Summary: Some things even Trinity Santos can’t fix. All she can do is wait.
CW: pure angst, kind of hurt/comfort for Trinity, established relationship, MVC-accurate and life-threatening injuries but probable medical inaccuracies, Trinity crashing out, fic exclusively follows Trinity and not you, reader is undescribed except for wearing mascara, found family and “it takes a village” vibes, platonic work-friendship, DD:DNE on the angst and injuries.
WC: 4.3k
A/N: Trinity Santos needs a freaking hug this season.
Sorry this is so dark, I’m dumping my own vehicle trauma on you right now because fanfiction is nothing if not self-indulgent.
It’s late and I’m tired and I worked on this non-stop starting the moment I posted my Cassie McKay piece because I’ve been waiting for this one’s turn.
Anyway, I’m done yapping. Sorry if you don’t like it.
Based on this request:
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Trinity Santos has been on edge all day and it’s impossible to ignore. She’s been pacing the Emergency Department like she’s trying to shake off this feeling that’s been gnawing at her since the moment she left her apartment. Call it Mercury retrograde, the stars aligned against her, whatever you will. Normally she would shrug it off, she’s good at that. But today, every little thing is setting her nerves on fire because she knows inherently that something is wrong, she just doesn’t know what it is.
The phone rings and Dana is answering it with her usual “Go ahead, Medic Command.”
Trinity doesn’t even glance up, her fingers flying across the keyboard as she tries to catch up on her backlog of notes that have been piling up all day.
“Incoming trauma,” Dana calls out after hanging up the phone. “MVC, one occupant, unknown injuries. ETA is two minutes.”
Dr. Robby’s voice rings out loudly across the department. “Whitaker, Kwon, gown up and meet me in the ambulance bay.”
“On it!” Huckleberry comes back almost immediately. “C’mon, Joy.”
Joy is groaning audibly from somewhere behind Trinity, something about her feet hurting and how little time two minutes actually is to be prepared for anything, but Trinity is hardly listening. She’s still hunched over her notes despite the nagging feeling that refuses to leave her gut. She shakes her head, trying her best to brush it off.
The wail of ambulance sirens cuts through the department as the doors slide open to let Robby, Whitaker, and Joy out into the bay.
The ambulance skids to a halt outside with tires squealing against the concrete. Whitaker and Joy are already halfway across the bay with gloves snapping into place on their hands. Paramedics swing open the back doors. The stretcher tilts, a patient strapped into a cervical collar coming into view as they exit the ambulance. Eyes half-lidded, drifting in and out of consciousness, shallow breathing a vivid reminder of how fragile life is.
Whitaker freezes mid-step as he spots you, his usually-confident voice catching on a stutter he can’t hide. “Uh…Robby…I - this…it’s - it’s - uh…”
Robby’s eyebrows lift. “Dr. Whitaker? You okay?”
Dennis swallows hard. “She’s…this is Santos’ girlfriend. Trinity - she needs to be warned. Don’t let her see her, she’ll - she’s gonna freak.”
Robby nods without hesitation. “Joy, go get Dr. Santos out of the central ED, now. Somewhere she can’t see her. Do it quietly, move.”
Joy rips off the gown she’d been tying. “Uh…okay, but…she’s still charting, I don’t even know what to say to her.”
“Just get her out,” Robby snaps, already starting to push the stretcher.
Hesitating as she re-enters the ED, Joy falters with how to corral Trinity without raising any alarms. “Uh…Dr. Santos, hey, we need you - just step over here for a sec.”
Trinity glances up, annoyance already evident on her face. “For what?”
“Paperwork. Some sort of audit,” Joy waves her hands vaguely as she steps back to give Trinity space to stand and follow her, but she doesn’t move fast enough. By the time Trinity is halfway out of her chair, the stretcher is already being wheeled past the edge of the central ED towards Trauma-1.
Trinity catches sight of the patient on the stretcher and time stops because it’s you.
Every thought in her head dissolves into pure panic. She knows it’s you immediately, she recognizes you past the tubes, the c-spine collar, the mascara that’s run down your face from tears. She knows it’s you.
The words leave Robby’s mouth before Trinity even realizes she’s moving toward them.
“Santos, don’t -”
She’s following anyway.
