18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: This is AU. I do not own any of the characters from Grey's Anatomy. I just manipulate them to my will. Also, any line or phrase or setting that seems remotely familiar from any other show, movie or book, also not mine. I borrow…

AN: Alright, next chapter is up. Yay? I think so. I know its late and all that jazz but better late than never. Again, I want to say that I know nothing about how the Olympics work backstage, or how things are done on the teams. I'm just going off of my own, personal experiences with college athletics. Worlds apart, I know. But that's what I'm using. So just think of it as literary license. Also, a HUGE thank you for the awesome response from the last chapter. When reviews are that heated and passionate, it lets me know that ya'll are really digging the story. Ok, enough blah blah blah. On with the story. Enjoy!

Chapter 18

"Grey, Canner." Owen announces and the two players step forward, their duffle bags and other necessities in their arms, and grab the two hotel key cards. "Yang, Bailey." He follows.

"Great." Yang growls. "I got the Nazi." The Korean states as she snatches her key out of Coach Hunt's hand, knowing one Miranda Bailey is not a woman who allows any sort of shenanigans to occur around her. If Cristina and Meredith are going to be having any fun in this leg of their trip, it will have to be in Grey's room.

"And I got Rosemary's baby." Bailey drawls which makes the few teammates left waiting snicker in amusement.

"Robbins, King." Hunt continues, and both Arizona and Charlotte take their key and head off to their room. Arizona doesn't much care who her roommate is at this point as long as it's not Amelia, Erica or Callie. Because surely one of them would end up dead or disfigured, and Arizona knows how to fight dirty.

Callie stares after the retreating blonde, Robbins not having said another word to the Latina since her smoke break last night. Torres is pulled from her guilt trip by Hunt restating "Torres."

"What?" She snaps, head whipping around the see her coach and a handful of other players all staring at her. "Sorry, what did you say?"

"You and Altman." The redhead says, and dark eyes find a smiling first baseman holding up two key cards. Teddy and Callie start to head down the hall to the elevators when the Latina hears Owen continue. "Kepner, Shepard."

"Uhh…" The catcher stops in her tracks, mind going into overdrive. "I'll meet you up there. I need to talk to Hunt about… something."

"Ok." Teddy replies with a shrug, then continues on her trek to find their next home away from home.

Turning back to the lobby, Callie intercepts both Amelia and April on their way to the elevators. "You two, wait." She says, not making eye contact with the pitcher. Torres can't stand to be in Amelia's company, not only because she's a disgrace to the team, but also because of what she forced Callie to do with Arizona. Using their relationship to keep Amelia on the team, it was way low. And the Latina has been sick about it since Arizona left that stairwell. It's eating her alive.

The last pair to be assigned a room approach and Erica's eyes locks with Callie's, the two silently figuring out how to handle this next obstacle. Grabbing Hahn's roommate's key card, Callie says "Kepner and Little Grey, you're rooming together." The two captains need to make sure that Amelia stays sober, and Callie isn't about to babysit, which means that responsibility falls into the other captain's lap.

Mouth agape, Lexie starts "But Coach-"

"We voted, you lost." Erica snaps, cutting her younger teammate off. Lexie and April exchange a confused look while Amelia paws at the carpet with her foot. The tension within the team has risen drastically since that night three nights ago, but no one outside of the very unlucky four knows exactly why. With an evil eye from both their captains, Kepner and Little Grey head to their room.

Turning to eye her two fellow conspirators, Callie clenches her jaw and lets out a strangled sigh. "I can't… why did I let you two talk me into this?"

"Eye on the prize, Torres." Erica replies nonchalantly, like this whole thing isn't eating her up as well. But it is, just not in the same way it is with Callie. She's worried about losing her chance at gold, where as the Latina is more upset about what it's doing to her team. …Her Arizona. With a stern look to the pitcher behind her, Erica gives a tight nod to her co-captain and then heads off to their room. Amelia offers a tight smile and follows, leaving a very nauseous feeling Calliope Torres behind.

Callie Torres is not so fully immersed into some gossip magazine that was next to the register at Team USA last pit stop. They had been at the hotel for a couple hours now and had no real plans for the night. One of the downfalls of traveling like they do is that enormous amount of down time each of the women have. Not only do they not have individual transportation, but most don't have the pocket change to go out and entertain themselves in each city they stop in. But they each find a way to pass the time. And yet time seems to be dragging on prolifically for the Latina. Her mind isn't shutting up and letting the issue drop. All those things Arizona yelled at her, those pieces of the blonde's life that she has kept close to her chest, they keep replaying in her mind. And it's eating her alive.

