jan

Jumping from moving trains was becoming easier for Debbie. It wasn’t something she ever anticipated being a skill she’d develop but she was sort of mastering the art of safely rolling to one’s death.

“If I had a nickel for every time I had to jump from a moving mode of transport,” she groaned and rolled to her knees. “I’d have three and they’d all be your fault.”

She was the first to her feet, which had never been the case with Judith. And when the taller woman’s only response was a strained chuckle, Debbie knew something was off. Judith, in all her disguised glory, was clutching her thigh and trying diligently to rise to her feet without help.

“Whose blood is that?” Debbie asked pulling her to her feet as best she could. “Is that your blood? Are you bleeding right now?”

“Yes, Deb. That ninny with the knitting needles got me while you were hosing down the train car attendant with the fire extinguisher.” Judith only allowed herself one pained look at the wound before looking out to where they’d landed.

“Well what are we gonna do? We have no idea who those people even were and now you’re bleeding all over the place. And we’re in the middle of nowhere.” Debbie rambled, arms waving around the darkening sky.

To anyone else it’d look like absolutely nothing. They’d tumbled over the bramble-covered railway right out of view of the train cars. But to Judith the brush was familiar. And one look toward the thick woodland had her feeling just a bit more hopeful than she had been when they jumped.

“We need to get to the other side of this ridge. There’s a cabin…”

“A safe house from the agency? Is that safe for us? It’s not like you left that gig on the best of terms…” Debbie questioned, but pulled Judith’s arm over her shoulder and headed down the hill anyway.

“No, no, no. No agency connection. I haven’t been there in years, but we can at least figure out what to do and who the fuck they were.”

“A random cabin that has no affiliation to your assassin life? Judith, that’s somehow even more concerning. How far are we going? Are you gonna be able to make it like this?”

Judith knew Debbie’s questions were rational and in the spirit of honesty she actually paused to assess everything. She was bleeding far more than she’d like and if she remembered correctly they still had a ways to go before they even caught sight of the little cabin. But night was falling and they needed coverage.

“I’ll be fine. We just need to get going. The markers’ll be harder to see in the dark.”

The cabin was dark. No lights. It almost looked uninhabited. The wood was weathered, the grass ran high and the porch swing creaked in the wind just enough to make even Judith jump a bit. It’d been years, but the place still stood.

Judith stopped just at the porch steps and leaned against the railing. With her splitting her weight between her uninjured leg and the rail, Debbie rolled her shoulders out with a heavy sigh.

“Thank god, that’s over.” Debbie climbed the stairs, eyes fanning over the rocking chairs and dead plants. She got up to the door and paused momentarily, realizing Judith hadn’t followed her up. “What’s the matter? Aren’t you gonna bust us in there? My feet are killing me!”

Judith had every intention of “busting them in there” as Debbie so eloquently put it. But the weight of returning to this cabin seemed to be having a stronger impact on her than she thought it would. It’d easily been ten years since she’d even been on this side of Europe and her body still shuddered under the memory of the days spent here.

“Yeah, I’m coming.” Judith spoke, forcing her mind back to the here and now. But just as Judith hobbled onto the porch, the door creaked open and a woman stood in its place. Debbie, for all her exhaustion, jumped about two feet in the air and scrambled to stand behind Judith.

“Must you always show up bleeding on my porch?” The woman deadpanned as her eyes swept over Judith.

Judith’s cheeks reddened under the attention and she dropped her gaze to the steady stream of blood falling to the damp wood. “It wasn’t my intention…”

“Right. Inside.” The woman turned leaving them both on the porch. Debbie felt the tension leave Judith’s body and her interest was instantly peaked. Judith released the railing and started making her way over the threshold. This was apparently someone Judith trusted and listened to.

“Wait wait wait, we’re just gonna follow her inside?” Debbie asked suspiciously. Sure Judith was shedding the whole assassin-hood but surely that didn’t mean she’d just start following women into their secluded cabins while bleeding. “Judith who is this woman? She’s wearing slippers and a fuzzy robe. I don’t think we should assume safety just because she looks approachable. This could all be a trap. A cozy-murder-mystery-esque trap conjured up by whoever that knitting nana works for.”

Judith leveled Debbie with one raised eyebrow, “Would you rather sleep in the forest tonight with nothing but bears and trees to keep you warm?” At Debbie’s silence, Judith limped over the threshold pulling her friend right along with her. Judith pushed the door shut behind them and leaned against the wood with a deep sigh. Before Debbie could get too far, Judith reached for her wrist and pointed toward her feet. “Remove your shoes.”

