ᖭི༏ᖫྀ *Lydia* ᖭི༏ᖫྀ

It was easier to pretend you had a life outside of work and lie to your coworkers about plans. You pretended your roommates were your friends. You pretended it mattered where you had to be after shift. And most of all you pretended you were okay. 

But it was long stretches of days off where nothing seemed to fit in the right place. Everything was muffled and out of focus. You dug yourself deeper into the bed and tightened the blankets around your body. It wasn’t enough pressure. 

Nothing felt enough. 

You had no idea what time it was. You had year round blackout curtains. Your phone was lying next to you on the mattress completely out of power. You didn’t know where your charger was, but it barely registered itself as a thought. You were staring at the ceiling when a knock on your door broke you out of your thought loop.

You swore you imagined it, but when a second one came a little more forcefully you knew someone was standing outside your door. You wrapped yourself in your blanket as you swung your feet off the bed. The floor was cold and hard under your feet, but you hadn’t registered when you decided to walk to the door.

Your hand twisted on the handle slowly as you opened the door for a sliver of light to peak through. Your eyes widened when you saw the sarcastic brunette you’d come to adore outside your door. 

Your lips parted softly as you took in her appearance. She was still wearing scrubs, but her hair was down and resting just above her shoulders. Her eyebrows were slightly raised and her eyes- her eyes were everything. They were a perfect shade of green and you could swear they saw your entire soul. The more you looked the more you could see concern written on her features. 

You swallowed harshly at that realization and noticed she was carrying a bag of food in her hand. As you opened the door for her to come in, your jet black cat padded into your room with a meow as he brushed against your leg. You’d forgotten about him. 

She didn’t say anything as she entered your room for the first time. She just looked around and noticed it was both entirely you and completely unexpected. She thought there’d be mess and chaos. Nothing dirty, but she expected clothes everywhere and things littered across your desk, but she found none of that. 

Your room was completely clean and organized. Everything on your desk had a specific place, your dirty clothes were sitting in the laundry basket in the corner, and even your closet was color coded. Everything looked untouched except for your bed. There was a mountain of blankets, pillows, and weighted stuffed animals. The center was empty, presumably from where you’d been laying down before she knocked on the door. 

She placed the bag of takeout on the desk and started grabbing everything out of the bag. There was surprisingly a ton of Chinese food. Your stomach grumbled loudly as the smells wafted into the room. Egg rolls, orange chicken, sesame chicken, crab rangoons, fried dumplings, pork fried rice, and vegetable lo mein. There were even two cans of soda; Dr. Pepper and Voltage Mountain Dew. 

She made herself a plate with everything on it before dragging your desk chair, which more resembled a gaming chair, to the edge of your bed. She grabbed an egg roll and sat in the chair before looking at you and patting the bed lightly.

Your body moved without thought as you sat on the bed. She handed you the egg roll as she curled her legs into a criss cross position on the chair and began eating. You looked at her incredulously as you nibbled on the egg roll. It was the first thing you’d actually tasted in the past two days and it was amazing. 

Before you knew it the egg roll was gone and Trinity was offering her plate up to you to pick off of. You carefully took a crab rangoon and ate it. You didn’t even register the crumbs falling until one moved. 

You realized then you’d been dropping them on top of your cat’s head. He didn’t seem to mind, he wasn’t particularly hungry. You knew it was the one thing your roommates did; feed your cat. 

“Sorry Shadow.” Your voice sounded foreign to you. You hadn’t spoken out loud in two days. It sounded like nails on a chalk board. He nuzzled into your thigh and began purring as he closed his eyes and napped. He’d always been an unbothered cat.

You looked up at the brunette then and suddenly everything was in high definition again. Your eyes were no longer glazed over and you felt like you were sitting on top of the bed, not losing yourself in it. 

“There she is.” It was nothing more than a whisper, but it felt loud in your ears. It completely disrupted your entire being in the best way possible.

“Trin.” She smiled at you as she watched your expressions. You were slowly poking out of your shell for the first time since she arrived. She breathed a sigh of relief as she tracked your eyes looking over her shoulder at the food. 

“What would you like sinta?” Trinity slowly rose from her seat and prepared to make you a plate. You bit your lip and shrugged. You weren’t sure what you wanted exactly, but none of it sounded bad. 

She nodded and added a small portion of everything onto a plate before handing it to you with a fork. She wasn’t sure if you had the coordination for chopsticks. She was correct. 

“How’d you know where I lived?” You questioned in between bites. The more you ate the more you felt like yourself. It was less the food and more the consistency of swallowing, Shadow’s purring, and Trinity. 

Trinity Santos. The woman who saw right through you, but never actively questioned your persona. You’d worked with her for just over a year. You’d never hung out with her outside the hospital, but inside she always found you. In the flickering moments where you were stuck in your head she reached for you. With a joke, a hospital complaint, or just a smile. Something about her pulled you up from under water. 

She saw you and didn’t demand anything in return. 

Everyone thought she was mean and pushed people away, but you watched her pull you in. She liked that you were a sound board, but she never took too much. She didn’t want to overwhelm you or herself. 

No one in the hospital noticed you. No one except for Trinity. 

“I’ve dropped you off before, remember?” Your lips parted for a second before you nodded. You had completely forgotten Trinity had given you a ride after a shift. It had only been one time in the first month of meeting. 

You were surprised that she remembered, but then again not at all. Trinity seemed to remember everything about you. And embarrassingly you had remembered everything about her. 

You’d filed everything away in your brain in a cabinet labeled T. Santos. Every cabinet was organized alphabetically then by chronological memory. It was easier that way. Your brain had always stored information that way. But no one else’s label was in color or cabinet quite as large as hers. 

No one else felt as important as her. You choked on that thought as you tried to bury it. 

Trinity was just a friend. It was like her and Dennis. They just fit and you could see the sibling relationship between them. You and Trinity, well at work you just fit. It was simple, easy, and yet entirely detrimental. 

You’d been in love with her since the moment you met. 

Anyone with eyes would be blind not to see just how beautiful she was. You saw the beauty and the sarcasm and were immediately hooked. Which is why you never let anything go past the hospital. If she’d seen you outside of the hospital the illusion would be broken, you were sure. 

She liked you as a friend. You were certain. 

And Trinity Santos definitely did not need a trainwreck like you as more than a friend. That’s what you always told yourself. You functioned inside the hospital, but outside that was no man’s land. It was easy to hide in the hospital because it was always busy. 

At home you were busy, but never in the physical world. 

“Trinity, why are you here?” You blurted out. You just couldn’t help how small your voice sounded when the question escaped. It didn’t make any sense. None of it made any sense. She shouldn’t be here. You weren’t sure why you’d let her in. Before you knew it your breathing was picking up and your hands were shaking. 

The world spun just slightly as you tried to bury yourself back into your bed. Your heels kicked into the mattress as you pushed away. Your hands fisting into the blankets. Shadow was gone, your plate was gone, you were gone. Trinity was gone. Everything was gone. 

You were stuck.

She shouldn’t be here. This was your room. This was your life, but this wasn’t you. Nothing felt like you. You only felt like you in that hospital. In that hospital nothing could touch you, but here everything felt like too much. 

Too much. 

Your jaw tensed and you felt your throat closing. Your body tingled and you tried to feel something. Anything. Your body wasn’t yours anymore. You felt like you were watching yourself from afar. Just as you felt yourself ready to start thrashing around, a weight settled on top of you. 

You blinked, frozen in fear. It was warm and solid. Steady. 

Trinity. 

“You’re not alone. I’m here. You’re safe.” Trinity spoke softly to you. She didn’t let up even as you wrapped your arms tightly around her. Her head settled into the crook of your neck and she continued to whisper sweet nothings to you. 

Slowly, but surely, your body relaxed into her and tears flowed freely. This is what you needed; a release. You were finally thawing out and you were tired. Exhausted. Beyond exhausted. Emotionally, physically, mentally. In every way possible you felt fatigue. The difference now, you felt safe. 

Trinity Santos had become your safety. And now she was literally your weighted blanket and you knew you could no longer hide from the truth. 

“Trinity, I need help.” It came out like a prayer. 

