Work Text:
The thin gray light of early morning filtered through the half-closed blinds of the small Baltimore apartment, casting pale stripes across the bedroom walls. The room smelled faintly of last night’s perfume, mixed with the comforting scent of something lavender that both women had no idea where it came from. The digital clock on the nightstand blinked 5:41 in accusing red numbers, a time that felt deeply unreasonable to anyone who had been awake far past midnight, celebrating a colleague’s birthday in a crowded bar filled with too much music and even more tequila.
Amelia stirred first, as she usually did when responsibility forced her body into reluctant cooperation with the morning. She layed still for a few seconds, staring up at the ceiling while the dull weight of sleep slowly lifted from her mind, leaving behind the familiar mixture of exhaustion and determination that came with being a surgical resident who refused to fall behind. Her head felt clear despite the late night, something she had come to value deeply since sobriety had carved a steady path back into her life, and she allowed herself a quiet moment of gratitude for the fact that waking up no longer meant fighting through the fog of substances she once depended on.
Beside her, Arizona remained stubbornly unconscious, her body turned away with her back pressed lightly against Amelia’s chest, blonde hair spilling across the pillow in messy strands. She had pulled the blankets almost completely around herself sometime during the night, creating a protective cocoon. Her breathing was slow and deep in the relaxed rhythm of someone who had absolutely no intention of waking anytime soon, despite the reality of early morning rounds waiting for them at the hospital.
Amelia shifted carefully, propping herself up on one elbow while studying the woman beside her with a mixture of affection and amusement that had become second nature since their relationship began. It had been nearly eight months since Arizona had first kissed her in the quiet hallway outside one of the supply closets, and Amelia still found herself occasionally startled by the fact that the brilliant, stubborn, endlessly optimistic and occasionally disastrous resident had chosen her. Their lives had settled into a rhythm that felt surprisingly domestic for two people who spent most of their waking hours inside operating rooms, and moving into Arizona’s apartment had only strengthened that sense of stability.
She reached out slowly, brushing her fingers through the soft ends of Arizona’s hair while leaning forward enough to speak near her ear.
“Arizona.” Amelia murmured softly, her voice still rough with sleep yet gentle enough that it carried more affection than urgency.
Arizona responded with a low, incomprehensible grumble that sounded vaguely like protest before curling even tighter beneath the blankets, drawing her knees up toward her chest as if physical resistance might somehow delay the inevitable arrival of morning responsibilities.
Amelia watched this performance with growing amusement, unable to suppress the small smile that tugged at the corner of her mouth as she gently pressed a kiss to the crown of Arizona’s head. The blonde smelled faintly of the citrus shampoo she used and the lingering notes of the bar last night.
“I bet you regret staying for that last round of drinks right now.” Amelia said quietly, though her tone held more fondness than reprimand as she brushed her lips briefly against Arizona’s temple.
Arizona made another sleepy sound that might have been an attempt at forming words, though it dissolved halfway through into something resembling a stubborn sigh before she burrowed deeper into the blankets like a disgruntled animal refusing to leave its den.
Amelia lingered there for another moment, studying the curve of Arizona’s shoulder beneath the sheets and the peaceful softness of her sleeping expression, which looked entirely different from the sharp confidence she carried through the corridors every day. When Arizona slept, the tension in her jaw disappeared and the determined lines around her eyes smoothed away, leaving behind something that Amelia knew very few people had ever been allowed to see.
Eventually, Amelia slipped carefully out of bed, moving quietly, as the wooden floor felt cold beneath her bare feet, and she pulled one of Arizona’s oversized Hopkins hoodies over her head, the fabric hanging loosely around her frame while still carrying the faint scent of the woman who wore it most often.
The apartment itself was small but comfortable, a modest resident’s place filled with stacks of medical textbooks, scattered surgical notes, and the occasional bright photograph Arizona insisted on taping to the refrigerator because she believed homes should contain reminders of the world outside hospital walls. Amelia padded toward the kitchen, rubbing one hand over her face while trying to shake away the lingering fatigue from too little sleep and too much late-night conversation.