Debbie gawked at her and looked around the hallway, “Are there trip wires and lasers?”

“What? No. She just doesn’t like anyone tracking dirt in.” Judith very carefully kicked her shoes off and almost instinctively pushed them into the open space next to a pair of red rain boots.

Despite the outside looking dilapidated, the inside of the cabin screamed cozy warmth. The walls were lined in log paneling and tall bookshelves. Blankets and pillows piled high on the couch. Antique lamps tucked in every corner. And an electric fireplace warmed the room. The definition of cozy cabin.

Judith led the way through the hall, Debbie’s eyes flew from wall to wall trying to catalog every crevice of the place and paused in the doorway of the kitchen. All their squabbling had given the slipper-clad mystery woman plenty of time to line the kitchen island with all the contents of a first aid kit. She turned on her heels with a pleased smile and pointed toward both of their feet, “You remembered. Thanks.” Judith flushed under the attention and shrugged in response. The woman pulled on a pair of gloves and nudged the closest stool toward Judith in a silent familiar order. And to Debbie’s never-ending surprise, Judith sat and rolled the hem of her dress up with no argument. No mumbled excuses, no glares, not even resignation. And when the woman softly grabbed at her knee to adjust her, Judith shuddered and settled against the counter.

Debbie watched in awe as the woman began to clean and inspect the wound. The woman hadn’t so much as looked at her since they’d arrived and she couldn’t tell whether that was good or bad. She didn’t know the woman’s name, had no clue where they were, and had the sneaking suspicion that if she opened a drawer it’d be stacked with weapons. But Judith had said, she wasn’t a part of the agency. Said this was a safe place for them to stay, temporarily. What Judith hadn’t mentioned is that she and this woman obviously had history. They hadn’t taken their eyes off each other since the porch. Judith was doing literally whatever the woman asked. And this was the first time she’d seen Judith truly relax in anyone other than her own presence.

The woman must’ve sensed Debbie hovering and finally looked at her over her shoulder. “I’m sorry— feel free to get comfortable. This shouldn’t take long.”

Debbie smiled politely and bowed her head awkwardly, “Thank you, I’m Debbie by the way.” The woman nodded in greeting and turned to focus on Judith’s injury again but Debbie spoke again. “And you are?”

Judith lifted her head to glare at Debbie briefly, “Deb, go sit down.”

Debbie raised her hands in innocence, “What? I’m just introducing myself to our host.”

Judith moved to argue, but the woman standing over her softly pushed her head back in its resting position. “I’m Y/n. Nice to meet you Debbie. Help yourself to anything.” And then she was back to working over Judith’s skin.

As soon as Y/n’s back was turned to Debbie she allowed her jaw to fully drop trying diligently to meet Judith’s eyes around the woman. But Judith was too busy watching Y/n work. Resigning to being shocked and confused on her own, Debbie wandered into the living room and flops on a couch with a sigh.

Once alone, Judith cleared her throat and spoke, “Thank you.” It was all she could think to say. She pulled her eyes away from Y/n’s hands to her eyes and tried to convey literally anything going through her head. Which admittedly wasn’t much.

Y/n smiled softly and met Judith’s eyes briefly. “You know you don’t have to thank me, Jude.” Judith smiled at the nickname and ducked her head again. “Glad you finally decided to pay me a visit.”

“Well it wasn’t exactly planned.”

“Well I’d hope you didn’t travel all this way just to have me patch you up. Where were you headed?” Y/n asked shuffling through the bandages on the counter.

“Cambodia. An island you can’t see or something.”

“Ah, sounds transformative.” Y/n hummed. “Alone?”

Judith’s smile fell into something sadder, Billy’s face flashing behind her eyes. “Yeah. Just me now.” Y/n watched the shift closely and recognized that pain almost immediately. There’d been someone and a plan but they were gone, maybe forever. She smoothed a bandage across the length of Judith’s thigh and patted the bare skin in comfort.

“Well, sometimes that’s when you learn the most.” Y/n took a step back to admire her work and lowered Judith’s leg carefully. “All done. Go sit and I’ll bring you both something to eat on before bed.”

“That won’t be necessary-” Judith automatically rebuffed but it was no use now the same way it had been no use ten years ago. “Right.”

When Judith flopped onto the couch next to Debbie she made it a point not to meet her eyes. Even when Debbie leaned over to get into her line of sight. “Stop that.”

“You stop that. What in the Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman is going on here? Brian couldn’t even keep you that still and you were barely conscious for that. Who is this woman?”

