Secret Santa fic for blackindia_ink
Title: It Started Out Good, Then It Got Lots Better
Rating: mild PG-13 for language, sexy shenanigans
Word count: ~3890
Summary: Written for blackindia_ink, who wanted "Callie and Arizona go out for a night at the gay club and Arizona ends up in an ER being treated by Hahn." I think this is mostly on task.
There's something about walking into a club with a hot woman on your arm, Arizona thinks, that puts a bit of swagger into your step. Even better that they're on vacation, enjoying the sunshine in Los Angeles and the night life in West Hollywood. They drove down the coast during the day, found a mostly-empty beach, and proceeded to not work on their tans even though Callie tried to make an argument for twenty minutes on each side. She'd spent about an hour pretty much just on one side-another reason for Arizona to put some swag in her walk as she leads Callie into the club.
They stop at the bar first, and Arizona leans in close to be heard over the music. "What are you drinking?" she asks.
"Two shots of tequila," says Callie, holding up two fingers.
Arizona grins at her. "Am I having two shots of tequila too?"
"Whatever you need to get ready for tonight," says Callie, and Arizona bites her lip. Callie smirks at her.
At the bar, Arizona asks for four shots of Patron Platinum and a couple of Budweisers to wash them down. She knows Callie prefers microbrews, but her father drinks Bud and now it's what she drinks. She hands over her credit card to keep the tab open; they are going to get good and sauced tonight, because for once they're not on call and they can stumble back to their hotel room and stay up as late as they want.
Callie takes her shots straight, no salt, no limes. She puts a lime in her mouth, though, pulp facing out, and makes an expectant face at Arizona.
"I didn't know we were on spring break," says Arizona, nevertheless already shaking salt onto the back of her left hand.
Callie makes a hurry-up motion, spinning her pointer finger in the air and cocking her eyebrow.
Arizona licks, shoots, and bites with delicate precision. She pulls back, the lime firmly between her teeth, enjoying the smooth burn and the cleansing lime taste. Callie takes the rind, drops it on the bar behind her, and presents her with shot number two. She salts Arizona's hand for her and readies the lime, but this time Arizona licks, shoots, and meets Callie's mouth, because Callie's sneaky like that. Callie's mouth tastes enough of lime anyway, and it's easy to forgive her when she slides her tongue against Arizona's, hands reaching for hips and body pressing Arizona up against the bar.
There are a couple of wolf whistles, though that doesn't deter Callie in the least. She kisses Arizona deeply, thoroughly, with all the passion she's pent up over the last month-a month of mismatched shifts and hasty fumblings in on-call rooms. This vacation is so they can recharge, as doctors and as a couple. Arizona's more than willing to make out at a bar in front of a bunch of strangers; she's missed this, the easy physicality of their relationship, just enjoying each other because they can. But they came here to get loose and to dance, so she stops kissing Callie and gives her a push in the direction of the floor.
Callie pouts a little, but allows herself to be guided. She loves dancing and she loves her girlfriend, and both have been in scant supply this month.
Once they're on the floor, everything else just slides away. Callie pulls Arizona close and Arizona lets the heady combination of Callie and tequila work on her, until all she feels is the bass thudding in her chest and the push of Callie's hips against hers. She doesn't notice when the songs change or when she breaks out in a light sweat and only pauses when she senses the tequila is fading. She mimes taking a shot to Callie, who is more than ready to return to the bar.
They stand close while they wait for the bartender to notice them, Callie with her thumbs hooked into Arizona's belt loops from behind and her chin resting on Arizona's shoulder. They people watch for a bit, Arizona pointing to a sweet young couple down at the other end. They look barely old enough to be in a club and she can practically feel Callie's amusement, but there's something disarming about seeing two kids acting totally, obliviously in love.
Arizona's at the bar finally getting in her order, so she doesn't see how it starts. All she knows is that there's a commotion to her right, and when she looks over, the young couple is getting split up by a third woman, who's doing a lot of shoving and yelling. A couple of bouncers get involved, trying to separate them, but then somebody takes exception to getting bumped, a drink goes flying, and a genuine fight breaks out.
"We should get out of here," Callie says, except Arizona's already headed for the melee. She catches one girl as she stumbles, sets her on her feet and smiles at her, which has its intended effect. The girl gives up on the fight and walks away; Arizona moves on to the next little scrum.
It all happens so quickly-one moment Arizona's asking a woman with a bloody nose if she's all right, the next she's staring up at Callie's blurry face. She tries to speak and manages a groggy "hrrnngg" noise. Callie looks furious. Her head feels like it's about to burst open. The floor is jostling her-she frowns. It's not the floor, it's the entire room. It takes all her willpower to focus, but she does it, and realizes now that she's in an ambulance. That would certainly explain why Callie looks like she's going to burst into tears and throttle Arizona at the same time.
