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Trinity only picks up the phone because she thinks it’s Whitaker - he’s the only person who ever calls her, and she’ll excuse it because she’s pretty sure he’d had a flip phone until last year. Plus, they’d talked this morning about ordering takeout and he’s seemingly incapable of remembering which pizza places they’ve hated.
“I told you, Huck,” she says, not impatiently, as she sets her gym bag down on the bus station bench. “Gino’s is good. I will not be mad if you order Gino’s.” Where the hell is her bus pass? She tucks her phone between her ear and her shoulder as she rifles through her bag.
“Gino’s isn’t bad,” the voice on the other end replies. “Verona’s is better, though.”
“That’s a hot take,” she shoots back, distracted. “Their wings are shit.” Aha! She’s found her bus pass. Now, where the fuck are her headphones?
“Who goes to a pizza place for wings?”
“I like variety,” Trinity says absently as she opens the outer pocket, pleased to see her headphones. Now, back to the matter at hand. “You’re not Whitaker.”
“No,” the voice replies. “Afraid not.”
She should probably hang up because this is kind of weird, but the voice is vaguely familiar and it’s pretty obviously not a telemarketer. She decides to wait it out. There’s a pause.
“It’s Frank.” Who the fuck is Frank? Does she know a Frank? She’s racking her brain for a Frank, when mystery caller adds, “Langdon.”
Trinity drops her phone. It lands in her gym bag, though, and she makes a quick recovery; her mind is blank as she picks it back up. She feels her shoulders tense. “What the fuck do you want?”
“Hi Santos,” he says, dry.
“Get to the point, Langdon,” she says bluntly.
“Polite as I remember,” he mutters. “Okay. I need to apologize.”
There’s not a chance in hell she heard that right. “Repeat that?”
“Robby gave me your number.”
“That’s a new sentence,” she accuses. “But alright, I’ll bite. Why?”
“Well,” he says, and she can hear the strain in his voice now. “Again. I owe you an apology.”
“Music to my ears, but once again: why?” she repeats. Her nerves have started to retreat, now she’s just thoroughly confused. A better question might have been why now? It’s been almost eight months at this point.
There’s another pause. “Okay,” Langdon says slowly. “Recovery has steps, you might’ve heard.”
“Once or twice,” Trinity says, shifting into attack mode out of habit. “I don’t see what that has to do with me, although I’d love an apology just for forcing me to listen to you.”
“Oh, don’t you worry,” he says sardonically. “We’ll get there.”
Trinity leans against the bus shelter. She’s admittedly curious about where this’ll go. “So? You’re sober?”
Langdon sighs. “Yes, but this conversation is making me wish I wasn’t.” A snort inadvertently escapes, and while she wishes it hadn’t, he does sound marginally less irritated as he continues. “I’m out of rehab.”
Trinity doesn’t reply. She'd learned that through the grapevine. Hearing about it doesn’t bother her much anymore.
“Making amends is a big thing for addicts," he says. "And unfortunately for both of us, that includes you.”
Trinity’s so busy processing, she very nearly misses her bus. “Huh,” she says as she climbs on. Thankfully, it’s not busy, and she heads toward the back. “Sucks to be me, then.”
“Will you shut up and let me finish?”
“That wasn’t very apologetic,” she remarks sarcastically. “I don’t accept.”
“I haven’t actually apologized yet,” he snaps. Trinity grins, she can’t help it. She hears him inhale through his nose. “Look,” he continues, tone carefully neutral. “The sooner you let me get this out, the sooner it’s over.” She can’t argue with that logic. “So,” he says after a second, “I am truly sorry for yelling at you and treating you the way I did. You didn't deserve that. I needed help, and I wouldn't have gotten it when I did without you, so I have to thank you for that too.” He sounds sincere, if a little awkward, which she gets. This is weird and she hates it.
“Ew,” she says. “Stop talking. I accept your apology.”
“Good.” The relief in his voice is palpable, and very similar to her own.
There’s another beat. Trinity’s not entirely sure why she hasn’t hung up yet. “You’re coming back?”
“Yeah,” he says. “Next month.”
Trinity fiddles with her keychain. “Good to know,” she says evenly. “Is this public knowledge?”
“No idea,” he admits. “Robby is cagey about everything except the extensive drug test procedures.”
She laughs abruptly. “I bet.”
“Can I-,” he cuts himself off.
“What?”
Langdon hesitates. “What do people know?”
“Ah.” Trinity chews on her bottom lip. “Good question.”
“Do you think-”
“I’m not sure who knows what,” she interjects. “People know it’s addiction, though. A few weeks after you left, Robby told everyone that you were on medical leave. He had to say something; the rumours were crazy. But the addiction part only got out a few months ago.”
He exhales. “I see.”
“It wasn’t me,” she adds quickly. “For the record.”
“I know,” he says, unexpectedly. “It was Collins. She told Dana. It got around.”
Trinity straightens up. “What?”
“Yeah, I asked. I didn’t like the idea of people figuring it out after I got back. They’re not going to let me handle meds anyways, may as well get ahead of it, let people get used to it. Less likely to affect patient care.”
“Huh.” Smart. She’d probably do the same. “Oh, also, nobody knows about the theft,” she adds, carefully casual. “As far as I know. But by now, I probably would've heard a rumour about an actual stealing habit.”
“I assumed as much,” he replies after a few seconds. “I don’t know why Robby didn’t say anything, but I’m grateful.” Trinity nods, before realizing that he can’t see her. “Wait. How did you know it was a habit?”
Trinity bites her lip before replying. “Honestly, I guessed. Wasn’t sure until now.”
He huffs out a mirthless laugh. “Tricky. You got me.”
