Chapter Text
beep beep beep
The loud blare of the alarm clock filters into Baran’s consciousness, just barely pulling her towards wakefulness before a loud thwack turns it off. She’s about to drift back off, back into the dream she had been having, details fuzzy but full of warmth and sun. Maybe Trinity had been there, or Yolanda, maybe it was ice cream… she never finds out, because instead she’s being pulled closer to the other body in her bed, her face is being peppered with kisses, making her impossibly warmer and infuriatingly more awake.
“Love,” her companion whispers, dropping one more kiss on the center of Baran’s forehead before flopping back down next to her.
“I’m awake,” Baran groans, rubbing a hand over her face, glancing at the alarm clock with bleary eyes. 5:17 shines back at her, mocking. The room around her is much less sunny than her dream, the pre-dawn light only just beginning to come in through the open windows. She sits up, is about to swing her legs over the edge of the bed, when an arm tightens around her waist, and a head buries itself against the small of her back.
“Don’t get up,” Trinity mumbles into her shirt. Baran just laughs softly, twists in the other woman’s arms until they’re laying face to face, Trinity’s eyes shut tight against the morning. It’s her turn to repay the wake-up favor, as she gently places kisses across Trinity’s forehead, her cheeks, her nose, working her way slowly down to her lips. Trinity sighs appreciatively when she reaches her destination, lips parting almost immediately to deepen the kiss. Baran brings a hand up to gently cup Trinity’s jaw as the younger woman’s hands wind their way around Baran’s back under her shirt. Hands that tighten frantically when she feels Baran begin to pull away. “No fair.” Trinity’s eyes finally blink open.
“No fair?” Baran smirks, trying, and failing, to sit back up.
“You started something without intending to finish it.” One of Trinity’s hands slips around to Baran’s front, fingers lightly tracing over her stomach.
“I started something?” She raises an eyebrow. “If I remember right, you woke me up by kissing me.”
“Yeah, and I was planning to follow through,” Trinity says, surging forward to capture Baran’s lips again, moving to trail kisses behind her ear and down her neck after a moment.
“I have to go,” Baran laughs despite herself, one hand winding into Trinity’s hair in a half-hearted attempt to stop her.
“Skip pilates,” Trinity murmurs against her collarbone, biting gently. “Stay here with me.”
“Love, I have to go.” Baran really does pull away now, pulling Trinity off by her hair. Her resolve slips a little when she sees her girlfriend’s face, though. Lips swollen, pupils blown, looking thoroughly wrecked already.
“Please,” Trinity whispers, and, with a wicked glint in her eye, pulls Baran’s hand to her, slips it under her pajama shorts, into her underwear, into the wet heat there. “Skip pilates.” Baran loosens her grip in her hair, and Trinity drops her head back to her neck, biting and licking and doing her best to not leave any marks.
“Fine,” Baran concedes, smiling. Trinity releases her hold on Baran’s wrist, but Baran keeps her hand where it had been placed, two fingers swiping widely over Trinity’s clit, revelling in the gasps that slip out against her skin. She stays there, continues on, driving Trinity higher and higher, closer and closer, until she has her right on the edge and– stops. Chuckles when that results in a frustrated whine. Brings her wet fingers to Trinity’s lips, traces lightly over the bottom one before pushing gently inside. “If I’m going to skip, then you’re going to make it worth my while. Sound fair?” Trinity nods emphatically, Baran’s fingers pulling out with a loud pop. “Then get to it.” Baran quirks an eyebrow as she pushes her girlfriend’s head down.
In the end, they both barely make it to work on time, and only because Baran concedes on their ‘no carpooling,’ rule. Yolanda is waiting for them near Baran’s usual parking spot on the top level of the garage. “Cutting it a little close, you two,” she says, smiling, as she pulls Trinity into a hug, the younger woman melting against her.
“Yes, well, someone convinced me to skip my workout this morning.” Baran passes the pair, pausing briefly to place her hand on Yolanda’s shoulder, thumb stroking gently along her neck. “How was the night shift?”
Yolanda just sighed heavily, in a way that communicated it had been perhaps a little more than normal. “Walsh owes me for picking that one up,” she says, shaking her head, clearing the memories. “You two better get going.” And like that the moment is gone. She’s dropping a quick kiss on Trinity’s waiting lips and pushing away, heading over to her own car. “Have a good day,” she adds just before shutting the door.
“I hate night shift,” Trinity mumbles once she’s gone.
