Chapter Text
PART ONE: GARCIA
Santos can do hard things. It’s one of her best traits among her many questionable attributes.
So she can do early mornings, even if she fucking hates them. With an alarm that goes off at 5:03, 5:12, 5:21, 5:30, 5:39, and finally, 5:48AM, she manages to get up and make the bus every single morning she has to. Which is most mornings.
Santos alternates between energy drinks and coffee as her caffeine of choice. Today, she chooses the former, grabbing the last can from the fridge. The light in her kitchen flickers above her head and she glares up at it, daring it to go out. It’s a shitty apartment, but she found it for dirt cheap in a less-than-ideal part of the city. Rent is so low, in fact, that even a two-bedroom costs less than any of the one-bedrooms she looked at. Santos planned to make it even cheaper with a rent-paying roommate, but Whitaker had looked too pathetic to leave behind on the eighth floor of the hospital; she couldn’t resist taking him in like a lost puppy.
She stuffs a box of protein bars into her work bag as Whitaker rounds the bend, looking like he woke up even later than her.
“Three minutes. I’m not waiting for you,” Santos warns as she goes to stand by the door.
By definition, Santos is waiting for him. She’s ready to go and he’s rushing to his kitchen cabinet to grab a jar of peanut butter.
“You can go on without me,” Whitaker says, hastily laying down a paper towel. “I can meet you there.” He unwraps a loaf of white bread and takes out the last two remaining pieces, one of them being the butt. Grabbing a knife, he scoops out the peanut butter and wipes it onto the first and then second slice erratically. Crumbs go everywhere, and he gets peanut butter on his hands in the process.
Santos wrinkles her nose in disgust. Men can be so messy. And especially this man, although, admittedly, he’s held up his end of the bargain so far, cleaning the apartment on a regular basis.
The small clock on her phone shows the seconds ticking away as Santos retorts, “You’ll have to if you don’t hurry up. Two minutes.”
Whitaker flicks on the sink and it bursts out at too high a volume, soaking the front of his scrubs before he’s able to turn it down to a reasonable pressure.
Santos laughs. “I warned you about that, remember?”
“Yeah. I just keep forgetting,” he says, ruefully. “But, I’ll remember now.” Whitaker washes off the knife and his hands and then returns the peanut butter to its designated shelf.
“At least it was water this time.” Santos shrugs.
“Hey, did you get the wifi up yesterday?” Whitaker opens the fridge and grabs his water bottle.
“Ugh. Yes. Finally.”
“I’ll cover that. It’s the least I can do.”
“Don’t sweat it.” Santos looks down at her phone again. “One minute.”
Whitaker folds both pieces of his sandwich—if you can call it that—in on itself, and throws away the empty bread bag. He then dashes back to his bedroom and returns with his backpack tossed over his shoulder. Santos holds the door open for him as Whitaker pulls out his set of keys with one hand.
Whitaker presses, "For real, I can handle the wifi at least.”
“Well, if you insist.” Santos starts down the stairs as he locks the door behind them.
They hurry to the bus stop for absolutely no reason as the bus arrives six minutes late. Santos would love to just drive to work, but neither of them are anywhere near the realm of car ownership.
When their chariot finally arrives, they sit beside one another in silence while Santos fucks around on her phone and Whitaker listens to music with his eyes closed and jaw slackened. Santos prefers the window seat, but Whitaker can use the commute to nap for a few extra minutes, whereas Santos can never fall back asleep once she’s up. So, better him than her.
They’re dropped off only a block away, and Santos recycles her empty can as they enter the hospital. They’re greeted with a sea of will-be-patients in chairs, strolling past coughing and groaning right into the whites and grays of the emergency room.
“Robby’s looking for you two,” Perlah declares by way of hello before heading into a nearby patient room.
Santos and Whitaker get to their lockers and throw their things inside. Whitaker’s is stuffed full, while Santos’ remains completely empty, save for her bag and now her protein bars. Tomorrow it’ll have a new box of Red Bull too, but that’s about all she ever plans to add.
“Do you know if Dana’s returning soon?” Santos calls over to Whitaker a few lockers down as he takes a swig from his water bottle and then tosses it in.
He shrugs. “I know what you know.”
Being down both Dana and Langdon has taken its toll on everyone, despite how much Robby denies it. No one's said anything to Santos directly, but being responsible for half of that equation has meant her already poor social status had taken a hit. And over the past few weeks, she’s frequently questioned if she made the right decision. Her gut says yes, but her anxiety worries… maybe? Probably yes? Definitely no? I don’t know, but let’s think about it again while trying to fall asleep tonight, shall we?
Santos and Whitaker find Robby leaning over a computer station talking to Collins, with Victoria standing awkwardly a few feet away attempting to look busy. He stands up straight as they come near and clasps his hands before him.
“Good morning, good morning,” Robby begins. “Alright, now that you’re all here. Javadi, help Dr. Mohan in chairs and then find Dr. McKay. Whitaker, you’ll start with me, and Dr. Santos, stick with Dr. Collins today. As always, come find me or one of the senior residents if you need anything. Otherwise, you’re gonna do great.”
He gives a thumbs up as the group disperses, and Santos turns to Collins, who’s still typing away. Collins has far from warmed up to her, and the extra workload Santos incidentally doled out to the senior residents probably doesn’t help.
“Dr. Santos,” Collins addresses. “Find Dr. Ellis and make sure we’re caught up on night shift patients so she can go home. Come back when you're done.”
“You got it,” Santos agrees.
Unlike Collins, Ellis smiles at her approach. They've only interacted a few times since Santos’ eventful first shift, but Ellis has easily become her favorite senior resident. For one, she was the only person who told Santos she would have done the same thing with Langdon. For another, Santos is pretty sure they have more in common than just their jobs.
“Santos,” Ellis calls out. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Morning, Ellis. Dr. Collins sent me for the trade off.” Santos holds out both her hands. “So lay it on me.”
“Y’all got lucky,” Ellis responds as she walks towards the first room. “It slowed down about an hour ago, so this should be quick.”
Bummer.
Her time with Ellis does go by fast, and then the hours pass glacially. Having been less than impressed by her unsupervised REBOA, Collins only lets Santos observe pretty much everything, and Santos is bored out of her mind.
Collins is talking with a patient about his insomnia, and Santos is fighting to keep her own eyes open, when Whitaker appears from behind the curtain.
“Dr. Collins, we’ve got a patient in Trauma Two that Dr. Robby said could be a good teaching case. Can we steal Dr. Santos?”
“By all means,” Collins allows, and Santos beams as they jog across the hall.
“Please tell me it’s good. And preferably gory.”
“It is,” Whitaker attests. “That’s why I asked Robby to loop you in.” He grins as Santos gives him an appreciatory look.
