Sparks In Scrubs | Arizona Robbins X Reader

Into the fire

**Y/N's Perspective**

The midnight streets of Seattle blur past as I drive aimlessly, the echoes of our argument replaying in my mind like a broken record. Arizona's words keep looping in my head, each replay cutting a little deeper. How did it escalate to this? How did we go from the happiest moments to this unbearable tension?

I can't stop thinking about how she looked at me, the pain in her eyes when she said I was shutting her out. The truth is, she's right. I've been so wrapped up in work, in the stress of it all, that I've been neglecting the one person who's been there for me through everything. Arizona deserves better. She deserves all of me, not the distracted, distant version I've been giving her.

Frustrated, I pull to the side of the road, shutting off the engine. The quiet settles around me like a thick fog, and I rest my forehead against the steering wheel. How did we get here? I love her so much, but I've been acting like a complete idiot, letting work consume me to the point where I've pushed her away. I've been shutting her out, and now it's tearing us apart.

But I can't let it end like this. I have to make it right. I need to show her how much she means to me, how sorry I am for everything.

An idea begins to form in my mind-cooking her dinner, getting her flowers, a simple but sincere gesture to apologize, to show her that I'm still here, that I'm not going anywhere. There's a 24-hour grocery store across Seattle Bridge. If I hurry, I can get everything I need and surprise her.

With renewed determination, I ignite the car and start driving towards the bridge. My heart pounds in my chest, the tension easing just a little as I focus on making things right.

But as I reach the middle of the bridge, a deafening explosion rips through the night, shaking the ground beneath me. Instinctively, I slam on the brakes, my hands gripping the steering wheel tightly as I shut my eyes against the bright light.

When I open them again, I'm met with horrifying sight-flames and thick, black smoke engulfing the bridge, cars twisted and mangled in the aftermath of the blast. Panic floods through me as I realize the danger I'm in, but all I can think about is getting back to Arizona about fixing the mess I've made.

I'm about to turn the car around to drive away from the flames and chaos when a piercing scream cuts through the night air, stopping me in my tracks. Someone is out there, trapped, and they're in desperate need of help. The instinct to save kicks in, overpowering my fear.

"Shit," I mutter under my breath as I throw the car into park, yanking the keys from the ignition. Without hesitation, I rush to the trunk, pulling out the first aid kit I always keep there for emergencies. I sprint towards the explosion, the acrid smell of smoke and burning metal filling my lungs.

As I approach the wreckage, I see him-a man, trapped in his car, blood streaming from a deep laceration on his forehead. He's conscious but clearly in shock, his eyes wide with fear as he tries to free himself from the twisted metal.

"I'm here to help," I say, trying to keep my voice steady despite the adrenaline surging through my veins. "I'm going to get you out of here."

He nods, his breath coming in ragged gasps as I assess the situation. The door is jammed, but with a few hard tugs, I manage to wrench it open. Carefully, I help him out of the car, keeping him steady as he stumbles to his feet. He's disoriented, blood trickling down the side of his face, but alive.

"Sit down, I need to check you out," I instruct, guiding him to a safe spot away from the immediate danger. I quickly check his vitals-pulse, respiration, the basics-before grabbing a black pen from my pocket. I scrawl the information on his arm for the paramedics who will arrive soon, praying they'll get here in time.