I'm the artist formerly known as faery in combat boots. My new username, TheQueenMermaid, is the same as my Tumblr name, so it's just less confusing. Also, in the event that any of my writing gets removed from this site, my Tumblr has a link to my fanfiction masterlist.

Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are 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: First of all, I have not forgotten about "Whatever You Can't Do." I just found myself really needing to process after the beginning of this season, so I started writing, and this took on a life of its own. There's a second set of these, which is about halfway done, and then I'll get back to what I was working on and what maybe one or two of you are still reading... Anyway, I hope you enjoy these in the meantime. I can't thank T and G enough for their help on these. I honestly couldn't have done this without you ladies. The title is inspired by Jessica Capshaw's quote, "This is not a story of defeat."

The M rating is currently for language. However, a couple of the pieces in the second installment of this are rated M for sexual situations.

Her life is over, Arizona is sure of it. Never mind that she's alive; her livelihood, her career, her beauty, her motherhood, her happiness - everything that made her life her life - it's all over.

It isn't fair. She's a good person, damn it. She saves children. She pays her bills on time and never gets parking tickets. While others might have balked and run away after coming back from Africa to be with their girlfriend, only to find said girlfriend pregnant with her friends-with-benefits' baby, Arizona had stayed. Because she's a good man in a storm and that's what she does.

She should have run away when she had the chance. It's not like I'm going to be running anywhere now, Arizona thinks bitterly.

Now the children she saves have a doctor who can't operate on them or even walk into their rooms. The baby she stuck around for has a mother who can't hold her, can't take her on walks, can't go to her in the middle of the night when she's crying. And the girlfriend who became her wife is a lying, untrustworthy bitch who breaks her promises and cuts off people's legs after telling them she won't.

What right does Callie have to march into the room and tell Arizona to "snap out of it"? Callie, who has two toned legs that go on for days and sixteen pairs of fabulous shoes - who the fuck does she think she is? She took her wife's life away and tries to pretend she understands. "I build bones from nothing, like God," Callie once said. But where was God when Arizona's bones were breaking in half and being sawed off? Where was God when a goddamn plane was falling out of the sky?

When she's asleep, Arizona has two legs. Even when she's dreaming of airplanes on fire and Mark Sloan dying in her arms, she has two legs and just a tiny bit of hope. Then she wakes up and there's just empty space - and her life ends all over again.

Sure, she's still alive. But Arizona Robbins' life is over.

Callie's stopped counting how many days it's been since she last slept. How she is able to keep her eyes open during surgery, or even on her way to surgery, is completely beyond her. The other day, after bringing Sofia home from daycare, she realized she had no recollection of arriving there.

But being exhausted is preferable to sleeping and dreaming – both about better times and worse times. She isn't sure which dreams are more painful to wake from, although, as she watches Arizona's face contort in pain and desperate fear each night, she thinks she would gladly swap nightmares if it would bring her wife the slightest bit of relief.

Being so exhausted that it's physically painful is preferable to closing her eyes and missing a single second of Arizona's life. She almost lost all the rest of them and she'll be damned if she misses another. She's gone too long without appreciating the sight of her beautiful, incredible wife, home, safe, beside her, and she won't do it anymore.

Dragging herself out of bed in the morning like a zombie, every cell in her body screaming at her to stop, is worth it for the peace of mind watching the rise and fall of Arizona's chest brings.

If it's Arizona, it is always worth it.

There isn't anything Callie can say these days that doesn't invite piercing anger from Arizona, but if she says nothing, Arizona accuses her of not caring, of finding her disfigured wife so grotesque that she can't even stand to speak to her.

So Callie always says something, because even if Arizona's words are flung around in misplaced anger and completely understandable devastation, she will not have her wife thinking, even for half a second, that she doesn't care.

Watching Arizona struggle through the short trip to the bathroom threatens to break Callie's heart into even more pieces than it's already in. Finally standing, albeit wobbly, Arizona glances at her post-surgical prosthesis lying haphazardly on the floor. She contemplates it for a short moment and then shoves it aside with one of her crutches. The motion causes her to falter, and though she rights herself quickly, the words are out of Callie's mouth before she can take them back.

"Do you want help?"

Arizona turns to her with a glare that could freeze lava. "Don't you think you've helped enough?"

Callie's whole body aches as she trudges down the hallway to the apartment, Sofia balanced on one hip. She's been running herself into the ground, hoping that maybe working will take her mind off of everything else. It doesn't, but there's always tomorrow.

Tonight, her nerves are fried, her patience zapped. Work has been stressful and she's barely been sleeping and she misses Mark so much it hurts and Sofia is teething and if the damn bedroom door is still closed -

In the back of her head, Callie knows it's a bad idea, but she just can't anymore, so after Sofia is settled playing with some stuffed animals, she marches into the bedroom. It only fuels her ire when she notes that Arizona is turned away from the door.

"Do you think this is easy for me?!"

Slowly, Arizona's head turns. "What?"