Joy grabs her arm, fingers closing tightly around her sleeve in an attempt to stop her. “Dr. Santos, you can’t -”
Trinity shakes her off violently. “Don’t touch me.” Her voice sounds pissed and dangerous, nothing like the woman who was hunched over a workstation thirty seconds ago.
The door to Trauma-1 slam open, and the chaos that follows a patient in a trauma bay suddenly feels unfamiliar to Trinity.
“Oh my count - one, two, three!”
Hands move in sync, lifting you from the stretcher onto the trauma table. Your head is locked in place thanks to the rigid plastic of the c-spine collar, the rest of your body limp except for the occasional weak twitch as you drift in and out of consciousness.
Trinity stops at the foot of the platform, fingers digging into the metal of the table so hard that her knuckles are turning white. She looks like she might combust if she moves any closer.
Robby doesn’t look up. “Santos, you shouldn’t be in here.”
She doesn’t respond.
“Cutting,” Whitaker says. Trauma shears slice through your clothes, cutting away your shirt, your pants, everything in the way falling open to expose your skin, which is already mottled with bruises that are blooming an ugly shade on your skin.
Trinity’s stomach lurches and she thinks she might actually be sick.
There’s a thick band of purple spreading across your lower abdomen, the unmistakable imprint of a seatbelt. Another darkening bruise climbing over your collarbone, swollen beneath the skin.
“Damage from the seatbelt,” Robby says as he spots it. “She’s bleeding into her abdomen.”
Your eyelids flutter weakly as Whitaker releases them. Your eyes are unfocused and unseeing.
Trinity takes a step forward, which draws Robby’s attention. “Santos, out!”
Nothing.
“Reflexes,” he snaps, his attention turning back to Dennis.
Whitaker presses hard along your abdomen. Even through the fog of semi-consciousness, you react with a strangled cry.
Trinity flinches, understanding why they usually don’t allow family in the room during a trauma.
“Guarding,” Whitaker confirms.
“We’re going to need ultrasound in here right now,” Robby says. “And call for a portable X-ray, I want a full spinal view.”
Someone moves past Trinity at a run and machines are wheeled in with alarming speed.
Your hand twitches against the table underneath you, fingers curling like you’re reaching for something. For her, she knows it.
Trinity doesn’t realize she’s crying until her vision fully blurs. But she barely even moves to wipe the tears away, she doesn’t hardly move anything at all. She just stares at you like if she looks away for even a second you might fade away.
“Dr. Santos,” Robby finally steps directly into her line of sight. “You cannot be in here.”
She opens her mouth to speak but nothing comes out. Her breath is ragged like she doesn’t know how to breathe at all.
The ultrasound tech barely has time to gel the probe before Robby is speaking again. “FAST exam, let’s go.”
Cold gel spreads across your abdomen and the probe presses down, firm and searching. Your face tightens painfully and a tiny whimper leaves your lips.
Trinity’s nails dig into her palms hard enough to hurt, but she welcomes the pain because it’s the only thing keeping her on her feet right now.
The monitor flickers with shifting grey shapes: fluid, shadows, nothing Trinity can interpret fast enough. But Robby goes still, and not the good kind of still.
Robby sighs. “There it is.”
“Free fluid in the abdomen,” Whitaker nods. “From the seatbelt?”
“Yeah,” Robby confirms. “Likely internal bleeding.” He looks over his shoulder. “Page General Surgery, I want Shamsi down here right now.”
Your blood pressure alarm screams as your pressure tanks.
“Someone get me a liter of O-neg.”
“No,” Trinity cuts in. “She’s A-positive.” She’s unsteady on her feet, enough that Joy is hovering close by like she’s ready to catch her if she drops.
Robby glances up at her, annoyance at her presence still evident on his face. “Are you sure?”
“One-hundred percent,” she confirms. “We donate together once a month.”
Robby eyes her hard before nodding, resigning himself to the fact that she isn’t leaving unless he gets Ahmed to drag her out. “Someone get me a liter of A-positive, then.”
A portable X-ray machine rumbles into place at the head of the bed.
“C-spine is still immobilized?” the tech asks.
“Do not move her neck,” Robby commands. “Shoot as-is.”
Plates are slid beneath you carefully, and your body barely reacts. You’re too weak, too hurt, too far gone.
The machine whirrs and clicks again and again as the films are shot.
Time stretches thin while everyone waits for the images to load. The only sounds are the beeps of the monitors and the rasp of your breathing.
Then the films appear.