Trinity raised her head to look you in the eyes. In them you saw worry, compassion, and something akin to pride. Above all else you saw unfiltered love. It was raw and yet completely unmistakeable. 

There was no denying anymore that Trinity loved you back. Your heart swelled. 

“I know, baby. Sleep first.” She kissed your forehead with grounding force before laying back down. For the first time in 72 hours you were able to fall asleep and Trinity Santos anchored you the entire time. 

***

Fifteen minutes in this traffic is a miracle, and yet Emery's stomach is still heavy at the look on your face. She's too far away for her voice to carry, but you finally set your phone down, hands wringing together as you scan the bar. 

Your eyes find hers almost immediately. You perk up, your face brightening as you wave an excited hand. "Em! Hey, over here!"

Her smile drops when she gets close enough to see a damp blotch down the front of your shirt, the fabric clinging to your skin. "What'd you spill, hon?" She frowns, shrugging out of her jacket. You give a shrug of your own as she wraps it around your shoulders.

"Wasn't me, some dude wasn't looking." Your lips press together into a small—much to your dismay—pout. You get your arms through the sleeves and adjust the cuffs around your wrists, eyes a little glazed as you look up at her. "Spilled half his bottle on me."

Emery fits the zipper and tugs it up your chest. "Fucker. Where is he, I'll gut him." She murmurs, relieved when your lips pull into a smile.

"You would?"

"Sure I would. You cold?"

"Just sticky."

She keeps an arm around you as you slip out of your stool. You exchange goodbyes with your friends and gather your things, promising them another hangout, soon, soon, teetering a little into Emery's side. She holds out a hand in an idle wave and nudges you around, starts guiding you through the crowd. You're not entirely wasted, but she still keeps her arm firm around you, planting you to her side. 

Your fingers hook into the waistband of her sweatpants. Emery hides a smile, steering you away from a waiter with a full tray. She could never say it, but she loves the way you cling—especially when you get like this, all soft and uninhibited. Perfectly hers.

Out on the street, she hears your voice clearer, a little thickened with a slur.

"Will you shower with me?"

She adjusts her grip on you, complying when you loop your arm through hers and hug it to your chest. "Can't exactly trust your hand-eye coordination, now, can I?"

Your smile peeks out from behind her arm. It seeps into your voice, ringing like a bell. "You can just admit you want to, Emsie."

Emery pauses, her brows knitting. "Who the hell is that?"

You laugh, eyes bright, and she kisses you. Emery hates it when people kiss on the street, in the middle of a sidewalk, but you make her do it without thinking. She can't help it, never can. She's long ago stopped trying. 

You taste like the drinks you've had—sweeter, messier than you usually are. Emery feels the slow rush of your pulse under her thumbs.

"Thanks for comin' to pick me up." You say happily. She hums, wipes a bit of loose makeup under your eye.

"Did you have fun?"

"Mhmm." You take her hand and wrap her arm around your side again, tangling your fingers with hers instead of letting go. "Missed me?"

Emery's lips twitch. "I don't know if I've ever told you, but you're a little self absorbed."

"That," you laugh, poking her side, "is Em code for yes. I missed you too, baby."

She hates how her stomach flips, how she melts when you say it, so saccharine. Emery shakes her head as she pulls out her keys from your—her—pocket and unlocks the car.

"I don't think that's healthy for either of us."

You blow a raspberry. "Who cares about healthy?"

She stopped caring about a lot of things since she'd met you. 

Your cheeks are visibly hot as Emery opens the car door for you, her hand on the small of your back to nudge you in. You frown down at the high step and reach for her arm, clutching her bicep as you get on. It doesn't usually give you much trouble, but your balance is a little off, and your shoes are less than practical. 

"Got you," Emery murmurs, looping her arm around your waist, sweeping the other one under your legs and lifting you the half inch distance into the high seat of her jeep. She leans back and reaches for the seatbelt before you can, pulling it snug across your body and buckling you in.

Your smile is lopsided when she looks back up at you. "I could've done it, Emery." You say softly, tangling your fingers in her hair.

"I know." She cups her hand over yours, leans in to kiss you. You wrap both your arms around her neck like it's a hug, making her laugh, tilt her head back to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth. "But I missed my girl."

She feels the heat radiating from you. Truth is, she can't always get herself to say stuff like this, sickeningly gentle, but sometimes it slips out and she lets it. It's all the better for watching you melt, the smile splitting your cheeks even as you bite your lip, try to hold it.

Emery thumbs it out, feels the heat along your jaw as she steals one more kiss. It breaks with your laughter, low, airy giggles she'd never hear in the light of day.

"Softie." You mumble.

The first time Dr.Walsh saw the patient’s face, her stomach dropped so violently she almost missed the diagnosis entirely.

“Thirty-two-year-old female,” the paramedic rattled off while they rushed beside the stretcher. “MVC. Driver-side impact. Hypotensive en route, possible splenic rupture—”

Emery barely heard him because the woman on the gurney looked exactly like you. Not remotely similar. She had the same soft mouth. Same nose. Same eyelashes resting against pale cheeks. Even the same little crease between the brows you got when you were annoyed at her.

For one impossible, horrifying second, Emery thought someone had dragged you into her ER and that made her heart stop.

“Dr.Walsh?” Nurse Ramirez says sharply, snapping Emery out of her trance blinking hard and shaking her head as the trauma bay comes back into focus.

‘It’s not you’ she thought and repeated it in her mind like a mantra but even though that wasn’t you it was still close enough to make her chest hurt.

“Pressure’s tanking” someone called out getting away at the patient’s clothes to get them out of the way.

Emery stepped forward taking over “we need to do a FAST ultrasound to see if there’s any internal bleeding.”

“What happens if there’s any internal bleeding?” One of the surgical residents asks.” As they wheel the ultrasound machine over to the side of the patient’s bed?”

Emery turned on the machine and squirted gel onto Jane Doe's stomach and used the wand “well if there’s internal bleeding then we need to prep for surgery and the OR for surgery” she explains checking the computer looking for any signs of bleeding.

The second the image appeared on the screen, Emery’s expression changed. Dark fluid bloomed across the ultrasound like spilled ink.

“There,” she said quietly, jaw tightening. “Positive FAST. She’s bleeding into her abdomen.”

The resident beside her went pale. “How bad?”

“Bad enough that if we stand here talking about it, she dies.” Emery handed the probe off sharply. “Page trauma surgery. Prep OR two now. Massive transfusion protocol.”

Nurses rushed around the room, someone hanging blood while another pushed meds. The cardiac monitor screamed with every drop in the woman’s pressure, the frantic beeping drilling straight into Emery’s skull.

“Looks like we’re scrubbing in.” Emery says taking her gloves off, tossing them into the trash can and following the patient to the OR and all she could see was you, not the Jane Doe.

You laughing in her kitchen while stealing fries off her plate. You half asleep in one of her sweatshirts. You rolling your eyes whenever she came home after a thirty-hour shift and insisted she was “fine.”

It made her sick.

“Pressure’s seventy over forty,” Ramirez called.

“Starting another unit.”

“Move,” Emery ordered, already pushing the stretcher toward the elevator herself. “Come on, stay with me.”

The patient didn’t respond. Her face stayed limp and pale beneath the fluorescent lights and Emery hated how much it looked like you were unconscious.

By the time they burst into the OR, Emery’s hands were already regloved. One of the attendings looked over. “Walsh, you’ve been on shift for twelve hours already. I can take this.”

“I’m fine.”

It came out too fast and too dismissive because she wasn’t fine. The attending paused but didn’t argue when Emery stepped up to the table. Because this was what she did. She saved people. She cut them open and fixed what the world had broken.

Except two hours later, the monitor flatlined.

The sound hollowed the room out.

“No pulse.”

“Start compressions.”

Blood coated Emery’s gloves to the wrists as she searched desperately through the cavity, trying to clamp the bleeding vessel she couldn’t seem to control.

“Come on,” she muttered under her breath. “Come on…”

Another round of epi.

Another rhythm check.

Nothing.

The trauma surgeon across from her looked at the clock first.

Emery already knew.

She could feel it.

“Time of death, 3:17 AM.”

Silence.

