You knew how Trinity could be. True, in your nearly five months of dating she’d been nothing short of doting towards you, bringing your breakfast in the mornings, picking you up from classes, running you warm baths after long practices. Still, you knew her reputation. The second she turned away from you, her smile would drop into a practiced look of disdain.

You were quite the opposite, in many ways. You were pink, frilly, and polished. You knew how to get a crowd to root for you, how to impress judges, how to be the brightest star in the room.

Where Trinity’s instinct was to scowl, yours was to beam. You liked keeping fresh flowers around your apartment, while Trinity didn’t see the point of keeping something that would die in less than two weeks. Still, she brought them to your dates. And she always laughed at the signs people waved in the stands at hockey games (“as if the players pay attention to those”) but she still covered a posterboard in glitter and is the loudest supporter at any of your competitions.

So, no, Trinity wasn’t always a fuzzy teddy bear. But you had each adapted to your environments.

Her focus and drive made her a great doctor. You hadn’t had a chance to see her in her element, in her preferred environment surrounded by beeping machines and constant traumas, but she’d had plenty of opportunity to demonstrate her know-how at home. This was due mostly to the fact that you were the world's biggest klutz.

On the ice? You were an angel. At least according to your girlfriend, and the forty or so medals and trophies you accrued over your career. You could glide around a rink like you were floating on air, executing the most precise of jumps, spins, and poses. Your balance was unmatched, timing impeccable. You had to have complete control over every muscle in your body to hold your leg above your head while teetering on a fraction of an inch’s worth of metal.

So how was it that the second you set foot outside the slipper, slidey surface, gravity turned from a mastered tool to a greatest enemy?

You often attracted odd looks in the warmer months when you let your skin breathe, what with all the bruises in varying states of healing littered about, accompanied frequently with scratches on your knees, elbows, and hands, mostly. Trinity always said you looked like a walking punching bag. All jokes aside, you had been questioned privately with social workers in ERs.

But you always assured concerned parties that you were completely safe. In fact, with the muscles your sport gave you, you might have been in a better position than most to defend yourself.

Besides, Trinity would never let anything happen to you. Her deep mistrust of people, specifically men, had her acting like a guard dog from time to time. If a man dared take a second glance in your direction, she’d be placing her body between you, wrapping a protective arm around you and enacting the trademarked Trinity Glare until left alone.

You were always on the inside of the sidewalk. She insisted on walking close behind you in a stairwell, both to block view of your ass from pervy perversons, and to be at the optimal position to catch you should you slip. Which you frequently did.

Maybe it was her increased presence for the past half year that explained how you’d managed to go so long without an ER visit, but really it was inevitable. That didn’t mean you were excited to pull up in front of the entrance labeled emergency in big red letters. Even worse knowing that Trinity was working.

“Thanks, Liv,” you said tiredly to your chauffeur, a young, prospective olympian you’d been coaching.

“Why don’t I help you in?” she asked anxiously as you gathered your things and opened the door.

“Oh, no, no, I’m fine,” you waved away. “I’ve had plenty of time to rest on the drive, this’ll be a piece of cake.”

If you hoped you could trick your ankle into agreeing with you by being delusional, you were wrong. The second you shifted your weight to the edge of the seat, a searing pain shot right up your leg and you gasped.

“Right,” said Liv, opening her own door. “I’m coming to help you.”

She ignored your protests as she rounded the car, wrestling your bags from your hands and taking your arm.

“Don’t get a ticket just for this,” you sighed, though accepted her assistance. “I can hop!”

“I’m not letting you hop into the ER,” said Liv. “Now lean.”

Still grumbling, you hobbled along at her side, trying to be as light as possible and subsequently yanking poor Liv’s neck as you crumbled. Very slowly, you made your way to the door. As you reached for the handle, a yell came from behind you.

“Hey, you can’t park here!”

You groaned.

“Go,” you said, then when Liv still hesitated, in your coach voice, “get outta here! I’m fine.”

Liv made sure you had a good grip on the doorframe before carefully hanging your bags over your shoulders.

It was certainly harder without the two extra legs. You bumped into several disgruntled people and had said sorry more times than you could count before a nurse spotted you. She was a little older, short and wearing a hijab. She was just handing a man a sandwich when you caught her eye.

“Oh, here you go, hun,” she said, moving like lightning to provide you with a wheelchair. “Have a seat.”

Feeling slightly embarrassed at the looks you were attracting, you plopped down without one iota of grace, heaving your duffel onto your lap. Peaking around your mountain of gear, you tried to reach the wheels, but the nurse got there first, pushing you to the end of a long line.