This does not go unnoticed by her roommate who is sprawled out on her own bed and munching on a bag of carrots. Teddy Altman has been silently surveying her captain, as well as Hahn, Shepard and Robbins for the better part of three days. Ever since Callie called Arizona back that night after dinner things have been… off. But Arizona's lips are sealed tighter than her fists and the first baseman isn't about to broach the subject with either Hahn or Shepard… because Teddy isn't looking to die in the next few months, so that leaves just one person left.

Rising from her bed, the blonde aimlessly meanders around her room for a couple seconds before sitting on her roommate's bed. Her eyes float over the ugly standard hotel art then come to rest on Callie, dark orbs glazed over as the Latina is lost in her own world.

The dipping of her mattress pulls Torres out of her internal flogging of herself and without looking up from the magazine she asks "You got a problem?"

Teddy shrugs innocently and answers "No."

"Do you have a mocha latte?" The captain asks, not in the mood for polite conversation.

"No." Altman answers, long locks moving across her shoulders as she shakes her head no.

"Then go away." Callie growls, then flips the page in her magazine to keep up the act of her actually reading it.

"How long have you and I known each other, Torres?" Teddy muses, reclining back on Callie's bed and staring up at the ceiling. But when all she gets is silence, she adds "Like 7, 8 months right? Before Arizona, I was the New Girl." She doesn't hear the faint exhale Callie lets out at Arizona's name being mentioned. Turning on her side and propping her head up on her arm, Teddy continues "Did you know Arizona's family is military too? Marines… Not Army, but still… not bad." The blonde jokes and Callie slowly lowers the magazine in her hands. "Her dad was a Marine. Colonel, if I remember correctly." Altman doesn't have a real game plan here, but she's hoping that if she gets talking about a certain blonde enough, her captain will open up and maybe let something slip.

And it works because Callie adds "And her brother."

This catches Teddy's attention, not having heard this fact before, and she sits up. "Her brother is a Marine?" The Latina's blood runs cold as she realizes she just let slip a personal detail that Arizona hadn't shared with her closest friend on the team. The blonde told her in a moment of anger and hurt, but didn't tell the one person who has been by Arizona's side from the beginning. And, like shock waves after a tsunami, another wave of guilt washes over the captain.

"Was…" Callie whispers, her head falling into her hands. "He… died." Teddy's expression immediately goes blank. Of all the secrets Altman thought Robbins might be keeping to herself, might have buried deep down, this was never one of them. "He died in the line of duty." Tears pool behind chocolate eyes as the scene between Arizona and Callie plays out again in the Latina's mind. "Jesus… what have I done?" She whispers to herself.

"What have you done?" Teddy asks softly. The tension that has found its way between four of the best players on the team has not gone unnoticed, and Teddy Altman is afraid. Not just for her chances at gold, but because these women… these thirteen other women, and six guys, are her family. One big, crazy, messed up, incestuous family. And to see any of them hurt pains her. But when dark brown eyes find hers, Teddy knows that she's gotten the last bit of information her captain will give.

"How you feeling, Blondie?" Mark asks from his position just behind Arizona on the practice mound. It's the day after the team made it to Alabama and now USA is gearing up to face one of the top five teams in the nation. Its Robbins first time back on the mound since the whole Amelia mess happened, and she hopes to make a better showing than the last game. But every time blue eyes find those behind the red face mask facing her, anger rages through her body making it nearly impossible to do her job.

"Fine." The pitcher answers, then winds up and sends another heater down the middle. The burn in Callie's hand tells her that Arizona is throwing harder than she usually does, and that's not a good thing. Not now. Not during practice, not during warm up. But the Latina is stuck. She doesn't know how to act around Arizona anymore. Callie has shot herself in the foot and all she really wants to do with dance with Arizona. But it's impossible. …Because of the bullet hole.

"Bring it in, ladies!" Webber hollers, and Team USA jogs back to the visitors' dugout. "Ok ladies, game time. Alabama is one of the best out there, so bring it. I want to see you hustle and push. We are within two weeks time of the Games. Now is the time to come together as a team and work. Work hard." Ten heads nod, only a certain four remain frozen as Arizona sends a glare to a certain addict across the circle from her. "Arizona, you're leading off. Alright, Torres send it off." Webber says then backs up to let his team do their thing.

