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“Dr. Santos, go with Garcia and monitor the patient on the way up to surgery,” Collins advises, shocking Santos out of her patient care. It’s a routine MVC victim—broken bones, internal bleeding, too many cuts and scrapes to count. Except poor Mr. Routen has been crashing on and off since he got to the emergency department. Still, there’s no reason a nurse can’t assist in the transport so Santos can take on another case. Though, Robby’s been big on seeing things through lately. Whatever that means.
“Um—” she shoots up, one hand still pumping the balloon full of air on pace with regular breathing (she still counts the seconds in her head— one Mississippi, squeeze, two Mississippi, squeeze). “Do you really need that? I mean, I’m sure Dr. Garcia can handle patient transport—”
“You’re holding the bag, it’s your case, see it through,” Collins instructs, her voice gentle yet firm the way she always manages to be. She’s eased up a bit on Santos in the month she’s been here—maybe because Santos cooled it on the f-bombs around her, but that’s neither here nor there, and Santos is, frankly, just grateful to have someone that feels like a real mentor. She’s been stretched a little thin since Langdon left, but she still takes the time to make sure Santos is actually learning a thing or two while she’s here. It’s not much, but it’s enough.
“I don’t bite,” Garcia spits as she rips off her gloves and tosses them into a biohazard bin by the door. She shoots Santos a glaring look over her shoulder. “Some time today?”
Santos groans and goes with the team to get the patient out the door, dreading the thought of being in an elevator with Garcia—granted, there will be a patient and about three nurses, but she can still feel the energy radiating off of the woman.
Things between them haven’t really been the same since Langdon left. Santos understands and hates that she understands all at once. Langdon and Garcia were good friends, had a good rapport, and Santos is the bitch that ratted him out on her first day. Santos doesn’t regret it one bit. Langdon is getting the help he needs and no more patients are affected because of it. She just wishes she hadn’t lost Garcia’s newly-formed trust in the process. It’s only been a month and she’s certain she’ll never see another chest tube in her life.
The elevator ride is silent as Santos continues her steady breath presses (even though a nurse could be doing this, but she’s not about to argue with Collins). Garcia stands at the front, hands in her pockets and leg bouncing anxiously. She wonders what it’s like in the moments before surgery—knowing a life is about to be in your hands for the next few hours. Santos imagines she’d get a thrill out of it, but right now Garcia seems mainly… annoyed. Maybe it’s Trinity bringing her mood down.
The doors open not a moment too soon and the patient is rushed down the hall. Eventually, a nurse takes the bag out of her hands and Santos breathes a sigh of relief, standing and watching him go through the double doors to be prepped for the operating room. Now free to go back to the emergency department, Santos rips off her gloves and heads back for the elevator. The surgical floor is so quiet compared to the emergency department, she finds herself taking a moment to relish it before hitting the elevator button.
Her moment of peace passes. Santos hits the button and the doors open quickly, having just closed with their arrival. Stepping into the elevator, she feels a part of her tensing up, mentally preparing to head back down into the chaos of the emergency department.
The elevator doors are just about to close when a hand catches them and Dr. Garcia rushes back into the elevator. She rolls her eyes as soon as she sees Santos, looking out as if she’s hoping another person will enter the elevator to save them, but no dice. Santos just sighs, not acknowledging the look.
There’s a beat of silence and Trinity has never been good at silence, so she asks, “I thought you were going into surgery?”
“I got an emergency page, so Walsh took the surgery,” Garcia explains, her voice tense. From her side of the elevator, Santos watches as Garcia wrings out her hands, one hand gripping her own wrist where her hands rest in front of her. She’s thought about those hands more than she’s willing to admit—how she twirls a scalpel, how she holds her fingers when she’s cutting into someone, what else they might be good at.
She knows her mind shouldn’t go there—not only is Garcia her superior, but she hates Trinity’s guts. There may have been a small flirtation their first day that has served to put endless (and Santos means endless) ideas in her mind, but Garcia has made it very clear that sort of thing is over between them now. Even so, that has clearly not stopped Trinity’s mind from wandering.
