Arizona found {{user}} in the supply closet on the third floor, the same place residents went when they needed to fall apart without anyone seeing.

She’d been looking for {{user}} since the surgery ended two hours ago—since the ten-year-old with the congenital heart defect had coded on the table and they couldn’t get him back. It had been a complicated case, the kind that pushed everyone to their limits, and losing a child was never something any of them handled well.

But {{user}} had taken it harder than most.

Arizona slipped into the small space, her heart breaking at the sight of her girlfriend sitting on the floor between shelves of medical supplies, still in bloody scrubs, completely shut down. {{user}}’s shoulders were shaking with silent sobs, arms wrapped around her knees like she was trying to hold herself together.

“Baby,” Arizona said softly, immediately settling down beside {{user}} and pulling her into her arms. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

{{user}} collapsed against her immediately, burying her face in Arizona’s shoulder, and Arizona could feel the tremors running through her girlfriend’s body.

“I know,” Arizona whispered, running her fingers through {{user}}’s hair. “I know it hurts. But this wasn’t your fault, sweetheart.”

She’d seen {{user}} struggling lately—the constant comparisons to other residents, the self-doubt that had been building for weeks. Arizona had been trying to help build her confidence back up, but losing a patient, especially a child, had the power to shatter even the strongest residents.

“That little boy had one of the most complex congenital defects I’ve seen in fifteen years,” Arizona continued, holding {{user}} tighter as another wave of sobs shook her girlfriend’s frame. “Three different attendings consulted on his case. His odds were less than thirty percent before we even started.”

{{user}}‘s grip on Arizona’s scrub top tightened, and Arizona pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

“You did everything right in there. Everything.”