"You are not the only one who lost something in that crash, Arizona. I lost my best friend. Meredith lost her sister. Do you think that's easy for us? Do you think it's easy for Sofia to try to understand why her daddy doesn't hold her anymore or why you're not the one who rocks her to sleep at night?"

"Do not come in here and talk to me about -"

"Do you think it's easy for me to try to raise a child by myself? Do you think it's easy for me to come home to you hating me? Do you think it's easy for any of us to walk through the halls every day expecting to see people we'll never see again?!"

"At least you can walk through the halls!" Arizona screams.

Callie wants to feel guilty. She wants to feel empathetic. She really, really does. But right now, all she feels is white-hot rage and a flush rising on her neck. "Don't throw that in my face!" she shouts back. "You know that's not what I meant. What, do you think I spend all day at work thinking up ways to offend you? I have to be able to talk, Arizona!"

"You want to talk?" Arizona retorts. "You want to talk about loss? Okay, let's talk about loss. I lost my brother. I lost my best friend." She starts counting off on her fingers. "My best friend who, by the way, you couldn't help. I lost my closest friends in Seattle because one of them decided to get on a plane -" She laughs bitterly. "-a plane - and move to the other side of the country without even telling me. I watched the other one die in my arms while Cristina Yang of all people picked bugs out of the open wound in my leg. My leg that you cut off!" Arizona stops to suck in a sharp breath. "Don't you dare come in here and talk to me about loss, Callie. You have no idea what it is!"

"You're right, Arizona. You're right; I'm wrong. Just like always." Callie's voice is dull, defeated. Of course she knows what loss is. She lost her ex-husband. She lost her mother. She lost her best friend and now she's losing her wife before her eyes - not to mention the four days she'd spent growing ever more convinced that Arizona was dead. "You win. You always win. Clearly I don't know anything." Neither woman says anything, but an inferno still rages between their two pairs of eyes. Callie finally turns and heads for the door. "You win," she says again, bitingly. "I'll be right back with your trophy." The door slams shut behind her.

Some number of hours later, both women will remember that in order to care this much, in order to hate someone, you have to love them first.

[This picks up immediately where the previous one left off.]

From her room, Sofia hears the commotion and begins to cry. There is so much sadness in this home. Callie runs a hand over her face. She had known Arizona was angry. Knew she was devastated; knew she was terrified of what her future held. But before today, Arizona had never mentioned what she'd gone through in the woods. And just the little bit she'd shared was far worse than anything Callie could have imagined.

No wonder Arizona is so broken. Like someone scooped all the Arizona out. Before, Callie was sad for herself. She had missed her wife and wanted her back. But now her heart hurts for Arizona. Sweet, vibrant, good-man-in-a-storm Arizona who's lost so much. Her brother, her best friends. Her leg. Her life as she had always known it. Her life the only way she'd wanted to know it.

All her life, Arizona has been a giver. She gave Callie more second chances than she can remember and a reason to believe in happiness again. She gave their daughter a heartbeat. She regularly gives children their lives back. And to thank her for her trouble, the universe keeps taking things away.

How much can be taken from a person before there just isn't anything left?

In the beginning, Arizona cried a lot. She never used to be someone who showed her vulnerability to another person – intimidating, authoritarian figures notwithstanding – but somehow, Callie made her feel safe enough to let her guard down.

But that was before. That was when she still felt safe around Callie. When she still trusted her.

Arizona had opened herself up to Callie, had entrusted everything to her, and look where that had gotten her.

On the rare occasions that Arizona doesn't hate her for the promise she had broken, she's sure that her tears are another burden Callie doesn't need or want. They might be the straw that breaks the proverbial camel's back and sends Callie packing for good. And Arizona may hate Callie, but she loves her – needs her with every part of her body, every beat of her heart – too damn much to lose her.

Now it's when she showers that Arizona allows herself to come apart. When the water is so hot it leaves red marks on her skin, that's when she cries. When it's just her body – her mangled, broken, disgusting body – staring mockingly back at her, when there's no light to turn off and no blanket to place over her leg so she can pretend for a second it's still there, that's when she cries.

That's when she wishes, more than almost anything, that the heat of the shower is the warmth of Callie's embrace. Because as much as Arizona may hate her, sometimes she just needs her wife to hold her.

Sometimes the amputation site is sore, especially when Arizona worries the scar with her fingertips. It's certainly not a pleasant sensation, but if her only two options are soreness and the blinding, searing, shattering pain that engulfs her entire left leg, she would gladly choose the former.

It's one thing, Arizona thinks, to be caught in recurring nightmares of the crash, to see bone slicing through flesh all over again and to be sure she's going to die out in these Godforsaken woods. It's quite another to be entirely aware and lucid, yet sure her injury was never attended to, because that's how badly it hurts. At least when she wakes up from the nightmares, she's safe in reality, even though it's horrible.

There are the nightmares her mind conjures up in the dark, and there's the never-ending nightmare that is her life now.

