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Trinity looks up from her phone to glance at the front door. She taps her foot impatiently.
He’s late. Really late.
She shouldn’t have been surprised. It was Whitaker picking her up, afterall. He probably stopped in the middle of the road to allow a mother duck and its baby ducklings to safely cross. Or he finally got pulled over for that broken tail light that should’ve been fixed three months ago.
She checks her watch for the tenth time in the past five minutes. It was almost eight, and the party had started at six. Trinity usually didn’t care about arriving on time to parties, but this was different. She would be there. And if she waited for Whitaker any longer, it’d be over by the time they arrived.
Fuck it. She hadn’t wanted to spend $40 on an Uber downtown considering that she still needs to buy groceries for this week, but she’s waited long enough. Trinity makes her way to the front of the apartment and grabs her keys hanging by the door. She opens the door to see none other than Whitaker standing on the other side, right hand raised to knock.
He’s wearing the same baby blue suit they had thrifted last week, paired with a crooked tie and scuffed dress shoes. They look at each other for a moment.
“You look nice,” Whitaker says, lowering his hand.
Trinity sidesteps the compliment and moves forward to fix his tie. “What the fuck happened?”
Whitaker shifts on his feet. Trinity yanks on his tie so he stands still. “I, uh, got pulled over for that tail light.”
“Of course you did,” Trinity scoffs. “How many times have I told you to get it fixed?”
“I know.” Whitaker meets her eyes as she steps back, finished with her work. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.” Trinity says, and she means it. She knows Whitaker’s guilt will last longer than her irritation, and she refuses to let him self-flagellate more than he already does. “Let’s just go.”
Whitaker’s beat up 2004 Chevy Silverado is a welcome sight, even if it’s parked in the middle of the street with the hazard lights blinking. There’s already a minivan pulled up behind it. The driver rolls down the window and sticks her head out to shout, “Get off the road!”
Whitaker rushes to the truck, stumbling as he trips over the curb. Trinity follows him, but not before flipping off the driver. The driver responds by blaring their horn and she laughs.
Whitaker starts the car and the engine sputters to life. “Get in!”
Trinity waves to the angry driver for good measure before opening the passenger side door. “Relax, Huckleberry. Just bidding my new friend goodbye.”
“Yeah, well you’re not the one she’s going to rear-end out of road rage.”
“Oh, don’t say that.” Trinity climbs inside and buckles her seatbelt. “I’m sure she’d try to kill both of us.”
Whitaker laughs nervously. “You don’t really think that, do you?”
“Of course n-” Trinity’s voice dies in her throat as she spots a blurry shape in the side mirror, growing closer and more distinct with every passing second. “Fuck, just drive!”
Whitaker hits the gas, the tires squeal, and they’re off.
The party’s being held at a fancy riverfront restaurant on the South Shore. Whitaker leaves his truck with the valet when they arrive and they walk over to the entrance. The outside is unassuming enough; the standard brownstone reflects the rest of Station Square’s architecture. But it’s not until she’s standing inside looking up at the stained-glass vaulted ceiling that Trinity is utterly gobsmacked.
“Holy shit,” Whitaker mutters under his breath. “How did the hospital even afford this?”
“Blood money,” Trinity replies offhandedly. Her eyes fall from the ceiling to admire the marble columns framing the dining hall. “This is so fucking cool.”
“Hey!” A familiar voice calls from behind. Trinity spins around to see Donahue jogging over. “Where the hell have you two been?”
“Sorry we’re late,” Trinity answers, greeting her friend with an easy handshake they’d made up months ago, when they’d been locked out on the helipad for an hour. “We narrowly escaped death by soccer mom.”
“Seriously?” Donahue quirks a brow at her. “What’d you do this time?”
“It was my fault, Donnie,” Whitaker says. “I left my car in the middle of the road when I shouldn’t have.”
Donahue laughs. “Wow, you’re really trying to get towed again, aren’t you?”
“It happened one time!” Whitaker says, exasperated.
Trinity pats him on the shoulder. “And we’ll never forget it.”
They follow Donahue down the hall, making their way to the buffet. There’s a few faces Trinity recognizes in the crowd around them. Perlah and Princess, flagging down a server for more chicken kebabs. Javadi standing stiff beside her mother, who’s talking presumably to a donor. Dana catching up with McKay and Collins in a quiet corner. Robby, of course, is nowhere to be seen, probably hiding from Gloria. And Garcia-
“I don’t see Garcia,” Whitaker chimes in from beside her.
“I didn’t ask,” Trinity replies stiffly.
“But you’re looking for her, right?”
At the risk of making herself sound like a complete loser, Trinity lowers her voice and hisses, “Obviously.”
They arrive at the buffet table. There’s very little actual dinner left. What was once a spread of prime rib, ravioli, assorted Mediterranean and seafood has been diminished to a tray of escargot. Whitaker reaches for a pitiful looking snail while Trinity’s stomach grumbles in protest. She had really been looking forward to the beef falafel. She turns to Donahue.
“How is there no food left? The party’s still going.”
