Santana is going to kill Kurt Hummel. She's not exaggerating that point either. If he wasn't elbow deep in repairing a bowel perforation, she'd been perforating his bowel at this very moment. But lucky for him, he is. Lucky for him, Santana Lopez won't burst into his OR, flowery note in hand.

Yes, Kurt wrote her a note. She'd come out of a tonsillectomy to find said note, written on KH embossed stationary, sitting in the center of her desk. There was a Three Musketeers bar sitting next to it. That should have been the giveaway that the note was going to infuriate her. Instead, Santana had given him the benefit of the doubt, and assumed he was just being a good friend. She was so majorly wrong.

Dearest Satan,

In spite of your previous instructions not to meddle in your business, I just couldn't help myself.

David's friend is in town, and she's in need of some…how do you put it? Female company, I suppose. I took the liberty of telling her to meet you at 6:00 sharp, at AquaMarina.

I'm sure you're mad now, and you have no idea how to be a human, most of the time, but I know that you'll thank me later. Do ONLY things that I wouldn't do.

To keep the mystery alive, your lady date for the evening will be wearing a purple dress. Look for her in the booth by the window.

-K

Livid doesn't even begin to describe the way Santana feels. When she realizes Kurt is unreachable, she goes to Mercedes' office. Apparently, Mercedes knew, and she thinks it's good for her to go out. Santana almost throws a plastic model of a heart at her head.

If her closest friends don't get it, no one will, and Santana sulks as she changes out of her scrubs, and back into the dress she'd worn for her morning consults. No, she doesn't want to go, but she also won't stand the girl up. It's not her fault that her friend's boyfriend is an idiot.

At 5:45, Santana leaves the hospital. She's still fantasizing about perforating Kurt's bowel, but she opts, instead, for turning on the silent treatment. No phone calls, no texts, no coffee and gossip for the next week. It'll serve him right for going against her explicit instructions not to do this. It will serve him right for just not understanding, even after nearly a decade of friendship.

The girl in the purple dress is there, waiting, and Santana forces a smile. Her name is Dani, and she's from Chicago. She's a music producer, and she doesn't eat meat. Mostly, what Santana learns, is that she likes to talk about 's fine, Santana doesn't really feel like talking anyway, and at least when Kurt tries to accuse her of not giving the girl a chance, she has a reason why.

By the time the waiter brings the check, Santana is on her fourth glass of wine, and her four hundredth story about…something. The roller derby, maybe? Santana had kind of tuned her out and started mentally performing hernia surgery somewhere at the beginning of glass number two. She shouldn't have felt bad and come. This woman would have been more than capable of entertaining herself for the evening.

Santana can't pay the check fast enough, and when Dani goes to kiss her—like seriously, did she think the date went well?—she gives her the cheek instead. She can barely be bothered to give her an "it's late" excuse, and shove her in a cab, before she's stalking back to the hospital, hell bent on killing Kurt Hummel. She'll even help David Martinez in his hiring of a new general surgeon, it's fine.

Kurt still isn't in his office when Santana gets back. Figuring she should probably get a cup of coffee to keep her head from spinning, she looks at the time, and laments that her coffee shop is closed. Resigning herself to the idea of shitty coffee, she grabs her bag from her office, and she goes down to the cafeteria.

Once she's got a cup of the sludge, she sits down at a table. Why she's still at the hospital, she has no idea. She can't even use attempted murder as an excuse, because Kurt has probably gone home already. This is the kind of thing that adds fuel to his fire, about her needing a life. But she's fine. She's totally fine, drinking shitty hospital coffee by herself, when she should be long home. Really.

"Weren't you already here when I left this morning?" Santana's head snaps up at the sound of Dr. Pierce's voice, and she rolls her eyes at herself.

"Stalking me, then?"

"Oh yeah, totally. Definitely didn't see you strut into the emergency room or anything."

"You saw me, I didn't see you. I'll call it stalking." Santana grins, as Dr. Pierce sits down across from her. "You're doing overnights? Doesn't that suck when you have a kid?"

"In some ways, I guess, mostly because whatever sleep I get is in the on call room, but I like that he sleeps through the whole time he's in day care." She shrugs. "So it's a net win, I think."

"Well, then I'm glad for that." Raising her coffee cup in a mock toast, Santana smiles. "Sorry, I'm a still a little tipsy."

"Not doing surgery, I hope."

"No. Just…I don't know, avoiding going home or something. I just went on a shitty date that I didn't want to go on to begin with."

"Ah." Dr. Pierce sips from her cup. "Someone set you up with him?"

"Uh…" Santana hesitates. "It was a her."

"I was mostly asking to confirm my suspicions." A blush creeps across her cheeks, and Santana feels her own neck heat up. "Is that…okay?"

"Santana. I was engaged to a woman for two years. I think it would be pretty hypocritical of me to have a problem with you going on a date with one."

"Okay, so my gaydar is obviously a joke."

"Maybe because I'm into both." Dr. Pierce shrugs. "So, want to talk about why your date sucked."

"Well, since I specifically gave Dr. Hummel the direction not to set me up with anyone, it stated off on the wrong food. But, even if I had wanted to, I've never met a woman so full of herself."

"You clearly haven't met my ex." Crossing her legs, Dr. Pierce picks at the croissant in front of her.

"Her name's not Dani, is it?"

"No." She shakes her head. "Her name's definitely not Dani."

"I just don't know why it's so shocking that a person wants to be single. I mean, you'd think, among surgeons, they'd get it."

"I get it." Dr. Pierce nods. "I was the same."

"And now you're not?"

"Maybe it's different because I have a kid now, or because I'm obviously older than you are, but I think there's also something to be said for coming home to someone you love, even if it's at all hours of the night."

"You're not that much older than me." Santana sucks her teeth.

"What are you? Thirty? Thirty-one?"

"I'm thirty-three, actually. So, do I get to ask why you have an ex- fiancée then?"

"Sometimes people want different things." Her demeanor darkens, and she finishes the last of her coffee. "And sometimes people aren't flexible to things beyond their control."

"I'm sorry I brought it up…"

"No, no, it's fine." Dr. Pierce waves her off, standing up with her empty cup, and half of her croissant. "It is what it is, it's been years, so I'm not really worried about that anymore. I'm sorry I have to cut you short, I'm working the ER tonight."

"Those lucky lac patients." Santana draws a line across her forehead. "No scarring tonight."

"You know it." She nods in reply. "Go home. Even if you don't want to date anyone, you probably shouldn't live at the hospital."

"Noted." Santana gives her a little salute. "Good luck in the pit."

"Thanks, hope I don't need it!"