Chapter Text
Nineteen hours.
Garcia had been on shift for nineteen hours today.
It truly was the shift from hell, constantly in and out of surgery and not a single quiet moment. She'd raced back and forth from the ER nearly all day, with barely enough time to wash her hands before someone else needed her. Without a moment to just... breathe.
It had been a hectic day at the PTMC, from broken bones to patients almost dying on her table, and she could not wait to be in the comfort of her warm bed.
As she walks through the ER on her way to the locker rooms, she notices that the entire night shift is here already. Garcia can't spot a single one of her day shift coworkers.
Fuck, she thinks. I should've been out of here ages ago.
But there's always an emergency, always one last surgery, one last consult-- that holds her back. And sure, she could have let the night shift surgeons handle it, but what's one more hand? She could at least be useful... and as these thoughts go through her head, she realizes (not for the first time) it's her own fault she's here so late.
But really, there's no one to go home to, so... what does it hurt? Honestly not like anyone's missing her.
Garcia pushes open the door to the locker room and heads straight for her locker. The room is darker than the ER and much quieter, small warm lights illuminate the room. The quicker she can get changed and out of here, the better.
She peels off her blood-stained scrubs with a grimace.
.. gross, she thinks, wrinkling her nose.
She shoves them in a plastic bag and starts to change into sweats and a t-shirt, muscles aching now that adrenaline has finally worn off, nothing else demanding it.
The locker room door swings open behind her.
Garcia barely registers it at first, until she catches movement in her peripheral.
Santos walks in, head low, completely oblivious to the fact Garcia is standing just on the other side of the room.
Garcia finishes throwing the t-shirt over her head and closes the locker door. It clangs, and only then does Santos's head rise.
Her eyes are red, rimmed with exhaustion, and very obvious dark circles are forming. Her hair is messy, strands flying out, her half slick-back not really slick anymore.
As she notices Garcia, her eyes widen a little and her mouth falls, but she doesn't say anything. It's obvious she didn't think anyone was going to be in here.
Garcia tilts her head inquisitively.
"Spying on me, Dr. Santos?" Garcia's tone is a touch sarcastic, and her eyebrow is raised, but there's something assessing beneath it.
Santos blankly stares back.
"Okayyyyyy..," Garcia draws out, confusion obvious in her tone. "What're you doing here?"
"Oh.. I-uh..," Santos bites the inside of her cheek, "Nothing?" She answers, very awkwardly.
Garcia gives her a slow, skeptical once over, "Yeah okay... how come you didn't leave with day shift?"
"Um... I was catching up on stuff... charting." The tiredness was evident in her voice.
Garcia leans on her locker and checks her phone, "At.. two in the morning? Bold choice."
Santos hesitates for a bit. She looks like it's taking massive effort to even think.
"Yup," she finally says, popping the 'p'. She sways back and forth from her toes to her heels a little, nervously. "Dr Al-Hashimi threatened that I'd repeat my R2 year if I don't catch up."
Garcia watches her sway. Her jaw tightens.
"Are you good?" Garcia steps forward, voice laced with the smallest hint concern. "You look a little....," Garcia looks like she's struggling to find the right word,".. not good."
"Gee, thanks," Santos deadpans. "Great bedside manner."
"I'm only trying to--"
"Oh I'm good," Santos insists, in which Garcia raises her eyebrow again, "Great, honestly, I just need to sit for," she exhales, "... for a second."
Santos lowers herself onto one of the locker room benches. Her shoulders immediately cave in.
Garcia thinks about her actions for a moment before she sits down next to her, examining her face. Up close, Santos looks worse. Her face is pale (paler than usual) and drawn. There's a faint tremor running through her hands now that she's not hiding them.
"How long were you charting for?" Garcia asks, curiosity seeping into her voice.
Santos words came out slower, "Uh, since I got off?... Maybe, um, .. Maybe 8."
"8?," Garcia narrows her eyes. "And what about the last time you had something to eat?"
"Before my shift," she mumbles.
Garcia just stares at her, trying to keep her expression neutral, though many thoughts are pressing on her mind. "You've been here almost twenty hours on nothing? Jesus, Dr. Santos.. did you want to run yourself into the ground?"
"I didn't do it on purpose," Santos grumbles, staring at the floor.
"Huh," Garcia muses, "And water?"
"Some."
"How much is 'some'?"
Santos just shrugs, voice quiet. "Enough?"
Garcia exhales slowly.
"Okay," Garcia says, tone shifting. "Here's what's going to happen."
Santos groans, hands flying up to cover her face. "Oh no."
"We're leaving."
The implication of 'we' is all Santos heard.
"I can't—"
"Yes, you can. You're off... well you've been off. I don't know what possessed you to stay so long after your shift. And you're not charting another damn thing tonight."
"I'll fall behind."
