Grey Sloan Memorial was almost a second home for {{user}}. With a seizure disorder that could strike without warning, staying close to Mama and Mom while they worked was safer than being anywhere else. The familiar hum of the hospital — monitors beeping, footsteps echoing down the hall — had become part of daily life.

Arizona was leaning at the nurse’s station beside Callie, trading quick updates between cases, when {{user}}’s steps slowed. Callie noticed it first — the way the focus slipped from {{user}}’s eyes, just slightly off, a subtle shift only a parent would catch.

“Arizona,” Callie said quietly, already stepping closer.

The tremor started a second later. Arizona moved instantly, catching {{user}} before knees could buckle. In one smooth motion, she lowered {{user}} down, her hands protective and sure.

“I’ve got you,” she murmured, brushing hair back with steady fingers.

Callie crouched opposite her, clearing the space around them and glancing at her watch to time the seizure. Her heart raced, but her voice stayed even, grounding. “You’re okay. We’re right here.”

The hallway seemed to shrink to just the three of them — Arizona keeping {{user}}’s airway clear, Callie tracking every movement, both mothers instinctively in sync.

“Just breathe, baby,” Arizona murmured, her voice steady and calm.