ronnie

your first impression of Trinity Santos wasn’t exactly flattering.

it was your second shift in the pitt, and practically downpour outside the hospital walls as you scrambled to keep up with the work load. MVC, only 2 hours into the day, all hands on deck.

you were practically scurrying around the nurses station trying to discharge patients as quick as possible, free up some beds, move others to the hall if possible.

jackson peterson can go to the hall. he’s stable enough, plus he just finished getting iv fluids half and hour ago.

mrs richardson is good to go home, she just needs her paperwork.

kelly anderson is still waiting for CT but she’s stable, vitals are good, she can sit in the hall via wheelchair.

you pause, brows pushing together as you try to think back on what else dr robby had asked of you.

you turn, feet on a swivel without a glance.

“watch it hun,” dana.

she’s passing you right as your shoulder nearly collides with hers, and although her voice is strict her eyes are soft, amused beneath her glasses. noted. look both ways.

“i hope we get something good,” santos jogs to catch up with you, elbows bumping as you exit to the ambulance bay where you can already hear the distance sirens incoming, “dibs. watch and learn.”

she’s cynical, you can tell by the edge in her voice and the way she doesn’t bother to glance your way. rude. you didn’t even catch her first name, she didn’t even ask for yours. double rude.

your eyes narrow, about to retort at the brunette when suddenly your eyeline has gone vertical, hands shooting out as your body loses momentum, shoes squeaking against the rainwater.

one minute you’re approaching your attending, and the next your ass is smacking hard against the pavement. if your tailbone was sentient it would be cussing, a dull throb crawling up your spine.

the worst you’d get is a bruise if it wasn’t for the eyes that have followed you down, a few ooos and damn’s coming from your colleagues that make your ego shrink beyond repair.

“oh my g-, that was,” santos. she’s still beside you, maybe a few steps ahead but she’s now doubled over in laughter, clutching her stomach like it’s so funny it hurts, “that was beautiful.”

damn her.

mohan is already at your side, brows pinched in concern, a hand extending to aid you. you take it gracefully, as gracefully as someone who just embarrassed herself front of her higher up’s can manage. you’re pulled to a stand, groaning low at the soreness presenting itself across your ass. you would rub at the pain if it wouldn’t make you look even more like a moron.

…and santos is still laughing, so much so you’re positive you can see tears in her eyes. okay it wasn’t that funny.

“my day is made, nothing can top that,” she’s acting like you didn’t get hurt, granted it’s a superficial bruise of an injury but still, have some decency, “thanks for the show, slip.”

oh. oh no.

you were there when javadi collapsed. in fact you managed to catch her halfway to the ground. you remember the way santos rolled her eyes, arms crossed like it was an inconvenience.

you were there when she prodded at poor victoria and thus crowned her, ‘crash’. but javadi was a student still, passing out happens all the time for them. you were a resident, technically an equal to santos, both interns, both R1’s. and now what, you’ve been demoted by someone on the same level as you to slip?

it’s not even a creative nickname.

______________________________________________

“head in the clouds slip? or just running on fumes.” two hands grasp at your shoulders with a jolt, they’re off in a second but the way it shocks you out of your stupor lasts. you turn just as the short ponytail of brunette hair flicks to the opposite side of you. trinity leans against the counter of the nurses station beside you, a look on her face that says tell me all.

you sigh half heartedly, ignoring the way you can still feel the warmth of her palms against your shoulders, turning to face her.

“just thinking about the first time we met.” you chuckle, it’s a funny memory now thankfully. trinity eyes you for a second, you swallow, slightly shrinking under her gaze.

“oh yeah,” she says it like she’s too cool to think about it, lips pursing in a way that tells you she’s actually holding back a smile, “and you ignored me for weeks after.”

you snicker. yeah, you remember that part too.

however it wasn’t because you were mad per say, more because of the embarrassment you felt whenever you saw her… okay and you were a little mad.

“i’ve grown to appreciate your comments, no matter how annoying they can be.” you tease, nose wrinkling to really emphasize your point. trinity scoffs but the look in her eyes doesn’t change, gaze locked with yours.

