Fic: Well Maybe What You Want is Right Here 20/?
Title: Well Maybe What You Want is Right Here 20/?
Pairing: Arizona/Callie
Rating: M
Summary: Sometimes we don't realize what we want until we just know. And sometimes we realize that certain things are worth fighting for. Starts a day or two after the scene in 11x08. Timeline may not be perfectly canon. Reunion fic.
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
A/N: I love your comments and/or criticisms; both are always welcome. Thanks for reading!
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Three months later
"Hi Emma, Michael," I smile warmly at the woman in the bed and the anxious looking man by her side as I enter the hospital room of my newest patient, "I'm Dr. Arizona Robbins-Torres, Head of Pediatric and Maternal-Fetal Surgery, and this is Dr. Laura Gillis, our pediatric fellow. I'm going to be in charge of your care while you're here, and Dr. Gillis is a member of my team in training who'll be assisting."
"Hi Dr. Robbins-Torres," the obviously distraught woman musters up a nervous smile as I pull up her chart and hand it to the younger doctor, "is our baby going to be alright?"
I've already extensively reviewed their file and the information that was sent over from Portland, but I wait as Dr. Gillis presents the information listed.
"Emma Matheson, thirty-nine years old, twenty-three weeks pregnant. Mother has been diagnosed with gestational diabetes which is under control. Baby was diagnosed with sacrococcygeal teratoma at sixteen weeks and is recently presenting with fetal hydrops as a result of the SCT. Mother and baby are in stable condition, but fetus started showing signs of distress three days ago so prenatal surgery is recommended to resect the tumour."
"Thank you, Dr. Gillis."
"Our doctor in Portland said this could kill the baby if we don't treat it -- is it really that bad?"
The father, Michael, speaks up from the side of his wife's bed, the worry evident in his voice.
"He said you were one of the best surgeons we could come to on the west coast. I googled you though, you haven't been doing this that long."
"Michael," the woman looks up at him, imploring, "I'm sure she knows what she's doing."
"I do, I can assure you," I speak reassuringly, stepping over to the bed and carefully examining the patient's stomach, feeling for movement from the baby, "I completed my training under one of the country's most esteemed surgeons and was certified for fetal surgery a year ago, but I also have nearly ten years of pediatric surgery under my belt, including a lot of time working with very tiny preemies. You're in the right place to get the best care for your baby, and your wife, Mr. Matheson."
He sighs, running a hand back through his hair, and drops back into the chair by the bedside.
"This is just all a little overwhelming. I mean, she's not even born yet. You're not supposed to have to worry this much before they're even born."
"I can understand. It's never easy having to go through this, trust me."
Satisfied with the subtle movements I can feel, meaning the baby is still able to move freely, I glance at the monitors that Emma is hooked up to, checking both their stats.
"It's our first baby."
She watches me nervously, rubbing a hand over her stomach in small circles.
"I know I'm probably too old...my doctor told me pregnancy at thirty-nine could be risky, but...Michael and I only met two years ago. And I was so focused on my career before that..."
Making a few notes on the chart and handing it back to Gillis, I glance up reassuringly again.
"Pregnancy can carry risks all the time; plenty of women have healthy children at thirty-nine, Emma. SCT can develop no matter the age of the mother."
"You can fix it though?"
I slip my hands into the pockets of my lab coat and nod confidently.
"I'm confident that I can. I'm not going to mislead you, fetal hydrops is a very serious condition, but your baby just started showing symptoms in the last few days, so we've caught it early. During surgery tomorrow, I'm going to remove the tumour on your baby's back and then drain the fluids that are building up around her lungs, heart, and abdomen. There are risks, of course, but your scans show that I should have good margins if I get in there right away."
She nods a little, fiddling with the edge of the hospital bed sheet. I hate this part -- as much as I'm excellent with nervous parents, it's never easy to see a mother worried over their child. Having been there myself, I know it's the hardest thing a person can ever deal with.
"What are the risks again?"
I let out a soft breath, going over the complications again in my head.
"The biggest complication I worry about with SCT is possible brain damage, if the fluid buildup has spread beyond the baby's abdomen and starts to surround the brain as well. There's also the possibility that the tumour is more difficult to resect than shown on scans, which could lead to injuring the spinal cord."
She nods a little again, a hand coming up to quickly wipe under her eye.
"And, with any intrauterine surgery, there is always the risk of placental abruption -- which would mean the baby would need to be delivered prematurely."
I see the father's eyes snap up to look at me, and he speaks up again abruptly.
"Does that happen often? Babies can't...she can't survive that, she's way too small, isn't she? She needs to stay in there no matter what you do."
Dr. Gillis starts to answer him, but I touch her arm to cut her off.
"If we need to deliver, which would only be an extreme circumstance, she would be what we call a micro-preemie. And chances of survival at that age are anywhere from 15-40%. That's obviously not ideal, but we do have one of the best neonatal ICUs in the country."
"Shit," he rubs a broad hand over his face, his voice strained, "that's not even 50%. Maybe we should wait on the surgery..."
I round the bed and softly place a hand on the man's shoulder, waiting for him to look up at me.
"Waiting on the surgery isn't an option; she won't make it more than a few weeks unless we operate now. The chances we have to deliver are very low."
"But if you do, so are her chances of surviving..." Emma rubs her belly protectively, letting out a heavy sigh.
I reach over and rest my hand over her swollen stomach again, my voice softening as I look up at her.
"My daughter was born at twenty-three weeks in this hospital, and she had two major surgeries before she was even two weeks old. But she is a healthy, energetic four-year-old now."
Both parents look up at me, and I take Emma's hand and squeeze it gently.
"Your baby is in excellent hands, I promise you. We have an incredible team here, and I will do everything in my power to make sure she's okay."
"Sophie," she squeezes back, letting out a small sigh, "we're going to name her Sophie."
I smile at them both again, thoughts of my own baby girl instantly flashing through my mind.
"I'll take good care of Sophie for you."
*
We discuss a few more details about tomorrow's surgery, and get all the necessary paperwork taken care of, and then I leave Emma with instructions to get some rest and head out with Dr. Gillis to check on some of our other patients.
"I didn't know your daughter was a preemie."
I nod a little, slipping my hands into the pockets of my lab coat again.
"My wife and I were in a car accident when she was pregnant. It was one of the most terrifying things I've ever experienced -- I can understand where they're coming from."
