Fic: Transformation
Title: Transformation
Pairing: Arizona/Callie
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Nine short fics based on a collection of songs that have been reminding me of Callie and Arizona. Songs are linked to the titles. Spoilers for all episodes up to now.
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 libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
1. Safe & Sound - Taylor Swift feat. The Civil Wars
The first night just seemed like a horrible nightmare. It didn’t really hurt anymore, but it was still all I could do to keep from screaming. Laying there on the forest floor, caked with blood, covered by a thin fleece blanket from the plane, all I could do is watch the sky and wait for rescue to come.
By the third night, everything hurt again. It was colder, darker, and the sounds of animals in the woods seemed to grow louder every hour. Cristina kept checking on me, making sure I was alive, trying to make me answer her. But still all I could do was stare at the sky. Stare at the sky, at the millions of stars, and hope someone was coming.
The fifth night I lay there staring at the sky, I wasn’t hoping for rescue anymore. The only image I could think about was of my wife and daughter. My beautiful daughter -- our beautiful daughter. The daughter I wasn’t going to see grow up anymore. I hoped they were safe. I hoped more than anything they would be ok, hoped they would be able to move on together. I wished I could be wrapped in my wife’s arms one more time.
My eyes closed for what felt like the first time in days. Shut against the glow of the moon, against the shadows of rustling branches, picturing only Calliope and Sofia. I would watch over them.
It would be alright.
2. Keep Breathing - Ingrid Michaelson
I know something is wrong an hour after they leave. I sit in the attending’s lounge, my eyes darting to the phone on the table, watching for the call display to pop up. The picture of Arizona and Sofia in matching pink scrub caps. It doesn’t ring.
We have this thing, Arizona and I. Whenever we fly, whenever one of us travels without the other, we call right before takeoff, and as soon as we land. A tradition inherited from her brother. Before her feet even touch the ground outside the airplane, Arizona always calls. The trip to Boise is fifty minutes. With a frustrated sigh, I hit the wake button on my phone to check the time once again.
It’s been close to eighty minutes now.
I let out a breath, glancing at the clock on the wall, wondering if maybe the time will be different there. Maybe I got it wrong, maybe the trip to Boise is longer than an hour.
I lean back in my chair again, watching my phone. I should go and pick up Sofia. I’ll go and pick up Sofia, and get our things, and by the time we get home Arizona will have called. She always tells me I worry too much.
Pushing myself up from the chair, I check the volume and slip the phone into my pocket. Go and get Sofia; go home. Stop holding your breath.
She’ll call.
3. Here With Me - Dido
When the paramedics rush Arizona into the hospital, she’s still unconscious. They sedated them, I vaguely remember Bailey telling me, so they wouldn’t panic going on another airplane. Because some of them were in a lot of pain. Because it would be better.
Hours later I sit in her recovery room after surgery, chair pushed up against the bed, watching her sleep. I reach up and gently brush the bangs from her forehead, running my thumb along a deep scratch at her temple. She’s bruised and scraped, and even in sleep her face looks so, so tired. But my wife is alive. Somehow, miraculously, my wife is alive.
“Arizona,” her name rolls off my lips in a soft murmur as I stroke her cheek, feeling the fever on her skin. I know she’s here, but I need to see her. I need her to wake up and look at me, show me the blue eyes that consume my every waking thought. My breath catches as tears start to roll down my cheeks, but I try to blink them back, try to take in air to keep the sobs from escaping.
“Arizona…” I whisper this time, wiping my face with my free hand, “Arizona…” my breath catches again, and an ache that’s become all too familiar grips at my chest. I need her to wake up. I need her to be here. I can’t breathe without her.
Eyelashes suddenly flutter open in front of me, and she blinks once, twice, finally opening her eyes to look at me. I manage a deep breath as my eyes meet hers, and although she doesn’t say anything, I know then that she’s back. She’s here with me.
4. Hold My Hand - Hootie & the Blowfish
I’m recovering well, all things considered. The infection I picked up in the woods is still raging through my system and making me feel weak, and I know my leg is still in serious condition - but I think I’m doing alright. I try not to listen to the doctors too much, focussing on making myself feel better and making myself fight the infection. Focussing on Calliope in my room every second she gets, her fingers as they brush my hair back, and her lips as they press softly to mine.
