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The humid July air was driving Trinity crazy, it has been all shift. Now at 11:48, charts finally done and scrubs shoved unceremoniously into her duffel bag, she felt as though the air was too heavy still, making it difficult to fill her lungs properly. It was definitely the humid air, not the fact that she is so obviously falling behind her peers, not that at any given moment she’s on the verge of messing it all up. It’s definitely not because Dennis is leaving to housesit for his fucking attending.
It’s absolutely not because Yolanda Garcia has grown tired of her.
Trinity shuts her eyes harshly, blocking out the fireworks that paint the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Centre roof in shades of blue, red and white. She sits back, resting a few steps from the edge, cross-legged in front of the railing.
She tries not to think about the fact that that horrible voice that sits inside her chest was right. She felt herself getting too comfortable, too attached. And this is where she ended up, alone on a rooftop with nobody to wish a happy fourth of July to. She couldn't leave well enough alone, couldn't be content with her own company - it’s hardly fair to blame people for thinking she’s too much when she cannot even stomach herself.
She’s got too much baggage, she’s too rough around the edges, too insecure in her actions. Who was she kidding? Trinity Santos with her roommate best friend who ate a microwave dinner with her on their Facebook marketplace couch and her surgical resident girlfriend who treated her incredibly and made her feel like her body was something worth someone’s time and not just a reminder of gym mats and boxcutters.
She closed her eyes tighter and tried to ignore the itching in her thigh.
But with her eyes closed, her mind had free reign, and flashes of Garcia’s face made Trinity's chest constrict even further. Garcia in a low-lit bar, Cosmo in hand, telling Trinity, “you can crash at my place tonight…if you’d like?”. Garcia in a worn shirt that Trinity got in college, the “m” in gymnastics had long since been washed away in the machine, dancing around Trinity and Dennis’ small kitchen. Garcia placing the most gentle of kisses on the physical manifestations of Trinity’s worst thoughts.
Oh god, she was going to throw up.
Her eyes opened immediately, instead of doubling over and dry heaving, she reached into her duffel bag and pulled out a crumbled pack of Camel Doubles that she hasn't touched since she started her ED rotation. She never threw away the box, because the same way Trinity knows that when you throw something up it will fall down, she knows she will inevitably find herself back right back where she fucking started.
She is 28 years old and on track to become everything she’s ever wanted to be, but she still finds herself feeling like the 19-year old college student with chalk on her hands who just found out her best-friend killed herself.
She lights the cigarette.
“Santos?” a voice calls out from the stairwell, Trinity leans her head back on the railing, exhaling the smoke. She knew that voice, and could identify it at all hours. She hates how quickly she recognizes Garcia’s voice, and hates that she’s here right now.
Garcia cancelled on her, and even though Trinity could equate that feeling to the feeling of her tibia snapping in half and breaking through the barrier of her skin on the day of her last competition, she couldn't say that she blamed Garcia in the slightest.
People like Trinity don’t get beautiful surgical resident girlfriends and caring best-friends who always offer to do the dishes. People like Trinity get to sit on rooftops and wonder if it’s still too late to go into finance.
“Huckleberry said he saw you on the stairwell, he was hoping to see you before he left.” Yolanda ducks her body under the railing, taking a seat next to Trinity. Santos spares a glance toward her, her ponytail is out, replaced by a claw clip that lets loose strands lazily fall from where it’s tied up. Her scrubs are gone, replaced by a simple t-shirt and jeans. Trinity rips her gaze away and exhales roughly and fuck - she swears that she’s never seen anyone more beautiful than Yolanda Garcia sitting on a rooftop in a crumpled shirt and loose jeans. Her skin is briefly illuminated by the fireworks in the distance and Trinity wonders if Yolanda can tell that her heart is stuttering.
“He’ll have to come get his stuff sooner or later, I’ll catch him eventually.” She takes one last drag of the cigarette before putting it out on the concrete, she knows that Yolanda doesn't like smoking.
And Trinity never wants to make Yolanda uncomfortable.
Never wants to hurt her.
“It’s late Trin, what are you doing up here?” she wishes Garcia would be mean again, she’s so much better at dealing with blatant dislike. The soft, raspy tone of her voice makes Trinity’s whole body hurt.
(she is so tired of hurting, she’s been hurting since she was 15 years old)
Trinity doesn't look at her, “I could ask you the same thing, Dr Garcia. Thought you had plans.” she means for it to sound sharp and spiteful but it comes out like the voice of a child asking to stay up later than 8pm. She hears Yolanda sigh beside her, risks another glance and sees her face soften with something a lot like regret and worry. Trinity hates that she just said that to her, she doesn't want to be the reason Garcia is here. She doesn't want Garcia around her at all, not because she doesn't love her but because this incredible woman next to her does not need to deal with the mess that is Trinity Santos.
Trinity doesn't want that for her, doesn't want to hurt her.
