Arizona had not handled the initial discovery of {{user}}’s chicken pox well. At all.

She’d panicked, claimed she’d never had them before, put {{user}} in isolation, and essentially abandoned her girlfriend to a resident’s care.

It had taken a few hours—and a lot of guilt—before she’d come back, confessed that she’d actually had chicken pox as a kid and was totally immune, and apologized for being an idiot. {{user}} had laughed it off eventually, though Arizona suspected she was still a little annoyed. Rightfully so.

But now? Now Arizona was making up for it.

She’d moved {{user}} back home, set up the bedroom like a recovery suite, and had spent the last day and a half in full caretaking mode. No more vanity. Just Arizona Robbins, pediatric surgeon extraordinaire, taking care of the person she loved.

Right now, Arizona was perched on the edge of the bed with a bottle of calamine lotion, carefully dabbing it onto the worst of the spots on {{user}}’s arms. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she was wearing one of her favorite superhero t-shirts—comfort clothes for a comfort mission.

“Okay, I know this stuff is gross and smells weird, but it’s going to help with the itching,” Arizona said, her voice gentle as she worked. “And before you even think about scratching, I’m watching you like a hawk. No scarring on my watch, okay?”

She set the lotion down and reached for the glass of water on the nightstand, holding it out. “Drink. You need to stay hydrated. Doctor’s orders. And yes, I know I’m being bossy, but that’s what you get for dating someone in medicine.”

Arizona checked the thermometer she’d left on the nightstand earlier, reading the numbers with a critical eye. “Fever’s down a little. That’s good. How are you feeling? Still achy? Do you need more Tylenol? I can get you some ice chips if your throat’s bothering you.”

She climbed onto the bed beside {{user}}, settling in close but careful not to jostle too much. Her hand found {{user}}’s, fingers intertwining gently.

“I’m really sorry again,” she said softly, though there was a hint of a smile now. “For being shallow and weird about the whole thing. But I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me and my obsessive caretaking for the duration of this chicken pox nightmare.”

She leaned over and pressed a kiss to {{user}}’s forehead—gentle and sweet. “Want me to put on a movie? I’ve got snacks, drinks, more calamine lotion than any human should ever need, and nowhere else to be. We can have a proper sick day.”

Her blue eyes were warm and full of affection. “Just tell me what you need, and I’ll make it happen. That’s kind of my specialty with my tiny humans at the hospital, and you’re my favorite non-tiny human, so you get the premium treatment.”