I look over to where she’s sitting now, and let my eyes drift over her face as she watches me. She looks exhausted. Exhausted and worried. And beautiful.
“Calliope…” I say her name softly, drawing her eyes up to my own, “you’ll make sure I’m alright. I know you will.”
She gives me a small smile, dark eyes holding my gaze. “Of course I will.”
I reach my hand out, palm up, and she slips her fingers through mine and holds tight. She’ll make sure I get better. She can fix anything, heal anyone. I know she’ll fix me. I run my thumb along her hand lightly and she looks up again, watching my face. I smile, because having her here makes it okay.
“I love you.”
5. Running Up That Hill - Placebo
I stand outside Arizona - Dr. Robbins’ - room, watching her sleeping form through the glass pane. She’s recovering now from her third surgery. The surgery where I had to cut off her leg.
I pull the scrub cap from my head forcefully, running my hand through my hair and tugging at the strands. The part of me that’s a doctor knows this was the only choice - knows that Callie made the right choice, that I did the right thing in there, the thing that would save her life. But as I glance through the window again, eyes drifting over the blanket, the part of me that was her friend knows this just isn’t right. Isn’t fair.
Because I consider Arizona Robbins a friend. She’s my superior, my mentor, but against the strangest odds she’s become a friend. A short, pitiful laugh escapes me as I lean back against the wall. I’ve never had anyone I considered a best friend, but over the past two years Arizona has probably come as close as it gets. I can’t help but think it’s too late for that now.
I should have been on that plane instead. I would have been, if I hadn’t been selfish and thoughtless and hadn’t fought with her that night. I should have been the one in this crash, the one laying in there now with one less limb. Because people like Arizona, especially people like Arizona…they didn’t deserve this. She was the one person who’d believed and trusted in me, and welcomed me under her wing despite the fact that I fought her every step of the way.
And now I’d broken her. Saved her life sure, but broken her all the same.
I turn back again and look in the window, letting out a heavy sigh. She’ll forgive Callie - Callie’s her wife. She’ll never forgive me.
6. Heal Over - KT Tunstall
It’s been a month since the surgery. Four weeks. Four weeks since Callie made the decision to cut off my leg. Since my wife decided to cut off my leg, when she’d promised me she wouldn’t.
I still haven’t forgiven her.
I can’t. I can’t do much of anything these days - can’t walk, can’t get to the bathroom or the kitchen by myself, can barely get out of bed and into my goddamn wheelchair by myself. And I can’t forgive her. I can’t forget that moment in the hospital when she promised me, promised me that she wouldn’t let this happen, even though we both knew it was a very real possibility.
I didn’t care about possibilities. I didn’t care about the facts and the medicine and the knowledge that she really couldn’t have done anything else. She promised me.
Glancing toward the kitchen I see her back turned to me, drying the dishes slowly and methodically at the sink. I don’t care. We barely talk now, and when we do we’re fighting. I’m fighting; she just sits there and takes it. I let out a sigh, clenching my hand on the arm of the chair. Just looking at her makes me angry.
My eyes flicker over to the window and along the wall, my gaze finally coming to rest on the fireplace in the living room. Looking at everything makes me angry. My eyelids flutter shut, trying to block it all out, but they snap open again almost as quickly. Can’t close my eyes, because then all I see is twisted metal and burning fire and carnage.
I can’t do anything. I can’t move, I can’t think, I can’t feel. I’m beginning to wonder if these scars will ever heal.
7. Better Than I Know Myself - Adam Lambert
In the span of a minute, I’ve gone from shouting at my wife on the floor to pinning her against the shower wall to breaking down in sobs. We’re standing fully clothed and soaked in the shower, and as I hold Arizona against the wall it occurs to me that this is the closest we’ve been in two months.
I can’t hold back another sob from escaping my throat.
My head hangs, my eyes unable to even meet hers, and I just cry. I cry for the first time since all of this in front of her. I cry for the wife I’ve hurt, the relationship I’ve broken, and the life that’s been stolen from me. From us.