“Thank you,” you said, and she smiled.

“Of course,” she said kindly. “Had a little accident?”

“Guilty,” you chuckled. “I’m a figure skater.”

“Wow,” said the nurse, Perlah, her nametag read when you craned your head around. “I’m sure stuff like this happens all the time. I can’t even walk down my driveway in wintertime.”

What really happened was this.

You were just finishing up Liv’s practice, demonstrating a perfect triple axel. As you slipped on your skate guards and stepped onto the rubber matting, the tip of your shoe got caught in the strap of Liv’s backpack. You hadn’t made it two steps off the rink before taking a spectacular tumble into the bleachers, ending with your affected ankle tangled in nylon and velcro at an unnatural angle.

However, it was always easier to let people assume you fell doing some elaborate trick on the ice. For someone who could land three triple axels in a row, walking shouldn’t be a major feat. Yet here you were, probably about to be served an outrageous bill for a completely avoidable fall.

You didn’t like how big and clunky the wheelchair was, but at least it was a chair.

After you checked yourself in, and the waiting began, the stress of injury finally started taking its toll on your body. Perlah brought you a bag of ice to prop in the crook of your foot. You spent the next several hours jerking yourself awake every two minutes, arms tightening over your bags in a panic. The chances of getting robbed in a crowded ER waiting room full of sick and injured people were low, but skating gear was expensive enough to keep you on edge. 

On hour three, after watching an older guy with a bad comb over disappear and return from behind the double doors three separate times with no update, and only one ice change, you considered texting Trinity. You were sure she would be able to push your case along, and would be mad you had waited the time you already did, but you shook the idea off. You had to remind yourself how insignificant a little sprain was compared to some of the things going on in the ward. There was a reason certain people went back before others. You had to wait your turn like everyone else.

By hour five, the windows were growing dark, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep your eyes open. In fact, if it weren’t for the nagging rumbling of your empty stomach, you probably would have been passed out.

Finally, as the clock struck six, your name was called. You snapped upright, looking around until you spotted a tough looking blonde woman, reading off of a tablet with readers perched on her nose.

“That’s me!” you said gratefully, making to stand.

“You stay put,” she said in such a stern voice you promptly planted your butt firmly on the plastic seat.

She wheeled you expertly around the maze of people, bags, and IVs and through the heavy double doors. Your head was on a swivel as you entered the department, eyes searching for the familiar head of dark hair, unsure if you were hoping you did or didn’t see it. You didn’t, though, and Dana deposited you onto a bed in a small curtained area.

Compared to the borderline stifling air of the busy waiting room, this one was chilly. Perhaps it felt even colder than it was because of the stark white tile covering every surface, or the strong stench of antiseptic tickling your nose.

“Alright, ma’am,” said the nurse, rubbing in a dollop of hand sanitizer and clicking into a computer. “My name is Dana, I’m the charge nurse on staff, and I’m gonna be taking a look at you today, is that okay?”

“Great,” you said.

“Okay, good,” she said typing away already. “So, what’s the story.”

You cleared your throat. You wondered what she could possibly be writing about before you’ve even spoken a word. It made you nervous, but you recounted the tale as best you could, trying and failing to minimize the parts that made you sound like just as much of an idiot as you were sure you were.

“So when you fell, did you hit your head?” You shook your head no. “No loss of consciousness? Any dizziness? Okay, good.”

She sat down on a stool and rolled over to your bedside.

“Mind if I take a look?”

“Go ahead.”

She tossed the now lukewarm back of melted ice in the bin behind her. You rushed to remove your sock, embarrassed about how sweaty it still was.

“Sorry,” you said. “It’s — I just came from the rink, so I’m not the freshest.”

“Kid, I’m an ER nurse,” Dana chuckled. “Your sweaty foot wouldn’t even make the top one hundred list of worst smells. Besides, you just spent hours sitting in the damn waiting room, that couldn’t have helped anything.”

You laughed along, and tried to relax. Dana put on gloves and slid your leggings up to your knee. She inspected the skin there.

“You’ve got some old bruises here,” she noted.

“Yeah, not an uncommon occurrence,” you said. “I’m always a little banged up.”

Dana was just moving her attention to your purple ankle when you spotted the thick locks you were looking for between the narrow gap in the curtains. Your heart leapt, in relief, and uncertainty. You weren’t sure how Trinity would react to seeing you here, especially knowing you hadn’t texted her to let her know, but before you could help yourself you were calling her name.

“Trinity!”