Making coffee had become her unofficial morning responsibility, largely because Arizona functioned best when handed a full mug before being forced to engage with reality. Amelia moved through the familiar process almost automatically, measuring the grounds, filling the machine with water, and leaning her hip against the counter while waiting for the quiet gurgle of brewing coffee to fill the apartment.
Her mind drifted back to the night before, replaying fragments of laughter and music and Arizona’s bright smile across the crowded bar. Arizona rarely drank more than a couple of glasses, but the relaxed atmosphere of a birthday celebration among residents had stretched longer than either of them intended. Amelia had spent most of the evening nursing club soda and watching Arizona laugh with colleagues, quietly grateful for the strange normalcy of a life that did not revolve around cravings anymore.
The coffee machine finished its work with a soft click, releasing a rich smell that filled the small kitchen with warmth. Amelia poured two mugs, though she suspected Arizona would require several more before becoming fully coherent, and carried them carefully back toward the bedroom.
When Amelia pushed the bedroom door open with her shoulder, she found Arizona exactly where she had left her, still curled into the blankets with her hair now covering most of her face like a stubborn barrier against daylight.
Amelia set the mugs on the nightstand before sitting carefully on the edge of the mattress, studying the sleeping blonde with fond exasperation and gentle concern. Arizona looked peaceful, though the faint crease between her eyebrows suggested the beginnings of a headache that would likely greet her the moment she fully woke.
Amelia reached out again, this time resting her hand lightly on Arizona’s shoulder while leaning close enough that her voice would reach through the fog of sleep.
“Hey.” she murmured softly, brushing her thumb along the warm skin of Arizona’s arm. “You have about ten minutes before I start getting significantly less patient about this situation.”
Arizona shifted slightly beneath the blankets, her face turning toward Amelia just enough that one sleepy blue eye opened halfway in reluctant acknowledgment of reality. Her expression carried the unmistakable look of someone who was deeply baffled by the concept of morning.
“Five more minutes.” Arizona mumbled, her voice thick with sleep and mild suffering as she pulled the blanket higher around her shoulders.
Amelia could not help the quiet laugh that escaped her at the stubbornness in Arizona’s tone, because the woman who commanded operating rooms with fearless authority was apparently powerless against the cruelty of early mornings after late nights.
“You said that twenty minutes ago.” Amelia replied gently, though her fingers continued tracing slow circles against Arizona’s shoulder as if the contact itself carried reassurance.
Arizona groaned softly in response, squeezing her eyes shut again while attempting to retreat deeper into the pillow.
Amelia watched her for another moment, feeling the familiar swell of affection that came from loving someone who could be both brilliant and ridiculous at the same time, before leaning closer and pressing another soft kiss against Arizona’s temple.
“Come on.” she murmured quietly, her voice carrying the steady warmth that had slowly become Arizona’s favorite way to wake up. “You have surgeries today, and I am not explaining to your attending that you overslept because you celebrated Brian’s birthday like a college freshman.”
Arizona made a weak protesting sound beneath the blankets, shifting slightly toward Amelia’s warmth while clearly still negotiating with the concept of consciousness.
The smell of the coffee that Amelia had set on the nightstand slowly began to spread through the bedroom, warm and rich and bitter in a way that usually coaxed Arizona into consciousness after long nights and early mornings. On most days, the scent alone would have been enough to lure her out from beneath the blankets, especially when she knew Amelia had already made the effort to prepare it before work.
Today, however, the aroma landed wrong the moment it reached her senses.
Arizona’s stomach twisted sharply, a sudden wave of nausea rolling through her body with such force that it made her inhale sharply through her nose. Her eyes remained closed as she pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead, her fingers digging slightly into her skin as if the pressure alone could steady the spinning sensation that had begun building behind her temples.
A quiet, pained sigh escaped her as she shifted deeper beneath the blankets, pulling the thick fabric over the back of her head as though darkness and insulation might shield her from the smell that was making her stomach churn. Her other arm wrapped around her abdomen, curling protectively across her stomach while she tried to breathe slowly enough to keep the nausea from rising further.
The movement was small, but Amelia noticed it immediately.
She had still been sitting near the edge of the mattress, watching Arizona, but the shift in Arizona’s posture felt different enough to catch her attention. The way Arizona curled inward was tighter than before, and the soft sounds she was making carried a tension that had not been present when she was simply trying to sleep.
