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It was supposed to be a fun, hospital-free weekend.
At least, that’s what Trinity had told Dennis earlier that day, when she’d convinced him to go to a nearby laser tag place. She’d only been one other time, back when she was still in med school doing a rotation at Presby as part of some modern torture method under the guise of bonding with staff. She had gone for an hour, then left, feigning a personal emergency when in reality she just wanted to get home and sleep.
But laser tag itself had been fun, even paired with forced connection, so when she found out Dennis had never been–“The closest thing we had to an arcade was two pinball machines at the local diner,” he’d said–she thought to include the experience as part of her ever-growing list of things to expose Dennis to.
That, and she needed a distraction. R2 had been kicking her ass and it was her first weekend off in what felt like years. Luckily, he'd also managed to get Saturday off, which meant their Friday night could be spent doing much more exciting things than cleaning out wounds and charting. Or in her case, cleaning out wounds, charting, and dodging calls and texts from her girlfriend. Texts that had gotten increasingly snippy the past two weeks, for good reason.
But Trinity trudged on, didn’t let it affect their professional relationship–for the most part. If she was a little slower than the other residents at picking up the traumas that rolled in, no one noticed or cared enough to say anything about it.
Which was fine.
She didn’t want to talk about it.
But that didn't mean she couldn't use it as the final reason for their night out, the tipping point that finally got her roommate to say yes to running around shooting strangers with laser guns to blow off some steam.
And they had a great time, for the most part.
(At least, Trinity did. The unnatural form of her shoulder and the blood after the fall might’ve put Dennis off of laser tag for the foreseeable future.)
The place was a little older, the wear and tear on the equipment and landscape obvious, but they had great deals and the workers were nice enough. The downside is that if it was cheap enough for an R2 and intern, it was cheap enough for drunk college students.
Which is how she ends up cradling her right arm, stabilizing her right shoulder as she and Dennis pile into her car.
She slumps in the passenger seat, letting her head rest on the window. At least she can look forward to wallowing in bed while she ices her shoulder.
Trinity squints as they approach a familiar building, turning in her seat to face her roommate.
“What are we doing here? I thought we were going home.”
“Nope.” Dennis pulls the car into a nearby parking spot, cutting off the engine.
“I don’t need to go to the hospital for a dislocated shoulder. And I already popped it back in.”
Dennis winces at the memory. “Trust me, I remember,” he says. “But you need to get your head checked out.”
Trinity rolls her eyes. “I’m fine. Minor scratch, no LOC,” she recites. “We have a first aid kit. I’ve got a sling and an icepack at home for my shoulder. I’m good.”
“Well, it can’t hurt to make sure.” He exits the vehicle, giving her no time to protest before he’s jogging over to the passenger side and opening the door. “We’re already here. And personally, I don’t want to find you unresponsive in the morning because of an untreated brain injury.”
She stares at him for a moment, clearly annoyed, but nevertheless relents. “You’re so dramatic, Huck,” she scoffs, stepping carefully out of the car.
A part of her appreciates the well-meaning concern, not often finding herself on the receiving end of such things. Still, she’d rather go home and grit her teeth through the pain in her shoulder and the barely there throbbing of her head than step back into the place she’d been promised a weekend away from for the first time in months.
The two enter through the front to the waiting room, Dennis forcing Trinity down into an open seat while he goes up to talk to the night shift ward clerk.
He returns with an icepack, wordlessly handing it over while he starts filling out her paperwork. It’s a few minutes of moderate silence, Trinity only speaking up when the paperwork asks for something Dennis doesn’t know. She’s a little shocked at how little information he needs from her, though she supposes they’ve learned a lot about each other over the last year or so.
When her name is called an hour later–must be some kind of record, Trinity thinks–the two stand and are met by Dr. Parker Ellis, her favorite member of the night shift Pitt crew.
“What’d you do this time?” Parker asks, the teasing grin on her face pulling an easy smile from Trinity.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she quips.
“She got into a fight and fell,” Dennis answers, pointedly avoiding the betrayed look on his roommate’s face.
“A fight? The hell are you getting in a fight for?” Parker leads them into an open exam room, gesturing for Trinity to take a seat.
She clambers onto the exam table, only wincing slightly when she jostles her right arm.
“It wasn’t a fight. Just some guys being annoying. Nothing new,” she says. “I popped my shoulder, then I fixed it. Huckleberry’s just a worrier.”
Parker nods before turning to Dennis, who immediately rattles off a presentation as if he’s on the clock. “She fell and landed on her right shoulder, dislocating it, then performed a closed reduction, despite me telling her to at least let me do it. Also experienced trauma to the head from when she went down and has a minor head lac by her hairline.”
She hums, already starting her examination. “Head lac looks small. We’ll get it cleaned up and get some dermabond on it, won’t need stitches,” she says, before checking her eye movement. “How’s your head feeling? Any dizziness, headache, light sensitivity?”