“I can feel you staring at me, spit it out,” Garcia seethes, sucking in a breath and still avoiding looking at Santos.
“Nothing, it’s nothing,” Santos sighs, scratching an itch on the back of her hand and trying not to think about what might have happened if she didn’t rat on Langdon. Maybe she and Garcia would have gotten over themselves and slept together by now. Maybe she’d have let Santos observe a surgery. The possibilities are endless but none of it matters because now they’re here, not looking at each other on a stupidly long elevator ride.
An elevator ride that is apparently about to get longer as the lights start to flicker before it jolts to a stop. Garcia reacts first, looking around as she begins hitting the button for the emergency floor, muttering, “Stupid piece of shit.”
“Maybe it’ll start working in a sec—”
“Shut up, hold on,” Garcia groans, hitting the emergency call button before standing back—crossing her arms and tapping her foot impatiently. Santos is pretty sure a vein is about to pop in her forehead. Ashamedly, Santos thinks it’s incredibly hot to see her angry.
“Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Hospital Technical Support, what’s the issue?” the crackly voice rings through the small speaker.
“This is Dr. Garcia from surgery, I’m with Dr. Santos from the ED, we’re stuck in the elevator. Lights flickered, stopped short, I think we’re somewhere between one and two,” Dr. Garcia explains, her voice professional as always, but Santos can hear the intensity behind it. “I need you to contact Dr. Fred Miller in surgery and tell him there’s a surgical consult in the ED, I’m not going to make it in time.”
“Understood, we’ll page him and figure out what’s going on with your elevator, hang tight.”
Garcia sighs and lets go of the talk button, pacing around the small room. Santos supposes she should be grateful hospital elevators are large enough for the sake of transporting patients or else she’d probably be starting to panic right now. She’s only panicking a little bit because she’s not sure having Garcia with her in a confined space won’t result in her own death.
“Just fucking great,” Garcia groans, hands on her hips as she finally allows her eyes to trail over to where Santos is standing in the corner. She was hoping distantly that if she just stood still enough, the woman wouldn’t spot her, but it seems she’s not so lucky. “I’m starting to think you’re bad luck, rookie.”
“Don’t make this my fault,” Santos finds herself saying before she can help it. She didn’t mean to, really, but Garcia’s irritability is rubbing off on her and today has already been busy and the last thing she needs is to be stuck in a fucking elevator. People are dying downstairs and she’s here in a fucking box with a woman who can’t stand her. “And I’m not a fucking rookie.”
“You’ve been here a month, don’t even try,” she says in return. Garcia turns away from her, arms crossed and staring at the closed doors as if staring hard enough will make them magically start working again.
For a moment, Santos thinks the conversation is going to cease there, but she finds herself invigorated with fresh anger. “No—you know what? You don’t get to act like I did something wrong. You’re just pissed that you worked alongside Langdon everyday and didn’t notice anything. Sorry, I wasn’t so blinded by his beautiful blue eyes or whatever the fuck people find attractive about him that I was able to put two and fucking two together. Don’t blame me for you letting his discrepancies fall through the cracks.”
“What are you implying?” Garcia whips around, a look of disbelief on her face as if she can’t fathom the idea that anyone would speak to her with anything other than undying devotion. “Because it better not be what I think you are.”
“I’m implying that you were so far up Langdon’s ass—”
Garcia cuts her off by pushing her up against the wall, a hand on her shoulder keeping her firm against it. Santos doesn’t fight back partially because it caught her more off guard than she’s willing to admit, though she’s used to provoking angry people and discovering the consequences. Way back in undergrad, she was picked up from far too many bar fights to count—usually drunk assholes that were harassing her friends, but a drunk fist to the cheek still leaves a bruise. Garcia isn’t some random drunk, though, and despite all her bravado, Santos is fairly certain the woman isn’t going to punch her. An esteemed surgeon like Garcia would never be so thoughtless with her hands. However, the look in her eyes almost makes it seem like she’s going to challenge that notion.
