wrenie

It was something else.

Something quieter. Heavier in a way that didn’t make noise.

Santos was tired of not knowing what to do with what she felt for Garcia. Whatever this thing between them was — it didn’t have a name, didn’t have a place.

And somehow, that didn’t make it hurt any less.

The hallway smelled like antiseptic and old coffee when she stepped out of the locker room. End of shift. The day team getting ready to leave, the night shift settling in for what would probably be another long night. The hospital never really slept, but at that hour everything felt slower, worn down.

Or maybe that was just her.

She dragged a hand over her face, like she could wipe the day off her skin — Garcia’s voice, too sharp, too controlled. The look she’d given her. The way she’d called her out in front of everyone.

Unprofessional.

The word stuck.

It wasn’t the first time someone had doubted her. Langdon had done worse. A lot worse.

Still, it hit differently coming from Garcia.

When she pushed through the automatic doors, the night air hit her face, cold and clean.

And there she was.

Leaning against the car. Waiting.

Like always.

“Hey,” Garcia said, a small, easy smile on her face. “Thought you’d take longer.”

Santos slowed for a second, almost stopping — then kept walking.

“You don’t have to.”

The smile slipped.

“…what?”

“The ride. I’m good. I’ll go by myself.”

A pause. Short, but off.

“Really? We didn’t get to see the fireworks yesterday… I thought maybe I could come by tonight. Cook something for you.”

Santos exhaled quietly.

“No, Garcia.”

“No… what?”

Now she stopped.

Didn’t look at her.

“I just want to be alone tonight.”

That sat between them longer than it should have.

“You mad at me?”

Santos let out a dry, humorless laugh.

“What do you think?”

“I don’t know. You don’t talk.”

That did it.

Santos turned to look at her.

“Because it doesn’t change anything, does it?”

Silence.

Immediate. Heavy.

Garcia blinked, like she hadn’t expected that.

“What are you talking about?”

Santos looked away again, rubbing her arm absently.

“Forget it.”

“No. Don’t do that. Don’t just shut it down like that.”

Santos huffed a quiet laugh.

“Funny. You’re noticing now?”

Garcia stepped closer.

“I notice you all the time.”

That landed wrong.

“No. You notice when it works for you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Santos took a breath, steadying herself.

“It means this—” she gestured between them, loose, tired “—only exists when it fits into your life.”

“That’s not fair.”

“No? Then tell me what it is.”

“We agreed this would be—”

“Casual.”

The word dropped hard.

“That’s what you wanted,” Garcia shot back, a little sharper now. “I was clear about that.”

Santos nodded slowly.

“I know.”

She did. Every boundary, every unspoken rule. She’d known exactly what she was stepping into.

Didn’t stop her.

“Then why are you acting like this? I’m not doing anything different.”

Exactly.

Santos let out a breath.

“That’s the problem. I’m tired.”

Garcia went still.

“Tired of what?”

“Pretending this doesn’t get to me.”

“You never said—”

“I wasn’t supposed to. That was the whole point. No complications. No drama.” She shook her head slightly. “But it doesn’t work like that for me.”

Garcia hesitated.

“Then why stay?”

Santos smiled, small and a little sad.

“Because it was you.”

That changed the silence.

Garcia opened her mouth, then closed it again.

“I didn’t know,” she said finally, quieter now. “I knew about Langdon. I knew it messed you up. Just… not like this.”

She stepped forward, then stopped herself.

“And what I said today… I wasn’t trying to tear you down. I was trying to keep you from screwing yourself over. You were crossing a line in that case. I couldn’t just ignore that.” A pause. “But I handled it badly.”

No response.

“I handled you badly.”

That one sat heavier.

“I just… I didn’t realize this had become something else for you. I thought we were on the same page.”

A soft, almost self-aware exhale.

“That’s probably on me. I like things neat. Work here, everything else somewhere else. Clean.” She shook her head. “But you…”

She stopped again.

“You were never clean like that.”

Something shifted.

“And I think I pretended you were. Because it was easier.”

She looked at Santos properly now.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. But I did. And I don’t know how to fix this right now.” A beat. “I just don’t want to act like it didn’t happen.”

Another pause.

“So… tell me what you need.”

Santos didn’t answer right away.

“I need you to stay away.”

Her voice was quiet, but steady.

Garcia didn’t move.

“I really like you, Yolanda.”

Using her name like that made something tighten in the air.

“That’s why I went along with it. The stupid plans, the nights, you in my kitchen…” A faint, tired smile. “Stuff that would make sense if we were actually a couple.”

A pause.

“We weren’t.”

She took a breath.

“And yeah… maybe I was never simple. But I’m not gonna pretend I didn’t know what I was doing. I did.”

Her voice dipped slightly.

“I just didn’t think it would take this much out of me.”

A step back.

“I’m not turning this into some story where I’m the victim. That’s not what this is.”

Another.

“I’m just… done.”

She looked at Garcia one last time.

“I’m tired. Of hurting myself over something that was never meant to be more than it is.”

And then she left.

Didn’t wait. Didn’t look back.

Garcia didn’t follow.

Didn’t call her name.

She just stood there, like moving might make things worse — even though there wasn’t much left to break.

Santos’s footsteps faded into the night until they were gone completely.

No message after.

No “see you tomorrow.”

No anything.

Just empty space where something used to be.

Garcia ran a hand over her face and tried to breathe, but it didn’t quite work.

Because there was nowhere to put this.

No neat box. No label.

And for the first time, she couldn’t organize it, couldn’t control it, couldn’t push it aside.

Not what she felt.

Not what she’d lost.

And it hit her, a second too late—