Archive of Our Own ^beta

"Trin? Are you asleep?" Came a slightly timid voice from outside. Trinity cracked an eye open. It was still dark outside. If she had to hazard a guess, she'd say it was about 6:00 a.m.

"I was," she muttered in response, throwing a hand over her eyes. She could already tell today was not her day. She'd hated winter since she'd first moved to the US at five and been instantly shocked by the intense, permeating cold that winter brought. Compared to her old home in the Philippines, the winter felt like a curse upon earth. She'd learned to tolerate it, mainly by bundling up in as many layers as possible and buying a copious amounts of tea bags, but she still despised it.

And if all of that wasn't enough, Trinity was also a uniquely impatient person. She did not wait for things to change, she made them change. It had worked as a kid, when her school started at 7 a.m. sharp and punished anyone who was late with a steep deduction and an after school detention. She and her friends came in at 7:30 every day for two months. Eventually, it was half the school doing so, and the principal was forced to change the start time to 7:30. Trinity had been the school's hero for a week.

So seasons, and their inherent stagnancy, made her frustrated. Her complete and total impotence- nonmedical, of course- in the face of the passage of the time was one of her least favorite things.

"Trinity, we're going to be late," came Dennis' voice again, more insistent. Trinity groaned and pushed herself out of bed, stumbling to her dresser and taking off her sleep T-shirt. She shoved on a sports bra, a long sleeved shirt, and a scrub shirt, then fumbled for her pants. Her eyes fell on the window. Fuck. Apparently, Pittsburgh had decided it fucking hated her, because the ground was covered in a thick layer of snow. Trinity groaned and grabbed her thickest hoodie, zipping it up. She walked over to the bathroom and brushed her teeth, pointedly ignoring her reflection. She didn't look good in the winter- especially not the Pittsburgh winter- and she knew it. She was too pale, the bags under her eyes too apparent, her lips chapped and red, and that was disregarding the shitshow that was her hair. Not that Trinity was someone to concern herself with her appearance too much- she wasn't- but it wasn't ideal. Not when her mother looked like the sun itself in any weather, and her brother's hair was always somehow some perfect mix of tousled and styled. And of course, Landa- well, she always looked like she could fight god and win. Or, more likely, patch god's rapidly bleeding out artery and look hot doing it.

"Trinity Althea Santos, if you don't come out right now, I'm going to release a rat in the house and go to Uncle Sam's!" Dennis yelled. Trinity rolled her eyes.

"Coming, Huck!" She yelled, gathering her hair into a ponytail and giving one last longing look to her bed. Nope. Time to get to work.

She pushed her door open, startling a tired looking Whitaker. He sighed.

"Trinity, c'mon, we gotta go. It's 6:30 and it takes 20 minutes to take a bus to the hospital, since your cars in the repair shop, and accounting for the snow and the time walking to the bus stop, it's more like 25, so-"

Trinity cut him off with a glare. "Huck, it's too early for this. I'll get my coffee, and we'll go."

"Made you coffee already. Let's go."

Trinity rolled her eyes and grumbled. Who had decided that being a doctor was a good idea again? Oh right, her, fresh out of high school and barely an adult. If only 18 year old her knew that she'd end up waking up at 6:00 every day in abysmal weather.

Dennis threw on a coat, offering Trinity her's. She grabbed it, eyeing his. She'd tried to buy him one, but he'd insisted that this one worked fine. It was a bit thin for this weather. She'd have to talk him into letting her buy him a new coat, because the only thing she liked less than going into work was doing it alone.

"Ready?" Dennis asked. Trinity took one last swig of her coffee and chucked it in the trash can.

"Ready."

As soon as they stepped outside, the wind shoved at Trinity, trying to imbalance her. Trinity sighed, blew a strand of hair out of her face, and walked with renewed vigorance. Spite had always made her work harder.