“Are you seriously saying that I didn’t notice Langdon was stealing drugs because I wanted to fuck him?” Garcia scoffs, her arm strong against Trinity’s chest. She just watches her, part of her delighting in having the woman this close to her. It can’t help but remind her of what it felt like to have Garcia’s hand over hers for that forearm fasciotomy on her first day—the warm breath against her neck, a heady this much in her ear. She feels the same pressure now, except now Santos feels like she’s the one being cut into with the weighted blade of Garcia’s heated gaze. “Then you’re a lot more stupid than I thought you were, Trinity.”
“Either that or you’re half the doctor I thought you were.”
“Fuck you,” Garcia spits, leaning in closer. Their faces are mere centimeters apart and Santos wishes she did not feel as excited as she did. Heat pools deep within her even though she knows it shouldn’t—her body reacting to the closeness of a woman she’s already dreadfully attracted to and the heated passion of their argument.
“You already tried that. Day one, remember? I guess I’m not too special, though, since you and Langdon—”
Garcia sneers, cutting her off once more, “Langdon was my friend and a peer I respected. You want a reason why I didn’t notice so badly? That’s why. The only person I wanted to fuck in that stupid department was you and look how far that got me?”
“Past tense?” Santos can’t help but ask, eyes darting down to Garcia’s lips, her expression arrogant as if she were presenting a challenge. In a way, she is. She wants to see how far she can tempt Garcia, if the woman has more self control than she thinks. Or, hopefully, less. “Could’ve had me fooled.”
“Oh, please, you’ve been a scared little mouse with me since day one.” Garcia’s voice is calmer now, but she still hasn’t let Santos go. Santos doesn’t want her to, but she’s not exactly going to make that sort of surrender known. She makes a vague attempt to fight back, but Garcia just pushes her harder against the wall—right where Santos wants her. “You wouldn’t even know what to do with me.”
“Teach me,” Santos is saying before she can help it. It’s one of those situations where this could go horribly wrong. Garcia could laugh in her face, let her go, and she’d have to sit here, trapped in this stupid elevator, soaking in the shame of being rejected by one of the hottest women she’s ever laid her eyes on. Or—it could work precisely how Santos wants it to.
It seems to be the latter as Garcia’s hand reaches for the tie of Santos’s scrub pants, her arm still firm against her chest. The woman’s face is so close that for a moment, she swears Garcia is going to kiss her, but she seems to be holding herself back—starting to lean in before jerking back at the last minute. Santos doesn’t mind. She can do meaningless, angry sex. God knows it wouldn’t be the first time. For the life of her, she just needs to find out how good Garcia is with her hands.
“Is this what you want?” Garcia asks, an air of mocking in her tone as she shoves her hand down Trinity’s scrub pants, cupping her wet heat through her boxers. She can’t help but let out a small whimper at the touch, especially with how worked up she already was. “God, you’re so wet for me already. Does arguing really turn you on that bad? No wonder you never shut your mouth.”
“Shut it for me, then,” Santos spits back, her voice already breathless as Garcia continues rubbing against her. Her fingers brush against her clit through the thin fabric and she resists the urge to let out a low whine.
Garcia pulls her hands out of her pants and Santos prepares herself for the fall—for Garcia to laugh at how pathetic she is and move on. Instead, though, she presses two fingers to Santos’s bottom lip until she opens her mouth. Santos complies easily, moaning softly as the surgeon’s long fingers slide past her lips, tongue swirling around them as if it were second nature. Garcia just watches her, fascination glimmering in her gaze. “Good girl.”
Santos whines around her fingers, sucking in a deep breath when Garcia pulls her hand back only for it to once more dive beneath her scrub pants, though this time she allows it to slide beneath her boxers as well—slick fingers navigating through the dark curls atop her cunt before eventually finding her slick folds. Santos’s teeth sink into her own lip, desperately trying not to moan as Garcia watches her reaction with careful eyes.
Garcia’s fingers explore her carefully as if trying to map her out with just her fingertips. She brushes against her clit, causing Santos to jerk involuntarily, a small moan falling from her lips as a satisfied smile begins to spread across Garcia’s face.
