Dirty Little Thing - Chapter One

Media: Better Call Saul

Pairing: Lalo Salamanca/Angelina Andrade (OC), Domingo “Krazy-8” Molina/Solana Salazar (OC), Nacho Varga/Mari Gálvez (OC)

Rating: Mature, 18+

Word Count: ~7.4k

CW: Medical, needles, gunshots, descriptions of medical procedures, descriptions of wounds, blood, prescription drugs (proper use)

…

The Broken Butterflies are used to this. It's why they are who they are, why they conduct their business the way they do. A man of questionable morals, working in a certain industry, will come in with a wound that Dr Caldera can't treat. He sends them to The Broken Butterflies– a group of three nurses consisting of his cousin, the trauma specialist Mari Gálvez; Angelina Andrade, the surgical assistant; and Solana Salazar, another emergency nurse with a second certification as a radiology technician.

Men in the industry– or the cartel, let's call it what it is– come into the Broken Butterflies’ clinic. They have bullets lodged in their bodies, cuts too deep and wide for a veterinarian to take care of on the fly, overdoses, broken bones…it doesn't matter what the ailment is, nor the identity of the patient– the Broken Butterflies will treat them, free of charge, no reports to the authorities as other members of the hospital would see fit, indiscriminately.

So yes, the Broken Butterflies are used to this. Bleeding men carrying each other through the back door of the clinic into the “abandoned” wing, otherwise known as the “Butterfly’s Wing.” They have a small, hardly private emergency room, where Mari tends to work. Angelina has a closed off clean room for her more sterile procedures. Solana has an ultrasound handy and the passcode to the radiology department. There is a pair of extra, regular exam rooms, as well.

The ailing man being carried in is supported on the shoulder of one Ignacio “Nacho” Varga, who also happens to be Mari's boyfriend. Mari is relieved that it's not Nacho who is injured, but she's also not pleased at who she may have to treat.

“¡Oye! Angelina!” Mari calls for her friend, “You're taking this one.”

Angelina pops around the corner, pulling nitrile gloves off her hands with a snap. “Yeah? Why, is it bad?”

Mari exhales, her annoyed gaze meeting one of a similar expression in Nacho's eyes. “It's a gunshot to the flank.”

Confused, Angelina knits her eyebrows. “Why me, then? You handle gunshots all the time, Mari.”

She hisses air through her teeth and shoots a gaze at the man Nacho carries into the clinic. “Because, it's–”

“Eduardo Salamanca,” greets the aforementioned man, extending a hand despite his circumstances. “But you can call me Lalo.”

While Mari reacts in disgust, scoffing at his advances, Angelina's face lights up pink and her eyes widen. Her half-gloved hand meets his, and she feels warm as they touch. She's heard of the man before– he's a cartel Don. A very charming one, apparently.

“H-hi, Lalo. I'm Angelina…” she stammers nervously.

“Angelina!” He repeats her name back, an excited, amused tone in his voice. “I like it! Nurse Angelina.”

Mari is unamused, and frankly disappointed with Angelina falling for Lalo’s facade. “Yeah, okay. Take him in the extra room and get to work. Go get a scan. Solana would do it, but she's been on the phone with Domingo playing a game of “no, I love you more” for the past half hour, and I can't get her to hang up.”

Looking a bit nervous, in a different way, Angelina sighs. “Mari, they don't like me imaging…can't you try harder to get Sol to get off the phone?”

“No.” Mari states firmly. “Go take care of your patient. He's your problem now.”

Angelina nods up and down, and then towards the extra room. “This way, Don Eduardo–”

“Please, call me Lalo,” he insists, a playful tone still in his voice, “none of this “Don” shit, okay?”

She smiles. “Okay, Lalo, we'll just be going to this room over here. Nacho, you wanna help?”

Nacho looks from Angelina, to Mari, and to Lalo. Angelina clearly anticipates a response, Mari's eyes state a hard “no,” and Lalo rolls his.

“I can make it on my own,” Lalo says through half-clenched teeth, squirming away from Nacho's supportive shoulder. “Lead the way, Angelina.”

Angelina motions for Lalo to follow her, and he does, limping behind her into the hospital room, holding the spot where he's been shot. Blood, though not too much, coats his hand.

“Can you step on the scale right there? Just for a moment?” She asks, motioning to the aforementioned device.

Lalo nods and does as he's asked. Angelina jots down his weight on her clipboard.

“And how tall are you?”

“Six feet even,” he replies.

They then head back to Angelina's exam room. Once they're both inside the room, Angelina closes the door, applies hand sanitizer, and snaps on a fresh pair of gloves from the box by the door. Lalo sits on the edge of the bed, still holding his wound.

“I-I'm gonna need you to take off your shirt,” Angelina tells Lalo, face as pink as possible, her eyes avoiding his.