“plus if i didn’t put up with you,” you lean in, mischievous grin creeping onto your lips, you miss the way trinitys throat bobs as you invade her personal space, “you’d be all alone.”

it’s a jab you know is a lie, and so does she, but you still chuckle as you grab your patients chart from the counter and briskly pass her.

the hum of the er drones.

you’re oblivious to the way her body turns towards yours as you leave, like it’s magnetized, green eyes following your frame until you turn the corner and disappear from sight.

trinity sinks forward into the counter, a harsh breath leaving her lips as she plants her elbows and places cheek to palm.

“am i intruding?” trinity’s head snaps up, eyes falling on dana now sitting across the desk. she’s looking over the glasses perched on her nose, a knowing smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth.

“do i sense tension?” samira smiles as she approaches, handing a chart off to dana. she’d seen the interaction, she’s seen all of them. her and dana exchange knowing looks as trinity’s back straightens, face sinking into an expression that reads ‘i have no idea what you mean’.

“i’m gonna get details on the nun with syphilis.” trinity turns to leave, not bothering to address the two women.

“gonorrhea.” dana corrects without a glance up.

“tomato, tomahto.”

—————————————————————————

“how do you put up with it?”

you look up to find victoria standing in the doorway of the break room, hands wringing awkwardly. you pause, sandwich halfway to your mouth.

“uh, context?” you laugh, placing your lunch back down on its wrapper as victoria takes the empty seat across from you.

“santos. she’s, pretty mean,” she continues, that uncomfortable look on her face that just screams victoria javadi, staring into your eyes, “like, how do you deal with that stuff.”

you’re not sure how to answer that. you just don’t really mind. for whatever reason.

“huh, i’ve never put too much thought into it,” you ponder, the question she’s asking now sparking your own interest, “i think it’s just her way of communicating.”

“by belittling?”

“unfortunately.” you chuckle, watching how victoria shifts in her seat. you can tell she wants to say more, it’s like she’s holding a jumpy frog in her mouth.

you glance up and down, taking in the way she clutching her lavender jacket closer around her body like a safety blanket.

“you want me to talk to her?” that gets victorias attention, her eyes widening like a frightened puppy put on the spot. her hands shoot up in mock surrender, palms waving.

“no, that’s not necessary,” she replies, tone a little panicked and speaking quicker than you’ve ever heard her.

“i won’t mention this conversation, i’ll make it seem like it was all me,” you continue, nodding, “i won’t throw you under the bus.”

victoria pauses, hands falling into a clasp on the table.

“um, sure. if you’re cool with that.” she goes to stand, smiling in that way she does where her lips slightly curl into her teeth. you pick up your sandwich, ignoring the dollop of mayo that drops onto your thumb.

then she pauses again, freezing for a minute at the doorway before angling herself so she can address you properly.

“she still calls you slip.” she says, voice a tad softer than before.

you smile. easy.

“i’ve grown to like it.”

______________________________________________

“did you hear about the guy in chairs who’s eye popped out of the socket?” was the last thing you wanted to hear as you took a sip of lukewarm, watered down coffee shen had offered you before he left.

you swallowed with a grimace as trinity stuck her phone in your face, zoomed in on a picture you can only imagine she took in an effort to make you puke. you shove the device away from your face, face screwing up as trinity just laughed like it was the best thing in the world.

“ew. gross trin.” you suck in a breath, watching trinity eye the picture again before slipping her phone in her back pocket.

“you’ve definitely seen worse,” she quips, leaning her backside against the nurses desk, looming over you like a dark cloud as you sit in the chair dana always claimed. you were just keeping it warm for her, “i didn’t take you for a lightweight, slip.”

if your eyes rolled any further back you’d lose them.

“i’m not, but come on i was eating.” you nod to the dunkin cup in your hand, trinity follows your eye-line, landing on the few inches of ‘coffee’ left.

“you don’t eat coffee, babe.”

you freeze before your lips can wrap around the orange straw again, hand unknowingly gripping the plastic cup harder. your eyes are on the counter beside trinitys hip, blinking like a moron.

your lashes flutter, eyes glancing up to land on the woman mere feet from you. a harsh breath escapes your throat when you take in the way she’s seemingly frozen as well, if you just lean in a bit closer you can faintly see what appears to be a pink hue coloring her ears.