"I can only imagine. This is going to be a tricky one tomorrow," Laura falls in step beside me, pulling up our roster on her tablet, "pregnant at thirty-nine though, they kind of had to expect some issues."
"There's nothing wrong with being pregnant at thirty-nine. The majority of women don't start having kids until their thirties now."
"I know," she scrolls as we walk, "but there's a difference between thirties, and almost forty. I mean, the gestational diabetes is the least of the problems she could have had. There's preeclampsia, placenta previa, a much higher risk of stillbirth...not to mention the genetic risks to the baby. All their genetic tests are clear but there could have been any number of other developmental issues besides the SCT."
The younger doctor isn't wrong -- nearly forty is old to be having a child, especially a first child. It's not impossible though, and plenty of older woman do carry a pregnancy with no problems at all. I've seen plenty of perfectly healthy babies born to women thirty-five and up.
"Do you think we need to worry about peripartum cardiomyopathy with her? She doesn't have a history of heart problems, but it's known to present in women forty and over after birth...and especially with the surgery --"
I'll be turning thirty-nine next month. It doesn't feel that old.
"Dr. Gillis -- " I cut her off, probably a little more abruptly than necessary, stopping outside our next patient's room, "update on Andrea Hoffman please?"
Maybe it should, though.
*
Callie and I need to talk about the baby thing. I get in line at the cafeteria around lunch time, rubbing my temple a bit where a steady headache has been building for the last hour.
Are we ready to talk about the baby thing again though? I'd told her what I wanted the day we got married, and we'd briefly discussed it once in the three months since then - but it had really only been a quick exchange of words over breakfast, confirming that we were both still on board with the idea and just giving it a vague "sometime" timeline. Both of our careers are in overdrive right now, and there's no sign of that changing anytime soon.
I grab a salad, the freshest and healthiest thing available from the cafeteria offerings, and pay for it before scanning the room for a table.
"Hey!"
I feel a hand on my lower back and turn my head, immediately smiling at the familiar voice.
"Hey, are you on lunch?"
Callie leans in and drops a light kiss on my lips, rubbing my back lightly before she nods.
"Yep. Let me grab something, I'll come find you."
She heads to the back of the small line that formed behind me, and I quickly scan the busy room for an empty table, spotting one along the back wall. I make my way around crowded tables and slide into the empty seat, letting out a sigh of relief at finally being off my feet for five minutes. The morning had been good, all things considered, but busy, and I'm just physically and mentally exhausted.
And I can't stop thinking about all the things Laura was saying earlier. I mean, I'm a pediatric surgeon and a fetal surgeon -- I know the risks. I know the statistics. Am I being crazy for still wanting this?
A few minutes later the brunette doctor drops into the seat across from me, setting her tray down and pushing what smells suspiciously like a vanilla latte over in front of me.
"I got you a coffee, you look like you could use it. And how did you not see they had butterscotch pudding today? It's your favourite."
She sets a bowl of the creamy dessert between us, giving me an incredulous look.
"Lucky for you, I am willing to share."
I just laugh softly, picking up the paper cup and taking a long drink of the coffee.
"Oh...I did need that. I love you."
I take another drink before setting it down, letting out a content sigh. She knows me well.
"Long morning?" Callie smiles sympathetically, taking a bite of her pasta as I just watch her, "I was with Alex earlier, and he mentioned that Peds was a little nuts today. And you got two new prenatal cases in?"
Opening up my salad, I nod, stabbing a bite with the rather ineffective plastic fork.
"Yeah there's a lot going on up there today, and I have some reports due, too. And one of my mothers will be in for surgery first thing tomorrow morning --it's not going to be an easy one. Sacrococcygeal teratoma and fetal hydrops at twenty-three weeks."
Callie looks up for a moment and pauses.
"Can you even..."
"I don't know," I answer truthfully, poking at another bite of salad, "I had one case of hydrops with Herman, but the baby was at thirty-two weeks and was a lot more developed. And even then, it was pretty much a guessing game. Survival rates are only twenty percent."
"If anyone can pull it off, Arizona, it's you."
"I know. I just feel for the poor mother -- the poor parents. It's her first kid. And she's so, so excited."
"Yeah," she glances down at her plate and then up again, giving me a small half smile, "we know what that's like, don't we."
I return her smile, letting out a soft sigh.
"We sure do."
"I thought about it a lot when you started your fellowship though..." she watches me, "it kind of makes you even more uniquely qualified. You can really understand what these patients are going through."
"I think that's partly why I wanted to do it so much. Because of Sofia."
I poke at my salad a little more, taking a small bite. What if I got pregnant and something happened to the baby? I could easily miscarry again...or the baby could develop health problems along the way...could we handle that again? Would Callie and I survive something like that again?
"Hey."
Blinking a little, my thoughts interrupted, I glance up again at the other woman.
"Are you ok? Something's bothering you."
I give her a small smile, shaking my head.
"I'm fine, honest. Just thinking about this case. Their baby's name is Sophie...it just hit close to home, that's all."
The brunette doctor studies me for a minute, silently contemplating my words.
"Arizona...you're sure? You'd tell me if there was something else, right?"
I reach over with my fork and steal a bite of her pasta, giving her another smile. Now just isn't the time to talk about this.
"Of course, Calliope. Now tell me about your morning."
*
I listen to the phone ring five times before Nicole Herman picks up, but when I hear her answer I actually don't know why I'm really calling.
"Hello?"
"Hey, it's Arizona."
"Robbins," the woman on the other end of the phone sounds pleasantly surprised, "good to hear from you."
"It's Robbins-Torres, now, remember? You missed the big party."
I'd invited Nicole to come to our wedding celebration -- I had actually really hoped she'd be able to make it -- but it had been too last minute at the time for her to arrange the trip. I'd seen her at the hospital once since then though, for a follow-up with Amelia, and I knew she was doing well learning how to live without her eyesight.
"That's too long. Maybe I'll call you R.T. Like E.T., but less alien."
Rolling my eyes with a smile, I settle onto the couch in the attendings' lounge, tucking the phone between my ear and shoulder.
"Well thanks for not calling me an alien, I think."
"How's life in Seattle these days? Had any interesting surgeries lately? I still feel so deprived sometimes."
"Callie and I want to have another baby."
No point beating around the bush. I'd spontaneously decided to give my mentor a call after spending most of the day becoming increasingly worried. To anyone else, she would probably be the last person to ask for advice, but I know if nothing else, she won't mince words.
