Chapter Text
“Someone’s tipsy,” Princess chuckles, her gaze on Yolanda. She’s used the armrest as a place to lay her head on, dozed off cross-legged on the couch.
But Trinity hasn’t seen her down a drink all night.
“Pagod lang ‘yan (She’s just tired),” she says.
Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Princess exchange a look with Perlah.
“Ikaw mag-uuwi (Are you going to take her home)?” Princess asks.
That was always her plan. This was their first invitation to a night out together with the rest of the trauma team, and Yolanda suggested they go home together (in secret, but still together). She thought Yolanda might want to let loose for a bit, maybe have some cocktails, so she kept away from the beer and vodka. Small price to pay.
Samira was hosting. Is hosting. The food is good, the conversation flows as well as the drinks do, and the playlist is mature but not depressing. It just kind of sucks that Trinity can't do the things she wants to do. You know. Hold Yolanda's hand. Pull her in by the waist for a dance. Kiss her senseless and without shame, in front of their friends.
“Pwede (I can),” Trinity answers, taking a swig of root beer.
Whoops. Way to be subtle.
“I was just joking,” Princess shrugs.
“Sinasaskyan ko lang trip mo (I was just playing along),” she leaves it at that, before walking away with her drink.
It takes everything in her not to sit next to Yolanda for the rest of the night.
When the crowd has died down, Trinity slips her phone out to shoot her a text.
trinidad & tobago
hey sleepyhead
ill meet you at the car ok
hellolololololo
yolanda
yolanda
yolandang kay ganda
yolalalanda
it’s 0140
shit
trinidad & tobago
so it’s true you only respond to cutesy variations of your name
yolalalanda
are we the only ones left?
trinidad & tobago
believe so
wanted to let you catch some z’s
btw mohan is ok w/ u staying the night
also she thinks im gone so u have to tell her urself ur leaving
yolalalanda
oh God no
will just slip out
Trinity debates whether to reply back with, “I know that’s second nature to you.”
No, Trinity.
We have to actively support her as she works through her tendency to flee.
Wow.
So therapy is a good thing.
trinidad & tobago
give me the keys l8r pls
i will drive bc
u look like hell
absolute hell
yolalalanda
what happened to being nice
trinidad & tobago
arent you glad im learning from you
?
No response means she’s on the move.
She makes it to the car, still sleepy.
“Your place? You want your bed?” Trinity looks at her. Yolanda tosses the car keys from her pocket.
“Yes. Stop looking like that.”
“Like what? Pretty? Gorgeous? Stunning?”
“Like there’s something wrong with me.”
“You tell me. You okay?”
“Yes,” Yolanda snaps. “Let’s just go home.”
Yolanda fights sleep on the way. Harry Styles is on the radio and she doesn't bother to change it or make a snarky remark about One Direction. Trinity is almost disappointed.
Come on, her ego can’t be that big, Trinity thinks, but she’s proven wrong. Just as sleep seems to claim her, a turn in the road will wake Yolanda up and she’ll look straight ahead in victory. She’ll occasionally tug on her ear, which seems to help keep her eyes open.
Jeez, was this woman in the military?
Trinity thinks. The assumption isn’t far off. Yolanda doesn’t even say the time like a normal person.
Before they know it, they’re at the Garcia residence, and Yolanda has never looked more ready for bed. When her dog, Corey, jumps at her when they enter the door, she shakes his paw to calm him down.
"Sorry, buddy. Not tonight," she gives him a kiss.
"Go on up," Trinity says. "I've got him."
Yolanda nods gratefully.
Yolanda wakes up cold. So cold she thinks she will die.
0230.
Come onnnnnnn.
Blearily, she opens her eyes (which she can’t force open all the way), trying to make sense of her surroundings amidst the darkness. Trinity is wrapped up in their blanket, her limbs all over the place like a starfish.
So awkwardly, adorably annoying.
Yolanda rolls over to whatever little space she has left on her side. Her back is sticky, a puddle of sweat left on her pillow. The poor sheets have gone through too many rounds in the washing machine this week for there to be another excuse to strip them off the bed.
She closes her eyes, curling up for any lick of heat she can muster. Grabbing another blanket from her drawers isn’t an option anymore—even blinking is making the room spin. Whatever. She’ll just coast through it. Maybe she’ll feel better in the morning.
She does not. She feels exponentially worse half an hour later.
“Yolanda?” Trinity murmurs, sensing her partner's discomfort. “What’s wrong?”
Trinity yawns, propping herself up to turn on the bedside lamp. Her eyes flick back and forth between her lap and her girlfriend: blanket; no blanket. Blanket; no blanket. Warm and comfortable; nonstop shivering.
“Oh, baby,” Trinity pouts, giving over the blanket. “Why did you kiss me last week, huh?” She climbs over, confirming the fever with a palm to the neck.
