Work Text:
The thing about your partner being exclusively friends with med-students, was that you were bound to find yourself on the porch of a frat house on the night before your day off.
The house was brightly lit; two stories, big garage, bigger yard. Tented grass around it, as if someone had in mind to keep it as that. A five minute walk to the Pitt’s grounds – not the hospital – the actual University of Pittsburgh.
Cars upon cars had parked around the house; crowds of students gathering inside, at the front, at the backyard. People kept coming, carrying alcohol and music, and their excitement for a night like this. The night had only just tipped half an hour closer to midnight; the numbers attending this party were supposed to keep growing.
Garcia hadn’t stepped foot in a university campus in years; hadn’t approached the environments today’s youth inhabited in twice as long.
The rotating placements of the Pitt’s students had been coming and going in a permanently constant, monthly pace, which had set them as another part of the hospital’s background. Fixed blips in the ORs and the ED. Her fellowship in emergency surgery, the pace of the job, gave her the leeway of not having them as a direct responsibility. Daily questions here and there, momentary assessments of what they could and couldn’t do over a table.
Didn’t even have to remember their names before the month was up and another face appeared in the last one’s place.
That was until Santos.
Who had this godawful habit of opening her house to the entire population of Pittsburgh’s medical students.
Trinity huffed a laugh and rolled her eyes. “Exaggerating much?”
Yolanda felt like she had every goddamn right. The piss quality beer in her hand had been the only sealed bottle in this place’s kitchen. Twelve hours in the hospital felt as a physical weight hung from every muscle. The ragged couch they were sitting on, smelled like the rot of too many bad decision.
Being here felt unethical on so many levels; the people around them were over a decade younger than Garcia, doing shit that had her physically recoiling.
They were drinking enough to consider the odds of them being one of Trinity’s work cases coming seven o’clock. Garcia had already watched three of them stumble out of the house to throw up in the bushes; had to steel every inch of the doctor in her to stay seated.
Next to her, Trinity did nothing more than roll her eyes, call them stupid and slack further down on the couch, already turning back to Garcia.
Garcia never considered herself a needy partner; practical to a fault even when it came to relationships. Didn’t need daily contact to feel secure in her feelings about Trinity; didn’t have to miss her to know she still wanted her; didn’t have to hear Trinity say that either.
But sitting here after ten days of not touching her properly, not having the opportunity to share a single meal, or a night of sleep, or an hour of just talking – had a specific type of tension releasing off of Yolanda’s body.
Work had been a bitch to both of them this week; enough for Garcia to need the peace and quiet of her empty apartment every evening; enough for Santos to need the buzz of her own crowded one after tough shifts.
They called; late, and after they’d grown too heavy to be anywhere else than a bed or a couch. Stayed on the phone until one of them drifted off first.
Saw each other at work over pools of blood, near broken bones and in front of death lingering in the corner of trauma rooms. A shared laugh here and there in corridors between cases. A fleeing, greeting touch over scrubs, gloves, equipment.
Yolanda didn’t exactly –
Bullshit.
She did. She had been missing Trinity for weeks.
“You talk about Whitaker wanting to do everything for everyone and here you are”, Yolanda said again, sipping the cold beer and praying to the heavens above that tonight wouldn’t fuck with her sleep. Wouldn’t fuck with her day off tomorrow.
Santos rolled her eyes, “This is not even close to the least bad thing I experienced this week”.
Yolanda wasn’t sure if that applied to herself too. She’d lost two patients in the last four days; both of them brought up from the ED, both of them lost during the operation, time running out faster than she could keep up.
Still, the shrill music pounding against the concrete, felt worse than the dead silence of her office afterwards.
“They are old enough to –”
“I wish I had someone to drive me home safe after doing drugs at a party, Garcia, shut up”.
She shook her head and let it go, registering the apologizing squeeze of Trinity’s hand on her thigh.
The first reaction to Trinity asking her to come with, had been an immediate no. The rest for the request had softened the answer to a grumbled okay Garcia was thoroughly regretting now.
But the thing was that – on top this bitch of a few days – the season had rolled into graduation weeks; Victoria Javadi now held an honorary degree, the paperwork of a placement in the PTMC’s internship program, and the fine printed lease of her very first apartment. An apartment near the hospital; renovated, polished and cushy because god forbid Shamsi let the kid find a place for herself.
An apartment in which Trinity had been ecstatic to build every single piece of furniture; in which Dennis had been overly happy to paint every wall over. For the entirety of the move, Trinity’s home had been filled with cardboard boxes containing Javadi’s stuff and pieces of furniture forever mixed after nearly a year of the two women living together.
Both Trinity and Whitaker spent a quarter of their time outside of work at Javadi’s place, because it was located right in Pittsburgh’s heart. Bars and dancing and karaoke – no designated driver – the three of them slept over there until their shift in the morning.
