yolanda garcia defender

Cassie shoulders open the door and yanks back the privacy curtain, grimacing at the sight in front of her.

“Jesus christ.” Cassie mumbles, mostly to herself, hurrying around to Baran’s bedside, hands fluttering around the now glued shut welt above her eyebrow.

She settles for gently turning Baran’s head from side to side to get a look at the damage, lip caught between her teeth as she looks.

“Did you hit your head? Perlah said you went down pretty hard.” And then her fingers moving softly into the curls on Baran’s head, already down from its clip whilst she was being examined before Cassie got here.

“I’m okay, Cass,” Baran tells her, even as she lets Cassie slowly move her head this way and that. “I’ve been checked over, Samira just wants me sat in here for a little while longer to be sure.”

“You should go home,” Cassie says, and when Baran opens her mouth adds, “I know you won’t. But you should.“

And Baran attempts to roll her eyes in fond exasperation, winces when it irritates the swelling sat above the left one.

Cassie who has finally finished her own examination, has taken one of Baran’s hands in both of her own, idly playing with Baran’s fingers as she watched her with attentive eyes.

“It was an accident, these things happen.” Baran assures her, and it was an accident. They had been assessing a patient who was in and out of consciousness and someone had pressed on what was apparently a very tender spot on his abdomen. That had been enough to jar him to thrash, an elbow flying out and catching Baran right above her eye.

Cassie knows this, having been given the rundown by Perlah when she was finally told that her girlfriend was currently sat in North 3 having taken a hell of a blow to the face.

“No seizures since it happened right?” Cassie asks, using her foot to snag a stool and wheel it over so she can sit by Baran’s bed.

“No, I’m fine, just a bit sore where he caught me, nothing a couple of ibuprofen can’t solve.” Baran smiles, ignoring the way it makes her face ache a little. “You’re very sweet to worry.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Cassie laughs now, “Dana’s never going to let me live it down with the way I ran in here.”

And not for the first time in their relationship, Baran’s heart warms because Cassie cares for her so freely, loves her loudly without being overbearing.

She just gets Baran in a way that she’s not sure she’s experienced before. Knows how to manage her anxieties before Baran’s even realised they’re there a lot of the time, is always on the look out to take little bits of stress away from Baran’s day to day responsibilities when she can. Cassie seems to genuinely find unending joy in just existing around her, even if that’s just the pair of them sleepily watching some TV post-shift until one of the inevitably dozes off and has to be coaxed to bed by the other.

And Baran knows trying to convince Cassie she doesn’t need taking care of tonight won’t work. Cassie’s default state seems to be a drive to take care of Baran. She’ll inevitably drive them home and open Baran’s car door for her. She’ll insist on running Baran a bath, and they’ll probably end up eating the leftovers from Baran’s cooking yesterday. She’ll kiss Baran softly and squeeze her waist in that little possessive way that always makes the attending’s stomach flip.

She wasn’t sure a love like this would truly exist for her. Sure she had loved her ex, but not like this, not this all consuming thing, and never so certain in it all.

Cassie presses her lips to the back of Baran’s hand.

“You tell me or someone if you feel worse.” She tells Baran seriously, squeezes Baran’s hand, and then lighter, “Try to stay out of trouble until the end of the day, yeah?”

“Well I never go looking for trouble in the first place.” Baran offers as Cassie stands up, eyes the glue holding her skin closed once more with an appraising eye.

“Careful baby, you sound an awful lot like Santos.” Cassie teases, “I gotta get back to work,” and then whiplash from teasing to impossibly tender, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Cass, I’ll be back out there in no time, don’t worry too much.”

Trinity Santos has been nervous before, that all consuming twisting of your stomach and tremble of your hands. She has been in gymnastics competitions she was sure would define her life before. She has sat countless med school exams that her future actually depended on. She remembers the fear with each new student rotation she did.

She is familiar with the concept of being unsure about herself, about a situation, and knows no other way than to just jump into it.

Which is why when Baran tentatively brings up Trinity and her son, Keyvan, meeting for the first time, Trinity swallows down the spike of nervousness and agrees.

“Just, maybe as a friend of mine to begin with. I’ve not- I’ve not done the whole introducing a partner to my son before, I’d like to make sure you two get along before having to explain all that. He still sometimes asks when his dad and I will be living together again.”

This is trust, this is a big step for Baran who for the past 5 months has insisted their relationship only existed when Keyvan was at his father’s. This is something that could break their relationship, all of it held in a 6 year old’s grasp unknowingly.

Still, Trinity gets it, the thing between them so new and unknown that there’s was no need to complicate it further by involving the light of Baran’s life.

But now she wants to involve Trinity, and that’s terrifying.

And even more terrifying is that Trinity is desperate for it to work, desperate for this kid’s approval so she can finally properly acknowledge the bubble of love that’s been growing so steadily in her chest.

Baran has given her ample opportunity to duck out of this growing relationship too, has stressed the point that she is a mother, and if Trinity wants to be with her then this is something she has to be willing to make room for.

Which is how Trinity Santos finds herself waving a little awkwardly in greeting to a 6 year old with a wild mop of curls and startling resemblance to his mother.

And she’s not even wholly sure how to interact with a healthy child. She’s used to sobbing and wailing and little hands reaching out for their loved ones, she’s used to distracting them so someone else can look at their injuries. She is not used to a 6 year old boy full of so much energy he’s practically vibrating in place.

