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Baby Jane’s cheeks are still a bit damp and ruddy, but even as Trinity watches, she quiets down with a little whimper. Her eyes are big and wet and trusting. When Trinity draws her hand back from her stomach, she gurgles up at her and starts wiggling around.
Well, she’s cute. Trinity will give her that much.
“Sheesh,” she mutters, hanging her head with her forearms still resting on the plastic crib’s edges. “You’ve got some lungs on you, kid.”
Baby Jane blinks up at her and then coos, kicking her little feet. Despite her exhaustion, Trinity can't help but smile down at her again as she watches.
It's the vulnerability that's always made her so unsure about infants specifically; small children, at least, can be spoken to. Things can be explained to them, they can understand that there's something wrong but the doctors are going to fix it. But babies… babies don't know any of that. As far as they're aware, that little pinprick on their heel or the pain in their stomach is the worst thing that's ever happened to them. There's no explaining it away, no comforting them through it.
And Trinity hates feeling helpless, especially when it comes to her patients.
"Well, that was a surprise."
Trinity jumps, one hand still clutching at the crib as she whirls around to find Jesse pulling gloves one-handed from the box on the wall, one side of his lips quirked up. He has a dose of Tylenol in his other hand, and as he walks back over he places it all on the nearest tray.
"Jesus," Trinity breathes, willing her heart rate down.
"Jesse. But close enough."
He tugs the gloves on, watching Baby Jane as he does so. She's calmed down significantly, and swaddled up as she is there's really no way for her to start fussing. She doesn't seem like she plans on screeching again any time soon, so Trinity hesitantly takes a step back. She has all of her charting to get done, and Jesse seems like he's got this—
"You wanna hold her up a bit while I give her her Tylenol?" Jesse asks wryly without looking up.
Ah, fuck. Clocked.
"Yeah," she mutters, and moves back in. Together, they lift up Baby Jane enough so that Jesse can give her the little squirt of medicine into her mouth with the syringe. She smacks her lips and shakes her head a tiny bit at the taste, but takes the medicine easily enough in the long run. It makes laying her back down that much more of a relief.
"So," Jesse says as he tosses the syringe into the bio bin, "I assume that performance is going to be our little secret."
It's hard to explain Jesse's voice. There's a rasp to it that perfectly blends with the higher tone he speaks in. Not quite melodic, but definitely unique, and certainly explains why he takes care of plenty of the pediatric patients. He's not necessarily easy to get along with at the best of times, given that they both have pretty sharp personalities, but Trinity's found that if you catch him at the right time, Jesse's actually kind of… well, nice to talk to, if not easy.
Except for right now, when he's caught her doing something incredibly embarrassing.
"Yeah, I'd super appreciate it?" She half-closes one eye in a desperate attempt to appeal to whatever kindness he has that'll keep this under wraps. "I mean, I don't really plan on putting on a concert for the peds ward or anything anyway, but…"
Jesse scoffs lightly, returning his attention to Baby Jane.
"I won't tell anyone," he says, though his voice has dropped in volume as he fits the blanket around her a bit more comfortably. Still, one of her arms wiggles out, and Jesse gives her a few playful taps with his fingers on her hand in an unknown beat. "It was a nice song, though. Calmed her down pretty quick."
This is the last conversation that Trinity could ever possibly want to have, let alone with someone at work, so she tries to veer to the side as quickly as she can with the conversation. Honestly, Jesse going around telling everyone about her singing to a baby would be the cherry on the crap cake of her day, and she's hoping she can fend it off before it happens, even if he said he wouldn't.
"You're, uh, you're really good with kids," she tries to point out casually, watching as Jesse taps that little rhythm up Baby Jane's arm to peels of laughter. "Like, I wouldn't have expected that."
“I worked in peds for a good while,” Jesse shrugs, as if it's no big thing. "It got to be a little much, though, so I moved down here."
“…oh.”
Jesse's eyes flick up at her from where he's still bent over the crib, and immediately Trinity can tell that she's being assessed. He'd said the admission as casually as if he'd tacked on and then I got a Pepsi afterwards, too, but there's something about Jesse of all people saying anything could be a little much that makes Trinity wonder what the full story is.
"You thinking about peds?" he asks, like he's asking about the weather.
"Surgery," Trinity stresses carefully. "And emergency medicine. Double residency."
