Work Text:
Victoria swore the first note was just a joke. She thought it would be funny at first.
The ER was loud in the way only a day shift could be - phones ringing, stretchers rolling over tile, voices overlapping at the nurses’ station while monitors beeped in uneven rhythm. Sunlight spilled through the high windows above the waiting area, bleaching everything slightly too bright.
Victoria was halfway through charting when Trinity leaned over the counter beside her like she’d been summoned by the universe specifically to be irritating.
“Careful, Crash” Trinity said casually. “You keep scowling like that and patients are gonna think you’re the one who needs stitches.”
Victoria didn’t look up. “Don’t call me that.”
“Why? It’s accurate.”
Victoria finally turned and gave her a flat look. Trinity grinned like she’d just been paid. That grin was the problem. Trinity had the kind of confidence that made everything she said sound like a dare. Like she expected Victoria to react. Victoria refused to give her the satisfaction. So when Trinity finally wandered off toward trauma bay two, Victoria grabbed the nearest sticky note and a pen.
She wrote quickly.
Try doing your job instead of flirting with half the ER.
She stuck it to Trinity’s locker.
Petty.
Point made.
Trinity found it an hour later.
Victoria noticed because she was pretending not to watch.
Trinity opened her locker, paused, then peeled the note off.
Victoria braced for something - a sarcastic comment, a smirk thrown across the room. Instead, Trinity just hummed quietly. Then she folded the note in half and slipped it into her pocket.
Victoria frowned. That was not the reaction she’d expected.
**
The next shift was chaos from the moment they clocked in. Two car accidents. One allergic reaction. A kid with a broken arm screaming loud enough to rattle the vending machines. Somewhere between the second ambulance arrival and a frantic nurse asking for sutures, Victoria found herself grabbing another sticky note.
If you steal my pen again I will report you for crimes against humanity.
She stuck it onto Trinity’s coffee cup. Trinity discovered it mid-sip. She read it. Slowly. Then she looked up across the nurses’ station. Directly at Victoria.
Victoria immediately looked back down at her chart like it contained state secrets.
Trinity didn’t say anything. She just peeled the note off the cup, smoothed it flat and tucked it into her scrub pocket.
Again.
Victoria frowned harder.
**
By the third note, it was deliberate.
Stop smiling at me like that.
That one went on Trinity’s tablet.
Trinity found it during rounds. She raised one eyebrow. Then, without looking up, said casually, “You know, Crash, passive aggression is still aggression.”
Victoria didn’t even glance up. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you don’t.”
Another fold.
Another pocket.
**
The notes kept appearing.
Drink water for once in your life.
You’re impossible.
If you flirt with that paramedic again I swear-
Victoria told herself it was just stress relief. Day shifts were brutal. Sometimes you needed something stupid to break up the monotony. Except- She started carrying sticky notes in her pocket.
Just in case.
Trinity never threw them away. That was the strange part. She always found them. Sometimes immediately. Sometimes hours later. But whenever she did, she read them with this little amused smile and carefully folded them before slipping them somewhere safe.
Victoria tried to ignore that.
One afternoon, Trinity caught her mid-note.
Victoria was halfway through writing when a shadow fell over the counter.
“Well, well,” Trinity said.
Victoria looked up. Trinity was leaning across the desk, eyes flicking to the paper. “Is that for me, Crash?”
“No.” Victoria rushed to say as she slapped a hand over it.
“Looks suspiciously like my name.”
“You’re imagining things.”
Trinity leaned closer. “Let me see.”
“No.”
“Come on.”
“Go bother someone else.” Victoria shoved the note face-down and glared at her.
Trinity studied her for a second. “You’re cute when you’re territorial.” Then she grinned.
“I am not - ” But Trinity was already walking away, laughing. Victoria looked down at the sticky note again. It said:
You’re a menace to public health. She underlined it twice. Then, without thinking, she drew a tiny heart beside it.
She didn’t notice.
**
Weeks passed. The routine settled in.
Morning shift. Chaos. Coffee. Trinity calling her Crash at least five times a day and sticky notes appearing in increasingly creative places.
On Trinity’s lunch bag.
Inside her chart folder.
Once, inside a glove box in the supply room.
Trinity always found them. Always kept them.
