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Summary
From the first day they met, Trinity Santos had been absolutely enthralled by Yolanda Garcia.
She couldn’t help but gravitate to her, desperate for her attention, her affection. When she got it, she wanted to keep it all to herself.
Too bad they kept getting caught.
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Five times they were caught at work, and the one time Yolanda brings Trinity home.
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Trinity barely has time to catch up to the sensations she’s feeling when an arm loops around her lower back and keeps her from hitting the ground. Before she can panic, Ellis’ low voice rumbles in her ear, smooth and concerned.
“Hey, hey, alright. I got you.”
“How… where did you come-.”
“Finishing with a patient in South twenty-two. Thought I spotted a resident in crisis. Talk to me. What’s going on?”
Now that someone is holding her up, the floatiness of her body feels like it’s been ramped up to a million.
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Coda for the end of 2x15/the immediate aftermath.
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Everything after that happens too fast to think and slow enough that Trinity will replay it later in punishing detail, her brain an endless loop of cause and effect. The patient wrenches his other wrist free, the restraints tied improperly at its connection point to the bed—fucking newbies. He seizes the opportunity immediately. Trinity would notate that point on her neuro exam (patient alert) if she weren't more focused on Yolanda at her side, in optimal reaching distance.
The angle isn't great. Yolanda is bent over him and she sees movement in her periphery a fraction too late, eye widening as Trinity calls, "Watch out!"
or
Trinity takes a punch meant for Yolanda
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"I was friends with his son, remember?" Langdon placed a hand on the back of his neck, hanging it there with a sigh. "His dad, Rob, Robert, liked to do um, private tutoring."
Trinity picked up on the intention behind that phrase in a second, a fiberglass splinter dug into her palm that nothing would get out. All he was doing was pressing on the remnants, not even a dot to show for it but a bruised memory all the same.
She felt like she'd been dried out in the sun, and he was only half looking at her, brows sewn together with sinew thread and nerve endings, voice paper rough. "He, he uh.. fuck, you'd think after enough time it would get easier to say, huh?"
I get what you've gone through to get here.
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Being stuck in an elevator already sucked, Trinity had decided. Throw in Langdon, his inability to just stay still, and her incessant need to know how other people perceive her, and you end up getting much, much more than you bargained for.
Or; Santos and Langdon get stuck in an elevator, and find out they're much more alike than either of them would've liked in experiences with predatory sports coaches.
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Summary
Trinity Santos was tired.
She has been tired her whole life.
She has never known anything else.
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kind of a character study of trinity santos. basically her backstory and then her slowly letting dennis in