Amelia leaned forward slightly, her brow beginning to knit with quiet concern.
“Arizona?” she asked softly, her voice losing its teasing tone and settling into something more careful and attentive, but there was no real response at first.
The blonde remained buried beneath the blanket, her shoulders still drawn inward, while her breathing had grown shallow and uneven. Amelia watched the slight rise and fall of the blanket where Arizona’s chest moved, noticing the way the rhythm seemed strained.
“Hey,” Amelia tried again, this time more gently, leaning closer as her hand reached out to rest lightly on Arizona’s covered shoulder again. “Are you okay?”
Under the blanket, Arizona let out a small sound that barely qualified as a whimper, though it contained enough quiet distress that Amelia’s stomach dropped instantly. The sound carried none of the exaggerated groaning Arizona used when she was playfully complaining about being tired, and the difference hit Amelia with a sharp clarity that made the hairs along her arms stand on edge.
Arizona did not move again after that small sound, her body remaining curled tightly while her hand stayed pressed to her forehead.
Amelia then quickly stood from the side of the bed and walked around to the other side, the floor once more creaked beneath her steps as she crouched beside the mattress, lowering herself onto one knee so she could actually see Arizona’s face, but the blanket still covered most of Arizona’s head and shoulders.
“Hey, hey-” Amelia murmured as she reached forward.
Her hands were gentle as she pulled the blanket down just enough to uncover Arizona’s face, moving carefully so she would not startle her. Arizona’s eyes were squeezed shut with obvious tension, her eyebrows drawn together in a tight furrow that created deep lines across her forehead. Her jaw was clenched as though she were trying to hold something back, and her skin looked slightly flushed despite the cool morning air in the apartment.
The expression was unmistakably one of real pain.
Amelia felt the shift in her own emotions instantly, the last remnants of sleepy irritation disappearing as concern flooded in with full force.
“Arizona-” Amelia said quietly, her voice lowering into the soft tone she used when speaking to frightened patients or injured colleagues. She reached up and brushed a strand of blonde hair away from Arizona’s face, her fingers lingering near her temple. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” she asked, as she leaned closer to search Arizona’s expression.
Arizona’s lips parted slightly, though it took her several seconds to manage even that small movement. Her breathing had grown shallow as she tried to fight the wave of nausea rolling through her stomach.
“Please take the coffee out-” Arizona finally murmured weakly, her voice rough and strained. “It’s making me sick.”
Amelia was already standing up as the realization hit her that the smell must be overwhelming Arizona’s senses. She grabbed both mugs from the nightstand without hesitation, moving quickly toward the kitchen while trying not to spill the still-hot coffee. The rich smell followed her as she walked, and she suddenly understood why it might be unbearable for someone already feeling nauseous.
The moment she reached the kitchen, she set the mugs down on the counter before turning immediately back toward the bedroom with far quicker steps than before. Amelia crossed the room in a few quick steps before kneeling beside the bed again, her attention entirely focused on the woman lying there.
“Hey.” Amelia murmured softly.
She carefully pulled the blanket down a little further so Arizona’s face was fully visible again, noticing immediately how tense the muscles in her jaw still looked.
Amelia leaned forward without thinking, pressing her lips gently against Arizona’s forehead and the warmth of her skin that greeted her startled her instantly.
Arizona’s skin was hot beneath her lips, far warmer than it should have been, and Amelia’s medical instincts kicked in before she even fully processed the thought.
She pulled back slightly, one hand rising to cup Arizona’s cheek while her thumb brushed softly along the edge of her jaw.
Her expression shifted from concern to something much more serious.
“Baby.” Amelia said quietly, studying the flush along Arizona’s cheeks and the faint sheen of sweat along her temple, the signs coming together quickly in her mind with the assessment of a surgeon. “You’re burning up,” Amelia murmured gently, her voice soft but unmistakably worried as she kept her hand against Arizona’s face, but Arizona's eyes remained closed, her brow still tightly furrowed as though even the effort of speaking would be too much right now. Her breathing stayed slow and shallow while she remained curled into herself, the blanket pulled loosely around her shoulders as though she lacked the energy to move it further.
