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Javadi hears it from Joy, who heard it by eavesdropping on Whitaker, who was talking to Santos. She feels a little silly for not being able to get a firsthand account, but. Beggars can’t be choosers.
Garcia and Santos have apparently broken-up. Their on-again-off-again relationship is now off, again. Cool.
Victoria doesn’t have many thoughts on this at first, but then everything sort of starts to snowball. Her tenuous friendship with Santos. McKay. Her mother’s insistence she go into surgery.
Her mother’s fury if she found out one of them, their star surgeon at that, fucked her daughter.
(It isn’t just out of spite. Victoria has been nursing the wound Cassie left her with for months, but to no avail. What was that saying? ‘The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else’? Well. Scientific method, here we go.)
It’s intimidating, walking up to her after their shift, but she’s already tried (unsuccessfully) to make a move on another much older resident, so. (Is Garcia an attending now? Maybe Javadi should ask).
She doesn’t even catch a glimpse of her the first few times. Victoria considers cutting her losses, figures it was probably a dumb idea anyway, even if she could get away with it - but really, the thrill of someone knowing leaves her equally humiliated and turned-on at the same time, which is something she doesn’t feel particularly hellbent on investigating right now.
“Dr. Garcia?” Victoria spots her exiting the building on the third night, and it’s embarrassing the way she tries to jog up to meet her, tiny useless baby legs racing against long, confident strides.
Garcia looks a little surprised. This is already humiliating.
“Hi,” she says dumbly, then decides to switch to something she can talk about. Medicine, “um, I was passing by when you were fixing the interior dislocation this morning. It was really badass.”
“Thank you, Javadi.”
She sounds mostly disinterested, or maybe just tired, but Victoria doesn’t let it deter her. At least not yet.
“And thank you for letting me assist with the rebar guy. I mean, holding a human heart in your hand is like- wow.”
“I’m impressed with your progress,” Garcia tells her, and it feels really genuine, so genuine that for a moment, she almost forgets her whole elaborate seduction plot, but then she…starts walking away again.
Victoria tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, as if that would help. Had it really not occurred to her that Garcia might turn her down? Had her head gotten that big from McKay’s admission that she just assumed every older, halfway self-assured female doctor within a 50 mile radius could somehow smell the pheromones emitting off of her and respond accordingly? What’s next, did Dr. Ellis want her? Al-Hashimi?
But Garcia is closer, closer to everything, surgery and Santos and McKay and her mom and- and it wasn’t about connection. It was about coveting.
“Um, I’m sorry about- Santos,” Victoria says, cringes before the words even leave her mouth. She knows it’s a last ditch effort, a hail-mary, hardly appropriate for someone she barely speaks to outside of the ER, but when Garcia stops in her tracks, turns around, she doesn’t look angry at her, which is…good. Victoria thinks.
“That fast, huh?”
“I wasn’t trying to be nosy or anything, it was just- well, I heard whispers and..”
“Relax, kid. I’m not blaming you. I know how fast the rumor mill goes,” she pauses, works her jaw, “I’m…fine, off the record. If you were curious.”
“No, yeah. I’m - I’m fine, too.”
Why would Garcia care that she’s fine? Unless she understood that fine was code for mourning a breakup which wasn’t exactly a breakup but varying degrees of a situationship a la two stubborn, strong-willed, beautiful women who…
“So it’s because of my age?”
“Vic, I…,” Cassie turns away. “You have your whole life ahead of you. And I can fit in there, somehow, but not- not like that, okay? Not like that.”
Victoria nods, wills herself not to cry. She can be a big girl. Even if she just- just made a fool of herself in front of the one person whose opinion she values above anything else, the one person who really saw her.
“But you kissed back,” Victoria tries to rationalize, a mournful disbelief to her tone. She knows it won’t do anything. Can tell from Cassie’s detached expression, stiff posture, that it’s already over.
