Santana doesn't see Dr. Pierce for two weeks. After running into her in the on call room, the night of the twins' surgery, she can't stop thinking about what she saw. She hates that. She hates that she constantly becomes obsessed with something, and she can't push it out of her mind. It makes her an excellent doctor, but kind of a lunatic as a human.
She notices Dr. Pierce's notes in Maria and Lucia's chart—she studies those charts to no end, the road to recovery is long, and she doesn't want to miss a single thing—so, she knows she's doing her job and keeping up with the maintenance on their skin grafts. But she's elusive. She doesn't run into her in the elevator, at the Starbucks downstairs, at the bar across the street, or even in the nursery. Perhaps Dr. Pierce is actively avoiding her, or maybe, just maybe, she hasn't given Santana Lopez a second thought.
It's at the start of an overnight shift, when it happens. As she always does, Santana begins her rounds in the NICU, checking, always first, on the Martinez girls. She stops in her tracks, when she sees that crisp white lab coat, and the long tail of blonde leaning over one of the babies. She's not in one of her pencil skirts, but in scrubs, like she quite possibly just came out of surgery. Or maybe Dr. Brittany Pierce, Harvard grad, and double board certified in plastic and reconstructive surgery from Brigham and Women's—Santana possibly checked her credentials—actually lets her hair down once in awhile, and changes into something less constrictive after a long shift. Refusing to be caught scurrying away, if Dr. Pierce turns around, Santana instead approaches where she examines Maria. She has a frown on her face, and she prods gently at a patch of the graft on her stomach, eliciting a yelp from the tiny child.
"It looks like she's developing an infection." Dr. Pierce speaks softly, though she doesn't look up. Santana jumps a bit at the sound of her voice, but she recovers quickly.
"What can we do?"
"She's not rejecting it yet. But I'll meet with her nurses. It needs to be kept dry, her diaper can't be up this high."
Santana nods. She's not sure what to say. After all, she's not the one who changes her. She's not the one who didn't listen to the original care order. It makes her nervous though. This all can't go wrong because of a skin graft. The organs, that's what she'd been worried about, and internally both girls have far surpassed her expectations. So what can she say? It's become abundantly clear that Dr. Pierce knows a thing or two about grafts, so Santana is awkwardly silent.
"Ask me." Dr. Pierce murmurs, putting Maria back in the incubator, where her sister immediately grabs her hand. Santana wonders if they feel the loss, being separated. It's one of those things that keeps her up at night…or, day, as her schedule brings. She wonders what it feels like, to be half of a whole, and then, suddenly, all on your own.
"What?" Santana plays dumb, and adjusts her bra, rubbing her in very much the wrong way, but…
"I know you want to. So ask."
"That was your son?"
"Legally? Emotionally? Yes." She nods.
The way she phrases it makes Santana's head spin a little, and she can't help but cast her eyes down to Dr. Pierce's left hand. She's not wearing a ring, but that's not all that uncommon in their field. What does it matter? she chastises herself, you can't stand the woman.
"I know that's not the question you want to ask though." Her voice is monotone, as if she's done this a thousand times, and suddenly, Santana feels bad for even wondering.
"It's not my business."
"That doesn't mean you don't want to know."
"You're right, it doesn't. But I wouldn't ask you."
There's silence between them, after Dr. Pierce gives a bitter sort of snort. She takes out Lucia, and begins examining her. Her hand still reaches toward where her sister is, and it makes Santana's heart sad. She's not usually emotional like this, but for some reason—or, most likely, for the reason that causes the red circle on her calendar—she's particularly emotional tonight. Dr. Pierce murmurs down to the baby, and Santana feels as if she's intruding on something.
"Two years ago, there was a fire. He was ten months old." Dr. Pierce breathes, and it takes Santana several seconds to process what she's talking about. "My sister threw him out the window."
Santana gasps, and though she hopes its not audible, Dr. Pierce looks up from the baby before her, and nods slowly.
"He was the lucky one."
"Your sister…"
"Was his mother. She saved his life by getting him out of that building, and she and her husband both died in there. I'd heard about the fire from the hospital that night, but I didn't get the details. Liam came into the ER, they called me down as a surgery consult. He was the first patient I saw that night. He was so badly burned that I had no idea who he was. Sixty-five percent of his body. Sixty-five percent of an infant's body, and nineteen broken bones."
"You don't have do this. Please don't do this."
"Don't I though? You think plastics is all tummy tucks and boob jobs. Even when you see it with your own two eyes, you don't realize how much more we are than that. How those rich white ladies, as you put it, bring in the revenue to pay for surgeries for kids who don't have aunts with the money in their bank to cover it, and the skills to do it themselves. I don't owe it to you to explain that, but I owe it to Liam, I owe it to Maria and Lucia, I owe it to so many people."
"I'm—"
"I don't want your apologies, Dr. Lopez. I don't want your platitudes. I'm not the one who deserves them. I know that you save lives, and I respect you for that. What I do want, is for you to give me that same courtesy." Dr. Pierce shakes her head, and steps back from Lucia. "Your patient."