"It was the only thing that made sense. Addiction isn’t easy, but," she hesitates before continuing. "Robby was so angry. It felt disproportionate for a one-off, and besides, addicts aren’t exactly known for their restraint.” She's a little relieved when he snorts at that.
“You’re telling me,” he says wryly. “Although, as soon as I realized he hadn’t told the hospital, I finally considered that they might actually let me come back. It helped with the motivation to stay clean.”
“Okay,” she replies awkwardly.
They sit in silence for a few moments. Trinity gets the impression that they’re equally uncomfortable with the sincerity of the past minute.
“So,” he says cautiously. “I’ll see you next month?”
“Not if I can help it.”
Langdon laughs, which startles her. “Back atcha, Santos. I appreciate you hearing me out,” he adds. “Really.”
“Don’t thank me. Just,” she sighs. “I’m glad you’re clean.”
“You and me both,” he says quietly. There’s another pause. “I’ll see you around.”
“Sure. Bye.”
As she puts her phone away and stares out the window, Trinity uses her therapy skills to try and figure out how she feels. Strangely, now that the physical tension has faded, she feels fine - like, actually fine, not just willful ignorance fine. Mostly, she’s grateful for the heads up and the apology, since the possibility of him returning to the Pitt and actively making her life a living hell has occurred to her more than once. Plus, somehow no one had ever figured out that she'd turned him in to Robby, and the potential fallout of that particular revelation has haunted her. She certainly never considered that he might apologize to her; if anything, she’d been slowly coming to terms with the fact that to keep the peace, she’d have to apologize to him, albeit under duress.
Well, his return always felt inevitable. At least now she knows.
~
“So,” Garcia says casually. “Langdon’s back tomorrow.”
Trinity looks at her incredulously. “Excuse me?”
“How are you feeling about it?”
“How am I-,” Trinity gapes at her. “Your fingers were inside me not ten seconds ago, and you’re bringing up Langdon?”
“You’re always more honest post-orgasm,” she explains, as though that’s an entirely normal thing to say. Garcia is sick and twisted. Unfortunately, it’s one of the sexiest things about her.
Trinity shakes her head. “I don’t want to think about your thought process here.”
“I just told you,” Garcia says impatiently. “You never want to talk about him.”
Trinity rubs her eyes. “And that’s especially true when you’ve just fingered me in the on-call room.”
Garcia shrugs carelessly. “Whatever. Just making sure you’re good.”
Trinity sighs. It’s nice to know she cares, even if she has an unconventional way of showing it. “I’m good. Really.” She’s pretty sure she means it.
“Really,” Garcia says skeptically, as she grabs her abandoned Red Bull from the small side table.
“Yeah,” Trinity replies steadily. “He called me a few weeks ago.”
Garcia’s eyebrows fly up. “Really?”
“Yeah,” she says again. “It went okay, actually. I’m not worried about it.”
“Glad to hear it, then.” Garcia’s pager buzzes and she turns it off and gives Trinity another searching look. “I’ll see you later.”
Trinity watches her leave and not for the first time wonders what the hell it looks like inside Garcia’s head.
~
He’s there when she shows up just before 7am the next day. It’s weird to see him again. He’s thinner and his face is drawn, and he’s visibly tense, like a coiled spring. Robby reintroduces him during rounds with very little fanfare, his words terse and spectacularly devoid of detail. Langdon doesn’t say anything, just smiling tightly when Robby assigns him to triage. And just like that, he's back.
She doesn’t see him much that morning, but the few times she hears him speak are bizarre. He’s not hesitant or particularly quiet, but he’s much more reserved, every word sounding deliberate. Trinity supposes it’s not surprising, even if he hadn’t sounded like this on the phone. Nonetheless, she tells herself, a cautious Langdon is a good thing, something she can get behind. It’ll be fine. His apology had sounded sincere, and if he’s not going to hold a grudge, neither will she. She respects his recovery efforts, and if they can coexist peacefully, that’s about the best she can hope for.
Her commitment to peace lasts approximately seven hours. It’s his fault. She should have never doubted his capacity for arrogance or innate ability to irritate the shit out of her.
She’s flipping through a chart when she hears McKay in front of her. “Suggestions for a differential diagnosis? Think outside the box.”
Trinity looks up to see McKay and her shadow for the day, a baby med student who looks and walks remarkably like a baby deer. Trinity’s been calling her Bambi. She looks over at the patient McKay’s referring to, an older woman who’s lying on the gurney, eyes fluttering.
“Fainted in chairs, tachycardic, low BP, with muscle cramping and weakness, difficulty breathing," McKay recites, as Bambi bites her lip. "Urticaria on the chest and arms."
Trinity glances at the figure in her peripherals to find Langdon a few feet away staring intently at the patient. He’s snapping his fingers quickly; she can practically see the cogs turning. She sees the second it clicks for him, and remembers too late that she'd also been asked for her assessment.
“Late-onset atypical anaphylaxis,” Langdon says, confident.
McKay nods. “So, McAllister, what does that mean? How would she have been treated?"
“Epinephrine,” Bambi offers tentatively. "And IV fluids. Then antihistamines."
“Exactly,” McKay says approvingly.
Langdon turns to her, smirking triumphantly. “Still got it.”
Trinity bristles. “Well, bully for you,” she says sarcastically. “You can make the same diagnosis an MS1 could make from 20 feet away.” She whips around to McKay’s intern. “No offense.” Bambi looks, fittingly, like a deer in the headlights.
“Possibly,” he shrugs, spinning a pen between his fingers. “But I still beat you to it.”
