MMMD
(Open, Moderated)
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Parker had just gotten the patient's CT results when Toomarian pulled up short by central and stuttered out, "So, um, is it possible that Dr. Robby and Dr. Abbot are about to make out in Trauma 1?"
The intern clocking their weirdness on day one? That might be a new record.
Parker didn't bother looking up from her tablet. "Now that sounds like the definition of not my business," she drawled. "But if you see any hot man-on-man action, note the date and time. Ahmad's got a pool going."
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“I know you mentioned a raincheck,” Santos begins, and then she gets a little lost.
(She has the next words ready.
She’s been practicing them in her head for the last few minutes.
Still, they’re caught in her throat like a sip of water going down the wrong pipe.)
But Garcia is patient.
So unbelievably fucking patient.
"But I don’t—want to be alone,” Santos admits with a slight grimace, trying to sound chill and casual even though this isn’t chill and casual at all. But her voice comes out audibly strained because that was just enough of a lie to make her squeeze her eyes shut and bite her bottom lip way too hard. “I probably shouldn’t be alone tonight,” she corrects with what little air is left in her lungs.
“Okay,” Garcia says, simple and gentle and effortless, and nods toward the passenger side. “Get in.”
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Trinity worries her lip between her teeth. It’s worth a try, right?
“Dana—”
Dana doesn’t even look up from her tablet. “No.”
“But—”
“Doctor’s orders.”
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“Pupils are responsive,” Al-Hashimi offers quietly, “but tachycardia and clammy skin suggest—”
“Exhaustion,” Garcia finishes for her, then Santos feels two familiar hands scoop up one of her own and begin to gently massage her fingers and palm. “Trinity, if you can feel me, squeeze my hand.”
Santos swears it takes about as long as her commute to work, but she manages to find her shoulder and then her elbow and then her wrist and then the part of her that Garcia’s holding, and somehow convinces her fingers to curl slowly inward.
There’s an audible sigh of relief alongside the continued warmth enveloping her knuckles.
“Give me twenty minutes,” Garcia says, then leans down close enough that Santos can feel hot breath around her ear. “I’m gonna bring you somewhere quiet, okay?”
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Over the past few weeks, the ever-present nausea she has always carried has worsened into something tangible. The dizziness when she stood, even though she's made extra sure to stay hydrated. The gnawing in her stomach is mostly same-old, same-old, but she can feel how the cramps now threaten to migrate into her upper abdomen. Her old headaches have returned in full force. She really shouldn’t be so surprised when things finally come to a head.
Series
- Part 1 of Fragile Like a Bomb
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“Are you decent?”
This is where the misunderstanding happens.
Trinity, in all of her panic and anguish, took the question to mean ‘are you okay’, so she very quickly blurted out “yeah.”
Al-Hashimi had not meant to ask if she was fine.; Trinity Santos has had an utterly exhausting, grueling day. Langdon's return, combined with all other factors, is just entirely overwhelming for a woman who feels very miserably and viscerally unseen and unwanted. She now sits in the bathroom with her pants around her ankles and her underwear still on, a sharp thing in her hand, and once she's done the woman who finds her is her worst-case scenario. Baran is not as horrible as she thinks she might be.
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When Frank does finally hit the ground, no one is in the room to witness it.
It’s a blessing in disguise. He doesn’t fall with the grace of an actor knowing that there’s a crash mat waiting, he falls like an overtired toddler attempting to walk three steps forwards. A step, a sway, and lights out.
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Apartment 112, the number written on the wooden door in chipped golden letters. Her cousin once pointed out the humor of a doctor living in an apartment numbered with one of the world’s most common emergency phone numbers, and Trinity still doesn’t find it funny when Whitaker mentions it.
Or, seven months, one apartment, and a group of emergency medicine co-workers as they become friends.
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“So–” Dennis starts, and Trinity honestly isn’t sure how she’s going to explain this one.
“I know it’s weird,” she says, gripping the steering wheel.
“I mean, it’s not that weird,” Dennis placates.
“He’s kind of a trainwreck,” Trinity defends, and then feels some type of way about the fact that she’s defending Langdon.
Dennis doesn’t disagree.
She promises him, “It’s only temporary.”
(Langdon's wife kicks him out. Trinity offers up her couch. She ends up learning a few things about her sworn enemy in the process.)
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Santos walks in just as Frank finishes injecting his Zofran — trying to work through his chemo.
She gets the wrong idea.
(Or, Trinity has never managed to keep a goldfish alive, so moving onto a senior resident is probably a bad call).
Series
- Part 2 of the ABCs of chemotherapy