They walk in to see a man screaming and clutching his stomach. Everyone’s shuffling around him as he flails, yelling incoherently. It’s difficult to tell exactly what’s wrong through all the blood, but Santos feels a small thrill that this is definitely a case worth seeing.
The doors have barely shut behind them when they open again, and Garcia strides in and right over to Robby. Santos stands up straighter and moves to get out of the way.
“Talk to me,” Garcia commands, grabbing a pair of gloves off the wall.
“Man versus chainsaw,” Robby explains as he peels back a bandage to reveal the damage. The man’s entrails are mixed up and popping out. Santos thinks she should buy Whitaker a drink for gifting her this present.
“A little early for Halloween,” Garcia quips as she joins him to assess the injuries. With a brusk tone, Garcia demands, “Why the hell hasn’t he been sedated?”
“Whitaker?” Robby quizzes.
“Uh, right. Um, Scott Wagner, fifty–” He’s interrupted as the man lets out a particularly loud bellow, and Whitaker raises his voice to be heard above him. “Fifty-four! Brought in by his brother with a blood alcohol of point three two!”
“Understood,” Garcia accepts. Whitaker fills her in on everything that’s been done up until then while Robby nods in agreement. Garcia backs up and pulls out her phone, dialing. She explains the situation to whoever’s on the other end before hanging up and turning back to Robby. “Our intern’s next door, we’ll bring him up.”
“Great,” Robby replies.
“Dr. Santos,” Garcia turns to her unexpectedly. “Want to assist?”
“What, me?” Santos asks in shock. Despite the special attention Garcia bestowed on Santos during her first day in the ED, she’s hardly acknowledged her since. Santos replays Garcia’s harsh words in her mind.
"You’re trouble."
Garcia said them with a disgusted expression, and Santos knew that, in one short conversation, she completely obliterated all the goodwill she’d built with the surgeon. It didn’t seem fair that dropping a scalpel in Garcia’s foot was forgivable but turning someone in for fucking with meds wasn’t, but there they were.
Yet now Garcia’s face is neutral, and Santos welcomes the improvement. Santos is just about to heartily accept her offer, when Robby interjects, “Not today, Garcia. We can’t spare anyone down here at the moment. You know that.”
A man close to Santos’ age enters the room and looks first at the shrieking patient and then over at Garcia with fear in his eyes. Santos has no idea what he could be afraid of. It’s not like the Leatherface victim in front of them can hurt anyone. Garcia and him join the patient on either side of the bed as a group of people begin rolling him out of the room.
“Maybe next time,” Garcia says as she passes Santos.
Robby leaves the room, and Santos lets out a sigh. So close yet so far from the OR…
“Thanks for that,” Santos says to Whitaker. “Now back to Collins and ‘let’s just have you watch this time’.” She puts on a fake smile as they part ways.
In the afternoon, Collins catches up on some charting, and Santos wanders to find McKay, Victoria, and Mateo assessing Riya Jane, fifty-three, with an arm partially covered in necrotic tissue. Victoria and Mateo greet her politely, but don’t engage further than that. But McKay’s another one of Santos’ preferred coworkers, too busy with her own family drama to care about hospital gossip. She loops Santos right in on the sharp debridement before asking if Victoria or Santos would like to perform it under her guidance.
Victoria declines with, “Um, I’m okay if Dr. Santos wants to…?”
“I’d be down,” Santos pipes up immediately.
“Glove up.” McKay smiles and sits to her right while Mateo hands her the tools and gabs away with Victoria behind him whose voice is higher pitched than usual. As Santos makes the first cut, she asks McKay, “How’s Harrison been?”
“Good,” McKay says happily. “Still staying with me while Chad recovers.” McKay rolls her eyes, and Santos snickers, wondering if she should ever tell McKay what Chad admitted while high as a kite.
McKay checks in with the patient. “Feeling anything?”
“No, not a thing.” Riya goes back to her phone, pressing on her keypad with just her pointer finger, squinting at the screen.
McKay tests Santos with, “How do we know the boundaries of the viable tissue?”
“By watching for bleeding,” Santos answers, noticing some blood prickling up now.
“Yep, good.”
Santos finishes with a flourish and hands the 15 blade off to Mateo. McKay checks her work and addresses Riya to say, “The procedure went perfectly. We’re just gonna wrap you up and prescribe some meds before we can get you out of here.”
“Thank you, sweetheart.” Riya smiles.
Satisfaction swells inside her as Santos applies the dressing to the wound. McKay stands back, and Santos hears Mateo ask her quietly, “Did you get it off yesterday?”
“I did,” McKay cheers, lifting her pant leg slightly to display a bare ankle.
“Hell yeah,” Mateo congratulates.
Santos leans back and peels off her gloves. “Alright, Ms. Jane, you are all set. I’m gonna go grab some paperwork so we can discharge you.”
When Santos returns, McKay and Victoria are gone, with only Mateo’s left chatting with Riya. Robby enters behind her and stands against the wall, waiting as Santos tells the patient, “Here you are. All post-care instructions are on this sheet of paper. Any questions?”
The woman shakes her head, and Robby steps forward to say, “Make sure to take these particular antibiotics on a full stomach to avoid nausea. And do you have someone here to drive you home?"
“Oh, okay. And yes, my son’s waiting in the lobby.”
Robby smiles. “Fantastic, then Mateo will bring you out. Take care.”
Santos follows Robby as they leave the room, and a bad feeling comes to fruition as he bristles, “Dr. Santos, I thought I assigned you to Collins today?”
“Yeah, but—”
“And I specifically asked Javadi to work with McKay. Do you think I had a reason for that?”
“I mean, probably. But she didn’t wanna do the procedure,” Santos defends.
Robby raises his eyebrows. “And there’s the reason. Javadi needs to build some confidence. Whereas you…”
“Don’t,” Santos finishes for him with a huff.
Robby digs further, “And I know it’s repetitive for us, but you have to give thorough discharge instructions. Patients don’t know what they don’t know.”
With a self-deprecating tone, Santos jokes, “So did I do anything right?”
“McKay complimented your procedural skills,” Robby grants. “But that’s only one part of this job.”
“But like, the most important part, right?” Santos argues.
Robby exhales. “More than patient care, listening to your superiors, and being a team player? No. I wouldn’t say so.”
Santos nods. “Right. Then, I’ll work on… all of that.”
With a pat on the shoulder, Robby leaves her feeling slightly dejected.
As a general rule, she hates being lectured at. She’s always had a problem respecting authority, and rightfully so in some instances—Look at Langdon, and look at… well, most of the adults in her life growing up. But she knows Robby’s right, and she replays his criticism on a loop in her head the rest of the day as Santos doesn’t leave Collins’ side again. Her desire to be a great doctor is as unrelenting as the pressure that comes with that.
