Fic: Wherever, 1/1
Title: Wherever
Author: A. Windsor
Pairing/Characters: Callie/Arizona
Rating: PG-13
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. My one semester of law school could allow me to legalese this a little more, but it also tells me it’s pretty useless. So please don’t sue; it’s not mine, I’m just playing!
Series: None! Totally stands alone. Stand alone masterlist: here.
Summary: “Arizona can see the effort behind that smile and knows she should make a bigger stand here, make Callie stay and live her normal life. But she’s far too selfish for that.” Post 7x07. What if Callie had gotten on that plane?
Author’s Note: The muse ventures into another type of AU. Another experiment between baby!fic. Beta’d by the wonderful, snarky roughian . Thanks, you weirdy reindeer.
***
Arizona stops mid-step, turning to face Callie.
She considers ordering her to stay behind if she’s going to be such a whiny brat, but god, she can’t imagine her life, anywhere, without her Calliope. So, instead, she gives her an out.
“Do you really want to come to Africa?”
“What?” Callie scoffs, interrupted in the middle of her rant.
“Do you want to get on that plane and move to Malawi for three years?”
“I want to be with you, Arizona,” Callie answers, annoyed.
“Okay. Even in Malawi?”
“I’ve got the ticket, don’t I?”
Arizona sighs. “You’ve done all the right things, but you’re not acting like you want to come. And that didn’t answer my question.”
Callie takes several steps to her, grabbing her by the shoulders and making her meet her eyes.
“Arizona. Am I super excited to leave everything behind? No. And I’m gonna be a little bitchy about it. But I want to be wherever you are. Even Malawi.”
“Even--”
“No matter what. Whether you want me there or not. Now c’mon. We made a commitment. We’re going to be late for our plane.”
“I love you,” Arizona breathes.
“I love you, too, moron,” Callie smiles gently at her.
Arizona can see the effort behind that smile and knows she should make a bigger stand here, make Callie stay and live her normal life. But she’s far too selfish for that.
They get on that plane, and Callie holds tight to her hand the whole way, letting her snore and drool against her shoulder in her sedative-induced sleep. Arizona feels safe and protected, ready to take on this challenge, to save the world together.
But she was naïve to think it would be that easy.
***
Arizona knew when writing her proposal that Malawi was not exactly gay-friendly, but she hadn’t been in a relationship at the time and figured she could be celibate for three years for the good of the tiny humans. When the plan altered to include her girlfriend, she just figured they would have to be discrete.
That was a miscalculation.
They have to be secret.
The pain of that is eased by the tiny, two bedroom, mudbrick house they are given close to the clinic, the local management assuming the two female friends and colleagues would feel comfortable living together. As the ranking American surgeons, they are afforded that small amount of privacy, and their home is certainly luxurious compared to the bunkhouses where the young doctors and volunteers crash.
Within the walls of their home, they can be themselves. They maintain the appearance of separate bedrooms, but spend every night in one bed. They cook and tease and let the “I love you”s flow easily and freely, touching each other as much and wherever they want, as long as the curtains are closed.
But out there? Out there, they become fake versions of themselves. Friends, maybe even best friends, whose gaze never lingers too long, who touch only when forced to by the tight quarters of ORs or exam areas, who never smile fondly or longingly at how the other interacts with their young charges. Colleagues who work astoundingly well together and have an easy banter over who took the last of the terrible coffee in the break room (“Again, Torres?”) or whose turn it is to fill out endless paperwork (“Your idea, your problem, Robbins.”).
Always Robbins, always Torres at work, their first names saved for the intimate paradise of drawn curtains and deadbolted doors. Two separate worlds, for fear a slip will put them in danger and ruin all they’ve worked for.
It’s always at the tip of each’s tongue that they don’t have to live like this. But then Callie makes a boy walk again or Arizona returns an infant marked for death to her parents, healthy, happy, and whole. And each thinks they can live like this just a little while longer in order to save just a few more lives.
A noble vision and a decent system, but it’s not without its weaknesses.
***
The nurses and assistants adore them and mean well, but they are utterly incapable of allowing such beautiful women to remain unattached for long.
Six months into their stay, Callie’s favorite assistant, Sarah, gets bitten by the matchmaking bug, setting her eyes on the third year resident from Australia who worships the ground the ortho goddess walks on, medically speaking. And probably speaking in all other ways, too.