The party tonight, had been further out. Still close to the city, but farther away from any of the the three apartments that could safely host them afterwards. Santos was working tomorrow morning, but she had needed to be around chaotic people, around loud noise, around a crowd overflowing with life.
She had offered to drive them back like she was their fucking mother. Has asked Garcia to come and keep her company.
“Shamsi’s kid is too much of a lightweight to do drugs here”, Garcia mumbled, watching a group of students in the front yard, cheering around a drinking game she couldn’t quite care understanding the rules of.
“Thank fuck for that”, Trinity breathed out.
A small, amused smile was on her face as she watched the crowd cheer around their winner; who kept drinking mouthfuls of cheap wine out of a bottle. Yolanda flinched and looked at Santos grinning at the sight; seeing youthful happiness instead of what might end up being an alcohol poisoning.
She caught Yolanda’s gaze and slouched further down on the porch couch. “Want me to count how many stomachs I pumped this week? Two of them Monday; different parties but they were friends if you can even believe that. They asked to share South Ten and play sleepover. There was a blackout on Wednesday, who was also on ecstacy and no one thought we should know. Then –”
Garcia put a hand on Trinity’s forearm.
The hospital was the last thing she wanted to have on her mind. “How about you tell me on lunch break tomorrow”.
Green eyes narrowed. “You’re not working tomorrow”.
Sipping her beer, Yolanda hummed a low sound of innocent affirmation.
Santos laughed, punching her shoulder. “You’re such a bitch”, she groaned behind an entertained grin Yolanda relished in seeing.
“Tell me about that guy at your class”, she offered instead, watching Trinity immediately launch into talking about the drama of the kick box tournament she’d dragged Whitaker to three days ago.
And here was the second quarter of Santos’ life.
Found in the parallel case of Whitaker.
And Whitaker’s shoe-box of a place. An apartment standing in perfect dichotomy to Javadi’s own. Less than thirty square fit, faulty windows, creaking floorboards, stray cats on his fire escape. Both him and Trinity loved it so ridiculously much; especially since it seemed like the thing to help the wet-rat essence of Whitaker to submit fully to the look of a young dude accepting that life had the ability to keep looking up.
The three first months of his internship had been spent at Robinavitch’s apartment. He had taken the opportunity to gather enough money for a deposit and its first rent, despite the fact that Javadi had declared her welcome in Trinity’s spare bedroom temporal, despite the way he stuck around Trinity’s apartment as if he still lived there. Despite the fact that her key had a permanent place in his keychain.
The whole thing was sweet, Garcia had to admit that. In the time of this thing between them – that mess of a situation during those first, ten months; the actual relationship for the year after – seeing how happy these people made Trinity had been enough to not voice the uncharacteristic – ridiculously pathetic – whining in the back of her head that called out how Yolanda was suddenly getting less of her own girlfriend these last few months.
The novelty of growing up and finding oneself had gone stale in Garcia’s mind. She had a decent amount of younger brothers. She had a good number of nieces and nephews too, who were now gearing up to enter high school. Had a good group of friends since childhood, who had gotten on to build careers, weddings, families.
But Santos had only now started to live that; had this beautiful glimmer in her eyes at watching Javadi’s success, at having Whitaker’s steady presence in her life.
Yolanda couldn’t stop loving her for it.
For the happiness she found in other people.
For the way she thrived around them.
All of these to say, the empty room across Trinity’s bedroom now had yet another fucking med-student in it.
Joy Kwon.
And even though she was the least irritating of the three MS4s that Yolanda’s girlfriend had decided to bring into her house, the new girl had a social life.
An refreshingly thorough social life.
A social life she naturally brought home.
And maybe Garcia had gotten used to Whitaker’s loser attitude of an abandoned white boy or to Javadi’s truly disastrous social skills – but the list of times Garcia had let herself in Trinity’s apartment to find a group of literal children studying cardiology in her girlfriend’s couch, had started to be ridiculously long.
Didn’t know what was worse; Javadi’s TikTok fans catching sight of Garcia in the background of the videos and begging for an interview, or Kwon’s real-life friends staring at her drag herself home after shift.
Didn’t know if she liked being reduced to Joy Kwon’s roommate’s terrifying girlfriend.
Definitely didn’t like the fact that she could now recognize one too many med-students coming into the Pitt, having already seen them in Santos’ living room.
How the fuck Trinity had dodged the hospital’s administration and HR off her case for so long, Yolanda would never know.
The solution to this problem had something too close to caution grow in Yolanda’s chest.
She hadn’t been cautious with Trinity in months, but asking her to move in felt like a request that could have her running.
Hadn’t said anything yet, but the fact that she had agreed to join Trinity to a goddamn frat house just so they could spend some time together outside of work for the first time in a week, was bringing Yolanda dangerously close to having this conversation to the sound of trap lyrics she still couldn’t stomach listening to.
