Chapter Text
Arizona hates herself.
It’s all she really thinks about lately.
It’s a fact she has learned to live with since the divorce, the constant emptiness and incessant dread that has found its way under her skin the past few years now follows her everywhere she goes with no reprieve.
She can’t help but think, as she stares at the ceiling of the hotel she’s been staying at for the past few weeks and listens to her alarm clock blare, that she is living in hell. Her life is ruined, and she didn't even know things could get so bad, that her life could turn completely upside down so quickly. But she woke up someday, and suddenly there was nothing left for her, no one to hold her and nothing to soothe her.
It was a string of bad decisions and horrible luck that left her with nothing but loneliness and a massive load of trauma. Arizona Robbins is almost positive she has PTSD. It's something she has learned to live with.
She will never go see a therapist, she’ll never admit something is wrong, but she knows it. She doesn’t have to be a psychiatrist to see that it’s not normal to have still recurring nightmares of bugs crawling inside her skin four years later, to still wake up almost every single night in a cold sweat. She can still feel them sometimes, tickling just under her skin, teasing her.
Arizona sits up slightly, resting on her elbows, and pushes the thoughts away; if she lets them linger, she'll never get anything done again. She rolls over in bed, groaning and hoisting her body awkwardly, one leg missing, to reach the hotel-issued alarm clock, the one she owns still sitting in a box in the corner of the room.
She hasn’t bothered unpacking anything except for a few sets of clothes and scrubs, and some toys and various gadgets for when it’s her night with Sophia. She hopes not to have to stay here longer, but moving somewhere else seems like such a challenge, and not one that she wants to face yet.
She hits the top of the device harder than she needs to, cloaking the room in silence. Her eyes return to the ceiling as she lies back down. She has an incoming tension headache, she realises, bound to wrap around her skull by the end of the day to torment her. Something she should probably take care of before it becomes agonising.
Arizona sits all the way up this time, shifting to the edge of the bed and grabbing the Advil on the nightstand, popping two into her mouth, followed by a drink of water. She really, really needs to be dialled in today. She has her first solo fetal surgery with Nicole Herman at noon today, seven hours from now.
Genuine dread settles over her at the thought. Arizona is not good at fetal surgery. She hasn't been practising as much as she should, and Herman barely even trusts her anymore with all the mistakes she's made. It's just too much for her right now, and no one seems to be able to understand that; she just can't take it. She can't force herself to get invested like she needs to be. Like she used to be back when medicine was her passion, and there was nothing anyone could have done to stop it.
Arizona glances at the clock.
5:15.
She needs to get up if she wants to get to the hospital on time.
With an unknown willpower, she finally manages to force herself to, sighing heavily and rolling out of bed, strapping her prosthetic on, ignoring how wonky it feels when she stands up, figuring it will slip into place like normal. She goes about her morning routine, showering, changing, putting on a bit of makeup, and tying her hair back. She looks almost presentable.
________
The elevator slides open to the Ped’s floor, and Arizona is immediately greeted by the sight of her ex-wife leaning over the nurses' station. She’s laughing with the nurses, and Arizona is struck by the miserable realisation that Callie is truly happier without her, like she said she was in therapy.
She averts her eyes, hoping Callie doesn’t notice her, and starts walking, exiting the elevator and beelining for Herman’s office, which is just past where Callie is standing and to the right. She really doesn’t want to have to talk to Callie today.
She doesn't want to have to talk to her any day, but especially not today, not now.
She’s about halfway there, passing behind her ex-wife, when she starts to realise she really should have fixed the seal on her prosthetic before she left the house. It's already chafing, not in the normal way, and she can feel it sliding just a little bit, which has historically never been a good sign.
Unfortunately, before she can stop it, the metal just comes right out from under her, pushing awkwardly into the leg of her pants. Arizona’s arms flail for a moment, and she lets out a surprise squeak as she feels herself tipping over. After struggling for a millisecond, she realises that there is no stopping this, and she resigns herself to hitting the ground and getting up from there. This happens more than she would like to admit, and even though it’s embarrassing that it’s happening right in front of everyone, including Callie, she’ll have to get over it; it's part of her life now.