“Nope.”
“She was complaining about her head hurting earlier,” Dennis pipes up, earning a glare from Trinity. “She also said she didn’t lose consciousness, but it was a minute before I got to her so I can’t say for sure.”
At this point, Dennis is a good five feet away from the exam table. But that doesn’t stop Trinity from swiping at him with her good arm to get him to shut up.
“Cut it out,” Parker says, shaking her head.
Trinity glowers but complies, grabbing the icepack in her lap and pressing it back against her right shoulder.
“Dr. Santos, any chance you want to start answering my questions honestly?”
The girl in question simply shrugs.
With an exasperated sigh, Parker asks, “How’s that shoulder feeling? Any pain?”
“It’s fine.”
“On a scale of 1 to 10–”
“1. Barely feel it.”
Another hum. When Parker starts to check her shoulder, Trinity can’t help but let out a pained hiss.
Parker looks at her, raises a brow.
“... Okay, maybe a 5 or 6,” Trinity admits. “But seriously, it’s fine. I’ve dealt with this before, and I’ve got a sling and icepacks at home. In a couple weeks, it’ll be good as new.”
She knows she’s being stubborn, but she’s also right. This isn’t the first time she’s messed up her shoulder, and it probably won’t be the last. In fact, it’d be difficult to name a body part or joint she hadn’t tweaked in one way or another during her illustrious–and some would say short-lived–stint as an elite gymnast.
But all this means nothing to her treating physician, who simply peels off her gloves and sighs. “Alright, we’ll get an x-ray of your shoulder, just to make sure everything’s sitting correctly, and I’ll prescribe you some pain meds for the week, as needed. I won’t force you to get a head CT since you’re alert, no memory loss, eyes are tracking fine, and you don’t seem any more irritable than usual,” Parker says, earning an eye roll from Trinity. “But Whitaker should monitor you overnight just in case. After your x-ray–”
The door suddenly opens, cutting her off.
Dr. Yolanda Garcia stands just inside the door, arms crossed and looking none too pleased about the sight in front of her.
“What are you doing here?”
“What am I–” Yolanda scoffs. “I work here. What are you doing here?”
“You’re not supposed to be working tonight,” Trinity says.
“I’m covering for Walsh.”
“Likely story.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
“Okay.” Parker holds her hands out, shutting both of them up. She looks between the two of them, before turning to the surgeon. “Dr. Garcia, I didn’t call for a consult.”
Trinity sees Yolanda tense, her eyes darting towards Parker.
“I know. I was down here for Shen’s patient and–” Her eyes land on the woman perched on the exam table.
“Right.” Parker walks over to the computer, typing something in before returning to Trinity. She gives her good shoulder a gentle squeeze before grabbing the melted icepack pressed against her other shoulder. “I’ll get another one of these and see what the line for the x-ray looks like, maybe bump you up so you can get home and rest,” she says. “When I get back, I’ll fix up your head lac.”
“I can do it,” Yolanda says.
“You’re probably needed elsewhere, Dr. Garcia,” Trinity responds, straightening up as she stares at the surgeon.
“Not right now, I’m not.” Yolanda steps closer. Her eyes are trained on Trinity’s good shoulder, right where Parker’s hand rests. “I’m sure Dr. Ellis appreciates one less patient to deal with.”
Once again Parker looks between them, eyes searching. She seems to find it when she nods, an amused smile on her face as she removes her hand from Trinity’s shoulder. “Be my guest. I’ll be back in a few.”
“I’ll go with you,” Dennis says, already following her out the door before Trinity can protest.
She huffs. Traitor.
The cacophony of the ED spills into the room for a few seconds before the door falls shut, muffling them again.
Trinity sits silently. Her eyes move from Yolanda to the wall, mindlessly scanning the flyers and signs posted on it. There’s a light squeak from Yolanda’s shoes as she moves closer, but she doesn’t look at her until she’s forced to, when the surgeon moves her head to take a look at her injury.
It’s impossible to stop her breath from catching when she realizes just how close Yolanda’s face is. Trinity only hopes the other doesn’t notice, but judging by the way the corner of Yolanda’s mouth quirks up, she does.
Yolanda takes longer than normal to check out the wound. At least, Trinity assumes so because she’d looked at it herself in the mirror earlier and it was a superficial cut, less than two inches, practically nothing compared to the cases they’d worked together.
She’s gentle as she treats the wound but says nothing. It doesn’t shock Trinity, who is (unfortunately) well acquainted with Yolanda’s mastery of the silent treatment. Go figure this is the closest they’ve been in weeks and it’s only because Trinity’s injured herself.
The sting of the alcohol makes Trinity wince, but otherwise the room stays silent.