"Alright ladies…" Callie says, and has to clear her throat to wash the emotion from her voice. "On me. USA!" and it's immediately followed by a chorus of "All the way!"

Slapping her helmet into place, Arizona Robbins steps up to the batter's box as the first up for her team. The usual nerves that come at the start of every game are present, and with a quick breath, the blonde tells herself to play her game, and no one else's. Taking the first pitch, she gets on base with a nearly perfectly placed slap. And just like that, her performance this game is one hundred percent better than the last game.

USA doesn't score a run as the Alabama pitcher retires her fifth batter, and Arizona heads out onto the circle. Clipping on the last strap of her shin guard, Callie makes a detour on her way to behind the plate. Crossing the chalk, she walks up to the blonde smoothing out the dirt in front of her pitching rubber. Blue eyes glance up at the intruder and her free hand clenches involuntarily.

"Hey…" Callie breathes out, then positions herself so her back is to their team dugout, moving her mouth away from the view of her coaches. "You ok?"

A sarcastic laugh falls from pink lips and Arizona swipes a stray blonde hair that has blown free from her pig tails behind her ear. "Yeah Boss… Just peachy." She bites. Robbins knows she shouldn't bring her emotions on the field, because on the field they are a team. A single, cohesive unit working toward one goal. But that does little to quell her disappointment with her captains. How is she suppose to look up to them, view them as her leaders when they have used and abused their position and Arizona's powers as a physician to cover up Amelia's screw up.

Callie takes a small step forward and reaches out to softly grasp the fairer woman's arm but stops herself, suddenly aware how many eyes are on them. Pulling back, she whispers "Arizona…"

"Just get behind the plate, Torres." Arizona pleads, her eyes dropping from that of her captain's and continues to smooth out her pitching circle with her foot. Perfect teeth bite at her lower lip, but it's hidden behind the Latina's face mask. With a small nod, Callie back tracks and takes her spot at the home plate.

Three batters into the first inning and Arizona is fighting hard. It's not the oppressive heat, the stifling humidity, or the feel of a hundred sets of eyes on her that makes her stumble. But those soft brown eyes staring back at her from behind the batter. Almost like Callie is pleading with each pitch to forgive her, which makes Arizona throw even harder. Everyone can sense something is off with those two, the smoothness and chemistry that was there at Arizona's last pitching appearance has evaporated. Now they look as comfortable together as a cat being dipped into a tub of water. Arizona shakes off a pitch more times than she accepts it, and even then her pitch isn't what it should be. The blonde has cut the cable in her battery. No longer are they a team, but two individual players playing for completely opposite reasons.

After three innings, Mark Sloan knows something is definitely going on between his star player and newest pitcher. Before, they were like magic. But now? Dud. Two duds. Arizona can't get a string going long enough to gain any momentum and Torres isn't helping matters any. He knows Callie, he's been her coach for years. He knows how the Latina operates, and when she hasn't taken a time out to go talk to her pitcher and cool Robbins down, he knows something off field has affect everything on field.

Fourth inning comes and a trail of sweat beads its way down a fair face, blue eyes squinting from behind her sunglasses. It's hot, really hot. And Arizona is feeling the fatigue. She's been throwing harder than ever, all because she is taking her anger out on Callie the only way she knows how to. And that's by trying to break her hand. But now, after only four innings, she's spent. Which is why Coach Sloan has called time out and is striding out on the field. He glances toward home plate and beckons Torres to join him.

"What's going on?" He asks, staring into the reflective blue of the blonde's sport shades.

"Nothing." Arizona says with a heavy breath while using her sleeve to wipe at her face.

"You're flailing." Mark counters, Callie shifting nervously from foot to foot.

"I'm fine." Robbins snaps back, her tone much sharper than what she would usually use with someone of a higher authority. Blue eyes look past her coach and find Shepard and Hahn warming up on one of the practice mounds and her jaw clenches in frustration. Not only is Arizona covering Amelia's ass, but now Amelia gets the satisfaction of knowing she is being put in to clean up what Robbins couldn't do.

Turning to Callie, who has been praying that she wouldn't get dragged into this, Mark asks "What do you think? She done?"

"I'm fine." Arizona growls.