He smirks. “No problem.”

It takes some effort, some curses muttered under his breath, and a helping hand from Angelina, but he finally manages to unbutton his shirt and slither out of it. The bloody portion around his wound squelches as the fabric peels from the skin.

Angelina gasps, both at the fact that Lalo is now shirtless in front of her, and at the wound. It doesn't look to be around any organs, just soft tissue, and has an exit wound. Naturally, this opening is much bigger, but it doesn't give a view of anything other than tissue inside. This, and the lack of sufficient bleeding, bring her to believe that like most Broken Butterfly patients, it will be a non-operative management of the wound.

“So, how am I looking?” Lalo asks. “You look shocked.”

She resists the urge to tell him he looks great, though this would be about his general physique and not the two holes pierced through his body. So instead, she takes a deep breath to calm herself, and digs in the nearby supply drawer for some gauze pads.

“It's not as bad as it could be. Can you lie down on your side for me?” Angelina asks, clenching that gauze pad in her fist to keep herself collected.

Lalo nods, and begins to shift positions to do what Angelina asked of him. “Sure.”

Once he's laid on his side, Angelina quickly wipes the gauze over his wounds, swapping sides of it for the entry and exit sides. She inhales the scent on each side, then sighs with relief.

“What was that?” He asks with a pained laugh. “That smell good or something?”

Angelina gives a small laugh in return. “No, it's to test if there was any bowel perforation. It would have a particular smell if there was. But it smells normal, so you're good.”

 Lalo tilts his head. “Normal? And what's normal?”

“Like blood,” she says with a shrug, tossing the filthy gauze into the biohazard bin.

She then takes her custom light blue Littman stethoscope from around her neck and listens to the sounds of his heart and lungs– breathing is labored and pulse is quick, but that's to be expected. She counts it on her watch as 130 bpm. After this, she takes a blood pressure cuff and wraps it around his upper arm, allows the machine to do its thing, and gives her some oddly normal results, given the circumstances. She writes this all down on her clipboard, then places it on the table beside the bed.

“Okay, vitals done. Next up, let's get you on some fluids.”

The next thing she does is hang an IV bag of saline, set up the line and such, and grab Lalo's arm. He has fine veins for an IV, but he may be dehydrated, and they may not be as easy to access as she thinks.

“You afraid of needles?” Angelina asks as she feels up his forearm for a good vein.

“Nope,” he replies. “Go ahead and stick me.”

Angelina blushes at him calling her this. “Got it. You have, uh, very good veins.”

Though she anticipates a reaction of disgust or confusion at such an odd compliment, Lalo smiles.

“Thanks,” he laughs. “What, are they big?”

The way he asks that question makes her eyes shoot wide open, and she nearly chokes on her own spit.

“Y-yeah, that's part of it. I think I found a good one.”

Running her fingers over the suitable vein a few more times, she mutters to herself, then ties a tourniquet around his upper arm. The vein becomes much more prominent, and she can feel it even more. After wiping down the area with chlorhexidine, Angelina readies herself to insert the needle and catheter.

“Okay, big stick on three,” she warns, her hand hovering with the medical equipment just a hair's breadth away from his skin.

“Ah, fuck that, just do it,” Lalo says, waving his other hand.

“As you wish,” Angelina replies, sticking the IV into his vein. As blood flashes back, she sighs with relief that it's in, undoes the tourniquet, and pulls out the needle, leaving the catheter inside.

Lalo locks eyes with her as she carefully avoids touching the needle itself and tosses it. Angelina wants to ask him what his deal is, why he's staring at her like that, but instead focuses on applying the adhesives to keep the catheter in place.

“What kind of bullet were you shot with, by the way?” She asks as she disposes of the packaging to the supplies she just used. “And how close?”

“Ah, pretty close, and just a little nine-mil,” Lalo says with a wave of the hand. “No .45 or anything like that. Now, what he got in return, well…”

Angelina puts her hands up. “No, no, that's okay. That's enough to know. Do you think there are any fragments still inside your body?”

Lalo shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Okay, well, I want to be sure there aren't any before I do any more, okay? And I need to see the tracking of the wound. So I'm going to give you a temporary dressing, and my friend Solana will take you to get a CT scan to check.”

“I thought Ignacio’s girl already told you that this Solana person was on the phone with Domingo. You think you can do better to make her shut her mouth?”

Angelina nods as she digs through the drawer to find some temporary dressings, which she then hastily applies to Lalo's wounds. She secretly wonders how Lalo knows Domingo, but then remembers that Domingo is, in fact, a dealer for the Salamancas, and that includes Lalo.

“Yeah, I can get her to shut up. Or at least get Domingo to shut up…” She mutters the last part under her breath. “You wait here, please. I'll be back.”

