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Trinity hasn’t spent this much time with her head in a toilet since she was a sophomore in undergrad. When she woke up at four in the morning with a greasy rolling in her stomach, she only made it to the small trashcan in her bedroom before emptying the contents of her stomach with a fervor that seems more fitting for the ER than her apartment. Since then, she’s alternated between puking her guts out and drifting in sweaty, restless sleep.
She knew she shouldn’t have trusted the leftover pho she and Huckleberry ordered last week, but yesterday’s shift had been hellish and all she wanted was something warm before she went to sleep. Serves her right..
Now, Trinity is contemplating if she should just sleep in the bathroom for the night. Her phone is somewhere in her bedroom, but she guesses it must be well into the evening by now. Maybe she could curl up on the cool tile and fall asleep, wake up tomorrow and leave this day as a distant memory. She starts lowering herself to lie on the floor when she hears several firm knocks on the front door.
Trinity freezes. Huckleberry spent his day off at the farm, doing whatever the hell it is he does there, and she already let him know he’s better off not coming home. There is absolutely no one who should be knocking on her door right now. Unless –
She hears the lock turn, followed by the front door opening. “Trinity?” Baran calls into the apartment.
Jesus Fuck. She thinks back to the texts she sent Baran this morning in the few precious moments between rounds of vomiting: can’t come in today followed shortly after by sick.
Of course Baran wouldn’t leave it at that. Trinity’s sure if she checked her phone right now, she would have at least ten messages from her girlfriend. She feels a little guilty, but more than that she is mortified. This is not how she wants Baran to see her.
As if her stomach hasn’t revolted enough today, it chooses that moment to heave, and she leans forward to vomit again. The sound must draw Baran to the bathroom, because in a moment she’s kneeling on the floor next to Trinity, rubbing her back.
“Oh, honey,” Baran murmurs.
Trinity retches pathetically, her stomach beyond empty. She hasn’t managed more than half a slice of toast and a glass of water all day. When she is done for the moment, she leans back from the toilet, and then Baran’s strong arms are around her, guiding her backwards.
“C’mere,” the older woman says, maneuvering Trinity into the space between her legs. Trinity doesn’t have the energy to resist, just slumps back into the cradle of Baran’s body.
“Have you been throwing up all day?” Baran asks.
“On and off, yeah.” Trinity realizes this is the first time she’s spoken today, her voice hoarse with irritation and disuse.
Baran hums. “Any other symptoms?”
“I feel like I got run over, but that’s about it.”
“Preliminary diagnosis?” It almost makes Trinity smile, the way Baran treats her as a respected physician even when she’s at death’s door.
“Bad pho,” Trinity says ruefully.
“Ah.”
Trinity thinks about the pho for a second too long and her stomach turns again. “I’m gonna be –”
Baran lets go with just enough time for Trinity to make it to the toilet. She has little more than stomach acid to get up now, and she whimpers as she spits. After a few more wet coughs, the muscles in her stomach relax just enough for her to think she might be done vomiting for a while.
Turning back to Baran, Trinity notices for the first time that the older woman is still in her scrubs, hair pulled back in a scrunchie. She must have come straight from work. The thought makes Trinity’s stomach flip in a way that doesn’t send her rushing back to the toilet.
Still, her mouth betrays her, saying, “You didn’t have to come.”
Baran’s gaze is fond and serious at once. “Of course I did. You text me that you’re sick and then don’t respond to any messages for the next twelve hours. I spent the whole shift trying not to freak out.”
“Baran Al-Hashimi freaking out? That I’d like to see.”
“Don’t tease,” Baran says firmly.
“I’m sorry.” Trinity feels shame rising in her throat, swallows it down. “I didn’t mean to worry you, but really, I was fine. I can take care of myself.”
Baran’s face softens. “I know you can. But you don’t have to.”
The exhaustion of the day hits Trinity full force then, and despite all of her hard-learned instincts, she scoots toward Baran, letting the older woman take her in her arms.
“I really don’t feel good,” Trinity mutters, cheek pressed against Baran’s scrub top.
“I know,” Baran soothes. “I’m here now.”
Trinity sags. The other woman smoothes the sweaty hair back from Trinity’s forehead. She is so warm, so solid, that Trinity thinks she might be able to fall asleep like this.
“Can I run you a bath?” Baran asks before she gets the chance.
Trinity can only nod. Baran helps her stand, closing the lid of the toilet before sitting Trinity on it. She turns the tap to start the bath, and then they work together to get Trinity’s clothes off. Luckily, Trinity is only wearing a faded Paramore t-shirt and a pair of boxers, but even so, she is panting by the time they strip her down. Baran guides her into the now-full bathtub, one hand on her elbow and the other arm around her waist.
It’s more vulnerable than Trinity anticipated, sitting naked in the tub while Baran perches on the edge, fully-clothed. She wraps her arms around her knees in a vain attempt to make herself smaller.
“Are you okay here for a few minutes?” Baran asks. Trinity nods again, not quite meeting Baran’s eyes.
Alone in the bathroom, Trinity unfurls her body and wills herself to relax. She has always preferred dealing with things alone rather than seeking comfort, learned at an early age that the comfort she sought usually turned out to be anything but. Logically, she knows Baran is different. Baran has proven herself to be different since the first day they met. It’s just hard to let go of the control she has been gripping so tightly for so many years.
When Baran returns, it’s with a stack of neatly-folded clothes and a plastic cup from the kitchen. She kneels on the floor beside the bathtub, stroking Trinity’s hair.
“Can I wash your hair?” Baran asks softly.
Trinity turns her head, forcing herself to look into Baran’s eyes this time. She searches her lover’s face and finds nothing but the soft, uncomplicated affection she has always found there. “Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, okay.”
