while they’re still under the guise of casual, yolanda accidentally confesses “i love you” in the heat of the moment, and then trinity physically pushes her away and demands “what the fuck is wrong with you?”
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yolanda who gets migraines, who sometimes just has to lie curled up in a ball in the darkness of their room and wait for them to pass as best she can
yolanda who cannot stand to be touched at all during them, can’t even stand baran or trinity being in the same room as her, sometimes the quiet rustle of clothes as they shift or the steady breaths of her girlfriends makes her want to tear her teeth out
so the pair of them sleep in the guest room when this happens, after baran has delivered water and rescue meds that yolanda insists don’t help, a cold compress for the base of her neck too and a quiet reminder that she’ll check on her in the night
and sometimes, yolanda’s migraine will finally leave her be in the small hours of the night, and she will groggy and achy and exhausted stumble her way with one hand on the wall to guide her towards the guest room
will gently stir baran to make some room because if she wakes trinity she’ll struggle to go back to sleep again.
and baran will shuffle backwards into trinity’s always waiting arms, smiling as she feels her youngest girlfriend tug her closer in her sleep and yolanda will squeeze in too. the guest room bed was never made to accommodate three grown bodies. and baran will draw yolanda against her body, and trinity even in her sleep will reach over baran and tangle her hand in yolanda’s shirt too
for @pitt-yuri-week's free day, Yolanda Garcia considers the consequences of her no marriage policy:
Yolanda didn't even see her fall.
It happened on the way back down. They had just stopped for a water break when Trinity turned to take a picture of the view through the trees to send to Whitaker. She was laughing to herself with whatever she had come up with when her boot caught on a rock that shifted under her weight.
Yolanda was looking down at her own phone when she heard the scream that would haunt her for the rest of her life.
Yolanda looked up and Trinity was gone.
Yolanda didn't remember screaming herself. She didn't remember how she scrambled down the cliff after Trinity without falling or getting injured. Yolanda didn't care how she got there. She just needed to get to Trinity, she slide down the final several feet on her butt when the ground was too steep.
Trinity had one arm behind her back while blood was rushing down her thigh, spreading from a wound where a broken off stick was twisted inside of her. There was blood on her face, in her hair. She wasn't moving when Yolanda finally reached her. Yolanda's training took over first. Her hands were shaking as she pressed two fingers to Trinity's neck.
Trinity made a faint noise.
Thank God.
"Trin, look at me," She touched Trinity's face with her hand, eyes flickering to the wound on her thigh before back up to her head. Even with the stick still in the wound, blood was trickling fast down Trinity's bare thigh. Her thigh that was also bruised and had scrapes almost everywhere. Yolanda had to focus. She had to think.
Using her knife, she made a tourniquet with a the strap from her backpack. She pulled it as tight as it could above the wound on Trinity's thigh. It wasn't ideal. It wasn't wide enough and she had nothing sturdier to use than her fucking hiking pole.
Trinity cried out as she twisted until the blood slowed from a steady stream to just a dark, uneven seep around the wound.
"I know," Yolanda had hushed. It was enough that her hands had stopped for a half a second before she forced herself to keep turning. "I'm sorry."
Trinity's eyes were fluttering as she looked over towards Yolanda.
"What happened?"
"You fell."
Trinity tried to move before Yolanda could stop her and another sharp sound escaped her bloody lips.
"Do not move," Yolanda's voice was shaking. "Your leg is injured and your arm may be broken." She didn't mention that she wasn't sure if she had a spinal or neck injury and wouldn't risk moving her. "You have to stay still. Do you understand?"
There was no service where Trinity had landed. Yolanda screamed up for help until her throat gave out on the off chance that another hiker would come close enough to hear.
Yolanda inventoried her injuries over and over again. If she was in the OR or the ED or anywhere else that wasn’t covered in brush and rocks, she could do more. She could fix it. Out here, she can't do anything but scream for help and hope that the blood loss has slowed enough that she won't bleed out.
When nobody came after another few minutes of yelling, Yolanda made a decision.
An awful, terrible decision.
"You have to stay awake," she had made Trinity promise before she stood up. Her hands held Trinity's face in between them. Her thumb rubbed against her cheeks. God, she was beautiful. Yolanda didn't want to lose her. Trinity was blurry with the amount of tears in her eyes. "You have to keep your eyes open, do you understand me?"
Once Trinity had promised, or nodded which Yolanda was taking as the same thing, she had to stand up. She pressed Trinity's hands onto the wound in place of her own and whispered, don't you dare.
Then she walked away from her.
——————————————————————————————
The whole trip had been Yolanda’s idea.
It wasn't even suppose to be a vacation. Yolanda had gotten approval to attend a surgical conference in Denver and when she had realized that the hotel was paying for three nights at a hotel, she decided to add an additional three in the mountains afterwords.
"You could come with me," Yolanda had said to Trinity one night when they were making dinner. Or rather, she was making dinner and Trinity sat on the counter talking.
"To the conference?"
"To Colorado, I don't think they'd let you in the conference."
Trinity huffed in annoyance but Yolanda had just smiled in response.
"Come on, it'll be fun."
"Sitting in a hotel room while you are off with other surgeons will be fun? Do you even know how big your ego is going to be in place like that with a bunch of other surgeons?"
"You survive my ego at home just fine."
Trinity had just looked at her in the way that Yolanda knew that she was reading beneath what she was saying or beneath what she wasn't saying.
"You want me to come on your work trip?" Trinity had smiled.
"That's literally what I said." Yolanda had just rolled her eyes.
In the end, Trinity traded two shifts and met her two days into the conference in Denver. Yolanda skipped one of the speakers to pick her up from the airport. Trinity spent the last day of the conference sending pictures to Yolanda's phone of everything that Yolanda suddenly wished she was doing instead. Even Emery had turned to tease her about it the day before she arrived, "couldn't even leave your girlfriend at home for a few days to visit your old friend, huh?"
And maybe she couldn't.
But she didn't want to.
They made plans with Emery for the last day to hang out before they head back to Pittsburgh before they headed up to the cabin that Yolanda had rented out towards Vail.
Trinity had complained about the trial that she had chosen. She complained about the six am wake up to get to the trail just as much as she complained about the cold once they were on the trail. Trinity slipped her hand into Yolanda's whenever the path widened enough to let them walk beside each other. Yolanda didn't even mind the sweat.
By the time they reached the overlook, Trinity's complaints had quieted. It was a more beautiful view than they'd get anywhere in Pittsburgh. Only took 4 miles to get there, but as Trinity stood at the edge of the marked area, her cheeks pink from a combination of the uphill battle they had undertaken to get to the lookout and the cold and her hair pulled back into a ponytail, Yolanda knew exactly why she had wanted her to come in the first place.
If she had done this hike alone or with Walsh, she would have been thinking of Trinity the entire time.
She would have seen the view of the mountains and thought Trinity should see this.
That had started happening with everything.
She would hear a story during rounds or see something ridiculous on her drive home and her first thought would always turn to Trinity.
Yolanda thought of next month and Trinity was there. Next year and Trinity a little older, but still there. A different hospital or city or a house without Whitaker in it and Trinity was in each one of those visions too.
Yolanda had never pictured vows or rings.
Trinity was already built into every version of the future she allowed herself to imagine.
"What?" Trinity asked with a shy smile as she caught Yolanda staring at her.
Yolanda took out her phone to avoid answering and lifted it towards her. Trinity shifted and groaned out a "please, no."
She took the picture anyway.
Later, she would remember the smile on Trinity's face when she took the picture. She'd remember the certainty that settled inside of her that this was just the first of many.
There would be years of it.
She never realized that was just hope.
——————————————————————————————
It took nearly five minutes for Yolanda to claw her way back up to the trail. The slope had seemed steep when she was coming down, but climbing it with blood still sticky on her hands and panic in her chest made it feel nearly impossible. She almost lost her own footing twice.
After that, it was another fifteen down the trail before she finally got one bar of service. But it was enough. She was able to dial 911 and say things like twenty-nine year old female, fell off a cliff, femoral artery may be hit, tourniquet in place, going unconscious, along with every single geographical location she could think of before hanging up. The dispatcher kept telling her not to hang up, but Yolanda had done what she set out to do.
They knew where to find them. She wasn't going to waste time on the phone when she could be with Trinity.
Another hiker spotted Yolanda standing in the middle of the trail with blood across her clothes and hands and immediately came with to help.
It took less than 10 to get back to Trinity.
Her eyes were shut when they got back to her.
"No," Yolanda dropped to her knees with a hard thud and started tapping her cheek with blood stained fingers. "Open your eyes, come on."
Trinity didn't respond.