“that’s a new one.” you cough.

“shut up,” trinity squeezes her eyes shut, running a firm hand across her face. you follow the movement.

she opens her eyes to glance down at you, and you suddenly feel very small under her gaze, the fact you’re sitting down and she’s standing doesn’t help the situation. nor does it calm the racing of your heart or the fuzziness in your brain.

“um, i-,” trinity starts, the stutter in her voice catching you off guard in a way that’s concerning. however she’s cut off by a frazzled whitaker appearing out of thin air, body practically collapsing while still standing before the two of you.

he’s huffing like he ran a marathon, however you know for a fact the two patients rooms he’s been managing are both only several meters away.

“alien hand syndrome.” he announces it like the two of you are supposed to have a clue what he’s referring too. you and trinity lock eyes, she shrugs and it makes you smile.

“huckleberry, you don’t have to make up excuses for why i caught you jerking it the other day,” trinitys arms cross, leaning further into the desk. that gets a laugh out of you, even though you feel slightly bad at the way dennis’s face drops.

his face says ‘not this again’.

“trin.” you chuckle, bringing the coffee back to your lips.

“what? no!” dennis waves his hands like he’s been accused of a crime, like he’s in defensive mode or fight or flight and he’s about to book it down the hall. how can someone look so much like a soggy, depressed napkin?

“my patient, mr davidson? he was brought in for causing a disturbance at the gym down the street,” he continues while shaking his head like she’s waiting for trinity to keep her joke going, her silence is worrying, “he has alien hand syndrome, i’ve never seen it in person.”

he seems both parts greatly excited and deeply confused. typical dennis. trinity looks back to you, brows raising when she catches your eye, then back to dennis.

she snorts a laugh through her nose.

“it’s okay, we all need time for ourselves.”

whitaker takes a breath, eyes falling shut.

“mr davidson-,”

“is that what you named your penis?” okay. she just says things in a certain way that you find so funny. you choke on a laugh, smacking a hand against trinitys knee as she just smiles at dennis, you don’t notice the way her eyes occasionally glance towards you.

“who named their penis?” oh my god. robby walks up from behind you, crossing his arms in a way that mirrors trinity. he looks amused, however you can also see the urge to reprimand the three of you sitting behind his eyes. your back straightens like you’ve been struck by lightning.

“dennis.” you respond calmly, holding back the howl you want to let out at the way dennis’s soul appears to leave his body. trinity seems to be doing the same, hunched over with her shoulders trembling.

robby eyes the three of you. he shakes his head like a disappointed father. you think you see a brand new wrinkle form on his forehead in real time.

“do i have to say it?” he says, hands on his hips.

you grab trinitys hand, standing to her left as you use your free hand to pick up the chart you’d been using earlier.

“nope! in fact labs are back so we’ll be on our way,” you tug trinity with you, past whitaker who looks like a kicked puppy, “i’ll let you know when mrs martin is discharged!”

you drag trinity along with you, grinning without teeth towards robby one last time as you leave the nurses station.

“um, we’re not on the same case?” trinity whispers, leaning so close you can feel how her breath tickles your ear.

“we just needed to get out of there, robby had that look on his face.”

______________________________________________

it’s been an awful day. there’s no other way to spin it. you’ve had patients die, you’ve had your hands on them as they’ve taken their last breath. you’ve seen children die, so young it hurts your soul and makes you find yourself on the roof. you’ve had belligerent patients, family, you’ve been shoved and hassled by people in chairs.

but that’s the job. and maybe that’s what it is, without a break in so long you slowly sink into the hopelessness of it all. thankfully you can go home at the end of the day, most times at least, flop onto bed still in your scrubs and just try to forgot. but it still takes a toll.

as you stare down at the blood coating your gloved hands, it draws your attention to the red bleeding through your scrubs into the clothes beneath. it’s tacky and growing cold, the edges of crimson around your shoes browning to a rust color.

your fingers tremble, bottom lip quivering. you’ve cried before on shift, it happens. it just always sucks.