The snow on the ground was soft, only a few hours old. Trinity's boot immediately sank into it, and she cursed, looking back at Dennis. He looked…content. He'd told her how much it snowed back in Nebraska, so she supposed that this felt a bit home-y to him. Even though, compared to Nebraska's regular 20 inches, 4 was nothing. Not to her, though. She stepped forward with a sigh. They had to get going.

"Huck- Ah, fuck!" She yelped, throwing her hands out to regain her balance as her foot hit a patch of ice she hadn't seen. She jolted away from it, mumbling under her breath, "God, I hate this weather."

"Enjoying the snow?" Dennis asked, appearing behind her with what she could only describe as a shit-eating grin.

"Shut it, Huckleberry. C'mon, weren't you just worrying about being late?"

"Yeah, but watching you struggle is considerably more fun than treating my umpteenth flu case."

Trinity didn't dignify that with a response, instead settling for a middle finger as she walked forward, towards the bus stop. She heard a faux-offended huff and the sound of shoes hitting ice as Dennis scrambled to catch up with her.

"Rude," he said, panting slightly. "Wait for me, I don't have boots."

"And who's fault is that? I offered to buy you snow boots, but you're a stubborn asshole."

Dennis huffed at that. "I don't need boots, I was just saying."

Trinity gave him a look. "One day, we will talk about your excessive resistance to help, but not today."

"Oh, as if you're one to talk."

"Shut it, Huckleberry," she said, rolling her eyes. The bus was finally there, so they both sped up, making it just before the doors shut. Trinity slumped into the first open seat, and Dennis stood next to her, wary of getting the seat wet.

"Ugh. Why did I sign up for this job?" Trinity groaned, leaning her head backwards against the seat. Dennis smirked, and Trinity scowled. "Oh please, you're not even getting paid."

"You're not a billionaire either, Trin."

"Good. They're unethical."

It was Dennis' turn to roll his eyes and (finally) shut up.

The remainder of the ride passed in relative silence, except for the occasional cough from the back of the bus and a corresponding mutter of "gonna be a patient in a week" or "that needs to get checked" from Dennis, none of which Trinity responded to with more than an acknowledging grunt. Exhaustion was pushing her down like an anvil on her chest. She didn't sleep enough, she knew that, but who did? Certainly not a resident, and not a med student either. It wasn't like she didn't notice the dark circles under Dennis' eyes, or the way he slumped next to her- almost touching her, but never quite- on the ride back from the hospital. But she wasn't any better, not really.

"Trin. Our stop is in a minute. Get up," Dennis said, nudging her. She glared at him, but heaved herself up, groaning.

"Wow, you're gonna make me think you're as old as Robby," Dennis teased. Trinity gave him a look.

"If I was old as Robby, you'd have already fucked me."

Dennis blushed severely, spluttering something adjacent to "shut up." Trinity didn't like following orders, so she grinned and continued.

"I guess I'd have to be a man, though. Oh, but that would mean balding. Or my hair just turning silver. Though I guess gray hair wouldn't be too bad by your standards, huh?"

Dennis blushed even harder at that, trying and failing to form a complete sentence.

"Tell me, how is it fucking both of our bosses? Do you get perks at work if you're good in bed? Or vice versa?" She asked, grinning so hard her cheeks hurt.

"Trinity, please," Dennis stammered, putting his hands over his burning face. Trinity's grin grew even more Cheshire-esque.

"Sorry, I guess that's a bit private. Tell me though, who's the freakiest? Because judging by how handsy Robby is at work, I can't imagine bed," Trinity giggled.

"TRINITY!"

Trinity pressed her lips together, barely managing to keep from breaking into laughter. "Sorry, sorry."

"I'll never tease you about being tired again, I promise," Dennis muttered from inside his hands.

"Good."

"Arriving at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center," an automated voice announced. Trinity nudged Dennis and walked off the bus, grabbing her bag.

"Time waits for no man, Huckleberry, and neither does Robby."

Dennis muttered something unintelligible in response, jumping down the steps.

"Hurry up, Huck, we've got to-"

Trinity cut off with a gasp as her shoes slipped on the ice beneath her. She sprawled to try and regain her balance, but it was too late. She felt her head hit the ground with a bang. Fuck, that hurt.

