Trinity knows that Victoria is like, freakishly smart at a dozen things.

It’s not jealousy, it’s a fact. It’s true that amongst other things, that tiny, twenty year old who waltzed into the Pitt with her wide doe-eyes ten months ago, was smart—if not just a little smarter than most of the people she worked with.

She just isn’t too sure when hacking into PTMC’s website to take over their page became something Victoria excelled at, with a terrifying speed, too.

(Because that’s exactly what she’s doing, right on the floor of her and Huckleberry’s kitchen, and Trinity would be lying if she said she wasn’t slightly terrified of the sight before her.)

Everything had happened too fast for her to process anything. One minute, she’d been in the break room, coincidentally with Crash and Huckleberry, complaining about her failing love life. Or lack thereof. Next thing Trinity knew, she was back in her apartment, watching Victoria hack into PTMC’s official website.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Dennis asks, frantically pacing across their living room. “There’s a lot of better ways we could be handling this. Like actually talking with HR, for once.”

Trinity’s nose wrinkles and hoists herself up onto their kitchen island’s counter. “HR won’t do shit. They’d piss themselves the moment they learnt that this was the only way we can get news out.”

“I know, but Trin, you’re making Vic hack into the website of the place we literally work at-”

“To spread the truth, duh. Don’t you believe in journalistic integrity?”

Dennis runs a hand through his curls, groaning. “You’ve had time to spread the truth for ten months. Don’t you think they’re gonna find it kinda weird this is only coming to light now?”

“It’s not like they’ll trace it back to me!”

“They’re obviously going to trace it back to you-”

“Guys,” Victoria grits out. “If you don’t shut up soon I’m going to put a photo of you two throwing up at my birthday as PTMC’s site background.”

“See look,” Trinity gestures towards her. “Why can’t you be more like Crash? She’s down to do it and listen, if this ship sinks you’re definitely going down with me.”

Victoria’s brow creases momentarily as she looks up from her laptop. “Wait, I didn’t actually agree to this-”

“Oh my god, Trin,” Dennis moans, rubbing his face with his hand. “Did you blackmail her into doing this for you?”

“I didn’t blackmail anyone!”

“Debatable,” Victoria says, before returning back to her work. “Okay wait, I think I’m in.”

Trinity snickers–what? She can’t help herself. “That’s what she said.”

A long, suffering sigh from Victoria is the only response she receives. Tough crowd. “Ugh, just- here.”

She shoves the laptop into Trinity’s lap, the screen already open on PTMC’s website with a blank canvas staring right in front of her. Jesus, it’s actually kind of gaudy. The fact that their website still looked like it was built in the 90’s wasn’t helping their case either.

Trinity stares at Victoria in disbelief, gaze flitting from the laptop back to her. “Holy shit you actually got in.”

“I’m nothing if not dedicated,” she beams. Then: “Also. You’re kind of, like, on a timer. I don’t know if our IT team is just that good- which I guess I should be happy about, ‘cause I work there? Like, yeah of course we need to have stronger website protection, we’re literally a hospital. But they’re probably gonna find out that someone tapped in here for god knows whatever reason.”

“Wait what the fuck-”

From the couch that Dennis has apparently situated himself in, he throws his hands up in the air and calls out to them, tone exasperated: “Trinity, just write the damn thing already.”

“Okay, okay!” She huffs out and focuses her gaze back onto the laptop’s screen. “Give me a second.”

“You have three hundred, actually,” Victoria adds helpfully.

Dennis’ eyes go wide. “She has five minutes?”

Her hand stops hovering over the keyboard for a second to stare at Victoria. “I have five minutes to trash talk all of the Pitt? Crash! C’mon, I thought we talked about this!”

Victoria’s face scrunches up in disgruntlement. “Do you know how hard it is to hack into PTMC’s website? Also we didn’t talk about anything- also, can I just, like, say, this is kind of illegal.”