Dark eyes flick between those of her pitchers and those of her coach's. "She's struggling a bit." The Latina offers lamely. Anyone with an eye could see that but Callie doesn't want to pile anymore on top of the blonde.

That answer doesn't make Mark happy, and he asks again "What do you think?"

Blue eyes connect with hers, one of the few times since that fateful night, and Callie says "She's done. She's been throwing grapefruits at me for the last four batters." Whatever trace of silently pleading in Arizona's face immediately dissipates, instead a look of fury furrowing her light brows. Mark calls for a sub and Arizona roughly shoves past Callie, giving the larger and stronger woman a shoulder check that makes Torres falter on her feet for a second.

"You too." Mark adds, gesturing for Callie to hit the bench. "Go rehydrate. Don't need you exhausting yourself before the Games." The Latina nods weakly and drops the ball in her glove on the ground. She passes both Amelia and Erica on the way off and both avert their gazes from the tired catcher. Once clear of the playing field, Torres pulls off her gear and grabs a Gatorade. Her eyes fall upon a certain blonde who is unceremoniously shoving her glove into her bag, all the while a string of unpleasant obscenities fall from her lips. And right then Callie knows that something has to happen to get her team flowing again.

Fate showed itself the following morning when every door was pounded on by Coach Webber and every player was told to meet downstairs at the bus in thirty minutes. And the heart of Amelia Shepard started to race when the words 'drug test' was uttered. Her entire world, however shaky it has been since that night four nights ago, started to go black again. 'Four, five days maybe.' That's all she could replay in her mind, Arizona… Dr. Robbins… saying that the oxy will stay in her system for up to five days. Well… it's been four days. Four full days, and a couple hours. Every minute of that time was spent in pain, the constant itch and need for another hit. But under the unforgiving eye of Erica Hahn, Amelia Shepard managed to stay clean. And now she is hoping that it has been long enough since her last pill that all that pain was worth something, hoping she is still in the race.

"Alright ladies, line up on that bench." One of the test administers calls. Team USA has been carted to the training facility of Alabama's University for the test, and fourteen rear ends find a seat on a long and well worn wooden bench. "Those of you who are new, listen up. Those of you who have done this before, listen up anyways." The woman barks, then holds up a plastic cup. "One at a time, you will go into that bathroom and take off your hoodies and sweatpants. You will wash your hands. You will enter the first stall and keep the door open. I will watch you fill this cup up to the line. You will set the cup on the ground, away from you so I can see it. Only then can you close the door and finish up. After you are done, you will wash your hands and then take your sample to the other administers at that table…" She points to a fold out with two waiting test administrators. "…and watch as they process your sample. After that, you will sign your sample as well as a release form." Team USA sits quiet as the Olympic Representative goes over the rules of their drug test. "If I think any of you are trying to tamper with the test, you're sample will immediately be tossed and you will forfeit your position on Team USA. …Any questions?"

No one answers, so the woman says "Alright, whoever is ready to go, let's do it." One by one the line starts to shorten. Lexie Grey and April Kepner have to go to the end of the line after their bladders decided to dry up on them with the harsh woman's glare pointed directly at them. Arizona isn't new when it comes to drug tests, she had to take one during the very short time she was on a college team, but still it doesn't get any easier. No one realizes how much they enjoy their personal space while in the bathroom until it's taken away from you. But finally, with her eyes shut tight to block the woman out, and some encouraging mumblings to herself, her cup fills up.

As she passes back in front of her team, she eyes Amelia Shepard on the bench. The brunette's foot is going a mile a minute and Robbins is sure that by the end of all this Amelia won't have any fingernails left to chew on. Arizona actually wishes that Shepard's test turns up positive. It would be some form of punishment out of all of this, and Amelia wouldn't end up getting of scotch free. But the flip side… when the Olympic Committee digs into the origin of Shepard's drugs their search will end right at Dr. Arizona Robbins. Talk about being stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Once her test is all sealed and signed, Arizona meanders back outside into the muggy morning air. The light rain that fell overnight has done nothing but put moisture in the air, and Robbins is grateful USA doesn't have to play today. Only a few other teammates are outside, all circled up and yawning in time with one another. Extracting herself quietly, Arizona finds a place out of the way and brings a cigarette up to her lips. As her body consumes the flame, her mind retraces the last few days and all that has transpired. The smoke fills strong, clean lungs and blue eyes tear at the burn. It gives Arizona something to hold on to, something she can control. She can control how deep to inhale, how long to keep the vicious smoke within her body, and only she alone can say when.