“you did a great job.” mohan is beside you, you feel the steadiness of her palm plant on your shoulder. she’s always been kind, she always knows what to say, and yet this time her words fail to ease back the panic in your stomach.

“he still died,” you say it as a fact. his body is still only a few feet away, mckay is currently covering his face with a sheet. red bleeds through, “what’s the point if they just die.”

“sometimes no matter what you do, and no matter how good you are, they still don’t make it,” samira states, you can’t bring yourself to look at her, “it’s not a failure on our part.”

she’s right.

you know she’s right.

but it still stings. you can’t help the shaky breath that leaves your lips, shoulder moving in a way that lets samira know you appreciate the gesture but don’t want to be touched. she listens, grip falling from you.

“how much longer is your shift?” mckay asks and as she approaches, you can see the sympathy all over her face. something about it makes you uneasy. why would she feel bad for you? you didn’t die. he did.

“3 hours,” you reply, but it’s hollow, concerning. samira and cassie exchange a look, “i’ll be fine.”

and it’s the truth. you will be fine, you’re always fine. it’s just difficult sometimes, doesn’t mean you can’t pull yourself out.

“how about you clean up and then get some fresh air before returning, okay?” cassie tells you, and you can tell she’s telling, not asking, “i’ll let robby know. he’ll understand.”

you don’t bother arguing, just nod quietly as mckay motions for you to leave the room first. you do so in silence, head hanging a bit more than usual.

mckay and mohan give you another once over before dispersing.

you tug the gloves off your hands, tossing them in a nearby waste disposal bin, there’s a bit of blood near your wrists, having soaked in right below your sleeves. just as you turn to walk outside and follow the instructions you’d been given, you feel someone flick the back of your head.

you turn, coming face to face with trinity. her eyes widen, and for a second you think something reassuring is about to leave her mouth. you could use a hug from her, make just a pat on the back. someone you trust, someone you like, someone you…

your heart sinks when she smirks.

“damn carrie, who came in with the pigs blood?” it’s funny. really, it’s a good reference, it makes sense, if you saw her like this you’d probably say the same. but her words lodge in your ribs and wiggle up into your chest cavity in a way that makes you want to lurch over and lose your lunch.

you can feel how your face drops further, unfortunately for you, trinity was looking at your once white sneakers now red, when it did.

“seriously, did you actually kill someone on purpose?” she shuffles closer. eyes narrowing like she’s analyzing you, waiting for you to reveal a knife or chainsaw. you shake your head half heartedly, trying to muster up a smile.

“no.” you say it with a tone so forlorn you can see how trinitys brows furrow slightly, like she’s a bit taken aback.

she pauses.

“yeah, no shit,” normally her laughter would brighten your day, make a bad shift good. but right in this moment, you wanted nothing more than to hear it stop, “i don’t think i’ve ever seen you cry.”

she chuckles like that’s supposedly funny. you suck in a breath, you can feel the heat behind your eyes returning.

dammit. don’t cry. not now.

“come on, i thought you weren’t as sensitive as the others,” you know she’s trying to be funny. you can recognize it in her tone, you know her. she’s not trying to be malicious but man, she’s really making this worse for you. this is the last thing you needed.

you can feel your pulse pick up, the shake in your legs coming back full force. you need to get away from all of this, it’s embarrassing, you don’t want her to see you like this, it’s not her fault.

it’s not her fault, so why do her words hurt so much?

“scrubs exchange.” is all you can get out without it sounding like you’re about to burst into tears, keeping your voice calm and level. hopefully she gets the message as you move to scurry past her, shoulders brushing at the close proximity.

trinity can feel her smile droop, thrown off by your behavior. did she go too far? no, if you actually felt bad you’d tell her. you know you can trust her, right? her mouth opens and closes, trying to find the words.

come on, say anything.

her thoughts are begging her, she wants to grab your arm, pull you back in. but she doesn’t, because if you were really, actually feeling upset, you’d tell her.

so she turns before you get far, jogging to catch up with you. maybe if she can make you laugh you’ll tell her you were just messing with her, it was a joke, to see her reaction.

yeah. that’s probably it.

she places a hand on your arm, pulling it a little as she manages to stop you in your tracks. you stay facing the other direction.