“I'll be waiting,” Lalo responds in a sing-song voice, “I'll wait as long as it takes, ángel.”

Angelina's face burns at this comment, and she hurries into the office where Solana is. Solana sits in one of the chairs, feet kicked up onto one of the emptier desks, and twirls a strand of hair around her finger as she chats with Domingo on the phone.

“No, I already said it,” Solana declares to her better half on the phone, “I said that you were the cuter one out of both of us. We're a cute couple, but you're the cutest part of it.”

Before Domingo can respond, Angelina yanks the cell phone out of Solana's hand, and says, “Domingo, your boss is here, and he needs Solana's care. Talk all cheesy and lovey-dovey when you get home after work, yeah? Yeah. Solana says she loves you. Bye.”

Solana scoffs in disbelief and annoyance as Angelina snaps the flip phone shut. “What the hell, Angelina? I was having a conversation!”

“Lal– I mean, the patient– needs imaging. I'm not doing it, Mari refuses to do it, and you're the radiology technician. Take him to the CT machine and get a scan, have whichever radiologist is on the payroll look at it to check for bullet fragments and tracking, and make it fast.” Angelina's tone is shockingly demanding– uncharacteristically so.

Solana knits her eyebrows and gets out of the office chair. “Fine. Domingo's gonna be pissed at you, by the way.”

Angelina shrugs. “He'll get over it in a day or so. Not like he talks to me much anyway. Come on now, let's get that CT.”

The two nurses head out into the hallway and grab a free wheelchair they spot along the way, then return to Lalo's room. He's simply tapping his fingers on the wall and softly singing in Spanish to himself, but brightens up and smiles when Angelina enters.

“Hey, ángel!” He greets her.

Solana looks back and forth between the two, noticing Angelina's embarrassed expression.

“H-hi, Lalo. This is Solana, she's gonna take you for a quick scan, okay?” Angelina can barely keep her composure.

“Solana,” he repeats. “So this is Domingo’s little lover, eh? Nice.”

The other nurse scoffs. “Yes, I'm Domingo's partner. That's not relevant right now, though. Please get into the wheelchair so we can go to radiology. Angelina, will you help him?”

Angelina nods, pushing the wheelchair to the side of Lalo's bed. She clamps off the IV line and unscrews the catheter from it so he can move freely. “Can you move yourself at all?”

“I'm good, I'm good,” he answers, groaning as he forces himself to sit up. He climbs into the wheelchair and gestures to Solana. “Well?”

Solana suppresses herself from rolling her eyes, and goes to the wheelchair to take Lalo to the CT room. “Right. Let's go.”

“Don't worry,” Lalo says to Angelina as Solana wheels him away, “I'll be right back, ángel.”

She smiles and tucks a ringlet of blonde hair behind her ear. “Yeah, see you soon.”

After Solana and Lalo are gone, the door shuts behind them. Angelina takes off her gloves, angry at herself for not removing them before, sanitizes her hands and puts on new ones, and then picks up Lalo's shirt from the bed. It's a soft, almost satin material, red in color with a pattern almost like flames, barely darker than the background. She pulls it close to her face, the part where his chest would be bunching up near her nose, and she inhales.

Lalo, without the blood, smells good. Maybe it's some expensive cologne he wears, maybe it's his natural scent, but whatever is on the shirt is intoxicating. Angelina sighs softly after smelling it, and holds it close to her chest. Oh, what she would give to be this close to Lalo under different circumstances.

Catching herself and scolding herself for being weird, Angelina takes the shirt and neatly folds it, placing it on the edge of the bed. It's ruined, thanks to the bloodstains and holes, but she still wants to make sure it's taken care of nicely. She then sits on the edge of the bed, kicking her feet as she waits for Solana to bring Lalo back.

Neither Mari nor Solana seem to like Lalo at all, and judging by Nacho's expressions when he brought him in, he's not a fan of his boss either. So why does Angelina find herself so infatuated with the man? Is it just a difference in taste, or is there a real reason they can't stand the new Salamanca in town? He's very forward and friendly, maybe they find it obnoxious. Angelina doesn't, though. He entertains her, makes her smile, and after only a small amount of time spent together, she's become wrapped around his finger.

There's not much time to think on it before Solana and Lalo return. Solana practically dumps him onto the bed, an expression of absolute annoyance on her face. And it takes a lot to annoy Solana.

“One of the radiologists was with me when I did the scan,” Solana says as Angelina helps Lalo back on the bed. “No remaining fragments, here's the tracking.”

Solana places the scan up on the backlight and illuminates the bullet's tracking– luckily, it's quite straightforward.

“Thank god,” Angelina says, relieved she won't have to dig around inside Lalo's body, and the tracking is not too bad.