Trinity crosses her arms. “Congratulations. Am I mailing your doctor of the year award to your permanent address, or some shitty bachelor pad downtown with one chair and no bedframe?”
“Jesus, Santos, it’s his first day,” she hears McKay mutter from behind her.
Langdon just narrows his eyes slightly. “Actually, it’s a three bedroom in Brookline. Hot tub. Lots of room for the dog.”
“Oh, he has a hot tub now,” she says derisively. “Time to get back to your whoring ways?”
His eyebrows fly up. “My what? Santos, I got married at 24 and divorced last month.”
Trinity shrugs, unfazed. “That was just one from the long list of insults that springs to mind when I look at your face.”
“Alright, guys, let’s keep it professional in front of the patient,” McKay says, but now she’s clearly trying not to laugh. Trinity turns to look at the patient, who's blinking at them in confusion. “Langdon, would you explain to McAllister how you came to the conclusion you did?”
Trinity rolls her eyes and heads back to the Hub to see what else is on the board. She’s deciding between a broken leg and some weird rash when Mel appears beside her.
“What happened to your commitment to peace?”
“Hey, I was provoked,” Trinity insists. Maybe she shouldn’t have told Mel about her commitment without a trial run.
“Right,” Mel nods. “You wouldn’t call him a whore for nothing.”
Trinity grins. “You heard that?”
Mel purses her lips slightly. “I think they heard you in chairs.”
“Like I said, I was provoked,” she assures Mel. “Otherwise, I’m fully committed to making Langdon’s return as seamless as possible.”
“Don’t I feel special,” he deadpans from behind them. They both turn to see him standing there, eyebrows raised, hands in his pockets.
“Ah, Langdon,” Trinity greets him nonchalantly, leaning back against the desk. “We were just talking about you.”
“Let me guess,” he says. “Something else from that list? Am I a douchebag this time?”
She smiles back at him sweetly. “Hardly. A douche can actually get women wet.” Mel snorts beside her and Trinity shoots her a pleased smile. “Anyways,” she says, turning back to the board. “I’m taking the fracture. Langdon, you should take the skin infection, it’ll make you feel right at home.” She heads off without a backward glance, a grin flickering when she hears him mutter, “what does that even mean."
~
If she’d thought that their face-off over the anaphylactic septuagenarian had indicated a return to form, she's proven wrong the next day. Langdon is sullen and withdrawn, even more so than yesterday morning. They work a couple cases together and he’s decisive and efficient, still frustratingly competent, but it’s mechanical and he doesn’t offer a single word beyond what’s necessary. At one point, Trinity makes some crack about his poor bedside manner, but he doesn’t react at all. It’s hardly surprising, since everything she’s heard through the grapevine over the last year indicates that his life has more or less fallen apart. She’d probably be a grumpy bitch about it too, although he’s not even particularly moody, just blank, clinical. Still, she assumes he'll settle in, so when nothing’s changed by the end of his second week, she’s kind of unnerved by the whole thing. Trinity notices that it’s distinctly worse whenever Robby’s around, which isn’t a shock, but it’s hard to watch. Unfortunately, she doesn’t get nearly as much pleasure out of his patheticness as she’d expected. It’s just, well, pathetic.
She’s poking around the fridge in the break room one day when she notices a full case of Red Bull with his name written clearly on the box. “Oi, Langdon,” she calls over her shoulder. He’s on the couch, charging his phone. “I’m stealing one of these.” She grabs a can without waiting for an answer and turns to look at him once she’s closed the fridge. He’s still looking at his phone. “I’m taking this whole case of Red Bull,” she says loudly, just to see if she can get a reaction. ED staff take their energy drinks very seriously. Garcia has never once let someone take even one of hers. She says it’s a slippery slope to a free-for-all, which, sure.
“Whatever, Santos,” he replies tonelessly.
Trinity stares at him. Enough is enough. “I don’t like this,” she announces as she pops the can open. “What’s wrong with you?”
“What?” he looks up at her, finally.
“This,” she says, gesturing at him. “This vibe. It’s weird. You’re like a black hole for happiness. It’s fucking depressing.”
Something in his eyes sparks to life. “You know, black holes aren’t actually cosmic vacuum cleaners,” he says, setting his phone down. “That’s a myth. Their gravitational effects aren’t that different from any other mass their size.”
“Oh my god,” Trinity groans. “Now you’re a mansplaining buzzkill in addition to…” she trails off, looking for the right word. “Lugubrious.” Whitaker inexplicably has a word-of-the-day calendar, which she mocks him for constantly, but it's had more of an impact on her vocabulary than she'd care to admit.
Langdon’s mouth twitches. “Lugubrious?”
“It means gloomy,” Trinity says airily.
“Oh, I know what lugubrious means,” he replies imperiously. “I’m just surprised you do. I thought you flunked out of middle school English.”
Trinity notices with mixed irritation and satisfaction the reappearance of that arrogant slant to his voice that had so bugged her previously. “Not quite,” she fires back. “But that’s okay, I know that drug addiction can cause confusion and disorientation.”
Langdon, to his credit, doesn’t even flinch. “And does it bother you that even with memory loss and a year off, I can still run circles around you?”
“There he is,” she cheers mockingly. “We here at the Pitt are so blessed to see the return of Narcissus himself, Dr. Frank Langdon.”
“She knows mythology too,” he says, putting a hand to his chest in mock amazement. “You must be such a credit to the remedial English program, I’m surprised I've never seen you on a state-sponsored billboard.”
"I'm just impressed that they got around to the classics in rehab," she says, leaning back against the counter. "I thought they'd have bigger fish to fry, but what would I know?”
