Work Text:
Yolanda hadn’t really accounted for how high the PTMC building towers over the city.
Up here, everything feels exposed, too close to the sky, too far from the ground.
A light breeze tugs insistently at her coat as she steps out into the darkness that is slowly thinning into the pale of the morning. The city below is still half-asleep, lights blinking out one by one as dawn presses in.
Ellis assured her she had at least thirty minutes, time Trinity would surely still be occupied.
But that was twenty minutes ago.
She lets the heavy door fall closed behind her, the sound echoing briefly before being swallowed by the open air, and tries to shake the exhaustion of the night shift from her bones. It clings stubbornly: behind her eyes, in her shoulders, in the faint tremor of adrenaline that hasn’t quite faded yet.
She pulls out her phone.
One message is already waiting.
from: Trinity ❣️
I’m off in 5, I’ll be waiting in the car?
If you’re not still busy of course.
The second message pops up just as Yolanda opens the chat, and she smiles despite herself. She starts typing.
I’m off already, but change of plans…
can you meet me on the roof?
Only a moment passes before three flickering dots turn into a response.
what
are you okay?
Shit.
Yolanda sighs. She definitely could have worded that better. More careful and less alarming.
from: Trinity❣️
I’m coming up now.
I’m fine, baby, don’t worry.
She sends it, then walks to the railing and carefully leans the brown paper bag against it, making sure it’s steady. She double-checks her coat pocket, fingers brushing against fabric.
The delivery timing couldn’t have been closer to today, but in the end Whitaker made good on his promise. Yolanda felt a little bad for putting the fear of God into him when it briefly looked like he wouldn’t, but everything turned out fine.
Well. Until she scared her girlfriend just now.
Behind her, the clouds dissipate slowly, pulled apart by the rising sun. Violet, gold and amber spill across the rooftops, painting the city in warm apology for the harsh night.
Light creeps along concrete and steel, softening the severity of the hospital building.
It couldn’t have been better timing.
Silently, Yolanda sends a prayer to the weather god—or whoever’s in charge—for adding the most beautiful atmosphere possible to her gift.
Because Trinity is one of those people who loves it when the sky turns pretty colors. It took her a while to admit it, thinking it embarrassing or childish, but Yolanda just finds it endearing. And she’s come to appreciate a good sunrise herself by now.
The door creaks open.
Yolanda whips around, heart jumping, and finds Trinity’s slightly hunched silhouette power-walking across the gravel. She shields her eyes against the low sun, scrubs rumpled, with just a jacket thrown over them, her hair pushed back with exhaustion rather than care.
“Hey.”
Seeing her still in scrubs feels fitting. Her not taking the time to change also tells Yolanda exactly how little Trinity believed this would be anything good.
“Hey you too,” Yolanda says, opening her arms.
Trinity steps into them immediately, hugging her tight, like the ground might fall away if she doesn’t.
“I really am okay,” Yolanda whispers into her hair before the question can form.
When they pull apart, Trinity’s eyes search her face, still cautious, but now more curious than worried. Yolanda lets her arm slide to Trinity’s lower back, guiding them to face the city together.
They have to squint a little against the oranges and yellows now. Instead of the skyline, Yolanda watches Trinity watching the sky.
A long night shift can somtimes dim her fire to a flicker. But behind tired eyes and frazzled hair is still the most beautiful woman Yolanda knows. Her skin glows amber in the sunrise.
“This is…” Trinity starts, but doesn’t finish.
Yolanda leans down and presses a gentle kiss to her hairline.
“I know,” she murmurs, kissing her again. “I thought you’d like to see it… from up here.”
Shifts down in the Pitt take their toll, no matter how much Trinity pretends otherwise. Yolanda hopes, quietly, that this might give her something good to associate with this building.
And the roof.
“It’s great,” Trinity whispers, leaning into her with a sigh. “I really need a cleanser after tonight.”
“Yeah?” Concern flickers briefly in Yolanda’s chest. “Something happen?”
Trinity shakes her head. “It was just a lot. With Mel going home early, we were one doctor short in the end.”
Yolanda hums sympathetically, then gestures toward the bag. “Would you like to ‘cleanse’ with some breakfast tea?”
Trinity’s eyes follow her hand, settling on the steam curling upward. She’s quiet for a moment.
“How?” she asks. “And from Beatrice’s?”
Yolanda ducks down and produces two tall cups, one mint and and one black tea.
Obviously, Trin knows that they have just worked parallel shifts.
She doesnt know though, that Beatrice's Bistro has recently been added to Uber eats. And they do indeed deliver straight to the surgery floor. (Abbott told her about this one.)
“Two sugars,” she adds, pulling small packets from her pocket.
Trinity takes them without words, speechless in the way Yolanda has learned means positively overwhelmed.
“Let’s just relax a little,” Yolanda says.
The only answer is a hum and a nod.
□ □ □ □ □
Ten minutes or so later, the sun is almost fully up now, shining down on Pittsburgh.
From up here, the city looks softer than it ever does from the street—washed in gold, edges blurred by early-morning haze.
The breeze has gentled, no longer sharp, just cool enough to remind them they’re standing somewhere high and open.