Donahue shrugs. “The servers must have taken it back. I think they’re bringing out dessert soon.”
Trinity rubs a hand over her face. “Great.”
Whitaker waves over a server and grabs a couple of kebabs. Trinity takes two reluctantly, silently grieving the feast she had been promised by an overzealous Mateo. Donahue leaves them to catch up with a few people who work in the ICU.
“So, Huckleberry,” Trinity sighs. “How’s your snail?”
Whitaker chews for a moment before deciding, “It’s not bad?”
Trinity doesn’t believe him. So of course she has to try it herself. “Give me one.”
Whitaker takes a snail from the tray and hands it over to her on a toothpick. Trinity eyes it and decides to eat it in one bite. As soon as she puts it into her mouth, she nearly spits it out. She covers her mouth with the back of her hand and gags. “This is disgusting.”
“Really?” Whitaker takes another snail from the tray and pops it into his mouth like it’s a piece of candy. “It’s actually growing on me a little.”
“You’re insane.” Trinity grabs a napkin to dispose of the escargot. “I should admit you for a psych eval.
“Fine.” Whitaker shrugs. “I could use a vacation.”
At that, Trinity laughs. The last person to take an extended vacation from the ED was Langdon, and that had been under pretty shitty circumstances. She flags down another server, this time for drinks. She grabs two glasses of white wine and hands one to Whitaker.
“To our never ending shifts.”
“Cheers.”
Trinity takes a long sip of her drink, relishing the fact that it’s sweet because she fucking hates the taste of alcohol. Whitaker lowers his drink and is about to say something else when he spots something behind her and his eyes widen like saucers. Before Trinity can ask him what’s up, someone touches her shoulder and she freezes at the sudden contact.
“What’s up, party people?” Garcia greets casually, as if she isn’t the single-handed cause of Trinity’s impending cardiac arrest.
Trinity doesn’t say anything, but she does spit out her drink. Whitaker, who attracts liquids gravitationally as a general rule, receives the full force of the spray to his face and clothes. He sputters, and Trinity’s blood rushes to her face. “Oh fuck. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Whitaker wipes his eyes. He grabs a stack of napkins and begins patting his face dry. “It’s not like this was a new suit or anything.”
Trinity knows that, but she also knows how happy he’d been to find something that looked presentable and that wouldn’t show off his ankles. “We’ll find you another one.”
“Shopping? Sounds fun.” Garcia glances between them. “Can I come?”
“Sure,” Trinity says immediately. Then, to play it cool she shrugs and tacks on, “Why not?”
Garcia looks at her discerningly and raises an eyebrow. “You have wine on your face.”
Trinity touches her hand to her face and realizes that yes, Garcia is right because she has wine dripping down her chin. “Oh.”
“Here.” Garcia gives her a napkin. “Dry off.”
Trinity thought she had already reached peak mortification at scalpelgate, but apparently not. She takes the napkin and begins to pat her face. “Thanks.”
It’s only when Trinity has discarded the napkin that she fully realizes Garcia’s hair is down. She’s seen it down only a few other times, once at the Halloween party and once after the Thanksgiving shift. Garcia’s already very pretty, but with her hair down she’s downright gorgeous. Trinity does her best to not let that fact cloud her thoughts more than it already has.
“I think I’m going to go to the bathroom to try and get this stain out,” Whitaker says, the first one to break the silence.
“Good luck,” Garcia says cheerfully. “I’ll stay here and make sure Trinity doesn’t spit wine on anyone else.”
Trinity buries her face in her hands. Whitaker, thank god, doesn’t say anything and just walks away.
“You can look up now,” Garcia says after a moment. “He’s gone.”
“It’s not him I’m mortified about.”
“I know.” Garcia nudges her shoulder. “You’re not slick.”
Trinity finally looks up. “And you’re not subtle.”
“I know.” Garcia grins. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Trinity echoes back faintly.
She doesn’t really know what it is, this odd, nebulous thing between them. Sometimes it’s an exhilarating push-and-pull, flirting over patient beds and racing through hallways to the next case. Other times, it’s a terrifying free fall, with no way to know if that if she jumps, she’ll land safely on the ground. But that fear has never stopped Trinity from wanting to find out what’s going to happen next, and it won’t stop her now.
“I was starting to get bored without you around,” Garcia says. “What took so long?”
“Huckleberry got pulled over on his way to pick me up.” Trinity crosses her arms. “Broken tail light.”
“Figures.” Garcia glances at the barren buffet table behind them. “Did you get a chance to eat?”
“A little.” Trinity shrugs. “I’ve gone longer on less.”
Her first day in the pitt had been the worst. Fifteen hours of sheer hell with only a slice of cold pizza and a kit-kat bar to keep her on her feet. It’s a wonder she didn’t crash out like Javadi.
Garcia nods. “How do you feel about something sweet?”
Trinity knows what she’s really asking. Do you want to get out of here?
She takes the leap.
It’s only when they’re standing outside, and the South Shore winds begin their slow work of turning her into a human popsicle that Trinity begins to rethink her previous decision. She flips the hood on her jacket up and shoves her hands into her pockets. “Where are we going?”