“You liked that, hm.” It’s not a question and Garcia doesn’t say it like one. Santos is a little mesmerized by her like this. Given how the woman manages to completely take the charge of any case she assesses, Santos had always found herself a little curious as to if she would be the same way in bed. She’s delighted to find out she is. Garcia seems just as fascinated as she’s discovering just how easily Trinity submits to her. Maybe she should’ve held out for longer, but she’s spent the last month fantasizing about this woman, she was not about to let her slip through her fingers.
Garcia’s fingers return to her clit, circling slowly though the pressure remains intense. Santos doesn’t know what to do with her hands—feeling an intense need to grab onto something but having very little to grip against the walls of the elevator. She reaches out for Garcia’s hips and in the same instance, Garcia chuckles lowly, pulling Santos away from the wall until she’s turning her around and pressing her front up against it. Santos moans when she feels Garcia press fully against her back, hand still down her scrub pants, this time with her slick fingers prodding at her entrance, not quite pushing into her yet.
“Don’t worry, baby, you’ll get to put your hands on me eventually,” Garcia coos in her ear, her voice an intoxicating mix of command and promise. “Just be patient. Let me take care of you.”
“Fuck,” Trinity grits out, her cheek pressed up against the wall. Patience has never really been a strong suit of hers, but it’s easier to bear when Garcia fucks into her easily with two fingers—fingers that meet almost no resistance at all with how fucking soaked she is. Her hands brace against the wall, clawing at nothing as Garcia fucks into her with no remorse. It’s intense and passionate and driving Santos fucking crazy.
She can’t even discern the noises coming from her own mouth as Garcia spreads her fingers out inside of her, her other hand steady against the small of her back, twisting up her scrub top and rubbing against the bare skin beneath it. Garcia seems to notice this, breathing in her ear, “Did you wear a fucking baby tee underneath your scrubs?”
Santos manages to get a small chuckle out despite it almost immediately being cut off by a wayward moan. “Is that really what you’re gonna focus on right now?”
Garcia just laughs, pressing a kiss to the now sweat-soaked crook of her neck and shoulder and Santos takes a brief moment to reconcile with the fact that’s the first time Garcia has kissed her. Santos moans at the thought, groaning at the blunt nails digging into the skin at the small of her back, Garcia adding a third finger on her next inward press.
Santos cries out at this, her mouth stuck open as steady moans pass through her lips. She can barely think with how intensely Garcia is fucking her, let alone control any of the sounds leaving her mouth. She can feel Garcia’s warm breath against her cheek and she yearns to turn her head a bit further to the side and capture the woman’s lips with her own, but Garcia seems to have made it clear that’s a line they won’t cross, so she tries to control herself.
“Fuck, you take me so well,” Garcia whispers against the skin of her neck—another kiss, but never long enough to leave a mark. They are still at work after all. Somewhere, Santos is distantly aware that this elevator could start moving at any minute, that the fucking fire department could force those doors open and catch them, but Santos doesn’t even care anymore. All she can focus on is the pressure building deep within her, her body nearing its climax the more and more Garcia twists and spreads her fingers out inside of her.
She can’t remember the last time someone made her feel this way, the last time someone had her this much of a mess.
“You’re so good for me.” Santos can only moan in response, nails trying and failing to dig into the stiff and unbending walls of the elevator. She shoves her hips back against her hand, but Garcia’s hand on her back just shoves her against the wall, eliciting another moan.. “Look at you, doing exactly as I ask without me even having to say. You’re such a good listener, Trinity, such a good girl for me.”
Her broken moan becomes a small, almost imperceptible whimper as Garcia’s thumb finds her clit, working in tandem with the three fingers fucking into her—pace still brutal and unforgiving, but Santos wouldn’t have it any other way. She can feel herself clenching around her, thighs trying to trap the hand inside of her as she comes—and she comes hard. She can feel the way she gushes around Garcia’s palm, soaking her boxers with her own slick.
Garcia doesn’t stop, though, she just keeps fucking her, though this time she pays more attention to her clit, her pace slowing down only slightly. Santos whines at the overstimulation, but she doesn’t dare open her mouth to tell the woman to stop—certainly not when it feels this good.
Garcia pulls out for a brief moment and she whines at the loss, but it’s only to turn Trinity back around, pushing her up against the wall with her own body. A leg slides between Santos’s thighs as her hand finds its rightful place in her pants, teasing at her clit before two fingers slide back into her as if they never left in the first place.