The other hiker dropped to her knees next to them, saying something about pinging their location with her GPS, but Yolanda barely heard her. Her fingers were already at Trinity's neck again, pressing hard enough that she was worried she would miss the pulse because her hands were shaking so badly.
It was still there.
Thready, but there.
"Trinity," Yolanda leaned over her. She cupped the side of her face in one hand, while the other checked the tourniquet. Trinity's hand had slipped away from holding pressure while she was gone. More blood had gathered underneath her despite the tourniquet. "Trin, I need you to wake up."
She pulled the hiking pole tighter and Trinity's body jerked and she finally let out a noise before murmuring, "you're not a very nice girlfriend."
Yolanda almost laughed.
"I'm going to be the worst girlfriend you have ever had if you close your eyes again."
Trinity opened her eyes finally. They were already blood shot; she must have hit her head harder than Yolanda thought. "You already said no to being promoted."
Yolanda didn't laugh.
Trinity blinked and looked at Yolanda like she was finally recognizing her. She could see that Trinity had started to shake as well underneath the jacket that Yolanda had draped over her before leaving. She wondered if—
"It hurts," Trinity's teeth were clenched together. Tears welled in her beautiful eyes and Yolanda wished she could take away the pain. She wished she could haul Trinity up over her shoulder and take her to the hospital herself. She wanted to put her on the operating table and fix her.
But Trinity had landed without Yolanda even seeing. She didn't know if she had hit her head on rocks on the way down or if her spine was even stable enough to move. She didn't know if her pelvis was fractured or any of the other horrifying possibilities that ran through her head when she looked over her injuries.
Moving her could make everything so much worse.
"Yolanda, it hurts," she cried out, her breaths seemed painful now.
"I know," Yolanda brushed the hair away from Trinity's face, leaving a red streak across her temple. "I'm sorry."
Trinity kept losing color as the minutes past. The other hiker unfolded an emergency blanket from their own backpack and helped Yolanda cover Trinity with it without moving her. "Rescue says 20 minutes or less," she said quietly to Yolanda when Trinity's eyes kept drifting shut.
Twenty minutes felt like an impossible amount of time.
"I need you keep those eyes open, okay?" Yolanda pressed Trinity's cold hand between both of hers. "Come on, you have to help me."
"It's okay," Trinity's words had begun to slur together. When Yolanda checked her eyes again, this time she could see that they were uneven. Had they been uneven before? Had she just missed it because she was so focused on the bleeding? Damn it, how had she missed that? Was there increased intracranial pressure? An expanding bleed? Something Yolanda missed while sitting right next to her.
"Tell me your name," Yolanda's voice had started to shake.
Trinity frowned.
"Tell me your name," she said, louder now.
Trinity stared up at the sky, "Trinity."
"Full name."
"Trinity Santos."
"Good, where are we?"
"Outside?"
The other hiker drew in a sharp breath.
"Come on, where are we?"
Trinity's eyebrows scrunched together and she said nothing.
"Come one, we're in Colorado, remember?"
Trinity's eyes moved slowly towards her. "Yolanda brought me here."
She nodded. "That's right, now you have to open your eyes again, okay?"
Trinity didn't move. Yolanda pressed her knuckles against Trinity's sternum, rubbing down until Trinity made a broken noise, opening her eyes for half a second before narrowing them at Yolanda.
"Stop."
"Then keep your eyes open," she knew her tone was harsh, but she didn't care. She needed Trinity to keep those green eyes open.
"Mm, it's okay," Trinity's words slurred. "Yolanda will fix me."
Trinity was looking past her now, eyes unable to stay focus. She kept speaking as if Yolanda was somewhere else, as if Yolanda was someone else.
"I'm right here," she felt something inside of her fracture.
Trinity didn't seem to hear her. "Yolanda will fix me," she repeated, the words slurring together. There was something almost childlike in the certainty of the words. "She's a surgeon. She'll fix me."
——————————————————————————————
By the time the rescue team reached them thirty minutes later, Trinity had stopped making sense. She kept drifting in and out underneath Yolanda's watch. She'd only wake up when Yolanda would rube her sternum or sometimes when Yolanda would squeeze her hand and demand that she come back. She asked Yolanda if they had missed their flight and if Whitaker was still planning on order food for them that night. Twice she asked where Yolanda was while staring right through her.
Yolanda was able to slip back into doctor mode when they approached. The words came out clinical as she offered them the only version of herself she had to give them.
The rescue team were already crouched at Trinity's head with a light out, calling out stats back to his partner. "Trinity? Trinity, can you hear me?"
There was no response.
"Trinity." Yolanda tried this time, but still nothing. "She was talking to me a minute ago."
Someone held a hand out as she tried to get closer. "We've got her, okay? I need you to give us room, we're gonna move fast."
They placed a real tourniquet high on her thigh before removing the makeshift one that Yolanda had made. Trinity barely responded to the stimuli and that worried Yolanda more. They fit a C-collar around her neck and Yolanda could only hold Trinity's free hand and try to stay out of the way. Yolanda was forced to watch as they cut off her shorts and then her sweatshirt as Trinity just started really crying with soft pleases underneath it.
She could only press kisses to Trinity's uninjured hand and pray that Trinity wouldn't remember this. Yolanda wouldn't be that lucky, she would remember every second of it for the rest of her life.
"She's seizing," someone said and her world tilted sideways.
It lasted thirty seconds but it felt like the entirety of Yolanda's future was held in that moment. Trinity's body fell back in a way that was worse than the seizure itself. The medic by her head was already calling into his walky for the status of the helicopter and they started moving her onto the board.
It took almost seven of them to get haul Trinity up the thirty feet of loose rock that she had fallen down for the helicopter to even be able to reach them. The flight medic stopped Yolanda before she could get close to where the helicopter was circling above.
"You can't come," he shouted over the noise.
"I'm a physician. You need to watch the tourniquet has already been on for—"
"I'm sorry, we only have space for the patient and the crew."
Behind him, they were securing Trinity down into the basket stretcher that they'd use to hoist her up into the air. She was covered by a orange fabric that wrapped around the entire stretcher.
"I have to be with her," the words cracked down the middle. "Please, I need to be with her."
"You won't be too far behind us," the man promised but it didn't matter. How could they be asking her to leave Trinity again? "We can't even touch down here."
Trinity turned her eyes towards the sound of Yolanda's voice. She was strapped tightly to a board. Her face was mostly hidden by the oxygen mask they had placed on her, but Yolanda could see the panic in her eyes.
"I'll meet you there," she shouted over the noise of the blades. She pushed past the medic, just to be able to lean to press her lips to Trinity's forehead, the only available piece of Trinity left uncovered.
If this was the last time…
She didn't let herself finish that thought.
"I love you," Yolanda said instead, her mouth close enough to Trinity's ear that she didn't have to shout. "I love you, I'll be right behind you. I promise."
Trinity's eyes found hers over the top of the oxygen mask. Her lips moved and Yolanda couldn't hear it over the engine, but she didn't need to. She'd know the shape of her own name on Trinity's mouth anywhere, no matter if she could hear or not. She had felt it against her skin, she had heard it whispered to her on nights where it was so quiet Yolanda thought she had just dreamed it. She knew every version of it coming out of Trinity's mouth.
"I know, I'll meet you there.."
The tears burned in her eyes as the hiker that had helped grasped her by the arms and started to pull her away from the medics on the ground. She turned, her eyes already narrowed and ready to lash out. "Let go."
"You can't-"
"I don't give a fuck what you think, let go of me."
She twisted in her grasp until she let go, but by then it was too late.
"No," she lunged forward without any plan and the hiker grabbed her again. "No, wait-" she watched as the basket that held her life was already off the ground. It was already starting to spin slowly against the cable and Yolanda was desperate.
She hadn't even gotten to see her face one more time. It broke something loose in her chest. She had spent her last seconds with Trinity yelling at some woman who was only trying to keep her alive and in the middle of that, Trinity had gone up without Yolanda getting one more look.
There was a UTV waiting for her at the base of one of the switchbacks that one of the officers said would get her back to the trailhead faster than walking. They gave her directions to the hospital and told her they already radio that she'd be following. They asked if she had gotten injured or if any of the blood on her belonged to her.
No, she thought bitterly. Every single drop of it staining her belonged to Trinity.
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so dana's dating baran and cassie who are dating each other but baran's also dating trinity and trinity's dating victoria, mel, parker, and yolanda but mel is also dating parker who's dating samira and samira's dating baran too and also trinity and yolanda has a weird situationship with emery who's dating samira also, going back to victoria though she's dating cassie too and has a weird tension thing with yolanda but also has something with emma who is dating dana but also seeing joy. and speaking of dana she has a long distance relationship with heather but she also has some kind of past never spoken about only hinted romance with perlah and perlah is super close with princess but no one can tell if they're dating or just really good friends or a secret third thing, parker and emery are also hooking up. hope this helps!