She’s just about to hit the ground when Callie, with her stupidly fast reflexes and strong arms, grabs Arizona’s arm before impact and holds her in mid-air for a moment. Arizona again flails her arms a bit as she feels herself being hauled to her feet, momentarily confused before she turns her head and bumps it right into Callie’s. Callie recoils for only a second before she shoots her an awkward smile. Arizona's stomach drops.
“You okay?” Callie says, kindness shining in her eyes and a hint of worry creeping into her voice. She's talking exactly as an orthopaedic surgeon would talk to someone with a prosthetic. Like nothing ever happened between them at all. Like they haven't been knuckle deep in each other more times than either of them can count.
Arizona steadies herself and pulls free of Callie's grip, pushing her prosthetic back into place and clicking the seal in properly this time.
She ignores Callie’s question completely, instead focusing on the terrible embarrassment rising into her chest, not only at the fact that her ex-wife had to save her, but also at the fact that everyone around them is now staring. She sees a group of nurses whispering in the corner, looking at her like she's some sort of spectacle. Callie seems completely oblivious to all of this, still staring at Arizona, waiting expectantly for an answer.
Arizona feels the dysphoria around her left leg, or perhaps, her absence of a left leg, poking at her chest, settling into her bones. Even after all this time, it's so, so painful to be broken. She ignores the feelings for the moment, deciding to let them overwhelm her later, when people aren't gawking.
She finally looks up at Callie, meeting eye contact momentarily before they drop back to the ground, and an embarrassed flush creeps up her neck.
“Thanks,” she mumbles quietly, taking a deep breath and checking her footing, shifting awkwardly between flesh and metal until she feels more confident in her stability. She looks up at Callie again, seeing the concern in her eyes, and feels the need to justify herself.
“Really, Callie, it happens all the time. I just didn’t seal it properly. I'm sorry for bothering you," she says, her tone professional and remarkably calm considering the situation.
“Arizona. Really, that needs to be looked at...” Callie starts, frowning slightly as the concern in her face warps into pity in her voice, the same pity Callie has anytime the leg is mentioned.
It makes Arizona feel small and silly. Callie will just never understand that. Either way, Arizona will not have this conversation.
“I’m fine, Callie. Drop it. I’ll pick up Sophia tomorrow night. I gotta go, Herman will be here soon".
Arizona turns and walks away before Callie can stop her, determined to get away as she slips into Herman’s office smoothly and shuts the door behind her. She switches the light on and finds the office empty. Panic arrives so fast she can't stop herself before she slips back into old habits. She leans back against the door, closing her eyes tightly and digging her fingernails into her palms, swiping them back and forth as hard as she can for almost a minute until she feels the skin break. She keeps pressing till it really starts to hurt.
This is her terrible habit, along with drinking, cigarettes and one-night stands. It’s been her thing for years now, since before med school, even since before her brother went and got himself killed, and it helps when life gets overwhelming. She needs something to quiet the screaming voices in her head sometimes, and this is the most reliable method.
She loosens her grip, ignoring the feeling of blood under her fingernails and instead focusing on her breathing. Herman will be here soon, and Arizona doesn’t need her mentor to question her mental state any more than normal. She's sure Herman would take any excuse to kick her out of the program, after the recent run of terrible surgeries she's assisted on, she's shocked Herman is even letting her try going solo.
Arizona composes herself, straightening up and pushing herself off the door and across the room to the first aid kit in the corner. She opens it and rummages around till she finds what she’s looking for, a waterproof bandage. She carefully wraps her hand in it, placing the gauze side on the cuts and taping the end down. She pulls it as tight as she can and hopes to God it stays on during scrub later.
Arizona decides her excuse will be, if anyone were to ask about the bandage, that she was distracted while chopping vegetables last night and missliced. A valid excuse in her opinion. Not that she thinks anyone will actually care enough to ask, but it makes her feel a little better to think that they might.