Baran smiles. “Okay, eshgham. Head back.”
Trinity does as she’s told, tipping her chin toward the ceiling and closing her eyes. Warm water flows over her head as Baran wets her hair. She hears the squirt of the shampoo bottle, and then Baran’s fingers are at her scalp, massaging gently.
No one has washed Trinity’s hair since she was a little girl. The act is so gentle, and she is so exhausted, that she feels tears sting at the corners of her eyes. If Baran notices, she doesn’t say anything. Trinity loves her for that.
Baran rinses the shampoo from her hair. Trinity squeezes her eyes more tightly when soapy water runs down her temples. She keeps them that way as Baran puts conditioner in her hair.
It is easier to not have to look at Baran as they sit quietly, letting the conditioner soak in. This is more intimate than anything they have done in bed. Still, Trinity knows that not seeing is intimate in its own way, the knowledge that she trusts nothing bad will happen to her on Baran’s watch..
Trinity has begun to relax in earnest by the time Baran washes the conditioner from her hair. When she opens her eyes again, it is to Baran looking back at her. She cups Trinity’s face in her palm, thumb stroking over her cheekbone. Trinity nuzzles into Baran’s hand.
As much as she is loath to move, she knows she shouldn’t fall asleep in the bathtub. “I need to rinse my body after soaking in this sweat water.”
Baran laughs. “Do you want me to get in with you?”
“No, I can do it,” Trinity insists. “Just stay in here in case I fall, yeah?”
Baran helps her stand again, keeping both of Trinity’s hands in hers as bathwater swirls down the drain. When she seems convinced Trinity has enough balance to stand on her own, she lets her go and takes a step back. She only closes the curtain halfway, sitting on the lid of the stool where Trinity can still see her.
“A sparrow got into the ED today,” Baran tells her over the spray of the shower.
Trinity laughs incredulously, glad Baran can’t see the way the tensing of her stomach makes her wince. “What the fuck? How?”
“We have no idea. It took us over an hour to get it out. Did you know Javadi is terrified of birds?”
“Of course she is.” Trinity moves gingerly as she washes her body, muscle sorer than she had realized. “Too bad Huckleberry wasn’t there.”
“Why?”
“On our first day at PTMC he caught a rat in the ED and snapped its neck with his bare hands.”
“That’s…disgusting.” Trinity doesn’t have to look at Baran to know the exact way her nose is wrinkled.
“That’s Huckleberry.”
Satisfied that the grime of the day has been washed away, Trinity turns off the tap. Baran pulls the curtain back, already standing with a towel for Trinity to step into. She dries Trinity’s body with the same thorough attention she brings to all things. They go through their earlier motions in reverse, working in tandem to get Trinity into a fresh pair of pajamas. The effort leaves her out of breath again, and her stomach hurts like hell. She grips the counter as she brushes her teeth, Baran supervising.
She feels marginally better as Baran walks her to the bedroom, an arm around her shoulder to keep her steady. All she wants now is to crawl into bed and sleep off this terrible day. But as she steps into her bedroom, a keener sense of want washes over her.
Her room has been tidied, the bed freshly made. There is a bottle of Gatorade and a sleeve of crackers on her nightstand. On her bed, a hot water bottle and her laptop.
“You didn’t have to do all this,” Trinity says, blinking rapidly.
Baran helps her under the comforter. “Enough of that. I’m doing this because I love you, end of conversation..” Trinity presses her lips together to keep her treacherous mouth from trying to push Baran away. “Now, please at least try to get something in your system. I’m going to take a shower, and then I’ll come to bed.”
“Don’t you have a shift tomorrow?” she asks, an honest question this time.
Baran smoothes a hand over the comforter. “I’m not worried about it.”
“Okay,” Trinity says. Baran leans over her to kiss her forehead, and Trinity lets herself receive it.
Trinity settles into the warmth of her bed, hot water bottle on her stomach. As she opens the sleeve of crackers, she sees that Baran has Avatar the Last Airbender pulled up on her laptop. It’s like the other woman wants her to cry.
She had confessed to Baran, desperate in the middle of the night after hours of tossing and turning, that she often needs a show in the background to fall asleep. Baran doesn’t have a TV in her bedroom either, so that night they went out into the living room, where Trinity finally fell asleep in the soft glow of the screen with her head in Baran’s lap. It is unsurprising that Baran remembered, but a bit of a shock that anybody cares for her that much.
After taking a deep breath and pressing play, Trinity forces herself to eat a few crackers. She winces as she swallows, the edges rough against her irritated throat. The Gatorade goes down much easier, but she paces herself so as not to push her luck.
When she’s consumed all she can manage, she rolls onto her side, hot water bottle going with her. Her eyes are heavy now, and she shifts her hazy focus to the familiar episode playing on her computer screen.
Trinity is more than half asleep when Baran comes back into the bedroom. She lifts her head enough to see in the light of her laptop that Baran is wearing clothes pilfered from her closet, and if she had more energy this would send her into a frenzy. Instead, she lets out a deep exhale as Baran slides into bed behind her, curling around her back. Baran rests her hand over Trinity’s to hold the water bottle in place.
“How are you feeling now, love?” she murmurs.
“Tired,” is all Trinity can manage.
Baran kisses her shoulder and pulls her in closer. “I know you are.”
Trinity feels herself begin to drift off before a thought pops into her head. “Did you eat?”
“Yes, Trinity,” Baran laughs. “I ate on the drive here.”
“Good,” Trinity mutters.
“Sleep now. I’ve got you.”
To Trinity's surprise, that is all she needs to hear. She closes her eyes and lets the steady press of Baran’s breath against her back lull her to sleep.