Will Fletcher is an absurdly attractive man, with passion for the field of orthopedics and a disarming smile. The Australian resident is built just beautifully, but he has this inherent gentleness that reminds Callie of George. He’s pleasant to be around and an eager student, and Callie is lonely; inside their pink bubble of home, the world is perfect, but outside, she’s left all her friends in Seattle and has to watch what she says and does around the woman she loves, who has turned a bit workaholic to deal with that stress.
Fletcher’s a little too in awe of her surgical skills to pursue her with any force, so she sees no harm in allowing a few shared lunches and coffee breaks at Sarah’s insistence, swapping bone stories and childhood memories and educating each other in the rules of their countries’ variations on football.
And he’s pretty to look at in an objective sense. Nothing, though, compared to the way Arizona’s skin, tanned despite their best efforts by the beating sun on her countless house calls, looks against their white sheets as they pour hours of hidden tension into each other behind two locked doors, grateful for the thick walls and little courtyard that separate them from the rest of the employees.
If Arizona notices those lunches or Fletcher’s crush, she doesn’t mention it. Six months in, there is still so much infrastructure to get into place. Half the time, Callie has to have David, Arizona’s translator and assistant, wake the Boss from where she’s slumped over her paperwork in the office and walk her home. There are a few rumors swirling about David and Arizona’s relationship, but they let those be as well, thankful for any red herrings as long as they don’t undermine their authority.
It comes to a head, though, as the staff celebrates David’s birthday with a party that lasts long into the night. Arizona and David have become very platonically close, so she’s occupied meeting his visiting family and making sure he is having a good time. Even if she hadn’t been, a party with a little booze and a lot of romantic firelight is definitely one of the situations where they would limit their contact as much as possible.
Callie sits with the fellows and residents that staff the hospital, foreign and local. They all love her for her ability to hold her own with them, despite being their “boss”, and the party is probably a little more raucous in their corner of the festivities.
The alcohol emboldens Fletcher’s crush, though, and slows Callie’s reflexes. She should probably have seen the kiss coming, but she is too busy staring across the fire at how Arizona’s sun-bleached hair reflects the flames as she cuddles one of David’s little nephews in her lap and talks animatedly with the boy’s mother, probably flexing her already impressive mastery of the local dialect.
It’s over as soon as it starts, Callie pushing Fletcher away with probably too much force. The younger man is appropriately mortified, excusing himself, and it will be a hellishly awkward conversation in the morning, but Callie can only focus on the horrified, devastated stare leveled across the flickering bonfire.
Callie crosses to her, mindful of their public setting. She makes easy conversation with David’s sister and her son. She picked up the dialect even faster than Arizona, which led to her teasingly singing the praises of being raised bilingual at work and led to Arizona singing the praises of the many talents of her tongue later at home.
She asks them to please excuse Dr. Robbins for the night, as they have a full day tomorrow and both need some rest. The boy giggles and squeezes Arizona’s neck in a warm goodbye as he goes off in search of his uncle, and his mother says her goodnights.
“Arizona,” Callie whispers.
“Not here,” Arizona manages through clenched teeth, refusing even the innocent hand Callie offers to help her up.
***
The bubble doesn’t feel so pretty and pink and safe when Callie locks the door behind them. It feels suffocating.
“Arizona, please--”
“No. It’s... It’s okay. If you can be straight, you probably should and--”
“Stop it!” Callie shouts. “Stop it before you say something you can’t take back.”
Arizona turns to put away the now-dry dishes from breakfast, not even looking at her.
“It wasn’t out of nowhere. I’ve seen your little dates. You’ve been leading him on.”
“That’s not fair. I was just looking for a friend. I didn’t want him to kiss me. I pushed him away, and I wanted to tell him all about the amazing person I’m in love with, but I can’t. Because we’re in this stupid country, where telling anyone that that person just happens to be a woman could get us both killed.”
After their now fully ingrained habit of triple checking the windows, Callie comes up behind her in their little kitchen, wrapping her arms around her, resting her chin on her shoulder. Arizona flinches but doesn’t push her away.
“I am here because I love you and I want to be with you. Forever. And if that ever changes, I won’t let you know by letting some guy paw at me. You’ll know because I’ll be on the first plane back to civilization. I am here for you, for your dream. And we’re doing something important.”
“I hate this.”
“Me too. But I’d rather live like this here with you than live anywhere else without you.”
“Calliope.”
“And I know you see things through.”