“Hey, I’m just trying to be supportive,” he says loftily. “I was raised Catholic, and we’re big on helping the less fortunate.”
“Oh, is that what we're known for?” Trinity asks innocently. “My god, you’re a regular Mother Theresa.”
“Well, I did get into this to save lives,” he says, irritatingly smug. “So there are worse comparisons.”
“Alright,” Dana says from behind them, and they both turn to look at her. “Enough with the bickering, get back to work.” Her tone is harsh, but Trinity can see the smile flickering at the corner of her mouth.
“Yeah, Santos,” he mutters to her as he passes. “Back to it.”
It’s only through the very strongest of efforts that she refrains from actually sticking her tongue out at him.
~
To her satisfaction, Langdon is less distant after that. Trinity isn’t proud of it but she is mostly fuelled by rage and there are very few things as invigorating to her as a good argument. He's just so satisfyingly easy to goad, although his responses are unpredictable. Sometimes he’ll succumb immediately to her provocation and she can insult him to her heart’s content, at other times he’ll ignore her completely. Trinity writes it off as general mental illness, which is truly the most relatable thing about him, even if his moodiness is reminiscent of high school.
He's been back a few months when she gets an actual explanation for his erratic behaviour. It’s a relatively normal Wednesday, except for the fact that Robby is in a foul mood, which drags the mood of the whole floor down with him.
Trinity just lost a patient, a 49-year-old man, to a massive heart attack. It wasn’t her fault at all, but the family is understandably distraught, so Collins has banished her to the break room with orders to hydrate and not move for 15 minutes. Trinity isn’t horribly broken up about it, but Dana recently restocked the staff fridge with the good juice boxes, the mango ones, and she suffers from a severe case of hero worship when it comes to Collins, so she’s not about to refuse.
She’s just sitting down on the couch with her juice when Langdon comes in to refill his coffee. He glances over at her.
“You lost a guy, huh?” he says conversationally. “Rough.”
Trinity stabs the straw into the top. “Yup. Heart attack.”
Langdon nods. “Happens.” Then he spots the box in her hand, and his eyebrow flicks up. “My son loves those."
“Healthier than your 15th cup of coffee,” she retorts. “And a pretty lame insult.”
“Wasn’t an insult,” he replies lightly, taking another sip of coffee. “Just an observation.”
“Either way, it’s a lot healthier than your strict diet of energy drinks and coffee. Maybe I’ll get lucky and you’ll be our next heart attack patient,” she says, saccharine.
“Right. Are we sure that guy had a heart attack?” he drawls. “Are we sure you didn’t talk him to death?”
She rolls her eyes. “Oh, fuck off.” He smirks at her, but then it drops abruptly. Trinity squints at him, confused by the sudden shift.
“Langdon, that’s enough.” Trinity whips her head around and sees Robby looming in the doorway, mouth set in a hard line. “Were you not expressly told not to antagonize Dr. Santos as part of your contract with the hospital?”
Trinity blinks, surprised. “He wasn’t-”
Robby ignores her. “You’ve been warned about this more than once.”
Langdon doesn’t say anything, and his face is stony as he slinks out of the room behind Robby. Trinity mechanically sips her juice, brain whirring. A lot of things just clicked into place. What was it that Mel had said about their exchange that first day? That they’d probably been heard in chairs? She can all too easily picture the ensuing scene with Robby.
Trinity’s not sure why it rankles as much as it does (a therapist once said that she has some tendencies of oppositional defiant disorder towards male authority figures), but she’s infuriated by the whole thing. She barely even tolerates Langdon, but his combative disposition is the most interesting thing about him, and he’s been muzzled. Also, the idea that Robby doesn’t think she can take it is kind of insulting.
She's planning on cornering Langdon for answers at some point, and it's pure chance that she runs into him in the back stairwell later that afternoon. There’s a man in the ER yelling for his wife, who’s very clearly been beaten within an inch of her life. Security is involved and the cops have been called and Trinity does not need to be there in the meantime. She grabs another juice box and hightails it to the back stairs, pausing in the doorway when she sees him already sitting there. It’s the perfect distraction.
“You were told to avoid me?” she demands.
Langdon glances up at her quickly, before looking back down at his phone. “Yeah.” She waits a few more seconds, tapping her foot impatiently, but he doesn’t say anything else. She sits down beside him, eyes boring into his skull. He stares at his phone for a few more seconds, before looking over at her with a sigh. “Yes, Santos, I was told to ignore you. Are you really that surprised?”
“Well,” she says. “You’re not very good at it.”
His mouth quirks up sardonically. “Can you blame me? Even excluding the part where you actively harass me, you’re also really fucking annoying and therefore hard to ignore.”
Trinity wrinkles her nose and sets her juice box down. “Oh, come on."
“I thought you’d be pleased by the idea,” he says dryly. “You’re hardly subtle in your loathing.”
She scoffs. “If I loathed you, you’d know.”
He raises an eyebrow. “What would you call it then?”
“Arguing,” she replies simply. “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t like you, but I like winning arguments and you’re the most satisfying to beat.”
He barks out a laugh. “I don’t doubt it.”
Trinity weighs her next response carefully, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.
His eyes narrow. “Out with it.”
“I’ll leave you alone if you want,” she says finally. “I can give up winning arguments if it means Robby will back off.”
Langdon snorts. “Please, Robby has no fewer than 200 problems with me. He’ll be hounding me until the day I die.”
“And you don’t want one less?” she asks. Trinity notices, not for the first time, how rapidly his leg is bouncing. She wonders vaguely how he’d react if she tried to diagnose him with Restless Legs Syndrome right now.
He shakes his head. “Nah, it’s not that deep. At least this one isn’t entirely my fault. I appreciate the offer, though.”