“Arizona…” I look up as she struggles against me and bite back the sobs long enough to speak, “This is my life now too.”
Another sob wracks my body, and I squeeze my eyes shut, letting my head hang. Doesn’t she know I’m here to stay? If she never speaks to me again, I still won’t go anywhere. I can’t. I love her and I can’t ever leave her side. I loosen my grip on her wrists a little, the familiar feeling of defeat taking over. She knows me - she knows my life is hers. Ours.
I manage a shaky breath, wiping tears and water from my face, and murmur, “I’ll get you out of here...” I move to wrap my arms around her waist and help her out, but then I freeze.
And feel her arms slowly sliding around my shoulders.
Her touch is tentative but firm, and she pulls me in against her, one hand lightly cradling my head to her shoulder. I barely hear her whisper above the sound of the water.
“I know.”
8. Life After You - Daughtry
Things haven’t been better since that night in the shower, but they’ve been different. Three weeks ago, I finally agreed to leave the house and make an appointment with the prosthetist, and today….I’m standing. I stare into the full length mirror, trying to keep my gaze above the waist. It’s hard. Standing is hard. Seeing myself with this…leg is hard. I think back to supper last night and close my eyes, taking a deep breath. Holding my daughter on my lap is hard.
But I’ve done all of those things now. I open my eyes and look at the mirror again. I’ve done these things, and I’m still here. I’m trying.
My doctor comes up beside me; watching my reflection as well, watching my reactions. He knows.
“Looking pretty good.”
“Yeah,” I manage the word softly, glancing sideways at him, “not bad.”
The door to the therapy room opens behind us, and I catch a glimpse of Callie’s reflection as she enters the room.
“Oh…I can..” she turns, her face giving away her fear of causing another fight between us, “I’ll come back.”
David looks at me, and I nod a silent consent.
“Actually why don’t you stay. I think we’re about done here,” he strides toward her, picks up his notes, and flashes me a warm smile, “I’ll be back in a minute to help you get out of that one.”
I tear my eyes from the mirror, turning to look at my wife instead. My hand shoots out to grab the support bars, and I can tell it’s taking everything she has not to rush forward and catch me.
“Calliope…” I look up, pausing, watching her dark eyes flicker with a bit of hope. Letting out a long breath, I lift my free hand toward her.
“I’m sorry.”
I see the surprise and relief wash over her face as she steps toward me, taking my hand and twining strong fingers around mine. For the first time in nearly three months, I don’t pull away. Her voice is soft when she speaks, but genuine.
“I’m sorry too.”
9. Something Beautiful - Great Big Sea
Six months after my surgery, Callie drives me to Boise, Idaho. Or rather, drives me about thirty miles from Boise, Idaho, and stops in the middle of the highway along a dense stretch of woods.
I open the car door and shift myself out before she has a chance to come around, pushing myself to my feet on the loose gravel of the shoulder. A hawk flies overhead, and I let my eyes drift up over the height of the trees. The woods are thick here, dense with aged trees and overgrowth. Nothing looks out of place, nothing looks touched by humans.
But I know better. I know that about five miles in, tiny twisted shards of metal are buried in the leaves. Tiny scraps of clothing, discarded matches. At least one tree is snapped in half. Another bears a deep, burnt scar.
Callie’s strong arm wraps around my shoulders as the tears start to fall.
I resist turning to her -- the part of me that’s still stubborn, that hates to rely on anyone, rebelling against the embrace. But I glance into the shadows of the woods again and as a sob escapes my chest I let her pull me close, burying my face against her neck and giving in.
I can walk again. I can stand with my wife, and play with our daughter. I went back to work at the hospital last week and had coffee with Karev, and even that is beginning to feel normal. I’m alive, and I’m finally able to live again.
Turning my face up toward hers I can see the single tear rolling down her cheek. I know she’s crying too, even if she keeps wiping it away. She’s crying for me, and for Mark, and for our family that’s been irreversibly changed by this spot in the woods.
But as we both tilt our heads up to look at the sky, at the bird that circles back above us, I know that things are going to be okay.
