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The ED was one hot shit-show, which was quite fitting, considering that it mirrored the running internal whirlwind of thoughts - unwanted and all in Trinity Santos’s mind.
She was having a day.
And not a good one.
It didn’t help that she overslept that morning after having a fitful night full of rumination and tossing and turning and only got to work in the nick of time thanks to Huckleberry’s constant badgering. It didn’t help she was clearly off her game, missing all sorts of differentials and potential diagnoses when she had people’s lives in her hands while she couldn’t even manage her own. Drowning in the R2 workload and being defeated by a bunch of paper charts and absolute chaos that came with going analogue on the fourth of fucking July.
Langdon was unfortunately in and Robby was on the way out.
And then there was Garcia.
Spending the holiday alone wasn’t how she planned but it’s not like she would blame anyone for rejecting her company - she would too. She couldn’t stand to be alone with herself, especially on days like today where her mind was like a loaded cannon - taunting her with grievance and feelings of inferiority until she would explode and probably do something… not healthy. Or something stupid.
Santos just got reminded by Robby again on how the new paper-analogue system was meant to run after she accidentally placed a lab order in the radiology dropbox and forgot to justify and rule-out every differential diagnosis as opposed to just circling the correct condition and moving on.
Great, something else she managed to do wrong
The sun was coming down and just like that every little inch of drive she still had in her completely eluded her, she was coming down from the energy shot that she was blessed with courtesy of Perlah and she could feel the looming headache and fatigue moving in. It was hard to constantly pour out so much from a bone-dry cup that had nothing left to give.
She should have taken the day off, but it was a holiday weekend, she would have needed supporting documentation - and that extra pay was going to wonders for her pocket.
In the chaotic frenzy of the day, she finally managed to spare a minute to start the handwritten opening line to one of her many patient’s progress notes before she would inevitably become busy again with someone else who rudely decided to have a medical emergency in an emergency room. She didn’t know how many patients she had, she just knew it was more than 5 and seemed strangely more than everyone else.
Sure, why not have her take care of it all. It was quite ironic, they trusted her to have the biggest workload - assuming she would be able to give everyone optimal care when she couldn’t even take care of herself.
Scribbling one last sentence about a patient’s reason for presenting to this fine establishment on this summer day, she tried her best to filter out all the sounds of the ED just for a moment, so she could at least be one chart down, but it was impossible. Footsteps and verbal communication was expected, but the grating sound of the fax machine was doing her head in.
Dragging her hands to her head, she buried her face in the darkened solace of her own palms, getting one rhythmic breath in before she picked up on a muttered exchange between fellow colleagues.
She couldn’t differentiate the voices, but she sure knew what she was hearing.
“Yeah so he’d be moving into Robby’s house.”
“Who? Abbott?”
“No, Whitaker.”
Well that snapped her out of pity-party for one, turning into more of a rager with just the anger as indignation and betrayal started to simmer within. Of course, he would leave.
They all did.
Her chest tightened in a way she didn’t appreciate as her brain decided to supply her with a highlight reel of all the times people had quietly drifted out of her orbit.
Santos knew she shouldn’t have gotten attached to him so strongly, she just didn’t know how to admit that without feeling like she was handing someone a weapon.
Wanting people meant they would hurt you.
Needing people meant they would leave.
So she did what she always did.
Act like she didn’t need anyone.
It was an impermeable mask.
Except tonight her brain had cracked that illusion open.
And underneath it was just this messy whirlwind of thoughts she couldn’t shut off.
It was silly really, all she did was give him a hard time, it made sense he would finally jump at first opportunity to save himself from the clear inconvenience of having to room with someone as burdensome as her.
She learnt to hide her vulnerabilities so she wouldn’t get hurt, but all she learnt now is that she would only ever be hurt, she didn’t deserve to have the company of someone as pure-hearted and well-intentioned as Whitaker. She was a stain, and she couldn’t keep tainting him with her bullshit.
She celebrated his birthday with him, heart sinking in her chest after he whispered in between held back tears that that was the first time he’d ever been celebrated. Funk music became an inevitable staple in the Whitsantos household once he finally became comfortable and unpacked - feeling more like a resident than a guest. All the little things automatically became fixed once Whitaker would tinker around trying to earn his keep. She’d grown accustomed to his stupid questions and badgering when she cooked and would take pleasure in beating his ass at whatever board-game they chose to play on the Thursday nights when they were both free. And those weekend nights where they would go bar-hopping and cut loose.
He didn’t even tell her himself.
Santos didn’t really choose to act brashly based on unrestrained emotion in the workplace - most of her brashness was in the form of carefully manufactured confidence and audacity but she pushed her pen to the side and placed her clip board down - patients be damned and walked passed the nurse’s station where she caught the gaze of the hospital’s newest chismis.
