than intended, the sound reverberating through the sleek, modern space like a gunshot. Her fingers trembled slightly as she tossed her keys onto the marble counter, the metallic clatter too loud in the silence. Every muscle in her body ached, not just from the grueling surgery on Liam, but from the emotional whiplash of facing Arizona again after all these years.
Amber looked up from the couch, her dark eyes sharp with curiosity. She was sprawled lazily in one of Callie's old sweatshirts, a glass of wine dangling from her fingers. "Rough day, babe?"
Callie didn't answer. Instead, she walked to the liquor cabinet, yanked out a bottle of bourbon, and poured herself a generous glass, downing half of it in one burning swallow. The alcohol seared her throat, but she welcomed the distraction.
Amber watched her, unimpressed. "That bad, huh?"
"Don't." Callie's voice was a warning.
But Amber never knew when to stop. She stood, padding over on bare feet, her fingers trailing up Callie's tense arm. "You know what helps when you're this wound up?" Her voice was low, teasing.
Callie didn't need to be told. She turned abruptly, catching Amber's wrist and pulling her in roughly. Their mouths crashed together, teeth clashing, Callie pouring all her frustration into the kiss. She didn't want to talk. Didn't want to think. She just wanted to feel, something, anything, that wasn't the storm of emotions Arizona had dragged back into her life.
Amber gasped as Callie backed her against the counter, hands already tugging at the hem of her shirt. "Jesus, Callie ..."
"Shut up," Callie growled, her fingers digging into Amber's hips hard enough to bruise.
For a moment, Amber let her. Let Callie lose herself in the heat, the physicality, the mindless distraction of it. But then she pulled back, breathless, her palms pressing against Callie's chest. "Wait. Stop."
Callie froze, irritation flaring. "What?"
Amber studied her, too perceptive for her own good. "You're doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"Using sex to avoid whatever's eating you." Amber tilted her head. "Which, let me guess, has something to do with your ex wife?"
Callie's jaw clenched. She turned away, reaching for her abandoned glass of bourbon. "I don't want to talk about her."
"Too bad," Amber shot back, crossing her arms. "Because you came home looking like you'd seen a ghost. You don't even ask about your daugter, who once again was a delight... And now you're trying to fuck your way out of dealing with it."
Callie's grip on the glass tightened. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't I?" Amber's laugh was sharp. "You've spent months telling me how selfish Arizona is, how she abandoned her kid, how she ruined your marriage. But now? Now you look like you're the one who got left behind."
The words hit like a slap. Callie's breath came faster, her chest tight with something too close to panic. "You have no idea what she did!"
"I don't care what she did!" Amber threw her hands up. "I care that you're letting it wreck you all over again!"
Callie's vision blurred with anger, or maybe it was something else. Something raw and ugly she didn't want to name. "You think I'm letting her do anything? She's the one who's wreck! They tortured kids in front of her, Amber. They broke her fingers, burned her, left her for dead..." Her voice cracked.
The room went silent.
Amber's expression shifted from frustration to stunned disbelief. "What?"
Callie turned away, running a hand through her hair. She hadn't meant to say that. Hadn't meant to think about it. But the image of Arizona's scars, the way she flinched at sudden movements, it was burned into her mind.
Amber exhaled slowly. "Okay. That's… fucked up. But why does it matter so much to you? You hate her."
The thought was dangerous. Callie's throat burned. "It doesn't matter. She's just another patient's guardian. That's all."
Amber snorted. "Bullshit. You don't drink like this over 'just another patient.'"
Callie slammed her glass down, bourbon sloshing over the rim. "What do you want from me, Amber? A fucking confession? Fine. Yes, it hurts. It hurts that she came back like this. It hurts that she's still..." She cut herself off, shaking her head.
Amber's eyes narrowed. "Still what?"
Callie didn't answer. Because the truth was too pathetic to say out loud.
Still the bravest person I've ever known.
Amber sighed, frustration giving way to resignation. "You're going to go out, aren't you? Find some random at a bar and pretend this isn't eating you alive."
Callie grabbed her jacket from the back of the chair. "Maybe I will."
"You're pathetic," Amber snapped.