Things are okay. We’re okay now.
Pairing: Arizona/Callie
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Nine short fics based on a collection of songs that have been reminding me of Callie and Arizona. Songs are linked to the titles. Spoilers for all episodes up to now.
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 libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
1. Safe & Sound - Taylor Swift feat. The Civil Wars
The first night just seemed like a horrible nightmare. It didn’t really hurt anymore, but it was still all I could do to keep from screaming. Laying there on the forest floor, caked with blood, covered by a thin fleece blanket from the plane, all I could do is watch the sky and wait for rescue to come.
By the third night, everything hurt again. It was colder, darker, and the sounds of animals in the woods seemed to grow louder every hour. Cristina kept checking on me, making sure I was alive, trying to make me answer her. But still all I could do was stare at the sky. Stare at the sky, at the millions of stars, and hope someone was coming.
The fifth night I lay there staring at the sky, I wasn’t hoping for rescue anymore. The only image I could think about was of my wife and daughter. My beautiful daughter -- our beautiful daughter. The daughter I wasn’t going to see grow up anymore. I hoped they were safe. I hoped more than anything they would be ok, hoped they would be able to move on together. I wished I could be wrapped in my wife’s arms one more time.
My eyes closed for what felt like the first time in days. Shut against the glow of the moon, against the shadows of rustling branches, picturing only Calliope and Sofia. I would watch over them.
It would be alright.
2. Keep Breathing - Ingrid Michaelson
I know something is wrong an hour after they leave. I sit in the attending’s lounge, my eyes darting to the phone on the table, watching for the call display to pop up. The picture of Arizona and Sofia in matching pink scrub caps. It doesn’t ring.
We have this thing, Arizona and I. Whenever we fly, whenever one of us travels without the other, we call right before takeoff, and as soon as we land. A tradition inherited from her brother. Before her feet even touch the ground outside the airplane, Arizona always calls. The trip to Boise is fifty minutes. With a frustrated sigh, I hit the wake button on my phone to check the time once again.
It’s been close to eighty minutes now.
I let out a breath, glancing at the clock on the wall, wondering if maybe the time will be different there. Maybe I got it wrong, maybe the trip to Boise is longer than an hour.
I lean back in my chair again, watching my phone. I should go and pick up Sofia. I’ll go and pick up Sofia, and get our things, and by the time we get home Arizona will have called. She always tells me I worry too much.
Pushing myself up from the chair, I check the volume and slip the phone into my pocket. Go and get Sofia; go home. Stop holding your breath.
She’ll call.
3. Here With Me - Dido
When the paramedics rush Arizona into the hospital, she’s still unconscious. They sedated them, I vaguely remember Bailey telling me, so they wouldn’t panic going on another airplane. Because some of them were in a lot of pain. Because it would be better.
Hours later I sit in her recovery room after surgery, chair pushed up against the bed, watching her sleep. I reach up and gently brush the bangs from her forehead, running my thumb along a deep scratch at her temple. She’s bruised and scraped, and even in sleep her face looks so, so tired. But my wife is alive. Somehow, miraculously, my wife is alive.
“Arizona,” her name rolls off my lips in a soft murmur as I stroke her cheek, feeling the fever on her skin. I know she’s here, but I need to see her. I need her to wake up and look at me, show me the blue eyes that consume my every waking thought. My breath catches as tears start to roll down my cheeks, but I try to blink them back, try to take in air to keep the sobs from escaping.
“Arizona…” I whisper this time, wiping my face with my free hand, “Arizona…” my breath catches again, and an ache that’s become all too familiar grips at my chest. I need her to wake up. I need her to be here. I can’t breathe without her.
Eyelashes suddenly flutter open in front of me, and she blinks once, twice, finally opening her eyes to look at me. I manage a deep breath as my eyes meet hers, and although she doesn’t say anything, I know then that she’s back. She’s here with me.
4. Hold My Hand - Hootie & the Blowfish
I’m recovering well, all things considered. The infection I picked up in the woods is still raging through my system and making me feel weak, and I know my leg is still in serious condition - but I think I’m doing alright. I try not to listen to the doctors too much, focussing on making myself feel better and making myself fight the infection. Focussing on Calliope in my room every second she gets, her fingers as they brush my hair back, and her lips as they press softly to mine.