“Jesus,” Whitaker breathes.
Robby leans in, his eyes scanning the images. “L3…L4…L5.” He takes a deep breath through his nose as he straightens up. “All fractured.”
Whitaker shakes his head. “Not just fractured.” He points to the limited space between the vertebrae. “They’re compressed.”
They’re just words, they could be dust particles floating through the air the way they don’t register in Trinity’s brain. She only catches pieces. Numbers. Vertebrae. Broken.
“Spinal instability,” Robby says. “Keep her immobilized, nobody touches her without clearance.”
Dennis points to the screen again. “Clavicle’s gone too, a clean break.”
Trinity finally makes a sound. It’s small, barely there, a heavy huff that’s half a sob. She can picture it: the force it would take, the violence of impact, the way your body would have been thrown forward, caught the seatbelt, and then crushed backward against the seat.
Robby closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to see the look on his R2’s face as she processes the extent of your injuries. “We’ve got internal bleeding and major spinal trauma. Shamsi needs to take her straight up to the OR the second she gets here.”
Your fingers twitch again, aimless but searching in nature. Your eyelids flutter again, your eyes unfocused and glassy with confusion. They drift toward Trinity but don’t quite land on her. She can see that you don’t really see her.
But it’s close enough that she feels it, and it destroys something inside her. She steps forward before anyone can stop her, but her hand hovers over yours like she’s both afraid to touch you and afraid not to.
Your breathing catches, but whether it’s because you’re aware she’s there or because your pressure is still dropping, she isn’t sure. But you make a sound, something she’s never heard you make before, one made out of pain.
“Hey,” she whispers, her voice shaking so badly it barely sounds like a word. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m here.”
Dr. Shamsi arrives like a storm, flanked by a transport team already snapping gloves into place. It takes less than a minute for her to look at the scans, the bruising, the monitors, before she’s confirmed the decision to take you. There’s no hesitation or debate, lines are checked and tubing untangled.
“On three.”
Your body lifts again, transferred onto the transport gurney with care to keep your spine aligned. The collar stays locked in place and straps are cinched down across your chest, hips, and legs to hold you together because your body can’t do it on it’s own.
Shamsi is already walking, ignoring Trinity’s hovering between the table and the gurney. “Let’s move.”
The team pushes away fast, wheels rattling over the threshold as they disappear down the hallway toward the transport elevators.
And just like that, you’re gone.
Trauma-1 falls eerily quiet as machines are powered down and people clear out, leaving only the nauseatingly sterile smell of antiseptic hanging heavy in the air.
Trinity is still standing exactly where you left her. Her hands are empty, eyes fixed on the doorway you just disappeared out of.
Robby steps closer to her carefully. “Trinity,” he says softly. “She’s with the best surgical team we’ve got, Dr. Shamsi is -”
“Don’t.” The word is hoarse, but she doesn’t know what it’s for. Don’t try to comfort her? Don’t tell what she already knows?
She shoves past him before he can say anything else, shoulder checking him hard enough to make him stumble despite the height difference. The door slams open as she spills back into the main ER.
Nothing has changed outside of those doors.
Monitors are still beeping, nurses and doctors alike are still walking through the ED, some casually and some not-so-casually. Her workstation is still unlocked, which is probably some sort of policy violation.
The world is still turning. How is the world still turning?
Huckleberry follows her a second later, tearing off his trauma gown and pulling his gloves free of his hand as he tosses them into the nearest bin.
“Trin-”
She doesn’t stop walking. Her hands are shaking violently now and she has no specific destination in mind, she just needs to get out of here. Her vision is tunneling and she needs to not be here right now.
Her brain does what it’s trained to do: it calculates. It’s cruel, really, all of her years of learning and studying turning on her in a second.
Mortality rates for emergency laparotomy, complication risks, blood loss thresholds, numbers slamming into her one after another.
Patients in hemorrhagic shock have a mortality rate of -
No.
Spinal trauma combined with internal bleeding increases risk by -
Stop.
Delay to surgical intervention correlates with -
Please.
She can’t stop it. The statistics cascade like water in her mind, faster and louder until they drown out everything around her even as she pushes through the doors into the stairwell.
“You’re going to die.”
The words slip out under her breath even when she has no intention of speaking them out loud.
Huckleberry catches up just as she staggers to a stop, gripping the railing like it’s the only thing keeping her on her feet because it is.
