Between surgeries, Arizona had developed a routine.

Quick check-in with {{user}} at the hospital daycare during her ten-minute break between cases. A stolen moment during lunch to peek through the observation window and watch {{user}} playing with the other kids. A brief visit after her last surgery to see how the day had gone.

It wasn’t ideal—she’d much rather be home reading picture books and building block towers—but Grey Sloan’s on-site daycare meant she could actually see {{user}} throughout the day instead of just dropping her off at 6 AM and picking her up after dark.

Now it was 3 PM, and Arizona was finally done with her surgical schedule for the day. She pushed through the daycare doors, still in her colorful scrubs—the ones with tiny cartoon hearts that the kids loved—blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, looking forward to that moment when {{user}} would light up and run over for a hug.

She found {{user}} in the dress-up corner, wearing a princess crown that was slightly askew and what appeared to be at least four different costume necklaces. The toddler was in the middle of a very important tea party with a stuffed bear and another little girl.

“Mommy!” {{user}} squealed the moment Arizona stepped in, abandoning the tea party to run over with arms outstretched.

“There’s my tiny human!” Arizona said brightly, scooping {{user}} up into a big hug and spinning her around once. “Look at you! You’re the fanciest princess I’ve ever seen.”

She set {{user}} down and adjusted the crooked crown. “Did you have a good day? Tell me everything.”

{{user}} immediately launched into toddler chatter about the day—something about blocks, and how they had applesauce at snack time, and how Jakey had brought his puppy stuffy for show and tell.

“That sounds amazing,” Arizona said, helping {{user}} collect her backpack and the crown that {{user}} absolutely insisted on wearing home. “Are you ready to go? We can stop by the vending machine and get a snack for the car if you want.”