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Summary
“Hi,” Trinity said as she turned back toward the smirking woman, still feeling a bit stunned.
“Hello,” the woman’s tone was amused as she crossed the room toward the computer by Trinity's bed. “I’m Doctor Yolanda Garcia, I’m here for a surgical consult.”
“I’m Trinity,” Trinity said with an awkward wave. “Trinity Santos.”
“I know who you are,” Yolanda said. “I watched the Olympics last summer.”
“Right,” Trinity would never get used to the fact that people just knew of her. But at least in this case it meant that she’d seen Trinity in other circumstances, when she didn’t look like death warmed over in fluorescent hospital lighting.
“Can you tell me more about the pain you’re experiencing?” Yolanda asked as she looked through Trinity’s chart.
Trinity had never had good luck. People might argue with that since she had multiple Olympic gold medals, but those were all from hard fucking work, no luck involved. So it fully made sense that she'd end up in the emergency room and have one of the most attractive women she'd ever seen as the surgeon assigned to her case because the universe couldn't even let her have a good meet-cute.