"You already are," Garcia's voice is firm, but it's not unkind. "And passing out in the locker room won't help."
Santos opens her mouth to argue, then winces instead. She catches herself on the bench, breathing a little harder now.
Garcia's on her feet instantly. "Alright. That's it."
"I'm fine," Santos says automatically, but she looks up at Garcia with eyes that say the opposite.
Garcia crouches in front of her, bringing herself to eye-level. "Look at me."
Santos does. Her eyes are unfocused around the edges.
"When was the last time you slept?" Garcia asks.
"...Maybe like a couple hours before my shift.. or maybe the day before," Santos answers slowly. "I think."
Santos immediately regrets the honest answer when she sees the expression that clouds Garcia's face.
Garcia straightens slowly. "Yeah. No."
"Come on," Garcia insists. "We're getting you food."
"I can just go home, really, and--"
"And do what?" Garcia asks, tone staying insistent. "Collapse? Fall asleep hungry? That's not happening."
Santos doesn't argue this time.
She just nods, once. Her shoulders slump forward, exhaustion finally winning out over whatever stubborn pride had been holding her upright.
"Okay," she says quietly. "Okay."
Garcia blinks. That was... easier than expected. She straightens her posture immediately.
"Alright. Good. Because I really didn't feel like dragging you out of here, and HR would definitely have opinions about that."
Santos huffs a weak laugh, the sound barely there. "You say that like you wouldn't."
Garcia smirks. "Oh, I absolutely would. I just wouldn't enjoy the paperwork."
She gestures toward the lockers. "You need to change."
Santos glances down at herself, like she's only just remembered she's still in scrubs. There's a moment where she looks confused, then embarrassed.
"Yeah. Right... I knew that." She pushes herself up from the bench, wobbling slightly as she stands.
Garcia's hand shoots out on instinct, hovering near Santos's elbow without quite touching. "Easy."
"I'm fine," Santos mutters, even as she reaches out to steady herself against the locker.
"Mm-hm," Garcia hums. "You've said that already. It's not convincing."
Santos shoots her a look that might've been sharp on a better day. "Are you always this annoying when you're off shift?"
"Are you always this irresponsible when it comes to your health?"
Santos wishes she could come up with a comeback.
She fumbles with her locker, fingers clumsy against the combination lock. She tries once. Misses. Tries again, slower this time.
Garcia watches, arms crossed loosely, saying nothing, even though her face says everything.
Finally, the locker clicks open. Santos exhales like it's a victory.
She pulls out a t-shirt and athletic shorts, staring at them for a second as if she's mentally preparing.
"You want privacy?" Garcia asks, already turning away.
"No," Santos says too quickly, then grimaces. "I mean. It's fine. You can--just don't... stare."
Garcia raises an eyebrow. "Did you think I wanted to stare?"
Uh, yeah
"That's not—" Santos stops, sighs. "Never mind."
She peels off her scrub top slowly, movements stiff. When she tries to tug her hoodie on, her arm catches awkwardly in the sleeve.
She swears under her breath.
Garcia steps in without asking. "Hold still."
"I didn't say--"
"I know," Garcia replies, already gently guiding Santos's arm through the sleeve. "You didn't have to."
Their hands brush. Santos freezes for half a second. Garcia doesn't comment on it.
"There," she says, stepping back.
"Thanks."
Santos sits back down after pulling on her shorts to tie her shoes, hands shaking just enough that it takes her longer than it should.
Garcia crouches again. "Do you want to ask for help this time, or do you want to pretend you don't need it?"
Santos presses her lips together in defeat. "...Help."
Garcia ties the laces quickly, efficiently, making Santos silently huff in disapproval.
"Whatever."
When she's done, she starts walking toward the door without looking back, assuming Santos would follow. For a moment, there was nothing but silence.
Then: slow, uneven footsteps.
Garcia held the door open for Santos to walk by her.
This is the most embarrassing day of my life, Santos thinks.
They shuffled out of the locker room and into the harsh hallway light. Santos flinched, raising a hand to shield her eyes.
Garcia caught it immediately. "Lights bothering you?" she asked, casual, as if talking about the weather.
Santos hesitated. "A little."
Garcia hummed knowingly.
They walked a few more steps, but Santos slowed again. Her hand reached out for the wall, missing it by a hair before catching herself. A subtle sway.
Garcia stopped dead.
"Santos."
"I'm okay," came the automatic reply, breathless and fragile. "Just..give me a sec."
No chance for a pause.
Her knees suddenly buckled like they'd forgotten their job.
Garcia lunged, catching her under the ribs just in time.
"Hey. hey, I've got you," Garcia said sharply, bracing herself. Santos slumped against her without resistance, forehead pressed against Garcia's shoulder.
"Oh," Santos muttered, "that's... not great."
"No," Garcia agreed, voice tight. "Definitely not great."
