"Forever Your Girl"

Arizona's POV

A few hours later, when I returned from the surgery Callie forced me to perform, I remembered to check my mail for the mystery envelope my father had cryptically told me about. Sure enough, among the pile of mail sitting in the box was a regular, everyday security envelope, with my father's quick but careful handwriting scrawled across it.

Rubbing my forehead, I trudged up to the apartment, exhausted and wanting nothing more than to hang out with my girls—but when I entered, it was pitch dark and dead quiet inside.

Checking in on the nursery first, I saw my little girl, swaddled in the softest blanket we could find, completely conked out in the cutest way possible, surrounded by stuffed animals, her white noise machine playing rainforest sounds, her room gently illuminated by the normal, not-at-all creepy nightlight Mark had gotten to replace the terrifying clown one she'd been given at her baby shower by some cruel hospital employee.

I stood watching her sleep for a few minutes before going to check on the other half of my heart. When I entered our bedroom, the smile that had been plastered on my face since the moment I came home grew exponentially.

Calliope had this delightful, touching habit of only sleeping on her side of the bed when I wasn't there. When I was there, she was constantly encroaching over the invisible line dividing our bed (not that I minded, of course), but when I wasn't there…it was like she was saving my spot for me. She took up as little room as possible, balled up on her side, facing where I would have been, as if waiting for the moment I joined her.

And honestly, I'd been waiting for that same moment since the millisecond after I reluctantly left the apartment to remove Austin Perez's chondrosarcoma. I knew it had to be done, I knew it only meant a few hours, I knew that in the grand scheme of things, it wasn't any different from me spending the night in my own bed when my girls were still in the hospital, as I'd done many times—but in practice? In practice, leaving my girls so I could go to work was so much harder when they were home.

Which didn't make a lot of sense.

Too tired to dissect that thought, I peeled off my clothes, threw on one of Callie's tee shirts, and climbed into bed next to her, scooting as close to her as I could without disturbing her. She shifted a bit when my weight dipped the mattress, but otherwise seemed unperturbed as I curled my arm around her waist, resting my head right next to hers, on the same pillow.

Reflexively, I released a contented sigh—for the first time in three months, we were sharing a bed together. To my surprise, she responded to my sigh with her own, cheerful hum, her top arm moving to my neck, pulling me in closer until my head no longer rested on a pillow, but in the far superior comfort of her chest.

"I missed you," she muttered.

"I missed you more."

"Doubt it."

"I like having you in our bed again."

"Mm. I noticed my pillow smells like you."

"I may have spent a little too much time with my face pressed against it, trying to smell you. It was hard to sleep without you next to me."

"Me too."

"You seemed to be doing fine just five minutes ago."

"Uh uh. Better when you're here."

"Go to sleep, Calliope."

"Kay. Love you."

"Love you too."

Limbs tangled, we fell asleep instantly. It was the best sleep I'd gotten in months.

Callie's POV

"Hey, your dad sent you a letter. Did you see this?" I called out to Arizona as she pinballed around the kitchen. She was trying to cook breakfast, even though I'd told her a hundred times that I was perfectly capable of cooking us breakfast, or at least helping her do it, only to be denied every time. So I was sitting on the couch, biting my tongue and letting her take care of me against my will.

"Oh, yeah," she scoffed. "He called me a few days ago, all weird and serious, and told me that he sent me something super important, but he wouldn't tell me what it was."

"So how come you haven't opened it?"

"I just saw it last night when I came back from the hospital. My top priorities were kissing Sofia's face and crawling into bed with you. My only priorities, actually."

"Open it now, then."

"Well, you open it, if you're so nosy."

I grinned, sticking my tongue out at her before replying, "Maybe I will."

"Double dare you," she teased.

Raising my eyebrow, I ran my finger under the adhesive of the envelope before theatrically reaching in to extract its contents: a folded-up piece of notebook paper, and a smaller, brown coin envelope, wrapped completely with about half a roll of Scotch tape.

My blonde angel looked confused, setting down her cooking utensils and halving the distance between us, leaning against the front of the island with crossed arms and a furrowed brow. "What's that?"

"How should I know?" I shrugged.

"What does the letter say?"

"Maybe you should read it," I proposed, stretching my arm out to hand her the paper. She stepped forward to accept it.

"Okay. You try to open the nuclear codes, there."

I nodded, turning the tiny parcel over in my hands several times before finally finding a minuscule segment which didn't have a multiple layers of tape over it. Just as I started to rip the envelope open from that line, Arizona cried out.

"Wait! Stop!"

But it was too late.

I'd ripped open the tiny envelope, and into my lap had fallen a ring.

The most gorgeous ring I'd ever seen.

"Crap," Arizona murmured under her breath.

"Arizona, it's beautiful. Wh—"

"I told my dad I was looking for the perfect ring," she blurted. "I told him how much trouble I was having, finding the perfect ring—for you. I wanted you to have—so he sent me hers."

"Whose?"