When Arizona finishes up, she cleans up what she uses and puts the kit back in place. She dims the lights and plops down on the couch in the corner, closing her eyes. Suddenly and inexplicably, she is so tired. She hasn’t been sleeping since the divorce, and feels like some rest would help her focus later in surgery.
She’s already on her third cup of coffee of the day, and she’s sure there will be more. Arizona only gets a few minutes of peace before Herman enters the room, jolting Arizona up to her feet when she slams the door closed behind her.
“Robbins?” Herman says, a glint of amusement creeping through her normally clipped tone at Arizona’s shell-shocked face, “I thought we agreed you weren’t going to sleep on my couch like a homeless person anymore? We talked about how it crossed a few personal and professional boundaries, yes?”
“Sorry,” Arizona murmurs, blinking owlishly, making Herman smirk imperceptibly, “I didn’t sleep here. I just came in, and I was waiting for you. I just – I dozed off. My bad”.
“You’re ready for today?” Herman says, raising her eyebrow, suddenly seemingly strict again. “You know I don’t have time for you if you’re going to act like this all day. Especially not in my OR.”
Arizona nods, rubbing her eyes and attempting to shake off the overwhelming drowsiness. She stands a little straighter and holds her head just a little higher in an attempt to seem confident.
“Of course,” she says. “I’ll be ready”.
________
Arizona is scrubbing up her arms when Herman enters the room.
The resident feels a good bit more alert and aware after her fourth cup of coffee. All that’s left to do now is to pray to whatever God there is that she does well today. Arizona Robbins needs a win, even if she hasn’t necessarily gone through the steps to be confident she’s going to get one.
“I’ll be there if you fuck up, but if I were you, I would hope that I don’t touch a scalpel”, Herman says, her voice cut and brusque, as she starts to scrub in.
She switches flawlessly to her professional mode before surgery. It’s one of the many, many things Arizona resents, her being able to control her demeanour so easily, and to never give up what she is actually feeling. Arizona is all messy feelings.
“No. I won't, I promise,” she responds, showing more conviction and confidence than she actually feels. She’s good at faking an ego when it comes to medicine. That, and she would never let Nicole Herman have the pleasure of seeing her sweat.
Herman lets her eyes glance at her resident briefly before training them back on the sink. She can tell that Arizona is nervous, very nervous, but, unexpectedly, and unbeknownst to her, stupidly, she really does trust Arizona not to go in above her head. Arizona has grown so much, in talent and in stature, since she first started this program. Herman knew she saw something in her. Unlike Graham or all of the other fetal fellows she’s worked with, Arizona is nothing if she’s not aware of her limits, and Nicole respects that, admires it even. Arizona, throwing her body headfirst into a challenge unprepared, would be so easy for her; stepping back is what’s hard.
They enter the Operating Room together, approaching the patient and getting set for the next few hours of their life. Arizona takes in her surroundings, letting the familiar setting calm her nerves.
Herman lets Arizona take the reins in the OR. She’s there just in case, and she surprisingly is not at all micro-managing; she stays quiet. It’s around a two-hour procedure, a simpler case in comparison to others Arizona has seen and assisted on, but still, she completes her first completely solo Fetal Surgery with no complications. Despite her rocky start in Fetal Surgery, she really has grown to be able to prove herself.
Arizona does, in the face of success, forget everything that is so miserably terrible about her life, and just for a moment, she’s genuinely happy. She loves medicine more than anything in this world, always has, always will. When she was an intern, she could only dream about being where she is now, damn all the struggles along the way, and that thought alone keeps her going, makes her smile. This is her purpose in life, and it’s a damn good one.
Arizona is peppy when she gets out of surgery, the rough start to the day and the last miserable month out of her mind. As she walks back to Herman’s office, she imagines that this would be a perfect time to pull out her heelies. She thinks about making the kids in Peds laugh; she would like to do that again.