When she lies in her bed, trying desperately to massage the unbearable, burning cramp out of something that isn't there, when tears pour from her eyes because the pain won't stop, when she sees her wife standing frozen in the doorway, unsure whether she should help or leave her alone...Arizona doesn't know which nightmare is worse.

Sofia cries for her mama in the middle of the night, just as she's done nearly every night of her life, although now, more often than not, the incoherent baby syllables are replaced with the word "Mama." She tends to calm a little when Callie lifts her from her crib and begins to rock her, but when she realizes the woman holding her isn't the woman she's been missing, she just cries harder until she tires herself out and falls back to sleep.

Arizona cries for her baby in the middle of the night, for the baby she can't care for, whose cries she can't soothe. What if she can't ever hold her daughter in her arms again? What if she can't chase after her when she takes her first steps, dribble a soccer ball with her in the backyard, dance with her at her wedding?

What if Sofia sees what remains of her leg and it scares her even more than whatever woke her up? What if she's completely repulsed and can't bear to be around her?

No matter how she looks at the situation, Arizona can't see a way out of failing her daughter, so at night, mother and baby cry for one another, so close and yet so far away.

"This is impossible!" Callie yells at Arizona's back. She doesn't like yelling, doesn't like fighting, but sometimes it's just all that's left and she doesn't know what else to do. "No matter what I do, it's wrong. This is impossible, Arizona! You're making it impossible!"

Arizona's head whips around to face Callie, a livid glare in her eyes. "Mark should have lived," she says from the bed, and it lacks the fire she was hoping would be in her words. "I shouldn't have."

Callie's head snaps up. "What?"

"Do you wish I had died instead of Mark?" she asks. "Because…because sometimes I do."

Fury blazes in Callie's eyes. How dare Arizona bring Mark into the conversation? How dare she throw her dead best friend in her face like that? After everything they've been through, how dare Arizona prefer never to have made it home? And yet, at the same time, Callie's heart speeds up and her throat constricts with terror. What if Arizona is really serious?

"Yeah," Arizona snarls, seeing the anger on her wife's face. "That's what I thought."

"No!" Callie practically screams. "Arizona, no. I don't – you don't – should I be worried? Do I need to worry?" She had wanted the question to be softer, kinder, but everything she's feeling right now merges together and manifests in angry loudness. "This – I mean, you've never – is this more than a bad day? Is it more than you being mad? Because I'm scared, Arizona. You're scaring me right now." Callie's voice cracks over her last few words and tears she can't fight fall from her eyes.

Arizona's heart pounds at the raw fear emanating from her wife. Did she put that there? She thinks about what she said. She hates the hand she's been dealt, hates her new life. She hates Callie for giving it to her.

But…she loves her wife. She loves her daughter. Arizona remembers for a brief second how hard she had fought out there in the woods, how determined she'd been to live. Slowly, she shakes her head. No, Callie doesn't need to worry. Not about this, anyway.

Still, she needs to know. "Answer the question." Callie sucks in some air, having forgotten what the question is. "Do you hate me for living?"

"No." Callie dashes across the room and drops to her knees at Arizona's side. "I hate that Mark died. I hate that he's gone. But I wouldn't trade anything for you being here."

Arizona doesn't say anything, just looks at her wife with wide, scared eyes.

"If I had lost you…" Callie can't even finish the thought. She reaches to hold Arizona's hands; Arizona instinctively moves them out of Callie's reach. "I love you, Arizona. I can't even imagine you not being here. I love you so much. I-I need you." A lump appears in Arizona's throat at the sincerity in Callie's eyes. "Nothing is ever going to make me stop loving you." She sighs. "I miss Mark. I'll miss him every day. But you're here. I know you're mad at me and-and that's okay. Be mad. But please, just be here. And I will do anything I can to make being here feel better." If Callie could cut off her own leg and give it to her wife, she would.

Arizona blinks at Callie, a few tears reluctantly escaping. She's angry and devastated and confused (what is life? What is her life?), but that was quite a speech.

Callie kisses the only part of Arizona's body she can reach – a piece of hair that's splayed across her pillow. "Thank you for coming home, honey."

Still Arizona remains silent, but inside, her heart feels about twenty times lighter.

When Callie hears the bedroom door open behind her, she's sure the lack of sleep has finally gotten to her and she's hearing things. It isn't until she hears the rhythmic thudding of Arizona's crutches that she dares to turn around from where she's sitting on the couch, half reading a magazine and half watching Sofia as she plays.

"Hi," she says in what she hopes is a completely neutral tone. She isn't sure what else to say.

Sofia is the opposite of neutral. She actually gasps before squealing, "Mama!" in pure delight. Not quite a walker yet, she scuttles over to Arizona on her hands and knees, pulls herself up on Arizona's right leg, and beams up at her.

"Hi," Arizona whispers, and Callie chooses to believe Arizona is addressing both of them.