At the end of her shift, Whitaker’s charting when Santos grabs her things from her locker and returns to him still sitting there, meticulously jotting down every detail.
Santos points at the deep bags under Whitaker’s eyes as she remarks, “You look like shit.”
“You know, I think you still have some vomit riiiight there.” He points at her shoes, the only part of her outfit that hasn’t changed. He’s bluffing. He knows the queasy patient missed her completely, hitting an unlucky med student who was standing next to her. But Santos chuckles at his comeback.
“Not bad, Huckleberry,” Santos applauds.
“Thanks, Blade.”
Santos let out another short laugh. This isn't the first time he’s pulled out that nickname. “Alright wisecrack, you coming?”
“Robby asked me to find Abbot before I left, but I think he’s busy, so I’ll be a minute.”
Santos nods. “Well, have fun with that. I’m gonna head out. Want anything from Giant Eagle? ” Santos chuckles, still unable to take the grocery store’s name seriously.
Whitaker thinks for a moment and remembers, “Yeah, bread please.”
“Sure, just text me whatever horrible brand of white bread you like.”
“Thanks.” Whitaker smiles, unperturbed as she departs.
Santos pulls her short hair out of its ponytail and runs her fingers through it before tucking it behind her ear. As she exits the building, the early evening sun is starting to make its departure, hanging low in the sky. She’s setting off towards the bus stop when she hears a voice call out after her, “Dr. Santos, can I have a word?”
Turning around in confusion, Santos sees that it’s Garcia standing there, leaning against the side of the building. “Uh, yeah,” Santos answers, curious what the hell Garcia has to say to her. “What’s up?”
Garcia’s changed into normal clothes, but she somehow makes a jean jacket and casual pants look every bit as intimidating as her dark blue scrubs. With a slight tilt of her head, Garcia asks, “Walk with me?”
“Yeah, sure,” Santos agrees immediately. What else is there to say when someone like Garcia requests something?
It’s unlikely Garcia takes public transportation. Besides Robby, Santos hadn’t seen any of the other doctors go to and from work in the same manner as her. So Santos assumes Garcia will bring them to the parking garage, filling Santos in on whatever she has to tell her on the way to her car. But Garcia turns the opposite way down a quiet, tree-lined street.
As Santos falls into step with her, she’s unsure where they’re going, but she doesn’t mind. Depending how far they make it, maybe she’ll give Finn a call on the way back.
Santos waits for Garcia to take the lead as they remain silent for a few minutes, just strolling along the path, leaves crunching beneath their feet. Santos looks down, careful to avoid the muddy puddles while she keeps her hands in her pockets to avoid accidentally brushing Garcia’s hand casually hanging by her side.
Garcia says at last, “I heard you and Whitaker moved in together.”
Why would Garcia care about that? Maybe she’s just stalling. But stalling what, Santos also doesn’t know. “Yeah, I needed a roommate, and he’s good for pest control, so.” Garcia smiles at this. Small, but definite. Santos smiles herself, glad to have caused this reaction from her. “But once he clears away my rat problem, he’s open for hire if you’re interested.”
It’s fun to joke, but Santos is secretly happy that Whitaker’s made himself at home in their apartment. Before he moved in, it was her first bout living alone, and she hated it. She even welcomes hearing his loud music through his shitty headphones at night, the annoying noise filling the emptiness.
“I prefer having my own place,” Garcia declines.
As they settle into silence once more, Santos tries to imagine what Garcia's apartment—house?—looks like. She assumes it’s well-kept, but beyond that she draws a blank.
Garcia lets out a breath and finally gets to the point. “I wanted to apologize. For Langdon.” Garcia stops and looks at Santos head-on, unwavering. “I think you were brash in accusing him so quickly. But... you were also right. I'm sorry for not taking you seriously."
Santos didn’t expect this at all, and she has to gather her thoughts before she can respond, “Um. Don’t worry about it.” Santos shrugs, admitting, “Honestly, that was probably stupid of me to do.”
Garcia begins walking again, and Santos follows suit. “No. It wasn’t. He could've hurt a lot of people. He might have, we don’t know.” Garcia’s mouth turns down in disappointment. “I didn’t wanna believe that. Or be involved.”
“I don’t blame you. It’s been a great time,” Santos says, sarcastically. “Nothing like getting someone sacked to make you the belle of the ball.”
“I can imagine,” Garcia recognizes, and she gives another, softer, “I’m sorry.”
Santos hates pity more than anything, so she wipes it away swiftly. “You should be. You know, as a senior resident, it’s part of your senior responsibilities to take care of the interns.”
Garcia scoffs, “The ED is outside my pay grade. And you can take care of yourself.”
Yes, she can. And Santos enjoys hearing Garcia say that. They arrive in front of a pizza shop, a red sign reading “JOE’S” painted at the top, and Santos inhales deeply. She hasn't had a full meal since yesterday.
“Hungry?” Garcia asks.
“Ugh, starving.”
“Come on, my treat,” Garcia invites.
Santos realizes Garcia led them right up to the front door. “Were you bringing us here?”
“If I can’t apologize with surgery, this’ll have to do,” Garcia admits.
Santos lets Garcia order. It’s grungy inside, with a group of rowdy 20-somethings in a booth along the side, two middle-aged men laughing a few feet away, and three or four empty tables scattered around. On the other side of the sticky counter, a teenager is rolling out dough when a deep voice calls out, “Behind!” as he pulls out a big slice of pepperoni from the oven. A young girl picks it up and returns to her seat next to one of the men.
Garcia keeps her voice down as she leans over and says, “This is the best pizza Pittsburgh has to offer. It’s almost good.”
Santos tries to ignore how it feels to have Garcia’s breath on her ear. Just like with Ellis, Santos has wondered about her, Santos' gaydar blaring from the way she spoke to her in the beginning. But Garcia’s more femme than Ellis or she, more difficult to clock. And right now they’re in a situation that could just be a casual, after-work bite to eat between colleagues… or not.
Two pieces of vodka sauce pizza are served at the counter, and Garcia grabs their paper plates before they choose a table in the front.
“Almost good. Sounds promising,” Santos jokes as she sits down.
People pass by them on the other side of the large window, making their way home with the setting sun. When she takes her first bite, Santos has to close her eyes. On an empty stomach, it may be the best pizza of her life.
“Well, you are dead wrong.” Santos holds up her slice for emphasis. “This is delicious.”
Garcia grins and takes a bite herself. “It does the trick. But nowhere compares to Chicago.”
“Yeah? Is that where you’re from, then?”
“Born and raised. But then I chose surgery and matched here.”
“You miss it?” Santos rips off a piece of her crust and starts chewing on it.
“I don’t miss the fucking winters, but I do miss the people.” Garcia nods at Santos. “What about you?”
“Opposite. Berkeley has the best weather.”