She does actually consider doing just that until Herman informs her she has to leave for other consults, and that Arizona needs to chart and round on the rest of their patients. Arizona couldn’t have got past Alex anyway, and he would never let her in one of the rooms, not anymore.
Doing all that work alone does bore Arizona, and she feels her spirits dampening as she sits in front of a stack of paperwork that needs to be filled out and a list of lab sheets that need to be collected. She decides to go to the lab first, walking there, trying to keep up the pep in her body that is dampening remarkably fast.
She does feel almost immediate regret; however, when she rounds the corner to the lab’s front desk and is met with Callie and Cristina chatting, their bodies blocking it.
Arizona’s steps stutter to a stop, and she briefly contemplates just turning around and filling up her time with paperwork instead, but then it’s too late, because Cristina is now looking at her. Smiling and waving like she actually is happy to see Arizona when everyone knows damn well she’s not.
Arizona doesn’t mind Cristina, even likes her a bit, even though the feeling is obviously not mutual anymore. Since the divorce, Christina ignores her in conversations and is always mentioning Callie in front of her, glancing at Arizona like a teenager, like Arizona needs any more reminders of her ex-wife.
Like right now, Cristina is glancing between Callie and Arizona, half listening to Callie passionately describe how she fixed a hip replacement gone wrong. A smirk formed on her face. Arizona hopes for a moment, as she forces her legs to start walking again, that Cristina isn’t as nosy as she seems, or that Callie won’t see her. Anything.
Of course, she has no such luck.
“Robbins,” Cristina says, unusually chirpy, grabbing Arizona’s arm and pulling her to a stop right in front of her and Callie, “you have a fetal surgery today? OR two, right?”
Arizona shifts her feet and responds, attempting a sickly sweet voice that she’s sure even Cristina will find embarrassing for her, “We already finished, it was at noon”.
“Really? How’d it go? I heard Herman is very bossy in the OR,” Cristina shoots back, as if she cares.
Arizona can’t tell if Cristiana is really making conversation, or if this is all a practical joke designed specifically to embarrass her in front of Callie, who is surveying the rest of the hallway, trying but very obviously failing to act like she’s not listening in.
All of it makes Arizona feel silly and anxious, like they’re working together to judge her. She hesititates, feeling like a teenager getting bullied.
“It went okay. She can be a bit bossy, but she had me go solo on this one,” Arizona responds, watching as Callie’s eyes flick to her with something akin to pride on her face. Arizona looks away.
Callie was with Arizona during a lot of the initial struggle with Herman, in fact, Callie was the person who created almost all the initial struggle with Herman. Callie has never supported Arizona’s career, never been the cheerleader she should have been, the cheerleader that Arizona was.
That fact makes Arizona feel bitter. Callie has no right to be proud of Arizona after she almost ruined everything for her, coercing her into sex when she was trying to study, acting like she was going to ruin the family just by working a little bit more.
“Good job, Robbins,” Cristina says with a half-smile, patting her on the shoulder off-handedly.
She’s already moved on, looking through the papers in her hand. Arizona does appreciate that about Christina, she moves on quick. Even if this was a big joke to embarrass her, it atleast wasn’t dragged out.
“Sorry, Robbins, I need to go. Good work, really. Switching specialities must have been tough,” she says, seemingly genuinely, but still already walking away. “See you, Torres,” Cristina calls over her shoulder as she leaves.
Arizona is left standing with Callie, who is still blocking the goddamn lab desk. They stand there, both avoiding eye contact for a moment before Arizona breaks.
“Sorry. I’m just trying to get some scans, You’re blocking the desk,” she says briskly, her voice coming out respectful and professional.
Callie’s eyes snap up, and she looks almost embarrassed. Arizona has no clue why she’s stopped pretending that she has ever understood her ex-wife. She side steps out of Arizona’s way, letting her get to Paula.
“Sorry,” Callie breathes out, but Arizona has already turned her back and is currently filling out the form for which labs she wants pulled. Callie hesitates.