Judith looked over the back of the couch, eyes trained on Y/n as she pulled leftovers from the fridge. She didn’t really know how to describe her. Who was Y/n to her really? In the last ten years, she’d been a memory. Sometimes a dream. A person Judith wished to return to only in her quietest hours. She’d been a complete stranger. The kindest stranger. A pillar of goodness in Judith’s eyes. “She’s good.”

july 21st - 3:45pm

july 21st - 4:03pm

july 21st - 4:06pm

july 21st - 4:13 pm

july 21st

reader’s socials

face claim: momo boyd

tour details

samira’s socials

The class itself proved to be much more involved than Yolanda had been prepared for— gallery walkthroughs, group projects, and even studio labs. All things mentioned during the first class, if she’d bothered listening. But every out-of-class meeting, seemed to end the same way. There was Y/n. Highlighter wedged between her teeth, pencil behind her ear notebook balanced against her arm. And as much as Garcia tried to deny it, she always found herself standing beside her.

Tuesdays were for lectures. The introductions for the week’s period or movement of study. For Garcia, it was an hour to catch up on biology notes hidden behind her laptop screen. Which meant she never had anything to contribute on Thursdays when the professor directed them to “turn to a partner and discuss.”

For the sake of routine (or convenience, she insisted to herself), Yolanda always turned to her right and partnered up with the art nerd.

Come Friday, they were wandering museums and studios together. Their professor would drop the class at a gallery entrance with nothing more tan a prompt scribbled across an index card.

“Choose one work. Stay with it for fifteen minutes.”

Garcia barely makes it ninety seconds.

“Please tell me it’s been 15 minutes…” She mumbled as she slid onto the bench behind Y/n.

“No,” Y/n answered, not even sparing a glance Yolanda’s way.

“Well I’ve seen quite enough. Nothing’s happening.”

“Someone’s feeling restless.” Y/n tsked as she stepped closer to her chosen piece in observation.

Garcia leaned back and scoffed, “Or this is just boring.”

“You might find it more fascinating, if you stopped waiting for something to happen.”

Garcia rolls her eyes but decides on a new subject to study. This one far more interesting than anything on the walls of the gallery.

By March, Yolanda had stopped pretending she hated the Friday labs. Mostly because a new routine had started for her. After she’d spend the hour observing Y/n, they’d end class with coffee. Usually a to-go cup on their way back to campus, but sometimes after one too many stomach grumbles— Y/n would add an extra pastry to her order and wordlessly shove it into Yolanda’s hand before they parted ways.

Studio days were somehow worse for Yolanda. She wasn’t bored by any means, she just really sucked at all art mediums. She never wore the right clothes, never knew the right techniques. So she always ended the Friday morning class covered in art substances with nothing to show for.

The clay studio was truly a disaster. Garcia’s sculpture looked less like a hand and more like an anatomical emergency. She’d gone into the assignment a little to confident. Something about her knowing all the bones in the body just wasn’t translating to the clay.

Y/n waited until she wandered off to rinse her tools before quietly smoothing one of the fingers back into place.

Garcia returned with a defeated sigh that quickly turned into confusion. She eyed the sculpture closely then fixed her eyes on Y/n, who was very pointedly smoothing her own sculpture. “Did you fix this?”

Y/n shrugged and peaked over her shoulder, “I improved.”

“Well that’s cheating.”

“There’s no prize Doc.” Y/n smiled and turned back to her own station (completely missing the blush on Yolanda’s cheeks).

The Friday museum trips stretched longer than their class time.

They started lingering after everyone else left. Y/n wanting to finish walking through the rest of the exhibit. Yolanda following after her like a lost puppy.

They’d walk back through Morningside Heights with paper cups warming their hands, arguing over paintings Garcia still insisted weren’t worth millions of dollars.

Garcia teased.

Y/n rolled her eyes but explained anyway.

And Garcia listened more than she let on.

By April, the semester was coming to a close and the professor introduced their big project. An Exhibition, showcasing all the things they’d learned through the weeks. Working in pairs, of course. By now no one even approached the two of them. There was no point in even trying to split them up because they were kind of a package deal.

The exhibition project called for quite a few late nights. Y/n took it far more seriously than Garcia anticipated any other person in the class was. She thought everything through. Planned the wall display down to the very inch. And as annoying as Garcia thought it would be, she couldn’t help but to admire the dedication to details. And as much as she hates to admit it, Yolanda definitely fell victim to the bullying as flirting epidemic.

“Well I think Monet is stupid.”

Y/n pinned her with a look that clearly screamed ‘you’re being annoying’ but waited for an explanation expectantly. When Yolanda just shrugged she rolled her eyes and prompted, “and you think this because?”