“Hey, hey - don’t do that,” he says quickly. “She’s in surgery, that’s where she needs to be. Dr. Shamsi’s incredible.”
Trinity shakes her head hard, her eyes are wild and filled with unshed tears. “You didn’t see her pressure drop,” she whispers. “You didn’t see how much fluid there was, you didn’t -” her voice cracks. “People don’t come back from that.”
“I did see,” he insists gently. “I was there, remember?”
That doesn’t help.
Her breath catches, her chest is tightening like a vice. “What if she bleeds out on the table? What if they can’t stabilize her? What if - what if she arrests and I’m not there?” Her hands fly up to her head, fingers digging into her hair. “I should’ve been there with her. I should’ve - I should’ve -”
She can’t even finish the sentence because there’s no version of reality where she could’ve stopped a car traveling at fifty-five miles an hour from slamming into you.
Dennis steps closer to her, his palms open and his voice softer than Trinity’s ever heard it. Which sounds stupid, given the guy doesn’t have a harsh bone in his body. “Trinity, she’s still alive.”
Her knees almost buckle.
You’re alive. You’re not safe, not stable, and you’re definitely not okay. You’re just…not dead. A temporary state that could change at any second behind closed operating room doors.
He reaches out to rest a careful hand on her shoulder. “You don’t have to go through this alone,” he says. “I’m right here.”
The next few hours are a blur.
Robby is gentle when he tells Trinity to clock out. He’s not being authoritative, but it’s firm in a way that doesn’t give her room to argue, not that she would argue in the first place right now. She can’t make decisions for herself in this state, let alone care for patients. He doesn’t ask if she’s okay, and he doesn’t tell her everything will be fine. He just walks her to the time clock, waits until the screen confirms she’s off-shift, and then directs her toward the elevators to go upstairs.
Dennis stays glued to her side the entire time. Robby doesn’t object when he follows her into the elevator, it’s obvious she shouldn’t be alone. Not when her hands won’t stop shaking and how unfocused her eyes are as she stares at the floor, silent in a way neither have ever seen her before.
The surgical waiting room upstairs is far too bright and cheerful for the disaster that’s going on behind the OR doors. Trinity sits because Dennis steers her into a chair, not because she wants to. Her body is rigid, hands locked together between her knees, she’s wound tight enough to snap.
Time moves too fast and not at all.
Hours pass without her noticing. Dennis keeps track because someone has to - counting minutes by the sweep of the wall clock, by the number of times Trinity’s breathing turns shallow and he has to remind her to calm down in the gentlest tone he can muster up. She doesn’t speak or check her phone and she doesn’t cry again. She just stares at the doors that she knows Shamsi will eventually walk through, regardless of the news she delivers.
When they finally do open, it’s not a surgeon stepping out.
It’s Mel.
She walks toward them with purpose, her stethoscope still hanging loosely from the pocket of her scrubs. There’s no surprise on her face and she isn’t asking questions, and Dennis is certain word has spread throughout the pitt already. She kneels in front of Trinity’s chair instead of taking the empty one beside her, bringing herself down to Trinity’s level.
She doesn’t say much, just resting a hand silently over Trinity’s clenched ones. She stays just long enough to make it clear that Trinity isn’t alone, that someone heard, someone came. Then she squeezes her fingers, gives Dennis a small nod, and leaves as quickly as she arrived, pulled back downstairs by the gravity of the ER.
Another stretch of time slips by before the doors open again.
Dr. Mohan arrives next, shoulders rising and falling with heavy breath like she walked a little too fast to get here. She pulls a chair close, angling toward Trinity without trying to crowd her. She talks quietly, but not about surgery or outcomes, just neutral things meant to anchor someone who’s clearly spiraling. She stays longer than Mel did, and when she finally leaves, it’s with a reassuring touch to Trinity’s shoulder and a promise to check back in when she can.
Cassie McKay arrives next, bringing a calm energy with her that seems to resonate with Trinity just a little more than anything else. But her worry is obvious, written plainly across her face. She doesn’t even know you, it’s worry for her coworker, maybe the worry of someone who’s had their own someone to care about in a hospital before. Trinity doesn’t respond to anything Cassie says, but she does lean in her direction, a telltale sign that the effort isn’t completely wasted.
Yolanda Garcia is the last, and most surprising, to appear.