Garcia quirks an eyebrow at her, gives her a once-over. A strange smile slowly stretches across her face. It’s unnerving, but also revitalizing, like she’s one of those energizer bunnies from the battery commercials. Maybe…was this actually working?
“You’re cute,” Garcia says like it’s nothing, but still without the intent to actually do something about it (Victoria thinks she’s been getting better at picking up on stuff like that. The gap between flirtation and action, plausible deniability vs. stone-cold physical evidence).
“I’ve been cute my whole life.”
She tilts her head. “You don’t wanna be cute anymore?”
Was that a come-on? Okay. You got this. Be cool.
Victoria’s palms are definitely not sweating, because that would be embarrassing, something she is not. She is chill. Cool. She takes a step closer to Garcia to prove how very not-embarrassing she is, but their height difference is- okay. She might’ve failed to calculate that.
“I don’t know what I wanna be, sometimes,” Victoria admits, a little too personal but that’s okay. She licks her lips for good measure and delights in the way Garcia’s eyes catch on them.
“Isn’t that the question? Well, for what it’s worth, I think you’d be a wizard in the OR,” Garcia stops when she notices the way Victoria’s face blanches, “That- wasn’t a recruit or anything, just an observation.”
She nods. Wielding praise and the simultaneous threat of proximity to her mother like that feels illegal, but. Whatever.
“Fuck, you’re tense.”
A whine slips from the back of Victoria’s throat. She wants to immolate herself. Looking up at Yolanda Garcia, dark slick-back hair, skin the same shade as her own, surgery extraordinaire. In the dimness of the parking lot, it occurs to her that this could be mutually beneficial - that she could hand over a piece of Santos to Garcia, in the same way that Garcia could hand over a piece of McKay to her. Win-win situation.
Except she doesn’t have much to give. They were…friends, sort-of, but Santos still called her Crash and Victoria had nothing to counter it with, no reciprocal shitty nickname spawned from an embarrassing (and uncharacteristic, she might add) one-off incident to speak of. And McKay and Garcia? Were they…?
“I’ve heard that before,” Victoria says self-deprecatingly, as if Garcia could somehow reach into her mind and extract the exact moment on recall, Trinity telling her you need to relax, Crash, “Too tense, I mean. I don’t know if it’s just…my natural state, or whatever, sometimes…”
Garcia is very, very close. Javadi’s brain short-circuits. She ducks her head, and can sense Garcia doing the same, anticipating the brush of fingers lifting her chin before it ever happens.
“Javadi, are you-“
“Do you have a strap-on?”
Surprised, Garcia laughs, full-throated, but it isn’t unkind. Really, it isn’t dissimilar to the way Cassie used to laugh at her, but she always had a guard up. Like she was biting something back just behind her teeth.
This is lighter, less restrained. So when Garcia curls a strand of hair behind her ear - that same strand she’d tried to wrangle down earlier - it’s all she can do but to wait with bated breath, wait for the bang, the simple pleasure of lips on lips.
“I think there are more subtle ways to ask that question.”
Victoria yields. “Can you fuck me?”
Garcia is commanding, but steady, stable. Victoria knows that if she were to close her eyes for any indefinite amount of time and then open them again, she would still be there.
She can trust the nod, the twinkle in her eye, the steady pressure of her lips, a hand cradling her hip, because this is Garcia. She will not run away. She will not kiss back, wait until Javadi is moaning into the molten heat of her mouth, until she’s already squirming halfway on her lap, to pull back entirely. To break her heart into a million pieces.
//
Garcia suggests they go to a bar first. She also suggests that Victoria stop calling her Garcia, now that they’re off the clock, now that they’re going to do…whatever it is that they’re going to do.
There is no preamble, not really. The bar is surprisingly warm, woody, almost Southern-like in feel, which feels random but Victoria does appreciate the relative quiet, maybe why Garcia chose it. As some…pregame before the big event, an opportunity for her to still cut ties, change her mind. Victoria doesn’t think Garcia even knows she can’t drink yet, but she doesn’t order any and the bartender doesn’t ask, so.
