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Doctor Trinity Santos’ first day at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center was eventful. Between one of her seniors being a complete asshole to her (and stealing drugs from the hospital) and Pittfest, the day left much to be desired. The one thing that Santos could thank the day for was the pleasure of meeting Doctor Yolanda Garcia.
It started with a forearm fasciotomy. “She’ll hold the blade, I’ll cut.” Garcia motioned for the scalpel to be handed to Santos.“10 blade to Doctor Santos.”
Santos accepted it, and Garcia placed her hand over the intern’s. “We’ll start proximal.”
“How much pressure?”
“Just about this much. Mm-hmm. Through the skin and sub-q.”
She still remembers how Garcia’s voice sounded in her ear, how it softened slightly as they began the procedure. How Garcia’s hand guided hers as they sliced through the patient’s skin and fat. It felt like that pottery scene from Ghost except less clichéd. Was it wrong for Trinity to feel her heart race at this when a patient’s life was at risk? Maybe, but she couldn’t care less then.
Then it continued with instructions for Santos to call Garcia about labs and CT results (Santos, specifically. No one else. Just Santos. It made her feel special). The unmistakable look in Garcia’s eyes, her irritated expression visibly softening into a fond one, when she defended her fuck-up of giving a patient a BiPAP. “Honest mistake by the rookie.”
Their banter was fun. It was punchy and fast and made Trinity swoon. But she couldn’t admit that out loud, so she settled on shutting up and matching whatever Garcia put on the table.
“Prep for a chest tube. 20 French.”
“I would love to do the chest tube.” Trinity’s never done one before, and it’s one of the many things she was looking forward to. She shot a nervous smile at the surgeon.
She received a reassuring one back. “You got it. I'll guide you.”
“10 blade to Doctor Santos.”
“There’s a lot of breast tissue.” The real-life application of a procedure she learned in a textbook, and then in a simulation lab, was so much more different than she expected. Self-doubt settled in, but Garcia’s voice took her out of it.
“Focus on the chest tube.”
“Fifth intercostal space, anterior axillary line," Santos announced before cutting into the patient.
“Perfect. Long Kelly next.”
She handed the scalpel off to switch it out for the forceps. A blur of silver flew from her hand and landed right on Garcia’s foot. It was like a dart aiming for a bullseye. It happened so fast. Her grip must have been loose or she was nervous about doing a chest tube for the first time or she just got this way around Garcia or…
“Fuck!”
“Oh, my god. Are you okay?” Her voice was shaky, and she was completely thrown off.
Santos bent down, reaching to pull the blade and handle out of the surgeon before getting interrupted. “Leave it!”
“Okay, I’m stepping in," Robby intervened.
“No. You’re not gloved. I got this.”
Trinity stuttered in an attempt to explain herself or salvage the situation. Either way, it did not work.
“On my own," Garcia clarified as she expertly inserted the chest tube into the slit.
“Glove up," she directed towards Whitaker, who was observing from the sidelines. “You’re sewing this in.”
Once the patient stabilized, Garcia urged Santos to come with her. “You, follow me.” The resident followed the surgeon as she limped out of the room into an empty cubicle.
“I totally fucked up.”
“Tell me something I don't know.” Garcia adjusted the bed, and Santos drew the curtain behind them. “You're confident. That's good. But there's a fine line between confidence and cockiness.”
“Should I draw your blood?”
“You already did.”
“Yeah, I-I mean for the HIV and hepatitis panels.”
“No, I'll have Dana do it after the wound repair.” She groaned softly while peeling her sock off to assess the wound.
“C-can I suture for you?”
“Hell, no. I'll do it myself. You can assist.” She called out her instructions quickly. The intern followed, compliant and eager to make up for her mistake. Garcia liked that.
—
When Garcia said she could make up for the whole scalpel-in-foot thing (and the Langdon thing, though neither of them said it out loud) with a drink, Trinity took her chance.