She seems to hesitate in the doorway before committing to crossing the room with an uncharacteristic lack of confidence on her face. Not because she doesn’t care, but because history complicates things. Whatever they once were, whatever they never fully resolved, none of it matters when a person sees another person like this.
She doesn’t try to sit close. She takes a chair across from Trinity instead, giving space while still being present, arms folded loosely.
By the time she arrives, the waiting room doesn’t feel like a place for strangers anymore, even though Trinity and Dennis are the only constant in it. It feels like something bigger, something Trinity struggles to put a name to until it dawns on her.
A village.
Not everyone stays at once. People come and go as their shifts demand, as patients need them. But there’s never a moment when Trinity is alone. Someone is always there, a stream of steady presences in the chair beside her, a witness to her fear. But more importantly, a reminder that she doesn’t have to hold herself together by herself. Not this time.
Through it all, she barely moves. Her eyes remain fixed on the doors almost like if she looks away, she might somehow change whatever is happening behind them.
Huckleberry never leaves her side.
The doors open one final time and this time it is a surgeon. Not just any surgeon, but the one she’s waiting for.
Dr. Shamsi is still wearing her surgical cap, mask hanging loosely off one ear, fatigue etched into the harsh lines around her eyes.
Trinity is on her feet before Shamsi even fully clears the doorway.
“How is she?” her throat is raw, voice hoarse and breathless. “Is she - did she -”
Shamsi’s expression is guarded with professionalism. “I can only discuss patient information with immediate family.”
Trinity’s face crumples in a way that makes Dennis’ chest ache to see.
“I am her family,” she says, more conviction in sound than sight. “She doesn’t have anyone else. There’s nobody to call, it’s just me.”
Shamsi studies her warily for a moment, taking in Trinity’s red-rimmed eyes, her trembling hand.
“You’re her partner?”
“Yes.”
She’s quiet for a moment more before Shamsi sighs, some of the steel leaving her shoulders.
“Surgery went well.”
The words slam into Trinity like a brick wall. She nearly loses balance, and Dennis’ hand comes up automatically at her back.
“We were able to control the internal bleeding,” Shamsi continues. “There was significant damage to the lower abdomen, but no major organs were damaged beyond repair. Her spine fractures are serious, but stable for now. Orthopedics will manage those moving forward.”
Trinity swallows hard, struggling to process anything except the tone, which is calm and measured.
“She’s…she’s going to live?”
Shamsi nods. “Yes, she’s going to live.”
The sound that leaves Trinity is half-sob-half-laugh and disbelieving. Her hands come up to her face as she sighs deeply.
“But,” Shamsi adds gently, “it will be a long recovery. Weeks in the hospital at least, and months of rehabilitation. Long-term pain management, potentially mobility challenges. This isn’t something she’s going to bounce back from anytime soon.”
“I don’t care,” Trinity says immediately. “I don’t care how long it takes.”
Shamsi’s gaze softens completely now as she takes in the relief on Trinity’s face. “She’s in recovery. Still intubated while the anesthesia wears off.” There’s a small pause before she adds, “You can see her if you want.”
Trinity doesn’t wait for permission.
Dennis follows close behind as Shamsi leads them down the hallway, past stile doors and down a set of unfamiliar hallways, into the recovery ward.
You’re lying in a bed surrounded by machines. A ventilator hisses, familiar tubing disappearing between your lips and IVs snaking from both arms. Bandages peek out from hospital blankets. You’re pale, skin drawn tight, with deep-set bruising blooming darkly along your collarbone as it peeks out from the top of the gown.
But your chest rises and falls.
Trinity stops at the foot of the bed, hands flying to her mouth and eyes flooding with tears. “Oh my God,” she whispers. She moves closer on shaky legs, reaching out until her fingers brush your arm.
Dennis stays back, giving her space, though he doesn’t leave.
Trinity leans down and presses her forehead carefully to the side of your head, mindful of every tube and wire as she presses her lips tightly together to keep her jaw from wobbling.
Time blurs again after that.
Hours pass in the recovery room, marked only by the rhythm of the machines and the shuffle of nurses that come every hour or so to check your vitals. Trinity never leaves the chair at your bed, not for food or water or even to go to the bathroom.
She sits with one hand wrapped around yours, her thumb stroking circles across your skin. Sometimes she talks about mundane things or updates you can’t hear. Sometimes she slips into Tagalog without realizing it, the words a mixture of murmured prayers and endearments that her brain reaches for when English feels like too much work. The language of her home, of comfort, of her childhood.