(And if something white-hot shoots up her spine at the knowledge, that she’s withholding some pertinent information that could change the course of their night, then that’s nobody’s business but her own.)
They’re facing each other, tucked away in some corner with a low, romantic light, rerun of a Steelers game playing on the TV behind them. And Garcia’s hand is resting atop her thigh. That energizer bunny feeling comes back again, full force.
“Look, kid-”
“Cassie calls me that,” Victoria blurts out.
Yolanda reels back. She looks almost…sympathetic, pitying. Victoria hates it. “What else does she call you? Sweetheart? Honey? Doll?”
Victoria squeezes her thighs together, tugs at the lapels of her jacket. Her throat is dry as she nods.
“Or, she used to. Before…I got weird. I always get weird. I mean, this is weird, right?”
A self-conscious chuckle. Garcia’s hand doesn’t move away, inexplicably, even though Victoria just said the word weird three times in the span of five seconds. Steady, stable Garcia.
“Doesn’t have to be,” she says simply, “I just…want to make sure you know what it is you’re asking for.”
“Do you not want to?” Victoria chances asking. Her stomach grumbles and Yolanda pushes her chips towards her. The gesture doesn’t go unnoticed.
“Your mom would kill me if she found out, you know that, right?”
Victoria wants to say, good, that’s why I picked you, but it feels incredibly weird to even think, much less to tell Garcia, who is being incredibly gracious by even entertaining her right now.
“Nobody has to know.”
Garcia hums. Contemplative. Then she gets this look in her eyes, this sneaky, fire-like look. Not for the first time, Victoria realizes she’s really hot, and tries not to spell it out so plainly on her face that she’s thinking about how hot Garcia is, but they’re going to have sex, aren’t they? Wouldn’t that be normal to think?
“Does she…does she talk about me?” Victoria asks around a mouthful of chips, has no idea whether she means Cassie or her mom. Doesn’t know how much it matters.
Garcia twists her mouth. Victoria feels her stomach drop. “I don’t think we should get into that right now.”
“Why?”
”Victoria..”
Victoria backs off, feeling that she’s encroaching into territory that may turn Garcia off completely. And what a harrowing concept.
“I’m sorry - that wasn’t…I want to do this.”
“Did she…did she say anything to you? Santos?”
Huh, Victoria thinks, so this is what a vulnerable Garcia looks like. There’s a sharpness to her features, a subtle frown, crease between her brows. Her mouth is slightly open. She doesn’t look intimidating like this, just human. Earnest.
“Um, no. Not really. You’d probably be better off asking Whitaker, but then he wouldn’t…be here. I just- I get this feeling, right? Like I’m…like I need to go skinny-dipping, or jump off a high building or something. Not in a suicidal way, obviously. I’m not- you know.”
Yolanda smiles again, taps Victoria’s leg with her own. It makes her melt, kinda, and she takes another bite of the nachos, duly aware that Garcia is watching her.
Victoria knows what Cassie’s mouth tastes like, and she knows what Yolanda’s tastes like, too, and it makes her head fuzzy to think what she could add on to that knowing later tonight, warm wet on her nipple or fingers inside her or Garcia fucking her with her strap. Makes her dizzy.
The kiss in the parking lot was controlled. Guided. Nothing like the messy, fraught desperation of colliding lips, bumping knees, chests, Cassie’s pushed-out moan which would serve as jerk-off material for years, haunt her for even longer.
Yolanda locks eyes with her, suddenly serious. “Tell me what you want.”
Somehow, that stabilizes Victoria more than anything else has in the past hour, day, week, month. Ever since…
“I want you to fuck me. And I don’t want us to look at each other.”
Garcia takes a little time to process the request. Victoria is momentarily mesmerized by the flex of her jaw, wonders if she’d be able to add in I want to sit on your face to her request.
“Is that what you want? Are you sure?”