She adjusted her hold, one arm firm around Santos's back, the other steadying her front. Santos felt lighter than expected, or maybe Garcia was stronger than she realized.
"Think you can stand if I hold you?" Garcia asked.
Santos nodded weakly. "Yeah. I think so."
"Don't think," Garcia said. "Just lean."
They moved forward again, slower this time, Santos's full weight pressed into Garcia's side. Her eyes stayed closed, breaths shallow.
The elevator was thankfully empty when the two stepped inside. Santos groaned quietly, pressing fingers to her temples. "My head's starting to... fuck.."
"Migraine?"
"Feels like it.."
The elevator chimed open, bright light flooding out.
Santos froze.
Garcia tightened her grip. "Eyes closed," she ordered. "I'll guide."
They stepped out, the doors sliding shut around them.
"How'd you get here today?" Garcia asked suddenly.
Santos frowned faintly. "What?"
"Transportation," Garcia clarified. "Car, bus, teleportation? Pick one."
Santos swallowed. "Well, I drove but.. I told Huckleberry he could take the car back when our shift ended."
Garcia looked confused. "Huckleberry?"
"My roommate," Santos clarified. When Garcia still didn't understand, she added, "Dr. Whitaker."
"Oh." Garcia stayed quiet for a moment. "And how were you planning on getting home?"
"Figured I'd just walk back after charting."
"How far is 'back'?"
"...Twenty minutes, maybe."
Garcia stared straight ahead, jaw still clenched tight.
"So," she said finally, "the plan was: sleep barely a wink, work nearly twenty hours, eat nothing, then walk home alone in the dark while basically falling over."
"When you say it like that—"
"It is like that," Garcia snapped, then bit back the edge. She exhaled sharply. "Jesus, Santos."
Santos shifted, voice small. "I didn't think it'd get this bad."
"That's because you didn't stop. You just pushed until your body shut down."
Santos said nothing. Which was a rare first.
Garcia continued to ease Santos forward carefully, one hand firm at her waist. Santos squinted, then winced, pressing a hand to her forehead.
She steered Santos toward her car, unlocked it, and opened the passenger door, practically folding her inside.
Santos groaned, sinking into the seat. "I think I might throw up."
"Not in my car," Garcia said flatly, then softened. "But if you feel like you have to, at least tell me first."
She buckled Santos in, then paused, watching her closely.
"How bad is the pain?" Garcia asked.
"Like someone's trying to crack my skull open," Santos muttered.
Garcia grimaced, "Yikes," and even though she meant to add bite to it, it came out softer than intended.
She closed the door gently, walked around to the driver's side, and started the car with practiced ease. She dimmed the dashboard lights and turned the AC low.
Santos noticed the care in her movements.
"You do this often?" Santos tried to joke, failing miserably.
"Take care of idiots? Constantly."
Santos closed her eyes again, feeling the littlest bit guilty. "Sorry."
Garcia glanced over. Maybe she should've worded that differently.
"Don't be."
They pulled out of the garage into the quiet, blurry city night.
Minutes passed in silence, the engine's low noise filling the space. Garcia's soft humming combined with how late it was was almost enough to make Santos fall asleep.
Almost.
Santos's eyes popped open when she remembered that she'd never given Garcia her address. Her brows furrowed in confusion as she looked out the window to an unfamiliar part of town. Where in Pittsburgh was this?
"I can hear you thinking," Garcia broke the silence with a soft voice, and though it was a statement, there was a silent question behind it.
Santos thought a bit before speaking.
"Where are we going?"
"My place," Garcia answered smoothly, as though it was the simplest answer in the world.
So many thoughts swarmed Santos's head.
Her place? What did I get myself into..
Omg omg omg I didn't shave
Wait why does that matter
I thought we were going somewhere to eat..
Her thoughts must've been evident on her face.
"There's nowhere open at this time. Nowhere worth eating at anyways," Garcia still sounded so casual as she stared at the road in front of her. "Besides, I want to make sure you eat something. Who knows what you would've done if I took you home."
"But I don't have clothes--"
"You can borrow some of mine."
"What about huckleberry?"
"He's a big boy."
"How will I get home?"
They stopped at a red light.
Garcia finally looks over at Santos. "You have tomorrow off correct?"
Santos nods but before she can open her mouth Garcia interrupts.
"So do I. I'll drive you home, it's no big deal. I want you to eat, and to rest. Clearly, you can't do it on your own."
Santos really doesn't have anything to say to that. And the way Garcia was phrasing this didn't seem like she was asking.
Garcia turned her attention back to the road as the light turned green.
Bossy, Santos thought.
Another thought pops into Santos's head as Garcia turns into a neighborhood of brownstones.
"You were working late too," Santos says, obviously implicating something, though she doesn't know what. She winces because of the neighborhood lights.
Garcia tightens her grip on the steering wheel. "Eyes closed," She says.
Bossy and mysterious.