Baran and Trinity begin walking in, the distance between them growing, slowly becoming more professional the closer they get to the doors. By the time they’re in the elevator, there’s a perfectly appropriate three feet between them, Trinity slumped against the wall. She looked so tired, and lonely, and… completely like herself, like her work self. The version of her that had to maintain professional boundaries, that was a damn good doctor, who could laugh and joke with her patients, all while staying two steps ahead, careful not to say too much, give too much of herself away. As a pediatric fellow, Trinity saw mostly children in the ED now, but there were always parents, always coworkers. Everyone knew about Dr. Santos and Dr. Garcia, or if they didn’t, it wasn’t hard to figure out– casual jabs at one another, seeking each other out for support or encouragement after tough cases, lunch in the breakroom on slower days. Those stolen moments buoyed her, made all the horribleness around them bearable. Shifts without Yolanda wore her out, wore her down, even if it was just Yolanda’s day off. Being on opposite shifts from her was worse. No stolen time during the day, and no time to forget it all together at night.
Baran’s hand twitches at her side, wanting to reach out, to cross the elevator, to do something to ease the tension in her partner’s shoulders. She wants to let herself be a substitute, knows that a “good catch Dr. Santos,” or a “do you need anything Dr. Santos” does help, but also knows that all of the calculation that comes with those moments doesn’t make them nearly as effective. Knows that sometimes the moment of mental math, wondering if she has touched Trinity more than she’s touched anyone else this shift, makes the touch not worth it in the first place.
Trinity catches her staring, and Baran gives in, taking a step towards her, hand outstretched– the elevator dings and the doors slide open. The sounds and smells and the chaos of the emergency room slip in to join them. Trinity lets her hip brush Baran’s hand as she leaves.
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The shift begins to pass in much the same way. Baran keeps finding herself with almost-moments with Trinity, when the fellow is charting or leaves an exam room at the same time. And always, just as she’s about to say something, or place a comforting hand on her elbow, or really anything, something or someone interrupts her. It’s starting to drive her crazy, and a frustrated look must cross her face, because sometime around noon, Trinity is catching her eye and cocking her head toward the supply closet.
It’s quieter in there, and a little cooler, and Baran lets herself stand a little closer to Trinity. She hums happily as the younger woman’s hands slip inside her jacket and around her hips.
“Are you doing okay?” Trinity asks gently, seeking Baran’s eyes.
“Me?” Baran raises an eyebrow. “I’ve been trying all day to get a moment to ask you the same thing.”
“Oh,” Trinity starts. She’s about to say more when the door swings open and Jesse comes in, heading for the chest tubes. Baran steps back automatically, rolling her eyes a little.
“Thank you Dr. Santos,” Baran says, dropping back into a more professional tone. Trinity just nods and then she is gone.
It’s hours before she even gets a chance at another moment. Trinity is charting near the central nurses’s station, wrapping up what must be close to her last notes of the shift. Baran is leaning against the counter nearby, debating whether or not she could quietly ask about dinner plans now, when she is again interrupted.
“All right, Dr. Al,” Abbot barks, clapping his hands together as he slides up next to Baran, leaning on the counter. “I think you’re really gonna like this one.”
“Oh, no, not again.” Baran rolls her eyes, not bothering to look up from the tablet in her hands. “I’ve told you before, I’m perfec-”
“Ah ah ah, not so fast,” Abbot interrupts, “you haven’t even let me tell you about her.”
“Her?” Baran can’t help herself, she does look up at that. Abbot had been playing this game with her for weeks now, having convinced himself that his primary purpose in life must be finding Baran a partner to settle down with. Until now, it had all been men, mostly guys he knew from SWAT work, or from his Army days.
“See, I knew that would get you! Yes, her.” His eyes sparkle with laughter. “You know, if your problem with all my previous proposals was that they’re men, you could have just said so.”
“That’s not, uh,” she all but whispers, fighting to find the right thing to say, to get herself out of this without giving away too much. Over Abbot’s shoulder, she can see Trinity freeze, listening.
“Really, Al. Next you’re gonna tell me you’re in a relationship,” he sighs and finally picks up his own tablet, appearing to be ready to move on to his actual job. “You’re not, right?”
Baran isn’t looking at him at all when she says, tight lipped, “No, I’m not.” Trinity slams her dictaphone down and walks away.
