Sparks In Scrubs | Arizona Robbins X Reader

Fractured Hope

**Arizona's Perspective**

It's been two hours since Y/N stormed out of the apartment, and with every passing minute, the worry in my chest tightens like a vice. My mind runs wild, jumping from one worst-case scenario to another. Is she okay? Where did she go? Why hasn't she called?

I keep replaying the argument in my head, wondering if there was something I could've said differently, something that would've made her stay. The frustration bubbles up, mixing with the concern until I can't take it anymore.

Reaching for my phone, I dial Y/N's number, pressing it to my ear with a sense of urgency. The line rings, echoing in the quiet apartment, but she doesn't pick up. I try again, my heart thumping harder with each unanswered ring.

"Come on, Y/N... pick up," I mutter under my breath, but the call goes to voicemail again. I hang up and immediately redial, refusing to let go of the sliver of hope that she'll answer. But the longer I wait, the more that hope fades, replaced by a gnawing irritation.

By the third call, it goes straight to voicemail, the familiar automated voice a punch to the gut. Is she ignoring me now? The thought stings, and a wave of annoyance washes over me, momentarily eclipsing the worry.

Fine, I think, tossing my phone onto the couch with more force than necessary. If she wants to be stubborn, so can I.

I push myself up from the couch, my mind still spinning, and head to the bathroom. Maybe a shower will help clear my head, wash away this restless energy that's been gnawing at me since she left. Maybe it'll help me figure out what to do next, how to fix this mess we've gotten ourselves into.

The water is scalding as I step into the shower, the steam rising around me as I close my eyes and let the heat soak into my skin. I try to focus on the feeling of the water hitting my back, but my thoughts keep drifting back to Y/N, to the way she looked at me before she left-hurt, angry, and so far away.

God, I just want to talk to her, to make things right. But with each minute that passes, the distance between us feels like it's growing wider, like I'm losing her in ways I didn't even realize were possible.

I lean my forehead against the cool tile, the water running down my face as I take a deep breath, trying to steady the panic that's building inside me. I just need to hear her voice, to know she's okay.

But the silence is deafening, and all I'm left with are the echoes of our argument and the growing fear that I might have pushed her too far this

The cool air hits me as I step out of the shower, wrapping a towel around myself. My skin is still warm from the water, but a shiver runs down my spine as I open the bathroom door, hoping, praying that Y/N would be there, that she's come back and everything's okay. But instead, I'm met with the same empty apartment I left just 20 minutes ago.

I let out a long, frustrated sigh, feeling the weight of the silence pressing down on me. The argument, the worry-it all feels too much. I sit down on the sofa, my damp hair dripping onto the fabric as I rub my temples, trying to ease the headache that's been building since she left.

Suddenly, my phone rings, jolting me out of my thoughts. My heart leaps as I scramble to grab it, hoping it's Y/N finally calling. But when I see the hospital's number on the screen, my excitement evaporates, replaced with a sinking feeling in my stomach.

Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and answer the call. "Hello, this is Dr. Robbins speaking. How can I-"

"Arizona," comes April's voice on the other end, a tone so serious that it stops me in my tracks.

"April?" I ask, confusion lacing my words. "What are you doing calling me through the hospital number?"

There's a pause, and I can hear April take a deep breath before she speaks again, her voice trembling slightly. "Arizona, it's Y/N..."