Chapter Text
you hadn't meant for it to happen, but the blood from your wrist was concerning at best. it wasn't spurting or overwhelming, but the consistent bleed had you rushing to the hospital after not being able to stave it away after a good twenty minutes. it seemed to only worsen as you stumbled into the er sitting room, excusing yourself from nearly running into an elderly woman and then a child who ran across the room to get back to their mother.
the kitchen towel you held against your wrist was on the verge of being taken over by the blood.
curse your clumsiness. curse the damned knife in your kitchen. curse your girlfriend not being home when it would have saved you an expensive er visit.
the woman behind the check-in counter took one look at you and shouted for someone to come and fetch you; if she recognized you was a question for another time.
was the blood really that bad?
your name—you could hear someone saying it, but you couldn't focus. all your attention was holding your hand down on the towel. someone shouted for a wheelchair, and with that, you were pushed down and wheeled into the emergency room.
north 5, you heard someone say (was it whitaker? huckleberry. your girlfriend's friend, the one that lived with her now, and you, when you stayed over). the same voice shouted for your girlfriend. santos.
trinity.
"what happened?" asked a disembodied voice, one you couldn't focus on but recognized all the while.
you couldn't catch a break, could you?
"dunno," another voice came. "said they just walked in like this. a trail of blood came in with them."
"a trail? shit, babe, why didn't you call me?" trinity.
you couldn't focus enough to answer her. you couldn't focus enough for anything.
in your haze of distress, you missed when you were transferred to a bed. you missed the stitches, the way trinity knew your blood type, the way someone asked if it was right for her to be doing it, the way trinity nearly ripped them a new one after saying that it was right, and why wouldn't it be?
you remained in and out of consciousness for a good hour or so, but you were stable.
during that time, trinity worked. she did, however, come back to you on more than one occasion, checking on your vitals, making sure the bandages were clean.
the moment you truly came to, trinity was off busy with another patient.
you were hooked up to several monitors, arm laying out with a dull ache by the wrist.
"oh, fuck," you breathed out, squeezing your eyes shut. it'd been a lot worse than you anticipated. a lot worse.
when you opened your eyes, whitaker had popped his head in through the curtains to check on you. his eyes widened a bit, a small smile forming on his lips.
"you're awake!"
you let out a soft grunt. "yeah. i think."
he walked inside, opening the curtain a bit so if trinity walked by, she would know to come in. he came to your side, checking your vitals to make sure all was well.
"how are you feeling?"
"i've been better," you said, weakly grinning.
he smiled weakly in return. "let me go get santos. she'll be glad to know you're awake."
no fight was given as he left—not that you felt like fighting against it. you had sought out this damned emergency room because she was here. (who were you kidding? it was the only one you really trusted around here.)
only a minute was spent alone before trinity pulled herself into your small corner of the hospital. her pretty eyes locked with yours as she crossed the threshold, a tense grimace on her face.
"what the hell happened?" she immediately asked, taking ahold of the hand opposite to your injured arm. "why didn't you call?"
"didn't think of it," you said, grimacing. you shifted uncomfortably. "didn't think it was that bad until i got here and the lady out front freaked."
"didn't think it was that serious?" she scoffed, looking at your arm. "i stitched you up, just so you know. it looked pretty serious."
you snorted softly.
"not funny," she said, frowning deeply. "you really scared me. you should have called."
a breathy sigh escaped you. you let your eyes fall shut for but a moment, thinking of the best thing to say. what could you say that would make this at least somewhat better? trinity santos was a hell of a force to be reckoned with. you should have known she wouldn't have taken this lightly.
her voice calling your name drew your attention to her once more.
"i'm sorry," you quickly said.
"what?"
"i—i should have called. it wasn't as bad when i—well, i was making you something, and the knife slipped, i slipped up, and the rest is history. just look at me."
"i am," trinity said, unable to stop a soft smirk from forming. "i am looking at you." her thumb gently brushed against the top of your hand. "you were making something? for me?"
you scrunched your nose, averting your gaze. "fruit tray. think i'll have to throw the whole thing away now."
she let out a soft laugh, nodding. "yeah. you probably should." she leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek. "i'll be back in a few to check in on you. don't let huckleberry bother you, hm?"
"he doesn't bother me," you retorted, watching as she let go of you and smiled as she left, a half wave given before she shut the curtain, leaving you alone in your mess.
you sucked in a deep breath, finally assessing the damage. it wasn't a long cut, but it must have been deeper than you initially believed. you'd have a pretty nice scar after this. trinity stitched you up—she'd practiced for so long, even going as far as having you help her one long night nearly a year ago after she'd been frustrated after class. her stitching was delicate—perfectly crafted, if you'd allow yourself to say.
the chaos of the emergency room continued to ramble on beyond your curtains, and you allowed yourself a moment to imagine what it was like. you heard much from trinity, knowing many horror stories she carried with her like a shield and sword every morning she awoke to find the same thing in this damned place, over and over again.
you'd be discharged soon enough, but until then, you would await your girlfriend's return, hoping this afternoon in the er wasn't as bad as what it sounded like.
dread long since settled in your mind, though, when you thought of all the blood that must be in your car and on your kitchen counter. that would be a bitch to clean up.