“come on don’t be such a baby, i’m messing with you,” she jokes, chuckling awkwardly like she’s fixing something, “don’t be so pathetic, slip.”

mistake.

trinity braces herself for you to shove her, faux anger and whip back with you own retort. you always do, you’re slip, she’s santos, it’s your thing.

sniff.

trinity’s smile drops faster than her stomach, like she’s going to be sick. her grip on your wrist tightens subconsciously, which only furthers to splinter her chest in two when she feels you tug.

and then you rip your arm from her, like her touch has burned you, like you can’t stand to be touched by her, like it’s disgusting.

“hey, i-,”

the words die on her tongue when you whip around and she’s met with something that just utterly destroys her.

your face is blotchy with tears, cheeks swollen, bottom lip riddled with marks where your teeth dug into it, the flesh quivering uncontrollably. rivets of tears spill down your face, washing past and carrying drops of blood that had lingered.

then you made a sound, this soft, heartbreaking, whimper of a sob that thankfully isn’t loud enough for any other staff to hear but isn’t too quiet that trinity misses it.

trinity can feel her throat go dry, what? no, no no no, why is she crying?

her hands feel clammy, fingers twitching like she’s resisting balling up her fists, no matter how much she wants to dig her nails into her palms and draw blood.

“wait-,” she sputters, face contorting in fear. what’s she scared of? please, please don’t tell me i just lost her, “don’t cry, i was-,”

“it’s not funny.” you sound so sad so, so sad and she wants to scream. it’s like all the fluorescent lights above trinity are aimed at her. it’s cruel, the way her chest in heaving with heavy breaths she can’t seem to catch.

she watches as you wipe at your cheeks with open palms, which does nothing to clear the wetness of your face as more tears fall.

she wants to grab you, hold you, tell you she’s sorry, probably more sorry than she’s ever been. she’s never once felt bad poking and prodding at anyone before, but now? this? she feels as though she’s staring at the scene of a crime.

a crime she caused.

her hand is shaking as she reaches out, you have to know she’s sorry, right? you know her, she would never intentionally make you feel like this. if you could just take her hand, allow her touch, she could prove it to you.

all the movement does is cause you to take an unsteady step back, then another.

“just, leave me alone, santos.” and you’re turning on your heel again, pretty much speed walking as fast as you can away without getting told to slow down.

trinity stands with her had frozen mid air, fingers extended like an idiot.

her hand drops to her side, balling into a fist.

god. why do her eyes sting so much.

santos. you called her santos

not trinity, not trin, not idiot. you hadn’t called her santos since you’d first been acquainted, since the time period where you’d do anything to avoid her. she never wants to go back to that time, not after knowing you, not after…

she hangs her head, trying to get a grip, gain her momentum back. she can feel the sweat blossoming across the back of her neck, nervous, shaky. she takes a deep breath, and exhales.

she had to fix this. but how, when you didn’t even want to look at her?

______________________________________________

“do you think if i fling myself hard enough off the roof the impact will kill me instantly?” okay. wow.

whitakers head snaps up, eyes wide and rapidly blinking like he’s trying to rationalize that he didn’t actually hear what he thinks trinity just said. his mouth opens, then closes, fingers gripping at the binder in his hands.

“pardon, i, what?” he’s clearly taken aback, still blinking like it’ll shed some light.

“maybe i can blow myself up,” she continues, the serious look on her face fairly concerning, “hospitals have oxygen canisters, it’s possible.”

dennis takes a deep breath, glancing both ways like someone will come and save him from this conversation.

“you’re, joking right?” he needles in, hoping for the love of all things holy she breaks character and starts cackling like normal. instead she turns to him, face blank with a look of utter defeat. everything trinity is not.

“i fucked up.” she concedes. which is rare for her, so much so dennis does a double take, a little dramatic in a way that would make trinity roll her eyes if she wasn’t so damn bothered.

“i made her cry.” she confesses, lowering her voice a bit like anyone else knowing what she’s done would actually end her.

dennis blinks.

he says your name as a question.

“i’ve made people cry before, nothing bad”, she shakes her head, “but like, i have.”

she’s picking at her cuticles, pulling back skin and drawing blood. if it’s painful at all she doesn’t let on, stare empty as she looks to the tile floor.