“Oh my god,” Dennis says again. He sounds a little like he’s starting to hyperventilate–or maybe Trinity’s just imagining things. She’d like to believe in the latter. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god-”

“Jesus christ Huck, Dr. Abbot isn’t going to nail you to the fucking wall if I write about how bad you want to make out with him.”

He bolts upright from the couch, face burning bright red. “Trinity, you said this was for journalistic integrity.”

She shrugs and glances back toward the screen, typing out a few words onto the blank canvas. “I lied.”

“We’re all getting fired,” Victoria deadpans. “We are all so getting fired.”

“Easy for you to say, nepo baby,” Trinity shakes her head, ignoring the noise of protest that Victoria lets out. “You’ll probably come out of this unscathed. Huckleberry has Robby’s golden left tit to cling onto. But me? I’m the true minority in this group, and that’s the real reason America is failing.”

“Right, so,” Dennis frowns and shakes his head at her. He points to himself, “gay.”

“Raised in Nebraska,” Victoria supplies. She beams again when Dennis nods her way. Traitors. “Oh! And he, uhm, tapes, right? So it’s like a two birds one stone type of thing.”

“And,” Dennis says, pointing towards Crash. “The mother issues thing kind of cancels out the nepotism, so she’s cleared for that one.”

“Great,” Trinity says with a roll of her eyes. She types out another string of text and prays that Victoria’s ability to hack into websites also extended to adding a save feature for what she’d written. “Together we can form an entire college brochure.”

“You could make an entire college brochure,” Victoria mutters under her breath.

“Thanks, Crash,” she grins at her. No, really. This is probably the sweetest compliment Trinity’s gotten in a while.

In response, Victoria rolls her eyes and flips her off, grumbling something that sounds a lot like a swear towards Trinity. She chooses to believe it’s something along the lines of thank you Trinity, you’re our savior from this.

“Trin, you have one minute left,” Dennis calls out again, glancing at the clock on the wall. “Oh shit, wait, you have like, fifty-seven seconds left actually.”

“Crash, you really need to work on your website hacking skills,” she grumbles out, typing the last few words on the screen. From an outsider’s perspective, it definitely looks…like something. 

She isn’t actually too sure who in the world is going to see this, since god knows people actually use the PTMC website, but as long as it’s out there, then Trinity’s fine having it look like this.

She presses the enter button near the text, and hands the laptop back to Victoria, who wrinkles her nose when she sees the wall of text Trinity had written.

““And I don’t think debriefings should exist. I think we should all lock the fuck in and bottle up our emotions””, she reads out. A stare is sent to Trinity’s way. “What the actual hell.”

“What?” Trinity protests. She shifts slightly in her seat and blinks at Victoria and Dennis, shrugging. “It’s true.”

“Wait, I thought you were going to publish something about Dr. Langdon.” Dennis’ eyes somehow go even more wide–something Trinity hadn’t even known was possible. “Did you actually just trash talk all of the ED?”

Trinity considers this for a moment, “Well…no. I didn’t add me, obviously. Or you guys. Or Mel.”

Victoria pauses, taking in the information with a slight grimace. “So the only people you didn’t mention in your stupidly long news broadcast were the people actively involved in this. And Mel.”

“And Mel,” Trinity confirms with a nod. “And, duh, yeah. I’m not gonna ruin my name on the same page as Langdon’s. I have priorities.”

“Holy shit,” Victoria lets out a nervous, high-pitched giggle. “Holy shit. I was joking when I said we’d get fired but we might actually get fired now. And it’s because I hacked into PTMC’s website. What the fuck, what the fuck-”

“Jesus, Crash, breathe,” Trinity sighs, wringing her hands together. “Chill. It’s not like they’ll actually figure out it was us. If the entire ED gets fucked over except us, Gloria’ll just say we have great patient satisfaction scores.”

Dennis just gives her a long, hard stare, before he sighs in defeat and pulls his gaze away. “What the fuck,” he shrugs. “Sure.”