Sometimes she’d glance over at Victoria after reading one, eyes bright with amusement.
“Morning, Crash.”
Victoria would scowl.
“Stop calling me that.”
“Never.”
Another note would appear the next day.
Then one afternoon Trinity said something that threw Victoria completely off. They were restocking supplies. Victoria was reaching for gauze when:
“You write nicer insults lately.” Trinity said casually
Victoria froze. “I don’t write insults.”
Trinity held up a folded sticky note. It read: Eat something that isn’t vending machine garbage.
“That’s concern,” Trinity said.
“It’s criticism.” Victoria said as she snatched the note back.
“Sure it is.” Trinity looked amused. Victoria felt strangely warm.
She hated that.
**
The day everything changed started like any other.
Busy. Overcrowded. Too many patients and not enough hands. By the time the shift finally slowed, the sun outside had softened into late-afternoon gold.
Victoria was exhausted.
She was halfway to the locker room when she realized something. “My stethoscope.”
“What about it?” said Trinity as she looked up from tying her hair back.
“It’s not in my bag.”
“Check trauma three.”
Victoria did. Nothing. Then Trinity snapped her fingers.
“Oh.”
Victoria turned slowly.
“You left it in my car earlier when we grabbed food.”
Victoria groaned.
“I’m heading home anyway. Come grab it.” Trinity grabbed her keys.
Victoria followed her outside, the late afternoon sun warm but fading. The hospital parking lot was half-full, the end-of-shift shuffle already starting as people trickled out.
Trinity’s car was parked near the far row.
Victoria leaned against the passenger door while Trinity unlocked it.
“Passenger seat,” Trinity said, tossing her bag into the back.
Victoria opened the door and spotted it immediately - her stethoscope tangled in the strap of Trinity’s bag. “Found it,” she said, lifting it out.
“See? Crisis averted.”
Victoria slipped it back into her bag. “Thank you.”
For a moment neither of them moved. The sky had turned that soft gold that happened just before evening settled in. Trinity tilted her head slightly. “You hungry?”
Victoria shook her head. “I ate earlier.”
“Movie then.”
Victoria frowned. “What?”
“My place is five minutes away. We just survived a twelve-hour day shift. Seems like a reasonable reward.” Trinity shrugged casually
Victoria hesitated. Spending time with Trinity at the hospital was one thing. It was loud there, busy - easy to hide inside the chaos. A quiet apartment and a movie felt - different.
Trinity watched her expression carefully. “Relax, Crash,” she said lightly. “I’m not proposing marriage. It’s just a movie.”
“You’re insufferable.” Victoria said as she rolled her eyes.
“Yet here I am, offering snacks.”
“Fine,” she muttered.
Trinity grinned like she’d just won something.
Trinity’s apartment building was older - brick walls, narrow staircases, the faint smell of someone cooking dinner somewhere above them.
“You can sit,” Trinity said as they stepped inside. “I’ll get the movie started.”
Victoria dropped her bag near the couch.
The apartment was small but comfortable - soft lamplight instead of harsh overhead lights, a worn couch that looked dangerously good for falling asleep on, and a couple of plants sitting by the window.
Trinity crouched by the TV stand. “Do you want a blanket?” she asked over her shoulder.
“You have blankets?”
“Rude.”
“You seem like the type to just suffer through being cold.” Victoria shrugged.
Trinity snorted. “There’s one in my bedroom,” she said, pointing down the short hallway. “Top of the dresser.”
Victoria sighed but headed down the hall. She pushed the bedroom door open. And stopped. Completely.
The wall above Trinity’s bed was covered in sticky notes. Dozens of them. Yellow. Pink. Blue. Some taped carefully. Some crooked. But every single one was unmistakable. Victoria’s handwriting.
She stepped closer slowly.
Stop stealing my pens.
Drink water for once in your life.
You’re impossible.
If you flirt with that paramedic again I swear -
Her chest tightened. She spotted the one with the tiny heart beside it. Her stomach dropped.
“Find the blanket?” Trinity called from the living room. Victoria didn’t answer. Footsteps approached. Then Trinity appeared in the doorway. She stopped when she saw Victoria standing in front of the wall. “Oh,” Trinity said quietly.