The guilt threatens to overtake Arizona once again, that persistent little voice that says she’s asking too much, that one day Callie won’t have any more to give. But Callie’s hands trace insistent patterns low on her hips, and Arizona focuses instead on reclaiming what is hers, offered freely to her, over and over again.
***
As time goes on, Arizona realizes how much she has delayed their future. And how much her idea of the future has come to mirror Callie’s.
Nights after she delivers beautiful, strong, healthy babies, she spends hours in bed worshipping Callie’s middle, whispering against her skin how much she wants to see her entire body swollen and radiant with the anticipation of their child. Sometimes Callie cries with how much she wants it, too, and as soon as possible, and possible is still so very far away.
Arizona wonders if they’d have at least one by now if they’d stayed in Seattle. She imagines a little girl with Callie’s wonderful dark hair or a little boy with her big brown eyes. She imagines picking their little one up from the Seattle Grace daycare and playing in the light rain and puddles until Callie calls them in for dinner and fusses over getting them into dry clothes to stave off any sickness. It doesn’t really rain that much in Malawi.
When she hears Callie on the phone with her mother, hears Luisa Torres’s voice begging her daughter to come home, all Arizona wants to do is book their flights home then and there. But Callie always insists:
“We made a commitment, mamá.”
Callie’s easy “we” within the confines of their bubble and steadfast belief in the good they are doing always gives Arizona just enough strength to keep going. It’s just a delay, a sacrifice, and then they can be selfish, with the big house and the two-point-five kids and fully stocked ORs. Or maybe she’ll stop cutting for a bit, teach at a med school so she can be there every night for dinner at the same time. Let Callie pursue her career dreams and invent cartilage from Jell-o.
Arizona tells Callie these ideas and hopes one night over their shared dinner at home, and her girlfriend laughs at the image of her little “housewife”.
“Will you wear the apron, June Cleaver?” Callie asks, tugging her out of her chair and into her lap.
“And have the pot roast on the table when you get home,” Arizona teases back, brushing her lips against Callie’s mouth, lifted for just such a purpose. “And the children will have your slippers and newspaper waiting.”
Callie grins against her lips.
“Arizona, you can’t make pot roast.”
“I’m gonna be a pretty terrible housewife then, hmm?”
“I’ll teach you,” Callie assures her, pressing Arizona’s back against the kitchen table. “And at least you’ll be sexy when you’re burning dinner.”
Arizona giggles as Callie’s hands slip under her thin shirt, but a harsh knocking brings them back to reality.
“It’s David, Dr. Robbins.”
They’re pretty sure David already knows about them, or at least suspects, but they can’t even risk outing themselves to Arizona’s most trusted friend here in Malawi. Arizona groans softly and climbs out of Callie’s lap, rearranging herself. Callie gives a slight frown; she really hates pretending in their one sanctuary.
“I’ll be right there, David.”
Callie starts to clear the table as Arizona goes for the door. It’s an emergency, of course, and Arizona and David hurry off to save a child without a word about when they’ll be back and no opportunity to kiss goodbye and whisper “be careful”s.
It’s an appendectomy, but Arizona still doesn’t return home until four a.m. She crawls into bed next to Callie, kissing her shoulder.
“Just an appy,” she says softly.
Callie pulls away, and Arizona sighs.
“Calliope,” she whispers into the silence of the night.
“I wanna go home. I want to go home and have you in the apron and the kids playing in the backyard. I want to make love to you on our kitchen table without fear for my life.”
“I’ll book tickets in the morning.”
“No, you won’t.”
“Callie, if you’re done, then--”
“In for a half, in for a whole,” Callie insists, back still resolutely to Arizona.
“That’s eighteen more months.”
“I know.”
“I love you. We don’t have to do this.”
“How old was she?”
“Who?”
“The little girl you saved tonight.”
“Four.”
“And if the clinic weren’t here? What would her chances have been of getting that appendix diagnosed and removed in time?”
“Not great,” Arizona admits. “But the clinic is here. We could get another surgeon and--”
“Eighteen months, right?”
“Seventeen months, three days.”
“See, all downhill from here.”
“Calliope. Say the word, and we go home.”
“Go to sleep, Arizona.”
***
It’s not all bad. Arizona does finally get her chickens, living in their little courtyard and tended to by the blonde surgeon and her growing band of children whose lives she’s saved who are now like little chicks themselves, following after the mama hen.
And even if the isolation at times threatens to destroy them, they come out of every fire stronger than ever.