Amelia remained kneeling beside the bed for several seconds after realizing how warm Arizona’s skin felt beneath her hand, her mind already shifting into the quiet, analytical mode that years of medical training had built into her instincts.
Her hand continued to cradle Arizona’s cheek while she leaned slightly closer, studying the tension in her expression and the way her breathing seemed uneven.
“Love?” Amelia murmured, her voice steady even though her thoughts were beginning to race through possibilities with uncomfortable speed. “Talk to me for a minute, okay?”
Arizona did not open her eyes, though the faint movement of her brow suggested she heard the voice beside her.
Amelia brushed a few strands of hair away from Arizona’s forehead again, her fingers moving slowly through the blonde strands in an unconscious gesture of comfort.
“Does something hurt?” Amelia asked gently, her tone patient and careful in the way she often spoke to frightened patients who could not quite articulate what was wrong with them.
Arizona’s lips parted slightly, and for a moment, it looked as though she might try to form an answer. Instead, she let out a weak breath and shifted her arm a little tighter around her stomach.
“Your stomach?” Amelia asked quietly, trying to guide the answer with simple possibilities. “Is it your stomach that hurts?”
Arizona made a small sound that could have been agreement or simply another pained exhale, though her hand tightened slightly where it rested against her abdomen.
Amelia’s mind continued working quickly, sorting through symptoms and possibilities with clinical precision while she kept her tone calm.
“Okay.” she said softly, as if speaking through a checklist she was assembling in real time. “Does it feel sharp or more like pressure?”
Arizona frowned faintly beneath closed eyes, her brow tightening further as she tried to process the question through the fog of pain and fever.
“It’s... weird,” Arizona muttered weakly, her voice thick and unfocused in the way patients often sounded when they were uncomfortable and disoriented. “Just... bad.”
Amelia almost smiled despite the situation, because the answer sounded exactly like something a confused patient would say when asked to describe pain with medical precision.
“Where exactly does it hurt?” Amelia continued patiently, adjusting the blanket slightly so Arizona had more room to breathe while still staying warm.
Arizona lifted her hand a few inches as though trying to gesture somewhere along her midsection, though the motion lacked coordination and slowly drifted downward again.
“Somewhere here-” she murmured vaguely, her fingers landing somewhere between her ribs and stomach without any real anatomical certainty.
Amelia exhaled quietly through her nose, the gesture strangely reminiscent of a worried parent trying to diagnose a child who could not properly explain their symptoms.
“Is the nausea constant or does it come in waves?” Amelia asked carefully, trying another angle.
“It’s just wrong.” Arizona said quietly, her voice fading again as if even answering questions required too much effort.
Amelia gathered the fragments of information. Fever, nausea, abdominal discomfort, headache, sensitivity to smell, and a general sense of malaise formed a rough outline in her mind that could still mean several different things.
Arizona looked exhausted and miserable, and Amelia knew that even if the cause was something simple like a viral infection or severe dehydration from the previous night, the symptoms still needed to be managed quickly.
“Alright.” Amelia said softly, brushing her thumb along Arizona’s cheek again. “Just rest for a minute.”
She stood up then, moving quickly through the apartment. The small kitchen cabinets opened and closed in quick succession as she gathered supplies, her mind already organizing what Arizona would need to get through the morning with the least amount of discomfort possible.
She filled a glass with cold water and grabbed electrolyte packets from the cabinet above the sink, along with a bottle of anti-nausea medication and a fever reducer that she kept stocked because hospital life had made sickness almost inevitable at some point.
She returned to the bedroom with her arms partially full, placing everything carefully on the nightstand before kneeling beside the bed again.
“I'm back.” she said gently, her voice softening as she leaned closer to Arizona once more.
Arizona’s eyes opened halfway this time, the blue color dulled slightly by exhaustion and fever.
Amelia helped her sit up just enough to swallow the medication, one hand supporting her back while the other guided the glass of water carefully toward her lips.
Arizona complied weakly, swallowing the pills with slow movements that suggested her body still felt heavy and uncooperative.
The blanket was then adjusted carefully around Arizona’s shoulders, and Amelia placed the glass of water within easy reach before brushing her fingers lightly across Arizona’s hair again.
Amelia glanced once at the clock on the nightstand and felt a sharp wave of frustration settle into her chest when she realized how little time remained before morning rounds began.