“While I don’t believe I need a reason. He painted the same pond like twenty times.”

“They’re different paintings.”

“Of the same pond.”

Once it got time for the exhibit set up, they were bickering like a married couple. They had a wall to fill and Y/n had deemed Yolanda the muscle behind their operation. When Yolanda complained, Y/n had hushed her sweetly saying something about “putting those strong arms to use.”

On their last night of set up before the exhibition, they argued for twenty minutes over a wall label. Where it should be placed, what it should say, how big it should be.

And finally after a while Garcia finally said, “You’re impossible.” As frustrated as she felt there was no real malice in her voice. It actually sounded quite fond.

And Y/n just grinned in triumph, placing the newly marked label on the wall where she wanted. “You’ll miss me when this is all over.”

And Yolanda answered without thinking, “I know.”

“You clean up nice.”

It was the first thing Y/n said to Yolanda. Yolanda had spent way more time than she’d like to admit, trying to pick out an outfit. She’d unconsciously followed the color scheme Y/n had mentioned for her outfit and now they most definitely weren’t beating the dating allegations (that the entire class was throwing their way).

They get through the evening relatively easy. Y/n is more than happy to explain their project to anyone with questions and Garcia is more than happy to watch her do it. After a whole semester, she didn’t think she’d ever get tired of listening to her gush about art. It was like permanent heart-eyes city for Yolanda and it must’ve been obvious to everyone.

At the reception, their professor came over with a bright smile. “You two make such a lovely pair! I’m so glad my class could bring you both together.”

“I think one of us enjoyed your class more than she ever expected.” Y/n smiled easily, taking the compliment in stride. Not even batting an eye while Yolanda tried hard to look annoyed.

The gallery had emptied sometime around nine. Their classmates trickled out in groups, promising to celebrate after finals. The professors disappeared not long after, leaving half-finished cups of sparkling water and abandoned programs scattered across the room.

Y/n bent to straighten one that had slipped onto the floor. "You know," she said, smoothing the corner between her fingers, "I think you liked this class more than you'll ever admit."

Garcia scoffed. "I tolerated it."

"Oh?"

"I liked one part."

Y/n looked over. "Which part?"

Garcia didn't answer immediately.

Instead, her eyes drifted around the gallery. Every label they'd rewritten. Every painting they'd argued over. Every inch Y/n had insisted mattered. She couldn't remember half the artists anymore.

But she remembered every afternoon she'd spent here with her.

When she looked back, Y/n was already watching her.

"My partner."

Y/n laughed softly, almost nervously. "I was starting to think you were never going to say something."

Garcia frowned, "Say what?"

Y/n stepped closer, slowly inching into Yolanda’s space. "You’re so smart. So observant. And somehow completely hopeless."

Garcia laughed almost offended, “I can’t tell if these are compliments or insults…”

Y/n's smile softened, “Hm, let’s use those context clues we’ve been working on.”

Garcia looked at her for a long moment. Somewhere between museum benches and force-fed pastries and arguments about Monet, she'd stopped seeing Y/n as the art nerd who'd tricked her into participating in class. Now all she saw was the woman who’d become her favorite part of the week.

“Context clues, huh?” Garcia mumbled— trying to think of something clever to say to regain some sort of ground.

Y/n’s lips curved into a smirk in answer. “Mhm.”

“I think I’m finally getting the hang of them.” Garcia’s words danced across Y/n’s cheeks.

“Oh yeah?” she grinned, eyes locking on Yolanda’s lips.

By the time she’s actually in the bed, wrist propped awkwardly on a folded towel, the whole thing feels like an overreaction.

“It’s just sore,” she says again, more to the blonde no-nonsense nurse looking at her over her glasses. “I caught myself weird.”

The nurse hums, noncommittal, already typing something into the computer. “That’s what they all say.”

She exhales through her nose and leans back against the thin pillow. The room smells faintly like antiseptic and something plastic, the low hum of monitors and voices bleeding in from the hallway. Her wrist throbs in a steady, irritating pulse—more noticeable now that she’s not moving.

It hadn’t even been that bad.

A short ladder. Six feet, maybe a little more. She’d been reaching—too far, in hindsight—trying to adjust a light angle over one of the installations. Her foot slipped, balance gone in a second, and instinct did the rest. Palm out. Catch yourself. The impact had shot straight up her ar, sharp and immediate. She’d hissed, more out of surprise than anything, and pushed herself upright before anyone could make a bigger deal out of it.

“I’m fine,” she’d said then, too. Flexing her fingers, rolling her wrist once before the stiffness had already started to creep in. “Really.”