"Wait up, Tri- fuck, oh my god, Trin, what happened, are you okay? Oh my god, Trinity, oh fuck."

Trinity tried to say something, but her mouth didn't work. Her vision was swimming, far too blurry for her comfort.

"Den- Dennis?" She forced out, letting her arm reach up in a gesture she would later find embarrassingly vulnerable.

"Trinity, are you- fuck, fuck, fuck, do I need to call 911, fuck, Trinity, are you okay?"

Trinity could hear the terror in his voice, and the soft part of her felt the need to- what, comfort him? No, comfort wasn't in Trinity's nature. She didn't comfort people, she just nudged- sometimes shoved- them in the right direction. Though perhaps she'd broken that rule a few times this past year, with Landa- and she supposed, with Dennis too, at least once.

"Trinity, do I- fuck, okay, I'm calling 911."

"No. Stop," she choked, groping for a moment before finding and grabbing Dennis' wrist. "Help me up."

"No, Trinity, you could have a concussion, a brain bleed, a hematoma, fucking skull fracture, I'm going to call 911-"

"No, you're not," Trinity rasped, voice firm. "You're going to help me up."

"Trin-"

"Help. Me. Up."

Dennis looked away, and through Trinity's clearing vision, she saw the hesitation in his eyes. Well, fine. She'd do it herself. She planted her hand on the ice beneath her and pushed up, pointedly ignoring the flare of pain in her head. She didn't wait around for people to help her, she helped herself. She would-

"Wait wait wait, Trinity- fuck, fine, I'll help you up, just hold on a moment, okay?"

She reached out hand, and he grabbed it, pulling her up. Trinity staggered for a moment, the light reflecting off the snow causing her headache- just a headache, not a concussion- to return in full force.

"Trin-"

"Huckleberry, shut it or I'm going to glue your mouth closed," she muttered, bringing her hand up to her head. She could almost hear Dennis' mouth snap closed.

"Is there anyone who saw that?" She asked, voice rough.

"Um… n- no. I don't think so."

"Good. We're going to the hospital now," she said, then cut Dennis off with a raised finger. "Not for treatment. For work." She started walking, leaving Dennis frozen for a moment before he snapped out of it.

"Trinity-"

"No. I'm standing and talking. I just have a little headache. I'll be fine."

"Trinity, you know that's not true," Dennis said, catching up to her and grabbing her arm. Trinity shoved his hand off.

"Well, you can't exactly stop me, can you?"

"Trinity, seriously. This is stupid!"

"So is not going into work because of a tiny fall. What am I, seventy?" Trinity grunted, refusing to look Dennis in the eye.

"No, you're 27 and a huge fucking idiot!"

"Please. You're not even out of school yet, why would I trust you to assess me?"

"Trinity, don't be stupid. Just get checked out quickly by Robby and be done with it!"

"And have everyone thinks I'm weak? Yeah, I don't think so."

"Trinity!" Dennis yelled, frustration nearly oozing out of his voice.

Trinity rolled her eyes and huffed, continuing forward and apointedly ignoring yet another aspect of her life. She didn't need his guidance. His brain was barely even developed. He was practically a teenager, honestly! And if not in age, in life experience! What even happened in fucking Bow and Arrow, Nebraska- or wherever in fuckass nowhere he'd come from?

She shoved open the hospital's door, disregarding Dennis' annoyed huff from behind her. She was fine. She would go to work, she would get paid the little that she did, and she would go home. If the scenario absolutely demanded it, she would get some Advil. But she would not- not- ask her fucking boss to check out her nonexistant head wound, nor go home. Seriously!

Trinity stormed up to the desk, trying and failing to seem normal.

"Dana. Hi. Give me a case, please."

Dana gave Trinity a suspicious look. "You okay, Santos?"

Trinity resisted rolling her eyes. "Yes, I'm fine. Can I please get a case?"