She didn’t even know what she was going to say to him - maybe it was the betrayal or the reminder that she was never really in control acting as a cherry on top of the world’s shittiest day. It was already clearly established that she was just as important as the dirt on the bottom of Garcia’s shoe with the comments and easy dismissal of any fourth of July plans even though they had the idea set in stone for months and now it was solidified through the fact that her roommate would soon be packing his bags and leaving her the first chance he could get.
This is why she didn’t get attached.
Everyone left.
This was why she would choose to punch first. It was either that, or be the bag that would take the blows.
She was just a burden everyone had the misfortune of being around but forced to tolerate.
Storming up to him in the midst of the frenzied Pitt, she had a patient to check up on but she decided if they were still alive now, they’d probably still be alive in 5 more minutes, she passed the figures of her fellow team, Robby was debriefing with Javadi in a quieter corner, Langdon was thankfully not in sight, Dana was making miracles happen with Monica as they created some semblance of order as she worked in tandem with Monica.
Quickly blinking away a rogue tear as the tears started to brim uncontrollably in her eyes, she took a harsh breath, wiping her eyes on her sleeve, keeping the rest at bay due to sheer will alone. She never cried at work. That warranted weakness, and Santos wasn’t weak.
Just clearly damaged and a hassle to be around apparently.
Whitaker was in the middle of discussing some adverse side effect to a new admission, dismissing himself once the patient had agreed and clearly consented to whatever treatment plan he was proposing. She was standing to the side of the room, landing a hand on his shoulder once he made his way out the door-frame, nearly dropping the clipboard he had in hand as he startled from the unexpected contact.
He flinched further once he saw the layers of emotions that roared in her gaze and the subtle twitch of her eyelid.
“What the hell is this I hear about you moving out?” Santos snapped as her jaw tightened, crossing her arms in a defensive stance.
Whitaker just stared at her confused, willing her to elaborate.
“So you’re just leaving then?” Santos continued. “Telling everyone about it but the person you actually live with.
Processing what she was saying, realisation finally dawned slowly across Whitaker’s face.
“Oh… yeah. It’s not-”
“So that’s it then?” Santos interjected, effectively cutting him off. She wouldn’t have wasted her time with him if she knew it would end like this. She was better off as a lone-wolf anyways. Harder to get hurt.
“Robby’s asking me to house sit while he’s gone,” Whitaker responded slowly. “It’s not confirmed yet.”
“Seems pretty confirmed seeing the whole department knows,” Santos retorted, gesturing wildly as a gurney and frantic team of healthcare workers navigated it swiftly to an elevator.
Wonderful.
Leave it up to the ED’s relentless gossip train to broadcast a simple conversation that happened behind closed doors to the rest of the staff. He wasn’t even 100% sure in taking Robby up on that offer, his house was on a side of town he wasn’t fully familiar with. And sure, Santos was prickly but Whitaker genuinely did like her company when she didn’t terrify the living shit out of him,
“Who told you?” Whitaker curiously asked in a neutral tone. This wasn’t the time or place for her to blow up at him and nearly every worker in the ED had bared the brunt of Santos’s temperamental fire once in a while - whether it was undeserved or somewhat justified.
“Does it matter?” Trinity answered incredulously. Her heart was racing and this was the one thing that tipped her over the precipitous edge of madness she was already playing too closely with. “Its true then? The moment you get a more glamorous offer you’re just going to pack up and piss off?”
Woah
“Are you actually mad about the house sitting?” Whitaker questioned, eyeing the subtle way in which her hands were slightly shaking and the tension in her shoulders.
She looked down at the ground then and for a split second, it looked like she would say something honest.
That was thrown out the window when he received her response in the form of a scoff and clipped sentence.
“No,” Santos responded, pulling the cord of her badge reel out as she fiddled with the cards that hung on her scrubs. “Why would I care?”
Taking a breath, Whitaker started. He knew she was having a day, he heard all about her broken sleep and situationship rambles on their turbulent ride to work as she swam around and screamed at cars with a level of impatience she usually didn't reach at 6am in the morning. And seeing how this shift was unfolding for her, he knew she was more unstable than usual. R2 stress, seeing Langdon again, having to deal with the only attendant she felt comfortable enough to share with leaving.
“Trin, it’s just for a-”
“You know what you can just take your bags and fuck off then,” Santos interrupted, hands going to the back of her neck as she rubbed the bony prominences beneath her hair - a habit Whitaker noticed she would act on whenever she was overwhelmed or stressed.
“Figured you’d bail eventually,” she added flatly, already turning away, crossing from where they were in the hallway to one of her patient’s rooms. “Like everyone else,”
Oh shit.
Whitaker’s brain screeched to a halt there. He’d seen Santos angry, he’d seen her after bad cases when the usual plotting glint in her eyes would fade, he’d seen completely unrestrained once her vulnerabilities were exposed without her permission.