A cocktail turned into a one-night stand. A one-night stand turned into multiple nights. Sometimes even consecutively, even when either of them had shifts the next day. It just kept happening. Trinity would find herself texting Garcia. She would pick her up after a shift, and they’d find a random spot to decompress before drunkenly stumbling into one of their homes. Sometimes, it would be Garcia’s place. Trinity would take in every detail of the surgeon’s apartment on the rare chance they get there. It’s minimally decorated and the place feels almost sterile. Most times, however, it would be Santos’ place. Both of them found that the risk of getting caught or heard by someone (poor Whitaker) made their excursions that much more fun.
The sex was so good. It was fucking great. However, Trinity liked the quiet after it just as much. Maybe even more, if she were brave enough to admit it. When the moonlight would illuminate Yolanda’s face just right. When she let herself be fully vulnerable. When she felt she could truly open up while they lay still on her bed, a tangle of limbs.
At that point, how could Trinity Santos not have fallen for Yolanda Garcia?
—
Ten months pass, and Trinity is now a second-year resident. The momentum that has kept her going all these years is starting to wear thin, but she doesn’t have time to think about that right now. It’s the Fourth of July, a holiday weekend, and she arrives at work much earlier than she likes.
She’s rereading a chart when she hears that the new attending, who came with bagels, has just arrived. Right now, that’s enough for Trinity to start to like her. She’s in the break room with her back to the door, picking out a spread to pair with her everything bagel, when Al-Hashimi slinks in.
“Good choice.” Trinity, slightly startled, turns around to face the woman. The first thing she notices is how close she is.
The second thing is how put-together she looks. Her curly hair is out of her face, half up-half down, secured by a small claw clip. She’s wearing a pale grey Lululemon jacket over her black scrubs. The structured, notched V-neck collar of her top and the simple gold necklace that peeks out draw Trinity’s attention to her neck. She steps back a little and shakes her head. “Oh, yeah. Uh,” she stutters before finally introducing herself. “Doctor Trinity Santos, R2. You must be the new attending?”
“Yes, and it’s nice to meet you, Doctor Santos. Baran Al-Hashimi, call me Baran.” She holds her right hand out before firmly shaking Santos’ hand. “You’re here early.”
“I’m trying to work on my charting. Just a bit behind.”
“Ah, I see." She hums softly and nods. “I’m hoping you’re not too far behind.” Al-Hashimi fixes herself a cup of herbal tea while Santos sits, spreading plain cream cheese on one half of the bagel.
“Mhm.”
“I’ll be going around to meet everyone first and get acclimated to the space. Enjoy your bagel, Trinity.” Al-Hashimi’s free hand finds its way to Santos’ back, just below her nape. She gives her a warm look before stepping out of the break room.
—
“We're getting two runs rerouted from Westbridge already—chest pain and belly pain. Robby wants you three out back," Dana announces to Whitaker, Javadi, and Santos, who were clustered at the hub. Before Santos can follow them, Al-Hashimi manages to catch her.
“Doctor Santos." There’s a hint of a smile on the attending’s face. “Making progress on your charting, I hope?”
“Getting there.”
“Deficient charts lead to gaps for the providers who give continuity of care and delays hospital billing.”
With almost no hesitation, Trinity quips. “Oh, I’d hate to delay billing.”
The smile on Al-Hashimi’s face grows just a bit wider as she tilts her head ever so slightly. The corners of her lips twitch and her eyes squint a little, almost like she’s suppressing a laugh. Trinity only gets a glimpse of this playful look before the attending resumes.
“Timely documentation is essential. Let’s fix this before end of shift.” There’s a slight lilt in Al-Hashimi’s voice as she asserts control once more. Her tone is firm, but not harsh.
Santos avoids Al-Hashimi’s eye contact. “I’m on it, boss.” She moves to step away, her knuckles brushing against the attending’s as they pass each other.
"Good." Trinity’s breath catches in her throat. “You wouldn’t want to repeat your R2 year again because of this.” She turns around to face Al-Hashimi one last time, offering her a curt nod before they walk off in opposite directions.
“Fuck.” Trinity can’t help but let a feeling of resentment bloom in her chest.
She meets Whitaker, Javadi, and Robby at the ambulance bay. She catches up to them as they chat. “So, Doctor Al-Hashimi…”
“Yes?” Robby replies.
“Do we… like her?” She makes a face.
Robby only laughs in response while Whitaker gives her an actual answer. “She seems pretty cool so far.”