“You kept them.” Victoria whispered, as she turned slowly.
Trinity leaned against the doorframe. “Yeah.”
“All of them?”
“Yeah.”
Victoria gestured helplessly at the wall.
“They’re insults.”
“They’re from you.”
“That doesn’t make it less weird.” Victoria stared at her.
Trinity stepped into the room. “Most of them aren’t even that mean.”
Victoria pointed at one. “That one literally says you’re a menace to public health.”
“You underlined it with a heart.” Trinity grinned.
Victoria froze. She hadn’t even realized she’d done that. Her face warmed instantly. “I- that’s not-”
Trinity reached up and peeled one note from the wall. The first one. Try doing your job instead of flirting with half the ER. She held it between them. “You started this because I teased you,” Trinity said.
“You deserved it.” Victoria responded as she crossed her arms defensively.
“Maybe.” Trinity tilted her head. “But you wrote one almost every shift.” Victoria didn’t answer. Because that part was true. Because some mornings she’d written one before Trinity even arrived. Trinity stepped a little closer. “You know what I think?” she said quietly.
“What.” Victoria swallowed. Her throat suddenly dry.
“I think you don’t hate me.”
“I never said I hated you.” Victoria glanced back at the wall again. All those stupid notes. All that time Trinity had just quietly kept them. Something warm and unsettling spread through her chest. “You’re weird,” Victoria muttered.
“Yeah.” Said Trinity, as a soft smile painted her face. She stuck the first note back on the wall. Then she reached over Victoria’s shoulder and grabbed the folded blanket from the top of the dresser. “So,” Trinity said lightly. Victoria looked at her. “Movie?” Victoria hesitated. Then she nodded once. Trinity tossed the blanket toward her. Victoria caught it. “Careful, Crash,” she said. “At this rate you might actually start liking me.” Trinity smiled. Victoria rolled her eyes and walked past her toward the living room. But she didn’t miss the way Trinity glanced back once at the wall before following.
The movie ended up being terrible. Neither of them said it out loud, but about twenty minutes in it became obvious. The plot made no sense, the dialogue sounded like it had been written by someone who had never spoken to another human being, and the action scenes were loud enough that Trinity kept lowering the volume.
Victoria sat on one end of the couch, the blanket pulled loosely over her lap. Trinity had claimed the other side, one leg stretched out, the other tucked underneath her.
“Who approved this script?” Victoria muttered after the main character delivered a particularly dramatic line.
Trinity snorted. “Probably the same person who thinks vending machine sandwiches count as lunch.”
Victoria rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. For a while they watched in comfortable silence. Or at least - something close to comfortable. Victoria became aware of small things she had never noticed before. The way Trinity leaned forward slightly when something caught her attention. The way she ran a hand through her hair when she was tired. The faint smell of laundry detergent and hospital soap that seemed to follow her everywhere.
Victoria shifted under the blanket. Trinity noticed.
“You cold, Crash?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re stealing the blanket.”
“You gave it to me.”
“Doesn’t mean you get custody.”
Victoria huffed and tugged it slightly toward the middle. Trinity smiled faintly but didn’t argue. Eventually the movie ended with a loud, overly dramatic explosion. The credits rolled.
“Well,” Trinity said, stretching. “That was two hours of our lives we’ll never get back.”
Victoria stood and folded the blanket automatically. “You’re the one who picked it.”
“Hey, I warned you my taste in movies was questionable.”
Victoria hesitated. Her eyes drifted briefly toward the hallway. Toward the bedroom. Toward the wall of sticky notes. She looked away quickly. “I should probably head home,” she said.
“Yeah. Early shift tomorrow.” Neither of them moved immediately. Then Trinity walked her to the door. “Night, Crash.”
Victoria paused. “Stop calling me that.”
“Never.” Trinity grinned.
Victoria left before she could react.
**
The next morning shift started the way they all did. Too early. Too bright. Too much coffee. Victoria tied her hair back at the locker and headed toward the nurses’ station. Trinity was already there. Of course she was. Leaning against the counter with a cup of coffee and that same irritatingly relaxed posture.
“Morning, Crash.” Victoria ignored her. She set her bag down and reached into her pocket for her pen. Her fingers hit paper. Victoria frowned. She pulled out a small folded sticky note. Not hers. Her stomach did a small, unexpected flip. She unfolded it.
