the thing about her
trinity santos x f!reader, yolanda garcía x f!reader, santos x garcía the pitt (2025)
tags: slow burn, pining, they're so obvious except to her, established santos/garcía (kind of), reader is oblivious, like genuinely has no idea, reader would absolutely be down for it if she knew, she just doesn't know, hurt/comfort if you squint, found family, workplace romance, blurb format, no beta we die like our patients
summary: santos lost count somewhere around month three. garcía stopped counting entirely. you're just trying to get through your shift.
The emergency runs long.
By the time it wraps García is still in her trauma gown and Santos is at the hub finishing notes with the end-of-hard-shift energy, the kind that means she's running on fumes and spite and is fine about it. They have plans tonight. Dinner, the kind of dinner that started as a maybe four months ago and has been slowly becoming something more specific, more certain, without either of them making a formal announcement about it.
They're standing close, not touching, when the elevator opens.
Santos sees you first.
you're still in the dress.
it's the kind of dress that was chosen for somewhere that isn't here, a deep burgundy thing, the kind that fits like it was made for you specifically, and your hair is down and you have a bag over your shoulder and the expression of someone who was forty minutes away from a good night out with your friends when your pager went off.
Santos's pen stops moving.
García, half a second later, looks up from her chart.
the hub does a very subtle thing where everyone is suddenly very interested in whatever is directly in front of them.
you spot them and cross over. "tell me it's bad enough to justify ruining my friday."
"define bad," Santos says, and her voice is completely normal, she's a professional.
"Princess has your assignment," García says, also completely normal, also a professional.
"great." you're already moving. "I'm grabbing scrubs first, I'm not traumatizing anyone's patients in this."
"probably wise," García says.
you're gone. down the hall toward the scrubs dispenser, bag over your shoulder, dress still happening for approximately another four minutes.
Santos waits until you round the corner.
"hm," she says.
"don't," García says.
"I didn't say anything."
"you were going to."
"I was going to say hm."
"Santos."
"García."
a beat.
Mel appears from bay three, flipping through a chart, and stops when she clocks the two of them standing at the hub doing nothing with the specific frozen energy of people interrupted mid-something.
she looks at them.
she looks down the hall where you just disappeared.
she looks back.
"oh" she says, in the tone of someone connecting dots she didn't know were there.
"Mel," García says.
"I didn't say anything," Mel says, which is the exact same thing Santos just said, delivered with significantly more amusement. she leans on the hub counter. "she just get called in?"
"yes," Santos says.
"still in the—"
"she's changing," García says.
"right." Mel looks at her chart. looks up. "so you two are just standing here."
"we're finishing notes," Santos says.
Mel looks at Santos's pen, which has not moved in two minutes. "sure," she says pleasantly, and goes back to her chart.
Santos looks at García.
García looks at Santos.
this is the thing about them, the thing that would be messy if either of them made it messy, which they don't, which is a decision that was made in a supply closet three months ago in about forty words total.
we're good, García had said.
we're good, Santos had said.
she doesn't know.
she has no idea.
okay.
okay.
and that was that. not resolved, not complicated, just. acknowledged. the three of them existing in the same floor in the specific way of something that hasn't become anything yet and might not and either way they're all still here doing their jobs and getting through their shifts.
it works.
mostly it works.
it works until you walk out of the elevator in burgundy and Santos's pen stops moving, apparently.
Princess appears at the hub, tablet in hand, with the particular energy she has when she's already three steps ahead of everyone. she clocks Santos and García standing there and says nothing, which with Princess means more than saying something, because Princess notices everything and files it and produces it later at exactly the right moment with the precision of someone who has been watching this floor for a long time.
"assignment's ready," she says. to the general vicinity. "she just grabbed scrubs."
"thanks," García says.
Princess looks at them both for one second. just one. then she goes back to her tablet.
Mel, without looking up from her chart, makes a sound that is not quite a laugh.
"not a word," Santos says.
"I'm working," Mel says innocently.
you reappear from the hallway in scrubs, hair pulled back now, bag gone, dress exchanged for the standard issue black that everyone wears and that looks, somehow, still completely like you because you are aggressively yourself in every context.
"okay," you say, arriving at the hub, taking the tablet Princess holds out to you with the smooth efficiency of someone already shifting into work mode. "what do we have."
"bay two and bay five," Princess says. "two is straightforward, five is going to need you."
"got it." you scan the notes. look up briefly. "you two eat yet?"
Santos blinks. "sorry?"
"it's almost nine," you say, already moving. "there's food in the break room, Robby brought something, I don't know what, go eat before it gets worse." and then you're gone, bay five, just like that, in and out, completely unaware.
Santos stares at the hallway.
"she noticed we hadn't eaten," she says.
"she always notices," García says.
"in the thirty seconds she was standing here she noticed we hadn't eaten."
"Santos."
"I'm just saying it's a lot, García, it's genuinely a lot, she does it without even—"
"Santos." García says it the specific way, the warm way, the way that means I know, I also know, we're both aware, let's be adults. "food."
Santos exhales.
they go to the break room.
Mel follows, saying nothing, wearing the expression of someone storing information for later.
Princess stays at the hub, makes a small note on her tablet that is almost certainly not about patient care, and goes back to work.
outside bay five you're already introducing yourself to the patient, scrubs perfectly unremarkable, dress folded in your bag, the burgundy evening completely traded for this one without complaint.
you don't think about it.
you never do.
that's the whole thing.
that's exactly the whole thing.
Author’s note:
reader is oblivious in the way that genuinely observant people are sometimes oblivious, she notices everything except the thing that's right in front of her. she would be so down for it by the way. she just doesn't know yet:(
santos and garcía are almost a thing and also have a whole separate situation and they've accepted this about themselves which i think is very mature of them. Princess knows everything and said nothing. she's also already made a bet. she's not worried about it. she knows she's going to win. she's just waiting.
— with love and a concerning investment in three people who need to have a conversation