“This okay, baby?” Garcia murmurs, her lips trailing along Trinity’s neck and the warm timbre of her low voice when she says baby is almost enough to have Santos ready to come again. If she could form a coherent thought, she’d probably make a joke about the pet name, but all she can do is breathlessly moan and nod as Garcia fucks into her even deeper. “Good.”
Santos manages to get her eyes open at the same time Garcia pulls back, their gazes meeting in a heated embrace of desire. Her mouth is locked open in a broken moan when Garcia seems to make the decision, leaning forward to taste her lips for the first time. Santos can’t help but moan into the kiss, her hands rushing forward to tangle in her tied up hair as best she can without ripping the hair tie out entirely. She half expects Garcia to grab her hands and pull her away, but all she does is push harder against her, whining against Santos’s lips as she pushes her closer and closer to another orgasm.
“Oh, my God,” Santos breathes out when they separate, hands still clinging to Garcia as she hits a new, deep angle within her, causing her to cry out.
There’s a satisfied smirk on Garcia’s face as she figures out more and more about Trinity’s body and what it is that makes her tick. Their bodies are pressed together with one solid line between them and Santos drinks in the warmth of Garcia’s chest against hers. She wants to get her hands beneath that scrub top, to feel her skin beneath her fingertips. She lets her hands loose from Garcia’s hair, the ponytail looking a bit worse for wear when Santos is done with it, and brings her hands to the woman’s waist, testing if she’ll let her.
“Go on,” Garcia breathes out, leaning forward as if to kiss her again, except stopping just short of her lips to add, “Touch me.”
She kisses Santos at the same time Santos’s hands sneak beneath her top, running along her torso. Santos moans wearily into her mouth, feeling her second orgasm drawing near. She doesn’t want to come because there’s a chance that’ll mean Garcia pulls out and that’s the last thing she wants. Even then, she’s not certain she’ll have much choice in the matter as pressure builds and builds in the pit of her stomach, already on the verge of her next release.
“Go on, baby, be a good girl and come for me,” Garcia hums against her lips—her voice ragged and hungry as if she were the one getting fucked, as if getting Santos off did as much for her as it did for Santos. Given the way her eyes are darkened over with lust and the saliva her lips drip with, she wouldn’t be surprised if it did.
Santos is powerless but to comply, her body reacting before she can even process it. Garcia fucks her through a second release, this time pulling her fingers out and extricating herself from Santos entirely. She groans softly, catching her breath as she watches Garcia take a step back, bringing glistening fingers to her own lips as she gets a full taste of Santos.
“Fucking Christ,” Santos mutters at the same time she reaches for the crux of Garcia’s elbow, tugging her into another kiss. Garcia follows willingly, sighing against her lips as her hands cling to Santos’s waist. “Do you have any idea how fucking insane you make me?”
“You’re one to talk,” Garcia groans when Santos slips a thigh between her legs, bracing herself against the wall as she tugs Garcia closer. “It’s hard to be mad at you when all I’ve wanted to do was take you home and fuck you into my mattress.”
“Glad an elevator will do,” Santos teases as she reaches for the tie of Garcia’s scrub pants, undoing it with ease. Garcia chuckles against her lips, pushing Santos back with a strong hand on her neck—not squeezing, just moving her head right where she wants it. Garcia looks down at her with something animalistic in her eyes, her lips slick with spit and cheeks flushed red with heat. Santos breathes out a question, “Can I touch you now?”
Garcia bites her lip and nods, eyes glued to Santos’s lips. “Look at you with your manners. Still trying to be a good girl for me?”
Santos just groans, avoiding her eyes as she slides her hand down Garcia’s pants, bypassing her underwear and going straight for her cunt where she’s somehow more soaked than Santos expected her to be. Garcia shudders, one hand braced against the wall as she struggles to keep herself steady, still trying to put on a brave face as she coos, “You like that, don’t you? Being my good girl?”