"My grandmother," she breathed, her face inscrutable, her eyes focused solely on the ring as I placed it on the table in front of me. "He gave it to her, the day he enlisted. My grandparents, they were high school sweethearts. She wanted them to spend forever together, to have a bunch of kids and a big house with a backyard and a porch swing…but my grandfather wanted to serve his country. It terrified her, so the day he enlisted, he proposed to her. He told her that no matter what, he'd love her forever, and he wanted to spend forever with her. And he told her with that ring."

Seeing the vacant, faraway expression in her eyes, I filled in the next part of the story. "Then Pearl Harbor."

"Then Pearl Harbor." She nodded vaguely. "But once he was gone? She loved that ring like she had loved him. Told me it was a reminder. Of everything my grandfather meant to her, everything he stood for. Of how precious life was, of how…fleeting." Her chest expanded slowly as she sucked in a deep breath. "Tim was supposed to get that ring. He was supposed to propose to his wife with it."

In an instant, I stood, wrapping my love in a protective embrace as a single sob left her beautiful body. After a few moments spent quietly trembling in my arms, she straightened, stiffly pushing my arms away and walking past me. Stunned and concerned, I turned a second later to see her in a position I definitely did not expect.

Arizona Robbins was down on one knee in front of me, fumbling to properly present me with the ring she had just picked up from the coffee table, tears brimming her hypnotic, radiant eyes.

"Calliope Iphigenia Torres, you are the love of my life. You are miraculous, and breathtaking, and…and you have turned my world upside down in the best way possible. Everything that I thought mattered to me, everything that I thought I-I wanted—none of it could compare to you. None of it has ever, could ever matter as much as you do. Nothing. Just thinking about living without you causes me greater pain than I ever want to know again. You make me the best version of myself…you make me want to be even better than that, honestly, and-and you have brought me joy I never imagined could exist. You have brought me so much joy. And, also, you scare the crap out of me in ways that I didn't think possible. You surprise me, and you excite me, and you stress me out and make me crazy, and I love that about you. You are awesome, and badass, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you, making you happy, and seeing you smile, and touching your butt, and-and raising babies that look like you, and babies that look like me, too, because if you want babies that look like me, then I want that to, and I'll give them to you, because I want—I need to give you every single thing you want. I love you more than anything. You are my heart, and my soul, and the breath in my lungs. You are my everything, and I want to spend forever with you, and with Sofia, and with her yet-to-be-determined number of siblings, and I-I just—I want forever with you, with our family. Will you do me the honor of spending forever with me?"

Devoid of words, I knelt down, too, my hands roaming her body, desperate for contact, desperate to touch every single part of her I could reach.

"Forever and ever," I vowed, pressing my lips firmly against hers, wrapping my arms around her waist to pull her tightly against me.

A few minutes later, our kneeling-on-the-floor make-out session had reached a fever pitch, Arizona abruptly pulled away, and I groaned in protest.

"Fuck what Yang says," I whined. "I need you. Now. My heart's fine."

"It better be," she panted. "I'm going to bring Sofia across the hall. Mark is going to watch her for the rest of the morning. I'll take less than five minutes. When I get back, I expect you to be in bed, ready for me." She slowly slipped her grandmother's ring—my ring—onto my finger. "And wearing nothing but this ring."

A surge of heat rushed between my legs. "Yes, ma'am."

Approximately four minutes later, I was naked, laid out on our bed, fidgeting in anticipation, when I finally heard the front door close and lock, followed by Arizona's firm voice calling out.

"Sofia's with Mark, she's happy, he knows not to bother us unless he needs us, and he's also under very strict instructions to not need us."

Three seconds later, she stood in the doorway of our bedroom, her shirt already discarded somewhere along the journey across the living room, her pants undone. She had begun to slide them down her lithe, ivory legs, but was frozen in her tracks, staring at me ravenously, her eyes glazed over.

"Holy crap," she breathed. "You're even sexier than I remember."

"So come do something about it," I commanded, and next thing I knew, as if she had super speed, she was straddling my hips, stripped down to her bra and underwear, her mouth pressed to mine in pure hunger.

Suddenly, she pulled away, staring at me protectively, fretfully, devotedly. "Promise you'll stop me if I'm hurting you? Or if you feel weird o-or any pain, or if—"

"Arizona," I interrupted. "You need to fuck me now, before I do it myself."

Her breath hitched, and I remembered that wasn't really a threat—my fiancée loved watching me touch myself. She loved when I teased her, worked myself up for her, smacked her hands away when she tried to take over for my fingers. She loved to be reminded that I was the only one who could do that to her, who could take her control away, who could render her a quivering voyeur, who could make her beg for it.

But we both knew that wasn't what this was about. This wasn't about control, or dynamics, or teasing; we'd been teased for the last three months. Right now, this first time in so long, we needed to touch each other, to feel each other. We needed release.

So as Arizona peeled her underwear off, I took the liberty of removing her bra, and all the while, our lips didn't separate, until I felt a strong thigh press between mine, adding pressure where I needed it most, and I gasped, tilting my head back. She took the opportunity to move onto my neck, kissing and licking and nipping. It felt overwhelming. I couldn't keep track—she was everywhere at once. Her lips were on my neck, my collarbones, nipples. Her hands were on my ass, my breasts, my thighs. Her hips were rocking against mine, her thigh grinding into me, my thigh grinding into her, our arousals mixing and spreading across each other's skin.