"Don't try to move, ma'am," says the paramedic, noticing that she's awake. "You have a head injury. We're taking you to a hospital."
Arizona licks her lips. "Callie," she says.
"You got whacked in the back of the head with a beer bottle," Callie informs her.
"I hope you didn't punch anyone."
"I was too busy with all the blood coming out of your head," Callie retorts.
Now that her eyes are more or less focused, Arizona can see how tightly Callie's clenching her jaw, the wound-up tension in her shoulders. "I'm fine," she says, and Callie snorts.
"You probably have a concussion. You're getting a head CT, and then we're going back to the hotel, where you're going to lie in bed and not get involved in bar fights."
"But we were gonna go to the wax museum!" Arizona points out, almost wistfully.
"Nope," says Callie.
"But-"
"No."
"At least-"
"No way."
"Our vacation-"
"Don't think I won't sedate you," says Callie.
"Actually," begins the paramedic, only to shrink back from Callie's withering stare. "We're almost to the hospital," he amends.
They roll in through the emergency bay doors, where a nurse directs them to an open space. It's not a busy night, at least, and they're able to go right to one of the curtained beds instead of waiting in the hallway. Arizona waves off their help and transfers from the gurney to the bed herself while Callie hovers anxiously over her. "Where's the doctor?" Callie asks, gaze switching between Arizona and the rest of the ER.
"She's on her way," says one of the paramedics.
As if on cue, a perky young woman bounces up to the bed, still in the middle of snapping on her gloves. "Sorry I'm late. What've we got?" she asks.
Callie takes one look at her and objects. "No interns," she says.
The paramedics pause with their mouths open, cut off before they could deliver the bullet.
"It's okay," says the doctor. She smiles at Callie. "I assure you, I'm very qualified to handle head injuries."
"I'm sure it'll be fine," says Arizona, brushing Callie's hand with her own. She notices now that there's little smears of blood on Callie's hands, mostly on her palms. She must have been applying pressure to the wound, which is still radiating pain in sharp little spikes all along her skull.
"I'm sorry, doctor…" Callie trails off, giving the doctor an opening.
"Doctor Hastings," the intern supplies helpfully.
"Doctor Hastings," Callie repeats. "I'm sure you're really nice and really eager to take a look at my girlfriend's TBI, but I have been where you are and I am telling you: no interns. Get a resident or whoever's in charge of tonight's shift."
"At least let her do the workup," says Arizona, and Callie seems to soften, just a little. She turns away from poor Doctor Hastings and rubs Arizona's leg.
"I don't want them to miss anything," she says. "You were out for a good fifteen minutes."
"Well, let's start there," says Hastings, clicking a pen and pulling up a chart from the foot of Arizona's bed. She speaks out loud as she writes. "Lost...consciousness...fifteen...minutes…"
Arizona nearly laughs at the consternation on Callie's face, but laughing would definitely make her head feel ten times worse. She puts on her best conciliatory expression, though she senses it probably just looks like a grimace. "Sorry, Dr. Hastings, but it doesn't look like you're going to win this one," she says.
To her credit, Hastings doesn't get angry. "I'll see if I can find my supervisor," she says. "And I'll have a nurse keep an eye on you while I'm gone."
When she's bounced off again, Arizona pinches Callie on the arm.
Callie snatches her arm away. "Ow! What the hell was that for?"
Arizona points after Hastings. "No interns? You could've let her ask a few questions."
"The last time I checked, I was not the one covered in blood, so I get to make the decisions," says Callie.
For the first time Arizona notices that her neck is sticky and cold. She reaches up with her right hand to touch the skin there; her fingers come back a vibrant red. Her hair feels matted and gross, especially under the bandage the paramedics must have applied while she was out. In fact, there's all sorts of details she missed while she was fumbling her way back to complete consciousness, including the throbbing in her hip where she must have hit the floor. "Was it scary?" she asks in a soft voice.
Callie grips her leg tightly, which is all the answer Arizona needs.
"Sorry."
"Don't apologize," says Callie. "It's not your fault you got caught in the crossfire of some epic lesbian drama."
This time Arizona does laugh, and immediately winces, because it's as painful as she thought it would be. "I should've listened to you and just left."
Callie smiles at her and traces a lingering touch down Arizona's forearm. "You couldn't have just left. You were trying to help."
"Well, next time I'll help from a distance," says Arizona, trying to deal with the fresh wave of pain rolling through her head. Still, she appreciates that Callie understands, and grabs Callie's hand to lace their fingers together. Holding her girlfriend's hand might not make her actually feel better, but it certainly doesn't make her feel worse.
Dr. Hastings returns about five minutes later, this time with another doctor in tow. Callie looks away from Arizona and the way she goes from smiling to thunderstruck is pretty much how Arizona imagines she must have looked when she got bopped with that beer bottle.
