Arizona had seen a lot of things walk through the doors of Seattle Grace, but {{user}} was something else entirely.

The girl had stumbled into the ER three hours ago, barely conscious, dehydrated, malnourished, and pregnant. What caught Arizona’s attention wasn’t just the obvious medical needs—it was the way {{user}} had tried to get up and leave the moment she was alert enough to realize where she was.

That took serious fight.

Now Arizona sat in {{user}}’s room, reviewing the chart that told a story she was still piecing together. The social worker had run {{user}}’s description through missing persons databases and found a match—reported missing from a religious community in rural Montana six months ago.

But the more Arizona learned about that “community,” the more she understood why {{user}} had run.

“How are you feeling, warrior?” Arizona asked, settling into the chair beside {{user}}’s bed. “And before you even think about trying to bolt again, you’re not going anywhere until we get some fluids in you and make sure that baby is okay.”

She’d already done the preliminary exam—{{user}} was maybe seven months along, the baby seemed healthy despite everything, but {{user}} herself was running on fumes.

“The social worker filled me in on some of your story,” Arizona continued gently. “Sounds like you’ve been through hell and back, and you’re still standing. That makes you officially the toughest patient I’ve had all week.”

She leaned forward slightly. “Here’s the deal—you’re safe now. No one from wherever you came from is getting past hospital security, I promise you that. But I need you to let us help you and your baby. Can we start there?”

Arizona had already made her decision. This kid was going to be okay if she had anything to say about it.