get in the pitt

Yolanda abruptly became aware of a ringing sound. She bit back a curse and pulled away from the patient. She stripped off her sterile gloves and gown and pulled out her pager. It was the Pitt, asking for her wisdom.

“Let's hope you're more focused down there than you were up here,” Shamsi said in that tone of voice that barely wavered and didn't escalate, but meant she was not happy.

“Yeah. Got it.” She flashed a look in your direction and there was a hint of a smirk on your face that turned Yolanda's blood pressure up a notch, even as you remained fully focused on the patient.

She stormed out of the OR before she broke something or yelled at someone.

In a way, she had gotten used to work without you there. It had never been comfortable, but she knew how to navigate that now. While you were scrubbed in, she could still pretend you still weren't working today. But that surgery wouldn’t last all day.

Shamsi had given you priority for ED consults after midday. Yolanda didn't fight that, since you were probably itching to do something other than paperwork and one long surgery was usually enough for a day. But, as was destined to happen, she got a page. It was probably from some intern, since she didn’t recognize the voice, asking for her directly, and who did she find already in the trauma room?

You, doing another crike.

Deja vu.

“What's up, party people?” Yolanda asked. The words had a bite to them, how could they not? But you were getting back into things, it didn’t feel right to come out swinging.

“I got it, Dr. Garcia,” you said and flashed her a wink.

“Why’d you page me then?” she asked, looking at Dr. Collins.

“Wasn't my idea,” Collins said. “None of us did.”

Yolanda settled her eyes on you. The pager speaker wasn't the best at translating voices across—they desperately needed to upgrade the system—so no wonder she hadn't realized it was you who’d called her. You did a good job pretending to completely ignore her and focus on the patient. Your steady hands drew her attention, though, to where she took a moment just to respond.

“Dr. l/n,” Yolanda said slowly, “did you page me?”

You couldn’t help but let a smile cross your face. “Absolutely not, Dr. Garcia,” you said, like a liar.

She scoffed. “If you can’t do a simple crike, you can just admit it,” she said smoothly. She pulled on a pair of gloves and slipped in closer to you, peering at your work. It was perfect, of course it was. Shamsi wouldn’t keep you on if you couldn’t perform simple procedures in your sleep.

Yolanda let out a tsk. She snaked her hand around and placed it above yours. She could feel your breath catch even as you kept your composure. “See, like this.”

“What the hell is happening right now?” Langdon muttered.

“It’s how women flirt, Frank,” McKay said. “Better not to interrupt.”

Yolanda leaned in close, her front to your back, her hand controlling yours through the final touches of the procedure. She almost pressed her lips to your ears as she spoke. “Couldn’t get enough of me?” she whispered.

You didn’t answer. Instead, you shifted on your feet to press your back closer to Yolanda. She couldn’t tell what you were thinking, but she was fighting down the thoughts of pinning you down and having her way with you. This was exactly what you had wanted when paging her down here, she just knew it.

The procedure done, Yolanda and you separated from the patient and Collins got back to work fully stabilizing the patient.

“He needs an x-ray and a CT,” you said, “that’ll determine if he needs surgery for those broken bones and rule anything else out. He could still be bleeding internally.” You backed up to the phone on the wall and peeled your gloves off. “Unless you need to supervise my phone calls, too,” you said to Yolanda.

“I think you can handle something like that,” Yolanda said. “I’m done here, off to do the more complicated things.” She tugged her own gloves off. “But you know my number if that’s too hard for you.” She gave a nod to the rest of the doctors in the room and walked backwards out of the trauma room.

To her slight disappointment, you didn’t page her again. The next she ran into you was in the hallway, scrolling through your phone and eating a protein bar.

“Hey,” you said, like the last time you two had actually talked hadn’t been shameless flirting in front of the ED staff.

“You healed up well,” Yolanda said.

You shrugged. “Someone stitched me up well,” you replied and slipped your phone into your pocket.

She smirked. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Your stitches? They were good, that’s what I just said.” There was a mischievous look in your eye. You raised your hand and wiggled your fingers. There was barely even a mark now.

Her smirk faded. “You know what the fuck I’m talking about.”

You dropped your hand. “Hmm. What could the acute Dr. Garcia be referring to?”

Yolanda leaned in closer. You were already against the wall, so there wasn’t much physical movement on your part, but she relished the way your chin tilted up as she grew closer. “Enough of your games,” she snapped. “I’ve spent a long time thinking about the way you’ve been acting and how to put a stop to it.”

Your tongue darted out to lick your lips. Yolanda’s eyes dipped to watch.

“Do you want me to stop? Or do you want me to stop?” The different emphasis you put on each statement helped Yolanda understand what you were asking. If she really didn’t want you doing this and wanted everything to remain professional between you two, then this is where she was supposed to cut it off.

She grabbed your chin, her thumb just below your bottom lip. Your sudden intake of breath spurred her on. When she spoke, her voice was low, measured, and loaded with passion. “I think you’re a brat who wants to be punished.”

She felt the shudder run through you at her words. You swallowed. “Is that what you think?” you asked. But there was a waver in your voice. Oh, she had you now.

“What are you doing after your shift today?” Yolanda asked. She didn’t let go of you.

Your eyebrows twitched. “Nothing. Unless you think I should be doing something.”

She lifted her thumb and settled it on your bottom lip. You jaw slackened and your lips parted at the touch. With her other hand, she fished out her phone and opened a new text message, addressed to you. She had your number through the work group chat, but she’d never messaged you personally. She pressed her phone against your chest.

“Send me your address. You’re having me over tonight.” Neither of her statements included an inch of room. She trusted that you wanted this, and if you didn’t, you’d tell her.

You grabbed her phone and shifted eye contact only long enough to type out your address, and then you set it back down in her palm. She could hear your phone vibrate in your pocket. She flipped her phone around and stared at the address. A chuckle slipped out.

“What?” you asked.

“We live in the same neighborhood. Less than a five minute drive.” Yolanda put her phone in her pocket. “I’ll be there at nine.” It gave her just enough time to get home, change, eat dinner. “The more you tease me today, the harsher I’ll be.”

A smirk of your own spread across your lips. “Really?” You snaked a hand around her waist, then slipped it under her scrub shirt and pulled her closer using the contact on her lower back. Her hips made contact with yours and Yolanda knew you could feel her back muscles tense up at the action. You continued, “I’m a lot stronger than I look. I can probably take it.”

Yolanda leaned in close. “Keep thinking that, sweetheart,” she whispered right into your ear, then gently bit your earlobe and held it in her teeth as she pulled away until it slipped out.

Your hand tensed up against her back.

“You're just as much of a tease, you know that, right, ‘Landa?” you asked. Your voice was breathy.

She chuckled. “Then just try to turn the tables on me.” As much as she didn't want to, she stepped back and broke the connection. Your hand dropped down to your side and you kept eye contact as Yolanda backed away until you were out of sight.

She pulled out her phone as she headed back to the main surgery ward and stared at the text that you'd typed out. It was the culmination of what amounted to a few months of flirting and unrevealed emotions that only came to the forefront once a week or even less often. She'd get to see all of you, what your scrubs and even that tank top and jeans combo you'd worn before were hiding.