Victoria nods. Then scrambles to add, “Um, if that’s what you want, too.”
“You’re sweet,” she says offhandedly, biting her lip, “No, I…I’d love to fuck you, Victoria.”
//
Her apartment is roomy. Windows, high ceilings, everything bathed in greys and cool tones, an elaborate glass sculpture next to where she puts her shoes. Victoria studies it curiously.
Garcia makes sure to tell her she’s been tested recently, which means both more and less to Victoria than she thought it would (not that she really thought about it. That kind of dampens the fantasy). But then she brings up using a safe word, which is like. Wow. Level 3 sex? Victoria isn’t sure she’s past level 1.
“A safe word?”
Yolanda’s keys are put down on the counter. She’s already taken off her coat. “If you ever wanna stop, slow down, if it gets to be too much. I can get a little…intense.”
“Oh,” Victoria says dumbly, but she’s wet, so.
She fishes around in her backpack for the key to all of this, and her heartbeat picks up when she finds it, Cassie's cologne she’d pilfered from her medicine cabinet (underwear seemed too far). Unscrewing the cap, she sprays it on her wrist, rubs along her neck, and inhales, a groan bubbling up almost immediately.
It should be embarrassing, how much she wants, and maybe it is, but she smells like Cassie and she’s in an older woman’s house who was just talking about how good she’d look spread out on the car ride over and there isn’t any room left in her body for embarrassment. There’s only room for - well. Garcia.
Victoria lifts her arms up and strips her shirt off right then and there, and Yolanda’s eyes widen like she was halfway expecting this not to happen at all. But then she gets that smile again and sidles up to her, and then they’re kissing.
Cassie’s arm is stretched out behind Victoria, a phantom cradle on the armrest of the couch. She’s talking about things Victoria barely hears. Is this finally it?
There’s a glass of water leaking condensation on the coffee table. Victoria doesn’t think about it. Her hand finds Cassie’s, stroking over the knuckle, and they’re larger than her own, and Cassie lets out this little exhale - betrayal.
“Vic-”
Victoria presses her lips to hers, and in an instant, she’s moaning into Cassie’s mouth. Hands come up to steady her immediately, on her waist, on her hips. She tastes sweet. Sweet like-
Yolanda kisses her, softly at first but it quickly accelerates. It’s nice. Her lips are firm-tender, and Victoria has to stand on her tippy toes until Garcia picks her up, and their hips, breasts are fitted together. This is cool. She can be normal about this.
Yolanda leads her to her bedroom, and they’re fondling each other (what a funny word, she thinks idly). She undoes her bra in like, one and a half seconds, and Victoria nuzzles into her neck, wishing that it was somehow possible for her to scent-mark Yolanda with Cassie’s smell, so that when Yolanda was fucking her from behind, draped over Victoria’s back, all she’d feel, smell, think of was Cassie. But maybe that’s weird.
“Is this okay?”
Victoria nods, bottom lip snagged between her teeth as Garcia takes a nipple into her mouth and massages the other one. She’s really sensitive there. A tentative hand winds in her hair, keeping her steady.
When she detaches, she peels her own shirt and bra off, takes a long, hard look at Victoria. “God, you’re perfect. Fuck. Cassie didn’t want this?”
Cassie did want this, actually, but Victoria can’t be bothered to correct her when she’s saying that name right when they’re about to have sex. Fuck. Make…love.
Yolanda kisses her again, sloppier this time, and it's then that she realizes just how turned-on she is (also how passionate of a kisser Yolanda was. Not like she was proving something, it just came to her naturally. Like breathing.), and her hips are chasing the plane of her stomach and she’s clawing at Yolanda’s back which she recognizes distantly is erotic but for some reason doesn’t register as such to her. Not until Yolanda takes her hand, the wrist she’d sprayed with that oaky cologne, and offers it to Victoria to suck, like she’s some fledgling vampire desperately drinking the blood of her maker.