This is it, this is the moment. One way or the other, it's all over. Amelia passes and it's like the whole situation never happened. Shepard's body becomes clean, she pitches and USA wins. Or Amelia fails and it all caves in. Shepard, Hahn, Torres… even Arizona might end up going down with the ship. And for what? The possibility of a hunk of metal? No… that's not why Arizona kept her mouth shut. The reason the surgeon didn't go straight to Webber just so happens to join the tight circle next to the bus, long raven locks blowing in the slight breeze. Even now, this early in the morning and having virtually no time to wake up, Callie Torres looks miraculous.

Dark brown eyes survey the gather group of her team mates and she finds she is one short. Callie is sure Arizona had gone before her, and was sure she saw the blonde head outside immediately after signing her release form. Pretending to be paying attention to whatever complaining Charlotte King is doing about being up so early, the captain searches the empty parking lot. When a puff of smoke arises from a shadowed corner against the athletic complex, a pang of guilt hits her square in the chest.

"Let's see… C10." Callie murmurs to herself, selecting the corresponding letter and number on the vending machine outside the rest stop Team USA is currently parked at. The metal coil springs to life and pushes the bag of gummy worms closer and closer to the lip. It's a small offer, miniscule compared to what Arizona has been through not just during the past week, but the past six months. But when dark eyes fell on the pack of sweets, she just had to get them for her pitcher.

But the treat stops just at the edge, tipping over but never falling. "What?" The Latina growls, then slaps the glass. "Oh come on. ….Come on." Strong arms shake the machine but the bag of gummies doesn't move. "Damn it!"

"Woah… easy Torres." Sloan drawls, stepping up next to his catcher.

"No, Mark! I paid for a bag of gummy worms, I want the damned bag of gummy worms!" The captain hisses, then starts to rock the machine harder.

"What's going on with you, Cal?" The coach asks, taking in the very haggard and stressed appearance of his best, as well as favorite, player.

"Why does something have to be 'going on'?" The catcher snaps, moving to the side of the machine and trying to shake it from a different angle.

"You're assaulting a vending machine, Torres." Mark states, and brown eyes lock with blue grey. Over the past few years, Callie and Mark have become closer than just player and coach. Despite all the mumblings about Sloan being one gigantic manwhore, he is actually a pretty decent friend. It only took the man about six months to figure out Callie wasn't going to sleep with him, but once he got the message, their friendship blossomed. And now the coach can sense something is up with Torres, what with her beating the crap out of a metal box for a pack of gummy worms, which Mark is sure Callie has never eaten before, and the coldness between her and Robbins, but doesn't understand why she just won't tell him.

A very animalistic noise comes deep from within the Latina and Callie bangs her head into the machine out of frustration. "Perfect. Why not? Why would this work for me… Karma is a dirty bitch." She grumbles to herself.

Mark, taking pity on his friend, tugs the catcher clear and gives the vending machine a strong shove, pushing it up onto two legs and letting it drop. The rattling and vibration is enough to knock the gummy worms loose, falling into the trough from which Sloan retrieves it.

"What are you, Fonzie or something?" Callie sneers, snatching the bag from her coach's hand. Realization hits her and she takes a deep breath. "Sorry… I'm just so tense. What with practice and the team and… other stuff."

"We've been working hard, Cal. We're ready. You'll do fine." Sloan replies, very confident in his pitchers and catchers. At least he was until the latest Robbins/Torres appearance on the field yesterday. Since then he's not feeling so confident.

Shaking her head, Callie shoots out "I can't do fine. I have to do great. I'm a Torres." And the Torres name carries a heavy load, one that Callie has been stuck with since birth. …One of the downfalls of having a father like Carlos Torres, good is never enough. Not when you can do better.

Shaggy brows furrow, and Mark leans in an imperceptible amount, making Callie lean the other direction. "Are you… getting any?"

"You just ask me if I'm getting any?" Torres asks in disbelief.

"When was the last time?" Sloan questions, like the topic of the Latina's sex life is just an everyday conversation between them. And it usually is, Callie is not a shy person in that sense but she doesn't feel like talking about it right now with the whole… situation going on.

"…That's none of your business." Callie says, shaking her head slightly.

Mark shrugs his shoulder and a sly smirk crosses his lips. "Just tell me, I won't judge."