She would never, but Jesus fucking Christ.
“I took care of your REBOA earlier”, Garcia rubbed at her aching eyes and turned to watch Santos light up with a bit-back grin.
“How cool was that?” Santos cockily asked, turning to throw a leg over Garcia’s lap and scoot closer. The dark red lipstick on her mouth looked even hotter when she smirked. Yolanda pulled her further in, thanking god for the heat of early summer, and the bare thigh under her hand. The couch remained disgusting, but Yolanda suddenly lacked any willingness to move.
Trinity’s neck looked inviting, just as the low dip of the green top’s collar, just as the sliver of bare skin where it rode up at her waist. The denim shorts would take some calculations to loosen enough for Garcia’s hand, but –
Fingers grasped at her chin, bringing her head up.
Santos’ eyes had brightened, filled with self-satisfaction at the attention, sharp enough with intent to have heat tickle its way down Garcia’s spine.
“No cooler than the one on your first day”, Garcia said, sliding her hand further up Trinity’s leg, pulling it closer. The firm hold and pressure had the green eyes in front of her darkening.
“Keep talking like that and I might think of getting them to leave early”.
“That’s an option, Trinity?” Yolanda let two fingers loosen around the bottle to hook around the necklace Trinity had on, tugging her close. She felt Trinity shiver at the cold touch, at the use of her name.
The hand of the back of Yolanda’s neck was just as cold, just as decisive in bringing her close for a hungry kiss that tasted like beer, gum, and red lipstick. A contact overwhelmingly warm and wet and all consuming; Garcia found out she didn’t mind the music or the couch when she had Trinity like this. The thick coat of lipstick rubbed against her own mouth, waxy and heavy and sticking; the touch of it had pleasure buzzing down her spine, to pierce on her lower back and pool warmly between her legs.
“Missed you”, Santos whispered against her lips and Garcia nodded, pulling this goddamn leg close enough to slip her fingertips under the stiff stitching of denim covering her upper thigh.
Dipping her head, Trinity deepened the next kiss, making Yolanda’s brain shut off right there. The touch of her tongue, the wet heat into her mouth, the way gravity looped in the contact and pulled at Garcia’s chest was enough to have her lungs squeezing. Close enough to having her breath catch. Close enough to exhaling a groan at finally having –
The godawful music was shut off; leaving stiff silence and long screams of disappointment behind it.
Garcia didn’t give a fuck, digging two fingers in the side of Trinity’s throat, grasping as much as she could, feeling the woman momentary shuddering at the cold touch of the beer bottle against her bare skin. They could take this back to Trinity’s car; could take this back home right now before coming back to pick the kids up for the night –
“Please!” the cry cut through the sounds of the crowd.
They jerked apart at the sound. Garcia watched Santos react with a twitch of her eyebrows, a shift of her body towards the front door –
“Is there a doctor here? Please! We need a doctor!”
Trinity’s eyes sharpened.
Yolanda spat out a curse that might be Spanish, might be English, might be something else entirely.
And they moved –
Untangling in seconds, pushing off the couch. Garcia’s beer abandoned; Santos’ thumb already dialing 911.
The air inside was thick and humid, impossibly hot due to the piles of bodies and summer’s heat. Neon strips of light had been pinned on every slit and corner of the house, breaking the darkness with blinding intensity. The crowd was still yelling about the music being cut off; half of the people had already started moving towards the front door.
Walking against the current of sweating bodies of people fifteen years younger than her, was an experience Garcia wanted to immediately shower off.
Santos’ hand had attached itself on Garcia’s hip; never parting as they cut through the living room and towards the distressed boy near the dj set.
He looked around his early twenties; blonde, sweating, shaking. Blown pupils.
“What happened?” Santos immediately barked at the kid. Kept her hand on Garcia’s waist. Her phone was still out; had not called 911 yet.
He took one look at both of them and seemed to deflate with relief; Garcia didn’t know what he saw, but it must have been enough for him to not question anything.
“I don’t know what he took”, he immediately blurted out, already moving.
Garcia felt her jaw clench. Santos spat out a curse and finally pressed the call button, bringing the phone to her ear.
They followed the boy away from the living room, towards the grand staircase. Behind Garcia, Santos was already spitting out the address of the house, the overdose, stayed on the phone until they reached a corridor, a thin line waiting for the bathroom and nervously glancing toward an opened door. A door that led to a bedroom and the first sight of a body laying on its side across a double bed.
Vomit on the duvet, sweat soaking the thin fabric of his clothes. Eyes shut, chest motionless. Dead weight. Empty bottles, ragged clothes and confetti, were spilling across the floor. A young girl was on the bed, crying, both hands on the boy’s shoulders.
Garcia felt a tightening spasm in her gut at the vulnerability of the scene.