“so what’s the issue?”

yeah. what is the issue?

“the issue is,” she inhales like it’s the last breath she’ll ever take. she wants the earth to swallow her up, maybe if she grovels enough it will, “she won’t look at me, won’t speak to me.”

a heavy pause.

“it’s been 3 days.” there it is, what’s caused the exhaustion to be present on trinitys face. it’s like in these three days, she’s gone through war.

“everything feels wrong.”

“maybe you should talk to her?” dennis tries, all it gets is that same blank look, like obviously, she’s tried that.

it’s like she has the plague. the day of the incident you finished your shift without looking her in the eye once, which she’ll admit was pretty impressive. even when you ran a code together, you managed to help the patient, stop a major bleeder, speak to her professionally like nothing had happened, and yet after you finished you left the room before she could say your name.

the next day trinity came into the pitt feeling a bit better, obviously you wouldn’t still be upset. you had a whole night to think, lament, hate her, get sleep and rest. maybe you’d come up and forgive her, maybe you’d act like nothing had happened. she just needed to know the two of you would be fine.

that’s until you came in with your coffee, looking well rested, and walked right past her. she watched you walk up to samira and begin chatting. and yeah, you and samira were friends, but you’d never ignored trinity to talk someone else.

however what hurt more wasn’t the fact you’d ignored her, it was how happy you looked. samira made a face and said something she couldn’t make out and you broke into laughter like it was the best thing you’d ever heard.

she was supposed made you laugh. trinity did. not mohan, not dennis, not dana. not anyone.

yet there you were, treating her like a stranger and fluttering around like you hadn’t a care in the world. you’d walked into the break room when she was finishing leftover lasagna, and caught the redness your eyes still had, most likely from the other day. it made her throat tighten, and suddenly she wasn’t hungry anymore.

the third day trinity hadn’t gotten any sleep. she spent the night rolling from one side to the other, her pillow was warm, her fitted sheet kept popping up, and her thoughts was running a mile a minute.

what if she never speaks to you again?

she jolted into an upright position, heaving like she hadn’t just been laying down. no, she couldn’t let that happen.

she was knocked from her thoughts by someone clearing their throat. oh yeah, she’d walked out with javadi to check on chairs and make sure no one had kicked the bucket.

“i’ve been here for 4 hours, 4!” the man before them states, having stood up to block their path down the aisle. he’s taller than both of them, chest heaving, eyes wide and bulging.

“we see patients based on severity, so-,” javadi starts, mouth clamping shut when the man focuses on her, taking a bold step forward.

“severe? i could have a brain bleed, my heads been fuzzy for hours now and no one wants to do their damn job!” he shouts, now catching the attention of others, the room quieting down at his level of noise.

javadi checks her chart, locates his name, and nods.

“um, so you were seen briefly to rule that out, unfortunately we can’t bring you back just yet-,” she’s cut off again when trinity speaks up, expression like she can’t be bothered to deal with this.

“you’ll be seen when you’re seen, if you don’t want to wait,” she looks towards the door, angling a thumb at it to catch the man’s attention, “you can sign an AMA and leave.”

it blunt, it’s honest, and it clearly enrages the man.

“you know what, bitch-,”

he looks like he’s about to explode on them, hopefully not physically, they would never find out as dana and security come running up from behind.

“okay! okay no,” dana gets between, hands up like she’s ready to throw a punch if need be, “that’s what we’re not gonna do here.”

“sir if you can’t sit down and be an adult, i’m afraid we’ll have to get the police involved.” dana minces no words, glaring the man down like she really needs him to consider his options. thankfully it seems to have worked, his angered expression not leaving, yet he lowers himself back into the seat and crosses his arms. it’s like watching a petulant child get put in timeout.

javadi releases the breath she was holding, leaving back to the double doors to the pitt.

dana has already began speaking with security, pointing out who they need to keep a better watch on.

trinity sighs, and although her shift only started a few hours ago, she just wants to leave. she begins to follow Javadi, looking up from the various shoes of the people in the waiting room before her gaze falls on familiar eyes.