-

The Pitt Hate Files: Is This Truly Pittsburgh’s Tenth Circle of Hell?

If you’ve been in Pittsburgh long enough, maybe you’ve burnt a hand or two. Gotten a really bad scrape and had to go to the ER. Maybe you’ve even broken your neck while trying to eat out your partner–or some other variation of that. Whatever the reason, I don’t really care. What really matters is what’s going inside of it, because these doctors are possibly the worst I’ve ever seen. They have no actual spine in some situations, but then they’ll turn around and act like they were sent down by divine intervention to speak in situations that don’t even involve them.

I know a lot of you are angry because of the poor service–fine I’ll even admit it, it’s kind of fucked up in here. Sometimes I’ll think to myself, who the hell even lets this hospital run anymore? But then I kind of backtrack on my words since that hospital is what’s keeping my rent afloat, and sure, it’s whatever. I can suck it up and be done with everything while ignoring the shit I get for simply doing my job. But I can’t let this go on for any longer. The truth needs exposure, and I might be the only one sane enough to see that it gets sent out to the world.

I feel like I should preface, I am not, in any shape and form, affiliated with PTMC. I might work here, but you will never know me. I don’t know who you are if you are reading this—I don’t even know if this will ever get out, but don’t try to find me. You won’t. (On that matter, I don’t believe in doxxing so try me, bastards).

Okay, anyways. If, by some chance, there are actually people reading this, then it’s important that the public knows there are doctors running the ED who deserve to get sent to hell. This isn’t biased–if you worked with them, you would want to strangle each and every one of them too.

DR. MICHAEL ROBINAVITCH

This man does not have a spine.

If he’s ever been your doctor, great news. He’s actually competent–until he’s not. I don’t believe in half of the rumors that go around the Pitt, simply because everyone working there has gossip as their middle name. But even then, I can’t disregard the fact that he belittled a senior resident, just because she was having a panic attack.

I don’t legitimately wish ill-will on anyone, because, again, I do still kind of have to work with these people. I don’t hold contempt for them, even if I’m airing out their dirty laundry. This guy might actually be evil, though. Regardless if he was going through things, he’s still a dick. A hypocritical one at that too, since ten months ago he was preaching about PTMC being a safe, learning space for interns. 

Then, months later, it’s like the guy had a lobotomy and turns around to contradict all of his earlier statements. He can think the world revolves around him for all I care, but the minute he steps into the room and is forced to interact with others like an actual, functioning human, he needs to step the fuck up and learn how to not be a misogynistic pig, or else I might run him over with that motorcycle myself.

DR. SAMIRA MOHAN

I don’t actually have anything bad to say about her. I will say though, that there was this one time I saw her and Dr. Abbot in a room together and I did have to make several double-takes just to check if I was seeing things correctly.

Again, I don’t want to wish ill will on anyone. If anything, she can join me in wanting to run Dr. Robby over with his motorcycle. God knows she needs it.

DR. FRANK LANGDON

If I think that Dr. Robby deserves to be run over by his motorcycle, I think that guy needs to be sent straight to hell directly.

He makes me irrationally angry, it’s actually impressive. There’s a reason he wasn’t in PTMC for a good chunk of the year, and even then, he came back like nothing had ever happened. No one will actually know what the fuck went down when he left, but just because everything got pushed under the rug doesn’t mean he’s exempt from criticism on his actions.

Honestly, there’s not much to say about him–there’s not much I want to say, actually, but whatever–except that ten months without him in the ED wasn’t long enough. He won’t ever live up to what he did, and I sure as hell won’t air it out, because I don’t do jobs that white men should be doing for themselves.

If he can apologize to his attending more times than I can count, then he can own up to his own mistakes to everyone involved. He can spew his “I’ve changed” bullshit to me all he wants, but until he grows a pair, he’s not my problem to think about.