Every so often she leans forward to press a kiss into your hair, carefully because she’s still afraid of hurting you even now.
Night deepens, and Dennis finally leaves at Trinity’s insistence that she’s okay, that the worst part is over now, and with the dark pinky-promise that she’s not going to throw herself off the roof in his absence.
The ventilator continues it’s steady, mechanical breathing. Until it suddenly doesn’t match yours.
Your chest jerks, throat tightening around the tube. A strangling sound escapes you and Trinity jumps upright.
“Hey - hey - hey!” Panic detonates inside of her at the sight of you choking. She slams the call button. “I need help in here!”
Footsteps approach quickly, a nurse slipping into the room with significantly more calm than Trinity is currently feeling.
“It’s okay,” she says immediately, checking your monitor. “She’s not choking.”
Trinity is shaking again, hands trembling so hard she can barely keep hold of yours. “She can’t breathe -”
“She is breathing,” the nurse reassures gently. “She’s breathing over the vent, that’s a good sign.”
Trinity freezes. Of course, of course that’s what it is. She knows this, she’s seen it a thousand times. But knowing something is very different from watching it happen to the person you love.
She steps back enough to give the nurse space to remove the tube from your throat. It slides free and you cough weakly, breath shallow but at least it’s your own.
The nurse wipes your mouth gently. “There you go, you did great.”
Trinity edges forward again to your bedside, afraid to blink for the millionth time today.
Your eyelids flutter. And then, very, very slowly, they open.
Your gaze is unfocused at first, just like the last time she saw your eyes open. Your eyes drift lazily across the ceiling, the lights, through the unfamiliar room until they land on her. She sees the recognition as it dawns in your eyes.
“Hey,” she whispers, her voice breaking even in all its quiet.
Your lips part like you want to speak but no sound comes out. But your eyes stay locked on hers.
Trinity lets out a shaky laugh that dissolves into tears, not noticing as the nurse backs out of the room to give you privacy, even though she definitely should be logging your vitals as you wake. Trinity presses kisses against your head and cradles your cheek in her hand with infinite care as she whispers reassurance into your hair.
“I’ve got you,” she murmurs. “You’re okay, I’m right here.”
ᯓ contet warnings. fem!reader, reader is javadi’s cousin, poc!reader. very little angst. around 1k wc. not edited or proofread! sorry for any mistakes!
ᯓ notes. santos is in her feelings and she can’t get out of it !! likes, reblogs & comments are appreciated <3
It wasn’t a surpise that Trinity Santos was not having a great first day, what she didn’t know was that it was about to get worse. A lot worse.
Out of everything, and everyone in the world, she never expected you to walk in. She felt her heart stop and her stomach flipped. Surely, it was a dream, it had to be. This could not be real.
She sucked in a deep breath, and got back to her patient, thankful of the fact that you hadn’t noticed her yet. Good, that was good, she reminded herself. She didn’t need anymore mistakes, not today.
To make matters even worse, she glanced up and you were in her line of sight again, her eyes immediatley recognised the earrings you had on, the small studs that she rembered wearing when the two of you had been dating. They were her earrings, and you were still wearing them. She felt a sting in her chest, she swallowed wahtever feelings had managed to convince herself didn't exist, that she'd long forgotten.
She couldn’t stop thinking about you, even as she focused on bandaging, or helping Huckleberry and Mel, she just couldn’t shake off those thoughts. You looked just as you did two years ago, as if nothing had changed, except that you weren’t dating her anymore.
“Missed me?” She caught your voice, even over all the loud commotion and froze for a split second before realising you weren’t talking to her.
She saw Robby shoot a small smile your way and noticed his shoulders relaxing only a teensy bit, which was surprising to say at least. You must be his favorite resident, the one Dana kept talking about. Of course, you were.
Everytime she had a second to breathe, her eyes searched for your figure, you had no time to slip into your scrubs, still in your jeans and a black top, and you still had your favorite sneakers on, hair pulled back in a tight pony—one that she was sure would give you a headache—though a few strands begged to differ and fell on your face, and she so desperately wanted to reach out and tuck them behind your ears.