Day 5 - Fireworks - you can read below the cut or on AO3
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Tags: uhhh idk, Yolanda Garcia is bad at feelings, fluff?, fireworks obviously
Trinity knows how this goes, when just before New Year’s she tentatively raises the idea to Yolanda of watching some fireworks together.
Can feel the itching familiarity of it all crawling over her skin. She tries to remind herself that it’s different now, because she and Yolanda are in a well defined relationship of 3 months. One where they try their best to not shut each other when they feel uncomfortable feelings. One where they actually communicate.
So Trinity asks, as causally as she can manage. They’re both working New Year’s Eve, but they should (hopefully) be finished in time to ring in the new year with a kiss and a fireworks display.
She regrets asking the moment the words leave her mouth and she watches Yolanda in the driver’s seat flex her fingers against the steering wheel. She can see the muscle ticking away in her jaw, the same one that goes when she’s assessing a particularly complicated set of injuries in a trauma room.
And Trinity, so scared of the fourth of July making a reappearance in their still new relationship begins to backtrack.
“Don’t worry about it, actually, it doesn’t matter.”
Still Yolanda doesn’t say anything and the pair of them sit in silence for the remainder of the seemingly never ending drive to Yolanda’s after work.
When she finally parks up in her spot and cuts the engine she shows no sign of moving and so Trinity stays still too, seatbelt remaining fastened.
There’s the steady tap, tap, tap of Yolanda’s fingers against the steering wheel. Somewhere outside of the car another car door slams shut.
“I don’t like fireworks.” Yolanda says quietly.
If Trinity had a different lived experience she might laugh at this point, such is the absurdity of Yolanda Garcia not liking fireworks. But Trinity is infinitely familiar with concept of normal things and what outside eyes would consider abnormal reactions.
“Okay.” Trinity nods, and Yolanda keeps her eyes trained out of the windshield so Trinity does the same. “We can do something else then, if we get away from work in time we can probably drive a decent way out of the city to avoid the worst of it. Maybe we can find somewhere cute to stay the night.”
And Trinity wracks her brain for other ways to help, because this Yolanda is new, has only come out in brief flashes usually said into the sleepy darkness of one of their bedrooms.
She’s all too aware of the pressure on her shoulders to not fuck this up, to be supportive without scaring her away, because if there’s one thing Yolanda Garcia is fantastic at, it’s avoiding her emotions.
“You like the fireworks Trin, we can just do something the next evening, have our own celebration for the new year.” Yolanda suggests and Trinity knows the end of that sentence is supposed to sound suggestive but it comes out hollow.
And her first instinct is to panic now, because this all sounds like a gentler repeat of the Fourth a few months ago. Where after that, Yolanda didn’t speak to her for two weeks. It would be so easy for her to tip into that spiral now, to contort herself to fit whatever Yolanda wants to do to avoid this conversation. But she’s promised them both she’d tried to stop doing that.
“I don’t care about the fireworks Yola, if you want to then I’d like to be with you at midnight, and we’ll find something that works for you.”
Trinity can see the barely there flicker of movement as Yolanda glances at her, nods her head and then unbuckles her seatbelt.
“C’mon, that last surgery has wrecked my back and I could do with a bath.” And now the tone is definitely suggestive, slipped back into the self assured Yolanda that she knows so well.
Trinity scrambles out of the car to follow, a happy little pep in her step, because this outcome is so far removed from what happened months ago, and Yolanda is wiggling her fingers back towards Trinity and they head towards the surgeon’s building with their hands interlinked.
Later Trinity is practically boneless in Yolanda’s bed, half asleep with the way Yolanda is tracing patterns across her back.
(They’d both found that sometimes, when Trinity can’t sleep or wakes with a start, that Yolanda’s aimless patterns across her skin can settle her enough to drop off.
Trinity doesn’t remember asking Yolanda to try and she doesn’t remember Yolanda offering either, but now, when they share a bed, more often than not she will fall asleep with Yolanda’s gentle touch on her skin.)
Which is why Trinity thinks it’s terribly unfair when Yolanda speaks during this, and Trinity has to fight against the pleasant haze of sleep to listen, because she wants to listen.
“I don’t like loud noises.” Yolanda says quietly, pauses, waits for Trinity to make a noise for her to continue. And Yolanda’s hand keeps moving up and down across Trinity’s back, like it’s easier if she pretends she’s whispering into the darkness towards her sleeping girlfriend. “I’ve never liked them, ever since I was young. They make me jumpy and irritable and sometimes, it makes me feel like I want to tear my fucking hair out if it would make it stop.”
And Trinity could whir through all of the possible medical reasons for that, although she’s sure it wouldn’t help, that Yolanda would have done it to herself before.
Instead, “Work must be a lot for you sometimes.” Tries to keep it neutral.
A hum of agreement, “It’s why I prefer to work with unconscious patients.” Trinity huffs out a laugh. “I’m usually in the OR enough in any given shift that it’s not too bad, I find it peaceful in there. Besides, when everything is busy I can get caught up in the flow of it all, although I fucking feel it when I get home after shifts like that.”
“I get that,” she gets what Yolanda is saying even if she doesn’t experience it. “So what do you do, about the fireworks and stuff? The Fourth was- it was a lot.”
Trinity can feel the way Yolanda’s hand stills against her, fingers pressing down just a little firmer, and then a stroke of apology before she resumes the steady motions.
“Try to work a double, mostly, someone always wants a day like that off and the surgical floor is pretty well insulated from the noise.” A sharp inhale, and then sounding a little ashamed, “if not I come home and try to make sure I’m asleep before anything gets too bad, if I’m asleep I’ll usually be fine.”
And Trinity snorts with amusement because that much she can believe, Yolanda sleeps like the dead, a gentle tap of playful reprimand against her back in response.
“So we’ll come back here on new year’s eve and I’m sure I can find a way to tire you out.” And it’s a genuine suggestion, despite its playfulness, giving Yolanda an exit ramp from the conversation, certain she must be reaching her capacity for opening herself up tonight.
“No, no, it’s alright baby,” that pet name still thrills Trinity to hear, “I’m not going to sleep through bringing in the new year with you.” Yolanda says, a little more earnest than Trinity was expecting.
“Okay, that’s okay,” shuffles backward so she can be little spoon, delighted in the way Yolanda curls tightly around her. “But I’m just saying, you could if you want to, sleep that is. Maybe we could both start the new year by actually getting enough of it for a change.”
The last thing Trinity remembers is the feel of a smile being pushed against her head.
And when the final day of the year does roll round, Trinity presents Yolanda with a pair of ear plugs she has spent an inordinate amount of time researching.
Yolanda looks a little embarrassed whether from the clear attention Trinity has put in or the fact that they may genuinely be a solution for her.
(Trinity makes a note to circle back to the embarrassment because she gets the feeling undoing that little tendril of thought might take some time.)
But they do at least seem to work, enough for Yolanda to tuck Trinity against her side as the pair watch various pops of colour from the city beyond, courtesy of the floor to ceiling windows in Yolanda’s extremely nice apartment.
(The first time Trinity had visited, back in their situationship, the doorman had refused to let her in because she looked so out of place.)
The clocks chime and Yolanda kisses her with so much tenderness that Trinity thinks her knees might give out, and thinks that maybe, this next year will be the best one yet.
Imagine an Alpha Emery and Omega Samira who become good friends after the MCI.
They have breakfast when Samira works a double, late lunch in the park on days Emery works and Samira doesn't. Spending at least one day a week hanging out outside of work, offering each other a shoulder to lean on after rough shifts slowly falling in love. Neither say a word about it. Silently becoming hopelessly infatuated with the other. Going on like this for months. Years.
Until Samira at dinner one night asks Emery to have a baby with her. Completely platonically of course. No strings attached.
when you spent all morning trying to talk to your coworker (who has the same job title as you) about how to make sure that your workplace has a smooth transition from his control to yours, but he kept blowing you off and didn't want to hear about any of the idea that you had and wanted to run by him, and every time you tried to have a serious conversation with you he would say he was just trying to get through the day so he could leave on his three month sabbatical, and now, after ignoring every single attempt you made to make sure that you could run your workplace smoothly without him, he's telling you he doesn't think that the workplace will survive without him (he just berrated one of his female employees for being stressed) even though you just saved a child with a procedure he had never even heard of, much less knew how to perform
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Baran, helps and guides Samira to apply for Médecins Sans Frontières.