“You owe me,” Solana simply says as she departs, slamming the door behind herself.

“Nice to see you again,” Lalo smiles as he speaks to Angelina. “That other one, she's nowhere near as nice as you are.”

Angelina blushes at his comment. “She's just pissed I hung up her phone call with Domingo. Don't worry about her. You're in my hands now.”

Lalo's grin widens. “I like to hear that. So, there any shrapnel still in there?”

With a sigh, Angelina says, “No, there's not any. I just need to irrigate the wounds, and while I can give you some pain meds, it’s still not going to be fun.”

“Not fun? On pain meds, are you kidding me? It's gonna be a blast! You doing the fixing, well, it's even more fun because it's you.” Lalo finishes his sentence with a smirk, and he looks her up and down.

Now feeling like she's on fire, Angelina screws the IV parts back together. She then pulls from one of her pockets a syringe, filled with medicine and labeled “morphine,” clearly prepared early and held onto just in case the patient needed it. Into one of the catheter’s ports, she carefully pushes the morphine, and watches as Lalo relaxes into the bed.

“Ohh, ángel,” he responds, his voice almost amorous in nature, “that’s the good stuff, isn't it?”

Her face burns as she tosses the syringe into the sharps bin. “Yes, Lalo. Hopefully it'll make this procedure suck less.”

As he continues with a fit of high laughter, Angelina doesn't know how much more she can take. She's starting to imagine scenarios with him, where things go from just a routine SNOM for an AGSW to something more…

No, she snaps at herself, focus. Forcing herself to grab a sterile gauze pack and an irrigation kit from the cabinet, Angelina shakes the dirty thoughts and gets to work. After carefully removing the temporary dressing, which has stopped a lot of the bleeding, she prepares Lalo for the extra pain by pulling out yet another pre-filled syringe from her pocket, and injects a local anesthetic near his wounds.

Opening up a sterile gauze pack, Angelina makes sure a piece is soaked fully and wrapped into a tight, long “rope.” Using a pair of forceps and the CT scan as aid, Angelina runs the gauze through the wound's track, which causes Lalo to grip the bed a bit tighter and groan softly, but not to react much more than that. Besides the quiet noise of pain, he seems to be muttering morphine-induced nonsense.

Angelina throws it away in the biohazard bin. Next, she prepares another syringe, this time with saline solution that will be used to flush the wound. She sets up a waterproof trash bag bedside, then positions Lalo to where the wound will drain into an emesis tray, placing a bed pad underneath just in case. After this, she removes her gloves, goes to the sink to wash her hands, then applies new gloves.

She then sits bedside, ready to work. The syringe in her eerily steady hands is finally utilized, flushing the saline continuously and steadily through Lalo's wound.

“You doing okay?” She asks Lalo as she continues the procedure.

“Mmm, I'm just fine with you by my side, ángel,” he murmurs into the pillow.

Angelina grips the syringe tighter when he says this, but ultimately continues to irrigate the bullet holes.

“First few milliliters are through,” Angelina announces. “A few more to go. Still doing fine?”

Lalo nods, now having moved his head to look back at her. “Like I said, Angelina, you make this so easy.”

“I-I do?” She asks, digging back into the wound.

“Yep. I've had unprofessional guys fix me up before, but you…you're so gentle, so kind, so pretty…” He buries his face in the pillow again after saying this.

It's undeniable now that he's completely gotten under her skin, and even though he's under the influence of prescription medication, he's well aware of this fact. Angelina swallows hard and tries to focus on getting in the last few streams of saline, but it's rather difficult when Lalo is singing into the pillow a Spanish song about how beautiful Angelina is.

Although it makes her feel like she's on fire, and her heart is beating so fast she can hear it in her head, Angelina manages to focus enough to finish up the job. Once she finally finishes up the last of the syringe, she sighs heavily and stands up straight.

“Lalo,” she says, gently shaking his shoulder, “I've got you all cleaned up.”

He turns over in bed and begins laughing again. “Good job, ángel,” he says between laughs, “didn't feel a thing.”

Angelina raises an eyebrow, as if to challenge his statement, then cleans around the wounds with a regular saline solution, following up with a skin protectant wipe and gently dabbing it dry. Once this is done, she applies the final dressing, and breathes a sigh of relief.

“Am I good to go?” He asks, swaying a bit as he sits up.

“Since this was a non-operative method, yes,” Angelina replies, gathering all the used supplies and tossing them in their respective receptacles. “If you get to feeling any worse or think it might be infected, come back as soon as you can. And also, stay hydrated and get plenty of rest. Take these if you need them.”

She then hands him a bottle of painkillers from the bedside table's drawer. Lalo sits up and grabs his shirt, which he notes has been neatly folded and placed on the bed, then puts it back on, despite the holes where the bullet had entered and exited.