It overwhelms her, the taste, but she’s also trying to wet them fast because she suspects Yolanda has some ulterior motive. Which she does. “Can you-” Victoria hurries out, but then her pants are being unzipped and that same hand fits beneath them and she jerks some more.
Garcia coos and calls her honey and Victoria’s clit throbs and she could probably cum just like this, Garcia’s hand carefully placed atop her own over her underwear while she ruts, drags herself against the friction, mouths helplessly against her throat-
But then it all stops.
“Let’s get you more comfortable, yeah?” Yolanda says, walking back, and her voice is still kind but darker, slanted, disarming.
Victoria opens her mouth to say something, but she can’t. There are no words.
She takes Yolanda’s hand and then she’s being pushed down on her (incredibly soft) mattress, rushing to pull her pants off her legs, then kicking them like they’ve personally offended her.
“You still wanna do this?” Garcia checks in with her, the bed dipping where she sits partially on it. Her mouth is wet.
“Yeah.” Victoria rises up to kiss her again. “I just want…I wanna forget. Or- or remember, I don’t know, there’s just so much going on in my head and..”
She nods in understanding, face concentrated. “You wanna feel?”
“Yeah. I do.”
This is the most intimate she’s ever felt with Garcia, Victoria thinks as she cups her face in her hands and kisses the corner of Victoria’s mouth, and it’s scary. So she dives in all the way, pays her back in kind, sucks on Yolanda’s tongue and it starts getting intense again until a hand is pressed to her chest.
Yolanda pulls back, and Victoria whines. “Baby, I gotta get ready. Unless you just wanna use my fingers?”
It takes her some time to even realize Yolanda is genuinely asking her, because the phrase use my fingers scrambles her brain so bad she can hardly breathe, but she agrees, and tucks her legs beneath her.
Garcia is in the bathroom for a while. Victoria can’t tell how long, because her brain is melting. She rubs at her neck and strokes her clit lazily which feels almost illegal to do, and her hips twitch dangerously when she conjures the image of McKay above her, chain dangling, humping her thigh. The sounds she’d make.
“Getting started without me?”
Victoria startles, stops her hand and looks up, gulping. The strap-on is- okay. Yeah. It’s there, around her hips. Black and shapeless, but it gains shape as she moves closer, and as Yolanda adjusts on the bed Victoria tugs the straps towards her, and takes the toy in her mouth. She feels a little silly because she’s never done this before - real or fake - but Garcia moans and pets her hair and she must be doing a good job because the silicone gags the back of her throat and she wants it inside of her, like, yesterday.
“Fuck,” Garcia lets slip out, pushing her hips forward a little, mimicking fucking Victoria’s face without actually doing it. “God, you’re fucking filthy.”
Victoria keeps sucking until Garcia eases her off. There’s spit everywhere, and she wants to wipe her mouth but Garcia slips her fingers under-over her chin and Victoria sucks those, too.
Yolanda makes an indescribable noise, trapped somewhere between arousal and pain, and Victoria thinks she’d like to taste her cunt if she’d let her, dig her nails into the meat of Garcia’s ass so hard she couldn’t move even if she wanted to, but then that seems more like a Cassie thought.
Cassie would fuck her face.
“You like having something in your mouth, huh doll?” Victoria nods, but she can’t speak because she’s occupied, “fuck, Victoria. You look so fucking good like this. Shit.”
The way Garcia says it is funny, like she’s actually a little ashamed at how badly she wants to fuck this girl, who is at least fifteen years younger than her and the daughter of her boss. Well. Maybe that’s how Cassie felt all the time, but a million times worse.
“Turn around. Ass up.”
Victoria obeys. She took her panties off, waiting for Garcia, but now she’s actually exposed - like, all the way - and it’s a little nervewracking and she’s dripping down her thighs but the way Garcia passes over the fullness of her ass gives her a rush. There’s a tiny squelching sound which she realizes is from the bottle of lube on the desk drawer, and she’s just grateful that Garcia doesn’t make a comment about her not needing it.