By the oven, someone yells, “SHIT!” and cradles their hand. “JAMESON! You don’t leave a hot pan right on the fucking counter. Were… you…” his voice fades as he marches into a back room.
Garcia and Santos chuckle to each other at the interruption before Garcia posits, “You’re from a college town? How academic.”
Santos rolls her eyes. “Tell me about it. Both my parents are professors.”
“So you went to college in the Bay area?”
Santos swallows while shaking her head. “Nope. I came to the East Coast right after I graduated high school.”
“Will you go back?”
“Never,” Santos says happily, relishing in the thought. “You?”
“Most likely. My job’s the only real thing keeping me here for now. But the city’s grown on me. Even with its shitty pizza.” Garcia smiles, and Santos stares at her lips a second too long.
Santos scoffs, “I didn’t think this city could grow on someone.” So far, Pittsburgh ranks last of all the places she's lived. Well. Second to last. “But speaking of good old Pittsburgh… Do you, ah, know any fun bars around?” She almost said ‘gay bars,’ but she chickened out at the last second.
“Why?" Garcia asks with her eyebrows raised. "Trying to go to one tonight?” Santos questions if that was flirting. It felt like flirting. But she can’t be sure.
“No, no. I just, I have a friend coming to visit soon. And I have to bring them somewhere so they think I have a life outside the hospital.” Santos chuckles.
“Too bad,” Garcia sighs, and Santos feels more confident that that was flirting.
Santos clears her throat. “But, I mean… I’m not opposed to checking one out tonight. If you have the time.”
Garcia smirks and takes a drink of water. “Yeah, I could make time."
They take turns going to the bathroom before they head for the door. On the way, Garcia goes up to the man who shouted earlier. He’s leaning behind the counter, holding his hand in a dirty rag, when she approaches him.
“Sir, I’m a physician at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center just down the street. Can I take a look at your hand?”
He nods and reveals a pink, raw burn running down his palm. Santos can see that it’s thin and shallow.
“It didn’t get me too bad. Just need to stop hiring sixteen-year-olds.”
“You’re right,” Garcia confirms. “If you have a first aid kit back there, wrap it in a clean dressing and apply neosporin one to three times a day until new skin covers it. Change the dressing in the morning and at night to prevent infection.”
“Got it. Thanks, doc.”
“No worries.” Garcia turns to leave, and Santos follows, shaking her head.
Santos teases, “You really can’t turn it off, huh?”
“He doesn’t need to sit in chairs for three days waiting on an infected burn,” Garcia brushes off.
When they step outside, the temperature’s dropped and the cold seeps in through Santos' light jacket. Expecting to take the nearby bus, she hadn’t grabbed anything warmer. Catching her shivering, Garcia laughs softly. “You are from California.”
Garcia leads them right around the corner to a sleek black car set low to the ground. Santos descends into the passenger seat, placing her bag between her legs, as Garcia takes the driver’s. When the door slams, the quiet rings between Santos’ ears as her heart rate picks at the proximity of Garcia beside her. The car is filled with her scent, sweet and smooth like honey.
“Is this a nice car?” Santos asks, attempting to distract herself. “I know less than nothing about cars.”
“It’s not bad.”
Garcia's probably making an understatement. It appears expensive. But Santos can’t really tell because her father loves cars, so she firmly decided long ago that she doesn’t give half a shit about them.
As they drive, if Garcia notices her slight fidgeting, she doesn’t point it out. Neither of them speak, Santos not wanting to ramble and Garcia seeming comfortable with the silence. Garcia doesn’t play anything on the stereo, but she does open the window just a crack, and Santos listens to the sounds of the city coming awake in the night.
It’s a Friday, Santos remembers. People with normal jobs are out having fun.
The drive isn’t long, and Garcia parks on a busy street, backing in with ease. Down the block, music and lights spill out onto the pavement, upbeat with a neon tint. Santos can’t believe she’s about to go to a bar with Garcia, and she’s grateful she wore better clothes than normal today. One of the cashiers at Giant Eagle is cute, but Garcia’s a much better trade off.
“Do you come here a lot?” Santos questions as they walk side-by-side.
“Yes. But I usually have to park back there." Garcia points at a set of two alleys with an open space in between them, and Santos can see another wide street at the end.
Garcia holds the door open for her again, and Santos steps inside. It’s lively and noisy… and nearly all women. Santos internally leaps for joy at the reveal. Garcia rests a hand on her shoulder as she speaks into her ear, “I’m gonna order drinks. Grab a table?”
Santos nods at her, and Garcia floats away, her hand lingering for just a moment before she goes.
It’s still early enough that Santos doesn’t have trouble finding a spot as a waitress comes to clear away some empty glasses and wipe everything down. From the other room, a game of pool can be heard above the chatter. In front of her, someone with an undercut has their arm around someone in velvet red pants with another couple sitting across from them, five beer bottles on the table.
Santos checks her phone and sees a text from Whitaker from about 10 minutes ago.
u ok?
Santos smiles. She likes that someone cares if she’s home or not.
yeah, ran into a friend, dont wait up
Her text hardly delivers before a reply chimes.
u have friends?
Santos chuckles to herself. Whitaker's starting to loosen up, learning it's impossible to offend her if he can make her laugh in the process.
Two glasses are set down, and Garcia slides into the corner booth next to her, close enough that they’re almost touching. Garcia takes a sip and says, “I like seeing you smile.”
Rather than respond to her compliment, Santos offers, “I can cover the beers. Since you got the pizza.”
“Why don’t you see if you like it first. I got you my favorite. It’s a local IPA.”
Garcia slips off her jacket, and Santos can see a small tattoo peek out on her shoulder blade, temporarily distracting her.
“I love IPAs,” Santos finally answers, taking a drink. It has just the right amount of bitterness, not too hoppy. “Damn. Yep, this is good. So what do I owe you?”
“How about telling me your usual go-to? So I don’t have to guess next time.”
Trying super hard to keep her cool, Santos replies, “I’m not picky. Pretty much any craft beer. IPAs, Pils, Stouts… Ugh. But never Ciders. Too sweet.”
“What about wine?” Garcia inquires curiously.
“Yeah, my best friend works for a winery so, I don’t mean to brag, but I can definitely tell a red from a white.” With another drink of her beer, Santos allows the liquid courage to wash away some of her nerves as she ponders where the night will take them. “I’m surprised you didn’t get a cocktail. Didn’t you mention wanting one during my first shift?”
“Not for tonight,” Garcia says elusively before asking without a question, “Whitaker calls you Blade.”
“You noticed that?” Santos closes her eyes. “Yeah, that’s my bad. He asked what nickname I’d have given myself in the ED, and it was the first thing I thought of.”
“Why Blade?”