you stand a few yards away, seemingly having arrived with dana seconds ago which she hadn’t noticed to due facing the other direction. she’s ready to see you retreat, go back to treating her like dust under your sofa. but you don’t. you’re standing with wide eyes, lips parted like you can’t take in air fast enough. and suddenly you’re walking towards her, grabbing her hand before she can ask why, before she can worry you’re just going to say this is the last time you’ll ever touch her.

but you’re dragging her back through the doors, away from the noise of people. she can see you glancing around from behind you, like you’re searching for something. then she’s being yanked into an empty patient room, one that had just been discharged, drops of blood still on the floor.

you release her hand just to turn and yank the curtain shut, pausing after the light from outside dims and the silence becomes overwhelming.

“what, were you thinking?” you say before even turning to look at her, and trinity is properly confused, her hand still tingling from where you’d been grabbing her. she felt something like a caged animal all of a sudden, but maybe not seeing as there’s no where she’d rather be.

“w-what?” there’s that stutter again.

it’s your turn now, shifting to face her with an expression she’s never seen aimed at her before.

“you just riled up a guy twice your size, not to mention he was already pissed before you even opened your damn mouth!” that makes her jaw drop, brain back to static, confused.

“you care?” she replies, not snooty, not in a nasty way. she says it smooth, like a saturday morning, like she needs the answer to be yes or she’ll die right here and now.

you blink, taken aback.

“of course i care,” you say it like it’s easy, like you couldn’t even think of anything else you’d say to that. you don’t approach, you just stand their, staring at her like you also share her confusion, “you think i’d cry over someone i don’t care about?”

that’s a gut punch, and trinity would physically grab her gut if she didn’t think it would make her look even more stupid in front of you.

“i’m sorry.”

she says it barely above a whisper, eyes casting down like she’s ashamed. and quite frankly she is, she wouldn’t be in this predicament if it wasn’t for her and her annoying deflections.

your mouth shuts, processing.

“i didn’t like seeing you cry,” she continues, “i actually would rather go my whole life without seeing it again.”

the air feels heavier, weighing down on the both of you.

“especially considering i was the reason.” she can see the way your face falls at her words, and wishes nothing more than to pull you in and comfort you. but you probably don’t want that, especially after she treated you, after she hurt you.

“trin-,”

her breathing catches in her throat at the nickname, one you didn’t call her often but enough that whenever you did it felt like something real.

“i’m not mad at you.”

“you have every right to be.” she scoffs, lip curling like she has no right for you to forgive her. she’s caught off guard however when you take a weary step forward, rocking back and forth as you balance into the motion.

“i was upset, yes, but i was never mad,” she wants believe you but part of her is also jarringly aware that something in her brain wants you to be mad at her. she deserves it, she aimed her remarks at the one person she never wanted to see crumble from them, “my patient died that day.”

you say it with hesitation, and trinity has to physically hold herself back from approaching you and wrapping an arm around your shoulder, tugging you into her side.

she can see how your throat bobs, inhaling deeply like you’re preparing for a difficult conversation. she’s ready, ready for you to be done with her. she laughed at you when you’d lost a patient, she’d made it worse even unintentionally, how do you come back from that?

“i was having a rough week, and i was down,” you sigh, pained at the thought, “i’m sorry.”

trinity blanches. you’re sorry?

“what?” she speaks before her brain catches up with her mouth.

you nod, looking forlorn.

“i ignored you, which wasn’t very mature,” you’re clearly putting a lot of thought into your words based on the scrunch between your brows, “i think i was embarrassed, that what you said got to me so much.”

“don’t.”

you look up at that, finding a conflicted expression plastered across trinitys face. she looks distraught, pieces of hair have fallen from her ponytail to frame her face, she doesn’t bother push them back.

“don’t apologize, please,” she whispers, and it’s the more genuine you’ve ever heard her, “i’m the one who needs to, please.”

that’s probably the most you’ve ever heard trinity say please and it’s been twice, and aimed both times at you.

“i’m not good at this.” she huffs.

“this,” she waves a hand between the two of you, “being close like this with someone, not wanting to hurt them so badly it makes me feel sick.”

it’s your turn for your breath to catch.