He barely glances at Trinity, only waves hello in return when prompted, before he’s tugging on Baran’s hand. “Sharks first, māmān!”

And away Baran is whisked, Trinity following closely behind.

A steady stream of what’s that, and why, and how and where does it live and why is this fish red and that one blue?

On and on and on. It’s clear Keyvan is smart, ironically as they stand staring into a tank full of sea sponges, she thinks he’s quite like a sponge himself as he asks yet another question.

And Baran, bless her, who has so much knowledge stored up in that big beautiful brain of hers, does not have a great stock of marine wildlife facts to draw down on.

Luckily for Trinity she does. Courtesy of her best friend who always did gymnastics because she was good at it but always wanted to study marine biology because she loved it. And Trinity loved her.

So when Baran flounders the first couple of trickier questions, Trinity steps in, as best she can. Until at some point Keyvan stops asking his mother first and starts asking Trinity.

Trinity glances nervously at Baran the first few times he does it, unwilling to overstep, but Baran simply tilts her head in approval, smiles warmly and Trinity crouches down next to the boy so she can point out exactly what she’s talking about.

At the next tank Trinity leans forward to get a better look at an animal Keyvan tells them all a little hysterically, “He’s falling apart!” He looks up at Trinity with panicked brown eyes.

“No bud, he’s just moving houses. He’s a hermit crab, when they get too big they leave their shell and move into a new one.” Doesn’t really think about it as she reaches out to squeeze his shoulder reassuringly, swallows hard.

And Keyvan watches seriously, as if to make sure Trinity is lying, as the hermit crab lifts up into a new shell and wriggles backwards into it to settle.

“Māmān! Māmān! Did you see?” He asks excitedly. Baran laughs and nods along as he recounts the previous 60 seconds for her just in case she missed it from her place stood directly next to him.

“Don’t you wish we could do that Trin? Just leave it all behind when it doesn’t fit anymore.”

“Yeah but we’re not hermit crabs, are we?”

Trinity often thinks about what she would give to be able to go back to that conversation with her best friend. To agree with her and suggest they both run away there and then. That maybe if they had done that then the very next day her best friend wouldn’t be dead.

She’s zoned out staring at the little crab as it flexes its legs, she imagines it’s checking to make sure the new home is up to par with its old. Baran is still listening to Keyvan talk but she shoots Trinity a worried questioning look, and she shakes her head and smiles in response.

“You okay?” Baran asks quietly anyway as Keyvan peers closely through the glass at some seahorses in the next tank they get to.

“Oh yeah,” Trinity nods, adds when Baran looks at her unimpressed. “Really, I promise.”

Trinity can see the way Baran’s hand rises half way up to touch her, probably just to ghost along the small of Trinity’s back like she often does but she must remember Keyvan’s presence and drops it.

“I’m just going to run to the restroom, okay?” Is what she says in the end and Trinity agrees easily.

Keyvan doesn’t seem to have many questions about this one’s inhabitants but he takes great glee in running round to the other side of a big circular tank and staring through the distorted glass and water at Trinity on the other side.

She indulges him with some silly faces, before she loses sight of him behind some plants in the water and straightens up to head round herself.

She can hear his little voice raised indignantly as she nears. “-can’t hit the glass you’ll scare them!”

And then the sound of a little girl crying, just as she gets Keyvan into view to see a girl around his age wailing and a towering man standing over Keyvan.

“Look what you’ve done!” He snaps, “Don’t you talk to my daughter like that.”

And Keyvan shrinks back, glances over his shoulder and spots Trinity who is trying very hard not to let loose some choice words of her own and rushes over to her.

Keyvan tucks his face against her side, and she pulls him close instinctively.

“What’s your problem man?” She snaps.

“Your kid shouldn’t have been yelling at my daughter!”

“He wasn’t yelling, he was trying to teach your daughter not to bang on the tanks! Something you should’ve stopped her doing in the first place.”

Anger flairs hot through her and she’d love to lay into this moron but Keyvan is pressing closer to Trinity.

“C’mon buddy, let’s go.” Trinity decides, steering Keyvan away.

They find Baran as she’s wandering back from the restroom, and Trinity fills her in quickly. Keyvan is subdued, kicking his little feet against the floor as the pair of them talk.

Another look at the sharks cheers him up a little but eventually Baran calls time on the day, telling Trinity he’s probably just a bit tired now. Although the guilt eats away at her, certain that she’s blown her chance.

Since they drove in separately, Baran insists on walking Trinity back to her car. Keyvan is slowly perking up again too, rambling happily about all the animals he saw.

“Thank you for inviting me today.” Trinity says earnestly.

“Of course, thank you for coming.” Baran smiles warmly, Trinity wants to kiss her.

“Can Trinity come to my soccer game tomorrow?” Keyvan asks, squirms out of the way when Baran tries to brush back some of his unruly curls from his eyes.

“I don’t know…” Baran trails off and Trinity knows she would rather have a moment to debrief on today. If there’s one thing Baran loves it’s to have an in depth discussion about their feelings.

And Trinity realises she’s just going to have to make the decision for the both of them here. Maybe she’s being silly but she hopes Baran can see that this is her choosing her, her and Keyvan and everything that comes with it.

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.)