His neck felt wet, feverish, against Garcia’s skin. The carotid throbbed weakly against her pressing fingertips. A blue tint had started to bruise his lips. The sound of his breathing was a faint wheeze of nothingness. Too shallow and too slow.
“On his back”, Garcia quietly said, hands off of him for the time it took to put her hair up in a loose bun on the top of her head.
Santos was already there, grabbing the crying girl’s arm and pulling her away. The kid complied without a fuss, slivering by the doorway. Garcia helped Santos position him fully out on the bed; an eye on the traces of powder on the nightstand.
“Hey!” Trinity called out close to the unconscious boy’s face. Knuckles digging hard into his sternum. “Hey, can you hear me? Alex?”
Alex, Garcia registered the name faintly, putting her hands on his head and tipping it back. A wet groan came from the kid in response to the pain on his chest.
Sometime between Garcia crossing the room and checking for a heartbeat, Santos had the reflex to ask the patient’s name.
Sometime between talking to a 911 operator and checking how far gone the kid on the bed was, Santos had the reflex to turn her phone’s flashlight on.
“Pinpoint pupils. Reactive”, she said, as Garcia hooked her fingers around the jaw, thrusting it up. The thin wheeze soothed to something smoother, only for a wet gurgle to echo out of his throat.
“Chinga tu madre…” – Garcia tried adjusting her hold to keep the airway somewhat open, ready to put her bare hand in the boy’s mouth to sweep the vomit out.
“We need suction…” – Garcia quietly scoffed at that, still trying to find a hold while Santos glared at her – “…turn him on his side again”.
“Not an option”.
“Yolanda –”
“Dr. Santos”, Garcia’s eyes flickered up at her.
“If he vomits in his mouth, he aspirates. If he aspirates, he is done”, Santos snapped.
Yolanda fully looked up at the intensity of that. The dim lights of the unfamiliar bedroom made Trinity look… surreal.
Bigger than her own self, softer than the ER’s trauma rooms had any chance of ever letting her be.
Emotion tightened around Garcia’s heart.
Pressured down against her lungs.
A memory flashed in her mind; an early winter night. Trinity had put Christmas lights on the windowsill of her bedroom, their blinking colors the only illumination in the tight space. Garcia remembered the hum of the radiator, the laptop on the duvet between them, a cigarette between Trinity’s fingers.
Remembered the story about a pride parade; Santos’ friend collapsing in the middle of it, seizing violently in the heart of the crowd. They had pulled her to the sidewalk for the ambulance, near a restaurant. In the story, Santos had grabbed a bucket of ice for champagne bottles from the closest table and poured the cold water on the seizing girl. Had had the waiter bring out ice-packs from inside the restaurant; had had bystanders gather frozen bottles of alcohol and hold them on the girl’s arms, wrists, chest and legs.
It was hypernatremia, Trinity had whispered behind the butt of the cigarette, for a minute looking as if she was elsewhere. Garcia had taken the cigarette from her and put it out, hooking a firm hand on the back of Trinity’s neck to have her rolling on top of her. You’d be a hot paramedic, she had whispered against Santos’ mouth, trying to take the crude smell and taste of smoke away with a deep kiss.
Where she kneeled next to their overdosed kid, Santos carried the entire size of a life built in an ED.
A life that couldn’t properly fit in this bedroom.
Garcia felt like she was seeing her for the first fucking time and almost –
“Fuck, fine”, Santos spat out and reached across the bed for a pillow. Shook it out of its case, pulled the fabric in a strip and then stuck it deep in the boy’s mouth.
Garcia felt herself go still in response to the force of the motion, the absolute carelessness of – “Santos. Jesus fucking Christ, you trying to gag the kid?”
“Give me another option”, Trinity grumbled, sweeping as much of the vomit out before it had the chance to roll down somewhere other than the esophagus. The body underneath them weakly twisted at the invasive gesture. The blueish hue of his lips seemed deeper than thirty seconds ago.
Santos’ free hand landed on his belly. In instict, Garcia fell quiet and let her work, glancing towards the door and the loud muttering of the gathered people.
Trinity shook her head, straightening back up. “Opioids”.
“Or mixed”. Garcia wanted to know where the ambulance currently was.
“He collapses and we are fucked. What you are doing won’t keep him breathing for long”.
Garcia felt her jaw tightened. The throat was tightening; his chest barely moving. They could breathe for him, until the ambulance got here and intubated. Didn’t feel like enough; didn’t –
Yolanda lowered her forehead on her thumbs where they pressed tight across his skull to help hook her hands around his jaw.
Above her, Santos was asking for a first-aid kit; for Javadi or Kwon to run to Trinity’s car and check if there was a chance of finding Whitaker’s street team duffel bag in the trunk. Garcia never registered when they had stepped in the room.
With a groan, Garcia lifted her head to look at Trinity. The ED resident was already looking back.