“Oh, don’t get it twisted,” she adds quickly. “I’m not doing this for you, I just don’t need the extra scrutiny. Although, I’m pretty sure I read somewhere that arguing is good for the brain and can prevent dementia. And I fucking hate sudoku.”
Langdon looks genuinely amused. “You’ll have to send me that one.”
“Google it yourself,” she replies crisply. “I’m not your fucking secretary.”
He shakes his head again, but she catches the slight uptick at the corner of his mouth. “I take it back. Leave me alone, please, for the love of god.”
Trinity flips him off at him as she gets up. “Whatever. I’m going back.”
“You forgot your juice box,” he calls after her.
“It’s yours,” she tosses over her shoulder. “You could use the vitamin C, you look like shit.”
~
“You’re friends with Langdon,” she says to Garcia in bed a few nights later. “Right?”
Garcia's eyebrows flick up. “You looked like I’d just announced my intention to fuck a corpse in the morgue when I brought him up in the on-call room that one time. How is this different?”
Trinity waves her hand dismissively. “Five minutes is different from five seconds. Is he okay?”
Something shifts minutely in Garcia’s expression, and she leans back on her elbows. “Why do you ask?”
“He’s been a little out of it lately, is all,” she says casually.
“Well,” Garcia says, tilting her head to the side. “Divorce isn’t exactly a party.”
Trinity flops back against the pillows. “Crazy.”
“So they say,” she agrees. “But really, why?”
Trinity shrugs. “Robby is really tough on him. If even I can admit that he’s trying really hard, you’d think Robby would loosen up a little, right?”
Garcia's face softens. “Yeah, well, you weren’t around before. He was Robby’s golden boy, whether Robby would admit it or not. It was obvious.” She shakes her head. “That whole day really fucked him up. Both of them, actually.”
She grimaces. “Yeah, I’ve heard. Still.”
Garcia’s mouth curves into a smile. “It’s nice that you care.”
“I don’t,” she protests. “It’s bad for morale, is all.”
“Uh huh,” says Garcia. “I’m sure.”
Trinity doesn’t much care for the self-satisfied look on Garcia’s face, so she kisses her so they can move on.
“If you’re trying to distract me, it won’t work,” Garcia murmurs amusedly against her mouth.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Trinity mutters, as she works her way along Garcia’s jaw.
~
Try as she might, she can’t get over how ridiculous it is that Langdon isn’t supposed to talk to her. She’s moved into righteous indignation on the subject. It’s not that she wants him to talk to her, but freedom of speech is the first fucking amendment! And no one even asked her if that’s what she wanted. It’s infantilizing! She can handle interacting with a guy who yelled at her once, it happens every fucking day.
Trinity prides herself on being a woman of action, so she decides to do something about it. The right moment strikes a few days later. It’s 9am, things are mostly under control, and Robby seems to be in a relatively good mood. She sidles up next to him. “Hey, Robby.” She waits for him to look up at her. “Can I talk to you for a second?”
He nods his agreement as he sets his papers down and tilts his head towards a quiet corner. Trinity follows him.
“So,” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets. “How are you, Santos? Everything good?” His tone is light, eyes searching.
The thing about Robby is that when he’s in a good mood, he’s a great boss. He’s a good teacher, patient, empathetic, encouraging. Her righteous indignation fades a touch. She takes a deep breath. “It’s about Langdon.”
Robby’s forehead creases. “Oh?”
She nods firmly. “I don’t think it’s fair to make him avoid me as part of his contract.”
“To be clear, it’s not that he can’t talk to you,” Robby clarifies. “I believe the word used was antagonize. But go on.”
“Yeah,” Trinity says. “But I wasn’t even consulted. And don’t tell me it’s hospital policy to separate everyone who’s ever yelled at someone else. We’d all have to be sequestered, which seems counterproductive.”
He chuckles. “You're not wrong.”
“We’re okay,” she says honestly. "Yeah, we bicker, but it’s meaningless. It doesn’t make me uncomfortable.”
Robby studies her carefully, then shrugs. “Okay.”
Trinity rears back in surprise. “Really?”
He smiles slightly. “Yeah. It was an early stipulation, when there was some concern he’d retaliate. But I’d say that’s passed.”
Trinity considers that. It makes sense but it would’ve been nice if they’d actually told her.
Perlah pops her head around the corner. “Hey, Robby, we need you in central seven.”
“I’ll be right there,” he calls back, and then looks back at Trinity, eyebrows raised.
She meets his gaze. “So, what then?”
“Well,” he says, rubbing his forehead. “I’m willing to just ignore it, since it’s not legally binding, just a code of conduct. Or we can take it out, he’d just have to sign a new version.”
“Oh god no,” she replies emphatically. “Jesus. Don’t tell him we talked. I don’t want him getting the wrong impression.”
Trinity can’t identify the look that flickers across Robby’s face, but it’s not harsh. “Okay,” he says simply. “Thank you for coming to me with this.”
“Thank you,” she returns automatically. He nods at her once and heads off down the hall.
Huh.
~
The outcome of her conversation with Robby is never formally addressed, but the results show. About a week later, they're arguing rather heatedly about what qualifies as breakfast food when Robby appears beside Langdon at the counter and he immediately stiffens.
“The only defining trait of breakfast food is that you have it for breakfast,” Robby offers without looking up. She sees Langdon relax minutely.
“Exactly,” Trinity says vehemently. “You’re just wrong.”
“It’s an opinion,” Langdon retorts. “I believe breakfast food is a distinct category, and whether or not it’s eaten in the morning is irrelevant.”