Dana still looked wary, but she sighed. "Take your pick. Fell putting up Christmas decorations, 104° fever, mild hypothermia, severe dehydration, possible UTI, another 70-year old asking for antibiotics for a virus, somehow got an entire wine bottle up his butt, and slipped on ice."

"Give me slipped on ice for 200," a familiar voice said, and Trinity spun. Fuck. Of course Langdon was here, today of all days.

"Go on, Ken," Dana grunted. Langdon winked at her and threw some sort of look at Trinity. Trinity returned a glare.

"I'll take the Christmas decorations, thanks," Trinity muttered, stalking away.

It took a quarter hour to calm the man, and another half hour to assess him. He seemed physically incapable of shutting the fuck up. By the end of the entire ordeal, Trinity was ready to strangle him. Her head felt like it was being pounded by an amateur drummer, and practically every sense felt like it was being horribly overwhelmed. She was so fucking tired, and she felt a bit… nauseous? That made no sense. There was almost nothing that could bother her to that extent, and definitely not some blunt trauma and a minor laceration.

"Yes, I agree, and-" Trinity heard a familiar voice one moment before the owner of it collided with her. Trinity stumbled backwards, world spinning unpleasently.

"Dr. Santos! I'm so sorry, are you okay?" Mel asked, smile slipping off her face. Trinity blinked her eyes hard, trying to clear her vision.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she muttered. She realized her hand was on her head, but she didn't remember bringing it up.

"Are you sure? Because you look…" Mel paused, hesitant. "Not fine."

"No, I'm okay, thanks," Trinity said, bringing her hand down and forcing a smile.

"You look like you're in pain," Mel said, eyebrows creasing, unconvinced. She took a step towards Trinity, and Trinity backed away.

"I'm fine, I promise," she said, before bolting in the opposite direction and into a random room. Phew. She was not in the mood to be interrogated right now. She was fine, really, just a little dizzy and a little achy and a little nauseated. Nothing she couldn't deal with. Nothing she hadn't dealt with before.

"Who the fuck are you?"

Trinity jumped at the gruff voice, instantly spinning to see it's source. A man, somewhere in his 50s, with a thick beard and peircing gray eyes. He looked at her, brows furrowed.

"Oh, uh, I'm your doctor," Trinity said, forcing herself not to stammer. The man tilted his head.

"No, you're not," the man said, and Trinity stiffened, suddenly on guard.

"Excuse me?"

"How am I expected to believe you're supposed to be my doctor?"

"I am your doctor, sir."

"You look like you could be a patient. Have you looked at yourself in the past hour?"

"It is not your place to judge my appearance, sir."

The man scoffed, a harsh, bitter sound. "Oh, please. Pale, swaying on your feet, obviously in pain… you look half-dead."

Trinity straightened. "Excuse you. I am a licensed medical professional, and I don't believe you are. Who are you to talk?"

"Oh, who am I to talk, great question. I'm a father of a ridiculously stubborn young woman, a trained EMT, and and a retired firefighter of 20 years. But who am I to talk, huh?" The man said, eyes looking straight through Trinity. She almost flinched.

"Apologies, sir, but…" Trinity trailed off. What did she have to say? Fuck, her head hurt so much. She sighed, bringing a hand up to rub the bridge of her nose. "What's your name?"

"Mr. Salosh. Nick Salosh. Yours?" He asked, raising his eyebrow. Trinity cocked her head.

"Santos. Trinity Santos. What brings you here today?"

"A checkup on graft surgery several months ago. And you?"

"I'm on shift. Intern."

"I see. So, why do you look like you want to die?"

"I do not," Trinity insisted. Mr. Salosh fixed her with one of the stares she was starting to learn was characteristic. Surprisingly, some part of her gave away. She looked away from him. "Nothing, not really. I hit my head. Slipped on ice."

"Oh?"

"Just going into work. Nothing major."

"It sure looks major. Just looking at you, I wouldn't be surprised if you're concussed."

"I'm not-" Trinity sighed. Again. "Look, I'm fine, okay? I'm your doctor. I treat you."

