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Trinity should’ve known something was going to go wrong as soon as she admitted quietly, in her own mind, that the night had been quite slow. The board wasn’t overwhelmingly full, people in chairs were waiting reasonable wait times, and there hadn’t been any traumas yet.
She should’ve known that was wishful thinking.
“Santos, there’s a guy in South 13 waiting on sutures for a facial lac, the med students are taking too long, can you just fix him up and send him on his way?” Abbot asked, standing next to her, gazing at the board. “The guy got into a bar fight with an old buddy of his and the buddy took it more seriously than he thought he would.”
Trinity snorted, “Men,” she said, shaking her head. “He’ll be out of here before you know it, boss.”
“Love to hear it,” he replied, sarcasm seeping in.
She walked over to South 13, snapping her gloves on as she rolled her foot around, trying to stretch it out. Her ankle had been bothering her more than usual lately, probably due to the doubles she’s been pulling recently.
“Hi, I’m Dr. Santos and I’ll be doing your–”
“Trinity?” She was cut off, her body tensing, every muscle in her screaming in warning as alarms went off in her head at that voice.
That voice.
Her head snapped towards the patient, who, low and behold, was him.
The man who haunted her dreams every night, the man whose mere existence has managed to suffocate her every day she woke up and looked down at her thigh. Every time her ankle twinged, his face flashed in her mind, his pure rage aimed directly at her, even if the injury wasn’t her fault.
His face had changed, the past years not being kind to him, but his eyes were the same. The same piercing blue that she had been forced to look into as his hand crept up her thigh. The same blue that stared at her from above as she writhed in pain, her foot bent at an unnatural angle.
“I’m sorry,” she forced out, fighting to keep her voice and face neutral. “Do I know you?”
“Yes, of course you do doll–”
Doll.
Fuck.
She needed to leave.
She needed to get out of the room.
“I’m sorry sir, I’ll actually be right out,” she said, her voice wavering as she rushed out of the room, frantically looking around the ED, trying to find Abbot.
Blood was thrumming through her head. She felt every beat of her heart as her eyes danced around the bay, looking for the man she knew would be kind. She needed to get away from the room. Away from his voice, she could hear him calling out her name time and time again. She couldn’t do this. She must’ve been wandering around looking lost, because she caught someone’s attention.
“Hun, who are you looking for?” Lena asked, catching her eye from the desk.
“Abbot. I need Abbot, where is he?” She asked, her breath catching.
“I’ll call him over right away,” she nodded. “You’re looking a little pale, why don’t you take a seat, just for a moment, I promise.”
She really wanted to say no. She wanted to scream it actually. Every instinct in her wanted to run in the complete opposite direction of every person she saw. But instead she took a breath and nodded her agreement, forcing every step out of her as she made her way to the chair Lena had, ever so kindly, pulled closer to her.
She stared at the floor, counting her breaths as she absentmindedly rubbed her hand over her thigh, over the patchwork of scars that have accumulated, attempting to soothe her nervous system.
“Santos, everything okay?” A soft voice asked, crouching down to be on her level. She focused her eyes and looked up, and was met with the intense concerned look on Abbot’s face.
“Can someone else do South 13’s sutures? I’m sorry, I really am I just–”
“Ellis! South 13 has a guy with a facial lac, I know it’s easy but can you just fix him up real quick and get him outta here?”
“On it boss,” she nodded, not before shooting a concerned look towards Trinity, who, despite everything, felt a certain warmth fill her chest at the concern, before feeling like ice water was dumped over her when he heard his voice again, echoing through the abnormally quiet ED, asking why ‘Trinity’ couldn’t be his doctor. Ellis was about to answer before Trinity’s attention was brought back to the man in front of her.
“Santos, what’s wrong?”
“I know him,” she forced out, squeezing her eyes shut.
“Okay,” he nodded, trying to piece literally anything together, and falling up short everytime. “Are you in danger with him here?”
Yes!
She wanted to scream it. Yes she was in danger.