Jesse whistles low, finally straightening back up. He doesn't say anything else after that, instead moving to add Baby Jane's vitals to the iPad. Trinity wonders if she might be able to back out of the room again, but once she's near the door she can't help herself.
"Is peds… worth it?" she finally asks, thinking of how Baby Jane had settled when Trinity had sung that lullaby for her. It had made her feel something deep in her stomach, something new, and Jesse—for all his dry attitude and sarcasm—is enough like her that his opinion on it could mean a lot.
"Complicated question with a complicated answer," Jesse replies, turning the iPad screen off and turning back to her. "You see the worst of people when you work in peds. I'm not gonna sugarcoat that part. And I've seen how you handle some of those cases."
Trinity nods, looking down at the floor. Yeah. She figured that.
“…but,” Jesse says, drawing the word out, “there’s… a bright side too, I guess. Helping kids who wouldn't get it otherwise."
There's a silence that follows, broken only by Baby Jane's babbling and cooing. They both look down at her, at this helpless little thing left alone in the middle of a big world that won't protect her. Her eyes are big and trusting as she looks between the two of them.
"You know, I sang to them a couple of times, too," Jesse finally says, looking up at Trinity again. His ability to say the most insane shit with a straight face is pretty impressive, Trinity thinks. "When it helped. Bunch of times, actually. So yeah, it's kinda embarrassing to get walked in on, but not unusual. They like it."
"You sing?" Trinity asks, trying to avoid a conversation she doesn't want to have and failing. "You seem the rock and roll type, I guess. Makes sense."
Jesse snorts at that.
"And drums," he clarifies, resting his crossed arms on the edge of the crib the same way she had done. "My neighbors love me."
That gets Trinity to laugh, even if it's more of a rush of air through her nose than any actual giggling. She shakes her head as she looks down at Baby Jane again, tilting her head. Baby Jane just kicks her legs from beneath the blanket and gurgles again, and Jesse reaches out with an ungloved hand to tap lightly against her chest to get her to let out a little baby giggle.
"What was it?" he asks, and then, "The song, I mean."
"Uh," Trinity says eloquently, and scratches at the back of her head. She can feel her cheeks turning red. "It's, um, it's called Ili-Ili, Tulog Anay. Just a lullaby."
Jesse considers that, and then says, "Props for singing an actual lullaby. My audiences got more 80s inspired performances than anything else. Hair metal, glam rock, you get it."
That startles her into a chuckle before she manages to smooth her face into something more neutral.
"Bet they all grew up with a stellar taste in music, then," she replies, adding just enough sarcasm onto it.
And that earns her a smile. A real smile. Not a wry sort of grin, or a smirk, or all the other ways she’s watched Jesse express himself. Just a gentle, heartfelt smile as he lets Baby Jane wrap her chubby fingers around one of his.
“Oh my god,” Trinity blurts out, a delighted shock unfurling in her chest. “Oh my god. Wait. Ten months and I only just now find out that you’re a big old softie?”
Jesse shoots her a dry look, eyes squinting enough that it drops the smile from his face. He studies her, studies her stunned grin and her widened eyes, and then finally sighs to himself.
“Yeah, well,” he mutters ineffectively, turning back to Baby Jane and playfully wiggling his finger still caught in her hand, “There are worse things to be called, I guess.”
"Please tell me you have pictures," she says when they finally make their way out of the room and back into the hub. Somehow, she feels a little closer to Jesse from those few minutes with Baby Jane than she has in nearly the year she's spent working here. "Like, please tell me you had the hair. Like, Age of Aquarius hair. KISS makeup. Like the whole shebang."
He peers at her from the corner of his eye, sizing her up for a long moment.
"Maybe," he says, and there's almost a teasing quality to that not-quite-musical tone of his. "How about we just survive to the end of this shift, and then we'll see what happens."
"Deal," Trinity says immediately, jumping on the chance. "And I won't even tell anyone. Scout's honor."
"Yeah, I'm not too worried about that," Jesse replies easily, right before they part ways to head to different rooms. It's one of the easiest conversations she's had all day, with one of the last people she'd expect to have it with. "I've got that lullaby in my back pocket, too, you know."
Trinity grins despite herself, saluting with two fingers. She feels lighter.
"Fair enough."