On her first overseas assignment, Samira is greeted by none other than Emery, who is head of the surgical team.
Samira is glad she finally has the answer where Dr Walsh disappeared to. However, she now has to deal with her new role and the resurgence of her big old crush on Emery.
Emery is now running the surgical team and away from her feelings for Samira.
trinity wakes sluggishly, moving through the sedation and meds slowly, clawing her way to the surface just to slip under again
her memories come to her in fragments. can’t remember why yolanda and baran are stood next to her looking so wrecked and exhausted
can’t remember why shamsi is leaning over her, light in hand to flicker it into her eyes irritatingly.
a hand much smaller than hers gripping onto her tight.
where? she thinks she asks, tongue too large and too heavy in her mouth
the hospital someone answers. but that isn’t right, that’s not the answer to her question. tries again, where?
the hospital, trin, you were in an accident baby, yolanda’s voice she can pick out this time even as faces above her swim in a way that makes her nauseous.
still not the right answer but she can’t think of any more words and she’s so tired anyway
she finds herself able to think in mostly straight lines for the first time when she wakes one night. although her body aches something fierce, she tries to take stock what hurts the most but everything just seems to be a mass of pain.
instead she lets her head loll to one side against the pillow, there’s a figure curled up in a ball on an uncomfortable looking chair, hood pulled up around their face
you okay, trinity? another voice from her other side, doesn’t so much move her head towards the sound as it flops a little out of her control as she tries to engage her neck muscles.
m- barely a croak, stops, tries again, mckay?
yeah, it’s me, you want some water? she asks quietly, holds a straw to trinity’s lips when she nods weakly
she blinks into the dim room, tries to get her bearings all the while mckay watches her. can make out the shape of a couple of balloons and some flowers on the far side of the room.
the figure asleep in the chair shifts, curls up impossibly tighter.
you had us all worried, cassie says softly, yolanda hasn’t left since you came out of surgery
and trinity blinks back at her, it’s a simple sentence but it feels like it takes her entire brain to process it. she wants to ask why she needed surgery, but then there’s the flash of a memory, barely there, the sound of a horn honking somewhere and people running towards her and someone leaning over her to ask her if she’s okay. and all the while trinity is asking where, a breath that doesn’t quite inflate her lungs, where is- and then nothing.
yolanda’s foot slips off the chair from her curled up place and jars her awake, neck snapping upright and then body following when she notices trinity’s looking at her
hey baby, you feeling okay? need some more pain meds? a gentle barely there hand against her cheek
and yes, she’d love some more meds, jesus she’s sore, but that also inevitably means sinking back into the slow sludge of it all and she doesn’t want to do that whilst her brain feels like hers for a moment
where is- cut off to try and suck in a breath
baran’s at home, she needed to sleep in an actual bed yolanda answers her before she can finish. takes the offered cup of water from cassie and lets trinity have a few sips.
no, trinity furrows her brow, no, where’s keyvan? and trinity sees flashes of it now, can feel the way she had to launch him out of the way as a car flew through a red light, remembers seeing his little body arc through the air a few feet with the force at which she pushed him
he’s okay, he’s at home too, he’s okay trin, because of you, and then yolanda’s lips against her forehead for a long, long moment, the sound of cassie’s chair scraping as she excuses herself. a shaky breath that doesn’t belong to her.
and trinity’s body, which wasn’t feeling very strong to begin with, goes boneless in relief. there’s the dampness of tears against his skin then, as yolanda presses her cheek atop trinity’s hair, and she tries to reach a clumsy hand up towards her to comfort even though it tugs on the IV line uncomfortably
‘m okay, yola, and yolanda makes a sort of broken, disbelieving noise and presses as close as she can without hurting her
baran’s life falls apart somewhere around 9:30 in the morning when her son’s panicked little voice yells out for her as he’s wheeled in on a gurney.
and she’s at his side almost instantaneously, shouldering past samira a little too hard to get a look at her boy
he’s sobbing messily, blood trickling down the side of his face.
vehicle versus pedestrians, driver had a seizure behind the wheel, ploughed through a red light and caught a pedestrian as she went the paramedic is saying
and someone is trying to tug her out the way, as they transfer her son, her baby, and she can’t hear anything except the way he’s wailing, reaching out for her when he can’t see her with the spinal collar on
then it’s dana obscuring her vision, blurry and out of focus, but shaking her by her shoulders and telling her harshly, you gotta keep it together baran, we need to check him but we need him calm
and baran stumbles over, leans over just enough to be in his vision, smooths back his curls out of his eyes. i’m here, you’re okay, i know, i know, but we’re going to take care of you, i know it hurts, and her body seems to adjust through muscle memory alone to shift and move to allow the others to work around her
but then it’s donnie shouldering through the doors between the trauma rooms to plead to anyone that can hear, we could do with another set of hands in here
and she wants to snap when cassie glances up and then heads out, because this is baran’s son, why is she leaving
she can hear samira or maybe frank say something about how the head wound looks superficial, her little boy’s voice strained and still crying, asking her where’s trinity? i want trinity, she pushed me out of the way, is she okay?
and everyone’s heads snap towards the other trauma room as a collective, just in time to see the frantic rush of bodies, to see cassie begin compressions, and baran is moving too, is only stopped from fully entering when jesse steps in front of her, physically holds her back, she still can’t see trinity properly from this angle, can only see her feet, she’s lost a shoe, but recognises one of the battered pair of vans she refuses to throw away
can see the way yolanda barges through one of the doors too, the way all the life seems to drain out of her in an instant, as someone’s trying to shepherd her out too, and baran’s knees go out from beneath her
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(title from 'lay all your love on me' by ABBA) (everyone thank @scout-spaeny and her genius brain for this)
summary: hookup. down bad and oblivious emery and samira. mic drop.
wc: 6.6k
“Look who it is,” a voice drawls behind Samira, barely audible over the music. A sharp and woodsy scent floats off of them, twisting and twining in the air around Samira and making her feel heady. There’s something oddly familiar about it, but she pushes the thought down, instead spinning around and coming face-to-face with Dr Walsh, lips curled up into her signature mean and teasing smirk.
Samira lets her gaze drag over Walsh for a second, taking in the oversized jersey half tucked into baggy jeans, the loose curls out of the usual tight bun that spill over her shoulders, the slightest hint of eyeliner on her waterline that makes her dark eyes pop even more.
She looks hot, somehow even hotter than she does in the usual scrubs that show off her subtle arm muscles. Despite the fact that Samira’s had a hopeless crush on her for years now – and that her first instinct would usually be to think she was dreaming if Walsh came up to her outside of work – all she feels in this moment is mild annoyance at Walsh for looking so attractive and put-together and for making Samira even want her as much as she does.
Because Emery Walsh, with her sharp tongue and even sharper glare, shouldn’t be who Samira is attracted to, so intensely that she has to fight to stay focused on the patient and not let her gaze wander over when they’re in the same room. She shouldn't be so drawn towards Walsh’s commanding nature, so much so that it makes her knees go weak when Walsh is throwing instructions around the room, all bossy and confident like she knows exactly what she’s capable of. She shouldn’t be as desperate as she is for Walsh’s dark and piercing eyes to focus on her. She shouldn’t feel so flustered under that scrutinizing gaze that always makes Samira feel like she’s being inspected.
Walsh’s smirk widens, forcing Samira's eyes back up as she flushes, never more grateful for dim lighting than she is now.
“Did you need something, Dr Walsh?" Samira says tightly, not in the mood for incessant ribbing or any kind of conversation, really. It’s been a long day, and all she wants to do is wallow in her own patheticness over a drink and then crash into bed.
Walsh looks taken aback for a second, smirk slipping slightly like she hadn’t expected the opposite-of-warm response. And Samira can’t even blame her; despite how much Walsh always pushed her buttons and threw sarcastic jabs at her, Samira had never snapped back, always stayed calm and collected and professional. This version of her, tired and angry and frustrated, is probably the last thing Walsh had expected when she came over.
“I - no,” Walsh falters, the most unsure Samira’s ever seen her in the years they’ve worked together. “I just thought I’d see if you maybe wanted company.”
“It’s a free country,” Samira says lightly, already spinning in her stool to face away from Walsh. She sighs and nudges the stool next to her when Walsh doesn't move, raising an eyebrow over her shoulder. “So?”
“Bad day?” Walsh asks as she settles in, fidgeting with the zipper on her jacket. She glances up at Samira's pointed silence, brow furrowing for a second when she catches the glare being shot at her. “Right, sorry. Stupid question.”
Silence for a minute.
“What are you drinking?”
Samira shrugs, fidgeting with her straw. “Didn’t take you for the chatty kind.”
