i bet charn drinks water too....

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In many ways, it happens before Trinity can understand. It happens the same way it did in early school days before any of the helpful vocabulary had made itself available. Glimpses, then after-hours lost time replaying interactions, then. . . the startling realization.

Dr. Baran Al-Hashimi is hot.

At first, Trinity first puts it down to stress. After all, it’s not always that your ER department is in a catatonic state after its attending and longstanding mentor (with potentially suicidal aspirations) has pirouetted out on his spiritual motorcycle journey, or that your roommate decides to take up on that said attending’s offer to house sit a little bit too often, so often that Trinity hasn’t seen him at their apartment in over a week, or that the surgery fellow situationship you’ve not even fucked more than twice has officially decided to say pass on whatever the hell that was. 

It’s really got to be the stress.

That when Dr. Al-Hashimi sits her down for a weekly one-on-one check-in, something she’d started with all the residents the week Robby left (just five minutes, which sometimes becomes two minutes on one of their more unpredictable shifts, sometimes no more than a single glance and a small “Ok?” on Dr. Al-Hashimi’s lips as she turns to the heaps of trauma pouring into their hallways), Trinity feels strangely… nervous?

And it’s not just about the charting. Oh no, the charting. . . she’s actually got that under control. It’s one of the things Dr. Al-Hashimi has made a point of mentioning every time she sees Trinity with her recorder or furiously typing away. “You’ve become really adept at this, Dr. Santos.” Her small smiles. Her clipped syllables. “I’m impressed.” 

It’s not her presence in the ER, either. It’s not Dr. Al-Hashimi’s calm, focused attention on the patient and the trauma scene, her steady hands on the scalpel that makes even an overswelled abscess incision look elegant. 

It’s not Dr. Al-Hashimi’s questions, softly on the nape of Trinity’s neck, as they review a patient’s boringly normal ECG.

“Santos, what next?”

It becomes clear the nerves are not just work nerves. It’s excitement. Every morning, she gets up and steps into the place she’s chosen to torment her even in her sleep with a purpose. Make Baran pay attention to her.

Only to her. 

If only it were that easy.