The occasional visit from friends and family helps ease the loneliness a little. They build relationships with the other staff, though never ones that are all that close. How can you form real friendship when you’re hiding such an important part of yourself from the person?
It eventually gets late enough in their tenure that they start to seriously talk about the after, to make plans and decisions and, five months out, buy plane tickets. Arizona starts to train her successor, another bright-eyed and energetic surgeon fresh from the U.S.
Will Fletcher eventually got over the awkwardness and learned to live with Dr. Robbins’s unexplained glares, which faded with time. He wants to devote his life to the clinic, and he’s months away from settling down with a nice local girl. He’ll do well as Callie’s replacement.
They plan their return trip. Miami first, where both sets of parents will be waiting, having bonded over their daughters’ mutual insanity. Exhausted, they set aside at least a month or two to crash at the Torres mansion, while doing a little traveling for grant debriefing. After that, they have no plans. Their friends in Seattle demand their presence, so they’ll probably visit, but neither is sure they want to settle there again. The Chief has intimated that he would make room for them if they choose to return.
Even though Arizona is a planner, she’s sort of enjoying the openness of their future. They can settle anywhere, and they’ll need a little time to weather the reverse culture shock of their return. She focuses instead on making sure everything will be ready for the transfer of power, and Callie teases that she’s becoming even more of a workaholic.
In a turn of events that never ceases to make Callie grin, Arizona is the baby crazy one now, constantly leaving notes around their home with recommendations for baby names, school districts, and future careers.
Astronaut? Nerve-wracking, yes, and long business trips. But how cool would that be? (And in reply, The space program’s not really flying right now.)
Whether boy or girl, something original, but not too original. (And in reply, Not as original as ours?)
To research: better schools, Seattle or New England? (And in reply, Why New England?) ‘Cause it’s legal.
Robbins-Torres or Torres-Robbins? (And in reply, Alphabetical or order of badassness?)
And Callie’s favorite, tucked in her lab coat pocket since its appearance, because it’s vague enough that its discovery reveals nothing.
I wasn’t serious about ten. Unless you were.
***
The pilot announces when they’ve crossed into American airspace. Callie is asleep against the window. Arizona looks over her, beaming as a familiar peninsula passes into view.
“Calliope,” she whispers. “Calliope, wake up. You’re missing Florida.”
Callie’s eyes blink open, and Arizona gently directs her to the window. A smile splits Callie’s face as she recognizes her home state, and it only solidifies Arizona’s resolve to carry through with the plan she’s been formulating since Johannesburg. She leans in and says softly in Callie’s ear:
“Marry me.”
Callie turns slowly, clearly taken off guard. There are so many things Arizona wants to say to her, to promise her, to thank her for. But it remains unsaid, Arizona’s heart is caught in her throat as she stares into dark eyes, hand firmly on the thigh where it’s been glued since taking off, finally free to do so again in public. Her eyes, then, do what her voice has failed to, and she anxiously awaits an answer.
“Of course,” Callie answers in a voice just as soft but with a smile so bright it melts the lump in Arizona’s throat.
Arizona pulls her into an especially passionate, public kiss, half-standing in her fervor. When they pull apart for air, Arizona stands all the way up, eyes never leaving Callie’s as she announces to the world (because she can):
“She said yes! She said she’d marry me!”
The other passengers give them a generous round of applause, even if some are doing so more out of politeness than excitement. Callie rolls her eyes and pulls her back into the seat.
“Sit down, crazy lady.” She kisses her and links their fingers. “You say that like you couldn’t already know what I was going to say.”
“I wasn’t sure...”
“I’m a traditional sort of girl, Dr. Robbins. You didn’t think I was going to pop out a bunch of babies for you out of wedlock, did you?”
“My apologies, Dr. Torres,” Arizona says, faux-seriously. She kisses her again and then pulls out the airline magazine, much to Callie’s confusion.
“What are you doing?”
Arizona flips to the map of the world.
“So, where are we going to live?”
“I’ll live wherever as long as it’s with you,” Callie repeats her litany of the past three years.
“Oh, great, ‘cause I was just starting to really like it in Malawi, and--”
Callie groans and hauls her in for a kiss far too inappropriate for public. Arizona laughs, and the giggle is caught and transformed into a moan at the welcome invasion of Callie’s tongue.
“Correction,” Callie breathes, “I’ll live wherever as long as we can do that whenever the hell we want.”