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They don’t get a chance to talk about it for three days. Yolanda had picked up a whole week of night shifts from Walsh, and it was Baran’s two-night stretch with Jasper at home. Usually that would mean Trinity and Yolanda sleeping at their place, usually they would manage one dinner all together, usually they would text and call Baran near constantly. But this week was not usual. Because Yolanda was on nights and Trinity decided Dennis needed a roommate again. Instead of coming back to Baran’s place after work, Trinity had cited some personal crisis happening with the younger doctor, driven home with him, and promptly shut off her phone. The texts and calls in the following few days had been sporadic. Moments to catch Trinity at work even more so. She hadn’t even seen Yolanda since that morning in the parking garage.
So by Friday, when she and Trinity have spent all day saving people from a massive multi-car pileup on the freeway, and Yolanda has spent all day flipping her sleep schedule, and Jasper has gone back to his dad’s (which is routine but never easier), Baran is fried. Running on fumes, she picks up Thai food from their favorite place and drives to Yolanda and Trinity’s apartment. Just assumes they’ll be there. No one had texted her to make a plan. She’s tired, and emotionally drained, and lonely, and she doesn’t know what she was expecting when she walks into the apartment, but it certainly wasn’t this. Wasn’t Yolanda sitting on the couch with a crying Trinity next to her, head in her lap.
“I was just about to call you,” Yolanda says when she sees Baran, focused eyes following as Baran drops her bag and keys by the door, brings the food to the kitchen, and comes to join the pair on the couch. Baran curls into Yolanda’s side, rests her head on her shoulder. “Seems like we have some talking to do.” Yolanda inclines her head slightly toward Trinity.
“This is about me?” Baran asks incredulously as she pulls back and sits up straighter, one hand coming to rest gently in Trinity’s hair.
“No,” Trinity says at the same moment Yolanda rolls her eyes and says “Yes.”
“No,” Trinity tries again, fixing Yolanda with a look that says don’t speak for me. She sits up. “It’s about all of this. Us.”
Yolanda sighs like she’s bracing for impact, so Baran tries to enter softly. She takes Trinity’s hand. “Love, what brought this on?” she asks softly.
“Abbot,” Trinity replies.
“Abbot?” Yolanda asks, surprised. Baran drops Trinity’s hand, scoots a little farther away on the couch.
“Yes. Did you know–” Trinity starts and turns to Yolanda. “That Dr. Abbot has been trying to set our girlfriend up on dates for weeks now?”
“It has not been weeks–”
“Weeks,” Trinity interrupts. “And on Wednesday, Abbot got the bright idea that actually Baran might be gay so he started pitching this poor woman and Baran actually seemed a little bit interested.”
“Is that true?” Yolanda turns to her, eyes wide.
“I was not interested.” Baran fights the urge to roll her eyes. “I was never going to take him up on his offer– no matter the gender.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Trinity asserts.
“Well if it doesn’t matter, then what’s the problem?” Baran is trying to see the issue here, she really is. But she’s been practically ghosted for three days. She’s tired. And Trinity has apparently been ruminating on what Baran thought was a fairly inconsequential conversation with a coworker. She feels like a feral dog backed into a corner.
“The problem,” Trinity huffs, “is that you couldn’t even tell him you’re in a relationship.”
“Of course I couldn’t tell him I’m in a relationship,” she practically shouts. The feral dog barks. “HR doesn’t even know I’m in a relationship. Can you imagine the shit–”
“I’m not saying you had to tell him you’re dating us. I’m just saying you could have told him you’re dating someone.” Trinity is breathing hard. There’s a moment of quiet, heavy with all that’s been said and all that’s about to be.
Baran has pushed herself to the far end of the couch, knees tucked up to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around herself. “I couldn’t,” she says quietly. Dog in the corner, too visible, people too close.
“Why not?” Trinity asks.
“I just,” Baran says, simply, “couldn’t.” She shrugs a little. They’ve had this conversation before. She doesn’t know why Trinity is expecting something different.
Trinity reels back, renewed frustration surging through her, opens her mouth to speak before Yolanda cuts her off with a look. Yolanda turns to face Baran more fully then, her shoulders creating a semblance of a barrier between Baran and Trinity. “No, actually, B, why not?” Yolanda asks. “Why can’t our coworkers know you’re dating someone?”
“Because…” she, or maybe the feral dog, tries for deflection. “That always comes with follow up questions. People find out you’re dating someone and then it’s all ‘who’s the lucky guy,’ and ‘oh how come we never hear about him?’ or even worse, ‘how come we haven’t met him yet?’ I just… I’m already lying enough. I don’t want to lie like that, too.”