"Erica?" Callie blurts out. Arizona, having never seen the infamous Erica Hahn but having heard plenty about her, takes a good first look. She's tall-a lot taller than Arizona, probably nudging up against six feet-blonde, blue-eyed, with a rather stern face. Or maybe she only looks stern because she's run into her ex-girlfriend at one in the morning, over a thousand miles away from Seattle.
"Callie?" says Hahn, sounding even more astounded than Callie. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Hastings coughs politely. "Dr. Hahn, the patient was brought in about ten minutes ago with a traumatic head injury."
Hahn narrows her eyes. "Torres," she says, the name sounding all-too-familiar coming out of her mouth, "Why are you bullying an intern who's perfectly capable of working up your…friend?"
Arizona speaks up with an introduction. "Hi, I'm Arizona." She sees Hahn perform the customary blink upon hearing her name and waits to see if it'll draw open ridicule, but Hahn just snaps her focus back to Callie.
"Let my intern do her job so she doesn't have to page me out of what was turning into a really nice nap," says Hahn. She flicks her gaze at Arizona. "Nice to meet you."
"Okey-dokey," says Hastings, completely ignoring the growing awkwardness between her attending, her patient, and her patient's girlfriend. "Let's try again."
*
Even though the ER isn't particularly busy, this is still a hospital in a major metropolitan city and Arizona ends up waiting about an hour for her head CT. Callie spends the time filling out the insurance paperwork, looking over Hastings' shoulder, and fretting over Arizona. In the meantime, Hastings gets the wound cleaned and stitched, applies an ice pack for the swelling, and makes sure Arizona is stable and comfortable, or as comfortable as she can be since she doesn't want any of the stronger painkillers mixing with the alcohol in her system and the Tylenol is just not cutting it. Callie's checked her hip too, and determined that it's just bruised. Hahn hasn't come around again, although Arizona can see Callie looking around for her.
Eventually curiosity and boredom get the best of her, and she asks, "So. That was Erica Hahn, huh?"
Callie twitches. "Yeah. That was her."
"She seems…nice," says Arizona.
"We don't have to talk about her," says Callie, re-reading Arizona's insurance information even though she's been over it twice already.
"Okay," says Arizona. "It's just that I know you guys broke up under some pretty tough circumstances. Did you know she was in L.A.?"
Callie shakes her head. "She didn't want to talk to me. Wanted a clean break, I guess."
"Maybe now is a good time…"
Callie cuts her off. "If you think I'm leaving this bed, think again. And you shouldn't be talking, you should be resting."
Arizona bites back an amused smile and tries to relax. "You're right."
"Of course I'm right." Callie presses a quick kiss to the back of Arizona's hand.
Soon afterwards, Hastings takes Arizona upstairs for her CT. Callie waves to her from the waiting area, looking a little forlorn standing by herself among the mostly empty chairs. Hastings makes small talk, asks about Arizona's work at Seattle Grace-Mercy West. Arizona approves of her bright attitude and her obvious ease with patients. She can't help but ask about Erica Hahn, though, and how long she's been at the hospital, what she's like as an attending. Apparently she left for L.A. almost immediately after walking out of Seattle Grace, and Hastings thinks she's intense but brilliant, which corresponds to just about everyone's opinion of Hahn so far. Arizona knows that no one thinks she's intense, but she never wanted to be intense, so she's not letting that bother her. And she knows she's brilliant, so there's another thing not to worry about.
Hastings and a technician get Arizona settled in the scanner, then leave her alone to start running the diagnostic. She tries not to fidget and thinks instead of going back to the hotel with Callie, where they can take a long, hot bath. She's extremely lucky; even though she has a concussion, she's not nauseous, the dizziness is mild, and she remembers everything clearly right up to blacking out. Callie told her that when she collapsed, it effectively stopped the fight in its tracks, so there's that too.
Just as she wonders if the technician is taking his sweet time starting the scan, the speaker embedded above her clicks to life. "Everything okay, Arizona?"
She gives a thumbs up to the two-way mirror, but frowns, because that voice is too feminine to be the technician, and too low to be Hastings.
"It's Dr. Hahn," the voice confirms. "We're going to start the CT now."
The machine chunks to life before Arizona can respond or object.
In the middle of the scan, Hahn speaks to her again. "While I have you, we might as well talk."
Arizona purses her lips; she can't talk back, so it's more her just lying here and listening to whatever Erica has on her mind. But she crosses her ankles anyway, affecting a leisurely pose even though she's half stuck in a giant white machine.
"I didn't expect to see you. I mean Callie. Not here," says Hahn. "I mean, this is just weirdly improbable. The one night I get stuck in the ER…" There's a sigh, and the intercom clicks off. But then Hahn comes back a few seconds later. "And then I see her with you, and you'll forgive me for being blunt, but I don't know if it's better or worse that she rebounded with someone hot."