The words hit her like a physical blow. For a second, nobody moved. Then the room shifted into practiced aftermath machines shutting off, instruments counted, nurses speaking softly but Emery just stared at the woman’s face.

The surgical mask suddenly felt too tight against Emery’s face. Everyone else moved first. The scrub nurse began quietly covering the body. Someone shut off the monitor, finally silencing the flatline that still echoed inside Emery’s skull. The residents drifted toward cleanup, subdued in the way doctors became after losing someone young.

Emery didn’t move because all she could see was you.

This woman had your face.

And now she was dead.

“Walsh.”

The trauma attending’s voice came carefully this time.

Emery blinked once.

“You okay?”

No she wasn’t okay. She wasn’t even close to being okay , but she nodded automatically anyway because that was what doctors did. They compartmentalized. Buried it. Moved onto the next patient.

“I’m fine,” she said again, quieter this time.

The attending looked unconvinced but didn’t push. “Go take ten.”

Emery stripped off her gloves with more force than necessary. Blood smeared across the stainless steel edge of the table before she tossed them away.

Her hands were shaking but none of the other attending’s said anything. She stepped out of the OR and the hallway lights hit her like a freight train.

A nurse rushed past with labs. Someone laughed down the corridor. A monitor alarmed from another room. Life continued around her like someone hadn’t just died under her hands but that was the thing with hospital’s everything must go on.

Emery made her way to the locker room she needed to hear your voice

Emery made her way to the locker room because she needed to hear your voice.

Needed it in the same way people needed oxygen.

The second the door shut behind her, the silence crashed over her all at once. The adrenaline that had kept her moving through surgery drained from her body so fast it made her dizzy.

Her hands were still shaking.

She stared at them for a second like they belonged to someone else.

Those same hands had cracked open a chest thirty minutes ago. Had tried to save a woman who looked so much like you it made her feel haunted.

And they’d failed.

Emery braced both palms against the metal lockers and lowered her head.

Breathe.

Just breathe.

Her phone was already in her hand before she consciously decided to grab it. She opened your contact immediately.

A photo of you smiled back at her.

You were sitting on the kitchen counter in one of her hoodies, grinning at whoever had taken the picture probably her. There was flour on your cheek from the disastrous attempt the two of you had made at baking cookies after one of her overnight shifts.

Emery felt her throat tighten painfully.

“Come on,” she whispered to herself.

She hit the call button The phone rang four times before it went straight to voicemail and her stomach dropped.

“Hey, you’ve reached Y/N. I’m probably asleep or ignoring my phone again—”

Emery hung up before the message finished. You probably were asleep. That was all. It was almost four in the morning. Normal people slept at four in the morning.

But the unease in her chest only got worse.

She texted you immediately.

baby call me when you wake up

A second later:

please

Emery stared at the screen.

Nothing.

The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed faintly. Somewhere down the hallway a trauma pager went off again followed by hurried footsteps.

Usually those sounds grounded her.

Tonight they just made her feel sick.

The image of that woman’s face kept flashing behind her eyes.

Dead on the table.

Looking like you.

Her phone remained silent.

“Jesus Christ,” she muttered, dragging a hand down her face.

You were fine.

You had to be fine.

Maybe your phone died. Maybe you fell asleep on the couch again with one of your comfort movies playing too loud.

A knock sounded against the locker room door bringing her back to the present.

“Walsh?”

Ramirez poked her head inside carefully.

Emery straightened automatically, shoving every emotion back down where it belonged.

“What?”

“There’s coffee in the lounge.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Ramirez studied her for a moment. “Nobody said anything about food.”

Emery exhaled sharply through her nose.

“I’m fine.”

“You’ve said that four times in the last hour.”

“Because I am.”

It wasn’t convincing Not with the dark circles under her eyes or the blood still smeared faintly near the cuff of her scrub top.

Ramirez leaned against the doorway. “That patient got to you.”

“No,” Emery answered too quickly.

The nurse raised an eyebrow.

Emery looked away first.

“She looked like someone,” she admitted quietly.

Ramirez’s expression softened immediately. “Y/N?” Pop

Emery didn’t answer she didn't need to because Ramirez has been on the job long enough to know the signs.

“Oh.”

The silence stretched between them. Neither of them knew what to say. The only saving grace was Emery’s phone buzzing violently in her hand. Both of them looked down instantly. Relief hit so fast Emery almost felt weak.

“See?” Ramirez said gently. “Probably just—”

But the second Emery looked at the screen, every ounce of relief vanished.

Unknown Number.

Her stomach twisted.

She answered immediately. “Hello?”

Static crackled through the speaker followed by chaos in the background.

“Is this Dr. Emery Walsh?”

Every muscle in her body locked.

“Yes.”

“This is Pittsburgh EMS. We have your number listed as emergency contact for Y/N Y/L/N.”

The world stopped. Ramirez’s face changed instantly at whatever she saw in Emery’s expression.

“What happened?” Emery demanded.

Her voice no longer sounded like hers.

“Motor vehicle collision occurred approximately ten minutes ago,” the paramedic said quickly. “She was found unconscious at the scene and—”

“No.”

The word tore itself out of her.

No.

Not you.

Not after tonight.

“We’re en route to County General now—”

“I’m already here,” Emery snapped.

The paramedic paused briefly. “She’s critical, Doctor.”

Emery’s knees nearly buckled

Around her, the hospital suddenly felt too suffocating. The exact same words from earlier echoed through her skull.

Driver-side impact.

Hypotensive.

Possible internal bleeding.

Like something cruel had decided to repeat itself.

“ETA two minutes,” the paramedic continued. “Possible abdominal hemorrhage and chest trauma. BP is unstable.”

Emery was already moving before the call ended.

Locker room door slamming open.

Ramirez immediately followed behind her. “Emery—”

“That’s my girlfriend.”

The words cracked apart on the way out.

It stopped Ramirez cold for half a second because Dr. Emery Walsh never sounded afraid. The Emery she knew was cocky and confident but this Emery looked terrified.

They burst into the ER just as the ambulance bay doors flew open.

“Move!”

The stretcher came barreling through the doors surrounded by paramedics and there you were.Blood in your hair. Skin pale beneath the trauma room lights and Motionless.

Emery physically stumbled when she saw you. For one horrible second she couldn’t breathe. Because suddenly the dead woman from earlier was gone and this was real.

This was not some Jane Doe who looks like you.

“Y/N,” she whispered.

Nobody heard her over the noise.

“BP dropping!”

“She was cardiac arrested once in transport!”

“Possible splenic rupture!”

The words hit Emery like punches to the ribs Like the universe had decided to torture her personally.

“Dr. Walsh?” one of the residents asked nervously.

Emery snapped back to life instantly.

“Trauma one. NOW.”

The team moved.

You didn’t.

Your head rolled weakly with the movement of the stretcher and Emery reached for you automatically, blood immediately smearing across her hands.

You were cold.

“Baby,” she breathed shakily, brushing damp hair away from your face. “Hey, look at me.”

Nothing.

The monitor screamed again.

“Pressure’s crashing!”

Fear unlike anything Emery had ever experienced ripped through her chest.

Not this. Please not this. she thought

“Get blood ready,” she barked. “Call OR two. Move!”

Someone hesitated.

Hospital policy.

No treating family.

No operating on people you loved.

Emery looked at them with tears already gathering in her eyes and something in her expression made the entire room go silent.

“She is dying,” Emery said.

Not Dr. Walsh.

Not the brilliant trauma surgeon everybody feared and respected.

Just Emery.

Just a woman watching the love of her life bleed out in front of her.

“Somebody help me save her.”

Your fingers twitched weakly against the sheets. It was tiny and barely noticeable but Emery caught it immediately.

“There you are,” she whispered desperately, gripping your hand. “Stay with me, sweetheart. Stay with me.”

Your eyelashes fluttered faintly and a broken sound left your throat.

Thank God.

Emery bent forward until her forehead rested shakily against yours for half a second despite the chaos exploding around her.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered, voice breaking completely. “I’ve got you, baby. I swear to God, I’ve got you.”

“Walsh, you know that you can’t operate on a loved one right?” Dr.Espinoza the head of surgery (bare with me I can’t remember who is head of surgery in the Pitt) says softly.