Garcia is standing a few steps ahead of her, looking up something on her phone. “Ice cream,” she answers without looking up. She’s wearing a coat too, with a red scarf that matches her dress. But unlike Trinity, who’s from southern California, she’s not freezing her ass off.
“Sounds good,” Trinity replies over her chattering teeth.
Garcia must hear her shivering, because she pockets her phone and turns around. “Come here.”
Trinity should be embarrassed at how quickly she moves, but she’s a little too distracted by the growing numbness of her nose and toes. She stops within arms reach of Garcia, but Garcia takes her hands and pulls her closer. “C’mon,” she says, teasing. “I don’t bite.”
Trinity looks up at her. Garcia’s only slightly taller than her, moreso with the heels, but the added height on top of her penetrating gaze makes her feel like she could melt into a puddle any second now. Before she can say something weird or stupid or both, Garcia takes off her scarf and wraps it around her neck. It’s soft, and smells like lavender. Trinity smiles, filled with a rush of warmth, but it’s hidden when Garcia pulls up the scarf to cover her nose.
“There.” Garcia steps back, satisfied at her work. “You were starting to look like a reindeer.”
“Uh, thanks?”
“A cute reindeer.” Garcia narrows her eyes. “It’s a compliment. Take it.”
Trinity shrugs. “If you say so.”
It’s a twenty minute walk to the ice cream shop, so they start making their way down the street, passing Liberty Bridge and crossing over to a more residential area. The farther away they get from the river, the higher Trinity’s body temperature rises. At some point, Garcia’s heel got caught in a crack in the sidewalk, so Trinity had grabbed her hand to steady her and hadn’t let go since. So that was a win.
“How was the party?” Trinity asks as they near the shop.
“It was fine.” Garcia swings their hands while they walk. It’s cute, Trinity thinks. How carefree she can be outside of the ED. “Gloria gave her usual spiel thanking everyone for their support and highlighting the opportunities the hospital has been able to pursue as a result of the additional funding they’ve received.”
“We’re still understaffed though.”
Garcia laughs. “I don’t think that’ll ever change.”
They come to a stop outside the ice cream shop. The sign outside says Churn in South Side. The inside of the shop is empty save for a bored employee standing behind the counter scrolling on his phone. Garcia pushes the door open and pulls Trinity inside, where she’s greeted by a blast of warm air.
“Oh, good.” Trinity unwinds the scarf from around her neck. “I can feel my face starting to unthaw.”
Garcia tugs her hand so that Trinity falls into step beside her as they walk up to the counter. They stand there for about ten seconds before the employee notices them. He looks up, startled. “Oh, hi there.”
“Hey there,” Trinity pauses to glance at his nametag, “Charlie.”
Charlie pockets his phone and straightens. “What can I get you?”
Trinity shrugs. “Still deciding.”
“I’ll take a scoop of mint chocolate on a waffle cone,” Garcia says.
Trinity’s face blanches. “Mint chocolate? Really?”
Garcia raises an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Both are fine flavors on their own, but combined they’re completely disgusting.”
“And what will you be having?”
Trinity glances up at the board. “Double fudge chocolate on a cake cone.”
Garcia scoffs, “Right.”
“What?” Trinity asks.
“It’s just so… basic.”
“Basic?”
Garcia waves a hand. “There’s over twenty flavors to choose from and you choose… chocolate? Why?”
“I like it,” Trinity defends. “It being ‘basic’ doesn’t make it bad.”
“Doesn’t make it good either.”
Trinity is about to retort when Charlie catches her attention by coughing politely, “Will that be all, ladies?”
“Yes,” they snap at the same time.
“Great.” Charlie manages an awkward smile. “Paying together or separate?”
“Separate,” says Trinity, reaching for her wallet.
“Together,” says Garcia, reaching for her purse.
Having spoken in unison, it takes them both a moment to realize what the other person said.
“We’re… together?” Trinity asks. “Since when?”
Garcia swipes her card and turns to face her. She seems… amused. “Since the Thanksgiving potluck.”
Trinity closes her eyes and scrunches her eyebrows together, trying and failing to remember anything significant that happened that night. “I’m sorry, I don’t-”
“Remember?” Garcia takes their cones from the cashier and hands one to Trinity. “Your car wouldn’t start–not even with a jump–so I took you back to my place.”
Trinity frowns. “I remember that much, but nothing happened. We just went to bed.”
“In the same bed.”
Trinity shrugs. “There was no way I was crashing on your retro IKEA couch.”
“Look,” Garcia says. “I don’t take anyone back to my place unless we’re together.”
Trinity resists the urge to scream. “And how the hell was I supposed to know that?”
“I mean, isn’t it obvious?” Garcia replies, brushing past her to sit down at a table.
Trinity stares at her for a moment. “No,” she says finally. “Not really.”
“I flirt with you all the time,” Garcia says. “Even in front of our coworkers.”
“You’ve always flirted with me. You started less than two hours into my first day.” Trinity blinks. “You only stopped because I avoided you for two weeks, but you started right up again after you confronted me about it.”
