She expected a lot of things. She expected to have a rough time learning the surgical techniques. She expected her to be harsh, and emotionless. She didn't expect a brain tumor, or a light, and fun woman underneath it all. And she certainly did not expect to fall in love with Nicole Herman.
Note cards on a bulletin board. Impossible surgeries. A brain tumor the size of a baseball. She could do this, she thought to herself. She could own this. All she had to do was study, and remain hopeful. Hopeful, but not attached. Because this was reality, and this was the hospital of death and everything in between. They would save countless lives, but somehow, even if they gave it careful thought, they never could save their own.
Now here they stand. Most of them are either dead or gone, and the ones that are left will never be the same. Meredith almost drowned, George died, Izzie got cancer, Cristina's gone, Mark and Lexie are dead, Callie and her are divorced, and she doesn't have a leg. A shooting, a car crash, and a plane crash. Everything, and they still stand. Broken, but there. She couldn't let that happen to Nicole.
So she fought. She fought like hell to save her, because Nicole Herman's life was more to her. And she couldn't explain exactly what that meant, but it was a thought that crossed her mind every time she caught her smile, or saw her brain scans. And then, everything changed.
They enclosed the mesh mask over Herman's head, and she reached out, searching for her hand. Their hands met, and she felt it. Damnit, she got attached. Tears fell down her cheek, as she held onto her hand. She was seeing the indestructible destruct, she thought to herself.
"You're half her age!" Callie yelled at her a week later, on a Thursday night.
"We're just coworkers." She said sharply, the words hurting as they rolled off of her tongue.
"No. No, you're not. You love her. I can see it." Callie said, leaving Arizona speechless.
Her world fell apart.
They stole a couch. Two couches, actually. They stole two couches, and ran through the halls at midnight like young girls. Her age wasn't an issue anymore, and she wasn't sure if it ever was to begin with. They sat together, downing vodka on one of their stolen couches, and they laughed for hours. Until the laughing stopped, and the kissing began. It was strange, Arizona thought. Not kissing her, but the fact that she was kissing her drunk, when every sober moment that she lived she wanted to kiss her.
Kissing leads to other things, and there was never a way around that.
"We're technically living together. The rumors are true." Herman laughed, elbow deep in a uterus.
"What rumors?" Arizona asked her, her blue eyes shining brightly.
"That you lesbians move fast." She snickered.
"Shut up." Arizona screeched, before bursting out into laughter.
She didn't expect it to happen this fast. They kissed after rounds, and Nicole told her to get Glenda a fresh set of scans. And then everything came crashing down. Glenda was rushed into Pre-op and she was saying anything but goodbye to Nicole, holding onto any hope that she had left. Amelia cut into her brain. God, this is too much.
Arizona tore off her surgical mask, gasping for air. She clasped her chest, and forced herself to breathe. She let herself slide down the wall, holding her head in her hands.
"I need a cigarette." She whispered into the halls. And then she laughed. She hysterically giggled for what seemed like forever. Nicole Herman is the reason she saved Glenda's life, and she finds it hilariously ironic that such a beautiful life could possibly be ended today. Why is it that bad things always happen to her?
Only her.
"She's alive." Amelia said.
"What?" Arizona asked in disbelief.
"She's alive." Amelia repeated, smirking. She was proud of herself, and she should have been.
It took her a long while to wake up. Days, maybe a week. Arizona didn't keep track. She only knows one thing, Nicole Herman is blind, but she's alive.
She's alive.