Callie didn't flinch. "And you're dismissed."
The door slammed behind her with finality.
Outside, the rain had started again, cold. Callie didn't care. She walked, her heels clicking against the wet pavement, the city lights blurring in her vision.
She didn't know where she was going.
But she knew she couldn't stay.
...
The surgical lounge was empty and cold. Arizona sat slumped in a corner chair, her fingers absently tracing the rim of a cold coffee cup. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows that matched her mood.
Alex Karev kicked the door open with his foot, two take out containers balanced in one hand, his white coat slung over the other shoulder. "Jesus, Robbins. You look like something Bailey scraped off her shoe."
Arizona didn't look up. "Go away, Karev."
"Not a chance." He dropped into the chair opposite her, sliding one container across the table. "Eat. You're scaring the interns."
She finally lifted her head, her blue eyes shadowed with exhaustion. "Callie Kissed me."
Alex didn't even pause in unwrapping his burger. "About damn time."
Arizona's fingers tightened around her coffee cup. "That's it? No 'holy shit'? No 'are you insane'?"
Alex took a huge bite, speaking around the food. "Please. You two have been giving each other fuck-me-or-fight-me eyes since you got back." He pointed his fries at her. "Only question is : which was it?"
"It wasn't like that." Arizona pushed the food away, her stomach churning. "We were talking about... everything. Malawi. The crash. Sofia. And then suddenly..."
"Suddenly you were playing tonsil hockey in a supply closet," Alex finished, wiping ketchup from his chin. "Shocking."
Arizona glared at him. "You're not taking this seriously."
"Oh, I am." Alex's smirk faded. "But here's the thing, I've watched you two idiots for years. This?" He gestured between her and the door. "This was inevitable."
Arizona stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. "Nothing is inevitable. Especially not..." She swallowed hard. "Not us."
Alex leaned back, studying her. "You really believe that?"
"Yes!" The word came out too loud, too sharp. Arizona took a steadying breath. "Look at us, Alex. We're toxic together. After the crash... what I said to her about my leg... what I did..." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "And then I left. For three years."
Alex's expression didn't change. "Yeah. You fucked up. Newsflash... so did she."
Arizona shook her head. "You don't understand. The woman I kissed earlier? That's not my Callie. My Callie was... God, she was sunlight, Alex. She laughed with her whole body. She sang terrible Spanish lullabies to Sofia. She..." Her voice broke. "The woman who came back to Seattle? That's someone else. Someone hard. Someone who sleeps around and doesn't care who knows it."
Alex snorted. "Wow. Self-awareness really isn't your thing, huh?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you're describing yourself three years ago," Alex said bluntly. "After the crash? After you cheated? You were a walking disaster, Robbins. Cold. Angry. Sleeping with that Boswell cick you barely knew." He leaned forward. "Sound familiar?"
Arizona flinched.
"Callie came back different because she's hurt," Alex continued. "Just like you were. Difference is?" He raised an eyebrow. "She didn't leave the country."
Arizona turned away, staring out the window at the Seattle skyline. "It doesn't matter. I'm done with relationships. Especially with her."
Alex barked out a laugh. "Yeah, okay."
"I mean it."
"Sure you do." Alex stood, gathering their trash. "Here's the thing, Robbins. You two are like... I don't know, some fucked up medical version of gravity. Inevitable."
Arizona rolled her eyes. "That's ridiculous."
"Is it?" Alex crossed his arms. "Because from where I'm standing? You've got two choices. Either figure your shit out, or keep destroying each other slowly." His voice hardened. "And Sofia? She's already paying the price."
The words landed like a physical blow. Arizona's breath caught.
Alex headed for the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. "Oh, and Robbins?" He glanced back over his shoulder. "Stop pretending you don't still wear that stupid necklace she gave you."
The door swung shut behind him, leaving Arizona alone with her thoughts and the quiet hum of the hospital around her.
Her fingers rose to the silver plane pendant at her throat, the one she'd never taken off, not in Malawi, not in Thailand, not in all the years apart.
She was so tired of lying to herself.
...