“We’ve been out on dates.” Garcia spreads her arms wide. “Hell, we’re on a date right now.”
“In order for us to be on a date, you would’ve had to explicitly ask me out.” Trinity shakes her head. “And you never did!”
Garcia is incredulous. “Why should I have to ask you out when we both know how we feel about each other?”
Trinity throws out a hand. “Because you’re the one who decided I was more trouble than I was worth!”
Silence. And then-
“We’re closing in ten minutes,” Charlie calls from the counter.
“Fuck off!” Trinity and Garcia call back in unison.
Sufficiently cowed, Charlie shuffles off to the backroom, leaving them alone with their melting ice cream. Garcia is the first to say something. “C’mon. Sit down.”
Trinity huffs and pulls out a chair across from Garcia. There’s a trail of melted ice cream running down her hand. She grabs a napkin from the holder to wipe it off.
Garcia rubs a hand over her face, exasperated. She looks up at her. “You still haven’t let that go?”
Trinity goes to cross her arms, realizes she is still holding her ice cream, and props her elbows up on the table instead. “Kind of hard to, when it’s a reiteration of the same shit I've been hearing my entire life.”
She’s not reluctant to share this much of herself with Garcia at this point. They’ve known each other for a few months now, and even though Trinity has her fair share of trust issues, she knows that Garcia has given her far more grace than most others would ever bother with. That counts for something.
And the revelation that Garcia thought they were together is surprising but also reassuring. Trinity didn’t think she was the kind of person that Garcia would ever be sincerely interested in. She was also never too sure how serious Garcia was in her efforts to flirt with her. Garcia never failed to be upfront and honest when asked a question directly, but Trinity hadn’t wanted to humiliate herself more than she already had if she was outright rejected. As discerning as Trinity could be, it was difficult to interpret the true nature of Garcia’s intentions.
“I’m not going to even attempt to open that can of worms right now,” Garcia says. “But I’m putting a pin in it for later, when there isn’t someone listening in on our conversation, telepathing that we leave.”
There’s a squeak, and a loud clatter as something falls from the inside of the shop’s breakroom.
Trinity smiles, despite herself. “Fine.”
Trinity takes one step outside the ice cream shop and is smacked in the face by an icy gust of wind. She turns on her heel to run back inside but Garcia stops her by grabbing her shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’m calling an Uber so you don’t turn into a human popsicle.”
“H-how the fuck are you not f-freezing your ass off r-right now?” Trinity asks between chattering teeth. She never thought she’d miss LA but if she could teleport anywhere right now, it’d be home.
“I grew up in New York.” Garcia tightens the scarf around Trinity’s neck and then pulls up the Uber app on her phone to call a ride. “We’re made of sterner stuff.”
“I can tell.”
Garcia playfully swats her shoulder and Trinity grins.
She huddles close to Garcia to stay warm as possible while they wait for the car to arrive. At some point, Garcia wraps an arm around her waist and holds her close. All the blood in Trinity’s body rushes to her head. For a single moment, she’s distracted from how cold she is with the thought that Garcia is very sweet when she wants to be.
“Ride’s here,” Garcia says, breaking the silence. Trinity reluctantly steps away, and follows Garcia towards the car once it’s confirmed to be theirs.
“Jesus,” Trinity says, breath coming out in a puff of white fog as she gets into the Uber. “I can’t feel my toes.”
Garcia huffs out a laugh, and buckles her seatbelt when Trinity’s numb fingers keep fumbling the clasp. “You’re such a baby.”
“I’m keeping it real,” Trinity retorts. “This is my first east coast winter. I didn’t know y’all lived like this.”
“Didn’t bother checking the weather before flying thousands of miles across the country for your residency?”
“What can I say?” Trinity replies dryly. “The prospect of living over 2,000 miles away from my mother was far too good to pass up.”
They end up going back to Trinity’s apartment, because Garcia has family in town.
“My sister’s visiting,” Garcia explains as they climb the stairs to Trinity’s apartment. “She’s on winter break.”
“College?”
Garcia nods. “She goes to Georgetown.”
Trinity whistles. “Let me guess, she’s studying law?”
“No, art history.” Garcia slows to a stop when they reach Trinity’s front door. “She loves museums.”
“Sounds boring,” Trinity says.
“It is.” Garcia leans against the wall. “I almost fell asleep the other day when she was explaining one of her final essay topics to me.”
Trinity laughs, and unlocks the door so they can both go inside.
The living room is clean-ish. The pillows are on the couch, not on the floor. The newspaper crossword Whitaker likes to fill out is folded up neatly on the corner of the coffee table. Empty cups are loaded in the dishwasher for tomorrow. Whitaker had tidied up early in the morning before he’d left for his shift at the Pitt—Trinity had spent the day sleeping in, and making a list of groceries they’d need for the next week.
Trinity slips off her shoes and leaves them on the rack by the door, and is relieved that she doesn’t have to tell Garcia to do the same.