Good morning.
Try not to crash anything over today.
(get it?)
Victoria stared at the note. Slowly, she looked up. Across the station. Trinity was watching her. Trying - and failing - not to smile.
“You did not,” Victoria said.
“You started it.”
Victoria looked back down at the note. The handwriting was neat. Careful. Different from the rushed scrawl she usually left on Trinity’s things. “You’re copying me.” she finally said.
“Imitation is the highest form of flattery.”
Victoria crumpled the note slightly. “You’re impossible.”
Trinity tilted her head. “You’ve said that before.”
Victoria shoved the note into her pocket before she could think about why she wasn’t throwing it away.
The second one appeared two hours later.
Victoria opened a patient chart and a sticky note slid out.
Drink your coffee before it gets cold.
Victoria looked around immediately. Trinity was on the other side of the station pretending to listen to a nurse. Pretending very badly. Victoria marched over. “You went through my charts?” Trinity raised an eyebrow.
“I tucked it in the cover.”
“That’s still snooping.”
“You leave notes on my things all the time.”
“That’s different.”
“How?” Victoria opened her mouth. Closed it again. Trinity smiled slowly. “That’s what I thought.”
By lunch, the war had officially begun.
Victoria opened the fridge in the break room. A sticky note was stuck to her lunch bag.
This looks suspiciously healthy.
Are you feeling okay, Crash?
She grabbed another note and scribbled quickly.
Mind your business.
She stuck it to Trinity’s water bottle. Twenty minutes later, she found a reply on her clipboard.
Make me.
Victoria stared at it. Then laughed under her breath before she could stop herself.
**
Unfortunately, other people started noticing. It was bound to happen. The ER was many things. Subtle wasn’t one of them.
It started when Perlah - out of all people - picked up a sticky note that had fallen off the station desk. She read it out loud.
“Stop flirting with that paramedic again.”
Victoria lunged for it. “Give me that.” Perlah blinked. Then looked between Victoria and Trinity. Slowly.
“Oh.”
Victoria froze. Trinity leaned back in her chair, thoroughly entertained. “Oh?” she repeated.
Perlah grinned. “Oh.”
Victoria felt her face heat. “There is no ‘oh.’”
“Sure.”
“Crash gets very territorial.” Trinity coughed into her hand.
“Don’t.” Victoria pointed a warning finger at her. Trinity just smiled wider.
**
The next few days were ridiculous. Notes appeared everywhere. Victoria found one stuck to her locker.
You forgot your stethoscope yesterday.
Again.
I’m starting to think this is a strategy.
She left one on Trinity’s coffee cup.
Stop keeping track of my mistakes.
Trinity’s reply showed up inside Victoria’s supply drawer.
Impossible. You make them memorable.
Victoria spent the rest of the shift pretending she wasn’t smiling.
But the worst one - the absolute worst - showed up in the middle of a hectic afternoon.
Victoria was cleaning up at the bathroom after a messy case when she noticed a sticky note stuck to the edge of the sink.
She peeled it off.
You did good today.
Victoria blinked at it. That wasn’t teasing. That wasn’t sarcasm. That was just - She stepped out of the bathroom. Trinity was across the room helping Princess move equipment. When she glanced over and saw Victoria holding the note, she gave a small, casual shrug. Like it was nothing.
Victoria folded the note carefully and tucked it into her pocket.
That evening, things were quieter. The kind of lull that made the whole ER feel like it was holding its breath. Victoria was updating charts when something slid across the counter toward her. She looked up. Trinity. Of course.
“Delivery,” Trinity said.
Victoria picked up the sticky note.
You still owe me one.
“For what?” Victoria frowned.
“For yesterday.”
“What happened yesterday?”
Trinity leaned in slightly. “You came over.”
Victoria’s stomach did a small, annoying flip.
“That was for my stethoscope.”
“Still counts.”
Victoria grabbed a pen.
“What do I owe you?”
Trinity smiled.
“A better insult.”
Victoria wrote quickly. Then slid the note back. Trinity read it.
You’re a menace to workplace productivity.
Trinity huffed a quiet laugh. “That’s weak, Crash.”
“Your standards are too high.”