She stares at Arizona’s back for a second too long; Arizona can feel it. Callie clears her throat multiple times, just about to say something, when she’s distracted by something else. Suddenly, her eyes flicker to Arizona’s left hand. Arizona pauses for a moment, her mind alarming her as she flexes her fingers and doesn’t feel skin. She moves both of her arms fully in front of her, out of sight to Callie. She definitely doesn’t want that conversation.
Callie knows exactly what it is. She knows Arizona too well, and in this moment, just wants to yell at her, wants to make her promise it won’t happen again, like she used to. But it’s not her place anymore, so she instead just turns away, forcing the image out of her mind and starting down the hallway back to her office.
________
Arizona manages to get out of the hospital at four, much earlier than usual. Her menial work for the day is done, and honestly, that’s more than a little weight off her shoulders.
She picks up her favourite Chinese takeout for dinner, a bottle of wine and two bottles of liquor to celebrate the successful surgery.
She doesn’t let herself think about the fact that she is celebrating alone in her hotel room, whilst all the people she used to call her friends will most assuredly spend their night together at Joe’s. They won’t talk to her anymore. Callie managed to get almost everyone that Arizona liked on her side.
Arizona allows herself to be bitter and jealous at the thought of her ex-wife at Joe’s tonight, making eyes at a younger, prettier version of Arizona across the bar for only a second before she stops herself, both because she has been trying not to play into her delusions so much recently, and because she knows it’s horribly, horribly hypocritical. It’s not like Arizona has been perfectly celibate since the divorce; she has no room to cast judgment.
She drives around a bit, finding a small comfort in the fresh air and the dimming streets of Seattle. She is mostly just focusing on the flow of traffic and the smell of food that has overtaken the Subaru, reassuring herself multiple times that the Chinese will be fine after she puts it in the microwave. She doesn’t mean to be snobby, but food always tastes worse after being microwaved.
The city isn’t that big, and, in an hour and a half of mindless driving, not allowing herself to think about much at all, she passes her hotel building three times before she decides just to go in and get her night over with. There’s no need to waste time; she has to get up early again tomorrow.
Arizona parks close to the main entrance and enters through the doors and into the lounge, a very sanitary and slightly uncomfortable-feeling room, before making her way down the never-ending hallways till she finds what she’s looking for.
The elevator is empty when she enters, and it thankfully stays that way. Arizona spam clicks the ‘Door Close’ button and feels like only a little bit of an asshole when the doors click shut in someone’s face just before they can stop them and enter. She doesn’t linger on the feeling for long when the elevator starts moving, and she’s finally met with silence.
She shifts her weight to her good leg and sets the bags she’s carrying on the ground, relaxing for a moment. She closes her eyes and takes deep breaths, in through her nose, out through her mouth, grounding herself to the four walls around her. She gets herself into a decently peaceful mindset, the voices in her head subdued, when the elevator beeps and the doors gently slide open. Arizona opens her eyes, picks up the bags, and steps into the hallway, turning right and heading to door 608.
She fumbles in her purse for the key card when she arrives at the correct door, finally finding it and opening the doors to her cramped hotel room filled with boxes of her things still packed from when she and Callie moved to the house. She’s been toying with the idea of renting out an apartment, but it seems so final, to move somewhere alone.
She doesn’t want to feel lonely anymore.
It’s no secret that Arizona gained a fear of abandonment after Tim died, so, after she was quite literally abandoned, she obviously has been struggling to cope. She’s able to justify that in her brain; no one likes being alone. The one problem is that the only reliable methods of coping she’s been able to come up with and rely on are sex and alcohol. As she unpacks her food, she feels the need to drink away her sorrow.
It starts as an average night, as it always does. She knows she bought the vodka, she bought it on purpose, and she knows how her night will inevitably end, but she likes playing it out like it’ll be different this time.
She microwaves her Chinese and turns on some dumb TV show, and figures that it wouldn’t hurt to have a glass of wine, to complement the food and celebrate her win.