Arizona wants to retort that she's not a rebound, but there's the whole keeping-still thing, and also she thinks she can hear a note of loneliness in Hahn's voice. She wonders if there's anything that could make her walk away from Calliope, without so much as a backwards glance. Callie hasn't explained the roots of the split yet, just that one day Erica was there and the next day she wasn't. From what Arizona's heard of Hahn, it must have been something serious.
"After everything that happened, I nearly went to China for two years to get my head on straight," Hahn continues. "China! But I thought L.A. would be far enough. And look what that got me."
Arizona wonders if Hahn knows the intercom is on at this point, because she really isn't the person who should be hearing this. She thinks about making some sort of signal, maybe even pulling her head out of the scanner if Hahn doesn't wrap it up soon.
"Anyway. There's no point dwelling on it. Callie seems happy. And you seem nice. I'm sorry to bother you like this while you can't talk back or…move, really. I'll let you get back to your scan."
There's a final click, then nothing but the machine hum and her own breathing. She keeps waiting for Hahn to come back, to add something else, but apparently she's gotten it all out of her system.
"Just a few more minutes," says the technician.
*
She and Callie don't have to wait much longer after that; the radiologist gives her the all clear and Hastings gives them aftercare instructions. She tries to suggest a few hours of observation, but Arizona wants to go back to the hotel, and by now she's figured out that if she tilts her head a little down and to the right and looks up at Callie through her lashes, she can get a "yes" about eighty percent of the time.
Hastings has a printed list of things to look out for following a concussion and Arizona knows that Callie's doing her best not to roll her eyes. They were interns too, a long time ago. Still, she has to nudge Callie to make sure she doesn't interrupt the poor kid and listens attentively while Hastings goes over the list. She gets everything just right, and Arizona pats her shoulder in thanks. "If you're ever in Seattle, come see me at Seattle Grace-Mercy West," she says, and Hastings fairly beams.
Callie wheels her out to the parking lot so they can wait for their cab. They pass a few windows on the way, and Arizona finally catches a glimpse of herself-pale, hair in total disarray, a little ghoulish with the bandage around her head. There's blood on her top, too. But Callie's hand is resting warmly on her shoulder and they have three more days of vacation, so she doesn't see the need to fuss.
There's a cough behind them. Callie turns, turning Arizona's wheelchair at the same time, and they both see Erica Hahn in the doorway, hands in her pockets and a rather sheepish expression on her face. It softens her features, makes her look younger, and Arizona thinks if she'd met Hahn earlier, they might have been friends.
"I'll be over here," says Arizona before the other two can utter a word. She wheels herself to the other side of the carport sheltering the main entrance and tries not to look curious, even though what she really wants to do is stare at Erica Hahn from her chair, just in case. In case of what, Arizona can't imagine, but she heard Hahn's voice on that intercom. She regrets leaving Seattle, deeply. Just because she sympathizes with Hahn doesn't mean she can't also be protective of her girlfriend. Mostly she really, really wants to listen in on their conversation.
They talk in low tones for about ten minutes and Arizona hears a few "I'm sorrys," but that's about it. She very determinedly does not turn her head when she hears Callie approach her from behind.
"Thanks," says Callie, squeezing Arizona's shoulder.
"For what?" Arizona asks innocently.
Callie circles the chair, bends down, and kisses her-just once and very gently, but Arizona feels a tingle run through her body. "For being awesome." She doesn't look any worse for wear after what must have been an emotionally taxing conversation. Arizona lets Hahn fall off her radar.
"Oh, that. Right."
"Smartass," Callie mutters, but she gives Arizona another kiss anyway.
*
At the hotel Arizona gets her heart's desire as Callie draws a bath. It's past three in the morning, but they're both feeling a bit grimy from the club and the hospital, so Callie fills the tub to steaming while Arizona dumps her top in the sink to soak overnight. They help each other undress, and Callie helps her stay steady while she sinks into the tub, nearly hissing at the heat. Callie settles in behind her and soaps up a washrag. She cleans the last bits of blood from the back of Arizona's neck, slowly works it out of her hair. She smoothes her hands across Arizona's shoulders, down her back, and presses kisses in their wake.
"I love you," she says.
"I love you too," says Arizona, head dropping forward and eyes closed. The pain in her head is receding, bit by bit.
"I called Mark while you were getting your CT."
"Oh?" Arizona wishes they'd invent a bathtub you could sleep in, surrounded by warm water all night long without pruning.
"He said not to be so goddamn heroic next time."
Arizona snorts out a sleepy smile. "I hope you told him heroes get the girl."
Callie's arms slip around her waist. "Just don't get hit with any more beer bottles without asking me, okay?"
"Scout's honor," says Arizona, letting three fingers emerge from the water to sketch out the Girl Scouts sign.
"I didn't know you were a girl scout," says Callie. She pauses. "Do you still have your uniform?"
"Perv," Arizona murmurs, and falls asleep.