But this? Her with crossed arms and tight shoulders with shallow breathing, lashing out irrationally before she was even given explanations - Whitaker realised he’d never seen her completely and utterly hurt before.
On his first shift on the day they met he once laughed at a joke he made to himself during one of the rare moments of peace he had in the bathroom - something about thinking she was emotionally stunted.
He didn’t realise she felt that much.
In other circumstances, he would feel quite validated that his presence meant that much to the point he would actually be missed by someone. But he knew he had to clear the air and make this right somehow. Santos burnt bridges, but that didn’t mean he had to give her the matches.
Whitaker was about to make his way over to her until a nurse zeroed in on him about raising a few concerning signs of patient deterioration. Taking in an exhausted exhale, he reluctantly made his way to the patient of interest, reviewing the already performed ECG and concerning vital signs before ordering a few more tests to cover all bases. He could see her in an opposite trauma room in the corner of his eye once he had a chance to breathe.
She was clearly trying to drown herself in the more loaded cases to distract herself from the mess in her head. It looked like another unfortunate firework trauma case.
Hopefully she wouldn’t blow up at him even more.
Between that and her naturally occupied state that came with a heightened patient load that just kept coming and had no form of stopping, they didn’t cross paths at all for the remainder of the shift. By sheer will alone, it looked that she had managed to brute force her way into finalising all her progress notes at a semi-decent time seeing that they were all held back and delayed. He didn’t think she would wait for him, he already told her he was visiting Amy after the shift. On those days, she would make him take the bus, the farm was in the opposite direction to her apartment and the last thing she wanted to do on soul-crushing shifts was chauffeur her roommate across the metropolitan areas of Pittsburgh into the open landscapes. At least he had people who wanted him around. None of the people in Santos’s circle stayed.
She found herself ascending up the concreted stairwell that was warded off with signs to say ‘only use in cases of emergency.’ It was strange, how she was able to make her way up the building so fluidly even though she’d never been there before. The PTMC was a mammoth of a hospital, the roof would be endless.
Santos didn’t even know how many flights she’d been up - it had to be at least 8 but it was hard to tell in her elevated state that caused her to move automatically - and on impulse. Her brain taunted endlessly with the shitshow of her shift replaying in fragments.
She thought about Huckleberry, how he tried let her know it was only a temporary set-up. Well, she cut him off, but she knew he was going to say something along those lines.
She’d heard it all before.
How they would reassure it would only be temporary, until the time passed exceeded what was initially proposed until all she was left with were the memories and a hallowed ache in her chest that marked the sight of another person leaving her. She finally pushed the roof door open and the crisp night air assaulted her instantly. Sure, it still had the lasting effects of the day’s humidity resonating in the air, but it was still a cool change from the betrayal that boiled inside of her.
The Pittsburgh skyline stretched out around the hospital in glowing blocks of light as they echoing of rogue firecrackers were set off by people partying below.
At least some people were having a good time.
She spotted the railing and the ledge that extended past it. It wasn’t *that* reckless, she still had a few feet of concrete preventing her from toppling over into the abyss. But still, from a distance it didn’t look great
The railed let out a creak that sounded a lot like ‘don’t do it,’ as she made her way over, standing up straight as the fireworks sputtered and cracked around her in a dazzling display of colours.
Her thoughts whirred endlessly as she let out a humourless breath, pinching the side of her wrist, small sensation of pain being the only grounding device that she was still there
How many times have I told you?
Don’t get attached.
Can’t even do that right.
This is why they all leave.
There was cheering rising from below as she could faintly make out the excited figures of people in the streets, but she didn’t focus on that. Her mind moved on to the next intrusive set of thoughts. Visions of Whitaker packing his bags and leaving floated throughout her mind, just like her old gymnastics coach before she was replaced by that monster that singlehandedly instilled her distrust in people, her school friends drifting from her after rumours of her being a lesbian spread throughout middle school. Her dad rudely dying, leaving her with the piece of work that was her mother. Her best friend leaving her alone and filling her with grief after she did what she did. Her college roommates ditching her right when the room assignments were announced. Garcia rejecting their plans of spending the night together and replacing her with a group of people more worth her time and now Robby was going with Whitaker following suit.
She focused on the way Whitaker addressed her as Trin in the soft voice earlier. Usually he only called her that at home or when they were out mingling with other circles. No one called her that at work, and she didn’t usually hear her name said in that way - with the calm and patient intonation that made it seem like she was a feral animal he was trying to placate before she dug her claws into him.
She hated that.
It just showed how much effort he took to put up with her bullshit. Santos knew she had been unfair.
And now she just looked like an asshole.
Again.
Another firework startled her out of her trance, this one louder than all the other ones, making her shoulders twitch before she could stop it. Cursing under breath, Santos rubbed her hands over her face.