Both Trinity’s and Dana’s heads turned at your cry. You could see your girlfriend’s swiveling around desperately, unable to spot you. Dana pulled the curtain open to reveal the source of the noise, and the second Trinity’s eyes locked onto you, you could see the panic behind them. They hardened slightly as she marched toward you, completely abandoning a conversation with a blonde, bespectacled doctor.

“You two know each other?” asked Dana, looking slightly amused.

“We’re, um,” you hesitated as Trinity drew closer. “Dating.”

When she reached you, she yanked the curtain back closed, didn’t even glance at Dana, and began questioning you.

“What happened? How long have you been waiting? Can you walk? How’s your pain?”

You smiled fondly at her antics as she quickly pulled on a pair of gloves. 

“I’m fine, just tripped over a backpack,” you said soothingly. “No big deal.”

She snorted as if to say I’ll be the judge of that and continued firing questions, this time at Dana. Dana didn’t need to be told, just stood from the stool so that Trinity could take her place.

“Have you conducted an anterior drawer test?”

“No, I —”

“What about a talar tilt test? Ottawa assessment?”

“No, kid, none of that,” said Dana. “I barely got a visual assessment before you came barreling in.”

You glanced between the two.

“What are all those things?” you asked.

Trinity didn’t answer, just bent over your foot, poking and prodding it. Dana sighed, and started untying your other shoe, waving away your attempts to help.

“Range of motion, essentially,” said the nurse. “To assess the extent of damage to the ligaments in your foot.”

You nodded.

“And if it — ah, fucking hell, that hurt!”

Trinity had pressed above your ankle knob and sent pain spiking up your foot. She finally looked up at you.

“Here?” she pressed again.

“Yes, there,” you hissed.

“How about here?” she asked, pressing hard on the bony bump. You shook your head. “Here?”

She moved her nimble fingers from the ankle, to the top of the foot, to the pinky toe. You just kept shaking your head. She slowly tilted your foot inward, and you yelped.

“Stop!”

“I’m thinking ATFL,” she said directly to Dana, who seemed to concur. “Alright, upsy daisy. I need to see you walk.”

“Really?” you sighed. “Need to?”

“Need to,” she said, and for the first time there was a hint of the familiar, soft Trin you were used to. “Just a couple steps. To the curtain and back, okay?”

You nodded, gritting your teeth, and she and Dana helped you rise gingerly to your feet. You were reluctant to put any weight on your injured ankle, but an encouraging nod from Trinity, and the squeeze of her hand as she held you up, had you take a deep breath.

It was excruciating, even more so than before. It was as though something large and spiky, like an enlarged version of a jack, was stuck in between your bones. You limped forward, spun on your good heel, and came right back to the bed. You kind of cheated, doing a sort of half jump onto the mattress in lieu of your last step, but Trinity didn’t call you on it.

The next few minutes were uncomfortable, but nothing compared to walking, so you pursed your lips and didn’t complain as Trinity, or Dr. Santos, here, pulled and twisted your sore joint every which way. Her frown deepened slightly as she worked, and despite the implications of that, and the pain, you couldn’t help but smile at how cute her concentration face was.

“What’s the damage, doc,” you said when she seemed done. She shot you a less than amused look.

“Ottawa negative, no x-ray indicated,” she said, and Dana immediately started clacking away at the keyboard again. “ADT showed moderate mechanical laxity, approximately seven centimeters. Significant ecchymosis and swelling, tenderness and excessive gapping above the anterior talofibular ligament, most likely grade two. Could require up to six weeks of healing.”

“Woah, woah,” you said, holding up your hands. “Honey. English, please.”

She sighed deeply, ripping off her gloves with more force than strictly necessary, you felt.

“It means no skating!” she said, tugging at her ponytail. “No running. No tots classes. A lot of rest, ice, and gentle range of motion exercises!”

You blinked. She was very worked up over a little sprain. It wasn’t like you hadn’t had one before, actually, you had had much worse than a grade two sprain before. You looked at Dana, and the two of you smiled.

“I hope you don’t talk to all your patients this way,” you said, voice alive with mirth.

Her eyebrows fell into a straight, rigid line, and her arms crossed. At that point, unable to hide the smile on her face, Dana left the makeshift room mumbling something about fresh ice.

“This is serious,” said Trinity, and you tried to school your face.

“Trin,” you said, pulling one of her hands free and cradling it in your own. “Baby. I’m sorry. But it’s really, really not.”

She wrenched her hand back and began pacing. It was hard with the limited space, and she made tight little circles around the vacated stool.

“How can you say that?” she said. “You could have been seriously hurt! You could have needed surgery! You could have —” she paled “— you could have been operated on by my ex-situationship.”

