#what we keep

The summer months in Pittsburgh seem to trigger a surge in hospital visits. The entire PTMC can feel it, but for some reason Yolanda Garcia was really getting the brunt of it today. She’d drawn the short end of the straw with the guys upstairs and at hour 10— she was losing her patience. Since she’d started her shift, she’d been up and down the floors of the hospital at a minimum of 10 times. Most of the calls had come after Robby’s ragtag band of residents thought they knew better than the rest of the hospital and every elevator ride wore on her patience. The number of patients actually needing to head into the OR had thankfully not been too high but she was probably one minor inconvenience away from hurting someone’s feelings.

She’d just pushed through the doors of the room of her recent consult when Trinity fell in step with her expectantly. “Hey,” the younger woman pushed out, trying to catch Yolanda’s attention.

Yolanda stepped out of the never ending traffic of the ED’s halls and met Trinity’s eyes. “What’s up?”

Falling into Trinity had been easy for Yolanda. Trinity aimed to please and that much was apparent from her first day at the hospital. Her cheeks heated anytime Yolanda eyes fell to her. She was competent, a little eager but nothing too serious. By her second consult she’d already decided, Trinity might be just the after work distraction she needed. Until the intern dropped a scalpel into her foot. An accident, yes. But a deduction in the “should i bed her?” score, nonetheless.

The scalpel didn’t do too much damage to her foot or Trinity’s chances. And shortly after her first day, they’d commenced their little fling. The sex was good and Trinity wasn’t bad company but as the months had progressed things were starting to feel less casual. Ramen in bed, roommates using toothbrushes…and the face Trinity was sporting now. That mix of apprehension and hope that she’d been pining Garcia with a lot recently.

“Do you wanna do something tonight?” Trinity rocked on her heels and watched Garcia’s face for any signs. She wouldn’t get any, but she still looked.

Garcia looked around the hall noncommittally, “We’ll see how the rest of the shift goes.”

Trinity huffed in thinly concealed annoyance, “Right, well if you do want to come over. I figured we could get dinner somewhere before.”

Yolanda could read between the lines of the younger woman’s statement. She was trying to get something concrete, more serious on the books. And just the thought of it made her skin heat. She was far past going on dates and romancing women long term. Been there, done that and it hadn’t landed her any place good. She thought she’d been pretty clear on that, I mean just last week she’d confirmed that this was ‘just casual’ with Trinity. But obviously she hadn’t been clear enough. She shrugged her shoulders and turned to continue walking through the ED, Trinity trailing behind her again. “Let’s just see how the rest of shift goes, huh? No need to pin anything down now. We’ve still got at least two hours left— a lot can happen between now and then.”

Trinity tried to disagree but caught Dana’s eyes from the nurses station. The charge nurse motioned to one of the rooms she’d been in early that shift and mimed a signature in the air pointedly. Trinity nodded dutifully and steered the surgeon along with her, hoping to get a little further in their conversation. “We don’t have to, but it’d be nice. Don’t you think? Sharing a meal— not in my bed?” She tried to sound casual, even threw in a noncommittal chuckle. But Garcia wasn’t buying into it. They stop outside of the room, Trinity pulling at the stethoscope around her neck awkwardly as she waited for any form of agreement from Garcia.

“We shall see.” Yolanda enunciated each word, pushing down the irritation at having to repeat herself again. She really had to remind herself, that Trinity was young and obviously looking for some sort of community. Some sort of romantic arc in her time here at PTMC, but they’d agreed like adults on this. That wouldn’t be her and maybe she’d need to sacrifice having a consistent fuck buddy to help her realize that. Garcia pushed the door open behind Trinity, as a reminder of their location but also an easy end to the conversation. And urged her inside. Trinity obliged under her gaze and turned to pull the curtain back on the patient.

“Okay, so—” Trinity started as soon as the woman came into view. Garcia was ready to turn, already half a step back toward the hallway—anything to put space between herself and another interruption—when she froze.Right there in the middle of the open doorway. Eyes unblinking on the woman sitting across the bed. And for a second, nothing made sense.

Her eyes moved frantically over the scene taking in every detail. Trying to verify that this was real, that she was here. In Pittsburgh, wrist in a splint, clipboard balancing precariously on her kneecap, and red readers hanging low on the bridge of her nose. Eyes looking right back at Garcia.

Neither woman moves. Y/n’s unwavering rooting Yolanda to her spot in the doorway. Yolanda scared if she looks away, she might disappear again.

Oh, and Trinity trying to explain care instructions in a room of deaf ears. She followed the patient’s line of sight to Yolanda still in the door looking like she’d just seen a ghost. “Uh Garcia, you didn’t have to stay …” Trinity frowned at the silence that followed. “Unless you think I can’t handle this either?” It’d been mumbled under her breath but was just pinched enough to somehow break the spell of the other women in the room.