"Mama!" Sofia blows a sloppy kiss into the crook of Arizona's knee. She runs a hand briefly over a crutch and Arizona's breath hitches, but then Sofia just looks back at her and smiles. She doesn't seem to notice that anything is different. "Hi!"

"I'm hungry," Arizona says, and Callie isn't sure who she's talking to anymore.

Still, she responds. "What do you feel like? I'll get you some—"

Arizona shakes her head. "Do we have any peanut butter?"

"Yeah, we, uh, yeah," Callie stammers. "It's, um – here, let me –"

Another head shake. "Where?"

"Um, it's…cabinet to the right of the fridge."

Arizona nods, making her way into the kitchen. "Excuse me, Sofia," she says almost playfully. Sofia giggles.

Callie watches Arizona, not even sure if she's blinking. She's always been able to reach that cabinet, but Arizona always had to stand on her toes. How is this even…

Bracing her left side on the countertop below the cabinet, Arizona stands on the toes of her right foot, opens the door, grabs the peanut butter jar, and closes the door again. She roots around in the silverware drawer for a spoon and grabs an apple from the bowl on the breakfast bar. Apple clasped between her teeth, peanut butter and spoon tucked under her chin, she slowly maneuvers herself back to the bedroom and closes the door behind her with her shoulder.

Unsure of where else to look, Callie casts a bewildered glance to Sofia, who smiles back at her and says, "Hi."

It wasn't much, but oh, god, that was something.

"How could you do this to me?" Arizona screams. The fight is not anything new, though sometimes the actual words change from day to day. "You ruined my life! You broke me!"

Sometimes Callie screams back; other times she doesn't say anything.

Today she speaks, voice worn and tired, yet calm and level. "I love you," she says. "I did what I did so you could come home to me. So you could live."

"You love me?" Arizona spits. "You have a funny way of showing it." Callie doesn't say anything. "Get out."

"Arizona…"

"Get out! Get out!" Arizona's voice breaks and she dissolves into angry sobs.

Callie turns to leave, but she turns back to Arizona with her hand on the doorknob. "I will never give up on you."

Sometimes Callie isn't sure which part of this breaks her heart the most, but tonight it's listening helplessly as Arizona's brain traps her in the woods all over again. She tries to wake Arizona from her nightmares, but it never seems to work, the combination of drugs and memories too strong.

Instead she just runs her fingers through Arizona's hair, determined to bring her as much peace as possible. "You're safe, Arizona," she whispers. "You're safe. I have you." Callie doesn't know whether that fact actually makes Arizona feel better or not, but she refuses to give up hope that one day it will. "You're home and you're warm and you're safe. I won't let anything else happen to you. I –" Her voice falters as the dreaded P-word almost falls from her lips. She takes a steadying breath. One day she'll make a promise to Arizona and Arizona will believe her (and Callie will believe herself), but until that day comes, she just presses a kiss to her wife's hairline. "I love you." She says it over and over. "I love you. I love you."

In her sleep, Arizona forgets her anger and resentment and remembers only the visceral need for her wife that seems to permeate every one of her senses. She holds onto Callie's shirt until her knuckles turn white.

Callie will repeat herself until her voice disappears. "I love you, Arizona. Forever."

The morning is no different from any other morning. Callie lingers in the doorway of their bedroom with Sofia in her arms; Arizona lies with her back to them both.

"We're going," Callie says softly. "I'll be home around six." There's no response, and Callie doesn't expect one. "Do you need anything before we go?"

Arizona turns onto her back and Callie winces, bracing herself for the words of anger and reproach that tend to come in response to that question. Indeed, the first syllable of a rage-fueled reply slips through Arizona's lips, but then she stops and something in her face softens.

"No," she says brusquely. "No." She repeats herself, more softly this time. "Can, um…" She trails off and Callie doesn't push. "Can I say goodbye to Sofia?"

"Of course," Callie breathes, and she and the baby are at Arizona's side in a flash.

Arizona pulls herself into a sitting position and Callie deposits Sofia beside her.

"Mama," Sofia says happily, wasting no time in crawling into Arizona's lap. Arizona tenses, aware that her lap is a very different place than it used to be. Sofia doesn't seem to notice, even when she places her hand on the mattress where Arizona's knee once was. She looks up curiously for a second, but then she snuggles into her mama's chest and smiles.

"How are you this morning, Sofia?" Arizona asks, and it sounds like she really wants to know.

Sofia gazes into Arizona's eyes as if thinking of the perfect response. "Poop," she finally says.

"She's not," Callie rushes to interject. "I just changed her. She just likes the word."

Arizona smiles. It's a small, cautious smile, but it's a smile. "It's a funny word," she tells Sofia. "Just do us all a favor and learn some new ones today, okay?"

Sofia grins. "Mama."

Callie looks at her watch. It pains her to end this moment, but she's about to be late. "We really do have to go," she apologizes. "We'll see you later. I love you."

Arizona nods, avoiding eye contact with Callie as she hoists Sofia onto her hip. She doesn't say anything else, and before Callie is even to the door, Arizona is turned away from her again.