“I can go if you want to be alone,” Walsh offers, already starting to hop down from her stool. “I kinda backed you into a corner anyways, so…”
“No,” Samira exhales, grabbing Walsh's elbow to stop her. “No, stay. I’m sorry. It’s just… I’ve had a shitty day.”
Walsh hums but doesn’t say anything else, making Samira glance over at her expectantly.
“What?”
Walsh continues to study her, eyes sweeping over Samira's face in a way that makes her feel overly exposed. “Forgive me if I’m being too forward,” she says finally, leaning forward slightly so there’s barely a few inches between their faces. “But would you like to come home with me?”
“Come home with you,” Samira can only echo, mouth parted in shock as she turns the words over in her head. She doesn’t miss the way Walsh's eyes drop down to her mouth for a brief second before slowly dragging back up to her eyes, as if she’d rather stare at Samira's mouth for longer than is polite. “Why?”
“Just think you could use a distraction tonight. Get out of your head for a bit.”
Walsh’s face shifts, something vulnerable settling in her eyes as she waits, placing a hand palm up on the bar between them in invitation. “So?”
“Why?” Samira repeats. “I don’t need pity or whatever you're doing here, Dr Walsh.”
“Emery,” she corrects, a hint of annoyance lacing the words. “And pity, really? Do you think I say shit I don’t mean?”
“Well, no, but -”
“I’ve seen how you look at me,” Walsh – Emery, she corrects in her head – cuts her off, saying the words as if it was obvious and Samira ought to have known. “And I - you’re easy on the eyes, Mohan. Mine, to be specific.”
“Samira,” she can only counter, unable to manage words at the moment. Any other time, she would have laughed at Emery’s awkwardness, but right now she’s too shocked to even put together a comprehensive thought. She hadn’t realized how obvious she was being, so obvious to the point that Emery had noticed. “You’re attracted to me?” She asks dumbly, needing to hear it said out loud before she can even begin to process the impossibility of it.
“Yes,” Emery exhales. “Yeah, I am.” She waits for Samira to say something, narrowing her eyes when there's nothing but silence. “Samira?”
“Sorry. Um, yeah. Just… you’re being serious? This isn’t some,” she vaguely waves a hand at Emery, “I don’t know, elaborate prank?”
“God help me,” Emery groans, reaching over and taking both of Samira's hands in hers. “No, Samira. I’m being very serious. Now, yes or no? Ball’s in your court.”
The sound of Samira – usually so soft and gentle – cursing makes Emery smile. “Okay, then. Finish your drink.”
She squeezes Samira's hands once before letting go, already mourning the absence of them as she calls the bartender over to pay Samira’s tab. They’d fit so perfectly in hers, small and slender while hers were larger and stockier, warm while hers were cold. She slides off her stool and holds a hand out to Samira to help her off, tugging her along as they push through the crowd and outside into the cool night air.
“You okay to walk? My apartment’s only a few blocks away.”
“Can I -” Samira starts hesitantly, shaking her head. “Never mind.” She starts walking again, only to be tugged backwards again by Emery’s grip on her hand.
Emery uses her free hand to brush a stray curl back from Samira's face, cupping her cheek gently. The tenderness of the touch – especially from someone who’s normally all hard edges – threatens to bring tears to Samira's eyes. It’d been so long since someone had touched her at all, forget touching her like she’s precious and deserves to be treated as such. “Hey,” Emery says gently, voice low like it’s meant just for the two of them. “What’s up?”
Samira opens her mouth then closes it, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment and steeling herself. “Can I kiss you?” she blurts out finally, heart pounding when Emery only grins at her, a quick flash of teeth before it settles into something softer, fonder.
“Yeah,” Emery whispers, cheeks flushing slightly, though whether it’s from the cold or the question, Samira will never know. She uses their joined hands to tug Samira closer, so close the tips of their shoes touch. The hand on Samira's cheek shifts lower to slide her thumb under Samira’s jaw, using it to angle her head before Emery finally leans in and kisses her.
Samira can only freeze for a second, shocked that she’s actually kissing Emery Walsh after all these years of yearning from a distance, snapping out of her daze to kiss Emery back and settling a hand on her waist. Unsurprisingly, Emery kisses the same way she works, all precise and angry and urgent, not letting up even as Samira gasps slightly. She can feel the way Emery smiles against her lips, using it to her advantage and slipping her tongue in to trace Samira’s, licking into her mouth like she’s starving and this is the first meal she’s been offered in ages.
When they finally separate to breathe, Emery dips her head, pressing kisses over Samira's collarbone before moving up her neck and along her jaw, breath hot as she greedily mouths at Samira's skin. “You’re perfect,” she says as she presses a kiss just below Samira's ear, as if to seal her words in place. “So fucking perfect.”
“Oh, fuck,” Samira can only whimper when Emery’s teeth dig into the juncture of her jaw, tipping her head back as she revels in the way Emery’s mouth feels on her skin, hungrily licking and kissing at it. “Emery, please.”
She’d normally be ashamed at how needy and desperate she sounds, standing on the sidewalk like this – out in the open for anyone to see – with someone kissing her neck in a way she knows looks incredibly improper, but she finds that she really can’t be bothered to care. Her brain feels hazy, like Emery has her under some kind of spell that renders her unable to move, easily controlled like a puppet.
“Look at you,” Emery says right next to her ear, voice so low it’s practically a growl. “So pretty for me.” She nips at Samira’s shoulder, lips curving into a smile against her skin when Samira lets out a low moan.
Emery untangles their hands to press a warm palm to the small of Samira's back, lifting her head to look up a moment later. Her eyes are unfocused and dark, sending a thrill of excitement through Samira at the effect she has on Emery. “Come on,” she murmurs. “Let’s get you home, baby.”
Samira shivers slightly at the pet name, and Emery smirks over at her, teasing and affectionate like she knows exactly what’s going through Samira's brain. She nudges Samira forward, guiding her along the sidewalk as Samira turns her brain off in blind trust, something she’s never been able to do before. But with Emery, all she feels is safe, protected even.
They’re at Emery’s apartment just ten minutes later, hands intertwined as they step through the sliding door and Emery lets them in with her fob. Samira can feel the nervousness rising the closer they get, but it’s coupled with anticipation that buzzes just under her skin, fueled by the way Emery leans up and presses a kiss to her cheek. She’s immediately pushed back against the elevator wall as soon as they step in, Emery’s fingers dancing at the hem of her top teasingly. Samira dips her head to kiss Emery, soft at first then more firmly, sucking at her bottom lip and relishing the way Emery whimpers against her mouth.
They barely notice when the elevator stops, blinking at each other for a few seconds before they pull apart, stepping out and walking down the hallway. Emery quickly pushes Samira up against the apartment door, a hand on her shoulder to pin her in place as she mouths at the curve of her neck, biting then soothing over the marks with her tongue, other hand blindly fishing in her pocket for her keys. She yanks them out and jabs them into the lock, sliding her hand down to Samira's waist to hold her steady as they stumble backwards and inside, kicking the door shut behind her as she kisses Samira’s jaw.
“Shoes,” she mumbles as she kicks her own off, pausing a minute to let Samira do the same before pressing a kiss to her lips and pulling back just when she starts to melt into it, earning her a frustrated glare in response.
“You okay?” she asks, smoothing a hand along Samira's side reassuringly.
“What?” Samira blinks down at Emery in a way that makes her heart squeeze. And for good reason too; after years of futile wanting, of feeling her heart beat faster every time Samira would challenge her or successfully pull off a crazy procedure from some obscure medical journal, of adding on an extra level of sarcasm to mask her true feelings of admiration and yearning, she finally had the woman who turned her, infamous hardass Emery Walsh, into a gooey ball of softness. And there was no way in hell that she was going to fuck this up. She’d fumbled gorgeous women before and been entirely unfeeling about it, but this? This had the potential to completely ruin her.
Emery just smiles at her, reaching up to cradle Samira's face in her hands, thumbs stroking along her cheekbones. “Doing okay, honey?” She can feel the shiver that runs through Samira at her words, grin widening in amusement as she waits.
“Yes, yeah,” Samira finally chokes out, eyes wide with hunger. “Please, Emery, I need -”
“Shh,” Emery soothes gently. “I know, baby. I got you. Gonna let me take care of you, yeah?” Samira nods sharply in response, making Emery click her tongue disapprovingly. “Words, sweet girl.”
“Oh,” Samira whimpers, head dropping forward in defeat as if it’s all too much. “Please, anything you want, just -” she breaks off, a choked noise punching out of her.