I look over to where she’s sitting now, and let my eyes drift over her face as she watches me. She looks exhausted. Exhausted and worried. And beautiful.
“Calliope…” I say her name softly, drawing her eyes up to my own, “you’ll make sure I’m alright. I know you will.”
She gives me a small smile, dark eyes holding my gaze. “Of course I will.”
I reach my hand out, palm up, and she slips her fingers through mine and holds tight. She’ll make sure I get better. She can fix anything, heal anyone. I know she’ll fix me. I run my thumb along her hand lightly and she looks up again, watching my face. I smile, because having her here makes it okay.
“I love you.”
5. Running Up That Hill - Placebo
I stand outside Arizona - Dr. Robbins’ - room, watching her sleeping form through the glass pane. She’s recovering now from her third surgery. The surgery where I had to cut off her leg.
I pull the scrub cap from my head forcefully, running my hand through my hair and tugging at the strands. The part of me that’s a doctor knows this was the only choice - knows that Callie made the right choice, that I did the right thing in there, the thing that would save her life. But as I glance through the window again, eyes drifting over the blanket, the part of me that was her friend knows this just isn’t right. Isn’t fair.
Because I consider Arizona Robbins a friend. She’s my superior, my mentor, but against the strangest odds she’s become a friend. A short, pitiful laugh escapes me as I lean back against the wall. I’ve never had anyone I considered a best friend, but over the past two years Arizona has probably come as close as it gets. I can’t help but think it’s too late for that now.
I should have been on that plane instead. I would have been, if I hadn’t been selfish and thoughtless and hadn’t fought with her that night. I should have been the one in this crash, the one laying in there now with one less limb. Because people like Arizona, especially people like Arizona…they didn’t deserve this. She was the one person who’d believed and trusted in me, and welcomed me under her wing despite the fact that I fought her every step of the way.
And now I’d broken her. Saved her life sure, but broken her all the same.
I turn back again and look in the window, letting out a heavy sigh. She’ll forgive Callie - Callie’s her wife. She’ll never forgive me.
6. Heal Over - KT Tunstall
It’s been a month since the surgery. Four weeks. Four weeks since Callie made the decision to cut off my leg. Since my wife decided to cut off my leg, when she’d promised me she wouldn’t.
I still haven’t forgiven her.
I can’t. I can’t do much of anything these days - can’t walk, can’t get to the bathroom or the kitchen by myself, can barely get out of bed and into my goddamn wheelchair by myself. And I can’t forgive her. I can’t forget that moment in the hospital when she promised me, promised me that she wouldn’t let this happen, even though we both knew it was a very real possibility.
I didn’t care about possibilities. I didn’t care about the facts and the medicine and the knowledge that she really couldn’t have done anything else. She promised me.
Glancing toward the kitchen I see her back turned to me, drying the dishes slowly and methodically at the sink. I don’t care. We barely talk now, and when we do we’re fighting. I’m fighting; she just sits there and takes it. I let out a sigh, clenching my hand on the arm of the chair. Just looking at her makes me angry.
My eyes flicker over to the window and along the wall, my gaze finally coming to rest on the fireplace in the living room. Looking at everything makes me angry. My eyelids flutter shut, trying to block it all out, but they snap open again almost as quickly. Can’t close my eyes, because then all I see is twisted metal and burning fire and carnage.
I can’t do anything. I can’t move, I can’t think, I can’t feel. I’m beginning to wonder if these scars will ever heal.
7. Better Than I Know Myself - Adam Lambert
In the span of a minute, I’ve gone from shouting at my wife on the floor to pinning her against the shower wall to breaking down in sobs. We’re standing fully clothed and soaked in the shower, and as I hold Arizona against the wall it occurs to me that this is the closest we’ve been in two months.
I can’t hold back another sob from escaping my throat.
My head hangs, my eyes unable to even meet hers, and I just cry. I cry for the first time since all of this in front of her. I cry for the wife I’ve hurt, the relationship I’ve broken, and the life that’s been stolen from me. From us.