Javadi, naively, “You're trying to gossip about an attending with an attending?”
“Doctor Robby doesn't mind. Do you?” He acts out locking his lips with a key while the first ambulance comes in.
—
Generative artificial intelligence is not something Trinity wants to use. But desperate times call for desperate measures, and, god, she is so fucking desperate. Twenty charts and counting. She didn’t know how she let it get this bad.
Mel suggested dictating while Dana suggested multitasking, both of which would be perfect enough solutions if not for the fact she was getting pulled in a million different directions every minute. Meanwhile, Al-Hashimi suggests her app again.
Baran can sense the resident’s reluctance. “I know how difficult the second year of residency is, Santos. The app is 30% more efficient, and providers report increased job satisfaction. And you'll rarely have to stay overtime to complete charts. It could really help alleviate some of your workload.”
Okay, fuck it. What’s the harm in trying something an attending is recommending? Besides, Trinity isn’t sure she can say no to her anyway. Not because she’s her superior or anything. But just because.
The attending’s hand lands on Trinity’s shoulder. Her thumb rubs slow circles. “Just make sure to proofread your work and let me know if you run into any trouble with it, okay?”
Kind brown eyes gaze down into tired green ones. Trinity bites the inside of her bottom lip before nodding. “Yeah, okay," she concedes, sighing then pressing her mouth into a thin line. That feeling of resentment from earlier disappears just a little. “Thank you, Doctor Al-Hashimi.”
—
Twenty four hours per day is a lot of time. And making the conscious decision to allot more than half of those hours into this noble profession is something Trinity is starting to regret now. It feels like she’s running on fumes.
She can feel herself dozing off despite being scolded by a doctor from internal medicine and thrown under the bus by her attendings about an error on a chart she made using that stupid A.I. app. They’re just a few feet away, and she knows they can see her, but she’s just too exhausted to care right now.
“Doctor Santos," Robby calls out, voice low.
Still nothing. She leans on the desk, forehead against the butt of her palm, and squeezes her eyes shut. The sound of Robby hitting the counter in front of him snaps her out of it.
“Doctor Santos!”
“Yup, won’t happen again.”
Before she knows it, Robby disappears, and Perlah offers her a Five-Hour Energy. She has enough time to thank the nurse and turn the bottle over in her hands before Al-Hashimi is right there.
“Did you forget to proofread the chart before sending it, Santos?”
Trinity’s shoulders tense up as she turns to face the older woman. She expects another berating, something along the lines of getting her shit together. Not in the mood to hear it, she replies bluntly, “It was an honest mistake and I promise it won’t happen again. I get that I messed up, but the app did too. Sorry.” She places the bottle down harshly.
Baran nods and grips the side of Trinity’s arm, her bicep, with her free hand. She squeezes once and offers the resident a sympathetic look. “I know. Tools are bound to fail, and human oversight is inevitable. You’ve apologized for it enough already." She tilts her head towards the direction Robby walked off before catching the resident’s eye again. “I just wanted to check in on you and ask if I can do more to help.”
That takes Santos off guard, and Al-Hashimi notices the way her shoulders relax under her touch. It’s a miniscule movement, the kind one can miss if they blink, but she notices.
Trinity’s eyes dart to Baran’s hand before looking back up at her. “You really don’t have to.”
“It’s my job as attending to make sure my residents are in order. Besides, I want to. Maybe we can work out an alternative solution after this shift if you don’t mind staying a little longer?”
“I think I’ll be here.” She recalls Garcia’s request for a rain check tonight.
“Alright. Just let me know if I’ll see you then.”
Al-Hashimi squeezes once more before letting go and walking away. Trinity looks down at her arm, eyes tracing where Baran’s hand lingered.
—
In between cases, Al-Hashimi decides to find Santos and offer more encouragement to the resident.
“I’m working on charting every free minute I get.”
Amused, Al-Hashimi leans against the counter. “I wasn’t coming over for that. Good job in the trauma earlier.” Santos nods before medics enter with a man on a gurney.
“What’s this?”
“Daniel Scott, 32, weak and dizzy while washing his car. Tachy at 106, BP 90/60. Temp's too high to register.”