Clearing her throat, “Ready to be sued for the first time, Dr. Santos?” Garcia quietly asked.
And Trinity laughed.
Her entire face brightened with it; giddy nerves in her green eyes, as she looked down at the boy on the bed between them.
“Ballpoint pen?”
Garcia rolled her eyes hard fucking enough to hurt.
“I dare you to say that again –”
Santos immediately redirected, the bright smirk still on her face. “Right. A spoon then”.
“We’re so fucking fired”, Yolanda mumbled to herself and watched Trinity deliriously laugh again.
The sound was infectious enough to have Garcia cracking a smile too. Trinity’s hands were clenched into fists. Eyes dull with fear as she looked down at the dying kid.
His chest looked motionless now; his lips truly bruised.
“I’ll be right back then”. She rolled to stand from the bed and sprint out of the bedroom. Garcia didn’t watch her go, but somehow felt each of Trinity’s steps walking away.
For all of her worth and years in the job, Garcia wasn’t used to fighting to get her patients to wake up. Work demanded quite the opposite; a look at the anesthesiologists, a pause for the patient to go under, opening them up and knowing they’d stay unconscious through the procedure of invasive hands cutting and barrowing under their skin. Post-op took natural time; a body drifting back to them in its own pace.
The ER was another beast all together.
“Alex”, Yolanda whispered to the kid. One of her hands had a firm enough hold on the angles of his jaw for the other to drift down and find the side of his neck.
The heartbeat slowly brushed back against her fingertips. Slow enough; weak enough. To have Garcia bite down on her lower lip until she tasted blood.
“Hold on. Come back for me. Fuck, kid”.
Soon enough, securing the airway would be the least of their problems.
Soon enough, he was going to go into a cardiac arrest that no amount of CPR would reverse.
She’d lost two patients this week, on the OR’s table. The tragedy of this overdose right here, had already started to hurt. Hurt deep. Sharper than she was used to.
“Goddamn it”.
A presence appeared right next to Yolanda. Kwon looked shaken; staring down at the boy. Garcia glanced at the phone in her hand – Trinity’s phone in Kwon’s hand.
Sometime between talking to a 911 operator and deciding she needed a flashlight to check the kid’s pupils, Trinity had reached for someone else’s phone and had let the 911 call running.
Garcia was so in love with that woman.
Kwon pressed closer, “Where do you need me –”
“Ask them…” – Garcia cut her off – “…where the fuck the ambulance is”.
The girl jumped and brought the phone up to her ear and Yolanda hoped to god the answer ratted out an ETA which would be faster than this kid’s death.
“Six minutes”.
No.
“He doesn’t have that”, Garcia shifted on her knees and straightened in a position that might be quick enough to shift her hands from his neck to his chest and work to stabilize him.
The crowd at doorway mumbled with newfound intensity; Santos and Javadi bursting through the gathered people.
Santos damn nearly sprinted to the bed, kicking empty glass bottles on the way, holding a white box in her hands.
Already tearing it open without –
“First-aid kit had Narcan”.
Yolanda almost fucking –
Santos’ shoulder knocked on Garcia’s head, where she tried to lean around Yolanda and reach the kid’s nostrils. With the steadiest of hands, Santos sprayed the naloxone in, never pausing to discuss dose, timeline, expecting outcomes.
Didn’t need to; as soon as the naloxone was in, Garcia braced herself for the violent moment he came back.
“Did you give enough?” Javadi sounded breathless somewhere behind her.
Garcia slipped in the familiarity of talking to an intern. “Needs a few minutes. One of you keep checking his pupils. I need someone on the carotid”.
Kwon’s hand was already there, pressing on the pulse with an incredible accuracy for an MS4. Javadi climbed on the bed, phone out and flashlight on, fingertips opening an eyelid.
Santos had a hand on the boy’s chest, as if trying to feel the vibrations of his lungs. Yolanda watched the motion deepen.
Her hands finally started to loosen their grasp round his jaw.
“Pupils reacting”, Javadi breathed out and Garcia took a second to close her eyes and breathed out through the nerve-numbing relief of –
The gasped inhale came with a deep cough; a jerk of his head right out of Garcia’s hands, incredibly strong considering he balanced on the edge of a cardiac arrest two fucking minutes ago –
Yolanda barely had time to see the arm flying back, hand half-curling in a claw –
“Alex!” Santos grabbed his arm before it made contact with Garcia, pressing it back down on his chest.
Yolanda exhaled deeply, shoulders dropping and body falling back; blood now freely flowing through the tension rooted in her muscles.
Her knees had already started to sharply ache. Garcia dropped to sit on the floor, her back hitting the closet’s door. Just for a moment to breathe.
Kwon and Javadi were also fleeing the bed but Santos easily pinned the guy. His legs kicked out weakly. Body slowly coming back down.
“Hey, man. Alex, hey! Ease up!”