She stayed anyway.
For several minutes, she remained kneeling beside the bed, her hand moving slowly through Arizona’s hair while she murmured soft reassurances, her thumb tracing small circles along Arizona’s temple.
Arizona did not speak again, though the tension in her expression softened slightly under the steady contact.
At some point, Amelia knew she could not delay any longer and with visible reluctance, she leaned closer again, brushing Arizona’s hair away from her face one last time.
“I have to go to the hospital for morning rounds and a surgery.” Amelia said softly, her voice warm but tinged with quiet regret.
Arizona made a faint sound of acknowledgment without opening her eyes.
“I’ll be back in a few hours.” Amelia continued gently, smoothing the blanket around Arizona’s shoulders as carefully as if she were tucking in a child.
She checked the glass of water again, adjusted the pillow behind Arizona’s head so her neck would stay supported, and made sure the medications were within easy reach.
Only when she was satisfied that Arizona looked as comfortable as possible did she lean down and press a soft kiss against the warm skin of her forehead. Her lips lingered there for a moment longer than necessary. She stood slowly then, though the movement carried visible reluctance.
Before leaving the apartment, she paused briefly in the kitchen, opening the cabinet to grab several immune support supplements that she occasionally used during flu season. She swallowed them quickly with a sip of water, not entirely convinced they would prevent illness but unwilling to take unnecessary risks when working around patients and surgeries.
Several hours later, the apartment door opened with a quiet click, the sound almost swallowed by the thick silence that had settled inside the small space while Amelia had been gone. The hallway light spilled briefly across the floor as she stepped inside, closing the door carefully behind her in a cautious manner.
The contrast between the controlled intensity of the hospital and the stillness of the apartment felt almost disorienting after the noise of surgical floors, pagers, and constant voices. Amelia stood there for a moment with her bag still hanging from her shoulder, listening for any movement or sound from the bedroom, but nothing came.
The quiet was complete, deep enough that it made the space feel almost suspended in time.
Amelia slipped off her shoes near the door and shrugged out of her jacket, hanging it loosely on the back of one of the kitchen chairs before walking toward the sink. Habit guided her hands through the familiar motions of washing away the day, scrubbing carefully as though she were still preparing for another operation rather than returning home.
When she finished drying her hands, she moved slowly down the short hallway toward the bedroom.
The door was still mostly closed, exactly how she had left it earlier that morning.
Amelia pushed it open gently, the hinges making only the faintest whisper of sound as the room came into view.
Arizona was still in bed.
The sight immediately made Amelia’s chest tighten with a quiet mixture of relief and concern, because although the blonde was clearly resting, she had not changed position much at all since the morning. Arizona remained curled on her side beneath the blankets, her body tucked inward in a protective shape that suggested the discomfort had not fully passed.
Her breathing was steady but heavier than usual, and a faint sheen of sweat clung to her temples.
Amelia stepped further into the room, her eyes moving to the nightstand beside the bed, where several additional pills had appeared since she left.
Arizona had clearly woken at some point during the day, long enough to dig through the small supply of medication they both kept stocked for emergencies. The pill packages now scattered across the table included the fever reducer Amelia had already given her earlier, a stronger painkiller, and one for menstrual cramps.
Amelia’s brow furrowed slightly as she studied them.
She knew Arizona’s cycle well enough to remember that it was not due for another four days, though she also knew the human body was rarely obligated to follow neat schedules when stress, exhaustion, or illness were involved. Arizona rarely experienced severe cramps, but there had been occasional mornings when she woke up furious at the biological reality of having a uterus at all.
Amelia stepped closer to the bed, studying Arizona’s face more carefully now that the room’s dim light allowed her to see the subtle details.
Arizona was deeply asleep, her lashes resting against flushed cheeks, while the tension in her brow had eased only slightly since the morning. The fever still lingered in the pink warmth of her skin, and her hair stuck lightly to her temple where sweat had dampened it.
A faint shape that was pressed against the fabric near Arizona’s stomach caught her attention, and when she lifted the edge of the blanket carefully, she discovered a water bottle tucked between Arizona’s arm and abdomen.
Amelia picked it up gently, feeling the surface with her hand before letting out a quiet breath when she realized the water inside had long since cooled.