He starts seizing. Baran calmly jumps into action, with Santos joining her. Princess lets the latter know that Trauma 2 is open. Together with the nurses, they work efficiently. Almost perfectly in sync for people who have just met each other that day.
“What are you thinking, Doctor Santos?”
“Uh, heat stroke, but consider sepsis or drugs.”
Al-Hashimi and Santos hold the patient in a position so Perlah can get an accurate read of his temperature. “Rectal temp is 104.6.”
“All right, let's start with four ice packs on the groin and axilla," Santos calls out. “Should we do a full body ice bath?”
Al-Hashimi shakes her head. “That'll take too long. Do you have an Arctic Sun?”
“Yeah, we do,” Perlah confirms.
“Get pads on the chest, abdomen, and both legs. I'll check back in.”
Sure enough, the Arctic Sun is hooked up to the patient when Al-Hashimi comes back. His temperature is dropping gradually, and his lab results are not too worrying.
“I'll monitor him," Perlah offers, which Santos quietly thanks her for.
“Great. That'll give Doctor Santos a chance to get caught up.” The attending gives the resident a small smile. It’s reciprocated, the attending notes. She opens the door for the two of them to step out.
“Your R2 year can be challenging. You just have to keep grinding.” The hand sanitizer machine whirs twice. Once for Al-Hashimi, once for Santos. They walk side-by-side. “What's your dispo plan for Mr. Scott?”
“Uh, ICU admission.”
“You should call Neurology to consult.”
“Yeah, done.”
“Since it was exertional heat illness in a young person, the mortality is low. But non-exertional heatstroke in an elderly person, you need to worry.”
“Okay. I'll put in orders for repeat labs.”
“Good work in there.”
Trinity nods, exhaustion still there evident by how she responds to Al-Hashimi’s remarks. But she would be lying to herself if she said that her attending’s encouragement didn’t make her feel anything. The resentment she had for her keeps dissipating by the hour.
—
It’s a holiday weekend, she’s still behind on charting despite ambitious efforts, and there are diversions from two other hospitals due to a cyberattack. Now that they’re at risk, PTMC is officially analog for the time being. It is a fucking catastrophe. The staff gathers around the hub to address more concerns about these changes. Trinity raises her hand. “We've gotten a few CT results back but nothing on plain films.”
“That's probably because they're all sitting on the portable machine not getting to radiology. I'll take care of this.”
Al-Hashimi weaves through the crowd of staff gathered at the area, passing by Santos as she does so. “Excuse me, doctor.” Her voice is hushed, but it’s the only thing Trinity can focus on despite the constant barrage of noise in the department. Her palm grazes the small of Santos’ back, signaling the resident to make way, but she stays for a second too long. Long enough for Trinity to feel Baran pressing up against her regardless of the now free, employee-less space behind them since Robby’s dismissal.
No, that can’t be right. That’s just how Al-Hashimi is. She’s a tactile person. Robby is too, with his fist bumps and firm pats on the back. Maybe that’s just how all attendings are. But Baran's touches are less forceful, more soothing. A gentle hand rubbing in circular motions between someone's shoulder blades, a soft touch guiding someone along by the small of their back, a sudden hug from a thankful patient. Baran's touches are frequent too, which Trinity isn't sure how to feel about right now.
She busies herself with a patient clipboard while shaking the thought out of her head.
—
In a desperate attempt to have something solid and sure to look forward to after this godforsaken shift, Santos finds Garcia and asks again.
“Hey, do you still need a rain check for watching fireworks tonight? I thought you were coming over.”
“I made other plans.”
What the fuck? What the fuck happened for her to go from just needing a rain check to having other plans?
Santos nods, bobbing her chin up and down, an effort to maintain some sort of composure. “‘Kay. Cool.”
“I’ll try hitting you up tomorrow.” Garcia enters the elevator. “We’re just keeping it casual, right?”
“For sure.”
The elevator doors close, and Trinity is left dumbfounded.
Maybe Garcia’s just bluffing, she thinks. But another part of her thinks she isn’t bluffing and she’s actually being honest about having other plans. Fuck.
