Model Airplanes
Name: Model Airplanes.
Pairing: Calzone.
Author: Saffinity (Jade).
Rating: Tame.. PG-13?
Summary: Spoilers for the latest episode. Don’t read if you haven’t seen it. Starts with some reflection on Callie’s part and leads to Arizona *SPOILER* doing what she does at the end of that episode..
A/N: I haven’t written for a while, so my apologies if this isn’t up to scratch. I’m trying to get back into my groove,
Model Airplanes
What’s that saying? Be careful what you wish for.
You sort of understand the saying because you’ve had to; you wished for a marriage with a great guy and you got it. You got that great guy, you got the marriage. It wasn’t what you wanted. You wanted the right guy and a happy marriage.
Perhaps that’s the problem with wishes. You never think them through, the details. Or maybe you just never knew what to wish for at all, so you stuck to the basics and hoped for what every little girl dreams about.
After George you wished for the right guy, marriage not included. You were as shocked as anyone when that guy rocked up in a female casing. Erica. The definition of ‘right’ because who is moreso than someone who always has to be right? Right?
Again your hopes were lacking definition. Erica was perfect. For your best friend. You’ll never really understand what led to the two of you attempting to further that bond. Perhaps you were both realising that you weren’t, as you’d thought, straight.. Maybe your closeness allowed you to explore those boundaries, because you felt safe with each other.
That’s not to say you regret your relationship with Erica in its entirety. You really don’t. Erica allowed you to explore your confusion, although you often did it in the wrong ways, and made you comfortable with the possibility of being with a woman.
And Heaven knows, you loved being with women. Or.. A woman.
Being with Arizona has made you realise that regret is a worthless emotion. But you still feel those pangs sometimes. You figure that Erica could still be in your life, grabbing early morning coffees after sunrise yoga. But you screwed up. It’s hard not to regret losing the first real best friend you’ve ever had. Particularly if it was your fault.
After Erica, you stopped wishing. You were done. You’re glad your flirtation with Sadie never amounted to anything because that was another disaster waiting to happen. But Arizona.
Arizona wasn’t wished for. She wasn’t some resolution to your endless hoping and daydreams. Except she kind of was. She was everything you’d wished for, she was resolution to everything.
What’s that other saying? You don’t realise what you have until it’s gone.
You knew that one was true. The first break-up with Arizona nearly finished you. You were crushed. It’s the only word you know that truly encompasses how you felt when she wasn’t there. It was like you felt everything, but were still numb. It was confusing and heartbreaking and every negative adjective you were every taught in high school.
You could finally empathise with tragic heroes. The novels you devoured as a teenager depicting such angst. You realised they described everything you felt. And were still left lacking. You thought your preceding failed endeavours had been painful. You thought you’d reached breaking point when your father left and your family disowned you. You’ve since realised that you’d never known true heartbreak until you couldn’t be with her. If those events had chipped away at her, then Arizona had demolished the entire thing, built it up and then destroyed it again.
The loneliness was too loud. Everything was too loud without her. Too loud, but too quiet to take note of.
Your reconciliation, to you, was the final step. You knew that you could finally be happy with her. She’d taken your hand and jumped that final hurdle that kept you from your dreams. She’d helped you get your job back, you had her and now? Now you could live out your almost clichéd suburban dream.
Perfection. You’d finally gotten your wish.
And then Africa. You’ve never blamed her for applying; it was long before the two of you became an item and long before you even knew who she was. But Africa happened. And that dark place you’d been lifted out of was quickly becoming home again.
Sleeping with Mark seems to be your default. That one thing you can fall back onto. If only you could fall in love with Mark, you might be happy. But Mark wasn’t her. He would never make you feel the things she did.
And so you went back to wishing. Knowing this time that you were absolutely sure about what you wanted. Just her, back with you.
You were wrong, of course. You never expected to open that door and feel such anger. The pain of that dark place was too addicting to leave. At least at rock bottom you know you can’t fall. Seeing her eyes, shining with anxiety and hope was enough to pick you up and send you straight back down again.
Momentarily you consider the possibility that you’re drunk. Or dreaming. Or crazy. But she’s here and she’s talking and you can’t help but feel compelled to slam the door in her face. To show her how much it hurts to be humiliated and left alone.