Emery sniffles and nods her head “I know I know” she admits looking back at the doctor.

“She’ll be in good hands so why don’t you clock out and we’ll let you know when she’s out of surgery.” Dr.Espinoza says as you begin to get wheeled up into the OR.

Emery’s entire body moved on instinct.

“No.”

It came out harsher than she intended, cracking apart under the weight of panic clawing up her throat. She followed the stretcher automatically as they pushed you toward the elevators.

“I’m going with her.”

“Emery—” Dr. Espinoza started carefully.

“I said I’m going with her.”

The doors to the elevator opened with a sharp ding and the surgical team rolled you inside. Emery walked in beside the stretcher before anyone could stop her. Ramirez squeezed in behind her at the last second, probably because she knew Emery was one bad sentence away from completely unraveling.

The elevator doors shut. Silence.Or at least silence compared to the chaos downstairs. Your hand looked so small wrapped in oxygen tubing and dried blood. Emery reached for it anyway. Your skin was freezing.

“Baby,” she whispered shakily, thumb brushing weakly over your knuckles. “Hey. Stay with me.”

Your eyelids fluttered faintly again.

Not fully conscious.

Not really there.

But enough that Emery saw the tiny movement and nearly broke apart from relief.

“There she is,” Ramirez murmured quietly from the corner.

Emery swallowed hard.

Your lips parted around a strained little breath and Emery leaned closer immediately, desperate enough to hear anything.

“…Em…”

The sound barely existed.

But it destroyed her.

“Oh God.”

Her eyes burned instantly.

“I’m right here,” she said quickly, voice trembling now. “I’m right here, sweetheart. Don’t try to talk, okay? Just breathe for me.”

Your face pinched faintly like you were trying to focus on her voice through the pain.

Then the monitor shrieked.

“Pressure’s dropping again,” one of the nurses warned.

Emery’s head snapped up immediately. “How much?”

“Sixty systolic.”

“Shit.”

The elevator couldn’t move fast enough.

Every second felt stolen.

Emery looked back down at you and suddenly all she could see was every ordinary moment she might lose.

You stealing her hoodies.

You dancing barefoot in the kitchen at two in the morning.

You asleep against her chest after she came home from impossible shifts.

The way you always mumbled, “you’re late,” even when you were half unconscious.

All of it threatened to disappear in one terrible night.

The elevator doors finally opened onto the surgical floor.

“Move!”

The team rushed forward again.

OR staff shoved open double doors while another nurse rattled off your vitals to anesthesia. Emery stayed glued to your side until the bright lights of the operating room hit her square in the face.

And then she stopped because this was it. The line. The one line she couldn’t cross.

Dr. Espinoza turned toward her gently. “Emery.”

Her chest heaved once.

You looked so pale on that table.

Too still.

Too much like the woman from earlier.

Except this time Emery loved you.

This time it was your blood covering her hands.

“She needs surgery now,” the attending surgeon said firmly while scrubbing in. “We’re losing time.”

Emery nodded automatically but her feet wouldn’t move.

You made another weak sound somewhere beneath the oxygen mask.

Her composure shattered completely.

She crossed the room in two steps and grabbed your hand again before they could wheel you fully beneath the surgical lights.

“Hey,” she whispered frantically. “Hey, look at me.”

Your eyes opened barely a sliver.

Confused.

Glassy with pain.

But they found hers.

And Emery almost collapsed from the sheer relief of it.

“There you are,” she breathed.

A tear slipped down before she could stop it.

You looked terrified.

That hurt worse than anything.

“Em…” you slurred weakly.

“I know, baby. I know.”

Your fingers twitched against hers, trying to hold on. Emery bent down fast, pressing a trembling kiss against your forehead despite the blood and the noise and the people moving around you.

“I love you,” she whispered fiercely. “You hear me? I love you so much.”

Your lashes fluttered again.

Then your eyes started slipping shut.

“No, no, no— stay awake for me.”

“Emery.” Dr. Espinoza’s voice was firmer now.

She looked up.

The entire OR had gone quiet around them.

Because every person in that room could see it.

The terror in Emery’s face.

The way her hand shook holding yours.

The way she looked less like a surgeon and more like someone standing on the edge of losing everything.

“You need to let us work,” Dr. Espinoza said softly.

Emery’s breathing turned uneven.

For the first time in years, she felt completely helpless. Ramirez stepped closer carefully. “I’ll stay with her,” she promised quietly.

Emery looked back at you one last time. Your heartbeat stuttered across the monitor. Her thumb brushed across your cheek gently, wiping away a streak of blood near your temple.

“Please,” she whispered so quietly nobody else could hear it. “Please don’t leave me.”

Then she finally let go.

And the second they pulled your stretcher away from her, Emery felt like someone had ripped her heart directly out of her chest.

One hour passed.

Then two.

Emery stayed exactly where she was outside the OR.

Someone brought her coffee at some point. It went cold untouched beside her chair.

Residents and nurses drifted quietly around the surgical floor, speaking in hushed voices whenever they looked her way. Nobody had ever seen Emery Walsh like this before.

Not cold.

Not composed.

Not untouchable.

Just terrified.

Every time the OR doors moved, her head snapped up instantly.

Every single time.

At one point Ramirez tried to convince her to change out of her bloodstained scrubs.

Emery looked down at them blankly like she hadn’t even noticed.

Your blood.

Still on her hands.

Still on her clothes.

She couldn’t bring herself to take them off.

At 6:12 AM, the doors finally opened again.

Everyone in the hallway seemed to freeze simultaneously.

Dr. Espinoza stepped out first, removing his surgical cap slowly.

Emery was on her feet before he even spoke.

The expression on his face nearly stopped her heart.

No no no—

“She’s alive.”

The breath Emery let out sounded almost painful.

Espinoza held up a hand quickly before she collapsed from relief completely.

“She’s critical,” he continued carefully. “Massive blood loss. We repaired the splenic rupture and controlled the liver bleed, but the next twenty-four hours are going to matter.”

Emery nodded rapidly, tears already spilling again.

Alive.

You were alive.

“She’s intubated and headed to ICU now,” he said softly. “But she made it through surgery.”

Emery’s knees finally gave out.

Ramirez caught her before she hit the floor completely.

A broken sound tore out of Emery’s chest as she covered her face with both hands. Not grief this time.

Relief.

Pure, overwhelming relief.

For several seconds she couldn’t speak at all.

Espinoza crouched slightly in front of her. “Hey.”

Emery looked up.

“She fought hard,” he told her gently. “Really hard.”

That undid her completely.

Because of course you did.

You always did.

“She asked for you before anesthesia fully took her under,” he added quietly.

Emery started crying harder.

Ramirez squeezed her shoulder firmly while Espinoza stood again, giving her a second to breathe through it.

Finally Emery dragged a shaking hand down her face.

“Can I see her?”

Espinoza nodded immediately. “ICU’s getting her settled now. Give them ten minutes.”

Ten minutes felt unbearable.

Everyone who worked in The Pitt was sensitive to something. No matter how thick your skin was, no matter who you were, there was always one case that came around once in a while that caused you to break.

Yours came that day, in the later hours of your shift. Due to your specialty being in pediatrics, you often took on a lot of cases involving children, especially younger ones.

You were looking over a patient chart when you saw Cassie approaching you from the corner of your eye. "Hey, can I have your help with something?" She asked in a voice that was even softer than her usual one. You discovered why when you saw the small hand holding onto hers for dear life, belonging to a little girl that couldn't be any older than eight.

"Of course." Handing off the patient chart to one of the nurses, you took slow and measured movements to kneel down on the floor a few feet away from where the girl was currently hiding behind Cassie. "Hi, sweetheart. What seems to be the problem, hm?"

The girl's eyes flickered upwards to Dr. McKay, as if she were checking to see if you were a safe person to talk about this to. The doctor nodded, prompting the little girl to speak. "I- I have an owie."

"You have an owie?" Keeping your voice low, you asked the question just for clarification, the girl fidgeting where she stood in front of you, seeming nervous.

"Y- Yeah. Big owie," she mumbled, chewing aggressively on the inside of her mouth as she purposely avoided making eye contact.