"You might be a doctor, but I'm an EMT, and I've assessed dozens of people too stubborn to accept help. And you know where they end up? In the hospital, unconscious or worse. You want to be in the ICU for two weeks?"

"You can't scare me, Mr. Salosh. I know what concussions are, and I neither have one, nor am I going to end up in the ICU. Now, is there anything I can do to help you, or should I leave?"

"Go. Leave. I'm not the one who's going to have to scrape you off the floor when you get second-impact syndrome."

Trinity opened her mouth to defend herself, but thought better of it. She spun on her heel and walked away, keeping her chin high until the door closed behind her. Then she sagged. The lights were purposefully attacking her pupils, she was sure of it, and her headache, previously masked by the adrenaline of the interaction, was now back with a fury.

"Santos! Trauma incoming!" Robby yelled, and Santos snapped into action, running to the gurney. Stats and vitals filtered into her brain like pop-up notifications. Stab wound in the upper stomach region and upper thigh, low BP, low blood sugar, complained of thirst, exasguinting fast, major injury, minor individual, surgery needed to assess.

They rolled into the trauma room, and Santos barely felt the flare in her head through the adrenaline sharpening her vision.

"We need O-neg!" Langdon yelled, sliding around Santos as she leaned down, quickly inspecting the stomach wound. She saw… Fuck.

"We need surgery! Large intestines been perforated!" She yelled, and Robby looked over, alarmed. Whitaker was already at the telephone, calling them down. Calling Landa down. Maybe in another scenario, Santos would have softened just thinking of her, but now was neither the time nor the place.

"Peritonitis is setting in, temperature high!" Mohan yelled, and like that, everyone snapped into action.

"We need cefotaxime!"

"Surgery'll be down in ten!" Whitaker shouted.

"We don't have ten, tell them now!" Robby snapped, and Whitaker turned back to the telephone, talking fast.

"How old is she?" Princess asked, coming in with a bag of cefotaxime.

"Fifteen. Stabbed by her 'friend'," Robby replied.

"Holy shit, over what?" Langdon asked, turning to Robby.

"Fuck if I know. We just need to save her," Robby said.

"Kids these days, god help us," Langdon muttered. Robby rolled his eyes.

"God gave up last century."

"I'm sure you'd know."

Trinity's favorite voice. She whipped her head towards the source of it. Landa walked in, face set and serious. She caught Trinity's eyes and spared her a rare smile.

"What's happening today?"

"Teen stabbed by her friend, large intestine perforated, peritonitis setting in."

"Ah. A fun case. Been waiting for this one," Landa said, already grabbing her suture kit and starting to look around.

"Fecal matter is pretty much everywhere here. She needs to be sent up for surgery."

Robby sighed. "You can't do it here?"

"Nope. Not unless you want to be covered in shit. Stabilize her and send her up."

"If only it were that easy."

"Do it, or we're not taking her up."

Robby rolled his eyes.

"And Trinity- good job on the perforation," Landa said, patting Trinity on the back. Trinity felt a shiver go up her spine, and simultaneously, a wave of naseua washed over her. Why… whatever.

"Alright, everyone! IV fluids, more O-neg, keep the cefotaximine going, and get a catheter in if it isn't already. Call me if there are any issues," Robby yelled, stripping off his gloves. Trinity nodded, already grabbing the IV and threading it into the girl's vein. Mohan took over the catheter, and Whitaker hooked up more O-neg.

"You can go, we've got this," Perlah said, motioning towards the door. Trinity didn't need another sign. She stripped off her gloves and gown (when had she acquired those?), walking out. She stood in the hallway for a split second, letting the adrenaline ease away.

Then she collapsed.

Dennis saw Trinity sway a split second before her eyes fluttered closed. Oh, fuck. He lunged forward just as Trinity dropped like a rock, catching her under her armpits. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Garcia.