You do. You slam the door after she tells you you’re pretty. You’re enraged. But like you know you always will be, you’re dragged toward her, the door between the two of you and you listen to her sobs.
Her voice is cracked and tired and you suspect she’s come straight from the hotel. You want to open the door, but you can’t. You have to hear if she leaves again. You know it’s unfair; you know she is damned no matter what she does. If she leaves, you’ll never forgive her for being so able to walk away without trying. If she stays, you’re likely to fly out into the corridor and scream until your lungs quit.
You don’t know which you want to happen. But she apparently does; she starts talking, you know she has no way of knowing that you’re pressed against the door, forehead against the cool panels, listening to her broken explanations.
“Calliope..” You can hear her sniffling and as fervently as you want to hate her, it brings fresh tears to your own eyes, “Calliope. I should never have left you. I’ve never..”
“But you did.” Your voice betrays you. You didn’t want to say anything. You didn’t want her to know you were there, still hanging to the tiny thread of hope that makes you believe that if she utters something perfect.. Some winning speech she’s so accustomed to, then maybe there’s still a chance. Maybe your heart won’t hurt anymore and you can go back to happiness.
But you know you can’t. There’s nothing she can say. She ruined you.
“Calliope.. When I was little I made model airplanes..”
“Save it, Arizona.” Well, she knows you’re there, there’s no point staying quiet.. “You think some speech about your childhood or your authority issues is going to tug at my heart and make me go running back into your arms? It won’t, ok. Just leave it.”
She clears her throat and you can almost see her accepting defeat. There’s a shuffling in the corridor that makes you think she’s leaving, until you hear her start up again.
“I used to make model airplanes. I think I was about 9 and I saw this kid at school, Tommy Belouie, bring one in for Show and Tell. He was so proud of it, that he’d made it all by himself. I was an army brat so I liked planes. I thought I would enjoy making them, but it was tedious and I didn’t have the patience to glue all the tiny details together. So I gave up.
“But I still wanted something that made me as proud as that kid had been. I wanted to stand at the front of Show and Tell and be enthusiastic about something. I tried my hand at drawing, at skating - and while I can whizz around now on my heelies, believe me, back then? Zero balance - so I gave them all up. I tried maybe fifty things that kids my age were excited about and while I appreciated them all.. I never had that real passion that I’d seen Tommy have.”
You hear her shuffling again and you think maybe she’s sat herself down against the door so you do the same, somehow feeling closer to her.
“When I got older, it was easier to accept that academia was my passion. I did a ton of extra-curricular activities but you could bet that school? School was my proudest achievement. Long story short, I got into Medicine and I forgot about my quest for passion, because I’d found it. Helping kids was more rewarding than I’d ever, ever believed possible. It was all I wanted to do. And those smiles from parents and from the kids I’d saved? They were everything I thought I needed.”
You always loved hearing her talk about her work, or watching her with the kids. It’s half the reason you were so desperate for children with her; she could never see what an incredible mother she would be. That compassion, her heart. There’s no way she could be anything less than amazing.
“I applied for that grant, Calliope, to help more kids. To head up a groundbreaking project that would bring medicine to those that wouldn’t get it otherwise. When I left you in the airport..”
She trails off and your heart feels like it’s in your throat. You can hear her sobs again, breaking down the door even as you rested against it.
“It was so painful,” she’s almost whispering, it’s getting difficult for you to hear her, “But I thought about those kids. You didn’t want to be in Africa. I couldn’t make you do that, I couldn’t ask you to sacrifice yourself for me. I never realised how much it would hurt me. And it sounds selfish, I know it does, but I thought that the kids would be enough. I thought that I would dive right in and the passion would make the hurt go away.”
You’re crying now; full, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. Your chest is heaving at the memory of how alone you’d felt without her here. You feel stupid for sitting with your back to the door, knowing she is the other side. Your antidote to misery; the cure to the cancerous feelings of despair currently suffocating you. But you’re crying too hard to move. And she’s still talking anyway so you strain to hear her tearful words over your own wallowing.