“Of course you tried to handle it yourself.” Amelia murmured under her breath, though the words carried more tenderness than frustration.
She slipped quietly back out of the bedroom with the bottle in her hand, closing the door behind her to keep the room warm and dark.
In the kitchen, she filled the kettle and set it to heat, leaning lightly against the counter while she waited. The apartment still carried the quiet stillness of someone sleeping deeply in the next room, and Amelia found herself staring absently at the cabinets while her mind replayed the image of Arizona curled in pain earlier that morning.
The kettle clicked softly when the water finished heating.
Amelia carefully filled the bottle, securing the cap tightly before wrapping it in a small towel so the warmth would stay gentle rather than overwhelming.
When she returned to the bedroom, the silence remained undisturbed, so she slipped back beside the bed, kneeling slowly so the mattress would not shift beneath the blonde’s weight. She lifted the edge of the blanket again with careful fingers, guiding the warm bottle back against Arizona’s stomach exactly where she had been holding it before.
Arizona stirred faintly as the warmth touched her skin again, her body shifting slightly beneath the blanket as though seeking the comfort.
Amelia adjusted it gently, making sure the bottle rested securely without pressing too firmly.
Her hand lingered for a moment against Arizona’s side, feeling the subtle warmth of her fever through the thin fabric.
She brushed a few strands of damp hair away from Arizona’s face again, watching the way the blonde’s breathing settled slightly as the heat began to ease the tension in her abdomen.
The problem now was that all the medical steps had already been taken.
Arizona had medication in her system, water nearby, warmth against her stomach, and sleep, which was often the most reliable treatment for whatever mysterious viral misery the human body occasionally decided to produce. Amelia knew this intellectually with the clarity of a person who had spent years studying physiology, pathology, and pharmacology, yet that knowledge did nothing to quiet the restless energy that had begun building in her chest.
She walked into the living room, then immediately into the kitchen, only to turn around again without touching anything.
Her movements became circular after that, slow pacing that carried her from the kitchen counter to the couch, then back toward the sink again as though the answer might materialize somewhere between the refrigerator and the stove.
Arizona had looked exhausted and feverish, and although she was sleeping now, Amelia knew that when she woke up, her body would need something more than medication and water.
Food.
Arizona probably had not eaten anything all day.
Amelia stopped in the middle of the kitchen and stared blankly at the stove. Cooking was not among her many talents.
She could handle a coffee machine with impressive efficiency, and she could occasionally manage scrambled eggs if she focused hard enough, but anything beyond that usually ended with smoke alarms or regret.
Still, the idea of Arizona waking up sick and hungry without anything warm to eat made Amelia feel strangely helpless. Especially knowing the fact that Arizona always had something for her when she was sick or not feeling well, even when they were just friends.
She paced again for another minute before abruptly grabbing her phone from the counter.
There was only one person she trusted to answer this particular question without judgment.
“Hello?” Addison’s voice came through the speaker with the faint background noise of movement somewhere on the other end of the line.
“Hey, Addie,” she said immediately, her tone rushed and suspiciously stretched in certain syllables in the way she spoke when she was trying not to sound stressed. “What food do you give a sick person?”
There was a pause on the other end of the call.
Addison spoke again a moment later, sounding amused already.
“Mentally sick or physically sick?” she asked calmly.
Amelia pinched the bridge of her nose.
“Physically sick.” she clarified, her voice flattening slightly.
Addison hummed thoughtfully for a moment before responding.
“Well, as surgeons we usually try not to give patients food.” she said lightly, her tone dripping with dry humor. “Especially when they are laying on an operating table.”
Amelia rolled her eyes so dramatically that it felt almost theatrical, even though Addison obviously could not see her through the phone.
“Not that kind of sick, smartass.” Amelia replied, exhaling sharply through her nose. “Arizona is sick and has been asleep all day, plus her period magically decided to arrive early, and she is still asleep and I do not think she has eaten anything. What do I do?”
For a moment, there was silence on the other end.
Then Addison laughed, not a cruel laugh, but the warm kind that came from knowing Amelia well enough to picture her pacing around a kitchen with no idea what to do.
“That is actually adorable.” Addison said after a moment, still chuckling slightly.