Emery laughs at that, only half meanly. “Oh, baby,” she coos, injecting her tone with extra sweetness. “Look at you, falling apart when I haven’t even touched you yet.” She releases Samira's face, taking her hand and pulling her through the already open bedroom door, backing Samira up against the edge of her bed, so close that they’d be horizontal with just another step.
Samira’s gazing down at her, brown eyes wide with pleading and desperation, and Emery lets herself soak up the image before she moves again, leaning up and pressing a quick kiss to Samira's lips before taking a step back. She slides her fingers under the hem of her jersey to take it off, but Samira reaches out to stop her, something determined lighting up in her eyes as she places her fingers over Emery's and lifts the fabric in silent question.
“Words, baby, remember?”
“Off,” Samira says, almost shy at having to say it out loud. “Please?”
“Well, because you asked so nicely,” Emery teases. She lets her jersey be tugged off, softening at the way Samira gently eases it over her head when it sticks.
Samira's gaze sweeps over Emery as she steps back, taking in her basic navy sports bra, the muscle of her arms and abs, the appendix surgery scar from when she was seven, the faint trail of hair dipping into her dark jeans.
The determination in her eyes is replaced by something darker and hungrier as she ghosts her fingertips over Emery’s ribs, holding her gaze the entire time.
“Your turn,” Emery rasps, dizzy from the way Samira's touching her, light and careful like she might break. She reaches over and rubs the thin fabric of Samira’s top between her fingers, tugging the front zipper down when she receives a sharp nod from Samira. It splits to reveal a lacy bra and a smooth expanse of deep skin. Emery’s hands slide to Samira's waist to hold her in place as she takes a step back to get a good look, almost like she’s scared Samira will run otherwise.
Something possessive rises in Emery, catching her off guard. Standing here, sliding Samira's top off her shoulders and drinking in the way her lacy black bra dips low between her breasts, all Emery wants is to keep Samira in her bed forever and ever, only hers to look at and devour. She shakes her head slightly, trying to push the thoughts down and knowing she’s going too far.
She pushes Samira down to sit on the bed, both hands on her shoulders as she moves to stand between Samira's legs. She slides a hand to cup the nape of Samira's neck, toying with the baby hairs that have escaped her loose ponytail.
“Emery,” Samira whines, tipping her head back and pouting. “Stop teasing.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Emery murmurs, all fake sympathy as she tugs the hair tie out and runs her fingers through Samira’s hair, wrapping a hand in it and tugging her head further back. She leans down and brushes Samira's lips with hers, smirking at the way Samira tries to arch up for more and frowns when she can’t. “This is me going easy on you. But fine, since you're so eager. Go on, tell me what you want.”
Samira just gapes at her, mouth opening then slamming shut. “That’s not fair,” she says eventually, voice quieter and less confident than it was before. She’s pretty sure she’s already soaked through her panties, way more turned on than she should be by Emery’s cocky and patronizing teasing.
“No?”
Samira shakes her head slightly, almost like she’s questioning her decision to push it.
Emery tugs lightly on Samira’s hair in disapproval, clicking her tongue. “Come on, use your words.”
“Please,” Samira breathes, eyes wide with desperation. “Please, just fucking touch me, Emery, please, I’m sorry -”
Emery’s barely-held control finally snaps; she dips her head and kisses Samira to cut her off, hunger and impatience running through her blood. She settles her hands on Samira’s waist, sliding them upwards over her ribs, thumbs just barely brushing the undersides of her breasts through the fabric. She leans forward even more, using her weight to push Samira back onto the bed with their bodies half hanging off and legs tangled together.
Samira moans into the kiss, pleading and needy in a way that only makes Emery kiss harder, licking into her mouth with every inch of the yearning she’s repressed for years, biting down on Samira's bottom lip and reveling in the breathy exhale she receives. She can feel Samira's thigh between her legs and the way her hips arch up even as Emery pulls back, pressing her open mouth to Samira's chest and sucking hard, leaving purple marks along the lacy outline of her bra.
Samira’s hands slide between them, shaky as they unbutton Emery’s jeans and start to push them down. She gets them down to Emery's knees before she can no longer reach, grunting with frustration as Emery simply keeps mouthing at her skin in a way that makes Samira's brain go fuzzy and doesn’t bother to help. Her hands press against the backs of Emery’s thighs, fingers digging in at the overwhelming pleasure when Emery nips at the sensitive skin on her neck.
Desperately, Samira tangles her fingers in Emery's hair, tugging her head up. Emery blinks at her for a second, face twisting into confusion. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Her voice is rough, lips red and swollen in a way that Samira wants to memorize for the rest of her life.
“Your jeans,” Samira huffs, frowning at Emery’s lack of urgency. “Take them off.”
“Aw, you need my help, baby?”
Samira nods furiously, remembering Emery's orders to use her words a second later. “Yes, yeah, please.”
“Okay,” Emery says, rolling off of Samira and onto her back next to her, kicking her jeans all the way off. “Okay, baby, whatever you want.”
She turns her head to look at Samira, a smile stretching across her face when she sees the way Samira's eyes slowly sweep over her body, taking in the delicate chain that sits against her bare skin, the freckles along her shoulders, the way her boxers slip lower on her hips, the soft and lightly sculpted muscle of her thighs from lifting, the bruise on her knee where an intern had knocked her into the table during a surgery earlier in the week.
“Oh,” she breathes, eyes snapping back up to meet Emery's with a look that can only be described as reverent on her face. “You’re beautiful.”
Emery flushes, knowing it’s beyond visible against her pale skin. She rolls over onto her side, holding herself up on an elbow as she reaches out to loop a finger through Samira's belt loop, tugging gently in question. “Can I?”
Samira nods, eyes bright and dilated with want. Emery expertly undoes the button and zipper with one hand, sliding her fingers underneath the waistband and pulling as Samira lifts her hips to help and then kicks them off, left in just a pair of black panties that match her bra.
Emery wasn’t rendered speechless often, but this was one of those rare times, gaze trailing along Samira's long legs and over the curve of her hip and the soft roundness of her stomach. She feels like any remaining oxygen has been punched out of her in the best way, like Samira is the air she’s meant to breathe and live off of instead.
Sliding just a bit lower, she leans over, pressing her lips to Samira's sternum before glancing up and catching the way Samira watches her through half-lidded eyes, the way her fingers flex at her sides like she’s trying to restrain herself. She dips her head again to press hot kisses lower and lower, over Samira's ribs and down the faint trail of hair leading into her panties, before climbing off the bed and landing on her knees on the plush rug. She positions herself between Samira's legs, hands coming up to run over the soft skin of her thighs and her hips, pausing to squeeze just once, fingers brushing the elastic of her panties in question.
Samira props herself up on her elbows to meet Emery's gaze. Her eyes have darkened, somehow wider than usual, looking so messy and beautiful and perfect that Emery melts, thumbs idly soothing over the jut of her hipbone as she takes in the image.
“What are you waiting for?” Samira asks teasingly as she raises an eyebrow, though her voice wavers, caught in the web of Emery's touch.
Emery simply pinches her hip in retaliation, smoothing over it with a fingertip just a second later, as if out of a natural instinct to soothe. She rises up on her knees, reaching around to Samira's back and unclasping her bra, stilling for a second to press a kiss to Samira's lips. “Good?” she whispers when she pulls back, the words a hot exhale into the miniscule space between their mouths.
“Fuck yes.”
Emery grins at that, wide and genuine, sliding the bra off over Samira's arms and taking a minute to just stare, hunger lighting in her eyes as her thumbs brush over hard nipples, a gentle graze the first time then more sure the second time.
Samira arches up into the touch, eyes slipping closed. Emery pinches a nipple reproachfully, making her eyes fly open as she frowns. “Seriously?”
“Eyes open, Samira, or I stop.”
“Fine,” Samira huffs, even as a smile twitches at the corner of her mouth. “Keep going, then.”
Emery slides her hands under Samira's thighs and gently tugs her closer to the edge of the bed, leaning down and wrapping her mouth around Samira’s nipple and scraping her teeth over it. Samira gasps in shock, a hand flying to clutch at Emery's hair as if to brace herself. Emery soothes over it with her tongue in apology, hollowing her cheeks out as she sucks hard. She lifts her head, switching to the other nipple and giving it the same treatment as Samira arches and writhes under her touch, finally lifting herself off and grinning up at Samira's dazed expression.
“Still alive, baby?”
Samira groans, hand limp where it still rests in Emery's hair. “You're killing me, Emery. We've barely started and you’re already killing me.”
Emery laughs, rising slightly to press a kiss to Samira's nose, her cheek, lingering at her lips. “We can stop if you -”
“No,” Samira says quickly before she can finish. “Don’t you dare.”