DR. CASSIE MCKAY

Is it just me or has everyone seen her with that chain around her neck, standing like the strap is heavy?

DR. JACK ABBOT

Same sentiment as Dr. Mohan’s, honestly. If I cared enough about professionalism in the workplace I probably would’ve questioned it, but I don’t, so good luck for whatever those two are having!

He’s like Dr. Robby’s less evil, more tolerable counterpart. I don’t actually know if those two were fuckbuddies or in some sort of vile situationship years ago, but if they were, I’m impressed by Dr. Abbot’s ability to tolerate that actual manchild.

DR. BARAN AL-HASHIMI

Initially, I wanted to gouge my eyes out when I learned that we would have a new attending to report to, because Dr. Robby is already something else. But, Dr. Al-Hashimi, it seems I’ve grown quite fond of you. Although there are (slight) sexual urges, you have come to me in a distant dream, as if I have once picked apples with you in papa’s orchard.

OGILVIE

Truthfully, I don’t know or care enough to learn his first name. He has the same expression of a rat being run over sometimes, which is enough to make my insides feel like they’re all turning in on themselves. It’s like he exudes energy that’s pure evil. He pisses me off but he’s kind of tolerable in small increments, which is the nicest thing I think I can say about him.

I still do not understand how this hospital hired him, though. PTMC, are you ready to die.

DR. YOLANDA GARCIA

There are talks about unprofessionalism and decorum circling around her, and I can find myself agreeing on all of them, to an extent. Maybe she needs to keep herself in check while working on patients. Maybe she needs to find an accurate definition for what she labels things with. All of those can be true, but the thing is, I don’t really know if I can say anything about her.

Dr. Garcia is nothing if not annoyingly beautiful and brilliant at what she does. She’s one of the best surgeons PTMC has to offer, which makes it harder to find any flaws in her work. There are multiple accounts of patients feeling safer when she walks into the room, because she’s simply just that good. Hell, it’s not even patients–sometimes it’s even the people she works with.

When Dr. Garcia walks into the room, it’s like time stops. You know she’s not there just for you, but it kind of feels like she is. She’s a great teacher, but an even better doctor. She has this innate thing inside of her to just see you for who you are, even if it hurts sometimes. When she tells you something, it might not always be the thing you want to hear, but you take it to heart anyways.

She’s the type of person who could break your heart a thousand times over and you’d still find yourself running back to her. Willingly or not–when you look at her, you just know that you’re fucked. For better or for worse, I wish I could answer that, but I really can’t. You know she cares about you, so in that same, annoying manner, you sort of just want to hand over everything to her and let yourself be seen.

If it were up to me, I think I’d let her destroy any source of faith I’ve had, if only just so she’d be the one I turn to. She’s clever, caring, and kind–and sometimes I think it’s the kindness that can really fuck a person over. Maybe this entire passage is just a path towards trouble, I don’t know. What I do know, though, is that talking about Dr. Garcia isn’t just a shut and open case. It’s like trying to size the universe down entirely into something it’s not. She’s more than just a few words written on this shitty website, so, honestly, if my words have no merit then so be it.

I’d rather be wrong about her than not spend my entire life talking about her. Whatever.

Anyways, this entire thing was done in the name of journalism. On top of that, I think we need to stock more Monster in the break room vending machine, and I don’t think debriefings should exist. I think we should all lock the fuck in and bottle up our emotions. Thanks.

-

“Trin,” Dennis starts, completely unimpressed. “This reads like horrible, badly written Wattpad romance fanfiction.”

She stares back at her phone screen with PTMC’s website pulled up on the section she’d written about Yolanda. “...Yeah,” she concedes with a sigh. “It kind of does.”

-

Victoria facetimes her while she and Huckleberry are having dinner. It’s a loud, obnoxious affair that has Trinity’s cheeks hurting from laughing too hard over Victoria threatening to post the entire piece of text on some random online site, just to prove that Trinity’s writing seemed to fly a little too close to fanfiction.