Arizona is trying and this is a good morning.

For a while, the medications Arizona was on took away her appetite, and then the sadness, the fear, the anger – they all made food fairly unpalatable.

She's eating more now, although it's obvious that she doesn't enjoy it all that much, and she definitely doesn't eat enough for Callie's liking.

Hence the doughnuts.

Callie isn't sure whether Arizona actually wants them or not, although at this point she doesn't particularly care. She'll force-feed her wife if she has to. But though Arizona often rolls her eyes or turns her back to Callie, she's never asked her to stop bringing them, and the doughnuts always disappear eventually. (At first, Callie thought that maybe Arizona was disposing of them or hiding them somewhere, but then she found a smudge of frosting on the sheets and stopped wondering.)

Today's selection is one chocolate, one maple-glazed, and one jelly-filled, and as Callie places the plate on Arizona's bedside table, Arizona makes a noise that is almost a chuckle.

"If you keep feeding me like this, neither of my legs is going to be able to support my weight."

Callie just shakes her head and smiles softly. "Eat up."

She's halfway to the door when she hears something she almost never hears anymore: Arizona calling her name.

Callie turns around slowly, cautiously. "Hmm?"

In one hand, Arizona holds a half-eaten doughnut; with the other, she's wiping jelly from her face. "Are there any powdered ones?"

As Arizona prepares herself for another long day of confusing feelings (she misses Callie when she's gone, but sometimes the sight of her face or those damn bone-breaking hands makes her so angry she can feel it in her gut), boredom, and pain, physical and otherwise, she realizes something.

It's sunny.

She can't remember the last time that happened. To be fair, she hasn't looked out a lot of windows lately, but it does seem like every time she sees Callie, her hair is wet from the rain.

Arizona used to love sunny days. On sunny days, she took Sofia to the park. She and Callie went for walks together if they weren't both working at the same time. Sometimes she just sat on a bench somewhere and watched the sky.

Looking at the sunlight shining through the bedroom shades, Arizona chokes back tears as she wishes beyond all belief that she could do those things again.

You can do all those things, a tiny, dusty corner of her brain screams at her. You just have to let yourself. You just have to be.

Usually, when that part of her brain speaks up, Arizona silences it by focusing on everything she can't do, on how broken she is – or by yelling at Callie.

Today, though, something is different, just a little. Maybe it's the sun or maybe she's just really, really bored, but Arizona realizes how much she misses sunny days. She misses playing with Sofia at the park and she misses saving tiny humans at work. She misses her life. And yet, there it is, staring back at her, waiting for her to open the shade and let it pour in with the sun. Maybe it's been there this whole time.

Somewhere on her bedside table is the notecard with the physical therapist's phone number on it.

Sunny days are few and far between. They're precious, and Arizona wants to be there for the next one.

So far, every attempt Arizona has made to walk on her new leg has ended in her taking half a step and falling. She's starting to think that prostheses work for plenty of people, but she isn't one of them.

From her place on the couch, still sweaty from PT and feeling the unpleasant pinch of the artificial limb she has yet to get used to, she watches as Sofia makes block towers and then delights in knocking them over. Arizona sighs forlornly and Sofia looks up at her, an adorable concerned expression on her face.

"Mama," she says, forgetting her blocks in favor of her mother.

Arizona musters a shaky smile. "Hi, baby."

Smiling, Sofia pulls herself up on the ottoman next to her. She's been standing a lot lately. "See."

"I see you, big girl." Arizona tries to sound excited, but her voice cracks without her permission.

Sofia's smile falls. "Mama," she says again, sounding worried. Arizona doesn't know what to say to reassure her, but before she can think about it too much, Sofia lets go of the ottoman and takes one, then two, shaky steps toward her.

Of all the times for Callie to take a shower.

Arizona's eyes widen and she isn't sure whether to laugh or cry. Watching Sofia reach this milestone is incredible, but the fact that her baby is walking before she is, is a hard truth to accept.

On her third step, Sofia falters and falls on her bottom. Her face registers shock before it crumples and she starts to cry.

"Oh, sweetie, it's okay," Arizona coos. "It's okay. You did such a good job. When you fall, you get up again." She steels her resolve and slowly pushes herself off of the couch. "Like this." She wobbles for a second and she readies herself to fall back onto the couch, but then her body compensates and she realizes she's still standing.

Sofia whimpers softly but stops crying when she notices her mama addressing her. The ottoman is still close enough for her to pull herself up again, and she does. "Up." She looks at her feet, then at Arizona, and takes another step.

A few feet away, Arizona bears her weight on her right leg and lifts her left thigh. And, amazingly, the metal leg moves with it. She isn't quite sure what's going to happen when the left foot hits the ground, but she just closes her eyes and hopes she balances her weight properly when it does.

She doesn't fall. Neither does Sofia. Smiles adorn both faces and tears flow unbidden from Arizona's eyes.

"Mama, up!" Sofia claps her hands excitedly. "Yay!"