Callie smiles indulgently for a moment. But then: "Oh great. How am I gonna get her out of this tub?"
Rating: mild PG-13 for language, sexy shenanigans
Word count: ~3890
Summary: Written for blackindia_ink, who wanted "Callie and Arizona go out for a night at the gay club and Arizona ends up in an ER being treated by Hahn." I think this is mostly on task.
There's something about walking into a club with a hot woman on your arm, Arizona thinks, that puts a bit of swagger into your step. Even better that they're on vacation, enjoying the sunshine in Los Angeles and the night life in West Hollywood. They drove down the coast during the day, found a mostly-empty beach, and proceeded to not work on their tans even though Callie tried to make an argument for twenty minutes on each side. She'd spent about an hour pretty much just on one side-another reason for Arizona to put some swag in her walk as she leads Callie into the club.
They stop at the bar first, and Arizona leans in close to be heard over the music. "What are you drinking?" she asks.
"Two shots of tequila," says Callie, holding up two fingers.
Arizona grins at her. "Am I having two shots of tequila too?"
"Whatever you need to get ready for tonight," says Callie, and Arizona bites her lip. Callie smirks at her.
At the bar, Arizona asks for four shots of Patron Platinum and a couple of Budweisers to wash them down. She knows Callie prefers microbrews, but her father drinks Bud and now it's what she drinks. She hands over her credit card to keep the tab open; they are going to get good and sauced tonight, because for once they're not on call and they can stumble back to their hotel room and stay up as late as they want.
Callie takes her shots straight, no salt, no limes. She puts a lime in her mouth, though, pulp facing out, and makes an expectant face at Arizona.
"I didn't know we were on spring break," says Arizona, nevertheless already shaking salt onto the back of her left hand.
Callie makes a hurry-up motion, spinning her pointer finger in the air and cocking her eyebrow.
Arizona licks, shoots, and bites with delicate precision. She pulls back, the lime firmly between her teeth, enjoying the smooth burn and the cleansing lime taste. Callie takes the rind, drops it on the bar behind her, and presents her with shot number two. She salts Arizona's hand for her and readies the lime, but this time Arizona licks, shoots, and meets Callie's mouth, because Callie's sneaky like that. Callie's mouth tastes enough of lime anyway, and it's easy to forgive her when she slides her tongue against Arizona's, hands reaching for hips and body pressing Arizona up against the bar.
There are a couple of wolf whistles, though that doesn't deter Callie in the least. She kisses Arizona deeply, thoroughly, with all the passion she's pent up over the last month-a month of mismatched shifts and hasty fumblings in on-call rooms. This vacation is so they can recharge, as doctors and as a couple. Arizona's more than willing to make out at a bar in front of a bunch of strangers; she's missed this, the easy physicality of their relationship, just enjoying each other because they can. But they came here to get loose and to dance, so she stops kissing Callie and gives her a push in the direction of the floor.
Callie pouts a little, but allows herself to be guided. She loves dancing and she loves her girlfriend, and both have been in scant supply this month.
Once they're on the floor, everything else just slides away. Callie pulls Arizona close and Arizona lets the heady combination of Callie and tequila work on her, until all she feels is the bass thudding in her chest and the push of Callie's hips against hers. She doesn't notice when the songs change or when she breaks out in a light sweat and only pauses when she senses the tequila is fading. She mimes taking a shot to Callie, who is more than ready to return to the bar.
They stand close while they wait for the bartender to notice them, Callie with her thumbs hooked into Arizona's belt loops from behind and her chin resting on Arizona's shoulder. They people watch for a bit, Arizona pointing to a sweet young couple down at the other end. They look barely old enough to be in a club and she can practically feel Callie's amusement, but there's something disarming about seeing two kids acting totally, obliviously in love.
Arizona's at the bar finally getting in her order, so she doesn't see how it starts. All she knows is that there's a commotion to her right, and when she looks over, the young couple is getting split up by a third woman, who's doing a lot of shoving and yelling. A couple of bouncers get involved, trying to separate them, but then somebody takes exception to getting bumped, a drink goes flying, and a genuine fight breaks out.
"We should get out of here," Callie says, except Arizona's already headed for the melee. She catches one girl as she stumbles, sets her on her feet and smiles at her, which has its intended effect. The girl gives up on the fight and walks away; Arizona moves on to the next little scrum.
It all happens so quickly-one moment Arizona's asking a woman with a bloody nose if she's all right, the next she's staring up at Callie's blurry face. She tries to speak and manages a groggy "hrrnngg" noise. Callie looks furious. Her head feels like it's about to burst open. The floor is jostling her-she frowns. It's not the floor, it's the entire room. It takes all her willpower to focus, but she does it, and realizes now that she's in an ambulance. That would certainly explain why Callie looks like she's going to burst into tears and throttle Arizona at the same time.
"Don't try to move, ma'am," says the paramedic, noticing that she's awake. "You have a head injury. We're taking you to a hospital."