The catcher is not having this conversation with this man. "I am focused. There's no time." She spits, then sidesteps her coach and heads back to the bus that is just revving to life.

Mark isn't sure what a brain aneurism feels like, but he can only guess that's he's having one at this exact moment. After a couple of dumbfounded seconds, he turns to his retreating player and yells "There's always time!"

At just after 7 pm, Team USA spills out of their tour bus and herds into their last hotel of the trip. Nearly 12 hours on the road, 12 hours since their surprise drug test, they have finally made it to the end of their tour. There is still about a week until they fly overseas, but Miami is their last pit stop. From here they will play a plethora of teams from various schools and clubs throughout Florida, as well as do all the last minute publicity and photo shoots required of them. The fact that Miami is the most alive city they've stayed in yet is just a plus.

"Alright ladies, I want you down here dress in you red and blue's tomorrow morning by 9:30." Webber announces as Derek Shepard is just finishing up with the hotel receptionist. "Double header tomorrow, and I want plenty of time to warm you up. So… what time?"

A chorus of "9:30" fills the lobby, which makes Richard Webber smile and nod. Soon, names are being called off and pairs of players head to their rooms to get settled. Arizona waits, her jaw clenching every time her name isn't called, watching as another safe choice heads off with a different roommate.

"Altman, Montgomery." Derek calls, and both Teddy and Addison step forward to grab their keys, leaving only two players left. The duo exchanged a smirk, then look to both Callie and Arizona who are standing as far apart as possible within the lobby.

"This should be interesting." Teddy whispers to the tall redhead as the elevator doors open for them.

"You said it." Addison agrees, and the doors close, leaving just the four coaches and a feuding Torres and Robbins left. Blue eyes chance a glance to the Latina at the other side of the room and lock with deep chocolate.

"Torres and Robbins. Come on." Shepard says, holding out the last two cards.

"I'm not rooming with her." Arizona sneers.

"Robbins." Sloan snaps, his arms folded tightly over his chest as he assumes his alpha male pose.

"I'm not." The blonde states. Usually Arizona would never argue with someone of a higher authority, but the surgeon is standing her ground. Authority issues or not.

Callie, not wanting to put her pitcher in any more discomfort, weakly says "Mark, it's ok… I'll switch with-"

"No." Coach Sloan cuts the Latina off. "You two are rooming together and you are going to work out whatever it is that is going on. Not a week ago you and Robbins were on fire, and now it's like the Arctic Ocean between you." Mark explains while Derek, Owen and Richard all back him, nodding slowly at every word. "I don't care what it takes, but you ladies need to kiss and make up." Blue eyes roll in their socket and Callie mumbles something unintelligible under her breath. This is not what Torres or Robbins wants. …Ok, so maybe it is what Callie wants. The opportunity to spend some private time with the blonde but not if Arizona is itching to get away from her, that won't do anybody any good.

"We have six days until we fly out. And only two weeks until the Games start." Richard steps in when he sees his players are less than happy about this arrangement. Turning his gaze to the sulking blonde, Webber says "Whether you like it or not, Torres is your teammate, your catcher and your captain. You don't have to be best friends off the field, but when you're wearing that USA jersey I expect you to have each other's back." Looking between Arizona and Callie, he adds "That goes for both of you. I don't know what happened, nor do I care to. But I expect you two to pull your heads out of whatever orifice they are stuck in and get back on the same team."

Fair hands clench into fist and Arizona cracks her neck out of stress and aggravation. She should tell him, tell Webber everything. Let it all go and not give a damn about the team or their chances in London. But one look at the beaten and guilty look etched deeply on Callie's face is enough to dampen the blonde's fight. So with a strangled sigh, Robbins snatches one of the two remaining keys from her coach's hand and turns to find their room. Callie watches Arizona go, not really wanting to follow but knowing that she needs to. With a tight smile to her coaches, the Latina grabs her key and retraces Arizona's trail while silently praying that this last week isn't going to be half as bad as she thinks it will be.

A heavy duffel bag is dropped on the furthest of two mattresses. The air is thick with tension and Callie's brow breaks into a slight sweat as she sets her own bag down on the bed closest to the bathroom and hotel room door. Their entire trip up the elevator and down the hallway was filled with Arizona muttering to herself, blonde locks waving as the pitcher shakes her head in response to unasked questions, and longing looks from the Latina.

"Look…" Callie blurts out when all she's seen of the blonde is her back for five minutes. "…I'm sorry that this is so hard for you, ok? I didn't want this to happen, Arizona."