Trinity grabbed another sticky note. She wrote something. Folded it once. Then slid it back across the counter. Victoria opened it.
You’re cute when you’re trying.
Victoria choked on her coffee. “Absolutely not.” Trinity was already laughing.
The ER was closing down for the evening when Victoria discovered the last note of the day. It was inside her locker. Folded carefully. She opened it.
For the record…
I liked the first one best.
Victoria frowned.
The first one? Then she remembered. Try doing your job instead of flirting with half the ER
Victoria closed the locker slowly. Trinity was down the hall finishing paperwork. Victoria grabbed a sticky note from her pocket. She wrote something quickly.
Then walked over and stuck it on Trinity’s tablet.
Trinity glanced down. Then looked up at her. The note said:
Stop keeping my notes.
“Why?”
Victoria hesitated. Because the real answer was complicated. Because the idea of them pinned to Trinity’s wall did strange things to her chest. Because she wasn’t sure she hated it. “Because it’s weird.” she said, instead.
Trinity considered that. Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small stack. Dozens of folded sticky notes. Every single one Victoria had ever written, today. She tapped them against the desk. “Too late, Crash.”
Victoria stared. “You carry them with you?”
“Most days.”
“Why?”
Trinity looked at her for a moment. Then she pulled out one note and stuck it gently onto Victoria’s sleeve. Victoria looked down.
Because they’re from you.
Victoria didn’t say anything. Neither did Trinity. The ER hummed quietly around them. Finally, Trinity smiled slightly. “So,” she said. Victoria looked up. “You gonna leave me another one tomorrow?” Victoria pulled a sticky note from her pocket. She wrote something. Then stuck it onto Trinity’s shoulder. Trinity glanced down to read it.
Maybe.
Trinity’s grin came back immediately.
“Good.”
Victoria turned away before she could smile back. But she didn’t miss the way Trinity carefully peeled the note off and folded it - slowly, like it mattered - before slipping it into her pocket.
**
The next morning Victoria found the note before she even saw Trinity.
It was stuck to the inside of her locker.
Just one small yellow square.
She stared at it for a second before peeling it off.
You look less grumpy when you sleep. Just saying.
Victoria exhaled slowly through her nose. She folded the note once. Then again. Then slipped it carefully into the pocket of her scrubs.
When she stepped out into the ER, Trinity was already at the nurses station, leaning against the counter with a cup of coffee.
“Morning, Crash.”
Victoria didn’t answer. She just walked past her. Trinity watched her go with a small, knowing smile.
The shift got busy quickly. A fall injury. A bad allergic reaction. A man convinced he was having a heart attack because he had Googled his symptoms - he wasn't. Surprising, huh? Convincing him, he was actually not having a heart attack, took way too much time of her day.
Victoria didn’t think about the note again until she reached for a pen in the middle of charting. Another sticky note slid out of her pocket. Not the same one. This one was pink. She frowned and opened it.
Drink water. You forget.
Victoria glanced across the room. Trinity was helping Joy adjust an IV line. She didn’t even look over. Victoria folded the note slowly. And added it to the other one.
By lunch, Victoria had three. The third one was stuck to the handle of her coffee mug.
You’re on your third cup.
This is not hydration.
Victoria rolled her eyes. What a hypocrite, if Victoria were to open up Trinity, she was sure, she would find coffee instead of blood. The girl was a walking cup of coffee.
Then she grabbed a pen and wrote a reply.
Stop monitoring my caffeine intake.
After a moment of hesitation, she added
hypocrite.
She stuck it to Trinity’s tablet. Twenty minutes later she found the answer.
Make me.
Victoria shook her head. But she still folded the note.
And kept it.
**
It became a routine.
Notes appearing in strange places. Inside chart folders. Tucked into pockets. Once even stuck to the inside of a glove box. The messages stayed teasing. But something about them had shifted. They weren’t just insults anymore. Sometimes they were observations.
You looked tired today.
That patient liked you.
Try not to skip lunch.
Victoria kept every single one.
At first she shoved them into her locker. Then one day she found herself smoothing one flat before folding it. Eventually she started bringing them home. She told herself it was just because she didn’t want to lose them.
That explanation felt - lacking.
**
One afternoon Trinity caught her again.