Something was definitely wrong here. You shot a perplexed look at Cassie before continuing. "Can you show me where your owie is? You don't have to say it if you don't want to, just point it out to me, okay?"

A barely audible whimper of terror escaped the girl, and she pressed her face into Cassie's arm, her hand's grip on her tightening. With her other hand, she shakily moved to point to the area where it hurt--the front of her pants, the implication of where exactly the pain was quite clear.

You forced yourself to take a deep breath, swallowing thickly as you put two and two together. "Okay, honey. We're gonna take care of your owie, okay? Don't you worry." Standing purposefully, you addressed Cassie in that candid tone of yours that always came out when it came to your patient's wellbeing. "Take her to the triage area where she can be properly assessed. I'll find someone to set up a room for her in the pediatric unit, then I'll be right there."

Cassie gave you a look of understanding (at both your commands and your clearly frazzled nerves) before carefully guiding the little girl away. Trinity, who'd been standing off somewhere nearby and saw the whole thing, tentatively made her way over. "Do you need any help?"

"Uh, yes. Go find Dana and tell her we have a patient who's a possible CSA victim. It's best if the SANE nurse is here to help take care of it." You didn't look at her directly when you spoke; in fact, you hadn't done it with Cassie, either, since realizing the patient's reason for visiting.

Trinity didn't take it personally, know simply nodding and giving a light "you're the boss" before heading off to figure out where the charge nurse went. Taking a deep breath, you did your best to brace yourself for what was to come before following after where Cassie had gone to the triage area with the little girl.

"She was brought in by her babysitter, who she told it was a bad stomachache. Her hymen is broken, and there's no way for it to have been consensual given her young age. Not to mention she has vaginal bruising and tearing, both recent and healed, which is consistent with a repeated sexual assault," Cassie told Kiara, the department's resident social worker, as you stood nearby. Dana and Perlah were getting the little girl settled into a room in the pediatric unit, allowing time for the information on her case to be transferred over to the appropriate sources. "She's also scared out of her life, which means she won't tell us what happened."

"Well, I can look into it, but you know there's only so much I can do if the victim chooses not to admit to the assault," Kiara replied with a pinched brow. Her and Dr. McKay continued to talk quietly over their options while you began to gradually shift away from them, unable to stop your gaze from wandering in the direction where the pediatric unit was.

Trinity could see the haunted look in your eyes, even where she sat at one of the ER computers more than several feet away. In all her time working at PTMC, she'd never seen you so shaken up like this. Not even when a kid was brought in with a bloody and mangled foot.

You always remained calm, cool, and collected, your composure never wavering, even in the most grisly of cases. Hell, you were more composed when treating a child dealing with cancer, and that was really saying something. But now…

It gave her involuntary flashbacks to her own trauma from her youth, to the way she'd been taken advantage of. And in that moment, she knew she recognized your tormented gaze, because it was the same one she often saw looking back at herself in the mirror.

She did her best to keep her focus on the computer screen in front of her, knowing it was none of her business, but it grew increasingly more difficult to ignore the clear signs of anguish in your form, especially when you began to steadily pace back and forth in an attempt to ease your mind. "Hey," Trinity suddenly and awkwardly began despite herself. "Do you… wanna turn the case over to someone else? I don't think McKay would have any problem handling it alone."

The question was responded to with a solemn head shake. "No, thank you. I can take care of it." Your eyes found themselves drawn to the direction of the pediatric unit once again as you stopped pacing for the time being, Kiara and Cassie still speaking in hushed voices near the background.

It was quiet for a moment before you spoke up again. "I think I'll go sit with her so she won't have to be alone when Dana and Perlah leave," you announced to no one in particular, finally heading to the pediatrics room the little girl was staying in, drawn in like it was a honing beacon as your previously labored steps became a brisk stride upon your exit.

The intern doctor attempted to resume her work after watching you leave, but found herself unable to. Trinity hated to think of it as "kindred spirit" nonsense, but it was obvious that she wasn't the only one there who felt so deeply connected to the young victims of sexual abuse who came into the hospital.

The rooms in the pediatric unit were all brightly colored, walls painted to match different themes. The one that the girl was staying in had a jungle theme, large trees with big canopies hanging over jaguars and monkeys and multicolored frogs.

You sat in there with her for God knows how long, not pressuring her to talk, just being there. She told you about school, how she loved science and hated math, how her favorite animal was a monkey (like the one on the wall). She was definitely more relaxed than before, and when she started to give several yawns in the middle of her sentences you figured it was about time for her to have a nap.

The girl appeared anxious when you went to leave, though she seemed soothed by the promise of nurses coming in the check on her every now and then to ensure she was doing well. You were halfway out the door when her voice broke the silence, timid and meek.

"Doctor? Can I… can I tell you something?"

You paused at her words, sensing the severity of whatever she had to say. "Of course you can," you murmured in a reassuring tone as you turned back towards her, shutting the door quietly and moving to crouch down beside her hospital bed. You'd worked with kids long enough to know it helped them feel safer if you were at their level instead of towering over them. "What is it that you need to tell me?"

She hesitated, her previously droopy eyes now big and scared as she glanced down to where you held a hand out to her, palm facing upwards. After a moment or so, she slipped her smaller hand into yours, clutching on tightly. Her pulse was racing with fear, her tiny nails digging into your skin.

And then she began to speak, and she told you all about what'd happen. And quietly, sympathetically, you stayed there and listened.

You waited until she'd fallen asleep to leave, making sure there'd be a nurse to go check in on her every hour or so. You were struggling to keep yourself together even worse than before as you searched for Kiara, knowing it was now your job to disclose the information of the assault to her so it could be further looked into. How you managed to tell her about it without crying, you had no idea.

After that, you knew there was no way for you to continue on with work as normal. Not with how you seemed to be in a trancelike state as you walked, unfocused on everything and everyone around you. The tears were pooling in the corners of your eyes and escaping down your cheeks before you could even realize what was going on.

There was a voice, possibly coming from nearby though it sounded so far away, calling out your name. You think it was Robby, though you couldn't be sure.

"J- Just a minute, please-" you somehow choked out with a stammering breath as you stumbled along, your tears blurring your vision even worse than before. "J- Just- please, just give me a m- minute, and- and then I'll be right there-"

"Hey! They said give them a minute," the sharp voice of Trinity rang out as she was by your side in an instant, a protective arm wrapping firmly around your trembling form as you stood there gasping for breath. "Back-up, now. Everybody give them some space."

Her tone was filled with venom, but her touch couldn't have been more careful as she led you out of the main part of the ER and off to a quieter spot by the stairs. You felt so overwhelmed by everything that was going on, and that was the moment where it all came pouring out all at once.

"I- I can't- she's- she's just so little, she's just so small-" you blubbered almost incoherently, the tearful rambling probably not making much sense. "So- so small, she's just a- a baby- and- and somebody- somebody hurt her-"

Trinity held you and listened regardless, one of her hands giving your shoulder an stiff yet sincere pat as she allowed you to vent to her. At some point your face ended up buried in her scrubs, your sobbing muffled as you got it all out of your system.

If somebody had told her at the beginning of her shift that this would end up happening, she never would've believed them. "Feel better?" She asked once your crying had settled down to mere sniffles.

You nodded your head while pulling away; she instantly found herself missing your warmth once it was gone. "Y- Yeah, I think so. Thank you for being here, Trinity," you said with a sniffle while wiping the tears from your eyes. "I really appreciate it."

She felt her heart flutter slightly when you called her by her first name, the damn traitorous thing. "Yeah, no problem. Um… if you ever want to, like, talk, or… anything like that, y'know…" She was trying her best to lend out a hand, but being a good shoulder to cry on definitely wasn't her strong suit.

But you seemed to catch on to what she was trying to say regardless, simply giving a small little smile, tears still clinging to your lashes in a way that caught in the light and made you look even more alluring than usual. "Y'know, you're not nearly as much as a troublemaker as everyone claims you to be," you mused playfully, talking to her as if you were old friends.

For some reason, this made her knees go weak as her heart fluttered for a second time. "Well-" she just shrugged, not quite sure how to respond.