That's how Callie finds them when she comes out of the shower: laughing, crying, and cheering each other on. A slow grin spreads across her face. Apparently both of her girls are making big steps today.

Callie is falling asleep on the couch to some old movie playing on the TV when she feels the couch dip next to her. She doesn't know who she's expecting, but she's surprised to see Arizona.

Arizona is so close that her right thigh touches Callie's left. "What's on?"

"I don't know," Callie confesses. There's a beat of uncomfortable silence. "Arizona, I…"

"Don't," Arizona says. "Don't say anything. Just sit."

Callie nods. She's afraid to move or blink or breathe. "We can change the channel if you want," she finally whispers.

"No," Arizona replies. "No. Just sit."

So they do.

They've reached a sort of unspoken agreement where Callie watches Arizona's physical therapy sessions through the door and Arizona always knows – and Callie always knows that she knows – but neither of them says anything about it.

Callie wishes she could tell Arizona how remarkably proud she is, how happy she is that her wife got out of bed and started attending her appointments. She wishes she could come out and say that Arizona is a portrait of incredible strength, and maybe even that she looks sexy when she's all focused and determined like that. But Callie knows that these are conclusions Arizona needs to come to on her own and that they won't mean anything if she just repeats them over and over.

Even with the parallel bars for support, walking on the prosthetic leg is exhausting and difficult, and Callie can feel Arizona's frustration through the door. And when Arizona's body finally protests what's being asked of it, when both flesh and metal knees buckle and she crumples to the floor, she lets out a devastated cry that makes Callie feel like she's been punched in the stomach.

She longs, with every cell in her body, to rush through the door to her wife's side, to scoop her up in her arms and tell her it's okay, that she's doing amazing and that it's just going to take a lot of work. But again, she knows that isn't what Arizona needs, so she stands rooted to her spot, trying not to cry.

And then, miraculously, waving off assistance from her physical therapist, Arizona struggles to her feet, upper arms shaking with the effort and sweat pouring from every inch of exposed skin.

This morning, Callie was sure that Arizona, curled up safely in bed and sleeping peacefully, was the most incredible thing she had ever seen. But she was wrong. This is.

Not once in her life did Arizona ever entertain the thought that, somewhere in her morning routine between "towel-dry hair" and "put on pants," there would be a "put on leg" step. That's one of the downright weirdest parts of this for her: the notion that she isn't fully dressed for the day until she's wearing one of her body parts.

But here she is. Towel-dry hair. Put on underwear. Put padding and socket on over residual limb. Attach leg. Put on pants and try not to get stuck or trip. Callie is never allowed to help. She isn't allowed to see Arizona naked, either. Those are the rules. No help and no nakedness.

Arizona supposes she could put on makeup or jewelry, but she doesn't really see the point. She's just going to be a hideous monster anyway.

Still, when she walks out of the bedroom – unconfident, limping, holding onto the wall – fresh from her shower and dressed in that blue top that matches her eyes, she is the most beautiful woman Callie has ever seen.

Sometimes Arizona thinks she just might be getting the hang of this walking thing. This morning she's managed to walk all the way to the kitchen without tripping, make a pot of coffee, and carry a cup into the living room.

She sits down on the couch and bursts into tears.

"Arizona." Callie hasn't left for work yet and she rushes in from Sofia's room. "Honey, what's wrong? Does something hurt?"

Arizona shakes her head. "I'm so tired!" she cries. "All I did was make coffee and sit down and I'm exhausted, Callie. Every muscle is sore and I'm just so tired!"

"Arizona," Callie breathes sympathetically. "You're getting there. Your body has to work harder now, but you're doing it. You are. You just have to take it –"

"I don't want to take it slow!" Arizona shouts through her tears. "I don't want to take baby steps. I just want to be a normal person!"

"You are –"

"It's not fair!" Arizona screams. "Why did this happen? It isn't fair!" She reaches down and detaches her leg, hurling it to the floor. Both women wince softly at the loud clanging noise it makes. "It's not fair," Arizona sobs again, curling her right leg underneath her body and leaning back into the couch. "It's not fair."

Callie sighs and takes a seat next to Arizona. "I know, sweetie." Arizona doesn't move away from the closeness, so Callie takes a deep breath and rests her head on Arizona's shoulder. She kisses her wife's neck. "I know it isn't."

"I would understand," Arizona says one night, totally unprecedented, "if you wanted to leave."

Callie turns from where she's flossing her teeth in front of the dresser. "What?"

Arizona motions to herself. "I'm not much of a wife anymore."

"Arizona…"

"I can't do anything. I'm not fun to be around. I'm definitely not sexy –"

"Arizona, you're beautiful –"

Arizona just shakes her head. "I'm not even…this isn't even me. I'm not the woman you married and I don't think I ever will be again. So I'm just saying that if you wanted to leave, if you wanted to find someone who can be a wife to you and-and make you feel like you're one, too…I would understand."