"And I didn't want a lot of things to happen, Calliope. But guess what? They happened." Arizona growls in response, slamming closed a dresser drawer as she starts to unpack her clothes. Blue eyes whip around and land on the woman who used to occupy every corner of her mind, the woman that Arizona couldn't help but daydream about. But so much has changed in so little time, and even though it was Callie who uttered the words, Arizona knows deep down they weren't hers. Robbins firmly believes that Calliope Torres is a good woman, not someone who would willingly cover up this drug scandal that has happened. She just wishes Callie would show her true strength of character and stand up to Hahn and Shepard, be the leader Arizona knows the catcher is. But every day that passes where nothing is said, where the truth remains buried, is another reminder to Arizona that she shouldn't expect anything from anyone else. All that you really have in this life is yourself, and it sucks.

The tired blonde sits on the edge of her bed, her head hung in her hands. All those memories come flooding back to her, all the hurt and the pain, the yelling and crying. It all comes back, those walls she built over the months having been smashed to the ground by the woman standing in their room, staring at her.

"Things don't go the way we want them to. …Ever." Arizona whispers, and the pain in her words washes over Callie. Shaking herself, Arizona grabs her contraband from its hiding spot in her bag and stands. "I need some air." She mumbles, then slips out of the room in search of some privacy leaving a very sick Callie alone in the room.

Amelia grips the lip of the sink in her hotel room, trying to push down the pain and nausea that is filling her body. The high pitched squeaking of April Kepner, her roommate for this leg of the trip, isn't helping matters. Twelve hours of anxiety is clearly showing on her already pale face, and the need for another score has tripled. But Shepard doesn't need the drugs, she's stronger than that. So instead she starts to unpack her toiletries. As she reaches across the tub, her bag slips from her hands and falls, her items spilling out into the shower.

"Damn it." The pitcher growls, then stoops down to pick everything up. That's when she sees them, two tiny blue pills contrasting completely with the eggshell white backdrop. Taunting her, harassing her. She doesn't know how they got out of the pill bottle, or how Erica missed them, but there they are. Just waiting to be swallowed. Sweet relief.

A shaky hand picks them up and holds them in front of her eyes. Her body tingles in anticipation and need. Five days without a hit, and it feels like her skin is crawling. But these little candies could end all the discomfort. Who would know? She's gotten past everyone of her teammates for months, and just took a drug test. If it turns up clean, there won't be another for a while. And if it turns up positive, well… she's already done. What's the harm?

Before Amelia Shepard realizes it, she is swallowing the last two pills of her stash and urging for the miraculous drugs to take effect immediately. Minutes pass and with each second the ticks by the sweet cloud of numbness fills her mind and covers her body. Sweet relief. Just one more time. What's the harm?

The spark of a lighter followed by the faint glow of a tiny flame eases Arizona's tension before the pungent smoke fills her lungs. The muggy Miami air surrounds her, the low drum of the city life all around fills her ears. The night sky stretched out before her as the blonde is seated on the top of Team USA's tour bus. When she left her room, she needed privacy, a place to go t be alone. Stepping out of the hotel, the glint of polished paint in the darkest corner of the deserted parking lot caught her attention. It just called to her, so now here she sits, her legs pulled up to her chest as a lit cigarette dangles from her right hand.

Her mind is so far away from this place that when something hits the siding of the bus, the blonde nearly falls off out of shock. "What the hell? !" She yelps, only to be greeted with the distinctive laugh of Addison Montgomery and Teddy Altman.

"What up?" The first baseman asks as she hauls herself up the tiny ladder and joins Robbins on top.

"What are you doing here?" Arizona asks, looking between the other blonde and the redhead also climbing up the ladder.

"We could ask you the same." Addison rebuttals, and takes a seat on the opposite side of the pitcher. "…We saw you from our room, thought we'd join you." The redhead adds.

"Thanks, but I'm not really in the mood for company." The surgeon states, taking a deep inhale from her cigarette and expelling the smoke from her lungs.

Teddy leans forward a bit to catch the redhead's eye on the other side of the moping blonde, and sighs. "I'm sorry about your brother." She whispers, Addison nodding solemnly. Robbins brow furrows in confusion on how her friend could have found out, because Arizona knows she didn't tell anyone besides…

"Callie told me." Teddy answers her unasked question.

