Beautiful Mistake 1/?
Title: Beautiful Mistake
Author: Neolithicdream
Pairing: Callie/Arizona
Rating: PG-13
Summary: After everything is said and done has it all been a mistake? A marriage built on shifting sands? Maybe they should just cut their losses and run. After all, if recent events have taught them nothing else it is that life is short. Inspired by recent Sara Ramirez interviews.
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libellous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
A
A/N: this isn't going to be a very long one just a few chapters to get it out of my system. Hope to post more tomorrow.
Hey, Mary....” Arizona quietly addressed the Nursing manager of the Orthopaedics Ward “...have you seen my wi...”
“Oh my God, Dr. Robbins!” the older woman practically squealed in delight when she recognised the owner of the voice. “It is so good to see you back. We haven’t seen you down here since...” and at that she faltered, suddenly unsure what to say. It was an open secret that, like many amputees, Dr. Robbins had experienced difficulty in adjusting to her new reality and, although nothing was ever said, the staff in the Ortho Ward had seen the toll taken on their own Department Head too.
Arizona smiled back, a tentative one, but a smile nonetheless. Only a couple of months ago, that look of embarrassment mixed with a hint of pity would have sent her into a tailspin of anger and self loathing. Now she saw it for what it was - just an old acquaintance meeting her for the first time since her life changed, greeting her with nothing but kindness.
There had been a lot of these first meetings in the last six weeks since she returned to work. Not yet full-time but, as of three days ago, back on the surgical rotation. And there would be many more such meetings and many more times when people would see her leg, asking questions either silently or not. This was her life now and she either had to sink or swim, accept or deny but a life in denial was no life at all.
It had taken her nine months, nine long months to get to this point. Walking comfortably - almost - on her custom built prosthetic, performing surgeries (if 2 Appendectomies, 1 tonsillectomy and an emergency hernia repair in 3 whole days actually counted as surgeries). She was on the mend, as a person, as a Doctor, as a Mom and, she hoped, as a wife.
The plane crash had near destroyed her and not just physically. She had not recognised the woman she had become; weak and dependent, angry and hateful. She had avoided people for the most part. It was easier that way, to funnel all of the negative at one person. Spreading it around - evenly - required energy she did not have. As a result, few had seen her at her absolute worst, truly only one person had seen her at her absolute nadir.
The person she was now seeking out.
So she smiled at Mary, a tentative smile that just as quickly broadened as she remembered why she was here in the middle of the Orthopedic Department.
“It’s good to be back, Mary, thank you...” she reassured the woman “...is she around? Callie, I mean Dr.To...”
“I think she’s in her office, preparing for that surgery tomorrow. It’s pretty amazing what she’s trying to do, don’t you think? Groundbreaking, right? Is she nervous? Honestly we are all a bit psyched about it.” Mary gushed at the Pediatric Surgeon. They had been such a power couple in the Hospital, no doubt would be again now that the blonde was back in an OR and it was well known that they talked through each others surgeries especially big ones like tomorrow. Especially one involving a 'tiny human'.
Arizona’s smile did not falter, not once. She breathed in deeply, then with what she hoped was a convincing tone replied "yes, yes, she is but..." she nodded with authority "...but she, she's a rockstar, ya know?" and as she said the words it hit her, yet again, just how true that was.
Her wife, her incredible gorgeous wife was a Rockstar and not just with a scalpel. Her wife was her Rock, had been her Rock through those tortuous months of pain and despair and unceasing anger, even of hate. She had been her Rock but Arizona knew that instead of leaning on Callie she had, instead, used her as a punching bag.
And punches she had thrown, only verbal yet they had still hurt when they landed. Just as Arizona had intended. She had watched Callie flinch, grimace in pain as she landed blow after blow after blow. And she hadn't played by the rules either. The Marquess of Queensbury would have been appalled. No - Arizona had learned a long time ago to fight dirty and she did. She hit below the belt, accusing Callie of butchery, yelling that she hated her, that she hadn't even tried. And when personal insults hadn't stung enough she had used the other weapons at her disposal, a dead Mark Sloan, their living baby.
It wasn't a fair fight - how could it be when one threw most of the punches and the other didn't even bother to keep her hands up in defence? And yet, on rare occasions, Callie had hit back, in anger, frustration, despair. And her blows, though few, never failed to meet their target. And God did they hurt, those cruel angry words falling from Callie’s beautiful mouth.
She had been aware of how cruel she was to Callie even as she hurled words of hate around their relationship like confetti at a wedding. But it was as if she had been possessed by some virulent demon, try as she might she could not stop. It seemed, at times, that hurting Callie was the only thing she could control in those first few weeks; that causing her wife pain was the only thing that lessened her own.