"And you're telling me this...why exactly? I suppose your wife does make fairly cute progeny."
"Callie can't have kids anymore, she had..." I shake my head a little, "long story. But I'd be the one having it."
There's a slight pause, and I can almost see the raised eyebrow of the other woman.
"R.T., are you calling me because you have pregnancy jitters? Because you know I'm really not the best person for that. You couldn't have paid me to carry a child. I do not have the mommy gene."
"Not jitters, just...am I crazy, Nicole? I know you're not a fertility specialist, but I'm almost thirty-nine years old...and I've never given birth before. I know scientifically speaking I'm not too old but I also know that statistically the risks are dramatically increased at my age, especially for a first pregnancy. At this point I would be close to forty before the baby was born, even if we start trying tomorrow...and that's even if I manage to get pregnant. I mean is it crazy to think I can do this? "
"Slow down," she interrupts my ramble, her voice calm, "you do realize that pregnancy even at forty is not that uncommon anymore, right?"
"I know it's not, but that doesn't mean it's a great idea. I mean, would we just be asking for trouble?"
There's a slight pause as I let out a breath, and I rub my temple again, headache still dully throbbing in the background.
"Listen," the other woman begins after a minute, "you're a maternal-fetal surgeon, Arizona, so you know this information as well as I do."
When I don't reply, she continues.
"Let's be honest -- no, pregnancy at thirty-nine is not ideal, modern medicine or not. We know that. But, the success rates are also still much higher than the non-success rates. And from what I know at least, you're a very healthy, fit individual. I mean my god, you eat a stupid salad every day from that cafeteria. Unless there's a family history you should worry about, you'd more than likely be fine. Look at some of the patients we saw -- some of them were older, yes, but the majority of them were in their twenties, the prime baby-making years. And things still went wrong. You can't solely use your age to predict that something will."
"I miscarried our last baby though. I was three months pregnant."
Seemingly not phased by the confession, or just knowing me enough to know that I don't want to wallow in it, Nicole continues.
"That doesn't necessarily mean it will happen again. Actually, statistically speaking, there's an eighty-five percent chance it won't. Although you should probably get the ball rolling sooner rather than later. I mean, is Callie worried?"
I don't reply immediately, a slight feeling of guilt washing over me at the fact that I haven't yet shared my worries with my wife. As if she knows, Nicole's voice takes on her familiar no-nonsense tone.
"R.T., you need to talk to your wife. You started freaking out and called me instead of her, didn't you?"
"I don't want her to worry. I don't want to make her freak out. She wants this so badly; we both do."
"If I had one guess, what would actually make her freak out is you not sharing things with her, and acting weird and avoiding conversation. You know, given your history for bottling up feelings to the point of combustion. Honestly, you two."
Well, she's probably got a point there.
"Just talk to her, Arizona. And if you come to the conclusion that you're too worried about it, then you explore other options. It's simple."
I suppose that's fair enough reasoning -- I mean, we do have other options if I can't get pregnant, or if we decide it's too risky. We could go back to the surrogate plan, we could adopt, we could still find a way to have another baby. I've been freaking out about it since this morning, but Nicole has injected a little bit of logic that I need to slow down and think about.
"I'll talk to her," I reply, letting out a breath and nodding to myself in confirmation, "Let me tell you about this SCT case I have for tomorrow though..."
*
Later on that afternoon, Callie texted me that she'd be stuck at the hospital into the evening -- a collision on the highway had brought in a couple patients needing ortho attention and probably surgery. I hadn't been paged to the ER, so after checking in that I wasn't needed I picked up Sofia on time and headed home with her.
We'd made supper and taken a walk to the park near the house, the little girl telling me all about her day at school. She'd started her second year of preschool last month, and was so excited about being one of the "bigger" kids now -- despite of course the fact that physically she was still one of the smallest.
Next year she'd be starting actual kindergarten, a thought that both made me indescribably proud and also absolutely terrified me. How had our baby grown up so much? I really wanted to give her a sibling before she got much older; I wanted them to be close like Tim and I had been. We'd only been two years apart, but five wouldn't be too bad. They might not be best friends growing up with that age difference, but as adults they would be close enough to be. Callie and her half-sister had a six year difference between them, and although Aria barely spoke to her anymore, Callie had said they were close once they'd grown out of the teenage years and she was no longer just the annoying little sister.
I just want Sofia to have somebody. If something happened to Callie and I -- when we grow old eventually -- I want her to have family.
The thought of my daughter with a little sister or brother brings a smile to my face, and I look down to where she's now snuggled against me along the length of the couch, almost completely asleep. Post-bath time cuddles had won me over an hour previously, and we'd both laid down on the couch with one of her favourite books while we waited for Callie to come home. I'm still laying on my back now and the small girl is draped on top of me, her head pillowed on my chest, her breathing slowed to the telltale rhythm of sleep. I smooth my fingers through her dark hair, the thick, silky strands so much like Calliope's. She's going to grow up to be such a heartbreaker.
I'm going to need to keep a brick handy.
The low rumble of a car in the driveway catches my ear, alerting me to my wife's arrival home. I glance at the clock over on the mantle -- it's not quite nine o'clock yet, although it feels much later. The front door opens and shuts after a few minutes, the lock quietly clicking into place, and she peeks her head into the living room a moment later, a broad smile crossing her face.
"What's she still doing up?"
"Shh," I smile, looking down at the sleeping child, my hand rubbing softly across her back, "she's asleep. We were having a cuddle session waiting for you to come home."
Callie pulls her phone out, snapping a few pictures of us before she comes over to sit on the edge of the couch.
"You two are adorable."
She leans in, pressing a kiss to Sofia's cheek before dropping one lightly on my lips as well.
"Mm, I know. How are your crash victims?"
The brunette stifles a small yawn behind her hand before dropping it to rest lazily on my thigh.
"Good. Dislocated knee and a pretty badly shattered tibia, but the surgeries went well. They should both be fine."
"Good. I saved you some supper if you're hungry, I can go warm it up."
She smiles, leaning in to kiss me again, and I happily return the sentiment.
"Have I mentioned how much I love coming home to you? I managed to grab some food earlier, but I could go for a glass of wine."
"That I can do, too."
I peek down at Sofia's face, seeing that she's still fast asleep, and I motion to the other woman.
"Why don't you get little miss into bed, and I'll get the wine. There's something I want to talk to you about, too."