But if she said that, more would need to be explained. They can’t just take that at face value, as much as she knows Abbot would like to. She knows that she couldn’t possibly explain everything.
How was she supposed to?
Just straight out and say it? Yeah he was my gymnastics coach when I was in high school, the one who assaulted me and my best friend. Yeah, the one who killed herself? That’s the one! Now you know why!
No sane person could say that and come out unscathed.
“I don’t really know,” she decided on, avoiding his eyes by looking anywhere else.
“Okay,” he said, drawing the last syllable out. “How about we go for a walk, you and me? But you have to promise not to snitch on me.”
“What?” She asked, shaking her head to clear her mind. “Why would I–”
“Alright then, walk time! Up you go.”
What even was her life right now.
She got up from her chair, but not before sending a grateful look towards Lena, who just smiled kindly back and nodded at her. She followed Abbot out of the ED and up a set of side stairs, one that she had never noticed before. Probably because when she was leaving, she was doing so with the intention of getting out of there as quickly as possible. No time for long observation, lest she find another soul sneaking off to an abandoned floor, one that she wouldn’t be able to save this time, for she filled up her guest room.
“Where are we even going?” She dared ask, only after they’ve well passed the eighth floor.
“My secret spot. Only Robby and Samira know about this, so you have to keep it well to yourself. Although I suppose you can let Whitaker know, assuming Robby hasn’t already,” he said, mindlessly talking, if only to fill the silence.
That was something that had surprised Trinity when she first made the switch to night shift.
Abbot liked to talk. He hated silence, opting to fill it up whenever he could. She, secretly of course, assumed it was to drown out the ringing in his ears left over from the IED. That was another thing she learned very quickly.
Abbot had more than his leg, or lack thereof, to show for his time in the military.
They eventually reached a door which required a key card to be scanned in order to open, and at the sound of the beep and the door opening with a whoosh, Trinity found herself standing on the roof of the hospital.
“Why the fuck are we on the roof?” She asked, trying, and failing, to keep incredulity out of her voice.
“It’s good for the soul.”
“That’s bullshit if I’ve ever heard it.”
“So was you claiming you didn’t know if you were in danger down there,” Abbot countered, looking at her sideways, before making his way to the railing, where he leaned against it, looking out over the city.
It took her a second to get her feet moving again after that comment, but she eventually made her way over, and took up a spot right next to him.
“I’m sorry, I really am. I don’t try to be a bother.”
“Santos, I cannot emphasize how much of a bother you aren’t. If something shakes you, I know it must be serious, which, if you’ll notice, is why I got you out of there as quickly as I could. Now, why was that man not only asking for you to be his doctor, but referring to you by your first name, which I know you don’t tell patients. Not unless they’re children, and we both know damn well he’s anything but.”
“He was my gymnastics coach in high school,” she said after a moment, her voice quiet.
She could practically see the gears turning in his head.
A girl, one who flinched when men touched her, who stood there and just took it when a man in power over her screamed at her unrightfully, too rooted to the spot to even bite back, something she would do without thinking, should he have been a she. A girl who had just made someone else treat a man who used to be her gymnastics coach, a girl who followed it up by saying she didn't know if he was a danger to her.
It was practically written across her forehead once people knew.
“And so he recognized you,” he nodded to himself. “And that was bad..?”
“When my best friend killed herself,” she started, causing Abbot to blink at the sudden change in subject. “All those years ago, she left notes. She left me one, she left her parents one, all of them apologizing. But there was another one. One addressed to him, to our coach. And all it read was ‘I hope you rot in hell, this is your fault.’”
Trinity had sobbed after reading it the first time. And then all she could do was hold onto the pride she felt that now, even in death, Gracie was being defiant. Something that Trinity hadn’t quite mastered herself. Something Gracie knew Trinity wanted to be.
“Oh,” he said, sounding like all of the air had been punched out of him.
