Chapter Text
"Good work, everyone."
The surgery was done, so Garcia made her way away from the table. After scrubbing out, she slid off her gown and surgical shoe covers, tossing them in the bin with her gloves. Ideally, she'd have time to go to the break room for at least a second. But, when is anything ever ideal at the PTMC?
Her pager goes off almost immediately after she pushes open the OR doors, signaling that the ED was in need of her consult again. She quickly untied her scrub cap and sighed as she read the page.
That surgery had been her third aneurysm repair of the day, but she'd gladly do a fourth rather than take the elevator ride of doom back down to the ED. There wasn't much to do in elevators except think, which proved to be a problem, especially today. Her mind flickered back to an earlier conversation.
‘Call a therapist.’
But she quickly pushed the thoughts out of her head. When she's at work, all she has time for is work.
All she should have time for.
She shouldn't let herself get distracted with anything outside of work, which she is usually good at, but for some reason, today was harder. Garcia quickly reminds herself that she's here to do her job and nothing else.
But her expression falters when she walks into the trauma bay and sees Tri-.. Dr. Santos over the patient she'd been called down for. And Langdon there with her.
For the second time today. Who was making these pairings?
She took a deep breath as she pulled on a new pair of gloves, being taken into a trauma room. "What do we got, party people?"
Langdon gave her the run-down, and she didn't miss the way that Santos had originally opened her mouth, but once interrupted, gave Langdon a dirty look.
Not this again.
Garcia decided she'd ignore it, for now.
Dr. Al-Hashimi is walking by, which gets Garcia's attention. She seems to stop once she sees who's in the room, looks around (back and forth between santos and langdon?), backtracks, and comes in. She asks questions about what's going on with the patient but doesn't join in treating her. She only supervises.
No matter what tension existed in the room, no matter who was standing where or who wasn't speaking to who, Garcia dismissed it from her head as she began to work on the patient. Her voice was direct, cutting cleanly through the noise as she worked.
"Can I get a clamp?"
"Hold that-- no, there."
"Okay, I need--"
But even as she worked, she could feel it. The tension. And it was really fucking bothering her, because how was she supposed to do her job with Santos always quipping at Langdon? As much as she respected Santos, the professionalism just wasn't there.
Garcia had said something about it earlier, expecting for it to die down after that, but that just wasn't the case. She'd given Santos looks, too but none of it got across. And before, Al-Hashimi had been on her side? I mean, Garcia thought she noticed..., but now she was watching the two interact with only what seemed to be a curious expression.
Throughout the simple procedure, Garcia noticed that Langdon had now started to give Santos attitude back. The fact that no one else seemed to care about this workplace behavior was really putting a strain on Garcia, but still, she said nothing. Not yet.
"Okay, we're done here," Garcia announced, taking off her glasses and ripping her gown off. "Take her to CT."
She couldn't have been happier to get out of that trauma room. And Garcia was almost out when she overheard a quick conversation between the two residents.
"I'll put in an order for the--,"
"Are you sure you should be doing that?" Santos interrupted Langdon.
"Do you seriously think I won't be able to handle the pain meds?"
"You said it, not me," Santos grumbled.
Garcia had her hand on the door, but instead of opening it, she huffed and turned around.
"Dr. Santos." It came out sharper than intended.
Santos looked over quickly, clearly not expecting it. She shot one quick look at Langdon before he turned away to the computer and she followed after Garcia, clearly annoyed.
Al-Hashimi's eyes narrowed from the corner.
Once they reached a quiet(ish) spot in the hallway, Garcia turned to face Santos, folding her arms loosely as she tried to find the right place to start. This is, notably, the first time today she had pulled Santos to talk to her. Yes, they'd been getting very close over the course of the last many months, but Garcia tries very, very hard to avoid personal conflict at work.
This? This Santos-Langdon thing? It's personal conflict. So she really didn't know where to start.
Santos notices the lack of words coming from Garcia. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean...," she starts for her, looking at the ground. "Well, not that sorry. He shouldn't even be here... but I know what you said earlier, and stuff, so."
Garcia let out a slow breath through her nose, her jaw tightening slightly as she watched Santos struggle her way through that half-assed apology. It was so clear in this moment. That stubborn, unrelenting certainty that Santos carried around like armor. It wasn't new, Garcia, and pretty much everyone else that works here, had seen it plenty of times before. Usually, she found it entertaining. Sometimes even admirable?
But right now, it was the last thing she had patience for.
"This is exactly what I'm talking about," Garcia said, quieter now, but somehow sharper. She definitely wasn't watching her tone. "You don't get to decide who should or shouldn't be here. He's back, and I told you you're just going to have to deal with it."
Santos's head snapped up at that, her expression shifting immediately. It was in her eyes, how much she looked defensive and irritated. "I'm not just deciding that for fun," she shot back, her voice still low. "You weren't there when--"
"I didn't need to see anything," Garcia cut in, holding her gaze. "What I am seeing is you undermining another resident in the middle of a patient case. Repeatedly. Our top priority is patient care here, Trinity. Nothing else."