“i never meant to hurt you,” she continues, as if you would start talking again, like you weren’t standing there at a loss for words, “i’ll never do it again, believe me.”

she’s begging.

if anymore desperation were to pour off her she’d been on her knees, looking up at you and hoping you wouldn’t slam the door in her face.

she doesn’t know how to do this, apologize, actually be sorry. she’s felt remorse, she’s not that emotionally reserved. but this is different, this is you. if she can’t talk normally to people her own age, family of patients, how is she supposed to explain how she feels to someone she’s…

she doesn’t have too.

because before her mouth can open again and spew more sorry’s, she’s pushed against the empty gurney behind her as your body collides with her. it’s warm, the way your hands wrap around her back, pull her weight into yours. your face is shoved in the crook of her neck, breath tickling the hairs at the back of her nape.

her hands shoot out, bracing a second too late and pausing before her brain catches up and she’s realizes what’s happening and wraps her own arms around you. her fingers dig into your scrubs, hands gripping at your waist like she’s scared you’ll slip away or disappear or, god forbid, ignore her again.

she can feel the breaths you take as your chest is pressed to hers, she doesn’t think she’s ever been this close to you. it sends her thoughts on a spiral, she’s so glad, overjoyed that you’ve obviously forgiven her but man.

she can feel the heat flood her cheeks, burning her face as if the ac wasn’t currently is blasting. her fingers tremble against your body, suddenly too aware of every part of you tucked into her. she’s happy, the relief she feeling is overwhelming, however the next breath she takes in is shaky.

“i take that as a-,” she wants to joke, make a quip that you didn’t stay mad long, how she can’t blame you, you must have missed her so much.

until you lean back enough to catch her eye, faces nearly nose to nose, and your head tips forward.

hold on.

trinitys aware of what’s happening. how couldn’t she be when she’s thought about this moment for months, unfortunately so often sometimes you’d catch her staring and make a tease about her being oh so in love.

“i can’t blame you trin, im just too pretty.”

you’re right, you can’t blame her, because that’s just a fact. a fact running through her mind as the plush warmth of your lips press to hers.

of course she tastes good, she’s always smelled amazing, this shouldn’t be shocking.

but it’s shocking enough that she stumbles a bit, the backs of her thighs catching on the gurney. and oh god, your hand is now in her hair, tugging at the roots, adjusting her back like she’d go anywhere.

it’s mean how you’d nails rake across her scalp, tongue darting out to lick at the seam of her bottom lip, it’s pure evil.

right as her mouth opens, heart thudding so quick she’s worried you’d feel it against yours, you pull away.

fuck.

there’s a string of spit connecting your lips, your hand swiftly coming up to wipe at the glistening on your chin an breaking the connection.

“i forgive you.” you say it in this soft voice, all casual like you hadn’t just rearranged her mind and weakened her self control. she can’t help but snort, eyes rolling as her heart continues to race.

“uh, no shit.”

Cassie’s laughter lingers on your neck as you finally break free from her grasp. “Cheater,” she accuses, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

“You started it,” you said defensively.

Cassie feigned shock and said, “I didn’t.”

“You absolutely did”, you insisted.

You both continue to laugh as you curl back against her, finding solace in the familiar warmth of her embrace. Cassie presses a kiss to your temple, her chin resting on your shoulder.

Then your sleeve shifts.

It rides higher than you intended, revealing the raised scars along your arm.

Cassie notices immediately that you’re still.

Her expression softens, but there’s no pity in it. There’s no hesitation either. She simply reaches for your hand, giving you every chance to pull away. You don’t.

Her thumb delicately brushes over your knuckles before she lifts your arm and presses a tender kiss against one of your scars. Your breath catches.

“You’re beautiful,” she whispers.

You look away. “Not there.”

Cassie insists, “Especially there.”

Another kiss.

You swallow hard, blinking rapidly. “I think they’re ugly.”

Cassie turns your face toward hers and says, “Then I’ll keep reminding you until you no longer find them ugly.”

She kisses your forehead and cheek, then wraps her arms around you and pulls you close to her chest. “You don’t have to love them today,” she whispers. “But you also don’t have to hide them from me.”

You finally relax into her embrace.