Callie shoots me a curious look, her eyes tinged with a touch of concern as she gets up, gently scooping the little girl into her arms.
"Everything alright?"
Climbing up, my back slightly protesting the change in movement, I nod, answering truthfully.
"Everything's fine. Just something we need to talk about."
I kiss her cheek softly, smiling.
"I'll get the wine. See you in a few minutes."
Callie heads off toward the bedrooms and I head to the kitchen, pulling out the bottle of wine we'd opened the other night and getting some glasses down from the cupboard. I take my time, contemplating the conversation I'm about to initiate, and by the time I return to the living room the brunette is sitting on the couch again, one leg tucked under her and an anxious look on her face.
"It's nothing bad, Calliope."
I speak softly, setting our glasses down and smoothing my hand along her cheek as she looks up at me.
"I knew something was bothering you earlier though. Why didn't you say something?"
Settling down on the couch, I shift to sit so I can face her.
"I want to talk about us having a baby."
Her eyes blink in surprise, but a smile tugs at her lips almost immediately.
"That's not bad at all."
"I..."
I trail off, unsure about where to start, but my slight hesitation doesn't go unnoticed by my wife. Her face falls, and she tilts her head a little as she looks at me.
"You're having second thoughts, aren't you? You don't want to do it anymore."
"Callie, no," I reach over and grab her hand, "I want to do this. You have no idea how much I want another child with you."
The tension that had sprung into her body dissipates somewhat, but she still has a concerned look in her eyes.
"But...?"
I shake my head, letting out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding.
"No buts, honestly. I've just been thinking a lot today...and I think if we want to have another, we need to start thinking about it now. Like, right now. I know we've only been back together for three months, but all I can think about is the fact that I'm not getting any younger."
Her face shifts into a look that's slightly confused.
"Well, ok we've only been married again for three months but we've been back together for almost ten...and you're not old, Arizona. You're only thirty-eight."
"I'll be thirty-nine next month. It's just, it's getting old to be having children. Physically, that is."
Callie's eyes survey me with a look that's still both a little confused and concerned before she speaks again.
"Where is all this coming from all of a sudden?"
I rub my temple, letting out another sigh. I really don't know if I'm just being the crazy one right now or not.
"That SCT case I have tomorrow. The mother is thirty-nine and it's her first kid."
"Right...but SCT is rare, even I know that."
"It's not that, it's just...when we were going over the case this morning, Gillis kept talking about all the things that can go wrong with a pregnancy in your late thirties. How she should have expected issues with it because of her age...and she's not wrong. Gestational diabetes, placenta previa, preeclampsia...I mean and that's just for the mother. There's the genetic risks for the baby too; higher rates of Down's syndrome and other developmental issues, higher rate of premature birth, of stillbirth or miscarriage. All of which started increasing when I hit thirty-five, let alone thirty-eight or thirty-nine -- "
"Whoa, whoa," Callie cuts me off mid-ramble with a hand on my thigh, "hold on. I understand that all those things are true, but that doesn't mean any of them are going to happen. Lots of people only have kids in their late thirties now. I mean Grey is thirty-seven and we just found out she's expecting again."
"I know, but...I mean, they didn't expect that. They didn't plan it. Are we just playing Russian roulette by actually deliberately getting pregnant now? I mean, is it crazy to take those risks?"
She pauses for a moment, her eyes trained on mine, and I fight the urge to let my nervousness get the better of me and make me look away.
"I want another baby, Callie. God, I never thought I'd be hearing myself say I wanted a child, let alone a second one. But I'm terrified. I am terrified that we'll get pregnant and I'll lose it again. And now I'm worried that if I do manage to stay pregnant, something will happen later on. To the baby, or to me. And I can't even think about...thinking about what it was like when Sofia was born and we didn't know what was going to happen to her...I don't know if I can do that again."
I bring a hand up to rub my face, sighing tiredly into it.
The couch shifts a bit, and I feel Callie slide over closer, wrapping her arms around me as she pulls me into her body. I uncover my face, leaning my weight into her, and just let my head rest against her shoulder.
"Statistically speaking, things are in our favour. But there's just that chance..."
"Arizona."
Callie's voice cuts me off again, and it's like a warm blanket wrapping around me.
"Sweetie, there's always a chance. Whether you're thirty-nine or twenty-three, or even whether we use a surrogate. There's always a chance something can happen."
Silence surrounds us for a minute before she speaks softly again.
"I'm not invalidating your fear. I'm scared too, if I'm honest. Losing our baby was one of the worst things that's ever happened to me."
I glance up as her voice wavers a bit, and see a slight sheen gathering in her eyes. The urge to speak comes over me before I think twice about it.
"I called her Sara, you know. It's silly...I know it is, because I was only three months pregnant so it was barely anything yet...we didn't know if it was a girl."
"You had a feeling though."
She looks down at me, brushing some hair back from my face.
"I did," I shrug halfheartedly, "so I kept calling her Sara, in my head."
"I think that was a beautiful name for her."
I feel her lips against my forehead pressing a soft kiss to my skin before she speaks again.
"If you don't want to carry this baby, that's okay, Arizona. It really is. We can always revisit the surrogate plan...or we could look into adopting, too."
I think back to when Callie was pregnant, to the moment when I realized how excited I was to have a miniature version of her in my arms. I know it's something that she's dreamed about for years with me.
"I...want to have our baby. I just, I guess everything today just had me freaking out a little bit."
I sit up a bit, and Callie threads her fingers through mine reassuringly.
"And that's okay. You're allowed to freak out -- I mean trust me, I am the queen of freaking out."
That gets a soft laugh out of me, and she raises her eyebrows with a smile.
"But we can freak out together. I'm glad you told me what you thinking."
"I kind of want to start trying right away."
I hold my breath for a second, meeting her eyes. I'm not sure if we're entirely ready for this yet, but it feels right.
"You do? Like, right away?"
"Yeah, I don't want to wait any longer. Do you?"
She holds my gaze, her eyes taking on a thoughtful expression, and she hesitates ever so slightly. Just enough that it's noticeable.
She's the one who was so desperate for a baby before...but have the tables turned now? Is she having second thoughts about the whole thing? Or does she not think we're ready yet? It feels like a million things run through my head instantaneously in the second that she pauses, and I start to wonder if I've brought all this up too soon. Maybe she thinks we're still too fragile.