“You sure I don't need to stay overnight?” He asks, a playful smirk on his face, arms crossed. “For observation, you know. So you can keep watching over me, ángel.”

Her face lights up yet again. “I…no. You don’t need to stay any longer. In most hospitals, they'd make you, but they'd also have given you an unnecessary laparotomy and fucked up your wound even worse, pumped you full of useless antibiotics, and made you lay in bed with a catheter up your dick for the next week or two.”

Lalo scoffs. “Ángel, I didn't understand a word of that, but I trust you. I'll get out of your pretty blonde hair for now.”

As he stands and begins to exit the room, he ruffles his hand through Angelina’s aforementioned blonde curls, and she nearly faints, having to brace herself on the door frame.

“W-wait!” She calls after him, rushing out of the room. “Let me walk you out.”

He offers her his arm, and, although nervously, Angelina holds onto it, making it look like she is helping, even though she really isn't. Only now does she notice the obvious height difference between the two of them– sure, she'd asked his height on intake, but it doesn't sink in until they're side by side that the foot of height separating them is so drastic.

“All done?” Mari asks when Angelina and Lalo enter the waiting area. “SNOM, I take it?”

Angelina nods. “Yes. The case was very straightforward. I told him to come back if he thinks it's infected, or if anything feels worse.”

Lalo nods. “She did a very good job, too. Your little ángel here, she's talented.”

With this, he gives her a playful squeeze on the arm, and she quietly yelps, then unlinks their arms.

“Yeah, she's truly one of the best,” Solana, who is perched in one of the waiting room seats, says. “The best at gunshot wounds, the best at surgery, the best at interrupting phone calls–”

“Okay,” Nacho says, breaking up the imminent fight that Solana is trying to start, “can I take him back to his house now?”

Angelina nods. “Yep. It was nice to meet you, Lalo. I hope to see you again, but under better circumstances.”

While Nacho, Mari, and Solana roll their eyes, Lalo smiles. “You will, ángel. Trust me. Buenas noches, Angelina.”

“Oh, uh, buenas–” Angelina can't finish her sentence by the time Nacho drags Lalo out the door and it slams behind them.

“Closing time?” Solana asks. “One of the janitors is cleaning up Angelina's room, and I've done all the paperwork for this week. And we are on call if anyone does show up.”

Mari nods. “Yes. We can all go home. Be back here tomorrow at seven, okay? We're opening a bit late because Salamanca ate up a ton of time. He should fork up some extra payment on Monday for the overtime he put Angelina through.”

Angelina shakes her head. “No, no, it's fine. It was an easy fix, just a bit of a process. I don't mind the overtime.”

Scoffing, Solana stands up. “I do, you made me give that man a fucking CT while I was trying to talk to Domingo. That was a waste of time.”

“No,” Angelina replies, arms crossed, “we needed to check the tracking and look for shrapnel. It wasn't a waste. It was your job.”

Mari clicks her tongue. “As much as I also dislike Salamanca, his “little ángel” is right. You were having a meaningless conversation with your boyfriend and had to stop to do your job, big fucking deal.”

Rolling her eyes and shaking her head, Solana pulls her car keys from her pocket and heads out to her car, slamming the door behind her. Even through the walls of the hospital, Angelina and Mari can hear the radio blaring one of Domingo's Molotov CDs, a specific song on their first album telling someone– in this case, Angelina and Mari– to off themselves.

“You think that was targeted at us?” Angelina asks.

“No, it probably just stopped on the chorus when she got out of the car, but I'm sure she's happy with the coincidence,” Mari replies. “Anyway, we should both go home too, yeah? I'm sure Nacho will have plenty to tell me about the car ride home with Lalo coming down from a morphine high.”

Smiling at the thought, Angelina shrugs. “Probably something funny. He was singing about me in Spanish when I first gave the meds to him.”

Mari raises her eyebrows. “Singing about you? Jesus, Angelina….I know you're charmed by this guy, but he's dangerous. I wouldn't go near him again.”

“And how is that fair?” Angelina asks, expression now sour. “You and Solana are dating Nacho and Domingo, and they're in the cartel, too. Isn't that dangerous?”

“First of all,” Mari says, pulling down the sleeves of her undershirt to her wrists, “Domingo is sort of harmless. I don't even think he's ever killed someone. He got his ass beat by Nacho and didn't even fight back. And Ignacio, well…he’s different. Different from all the others he's around. I feel safe with him.”

Angelina puts her hands on her hips. “And what if I feel safe around Lalo?”

Giving her a stern, serious look, Mari says, “You shouldn't feel safe around a Salamanca, ever. Don't make that mistake. I don't want you to end up dead, Angelina.”

Done with Mari's annoying, spiteful remarks, Angelina exits the building. “Whatever you say. Just remember your boyfriend works for him, and put your worries there.”