***
el fin
Author: A. Windsor
Pairing/Characters: Callie/Arizona
Rating: PG-13
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. My one semester of law school could allow me to legalese this a little more, but it also tells me it’s pretty useless. So please don’t sue; it’s not mine, I’m just playing!
Series: None! Totally stands alone. Stand alone masterlist: here.
Summary: “Arizona can see the effort behind that smile and knows she should make a bigger stand here, make Callie stay and live her normal life. But she’s far too selfish for that.” Post 7x07. What if Callie had gotten on that plane?
Author’s Note: The muse ventures into another type of AU. Another experiment between baby!fic. Beta’d by the wonderful, snarky roughian . Thanks, you weirdy reindeer.
***
Arizona stops mid-step, turning to face Callie.
She considers ordering her to stay behind if she’s going to be such a whiny brat, but god, she can’t imagine her life, anywhere, without her Calliope. So, instead, she gives her an out.
“Do you really want to come to Africa?”
“What?” Callie scoffs, interrupted in the middle of her rant.
“Do you want to get on that plane and move to Malawi for three years?”
“I want to be with you, Arizona,” Callie answers, annoyed.
“Okay. Even in Malawi?”
“I’ve got the ticket, don’t I?”
Arizona sighs. “You’ve done all the right things, but you’re not acting like you want to come. And that didn’t answer my question.”
Callie takes several steps to her, grabbing her by the shoulders and making her meet her eyes.
“Arizona. Am I super excited to leave everything behind? No. And I’m gonna be a little bitchy about it. But I want to be wherever you are. Even Malawi.”
“Even--”
“No matter what. Whether you want me there or not. Now c’mon. We made a commitment. We’re going to be late for our plane.”
“I love you,” Arizona breathes.
“I love you, too, moron,” Callie smiles gently at her.
Arizona can see the effort behind that smile and knows she should make a bigger stand here, make Callie stay and live her normal life. But she’s far too selfish for that.
They get on that plane, and Callie holds tight to her hand the whole way, letting her snore and drool against her shoulder in her sedative-induced sleep. Arizona feels safe and protected, ready to take on this challenge, to save the world together.
But she was naïve to think it would be that easy.
***
Arizona knew when writing her proposal that Malawi was not exactly gay-friendly, but she hadn’t been in a relationship at the time and figured she could be celibate for three years for the good of the tiny humans. When the plan altered to include her girlfriend, she just figured they would have to be discrete.
That was a miscalculation.
They have to be secret.
The pain of that is eased by the tiny, two bedroom, mudbrick house they are given close to the clinic, the local management assuming the two female friends and colleagues would feel comfortable living together. As the ranking American surgeons, they are afforded that small amount of privacy, and their home is certainly luxurious compared to the bunkhouses where the young doctors and volunteers crash.
Within the walls of their home, they can be themselves. They maintain the appearance of separate bedrooms, but spend every night in one bed. They cook and tease and let the “I love you”s flow easily and freely, touching each other as much and wherever they want, as long as the curtains are closed.
But out there? Out there, they become fake versions of themselves. Friends, maybe even best friends, whose gaze never lingers too long, who touch only when forced to by the tight quarters of ORs or exam areas, who never smile fondly or longingly at how the other interacts with their young charges. Colleagues who work astoundingly well together and have an easy banter over who took the last of the terrible coffee in the break room (“Again, Torres?”) or whose turn it is to fill out endless paperwork (“Your idea, your problem, Robbins.”).
Always Robbins, always Torres at work, their first names saved for the intimate paradise of drawn curtains and deadbolted doors. Two separate worlds, for fear a slip will put them in danger and ruin all they’ve worked for.
It’s always at the tip of each’s tongue that they don’t have to live like this. But then Callie makes a boy walk again or Arizona returns an infant marked for death to her parents, healthy, happy, and whole. And each thinks they can live like this just a little while longer in order to save just a few more lives.
A noble vision and a decent system, but it’s not without its weaknesses.
***
The nurses and assistants adore them and mean well, but they are utterly incapable of allowing such beautiful women to remain unattached for long.
Six months into their stay, Callie’s favorite assistant, Sarah, gets bitten by the matchmaking bug, setting her eyes on the third year resident from Australia who worships the ground the ortho goddess walks on, medically speaking. And probably speaking in all other ways, too.