But we're not; I don't think we are. We're stronger than ever. We both want this, and we're ready for it.
...right?
Pairing: Arizona/Callie
Rating: M
Summary: Sometimes we don't realize what we want until we just know. And sometimes we realize that certain things are worth fighting for. Starts a day or two after the scene in 11x08. Timeline may not be perfectly canon. Reunion fic.
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
A/N: I love your comments and/or criticisms; both are always welcome. Thanks for reading!
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Three months later
"Hi Emma, Michael," I smile warmly at the woman in the bed and the anxious looking man by her side as I enter the hospital room of my newest patient, "I'm Dr. Arizona Robbins-Torres, Head of Pediatric and Maternal-Fetal Surgery, and this is Dr. Laura Gillis, our pediatric fellow. I'm going to be in charge of your care while you're here, and Dr. Gillis is a member of my team in training who'll be assisting."
"Hi Dr. Robbins-Torres," the obviously distraught woman musters up a nervous smile as I pull up her chart and hand it to the younger doctor, "is our baby going to be alright?"
I've already extensively reviewed their file and the information that was sent over from Portland, but I wait as Dr. Gillis presents the information listed.
"Emma Matheson, thirty-nine years old, twenty-three weeks pregnant. Mother has been diagnosed with gestational diabetes which is under control. Baby was diagnosed with sacrococcygeal teratoma at sixteen weeks and is recently presenting with fetal hydrops as a result of the SCT. Mother and baby are in stable condition, but fetus started showing signs of distress three days ago so prenatal surgery is recommended to resect the tumour."
"Thank you, Dr. Gillis."
"Our doctor in Portland said this could kill the baby if we don't treat it -- is it really that bad?"
The father, Michael, speaks up from the side of his wife's bed, the worry evident in his voice.
"He said you were one of the best surgeons we could come to on the west coast. I googled you though, you haven't been doing this that long."
"Michael," the woman looks up at him, imploring, "I'm sure she knows what she's doing."
"I do, I can assure you," I speak reassuringly, stepping over to the bed and carefully examining the patient's stomach, feeling for movement from the baby, "I completed my training under one of the country's most esteemed surgeons and was certified for fetal surgery a year ago, but I also have nearly ten years of pediatric surgery under my belt, including a lot of time working with very tiny preemies. You're in the right place to get the best care for your baby, and your wife, Mr. Matheson."
He sighs, running a hand back through his hair, and drops back into the chair by the bedside.
"This is just all a little overwhelming. I mean, she's not even born yet. You're not supposed to have to worry this much before they're even born."
"I can understand. It's never easy having to go through this, trust me."
Satisfied with the subtle movements I can feel, meaning the baby is still able to move freely, I glance at the monitors that Emma is hooked up to, checking both their stats.
"It's our first baby."
She watches me nervously, rubbing a hand over her stomach in small circles.
"I know I'm probably too old...my doctor told me pregnancy at thirty-nine could be risky, but...Michael and I only met two years ago. And I was so focused on my career before that..."
Making a few notes on the chart and handing it back to Gillis, I glance up reassuringly again.
"Pregnancy can carry risks all the time; plenty of women have healthy children at thirty-nine, Emma. SCT can develop no matter the age of the mother."
"You can fix it though?"
I slip my hands into the pockets of my lab coat and nod confidently.
"I'm confident that I can. I'm not going to mislead you, fetal hydrops is a very serious condition, but your baby just started showing symptoms in the last few days, so we've caught it early. During surgery tomorrow, I'm going to remove the tumour on your baby's back and then drain the fluids that are building up around her lungs, heart, and abdomen. There are risks, of course, but your scans show that I should have good margins if I get in there right away."
She nods a little, fiddling with the edge of the hospital bed sheet. I hate this part -- as much as I'm excellent with nervous parents, it's never easy to see a mother worried over their child. Having been there myself, I know it's the hardest thing a person can ever deal with.
"What are the risks again?"
I let out a soft breath, going over the complications again in my head.
"The biggest complication I worry about with SCT is possible brain damage, if the fluid buildup has spread beyond the baby's abdomen and starts to surround the brain as well. There's also the possibility that the tumour is more difficult to resect than shown on scans, which could lead to injuring the spinal cord."
She nods a little again, a hand coming up to quickly wipe under her eye.
"And, with any intrauterine surgery, there is always the risk of placental abruption -- which would mean the baby would need to be delivered prematurely."
I see the father's eyes snap up to look at me, and he speaks up again abruptly.
"Does that happen often? Babies can't...she can't survive that, she's way too small, isn't she? She needs to stay in there no matter what you do."
Dr. Gillis starts to answer him, but I touch her arm to cut her off.
"If we need to deliver, which would only be an extreme circumstance, she would be what we call a micro-preemie. And chances of survival at that age are anywhere from 15-40%. That's obviously not ideal, but we do have one of the best neonatal ICUs in the country."
"Shit," he rubs a broad hand over his face, his voice strained, "that's not even 50%. Maybe we should wait on the surgery..."
I round the bed and softly place a hand on the man's shoulder, waiting for him to look up at me.
"Waiting on the surgery isn't an option; she won't make it more than a few weeks unless we operate now. The chances we have to deliver are very low."
"But if you do, so are her chances of surviving..." Emma rubs her belly protectively, letting out a heavy sigh.
I reach over and rest my hand over her swollen stomach again, my voice softening as I look up at her.
"My daughter was born at twenty-three weeks in this hospital, and she had two major surgeries before she was even two weeks old. But she is a healthy, energetic four-year-old now."
Both parents look up at me, and I take Emma's hand and squeeze it gently.
"Your baby is in excellent hands, I promise you. We have an incredible team here, and I will do everything in my power to make sure she's okay."
"Sophie," she squeezes back, letting out a small sigh, "we're going to name her Sophie."
I smile at them both again, thoughts of my own baby girl instantly flashing through my mind.
"I'll take good care of Sophie for you."
*
We discuss a few more details about tomorrow's surgery, and get all the necessary paperwork taken care of, and then I leave Emma with instructions to get some rest and head out with Dr. Gillis to check on some of our other patients.
"I didn't know your daughter was a preemie."
I nod a little, slipping my hands into the pockets of my lab coat again.
"My wife and I were in a car accident when she was pregnant. It was one of the most terrifying things I've ever experienced -- I can understand where they're coming from."