Santos cringes again. “You can… probably piece it together,” she says reluctantly. “It’s, ah, a reference to a certain scalpel incident. You may remember…”
Santos motions down, and Garcia shakes her head and laughs, “That’s fucked up.”
“Yeah a little. But we can’t all be perfect,” Santos teases. “I can’t even picture you messing up. I bet you came in ready to go on fucking day one."
“Yes, I was a confident intern. You have to be in surgery or you’ll never make it.” Garcia scoffs, “I know you noticed fucking Houston today.”
She does?
Garcia continues, “But I still made mistakes… back then. Of course, now I just leave them for the odds in the ED. Since you’re all so fucking good at making them.”
“Ah, but that’s how we learn,” Santos quotes Garcia’s own words to her. They had made her heart soar when she heard them, feeling like someone had her back. Santos can see that Garcia remembers the moment too by the way she gives a sly smile, and it emboldens her. “You know, you never told me your sign.”
“Aries.” Garcia grins, taking a drink.
Santos shrugs as she copies her, her beer more than half-empty now. “That tracks.”
“Does it?” Garcia responds playfully, and suddenly their knees are touching. Santos doesn’t shy away from the contact.
“Oh yeah,” Santos certifies. Garcia showed her hand enough by bringing them to a gay bar, so it’s her turn now. “I’ve been with enough astrology girls that I know the full rundown." She clears her throat dramatically. "Aries. Fire, so, highly motivated, self-assured, passionate, impatient… bad temper.”
What Santos doesn't mention is that the first girl she truly slept with was an Aries. And after she brought up her sign for the fifteenth time, Santos finally did a Google search. The results: Scorpio and Aries are very sexually compatible.
“Sure, sure,” Garcia waves off. “I can have a short fuse. But I forgive easily.”
“Obviously. How’s your foot, again?” Santos asks with false curiosity and a light buzz.
“And there’s the scorpion’s sting,” Garcia chuckles, and Santos likes the sound almost as much as she likes the fact that Garcia’s fingers briefly bump against hers when she picks up her drink again.
“So fire and water, right? Damn, that’s a recipe for disaster.” Santos laughs before realizing that that wasn’t the suavest thing to say to someone she’s interested in, so she turns to face Garcia more and amends, “Or… A nice balance.”
Garcia inches nearer too, both their arms on the table, their legs now pressed together. Santos feels herself heating up, but she clings to her cold glass, not backing away.
“Maybe.” Garcia’s eyes capture hers, and Santos has to focus on keeping her breathing steady. “Or they could just…” she pauses, and then articulates the words slowly, “consume each other.”
Santos has to swallow hard from the intensity of Garcia’s stare, and she watches Garcia’s eyes flick down to her lips and then back up.
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Santos asks in a low voice.
Garcia murmurs back, “What do you think?”
“Good,” Santos answers, hopefully.
Garcia smiles at her response. And then Garcia’s leaning in. She’s definitely fucking leaning in. And Santos doesn’t care that they're in public. She’d make out right here and now if Garcia wanted to. But Garcia stops before getting too close, before going too far, and Santos waits with bated breath as Garcia makes her second request of the evening.
“Will you come home with me?”
That may be the hottest thing Santos has ever heard, and she feels a rush of nervous excitement course through her as she quickly responds, “Uh, yeah. Yes. Now?”
“If you want,” Garcia suggests, pushing aside her empty glass.
Santos picks hers up and clears the last of its contents, using the final bit of encouragement to give her reply. “Absolutely.”
Garcia’s behind her as they make their way through the crowd, a hand resting on the small of her back. Santos’ mind is racing as her buzz fades. She’s thought too much about if Garcia was actually into her or just liked flirting that first day. Santos knows her own answer, and now it’s time to see how far Garcia wants to take this.
“Are you good to drive?” Santos asks as they return to Garcia’s car.
Despite feeling sober herself, Santos has to say it. She’s seen too many people mangled beyond recognition, silently pleading that someone had asked this question.
“I’m good, don’t worry,” Garcia reassures her in a soothing tone, and it puts Santos right at ease the whole drive to her place.
The street lights shine above them in steady streaks across their faces. In less than ten minutes, Garcia’s parking underneath a medium-sized brick building. It looks recently remodeled from the inside, and the elevator goes all the way up to the twelfth floor.
Santos fights the thick tension hanging between them, waiting for Garcia to make the first move. Despite the obvious implications, Santos has to make sure that Garcia wants her in the same way. She’s been burned more than once and is determined to leave that in the past.
They enter her dark apartment, and Garcia presses a button on her phone, a single lamp lighting up in the back corner. It provides enough illumination for Santos to see that her place is much nicer than Santos’, with furniture that looks solid and coordinated.
“Can I get you anything?” Garcia offers as she hangs up both their jackets and makes her way towards the kitchen.
“I’m okay.” Santos sets her work bag by the door and saunters to the two big windows in the living room that look out to the river. She’s briefly mesmerized by how the moonlight floats on the water. If this were her place, she would never get used to watching the current wind itself down and away. “The river looks beautiful.” Santos turns around, and Garcia comes to stand in front of her, a few feet apart.
“Thanks, I like the view, too.”
Santos watches Garcia’s eyes dart down to her lips and then back up, just like she did at the bar. It’s hard to hold her gaze, but Santos refuses to look away. Garcia steps closer before reaching out to slowly brush back Santos’ hair, leaving her hand on the side of Santos’ face.
“Is this okay?”
Santos didn’t expect Garcia to ask that, but she appreciates it.
“Yes,” Santos says breathily.
Garcia’s question along with her touch is enough confirmation for her. Heart beating fast in her chest, Santos gently places her hands on Garcia’s waist as she closes her eyes and brings their lips together. Santos is ecstatic when Garcia responds instantly, placing her other hand in Santos’ hair and pulling down gently to open her mouth further, deepening the kiss.
Garcia tastes like fire on her tongue, and she doesn’t hold back, making a mess of Santos’ hair as they stumble backward. Soon, the force they're exerting on one another causes Santos to hit the wall behind her. They break apart at the impact, and Santos is able to admire Garcia’s face painted with the glow of the city. She doesn’t look real, art incarnate. Her beauty hurts.
Garcia presses into her again, and Santos struggles to catch her breath as their tongues dance, Garcia’s mouth moving in a way that makes Santos want to keep up. She bites Garcia’s lower lip, drawing a surprised noise from her that shoots straight to Santos’ core.
Things heat up further, with Garcia feeling down her body, one hand going to her waist while the other finds her tit. Her nipple perks up when Garcia rubs her thumb around it, applying glorious pressure. Santos slips her hands under Garcia’ shirt, moving up her back before lightly scratching back down. Garcia must enjoy this, as she pins Santos to the wall, clutching onto her hip.