Leaving Mari behind, stunned and angered, Angelina closes the door to the hospital behind her and heads over to the sidewalk to call a cab. Normally, she'd just have ridden with Mari, but with what she was saying, the conversation on the ride home wouldn't have been pleasant.

Instead, Angelina shivers as the cold of an Albuquerque night washes over her. When a taxi finally drives towards her, she holds out a hand to hail it, and then practically jumps inside the backseat. It's warm in the car.

“Where to?” The driver asks, looking over the seat at her. “Same as usual? Home?”

Angelina nods. “Yes Jeff, home.”

He nods. “Okay. You know the fare?”

“I know the fare,” Angelina says, digging the cash out of her pocket. “Here.”

“Thank you very much, Señorita,” Jeff the taxi driver responds as he takes the fare and begins to drive off.

On the ride to her house, Angelina can only think about Lalo. Is he doing okay? Is he in any pain? Will he drink enough fluids to stay hydrated? If he gets worse, will he actually come back to see her? And if he doesn't come back to the hospital ever again, will she ever see him at all?

She's never felt this way about a patient. Nobody so handsome, so charming, so kind to her has ever been through the doors of the Broken Butterflies clinic– at least, not one that landed in her care. Mari says Lalo is dangerous, that Angelina should avoid him, but who is she to speak when Nacho was in the same amount of danger not too long ago, seeing Dr Caldera and then being sent to the Butterflies when his wounds were too severe?

Maybe a dangerous cartel Don as a boyfriend guaranteed less danger. More protection. He'd have the means to keep Angelina safe and sound. Nobody would fuck with her if she was on the arm of a Salamanca…

No, she snaps herself out of that thought, he will never be your boyfriend. They may never even meet again at all. Half of the time, patients who come in never make another appearance in Angelina's life ever again. So why is Lalo an exception? Why would he randomly stroll into Angelina's path once more? She isn't so lucky. If he does, she's certain to go all in on blackjack at the casino that night.

It doesn't take long for Jeff to reach Angelina’s address, and he stops in front of her house. Angelina bids him goodbye and steps out of the cab, then heads inside her home. Her eyes comb over the cactus garden she's been cultivating in the front lawn, and it looks good. She smiles at this, then goes into the house.

As she does every night after work, Angelina peels out of her work scrubs and kicks off her hospital athletic shoes into what she designates “the contaminated zone.” Those articles get washed separately and never touch any of her other clothes, nor the furniture or floors.

Now in only her underwear, Angelina immediately goes to shower in the bathroom connected to her bedroom. As she showers, a sadness washes over her alongside the warm water– it's like she's washing away Lalo. Even though her night as his nurse is something she will never forget, it still feels like part of the memory is being stripped away when his scent leaves her skin and the hair he'd ruffled with his hand is scrubbed clean, and there's a sensation that part of the experience washes down the drain like it's nothing.

Now done with her shower, Angelina changes into a set of night clothes– a tank top with a floral pattern and matching shorts. She isn't hungry, so she only returns to the kitchen to take her medicine and then goes to bed. Although she's exhausted, Angelina can't bring herself to sleep– all she can think of is Lalo.

She imagines him here, beside her in bed, fully healed, smiling at her and gazing at her with those deep brown eyes and leaning closer to her and–

Finally, she manages to drift off, but only because of her little fantasies. They continue into dreams, dreams that Angelina would die from embarrassment if anyone– especially Lalo– knew about them. Dreams that, nonetheless, make her happy. That leave her rested and refreshed in the morning.

For the first time in forever, Angelina wakes up without a headache or instant suicidal thoughts. Instead of wishing she could go back to bed, she's excited for work, because she isn't exhausted. For whatever reason, good dreams seem to make her sleep better.

She gets out of bed and goes to pick a pair of scrubs from the closet– today, a pink floral top with plain pink pants. After stripping from her pajamas, putting on a bra and underwear, and applying deodorant, Angelina puts on the scrubs and a pair of socks. Then, she sits down at her vanity to meticulously apply makeup for a job that honestly doesn't really need makeup. As for her hair, it retains curls from her going to bed with it wet, but it isn't fully curly as she likes. She heats up the curling iron and makes sure her blonde ringlets are perfect, and once she's done with that, she heads to the kitchen.

Unlike Solana, who loves to cook and bake, or Mari, who eats fruit like it's the only food that exists, Angelina usually doesn't eat breakfast. Her coworkers would normally be having a plate of homemade waffles and a bowl of strawberries and bananas, respectively, but not her.

Today is different, though. Angelina actually chooses to fight past her disordered eating and takes an orange yogurt from the refrigerator and decides to have breakfast. She finishes the cup quickly and tosses it while placing the spoon in the sink, then takes her keys and cell phone from the tray on the counter and heads out for the day.