For someone who’s too accustomed to a steady baseline of noise, the lack of sound, save for Yolanda’s movements… It's unnerving.
Trinity doesn’t like it.
Against all odds, Yolanda’s the one to break first.
“You wanna tell me what happened?”
Trinity bites the inside of her cheek. “No.”
“Of course not.” Yolanda rolls her eyes. “Just show up to the hospital at midnight with a dislocated shoulder and a head wound but don’t tell me why. That’s fine.”
“It’s not a big deal. You don’t need to worry about it.”
“Of course I do. When my girlfriend ends up in the ED, it doesn’t matter if she’s avoiding me, I’m going to worry about it.”
Trinity tenses. She wants to protest, deny any sort of avoidance. Not doing so would admit there's a problem, one she knew was on her to fix.
Instead, she says, “I fell and hit my head. It’s nothing.”
“Clearly not nothing if Whitaker brought you here and you need an x-ray.”
“He overreacts,” Trinity mutters. “And I think I freaked him out a little when I popped my shoulder back in.”
That gets a light hum from Yolanda, who’s always been a little too supportive of Trinity’s affinity for tormenting her roommate. But it’s also not enough of an answer for the surgeon who fixes her with an inquiring look, urging her to go on.
“We went to laser tag,” Trinity starts.
Yolanda doesn’t even try to hide the snort, but stays silent otherwise.
“Anyway, Huck’s never been and they were having, like, an unlimited sessions thing after 9pm, so I thought I’d take him. There were these frat guys who thought they were hot shit and they were getting a little too obnoxious for me, so I kind of… got into it with them. I was chasing this guy when I tripped, slammed down on my shoulder. Hit my head against the wall on the way down or something.”
Yolanda releases a deep breath but stills.
Trinity fiddles with her fingers, eyes peering up to gauge the surgeon’s reaction.
“Did you win?”
That’s not the response she expects.
“Huh?”
Brown eyes meet green for a moment before Trinity feels the light pressure of Yolanda treating her wound again.
“Did you beat the frat guys?”
“Oh.” Trinity ducks her head–or, at least, she tries to but Yolanda holds it steady. “Uh, I think so. I didn’t really get a picture of the scoreboard, but I feel like I kicked ass.”
Yolanda hums, pulling off her gloves and tossing them. “Good.”
She returns to Trinity’s side, hand reaching out to inspect the newly treated cut. “Should heal in a week. You know what to do if there’s issues,” she states. But she doesn’t pull her hand away, only shifts it down to gently cup Trinity’s cheek. Her thumbs brushes against the skin and the younger woman can’t help but lean into her touch.
“I miss you.”
The admission surprises Trinity, even as it comes out of her own mouth. This wasn’t exactly what she had in mind for this conversation. (Read: She actually hadn’t thought about having this conversation at all until this very moment.)
It’s the truth, though. She hadn’t realized how ingrained Yolanda had become in her every day routine, until she suddenly wasn’t. No idea how natural it had become to bring her a chai latte every morning from the cafe near her apartment, or to text her when she got home safe, or to clear out space in her top drawer for all the nights that Yolanda came home to her.
“I’m right here.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I know.” The surgeon sighs, removing her hand. “But you’re the one who disappeared on me, Trin.”
Trinity’s face falls. “I know.”
A beat.
A deep breath.
“I don’t need to know everything,” Yolanda says. “Hell, I don’t need to know most things, if you’re not ready. I know this version of us is new, but I–... when I wake up in the middle of the night and you’re sitting on the bathroom floor dissociating, it’d be nice if you told me something, anything. Instead of just telling me you’re fine and then leaving. Or when you shut down in the middle of dinner and I ask if you’re okay, you just kiss me to distract me or something.” She moves her hand away, rubbing at her face in frustration. “I just want to help, and it feels like you’re not interested in that.”
“I know. You’re right. I’m sorry.” Trinity scratches at the back of her neck. “I’m not… I want to tell you. I do. I’m just–... I’m not very good at it. The whole talking it out kind of thing.”
“Yeah, I got that.”
“No, I mean– Like, yes, the opening up thing is hard for me. We both know that. Pretty sure everyone in this building knows that,” Trinity remarks, earning a low chuckle from Yolanda. “It’s not just that. When stuff like that happens, I’m not– I don’t–... The words aren’t there. They’re not, and I don’t want to get frustrated or annoyed that the words aren’t there when you’re right there being so fucking… patient and kind with me.” She shrugs with her good shoulder. “It’s just easier to say I’m fine, but… I’ll try.”
Yolanda stares at her for a few seconds, teeth tugging at her bottom lip, before she nods. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah.”
“So… we’re good?” Trinity asks, an impish grin making its way onto her face.
The surgeon rolls her eyes, not unkindly. “We’re good,” she agrees. “But the next time it happens, we try to talk about it, okay? You can’t just up and leave.”
