don't wanna rush | oscar diaz

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She takes it personal, clearly, but something about how Chilanga looks—bloody, bruised, tired beyond all else—must convince her. She slips back to the party like nothing, leaves Oscar with a bad taste on the back of his teeth. It's not too soon after that the police show up.

Fucking Estevez, Oscar thinks. He looks unsurprised to find Oscar there, but he's cheerful anyway. "Diaz! You live here now?"

"No," he says, tilting his head towards Santi, "'s a party tonight."

"Sure," Estevez says. His partner's a few feet behind him, hand on his holster. Like most of the dudes ain't strapped at this party. "Got a call about screaming. Everything good?"

"Yeah," Oscar says, lying through his teeth and knowing it's obvious, "you know how these get, huh?"

"Sure," Estevez says, more serious now. He's scanning the house behind them, even if he probably can't see much. "Miss?"

Oscar flinches. Both he and Santi turn their heads, Leticia with her swollen lip and her carefully cradled hand staring out towards them with a dead look in her eye.

"Miss," Estevez says, like he's talking to a spooked animal or something, and it makes Oscar bristle, "you wanna step outside?"

She raises an eyebrow. Says, to Oscar's surprise, "No."

Estevez blinks. Clearly wasn't expecting that. He opens his mouth, closes it. Says, after a solid ten seconds of shocked silence, "Are you hurt?"

She tilts her head, says, "I fell."

Oscar sees Santi smirk. Feels fury where there was just distaste, curls his hands into fists and hopes neither Estevez or his partner notice.

"That so?" Estevez asks. He sounds sad, looks it when Oscar glances at him.

Leticia shrugs. Says, "Yeah. Sorry."

"'S all good, Officer," Santi says. He's grinning, wide and happy to have gotten away with his shit again. Oscar tries to take a calming breath and only marginally relaxes.

"Sure," Estevez says. Tilts his head at them. "Try to keep it down, yeah? Have a good night."

"You, too," Oscar says, and the three of them watch as both officers climb into their car. They say nothing until it's clear the cops are gone from the block entirely. "Jesus," Oscar says, like an exhale, and then turns to Chilanga, says, "I can drive you to Urgent Care."

"She's fine," Santi says, flat. When he looks at her all Oscar sees is distaste. "No es nada."

"Mutha—"

"Hey," Oscar interrupts her, "c'mon. Lemme drive you."

"The fuck I need your help for," she says, but pushes past the both of them to walk out the door anyway. Oscar trails after her, means to just unlock the door so she can sit tight while he grabs Claudia. Santi decides to follow them out, though, and he's still cussing at Leticia even if she's giving it back just as bad.

"Don't know why the fuck you complaining—"

"Look at my hand," she snaps, "I need a fucking hospital, pendejo."

"You shouldn'ta made me mad," Santi says, and she spins around, eyes wide, mouth sneering. Oscar catches her around the waist, tries to keep himself between them. He knows how this shit tends to end, grew up learning when to let his folks keep at it and when to try and get Cesar out of there.

"Ya," he says to her, "ignore him, I gotchu—"

"You after my girl now, compa?" Santi starts, "one cachuca bitch not enough for you, huh—"