Victoria was standing at the counter writing something quickly when a shadow fell across the desk.
“Well, well,” Trinity said.
Victoria froze. Not again. Her hand instinctively covered the note.
“Is that for me, Crash?”
“No.”
“I thought we were past you lying to me.” A pout adorned Trinity’s face.” I’m hurt.”
“Fuck off” Victoria ignored the “ouch” Trinity lead out. She moved her body to cover the note, as Trinity leaned closer. Try to ignore the smell of antiseptic and something very Trinity.
“Let me see.”
“No.”
“Come on.”
“Go bother someone else, Santos”
Trinity studied her face for a second.“You’re cute” she said. “Never change, Crash.”
“I am not.” Victoria felt her ears warm.
Trinity only laughed and walked away. Victoria looked down at the note. It read
Stop making me feel like this. I don't understand it.
She stared at it for a moment. Then scratched till the words dissapeared.
Later that day, Victoria opened her locker. A sticky note fell out. She caught it before it hit the floor.
You keep them.
Victoria froze. She flipped the note over. On the back was another line.
I noticed.
Her chest tightened slightly. Across the ER, Trinity glanced up. Their eyes met. Victoria folded the note slowly. And slipped it into her pocket.
**
The tension between them became harder to ignore. It showed up in small moments. The way Trinity’s gaze lingered a little longer. The way Victoria noticed when Trinity wasn’t around.
One evening near the end of a shift, Victoria found a sticky note tucked inside her stethoscope case. She opened it carefully.
Movie night again?
Victoria stared at the words. Her pulse did something strange. She looked across the room. Trinity was leaning against the counter, pretending to read a chart. Victoria grabbed a pen. She wrote something quickly on the back. Then walked over and stuck it onto Trinity’s tablet. Trinity glanced down. Then looked up. The note said:
Maybe.
Trinity’s smile appeared slowly.
“Careful, Crash.”
Victoria raised an eyebrow.
“About what?”
Trinity tapped the note. “At this rate,” she said quietly, “you might actually start liking me.”
Victoria rolled her eyes.
But she didn’t deny it.
Maybe Trinity was right. Maybe they really were past the point of Victoria lying to her - and to herself.
Later that night, when Victoria got home, the apartment felt unusually quiet. She dropped her bag on the kitchen chair and kicked off her shoes. For a moment she just stood there. Then she walked over to the small drawer in her desk and pulled it open. Inside was the growing stack of folded sticky notes. More than she had realized.
Victoria sat down slowly and picked one at random. Then another. Her fingers moved through them carefully, smoothing out the creases before folding them again. Eventually she found the one she was looking for. The first one Trinity had ever left her. The yellow square was slightly crumpled from being carried around in her pocket all day. Victoria unfolded it.
Good morning.
Try not to crash anything over today.
(get it?)
Victoria stared at the handwriting for a long moment. She could almost see Trinity leaning against the nurses’ station, trying not to smile while she read it. A small laugh escaped her before she could stop it. She folded the note again. Carefully. When she stood up, she didn’t feel quite as certain about one thing anymore.
Maybe Trinity was right. Maybe she was starting to like her.
Victoria sat on the edge of her bed, the first note still folded neatly in her hand. Her fingers traced the crease absently, heart still thudding from remembering Trinity’s grin, her teasing tone, the way she had watched Victoria read it earlier.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. A message from Trinity:
Don’t stay up too late, Crash. Movie night tomorrow?
Victoria smiled faintly, sliding the phone aside. Her chest felt warm - an odd, fluttering warmth she wasn’t sure she wanted to admit.
The next day at the ER, everything was the same. Chaos. Coffee. Phones ringing, stretchers rolling. Trinity, of course, was already leaning against the counter, that grin playing at the corners of her mouth.
“Morning, Crash,” she said. Victoria just stared. Trinity’s eyes sparkled as she caught Victoria’s gaze. “No notes, today?
Victoria’s ears burned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you don’t.”
By the end of their shift, the notes had piled up again - Victoria’s carefully folded insults, Trinity’s teasing replies. But neither of them was writing anymore. Instead, there were long glances across the station, small smiles, and the quiet electricity of things left unsaid.