The bar's dim lighting painted everything in shades of amber and regret. Callie's fourth whiskey sat half-finished, the ice long melted into meaningless dilution. She swirled the glass, watching how the liquid clung to the sides before letting go, something she'd never quite managed to do.
The blonde two stools over, too golden, too polished, all wrong. She had been watching her for twenty minutes. Callie could feel the weight of her gaze like a physical touch.
"You look like someone who needs another drink," the woman said, sliding into the empty seat beside her. Up close, her perfume was cloying, vanilla and gardenias. Arizona had smelled that ridiculous coconut sunscreen she'd used religiously.
Callie smirked into her glass. "Or fewer."
"Emily," the woman offered, extending a manicured hand. Arizona had always kept her nails short, practical.
"Callie." She didn't take the offered hand.
Emily wasn't deterred. "Let me guess ... woman trouble?"
The laugh that escaped Callie's throat was razor-sharp. "You could say that."
Emily signaled the bartender for another round. "Tell me about her."
Callie should have walked away. Should have gone home to Sofia. But the whiskey and the hollow ache in her chest kept her rooted to the stool.
"She was..." Callie's fingers tightened around her glass. "Sunlight. All bright smiles and terrible puns at 6 AM after overnight shifts." The memories came unbidden, Arizona dancing in their kitchen in nothing but one of Callie's dress shirts, Arizona crying with laughter during Sofia's disastrous first ballet recital, Arizona's face when she'd walked out of their home for the last time.
Emily's hand settled on Callie's thigh. "Sounds like you're better off without her."
Callie's phone buzzed on the counter. Unknown Caller.
She almost let it go to voicemail. Almost.
"Mija."
Her father's voice was a gut-punch, that particular blend of concern and disapproval that had followed her since childhood.
"Daddy," she muttered, suddenly hyper-aware of how slurred her words were.
"Sofia está llorando."
Callie's stomach dropped. "Is she hurt?"
"No. Worried about her mama." A pause heavy with judgment. "She says you left angry. Again."
The guilt tasted like bile and bourbon. "I needed air."
"You needed to run," her father corrected. "Like you always do when things get hard."
Emily's fingers traced idle patterns on Callie's knee, a distracting counterpoint to her father's voice.
"I'm not running," Callie lied.
"Then come home." His voice softened. "Your daughter needs you. And maybe... maybe you need to stop pretending you don't still love that woman."
Callie's vision blurred. "It's not that simple."
"Love never is."
The line went dead.
Emily's hand slid higher. "Trouble at home?"
Callie stared at the woman's fingers, perfectly manicured, unmarked by the scars of a surgeon's life. Nothing like Arizona's hands, which bore the history of every life they'd saved.
"You know," Emily murmured, leaning in until her breath ghosted over Callie's ear, "there are better ways to forget someone."
The whiskey and the hurt and the years of loneliness coalesced into one reckless impulse.
"Show me," Callie heard herself say.
Emily's apartment smelled like lavender candles and expensive perfume. Nothing like the home Callie had shared with Arizona, that particular blend of hospital soap, Sofia's crayons, and whatever disaster Arizona had attempted to cook that week.
"You're thinking about her again," Emily observed as she pushed Callie against the wall, hands already working at the buttons of her shirt.
Callie didn't deny it. Instead, she kissed Emily hard enough to bruise, pouring all her frustration into the contact. Maybe if she fucked this stranger hard enough, she could exorcise the ghost that haunted her.
Emily's bed was too soft, her touch too practiced. When she moaned, the sound was all wrong, too high, too breathy. Arizona had always bitten her lip when she came, like she was trying to stay quiet even when they were alone.
Afterward, as Emily slept beside her, Callie stared at the ceiling, the alcohol and adrenaline giving way to crushing clarity.
She'd made a mistake.
The morning light found Callie dressed and halfway out the door when Emily stirred.
"Leaving so soon?" Emily asked, voice thick with sleep.
Callie didn't turn around. "I have a daughter to apologize to."
"And her?"
Callie's hand froze on the doorknob. Somewhere in the city, Arizona was probably already at the hospital, checking on Liam, being the kind of mother Callie had spent years resenting her for being.
"I'll figure that out today," she said quietly.