It ends with Dennis having to catch his breath on the floor, shaking with laughter. Trinity’s phone is still propped up on the dining table with Victoria’s grainy figure doubled over, giggling at the joke Trinity had just said.

It’s so painfully domestic, and stupid, and toes the line of friendship a little too much, that Trinity ends up making fun of them for laughing so hard, until she eventually gives in and joins in with the laughter too.

-

Somehow, Trinity finds herself texting Mel later into the night.

It’s not that Trinity feels a little bad for leaving her out this time–okay, well, maybe she does feel a little bad, but that’s besides the point. She’s only texting because, in her five minute haze of writing all her thoughts on the ED, she’d forgotten that Mel still thought Langdon was sent from the heavens above.

She’s not going to completely rip the bandaid off. Trinity’s nicer than that, she swears. She’s just…going to warn Mel, since Crash had pointed out earlier that they were running on limited time, and sooner or later someone was going to notice that PTMC’s website wasn’t supposed to have a wall of text titled “The Pitt Hate Files”.

The text she sends to the group chat they share with Crash and Huckleberry goes a little something along the lines of, “hey mel, so we may have hacked into ptmc’s website earlier and we’re really sorry we didn’t include you but it mentioned langdon and i’m not sure what your stance on that guy really is.”

To which, Mel responds, in lightning speed: “Hello Trinity! Thanks for the heads up. I just checked the website, and oh wow, this is really impressive work. While I’m not sure what to think about all of this so soon, I do agree with your point on not owing Dr. Langdon anything. Have you ever considered becoming a journalist? This is very well written.”

Trinity can’t help it–a small smile is already forming on her face when she starts to type back a reply to Mel.

(She tells her, no, she’s never considered being a journalist. Then, it takes Trinity all of five seconds before she sends back another reply telling Mel that she’s probably her favorite co-worker in the entire godforsaken place).

-

The next day, Trinity’s on edge the minute she steps into the Pitt.

When she looks around, it seems to be like everything’s in order. It’s already a mess– and it’s not even seven AM. Dana’s already in the middle of everything, barking out orders like it’s the navy, and hell, it kind of already is.

(Robby is nowhere to be found. Neither is Langdon. Trinity can’t help but feel a little guilty at being glad that they aren’t here yet, but still–)

McKay sidles up next to Trinity, blowing out loose pieces of hair that fly in front of her face. “Hey,” she nods at her. “Have you seen the stuff some guy put out on our website? It’s a real trip. Any idea on who did it?”

That’s when Trinity knows she’s kind of fucked for today, but she just sucks in a breath and gives McKay a shrug, sending a lazy smile her way. “No fucking clue.”

-

Unsurprisingly, Gloria comes down from the upper levels of the hospital, looking pissed.

She’s already at Robby’s throat before Trinity can even blink. She isn’t even trying to eavesdrop, not when she has her own problems at hand, but when she walks by the pair to catch up on her charting, she hears a few words thrown around that sound remarkably similar to "misogynistic pig” and “hacked”.

From where she’s sat, Joy wrinkles her nose and takes a large swig out of her energy drink. “Should we be concerned that Dr. Robby is getting torn out a new one by his boss?”

“Doubt it,” Ogilvie sniffs. “The information being spread was just the final nail on the coffin. I always knew something was wrong with him from the start.”

“You’ve known him for a day,” Joy stares at him, long and hard. “Weren’t you also literally mentioned in it too?”

(If Trinity has to duck her head behind Dennis to hide the snicker she lets out, it’s nobody’s business–and it’s certainly not Ogilvie’s.)

“Well, it’s the principle of the matter,” Ogilvie, who Trinity has already dubbed in her head as the evil, more annoying version of Huckleberry, says with a shrug. “Plus aren’t you curious who leaked those things in the first place?”

Somehow, Joy looks even more disgusted at the matter. “Hell no. Not my people to worry about, not my problem.”