“I was the one to give it to him. Her parents hadn’t even read it. They just saw the name and let me decide what to do with it. I gave it to him at her funeral, right after I had spoken. After I had explained that she did what she thought she had to do to feel better. That I couldn’t blame her, because I had been going to do the same. He stopped paying attention to me after that. A week later I shattered my ankle at practice because he had me trying a new skill without a proper spotter. I never went back.”
“Santos,” he whispered, turning to look at her, his eyes glassy with what was probably realization.
“He should be in jail,” Trinity said, rage shaking in her voice. “He should be locked up. Instead, here he is, dragging old ghosts back into my life, simply because his successful career outweighed the fact that he touched my best friend, my sister. That he touched me,” she said, her voice breaking on the last word, tears in her eyes, threatening to spill over.
“I’m so sorry, Santos,” Abbot said, shaking his head. “Not that that does anything, but– thank you for telling me.”
She just shook her head and glanced up at the sky. The stars were out and bright tonight. Gracie would have loved it.
“I don’t even know why he’s in Pittsburgh,” she muttered, scrubbing her face with her hands. “He’s not from here, and he still lives in Boston. I know. I’m careful. Because I tried to press charges I’m legally obligated to have his permanent address. To know that he isn’t near me. Why is he here?”
She hadn’t realized the tears had started falling until Abbot looked at her again, pain written across his features. Whether the pain was directed at her or at her words, she was unclear of, but what she could tell was that he was holding back from reaching out.
And so, for the first time in years, Trinity Santos let herself be hugged by a man in power, one that was above her.
She knew that he wouldn’t do anything. She had worked with him long enough to trust him. She knew there were no ulterior motives. There never had been with him. Dennis liked to joke that if Abbot was able to, he would adopt her, as quickly as possible. That Robby had let it slip to him that the man saw himself in her, and that all he wanted to do was allow her to be the best she could be. To protect her from the cruelty of the system that beat all of them down daily.
And she believed it.
She had always found herself more comfortable talking to him than to Robby, which wasn’t anything against the older man, but Abbot was different. He had this distinct air of understanding to him, particularly when it was her he was talking to. One might argue that this should cause alarms to go off in her head. However, she was reassured he meant no harm as soon as she had seen him interact with Samira. He might be gentler with Santos, and harsher when she needed it, but it was nowhere near how he was with Samira. And so she knew he truly just wanted to show her the kindness that she assumed he hadn’t been shown when he was in her position.
“I am so sorry that happened to you,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around her back, his hands very noticeably hovering over her sides instead of resting against her, something she is eternally grateful for. “I’m sorry that happened to your best friend, and I am sorry that he came in here tonight and acted as though he had a claim on your treatment of him.”
And Trinity let him.
It was a testament to how good her therapist and psychiatrist were. She let him hug her, and didn’t immediately shy away from his empathy. Not pity. Abbot never pitied anyone.
“Are you good to keep working, or do you want to leave?” He asked, unwrapping his arms as soon as he felt her breathing even out, and he could no longer feel her pulse pounding against her temple. “No judgement on your answer, I just need to know.”
“I can keep working,” Trinity said, her voice trying, and failing, to sound strong. “I promise, please let me keep working. I need to keep working. Once he’s gone I’ll be fine. I swear.”
“You have a therapist?" He asked, his voice careful, as if one wrong word could set her off. Which, she supposed was fair, because if, let’s say, Robby asked her that, she might’ve bit his head off at the mere suggestion of her needing one.
Even though she did.
Obviously.
“Yes, of course I do,” she scoffed. “Your point?”
“Either call them and leave a message or email them requesting an emergency session as soon as they have available,” Abbot said, ignoring the look she gave him. “And take 15 in the lounge, drink or eat something while I make sure he’s gone, and then you can go back on the floor.” She rolled her eyes.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’d make a very good strict dad?” She asked, amusement coating her voice. She laughed when the tips of his ears flushed pink.
“Dammit Robby, he needs to learn to keep his mouth shut,” he muttered, shaking his head, his voice ever so slightly amused. “Let’s go kid, we have work to do.”