“Nice place.” Garcia looks around, eyes landing on the shoe rack as she moves to take off her heels. “You have a roommate?”
Oh, right. Trinity had nearly forgotten that she hadn't told Garcia about inviting Whitaker to live with her, but to be fair she forgets he’s there half the time. He’s very good at keeping to himself and only bothering her when he needs something that he can’t figure out on his own. Teaching him how to use the janky rice cooker had been eye-opening, to say the least.
“Something like that,” Trinity says, deciding not to reveal Whitaker’s precarious financial situation for now. He wouldn’t be upset with her for telling Garcia, but she figures he ought to make the decision for himself. “They’ll probably be back late, so I doubt you’ll see them.”
“Hm.” It’s clear that Garcia wants to know more, but she doesn’t press for information, which Trinity appreciates.
“Wanna sit?” Trinity inclines her head to the couch and Garcia nods. She sits down opposite of Trinity and folds her legs underneath her.
“Your couch is lumpy,” Garcia comments after a moment. “Mine is better.”
“I’m curious,” Trinity says, leaning back against the cushions. “Does your desire to one-up me stem from your chronic perfectionism or are you pettier than I thought?”
Garcia’s lips tilt into a smile. “Maybe I just like you.”
Trinity mirrors her smile. “You flirt unconventionally.”
“It’s gotten me this far.”
And, well, Trinity can’t really contest that. “Okay, fair. But I still don’t get it.”
“Get what?”
Trinity swallows the lump in her throat. Wearing her heart on her sleeve has fucked her over more times than she can count. But she really likes Garcia and she wants this to work.
So she has to try.
“Why me?” Trinity says. “Nobody likes me,” she adds almost as an afterthought and god, she couldn’t sound more pathetic if she tried. “Not enough to want to date me, at least.”
Garcia sizes her up. “I like a challenge.”
Trinity’s face flushes at the implication before her subconscious slaps some sense into her. Shouldn’t she be offended right now? She crosses her arms and looks away, picking one of the paintings hanging on the wall nearby to conveniently glare at. “Quit dodging the question.”
Garcia must sense something fragile within her, in that moment, because she sobers up immediately. “Hey.” She takes her hand and squeezes it once, soft and sure. “Look at me.”
Trinity folds instantly. Go fish. “Okay,” she says. “But you better be honest.”
“Even if I lied right now, you wouldn’t be able to tell.” Garcia tilts her head, almost apologetic. “I’m really good at it.”
Trinity scoffs. “That’s not very reassuring-”
“I know,” Garcia cuts her off. “But if you want this to work, you have to trust me-” she pinches her fingers “-about this much.”
“Seriously?” Trinity says, but she’s still smiling. Damn it.
“Seriously,” Garcia affirms. “That’s all I need.” She presses a kiss to her knuckles. Trinity melts at the gesture, because no one has ever been this sweet with her before. It’s always been about what she could give and she’s never really been allowed to take and wow, she never stood a fat fucking chance against Garcia did she?
While Trinity’s stuck staring at the red lipstick smudged on her hand, Garcia says, “At first, I thought you were this cute new intern. Someone who was looking to prove herself, which reminded me a bit of myself when I started at the Pitt.” Garcia looks away, a little wistfully, and returns her gaze back to Trinity. “Then I realized you were a troublemaker.”
Trinity bristles. “If this is about Langdon-”
“It’s not,” Garcia interjects. “Not really.”
Trinity presses her lips together to prevent herself from snarking back with something stupid. She reminds herself that she asked Garcia to be honest, and that’s what she’s doing. Or trying to, at least.
Garcia sighs. “You have terrible bedside manner. You’re awful at connecting with patients if you don’t have some sort of personal experience that applies to their condition. You’re brash and headstrong, and overzealous, especially when it comes to doing chest tubes.”
“Is that all?” Trinity replies sarcastically.
Garcia reaches over and places a finger on her lips to shush her. It works because Trinity is left with her tongue feeling like cotton in her mouth.
“Wait,” Garcia says. “I’m not done.” She leans back and continues, “You’re impatient, as evidenced by your habit of interrupting people before they’re finished speaking.”
Trinity rolls her eyes.
“You’re also competent at your job, when you’re not maiming me.” Trinity groans at the memory, and Garcia grins. “You’re decisive when you need to be. Perlah told me about that REBOA you did on your first day. I thought she was pulling my leg, because there’s no fucking way you’d be stupid enough to try that solo, but Abbot confirmed it.”
“There were no attendings available.” Trinity looks down, because while she doesn't regret her decision, she knows just how easily it could’ve gone south. “She was going to die.”
“And you saved her life.” Garcia places a hand on her knee. “You did good, especially for a rookie.”
Trinity looks up, meets her gaze, and panics. “Was it hot?” she blurts without thinking. She’s always had a way with words, especially when it comes to talking to pretty girls.
Garcia laughs, taking the change in topic in stride. “I’m not answering that.”
Trinity nods to herself, delighted. “So it was.”
Garcia shakes her head. “Shut up before I leave.”
Trinity sulks. “Fine. But only because I want to hear compliments now.”