“Suit yourself,” he shrugs and gets up from his seat, humming a tune to himself as he walks away.

This isn’t her conversation, so Trinity just shares a look with Joy–one that definitely says, men, right?–before returning back to her charts.

Then, out of nowhere, Joy pipes up: “Great writing, by the way. That piece on Dr. Garcia was kind of weird, but I appreciated the part where you trash talked Ogilvie. God knows he deserves it.”

What the hell.

-

Later, an email from both Gloria and the HR department gets sent out to all of the ED stating something about “decorum” and how they should all “keep their emotions in check”. It’s no-nonsense, straight to the point, and expectedly doesn’t name any names, since Gloria had already cracked down on most of the people Trinity had stated on the website.

Still, it’s kind of hilarious to read over with Crash, Huckleberry, and Mel all crowding around her phone. No one had suspected any of them the entire day, and even if half of the ED had been sent into a frenzy because of the website, Trinity still thinks it’s the funniest thing that has ever happened to them.

The corner of Dennis’ mouth twitches slightly. “Oh Gloria’s so pissed.”

Victoria snorts, shaking her head. “I still can’t believe nobody got fired.”

Mel says, in true, Mel-like fashion: “Well- if Trinity got fired, she’d make a very good ghostwriter.”

Trinity just grins at all of them, spreading her arms wide as if to prove a point. “What can I say? Journalistic integrity fucking rocks.”

-

Langdon keeps giving her strange, side glances every time they run into each other. Trinity wants to chalk it up to the guy feeling remorse–but if anything, he’s probably read the website and is thinking about the fact that she’d openly written about how she believed that he needed to be sent to hell.

-

Robby fucks off for at least three hours for god knows where on his motorcycle. It’s probably the happiest Trinity’s ever seen Dr. Mohan in all of the ten months she’s known the woman.

-

By the end of the shift, Trinity finds herself back on the roof of the Pitt.

It’s not for any reason–or, at least, when she had come up here there wasn’t any clear thought running through her head. It’s just… quieter up here. The day had been hectic enough, even without the added stress of the website weighing down on her. 

Being alone with only her thoughts to focus on is calming. Repetitive. No one’s going to crucify her over it, not with her being up here, anyways.

So, Trinity slips off her stethoscope and hangs it on the railing separating her from the noise of city life below her. She hoists herself above the rails and feels her feet land on solid, smooth concrete. 

When she stumbles over her footing, her heart rattles in her ribcage and blood comes rushing back into her ears. Below her, Pittsburgh is still alive, breathing, and entirely oblivious to her presence above. If she falls, no one would catch her–but Trinity doesn’t want to think about that. Not tonight.

This is an all too familiar sight for her.

She’s not sure if she’s really here just for the quiet.

Trinity lets herself slide down on the roof’s floor, pulling her legs to her chest. She’s here for such a stupid reason that it’s almost laughable. Any therapist would have told her she’s acting crazy for beating herself up over something as little as badmouthing her superiors.

When she was younger, she used to climb all sorts of things around her home, and it drove her parents crazy. Her dad used to joke that Trinity’s love for gymnastics stemmed from her need to be moving all the time. If she didn’t climb, or run, or at least move her body, she’d start to go stir-crazy.

Right now, it’s a little like that, she guesses. She’s up here only because downstairs is loud, and bright, and messy. Everywhere Trinity had turned, there wasn’t an outlet quiet and large enough for her energy.

On the roof, it’s silent, save for the wind cutting through the chill of Pittsburgh’s evening air. Strands of her hair are blown into her face, but Trinity lets them stay there, too enamored by the quiet she’d been craving for all day to fix anything about herself.

It kind of backfires on her though, because Trinity’s too caught up in all her thoughts for her to hear the creak of the roof door open, while footsteps she can’t quite place gradually get louder and louder, until they stop right behind her.

“So you think I’m annoyingly beautiful, huh?”

