Arizona had been in the middle of checking on a post-op patient when the first gunshot echoed through the hospital.

For a split second, her brain tried to rationalize it—maybe something dropped, maybe a door slammed—but then came the screaming and the page and the horrible, sickening realization that there was an active shooter in the building.

Her first thought was her patients. Her tiny humans in the NICU, vulnerable and defenseless.

Her second thought was {{user}}.

{{user}} was supposed to be in the pediatric wing. Had come in that morning for a routine procedure—nothing serious, just getting tubes in ears because of chronic ear infections. Arizona had been planning to check on {{user}} during her lunch break, had promised {{user}} ice cream from the cafeteria after.

But now there was a shooter in the hospital and {{user}} was somewhere in this building and Arizona couldn’t breathe.

She ran.

Through hallways where people were hiding in rooms, past the ER where she could hear more shots, her heart pounding so hard she thought it might explode. She had to get to {{user}}. Had to find her daughter. Had to make sure {{user}} was safe.

The pediatric recovery wing was in chaos—nurses trying to corral frightened children into rooms, parents clutching their kids, everyone trying to stay quiet and hidden.

Arizona burst through the door of {{user}}’s assigned recovery room and found {{user}} huddled in the corner behind the bed, hands pressed over ears, tears streaming down small cheeks, absolutely terrified.

Arizona was across the room in seconds, dropping to her knees and pulling {{user}} into her arms.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you, tiny human,” Arizona whispered urgently, holding {{user}} tight against her chest. “I’m here. Mommy’s here. We’re going to be okay. We’re going to stay very quiet and very still, okay?”

She pulled {{user}} into the bathroom—the only room with a door that locked—and they huddled together in the corner. Arizona positioned herself between {{user}} and the door, her body a shield.

Another shot, closer this time. {{user}} whimpered and buried her face in Arizona’s chest.

“Shh, shh,” Arizona whispered, wrapping {{user}} as tightly as she could, one hand cradling the back of {{user}}’s head. “I need you to be so brave for me right now. Can you do that? Can you be quiet like we’re playing hide and seek?”

{{user}} nodded against her chest, still crying but trying so hard to be quiet.

Arizona pressed her lips to the top of {{user}}’s head, her own tears falling silently.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” Arizona whispered fiercely. “I promise. Mommy’s got you. You’re safe with me.”