“That’s just because you’re white,” she mutters. Princess and Mohan both laugh, and she grins at him smugly.
Langdon’s jaw works furiously. “Whatever,” he gripes. “The consensus of four people doesn’t mean you win.”
“Says the loser,” she replies pleasantly. He rolls his eyes and heads off, undoubtedly to wallow in his defeat. Still, he does seem marginally less jumpy around her in Robby’s presence after that. Trinity adds it to the ongoing tally of her victories.
~
For better or worse, her ability to keep a level head around misogynists has increased since she’d started at the PTMC, but that’s mostly because she’s received several complaints for her brusque treatment of certain male patients. However, her outward disgust for male bullshit remains alive and well, especially where her coworkers are concerned. Langdon is an arrogant asshole, but at least he’s not a bigot. The same cannot be said for one of their new interns.
Justin Sorensen’s parents are both renowned surgeons, and he brings that up at every possible opportunity. He’s completely dismissive of emergency medicine as a whole, and doesn’t hesitate to denigrate their systems, procedures, and lack of funding at every possible opportunity. More egregious, however, is his overt sexism. It’s not even remotely subtle. He listens exclusively to Robby, and sometimes Langdon and that’s about it. To Langdon’s credit, he refuses to take advantage and usually defers to the other doctors in the room, but Sorensen doesn’t seem to notice or care.
Trinity really does do her best to just grit her teeth and bear it, but when he openly doubts the veracity of the victim of marital rape’s story, she reaches her breaking point and screams at him. He makes some derisive comment about female hysteria, because of course his understanding of women's health is rooted in 19th century medicine. Trinity is genuinely shocked by his response, and to her embarrassment, angry tears spring to her eyes. That’s when Langdon steps in and steadily tells him that if he doesn’t watch his fucking mouth, he’ll end up in his precious surgical suite. Before Sorensen can so much as blink, Robby intervenes.
“Santos, Langdon,” Robby says tightly. “Walk it off. Sorensen, with me.”
Trinity hates when people see her cry, so she makes a break for the ambulance bay without another word. Unfortunately, Langdon does the same. She glares back at him as he follows her but he doesn’t seem to notice. She makes a beeline for the far wall and tries to ignore him. He comes to stand near her. Idiot can’t take a hint.
“I didn’t need your help,” she bites out, wiping furiously at her eyes.
“Of course you didn’t,” he says carelessly. “But believe it or not, not everything’s about you, Santos.”
“Debatable,” she says harshly. “But I was handling it.”
“Sure, but you’re not the only one he’s pissed off,” he retorts, crossing his arms. “Nobody likes him. He was challenging Mel this morning, as though she isn’t his direct superior.”
Trinity processes that, and some of her irritation fades away, and is unexpectedly replaced by something akin to mirth. “Oh, I see.”
Langdon’s eyebrows furrow, taken off guard by her abrupt mood reversal. “What do you see?” he asks warily.
“Mel. That’s why you went after him. You were defending her honour.” She’s long suspected this might be the case, but there has yet to be an opportunity to bring it up.
“Hardly,” he protests. “Yeah, she’s too polite to rip him to shreds, but he needed to be taken down a peg or two. He’s a sexist asshole.”
Trinity nods cheerfully. “Unquestionably.”
“Whatever,” he grumbles as he pulls out a cigarette. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”
“True,” she agrees. “And honestly, I’d prefer you didn’t. You talk too much as it is.”
Langdon scoffs as he lights it. "I talk too much?”
“Yup,” she confirms. “Take it down about 95%, and then you’ll be approaching acceptable levels.”
He shakes his head. “You make a compelling argument for life after brain death.”
“Ah, ah,” she says, wagging her finger at him. “I don’t think Mel would approve of this kind of talk.”
“Bullshit,” he says dismissively. “Mel was a neuroscience major; she’d probably take the opportunity to do a study. She’d probably thank me.”
“Ha!” she jabs a finger in his face.
“What?”
Trinity puts her hands on her hips. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”
Langdon exhales a cloud of smoke. “And what am I doing?”
“Exactly,” Trinity says suspiciously. “Exactly.”
“You’re making no sense,” he informs her. “Are you sure you’re able to work? You could be a liability, what, with your female hysteria and all.”
“Oh, fuck off,” she snaps. “That’s not funny.”
Langdon flicks ash off his cigarette, mouth twisted in amusement. “It’s a little funny.” At the look on her face, he holds up a hand. “Just think about that performance review. You know Robby won't think twice about giving him an F in bedside manner and political correctness on his report card."
"Don't forget coworker relations," she grumbles back. "And entire personality. And he has stupid hair.”
He grins at her. "Exactly."
Trinity can’t help it, her lips quirk up in response. “I hope he never gets a job,” she grouches. “No, actually, I hope he ends up working in a locked ward and gets Silence of the Lambsed.”
Langdon lifts his cigarette in acknowledgement. “I’ll drink to that.”
That’s when Donnie sticks his head out the door and summons them back. Trinity is pleasantly surprised when Robby pulls them aside and informs them that Sorensen is being transferred out of the Pitt, and his poor behaviour has been noted in his file. They leave without even a minor lecture. Langdon mutters something about the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane on their way out. Trinity successfully stifles her laugh.
~
She’s working on her charting when Langdon rolls his chair over to her station. She glares at him. “Will you back the fuck up?”
He does not back up, just keeps swivelling back and forth. “You misspelled hyperaldosteronism,” he says. “In that last chart.”
She glowers at him severely, but upon further investigation, he does appear to be right. Damn. “Whatever,” she says. “Jerk.”
“Nice insult, Hannah Montana,” he tosses at her, still swivelling, staring at the ceiling.