Santos likes the position she’s in. She carefully lifts her knee, resting her foot against the wall, her thigh in between Garcia's legs. She then grips Garcia’s hips and pushes her down against her jeans. Garcia moans into her mouth and grinds down as Santos starts to kiss along her neck, guiding Garcia back and forth rhythmically. One of Santos’ hands trails down to her ass, groaning as she gets a good feel through Garcia’s thin pants.
“Fuck,” Garcia lets out, pushing away suddenly. They’re both breathing heavily as Santos has the chance to see Garcia's face again. Flushed cheeks, dark, wild eyes, and hair only a bit out of place from the clip holding it back.
“Follow me,” Garcia commands in a much different tone than Santos has previously heard. She turns down the short hallway, Santos trailing right behind her.
Garcia's bedroom is dark, and Santos couldn't care less about its color scheme as Garcia strips off her tank top and pulls Santos towards her again. Garcia kisses her with the same force as before as they undress, and it feels like they can’t stop touching one another the fewer items they have on.
They both reach to undo the other’s pants first, and they smile at each other as Santos lets Garcia have it so she can focus on unclasping her bra in one go. Santos then forgets what she was doing entirely when she starts palming Garcia’s tits, loving how they feel in her hands with Garcia’s soft lips finding hers again.
Trinity, you useless lesbian. Focus. Pants.
Santos goes back down to the small button at Garcia’s waist as Garcia lifts Santos’ bra over her head, kissing across her chest after she does. While both kicking their pants off the rest of the way, Garcia walks them back to lightly push Santos onto the bed, climbing on top of her. Garcia sits up, rocking back and forth, and Santos presses her down to gyrate themselves together, hitting just the right angles to leave them panting.
“Trouble,” Garcia mutters, her head falling back and eyes closing.
It’s strange how much it stung the last time Garcia said that, because now it sends a jolt straight down. Santos leans up and takes Garcia’s mouth in hers, savoring her taste and the friction of their erect nipples rubbing together.
Garcia pulls away to ask, “When’s the last time you got tested?”
“When I moved here last month,” Santos answers as Garcia kisses down to her neck and then flicks her warm tongue back and forth. “All clear. You?”
“When you stabbed me.”
Garcia gives a small bite on her shoulder, which elicits a pleasurable gasp followed by Santos blurting, “Shit, I hope that doesn’t leave a mark.”
“I hope it does.”
Jesus christ.
Santos can’t dwell on how she would explain that to the gossip-obsessed Perlah or Princess as Garcia’s pushing Santos back and laying herself over her. Santos smiles and flips them, determining that Garcia’s had enough time on top. She brings her mouth to Garcia’s pretty collarbone and her hand to her tit, slowly massaging her nipple before pinching gently. Garcia jerks, letting out a loud curse, and Santos feels happily in control.
Until Garcia’s hand starts stroking her soaked underwear.
“So wet for me,” Garcia hums. Preoccupied with how Garcia’s rubbing her, Garcia takes the opportunity to roll them back over and press down firmly against Santos’ clit. Santos throws her head back, automatically lifting her hips in a moan. “You look beautiful like this, Trinity.”
Santos can feel the power struggle between them, and she knows she’s losing as she can barely comprehend hearing her first name dripping with seduction from Garcia’s mouth.
“Is this okay?” Garcia confirms as she loops her fingers under Santos’ boxers.
Once again, Santos is excited by the question, and she gives a dazed, “Yes. Fuck yes.”
Garcia begins kissing her again, bracing herself on top as Santos moves her hands up, starting at Garcia’s waist until she gets to her perfect tits. She swipes both her thumbs across Garcia’s nipples as Garcia returns her fingers to Santos’ exposed cunt.
She tantalizingly teases her entrance, circling around and then dipping inside her only a little before pulling out again. Santos can hardly handle it, squirming underneath her. But she’s never begged, and she’s not about to start now.
In her frustration, Santos’ eyes open to meet Garcia’s above her, and it seems like that's what she was waiting for as she slips two fingers inside her.
“Holy fuck, Garcia,” Santos utters as she begins pumping into her slowly.
“Yolanda,” she corrects. Garcia plunges in deeper as she says it, and Santos thinks she might forget her own name. “In my bed.” Garcia rubs up against her G-spot. “When I fuck you.” Santos arches from the sensation. “It’s Yolanda.”
“Yolanda,” Santos exhales, each syllable tingling across her lips.
Garcia groans as she starts to suck on Santos’ nipple while curving inside her expertly. Santos drowns in lust, overwhelmed by the weight of Garcia on top of her, Garcia’s wet tongue on her tit, and the feeling between her legs as Garcia’s fingers move in and out of her, causing Santos to let out soft noises.
She suspected Garcia would be good in bed, often gazing at her hands and fantasizing about it every time Garcia held a scalpel. But she didn’t think she would actually have sex with her, and this is beyond what she ever could have imagined. Santos has to use all of her willpower to fight her release as she meets Garcia’s thrusts eagerly.
“That’s it. Fuck my fingers.”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Santos loves dirty talk. It’s always been a surefire way to get her there.
“You don't have to hold on,” Garcia whispers calmly, biting her earlobe.
Still she does, not wanting to give in so easily, cum so quickly, although she knows she can’t last much longer. Her short nails are digging into Garcia’s back, dragging against her skin.
“So stubborn…” Garcia coos. Santos breath hitches as Garcia pushes into her again and again and again, all while increasing the pressure. Garcia twists Santos’ nipple between her fingers, and whispers softly, “Cum for me.”
Garcia rubs her thumb against Santos’ clit as she says it, and Santos clenches up. Between Garcia’s arousing voice and the way she’s moving in her, it’s too much, far too much, and far too good.
“Oh god, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Santos swears.
Garcia doesn’t stop as Santos’ hips rise up and her cunt starts to spasm. Santos can’t remember the last time she’s cum this hard, if ever, and she holds onto Garcia as she grits her teeth and falls apart loudly, feeling everything everywhere.
Garcia follows her movements, slowing as Santos comes down from the high. Santos breathes heavily, eyes closed, noticing a slick of sweat across her but feeling cold everywhere but her burning cunt, when Garcia pulls out of her tenderly.
Then Santos startles as she feels gentle fingers on her clit.
“I can’t take any more,” Santos cries in defeat.
“Do you want me to stop?” Garcia does at once, but that’s much worse.
“No... Don’t stop.” Santos’ voice is unfamiliar to her, and she’s glad that Garcia can’t see her features clearly in the dark as she melts into the mattress.
Garcia thumbs Santos’ clit again, and she’s shocked that she wants more. Santos usually gives multiple orgasms to her partners, but she’s always felt that one was enough for her, even on her own. Yet here’s Garcia, taking her further. She spreads her legs wider as Garcia advances down to lick around Santos’ entrance.