"Dr. Garcia!" Dennis yelled, and in a moment, she was next to him, hooking her arms under Trinity's arms and legs in a bridal carry. She lifted, and for one moment, Dennis saw fire in her eyes, the type he'd seen in his sisters' eyes at age fourteen, half-concious and freezing. He'd fallen through the ice on Melham pond, and the roads were too frozen to drive on. His sisters had carried him half a mile to the hospital, switching him between their arms. And then they'd stayed with him for three days.

"Whitaker! Crash cart!" Garcia barked, and Dennis obeyed without a second thought, wheeling it towards Garcia as she set Trinity down on the bed.

"Flashlight, now," Gracia stated, grabbing it and raising Trinity's eyelids. "Normal reflex. Nothing blown."

"Um, Dr. Garcia-"

"Not now. I need an EKG and a BP cuff."

"But-"

"Not now. Get me an IV and call Dana," Garcia said, then turned to Trinity, her whole demeanor softening. "Trinidad, wake up for me, okay? Can you hear me?" When Trinity didn't respond, she hardened again.

"Call down Dr. Mehta. Now."

"Doct-"

"Now is not the time, Whitaker. Call-"

"Dr.GarciaTrinityslippedonicecomingtoworkandithinkshehasaconcussionandthatswhyshepassedout," Whitaker blurted out, fingers curling into fists. Garcia turned on her heel.

"What?" She spat.

"Um. Trinity slipped on ice and hit her head and I think she has a concussion but she wouldn't let me check her out. I think she passed out because of that," Whitaker muttered.

Garcia moved with lightning speed, pinning Whitaker against the wall. "And you didn't tell me?" She hissed, fury so alight on here features Whitaker shrunk, like one would before an enraged animal.

"I didn't get a chance to," he said, straightening and facing her down.He wasn't a 14 year old anymore. He was a grown man, and a doctor. She was a solid three inches taller than him, but she still stepped back, starting to pace.

"Well, not that it matters now. She could have a fucking brain bleed, a hematoma, a skull fracture, fucking second-impact syndrome… fuck."

"Her pupils aren't blown, and she sustained no further injuries. I think she passed out due to pain. Trinity doesn't complain, but she was in pain before, I could tell," Dennis said, bravery fading.

Garcia sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "My stubborn girl," she muttered under her breath, so quiet Dennis had to strain to hear it.

"Let's try a sternum rub before anything drastic. A CT or MRI will be useless if she wakes up in the middle of it. And we don't want to confuse her further."

"If she doesn't respond, I'm taking her up."

"Fine," Dennis sighed, walking over to Trinity while Garcia faded into the corner. He took a deep breathe, burrowing his remaining anger. Trinity didn't need that.

Pain, in the center of her chest, crushing, sharp, and awful. It was crushing her lungs. She tried to gasp, but it came out desperate and ragged.

"Trinity? Trin, are you here?"

Trinity felt it intensify. Ow, ow, fuck.

"Trinidad, wake up."

"Stop. Stop," she choked out, bringing her hand climsily up to her chest.

"Oh, thank god, you're awake," the first voice- Dennis?- said.

"'m awake. W- what?" Trinity asked, opening her eyes. And immediately closing them. "Light. Off. Please."

She heard a shuffle and opened her eyes again. The light was mercifully dim now, and Whitaker was lowering himself into a chair next to her. In the corner, there was… Landa, her features difficult to make out through the dark. She was standing ominously still.

"Trinity, do you remember what happened? How many siblings do you have? What's your favorite hobby? What's your full name?" Whitaker asked, drawing her eyes back to him.

"Trinity Althea Santos. It's ice skating. I have no siblings, but one half- sister. Robby told us to finish up with the trauma and I walked out and then…"

"You passed out, Trinity. Why… how are you feeling?"

"Oh. Fine. Normal," Trinity said, almost on autopilot.If she took the time to actually check, which she didn't particularly feel like doing, she'd probably notice a whole range of symptoms she would classify under "not fine", but she decidedly didn't do that.

"Oh, I'm sure you're fine, Trinidad. Syncope is a common symptom of nothing at all, actually. Certainly not head trauma. No, that's impossible, huh?" A dark voice deadpanned from the corner. Landa walked towards Trinity, looking angrier than Trinity had ever seen her. Oh fuck.

