Work Text:
"Um...can I help you?" Garcia asks, brow furrowing in that way it always does.
Trinity Santos stares at her, open-mouthed, then shoves through one of the stall doors and collapses to her knees over the toilet.
"Oh, my god - are you okay?" Garcia asks, voice echoing against the restroom walls. The door creaks behind Santos, letting her know she has a witness.
Great.
Santos heaves over the toilet, retching miserable. "Yeah... I'm - fine," she chokes out.
"This doesn't look fine, Santos," Garcia snaps.
Santos lets out a breathy chuckle, then her stomach seizes again and she groans. Nothing comes up, just saliva and grunts, her throat burning, gut twisting. "God..." she hisses, draping her arms across the toilet bowl and pressing her forehead against them. Her face is burning down to her neck, and it's not because she's sick at all.
"When did you start feeling ill?" Garcia asks sharply. "You shouldn't have come in today."
When I first saw you, Santos wants to snap. But she keeps her jaw locked tight.
Truth is, she's not on her A game today. She didn't sleep well. She skipped breakfast. Her mind has been racing. And Yolanda Garcia friends-with-benefits zoned her-
-and now she feels sick to her stomach, and she's a pathetic loser because the simple act of coming face-to-face with the woman she loves made her want to vomit her guts out.
Anxiety kills.
"I'm fine," Santos mutters, lifting her head. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and drags herself to her feet, wincing a little.
Garcia's dark eyes roam over Santos' body. Her frown deepens, and she folds her arms. "You don't look fine. Go home."
Santos rolls her eyes and starts tugging her pants down.
Garcia takes a step back, surprise flitting over her face. "What're you-"
"I'm taking a piss," Santos mutters, raising her eyebrows. "Nothing you haven't seen before, sweetheart."
Garcia's eyes linger on the straight, raised scars on Santos' thigh, and then she looks away. "I need to get back. You sure you're alright?"
Santos scoffs, because of course. Of course Garcia runs at the slightest show of vulnerability. But she does it in such a perfect, unreachable way - it makes Santos want to run after her and scream 'Wait! Pick me, choose me, love me!'
"Sure, whatever," Santos grumbles. "Run away again."
"Excuse me?" Garcia snaps, stepping forward. Her arms land on either side of the open stall entrance, dark eyes narrowed in irritation.
Santos feels her ears flush, and she clears her throat awkwardly. The sound of her pissing echoes through the restroom, and she suddenly regrets her choice to display dominance by marking her territory like a fucking dog.
Garcia doesn't move, eyes pinned on Santos face, waiting for an explanation.
The air grows hot between them. The muffled sound of the ER bleeds through the door, but they both ignore it. Just for a little while.
Santos finishes up, wipes, pulls her pants up, and meets Garcia's eyes. She feels like a little bitch when it comes to her. Always her. But she steels herself and lets the words just fall out. "Oh? You want to hear what I have to say now?"
Garcia's eyes narrow impossibly further. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"You know exactly what it means," Santos mutters, folding her own arms - but it doesn't feel confident when she does it. It feels like protection. Armor. Cowering. She shrugs. "We want different things."
Garcia rolls her eyes and steps back, arms falling away from the stall. "Really? You want to do this now?"
Santos strolls past her, and stops in front of one of the sinks. She meets her own reflection's eyes, hiding a grimace when she sees the flush to her cheeks and the nervousness in her gaze. She feels weak, but she wants to get the words out. Get the words out. "There's nothing to be said, right? We had plans, and you blew me off."
Garcia steps up beside her, leaning her hands on the second sink. "You agreed with me when I said we're keeping it casual."
Santos turns the water on, scalding. She runs her hands under it. "Is that what you really want?" she asks quietly, dutifully keeping her eyes down. Rinse. Soap. Scrub. Rinse again.
"It's what's simple," Garcia murmurs. "We work together, Doctor Santos. I can't afford to lose another coworker because of-"
Silence. Santos reaches for a paper towel, and leans against the wall, watching Garcia carefully. "Another coworker, huh." She nods slowly. "So, this has happened before."
Garcia avoids her gaze, jaw working. "Yes. It has. And I don't want it to happen again."
Santos swallows. Tosses the used paper towel in the garbage. "But what if I like you?"
Garcia shakes her head. "I really need to get back to work."
Santos clenches her jaw, then storms toward the door and bolts it shut. Click. She leans her back against it, raises her eyebrow when Garcia gives her a look. "What?" she asks innocently. "Just insurance."
"For what?" Garcia snaps. "We're done here."
"Nope," Santos shakes her head. "I don't think so."
Garcia throws her hands up. "What do you want me to say, Santos? That I like you too?"
Santos chews on her bottom lip. "Do you?"
Garcia groans and lifts her hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. "Just...move. Please. We can talk about this tomorrow."
Santos feels her stomach clench again. She sniffs, blinking fast to get rid of the moisture collecting in her eyes. Don't cry, don't cry. "You're just trying to get rid of me."
"We never should have gotten together in the first place," Garcia growls, stepping forward. "It's too complicated. This is supposed to be our place of work. Don't you get it?"
"Oh, I get it," Santos snaps back. She sniffs again.
Garcia's eyes study her face, and she frowns. "Are you sure you're okay? What was that, earlier?"
Santos shrugs. "Just...nerves."
Garcia raises an eyebrow. "Nerves? Uh huh. Sure."
Santos frowns. "I'm serious."
Silence spreads between them, heavy.
"Are you gonna let me out now?" Garcia asks softly. She makes no moves forward.
Santos has the sneaking suspicion that it's not because she's afraid of hurting her...but because she cares. But doesn't know how to show it.
"Yeah," Santos sniffs. "Sure." She turns and unbolts the door, then turns back. "There you go-"
Lips crash into hers, pressing her back against the door. A warm, strong body flush against hers. Fingers in her hair, sliding around the nape of her neck, pulling her in. Soft lips, panting.
Santos grunts in surprise, but her hands come up to pull Garcia closer.
The warmth feels amazing. Garcia feels amazing. She always does.
Garcia pulls away first, eyes pinned on Santos' face, searching. "You're sure you're alright? I'm a doctor - you can tell me."
"You're a surgeon," Santos jokes, voice trembling. Her heart is slamming against her chest like it's trying to escape.
Garcia smiles, the corners of her eyes crinkling up. She's beautiful.
"Let's talk tomorrow," she promises gently. "I'll text you."
Santos nods stiffly and steps out of the way, watching as Garcia gives her a lingering look, then opens the door and disappears. The door swallows her back into The Pitt, and slowly falls shut again.
Then it slams back open, revealing Doctor Javadi.
"Oh! Hi, Doctor Santos. Um...are you...okay?"
Santos inhales, exhales. She turns back to the sink, hands shaking where she puts them down on the rim. "I don't know," she murmurs truthfully. "Fuck."