Trinity takes the empty cup from Yolanda’s hand and places it back into the bag with her own. Then she turns back to her, wearing a wide, exhausted smile.
“Thank you, Yoyo. This was…” She visibly swallows. “…really nice.”
Yolanda bites her lip, stomach curling slightly in anticipation. She reaches out her hand and interlocks it with Trinity’s, leaving their joined hands hanging between them, suspended in the quiet.
“Don’t thank me yet.” A bit of nerves start to creep in.
Will it be too much? Too soon?
Showing her hand in how early she was gone for her now-partner.
Fuck it.
“How do you mean?” Trinity’s eyes go wide, showing even more of the deep irises Yolanda loves to get lost in.
“I…” Yolanda starts, swallows, then pushes on. “I have something else for you?”
Automatically, Trinity looks down into the bag, finding nothing. Her eyebrows furrow with doubt, and it makes Yolanda want to punch each and every person who ever taught her girlfriend that she doesn’t deserve things.
“Really, Yo, you don’t have to…” Her fingers tighten around Yolanda’s hand. “I mean, the tea and everything—”
Yolanda shakes her head immediately and raises her free hand to interrupt her. “It’s okay. I wanted to. We haven’t had a breakfast date in a while.”
That really is true. This is a little more than just a date, though.
She decides not to drag it out any longer. From her coat pocket, she produces a little satin pouch, tied together with a brown band. Without another word, she hands it to her girlfriend.
“'Broken Bow Blacksmith and Tools',” Trinity reads from the label.
“What is this, a tiny sword?” She jokes.
“You’re not far off, baby.” Yolanda smiles and points to the neat bow. “Just open it.”
As Trinity does, slowly and diligently, it dawns on Yolanda that without an explanation, this could be misread.
Even though she explicitly put it into a pouch and not a box.
When she looks up to study Trinity’s reaction, she realizes that what she dreaded has just happened.
“Yolanda…” It comes out choked but defiant at the same time as Trinity produces a delicate silver ring from the satin. “I—”
“Oh, no. Trinity. It’s not that. I mean…” Yolanda exhales. “Can I?”
Trinity nods as she carefully takes the ring from her.
Yolanda then takes her other hand, soft but calloused fingers, and slides the ring onto her thumb.
Trinity lets out a long sigh. “Oh… okay—I…” A dry chuckle escapes her. “I thought this was… or you were… whatever.”
“No, no, I get it.” Yolanda lifts their joined hands so Trinity can inspect it more closely.
“I mean, I love you, but three months is a little early for a proposal.” She laughs quietly. “We’re lesbians, but not that cliché, right?”
Looking back at her girlfriend, she finds Trinity’s face frozen in place, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights.
Oh.
Well. It had to come out sooner or later.
“You…” Trinity lowers her hand, takes a step back and starts fidgeting with the new ring. “You do?”
Yolanda doesn’t get shy often—nervous even less—but right now is one of those moments. Maybe it is a little early for this. But it’s also true. And they promised to be honest about their feelings.
“I do.” She nods. “Have for a while, actually.”
Trinity presses her lips together and nods slowly. Yolanda can almost see the words land and process, sincerely hoping she hasn’t scared her off.
“I…” Trinity starts after a while, then falters. “Wow. I don’t know what to say.”
Yolanda can’t take it anymore. She rushes forward, closing the distance and holding both of Trinity’s hands again.
“Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to say it back.” She smiles and takes a long breath, hoping Trinity might mirror it.
She does. Again and again, until even Yolanda is convinced she’s come down from the shock a bit.
“A thumb ring…” Trinity starts, looking down at it again. “Is a very cliché lesbian present though, don’t you think?” Trinity looks up at her, smirking, and Yolanda lets out a relieved exhale.
If she can joke again, she’s not as overwhelmed anymore.
“I suppose so.”
“Is it silver?” Trinity asks, inspecting it closer once again.
“No, so—” This is it, Yolanda thinks, bracing herself. “It’s stainless steel.”
Trinity nods. “Makes sense.”
“But…” Yolanda pauses, looking down reflexively, “for me, it’s worth more than silver.”
Brows furrowing, Trinity looks up again. “How so?”
One quick glance at the sunrise, then back at her girlfriend.
“It’s made from the scalpel you dropped into my foot… exactly one year ago today.”
She has to look away for a moment, the admission too vulnerable to face head-on, but Trinity seems to be feeling the same.
“Oh…” is the only thing she says for a while.
Then, “You kept that? All this time?”
Tears start to form at the corners of her eyes, her voice beginning to swim. “But we weren’t even—”
“Doesn’t matter what we were or weren’t then.” Yolanda manages to make eye contact again, grateful she thought of something to say beforehand. It doesn’t come across as confident as she planned, but that doesnt matter now.
“I always knew you were special. From the first day.”
She swallows and goes to say more, the parts she never admits to rehearsing, but she’s interrupted when the fiercest hug knocks the air from her lungs.
The faint scent of lavender, exhaustion, and black tea envelops her and stays.
For a moment.
A minute.
Or five.