Garcia fingers her at first, which is amazing and also horrible because less than twenty seconds pass before she’s coming on her fingers. Only one of them was even inside, she just rutted against them as they slid through her slit and rubbed her clit once, twice (once would’ve been enough. It was that bad).
“Fuck, m’ sorry, I couldn’t hold it,” Victoria says, and she doesn’t even know why she says it unless she expects Yolanda to punish her or something, but that never happens. Obviously.
“My needy girl. So fucking desperate.”
“Yours.”
The clunkiness of it doesn’t occur to her until much later, the yours feeling borrowed on her tongue. She knows it belongs to someone else, but that someone isn’t here right now, and what else is there to do? She can be Garcia’s, at least for a little while longer.
Yolanda steadies her hips, and Victoria kinda feels like she’s going to pass out. She asks again if she’s ready, which is very kind, even if it’s the last thing Victoria wants right now. And then she feels it, the dildo sliding through her.
She digs into the mattress when the blunt head catches on her clit, worries for a second that she’s going to cum for the second time already - really, how embarrassing would that be - but Yolanda stops, hovering over her, and just strokes along her spine for a few moments, drops a kiss there.
She could take it all, it wasn’t that big, that’s what she wants to say when Yolanda eases the first few inches inside, but everything gets swallowed up at the sensation. She tries to push back onto the dildo and gets denied, feels two fingers press against her mouth. Victoria opens, greedy.
Garcia is really good at fucking, which Victoria probably understood intuitively at least on some level, but experiencing it in the flesh is different. She’s like, rutting into her and grasping at her hips and there are ridges on the strap-on that rub deliciously against her inner walls and it’s barely been a minute but this is ecstasy, heaven.
When she bottoms out, Victoria grabs the pillow and whines, tries to grab her tits but Garcia swats her hand away. She drapes herself over Victoria’s back, thrusts, thrusts, bites her shoulder hard like she’s trying to take a chunk out of it and mumbles into her ear, strings of you take me so well and pretty girl and I could fuck you forever (later, Victoria doesn’t believe this, but it’s nice to hear in the moment).
“You like that?” Garcia asks, snapping her hips at a brutal pace, but it’s mostly a rhetorical question. Was it like this with Trinity?
She’s drooling on the pillows, whining, moaning, begging. Making a mess. Asks for more without knowing what it means, without knowing what anything means.
Yolanda isn’t forgiving. She doesn’t touch her clit, except when she pulls out and guides the toy through her folds and even then, it isn’t really touching. Yolanda drives back in just as Vic is going to ask, to beg, deathgrip on her skin, and then- nothing. There’s a tremble, a roll of her hips that seems uncharacteristic.
They’re like, glued together, and Yolanda calms her breathing and reaches down to tweak Victoria’s nipple and then finally, finally, rubs her clit, tight little circles applied to the engorged flesh.
“Gonna cum,” she moans, vision going wild, and she feels so full, so full it’s all she can think about, fucked and blissed-out. “Cassie..”
It’s whispered into her own skin, and she clenches her thighs impossibly tight around Garcia and slumps stomach-first on the mattress when the orgasm hits. For a while, her breaths are all she can concentrate on, waiting for the world to return to technicolor.
Victoria tries to bite back the whimper when Yolanda pulls out completely. It’s all cold. Empty. She turns around, shivering, and then Yolanda kisses her cheek and offers her some water and a towel, which Victoria graciously accepts.
If she was with Cassie, she’d lick Victoria clean. Dress her after her orgasm, rub a foot casually against her clothed crotch, let Vic fall asleep on her chest with Cassie’s fingers halfway hanging out her mouth.
“Thank you,” Victoria says, and she means it, lips wet from the glass of water she’d downed.
Garcia smiles. Victoria goes to the bathroom and pees. She rubs at her neck, her wrist, searching for any trace of her, but the scent is gone.