She's sure Jeff isn't doing his route at this hour, so Angelina takes a chance on Mari. One of the first numbers in her contacts, she dials it and is answered quickly.

“Yeah?” Mari says on the other end.

Angelina, despite the fact that her friend can't see her, looks down sheepishly, embarrassed by last night's behavior.

“Look, Mari, I'm really sorry about last night. I shouldn't have acted like that.”

“No, you shouldn't have,” Mari replies. “Let me guess, you want a ride to work?”

She sighs. “Yes, please. If you'll take me.”

“Actually, Nacho is driving me today, but we can swing by and pick you up, if that's cool.”

“Yes, yes! That's okay! Thank you so much, Mari!”

Mari gives a small laugh. “Thank Ignacio. We'll be there soon.”

“Okay! See you!” Angelina then hangs up the phone and pockets it, and stands waiting for her friends.

In a few minutes, Nacho's cherry red Javelin pulls up to the curb by Angelina's house. Mari hops out of the front seat and puts it forward so Angelina can get in the back.

As she's climbing into the backseat, Angelina profusely apologizes to Mari. Repeating, in both Spanish and English, how sorry she is. Tears form at the corners of her eyes, and all Mari can do is laugh.

“Look,” Mari finally says, now that she and Angelina are in the car, “it's all good. Calmáte. Just forget it happened, okay? You're fine.”

Angelina sniffles and wipes her eyes. “A-are you sure?”

Mari nods. “I'm sure. Now quit crying and let's hope today is a “get paid for doing nothing” day. No gunshots, no stabbings, no ODs…”

“Does a day like that even exist for you?” Nacho asks playfully as they drive to the hospital.

After smacking him in the arm, Mari laughs. “Sometimes it does. I have a feeling today will be like that. How about you, Angelina?”

She hums and taps her chin in thought. “Hmm, I don't know! Things have been kind of slow, except for last night…”

“Hopefully, it’s not a sign of what’s to come,” Mari replies. “If so, I may be calling in sick.”

Although she laughs and nods in agreement, Angelina internally disagrees. She actually likes busy days, and the pace that Lalo's case had brought into the clinic is welcome. She knows damn well Solana isn't going to be excited for such a day, especially if she has to go do her job in radiology, and obviously Mari wants to be lazy. Is Angelina the only one with any work ethic?

Soon enough, Nacho pulls into the employee parking lot of the hospital. Mari and Angelina exit the car and depart, but not before Mari and Nacho share a quick kiss. Angelina watches, and it only brings her back to her dreams last night. Of course she'd dreamt of doing something like that with Lalo, and now her heart aches because it will likely never happen.

The two nurses walk to the clinic door, and as they cross the lot, Solana pulls up in her yellow Camaro. This time, she's not listening to angry rap rock telling you to kill yourself, but rather Alanis Morissette’s “Jagged Little Pill.” She steps out of the car and smiles at her two friends.

“Morning,” she greets them and begins to walk by their side.

“Good morning, Sol…” Angelina says nervously. “How did Domingo react to, um…”

Solana scoffs and waves a hand. “Oh, he thought it was funny. And that made me think it was funny, too. Don't worry about it, Angelina.”

Knowing that the previous night's conflicts are resolved, Angelina smiles as they head into the clinic. Inside, all three go to their typical time-wasting activities until a patient arrives– Mari and Solana start a game of blackjack, while Angelina sketches in her notebook. The sketches are usually of anatomical things, with effort to draw the most accurate organs she can without reference. But not today. Today, she tries to draw Lalo, all from memory.

It takes a couple of hours before they hear the clinic door open, and abandon their hobbies to see who has walked in. Angelina is the last to get out of the office, taking extra care to hide her drawing in a sea of anatomy practice.

“Ah, shit,” she hears Solana say before she can even round the corner.

“Angelina! You need to get over here!” Mari shouts.

Rushing to the door, Angelina's heart nearly stops when she sees the person in the doorway.

“Hey, ángel! You know how you said I should come back if I think it's infected? I think it is.”

Angelina motions for Lalo to follow her into an exam room, her pulse so aggressive she can hear it. She applies hand sanitizer and puts on gloves, while Lalo sits on the bed, a mischievous smirk on his face.

“Why do you think it is infected?” Angelina asks nervously. “Is it oozing pus? Is there extra redness?”

“Nope.” He still won't wipe that smirk off his face.

Angelina sighs. “Okay, what about extreme pain? I know it hurts already, but I'm talking much more severe feelings.”

“It does hurt pretty bad,” Lalo answers, though he's still smiling.

Rushing over to grab some supplies, Angelina takes his vitals quickly. She begs the blood pressure cuff and pulse ox to hurry up and measure what they need to, and then places a thermometer under his tongue.

