Chapter Text
Physical intimacy rarely intimidated Yolanda Garcia. Her cool head had always helped her respond to emergencies and draw boundaries during a casual hookup. Emotional intimacy, however, was her greatest nightmare, and it was enough to make her wake up in a cold sweat at the smallest sign of commitment.
She had never searched for anything serious, because that meant sharing her life with someone else when she enjoyed her time alone. Running in the mornings, being the elevator up and down at the hospital, going out late in the afternoon and doing yoga before going to sleep.
Yolanda was a woman of routines, and she disliked sudden change. Adapting her personal life to a relationship involved severe changes to the way she lived. (Perhaps Yolanda could be extreme, but she truly valued her independence)
Of course, nothing had prepared her for Trinity Santos entering her life and somehow becoming the one adapting herself to Santo’s routine instead of the other way around.
Before she realized it, every Friday she was already in her car with her bag packed to spend the whole weekend at Trinity’s apartment, bringing the essentials with her, from two sets of pajamas to her phone charger. (Inside Santos and Whitaker's bathroom, her toothbrush was already next to her retainers)
The creation of this new habit felt natural because of her growing need to stay as close to Trinity as possible, since she genuinely enjoyed the company of the only woman who seemed able to keep up with her rhythm.
But she realized she had crossed a line when the first and last person she spoke to every day was Trinity. When the coconut shampoo she liked appeared in her shower. When it stopped being only sex and became dinners out or cocktails together…
What truly triggered her instinct to run before getting attached was the simple awareness of Trinity’s eyes on her whenever she looked away, and the sweetness of the smile she would receive in return.
Things only got worse when the nicknames started appearing, replacing their usual cold, discreet greetings in the hallways that had once been nothing more than a simple hey… and turning into a knowing wink that made Yolanda part of something she did not even know if she was ready to have.
She noticed it during the quiet ride in the elevator, the silence filled with soft music and the steady tapping of Trinity’s shoes against the floor.
Until she found herself with a smile forming on her lips when the doors opened, revealing Santos standing there.
“Hey, babe,” Trinity greets as she steps inside, taking her place beside Yolanda and brushing her shoulder against hers.
“Looking good today,” Yolanda hears herself say before she even thinks about it.
It only became worse when Santos simply smiled back at her, playing shyly with her stethoscope.
It became even harder to ignore when Yolanda noticed how Trinity’s voice softened whenever she spoke to her, and only to her, and how even when she could be strict she would allow Yolanda to slide past her mistakes, excusing them as common ones with a light pat on her shoulder.
Her favorite moment was the pillow talk after lazy morning sex, the kind worthy of a slow Sunday, with Trinity curled between her arms, pressing damp kisses around her jaw.
“I like the long hair. It suits you,” Yolanda remarks, running her fingers through the brown strands.
Trinity chases her lips with a small smile. “I love you…” she whispers, still half asleep.
That simple sentence stops Yolanda’s movements and sends her pulse racing the same way it does after one of her summer runs, except this time it comes with the feeling of her heart trying to escape her chest.
“… fuck,” Trinity hisses when the only answer she receives is silence. “Fuck,” she repeats again, this time more desperate.
Yolanda’s body moves, pushing Trinity away slightly as she sits up on the bed, not even bothering to pull the sheet over her bare chest.
Trinity runs both hands through her hair the same way Yolanda had done moments before, but it looks more like she is trying to rip it out from the roots.
“Enough,” Yolanda blurts, without even knowing if she wants to stop her from hurting herself or from saying something else.
Before she realizes it, her hand is holding Trinity’s wrist, stopping the movement and guiding both of Trinity’s hands into her lap over the quilt.
“Look, Santos…” she begins quietly, brushing her thumb against Trinity’s skin.
The simple use of her last name makes Trinity interrupt her sharply. “I know.”
“It doesn’t look like you do,” Yolanda replies, raising her voice slightly. “I don’t want anything more than this.”
Trinity bites her lower lip, nodding slowly and clinging to the only thing she can hold on to, which is the feeling of their hands touching.
“… and I’m okay with that,” Trinity whispers, sounding more like she is trying to convince herself.
Yolanda releases her hands, letting them fall away, and shifts to the side, placing her feet on the wooden floor and walking across the room, searching for her underwear.
“If this is making you feel bad, just say it and we stop,” Yolanda demands bluntly, fastening her bralette.
“I’m not that weak,” Trinity shoots back, still curled among the sheets, breathing in the fading scent around her. “Trust me, I can handle it.”
“It doesn’t look like you can,” Yolanda counters, with her hands on her hips, looking her up and down.
Trinity lets out a huff at how direct she is being, trying not to take it too personally and holding on to the strange fact that Yolanda’s voice still sounds… soft.
“You’re smart enough to decide to stop,” Yolanda repeats, raising both eyebrows expectantly.
“I’m fine,” Trinity insists, crossing her arms.