"I can only imagine. This is going to be a tricky one tomorrow," Laura falls in step beside me, pulling up our roster on her tablet, "pregnant at thirty-nine though, they kind of had to expect some issues."
"There's nothing wrong with being pregnant at thirty-nine. The majority of women don't start having kids until their thirties now."
"I know," she scrolls as we walk, "but there's a difference between thirties, and almost forty. I mean, the gestational diabetes is the least of the problems she could have had. There's preeclampsia, placenta previa, a much higher risk of stillbirth...not to mention the genetic risks to the baby. All their genetic tests are clear but there could have been any number of other developmental issues besides the SCT."
The younger doctor isn't wrong -- nearly forty is old to be having a child, especially a first child. It's not impossible though, and plenty of older woman do carry a pregnancy with no problems at all. I've seen plenty of perfectly healthy babies born to women thirty-five and up.
"Do you think we need to worry about peripartum cardiomyopathy with her? She doesn't have a history of heart problems, but it's known to present in women forty and over after birth...and especially with the surgery --"
I'll be turning thirty-nine next month. It doesn't feel that old.
"Dr. Gillis -- " I cut her off, probably a little more abruptly than necessary, stopping outside our next patient's room, "update on Andrea Hoffman please?"
Maybe it should, though.
*
Callie and I need to talk about the baby thing. I get in line at the cafeteria around lunch time, rubbing my temple a bit where a steady headache has been building for the last hour.
Are we ready to talk about the baby thing again though? I'd told her what I wanted the day we got married, and we'd briefly discussed it once in the three months since then - but it had really only been a quick exchange of words over breakfast, confirming that we were both still on board with the idea and just giving it a vague "sometime" timeline. Both of our careers are in overdrive right now, and there's no sign of that changing anytime soon.
I grab a salad, the freshest and healthiest thing available from the cafeteria offerings, and pay for it before scanning the room for a table.
"Hey!"
I feel a hand on my lower back and turn my head, immediately smiling at the familiar voice.
"Hey, are you on lunch?"
Callie leans in and drops a light kiss on my lips, rubbing my back lightly before she nods.
"Yep. Let me grab something, I'll come find you."
She heads to the back of the small line that formed behind me, and I quickly scan the busy room for an empty table, spotting one along the back wall. I make my way around crowded tables and slide into the empty seat, letting out a sigh of relief at finally being off my feet for five minutes. The morning had been good, all things considered, but busy, and I'm just physically and mentally exhausted.
And I can't stop thinking about all the things Laura was saying earlier. I mean, I'm a pediatric surgeon and a fetal surgeon -- I know the risks. I know the statistics. Am I being crazy for still wanting this?
A few minutes later the brunette doctor drops into the seat across from me, setting her tray down and pushing what smells suspiciously like a vanilla latte over in front of me.
"I got you a coffee, you look like you could use it. And how did you not see they had butterscotch pudding today? It's your favourite."
She sets a bowl of the creamy dessert between us, giving me an incredulous look.
"Lucky for you, I am willing to share."
I just laugh softly, picking up the paper cup and taking a long drink of the coffee.
"Oh...I did need that. I love you."
I take another drink before setting it down, letting out a content sigh. She knows me well.
"Long morning?" Callie smiles sympathetically, taking a bite of her pasta as I just watch her, "I was with Alex earlier, and he mentioned that Peds was a little nuts today. And you got two new prenatal cases in?"
Opening up my salad, I nod, stabbing a bite with the rather ineffective plastic fork.
"Yeah there's a lot going on up there today, and I have some reports due, too. And one of my mothers will be in for surgery first thing tomorrow morning --it's not going to be an easy one. Sacrococcygeal teratoma and fetal hydrops at twenty-three weeks."
Callie looks up for a moment and pauses.
"Can you even..."
"I don't know," I answer truthfully, poking at another bite of salad, "I had one case of hydrops with Herman, but the baby was at thirty-two weeks and was a lot more developed. And even then, it was pretty much a guessing game. Survival rates are only twenty percent."
"If anyone can pull it off, Arizona, it's you."
"I know. I just feel for the poor mother -- the poor parents. It's her first kid. And she's so, so excited."
"Yeah," she glances down at her plate and then up again, giving me a small half smile, "we know what that's like, don't we."
I return her smile, letting out a soft sigh.
"We sure do."
"I thought about it a lot when you started your fellowship though..." she watches me, "it kind of makes you even more uniquely qualified. You can really understand what these patients are going through."
"I think that's partly why I wanted to do it so much. Because of Sofia."
I poke at my salad a little more, taking a small bite. What if I got pregnant and something happened to the baby? I could easily miscarry again...or the baby could develop health problems along the way...could we handle that again? Would Callie and I survive something like that again?
"Hey."
Blinking a little, my thoughts interrupted, I glance up again at the other woman.
"Are you ok? Something's bothering you."
I give her a small smile, shaking my head.
"I'm fine, honest. Just thinking about this case. Their baby's name is Sophie...it just hit close to home, that's all."
The brunette doctor studies me for a minute, silently contemplating my words.
"Arizona...you're sure? You'd tell me if there was something else, right?"
I reach over with my fork and steal a bite of her pasta, giving her another smile. Now just isn't the time to talk about this.
"Of course, Calliope. Now tell me about your morning."
*
I listen to the phone ring five times before Nicole Herman picks up, but when I hear her answer I actually don't know why I'm really calling.
"Hello?"
"Hey, it's Arizona."
"Robbins," the woman on the other end of the phone sounds pleasantly surprised, "good to hear from you."
"It's Robbins-Torres, now, remember? You missed the big party."
I'd invited Nicole to come to our wedding celebration -- I had actually really hoped she'd be able to make it -- but it had been too last minute at the time for her to arrange the trip. I'd seen her at the hospital once since then though, for a follow-up with Amelia, and I knew she was doing well learning how to live without her eyesight.
"That's too long. Maybe I'll call you R.T. Like E.T., but less alien."
Rolling my eyes with a smile, I settle onto the couch in the attendings' lounge, tucking the phone between my ear and shoulder.
"Well thanks for not calling me an alien, I think."
"How's life in Seattle these days? Had any interesting surgeries lately? I still feel so deprived sometimes."
"Callie and I want to have another baby."
No point beating around the bush. I'd spontaneously decided to give my mentor a call after spending most of the day becoming increasingly worried. To anyone else, she would probably be the last person to ask for advice, but I know if nothing else, she won't mince words.