“If you have a fever, that will be a sign of infection,” she tells him. The thermometer beeps. “Oh, thank God. It's in the normal range.”

She tosses away the disposable cover from the thermometer and puts away the other equipment, then scribbles his vitals on her clipboard.

“Next step. Can I take a look at the wound? I'll have to undress it and redress it, is that okay?”

Lalo begins to unbutton his shirt. “Fine by me, ángel.”

Angelina wants to look away when Lalo undresses, but she can't. Just like before, she wants to tell him he looks good, but this would technically be a lie– the wound does not look good. Well, with the dressings still on it, she can't actually tell, but it's safe to assume it hasn't improved since yesterday.

“My shirt is off,” he announces, as if Angelina can't see that. “Come work your magic.”

Angelina's eyes widen. “Um, yeah. Of course. Tell me if I'm hurting you when I take this off, okay?”

Lalo doesn't have to fake it when Angelina takes off his dressing– it does hurt, a lot. He tries to keep that same grin on his face, but it twists into a grimace when she finally removes the whole thing over the entry wound. He actually groans when she takes off the exit wound side’s dressing. Angelina looks at him with concern, and then back at the wound. Like he said, no pus, no extra redness. Without a fever, she’s almost certain it isn’t infected at all. Pain alone isn’t enough to diagnose such a thing. In fact, for it only having been a single day, the wound looks remarkably good– both the exit and entry wounds.

“The good news is, I don’t think you have any kind of infection,” Angelina says. “In other news, we could do some further testing, but that requires a tissue sample, and I don’t want to further irritate it if it’s so painful for you.”

Despite the pain, he smiles. “Really? So what do I need to do for it, Angelina?”

Every time he says her name, it sends a wave of heat through her body. “Y-you can take the pain pills I sent home with you. And I could give you some preventative antibiotics in case there really is an infection…”

Lalo’s smile widens. “No, I don’t think I need the antibiotics. I agree, there’s no infection.”

She looks confused. “What? You came in here convinced that you had an infection. Why the sudden change of heart?”

He shifts on the exam table. “What if I told you that I only came here to see you again? That I had zero problems with this wound. The visit was purely to come back and look at your pretty face.”

Angelina freezes in place, nearly dropping the supplies she planned to use to redress Lalo’s wounds. “Are you…are you fucking kidding me?”

Confused that she sounds angry, Lalo tilts his head. “What? Don’t act like you didn’t want to see me again, too. It’s not like I have your phone number to call you and arrange a meetup.”

Walking quickly and with a hint of irritation in the way she moves, Angelina returns to him.

 “You could’ve asked for it, like a normal person! I was worried about you, Lalo! I’d have been more excited if you’d somehow shown up at my house, not coming into my clinic telling me you think your wound is infected!”

Lalo smirks and shrugs. “Sorry, ángel. I thought it would be easier. But you can’t deny that you’re excited to see me now that you know I’m okay, right?”

Taking a deep breath, Angelina looks upward. She is happy now that she knows he’s okay, but worrying her like that was unfair. She finally exhales, and gets to work reapplying the dressings to Lalo’s wounds, wordlessly.

“You are excited,” Lalo teases her. “Look at you. Your face is so pink, and your hands are shaking. Be careful, ángel. Don’t let them shake so much that you mess up my dressing.”

She avoids looking at him in the face. “I-I’m trying to stop them. You make me nervous.”

He looks at her curiously. “Me, making you nervous? Why’s that?”

“Because,” Angelina says as she finishes up his dressings, “I really like you…”

“What’s that?” He asks playfully, acting as if he can’t hear her. “Did you just say–”

“I said nothing!” She says defensively. “Please put back on your shirt, and go home and take a pain pill or two.”

Still grinning, Lalo puts his shirt back on and stands up. As he heads for the door, he eyes Angelina up and down. She shrinks into herself, and avoids his gaze.

“What?” She asks shyly.

He smiles for a second more, then turns to leave. “Nothing, ángel. You have a nice night, okay?”

Feelings of guilt for snapping at him earlier flood Angelina’s mind. “Y-you too! Make sure to take your meds as needed!”

Lalo finally disappears beyond the clinic door. Angelina returns to the office and resumes her sketch, as if nothing had happened. Mari and Solana have moved on to reading textbooks, but they both look at her expectantly.

“What was that about?” Solana asks.

“He came back…specifically to see me,” Angelina says softly. “What does that even mean?”

Mari sighs. “It means he’s just as stupid for you as you are for him. Jesus Christ.”

Angelina thinks on this. Does he really like her? Or is he manipulating her like Mari said before?

Either way, it makes her feel warm inside. She looks down at her sketch of Lalo, and smiles.

He likes me back. He really likes me back.