At some point, she gives up on her speech and simply melts into the hug. She feels herself getting a bit choked up too and closes her eyes. Sure, this wasn’t a proposal—but she’s not planning on letting this woman go. Ever.
After a while, they separate, and Yolanda notices a few tear stains on Trinity’s cheeks. Carefully, she reaches out, cupping her face, and swipes them away.
“Are you okay?”
Trinity nods. “Can I kiss you?” It comes out a little rushed, urgent. “You did all this... I can’t believe I haven’t even kissed you yet.”
It’s funny. Yolanda hadn’t even thought of that until now. She isn’t owed anything for the effort, but if her girlfriend wants to, who is she to decline?
“Of course you can.” She smiles and lets herself be pulled down into a warm, soft kiss.
Yolanda lets herself melt into it, knowing there’s nowhere else she needs to be, nothing else she needs to prove. And hopes Trinity feels the same.
□ □ □ □ □
Later, when they’re both in Yolanda's bed, Trinity is still wearing the ring.
The bedroom is dim and hushed, lit only by the slivers of daylight filtering through the curtains. The world outside feels far away now: muffled traffic, distant voices, life continuing without them. In here, everything is slow and soft.
Yolanda could lie and say it doesn’t make her feel some kind of way, seeing Trinity wear something she gifted her.
But it is indeed the hottest thing ever. Even without the implications of the scalpel.
The ring catches the low light every time Trinity shifts, a subtle glint against her skin. Yolanda’s gaze keeps snagging on it without her permission, heat growing low and familiar in her chest.
She briefly thinks about finishing her speech, the one she’s been holding onto, shaped and reshaped in her head for days now.
But the tiredness tugs at her and if she does it, she wants it to come out right.
So tomorrow it is. Or later.
Next to her, Trinity shifts to face her and just looks at her for a long time. It’s not the casual glance of someone about to fall asleep. It’s focused. Like she’s cataloging every detail, committing it to memory.
“See something you like, Dr. Santos?” Yolanda says playfully, but it’s almost like Trinity’s eyes furrow in deep concentration.
She’s contemplating… something.
“What is it, baby?” Yolanda reaches out and pulls a stray strand of hair out of her face, her thumb brushing Trinity’s temple in an absent, affectionate motion.
“You really do… huh?” The question is more addressed to the room than to her, spoken quietly, but Yolanda immediately clocks what it’s about.
“I do.”
She watches the thought settle behind her girlfriend’s eyes. Trinity blinks once, slowly, then simply nods.
“And it’s really okay, if I… need a little more time.”
“As long as you need.”
The tension in her girlfriend’s face fades, melting into relief, then into a wide, genuine smile again. “Okay.”
Trinity leans in, not all the way, hovering just short of contact, but Yolanda closes the distance immediately.
Their noses brush as their foreheads touch. They both shift closer at the same time, and Yolanda feels the pull of Trinity’s body flushed against hers, warm and familiar beneath the covers.
Their lips meet softly at first, unhurried. Yolanda lets the kiss linger, lets it deepen at its own pace. Trinity’s hand curls into the fabric of her shirt, fingers flexing like she’s grounding herself.
Yolanda responds by sliding her palm along Trinity’s side, thumb tracing small, soothing arcs against her ribs.
They usually don’t do much more than cuddle and kiss after work, exhaustion drawing firm boundaries.
But this…
The kiss grows slower, heavier. Yolanda presses in, just a little, savoring the quiet sound Trinity makes when she exhales against her mouth.
For a moment, the world narrows to warmth and breath and the rhythm of two hearts trying to sync up.
Suddenly and quickly, Trinity pulls back.
Her eyes narrow in on Yolanda, who is immediately alarmed.
“All good?”
“You…” The tone is almost accusatory as Trinity holds up her hand with the ring again.
“Broken Bow.” She repeats it like a detective putting together clues. “That’s where Huckleberry is from.”
Yolanda chuckles, mostly relieved that Trinity is fine and not… well not fine because of the intimacy right now.
“It is.”
“Soo…” Trinity fully pulls back and sits up, the sheets pooling at her waist. “That’s what you two were up to. A few weeks ago.”
Yolanda purses her lips, impressed, and nods. “I thought, if one person still personally knows a real-life blacksmith, it’s gotta be farmboy.”
She reaches for the ringed hand again, her fingers closing gently around it. “He was surprisingly easy to work with, getting me your ring size and all.”
Trinity shakes her head, but can’t bite back a smile. “Fuckin’ Huckleberry. I bet he was so afraid of messing up though.” She muses, looking back at Yolanda.
Yolanda just raises an eyebrow in response. “He better was. This…” She pauses, voice quieter now. “This was very important to me.” Another breath. “You are.”
Trinity swallows, but doesn’t deflect this time. “You are too, you know,” she replies, fidgeting with her ring again. “Important to me, I mean.”
Yolanda reaches out and slowly pulls her into a hug under the covers, tucking Trinity close until her head rests against her shoulder. The sheets rustle softly as they settle, warmth redistributing as they slow down together.
“I know, Trinity,” she murmurs into her hair.
Then, quieter. “I know.”