“I- I’m sorry I sh-” Trinity starts, wanting to erase the look on Garcia’s face. But instead it contorts further into a look of deep-seated worry.
“Trinity.” Yolanda’s voice is firm. Trinity stops talking, looks down at her jeans that are too warm for this humidity. “I am the one who should be apologizing, the way I treated you today was unfair, we were at work and I said something that I knew would upset you because I was angry. That would be immature on a good day, and I can tell that today was…not a good day.” Trinity cringed at her words. And here she was hoping that her spiral was subtle enough that people wouldn't realize.
“We both agreed on casual and I get that…but. Fuck, i am so bad at this.” Garcia’s voice trailed off, her teeth catching her bottom lip in an expression that Trinity knew to be anxiety. She knows where this is going, but it’s gone too far and isn't manageable in a professional context.
But a month ago you asked me to stay the night and I did and I have and I can tell you’re wanting more.
But it’s so insanely obvious that you’ve fallen for me, Trinity.
She doesn't want to be the reason Yolanda is upset.
“Listen, hey, it’s okay. I'm sorry about today too, I kept putting you on the spot and being…obsessive over it. I can…i can tell that you aren't happy with us…this anymore. You don't have to spend the remainder of your Fourth of July on this rooftop with me.” Trinity lets the words spill out before she can really think them over. Hoping to see the troubled expression fall from Yolanda’s face. Instead the look of anxiety is replaced with one of utter confusion.
“You think I'm up here to end things with you?” Now it’s Trinity’s turn to be confused, Garcia’s voice falters, “Is that what you want?”
Trinity is fucking this up to a degree she cannot even describe.
“No! Of course not, I- like you, I really like you. Like a...ridiculous amount. I just…” How does Trinity say that there is nothing she wants more than the woman sitting next to her. How she would gladly rip her own skin off to ensure that Yolanda never has to experience any kind of pain ever again. To ensure that she never has to sit next to someone so bad at expressing her emotions that she begins to question her own worth ever again.
How can it be that all Trinity wants is to not to hurt Yolanda, but for some reason it seems to be the only fucking thing she can do.
“I just want you to be happy. And you keep pulling away and i know that i keep saying that casual is fine, and now Whittaker is leaving too, and I keep coming home to an empty apartment and fucking up at work. And then all of sudden you sit next to me after cancelling on me 8 hours prior and I just want to know what you think of me, if you feel as torn up as I do.” Trinity doesn't realize she’s crying until gentle hands grasp her jaw and wipe the tears from her face.
“i-I'm sorry. That was-” Trinity interrupts herself with a sob that tears from her chest. “Oh baby, come here.” Yolanda grabs her bicep and pulls, and Trinity falls into her. She feels a hand grasp at the back of her head, sliding through her hair, and another on her back.
Yolanda is holding onto Trinity like she might disappear, and it’s the first time in weeks that Trinity feels tethered to the ground.
“Trin- baby, listen to me. I know I've been pulling away but it was never, never because I don't feel anything for you. I saw how every night we spent together kept getting softer. And how instead of bars and cocktails it was dinners and coffee trips and I got scared. Because i know how at the beginning we agreed that it was a fling but fuck trinity i cant stop thinking about you. Even Walsh said I was whipped…” Garcia says while grasping Trinity's jaw, forcing their tear-stained eyes to meet. A wet laugh forces itself from Trinity’s lips. Garcia’s lips lift into something that may be a smile.
“I’m the happiest when I'm with you. I'm so fucking sorry that i didn't make that clear. But I'm making it clear now. Trinity Santos I cannot bear to be “casual” with you for another second. I want you in every way possible, and I never want you to feel alone ever again. How does that sound?”
Trinity leans up and captures Yolanda’s lips in a kiss that puts all of the rest of their kisses to shame. There's no alcohol lingering in their breaths, no hands tearing off clothes. There’s just the softness of two people trying something new, the lingering taste of redbull and a camel double, there is only red, white and blue fireworks and slightly sticky skin from the godforsaken humidity. Trinity wants to kiss her forever, but she knows that Yolanda just asked her a question, an extremely vulnerable question at that. And she never wants to leave Yolanda waiting, scared for an answer.
She never wants to hurt her.
“That sounds fucking incredible.” Garcia's usually stoic face breaks out into a grin, she kisses Trinity again. Trinity thinks about how fucked up she is, about everything that has ever gone wrong. She thinks about everything she’s thought about since she was 15 years old.
She thinks that maybe it’ll all be okay anyway.
And oh, that’s new.
Suddenly Yolanda is standing, pulling Trinity up with her, they climb under the barrier and head for the stairwell. “You know, with Huckleberry staying at Robby’s, that means that you and I can have the place to ourselves more often.”
Trinity smirks, linking their fingers, “Can’t believe I'd ever say this… but thank god for Huckleberry.”