“Fuck, that feels… so good…” Santos can hardly speak, chest heaving.
“I know,” Garcia says smugly.
Garcia dips her tongue inside, and Santos lets out a moan, her head lopping over. Garcia uses the pad of her finger to circle her clit, not pressing too hard, and Santos can feel it building again. Impossible.
Garcia takes her free hand and firmly holds Santos in place. Santos hadn’t realized she’d begun moving, but the restraint has her making indecent noises. She feels Garcia’s moan vibrate against her, bringing her closer, and then Garcia begins swirling her tongue on Santos' sensitive clit in just the right way...
Santos’ toes curl as she feels another release coming, the warmth spreading across her entire body. This orgasm feels deeper than the first, and she grips the sheets tightly, lifting off the bed, trembling while she reaches her climax before collapsing back down.
“What the fuck,” Santos gasps, twitching as Garcia licks clean the wetness seeping out of her.
As Garcia reaches for the tissues on her nightstand, Santos’ mind gradually begins to clear from the shock of what Garcia just accomplished and how Santos reacted to it. An embarrassment creeps over her, threatening to overpower how good she feels. She replays all that she did and said and has to close her eyes, fighting to shut it out.
“Are you alright?” Garcia checks in.
“Better than alright,” Santos lies, putting every ounce of energy into making it convincing.
Before she can allow Garcia time to question, Santos sits up and kisses Garcia with a fervor, holding her face in her hands. She invites Garcia onto her lap, and she tastes herself on Garcia’s tongue. Garcia’s hair has managed to stay tucked back, but a few loose strands tickle Santos’ face as she brings her lips to Garcia’s ear.
“Can I fuck you from behind?” Santos asks, mirroring Garcia’s seductive tone.
Santos yearns to be in a more dominant position after being so thoroughly fucked, and she’s pleased when she feels Garcia give a small jerk on top of her before releasing a breathy affirmation. Santos kisses down her neck and gives a lighthearted bite, although hers won’t leave a mark, unlike Garcia’s.
Garcia climbs off of her and gets onto all fours. Now that it’s her turn, Santos wants a light on so she can better admire the scene in front of her as she lines up and lightly runs her fingers down Garcia’s back. Santos peels off Garcia’s lace underwear, brings her hand to her mouth, and then places it on Garcia’s cunt. Her ego has never been bigger than when she finds that wetting her fingers was entirely unnecessary. Garcia is more than ready for her.
“I should’ve known you were a giver,” Santos teases.
Controlling. Surgeon. Aries.
“I am when you take it so well.”
That definitely does things for her, and Santos bites her lip as she draws her fingers up and down Garcia’s cunt, just grazing her clit in the process. She doesn’t plan on taking too much time, but she wants to feel her first.
Santos is getting ready when Garcia grows impatient, directing, “Métemela. You don’t have to go easy. I like–” Santos pushes two fingers inside of her in one smooth motion, and Garcia's breath catches. “Yes. Like that,” Garcia huffs. “Just like that.”
Garcia feels exquisite around her, warm and throbbing. Santos grabs onto Garcia’s shoulder for leverage as she fucks her, plunging in and out at a steady pace. She loves the sounds Garcia makes as she rides her fingers, loves the way Garcia presses a hand against her headboard to push herself back… but it’s not enough.
Wanting more of her, Santos reaches down to guide Garcia to a kneeling posture, pressing their bodies together and grasping Garcia’s tit to hold her closer.
“Fuck, Trinity,” Garcia breathes out, grabbing onto Santos’ outer thighs.
From this angle, Santos can only see the side of Garcia’s face contorting in the darkness as she grinds with her. It’s driving her nuts.
Her hand finds its way up to Garcia’s throat, and Santos applies the faintest squeeze, barely anything, a question. She’s never done this when hooking up with someone for the first time. But she knows how good it feels, and she wants to give that to Garcia if she’s interested.
“Is this okay?” Santos asks.
“Yes,” Garcia answers immediately. “More… please…”
Santos feels herself getting absurdly wet again hearing Garcia beg for it. It almost makes her regret that she wouldn’t do the same earlier.
Santos presses her lips first to the tattoo now fully visible on Garcia’s shoulder blade, a design Santos can’t identify. She then moves to the back of Garcia’s throat, sucking and biting as she squeezes only a small amount in front before letting go.
It feels like this takes her to the edge. Garcia tightens, and she moans so loud Santos is sure her neighbors can hear, and the walls appear thick. Santos squeezes again, making sure not to hold on too long, doing everything possible to keep making Garcia emit those wonderful noises as Santos drives into her over and over.
But when she can sense Garcia is right about to get there, Santos slows her pace.
“What're you doing?” Garcia demands incredulously as Santos smiles and pulls out.
“Lie down with me?” Santos posits, guiltless.
They untangle themselves and then both lie on their sides, facing each other. Santos grabs Garcia’s leg, wrapping it around herself, and then she takes her fingers and reinserts them into Garcia’s wet cunt. Garcia lets out a low sob, closing her eyes as she holds onto Santos’ back with one hand, placing the other on her shoulder.
“Am I forgiven?” Santos teases. Garcia’s scoff is quickly silenced as Santos uses her knee to push in harder, right against her G-spot. She truly hopes Garcia isn’t upset about her stolen orgasm. Santos couldn’t resist seeing it wash over her, and now she can feel Garcia’s breath get shorter and shorter as she holds her eyes. “You look beautiful like this too, Yolanda.”
She really, really does.
“Fuck… you…” Garcia smiles, and Santos wonders if she’s too far gone to come up with anything cleverer. This strokes her ego further.
Garcia’s grip on her back becomes painful, but Santos delights in it. Garcia speeds up, and Santos follows, giving all that she has to her, their collective grunting echoing throughout the room.
“Me vengo…” Garcia cries, going up an octave.
Garcia shakes as Santos watches her face form an unbelievably hot expression only inches away. Garcia lets out a groan, shuddering, her fingers grasping Santos’ back as she releases. Santos fucks her through it, ignoring the burn in her arm, singularly focused on the incredible wetness running down her fingers.
Only when she's certain Garcia has finished does she slow and then stop. Santos stays inside her as they take each other in for a few seconds, regulating their breathing with Santos marveling at how amazing it felt to have Garcia cum on her.
Then Garcia cracks a smile, and they begin to laugh softly, releasing the remaining tension as Santos begrudgingly withdraws her hand. Santos considers kissing her, but despite their naked bodies still being wrapped around each other, it feels too intimate now.
While she would love to get Garcia off again, when Garcia reaches across and then hands her a tissue, it feels like the night has ended. Santos resists the urge to suck her fingers clean, instead wiping them off as she turns over to get up, intent on not overstaying her welcome.
She tries to keep it light as she walks around the bed and starts pulling on her clothes.