Trinity’s head jolts up. “Did you just quote Jennifer’s Body at me?”
He looks down at her, mouth tugging up at the corner. “Good catch.”
“I’m a gay woman, Langdon, I know Jennifer’s Body,” she shoots back. “The better question is, why have you seen it? Do you get off on the lesbianism, you sick fuck?”
He rolls his eyes. “It’s a classic, Santos, it has nothing to do with lesbians.”
“Sure,” she says, mocking. “That’s what they all say.”
“Alright, alright, settle down you two. Jesus Christ,” Dana mutters. “You’re worse than my fuckin’ kids.”
“Oh my god, yeah,” Mohan says, nodding. “That’s it. You guys bicker like siblings.”
“How fucking dare you-,” Trinity hisses, at the same time as Langdon barks out “are you fucking joking?”
There’s a pause, and then Dana cackles, while Mohan hides her grin behind her hand.
“Yeah, I heard it,” Trinity mumbles. She accidentally makes direct eye contact with Langdon and they both pull a disgusted face and look away quickly.
Mohan is laughing outright now. “Oh, this is priceless. It makes so much sense.”
Of course, Whitaker walks up just then because Trinity can’t ever catch a fucking break and Mohan turns to him. “Hey, Whitaker, would you agree that Santos and Langdon fight like siblings?”
Trinity turns the full force of her death glare on him, and Whitaker hesitates. “Don’t,” she warns.
“Sorry, Trin,” he says apologetically. “But yeah, kinda.”
“You can forget about me fixing the shower door,” she says furiously. “Traitor.”
“Oh, come on,” Whitaker groans. “It’s a slipping hazard for both of us.”
“Not for me,” she sniffs. “I have shower shoes.”
“If we are siblings,” Langdon offers genially, “I apologize for hogging all the good genes.”
Trinity snorts. “Please. You’re a divorced addict with an iron deficiency.”
“Not beating the allegations,” she hears Mohan whisper from behind her. Trinity snaps her mouth shut forcefully and turns back to her computer.
~
It’s one of those days where everything seems to go wrong for no rhyme or reason. Things just keep piling on. By midday, they’ve run out of room in chairs and it’s pouring, so the floor of the ER is absolutely disgusting and everyone is slipping all over the place.
Trinity’s dealing with a patient who’s complaining about debilitating back pain. They have no record for him, and he claims to be from out of town, but there's something about him that trips her alarm bells. She’s working with O’Meara, an MS4 on rotation, so she excuses them both and once they’ve left the room and managed to track down a quiet corner, she pulls up his file and explains why she suspects drug-seeking behaviour. She’s just about to send O’Meara to go look for Robby to get a second opinion when Mateo comes up to them and tells them that the patient is gone.
Trinity stiffens. “With debilitating back pain?” she says sharply. “Not fucking likely.”
Mateo shakes his head slightly. “I did a quick walk around; I didn’t see him anywhere.”
“Fuck,” Trinity swears. “Today sucks.”
And then it gets worse. Princess asks where that bottle of oxycodone went. Trinity doesn’t know what she’s talking about, but as she explains which patient it was for, Trinity realizes that it was in the room right beside her missing, drug-seeking patient.
“Motherfucker,” she hisses under her breath. At Princess’ look, she sighs and explains.
Princess whistles quietly. “Glad I’m not the one who has to tell Robby.”
And of course, Robby is sitting at a computer nearby, apparently free for the first time all day. Trinity stares at the ceiling. Today needs to be over. She allows herself five seconds to be really fucking pissed and then snaps back to it. She can’t wallow, not now. There’s a bottle of wine waiting for her at home and she will be drinking all of it.
“Robby,” she says shortly as she approaches. “Minor problem.” Robby looks up at her, and his expression darkens when he sees the look on her face. “We’re missing a patient who we suspected of drug-seeking behaviour.”
“Out with it, Santos,” he says testily.
Trinity takes a deep breath. “A bottle of oxycodone disappeared,” she says simply. “We think he stole it from the next room over.”
“And why,” Robby says, jaw clenched, “was there a whole bottle of oxycodone left unmonitored, let alone out of the fucking dispenser?”
Trinity rubs the back of her neck. “We don’t know. It was a mistake, obviously, but-”
“Fucking right it was a mistake,” Robby snarls. He whips around to look at Langdon, who’s sitting at a computer behind him. “And of course you wouldn’t know anything about this, would you?”
Langdon recoils like he’s been slapped and his expression makes Trinity flinch. “He had nothing to do with it,” she explains quickly. “It was me and-”
“It doesn’t matter who it was,” he snaps. “Fuck. Gloria’s going to have my fucking head.”
She's frozen, unsure what to say. That’s when the first lucky thing of the day happens – EMTs bring in a kid with a femoral artery bleed and Robby is immediately summoned. He disappears with one last furious look.
Trinity sighs. She glances at O’Meara, who looks a little shell-shocked. “Don’t worry about it,” she says quietly. “We did nothing wrong. It happens sometimes.” O’Meara nods. “Go take five,” she says, suddenly drained. “I’ll catch up with you later.” She rests her elbows on the counter, rubbing her temples wearily, when she notices Langdon disappearing in the direction of the side door they use mostly for deliveries.
She never consciously makes the decision to follow him, but something about the shattered look on his face is too familiar for her to just let him go. Trinity understands that look. She also thinks she’s the only person who understands the full implications of what just happened. Still, even as she follows him outside, she’s not sure that she’s doing the right thing. He’s pacing like a caged animal, unlit cigarette clenched tightly between his fingers. He takes a few seconds to spot her but doesn’t outwardly react, just stops and glares at the cigarette. Even from ten feet away, she can tell that he’s shaking.