Will Fletcher is an absurdly attractive man, with passion for the field of orthopedics and a disarming smile. The Australian resident is built just beautifully, but he has this inherent gentleness that reminds Callie of George. He’s pleasant to be around and an eager student, and Callie is lonely; inside their pink bubble of home, the world is perfect, but outside, she’s left all her friends in Seattle and has to watch what she says and does around the woman she loves, who has turned a bit workaholic to deal with that stress.
Fletcher’s a little too in awe of her surgical skills to pursue her with any force, so she sees no harm in allowing a few shared lunches and coffee breaks at Sarah’s insistence, swapping bone stories and childhood memories and educating each other in the rules of their countries’ variations on football.
And he’s pretty to look at in an objective sense. Nothing, though, compared to the way Arizona’s skin, tanned despite their best efforts by the beating sun on her countless house calls, looks against their white sheets as they pour hours of hidden tension into each other behind two locked doors, grateful for the thick walls and little courtyard that separate them from the rest of the employees.
If Arizona notices those lunches or Fletcher’s crush, she doesn’t mention it. Six months in, there is still so much infrastructure to get into place. Half the time, Callie has to have David, Arizona’s translator and assistant, wake the Boss from where she’s slumped over her paperwork in the office and walk her home. There are a few rumors swirling about David and Arizona’s relationship, but they let those be as well, thankful for any red herrings as long as they don’t undermine their authority.
It comes to a head, though, as the staff celebrates David’s birthday with a party that lasts long into the night. Arizona and David have become very platonically close, so she’s occupied meeting his visiting family and making sure he is having a good time. Even if she hadn’t been, a party with a little booze and a lot of romantic firelight is definitely one of the situations where they would limit their contact as much as possible.
Callie sits with the fellows and residents that staff the hospital, foreign and local. They all love her for her ability to hold her own with them, despite being their “boss”, and the party is probably a little more raucous in their corner of the festivities.
The alcohol emboldens Fletcher’s crush, though, and slows Callie’s reflexes. She should probably have seen the kiss coming, but she is too busy staring across the fire at how Arizona’s sun-bleached hair reflects the flames as she cuddles one of David’s little nephews in her lap and talks animatedly with the boy’s mother, probably flexing her already impressive mastery of the local dialect.
It’s over as soon as it starts, Callie pushing Fletcher away with probably too much force. The younger man is appropriately mortified, excusing himself, and it will be a hellishly awkward conversation in the morning, but Callie can only focus on the horrified, devastated stare leveled across the flickering bonfire.
Callie crosses to her, mindful of their public setting. She makes easy conversation with David’s sister and her son. She picked up the dialect even faster than Arizona, which led to her teasingly singing the praises of being raised bilingual at work and led to Arizona singing the praises of the many talents of her tongue later at home.
She asks them to please excuse Dr. Robbins for the night, as they have a full day tomorrow and both need some rest. The boy giggles and squeezes Arizona’s neck in a warm goodbye as he goes off in search of his uncle, and his mother says her goodnights.
“Arizona,” Callie whispers.
“Not here,” Arizona manages through clenched teeth, refusing even the innocent hand Callie offers to help her up.
***
The bubble doesn’t feel so pretty and pink and safe when Callie locks the door behind them. It feels suffocating.
“Arizona, please--”
“No. It’s... It’s okay. If you can be straight, you probably should and--”
“Stop it!” Callie shouts. “Stop it before you say something you can’t take back.”
Arizona turns to put away the now-dry dishes from breakfast, not even looking at her.
“It wasn’t out of nowhere. I’ve seen your little dates. You’ve been leading him on.”
“That’s not fair. I was just looking for a friend. I didn’t want him to kiss me. I pushed him away, and I wanted to tell him all about the amazing person I’m in love with, but I can’t. Because we’re in this stupid country, where telling anyone that that person just happens to be a woman could get us both killed.”
After their now fully ingrained habit of triple checking the windows, Callie comes up behind her in their little kitchen, wrapping her arms around her, resting her chin on her shoulder. Arizona flinches but doesn’t push her away.
“I am here because I love you and I want to be with you. Forever. And if that ever changes, I won’t let you know by letting some guy paw at me. You’ll know because I’ll be on the first plane back to civilization. I am here for you, for your dream. And we’re doing something important.”
“I hate this.”
“Me too. But I’d rather live like this here with you than live anywhere else without you.”
“Calliope.”
“And I know you see things through.”