—
“Santos, trauma incoming. Grab a gown. You can assist Doctor Langdon.”
Great. Just her luck for standing right where Al-Hashimi and Langdon pass through. “Fuck me,” she mumbles under her breath before following in her footsteps.
The three work on the patient, Derek, a 42-year-old male who suffered a 20-foot fall from a structural collapse at the waterslide park. They check his chest, observing for lung sliding; however, the ultrasound is difficult to read.
Santos strains at the screen to have a better look. “I don’t see much sliding there.” The contact gown she’s wearing is tied hastily at the back, causing one of the shoulders to slip off.
Al-Hashimi is right behind, adjusting the shoulder and tying the gown securely on her resident. “Pneumothorax?” Her hand brushes against Trinity’s waist.
“Set up for a chest tube.”
Langdon interjects, “Not yet. Let's go posterolateral. Look for fluid first.”
“Traumatic pneumothorax. We should prep the chest,” Santos insists.
“Not necessarily. He's hemodynamically stable.”
She gestures at the ultrasound again, trying to prove her point. “Okay. Does that look like some fluid there?”
“Hard to say for sure.” Al-Hashimi’s eyes follow the direction of Santos’ arm.
They go back and forth about whether or not a chest tube is needed. Ultimately, the attending agrees with the senior resident in refraining until clearer results are given from Radiology. He puts in the orders, and they continue their assessment of the patient’s injuries.
A degloving injury in Derek’s left ring finger exposed the muscles and tendons of his hand. Santos tests different areas to determine a specific injury while Garcia enters the room to assist. “Try to bend up your ring finger.” He groans in pain when he attempts it. She calls out, “Let's go with the block.”
Santos nods and accepts a syringe from one of the nurses. “You're gonna feel a pinprick and some burning.”
“Which tendon did we test, Doctor Santos?”
“Seriously? That's a med student question.”
The air in the room is tense, with Langdon and Santos continuing to thinly veil their conflict as normal, professional exchanges of a senior resident teaching a second-year resident.
“We’re a teaching hospital. It’s always good to review," Al-Hashimi reminds Santos. She looks up, wide-eyed, only to be met by two pairs of scrutinizing dark brown eyes in front of her. Trinity swallows subtly, gaze flitting between Al-Hashimi's and Garcia’s matching expressions, before answering Langdon’s question.
“Flexor digitorum superficialis is intact as it inserts on the middle phalanx.” She administers the block.
Before Langdon can even think to reply, Al-Hashimi is already at it. “Good girl. Correct.” She says it so naturally that no one even bats an eye at the petname, except for maybe Garcia, but Trinity isn’t sure.
It’s different when she hears Garcia say it. It sounds low and growly, usually forced through clenched teeth or muffled into bedsheets and skin. Despite how on her ass Al-Hashimi is, Trinity finds herself liking her again. Or maybe she just likes how the words sound coming from the attending.
Garcia glares sideways at Al-Hashimi. “No sign of tension. At least no tension pneumo. Let's wait for the CT. I'll be next door.” The attending remains unbothered as the surgeon leaves. She stands with her hands behind her back, her left hand holding her right wrist, still observing Santos before also leaving the room.
Later on, when they receive the chest CT results, they continue this charade.
“Radiologist reports a 25% pneumothorax," Al-Hashimi announces.
“Is that bad?”
Langdon explains to Derek. “That is a partially collapsed lung that needs treatment.”
“I can put in a chest tube.” Santos replies.
“He doesn’t need one.”
It all comes to a head when Langdon, Garcia, and Santos work to install the ThoraVent on Derek. Once it’s successfully done, Langdon explains next steps.
“Okay, now we can either hook up to wall suction or we can use this one-way valve to repeatedly aspirate with a syringe.”
“Well, with all your vast experience, Doctor Langdon, you should probably decide.”
“We can avoid wall suction if I pump manually.”
“Have at it, Doc.” Santos raises her hands up in defeat.
“Enough. Apparently, decency and decorum need to be reintroduced to our R2 curriculum. Nice work, Doctor Langdon.” Garcia’s brusque tone hits Santos by surprise. She moves to step out, “I'll go check on an OR for Mr. Foster.”