"And you're telling me this...why exactly? I suppose your wife does make fairly cute progeny."
"Callie can't have kids anymore, she had..." I shake my head a little, "long story. But I'd be the one having it."
There's a slight pause, and I can almost see the raised eyebrow of the other woman.
"R.T., are you calling me because you have pregnancy jitters? Because you know I'm really not the best person for that. You couldn't have paid me to carry a child. I do not have the mommy gene."
"Not jitters, just...am I crazy, Nicole? I know you're not a fertility specialist, but I'm almost thirty-nine years old...and I've never given birth before. I know scientifically speaking I'm not too old but I also know that statistically the risks are dramatically increased at my age, especially for a first pregnancy. At this point I would be close to forty before the baby was born, even if we start trying tomorrow...and that's even if I manage to get pregnant. I mean is it crazy to think I can do this? "
"Slow down," she interrupts my ramble, her voice calm, "you do realize that pregnancy even at forty is not that uncommon anymore, right?"
"I know it's not, but that doesn't mean it's a great idea. I mean, would we just be asking for trouble?"
There's a slight pause as I let out a breath, and I rub my temple again, headache still dully throbbing in the background.
"Listen," the other woman begins after a minute, "you're a maternal-fetal surgeon, Arizona, so you know this information as well as I do."
When I don't reply, she continues.
"Let's be honest -- no, pregnancy at thirty-nine is not ideal, modern medicine or not. We know that. But, the success rates are also still much higher than the non-success rates. And from what I know at least, you're a very healthy, fit individual. I mean my god, you eat a stupid salad every day from that cafeteria. Unless there's a family history you should worry about, you'd more than likely be fine. Look at some of the patients we saw -- some of them were older, yes, but the majority of them were in their twenties, the prime baby-making years. And things still went wrong. You can't solely use your age to predict that something will."
"I miscarried our last baby though. I was three months pregnant."
Seemingly not phased by the confession, or just knowing me enough to know that I don't want to wallow in it, Nicole continues.
"That doesn't necessarily mean it will happen again. Actually, statistically speaking, there's an eighty-five percent chance it won't. Although you should probably get the ball rolling sooner rather than later. I mean, is Callie worried?"
I don't reply immediately, a slight feeling of guilt washing over me at the fact that I haven't yet shared my worries with my wife. As if she knows, Nicole's voice takes on her familiar no-nonsense tone.
"R.T., you need to talk to your wife. You started freaking out and called me instead of her, didn't you?"
"I don't want her to worry. I don't want to make her freak out. She wants this so badly; we both do."
"If I had one guess, what would actually make her freak out is you not sharing things with her, and acting weird and avoiding conversation. You know, given your history for bottling up feelings to the point of combustion. Honestly, you two."
Well, she's probably got a point there.
"Just talk to her, Arizona. And if you come to the conclusion that you're too worried about it, then you explore other options. It's simple."
I suppose that's fair enough reasoning -- I mean, we do have other options if I can't get pregnant, or if we decide it's too risky. We could go back to the surrogate plan, we could adopt, we could still find a way to have another baby. I've been freaking out about it since this morning, but Nicole has injected a little bit of logic that I need to slow down and think about.
"I'll talk to her," I reply, letting out a breath and nodding to myself in confirmation, "Let me tell you about this SCT case I have for tomorrow though..."
*
Later on that afternoon, Callie texted me that she'd be stuck at the hospital into the evening -- a collision on the highway had brought in a couple patients needing ortho attention and probably surgery. I hadn't been paged to the ER, so after checking in that I wasn't needed I picked up Sofia on time and headed home with her.
We'd made supper and taken a walk to the park near the house, the little girl telling me all about her day at school. She'd started her second year of preschool last month, and was so excited about being one of the "bigger" kids now -- despite of course the fact that physically she was still one of the smallest.
Next year she'd be starting actual kindergarten, a thought that both made me indescribably proud and also absolutely terrified me. How had our baby grown up so much? I really wanted to give her a sibling before she got much older; I wanted them to be close like Tim and I had been. We'd only been two years apart, but five wouldn't be too bad. They might not be best friends growing up with that age difference, but as adults they would be close enough to be. Callie and her half-sister had a six year difference between them, and although Aria barely spoke to her anymore, Callie had said they were close once they'd grown out of the teenage years and she was no longer just the annoying little sister.
I just want Sofia to have somebody. If something happened to Callie and I -- when we grow old eventually -- I want her to have family.
The thought of my daughter with a little sister or brother brings a smile to my face, and I look down to where she's now snuggled against me along the length of the couch, almost completely asleep. Post-bath time cuddles had won me over an hour previously, and we'd both laid down on the couch with one of her favourite books while we waited for Callie to come home. I'm still laying on my back now and the small girl is draped on top of me, her head pillowed on my chest, her breathing slowed to the telltale rhythm of sleep. I smooth my fingers through her dark hair, the thick, silky strands so much like Calliope's. She's going to grow up to be such a heartbreaker.
I'm going to need to keep a brick handy.
The low rumble of a car in the driveway catches my ear, alerting me to my wife's arrival home. I glance at the clock over on the mantle -- it's not quite nine o'clock yet, although it feels much later. The front door opens and shuts after a few minutes, the lock quietly clicking into place, and she peeks her head into the living room a moment later, a broad smile crossing her face.
"What's she still doing up?"
"Shh," I smile, looking down at the sleeping child, my hand rubbing softly across her back, "she's asleep. We were having a cuddle session waiting for you to come home."
Callie pulls her phone out, snapping a few pictures of us before she comes over to sit on the edge of the couch.
"You two are adorable."
She leans in, pressing a kiss to Sofia's cheek before dropping one lightly on my lips as well.
"Mm, I know. How are your crash victims?"
The brunette stifles a small yawn behind her hand before dropping it to rest lazily on my thigh.
"Good. Dislocated knee and a pretty badly shattered tibia, but the surgeries went well. They should both be fine."
"Good. I saved you some supper if you're hungry, I can go warm it up."
She smiles, leaning in to kiss me again, and I happily return the sentiment.
"Have I mentioned how much I love coming home to you? I managed to grab some food earlier, but I could go for a glass of wine."
"That I can do, too."
I peek down at Sofia's face, seeing that she's still fast asleep, and I motion to the other woman.
"Why don't you get little miss into bed, and I'll get the wine. There's something I want to talk to you about, too."