Trinity Santos noticed how seamlessly you blended in, with Robby, even Langdon. You belonged here, you had finally made a place for yourself, it was refreshing for her to see you coming out of your shell. However, it stung, not only was she remembering the ghosts of the past, but also that she was having an absolute shit first day ever. She didn’t even know what you had been upto these past two years, you’d blocked her, everywhere, even on LinkedIn.
Though she’d always known you had been into emergency medicine, she didn’t expect you to be here out of all the places. All the feelings she’d tried to suppress since the day started came rushing back, in waves, some stronger than the other.
She kept stealing glances at you from afar, looking away before you notice someone’s eyes on you. She didn’t blame you for not noticing her, there was barely any time to catch a breath before a new patient was rolled in. It was swamped in the worst way possible, there was barely any place to even move around and you slipped, shoes sqeauking against the linolieum floors. Her eyes widened and her feet started moving towards you on their own, it didn’t matter that she was too far away or that she would never make it on time to catch you.
She stopped in her tracks when she noticed a pair of arms wrapping around your waist with an urgency and hastily pulling you back, saving you from a possible concussion.
“Whoa, careful there, princess.” The voice snapped her out of her trance, she knew that voice. She hated that voice. She didn’t even know why he was back. It just made everything so much worse. The nickname he’d called you, it eachoed in her ears, and she balled her hands into fists, nails digging painfully in her palms. She just hoped no one could see her right now.
“Frrankie! Thanks!” You had exclaimed, catching your breath, you'd accepted your fate. “You’re a lifesaver! Literally!”
Jealousy burned through her veins, you couldn’t be dating him of all people right? If you weren’t so focused on Langdon, you’d notice the daggers glaring your way. She hated that you were smiling so wide while talking to him of all people here.
“Can’t lose my partner in crime.” He left with a pat on your shoulder when someone hollered for him. She felt like throwing up, the familiar wave of nausea clawing up her throat.
Trinity breathed in, okay she was going to do it, she was going to call your name and… Abbot beat her to it.
“Coming!” You’d barely had a moment to breathe when Jack had yelled for you and you’d followed the voice on instinct, once again leaving Trinity to process what had just happened.
Huckleberry called for her, and once again, she shook those feelings away, not right now. She couldn’t afford to be distracted right now. She stashed the thoughts of you at the back of her head and tried to ignore the sound of your voice from across the hall.
As if seeing you with Frank wasn’t enough, Javadi had made you her next victim. You looked really chummy with her, as if you’d known her forever, as if you’d known her longer than Trinity. She did her best to push those thoughts away.
Hours passed, slowly, painfully, and somehow the chaos finally died own. Trinity thanked to whoever up in the sky was listening that she hadn’t bumped into you yet, and that you hadn’t noticed her, maybe you did and you were just channelling all your enegry into ignoring her. The thought pulled painfully at her chest, but she ignored it as usual, it was easier to do that than confront the feelings that had bubbled back again the moment she’d laid her eyes on you.
She made her way towards Dana, if she wanted information, she had to straight to the source. The older woman sent her a tired smile.
“So that new girl,” she started, fidgeting with the stethoscope around her neck, watching Dana’s eyebrows shoot up. Way to be subtle. Maybe Trinity was wrong, it wasnt you, it was your secret twin that she had no idea about, that she had never dated.
“Oh, yeah.” She notices how easily Dana recalls your name, and how the edges of her lips lift ever so lightly. You tend to have that effect on people, as always. “She joined us last year.”
Santos pursed her lips tightly and nodded, Dana narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
“Do you know her?” Dana asked on hunch and Trinity paled, she was caught red-handed, she opened her mouth to respond, to lie, before she could respond, a new voice cut in.
“What’s going on?” Robby joined in, leaning against the counter. Trinity shut her eyes, just what she needed, more people knowing she knew you. The day just kept on giving.
“Santos here knows our superstar.” Dana answers for her, and Trinity wishes the ground would swallow her whole. Superstar, she thinks, God you must be really popular to have everyone wrapped around their fingers. Even Javadi, and Langdon, who Trinity was sure, hated her. But did you know? Were you with with him?
“Really?” Robby turns to Santos, disbelief laced his words. The most emotion she’d seen from her attending.
“We went to med school together,” Trinity choked out, as if it hurt her to get them out, but it was no point in hiding it now. “I didn’t know she worked here.”
“She mostly works nights now.” Robby informed and she didn’t know how she felt about that, there was a flash of relief that she might not have to face you, but the prospect of not seeing you didn't sit well with her either.