—
Trinity manages to catch Garcia later. “Hey.”
“Hey.” Garcia keeps moving forward until the resident calls her attention. “Are we okay?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“I don't know… You kind of ripped me a new one in front of Langdon. Whose side are you on?”
Garcia dismisses the situation. Just like she always does whenever she brings Langdon up. Trinity isn’t sure why she expected this time to be different. “This isn't middle school. He made a mistake and owned up to it. Let it go.”
“He should,” Trinity hesitates. "He should have been fired. But instead, he waltzes back in here. No big deal. Meanwhile, I've been a goddamn pariah for the last ten months for doing the right thing.”
“Or maybe you're a pariah because you don't play well with others. But I’m guessing that excludes the new attending.” That definitely hits a nerve. “If you've still got beef with Langdon, go tell him. He's here to stay, so put on your big-girl panties and work it out.”
“He is no–”
“Nope. You want to have sex and eat ramen in bed, I'm your girl. But if you want to talk about this Langdon shit again,” she says exasperatedly, “call a therapist.”
Trinity blinks as Garcia walks away. Confusion. Shock. Hurt. Her chest hurts. She wants to throw up. Her palms itch as she flexes her fingers at her sides. Is this really what Garcia thought of her this whole time?
—
“Santos, are you alright?”
She’s gripping the pen in her hand so tightly her knuckles turn white. She’s finishing up yet another chart, encircling the patient’s abnormal physical exam findings.
“Hey. Santos.”
It takes her a second to register that Baran’s hand is on her wrist. It’s a light enough touch to not bother her, but it’s still stopping her from writing. She breathes in deeply before meeting her attending’s eyes.
“Listen to me. Do you need a moment?”
Trinity finally moves her hand away from Baran’s. She shakes her head, insistent. “No. I’m fine.”
“I heard what you and Langdon were talking about. I wasn’t briefed properly about the situation. I–”
“Well, I’m so sorry you had to find out this way," Santos says bitterly. She finishes the chart and walks over to the hub to place it in one of the racks. Any productive conversation between the two gets cut off by more pressing matters.
“Trauma incoming!”
“Dana, what’s free? ” Al-Hashimi asks the charge nurse while she and Santos start to work on another case together.
“Trauma One, boss.”
“Javadi, you can assist.” The med student follows suit.
“12-year-old Jude Augustin. Firecracker exploded, nondominant left hand. Good vitals. 25 of fent so far.” The medic updates them.
“Any other injuries?” Santos asks.
“No, but seems to have lost two of his fingers.” The medic softens his voice. “Blown to bits.”
“It really hurts.”
“We will do something for that soon, Jude.” Al-Hashimi nods at the boy reassuringly before addressing the medic. “Parents?”
“Not on scene.”
They transfer him while Al-Hashimi asks more questions. “Jude, do you know your mom or your dad's telephone number?”
“No. But I know my sister's.”
“Okay, that’s good.”
The staff working on him call out his vitals and stats.
“Good breath sounds.”
“Abdomen nontender.”
“Heart rate 112.”
Al-Hashimi hands Santos a sphygmomanometer. “Put this around his left forearm.”
“Is that good?”
“Yes, that is very good.” The attending gives him another reassuring smile, trying to soothe him before calling out an order and paging Surgery. “Do another 25 of fent before we open the bandage.”
Santos places the cuff of the sphygmomanometer on his arm. As she pumps the bulb, she asks, “Can you tell us what happened?”
“My friends had firecrackers. I lit one, and it went off fast. I-I dropped it, but…”
Princess confirms, “25 fent on board.”
“We're gonna take your bandage off now, okay?” Javadi gently explains to the boy.
“I don't want to see.” His voice is shaky, nervous.
“You don't have to. Just look at me.” Santos joins in the effort to soothe him. She gradually lets go of the bulb as his free hand holds hers.
Al-Hashimi nods at Santos while taking the bulb in her own hands. Their hands brush against each other momentarily. Javadi removes the bandage. “Okay, cutting. Sorry. You’re doing great.”
“It’s really good that you dropped it. You saved the rest of your hand," Santos reassures him.