Yolanda nods slowly, keeping her balance while pulling her underwear up her legs, while Trinity’s green eyes follow every movement.
“… I’ll be in the kitchen making coffee. You can stay for breakfast or leave,” it is the last offer Garcia gives before walking out the door.
Santos exhales heavily, throwing her head back and accidentally hitting it against the headboard, then repeating the motion again as if the impact might clear her mind.
During the first days after that conversation, their dynamic remained the same. Yolanda still texted her good morning when they did not sleep together. They still went out for drinks after a shift and sometimes returned to one of their apartments together.
It seemed everything would continue as usual, much to Yolanda’s relief, after she had set her limits again and kept exactly what she wanted, which appeared to be what they both wanted after all. She had given Trinity the chance to end things if she expected more.
She could not allow herself to offer real commitment. She never had in her life, and she did not even know what it meant to be someone’s girlfriend. Her lingering tachycardia slowly calmed when it looked like they were standing on common ground, and she had everything under control!
Until in the past few weeks Santos started looking more and more distant from her. Of course she respected the limits Garcia herself had established, yet Yolanda could not ignore the difference in the way she behaved.
Trinity no longer ran after her in the hallways. She answered her messages less and less and canceled their plans with the excuse that she had already arranged something else earlier, respecting their mutual agreement of no exclusivity between them and taking advantage of it, even if she had never done so before.
Yolanda was losing the space Trinity had once made for her in her life. She was slowly closing herself off, pushing her away and no longer opening the door to her apartment unless she only wanted sex to blow off stress. Nothing was under control!
Her usual shamelessness started to crack when she found herself searching for Trinity’s presence in her own apartment, and even if she did not want to admit it she missed sleeping wrapped around her. Having breakfast together. Having someone wash her hair under the shower.
Foolishly she tried to imitate the same behavior, chasing that intimacy in other bodies and discovering she could not satisfy something she had once mistaken for simple desire.
It became painfully obvious she was losing control when she felt her eye twitch, watching Baran Al Hashimi observe Trinity closely, clearly enthusiastic about her performing a chest tube.
Before Yolanda can congratulate her or throw in a teasing comment, Baran speaks first. “I knew I was right to put my trust in you,” she states, giving Trinity a warm smile.
Yolanda has to resist the urge to roll her eyes when Trinity tries her best to return the smile, still surprised.
She knows perfectly well that Santos is more than capable of handling any procedure with her impeccable hands, and so what? Everyone already knew about her skills and she had been the first to recognize her potential.
“Good work here,” Baran adds before leaving through the door.
Yolanda feels her body move on its own, following Trinity to congratulate her herself, but she is met with the coldness of being ignored.
She tries again, walking behind her, quickening her pace slightly until they are side by side.
“Hey… you didn’t text me last night,” Yolanda complains, raising one eyebrow. “I was waiting for you.”
In the past that simple statement would have made Trinity grin, but now she just shrugs.
“Oh, I stayed to take care of Whitaker,” she explains, without adding anything else.
“… is everything okay?” Yolanda asks cautiously.
“Yeah, just food poisoning,” Trinity replies.
Yolanda stops walking, placing a hand on her shoulder, searching for her eyes. “Maybe you need something…? Like, medicine… or money?”
Trinity presses her lips into a line, shaking her head with little interest. “Nope”.
“But thanks for asking,” she adds, dismissing her touch.
All Yolanda gets in return is Trinity’s back as she walks away, leaving her alone in the hallway, getting farther and farther from her while the tachycardia in her chest turns into a heavy, painful pressure.
The second time they run into each other that day Trinity is smiling at Al Hashimi, who rests a hand on her forearm, and she does not reject the contact the way she had earlier with her.
Yolanda feels like a fool watching from a distance, almost hiding, while admiring the way Trinity plays with her stethoscope while speaking casually, and when the attending physician walks away she takes it as a sign to approach her.
They cross paths heading in opposite directions, stopping face to face, while Garcia frowns at the lack of any acknowledgment of her presence.
“I didn’t know you wanted to be a stepmother,” Yolanda remarks, bumping her shoulder lightly against Trinity’s.
Trinity stands still for a second, turning her whole body to watch Yolanda continue walking past her.
“… fuck off,” she mutters under her breath, remaining motionless.
Whitaker walks out after finishing with one of his patients and finds her there, following her gaze until he notices Yolanda turning into one of the rooms down the hall.
“I thought we had already moved past the whole Garcia situation,” Dennis comments, approaching her. “You know, no contact?”
Trinity simply imitates a strangling gesture with her stethoscope around her neck with dry irony.
“Bad one,” he replies with a sigh before looking at her with genuine concern. “… do you want something from the vending machine?”
“If you pay. You’re the doctor with money,” she jokes.
Whitaker offers his arm so they can start walking together toward the cafeteria like a pair of idiots… Trinity would never say it out loud, but she truly appreciates it.