Trinity freezes.

Realistically, she knows Yolanda would have found out about the website sooner or later. It’s not as if Trinity was trying to hide her identity, she’d just put a little too much of her faith into Crash, that the idea of getting caught was never present in her mind.

Right there and then, the words Trinity had written come back to her in an unwelcome haze. Things that she would have never told Yolanda directly–not after the casual comment, swirl in her mind, and for a moment Trinity wonders if that’s how it’s supposed to feel when you love somebody.

Without turning around, Trinity hums and leans against the railing, letting the back of her head rest against the cool metal. “You saw the website.”

“I did.” Footsteps shuffle behind her, and Trinity hears something heavy knock against the railing, before Yolanda’s climbing over the barrier and settling herself down beside Trinity.

There’s still a definitive amount of distance between them, but when Trinity wills herself to look up from staring at the Pittsburgh horizon, she notices that Yolanda had taken off her stethoscope too.

(She notices, too, that Yolanda’s hands are clasped firmly with each other. She isn’t initiating anything, but she isn’t pushing Trinity away again. It isn’t like the stairwell, but bile still manages to rise in Trinity’s stomach).

“For the record,” Trinity says, closing her eyes. She can’t do this. Not right now. “I didn’t hack into it. It was all Crash’s doing– well, Huckleberry was there too, but he’s more of like an unwitting participant.”

A beat of silence washes over them.

(Trinity doesn’t open her eyes.

She’s terrified that if she opens them, she’ll look beside her, and see that Yolanda’s left her again).

“Trinity,” Her name sounds distant on Yolanda’s lips. Like it’s both gentle and clipped at the same time. It’s a little strange knowing that ten months ago, she wasn’t Trinity to Yolanda, and she was just Dr. Santos.

“The thing about Dr. Abbot and Dr. Mohan is true by the way,” Trinity offers, hugging her legs closer to her chest. “I mean, I’m not actually sure if they’re doing anything but I did see them, so. If you ask Princess or Perlah, they probably know more than me.”

She hears something rustle and shift to her left, but Trinity doesn’t dare to open her eyes.

“Trinity,” Yolanda repeats. Her voice sounds closer now, almost as if they’re back in her bed, and nothing’s gone wrong, and Trinity hasn’t fucked everything up yet. “Trin, sweetheart- could you please look at me?”

Something in her stomach flips. “And…and Dr. Robby’s part isn’t just gossip. It’s real, I heard it from Perlah. Then I asked Dr. Mohan myself and she seemed like she wanted to strangle Robby, which made me want to get mad on her behalf because he sounded like such a dick. I, uhm, don’t actually want to run him over with his motorcycle though.”

She feels a slight nudge hit the toe of her left sneaker. She knows it’s Yolanda, asking for an invite in. She can’t– she just–

Trinity’s breath hitches when she feels Yolanda’s fingers settle on her thigh. They don’t move. They don’t even grab her. Her palm just stays on Trinity’s skin like an anchor. The touch is grounding, almost familiar.

It feels like late nights spent in her bedroom, and cooking dinner together, and shared looks in trauma rooms. It feels so, so, so intimate to Trinity that she can’t do anything but just want.

Trinity wrenches her eyes open and comes face to face with Yolanda looking at her like she’s really seeing Trinity for the first time.

“Hi,” she whispers, eyes softening when she catches sight of Trinity’s state. Her hand stays on Trinity’s thigh, waiting for more of an invitation to let her in. “You called me one of the best surgeons PTMC has to offer.”

Trinity shakes her head and laughs: a wet, ringing sound. “Dennis called it badly written fanfiction.”

Her voice is thick, almost undecipherable to her. Somewhere, between the minutes of finding herself up on the roof, and Yolanda joining her, Trinity hadn’t known that there were tears clouding her vision.