“I realised.. It was my passion.. Saving kids is my passion. But it was never my model airplane, Callie. That feeling of pride only came around when you did. And I was an idiot to let that feeling go, an idiot to let you go. I love you so, so much. I-can’t even..”
You don’t remember pulling yourself to your feet, or opening the door, but she trails off as she stops herself falling sideways into the doorway.
Her wet eyes are staring up at you like she’s never seen anything so perfect. The sadness etched into her face only makes her more beautiful, but you want to banish the expression.
“Stand up, Arizona.” It comes out more stern than you’d expected, and your voice doesn’t break the way you thought it would. And suddenly she’s there, in front of you, everything you’ve wished for, everything you’ve hoped about. A lock of hair falls forward as she stares downwards and you push it back, realising that she did break you with her winning speech.
You let one of your hands grasp hers, and the other pulls her chin up to meet your eyes.
“We need to talk,” you need to say things and she probably does too. She nods, tears never ceasing to spill over her cheeks, even down onto your hand.
“I know. And.. I know about Mark.” Your eyes narrow and she clarifies, “Teddy told me..”
You nod, “I was about to tell you. I can’t make excuses; he was there and I was lonely. But we stopped. It just made us both sad. I missed you and it was just-“
“I know. I understand, Calliope. Can you forgive me for leaving? Or.. At least try to?” Your heart swells at her insecurity and you’re once again reminded of every reason why you wished for her to return. You just fit together perfectly. It makes you realise that you would’ve forgiven her anyway. You know you’ll probably forgive her anything.
“You won’t leave me again..” you start and she’s already shaking her head, pursing her lips around the bubble of emotion you can see rising to her face.
“Calliope, I can’t leave you again.”
And that’s all it takes for you to pull her to you, to wrap your arms around her perfect shoulders and push your face into her hair.
You’re not fixed, you haven’t resolved everything and you still definitely need to talk. But pulling her to the couch and letting your tears mix in with her golden hair while hers paint your t-shirt, you know you have time to talk later. And you know you’ll both scream and shout and probably cry some more.
But you’re positive you’re going to be ok. More than ok.
What’s that saying? Third time lucky.
Pairing: Calzone.
Author: Saffinity (Jade).
Rating: Tame.. PG-13?
Summary: Spoilers for the latest episode. Don’t read if you haven’t seen it. Starts with some reflection on Callie’s part and leads to Arizona *SPOILER* doing what she does at the end of that episode..
A/N: I haven’t written for a while, so my apologies if this isn’t up to scratch. I’m trying to get back into my groove,
Model Airplanes
What’s that saying? Be careful what you wish for.
You sort of understand the saying because you’ve had to; you wished for a marriage with a great guy and you got it. You got that great guy, you got the marriage. It wasn’t what you wanted. You wanted the right guy and a happy marriage.
Perhaps that’s the problem with wishes. You never think them through, the details. Or maybe you just never knew what to wish for at all, so you stuck to the basics and hoped for what every little girl dreams about.
After George you wished for the right guy, marriage not included. You were as shocked as anyone when that guy rocked up in a female casing. Erica. The definition of ‘right’ because who is moreso than someone who always has to be right? Right?
Again your hopes were lacking definition. Erica was perfect. For your best friend. You’ll never really understand what led to the two of you attempting to further that bond. Perhaps you were both realising that you weren’t, as you’d thought, straight.. Maybe your closeness allowed you to explore those boundaries, because you felt safe with each other.
That’s not to say you regret your relationship with Erica in its entirety. You really don’t. Erica allowed you to explore your confusion, although you often did it in the wrong ways, and made you comfortable with the possibility of being with a woman.
And Heaven knows, you loved being with women. Or.. A woman.
Being with Arizona has made you realise that regret is a worthless emotion. But you still feel those pangs sometimes. You figure that Erica could still be in your life, grabbing early morning coffees after sunrise yoga. But you screwed up. It’s hard not to regret losing the first real best friend you’ve ever had. Particularly if it was your fault.
After Erica, you stopped wishing. You were done. You’re glad your flirtation with Sadie never amounted to anything because that was another disaster waiting to happen. But Arizona.
