Work Text:
“Trinity, everything good?”
Javadi taps the computer screen, squinting at the blinking cursor. “Is the software buggy? Because…”
Trinity swallows thickly. “No, I’m…I’m working on it.”
She’ll forgive the kid for thinking the computer’s going bust. Her cursor hasn’t moved in an hour, at least.
“Need you in Room 6, Trin,” Cassie calls out. “Neuro crisis.”
“Be there,” Trinity croaks.
Cassie leads the patient interview. When she gets to asking how long the headache has been going on, Trinity accidentally mutters since this morning. Cassie cocks her head in confusion but gets back on course when the patient starts to dry heave. Trinity makes an order for prochlorperazine, a little green herself.
—
As subtly as she can, Trinity puts on her best puppy eyes when Perlah walks by her desk.
“May Biogesic ka, Perlah? (Do you have Biogesic?)”
“Meron. Kanino ko ibibigay? (I do. Which patient do I give it to?)”
“Uh, para sa’kin (for me).”
Perlah scans Trinity, already clocking that it’s a bad headache.
“Sobrang sakit? (The pain is intolerable?)”
Trinity nods.
Perlah thinks.
“Kailangan ba ‘tong malaman ni Doc? (Does Baran need to know this?)”
Trinity shakes her head. “Please.”
—
“Santos,” Baran calls, sharp and firm. She’s going over a case on her tablet—one of Trinity’s.
Her typing volume rises dramatically when she fails to get a response from the senior resident behind the desk.
“Santos,” she repeats.
She sighs.
Then she sees.
Trinity is asleep on her keyboard, cheek punching the “x” keycap, the pain reliever she took earlier failing to do exactly as promised. The chart she was working on is full of rows and rows of the letter. Baran moves swiftly, gently moving the keyboard out of the way and hitting “delete” on the spam, as Trinity would call it. Her hand makes contact with Trinity’s face, feverish and sweaty.
She rubs Trinity’s shoulder.
Trinity opens her eyes for a brief moment. Then she leans into Baran, a pained whimper escaping her lips.
“What’s wrong, eshgham?”
“‘Di tumalab ‘yung gamot...” Trinity replies. She looks up, realizing who it is. “I’m fine. Just tired.”
“I can see that,” Baran says, hand still on her shoulder. “You’re sick.”
Trinity snaps awake. “Please. Please don’t make me go home.”
“And keeping you here is a wise move because…?”
“Because you’re here,” Trinity says with effort. “Put me in an on-call room, or stick me in chairs, I don’t care, just…please. I need you near.”
Tears stream down her face. She knows she’s being dramatic. But the thought of being away from Baran is going to kill her faster than whatever illness she has will.
“Baran, please…” she tries again, before a wave of nausea cuts through the monologue she’s about to launch into.
Baran spots the closest trash can in the hub and sits it in Trinity’s lap half a second before the very little she ate (and her measly dose of aspirin) comes up.
Everybody sees.
The emergency room has never been quieter.
“Dr. McKay, hold down the fort, please,” Baran requests.
Cassie can only nod before the noise starts up again and Baran takes Trinity under her arm and they make their way to the bathroom.
—
Trinity sniffles as she retreats from the toilet, then immediately buries her head between her knees.
“Oh, Trin,” Baran kisses her forehead. “Breathe.”
“I’m sorry,” Trinity clears her throat, wiping at her eyes. “You should go.”
“Shh.” Baran takes off her jacket and wraps it around a freezing Trinity. She feels Trinity's forehead, displeased with the spike and sticky heat.
She rummages around in her pocket for a small, clear bottle that Trinity recognizes immediately. She unscrews the cap and puts a few drops on her free hand's index finger, then rolls up Trinity's top to press the oil on the small of her back. Trinity relaxes, muscles thankful with relief.
"I didn't know you carried that," Trinity says.
"I bought it online. You always smell like it when your head hurts," Baran reasons, easy and simple. "I didn't know they had so many bottle sizes."
“Mahal, you should go," Trinity stresses, the light moment brushed aside. "You have patients. I have patients. Dr. McKay…”
“...is not the only doctor in the ER.”
There's a deep echo among the stalls. There's nobody around, which is a blessing.
“I know, but…”
Baran sighs. She counts off options in her head, more than used to this game, then settles on one.
“All right. Since you are so adamant about me returning to work, I will do that. I will present and you will listen and you will tell me what the most logical plan of care is for the patient.”
Silence.
She’ll take that as a yes.
“Mid-twenties female with past medical history of syncope and migraines due to work-related stress presents at the ER with a hundred-degree fever, severe headache, nausea, and vomiting. Though unfit to travel home alone, patient refuses hospital treatment or to be attended to by a capable health professional.”
“Patient is…” Trinity exhales. “...well enough to not be a burden to her wife.”
“Patient is delirious,” Baran brushes her fingers across Trinity’s cheek. “You come first, my love. You always will, so please let me take care of you.”
“You have to keep me here, don’t you?” Trinity’s frame sags against the cubicle wall.
“We can go home. Cabinet’s well-stocked. And I don’t think any of the chaos is going to help.”
Trinity sighs in relief.
“Thank you, mahal,” she murmurs. She thinks, then opens her mouth to speak.
"I have your rescue meds," Baran nods. "But you have to eat something first; your stomach is too upset."
Trinity doesn't respond. Because nobody told Baran that her wife didn't eat today, or to carry around strips of medication in the pockets of all her scrubs just in case it was needed. She just knew. Just knows. Just can tell, just like that.
"And since you didn't give me a plan, I'll help," Baran lifts herself up and gets herself situated next to Trinity, their elbows touching. "Monitoring until nausea is tolerable. Then lukewarm bath to reduce fever. Then bed..."
"With you," Trinity murmurs, and Baran laughs.
"With me," she affirms softly. "And no calls, no thinking about the hospital until well enough to make two sarcastic remarks in the span of a minute."
A healthy Trinity would make a snarky remark in return.
She isn't anywhere to be found today.
"Come here," Baran reaches out. Because she knows Trinity needs a hug and doesn't need a lecture and just wants to be held and just needs the reminder that she is more than easy to love, more than a pleasure to stop the spin of the rest of the world for.
And, thankfully, Trinity accepts it.