"Of course she did." Arizona murmurs, turning her gaze back to the far off moon. The three sit in silence for a while, Teddy and Addison just wanting Arizona to know that they are there for her even if she doesn't want to talk about it. But as her memories play through her mind, a smile pulls at thin pink lips.

"He was a Marine. …An amazing guy. The best. …He was my best friend." The surgeons says in nothing but a whisper while her two friends listen, not wanting to interrupt. "The only friend I had most of the time. Growing up in the military, you move around a lot. We never stayed anywhere long enough to really get to know people, let alone other kids." Teddy nods in understanding, having been through much of the same, even if she didn't move as often as the Robbins did. "Sometimes I still don't believe he is gone. It doesn't feel real. …My world doesn't seem real without Tim." A tear forms and streaks down her cheeks but Arizona doesn't wipe it away. What's one more fallen tear when she's already cried an ocean of them?

"He wrote me letters. As often as he could, and I'd write him back. …The last letter he wrote, the day before…" Arizona's throat constricts with emotion and both Addison and Teddy wipe at their teary eyes. "He told me that when he could, he'd sit out on the hood of his humvee and look up at the moon. He said that over there, that place seemed like a whole different world than here. The only thing that was the same was the moon. The darkness and the moon were the things the reminded him that he still has a home, and a family. …A life outside of that place." And right now Arizona wishes that the lights of Miami were shut off city wide, allowing the vast darkness to completely descend upon the land so all the brilliance of the universe could be seen. …Like the skies in Iraq, completely black and brilliant, littered with more stars than you can count.

"'If people sat outside and looked at the stars each night, I bet they would live a lot differently.' ….That was the last sentence he ever wrote." Arizona whispers, a steady stream of tears falling down her face, her cigarette long since burnt out and flicked off the side of the bus. "So… whenever I miss him, or feel like I've lost control… I stare up at the moon and the stars, because I know he's doing the same. …And it helps."

Curtains drop back into place and Callie stands from her perch on the windowsill. She's been watching Arizona for the past ten minutes, both when she was by herself and when Addison and Teddy joined her. The Latina wants so much to be able to be the one to comfort the blonde, but now she feels that she is the reason Arizona needs to be comforted. It's all too much. The guilt and the stress, the look of hurt in those blue eyes. They should be light and bright with life and happiness, not dark and dull with pain and disappointment.

Callie is a leader, born to be warrior who leads her troops into battle with confidence and strength. But now it feels like she's losing everything. Amelia. Erica. …Arizona. Her life has somehow slipped through her fingers. And she doesn't know how she can fix it, if she even can. Maybe the damage has already been done. Maybe Arizona is so broken that all the glue and the tape and the gum in the world can't patch her up. Callie wouldn't blame her, not in the least. And her team? It's slowly disintegrating around her. Someone has pulled the thread and now everything is unraveling, more and more as the thread is pulled further and further away.

Torres takes a seat on Arizona's bed, her eyes finding the notebook full of the surgeon's neat and tight handwriting. Arizona's bible, in essence. Tanned fingers flip the front cover and dark eyes land on a drawing. Or doodle. Whatever it is, it took a long time because it's beautiful. And the message rattles Callie's core. There, written on the front page with beautiful embellishments around the script, are the words 'The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy'. And then… just like that, Callie's body lightens. A weight lifts. She knows what she has to do, even if it's too late to win Arizona back, the Latina has to do the right thing even if that means she, herself, ends up losing in the end.

Gently shutting the notebook and placing it back on the bed, Callie rises to her feet with renewed resolve. There is no question left in her mind, and she knows she's doing the right thing because of it. The captain doesn't remember leaving the hotel room, or walking the hallway, or even entering the elevator. The next thing she knows she is standing in front of Coach Webber's hotel room door. And even though she could be ending whatever chance she has at winning a gold medal, the dream the catcher has had since high school, Callie isn't anxious, or nervous. Or even fearful.

A strong, confident knock, and then the door opens, Richard Webber on the other side still in his polo and khakis. "Torres…" He greets with a brilliant smile. "What can I do for you?"

There should be a million thoughts flying through her mind, her stomach should be doing barrel rolls. Her knees should be knocking and her hands should be shaking. But they're not. Because this is the most sure thing the Latina has done in her life. "Sir… I need to tell you something."

AN2: …So? How's it all going to play out? Let me know what ya'll think! And again, you guys are amazing. Seriously.