"I-" Trinity began, but Landa instantly cut her off.

"Oh, I know. You're fine. You're always fine, aren't you? Until you die of second impact syndrome, or do irreparable damage to your brain because you didn't fucking tell me you got a fucking concussion!" Landa said, voice rising, stalking closer to Trinity.

"Look, Landa-"

"People who risk their lives don't get to call me nicknames, Dr. Santos. So unless you want me to leave right fucking now, I suggest you tell me the truth. What are you feeling? If you can't bring yourself to say, "Bad," then describe symptoms. But tell me."

Trinity didn't- no. No, Trinity wasn't good at this. She wasn't good at being vulnerable. She wasn't good at being hurt. She wasn't- no, no, no. She wasn't good at this.

Trinity took a deep breath. She didn't need to take this. She was fine, right? Yeah. She was perfectly fine. She didn't need to let them lecture her.

In one fluid movement, Trinity stood up, walked out of the room, and-

Crumpled.

It wasn't graceful. It was sudden and awful and ugly and embarrassing. She fell back, halfway into the room, and then folded in on herself, drawing her knees to her chest, because-

Fuck. Her fucking head. Fuck. The light was burning her irises. Dear fucking god, her head. It was exploding. Her head was breaking apart, and she couldn't breathe, and-

"-idad. Trinidad, my girl. You're okay, neshama. You're okay. Can you hear me? I need you to answer me."

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Trinity felt like she was going to cry, and that was the last thing she wanted to do right now, but the fucking lights- her head flared again and it was all she could do to stop from screaming. It was shameful and embarrassing and vulnerable but Trinity didn't care, she just wanted the pain to stop. She forced herself to choke out, "I can hear you."

"Good. Shh, you're okay. You're okay, Trinidad. You're alright. We're going to get you back into the room, okay, neshama?"

Trinity shifted her head just enough to be perceived as a nod.

"Dr. Santos, what are you doing?"

A new voice came in, loud and inquisitive. Langdon. Trinity winced. Before she could fix herself up enough to face him, Garcia stood.

"Who the fuck do you think you're talking to, Langdon?" Garcia sounded incredibly angry, angrier even than she'd been at Trinity.

"I'm just wondering why my intern is on the floor right now, Garcia."

"Langdon, your intern currently has a concussion. Mind giving her some grace?"

Trinity heard a pause.

"Dr. Santos, are you okay?" Langdon's voice was much closer now, and a bit gentler, as if he was kneeling next to her. She nodded as best she could, but Garcia interrupted.

"Obviously not, Dr. Langdon. Help me get her back on the bed, will you?"

"Alright. How can I help?"

Another pause. And then-

"Trinidad, amorcito, I need you to get up, okay? As soon as you do, we'll close the door, and the lights will be much dimmer. But you need to get up."

Everything in Trinity protested. But Trinity wasn't weak. That was the one thing she'd held to herself since she was a child. She wasn't weak. She persisted. So she took a deep breath and forced herself up.

And it hurt, a ridiculous amount, and- oh, fuck- she felt the ground shift under her and her head started to spin, and-

"I've got you, Santos."

Not Landa. Langdon. He was holding her arm. Why was- whatever. All that mattered was that she didn't pass out right now. Not in front of him. No, no, she just needed to make it. One step, then another, and then-

Oh, thank god. She sat heavily on the bed for a moment, and then instantly slumped to the side. She felt someone catch her by the arm, but she was already far too gone to guess who. She felt consciousness slip away before she could move to stop it.

Trinity woke slowly.

"Trinidad, wake up. You're discharged."

First, her mind started to work. Kind of. It was blurry, a bit unfocused. But it was better. Then, she blinked her eyes open. She was in… the hospital. Why was she in the hospital?

Oh. Right.

"Trinity, are you awake?"

Ah. Dennis.

Trinity nodded. "I- I'm awake. What's going on?"