You reached a hand out and gave her shoulder an almost affectionate squeeze of gratitude before turning and heading back into the main portion of the ER again, heart feeling lighter than it did before. Trinity just watched you go with a quiet look of longing, cursing the small part of her that was desperate for a genuine connection as it had to be the reason behind her sudden infatuation with you upon seeing you fall apart.

She wasn't always the best at handling her hurt, pushing it down and letting it fester beneath her skin like a sore. Clearly, you weren't either, except you were on the complete opposite spectrum of human emotion, letting it overflow like a geyser whenever the urge hit you and you couldn't hold it in any longer.

A small voice spoke up in the back of her head with the notion that maybe, just maybe, the two of you could help one another heal. And an even louder voice chanted in yours the exact same.

End notes: yayy angst with a happy ending yayyy

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“You good, tightrope?”

You didn’t even look up from the chart in your hands.

“What did you just call me?”

Trinity slowed beside the desk, confusion flickering over her face. “Tightrope?”

Your laugh came out sharp. Mean.

“Jesus Christ.”

Now that got her attention.

“What’s your problem?”

The question should’ve been simple.

Instead it felt like someone striking a match over gasoline.

“My problem?” You finally looked at her, eyes already burning. “Maybe I’m tired of being psychoanalyzed every five fucking seconds.”

Trinity frowned immediately. “That’s not what I was doing.”

“No? Because you always do this.” You gestured vaguely toward her. “Little comments. Looking at me like I’m some wounded stray dog.”

“That is not fair.”

“Then stop acting like you know me.”

The tension at the nurses station shifted instantly. Conversations quieting. People pretending not to stare while absolutely staring.

Trinity crossed her arms.

“You know what? Fine. Don’t take the nickname.”

“Oh, wow. Thanks.”

“But don’t sit here acting like I’m attacking you because I asked if you were okay.”

“You weren’t asking if I was okay,” you snapped. “You were pointing out that I’m barely holding it together.”

Her jaw tightened.

“You are barely holding it together.”

The words hit like a slap.

You went still.

Trinity realized it a half second too late.

“Look, that came out wrong—”

“No,” you said quietly. Dangerously quietly. “You meant it exactly how it sounded.”

“For fuck’s sake!”

“No, seriously, Trinity, why do you even care?” Your voice rose despite yourself. “You hover around me all shift acting concerned like I’m some project-”

“Because you disappear into yourself for hours and then act like everybody else is the problem!”

You stared at her.

The station had gone dead silent now.

“You think I don’t notice?” Trinity continued, frustration boiling over now too. “You shut down every time somebody gets close to you, then you bite their fucking head off when they check in!”

“Maybe because people should mind their own business!”

“Maybe because you make everything feel like walking through a minefield!”

That one landed. Hard. You felt it physically. Like something cracking down the center of your chest.

“Wow,” you breathed.

Trinity’s expression flickered immediately with regret, but she was too worked up now too.

“No, you know what? I’m serious,” she said. “One second you’re joking around and the next you’re glaring at people like you hate them. Nobody knows what version of you they’re getting.”

The humiliation was instant and blistering. Because she wasn’t entirely wrong. And somehow that made it hurt worse.

“Go fuck yourself, Santos.”

“Oh, screw you.”

“Enough!”

Robby’s voice cracked across the ER so loudly both of you jumped. He was moving toward the two of you fast, eyes blazing in a way you almost never saw.

“What the hell is going on?”

Neither of you answered.

“Now.”

“She started-”

“No, she-”

“I do not care,” Robby barked, cutting both of you off. “You are both doctors standing in the middle of my emergency department acting like children.”

The shame hit immediately. Hot. Suffocating. It reminded you of your dad’s stare. He looked between the two of you, furious.

“You,” he pointed at Trinity first. “Trauma two. Now.”

Trinity opened her mouth.

“Now, Dr.Santos.”

Her jaw clenched hard enough to tick before she turned sharply and walked away.

Then his attention landed on you.

“And you are coming with me.”

Your stomach dropped. You followed him silently into an empty consult room, pulse roaring in your ears. The second the door shut, Robby exhaled harshly and rubbed a hand over his face.

“What is happening with you lately?”

The question cracked something open in your chest. But you crossed your arms anyway.

“I’m fine.”

“That’s bullshit. The whole department knows it.”

You flinched.

Robby’s expression softened slightly, though his voice stayed firm.

“I know stress when I see it. I know overload. But whatever just happened out there?” He shook his head. “That cannot happen again.”

Your throat burned.

“She thinks I’m crazy.”

“I don’t think that’s what Dr. Santos thinks.”

“You didn’t hear her.”

“I heard enough.”

You looked away immediately, blinking too fast. Robby watched you carefully for a long moment before speaking again.

“You both hit below the belt.” His voice gentled slightly. “But I don’t think either of you actually wanted to hurt the other.”

That was the worst part. Because he was right and somewhere out in the ER Trinity was probably just as angry and embarrassed and as wounded as you were.

Which made the ache in your chest feel unbearable.

⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

Avoiding Trinity became almost embarrassingly easy once you started trying. You rerouted yourself through different hallways. Timed your charting around hers. Volunteered for tasks on opposite ends of the ER if you heard she was already somewhere. If she walked into the break room, you suddenly remembered you needed to be literally anywhere else. It was pathetic, you knew it was pathetic. But confrontation sat in your chest like a live grenade.

Growing up, arguments hadn’t ended. They’d just…stopped being discussed. Your parents screamed, you cried, everyone pretended nothing happened the next morning. No apologies. No repair. No soft conversations after sharp words.

Just silence stretched over wounds until they were scarred and crooked. So your brain learned one thing very well; distance equals safety. If you disappeared long enough, maybe Trinity would stop being angry. Maybe she’d forget or maybe the shame crawling under your skin would quiet down.

Instead it only got worse.

Because every time you caught a glimpse of her across the department your stomach twisted painfully and Trinity noticed. She noticed when you switched assignments with Victoria without explanation. Noticed when you cut conversations short the second she approached. Noticed how your shoulders visibly stiffened anytime her voice got too close.

At first she looked irritated. Then confused. Then hurt. That last one nearly killed you. By the fourth shift of this, everyone else could feel it too. Cassie glanced between the two of you constantly like she was waiting for another explosion. Mel looked deeply uncomfortable every time you and Trinity ended up in the same room.

Still, you avoided her. Because what were you supposed to do? Walk up and say sorry? The idea made your chest seize. Sorry meant vulnerability. Sorry meant admitting fault. Sorry meant giving someone the chance to reject you after you handed them your softest parts. Your brain would genuinely rather chew glass. So you kept running. Until Trinity cornered you anyway.

⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

It happened in the supply closet near the ambulance bay.

You’d slipped in there looking for saline flushes and nearly dropped the box in your hands when the door shut behind you. Your heart immediately jumped into your throat.

“Seriously?” Trinity said.

You stared very hard at the shelves instead of her face. “Need something?”

“Yeah.” Her voice was sharp, frustrated. “An explanation would be nice.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Bullshit.”

You flinched slightly. That only seemed to frustrate her more.

“For days,” she said, “you won’t look at me. You leave rooms when I walk in. You act like I fucking hit you or something.”

You swallowed hard. “I’m just busy.”

“No, you’re avoiding me.”

Silence. Because denying it now would’ve been ridiculous. Trinity stared at you for a long moment before her voice dropped slightly.

“Did I hurt you that badly?”

The question cracked straight through your ribs. Immediately your defenses shot up.

“No.”

“Then what is this?”

You opened your mouth. Nothing came out. Because the real answer was humiliating.

I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to exist after conflict. I don’t know how to trust people to stay after anger. Instead you looked down at the box in your hands and muttered, 

“Can we just not do this right now?”

Trinity let out a disbelieving laugh.

“That’s the problem,” she said. “You never wanna do this.”

Your throat tightened painfully. She stepped closer. 

“You blow up,” she said quietly, “and then you disappear like if you wait long enough everything’ll reset itself.”

Your eyes burned immediately. Because yes, that was exactly what you did.

“I grew up differently than you, okay?” you snapped suddenly, defensive because you felt too exposed. “Not everybody had healthy fucking communication.”

The second the words left your mouth you wanted them back. Trinity’s face softened instantly and somehow that felt worse.