One glass turns to two, then the Chinese is gone. She thinks for a moment that she should stop drinking now, before she gets too far in, and she almost does. It is almost different this time.
She’s about to get up and put the Vodka bottles under the sink, out of sight. A beep on her phone stops her. She got a text from Callie.
I’m glad the surgery went well today. Sophia wants to tell you goodnight and that she loves you very much.
And then another.
She says she wishes you would smile like you used to. You seemed upset today.
Arizona's face burns red with anger as soon as her mind processes the words. Callie has no right to be saying that to her. She reads the two messages over and over again, her eyes glued to the screen, imagining Callie sitting on the couch with Sophia, watching cartoons and cuddling. She imagines them talking about her. Sophia saying in that stupid baby voice that mommy is too grumpy now.
The thought makes her pour herself the first shot of the night, throwing it back and letting it burn her throat.
She gulps it down, almost greedily, before she pours herself another. She throws her phone into the corner of the room, wanting to get the presence of her past life as far away as possible.
The drinks flow very loosely after that. She doesn’t want to think about her stupid, gorgeous ex-wife or about the daughter that she’s almost positive she’s going to fuck up.
She doesn’t want to think about anything, and alcohol is such an easy way to forget.
After Arizona’s fifth or sixth shot, she starts to feel a little restless, like an animal in a cage, the TV too loud and doing nothing to entertain her, and the alcohol not distracting her well enough to let her forget her problems.
She stands up, shaky on her feet, and starts pacing around the room, stumbling slightly. She stops in front of the hallway mirror and frowns, stepping closer. She narrows her eyes at her appearance.
Arizona looks like shit. She doesn’t know if she’s always looked like that or if this is a part of her new, post-divorce reality, but she looks terrible. There are prominent dark circles under her eyes, at least three new wrinkles on her forehead and above her nose, and her skin looks greyer than she remembers. She looks old.
Okay. Arizona knows she’s no spring chicken.
She’s well aware that she’s a forty-year-old woman, and she can't look young forever; nature's got to take over eventually. She at least wants to stay sexy, though; she wants to feel confident and sensual, she wants to feel like she can go take a younger woman from the bar home and not look like a predator.
Arizona looks back at the mirror and doesn’t even recognise herself.
She has never been a vain woman, always put more into her brain than her body, but that doesn’t mean she wanted to feel and look ugly. She lets herself wonder if this is why Callie left. If she'd been looking like this for the entire relationship, and the alcohol just now let her see it.
Callie used to say she was the most beautiful woman she had ever laid her eyes on. Arizona lets herself feel pity at the fact that Callie doesn’t think that anymore, that Callie has apparently moved on in the matter of weeks.
Arizona can’t even stand to think about Callie, but Callie apparently has already moved on enough to catch her arm so she doesn’t fall in the hallway and text her good job. She sits back down and takes another shot.
Arizona is still in love with Calliope Torres, and she will always be in love with Calliope Torres. She knew it immediately after they ended, after Callie left the therapist's office. She will never be able to just move on, to be friends with Callie, to chat in the hallways about her recent surgery. It all hurts too much.
Nothing can numb the pain that Callie left behind, nothing can help Arizona get over the love of her life, not a shit ton of alcohol or a pretty woman in her bed or all the drugs out there she hasn’t tested yet. Callie is her great love, and how typical it was of her to be the one to fuck it all up.
Her mind keeps twisting the narrative in a way that puts all the blame on herself. She is starting to believe the way Callie described their relationship as fact, that Arizona was the one who ruined things, was a terrible wife and a terrible lover.
Arizona sits back down, sinking into the couch, her vision dancing as she takes her eighth shot, enough to hopefully knock her out. Her throat burns as she swallows, an inviting reprieve from all the other emotions she's feeling.
Things always escalate more quickly than she thinks they should. She shouldn’t have gotten so drunk so quickly, she shouldn’t have cheated so quickly, and Callie shouldn’t have ended their marriage so quickly.
She falls asleep there, with the lights still on and the TV playing just too loud. She can't keep this up for much longer.