Amelia leaned her hip against the counter.
“You are enjoying this way too much.” she muttered.
“Oh, please-” Addison replied casually. “Your sweet brother has been moaning and whimpering in pain all day on the couch because he has a temperature of 37 °C and has been telling me that he feels like he is dying for the last thirty minutes.”
“Thirty-seven degrees?” Amelia repeated. “Addison, that is barely a fever.”
“Try telling him that.” Addison said dryly.
“I cannot believe Derek is dramatically dying on your couch because he feels slightly warm." Amelia said, shaking her head with obvious satisfaction.
Addison made a thoughtful sound.
“Do not act so smug.” she warned lightly. “All of you Shepherd siblings cannot handle the common cold without setting the world on fire.”
Amelia scoffed quietly.
“That is not true.”
Addison did not hesitate.
“You once called me crying because you had the flu and were convinced you had meningitis.”
“That was a very convincing flu.” Amelia replied defensively.
Addison laughed again before shifting back to the original topic.
“Alright,” she said. “Tell me Arizona’s symptoms.”
Amelia straightened slightly and launched into a quick explanation, describing the fever, nausea, abdominal discomfort, and the likely arrival of her period earlier than expected. Addison listened carefully without interrupting, occasionally making small thoughtful noises as she processed the information.
“Sounds like a lovely combination of mild viral infection and early menstrual cramps.” Addison concluded calmly. “Which means she probably needs hydration, rest, and something warm that will not destroy her stomach.”
Amelia glanced around the kitchen again with growing dread.
“You are about to tell me to cook something, aren't you?” she said suspiciously.
“Yes.” Addison confirmed immediately.
Amelia groaned softly. “You remember I cannot cook.”
“You can follow instructions.” Addison replied confidently.
“That is a very optimistic assumption.”
“You are going to make soup.”
For the next thirty minutes, Addison guided her through the process step by step as if instructing a nervous medical student through their first procedure. She explained every movement clearly, from chopping vegetables into uneven but acceptable pieces to heating oil in a pot and adding ingredients in the correct order.
Amelia followed the instructions with surprising focus, occasionally holding the phone between her shoulder and ear while trying to stir something that Addison insisted should not burn.
At one point, she nearly dropped a carrot onto the floor, and at another, she stared skeptically at the bubbling pot as if it might explode.
Addison remained patient the entire time, even through Derek's mumbled cries of pain and discomfort coming somewhere behind Addison.
“No, do not dump all the salt at once.” she warned at one point.
“I did not dump it.” Amelia protested.
“You definitely sounded like you dumped it.”
Eventually, the kitchen filled with the warm smell of vegetables simmering slowly in broth, and Amelia stared down at the pot with cautious disbelief.
“It actually smells like soup.” she admitted quietly.
Addison sounded pleased.
“That is because it is soup.” she replied. “Congratulations, Amelia, you have successfully cooked something.”
After several cautious minutes of stirring and tasting the soup to confirm that it was not, in fact, a culinary disaster, Amelia finally allowed herself to relax enough to end the call with Addison. The conversation closed with Addison’s satisfied declaration that Amelia had successfully produced something edible and Amelia’s skeptical insistence that the result had only occurred because she had been supervised like a surgical intern performing their first procedure.
She ladled some of the soup carefully into a bowl, testing the temperature once more before carrying it toward the bedroom.
The hallway felt quieter now than it had earlier, the apartment settling into the slow calm of late afternoon.
Amelia pushed the bedroom door open gently, stepping inside with the same careful movements she had used all morning. Arizona was still in bed, though she had shifted slightly from her earlier position. The hot water bottle remained tucked loosely against her stomach beneath the blanket, and her breathing was still heavy with sleep.
“Hey.” Amelia said softly as she moved closer to the bed.
Arizona stirred faintly at the sound of her voice, her eyelids fluttering before opening halfway. The fever still left a dull heaviness in her gaze, though the tight tension in her expression had eased slightly.
Amelia sat on the edge of the bed, setting the bowl carefully on the nightstand before brushing her fingers lightly through Arizona’s hair.
“You need to eat something,” she murmured gently. “I made soup.”
Arizona blinked slowly at that statement, the words clearly taking a moment to process.