"Fuck, you feel so good," I moaned, grabbing two handfuls of her ass to press her center closer to me. "Harder, baby, please. Please."

Our rhythm intensified, and I cried out, digging my nails into skin, undoubtedly marking her delicate, pale skin, but a pleasurable whimper left her mouth. Pain like that only ever encouraged her. Hooking my leg around her waist, she changed our angle, deepening our contact and leaving me breathless as I rapidly approached my peak, my movements growing more and more erratic.

"You look so pretty like this," Arizona panted. "You look so pretty when I'm fucking you. When you're so close and so desperate."

The blonde above me started to lose control, too, her strokes becoming shorter and less fluid until, finally, we came, one right after the other, so close together that it was hard to tell who went first. Our climaxes arrived like an earthquake, like an avalanche, like nothing I'd ever experienced before. Three months of tension, of desire, of denial, came crashing down on me so hard I couldn't move or see or think, just clutch at the magnificent woman who had done this to me, the only person who could ever do something like that to me. The only one I ever wanted to do that to me. I pulled her against me, feeling her body twitch against mine, listening to her strangled cries, absorbing her passion and adding it to mine.

An indeterminate amount of time later, we fell from our highs, and Arizona's body collapsed limply onto mine, separately only by a sheen of sweat and sex. Our legs remained inextricably tangled in a position which surely would have been uncomfortable but for our afterglow, her arms were looped under mine, my hands resting happily on her butt. A contented sigh escaped me: I missed having her on top of me. Even before the accident, I was pregnant for five months—five long months where our postcoital embrace couldn't involve feeling the full weight of her body draped over mine, weary but gratified.

It felt like heaven.

"Am I crushing you?" she murmured into my collarbone, too spent to lift her head. "I'm hurting you, I—"

Her fatigued muscles began to flex in preparation to roll off me, but I tightened my grip on her, keeping us wrapped up in each other.

"Don't you dare," I warned. "You're not hurting me. You're not crushing me—you weigh like twelve pounds and it's been almost eight months since I got to feel you like this. Do you know how much I've missed having you as a blanket?"

She chuckled lazily. "I missed being your blanket. Naked sex blanket."

I hummed, too relaxed to do much more.

"Five minutes, then round two."

Grinning, I smacked her ass playfully, causing her to gasp and roll her hips against me.

Just like that, five minutes became five seconds.

Round two was slower; no longer in urgent need of release, we could take our time to get reacquainted.

Arizona started the process with one of her favorite ways to tease me: slowly, thoroughly worshipping me with her mouth. Sometimes it felt like it took her days to get from my mouth to my core, devouring every inch of me until I melted into a hopeless pool of need and supplication.

This time, however, was different. Because when she made her way down past my collarbones, allowing me to move my head enough to peer down at her and watch her beautiful face react to my body, I saw something else, too.

My scars.

The big, ugly scars which now littered my torso. Arizona didn't seem to mind, or she was pretending not to, but as soon as I saw them, my immediate, self-conscious reaction caused my body to tense, my hand stilling in the soft blonde hair I'd been stroking to keep it away from her face.

I tried to recover quickly, pass it off as a reaction to her touches, but she knew better, and I instantly cursed myself. We'd have to talk about it now. I'd ruined the moment already. All this time waiting for our sex marathon, and I'd managed to spoil it after only one orgasm apiece.

Her soft, small hand made its way onto my cheek, and she lifted her face back up level with mine, pressing our foreheads together.

"You are exquisite," she whispered, her voice thick with admiration and arousal, her other hand beginning to trace each of my scars. "You are exquisite, and gorgeous, and irresistible, and strong, and brave, and you are mine."

With that last word, she kissed me explosively, eager to chase away whatever shred of insecurity remained. Moaning into her mouth, I arched my back, feeling every single nerve in my body coming alive.

"Yours," I echoed. "All yours."

And I brought my left hand up to my cheek, as well, threading my fingers with hers strategically so as to show off the ring she'd given me, the ring that I would wear every day for the rest of my life to prove to her, and me, and everyone else that I belonged to her, that she belonged to me, that we had found our home with each other.

Seeing me wearing that ring, as I suspected, set something off in my fiancée. With a glint in her eyes, she pecked one last kiss to my lips before forgetting her planned torture and heading straight to where I wanted her most, stopping only to lick the length of each of my scars along the way.

When she buried her face between my legs, I wasted no time tangling my fingers in her hair, making sure, again, to keep my ring in plain sight—this time, however, in my sight. I delighted in the reminder that for the first time, my fiancée was going down on me. The woman I was going to marry, the mother of my daughter, the woman who loved me so much I couldn't even begin to catalogue the things she had done for me, my future, my forever…that woman had her tongue inside me.

So yeah, if my post-surgery heart could survive seeing that, it would survive anything.

A/N There you go. Some good ol' fashioned fluff and smut after all the hospitalization angst and family drama. Hope it wasn't too corny for y'all; thanks as always for reading!