The use of Santos's first name is exactly the kind of 'personal' that Garcia had been trying so hard to avoid, but it had just slipped out.
Garcia could tell by the way Santos's shoulders tensed, the way her jaw set, that she'd noticed it. Neither of them said anything, holding eye contact in silence. The hallway noise filled the space instead, with distant monitors and voices. Dana yelling somewhere they couldn't see.
Santos looked away first.
"I said I'd tone it down," she muttered, crossing her arms, too. "And I'm trying to."
Garcia wanted to believe her, though Santos wasn't showing signs of changing her behavior. She almost had something constructive to say before she noticed the slight gloss in Santos's eyes. Garcia lowered her voice even further, almost instinctive now. "I'm worried about you."
Shit.
The words slipped out before she could stop them. Because it was true, even though she never voices things like that. She wanted to understand why Santos was acting this way, because it had to go deeper than just a dislike for her coworker. Santos let out a short breath, rolling her eyes as she turned her head away, breaking their eye contact.
"Now's a convenient time to get worried," she said, and even though the sarcasm was there, it didn't land the way it usually did. Her voice sounded thinner.
"I didn't mean for--" Garcia tried, but Santos was already stepping back.
"I've got patients," she said quickly, not looking at her. "You said what you needed to say." And then she was gone, turning into the hallway.
Garcia stood there for a second longer than she should have, staring at the space Santos had just occupied, the conversation replaying in her head in pieces she didn't have time to sort through. This was exactly why she didn't do this at work, because now it was going to follow her for the rest of the day.
"Excuse me."
Garcia turned at the voice, her expression snapping back into something more neutral and work-like almost instantly. Dr. Al-Hashimi stood just behind her, posture straight, expression composed, but her gaze had already shifted past Garcia, following the direction Santos had gone.
She nodded once, hands behind her back, and moved past. Garcia watched her go, following the exact path Santos had taken, a small crease forming between her brows.
She thought back to Al-Hashimi looking back and forth between Santos and Langdon not even ten minutes ago, and wondered if the attending knew something she didn't. Garcia felt the urge to follow after the two, to find out what she's missing. Her pager went off in that moment, and she knew it was time to head back up to surgery.
Great. Now this is going to be on her mind for the rest of shift.
Garcia had plans with Santos to go see fireworks. When they'd made the plans, they were laying in bed together, Santos's hands playing in Garcia's curls. Everything had felt right, at the time.
Then Walsh had asked if Garcia wanted to go to her Fourth of July get together, and Garcia had quickly taken her up on the offer. Garcia works days, and Walsh works nights, so they rarely get to go out together. It was an easy yes.
Besides, she sees Santos at least thrice a week, and their plans weren't ...binding. And they certainly weren't in a relationship. It was more of a casual thing.
But now, in between consults, Garcia found herself texting Emery Walsh to cancel on the party plans. She feels regretful while typing out the text, but her worry for Santos was getting to be a bit much. This was definitely a new development in the world of Yolanda Garcia.
Even though they call it casual, Garcia and Santos have gotten... really close? Over the last ten months. What started as hookups after shifts became weekend sleepovers and hangouts at each other's places. So sue her if she felt more than a little worried about Santos’s wellbeing.
It’s just that it had been nagging at her all day, in the back of her mind, how she thought she saw tears welling in the resident’s eyes before she fled their conversation. Garcia’s failure at compartmentalizing at work has been haunting her all shift, so it only makes sense for her to check up on Santos. To make the both of them feel better.
At least, that’s what Garcia told herself as she finished out the last of her shift, moving from one consult to the next with a level of focus that felt just slightly off from her usual precision. She didn’t make mistakes, not exactly, but there were moments where she had to double-check things she normally wouldn’t, moments where her attention drifted just enough to notice. And God, was it irritating.
When she was finally done for the day, Garcia headed straight to the locker room on the surgery floor, to change out of her scrubs. She pulled on a pair of navy sweats and an oversized PTMC t-shirt, the comfortable outfit that she usually wore after shift. When she reached up to take her hair down from the two tight buns, her curls fell loose around her shoulders, before she pinned it in a half-up half-down.
Instead of heading toward the exit, she made her way back to the elevators, pressing the button for the ED without a second thought. The ride down felt longer than it should have, the silence being just enough for her thoughts to start creeping back in, and this time she didn’t try to push them away. She was concerned. That was the simplest version of it, even if she didn’t love what that implied.
It didn’t take long to find Santos in the ED. She was just outside the locker rooms, having already changed as well, backpack slung around her shoulder, standing a few feet away with Dr. Al-Hashimi. Garcia could spot the pink lululemon jacket from a mile away. They were angled toward each other in a way that immediately made Garcia slow her pace.
Al-Hashimi’s hand was resting against Santos’s shoulder, fingers pressing lightly in a way that was unmistakably intentional. Trinity’s posture was off, subtle, but enough that Garcia noticed it instantly. Her shoulders were drawn in slightly, her head tipped forward just a fraction.