When she was left alone, when Callie would breathe in deeply and silently walk away, it was all she could do to stop herself from screaming out her name in a desperate plea to come back, to hold her,to make it all alright. For Callie was the only one who could fix her. That she knew. Yet, as soon as Callie returned Arizona merely waited on the first opportunity to punch again. Hating her wife momentarily lessened her own self-loathing, hurting her the only painkiller that worked.
All she really wanted in those first few weeks was death. Yearned for it, why live when her life was over anyway? Only a residue of pride stopped her short of asking Callie to help her achieve the aim. The irony was not lost on Arizona. An agnostic since Med School she had prayed to Callie's God every night for the miracle of death and cursed him every morning when he failed to deliver.
As she walked towards Callie's office, Arizona shuddered at the memories of those first weeks.
As dark as had been her time on that mountain, hope remained, rapidly dwindling but never extinguished. Those weeks after her discharge, lying in that hospital bed in their home, in what used to be their bedroom where once had stood their marital bed all hope had died. And yet the darkest hour truly is before the dawn. As time marched on a turning point had been reached. Amidst more punches, for once both fighting as hard as they could. A breaking point for her wife became her turning point. For one brief moment the grief and pain on her wife’s face brought not satisfaction but horror. While, in truth, there was less a single giant leap forward rather more a series of missteps and stumbles, nonetheless that night as she was held against her will under a torrent of cold water and bitter tears something changed.
That night, after Callie returned from the settlement talks they had not spoken. Neither harsh nor kind word was exchanged. A seismic shift had occurred all the same. That night, for the first time in weeks, she did not pray for death but strength. Strength to overcome, strength to survive, strength to live again. But just as the aftershocks that had shaken her to the core ever since her plane hit that mountain began to lessen, the foundations of their marriage seemed to shift again. For it was that night too that Callie, for the first time, slept across the hall. She had muttered something about her back, the couch too hard, the fold-up bed too lumpy. She needed a good night sleep she said but averted her eyes as she spoke.
Harsh words did not cease but now they were angry not hateful. Gradually anger turned to annoyance then to exasperation. Cruel words changed to loud sighs, cold stares to no more than rolled eyes. Then one day, waking up to the sounds of her daughter singing a nonsense song while Callie cajoled her to get dressed for Day-care suddenly she felt the warmth of hope once again.
She would have said she understood hard work. Had a great work ethic. Before the crash. Now she knew she had never truly known what the meaning. Dragging her body back to something akin to fitness. Learning how to live without a leg. Learning how to walk with an alien prosthetic. Healing her soul, her spirit; forcing herself to accept the new reality, letting go off the negative, embracing the positive. Rebuilding, Learning how to live, to love again. It was the hardest thing she had ever known. Truly beyond comprehension to anyone who had not travelled the path.
Most evenings, so exhausted would she be that it was almost too hard to muster up a smile for Sofia as she excitedly babbled about Day-care and the swings in the park and Dora the Explorer and Elmo. As often as not, she would fall asleep somewhere between ‘den Zola saided’ and ‘see what I dwawed Mommy’. She lost count of the number of times she received a gentle tap on the face from their daughter, waking up with a start to see two huge brown eyes staring hard at her from mere inches away with half mangled half sung sentences of “No sleepie Mommy” and “wakie uppie” and a killer smile inherited straight from her Mama.
Too tired to notice what was going on right under her nose. Too tired to notice the changes in her wife. The steadfast rock on which she had refused to lean had begun to waver.
When she did notice, she told herself it would be okay. When she started back at work, when she started back in surgery; when they had their next joint day off, when they had time to talk.
And now Callie was on the verge of some huge exciting surgery, one that everyone was talking about - everyone but her. Because Callie had never mentioned it, had never told her. Because they barely spoke these days, not about anything real, not even about surgery and certainly not about them.
Time was a day without at least one shared coffee and/or lunch would have been an abnormality. They’d walk hand in hand to work; find precious spare moments to discuss surgeries or gossip about their colleagues. They’d make sure they sat next to each other at board meeting for surreptitious hand holding and playful hip bumps. Now, if they weren’t talking about Sofia or making inane comments about even more inane Reality TV shows, they were silent.
Standing at the door of Callie’s office, two steaming Americanos in hand, one sweetened just the way Callie liked it, Arizona was beset by nerves. Deep down she’d known they were in trouble, deep down she’d known but until that moment she hadn’t realised just how deep that trouble might be.
Her hand hovered, ready to give a warning knock before entering. A trembling hand, a hand connected to a body that wanted nothing more than to run or, perhaps more accurately, gracelessly hobble away.A deep breath and then another. Forcing the adrenalin now coursing through her veins to make her stand and fight. One firm rap on the door later and she was grabbing the door handle and entering the office marked “Dr. C. Torres, Head of Orthopaedics.”