He locked up tight, empty eyes on Santos, body curling inwards, fresh sweat breaking all over him.
“Shit”, Garcia flew up to her knees again, pushing back close –
– as a heavy shudder rocked through the entirety of him. Santos was already turning him to the side, halfway there, when he started to sharply throw up again.
Garcia helped her position him to his side, vomit on the duvet and heavy shivers jerking through him.
His eyes were still dull, still elsewhere; blue still coloring his lips.
But he was heaving mouthfuls of air, coughing through fresh tears, whimpering pained, strong sounds. Garcia pressed a thumb on his wrist, just to confirm what she already knew.
She’d never felt happier to track a tachycardia.
Next to her, Santos was laughing again. Less delirious, more tired now. Yolanda caught her mindlessly patting a slow, comforting pattern on the boy’s arm. Yolanda caught herself brushing a relieved touch back and forth over the pulse point on the guy’s wrist.
“Out of the way, people…” – thank fuck, Garcia thought at the sight of the EMTs – “…come on, move it. What the hell happened here?”
Garcia stiffly stood, moving two steps back instead of asking for a pair of gloves, a stethoscope, a flashlight pen. She was off the clock. Even had a beer waiting downstairs.
Whatever intensity she was feeling a moment ago, subtracted itself from her mind. A familiar feeling. Detachment setting back in, reminding her of the dead silence of her office after a failed operation.
Santos presented the case to a point where Garcia felt like being back in a –
The EMTs efficiently worked. Garcia was off the case; this is the moment she left the room for the elevator, for the nurses’ hub on the second floor, for the list of patients already waiting for her to check up on them.
Santos came to stand next to her. The deep exhale the other doctor let out, brought some of Garcia back to herself.
“Excellent save, Dr. Santos”, she narrated on queue, turning to look down at the resident.
The sight had her chest squeezing.
Because Santos wasn’t in scrubs, but wore a soft top that dipped low and let her arms bare, denim shorts that ended mid-thigh and beautifully hugged her ass. Red lipstick on her mouth, soft makeup around her eyes, her hair flowing down. The dimmed lights of the unfamiliar bedroom bathed her in warm colors.
There was no elevator; no schedule to follow and smoothly transfer the adrenaline towards until it burned out over twelve hours of work piling on her. Those hours had already passed leaving Garcia feeling as if the day had rolled back to its starting point.
She thought about the face Emery would make if Garcia asked the EMTs to accompany the kid to the hospital.
Kept her mouth shut. Felt heat gather behind her eyes.
“Hey”, Santos’ voice was a whisper.
The kid was on a stretcher now. They could help carry him down the stairs but Kwon and Javadi had already covered the spot.
Santos didn’t move toward them either. “Lana, hey. Are you with me?”
Yolanda didn’t want to be touched yet. The adrenaline high hadn’t reached its peak yet; currently fighting with the mute detachment the job had rooted in her like muscle memory. She’d crash later; and it’d be be a tough one.
Head filled with static, Garcia looked away from Trinity. Her hands were steady as they reached for her phone.
“I’m not”, she admitted, because Santos was two months into being an R3 and knew enough about the job to understand what was happening here. Garcia didn’t need to explain, reassure, or even comfort Santos through the shutdown currently happening in her own body. “I’ll take an Uber”.
“Hey, no…” – Santos’ hand came close to Yolanda’s forearm but didn’t touch. She focused on the familiar tattoos in her line of sight – “…I’ll get you home”.
Garcia looked up at her face. “And your kids?”
Trinity snorted, but the laugh didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m done for the night”.
With no patience to follow up with questions about the med-students’ wellbeing, Garcia locked the phone and nodded, turning toward the door and –
“Jesus fucking Christ”.
– finding the crowd of university students still there. More than one was filming them.
“You’re Doctor J’s roommates, right?”
“Santos”, Garcia asked with a warning already coloring her tone. If she said what she wanted to say to the hospital’s future medical students, HR would have a field day.
Thankfully, Santos moved ahead, grabbing the nearest phone filming and locked it mid-recording, slamming it on the girl’s chest. “Have some fucking class. A young boy just died”.
“Wait, what! He died?!” someone chocked over and someone else gasped in desperation. The girl who had been crying over him when they first entered the room, dropped her own phone with a whimpered wail of grief.
“Alex died? No! He was alive a second ago”.
“Yeah? How the fuck would you know. Since you are too busy breaking HIPAA laws”, Santos pushed through the thin crowd, who parted to let them pass, following them with rapid questions.
The phones were put down now; Garcia felt a tickle of relief and she came back to herself, passing Trinity and walking down the stairs to the front door.
Clear air hit her right away. An inhale helped calm the building frustration in her chest.
The ambulance was just now turning the block’s corner, driving out of sight.