Garcia stopped fully now. Her first instinct was immediate–is she okay? Then right behind it came a different feeling, as her gaze flickered to where Al-Hashimi’s hand still lingered.
She didn’t like that. Not in a way she could immediately justify, which only made it worse.
So she stayed where she was, just out of their line of sight, watching as the conversation seemed to wind down. Al-Hashimi said something quieter this time, something Garcia couldn’t make out, and Trinity nodded after a second, the movement small and delayed.
And then Al-Hashimi stepped forward and pulled her into a brief hug. It wasn’t long, and it wasn’t overly familiar, but it was enough. Something in Garcia’s chest tightened, her posture straightening instinctively, immediately. This wasn’t her business. Whatever this was, whatever was going on, she had no claim to it. But it didn’t stop the reaction. By the time they pulled apart, Garcia was already moving again, closing the distance like she hadn’t paused at all.
Al-Hashimi turned first, and they nearly crossed paths head-on. For a brief moment, their eyes met, and Al-Hashimi’s expression didn’t change much, but there was something behind her big, brown eyes that Garcia did not appreciate.
They exchanged tight, polite smiles, again, as they passed each other, again.
Garcia didn’t look back. But the thought still lingered, what the hell was that, as she approached Santos. Santos was still watching Al-Hashimi walk away when she finally caught sight of her. The shift in her expression was immediate, something guarded slipping into place just as quickly as it had been missing a moment ago.
“What are you doing down here?” she asked, genuine confusion apparent in her voice. “Didn’t you have–”
“I cancelled them,” Garcia answered simply, holding her gaze. “I know what I said earlier.. but I think that we should talk.”
Santos’s face was plastered with skepticism. Her eyes dropped to the floor.
“Well, you shouldn’t have. I’m sure your plans would’ve been a much better time than talking to me , anyway,” Santos said, her voice dropping with that last sentence. “So you can go.”
“Trin–”
Santos’s phone rang.
She flinched at the loud sound interrupting their somewhat-quiet space, pulling it out of her pocket and glancing at the screen. “It’s Huckleberry,” she muttered more to herself than Garcia. “I was wondering where he was.”
She looked up briefly. “One second.” And she stepped away, answering the call with a slight laugh.
“Dude, where did you disappear to–”
Garcia stayed where she was, watching her go. She crossed her arms as an uneasy feeling washed over her. Her mind wandered to whatever Santos and Al-Hashimi had been talking about. She wondered what Santos’s behavior was really about, about what she could be missing.
Then she started thinking about the things she usually ignored, the things she probably, in retrospect, shouldn’t have ignored. The scars she felt too scared to ever ask about.
Garcia exhaled slowly, running a hand through her hair as time stretched longer and longer.
After some minutes pass, Garcia can hear Santos’s footsteps returning. She watches as Santos approaches with a dejected look on her face. Santos looks at her with glossy eyes, arms crossed.
“What exactly did you need to talk about?” But her voice shakes on the last word.
Garcia furrows her brows, “Are you good?”
“What? Yes, I–,” Santos stops, looking down, chin quivering just a bit. “Yes.”
Fuck, Garcia thinks, at first notice. I don’t know how to do this.
Garcia takes a step closer, hesitant. “Santos?”
“I said I was good,” Santos snaps when she notices Garcia getting closer. “What do you care? Seriously? What do any of you care.” Her voice breaks, and her resolve shatters.
Santos’s hands fly up to cover her face as Garcia pulls her in so that Santos’s face is buried in her chest.
Garcia had to tell herself internally not to freak out, because this seriously was not her area of expertise. Far from it, actually. But her concern for the resident outweighed what she was ‘used to’, so she rubbed comforting circles in Santos’s back, because that seemed like the right thing to do, as she cried into her.
‘But if you want to talk about this Langdon shit, again, call a therapist’
Garcia tenses at the memory. She doesn’t know why she said that. Ok, no, actually, she did. It was because the two residents bickering was getting on her very last nerve. The lack of professionalism was driving her up the wall. She hadn’t felt that frustrated at work in a long time. And she doesn’t know why she says mean things when she gets frustrated. Now she can’t help but wonder if her comments from earlier had pushed Santos to this edge.
Santos backed up after a few minutes, after her crying had subsided. She looked up at Garcia with soft eyes before asking, “You really cancelled your plans?”
Garcia gave a nod.
“Can I.. can I please stay at yours then?” Santos asked, her nervousness evident. “I know it’s such short notice and stuff, but I really, really don’t want to be alone tonight.”
“Alone? But..,” Garcia’s voice drifted off as she remembered the whole reason Santos came back upset. The phone call with Whitaker. It must not have gone well. “Okay, yes.”
Santos visibly relaxed, hands wiping at her face, getting rid of any tears left.
“But we really have to talk about everything. Promise me?”
“Promise,” Santos muttered.