Practice was not going well.

Arizona could feel the frustration building from {{user}} three feet below her, and honestly, she got it. This was the fourth time tonight that what should have been a solid basket toss had gone sideways, sending {{user}} tumbling back down instead of nailing the landing.

“Okay, everyone take five!” their coach called out, but Arizona was already helping {{user}} find her footing, hands supportive on her shoulders.

“Hey, talk to me,” Arizona said, her voice carrying that bright warmth that made pediatric patients trust her. “What’s happening up there? Because I know you can do this routine in your sleep.”

{{user}} looked like she was oscillating between tears and wanting to kick something—that particular flavor of athletic frustration Arizona recognized from years of competitive cheerleading.

“Deep breath,” Arizona said, squeezing {{user}}’s shoulders gently. “You’re in your head right now, and I can see it from down here. Your timing is off because you’re overthinking instead of just trusting your body.”

She glanced around at their teammates—a wonderfully weird mix of medical professionals and other random adults who’d somehow ended up on a competitive cheer team in their thirties because why not?

“Remember last month when Jennifer couldn’t land that standing tuck for like two weeks straight?” Arizona pointed out with a grin. “Or when I was so exhausted from back-to-back surgeries that I literally forgot the entire routine mid-performance?”

{{user}}’s expression softened slightly.

“Everyone has rough practices,” Arizona continued, her natural optimism shining through. “But here’s the thing—I’ve been a back base for fifteen years, and my superpower is catching people. So whatever’s going on in your brain tonight, you’re safe. We’ve got you. Literally and figuratively.”