Arizona licks her lips. "Callie," she says.
"You got whacked in the back of the head with a beer bottle," Callie informs her.
"I hope you didn't punch anyone."
"I was too busy with all the blood coming out of your head," Callie retorts.
Now that her eyes are more or less focused, Arizona can see how tightly Callie's clenching her jaw, the wound-up tension in her shoulders. "I'm fine," she says, and Callie snorts.
"You probably have a concussion. You're getting a head CT, and then we're going back to the hotel, where you're going to lie in bed and not get involved in bar fights."
"But we were gonna go to the wax museum!" Arizona points out, almost wistfully.
"Nope," says Callie.
"But-"
"No."
"At least-"
"No way."
"Our vacation-"
"Don't think I won't sedate you," says Callie.
"Actually," begins the paramedic, only to shrink back from Callie's withering stare. "We're almost to the hospital," he amends.
They roll in through the emergency bay doors, where a nurse directs them to an open space. It's not a busy night, at least, and they're able to go right to one of the curtained beds instead of waiting in the hallway. Arizona waves off their help and transfers from the gurney to the bed herself while Callie hovers anxiously over her. "Where's the doctor?" Callie asks, gaze switching between Arizona and the rest of the ER.
"She's on her way," says one of the paramedics.
As if on cue, a perky young woman bounces up to the bed, still in the middle of snapping on her gloves. "Sorry I'm late. What've we got?" she asks.
Callie takes one look at her and objects. "No interns," she says.
The paramedics pause with their mouths open, cut off before they could deliver the bullet.
"It's okay," says the doctor. She smiles at Callie. "I assure you, I'm very qualified to handle head injuries."
"I'm sure it'll be fine," says Arizona, brushing Callie's hand with her own. She notices now that there's little smears of blood on Callie's hands, mostly on her palms. She must have been applying pressure to the wound, which is still radiating pain in sharp little spikes all along her skull.
"I'm sorry, doctor…" Callie trails off, giving the doctor an opening.
"Doctor Hastings," the intern supplies helpfully.
"Doctor Hastings," Callie repeats. "I'm sure you're really nice and really eager to take a look at my girlfriend's TBI, but I have been where you are and I am telling you: no interns. Get a resident or whoever's in charge of tonight's shift."
"At least let her do the workup," says Arizona, and Callie seems to soften, just a little. She turns away from poor Doctor Hastings and rubs Arizona's leg.
"I don't want them to miss anything," she says. "You were out for a good fifteen minutes."
"Well, let's start there," says Hastings, clicking a pen and pulling up a chart from the foot of Arizona's bed. She speaks out loud as she writes. "Lost...consciousness...fifteen...minutes…"
Arizona nearly laughs at the consternation on Callie's face, but laughing would definitely make her head feel ten times worse. She puts on her best conciliatory expression, though she senses it probably just looks like a grimace. "Sorry, Dr. Hastings, but it doesn't look like you're going to win this one," she says.
To her credit, Hastings doesn't get angry. "I'll see if I can find my supervisor," she says. "And I'll have a nurse keep an eye on you while I'm gone."
When she's bounced off again, Arizona pinches Callie on the arm.
Callie snatches her arm away. "Ow! What the hell was that for?"
Arizona points after Hastings. "No interns? You could've let her ask a few questions."
"The last time I checked, I was not the one covered in blood, so I get to make the decisions," says Callie.
For the first time Arizona notices that her neck is sticky and cold. She reaches up with her right hand to touch the skin there; her fingers come back a vibrant red. Her hair feels matted and gross, especially under the bandage the paramedics must have applied while she was out. In fact, there's all sorts of details she missed while she was fumbling her way back to complete consciousness, including the throbbing in her hip where she must have hit the floor. "Was it scary?" she asks in a soft voice.
Callie grips her leg tightly, which is all the answer Arizona needs.
"Sorry."
"Don't apologize," says Callie. "It's not your fault you got caught in the crossfire of some epic lesbian drama."
This time Arizona does laugh, and immediately winces, because it's as painful as she thought it would be. "I should've listened to you and just left."
Callie smiles at her and traces a lingering touch down Arizona's forearm. "You couldn't have just left. You were trying to help."
"Well, next time I'll help from a distance," says Arizona, trying to deal with the fresh wave of pain rolling through her head. Still, she appreciates that Callie understands, and grabs Callie's hand to lace their fingers together. Holding her girlfriend's hand might not make her actually feel better, but it certainly doesn't make her feel worse.
Dr. Hastings returns about five minutes later, this time with another doctor in tow. Callie looks away from Arizona and the way she goes from smiling to thunderstruck is pretty much how Arizona imagines she must have looked when she got bopped with that beer bottle.