“Well, I didn’t expect that when you asked me for pizza,” Santos jokes.
“Me either.” Garcia curls an elbow underneath her head and shamelessly watches Santos dress in the dark. “I can drive you home.”
“I like to walk.”
It’s true, and she could really use a walk right now.
“Are you far?”
“I don’t think so.”
Now that’s a lie. Santos estimates it’ll take her over an hour. She could try to catch the bus, but at this time of night that would take longer than the walk.
“I’ll at least see you out.” Garcia shifts, but Santos is already at the bedroom door.
“No need.”
“Suit yourself.” Garcia settles back, unbothered.
“I’ll, uh, see you at work.” Santos books it before Garcia can reply to the lamest thing ever.
As she walks across the apartment, Santos notices that, unlike her own, Garcia’s floors don’t squeak, clearly made of better materials. She picks up her work bag by the entrance, and Garcia’s front door operates by key fob, locking on its own behind her.
Santos plugs her address into her phone as she gets on the elevator and sees that she was right. Estimated walk time: 1 hour 36 minutes. She can easily shave off fifteen minutes or more with her fast gait, but it’ll still take a while. Once outside, she feels the wind whip past her, but she willfully perseveres on foot.
It isn’t too late out, but Santos still keeps her eyes peeled and her headphones solidly in her backpack as she makes the trek home. On the way, she indulges in images from the night, flipping between flirtatious and erotic. Garcia’s inviting smile, her tits bouncing, their knees touching at the bar, Garcia’s bent over form, Garcia’s eyes lighting up at Santos’ jokes and then squeezed shut as she came on her fingers. Yes, the chilly environment is welcome as Santos feels her face flush.
She then contemplates the consequences of them sleeping together. She has no intention of starting a relationship with anyone, probably ever. Thankfully, Garcia doesn't seem to be the clingy type either. But Santos would definitely be interested in doing that again, if Garcia’s up for it.
She does consider if this could hurt her career, but she easily dismisses the thought. Garcia may be more seasoned in the hospital, but she's still a resident, same as her. And they’re in two separate departments; Santos doesn’t report to her at all. The only issue would be if Santos makes it into surgery next year. But by then, Garcia will be far in her rear-view mirror. She trusts that neither of them will let this interfere with their work.
Santos finally arrives home to find the apartment silent, Whitaker already asleep. She takes a short shower and notices that her arousal hasn’t fully subsided. With the feel of Garcia still inside her, she finds she can cum a third time in one night, another new discovery.
The next day, her black coffee tastes like shit without creamer, and she’s sore all over, but she smiles the whole morning.
This time it’s her who’s running late as she hurries around the kitchen. Whitaker waits for her patiently, and she sees him notice a hickey on her shoulder. She forgot about it in her haste, but luckily it's covered when she pulls her scrubs over her tank top. And whatever. Even without seeing the much more obvious scratch marks on her back, he can probably tell she hooked up with someone. But he can't guess who. Garcia had scarcely spoken to her before then, after all.
The only problem is that Garcia didn't notice that she too has a mark on the back of her neck.
“Good morning, Dr. Garcia,” Whitaker says politely after they enter the ED. Santos is surprised to see her. Usually Garcia doesn’t come down here until at least half an hour after the start of a shift. Not that Santos pays attention to that.
Garcia’s drinking from a thermos when she responds, “Good morning, Whitaker.” She then turns to Santos and their eyes meet. Neither of them falter. “Dr. Santos.”
Garcia has always said her name better than anyone else at the hospital, and after a night like last night, it now sounds twice as good. Still, Santos maintains her composure. “Morning, Dr. Garcia."
Garcia gives a small smirk, barely perceivable to Santos and definitely not to Whitaker who’s already looking up at the patient board to take in how the day might go. Perlah is off today, but Princess is a few feet away, busy charting. Robby’s in a patient’s room, hovering behind Mel, and she can hear Samira laughing nearby. Everyone bustles around them as if nothing is happening because, to them, nothing is.
At precisely the wrong time, Garcia turns to depart, and Whitaker glances down, the mark on Garcia’s neck unmistakable from his vantage-point.
Fuck.
Santos hadn’t meant to do that. To anyone else, it might look like a burn or other small injury. But in context…
Whitaker does some math.
“I thought I saw you two walking away.” His voice isn’t accusatory, merely observational.
“What're you talking about?” Santos doesn’t look at him as she starts heading for the lockers.
“You and Dr. Garcia. I thought I saw you walking down the street when I went home.”
“Didn’t you have to check in with Abbot?” Santos deflects.
“Robby found me right after you left saying nevermind. He'd taken care of it. So I tried to catch up with you, but I didn’t.” They get to the lockers and Whitaker leans back against them, pondering. “Why were you walking away with Dr. Garcia?”
Santos feigns nonchalance. “She just wanted to clarify something. Nothing serious.”
“Sure."
A beat.
“And then you didn’t come home.”
“Okay, Huckleberry.” Santos shuts her locker. “Calm down and try not to kill anyone today, alright?” Santos turns and attempts not to look like she’s running to find Garcia, which she is.
“And you didn’t buy my bread!” Whitaker calls out from behind her.
“Steal a cart sandwich like the rest of us!” Santos throws back.
Santos doesn’t have to look far, as she catches Garcia getting onto an empty elevator.
“Dr. Garcia,” Santos says calmly, and Garcia holds the door for her.
“Trinity.” Garcia smiles as Santos gets in. Once enclosed, the space feels warm, but maybe that’s just her.
“Probably best to call me Santos here,” she suggests, facing forward.
“Of course.” Garcia takes a sip from her drink. “What can I do for you?”
“I, um. You just…” Why is she fumbling? They literally fucked each other less than twelve hours ago. But it feels different now that they’re both back here in their scrubs. Santos lets out a breath and turns to her. “You have a hickey on the back of your neck. So you should cover that.”
“I thought you’d like the view,” Garcia admits, still smiling. When Santos’ eyes widen, Garcia shakes her head and says, “I’m only teasing.” She hands Santos her mug and unties the athletic zip-up wrapped around her waist. “You know how I like to tease,” she adds with a heated look. Garcia pulls on the jacket, and it has a high neck, completely hiding the mark.
Santos wants to flirt back, but then the doors open, and she’s all too aware that she has no reason to be on the surgical floor.
Santos hands Garcia back her thermos. “I should get back before someone realizes I'm late. I’m still not the most liked person around here.”
“I like you,” Garcia says, stepping off the elevator. “See you later, Dr. Santos.”
But Garcia doesn't walk away, instead turning around to tilt her head and murmur, “But per my count, I think you owe me one soon?”
The invitation is music to Santos' ears, and her face turns up into a smile as the doors close.
Santos hits the button for the bottom floor, still grinning as she takes the elevator all the way back down.