“Oh.”

That quiet little oh nearly shattered you.

“Forget I said that.” Your voice cracked immediately as you backed into the shelves. “Don’t think about it. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”

You weren’t fine. You slid down the metal shelving hard enough to rattle supplies, hands flying to your ears as panic flooded your system all at once.

Too exposed.

Too vulnerable.

Too seen.

Heat crawled up your neck while your thoughts spiraled violently.

Stupid stupid stupid—

Why would you say that out loud?

Why would you let someone know that?

Now she knew.

Now she knew something was wrong with you.

Your breathing turned uneven.

“Nope,” you muttered shakily. “Nope, forget it. Forget I said anything.”

You were spiraling into a full on meltdown at work over this. 

Trinity’s expression shifted immediately from frustration to concern.

“Hey…”

“I’m fine,” you said too fast.

Your left hand dropped from your ear to your chest, fingers striking hard against your sternum in uneven thumps. Not enough to injure. Just enough pressure to cut through the static screaming under your skin.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Your body rocked forward slightly with each breath. You needed to get it out. You skin felt like it was crawling. You wanted to scream and yell and move your whole body because your body felt wrong. Like someone taking sandpaper to it. 

Trinity crouched instinctively before stopping herself halfway, clearly trying not to overwhelm you further.

“Okay,” she said carefully. “Okay. I’m not gonna push.”

You shook your head hard anyway.

“You shouldn’t know that,” you whispered.

Trinity frowned. “Know what?”

“That my parents,” Your voice broke sharply. “that they fucked me up.”

The words echoed ugly in the tiny room.

You immediately hit your chest harder.

Like punishment.

“Hey.” Trinity’s voice sharpened slightly. “Don’t do that.”

Your eyes darted to hers instantly, panicked.

“I’m not hurting myself.”

“I know.” Her tone softened again immediately. “I know you’re not.”

Your breathing still wouldn’t slow. God, this was humiliating. You were a grown adult sitting on a supply closet floor trying not to crawl out of your own skin because someone reacted kindly to you.

Tears burned hot behind your eyes.

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” you whispered again and again. Trying to regulate. 

Trinity stayed where she was, giving you space.

“You know what I heard?” she asked quietly.

You shook your head against your knees.

“I heard somebody who didn’t get taught how to feel safe after conflict.”

Fresh tears slipped free immediately. Because when she said it like that it sounded…sad.

You hit your chest again, smaller this time.

Trinity noticed your rhythm changing.

“Can I ask you something?”

You shrugged weakly.

“When you avoid people after arguments…” she said carefully, “are you trying to punish them or protect yourself?”

The answer came instantly.

“Protect.”

Barely audible.

Trinity nodded slowly like that confirmed something for her.

“Okay.”

You hated how gentle she sounded right now. It made your chest ache worse.

“I always think people are gonna leave,” you admitted suddenly, words spilling out before you could stop them. “Or hate me. Or decide I’m too much.” Your breathing shook again. “So if I disappear first then maybe it hurts less.”

Trinity’s face crumpled a little at that and that made panic flare again.

“No, don’t look at me like that,” you said quickly, voice rising. “I’m not asking for pity.”

“I know you’re not.”

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

Your fingers twitched hard against your chest again.

Your scrub top felt like too much with your shirt underneath so you pulled it off over your head. Throwing it on the ground and switched from your left hand to your right. Now tapping over  your heart. It felt better now that your scrub top wasn’t on. Though your skin felt a little crawly still.

Trinity watched for a second before slowly sitting on the floor across from you instead of standing over you.

“You wanna know something?” she asked softly.

You didn’t answer, but she continued anyway.

“When you yelled at me out there?” She glanced down briefly. “Yeah, it hurt my feelings.”

Shame flooded you instantly.

“But this?” Her eyes met yours again. “This hurts way worse. I didn’t want you to end up like this over a misunderstanding.”

“This is just who I am…some of it is from my parents…but I’m…I’m autistic and I’ve got other things going on too…,” you whispered.

Trinity leaned back against the opposite shelf with a quiet sigh.

“Good thing I don’t mind that one bit.”

A shaky laugh escaped you accidentally. It was tiny and Broken, but it was real.

Trinity smiled just a little when she heard it.

“There she is,” she murmured gently. “Thought I lost you for a second.”

Trinity let you continue to stim.

She just stayed there on the floor across from you while your breathing slowly untangled itself from panic.

At some point there was movement outside the supply closet door.

“Have either of you seen Santos or Y/L/N?”

Trinity didn’t even look away from you.

“Nope.” Someone else called back.

“Well if you see either of them Robby is looking for them.”

There was enough finality in her look as the footsteps retreated.

They could wait.

You were still curled against the shelves, one hand twitching against your sternum occasionally, though the hits had softened into absent little taps now instead of desperate impacts.

Trinity watched your breathing for another second before speaking again.

“Hey.”

You glanced up tiredly.

“Five things you can see right now. Go.”

You blinked at her.

“What?”

“Humor me.”

Still confused, you looked around the cramped closet.

“The saline boxes.” Your voice sounded rough. “Your shoes. My jacket. The stupid flickering light.” You swallowed. “And…the pink highlighter on the floor.”

“Good.” Trinity nodded once. “Four things you can touch.”

You looked down.

“The floor.” Your fingers brushed against it. “My scrub pants. My jacket.” A shaky breath. “And…this box.”

“Good job.” Her voice stayed calm and steady. “Three things you can hear.”

“The nurses station outside.”

“Mhmm.”

“A monitor alarm.”

“And?”

You focused harder.

“…your breathing.”

Something softened in Trinity’s face at that.

“Doing great,” she murmured. “Two things you can smell.”

You inhaled slowly for the first time in what felt like forever.

“Antiseptic.”

Trinity smiled faintly. “Yeah.”

“And sanitizer.”

“Good.”

Your body felt strange now.

Heavy and warm. Like the panic had burned through itself and left exhaustion behind. Trinity tilted her head slightly.

“And one thing you can taste.”

You frowned a little.

“I can’t taste anything right now.”

“I have something.”

Your brow furrowed immediately. “What?”

She leaned forward before you could overthink it. The kiss was soft. Gentle enough that you could’ve pulled away if you wanted to. You didn’t. God you really didn't. Your breath caught instead. Trinity tasted like mint gum and berry energy drinks and something distinctly her underneath both. Warm and safe. The kiss only lasted a few seconds before she pulled back slowly. Just enough space for you to stare at her in stunned silence.

“…Oh.”

It was all you could manage.

A faint blush crept over Trinity’s cheeks then, though she tried to hide it behind a tiny shrug.

“There,” she said quietly. “Now you can taste something.”

Your brain completely stopped functioning. The panic that had consumed you minutes ago was suddenly replaced by something equally overwhelming in an entirely different direction.

“You kissed me.”

Trinity’s mouth twitched slightly. “Astute observation.”

You stared at her harder.

“You kissed me.”

“Yeah, I heard you the first time.”

Your heartbeat started climbing all over again, but not sharp like before. Different. Dizzy and fluttering and terrifying in its own way.

“Why would you do that?” you whispered.

For the first time since cornering you in the closet, Trinity looked nervous.

“You really wanna ask that after the way I’ve been looking at you for months?”

Your stomach flipped violently.

Months?

Months?

You opened your mouth.

Nothing came out.

Trinity huffed a quiet laugh through her nose and rubbed the back of her neck.

“Wow,” she muttered. “Okay. Maybe I overestimated your ability to read flirting.”

“I thought you just…worried about me.”

“I do worry about you.”

The softness in her voice made your chest ache.

“But that’s not all it is.”

You stared at her, overwhelmed all over again.

“You picked now to tell me this?” you asked weakly.

Trinity snorted softly.

“To be fair, kissing you wasn’t exactly planned.” A small pause. “You looked like you were about to crawl out of your own skin and my brain short-circuited.”

Despite everything, a startled laugh escaped you.

Tiny.

Real.

Trinity smiled immediately when she heard it.

And God.

That might’ve been even more dangerous than the kiss.

“I don’t expect it this time,” Trinity said softly as she pushed herself to her feet, “but in the future we’re gonna work on the I’m sorry’s, okay?”