When the ER finally quieted, Trinity leaned against Victoria’s locker. “Movie night?”
“Yeah. Your place?”
The apartment was warm and dimly lit. Trinity handed Victoria a blanket, and they settled on the couch.
For a long while, they didn’t speak, only letting the movie play in the background. Victoria felt Trinity shift closer under the blanket. She didn’t move away.
“Crash?” Trinity’s voice was soft.
“What?”
Trinity’s hand brushed Victoria’s under the blanket. Just a quick, tentative touch. Victoria’s stomach lurched.
“You know,” Trinity said, voice low, “I kept the notes because I wanted you to see them. All of them. Even the mean ones. I didn’t want you to think I didn’t notice you.”
Victoria’s breath caught. She had expected teasing, jokes, sarcasm - but not honesty.
“I kept yours too,” Victoria answered, looking straight at her. “Every single one.”
“ I know.” Trinity leaned in slowly. “ I noticed.” Victoria’s heart was hammering. She could feel Trinity’s hand still brushing hers. “Are you going to fight me, or- ” Trinity trailed off, her grin softening into something more vulnerable. Victoria hesitated for the barest second. Then, because she couldn’t stop herself, she leaned in. Their lips met softly, carefully, a mix of teasing and longing, the kind of kiss that made all the notes - the teasing, the insults, the folded reminders - feel like they had been leading up to this exact moment.
Trinity laughed quietly against her lips. “Finally,” she whispered.
Victoria smiled into the kiss, her hands finding Trinity’s shoulders, then her back. “You gonna stop calling me Crash now?” she murmured.
“Never,” Trinity said, grinning against her lips before deepening the kiss.
The couch, the blanket, the quiet apartment- it all disappeared except for the warmth between them, the notes still stacked neatly nearby, waiting for another day.
For the first time, Victoria didn’t mind the teasing. She didn’t mind the chaos. She just wanted this - Trinity, her grin, the soft pressure of lips against hers, and the knowledge that maybe, just maybe, this was only the beginning. The notes had led them here. And somehow, Victoria knew she wouldn’t be throwing any of them away.
**
The ER was just waking up on a Monday morning. Victoria tied her hair back, grabbed her coffee, and noticed a small sticky note already waiting on her locker.
Morning, Crash.
Victoria rolled her eyes - but smiled. She peeled it off. On the back, in tiny handwriting:
You look dangerously awake today. Be careful with the IVs.
She tucked it into her pocket and muttered, “Impossible,” under her breath.
Trinity appeared seconds later, leaning casually against the counter with her own coffee. “You reading my notes again?”
“Don’t know what you are talking about.” Victoria smirked.
“Sure you don’t.” Trinity grinned
The day unfolded with the usual chaos - monitors beeping, stretchers rolling, phone calls blaring - but between patients, between charts, the notes kept appearing. Victoria found one stuck to her water bottle:
Don’t forget to eat something, Crash.
She immediately grabbed a pen and replied, leaving it on Trinity’s tablet:
Drink something else besides coffee.
Trinity picked it up mid-shift, glanced at Victoria, and winked.
By the end of the day, Victoria had a small pile of folded notes in her pocket - Trinity’s teasing remarks, small compliments, and little reminders. And somewhere in there, Victoria realized, were hints of affection hidden beneath the sarcasm.
That evening, they ended up at Trinity’s apartment again. They sprawled on the couch, the blanket between them, notes scattered on the coffee table like confetti.
“You’re impossible,” Victoria said, folding one into a neat square and tucking it into her pocket.
“You love it,” Trinity said, leaning in to steal a quick kiss.
Victoria laughed quietly. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?” Trinity repeated, grinning. “Careful, Crash. At this rate, I might start thinking you like me more than you admit.”
Victoria rolled her eyes - but the warmth in her chest betrayed her. “Don’t push it.”
Trinity leaned closer, resting her forehead against Victoria’s. “Too late,” she whispered.
And just like that, the notes - petty, teasing, utterly ridiculous - were no longer just reminders of tension or territory. They were proof. Proof that every playful jab, every sarcastic comment, every tiny heart on a sticky note had led to this: them, here, together, laughing, teasing, and maybe - just maybe - falling a little more in love every day.