"Erica?" Callie blurts out. Arizona, having never seen the infamous Erica Hahn but having heard plenty about her, takes a good first look. She's tall-a lot taller than Arizona, probably nudging up against six feet-blonde, blue-eyed, with a rather stern face. Or maybe she only looks stern because she's run into her ex-girlfriend at one in the morning, over a thousand miles away from Seattle.
"Callie?" says Hahn, sounding even more astounded than Callie. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Hastings coughs politely. "Dr. Hahn, the patient was brought in about ten minutes ago with a traumatic head injury."
Hahn narrows her eyes. "Torres," she says, the name sounding all-too-familiar coming out of her mouth, "Why are you bullying an intern who's perfectly capable of working up your…friend?"
Arizona speaks up with an introduction. "Hi, I'm Arizona." She sees Hahn perform the customary blink upon hearing her name and waits to see if it'll draw open ridicule, but Hahn just snaps her focus back to Callie.
"Let my intern do her job so she doesn't have to page me out of what was turning into a really nice nap," says Hahn. She flicks her gaze at Arizona. "Nice to meet you."
"Okey-dokey," says Hastings, completely ignoring the growing awkwardness between her attending, her patient, and her patient's girlfriend. "Let's try again."
*
Even though the ER isn't particularly busy, this is still a hospital in a major metropolitan city and Arizona ends up waiting about an hour for her head CT. Callie spends the time filling out the insurance paperwork, looking over Hastings' shoulder, and fretting over Arizona. In the meantime, Hastings gets the wound cleaned and stitched, applies an ice pack for the swelling, and makes sure Arizona is stable and comfortable, or as comfortable as she can be since she doesn't want any of the stronger painkillers mixing with the alcohol in her system and the Tylenol is just not cutting it. Callie's checked her hip too, and determined that it's just bruised. Hahn hasn't come around again, although Arizona can see Callie looking around for her.
Eventually curiosity and boredom get the best of her, and she asks, "So. That was Erica Hahn, huh?"
Callie twitches. "Yeah. That was her."
"She seems…nice," says Arizona.
"We don't have to talk about her," says Callie, re-reading Arizona's insurance information even though she's been over it twice already.
"Okay," says Arizona. "It's just that I know you guys broke up under some pretty tough circumstances. Did you know she was in L.A.?"
Callie shakes her head. "She didn't want to talk to me. Wanted a clean break, I guess."
"Maybe now is a good time…"
Callie cuts her off. "If you think I'm leaving this bed, think again. And you shouldn't be talking, you should be resting."
Arizona bites back an amused smile and tries to relax. "You're right."
"Of course I'm right." Callie presses a quick kiss to the back of Arizona's hand.
Soon afterwards, Hastings takes Arizona upstairs for her CT. Callie waves to her from the waiting area, looking a little forlorn standing by herself among the mostly empty chairs. Hastings makes small talk, asks about Arizona's work at Seattle Grace-Mercy West. Arizona approves of her bright attitude and her obvious ease with patients. She can't help but ask about Erica Hahn, though, and how long she's been at the hospital, what she's like as an attending. Apparently she left for L.A. almost immediately after walking out of Seattle Grace, and Hastings thinks she's intense but brilliant, which corresponds to just about everyone's opinion of Hahn so far. Arizona knows that no one thinks she's intense, but she never wanted to be intense, so she's not letting that bother her. And she knows she's brilliant, so there's another thing not to worry about.
Hastings and a technician get Arizona settled in the scanner, then leave her alone to start running the diagnostic. She tries not to fidget and thinks instead of going back to the hotel with Callie, where they can take a long, hot bath. She's extremely lucky; even though she has a concussion, she's not nauseous, the dizziness is mild, and she remembers everything clearly right up to blacking out. Callie told her that when she collapsed, it effectively stopped the fight in its tracks, so there's that too.
Just as she wonders if the technician is taking his sweet time starting the scan, the speaker embedded above her clicks to life. "Everything okay, Arizona?"
She gives a thumbs up to the two-way mirror, but frowns, because that voice is too feminine to be the technician, and too low to be Hastings.
"It's Dr. Hahn," the voice confirms. "We're going to start the CT now."
The machine chunks to life before Arizona can respond or object.
In the middle of the scan, Hahn speaks to her again. "While I have you, we might as well talk."
Arizona purses her lips; she can't talk back, so it's more her just lying here and listening to whatever Erica has on her mind. But she crosses her ankles anyway, affecting a leisurely pose even though she's half stuck in a giant white machine.
"I didn't expect to see you. I mean Callie. Not here," says Hahn. "I mean, this is just weirdly improbable. The one night I get stuck in the ER…" There's a sigh, and the intercom clicks off. But then Hahn comes back a few seconds later. "And then I see her with you, and you'll forgive me for being blunt, but I don't know if it's better or worse that she rebounded with someone hot."