“You made soup?” she repeated weakly, sounding vaguely suspicious even through the exhaustion.
Amelia gave a small shrug.
“With supervision.” she admitted.
Arizona made a quiet sound that might have been a laugh, though it dissolved halfway into a tired breath.
With some gentle encouragement and more patience than Amelia had expected to possess, Arizona managed to sit up long enough to eat. The process was slow and careful, each spoonful taken with the effort of someone whose body still felt heavy with fever and fatigue. Amelia remained beside her the entire time, steadying the bowl when Arizona’s hands trembled slightly and reminding her to drink water between bites.
The moment Arizona finished eating, the effort seemed to drain the last of her remaining energy. She leaned heavily into Amelia’s side, her eyes closing again as though simply staying upright had required far more strength than she possessed.
“Come on.” Amelia murmured, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
With careful movements, she helped Arizona out of bed and guided her slowly toward the living room. By the time they reached the couch, Arizona looked as though she might fall asleep standing up.
They settled there together beneath the soft throw blanket, Arizona curled tightly against Amelia’s side while Amelia adjusted her arms so the blonde rested comfortably against her chest. One of Amelia’s hands remained tucked around Arizona’s shoulders while the other moved slowly through her hair in gentle, repetitive strokes.
The television played quietly in the background, though neither of them paid attention to whatever program happened to be on.
Arizona lay still for several minutes, her breathing slow and uneven as she rested against Amelia’s warmth. She had barely enough energy left to speak, yet after a while her voice emerged in a faint, teasing murmur from where her face was buried against Amelia’s chest.
“Are you sure you made that soup alone?"
“Yeah,” she replied cautiously. “Why? Was it bad? I thought it was okay.” A small note of panic crept into her voice as she spoke, because she had genuinely believed the soup had turned out reasonably well.
Arizona lifted her head slightly, just enough to shake it weakly.
“It was good.” she said quietly. “Too good, actually.”
Amelia frowned slightly at the comment.
“Well, don't sound so surprised.” she muttered.
Arizona only smiled faintly at that, though the expression remained soft and tired around the edges.
For a moment, neither of them spoke again, the quiet of the apartment settling around them while Amelia continued absently massaging her fingers through Arizona’s hair.
“You know,” she said, “Addison told me that Derek has been dying on their couch all day from the common cold like a medieval peasant with a fever of 37 °C.”
Arizona let out a weak breath that was supposed to be a laugh.
“Only 37 °C?” she asked softly.
“Yeah,” Amelia continued with exaggerated seriousness. “She painted the entire picture for me very clearly. Apparently, he is laying on the couch wrapped in a blanket with mismatched socks and tissues sticking out of his stuffed nose while weakly calling for her and telling her that he feels like he is dying from some great and terrible disease.”
Arizona’s eyes were barely open now, the effort of staying awake clearly fading quickly.
“Sounds like you.” she murmured faintly.
Amelia gasped dramatically.
“Hey!” she protested, mock offense filling her voice.
Arizona shifted slightly against her, clearly realizing the mistake even through the fog of exhaustion.
“I mean,” she corrected weakly, “what an amateur.”
Amelia nodded approvingly.
“That is much better.” she said.
Silence returned for several seconds after that.
Arizona’s breathing grew slower again as the warmth of the blanket and Amelia’s steady presence gradually pulled her back toward sleep. She pressed herself closer against Amelia’s chest, burying her face more deeply against the familiar warmth.
Her voice came one last time, barely louder than a whisper.
“Thank you.”
The words were soft and sincere, spoken just before the last of her strength faded.
Her eyes closed completely, and within seconds, the tension left her body as sleep finally claimed her again.
Amelia looked down at her quietly, her hand still moving gently through Arizona’s hair as she leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss against the top of her head.
“You are welcome.” she whispered.
Amelia remained there holding her for a long time, her fingers still lazily massaging Arizona’s scalp while the exhaustion of the day slowly caught up with her as well.
Eventually, her own eyelids grew heavy.
The quiet apartment, the soft warmth of the blanket, and the steady rhythm of Arizona’s breathing against her chest gently pulled Amelia toward sleep, her head tilting slightly back against the couch as she drifted off, still holding her.