The guilt threatens to overtake Arizona once again, that persistent little voice that says she’s asking too much, that one day Callie won’t have any more to give. But Callie’s hands trace insistent patterns low on her hips, and Arizona focuses instead on reclaiming what is hers, offered freely to her, over and over again.
***
As time goes on, Arizona realizes how much she has delayed their future. And how much her idea of the future has come to mirror Callie’s.
Nights after she delivers beautiful, strong, healthy babies, she spends hours in bed worshipping Callie’s middle, whispering against her skin how much she wants to see her entire body swollen and radiant with the anticipation of their child. Sometimes Callie cries with how much she wants it, too, and as soon as possible, and possible is still so very far away.
Arizona wonders if they’d have at least one by now if they’d stayed in Seattle. She imagines a little girl with Callie’s wonderful dark hair or a little boy with her big brown eyes. She imagines picking their little one up from the Seattle Grace daycare and playing in the light rain and puddles until Callie calls them in for dinner and fusses over getting them into dry clothes to stave off any sickness. It doesn’t really rain that much in Malawi.
When she hears Callie on the phone with her mother, hears Luisa Torres’s voice begging her daughter to come home, all Arizona wants to do is book their flights home then and there. But Callie always insists:
“We made a commitment, mamá.”
Callie’s easy “we” within the confines of their bubble and steadfast belief in the good they are doing always gives Arizona just enough strength to keep going. It’s just a delay, a sacrifice, and then they can be selfish, with the big house and the two-point-five kids and fully stocked ORs. Or maybe she’ll stop cutting for a bit, teach at a med school so she can be there every night for dinner at the same time. Let Callie pursue her career dreams and invent cartilage from Jell-o.
Arizona tells Callie these ideas and hopes one night over their shared dinner at home, and her girlfriend laughs at the image of her little “housewife”.
“Will you wear the apron, June Cleaver?” Callie asks, tugging her out of her chair and into her lap.
“And have the pot roast on the table when you get home,” Arizona teases back, brushing her lips against Callie’s mouth, lifted for just such a purpose. “And the children will have your slippers and newspaper waiting.”
Callie grins against her lips.
“Arizona, you can’t make pot roast.”
“I’m gonna be a pretty terrible housewife then, hmm?”
“I’ll teach you,” Callie assures her, pressing Arizona’s back against the kitchen table. “And at least you’ll be sexy when you’re burning dinner.”
Arizona giggles as Callie’s hands slip under her thin shirt, but a harsh knocking brings them back to reality.
“It’s David, Dr. Robbins.”
They’re pretty sure David already knows about them, or at least suspects, but they can’t even risk outing themselves to Arizona’s most trusted friend here in Malawi. Arizona groans softly and climbs out of Callie’s lap, rearranging herself. Callie gives a slight frown; she really hates pretending in their one sanctuary.
“I’ll be right there, David.”
Callie starts to clear the table as Arizona goes for the door. It’s an emergency, of course, and Arizona and David hurry off to save a child without a word about when they’ll be back and no opportunity to kiss goodbye and whisper “be careful”s.
It’s an appendectomy, but Arizona still doesn’t return home until four a.m. She crawls into bed next to Callie, kissing her shoulder.
“Just an appy,” she says softly.
Callie pulls away, and Arizona sighs.
“Calliope,” she whispers into the silence of the night.
“I wanna go home. I want to go home and have you in the apron and the kids playing in the backyard. I want to make love to you on our kitchen table without fear for my life.”
“I’ll book tickets in the morning.”
“No, you won’t.”
“Callie, if you’re done, then--”
“In for a half, in for a whole,” Callie insists, back still resolutely to Arizona.
“That’s eighteen more months.”
“I know.”
“I love you. We don’t have to do this.”
“How old was she?”
“Who?”
“The little girl you saved tonight.”
“Four.”
“And if the clinic weren’t here? What would her chances have been of getting that appendix diagnosed and removed in time?”
“Not great,” Arizona admits. “But the clinic is here. We could get another surgeon and--”
“Eighteen months, right?”
“Seventeen months, three days.”
“See, all downhill from here.”
“Calliope. Say the word, and we go home.”
“Go to sleep, Arizona.”
***
It’s not all bad. Arizona does finally get her chickens, living in their little courtyard and tended to by the blonde surgeon and her growing band of children whose lives she’s saved who are now like little chicks themselves, following after the mama hen.
And even if the isolation at times threatens to destroy them, they come out of every fire stronger than ever.