“Crap. I’m going to need to make some up, then.”
Trinity scowls, and she doesn’t know why she even bothers. It doesn’t faze Garcia at all.
“You know,” Garcia says teasingly. “It takes 43 muscles to frown, and only 17 muscles to smile.”
“You know as well as I do that that’s been debunked.”
“Remember what I said about trusting me?” Garcia pinches her fingers again.
“You’re so weird.”
“So are you.” Garcia tilts her head. “First day on the job, and you suss out that a senior resident’s been stealing drugs from patients. Just how hypervigilant are you?”
“Extremely,” Trinity replies, and that’s all she’s going to say on the matter. Because that is something she has buried under miles of repressed memories and she has no plans on unearthing it anytime soon, not even to Garcia.
Garcia doesn’t push, which is just another thing that Trinity likes about her. “Well, you’re all of those things, and more. Because you’re a person. And you also happen to be a person I care about, which is rare for me.”
Trinity’s about to ask “Why?” when Garcia preemptively shushes her with a finger on her lips. It’s a little infantilizing and annoying, but she’s also not completely oblivious to the fact that Garcia’s using this as an excuse to touch her.
“I don’t usually associate with anyone outside the workplace. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth, knowing how easily things can go sour.” Garcia drops her hands to lace their fingers together. “I like keeping my work life and personal life separate. It makes things easier that way.”
“I’ve tried dating other people, but it never lasts. I can’t count the number of birthdays, anniversaries, and dates I’ve missed, all for more time on the clock. They think I’m too committed to my job, that I’m not present enough for them.” Garcia scoffs, “Like, no shit Sherlock, I’m a fucking surgeon.” She looks at Trinity, her gaze searching for something like understanding. “They don’t know what it means to me.”
Trinity can relate to that. Nine years ago, her mother had thrown a fit when she announced she was quitting gymnastics to go to medical school. If she closed her eyes, she could hear her clear as day, screaming about all the time, all the money spent, all wasted on her.
Her mother never understood what losing Emma had done to her. How it had made 8-count movements, balance beams, and gold medals inconsequential in the face of her best friend flatlining from an overdose in the hospital bed across from her.
But that was fine. She didn’t need her mother to understand. Her mother simply had to accept that being a doctor was the end-all be-all for Trinity. She might not have been able to save the one girl that had always been there for her, but she could save so many others. And that was enough.
Trinity looks at Garcia, and she doesn’t need to ask what being a doctor means to her. She already knows, deep in her bones, that it means everything.
“And then I met you,” Garcia continues. “And I really, really liked you. So I figured that keeping up a work-life balance was overrated, and decided to give it a shot.”
“Until I fucked it up,” Trinity quips, no longer able to keep her stupid mouth shut.
“You didn’t fuck it up. If anything, I nearly did.” Garcia presses her lips together and grudgingly admits, “I was… scared.”
“You, scared?” The mere idea of it makes Trinity want to laugh. She manages to hold herself together long enough to ask, “Of what?”
“Of compromising my position in the hospital or hell, even losing my job.”
Trinity frowns. “Wait, you’re not stealing drugs too, are you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Garcia narrows her eyes. “Trinity, you were at the Pitt for less than 12 hours and managed to get a senior resident dismissed.”
“It was an eventful first day.”
“You’re not cute.”
Trinity shrugs. “You’re the one holding my hands.”
At that, Garcia drops her hands and grabs her waist, pulling her onto her lap. Trinity lets out a squeak that would no doubt put Whitaker to shame.
“I’m a pragmatic person,” Garcia says, resting her hands on Trinity’s hips.
Trinity panics. She doesn’t know where to put her hands so she raises them in the air.
Garcia raises an eyebrow. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I don’t know,” Trinity whispers, face flushing.
“You know you can touch me,” Garcia says, amused. “If you’re not going to combust, that is.”
Slowly, Trinity lowers her hands so that they’re on Garcia’s shoulders.
“Huh.” Garcia tilts her head. “You’ve never done this before, have you?”
“No,” Trinity says. “Well, not really. I’ve, uh, never- y’know…” she trails off, not wanting to finish that sentence, and her usual defense mechanism kicks in. “I know it’s sad. Look at me, a 27 year-old virgin. Ha ha. You can laugh all you want, I just-”
Before she can embarrass herself further, Garcia cuts her off. “I’m not laughing.”
Oh.
“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” Garcia continues. “And we don’t- you shouldn’t feel like you have to do anything tonight, not if you don’t want to.”
Oh.
Trinity lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. Garcia’s words are a weight off her shoulders, bringing with them a sense of relief. “Sorry,” Trinity finds herself saying. “I don’t know why I just assumed-”
“You don’t need to apologize.” Garcia smiles with a little twist to her lips, and if Trinity’s being honest with herself, it’s like she’s holding her beating heart in her hands. “This isn’t the operating room. There’s no lives at stake.”
“Just my dignity,” Trinity mutters under her breath.
“Don’t kid yourself, you lost that on day one.”