"Oh! Good! Well, um… you got a concussion, but I think you remember that. You tried to walk away, but you… kind of passed out? I'm not sure. But anyway, you slept for like 3 hours and you got a few tests run on you, but your concussion is pretty minor, so you're released, on supervision."

Trinity paused for a moment to comprehend everything. "Please tell me you're not the one supervising me."

"Nope, uh, that's Dr. Garcia."

Out of the corner of her eye, Trinity saw Landa step towards her bed with a folded wheelchair.

"Nope. No way. Not happening. I can walk," Trinity said, already sitting up and standing up, albeit gingerly.

"Hospital policy, my girl," Landa said with a crooked grin. Trinity scowled.

"Nope. Try me. Anyway, I have nothing I need to carry. Where's your car?"

Landa sighed and tucked the folded chair behind the bed. "Right outside. Do you have a coat?"

"Yeah, in my locker. I can go grab it."

"No need, I've got it," Dennis said, handing it to her. Trinity shrugged it on.

"How are you getting home, Huck?" She asked, raising an eyebrow and starting to walk in pace with Garcia, who stayed close. Trinity noticed.

"Bus."

"I don't trust you on the Pittsburgh public transport system without a chaperone."

"Do you want me to walk?"

"No. Ask Robby for a ride or something."

Dennis blushed again, and Trinity grinned. "Not happening, Trin."

"You ask or I'll ask for you."

"Fine, fine! Ugh, fuck you."

"Fuck you too, Huck."

"As cute as this is, you have to go with me, Trinity, and Whitaker, you have to go home," Landa interrupted, grabbing Trinity by the arm and taking her with her. Trinity waved bye to Dennis with a grin, then walked in pace with Landa.

"You'll have to be under my supervision for at least 24 hours. Then you can go home, as long as you keep your door open when you sleep and Whitaker doesn't leave you alone. You can probably go to work by Monday, but Robby might not let you."

"Excited to have me all to yourself?"

Landa scoffed, opening the driver's door and climbing in. "Nevermind, we obviously need to check you for brain damage again."

"Oh, go easy on me, I'm concussed," Trinity said, stepping into the passenger's seat.

"That wasn't what you were saying 3 hours ago."

"Hey, that's dirty play!"

"It's deserved."

Trinity rolled her eyes, then winced at the following pain.

"Be careful."

"I am," Trinity protested, looking out the window. Landa's house was in South Side, near the climbing gym there. That had been one of their first dates, in the climbing gym. Trinity had climbed as a child, and Landa occasionally went to an outside climbing group. Neither of them were excellent, but they were both good enough to have fun. It had been fun, if a bit ridiculous. It was the first time that Trinity had seen Landa out of her element, and she took it with grace, which was never a talent Trinity possessed. When she was bad at something, she wouldn't allow herself to fail in public. Instead, she'd practice in private until she was perfect. That- the date- had been the first time in several years that she allowed herself to fail in public. Because of Landa.

"We're here, Trinity. Let's go."

Trinity nodded and stepped out of the car, following Landa into her house. For some reason, she was already exhausted again. Having a concussion was tiring, apparently. She should probably know that.

"If you want, you can shower. I have clothes that will fit you."

Trinity was more than ready to sleep, but a shower was probably a good idea. If nothing else, she wanted to get out of her scrubs. She gave Garcia a thumbs up and trudged towards the bathroom.

It was small, but comfortable. Trinity stripped her scrubs off and put them in a small pile, then stepped into the steaming water. It felt like actual heaven, or something close to it. She couldn't help but relax.

After what felt like forever, but was probably five minutes, she stepped out, wrapped in a towel, and put on the clothes Landa had set out, then walked over to the living room, where Landa was parked, watching a series.

"House. Watching with me?" Landa asked. Trinity nodded and sat down, moving closer to Landa and leaning her head on her shoulder.

"I need you to tell me when somethings wrong, neshama. Okay?"

"'kay," Trinity muttered, eyes already closing.

"I love you, Trinidad."

"Love you too, Landa."