“I don’t suppose you have a lighter?” he asks bitterly.
She grimaces. “No. Sorry.”
He flings it towards the dumpster. “Typical.”
Trinity leans back against the wall. The overhang is tiny and it’s still pouring. “He’s in a bad mood today,” she says cautiously. “Don’t take it personally.”
Langdon laughs harshly. “Oh, no, it’s personal. It’s very fucking personal.”
Trinity’s not sure what to say to that. He’s right, after all.
“I just-,” she watches him pace back and forth, half manic. “It’s infuriating. How much longer do I have to play the penitent before he finally gives me a fucking break?” He looks up at her, eyes wild. “I’ve done everything he’s asked. I’m on top of my paperwork, I don’t complain about being stuck in chairs every day or getting benched on all the interesting cases, and I don’t even fucking look at the med dispenser. I’ve jumped through every fucking hoop. What’s it going to take?”
“I don’t know,” she says quietly. “I’m sorry.”
His head jerks up, eyes flashing. “Don’t fucking-,” but he breaks off when he sees that she’s sincere, and he deflates. “It’s just demoralizing,” he mutters. “I’m killing myself here.”
“If it helps,” she says, in the closest she can get to a comforting tone without wanting to vomit. “Robby knows you didn't steal it. It doesn’t excuse what he said, but he was just lashing out.”
Langdon shakes his head. “That’s not the point. It’s just,” he sags against the wall beside her. “I can’t do anything. One wrong move, and he can bring up the stealing.”
Trinity blinks. “Actually, I don’t think he can,” she says carefully. He looks at her skeptically. “Look, that was a really shitty thing to say, but it’s been well over a year. If he hasn’t by now, he’s not going to. He can’t.”
“Right,” he says acerbically. “And what would you know about it?”
“They’ll want to know how he knows,” she continues. “You’ve passed all your drug tests, so it can’t be recent, meaning it’s his word against yours, unless he’s kept proof, which would be fucking psychopathic and we both know he's not. Bringing it up now would implicate him just as much, since he should’ve reported it at the time.”
Langdon runs a hand through his hair. “I guess.”
“No, I’m right,” she says firmly. “I understand where you’re coming from, but he would lose just as much as you if everyone found out. Mutually assured destruction.”
“Alright,” he replies slowly. “You’ll excuse me if the prospect of my future being tied to my emotionally unstable boss who fucking hates my guts isn’t that much more appealing.”
Trinity grins wryly. “Yeah, that’s fair.”
They stand there in silence for a few moments.
“It’s just-,” he falters. “I've been back almost six months, and he can still barely look at me. I know that I fucked up, but literally everyone else has moved on. I had a civil conversation with Abby last week. Why can’t Robby just fucking deal?”
“Look," she sighs. "Robby probably felt really stupid for missing it in the first place, and then he covered for your literal crimes so you could come back and because you’ve been acting like a kicked puppy around him since you got back, he can’t interact with you without remembering what he did either.”
Langdon stares at her. “I’m not a kicked puppy.”
Trinity nods. “Oh, yes you are. And to stick with the analogy, that makes him the dog trainer. And if you keep reminding him that you were a bad dog, he’s going to treat you like a bad dog. You're stuck in the doghouse.”
“A bad… dog?” he repeats.
Trinity blinks as she processes her words. She may have lost control of the analogy. She throws her hands in the air. “Yeah.”
They stare at each other for a second and then at the exact same moment, they both burst out laughing. She tries to pull it together, but she makes the mistake of looking back at him and cracks up again, which sets him off again, and it deteriorates from there.
"A bad dog,” Langdon chokes out, chest heaving. “Seriously?”
“Shut up,” she says, undermined by the tears of laughter streaming down her face. “I lost control of the analogy, okay?”
“I’ll say,” he cackles. “Fucking stupid.”
That's when Dana comes through the side door. Trinity straightens up and tries to regain her composure, but it’s no use. She keeps collapsing back into giggles.
“Hey, what’s the holdup?” Dana calls. She looks unimpressed, but as she gets closer and takes them in, her face softens. “What’s happening here?” They stare at her, trying desperately to keep it together, and Dana raises an eyebrow. “Well?”
“Langdon’s a bitch,” Trinity wheezes. The peal of laughter that escapes him is so undeniably delighted that it sets her off again too and she slumps back against the wall and buries her face in her hands.
Dana watches them, an unreadable look on her face, and then she shakes her head. “Well, whenever you two clowns are done here, we’ve got multiple incoming GSWs.” She heads back inside without another word. After a few seconds, Trinity stands and catches Langdon’s eye and he nods at her. They head back inside, and as she follows him through the doors, Trinity lets out another hiccup of laughter and sees his shoulders start to shake in response. Her eyes are itchy.
It's mayhem when they get back to the floor, naturally, and Langdon gets recruited immediately. Something in Trinity’s chest lightens when she sees him grinning at McKay as they head out to the ambulance bay, not that she’d admit it even on pain of death.
Mel notices her and jogs over. “Hey, are you guys good? I saw you running out.” Trinity nods, still breathing heavily. Mel studies her carefully, relaxing when she sees that Trinity isn’t distraught. “Should I ask?”
Trinity shrugs. “Honestly, I’m not sure I can explain.”
“Either way, you certainly cheered him up.” Mel tilts her head, and they walk towards the trauma bay. “It’s nice to see you two getting along.”
“We’re not getting along,” she replies automatically. “I hate him. He’s the worst person I’ve ever met in my whole life.”
“Sure,” Mel says, smiling slightly. “Whatever you say.”