All at once, Javadi appeared next to them. “Nice save”, she whispered and Garcia rolled her eyes, slipping her hand in the pocket of Santos’ shorts for the car keys.
“Find your own way back”, Santos was already moving down the lines of parked cars. “Cash in the kitchen if you need it for a ride. Don’t let anyone in –”
Kwon groaned, finally tossing Santos’ phone back to her. Later, they’d check the time of the 911 call and see how long the whole thing took.
“Don’t let anyone in your bedroom, yeah. Are you coming by tomorrow morning before work?”
“Probably not”.
Trinity glanced at Garcia. She glanced back and didn’t say a word, finally spotting Trinity’s car and starting to walk to the driver’s seat –
Smart fingers hooked in the belt loops of her pants and halted the steps.
Santos took the keys back. “Don’t even think about it”.
“Your day was longer than mine, Santos”.
“No, it wasn’t”, Santos mumbled and walked to the driver’s side herself. Garcia didn’t fight her on it, damn nearly collapsing in the passenger seat.
As soon as the door closed and muffled the sounds of the outside world, Garcia exhaled a deep breath. Stretched, to have tension pop out of her neck and shoulder.
Trinity had the car starting before the door was even shut.
“Don’t ever do this to me again”, Yolanda grumbled, tracking the sympathetic smirk on Trinity’s face.
“It really was a good save”, Trinity said, finally slacking down in her seat. Tapped a relaxed hand on the gear stick, watching the night road. “Robby would be –”
“Do not…” – Yolanda groaned. Trinity laughed, her hand finally going from the gear stick to Yolanda’s knee – “…mention this name out of the hellhole”.
Adrenaline eased to a light weight through her limbs. Started to turn into exhaustion; wanted to be in bed and sleeping right fucking now. Trinity’s hand felt warm on her leg.
“Hellhole’s the closest center. I’ll check up on him in the morning”.
“Suit yourself”. Yolanda never wanted to see the boy’s face again. A migraine had started to pound around her skull. “If he crashes, codes and dies by then, don’t tell me”.
The corner of Trinity’s mouth softly twitched. “Noted”.
Pittsburgh’s streets were quieter at this hour; light traffic due to being a night before another work day. The city went by smoothly, street lights dancing over the car in a steady rhythm. Garcia reached for the radio, turning the volume down low so it filled the quiet but didn’t break it.
“You hungry?” Santos had kept her hand on Garcia’s knee. She looked good; good enough for Yolanda to shift in her seat and take the chance to keep looking.
“I got leftovers in the fridge”.
Trinity’s eyes lit up. “Yeah? How much?”
Garcia shook her head, biting back a smile. The closest they got to home, the heavier her body felt. “Enough to feed Pittsburgh’s medical students”.
“Stop that; I did that one time”. Santos pointed out, but she was smiling. “Huckleberry’s an R2, Javadi is…” – she sucked in a breath through her teeth and laughed – “…something that’s physically incapable of cooking. Kwon is doing fifty different things in a day with fifty other people –”
“Careful”, she interrupted. “You are about to describe my cooking as collateral”.
Santos grinned, glancing over. “They loved it. For the record”.
Yolanda grimanced. “No one is keeping a record. And, yeah. No shit”.
Yolanda’s apartment building came into view, the garage door closed. As casually as putting the car into park, Trinity got the window down and pushed in the code. Just as easily, found Yolanda’s spot and turned off the engine.
The question was right behind Yolanda’s teeth; sharp and intense, pushing to get itself out.
She shut it down. Got out of the car.
The elevator ride up to her floor was quiet, but Santos pushed close until their shoulders pressed tight.
Her perfume softly reached Yolanda’s nose. A hand in her hair, shaking out the light waves, before pushing them back out of her face. Steady hands. They had saved a boy together; less than an hour ago. They had saved hundreds of people together; in shared trauma rooms.
But this one had been –
Goddamn it.
“Fuck. Fine”, Garcia glanced at the digital numbers of the floors rolling up. This was not the place for any of it but Trinity was already blinking up at her, startled. “Do you want to move in?”
Trinity’s eyebrows flew up. “What?”
The elevator beeped. The door opened. Neither of them got out.
Yolanda swallowed the aching knot in her throat. Turned to press a shoulder on the elevator mirror, to full face the woman in front of her. Put her hands in her pockets.
“Your apartment is basically a student hall. And I have missed…” – Yolanda didn’t know what she missed but it came with the memory of drifting off to sleep on Trinity’s couch, in her quiet living room – “…I want you around more. The option is there. It makes sense, timewise and based on where we stand. I want it. If you want it too”.
They didn’t move from the depths of the elevator, even though the door slid shut again. Trinity shifted on her feet, arms coming up cross over her chest, eyes down.
“I like my apartment”, Trinity said instead of directly answering. “I like that it is a safe place for people”.
Yolanda softly frowned. “The safe place is you, Trin. Not the four walls”.