Y/n adjusted her grip on the clipboard, not nervous—just grounding. Her expression stayed composed, but her eyes didn’t waver. “

“…Hi, Landa.”

Her voice was even. Familiar in a way that landed heavier than anything else in the room. Garcia exhaled quietly, the sound almost lost under the hum of the monitors. Her lips twitched at the nickname, one she only heard in her dreams now.

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.

undergrad - the beginning

grad school - *the end

present day - the new beginning

Yolanda was starting to regret choosing Columbia over any of the other schools she’d been entertaining her senior year. Being a surgeon had been her goal for as long as she could remember and taking an undergraduate art history class seemed like the biggest waste of her time ever. When her advisor had mentioned the requirement, she almost laughed in her face. Thinking it had to be a joke of sorts. They couldn’t force her to take some humanities class. She was going to save lives, in some revolutionary way. Why on earth would she need to interpret art in the OR? But her advisor was very serious. So serious that she found herself in an 8 am introductory art history class on the first day of her second semester.

She trekked across campus to the art buildings and bumbled her way through the halls until she found the right room. With only a few minutes left to spare, she sank into the first open seat she found and pulled her laptop out. The professor called the class’ attention and passed around a syllabus that seemed way too thick for an intro class. They flipped through each page, with the woman explaining each unit extensively. By the third page Garcia was fighting not to pull at her hair. This was going to be painful. She pushed her laptop screen down and let her eyes sweep through the room curiously. She couldn’t be the only one suffering through this crap. Maybe she could find another Pre-Med student to form an attendance alliance with to get them through the class with the least amount of torture.

Everyone seemed just as unenthused as she was, those with laptops searching the web while others doodled in their notebooks. And then there was the girl next to her. Scanning the syllabus closely, putting dates into her planner, even highlighting units she found interesting. And Garcia almost scoffed in disbelief.

“Alright! To get us all started and in the mindset necessary for this class, turn to the person next to you and discuss this piece. I’m not going to tell you anything about it. No title, no artist, not even a date. I want to see what each of you can come to organically.”

Garcia inwardly groans as the screen switches to a painting of a bunch of old white guys. She looked to the other side of the lecture table and saw people partnering up and relinquished herself to her fate. She was stuck with the art nerd. But as she turned to the other side and caught sight of the girl intently studying the board another thought crossed her mind. Maybe she’d do all the work for her.

“So,” She drags the o and leans into the woman’s space. “What do you see in this painting?”

The woman pulls her eyes from the board and Yolanda is met with the sweetest eyes she’d seen to date. Shining and engaged, ready for intellectual conversation. And Garcia momentarily felt bad for even thinking about taking advantage of her. But then the woman opened her mouth and shot all that guilt out the window. “Well I’m pretty familiar with this one, so I’d be far more interested in what you see instead.”

The irritation was back and suddenly her eyes weren’t as sweet anymore. And her hair didn’t shine as much. And—

“I see old white men. One of them is even naked.” Yolanda blurted with a shrug.

“Right, so that’s what you literally see. Anything else?” The sweet eyes rolled and Garcia leaned back in shock. The nerd had some bite to her.

“Well no, not all of us are obsessed with arts and crafts.” Yolanda grumbled and looked back at the board to find something else to say. “That man in the middle is holding a cup for the naked one.”

“Uh huh, and what do you think could be in the cup?” The woman disregarded Garcia’s insult easily and instead rested her cheek against her fist and prompted.

“How would I know that? We can’t see that.”

“Yes, but look at the people around. If it had been a simple glass of water, do you think everyone in the room would be so distraught over it being delivered?”

“Well I guess not.” Garcia hummed. “So it’s poison. And all these clothed guys obviously don’t want him to drink it and die.”

“Obviously,” the woman echoed. “But he’s taking it anyways. And he doesn’t seem that put out about dying.”

Garcia squinted at the screen again and frowned, “So he’s just…choosing to die? In a room full of people? That’s dumb.”

The nerd (which Garcia had taken to calling her in her head) chuckled, “Can you think of any reason you’d be willing to die in a room full of your closest confidants?”

“No.” The answer was instant. “And if I did, I surely wouldn’t gather my friends to yell at them before it.”

“Good eye,” the woman grinned as she very softly pushed Yolanda to observe more and more of the work. “He could be yelling, or maybe a better word would be teaching. Which would make the guys around him…”

“Students.” Yolanda supplied almost involuntarily. They continued until the professor called the class back to attention and started discussion. It was only then Yolanda seemed to realize what had happened and how she’d been pulled into a world she couldn’t care less about by a pretty girl. She pulled a sticky note from her laptop screen and scribbled across it before sliding the note over to the woman next to her.