Lying here, practically bare and entirely exposed, she feels like maybe this is her reward for getting through the shittiness of today, that Emery’s mouth – with all the almost evil things it does – is what she deserves for her patience.
And Emery, for all her pretenses of carefully wielded scalpels that threaten you for getting too close, is incredibly soft, as Samira's now discovered. She bites then soothes, a strange juxtaposition that Samira finds herself craving more of, finds herself yearning for more of Emery. She’s never felt more worshiped and cherished than she does now, letting Emery do as she pleases to her body, taking control of the pleasure she knows Emery would never deny her.
Emery just grins into her stomach, sucking a kiss there before moving lower, mouthing at the skin just above her panties. She settles on her knees and adjusts her grip on Samira's thighs, pressing a kiss to the dampness at the crotch of her panties, mouthing at Samira’s clit through the fabric as she lets her tongue flick out and taste her, there and gone so fast Samira thinks she’s imagined it. Emery groans against her, making Samira push her hips into Emery's face at the vibrations that float through her as a result.
“Fuck, Samira. Look at you, so wet for me.”
“Please,” Samira pleads, fingers wrapping around Emery’s hair and trying to push her head back where she needs it. “All yours, baby, just -” she whimpers quietly when Emery mouths at the sensitive skin on the inside of her thigh, “I need your mouth, please, Em.”
Emery stills for a second at the nickname, feeling like they've just crossed another line of intimacy. She’d usually bite anyone’s head off for daring to push boundaries like that, but not Samira. The woman could stab her in the heart and Emery would still want her, would thank her for the pain even as she bled out.
Something shatters in her and she growls low in her chest, yanking Samira's panties down and off her legs, fiercely licking a stripe down Samira's center and shifting her hands to pin Samira’s hips down when she tries to pull away, doubling down and sucking at her clit before easing up slightly and pressing softer kisses to her folds.
Samira tugs at the hair tangled around her fingers and Emery freezes, head snapping up to meet her eyes, grip on Samira's hips loosening just a touch.
Emery lets out a relieved exhale, worried for a second that she’d done something wrong. She rests her cheek against the inside of Samira's thigh and smiles softly, ridiculously high on the way Samira tastes. “Anything you want, sweetheart.” The words sound like a vow as they slip out of her, and though she intends them as such, the realization still scares her.
She dips her head again, spreading slick from Samira's dripping pussy over to her clit, gliding her thumb over it as Samira lets out a happy sigh above her. She slides a finger into Samira up to just the first knuckle, fighting a moan at the tightness, twisting it slightly as she pulls back then thrusts in again, deeper this time. Samira’s hips buck into her hand, and Emery smirks against her skin, pressing a kiss to her clit.
“You like that, baby? Like how I fuck you?”
“Yes,” Samira moans, hips bucking to chase Emery’s finger as she thrusts upwards. “More, Emery. ‘m so close.”
Emery can do nothing but obey, pointer finger pulling back to slide a second in with it, thrusting hard and twisting her wrist slightly.
“Oh, fuck,” Samira babbles, fully in another universe under Emery’s hands and mouth. Emery’s fingers brush that spot and send sparks through her, and god, she’s so close now, just one more - “Oh, fuck, please.” She comes, tightening around Emery's fingers and gushing slick, and Emery dips her head to catch it, lapping at it and savouring the taste like it’s her last meal on earth. She pulls her fingers out gently as Samira comes down from her high, rising to lay on the bed and wrap an arm around her, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Hey,” Emery murmurs into her sweat-damp hair. “You with me?”
Samira can only nod weakly, curling further into Emery's side. She leans into the fingers running through her hair, gently separating her curls in a way that nearly puts her to sleep.
“Too tired to keep going?” Emery asks, the grin evident in her voice.
Samira’s eyes snap open at the question as she shakes her head furiously. “Nope. Never. Please?”
“Sweetheart,” Emery murmurs, shifting to brush her lips over Samira's pounding carotid. “You know I'd give you whatever you want.”
“Well, then,” Samira says as a sudden burst of courage comes over her, sitting up and swinging a leg over Emery to straddle her, fingers playing with the edge of her sports bra. “That can wait a minute, can’t it?”
As she looks down at Emery, all messy dark curls spread out across the bed and dilated pupils and gazing back at her like she’s the only thing that exists, Samira thinks that despite all her cynicism about love, she may just be falling for Emery Walsh, something that both terrifies and exhilarates her.
Emery simply raises an eyebrow and smirks up at Samira, though there’s something fond and impressed under it. “Yeah?”
Samira hums, caging Emery in with a hand on the mattress on either side of her head and leaning forward, brushing featherlight kisses at her temple, over her cheekbone, along her jaw. She pauses over Emery’s collarbone, sucking with the lightest pressure and grinning against her skin when it makes Emery tip her head to the side in a silent plea for more.
“Aw,” Samira coos, delighted with how the tables have turned and unable to hide her triumphant smile. Emery apparently sees it too, because she shoots Samira a weak glare, cut off by the groan she lets out when Samira moves lower on her chest, just above the top of her bra. “Did you want something, baby?"
“Brat,” Emery manages to say lightly, back arching as Samira tugs her bra up and licks at a nipple with no preamble, the flat of her tongue laving over it in a quick pass that feels like sparks shooting through Emery. “Fuck, Samira -”
Samira just grazes her teeth over Emery's nipple in response before biting down slightly, lips curving into a smile around it. She hums, a pleased sound that goes straight through Emery and just makes her wetter.
“Please, please, I -” she's properly pleading now, something she’s never imagined herself doing. She’s always been in charge, has always topped, but here with Samira she finds she doesn’t mind at all, quite likes being pinned down and letting Samira toy with her.
Samira just laughs softly against Emery’s flushed skin, now busy sucking over her collarbone and up her neck. In the back of her mind, Emery knows she should tell Samira to stop, because god forbid she have marks on display like a horny teenager, but she really doesn’t give a fuck right now. She's got this gorgeous woman in her bed after all this time, and that's all that matters.
“Desperate, aren’t we?”
“Yes,” Emery gasps just as Samira licks a long stripe along the shell of her ear. “Only for you.”
Samira hums again, pulling back to meet Emery's half-lidded gaze. Her wide brown eyes shine the brightest Emery’s ever seen them, sparkling with pure delight at the state she has Emery in. “Poor baby,” she coos, brushing her fingertips over Emery's cheekbone; it’s embarrassing to admit, but Emery arches into the touch like a needy cat taking whatever affection it can get. “As if flattery will get you anywhere.”
Emery can only blink up at her, surprised and slightly caught off guard at this side of Samira. Not that she was complaining, of course, because the glint of bossiness in Samira's eyes did things to her that nothing ever had before.
“Please?” she asks again, hearing the desperateness in her voice. It’s clear as day, and Samira's grin widens at it, knowing she’s got Emery exactly where she wants her.
“Mmm, I don’t know,” Samira teases, tucking a strand of hair behind Emery's ear gently. “What's in it for me?”
“Anything,” Emery says quickly, the word out before she can even realize it. “Anything you want, I swear, just touch me.”
Any other time, she’d be embarrassed at how pathetic she sounds, how she, Emery Walsh – badass surgeon and infamous top – has been reduced to a begging mess by just one woman. But all that is out the window, because here and now with Samira hovering over her and the only thing in view, she thinks she could die happy.
“But I am touching you,” Samira says innocently, lips twitching in amusement.
“No,” Emery groans, frustrated and even more aware of the heat pulsing low in her stomach now. “Fuck, I’ll touch myself if you don’t, Samira, I’m not kidding -”
Before she can even finish her sentence Samira’s lying next to her and is tugging her boxers off, a hand sliding lower on Emery's body to run two fingers through her slick heat.
“Oh,” Samira breathes as she holds her hand up between them, pointer and middle fingers glistening with evidence, and for a good second Emery thinks she might come from just the awed wonder in Samira's eyes. “Oh, look at you.”
“More,” Emery begs, needing to feel Samira's fingers on her again. “Please, sweet girl, please.” It appears to be the word of the day, spilling from her lips without a second thought.
Samira dips down to kiss her in lieu of an answer, hungry and greedy as she runs a hand over Emery's hips and thighs and finally over to where she needs Samira's attention the most, thumbing at her clit and swallowing the moan Emery lets out into their connected mouths.
“Good?” Samira murmurs, pulling back enough for their lips to just barely brush. “Em?”
Emery can only nod as she tries to catch her breath, all too aware of her heart pounding in a way that would be concerning if the reason for it wasn’t right in front of her. “Yeah,” she finally manages. “Yeah, baby, so fucking good.”
