Trinity could feel herself beginning to spiral. Between Dennis running off to play house with the farmer's widow (not to mention now being tasked with housesitting for Robby while he was away), Frank returning from rehab with little to no consequences, and Yolanda not viewing her as anything more than a stress reliever to use and discard as she felt like it--well, to say she was overwhelmed by all of this would've been a severe understatement.

She needed a break from it all. She needed relief. And when Trinity needed short-term but instant relief, there was always one thing she knew she could turn to.

The surgical blade felt strange in her hand. Not good exactly, but familiar. Like an old and grizzled mercenary picking up his guns again after promising he'd put that life behind him.

Hearing footsteps approaching from behind her, she quickly slipped the blade into the pocket of her scrubs and turned her attention back to the clipboard she'd been holding right before this. "Dr. Evans," she greeted in a manner that she hoped to God was casual enough to fool you into believing she was alright.

Unfortunately, she had no such luck. "Trinity," you spoke her name in a low and measured voice, brow pinched together in a concerned look as you studied her form. "Can we talk?"

Right away, she knew that she'd been caught. You almost never called any of the younger doctors by their first names while at work, especially in such a serious manner. She felt like a naughty child that'd been caught doing something they weren't supposed to, following behind with her shoulders slumped and her head down while you led her to the stairwell so you could chat privately.

"You know I don't like to pry into other's lives, because I'm certainly not too fond of it being done to me," you began, keeping your voice steady and even as you spoke, hoping you came across as nonjudgmental. "But when I see one of my coworkers stealing a scalpel for what I can only assume is gonna be used for something other than surgery, well… I tend to worry."

Trinity remained silent throughout your little talk, arms crossed defensively over her chest as she clenched her jaw and looked away. Her first instinct was to reply with a sharp jab, to spit out her usual snarky comments before storming off. After all, she could take care of herself. She'd done so up until this point, and so far she'd ended up alright, hadn't she?

But when she dared to glance over in your direction, her green eyes locked onto yours, and what she saw there wasn't disgust, or anger, or disappointment. It wasn't even pity. No, it was a quiet sort of understanding, as though you could feel her pain and wanted to help her work through it rather than simply shoving it away and hoping that'd be enough to get by.

"I started sometime around when my childhood best friend committed suicide. We'd both been taken advantage of by an adult in our lives, a man that we trusted, and she wasn't able to handle it." Her voice was quiet, and it shook slightly when she spoke, her eyes darting back down to the floor rather than meeting yours. She didn't know why exactly she was telling you this. Maybe it was because she knew deep down you wouldn't judge her.

"I'd been clean for a while, after I started working here and when Huckleberry moved in. But with everything lately that's been going on, I just…" she shrugged lamely, gaze flickering back to the main section of the Emergency Room. "…I don't know. For some reason now I feel more alone than ever."

"You don't have to be alone," you murmured sympathetically, typically stoic features morphed into that of a pathetic looking dog who could sense a person's sorrow and would do anything to help. "Y'know, I was in a similar spot that you're in however many years ago. I couldn't see a way out. And then I met Dana, and I learned that just because you feel like it's the end of your story, doesn't mean it has to be. Maybe it just means it's time for you to start a new chapter."

Reaching out, you rested a reassuring hand on Trinity's shoulder, still watching her with those eyes full of understanding. "I know it's hard, asking for help. And it can be hard to accept it, too, because doing so feels like you're admitting defeat. But you're not a failure for needing someone, and it's not something that you should be ashamed of." You gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze before pulling away and heading back to the main section of the ER, only pausing to add, "the living room couch at mine and Dana's place isn't anything fancy, but it's comfortable enough if you need to spend a few nights someplace where you won't be alone. Just something to think about next time you get the urge to 'cleanse yourself of your sins'."

With that, you were gone, leaving her alone to mull over everything that'd been said. She'd never had someone reach out so bluntly before, much less with such knowledge of what this kind of loneliness felt like. It wasn't just vague, flowery speech about how "it gets better". It was you stating that yeah, sometimes it's hard, and that sucks, but you're not going to get anywhere if you don't step out of your comfort zone and seek out change.

Trinity had always known that in the back of her mind, but she didn't want to admit it to herself, because in doing so she knew she'd be forced to put herself in a position where she had the possibility of getting hurt again. But she also knew that she couldn't keep living like this, so she took a step towards healing by offering the olive branch of karaoke to Mel later that night after work, and then another one by dialing your number and asking if you could pick her up once she was done.

She fell asleep on your couch that night and woke the next morning to find herself still in her karaoke clothes and sporting an awful headache from her hangover, but also feeling much more secure and safe than she had in a while. There was a certain air of normalcy that she'd previously never had with anyone but Huckleberry upon seeing you and Dana bicker lightly over the proper way to make fried eggs, whether the yolk should be runny or firm, and it was a normalcy that she'd feared would be missed with him staying at Robby's while the attending was gone. But not anymore, not with the invitation you'd extended towards her to ensure she wouldn't have to be alone.

As for the scalpel, it'd been taken out of her scrubs' pocket and left behind in the proper supply drawer where it belonged. Sure, the blade would've been more familiar than this was, but maybe trying something new for a change wasn't so bad. Maybe it was exactly what she needed to let her old scars heal instead of creating new ones. And maybe, just maybe, she'd end up being okay.

End notes: guard dog connecting with trinity over their shared habits of self harm while she was under the impression that she was in it all alone oughhh. this is the mentally ill duo of the year everyone

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