Trinity groans. Garcia pulls her in closer and Trinity decides that the crook of her neck is the perfect place to hide out for the rest of the night. “Stop reminding me.”
Garcia laughs and the sound resonates through her diaphragm, against Trinity’s cheek. “I will when you stop distracting me.”
“Noted.”
Silence falls over them for a few moments. Trinity takes that time to recalibrate: settle her heartbeat, steady her breaths. Garcia hums to herself, a quirk which she hadn’t noticed before. It’s an unfamiliar tune, a song she doesn’t recognize, but one that she’d like to.
Garcia is the first to speak. “You never let me finish what I was trying to say earlier.”
Trinity doesn’t move an inch from where she’s hiding. “Unless you finally have something nice to say, I don’t want to hear it.”
Garcia traces the line of her vertebral column. “Must be your lucky day then.”
Trinity smiles into her neck. “Well, go on. I’m listening.”
Garcia lets out a long-suffering sigh. Trinity pinches her side in rebuttal, and Garcia takes her hand to hold it in place. She says, “You’re a good person, Trinity. That’s why I like you.”
Well, that can’t be right.
“I’m sorry,” Trinity says. “But I don’t believe you.”
“No apologies,” Garcia reminds her. “And that’s fine. I’ll make you reconsider.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t the REBOA?” Trinity tries.
“It was certainly enticing, but no.” Garcia shifts so that she’s sitting up, and Trinity lifts her head so that she can look at her when she continues, “I’m a pretty selfish person. I’ll always put myself first, and while I do like helping people, it’s never at my own expense.”
“That’s pretty big of you,” is what Trinity wants to say, but she bites her tongue. She wants to listen, wants to hear what it is about her that Garcia likes so much, because she doesn’t know what anyone would find so great about her—beyond her caustic attitude, self-deprecating sense of humor and wicked medical skills.
“You’re a bleeding heart,” Garcia says, and Trinity gapes at her like a fish on its dying breath. “Don’t look so appalled. You are, even if you don’t want to admit it.” Garcia’s eyes shine with mirth. “Princess told me you joined the street team with Whitaker.”
Trinity looks away, caught red-handed. “Only because he wouldn’t survive a day without me.”
“You coordinated costumes with Mel for Halloween.”
“I felt bad for her. No one should show up to the ED in an inflatable dinosaur costume alone.”
“You loved it.”
She did.
“You swapped shifts with Mohan so you ended up working on your birthday, even though you really didn’t want to.”
“It was out of pity,” Trinity counters. “Samira doesn’t have a life outside of work. I was not going to be the thing that stopped her from living it when she finally made plans for herself.”
“Oh, really?” Garcia smirks. “Perlah told me you gave her your concert ticket to go see Chappell Roan.”
Trinity curses in Tagalog, rueing the day she ever let those damn chismosas find out they could speak the same language. Garcia pats her hand placatingly.
“The kicker for me, though, was when I realized why you turned in Langdon.”
Trinity furrows her brow. “Anyone else with a lick of sense would’ve done the same. He was stealing drugs from patients and then fixing the doses given to them to cover his own ass.”
“You’d be surprised by the ability of most people to look the other way,” Garcia says, and Trinity isn’t, not really. She just hadn’t ever considered doing the same.
“At first, I assumed you were on his case because you didn’t like him, but that was only part of it.” Garcia continues, “Most people wouldn’t go as far as you did. They would stay away from any trouble.” She tilts her head. “But you? You run right to it, regardless of the consequences.”
“Well…” Trinity can’t refute that. Garcia’s not wrong. Trinity wrings her hands, abashed. “I honestly didn’t want to say anything about it, at least that first day. But when Dr. Robby asked me about my suspicions directly, I had to tell him.”
“Because it was the right thing to do.”
Was it really though? Trinity sometimes found herself questioning her decision, especially on the days where they lost more people than they saved.
Langdon was gone, and nobody was sure if he was coming back. The day shift had taken a serious hit without a senior resident on hand to help with the relentless cases they faced. The staff’s confidence in Dr. Robby was shaken, especially when he only opted to provide details to senior staff.
“Trinity,” Garcia says, catching her attention. “It was the right thing to do.”
Garcia’s steady gaze is resolute. In that moment, Trinity chooses to believe her.
“Um, am I interrupting something?”
Trinity nearly screams. She settles for jumping into the air and landing in a boxing stance, facing the door. Instead of an intruding stranger, she sees none other than Whitaker standing in the doorway.
“What the fuck, Huckleberry?” Trinity drops her hands. “Ever heard of knocking?”
Whitaker looks between her and Garcia nervously. “You know I, uh, live here, right?”
Garcia springs lightly to her feet, taking this interruption in stride. “So this is the famous roommate.” She walks up behind Santos and claps a hand on her shoulder. “Color me surprised. I didn’t realize you two got along so well.”
Trinity pinches the bridge of her nose. “It’s a temporary arrangement.”
“It is?” Whitaker asks, withering like a dehydrated plant.
“Oh god,” Trinity groans. “Don’t cry Huckleberry, you can stay as long as you need to.”
