Work Text:
The lasagna was cold.
That was the first thing Arizona noticed when the front door finally clicked open—not the relief of seeing her girlfriend, but the sad, congealed reality of a dinner that had been ready two hours ago.
"I am so, so sorry," Callie said, breezing into the apartment in a whirlwind of leather jacket and exhaustion. She dropped her keys on the counter, right next to the salad that had long since wilted.
"Mark was... God, he was a mess. He got into this thing with Lexie Grey, and then he needed help moving this new sofa he bought on impulse, and I just lost track of time."
Arizona sat at the kitchen island, her hands folded tightly in her lap. She forced the corners of her mouth up. It felt like stretching a rubber band until it was ready to snap.
"It’s okay," Arizona said. Her voice was too high, too bright.
"I assumed something came up."
"You’re the best," Callie said, coming around to kiss Arizona’s cheek. She smelled like the hospital and, faintly, like Mark’s expensive cologne.
"Seriously. Most people would be pissed."
I am pissed, Arizona thought. I am furious.
But she didn't say it. Since the beginning of this relationship, Arizona had made a silent pact with herself: she would not be the jealous girlfriend. She knew the history. She knew Mark Sloan was the best friend, the former lover, the "McSteamy." She knew that Callie came as a package deal. Arizona wanted to be the cool, supportive partner who understood that love came in many forms.
So, she swallowed the jealousy down. She buried it under smiles and understanding nods every time Mark crashed their lunch, or interrupted their movie nights, or demanded Callie’s attention with the entitlement of a toddler.
"Do we have wine?" Callie asked, moving to the fridge.
"Mark kept trying to get me to drink scotch with him, but I told him I had a date. Eventually." She laughed, a throaty, warm sound that usually made Arizona melt.
Tonight, it made her blood boil.
"He didn't care that you had a date?" Arizona asked, the brightness in her voice slipping just a fraction.
Callie grabbed a bottle of white and shrugged.
"You know Mark. He thinks the world revolves around him. It’s part of his charm."
"Is it?"
Callie paused, the corkscrew halfway into the cork. She looked at Arizona, really looked at her, for the first time since walking in.
"Arizona? Are you okay?"
"I cooked," Arizona said quietly. She gestured to the cold lasagna. "I made dinner. We had reservations at that jazz club two weeks ago, and you cancelled for him. Tonight, we were supposed to stay in, and you’re two hours late. Because of him."
Callie sighed, her shoulders dropping.
"I know. And I apologized. He really needed me, Arizona. He’s going through a thing."
"He is always going through a thing, Callie!"
The volume of her own voice surprised her. It surprised Callie, too. The corkscrew clattered onto the counter.
"Whoa," Callie said, holding up a hand.
"Okay. You’re mad. I get it. But let’s not blow this out of proportion. It’s just dinner. We can heat it up."
"It’s not about the lasagna," Arizona stood up, her small frame vibrating with the energy she’d been suppressing for months.
"It’s about the fact that I am in a relationship with you, but I feel like I’m in a relationship with Mark Sloan."
"That is ridiculous," Callie scoffed, crossing her arms. "He’s my best friend. He’s family."
"He’s your ex-friends-with-benefits who doesn't respect boundaries!" Arizona stepped closer, the hurt pouring out of her.
"I have tried so hard to be okay with it. To be the 'cool' girlfriend. But I’m not cool with it, Callie. I’m tired of coming second to him."
"You aren't coming second!" Callie argued, her voice rising to match Arizona’s.
"You’re making a big deal out of nothing because you’re insecure. Mark is part of my life. If you want to be with me, you have to accept that."
"I accept him," Arizona cried out, tears pricking her eyes. "But I don't accept being stood up constantly! You’re destroying everything—our time, our plans, my feelings—and for what? So you can spend time with a stupid boy?"
The room went silent for a heartbeat. The insult hung in the air, childish and desperate.
Callie’s expression shifted. The guilt vanished, replaced by a sharp, defensive edge. She looked at Arizona not with love, but with a sudden, cold scrutiny.
"Mark’s not stupid" Callie said, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous register.
"And it’s not my fault you don’t like boys!"
The words hit Arizona like a physical blow to the chest.
She actually took a step back, the air leaving her lungs. It wasn't just a defense of Mark; it was a weaponization of Arizona’s identity. It was a dig that aimed right at the core of their differences—Callie’s bisexuality and Arizona’s lesbianism—and twisted the knife. It implied that Arizona’s issue wasn't Mark’s behavior, but his gender. That Arizona was incapable of understanding their bond simply because she didn't date men.
Callie seemed to realize what she’d said the moment the words left her mouth. Her eyes widened slightly, her hand twitching as if she wanted to reach out and grab the sentence back from the air.
"Arizona, I..." Callie started, her voice faltering. "I didn't mean..."
Arizona stared at her. The anger had evaporated, leaving behind a hollow, aching coldness.
"You really think that?" Arizona whispered. "You think I’m upset because he’s a guy? Not because he treats your time like it's his property?"
"No," Callie said quickly, stepping forward. "No, I just... I’m defensive. You attacked him."
"I attacked his behavior," Arizona said, her voice shaking. "You attacked who I am."
Arizona turned away, grabbing her purse from the counter. She couldn't look at Callie. She couldn't look at the lasagna. She couldn't look at the life she had been trying so hard to fit into.
"Arizona, wait. Don't go," Callie pleaded.
"I can't be here tonight," Arizona said, walking to the door. She paused with her hand on the knob, looking back over her shoulder. Her blue eyes were glassy.
"I thought we were fighting about time management, Calliope. I didn't know we were fighting about that."
She opened the door and walked out into the cool Seattle night, leaving Callie alone in the kitchen. But as Arizona walked to her car, the sentence replayed in her mind on an agonizing loop.
“It’s not my fault you don’t like boys.”
It was a ghost that wasn't going to go away with sleep.