Callie shoots me a curious look, her eyes tinged with a touch of concern as she gets up, gently scooping the little girl into her arms.
"Everything alright?"
Climbing up, my back slightly protesting the change in movement, I nod, answering truthfully.
"Everything's fine. Just something we need to talk about."
I kiss her cheek softly, smiling.
"I'll get the wine. See you in a few minutes."
Callie heads off toward the bedrooms and I head to the kitchen, pulling out the bottle of wine we'd opened the other night and getting some glasses down from the cupboard. I take my time, contemplating the conversation I'm about to initiate, and by the time I return to the living room the brunette is sitting on the couch again, one leg tucked under her and an anxious look on her face.
"It's nothing bad, Calliope."
I speak softly, setting our glasses down and smoothing my hand along her cheek as she looks up at me.
"I knew something was bothering you earlier though. Why didn't you say something?"
Settling down on the couch, I shift to sit so I can face her.
"I want to talk about us having a baby."
Her eyes blink in surprise, but a smile tugs at her lips almost immediately.
"That's not bad at all."
"I..."
I trail off, unsure about where to start, but my slight hesitation doesn't go unnoticed by my wife. Her face falls, and she tilts her head a little as she looks at me.
"You're having second thoughts, aren't you? You don't want to do it anymore."
"Callie, no," I reach over and grab her hand, "I want to do this. You have no idea how much I want another child with you."
The tension that had sprung into her body dissipates somewhat, but she still has a concerned look in her eyes.
"But...?"
I shake my head, letting out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding.
"No buts, honestly. I've just been thinking a lot today...and I think if we want to have another, we need to start thinking about it now. Like, right now. I know we've only been back together for three months, but all I can think about is the fact that I'm not getting any younger."
Her face shifts into a look that's slightly confused.
"Well, ok we've only been married again for three months but we've been back together for almost ten...and you're not old, Arizona. You're only thirty-eight."
"I'll be thirty-nine next month. It's just, it's getting old to be having children. Physically, that is."
Callie's eyes survey me with a look that's still both a little confused and concerned before she speaks again.
"Where is all this coming from all of a sudden?"
I rub my temple, letting out another sigh. I really don't know if I'm just being the crazy one right now or not.
"That SCT case I have tomorrow. The mother is thirty-nine and it's her first kid."
"Right...but SCT is rare, even I know that."
"It's not that, it's just...when we were going over the case this morning, Gillis kept talking about all the things that can go wrong with a pregnancy in your late thirties. How she should have expected issues with it because of her age...and she's not wrong. Gestational diabetes, placenta previa, preeclampsia...I mean and that's just for the mother. There's the genetic risks for the baby too; higher rates of Down's syndrome and other developmental issues, higher rate of premature birth, of stillbirth or miscarriage. All of which started increasing when I hit thirty-five, let alone thirty-eight or thirty-nine -- "
"Whoa, whoa," Callie cuts me off mid-ramble with a hand on my thigh, "hold on. I understand that all those things are true, but that doesn't mean any of them are going to happen. Lots of people only have kids in their late thirties now. I mean Grey is thirty-seven and we just found out she's expecting again."
"I know, but...I mean, they didn't expect that. They didn't plan it. Are we just playing Russian roulette by actually deliberately getting pregnant now? I mean, is it crazy to take those risks?"
She pauses for a moment, her eyes trained on mine, and I fight the urge to let my nervousness get the better of me and make me look away.
"I want another baby, Callie. God, I never thought I'd be hearing myself say I wanted a child, let alone a second one. But I'm terrified. I am terrified that we'll get pregnant and I'll lose it again. And now I'm worried that if I do manage to stay pregnant, something will happen later on. To the baby, or to me. And I can't even think about...thinking about what it was like when Sofia was born and we didn't know what was going to happen to her...I don't know if I can do that again."
I bring a hand up to rub my face, sighing tiredly into it.
The couch shifts a bit, and I feel Callie slide over closer, wrapping her arms around me as she pulls me into her body. I uncover my face, leaning my weight into her, and just let my head rest against her shoulder.
"Statistically speaking, things are in our favour. But there's just that chance..."
"Arizona."
Callie's voice cuts me off again, and it's like a warm blanket wrapping around me.
"Sweetie, there's always a chance. Whether you're thirty-nine or twenty-three, or even whether we use a surrogate. There's always a chance something can happen."
Silence surrounds us for a minute before she speaks softly again.
"I'm not invalidating your fear. I'm scared too, if I'm honest. Losing our baby was one of the worst things that's ever happened to me."
I glance up as her voice wavers a bit, and see a slight sheen gathering in her eyes. The urge to speak comes over me before I think twice about it.
"I called her Sara, you know. It's silly...I know it is, because I was only three months pregnant so it was barely anything yet...we didn't know if it was a girl."
"You had a feeling though."
She looks down at me, brushing some hair back from my face.
"I did," I shrug halfheartedly, "so I kept calling her Sara, in my head."
"I think that was a beautiful name for her."
I feel her lips against my forehead pressing a soft kiss to my skin before she speaks again.
"If you don't want to carry this baby, that's okay, Arizona. It really is. We can always revisit the surrogate plan...or we could look into adopting, too."
I think back to when Callie was pregnant, to the moment when I realized how excited I was to have a miniature version of her in my arms. I know it's something that she's dreamed about for years with me.
"I...want to have our baby. I just, I guess everything today just had me freaking out a little bit."
I sit up a bit, and Callie threads her fingers through mine reassuringly.
"And that's okay. You're allowed to freak out -- I mean trust me, I am the queen of freaking out."
That gets a soft laugh out of me, and she raises her eyebrows with a smile.
"But we can freak out together. I'm glad you told me what you thinking."
"I kind of want to start trying right away."
I hold my breath for a second, meeting her eyes. I'm not sure if we're entirely ready for this yet, but it feels right.
"You do? Like, right away?"
"Yeah, I don't want to wait any longer. Do you?"
She holds my gaze, her eyes taking on a thoughtful expression, and she hesitates ever so slightly. Just enough that it's noticeable.
She's the one who was so desperate for a baby before...but have the tables turned now? Is she having second thoughts about the whole thing? Or does she not think we're ready yet? It feels like a million things run through my head instantaneously in the second that she pauses, and I start to wonder if I've brought all this up too soon. Maybe she thinks we're still too fragile.
But we're not; I don't think we are. We're stronger than ever. We both want this, and we're ready for it.
...right?