Arizona wasn’t wished for. She wasn’t some resolution to your endless hoping and daydreams. Except she kind of was. She was everything you’d wished for, she was resolution to everything.
What’s that other saying? You don’t realise what you have until it’s gone.
You knew that one was true. The first break-up with Arizona nearly finished you. You were crushed. It’s the only word you know that truly encompasses how you felt when she wasn’t there. It was like you felt everything, but were still numb. It was confusing and heartbreaking and every negative adjective you were every taught in high school.
You could finally empathise with tragic heroes. The novels you devoured as a teenager depicting such angst. You realised they described everything you felt. And were still left lacking. You thought your preceding failed endeavours had been painful. You thought you’d reached breaking point when your father left and your family disowned you. You’ve since realised that you’d never known true heartbreak until you couldn’t be with her. If those events had chipped away at her, then Arizona had demolished the entire thing, built it up and then destroyed it again.
The loneliness was too loud. Everything was too loud without her. Too loud, but too quiet to take note of.
Your reconciliation, to you, was the final step. You knew that you could finally be happy with her. She’d taken your hand and jumped that final hurdle that kept you from your dreams. She’d helped you get your job back, you had her and now? Now you could live out your almost clichéd suburban dream.
Perfection. You’d finally gotten your wish.
And then Africa. You’ve never blamed her for applying; it was long before the two of you became an item and long before you even knew who she was. But Africa happened. And that dark place you’d been lifted out of was quickly becoming home again.
Sleeping with Mark seems to be your default. That one thing you can fall back onto. If only you could fall in love with Mark, you might be happy. But Mark wasn’t her. He would never make you feel the things she did.
And so you went back to wishing. Knowing this time that you were absolutely sure about what you wanted. Just her, back with you.
You were wrong, of course. You never expected to open that door and feel such anger. The pain of that dark place was too addicting to leave. At least at rock bottom you know you can’t fall. Seeing her eyes, shining with anxiety and hope was enough to pick you up and send you straight back down again.
Momentarily you consider the possibility that you’re drunk. Or dreaming. Or crazy. But she’s here and she’s talking and you can’t help but feel compelled to slam the door in her face. To show her how much it hurts to be humiliated and left alone.
You do. You slam the door after she tells you you’re pretty. You’re enraged. But like you know you always will be, you’re dragged toward her, the door between the two of you and you listen to her sobs.
Her voice is cracked and tired and you suspect she’s come straight from the hotel. You want to open the door, but you can’t. You have to hear if she leaves again. You know it’s unfair; you know she is damned no matter what she does. If she leaves, you’ll never forgive her for being so able to walk away without trying. If she stays, you’re likely to fly out into the corridor and scream until your lungs quit.
You don’t know which you want to happen. But she apparently does; she starts talking, you know she has no way of knowing that you’re pressed against the door, forehead against the cool panels, listening to her broken explanations.
“Calliope..” You can hear her sniffling and as fervently as you want to hate her, it brings fresh tears to your own eyes, “Calliope. I should never have left you. I’ve never..”
“But you did.” Your voice betrays you. You didn’t want to say anything. You didn’t want her to know you were there, still hanging to the tiny thread of hope that makes you believe that if she utters something perfect.. Some winning speech she’s so accustomed to, then maybe there’s still a chance. Maybe your heart won’t hurt anymore and you can go back to happiness.
But you know you can’t. There’s nothing she can say. She ruined you.
“Calliope.. When I was little I made model airplanes..”
“Save it, Arizona.” Well, she knows you’re there, there’s no point staying quiet.. “You think some speech about your childhood or your authority issues is going to tug at my heart and make me go running back into your arms? It won’t, ok. Just leave it.”
She clears her throat and you can almost see her accepting defeat. There’s a shuffling in the corridor that makes you think she’s leaving, until you hear her start up again.
“I used to make model airplanes. I think I was about 9 and I saw this kid at school, Tommy Belouie, bring one in for Show and Tell. He was so proud of it, that he’d made it all by himself. I was an army brat so I liked planes. I thought I would enjoy making them, but it was tedious and I didn’t have the patience to glue all the tiny details together. So I gave up.