Arizona wants to retort that she's not a rebound, but there's the whole keeping-still thing, and also she thinks she can hear a note of loneliness in Hahn's voice. She wonders if there's anything that could make her walk away from Calliope, without so much as a backwards glance. Callie hasn't explained the roots of the split yet, just that one day Erica was there and the next day she wasn't. From what Arizona's heard of Hahn, it must have been something serious.
"After everything that happened, I nearly went to China for two years to get my head on straight," Hahn continues. "China! But I thought L.A. would be far enough. And look what that got me."
Arizona wonders if Hahn knows the intercom is on at this point, because she really isn't the person who should be hearing this. She thinks about making some sort of signal, maybe even pulling her head out of the scanner if Hahn doesn't wrap it up soon.
"Anyway. There's no point dwelling on it. Callie seems happy. And you seem nice. I'm sorry to bother you like this while you can't talk back or…move, really. I'll let you get back to your scan."
There's a final click, then nothing but the machine hum and her own breathing. She keeps waiting for Hahn to come back, to add something else, but apparently she's gotten it all out of her system.
"Just a few more minutes," says the technician.
*
She and Callie don't have to wait much longer after that; the radiologist gives her the all clear and Hastings gives them aftercare instructions. She tries to suggest a few hours of observation, but Arizona wants to go back to the hotel, and by now she's figured out that if she tilts her head a little down and to the right and looks up at Callie through her lashes, she can get a "yes" about eighty percent of the time.
Hastings has a printed list of things to look out for following a concussion and Arizona knows that Callie's doing her best not to roll her eyes. They were interns too, a long time ago. Still, she has to nudge Callie to make sure she doesn't interrupt the poor kid and listens attentively while Hastings goes over the list. She gets everything just right, and Arizona pats her shoulder in thanks. "If you're ever in Seattle, come see me at Seattle Grace-Mercy West," she says, and Hastings fairly beams.
Callie wheels her out to the parking lot so they can wait for their cab. They pass a few windows on the way, and Arizona finally catches a glimpse of herself-pale, hair in total disarray, a little ghoulish with the bandage around her head. There's blood on her top, too. But Callie's hand is resting warmly on her shoulder and they have three more days of vacation, so she doesn't see the need to fuss.
There's a cough behind them. Callie turns, turning Arizona's wheelchair at the same time, and they both see Erica Hahn in the doorway, hands in her pockets and a rather sheepish expression on her face. It softens her features, makes her look younger, and Arizona thinks if she'd met Hahn earlier, they might have been friends.
"I'll be over here," says Arizona before the other two can utter a word. She wheels herself to the other side of the carport sheltering the main entrance and tries not to look curious, even though what she really wants to do is stare at Erica Hahn from her chair, just in case. In case of what, Arizona can't imagine, but she heard Hahn's voice on that intercom. She regrets leaving Seattle, deeply. Just because she sympathizes with Hahn doesn't mean she can't also be protective of her girlfriend. Mostly she really, really wants to listen in on their conversation.
They talk in low tones for about ten minutes and Arizona hears a few "I'm sorrys," but that's about it. She very determinedly does not turn her head when she hears Callie approach her from behind.
"Thanks," says Callie, squeezing Arizona's shoulder.
"For what?" Arizona asks innocently.
Callie circles the chair, bends down, and kisses her-just once and very gently, but Arizona feels a tingle run through her body. "For being awesome." She doesn't look any worse for wear after what must have been an emotionally taxing conversation. Arizona lets Hahn fall off her radar.
"Oh, that. Right."
"Smartass," Callie mutters, but she gives Arizona another kiss anyway.
*
At the hotel Arizona gets her heart's desire as Callie draws a bath. It's past three in the morning, but they're both feeling a bit grimy from the club and the hospital, so Callie fills the tub to steaming while Arizona dumps her top in the sink to soak overnight. They help each other undress, and Callie helps her stay steady while she sinks into the tub, nearly hissing at the heat. Callie settles in behind her and soaps up a washrag. She cleans the last bits of blood from the back of Arizona's neck, slowly works it out of her hair. She smoothes her hands across Arizona's shoulders, down her back, and presses kisses in their wake.
"I love you," she says.
"I love you too," says Arizona, head dropping forward and eyes closed. The pain in her head is receding, bit by bit.
"I called Mark while you were getting your CT."
"Oh?" Arizona wishes they'd invent a bathtub you could sleep in, surrounded by warm water all night long without pruning.
"He said not to be so goddamn heroic next time."
Arizona snorts out a sleepy smile. "I hope you told him heroes get the girl."
Callie's arms slip around her waist. "Just don't get hit with any more beer bottles without asking me, okay?"
"Scout's honor," says Arizona, letting three fingers emerge from the water to sketch out the Girl Scouts sign.
"I didn't know you were a girl scout," says Callie. She pauses. "Do you still have your uniform?"
"Perv," Arizona murmurs, and falls asleep.
Callie smiles indulgently for a moment. But then: "Oh great. How am I gonna get her out of this tub?"