“But we’re planning on bringing her back, we’re running short on staff.” Robby’s statement made Trinity more hopeful than she’d like to admit.
“Bring who back?” Well, fuck.
Once again, for the umpteenth time, Trinity thanked the gods that you were standing with your back towards her, and that you hadn’t seen her yet. She pretended to busy herself on her phone.
“You.” Robby stated the obvious, shoving his hands down his pockets. “Now that your sister’s here!”
“Oh yeah!” Trinity could practically hear the smile in your voice. “How’d she do today?”
“Good, she’s got the spirit.” Robby replied. “She got a little lightheaded, but she pulled through.”
“Who’s your sister?” Dana chimed in, glasses resting on the bridge of her nose, giving the two a confused look.
“Victoria Javadi.” You state with a proud smile.
Great, Trinity thought to herself, she was digging herself a grave at this point. Soon, Robby took his leave, but not before ruffling your hair.
“Hey!” You exclaimed, with a pout. “I’ll get back at you.”
“I’d love to see you try, shortstack.” Another nickname, just how popular were you? Trinity scoffed out loud, and you finally turned back.
“Dana, hey-” The words die on your tongue, when you finally noticed the girl that broke your heart two years ago.
“Trinity?” It was barely a whisper, but she could hear the waver in your voice. She immediately noticed the way your shoulders tensed, the smile disappeared as you pursed your lips.
“What are you doing here?” It came out more harsh than you’d liked, but you were beyond shocked.
“It’s my first day here,” She revealed with a wince, as if that would make it easier for you to digest this information. That you would now have to learn to coexist in the same workplace again.
“First day as in you’ll be here everyday now?” You reply, baffled.
“Yes.” She gives a hesitant nod.
“Okay, cool.” You nod slowly, slowly stepping away from the girl, as if still processing the information, pulling on the stethoscope that loosely hung around your neck. You felt the headache building, you could not deal with this right now.
“Dana! Get Shen to cover for me.” You shout, and turn, walking out without bothering to wait for a reply, not once looking back, leaving behind a confused Dana and a shocked Trinity.
The two of them share a look, and Trinity wants to magically disappear out of here. She’d leave right now if she didn’t have charting to catch up on.
“Messy breakup?” Dana guessed. Trinity had only known her for less than a day, but the woman seemed to be a mind reader.
“What? No.” She denied instantly, leaving the nurses’ station as soon as possible, but all she could think about was your earrings, her earrings. How after all those years you still carried a part of her, knowingly or not, it didn’t matter.
One thing she failed to notice thrughout though, was the fact that you had noticed her, the moment you’d walked into the Emergency Department, you’d faltered in your steps, stopping in tracks, as if you’d seen a ghost. It was McKay who’d suddenly pulled you inside the chaotic labryinth that you'd momentarily forgotten about your ex, your gorgeus ex that you might still have feelings for.
⠀ ⠀ authors note ! well, i fear this is short but this is my debut so.. enjoy :oo
girlfriend!trinity who would pick you up anytime and anywhere because she doesn’t trust anyone, even your own friends to bring you back to her in one piece.
girlfriend!trinity after a long shift she just wants to be as close as possible to you because you’re the only thing that makes her exhaustion melt
girlfriend!trinity who would let you lay on her stomach when you had a bad day, while playing with your hair :((
girlfriend!trinity when she finally convinces you to visit her in the ER but immediately regrets it because they start asking you “embarrassing” questions about your relationship
girlfriend!trinity would keep a polaroid or your old highschool yearbook photo at the back of her phone and in her wallet
⠀ ⠀ authors note ! well, i fear this is short but this is my debut so.. enjoy :oo
girlfriend!trinity who would pick you up anytime and anywhere because she doesn’t trust anyone, even your own friends to bring you back to her in one piece.
girlfriend!trinity after a long shift she just wants to be as close as possible to you because you’re the only thing that makes her exhaustion melt
girlfriend!trinity who would let you lay on her stomach when you had a bad day, while playing with your hair :((
girlfriend!trinity when she finally convinces you to visit her in the ER but immediately regrets it because they start asking you “embarrassing” questions about your relationship
girlfriend!trinity would keep a polaroid or your old highschool yearbook photo at the back of her phone and in her wallet
amandla
pixelskylines
prguitarman
