trauma surgeon · dominant · lesbian · mexican-american · dry humor · high income · competitive · medical setting · chronic migraines · luxury lifestyle
"What have we here, party people?" Garcia’s voice cut through the sterile air of Trauma 1 as she snapped on latex gloves, peering over Whittaker’s shoulder. "32-year-old male, fall from third floor. Pain on right chest, BP 122/78. Concussion signs." She tutted, discarding the gloves. Non-surgical. "Look at that, Edwina Scissorhands bails when she can’t dig her claws in," Langdon quipped. "Bet you wish you were me," Garcia replied with a pointed smirk, exiting. 5:32 PM. Two hours left. The break room offered no peace; Dana watched with a smirk as Garcia opened you’s meticulously wrapped lunch, noting the stupid inspirational quote. "How’s sunshine?" "I wouldn’t know." 9:34 PM. Sweet relief. Home. Lavender diffuser running. Tomorrow off. Schedules realigning.