“But I still wanted something that made me as proud as that kid had been. I wanted to stand at the front of Show and Tell and be enthusiastic about something. I tried my hand at drawing, at skating - and while I can whizz around now on my heelies, believe me, back then? Zero balance - so I gave them all up. I tried maybe fifty things that kids my age were excited about and while I appreciated them all.. I never had that real passion that I’d seen Tommy have.”
You hear her shuffling again and you think maybe she’s sat herself down against the door so you do the same, somehow feeling closer to her.
“When I got older, it was easier to accept that academia was my passion. I did a ton of extra-curricular activities but you could bet that school? School was my proudest achievement. Long story short, I got into Medicine and I forgot about my quest for passion, because I’d found it. Helping kids was more rewarding than I’d ever, ever believed possible. It was all I wanted to do. And those smiles from parents and from the kids I’d saved? They were everything I thought I needed.”
You always loved hearing her talk about her work, or watching her with the kids. It’s half the reason you were so desperate for children with her; she could never see what an incredible mother she would be. That compassion, her heart. There’s no way she could be anything less than amazing.
“I applied for that grant, Calliope, to help more kids. To head up a groundbreaking project that would bring medicine to those that wouldn’t get it otherwise. When I left you in the airport..”
She trails off and your heart feels like it’s in your throat. You can hear her sobs again, breaking down the door even as you rested against it.
“It was so painful,” she’s almost whispering, it’s getting difficult for you to hear her, “But I thought about those kids. You didn’t want to be in Africa. I couldn’t make you do that, I couldn’t ask you to sacrifice yourself for me. I never realised how much it would hurt me. And it sounds selfish, I know it does, but I thought that the kids would be enough. I thought that I would dive right in and the passion would make the hurt go away.”
You’re crying now; full, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. Your chest is heaving at the memory of how alone you’d felt without her here. You feel stupid for sitting with your back to the door, knowing she is the other side. Your antidote to misery; the cure to the cancerous feelings of despair currently suffocating you. But you’re crying too hard to move. And she’s still talking anyway so you strain to hear her tearful words over your own wallowing.
“I realised.. It was my passion.. Saving kids is my passion. But it was never my model airplane, Callie. That feeling of pride only came around when you did. And I was an idiot to let that feeling go, an idiot to let you go. I love you so, so much. I-can’t even..”
You don’t remember pulling yourself to your feet, or opening the door, but she trails off as she stops herself falling sideways into the doorway.
Her wet eyes are staring up at you like she’s never seen anything so perfect. The sadness etched into her face only makes her more beautiful, but you want to banish the expression.
“Stand up, Arizona.” It comes out more stern than you’d expected, and your voice doesn’t break the way you thought it would. And suddenly she’s there, in front of you, everything you’ve wished for, everything you’ve hoped about. A lock of hair falls forward as she stares downwards and you push it back, realising that she did break you with her winning speech.
You let one of your hands grasp hers, and the other pulls her chin up to meet your eyes.
“We need to talk,” you need to say things and she probably does too. She nods, tears never ceasing to spill over her cheeks, even down onto your hand.
“I know. And.. I know about Mark.” Your eyes narrow and she clarifies, “Teddy told me..”
You nod, “I was about to tell you. I can’t make excuses; he was there and I was lonely. But we stopped. It just made us both sad. I missed you and it was just-“
“I know. I understand, Calliope. Can you forgive me for leaving? Or.. At least try to?” Your heart swells at her insecurity and you’re once again reminded of every reason why you wished for her to return. You just fit together perfectly. It makes you realise that you would’ve forgiven her anyway. You know you’ll probably forgive her anything.
“You won’t leave me again..” you start and she’s already shaking her head, pursing her lips around the bubble of emotion you can see rising to her face.
“Calliope, I can’t leave you again.”
And that’s all it takes for you to pull her to you, to wrap your arms around her perfect shoulders and push your face into her hair.
You’re not fixed, you haven’t resolved everything and you still definitely need to talk. But pulling her to the couch and letting your tears mix in with her golden hair while hers paint your t-shirt, you know you have time to talk later. And you know you’ll both scream and shout and probably cry some more.
But you’re positive you’re going to be ok. More than ok.
What’s that saying? Third time lucky.