Victoria folded the last note on the table, smiled at Trinity, and whispered, “Don’t think this means you’re off the hook tomorrow.”
Trinity laughed, capturing Victoria’s lips in a soft, lingering kiss. Victoria finds a note on her coffee cup:
Drink water before you yell at anyone, Crash.
She grins, writes a reply on a yellow square, and sticks it to Trinity’s scrub pocket:
Only if you promise not to steal all the pens.
Trinity reads it mid-round, smirks, and tucks it into her pocket.
**
The notes kept coming. On on wednesday.
Victoria opens her locker to find a tiny pink note tucked between folders
That patient liked you. Don’t let it go to your head.
Victoria laughs quietly and adds one to Trinity’s lunch bag:
Jealous much?
When Trinity opens it later, she snorts into her sandwich.
Another one on Friday.
Trinity is at the nurses’ station, finishing charts, when a sticky note slides across the counter. Victoria’s handwriting, neat and precise:
You owe me a coffee.
Trinity picks it up and writes back immediately:
Make it a latte or you’re out of luck.
Victoria folds the reply, slipping it into her pocket, heart beating just a little faster.
On Tuesday, the next week.
Victoria reaches for her stethoscope and finds a folded note inside the case:
Good luck today, Crash. Don’t actually crash anyone.
She smiles softly, tucks it in her pocket, and later places a note on Trinity’s locker:
Try not to flirt with every patient. I’ll notice.
Trinity finds it mid-shift, laughs quietly, and adds a reply the next morning:
Now who’s jealous, huh?
Victoria reads it, cheeks warming.
On saturday night.
Movie night at Trinity’s apartment. The blanket is between them, the couch slightly messy, the coffee mugs half-full. Victoria unfolds a note from her pocket:
You’re cute when you glare.
Trinity looks up, smiles, and tucks it behind Victoria’s ear.
Victoria’s response
You’re impossible.
Trinity laughs, presses a soft kiss to her temple.
Victoria runs out of space to keep them in her drawer.
They end up on her wall.
By the end of the week, Trinity’s hallway is full of sticky notes. Whitaker doesn't know what to think of it.
He’s not sure he really wants to know.
**
It was a quiet Thursday evening. The ER had finally settled - phones were silent, stretchers cleaned and wheeled away, monitors ticking steadily in the background. Victoria was organizing charts, her scrubs wrinkled, hair pulled back in a careless knot. She found a sticky note tucked between patient folders.
It was yellow. Small. Neatly folded.
She opened it.
Crash, I love you.
Victoria froze. Her heart jumped in her chest. I love you. The words were so simple, so bold, so - utterly unexpected. Her fingers trembled slightly as she unfolded the note fully.
She didn’t need to look up to know Trinity was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, a faint, nervous smile on her face, watching her reaction.
Victoria’s throat felt tight. Her mind raced. For months they had teased, argued, written notes back and forth that were part joke, part confession. And now, it was just there - words she hadn’t dared hope for.
Slowly, carefully, Victoria grabbed a pen. Her hand shook just a little. She wrote:
I love you too.
She folded it neatly and walked across the nurses’ station, holding it out to Trinity. Trinity’s eyes widened. Then, in the quiet hum of the ER, she laughed softly - relief, disbelief, happiness all tangled together - and pressed the note against Victoria’s chest. Before either of them could overthink it, Victoria reached up and pulled Trinity close. Their foreheads touched. Breaths mingled. Hearts pounding.
“I mean it,” Trinity whispered against her lips.
“I know,” Victoria replied.
Then their lips met. Soft at first, hesitant, but full of everything they’d been holding back—the teasing, the frustration, the longing, the care. A kiss that said more than any note ever could.
When they finally pulled back, Trinity rested her forehead against Victoria’s again, smiling.
“Crash,” she murmured.
Victoria laughed softly. “Never gonna stop calling me that, huh?.”
“Nope” Trinity said.
“You are impossible” Victoria said. A smile on her slips.
“Yup” Trinity answered without missing a beat. “You love me anyways.”
“Dom’t know what you are talking about.” Victoria answered, as she moved away, they were at work after all.
“Sure you don’t.”
And for the first time, surrounded by the quiet of the ER after a long day, with a pile of folded notes in her pocket, Victoria felt completely, utterly at home.