Back against the wall, wonderfully caged by Garcia as her fingers explore the woman’s soaked folds, Santos just moans and nods, letting her forehead fall against Garcia’s clothed shoulder. Garcia gasps when Trinity’s fingers find her clit, a low groan leaving her throat that practically has Santos soaking through her boxers again. This is what she’s good at, this is what she knows how to do. She knows how to make sure Garcia loses all of the control she’s clinging to. Her fingers circle her clit, pressing down just enough to tease her as she spreads her apart with her fingers, getting used to the feeling of her.
“Fuck,” Garcia grits out (the way she says it reminds Santos a little of when she dropped that scalpel in her foot which delights Santos considering the day that happened, she allowed herself to wonder if that was what she would sound like in bed—a brief, fleeting thought amidst the chaos and bloodshed). “Just like that, keep going, baby.”
Santos—who typically hates following instructions—does exactly what Garcia says, maintaining the same pace and position with her fingers as she watches the woman fall apart against her. She’s soon finding out just how much she loves seeing Garcia like this—feeling the way the woman presses against her, body subconsciously seeking out more and more of Trinity’s touch. Her other hand grips loosely at Garcia’s scrub top as if to keep her close, as if Garcia didn’t already have Santos entirely pressed up against the wall.
“So good,” Garcia breathes against the side of her face, one hand cradling the back of her head and sifting her fingers through the base of Santos’s ponytail, nearly tugging the whole thing loose. “Fuck, I’m gonna come, oh fuck— Trinity.”
Santos could get addicted to the way Garcia says her name. She’s pretty sure right here in this elevator is the first time Garcia has called her by her first name (tentatively, she rolls the name Yolanda around in her mind, desperate to feel it on her tongue). The praise from Garcia’s lips goes straight to her cunt and she swears the longer this elevator stays stopped, she’ll be able to get going again.
Garcia shudders against her, a wrecked moan tearing itself from her throat as she pushes down against the knee Santos kept between her legs, clearly searching out more friction during her release. Santos can feel the way the woman soaks her palm and she wishes they had the freedom that would allow her to get on her knees, tug down those dark blue scrub pants, and get a full taste of her, however, it’s probably best they stick to activities that are a bit easier to hide. Just in case. Santos will simply have to make sure this happens again.
She pulls her hand out and Garcia groans, taking a shaky step back from Santos. The two of them stand there separately, catching their breath as they breathe in the stale smell of the elevator—an elevator that now smells vaguely of sweat and sex. Their eyes meet and Garcia lets out a wry chuckle, running a hand over her face.
“Jesus Christ,” she mutters. Santos just watches as the woman undoes her hair, combing her fingers through it before tying it back up with only a few hairs out of place. She’s sure she looks like an absolute mess, but that’s something she’ll worry about in a minute.
“Let me see this,” Garcia hums, taking a confident step over to Santos and tugs at the hem of her scrub top. She lifts it just enough to see the dark baby tee underneath, a satisfied laugh falling from her lips. “Did you do that on purpose? Hoping a sliver of your waist would tempt me?”
“Not everything I do is for you. Maybe it was for Ellis. Maybe even Mohan.”
Garcia’s look immediately turns sharp as she grabs Santos by the chin, tilting her head and looking briefly down at her lips before those eyes flicker up to meet her gaze once more. “Hm, I don’t think so. Not anymore, at least.”
“I thought you were mad at me.”
Garcia scoffs, letting go of her and avoiding her gaze. “I was pissed at myself. For not realizing. And mad that you were the one that did. Looks like we’re in the process of making up for it, though, hm?”
“Process of?” Santos can’t help but ask, taking out her hair tie so she can attempt to fix her ponytail. “Does that mean this’ll happen again?”
Garcia seems to consider this, crossing her arms as she looks around. “Preferably not here.”
Santos lets out a quick snort. “Yeah, no shit. When is this thing going to get moving again anyway? Think we have enough time for round two?”
The woman catches her eye, looking at her curiously as if considering it. Garcia tugs her close by the waistband of her scrub pants, bringing their lips together. The kiss is sweeter than their others, but it still carries the same desperation. Santos finds herself groaning softly into it, hands grabbing at Garcia’s waist as if her tease about another round is about to come into fruition.