The words should’ve made shame flare again.

Instead they settled somewhere warm in your chest. Like she genuinely believed you could learn. Trinity held her hand out toward you. For a second you only stared at it. Nobody had ever really taught you what came after conflict. There was never a hand waiting for you afterward. Never softness after raised voices. Usually there was just distance. Coldness. Pretending nothing happened. Slowly, you reached up and took her hand. Trinity’s grip tightened immediately, steady and warm as she pulled you carefully to your feet.

The second you were standing she tugged you gently forward into her arms. You froze. Not because you didn’t want it. Because you did. Your forehead bumped lightly against her shoulder as her arms wrapped around you securely, grounding you in a way your spiraling brain desperately needed.

“No disappearing next time,” she murmured against your hair.

Your throat tightened.

“I’ll try.”

“That’s all I’m asking.”

You felt her shift slightly before one of her hands took yours and moved to tug lightly on the sleeve of her scrub top.

“If you ever need grounding,” she said quietly, “just grab my scrubs.”

Another little tug at her sleeve.

“Here.”

Then she guided your hand lower toward the hem of her top.

“Or here.”

Your fingers curled instinctively into the fabric.

Soft cotton.

Warm from her body.

Real.

Your breathing steadied even further. Trinity glanced down at your hand still clutching her shirt and smiled just a little.

“See?” she murmured. “I’m still here.”

Something fragile inside you ached at that. You nodded against her shoulder because your voice suddenly didn’t work right. After a second you managed quietly,

“Thank you, Trinity.”

The hug tightened briefly.

And for the first timein your entire life after a fight, the aftermath didn’t feel like abandonment.

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand.

9:51 cass-a-frass 🫦🫦

Hi, baby. Leaving work now. Want me to pick up anything for dinner? Did you eat?

You type back a pitiful string of emojis — a crying face, a pill, a broken heart — and get a question mark on your message in return.

9:52 cass-a-frass 🫦🫦

L.O.L. what does that mean?

9:52 y/n 

period came early im actually dying. pls bring ibuprofen and something warm to eat i don't care what tysm ily

The three dots appear, disappear, appear again.

9:53 cass-a-frass 🫦🫦

I’ve gotcha, honey. Sit tight.

You kind of mourn the absence of a poor baby or feel better!! but you do appreciate the way that she’s just on it. That’s Cassie McKay for you. You set your phone down and pull the blanket over your head.

You try to force your body back asleep. It’s hard to be in pain when you’re unconscious, right?

You're drifting somewhere between asleep and miserable when you hear the front door creaking open noisily, then a string of soft curses. Sweet, she was probably trying to be quiet, but your old rickety apartment doesn’t really allow for that. 

You can hear Cassie tip-toeing through your space, the rustling of a bag, the tap running briefly in the kitchen, the microwave beeping once before she cuts it off fast.

Then the bedroom door opens, and she slips in.

She’s in the clothes you saw her throw on this morning except the jacket gone’s. But the dark henley on, sleeves shoved up to her elbows the way they always end up by the end of a long shift. She must’ve come straight here.

She's carrying a paper bag tucked under one arm and a mug in one hand, and an empathetic smile crosses her face when she sees your pitiful position.

"Hey baby," she keeps her voice soft, sliding over a coaster to gently set the mug down on your nightstand . Chamomile, from the smell. "How bad?"

"Medium-bad," you admit. "I forgot to take anything before I fell asleep."

Cassie hums, fishing out a blister pack of ibuprofen and pops two free without being asked. You take them from her palm and grab the tea to wash them down.

“Woah woah woah,” Cassie interrupts, gently easing the tea from your palms. “What are you doing?”

You blink. “...taking the pills you so kindly brought me?”

“Not with tea,” she laughs softly. “You’ll burn the hell out of your throat. You didn’t bring any water into the room?”

You frown. “I didn't even remember to take medicine despite my main issue being pain, and you think I had the presence of mind to grab myself a bottle of water?”

Cassie looks at you for a beat, mouth twitching. "Fair point." She disappears back into the hallway without another word and returns twenty seconds later with a glass of water, which she hands to you wordlessly. 

You take the pills. You take a long, pointed sip of water. You hand the glass back.

"Thank you," you say, with great dignity.

"Mhm." She sets the glass on the coaster next to the tea and reaches back into the bag. "There's a steak sandwich in here too.”

You moan. “Have I told you how much I love you?”

Cassie smirks, handing you the wrapped sandwich. “I figured you were getting there.”

You take it from her and immediately pull back the wrapper just enough to take a bite, manners completely abandoned, and she watches you with an expression of extreme bemusement. 

"Good?" she smirks.

"So good," you say, around a mouthful. "Okay. You're my favorite person."

"Better than the ibuprofen?"

"Don't make me lie."

She ducks her head, and you catch the smile she was hiding before she straightens back up. She's still perched on the edge of the bed, elbows on her knees, watching you eat with that quiet attentiveness she probably doesn't realize she does. You know she thinks she probably has to keep an eye on you. She does this any time you or Harrison feel under the weather, so you don’t find it intrusive. She just wants to make sure you're okay and is content to stay until she's certain.

You finish half the sandwich before the cramping reminds you that maybe you should slow down. You rewrap it carefully and set it aside, thanking her for the napkin she hands you so you can wipe off your face and hands.

Crumbling it up and tossing the napkin back into the bag, you take a moment to just look at your partner. Pale blue eyes warm and amused, still dressed in her henley, silver chain catching the lamp light, bangs messy and splaying this-way-and-that.

"Come here," you say.

She blinks, looking down at your position. She’s literally an arms-length away from you. “I'm right here."

You tap your lips. "Here here."

Cassie is grinning as she leans in  and you meet her halfway, pushing yourself up on one hand to press your mouth to hers.

She kisses you slowly. Her hand comes around your back to pull you closer to her and support your weight, and she's so careful with you that your chest aches a little with it. 

When you pull back you're close enough that you can see the tiredness around her eyes she hadn't mentioned, the long shift still written on her face.

"Hi," you say quietly.

"Hi," she says back, just as quiet.

"You didn't have to get all this," you tell her.

"I know."

"The ibuprofen and the tea and the—"

"Shhh," she hushes you in amusement, an incredulous smile on her face. “I know I didn’t have to, but why wouldn’t I? You don’t feel well. If I can make you feel better with some medicine and some food, then I’m coming over with some medicine and some food.”

Your face melts into something adoring, brushing her hair out of her face. You don’t really have words that would fit the depth of your love or your gratitude, so you hope she can just read it on your face.

Apparently she can as she taps your hip. "You gonna scoot over, or keep taking up the whole bed?” You laugh, pushing her off of you. “You gonna change, or slide into my bed all dirty?”

She kicks off her boots and reaches for the hem of her henley and you make a show of wolf-whistling as she changes (it gets you a throaty laugh, which is exactly what you were aiming for.)

When she climbs in behind you the bed dips and she's solid and warm and her arm comes across your middle with her hand settled low and careful on your abdomen, palm spread flat like she is trying to push the ache out.

Something in your chest unknots all at once.

"Better?" she murmurs.

"Getting there," you say honestly.

Her lips press softly to the back of your neck.

"How was your shift?" you ask, turning in her hold so you’re nose-to-nose.

"Who cares about my shift."

"I do. Tell me."

You watch Cassie weigh it, blue eyes flickering back and forth across yours. Quietly, she starts to talk. The edges of it all are very clearly sanded off, you can tell she’s only giving you a vague outline of the day, but it’s good enough. You love listening to Cassie talk just for how melodic it all is. She makes everything feel smaller and further away: her job, your job, your pain, everything else.

By the time the heating pad has gone lukewarm, the cramps have dulled down. You’re back into little-spoon position with Cassie’s warm, strong body curled around yours, almost entirely asleep with her nose pressed to your hair and her hand still covering yours over your stomach.

"You're gonna fall asleep like this," you murmur.

"Mm."

"You haven't even eaten."

“Not true. I scarfed a meatball sub in the car,” she whispers back, tracing small circles around your belly-button. "Sleep." 

Her arm pulls you in just slightly, barely perceptible, and you think she might be asleep before you are.