Javadi assesses the injury. “Digits 4 and 5 avulsed. Distal metacarpals 4 and 5 also gone with exposed bone. Soft-tissue damage on the palmar aspect, less so on the dorsal—some burns on wound edges.”
“Jude, can you bend your fingers up and down for me? Like this?” Al-Hashimi demonstrates so he can copy the action.
He does as told. Santos reassures him once more “Really good job. Really good job.”
“How bad is it?”
“You lost two fingers, but it seems like the rest are gonna be okay.”
Tears spring in the corners of his eyes. “I fucked up!”
“All right, can we do a wrist block for the pain?”
Al-Hashimi shakes her head. As much as she wants to stop his pain, she has to make sure of the rest of his hand’s functioning first. “Not yet. Let’s do a detailed motor and sensory exam first.”
Javadi nods. “We’re gonna continue our exam now, okay, Jude?”
Once it’s finished and the block is given, Garcia enters the room. Al-Hashimi catches her up to the case.
“I can’t feel my hand anymore…”
“Hello, I’m Doctor Garcia from surgery.”
“I’m gonna have surgery?”
“Yes. The first operation is to clean everything up and cover where the skin is missing.”
Realizing how stressful this must be for the kid to hear, Santos adds, “But you still have your thumb and your most important fingers.”
“What’d you give him for the pain?”
Al-Hashimi answers. “Regional blocks.”
“Hand surgery always wants to document their own neuro exam.”
The attending nods at Javadi. “Sensation is intact to light touch and pinprick throughout the digits in the remaining hand.” She does the same towards Santos to continue, “Um, yeah, FDS and FTPs and extensor function was all intact.”
Al-Hashimi interrupts Garcia before she even gets a chance to say another word. “We are also currently working on parental consent for surgery.” She steps over to Santos, placing her hand on her back right in Garcia’s view.
Santos can feel Garcia’s gaze piercing through her. The surgeon nods curtly. “He’s in line for the OR. Might be a little bit of a wait. Let me know when you get consent then.” She steps out.
“Good work, both of you.” Javadi and Santos nod. “All good in here? I want to have a word with Santos in private.”
Javadi responds, a small smile on her face. “Yep, we got it.”
The attending and the resident step out of the trauma room, walking towards the stairwell. Al-Hashimi opens the door for Santos, letting her exit first.
“What’s this about?” Santos asks, clearly tired.
“I think you know what it’s about.”
“Langdon.”
Baran nods. “Yes, exactly. Doctor Robby and Doctor Langdon have both told me different things regarding this situation so far. And if I knew, I wouldn’t have placed you in a case together with him earlier.”
“He was… It was literally my first day of being a doctor. And Langdon gaslit me and made me question my skills over and over. And it’s taken me a long time to feel like I belong here, and now he’s back.” Trinity takes a deep breath in. “And I don’t even care that he was an addict. I care that he was an asshole. And it’s like no one here even remembers any of it.”
“So tell me.”
“What?”
“Tell me everything about it and I’ll do my best to work something out. You are perfectly capable and headstrong, and you are a fierce advocate for your patients. I do not want to lose you.”
Trinity is confused. This is all coming from the woman who was threatening to repeat her second year of residency? She can’t believe it. She scoffs, “Yeah, right.”
“I mean it, Santos.”
A beat. Trinity bites the inside of her cheek.
“I want to make this department better than it currently is. And you are a part of it. So, please, let me help you too.”
Trinity hesitates. All her instincts are telling her to push the attending away. It’s telling her that someone finally wanting to hear her side in this is too good to be true.
“Trinity?” Baran’s calm, level voice brings her back.
Trinity nods slowly, finally letting her guard down. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll tell you everything.”
—
The day shift is finally over. It’s a few hours overtime, and she doesn’t remember by how much because she lost count when things started getting hectic again, but at least it’s fucking over. Trinity Santos is free.
She stands in the locker room, just about to remove the stethoscope draped around her neck when Baran turns the corner. “Santos, there you are,” she approaches. “I was beginning to wonder where you went.”
Trinity pulls on either end of the stethoscope, letting it extend to its full length. She sighs, “I just finished half of my backlogs earlier, and I was planning on coming in early to finish the other half.”