Just as Santos starts to slip her hands beneath Garcia’s scrub pants once again, though, the elevator jolts into motion so abruptly the two of them almost stumble into each other. Santos laughs a bit as they break apart, eyeing the floor number above them.
“I guess that’ll be a raincheck then.”
“Yes, it will,” Garcia says, a quiet sigh hiding beneath her words.
They stand side by side as the elevator stops back down at the emergency department. Santos is almost sure both of them are flushed and sweaty with more than a few hairs out of place, but Santos is hoping if anyone asks, she’ll be able to blame it on the stress of being trapped in an elevator.
The doors open and there’s Dr. Robby, looking over a maintenance guy working on the elevator panel. “Hey! You guys okay?”
“Yup,” Garcia answers for them, shoving her hands in her pockets—presumably so no one can see the slick that probably still shines on them. Santos does the same, wiping her fingers on the inside of her scrub pocket, just in case. Maybe she’ll spill something on herself later and find an excuse to go swap out a different set. “I’m sure Gloria will be happy to hear that it seems her piece of shit elevators are finally fighting back.”
Robby takes in the sight of the two of them, Dana coming up to his side with a slight smirk on her face. The woman’s voice is almost mocking as she asks, “Hot in there?”
Santos chuckles nervously, avoiding looking at Garcia like it’s the plague. “You have no idea. Um—Dr. Robby, is it cool if I grab a drink in the staff lounge really quick?”
“Yeah, of course, kid,” he nods, patting her on the back and sending her in the direction of the lounge.
Barely a beat passes before Santos can hear footsteps coming up behind her, surprised to find Garcia at her side once more. “Wait for me when you get off. I’m not done with you.”
Santos barely withholds a groan as she thinks about what I’m not done with you might entail. She doesn’t let herself look at Garcia as she nods. “Okay. Yeah. I can so do that.”
Beside her, Garcia chuckles. For a brief moment, she thinks the woman is going to leave it at that and walk off, but instead, her hand barely grazes the small of her back, breath warm against her ear as she coos, “Good girl.”
She disappears before Santos can whine about how that’s not fair, heading back up towards the surgical floor without another glance towards her. Santos just watches her go. God—she’s going to need a fucking cold shower at this point if she wants to focus on work for the next eight hours of her shift. Instead, she settles for grabbing a cool drink in the staff lounge, letting her head thunk against the table.
The door opens and Santos nearly jumps out of her skin, though relaxes when she realizes it’s only Dana. The older woman is just chuckling as she asks, “Be honest. Did one of you hit the emergency stop button?”
“No,” Santos groans, “What is this? Grey’s Anatomy? Dana, I expected better from you.”
Dana takes this on her chin, just laughing. “Just saying—Dr. Garcia seemed real chipper for someone who’d just been stuck in an elevator for forty-five minutes.”
Oh, my God, that was forty-five minutes, Santos thinks to herself, praying she doesn’t start blushing again. She tries to muster up her bravado once more, turning to Dana and saying, “Get your head out of the gutter, I wouldn’t do that. It was an accident.”
“Fine,” Dana huffs, a coy smile still playing at her lips, “but between you and me, I had twenty bucks on the two of youse banging it out within the first two months of your little tussle, so I’d appreciate some intel. Pot’s up to three hundred, I’ll give you twenty percent if you tell me the truth.”
“Forty.”
“Thirty,” Dana counters.
“Thirty-five.”
“Deal.”
Santos leans back in her seat, gripping her water bottle tightly and blushing a bit when she goes, “The elevator really was an accident. But let’s just say… we worked things out.”
Dana whoops, clapping her hands together with pure glee. “You have made me a very wealthy woman, Dr. Santos. I won’t forget this. And don’t worry—I won’t tell HR.”
Santos groans, “Fuck off.”
Dana laughs all the way out of the lounge, leaving Santos to wallow in her embarrassment. However, it is aided a little bit by knowing she’ll be seeing Garcia after work. I’m not done with you, she’d said in that sultry voice of hers. A chill runs down Santos’s spine just thinking about it. God—these next eight hours are going to be complete and utter hell.