“See?” Garcia leans close and whispers in her ear, “Bleeding heart.”
Trinity’s blood rushes to her face. “Okay!” She grabs Garcia’s hand and tugs her toward the door. “Time for you to go.”
Whitaker’s eyes widen, very much resembling a baby deer caught in headlights. “You don’t need to kick Dr. Garcia out because of me.”
“It’s Yolanda when we’re outside the hospital,” Garcia- no, Yolanda says. “I’ll also take Yo-Yo, or even Yolie if I’m drunk enough. And,” she adds, almost as an afterthought. “Trinity’s not doing it for you. She’s just flustered.”
“I am not,” Trinity insists while pushing Yolanda towards her discarded heels, left by the shoe rack.
“I’m sorry,” Whitaker says, rubbing the back of his neck. “She’s not usually like this.”
“Oh, I don’t mind,” Yolanda replies, slipping on her heels. “She’s worth the trouble.”
“I am right here,” Trinity seethes. She tries very hard to ignore the effect Yolanda’s words have on her and fails. She toes on her crocs determinedly and inclines her head toward the door, forcing herself to glance at Yolanda. “I’ll walk you out.”
Yolanda collects her bag, waves goodbye to Whitaker, and follows Trinity out the door. Trinity closes the door behind them so that they can have a bit of privacy, and tries to compose herself. Her slacks and suit jacket are rumpled from sitting on the couch, her dress shirt is untucked, her hair is disheveled. She looks and feels completely discombobulated.
Yolanda’s not even looking at her. She’s tapping away at her phone.
“What are you doing?” Trinity asks, perplexed.
Yolanda glances up. “Calling an Uber?”
Oh, right.
“You don’t have to go- I just wanted us to be alone,” Trinity scrambles to say, already regretting every stupid decision that led her to this point: shooing away a pretty girl that likes her because she has no idea what to do with herself. “You can ignore Whitaker, he’s like a garden mouse.” She waves a hand flippantly. “Barely noticeable.”
Yolanda pockets her phone, and leans against the door. “It’s not him I’m worried about.”
Trinity’s hands curl into fists. She looks down at her feet, kicking herself for messing this up again. “I’m sorry-”
“Hey.” Yolanda takes a step forward, prying open her bunched up fists with practiced hands. “What’d I say about apologies?”
Trinity ducks her head. “That they’re strictly reserved for hospital related incidents.”
“Exactly,” Yolanda says. “There’s no scalpels for you to drop here. You can relax.”
“Okay,” Trinity says, remembering the lipstick staining her knuckles. “Can I kiss you?”
“Depends,” Yolanda says teasingly. “Did you have any of the escargot?”
Trinity wisely keeps her mouth shut and moves forward. Yolanda meets her halfway, slipping a hand into her hair and another around her waist. The world narrows down so that it’s just them.
Later, when Trinity re-enters the apartment, disheveled for an entirely different reason than she was twenty minutes prior, she stops when she spots Whitaker on the couch. He’s in his pajamas now, sitting criss-cross, slurping a bowl of ramen.
Trinity doesn’t bother wiping the lipstick stains on her face or pulling up her collar to hide the ones on her neck. “You’re still up?” she asks, joining him on the couch.
“I was hungry.”
“What, the snails weren’t enough for you?”
“No, they weren’t.” He places the bowl on the coffee table and dabs his mouth with a napkin. For a former farmboy, he has some good manners. “You look happy.”
Trinity snorts. “Of course I do, I just made out with Garcia.”
“I pieced that much together,” Whitaker deadpans, and Trinity would almost respect the sarcasm that accompanies the statement, if it wasn’t at her expense. “Seriously though, I’m glad things worked out between you two.”
Trinity’s skeptical. It’s not like Huckleberry to be this sincere with her. She’s taught him better than that. “Does this have anything to do with the bet Perlah and Princess have going on us getting together?”
Whitaker’s face blanches, and God, he is so easy to read. “Wh-what bet?”
“I’m not upset.” Trinity crosses her arms. “I just expect my cut of the winnings.”
“I didn’t win...” Whitaker trails off. “I didn’t bet on you guys getting together until New Year’s.”
Trinity’s not even offended, she wouldn’t have bet on this happening either. Regardless, she places a hand over her heart dramatically and says, “Oh, ye of little faith.” She leans forward, curious. “So, who won?”
“Mel, I think.”
“Mel?” Trinity stands up so fast she almost gets lightheaded. “No, no, no! It can’t be Mel! I can’t bully her into giving me a cut of the money!”
“Why not?” Whitaker asks. “You’re fine with bullying everyone else.”
“She’s completely immune to my brand of emotional terrorism.” Trinity sighs. “Oh well.”
Her phone buzzes with a notification. She reaches into her pants pocket and glances at the screen to read the message. It’s from a new number.
929-213-1719
So, when are we getting that cocktail?
Trinity whoops, and punches Whitaker in the shoulder for good measure. He yelps in pain, complaining about bruising while she rapid-types out a response to Garcia.
She wasn’t expecting any of this to happen tonight. But she definitely isn’t complaining.