Santana is speechless. For the first time since she started her career, she truly feels like she crossed a line. Ordinarily, she'd be concerned that Dr. Pierce would report her behavior to Shelby, or worse, Chief Sylvester. But that's not what she's thinking about. She's thinking about Dr. Pierce's face. She's thinking about how her calm, cool and collected demeanor seemed to crumble. She's thinking about how she had a hand in causing that, and it makes her feel like absolute shit.
She can't believe she's doing this, but Santana gets up from her desk, and she locks her office door behind her. She takes the stairs down to the plastics unit, and she stalks down the hall, until she reaches Dr. Pierce's office. It's dark, and the blinds are drawn, and when she knocks, there's no answer. Raking her fingers through her tangled mess of hair, Santana goes back upstairs. Her residents are at the nurse's station, and she pulls Dr. Rose aside.
"I need you to find Puckerman."
"But you—"
"I know." Santana shakes her head. "But I need you to pull him back. Give him all the scut you can find. If you run out, have him wash my damn office windows, if you have to. Just get him off Dr. Pierce's service."
"Yes, Dr. Lopez." Rose nods.
"Dr. Rose?"
"Something else?"
"Yeah…no. Just, thank you."
After checking on two of her patients, Santana goes back down to Dr. Pierce's office again. The door is still closed, and the room is still dark, and she wonders if she's gone home for the day. She can't stop thinking about the woman's face, and it's eating her up inside. It's her own damn fault, and she should stop feeling sorry for herself, but she just can't.
Rather than go back upstairs, Santana opts for taking a break. She probably could have had Rose send Puckerman to get her coffee, but she doesn't even want his greasy hands on it. Plus, she doesn't want hospital scum. She wants to go to the little coffee shop around the corner, and she wants to put her headphones on for ten minutes while she savors a dark, rare Ethiopian blend and a scone.
It's cool and damp outside, and Santana pulls her white coat tight around herself. It's not exactly a weather barrier, but it's better than nothing. The coffee shop is quiet when she gets in there, and she's glad for it. She orders, and she sits down in a high backed chair, scrolling through her music, until she finds her Rumoursalbum. Fleetwood Mac calms her, it always has. Her mother says even as a baby, they would get her to sleep. Stevie Nicks, she's something else.
Santana has finally settled in, her music, her coffee, her scone, when she sees her there, at a table in the corner. Her eyes are red and swollen, and if Santana felt like shit before this, there's not a word to explain how she feels now. Dr. Pierce, the head of the plastic and reconstructive surgery, is crying in a coffee shop, and Santana can do nothing but stare. Well, she can do nothing but stare for a minute, until Dr. Pierce looks up, absolutely mortified, and Santana stands up, and walks toward her.
"Did you follow me here?" Blue eyes remain focused on the red mug of tea on the table, and Santana shakes her head.
"No. I looked for you in your office twice, I figured you went home."
"Well I didn't. I came here because I wanted to be left alone. Obviously that's not possible when it comes to you."
"Look, I'll go. I'm just…sorry I upset you like this."
"Ha." Dr. Pierce half-scoffs, half-laughs, a bitter sort of sound. "You give yourself an awful lot of credit, don't you, Dr. Lopez?"
"What? I just…you were really upset when you came in my office, and I just…feel like shit."
"As you should. But you were just one final straw today. This isn't your victory."
"I'm not trying to win something, jeeze. You act like I get off on other people's pain or something."
"Then why? Why do it? Why not just go about your business, and ignore mine?"
"I really didn't think sending Puckerman down to you would set you off like this. I didn't think it was a big deal."
"Oh, Puckerman didn't set me off. You know what set me off, Dr. Lopez? What set me off is that my sister, my best friend died two years ago today. What set me off is that I sent her son to my mom's in Boston, because she needed him more than I do, and I just wanted to work for three straight so maybe wouldn't think about it. Puckerman didn't set me off. You didn't even set me off. But it was sure as hell some crap icing on a shit cake."
"I'm—"
"Sorry, yeah, I know. You've said it. I just don't get what I ever did to you."
"It's not you, it's just…" Santana feels it on the tip of her tongue, but she shakes the thought away. "Look, we don't know each other, and I'm really sorry that I was a jerk to you, when you've been nothing but helpful to me."
She pulls out the chair across from Dr. Pierce, and she waits for the nod that affirms it's okay for her to sit there. When it comes, she settles in, and takes a sip of her coffee.
"Do you think maybe we can start over?"
"Dr. Lopez." Dr. Pierce sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. She's reluctant, Santana can tell, and she doesn't blame her. "I can't help but feel like I'd be making a mistake. I keep letting you in on things in my life, and it keeps biting me in the ass."
"I'm not saying we have to be friends. I don't even know you, and I haven't exactly proven that I'm worth being a friend with anyway. I guess, I'm just saying what I should have said from the start. Welcome to New York, Dr. Pierce."
"Brittany." She picks at the muffin in front of her, but looks Santana in the eye, and extends her hand. "We're colleagues, so you can call me Brittany."