The occasional visit from friends and family helps ease the loneliness a little. They build relationships with the other staff, though never ones that are all that close. How can you form real friendship when you’re hiding such an important part of yourself from the person?
It eventually gets late enough in their tenure that they start to seriously talk about the after, to make plans and decisions and, five months out, buy plane tickets. Arizona starts to train her successor, another bright-eyed and energetic surgeon fresh from the U.S.
Will Fletcher eventually got over the awkwardness and learned to live with Dr. Robbins’s unexplained glares, which faded with time. He wants to devote his life to the clinic, and he’s months away from settling down with a nice local girl. He’ll do well as Callie’s replacement.
They plan their return trip. Miami first, where both sets of parents will be waiting, having bonded over their daughters’ mutual insanity. Exhausted, they set aside at least a month or two to crash at the Torres mansion, while doing a little traveling for grant debriefing. After that, they have no plans. Their friends in Seattle demand their presence, so they’ll probably visit, but neither is sure they want to settle there again. The Chief has intimated that he would make room for them if they choose to return.
Even though Arizona is a planner, she’s sort of enjoying the openness of their future. They can settle anywhere, and they’ll need a little time to weather the reverse culture shock of their return. She focuses instead on making sure everything will be ready for the transfer of power, and Callie teases that she’s becoming even more of a workaholic.
In a turn of events that never ceases to make Callie grin, Arizona is the baby crazy one now, constantly leaving notes around their home with recommendations for baby names, school districts, and future careers.
Astronaut? Nerve-wracking, yes, and long business trips. But how cool would that be? (And in reply, The space program’s not really flying right now.)
Whether boy or girl, something original, but not too original. (And in reply, Not as original as ours?)
To research: better schools, Seattle or New England? (And in reply, Why New England?) ‘Cause it’s legal.
Robbins-Torres or Torres-Robbins? (And in reply, Alphabetical or order of badassness?)
And Callie’s favorite, tucked in her lab coat pocket since its appearance, because it’s vague enough that its discovery reveals nothing.
I wasn’t serious about ten. Unless you were.
***
The pilot announces when they’ve crossed into American airspace. Callie is asleep against the window. Arizona looks over her, beaming as a familiar peninsula passes into view.
“Calliope,” she whispers. “Calliope, wake up. You’re missing Florida.”
Callie’s eyes blink open, and Arizona gently directs her to the window. A smile splits Callie’s face as she recognizes her home state, and it only solidifies Arizona’s resolve to carry through with the plan she’s been formulating since Johannesburg. She leans in and says softly in Callie’s ear:
“Marry me.”
Callie turns slowly, clearly taken off guard. There are so many things Arizona wants to say to her, to promise her, to thank her for. But it remains unsaid, Arizona’s heart is caught in her throat as she stares into dark eyes, hand firmly on the thigh where it’s been glued since taking off, finally free to do so again in public. Her eyes, then, do what her voice has failed to, and she anxiously awaits an answer.
“Of course,” Callie answers in a voice just as soft but with a smile so bright it melts the lump in Arizona’s throat.
Arizona pulls her into an especially passionate, public kiss, half-standing in her fervor. When they pull apart for air, Arizona stands all the way up, eyes never leaving Callie’s as she announces to the world (because she can):
“She said yes! She said she’d marry me!”
The other passengers give them a generous round of applause, even if some are doing so more out of politeness than excitement. Callie rolls her eyes and pulls her back into the seat.
“Sit down, crazy lady.” She kisses her and links their fingers. “You say that like you couldn’t already know what I was going to say.”
“I wasn’t sure...”
“I’m a traditional sort of girl, Dr. Robbins. You didn’t think I was going to pop out a bunch of babies for you out of wedlock, did you?”
“My apologies, Dr. Torres,” Arizona says, faux-seriously. She kisses her again and then pulls out the airline magazine, much to Callie’s confusion.
“What are you doing?”
Arizona flips to the map of the world.
“So, where are we going to live?”
“I’ll live wherever as long as it’s with you,” Callie repeats her litany of the past three years.
“Oh, great, ‘cause I was just starting to really like it in Malawi, and--”
Callie groans and hauls her in for a kiss far too inappropriate for public. Arizona laughs, and the giggle is caught and transformed into a moan at the welcome invasion of Callie’s tongue.
“Correction,” Callie breathes, “I’ll live wherever as long as we can do that whenever the hell we want.”
***
el fin