Suddenly, she’s all too aware of the mist in her eyes, and the words lodged in her throat, and Yolanda’s hand, still waiting on her skin. It’s too gentle, too soft–and Trinity isn’t used to anything that hasn’t hurt her before.

Yolanda scoots a little closer to Trinity, until she’s close enough to see the rise and fall of Trinity’s chest. She taps Trinity’s thigh, tilting her head at her. “Can I hold your hand?”

Trinity nods.

“I didn’t…” Yolanda trails off, before she takes Trinity’s palm into her own, the warmth of her hand enveloping her almost immediately. “I don’t want to be the sort of girl to break your heart a thousand times over,” is what she finally settles on. “I don’t think I could bear that. Just. Reading what you wrote, knowing it was you, knowing that this is how you felt about me, I can’t live thinking that I hurt you like that.”

Trinity moves to open her mouth–to say something, to take back all the words she’d written. They were shitty, but they were true. And if she has to lie to Yolanda just so she doesn’t have to see the pain Trinity’s scared she’s caused, then–

“No, Trin, it’s okay,” Yolanda stops her before she can even get a word out. “I don’t need you to explain yourself. Frankly, I don’t think I want you to. I just…I just want to see you.”

She thinks back to the words she’d written about Yolanda. About how sometimes, being with her felt like wanting to give her everything just so the woman could look past her faults and just look at her for who she is.

(Trinity feels a little sick, but, still. She glances at Yolanda, whose eyes are still incredibly soft, as if staring at Trinity is like staring right into the universe itself).

“I shouldn’t have told you what I did back in the stairwell,” Yolanda continues, wrapping her fingers around Trinity’s hand even tighter. “I don’t want to hurt you again. Not then, not now.”

“You didn’t-”

“I did,” she shakes her head. “I did hurt you. And I’m sorry. I can’t take back what I said, but this is me telling you that it won’t happen again. Realizing that I hurt you ruined something in me, and, shit, I don’t want to be in a world where I don’t get to be with you at every step.”

At that, Trinity does manage to let out another laugh that doesn’t sound like she’s five seconds away from breaking down into tears. “You called us casual.”

Yolanda grimaces, “Not my best moment, I’ll admit.”

“Are you fucking kidding?” Trinity snorts and lets Yolanda pull her body even closer to her own, until she’s practically about to fall right into the woman’s lap. “You walked away from me by going into that elevator without even looking back. That was evil.”

A finger comes up to flick Trinity’s forehead, and she recoils at the sensation, momentarily stunned. “What the fuck.”

But, Yolanda just sends a small smile at her and shrugs. “I have no idea how that happened.”

“Traitor,” Trinity grumbles. “All of you are traitors. You, and Huckleberry, and Crash- literally all of you are against me.”

Yolanda just presses a featherlight kiss to Trinity’s forehead and laughs, the sound reverberating throughout Trinity’s entire body. “Listen,” she says. “We’ll talk more about this later, okay? I don’t want to leave this just hanging between us.”

Which–okay, it sounds more than reasonable to Trinity, but: “Later?” she echoes.

A pause. Then, Yolanda reaches up to tuck away a loose strand of hair behind Trinity’s ear. “Do you want to come back home with me? We won’t do anything you don’t want to, but…I think I just want to be with you.”

Home.

(Trinity hasn’t been invited over to Yolanda’s place in three weeks. In all the time she’s spent hooking up in Yolanda’s bedroom, never has she once referred to the place as home.

With Yolanda, it’s different. When Yolanda looks at her, and sees her, and presses kisses to Trinity’s skin: she feels like home doesn’t have to just be one place for her).

“I’d like that,” Trinity murmurs softly, resting her head against Yolanda’s shoulder. “I want to be with you too, I mean. I want to come home with you.”

Yolanda nods and hums a little while Trinity’s leaning on her, never once letting go of her hand.

The sun dips lower into the horizon while the two of them stay there, transfixed by the bustle of the city below the building, and the serenity of the moment shared between them.

They’ll be okay.