Trinity was already shaking her head. “I like that it is just mine”.
No answer could follow that; Garcia nodded, pressed the floor’s button to have the elevator’s door opening again. Her mind was already planning the shortest route to the bed –
A soft hand locked around her forearm, “Wait. I’m –”
“You don’t have to explain anything”.
“I want to, can you just stop for a second?”
Garcia paused and turned to look at her. They needed to get out of the stupid elevator.
Trinity stepped closer, just enough for Garcia to feel the comforting warmth of her. “This is the first time I’m living my life. Fully, I mean”.
Yolanda shut up at that. Watched her struggle to find words to follow the statement – but she didn’t need to, did she? The sentence was enough for Yolanda to understand what Trinity wanted to hold on to, for a little while longer.
Javadi and Whitaker had keys for Trinity’s home, using them as if the apartment was theirs too.
There were people to go to after tough shifts; finding Kwon and a group of her friends camping out at Trinity’s living room. Ready to take her mind off the ED. Ready to share a beer, scream at an episode of trashy TV, watch a football game, order piles of takeout.
Life; to be found in that apartment. A good one.
Yolanda shook her head, hands going deeper in her pockets. “You know I’m not asking you to give anything up”.
With a light squeeze around her forearm, Trinity nodded. She whispered, “I love knowing I’ll be coming home to you every night. I want that. But I also want to –”
“I know, baby”. The pet name didn’t slip out often, but when it did, Trinity’s eyes brightened a bit more.
A tilted smirk started to tag at the side of Trinity’s mouth. “Unless you want to move in to mine”.
Garcia laughed, pushed her away and got the elevator doors opening again. “That’s a hard pass, girl”. They stepped out in the hallway together, chuckles echoing on the bare walls until they reached the door.
“I don’t ever want to see a med-student again”.
“Oof, so we won’t ever hang out back at my place? Is this payback for me hating Langdon?”
Garcia laughed again, kicking her shoes off by the door and immediately going to the fridge. She took the beers out without thinking much of the aches going through her entire body, or the way exhaustion had started to cloud her head.
Trinity smiled at the offered bottle, but instead of moving toward the table, the living room, the balcony – she stepped closer and slipped between Yolanda and the kitchen counter.
“I’ve never been asked to move in with someone”, Santos confessed and put her hands on Garcia’s hips, nudging her closer. The traces of her lipstick were still on her mouth. “I don’t know what is the right thing to –”
When Yolanda kissed her, she let out an undignified little noise that had her chuckling against her mouth.
“You don’t have to say anything”. Yolanda was so in love with her. “Thanks for not running”.
“Oh, I’ll be fully freaking out tomorrow”, Trinity laughed and reached up to steal another kiss. “Can I come back after work and tell you about it?”
Yolanda was fucking exhausted and yet, she found the strength to hook her hands under Trinity’s ass and lift her up on the kitchen counter.
“I want nothing more”, she whispered, hands on Trinity’s thighs and sliding up to reach the denim of her shorts and –
“Wait, wait, wait, I…” – Trinity was slowly turning a pretty red – “…I need to shower. Got dry vomit on my legs”.
With a grunt and a shove, Yolanda was already stepping back and Trinity was laughing again. Bodily fluid was just another part of their days, but Yolanda didn’t want it near her mouth any time soon.
“I don’t know how you don’t have any on you”.
Yolanda was already opening the balcony door to step outside. “I’m drinking this beer and passing out, so if you want to be fucked tonight, be quick”.
“Ah, here she is. You sure do know how to make your girl feel special, Garcia”.
“Yeah, yeah, you fell in love with me so what does that tell you”.
“That humility truly is god given gift”.
“And neither one of us got it…” – the words cut off with a long groan of relief at finally sitting down.
Yolanda closed her eyes for a second, letting the quiet summer night wrap around her.
She barely had time to register the shift behind her before Trinity was right there, brushing a hand through Yolanda’s loose hair. Green eyes glimmering. Small smirk still on her face. The balcony’s light hugged her in a soft, faint white glow.
Slowly, despite said dry vomit, Trinity sat sideways on Yolanda’s lap. She let her, slipping a hand under the hem of her top, feeling smooth, warm skin and the line of Trinity’s spine.
“In six months, ask me again”, Trinity whispered.
Yolanda didn’t bite back her smile. “Deal”.
Trinity did a face, as if railing emotions in and trying to seem – “Cool”, she said.
Yolanda laughed at her. “Be gone, Santos”.
Trinity grinned, moving to stand again. Yolanda’s hand fell, useless now that it wasn’t touching her. “Wait for me”, Trinity asked.
Yolanda didn’t mean to let the words sink in like that. Trinity was already moving to go back inside and toward the shower, so she didn’t hear Yolanda whisper a very vulnerable, “Will do, baby”.