“Thanks…for…blaming…the…victim,” Yolanda mutters, teeth chattering.
“What are you feeling? Your voice is okay,” Trinity feels around Yolanda’s neck, searching for swollen nodes.
“Cold. You stole my blanket."
“You could’ve made yourself known, you know. Thought you were a big girl," Trinity reaches for her phone and turns the light on, accidentally pointing it towards Yolanda’s line of sight.
“Damn it, Trinity!”
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Trinity winces. “I’m sorry.”
“How do you still have horrible aim?” Yolanda shakes her head, immediately regretting the movement.
“Working on it,” Trinity examines Yolanda’s ear with the light, confirming her suspicions. "Honest mistake from the rookie."
Yolanda chooses not to comment on how Trinity's using her ammunition against her. Very smart.
“Otitis…media?”
“I’d see better with an otoscope, but looks like it,” Trinity turns the light off. “I think we have pamol for the fever.”
She freezes. “Oh, that’s why you were rubbing your ear.”
“Yes, Sherlock.”
“My attention was on the road,” Trinity reasons as she pushes herself up from the bed.
"Wait," Yolanda reaches out. "Can...can you get me some water?"
"Of course. Of course, no worries. Mug or jug?"
"Hm?"
"You want to sip or chug?"
"Sip."
"Right answer. Anything else?"
"Pineapple. The...I have some in the…” she struggles to find the word.
“Cupboards,” Trinity nods. "Coming right up."
She's glad Yolanda has an appetite. She barely had anything at the potluck, which was a shame, because the stir-fry Mel brought was to live for. Princess was pushing Trinity to sharon some, but she said no, which was the correct call. Meat and vegetables unrefrigerated until three in the morning wasn't going to be delicious for anyone.
The vertigo heightens when Trinity leaves the room. Yolanda coaches herself through every breath.
In, out. Deeper. In, in, out.
So she forgot to say that that was her most pressing symptom.
So now, instead of middle ear infection, she could be in the middle of an inner ear infection. Which could progress to meningitis. Which could…
Oh.
When is Trinity coming back?
“Okay, time for…” Trinity sees Yolanda’s tear-streaked face and immediately puts her stock down on the dresser. Oh, shit.
“Hey, hey, look at me. What happened?”
“I’m…uh…I’m really dizzy,” Yolanda whispers. “I think it’s…um…”
“Labyrinthitis?”
Yolanda nods. That’s something an otoscope can’t confirm.
"First things first," Trinity decides, spreading her arms out. "C'mere."
Yolanda rolls her eyes, but leans into the hug. "You do this for all your patients?"
"Just the ones I really like," Trinity smiles. “Okay. I’ll ask you some yes-or-no’s, but don’t move your head to answer. One finger up for yes, and two for no. Any nausea?”
Two fingers.
Okay.
“Ringing in your ears?”
Two fingers.
Okay. Good sign.
“We’ll try the Head Thrust, okay? Keep your eyes on my nose.”
Trinity places a palm on both sides of Yolanda’s face, then tilts it a few degrees down. She moves the face slowly—first, to the right, then to the left, then does it quickly. Both directions. Again.
“Eyes on me. That’s it,” she encourages.
“No overt corrective saccade,” Trinity hums, bringing the exam to a close. “Very good.”
“I passed?” She knows she has. She just needs to hear it.
“You passed,” Trinity smiles. “Your hearing seems fine, too. But I want to bring you to the hospital to check. I don’t have enough supplies here, babe.”
Yolanda’s shoulders slump.
“I know, I know,” Trinity leans down, pressing her cheek to Yolanda’s. “I just want to exhaust every option.”
The night shift is surprised to see them, but they don’t waste time with pleasantries and curiosity.
Walsh performs a video head impulse test or vHIT—basically a fancier and more accurate version of the test that Trinity did at home. She also does an audiogram to confirm that there isn’t anything wrong with Yolanda’s hearing.
She passes both tests.
“You’re such an overachiever,” Trinity shakes her head fondly.
“I’ll write a script for to help with the vertigo and nausea,” Walsh says. “And come back if her fever doesn’t get better by the morning.”
“Thanks,” Trinity smiles. “Will do.”
“And, uh…” Emery beckons for her to come closer. “Take care of that one. I know she’s crazy for you.”
Trinity can only nod.
It’s the only thing she can think of on the ride home.
It's the only thing she repeats in her mind when they stop at the pharmacy, and she picks up the medicine, a refill of massage oil and Vicks that Yolanda likes so much, treats for Corey, who was previously denied playtime due to the circumstances, and the insant yakisoba and zhajiang noodle that Yolanda will secretly be craving for when she feels more like herself.
Yolanda’s asleep in the backseat, Fine Line is playing and the trumpet section is well and alive, and the sunrise is peeking through the rearview.
Things have never felt more right.