“That’s just–” Trinity starts, but is silenced when Yolanda raises a hand to stop her.
“Baby,” Yolanda says, reaching a hand out to rest gently on Baran’s knee. “Do people at work not know you’re gay?”
“What?” Trinity and Baran ask in unison.
“All of those examples about your hypothetical fake partner were men. Do people not know you’re gay?”
Baran can’t take the eye contact Yolanda levels at her. Can’t take Trinity’s gaze just over the surgeon’s shoulder, either. She feels raw, exposed, too known. Too seen. “Not in so many words,” she says into her lap, tucking her face away, trying to create just a little bit more distance.
“Baran,” Yolanda sighs, weaving her fingers into the hair at the top of Baran’s head, moving back and forth soothingly until she picks herself back up to look at them both.
“That conversation with Abbot was truly the first time it’s come up,” she explains. “I don’t like bringing my personal life into work with me, you know that.”
“That’s not true,” Trinity says.
“What’s not true?”
“You talk about your personal life all the time.” Trinity’s frustration, or maybe anger, is back. “You talk about Jasper, you talk about pilates, hell, you talk about your ex-husband! You just don’t talk about us.”
“That’s because no one knows about us.” Baran hugs her legs tighter.
“And why is that?”
“Because they can’t know about us,” Baran seethes. They’ve been over this a thousand times.
“Can’t they?” Trinity is not going to drop it.
“Trinity,” Yolanda sighs, hand still firm on Baran’s knee, thumb tracing ceaseless circles against her jeans.
“No, let me finish,” Trinity gets up from the couch then, begins pacing around the living room. “Why can’t people know about us? What is there for HR to pick apart, really? I understand it would have been an issue two years ago, but now? We’re three consenting adults who have all consented to be in relationships with each other. I’m not your subordinate anymore, not really. Yola certainly isn’t. You’ve proven that you don’t play favorites, in fact, you probably talk to me less than other doctors because of our relationship. So why can’t people know?”
“Because Jasper doesn’t know,” she says. It’s not the whole truth, she doesn’t think. But she feels too exposed right now to examine the other parts. Has to settle for what she knows.
“Great!” Trinity throws up her hands. “Our coworkers don’t know Jasper, so no one will tell him.”
“McKay knows Jasper,” Yolanda points out.
“McKay knows how to keep a secret,” Trinity says. She looks back at Baran expectantly.
“I’m not ready to tell Jasper,” Baran says. That had been a rule since day one. Don’t tell Jasper his mom has two girlfriends. Trinity and Yolanda had agreed immediately.
“I’m not asking you to tell him.” Trinity comes closer now, drops to her knees in front of the couch so they’re eye to eye. “But why can’t you tell other people?”
Baran looks at her for a long time. Why can’t she tell other people? What was she so afraid of, really? Two and a half years ago, her biggest fear would have been people finding out about her seizures. But that ship had well and truly sailed, and there were moments– brief ones– where Baran found herself almost grateful for it. The ED functioned better with two attendings. In some ways it had opened her up enough to find this space with Trinity and Yolanda. Her co-parenting relationship with David was better. It had been hard to be honest, but eventually she recognized the weight that had come off her shoulders. Realized she could breathe deeper.
For a moment she lets herself believe that being open about her love life might bring the same relief too. Wonders what it might be like to have no secrets at all.
She can’t picture that version of herself, not really. For as long as she can remember, she’s always had something to hide. Or conceal. To not let others see.
The feral dog in her chest whines. It doesn’t know how to be loved.
“I’m not ready,” Baran answers for it.
“Jesus Christ, Baran,” Trinity heaves, standing back up. “I feel like I’m back in the fucking closet.”
“Trinity!” Yolanda’s cry is sharper now.
The dog finds its bark, and Baran finds herself standing to face Trinity. “Back in the closet? Back in the closet?” She shouts, waves her hands at the room around them. “Yeah, the apartment you share with your girlfriend sure looks like a really cramped closet.”
“Okay,” Yolanda says, standing up to put herself between the two. It doesn’t matter though, Baran is already backing away and gathering her things. “I think we’ve found our way into a bigger thing that needs to be talked out.”
“You two go ahead and talk all you want,” Baran says, putting on her shoes. “I’m going home.”
“Don’t leave,” Trinity begs. “There’s still more we need to–”
“What more is there to talk about?” Baran cuts her off. “You’ve said you don’t want to be a secret anymore, I’ve said I’m not ready. So I’m going home. Enjoy your fucking dinner.” The door slams behind her as she goes.