Callie lets the dental floss float to the floor, and before she's even fully aware of what she's doing, she's climbing into bed next to Arizona and grabbing her hand.

"Everything you are," Callie says, voice choked with love and reverence, "is everything I have ever wanted. I'm not going anywhere."

It's a promise, even though Callie doesn't come out and say so, and for some reason, Arizona can almost believe her.

Callie is sure everyone is going to make a big deal about Arizona's first day back at work, so she purposely doesn't except for the post-it note she leaves in her wife's locker that says "I love you!"

Arizona is still just consulting for the time being, so there aren't any surgeries for Callie to watch – but there are plenty for her to perform herself, so consequently, she doesn't actually see her wife until she stops by the daycare for a quick visit with Sofia and finds Arizona already there.

"And then Mama told that silly intern that he was wrong and that it was definitely Katie's kidney, and who do you think was right?" Sofia just blinks at Arizona from her perch in her mama's lap. "So she's in surgery right now and Bailey is going to make her all better, because Mama knew it was her kidney and not her intestine. Interns are just so silly."

Callie almost slips away undetected, but Arizona chooses that moment to look up and see her. She doesn't smile exactly, but she doesn't glare or roll her eyes or look away, either.

At the end of the day, as Callie changes back into her street clothes, her eye catches something in her locker. It's a post-it note – the same one she left for Arizona that morning, she realizes with a start. She barely breathes until she notices one small difference. At the bottom of the paper, there's a heart drawn in pink Magic Marker.

It's been close to five months and Arizona still hasn't said or written the words, but Callie can feel them radiating off the little paper, and the next day she comes to work armed with clear packing tape. That note isn't moving an inch.

It's going on six months and Callie and Arizona still don't really know how to be in a room together. They coexist – sometimes very closely – but Arizona still can't say "I love you" and Callie still can't make a promise without wanting to throw up, which is how they find themselves side by side on Dr. Anders' couch, trying to figure out what their lives mean and remember how they intersect.

"I'm sorry I promised," Callie is saying.

Arizona shakes her head. "I'm sorry I made you promise."

"I'm sorry I couldn't help Nick."

There's a beat of silence that doesn't feel as uncomfortable as silences between them have felt so often lately, and both women are so intently focused on each other that they nearly forget the therapist is even in the room.

A subtle, extremely cautious twinkle appears in Arizona's eye and is gone. "I'm sorry I went to Africa." The corner of her mouth twitches and quirks up.

Callie barks out a loud, surprised laugh, then claps a hand over her mouth. "I'm sorry I just made that noise." She reaches for whichever one of Arizona's legs is closest to her and doesn't realize it's her left until her fingers are already touching her thigh. Callie tenses, and for a moment it seems like Arizona is either going to slap Callie's hand away or haul herself to her feet and flee the room. "I'm sorry," Callie whispers. "I didn't –"

Arizona lays her hand on top of Callie's, stilling her fingers. "Don't be."

"Did I miss anything?" Callie slides into an empty seat in the gallery next to Alex.

"No, they just made the first cut and they're about to take the liver out."

Callie nods, watching intently as her wife's steady hands work to remove her twelve-year-old patient's liver from his body in preparation for the healthy donor liver that's about to replace it.

To anyone else, Arizona is the picture of quiet confidence, performing this surgery as steadily and assuredly as she's performed any other. But they didn't all see her this morning, pacing the kitchen, nearly hyperventilating with nerves over her first surgery since her return to the hospital.

She doubts the statement would be well-received, but even hours later, Callie finds the memory of Arizona trying on outfit after outfit in preparation for today completely adorable. Scrubs had replaced the jeans and blouse almost as soon as Arizona had arrived at work, but today is a big day and the right jeans-blouse combination is everything. (Still, the image of Arizona putting her fourth – or was it her fifth? – shirt on inside-out and backwards is one Callie wishes she'd gotten on film.)

Callie is on the edge of her seat for the whole surgery, not because there are complications, but because she desperately wants to see Arizona's triumph when she realizes she did it. At one point, Arizona looks like she might be losing steam; she's leaning on her right side and even from the gallery Callie can see the sweat beading on her forehead.

"Come on," Callie mutters under her breath. "You can do this. Arizona, you've got this. You can do it."

And she does. She stretches her back, focuses on her hands, and finishes the surgery without a hitch.

Arizona stands in the OR long after the patient has been wheeled to recovery. That's where Callie finds her with a slightly dazed look on her face, gloves and mask still in place.

"Hey," Callie offers, entering cautiously.

Arizona turns to her, eyes bright. "I did it."

Callie breaks into a huge grin. "You did it." She rests a hand on Arizona's back and kisses the part of her face that isn't covered by the mask or the scrub cap. "How did it feel?"

"I'm exhausted," Arizona replies sadly. "It wasn't even two hours and I'm beat."

"You'll get there," Callie assures her. "You will. But Arizona, you just gave a kid a new liver and saved his life. How does that feel?"