She was just so tired.
And not just from lack of sleep.
It was the deep hollowed exhaustion that settled in her skeleton and wore the skin of self-proclaimed confident Trinity Santos.
Dropping down to sit over the ledge, feet dangling below, she fully took in the scene below her.
Maybe this would be the last time she would see fireworks.
Or colours.
The bright hues painted the sky in glamorous red, white and blues and her brain started replaying more scenes. Just random snippets of her life full of the good, bad and the ugly. The air was getting colder, she didn’t know how long she was sitting up there.
Drawing a hand to her eyes, she startled at the cold sensation. She didn’t realise she’d been crying. It was quite cathartic to let it out all in place that made you seem all the more smaller and inconsequential than you felt, no one would remember it all.
The hinges to the rooftop door squeaked open as soft footsteps made their way closer. She didn’t look behind to see who was now in her company, she just used that time to wipe her eyes and try to make herself look semi-presentable. Give her the illusion of looking put together. The voice spoke and she sighed, throwing her head back in exhaustion once she realised who was behind her.
“...Trin?” Whitaker spoke hesitantly. His bus got delayed and he had a gut feeling to make his way on to the roof. He didn’t know why but his breath hitched as he saw the silhouette of his turbulent roommate teetering on the edge, limbs already dangling off as if it were her plan all along.
“Jesus Christ, Huckleberry,” she responded, eyes staying fixed on the illuminated skyline ahead, voice cracking at the end.
Silence settled over the rooftop as Whitaker slowly made his way closely to where she was perched over on the wrong side railing.
From behind, he could make out the dishevelled nature of her hair, strands peaking out as a result of her constant hair-rubbing and the way in which she appeared smaller than she usually presented herself.
“Okay,” Whitaker said carefully, using his therapeutic communication skills to coax her back to safety. “I’m gonna need you to come back over here.”
Santos snorted without looking back. “Oh my god.”
Another sea of red scattered across the sky as a rogue firework went off in the background.
“I’m not going to jump,” Santos added with a sharp bite in her tone that made the hairs on the back of Whitaker’s neck perk up in alarm. “Don”t see why that would matter seeing that you’re pissing off anyways,” she finished, voice finally breaking against her will.
Whitaker’s jaw dropped as his heart broke in two. He hated seeing her cry. She gave so much, and got so little.
“...Trin,” Whitaker started gently, still standing on the safe side of the railing. “I’m not pissing off.”
Santos just barked a cynical scoff at that.
“It’s only for a couple months. I wasn’t even planning on living there anyways, just planning on popping in a couple times a week to water the plants and check the mail,” Whitaker added. That was a lie, he did want to see how Robby lived, but his roommate took precedence over that.
Santos finally turned her head back towards him to face him then, causing Whitaker’s breath to hitch for a whole other reason - she was still over the ledge and now she wasn’t looking below. All it took was one slip.
Her dull red-rimmed eyes squinted back at him momentarily - as if she was trying to see if he was bullshitting or not. Her lip quivered slightly and it looked like she’d aged a myriad of years from the start of the shift to now. Finally she spoke.
“...Really?” Santos asked in a small voice.
“Can’t get rid of me that easily,” Whitaker reassured her in a light-hearted tone she knew she would appreciate. “I’ll still annoy you in the kitchen. I’ll still try kick your ass in Rummikub even though there’s no point trying to win against you. I’m still going to play that funky music white boy so loud,” he winked, listing off more memories of the times they had.
“God help me,” Santos sniffed quietly as the corners of her lips twitched just the slightest.
She slowly got up from her coiled up position on the ledge, rejecting Whitaker’s offered hand as she climbed onto the safe part of the roof. Safely on the other side, she threw herself at him, giving him a quick hug that he easily reciprocated before she pulled away, giving him a disgusted expression that seemed a lot more like the usual Santos baseline.
Whitaker cleared his throat once more, bracing himself to ask his next question. “What were you doing on that side of the railing?”
Sighing, she scrubbed a hand over her face as she took a moment to answer. “I needed air.”
“Roof has air on the inside of the railing too,” Whitaker commented.
“Fuck off,” Santos responded, phrase lacking the venom in which she previously use to say that phrase to him that day. This one sounded more grateful he found her.
“Not the first time you said that to me that day,” Whitaker answered easily as they walked to the rooftop door.
“Not the first time you’d earnt that today,” Santos retorted, holding the door open for him, letting his pass first before she closed the door behind the both of them.
Their footsteps echoed down the staircase before the corners of Whitaker’s mouth perked up in mis-directed amusement. “Can’t believe you’d miss me.”
Santos rolled her eyes immediately at that before she wrapped an arm around him as they made their way down the last of the steps. “Don’t flatter yourself, Huckleberry.”