Samira watches her for a moment longer before leaning down and kissing her again, slower this time. Her fingers start moving through Emery’s wetness again, the pads of her fingers sliding over her clit, so painfully slow it makes Emery squirm with impatience and hunger.
“Please,” she whispers, pulling back and hoping her desperateness is visible in her eyes. “Faster, please, I need more.”
“I know.” Samira smiles, a gentle curve Emery can feel against her own mouth. “I got you.”
Before Emery can even begin to process the quiet solemnity behind Samira’s words, two fingers are sliding into her, easy enough with how embarrassingly wet she is by now.
She gasps at the suddenness of it, making Samira grin against her neck. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” Her tone is sweet and just barely mocking, and Emery can’t even disagree because yes, she had asked for this, had practically begged for it.
“Don’t think I’ve ever heard you say please this many times, Em. Imagine what people would say.”
She’d never admit it, but Samira’s words are doing more for that coiling heat slowly building in her stomach than her fingers — thrusting and scraping against her walls — are. There’s something about the way Samira’s talking to her, mean and condescending in an almost sweet way, that’s pushing her closer and closer to the edge.
She arches her back, pushing up into Samira’s hand and trying to get more, she just needs a tiny bit more and oh -
“So good,” she gasps when Samira’s fingers slide over that exact spot. “Right there, sweetheart, so good, oh fuck.”
She’s fully aware she's babbling by now, entirely unable to form comprehensive thoughts, but all her brain can think is Samira Samira Samira, an unending loop of pleasure as Samira tweaks a nipple and thrusts in deep at the same time and then it’s game over and Emery feels like she’s floating, only buoyed down by Samira’s hand on her cheek as she comes back down.
“Hey,” Samira whispers as she lays down next to Emery again, tracing down her forehead and the bridge of her nose and over her lips and down her chin with the tip of a finger. “How was that?”
There’s no trace of teasing anymore, just warm concern and something that Emery can only interpret to be an anxious need for some kind of approval, as if Samira had done anything other than life-changingly good. But she can tell this is bigger than her, and so she turns onto her side and tosses an arm over Samira's waist to tug her closer.
“Amazing, honey. You did incredible.”
“Yeah?”
The Samira who’d teased and mocked incessantly is gone now, leaving behind a version who’s searching Emery’s eyes as if for any indication that she’s being lied to.
“Yes,” Emery says, more firmly this time. “‘course you did, Mira. Expected nothing less from you.”
Samira beams at that, so quick and bright Emery feels dizzy that it’s directed at her and only her.
And then it’s gone, quick as it had arrived, and Samira’s sliding backwards and out of her arms. She watches, wide-eyed and panicked, as Samira gets off the bed and starts looking around for her clothes, alarm bells in her head finally urging her to move.
She hurries off the bed and reaches for Samira, stopping her frenzied movements with a hand on her wrist.
“Hey, where are you going?”
Samira frowns at her, evidently puzzled at the question. “Well, we - I should go home.”
“Home.” Emery repeats the word like it’s entirely foreign to her. “Why?”
“I -” Samira hesitates when she sees the confusion mirrored on Emery’s face. “Because we’re done here.”
Emery’s heart breaks at that. She’d finally gotten her possibly-unrequited crush into her bed and now Samira was about to slip out of her grasp again. She takes a step forward. “No, no, listen.”
“I - I want you to stay. For a while.”
“Like for the night?”
“Fuck,” Emery groans. “No, sweet girl. No. What I’m trying to say is, I like you. A ridiculous amount. So if you’ll have me…”
She trails off as understanding then joy passes over Samira’s face. Then there's that smile again, aimed straight at Emery and sending a rush of warmth through her.
“You’re serious?”
Emery laughs fondly, placing her hands on Samira's hips to tug her closer. “Yeah, honey. Dead serious.”
Samira blinks at her, dazed but still grinning. “Then yes, yeah, duh.” The words spill out in a rush of exhilaration. “Is this real?”
Emery just leans up and kisses her in response, slow and hungry. She licks into Samira's mouth like it's her first meal in days, injecting every ounce of the longing and wanting she’s felt for the past few years into it.
When she pulls back again, she smiles, soft and fond and warm in the way she rarely dishes out to anyone. “Feel real now?”
It was her fault, truly. She’d got so caught up in the heat and the sex and Trinity that it just hadn’t occurred to her, not even the morning after, not even when she’d snuck out with her coat in one hand and her shoes in the other, doing her best to purge the memory from her mind by throwing herself into her work.
She’d been drunk, they both had been. Fuelled by months of lingering touches and stares across the ED, the night had been as inevitable as the sun rising the following morning.
She’d known she shouldn’t have encouraged it, shouldn’t have let Trinity grind up against her on the dance floor until something hard was poking her in the ass, but Trinity was fun. She was young and eager and so goddamn gorgeous that Baran hadn’t been able to help herself.
She’d blown her in the bathroom first. Locked in a cramped little stall, her hands on Trinity’s ass and thighs, pulling her in, sucking her off with Trinity’s hands fisted in her hair, her hips jerking into her mouth until she came with a snarl and a groan.
Then she’d let Trinity pull her to her feet, turn her around and smush her face against the door, nudging her legs apart before lining herself up and pushing in with her hands bruising her hips.
Her cock had been gorgeous, just over seven inches, long and thick. What was even better was that Trinity knew how to use it, letting her alpha take a good degree of control and drive into her, gentle but unrelenting. Baran’s hands had scrabbled against the door whilst her lungs fought for air.
“Oh my god, baby, please. Give it to me. I need it.”
Trinity had snarled into her ear, nipping at her neck and letting her tongue dart over the gland on Baran’s neck, earning a shiver.
“You’re all mine, aren’t you? A perfect omega, just for me.”
The designation reminder should’ve been the first warning in Baran’s mind but with Trinity’s hand pinning her to the door between her shoulder blades and her cock working so fucking deliciously inside of her, any relevant and rational thought escaped her mind.
Trinity came inside her with a possessive growl and her teeth biting sharply into the bone of her shoulder, hands holding tight enough to bruise.
She’d let Trinity take her home, all the omega in her screaming to be close, to not let Trinity go. She’d let Trinity bend her over the table in the kitchen, ridden her for all she was worth on the couch, sucked her off again when she’d needed a break.
They’d even slept between rounds and Baran had woken up aching, practically begging for Trinity to be inside her again. Trinity, of course, being the generous alpha she was, had immediately provided and slid back inside Baran’s tight cunt and rutted against her until they were both coming, panting into each other’s mouths.
Again, it hadn’t occurred to her. The sex, the heat, her senses. All of it had just begged and whined and sobbed for Trinity that all rational thought had gone out the window and seemingly remained that way until it was too late.
They hadn’t spoken since that night, not properly anyway. They’d gone about their work professionally, clearly ignoring how their bodies still screamed for one another, especially when they were in close proximity. Baran felt it in herself, saw it in Trinity. Little flutters in her stomach, the goosebumps coming out on her arms and the back of her neck. More than once she’d spotted Trinity sneaking off to the bathroom, a suspiciously covered crotch and a deep red flush at the tip of her ears.
More than once she’d been tempted to join her, to relive that night in the bar, wrap her hand around Trinity’s length and watch the ecstasy play out across those handsome features that were just so so gorgeous.
But she couldn’t, she knew that. She was her attending for Christ’s sake, her superior. Just even thinking about her that way was inappropriate, let alone acting on it.
It’s the second time she misses her period that she finally tests herself, finally gets her shit together and isn’t all that surprised to find the two lines staring up at her in return.
Pregnant.
Trinity had gotten her pregnant.
Baran hated herself.
She’d ruined their lives, ruined their reputations and their careers. She’d seduced an alpha resident and let her have her way with her, let her pin her up against walls and pound into her until her seed was so deeply rooted in her body that it had taken it in and stuck there.
They hadn’t used protection, hadn’t discussed it, Baran hadn’t got the morning-after pill, her mind clouded with the thought, the feel, the smell of Trinity Santos.
Even now, with the stick in her hand and her eyes on the younger woman by the central hub, she couldn’t think rationally. All she saw was her Trinity, her Alpha, hers hers hers.
But Trinity was fun.
Trinity was young.
She wouldn’t want a baby, not now, not with her. She was too young, too busy, too focused on her career.
She’s not even thirty yet, Baran.
She wasn’t sure how she was going to tell her. Watching her now, smiling with Whitaker as she looked up at the board, Baran couldn’t imagine how she was going to break this kind of news to Trinity, to break that gorgeous smile and bring her, unwillingly into the real world.
Maybe she wouldn’t.
Maybe she’d let her find out for herself.
Even worse, she’d probably let her do it again and again and again.
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