This time Arizona's eyes belie the joy that rests just underneath the self-recrimination. "It feels amazing."

Arizona stays angry at Alex for much longer than she stayed angry at Callie. The process of forgiving and learning to trust again is slow and it's still ongoing, but once she moved into the acceptance stage of her grief, it started getting easier.

Alex, though - he's the reason there's even a grieving process in the first place. He's the reason Arizona got on that damn plane. Arizona isn't proud of it, but sometimes when she sees him, she'd kind of like to remove her prosthesis and beat him with it.

But as she watches him bring a smile to the face of a scared, young patient, something starts to shift, and she has to stop and think. Alex Karev is a good doctor, a great surgeon. There was never any doubt about that. He is made for pediatrics, that much is obvious, and Arizona is fairly certain he's the reason the department didn't fall apart in her absence. When she was stuck at home, finally committed to healing but not yet ready to return to work, he sent copies of scans and charts from his most interesting cases home with Callie to share with her. And on her first day back, he brought her coffee, a muffin (which she ate once he was out of sight), and a plant for her office.

And...he hadn't left. So many people had left Arizona when she needed them, but Alex hadn't.

Sure, he was going to abandon everything - and everyone - he'd worked for in Seattle in favor of Hopkins. But he'd only gotten the offer from Hopkins in the first place because Arizona had recommended him. Because he's such a great doctor and has so much to offer. Because Hopkins is her alma mater and Alex is just like her, so clearly he should follow in her footsteps.

When she'd had all that time to think out in the woods, Arizona had come up with a list of ways in which she and Alex were definitely not alike. At the time, it sickened her to think that she had ever believed they were.

The patient laughs as Alex cracks a joke and Arizona finds herself unable to remember most of her list. Yes, he picked Hopkins over what she had to offer him. But once upon a time, she had picked Africa. The way she'd gone about it was wrong, she sees that now, but her motivations for going were honorable.

The way he'd gone about his decision was wrong, too, but maybe Alex wasn't being an ungrateful jerk. Maybe he was being a good doctor. Maybe he was being everything Arizona had coached him to be.

Arizona left Africa for Callie and Alex stuck around - for her.

Alex was a horror show as a resident, but so was Arizona, and look who she'd become. She can't deny, watching Alex simplify a complicated surgical procedure for the patient and his parents, that she's happy with who he's becoming.

Maybe they aren't so different after all.

"Oh, sorry." Alex nearly bumps into Arizona as he leaves the patient's room. "I didn't see you there." He looks at her for a moment and turns to leave. "Well, I -"

"My fellowship program starts in two weeks," she interrupts him. "Have you submitted all your paperwork?"

Alex looks at Arizona like she's lost her mind. "No, I didn't think-"

"I need all of it or we won't be able to get started." Alex opens his mouth, but before he can speak, his pager goes off. "Go," Arizona dismisses him. "Come to my office at three. Bring me coffee and a bagel and we'll talk about it." She nods once. "Three sugar packets. Sesame seed bagel."

"O-okay," Alex stammers. What else are you supposed to say when the person who you thought lost faith in you - the one person whose faith in you you really want - just gave you reason to hope again? "Yeah. Okay."

"Good. And tuck in your shirt. You're wearing scrubs, not pajamas." With that, Arizona turns to leave and Alex takes off running to where he's been paged. Arizona smiles ever so softly to herself. Maybe she won't beat him with her leg. Maybe she'll just step on his toe a little.

The process of forgiving and learning to trust again is slow and ongoing. But the bridge between Arizona Robbins and Alex Karev just got a little easier to cross.

Callie always runs when her pager goes off, but when she looks down and sees that Arizona is paging her, she runs.

She braces herself for the worst when she throws open the door of their on-call room, and she's not sure whether the scene that greets her is the worst or not. Arizona is standing to the side of the room, fiddling with her own pager. Her eyes are misty; she's obviously been crying, but she doesn't look particularly sad. She looks almost…happy.

"Arizona," Callie says breathlessly. "What's going on? Are you okay?"

Arizona moves to stand in front of Callie, and Callie marvels at how nearly seamless the motion is. "Callie," Arizona says softly. "Calliope." Callie's breath hitches. When was the last time Arizona called her that?

Two pairs of eyes gaze into each other, months of ache and weariness falling away in favor of something softer.

This room, their room, the scene of so much passion, so much feeling, brightens with promise. Promise. The room has missed them; it's been so long since there has been anything but tiredness in here. And for the first time in months – but what feels like much longer – two women dare to hope that this room could be theirs again.

Fingers intertwine; tears slip down cheeks; weight on one pair of shoulders finally becomes shared. Bodies mold together as if perfectly sculpted for this moment, two sets of arms each refusing to be the first to let go. Understanding is whispered against shells of ears; apologies and hope are muttered into downy locks.

Broken, shattered hearts dance and begin to mend, all because of what Arizona has paged Callie here to tell her:

"I love you, Calliope. And I couldn't wait another minute to tell you."