At that, you let out a loud laugh. You tried to stifle it, but when you saw the corner of Trinity’s mouth turn just the slightest bit up, you just let it out. As you laughed yourself silly, she sat down on the edge of your cot, trying not to smile too much. Eventually, though, she let out a chuckle or two.

“Oh, wow,” you gasped when the giggles finally died down, wiping your eyes. “Yeah, no, you’re right, Trin. That would have been a real emergency.”

She shook her head, but couldn’t regain the stony disposition she’d had before. She laced her fingers with yours.

“Next time this happens, ’cause we both know there’ll be a next time,” she said, and you nodded. “Call me. Okay?”

Your smile turned tender as she let some of her worry through.

“I’ll let you know, but I don’t want you — pulling rank, and giving me someone else’s spot, I know that goes against the… doctor code of… rules, or whatever.”

“I don’t care about any of that,” she said, and you raised a brow. “I mean, I care. But I care about you, too. And, baby, when I saw you all laid up over here, and I just got out of a trauma, and as far as I knew you were safe at home, it —”

Careful of your ankle, you scootched towards her on the bed. You cupped her tense face in your hands.

“I know,” you said, rubbing her cheek where she leaned into you. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to make you worry by telling you, but I guess I just made you worry more?”

She huffed.

“I think I’m just gonna worry no matter what,” she said, gently gripping your wrists. “But less, if I have details.”

“Noted,” you said.

Sneaking a quick glance around, and listening for footsteps that weren’t coming, you pressed a quick peck to her lips.

“I need to wrap you in bubble wrap,” said Trinity, smirking a little. “Only way to protect you from yourself, apparently.”

“I’d manage somehow,” you said.

Her hands slid down to your waist.

“Any chance I could convince you to use the employee entrance next time?”

“Not a chance,” you said seriously. “Don’t go giving short cuts, Dr. Santos.”

She rolled her eyes.

“God, you’re so honest, it makes me sick,” she jested. “I’m gonna go find out where Dana is with that ice. Be right back.”

With one last kiss to your forehead, she stood and reached for the curtain. But the second she pulled it back, she snapped it shut again, shoulders tensing. You shot her a confused look as she turned back around, a hand creating a canopy over her reddening face.

“Okay,” she said, so quietly you had to strain to make out the words. “About half of the Emergency Department staff are gathered just outside, watching our curtain.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, but your lip quirked at how anxious she seemed to be all of a sudden.

“Why do you think that is?” you asked.

“I’m guessing Dana told them all who you were,” she said. “To me.”

“Ah ha,” you said, mockingly tapping your chin. “Alright, well. I think there’s only one way to solve this.”

Much to Trinity’s horror, you swung your legs over the side of the bed and began hopping towards the curtain, she stepped in front of you, trying to steer you back.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she hissed. “You don’t even have a pair of crutches!”

“Um, I’m pretty sure you should start ambulating as soon as possible after injury,” you said. “To avoid complications. There was a poster about it in the hallway.”

Utilizing some of your speed and agility usually exclusive to the ice, you reached around her and pulled back the curtain. Indeed, an impressive group of people stood leaning against a cluster of desks, eyes trained in your direction. They quickly flitted away, trying to pretend they hadn’t been, but you didn’t mind. You thrived in the spotlight.

“Hi! You must be Trinity’s coworkers!”

At your direct address, some shoulders relaxed, and some smiles reciprocated yours. Dana rushed out, holding a baggy of ice and a large boot.

“Oh, here, doll,” she said, pulling a chair. “If you’re gonna mingle, you need to be sitting down.”

Ignoring Trinity’s protests in the background, you hopped right into the chair, grinning around at everyone. They examined you, almost clinically, like it was habit. Their gazes lingered on your pink athletic wear, pink headband, and done up nails. Despite the harsh lighting of the hospital, your appearance seemed to brighten the place.

“So, you’re Trinity’s…” said a young looking girl, Victoria, once names had been exchanged.

“Girlfriend,” you chirped, enjoying the general air of bemusement over the doctors. “Almost five months.”

“It’s lovely to meet you,” said the tall one, Robby.

“And you,” you said sweetly, pressing a hand to your heart. “Trin’s told me so much about you guys. You do amazing work here.”

Everyone seemed to preen, but Trinity had had enough.

“Okay,” she said, cutting in. “I know you like talking, but if we don’t get that boot on you soon, you’re gonna, I don’t know, sprain your other ankle. I know you’re the ice queen, but we’re on solid earth, right now.”

She wheeled you away while you waved, rather like royalty on a float.

“That’s funny,” snorted Javadi.

“What?”

“Calling her ‘ice queen’,” she said. “That’s usually a nickname for Santos.”

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