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Trinity almost gets lockjaw from the yawn that escapes her mouth while she waits at the bus stop. The reflex triggers tears to wet the corners of her eyes. Whatever. The shift she just had would make anyone a little weepy.
The line is long. Families. Couples fresh from sunset dates. Workers who, like Trinity, were forced to stay hours longer at their thankless jobs. R2 is the worst. She can’t believe she’s thinking it, but she’d rather go through the entirety of med school again.
Her bag weighs a bajillion pounds, her feet even more. She charted as she walked around the trauma centers, stood in and taught for surgeries for two GSWs, and everyone needed her on rounds. Which she should’ve taken as a compliment, in hindsight, but in the moment it was just plain annoying. Whitaker took the car home today, which Trinity agreed to because she, even with her reckless tendencies, knew that driving alone tonight would be a death wish.
The staff was mostly composed of night shift people (weirdos, so they called themselves) when Trinity finally clocked out. In fact, there was just one day shifter around. But it was to be expected, anyway, she…
…is walking toward Trinity right now.
Her earphones are in, her gaze elsewhere. It’s Trinity’s second time seeing those earphones. She’d peg her attending as a secret 2000s angsty rock lover.
Shut up, Trinity.
It’s rush hour. A lot of people are waiting in line.
Maybe she won’t notice me.
“Dr. Santos, glad you made it out of there,” Baran nods in her direction. Her voice was brimming with confidence (excitement, even) this morning as she gave the start-of-shift pep talk. Now it’s barely a rasp. She looks exhausted. Like she could collapse before boarding.
She heads toward the end of the ever-growing line before the critical thinking kicks in Trinity’s brain.
“Line up with me,” she blurts out.
“What?”
The two teenagers behind Trinity give her the stink eye.
She doesn’t care.
(If she were also a teenager, she’d glare back.)
“You’re with me.”
“Sant…”
“Babe, it wouldn’t make sense to go home separately.”
She regrets the words before they leave her mouth.
Baran pauses. She takes one earphone out.
“I…”
But Trinity is shooting her a just-go-with-it look, which in her mind she is already bowing her head in shame for.
Baran walks over to where Trinity is standing.
She lets her shoulder brush against the resident’s for a few seconds, to really sell it.
Trinity is screaming inside.
—
There are four free spots (miracles, each of them) on the bus. Baran and Trinity sit next to each other, because as far as the teenagers are concerned, they’re together. Baran gets the window and Trinity gets the aisle—she’s getting off first.
Once they’re out of earshot, Trinity faces the music.
“I’m so sorry. What I did was incredibly inappropriate, and I don’t know how to begin to make it up to you but I promise I…”
But there is no anger in Baran’s eyes. Just amusement layered thickly over the fatigue.
“I understand why you did it. Doctor’s instinct,” she says, each syllable intentional and pronounced. “You’ve seen me in crisis before, around the same time of day. Simple pattern recognition, intuition, and concern led you to make a split-second decision no one else would have considered. I deem that appropriate and commendable, Dr. Santos.”
Trinity swallows thickly. She doesn’t know if Baran is just kind and wants to save her from dying of embarrassment. But the fact that the attending doesn’t look away immediately after speaking leads her to believe she means every word.
“Oh.” Of all the words she could have settled on, she uses the most noncommittal one. “Um. Thank you.”
Baran gives her a small smile before putting her earphone back in.
—
There are many things Trinity does not understand.
For one, why Kentucky Fried Chicken discontinued Krushers when it was one of the only things keeping her alive during her time as a clerk. Secondly, why two gay women cannot get married in her home country.
These two things keep her up at night until sleep takes her, a furrowed brow evidence of her failed analyses.
But what she is choosing to focus on right now is this: why, despite having a window all to her own, is Baran asleep on Trinity?
At first, the drowse came slowly. Then the periods of her eyes staying shut started to grow longer and longer (Trinity had the mind to find it comparable to labor contractions, which she of course berated herself for) and it was getting more difficult for her body to stay upright. Then she seemingly gave up, allowing her body to relax. Her lips parted easily. Her cheek met Trinity’s bicep first, which seemed to alarm her, so she sat back up, only for it to land on the resident’s shoulder. Indefinitely.
If some stranger did this to her, Trinity would give them a good shove. (Kidding. Do no harm and yadda yadda.) Baran is not a friend, but she is no stranger. And she looks so wiped, even in sleep. The proximity causes Trinity to feel every twitch of muscle and every labored breath.
She especially registers the small hum of contentment that comes when Trinity shifts ever so slightly after a speed bump to give Baran somewhat of a more comfortable position.
Oh, great. Another thing she does not understand.
Why do I care so much about…
Her train of thought is interrupted by an angry press of the horn, courtesy of the bus driver. Some baby driver in front who didn’t have their turn light on. Or whatever. Trinity is outraged.
Baran wakes up like a puppy hearing her first crack of thunder. The crick in her neck tells her something that shouldn’t have happened did happen.
“I apologize,” she starts, voice rough and cheeks flushed. “I haven’t been sleeping very well lately and it seems that the second I sit down it just happens and I have no control over it, and I know you’re exhausted, and I clearly did not help you get any rest in…”
Untrusting of her vocabulary, Trinity puts her hand on Baran’s for a split second. Just to get her to stop.
“It was no problem. I’m glad you got to sleep. Really,” she says.
“I was very comfortable,” Baran offers. “I mean, as you could probably tell.”
Trinity laughs. “I’ll take the compliment.”
—
Trinity tosses and turns in bed that night, thinking and thinking.
But she falls asleep with a smile.