“Deal.”
Reaching for Trinity’s hand, Yolanda laces their fingers together before giving them a gentle squeeze. She leans down to press a kiss to the younger woman’s forehead when the door opens.
“Hm. Abbot owes me 50 bucks.”
Yolanda groans, head falling (gently) on top of Trinity’s. “You all have a gambling problem,” she mumbles.
Trinity can’t help but laugh, shifting to rest her head against Yolanda’s chest. She brings up their joined hands, pressing a kiss to Yolanda's, before they pull away from each other.
“Alright, lovebirds. Time to get Santos her x-ray so she can go home and terrorize Whitaker instead of the night shift,” Parker announces.
Wrapping an arm around her waist, Yolanda helps Trinity off the exam table. When Parker moves to provide support, Yolanda’s grip tightens, making her girlfriend chuckle. “I’ll take her,” Yolanda says.
Parker doesn't push, opening the door for them instead.
They make their way through the Pitt towards the radiology suite. “You know you don’t have to hold me. I hurt my arm, not my leg,” Trinity says, though the way she’s leaning into Yolanda’s hold contradicts her words.
“I know. But this is probably the only time I’ll have an excuse to hold you at work.”
“Unless someone else needs a forearm fasciotomy,” Trinity jokes.
“Yeah, but hoping for that is kind of messed up, isn’t it?”
The x-ray only takes a few minutes and by the time she’s back in the exam room, they’ve got the results.
“Everything looks good,” Parker declares, taking a look at the images and radiology’s assessment. “I’d say good job on the reduction, but maybe next time let someone else do it for you. Especially if the person nearby is also a doctor.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.” Trinity almost brings her right hand up to salute, but Yolanda–always one step ahead it seemed–holds her arm down, so her hand sort of just flails by her side.
Dennis, having returned to the room while they were gone, snickers in the corner. Trinity flips him off with her free hand.
“Anyway, you know the drill. Sling for a few weeks, ice it a couple times a day, some light shoulder exercises to keep it from getting too stiff.” Parker hands over her discharge papers along with a bottle of pain meds. “Take these when you need them. Don’t try to tough it out. You’re a doctor, you know how this works.”
Trinity nods. “Thanks, Parker.”
“Sure.” Parker turns to Yolanda. “I assume you’re taking care of her?”
“Yeah, but not until after my shift,” she responds. “White chocolate can handle her until I get back, right?”
Dennis gulps when he makes eye contact with the surgeon, nodding rapidly. “Yeah, ‘course. I got it. Her! I got her.”
“Good.” Yolanda smirks, glancing over at Parker before pressing a quick kiss to Trinity’s lips. “I have to go, but I’ll be over when I get off. With pancakes.”
“Okay. See you.”
Her eyes track the surgeon as she saunters out, off to go cut people open and save lives.
When she and Dennis exit the room a few minutes later, she catches Yolanda’s gaze from across the hub.
She sends her a smile before following her roommate out of the hospital.
They’re walking back to the car when Trinity pauses, looks at Dennis with eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“Did you know she was gonna be here tonight?”
Dennis falters mid-step before continuing towards the car. “Nope.”
“Okay, next thing I have to teach you is how to lie, because that was terrible.”
She doesn’t complain when Dennis opens the door for her, climbing in, but stops him just before he closes it.
“How’d you know she was working? No way you asked around about her. I would’ve heard something.”
She'd practically forced the boy to take an oath not to talk about her relationship with Yolanda at work. He's loyal enough to do it without threat, but Trinity found casual blackmail through the use of childhood photos to be a proven tactic.
The boy shrugs. “Samira was telling me about her trip with Dr. Walsh this weekend,” he says. “I made an educated guess.”
When Yolanda knocks on their front door in the morning, Trinity greets her with a kiss much less appropriate than the one they'd shared in front of Parker. She grips Yolanda’s waist with her hand that’s not mostly restricted by a sling, drawing a low groan from her girlfriend.
They pull apart, but just enough to rest their foreheads together. “What was that for?” Yolanda breathes out.
“I missed you,” Trinity says simply.
“I missed you, too,” Yolanda replies, leaning forward to press her lips against Trinity’s. This kiss is softer, lazier, the exhaustion from Yolanda’s shift creeping in.
Trinity moves away before pulling Yolanda towards the kitchen. She sits her girlfriend down at the dining table and grabs the takeout bag in her hand. “I also missed free pancakes,” she says, setting the containers out on the table.
“I knew you just missed having a supplier,” Yolanda teases.
“Only when they’re as beautiful as you.” Trinity moves towards her, grinning.
“Ooh, she’s good at laser tag and pick-up lines,” she jests, grabbing the girl’s hips and pulling her to stand between her legs.
“Yeah, I’m a catch, didn’t you know?”
“Lucky me.”