No one had believed her. She’d only been there for a week and they were already reading through her lies. But she couldn’t really blame them, it’d be a nightmare if the new lead Culture curator got a serious injury on the job. Now she sits in an ER in Pittsburgh, wrist swelling just enough to prove a point.

A tech takes her for imaging, and it’s all quick from there. X-ray. A few clipped instructions. Back in the room with a preliminary verdict that sounds exactly like she expected.

“No fracture,” the nurse says, returning with a wrap and a rigid splint. “Looks like a moderate sprain.”

“I told you-“ Y/n starts but the nurse levels her with a glare.

“Doesn’t mean you don’t need to take care of it,” she cuts in easily. “Hold still.”

She obeys, mostly because arguing would take more energy than she’s willing to give. The older woman secures the splint snug around her wrist, limiting movement immediately. It’s bulky and inconvenient.

The nurse steps back with a nod, “There. Doctor will be in with discharge instructions.” And she heads back out into the hustle and bustle of the emergency department. She nods, already reaching for the clipboard with her good hand and pulling her reading glasses from her hair. She didn’t get far in the paperwork before the curtain was pulled back again.

The young woman slides into the room, straight to business. But Y/n barely registered her or her words when she caught sight of the familiar eyes in the doorway. Her hand stills for a moment, adjusting to seeing her again.

Yolanda Garcia stands half-turned in the doorway, but just as still— if not more so.

“Hi Landa…”

The nickname slips unconsciously. She hadn’t allowed herself to say her name in years. And now 11 years later, it was like no time had passed.

There’s a flicker. Quick. Contained. Easy to miss if you didn’t know what to look for.

“You’re here…” It’s all she could push out at the moment. The words quieter than she’d intended, revealing more of herself than she’d done in a long time.

“And so are you.” A lame response but a safe one. Neutral.

The young woman who entered the room first clears her throat, breaking the silence and the staring contest happening over her shoulder. Y/n looks away first, turning her attention back to the clipboard in her lap.

As if the silence in the room personally offended her, Dr. Trinity Santos reintroduces herself and makes her way further into the exam room. She plants herself at the end of the bed and extends her hand to examine the splint. “Rest, ice, and over the counter pain meds. If pain and swelling persists— come back and we’ll see what’s going on.”

Y/n nods along as she speaks and pointedly tries to ignore the woman lingering in the doorway. Trinity seems to feel her there as well and keeps turning her eyes to the door. Each time she cut her eyes over to the surgeon, it looked less and less professional. Until she finally speaks, “Anything you wanna add Dr. Garcia?”

Garcia starts quickly under Trinity’s questioning eyes and straightens uncomfortably. “Nope. And I’m gonna head back upstairs.”

Y/n watched Garcia hurry through the door. A much colder version of the woman she’d once spent all her time with. The women don’t sit in the awkward silence for long before Trinity breaks it with the obvious question.

“So I take it you guys know each other?” She’d stressed the ‘so’ in an effort to sound casual but only briefly met Y/n’s eyes while she asked.

Y/n sighed— lips curving unconsciously as she eyed the empty doorway, “Long time ago…”

---

Garcia plants her hands on her hips and rolls her shoulders back. She hadn’t waited for either woman to acknowledge her words before she all but sprinting out of the room and back toward the elevators. She’d had tunnel vision as she weaved through the chaos, the elevator the only thing in sight. But then someone said her name at the nurses station and somehow she found herself leaning against the counter listening to the nurse chatter.

“First couple of days on the job and she ends up in the ER? That sucks…” Someone mumbles.

“Add in the fact she’s barely had time to settle in, let alone change any of her information over. She’s still got a California ID.”

Garcia tried to look busy as she took in the information. She looked across the computers, the monitor of patients— anywhere but the nurses currently discussing the woman from her past. In her effort to look busy, she missed Dana’s eyes tracking her over her glasses. The charge nurse had eyes everywhere and they hardly missed things. “Did you need something Dr. Garcia? I don’t think we’ve got anymore consults right now…”

Yolanda’s eyes widen at being caught and she fumbles her way through a believable response, “Oh I just figured I’d make sure before getting a call in 5 minutes asking me back down.”

Dana’s brows rise with a less than impressed look, a look Yolanda has seen the older woman throw at others in the unit. “Right…well I’m sure Dr. Santos will be finishing up with our sprained wrist patient soon enough.” The older woman had a knowing smirk settled on her face, thinking she’d figure her out. But the very mention of both Trinity and Y/n in the same sentence had her brain short circuiting.