“Arizona…” I look up as she struggles against me and bite back the sobs long enough to speak, “This is my life now too.”
Another sob wracks my body, and I squeeze my eyes shut, letting my head hang. Doesn’t she know I’m here to stay? If she never speaks to me again, I still won’t go anywhere. I can’t. I love her and I can’t ever leave her side. I loosen my grip on her wrists a little, the familiar feeling of defeat taking over. She knows me - she knows my life is hers. Ours.
I manage a shaky breath, wiping tears and water from my face, and murmur, “I’ll get you out of here...” I move to wrap my arms around her waist and help her out, but then I freeze.
And feel her arms slowly sliding around my shoulders.
Her touch is tentative but firm, and she pulls me in against her, one hand lightly cradling my head to her shoulder. I barely hear her whisper above the sound of the water.
“I know.”
8. Life After You - Daughtry
Things haven’t been better since that night in the shower, but they’ve been different. Three weeks ago, I finally agreed to leave the house and make an appointment with the prosthetist, and today….I’m standing. I stare into the full length mirror, trying to keep my gaze above the waist. It’s hard. Standing is hard. Seeing myself with this…leg is hard. I think back to supper last night and close my eyes, taking a deep breath. Holding my daughter on my lap is hard.
But I’ve done all of those things now. I open my eyes and look at the mirror again. I’ve done these things, and I’m still here. I’m trying.
My doctor comes up beside me; watching my reflection as well, watching my reactions. He knows.
“Looking pretty good.”
“Yeah,” I manage the word softly, glancing sideways at him, “not bad.”
The door to the therapy room opens behind us, and I catch a glimpse of Callie’s reflection as she enters the room.
“Oh…I can..” she turns, her face giving away her fear of causing another fight between us, “I’ll come back.”
David looks at me, and I nod a silent consent.
“Actually why don’t you stay. I think we’re about done here,” he strides toward her, picks up his notes, and flashes me a warm smile, “I’ll be back in a minute to help you get out of that one.”
I tear my eyes from the mirror, turning to look at my wife instead. My hand shoots out to grab the support bars, and I can tell it’s taking everything she has not to rush forward and catch me.
“Calliope…” I look up, pausing, watching her dark eyes flicker with a bit of hope. Letting out a long breath, I lift my free hand toward her.
“I’m sorry.”
I see the surprise and relief wash over her face as she steps toward me, taking my hand and twining strong fingers around mine. For the first time in nearly three months, I don’t pull away. Her voice is soft when she speaks, but genuine.
“I’m sorry too.”
9. Something Beautiful - Great Big Sea
Six months after my surgery, Callie drives me to Boise, Idaho. Or rather, drives me about thirty miles from Boise, Idaho, and stops in the middle of the highway along a dense stretch of woods.
I open the car door and shift myself out before she has a chance to come around, pushing myself to my feet on the loose gravel of the shoulder. A hawk flies overhead, and I let my eyes drift up over the height of the trees. The woods are thick here, dense with aged trees and overgrowth. Nothing looks out of place, nothing looks touched by humans.
But I know better. I know that about five miles in, tiny twisted shards of metal are buried in the leaves. Tiny scraps of clothing, discarded matches. At least one tree is snapped in half. Another bears a deep, burnt scar.
Callie’s strong arm wraps around my shoulders as the tears start to fall.
I resist turning to her -- the part of me that’s still stubborn, that hates to rely on anyone, rebelling against the embrace. But I glance into the shadows of the woods again and as a sob escapes my chest I let her pull me close, burying my face against her neck and giving in.
I can walk again. I can stand with my wife, and play with our daughter. I went back to work at the hospital last week and had coffee with Karev, and even that is beginning to feel normal. I’m alive, and I’m finally able to live again.
Turning my face up toward hers I can see the single tear rolling down her cheek. I know she’s crying too, even if she keeps wiping it away. She’s crying for me, and for Mark, and for our family that’s been irreversibly changed by this spot in the woods.
But as we both tilt our heads up to look at the sky, at the bird that circles back above us, I know that things are going to be okay.
Things are okay. We’re okay now.