“Another early start? Maybe I’ll have to bring you a bagel again tomorrow.” Baran steps closer again. “I know today was very tough, but great work. Really.”
Trinity replaces the stethoscope around her neck and nods. “Likewise. I heard from Whitaker about the slash trach you did. Would’ve been cool to witness it myself.”
Baran smiles sheepishly, shoving her hands into the pockets of her jacket. “Lucky for you that we’ll be working together from now on.”
Trinity feels her heart soften at seeing her attending this way. A brief silence grows between them, interrupted only by the beeping and humming of distant monitors in the department.
Fuck it. Garcia’s not answering her texts anyway, and Trinity doesn’t want to ask a third time only to be met without an answer or with an answer she didn’t want to hear.
“I, uh… I was gonna watch the fireworks before heading home. Would you maybe like to join me?”
Baran, slightly surprised at the invitation, stammers. “Oh, um.”
“It’s totally fine if you don’t want to,” Trinity backtracks quickly. “I just thought it might be good for, uh, camaraderie and boosting morale or whatever.”
“Yes, I was thinking that exactly. I just was not expecting it.” Their words overlap. The two laugh quietly before Baran makes up her mind. “I would love to,” she dips her chin down slightly.
Baran watches Trinity, observing how she moves, before gathering her own items too. Trinity slips on an oversized hoodie and grabs her bag.
“Let’s go?”
Baran nods in affirmation, letting herself be led by the younger woman. They exit the hospital and find the night sky already filled with beams of light from the fireworks; beacons of blue, red, silver, and white litter the dark. It’s still humid, but not as bad as earlier in the day. They cross the street, stopping at an empty bench to sit next to each other. From a distance, they can see kids holding sparklers and families taking part in the holiday’s festivities.
“It has taken me a while to get used to fireworks again. I’ve always liked them though.” Baran admits.
Trinity nods solemnly, eyes gazing towards the sky as she leans back. Her arm rests around the back of the bench.
“Me too.”
Baran leans back too, getting lost in the bursts of colors. Trinity turns her head to the side. She observes the slope of Baran’s nose, her eyelashes moving as she blinks, the sculpted curve of her jaw.
One of the good things (if not the only good thing) to come from today, Trinity thinks, is Doctor Baran Al-Hashimi. Maybe being without Robby, no matter how comforting his presence is, wouldn’t be so bad with her around.
“Thank you," Trinity says absentmindedly.
“Hm?”
“For being here.”
“It’s my job.”
“You’re good at that, even though you’re like… Robo-Doc, I guess. But I’m not talking about the ED right now.”
“Robo-Doc? Let me remind you that we were analog for basically the whole day, Trinity.” Baran laughs softly and shoots her a playful look, a longer one this time that lets Trinity bask in it. She notices the wrinkles around her eyes, her nose scrunching up ever so slightly, her front teeth slightly poking out of her lips when she lets herself smile wider.
A beat. Another firework comes up, whistling faintly before it explodes. Boom.
“Point taken.” Trinity’s hand goes to Baran’s shoulder, and she moves a little closer. Baran doesn’t falter, doesn’t show any sign of backing off or brushing Trinity’s hand away. In fact, it seems she revels in it. She leans into her. Trinity can feel Baran’s breath hit the corner of her lip.
Baran’s gaze is intense, eyes tracing a path across the other woman’s face, almost like she’s taking all of her in. Trinity feels bare under her attention. Did she linger at her lips for a second there?
Before either of them even know it, Trinity leans in and kisses her. Their lips meet, both gentle and cautious with each other. Trinity realizes that Baran doesn’t pull away. The older woman deepens it while her hands move to cradle Trinity’s face. Her touch is so soft, it makes Trinity want to fall apart.
Baran pulls away only to catch her breath. With wide eyes, she searches Trinity’s face. “Was that okay with you?
Trinity replies, her chest still heaving, “God, it’s more than okay.”
Trinity's hands find Baran’s jacket, clutching the soft fabric in her fists. She pulls Baran closer, needy and desperate. “Again, please.” Trinity’s voice in her ear is the last thing Baran hears before she kisses her again, deeper and more urgent this time, completely giving in. The fireworks start up again.