Chapter Text
Trinity Santos did not believe in soulmates anymore. Not the say she no longer believed in God, the father, the son, the holy spirit. Something she once took for granted and now was convinced had never been real. The way she no longer believed in the Catholic Church. Something that empirically existed, that had material affects on the world and the lives of the people in it, that as far as she was concerned made nothing better for anyone and was best ignored.
She knew, the science very clear, that ‘Glyph markings consistent with Party A’s internal mental representation of the first discursive thought that Party A forms about Party B will manifest within hours on the skin of Party B, in a dermal location consistent with where Party A’s eyeline or mental conception had been focused at the time of the thought. Similarly the reverse.’ Everyone knew that. It just didn’t matter.
Her parents had been soulmates, and that had been a disaster on all fronts from the time she was born, likely before, though she could not attest to that directly.
Even if soulmate relationships did have, based on data, higher odds of long term satisfaction than average, approximately 30% of soul mates never met.
So she did not concern herself with the fact that, on when her alarm went off at 5:30 am on the 4th of July, during the second year of residency, she had never manifested the glyphs. She hoped she never did.
-
Word traveled quickly that Robby’s temporary replacement while he was on the sabbatical that she desperately hoped fixed at least some of his personality problems had brought bagels for the entire staff.
Maybe part of her thought it was a crass attempt to curry favor, but broke residents can’t afford to turn down everything bagels from good bakeries when they’re free.
She hadn’t run into the mystery attending yet, as she crammed her mouth full of cream cheesy goodness, and made it onto the floor, she caught sight of a light grey jacket over a pair of black scrubs and dismissed a deeply unprofessional thought she had no intention of revisiting. As the woman in question perplexingly rubbed at her own chest, puzzled expression on her face, Trinity realized the athleisure and honeyed curls belonged to the new interim chief of emergency medicine, and decided the thought would stay buried forever
-
She was leaning against the nurses station, discussing the steps she felt should be taken for the patient in North 4, when there was a hot twinge at her lower back. Not musculoskeletal, the sort of pain she remembered from her gymnastics career, but dermal, surface level.
Oh well, if whatever it is doesn’t kill me before the end of shift, I’ll take a look at it, maybe make an appointment with dermatology if it looks serious. There’s that cute derm resident who’s been flirting with me, maybe I can ask her out.
A voice behind her snapped her out of her reverie
“You know, Dr. Santos, deficient charts leave a gap for the providers who give continuity of care. It delays hospital billing.”
It really was unfair that the dry voice of this admin stooge, crawled up her spine like that. “Oh, I’d hate to delay billing,” Trinity said, with a small smirk, an attempt to deflect from the way the attending’s curls bounced in her subconscious.
Her back kept itching, but it didn’t seem to be getting worse, so, it could definitely wait until later.
-
When she heard Dr. Al-Hashimi arguing with Robby to advocate for the malnourished prison inmate, she was forced to re-evaluate the older woman. She might be obnoxiously focused on things like patient satisfaction scores and might be pushing some stupid AI documentation tool, but she wasn’t just an admin stooge. Not that her assessment mattered, since she was still her attending, and was only going to be at PTMC for three months.
-
The shift was over, her charts were finally caught up, she was preparing to head up to the roof to join a group of coworkers planning to watch the fireworks, when a recently familiar voice, caught her ear, tone warmer than before. “Santos, a word?”
“Uh, sure Dr Al-Hashimi,” as she was led into the stairwell, she was fairly certain she was about to be yelled at, but she wasn’t quite sure why.
“Any lingering hypersalivation? I understand you were concerned about that earlier.” There was a definite smirk in her tone, the implication of which was completely lost on her.
“Excuse me?” Her brain was reeling, what was going on.
As the grey jacket unzipped, she realized the black scrub top had been discarded, leaving only an unfairly revealing brown tanktop and sports bra. Any other woman in that outfit would inevitably find Trinity’s green eyes lodged deep in her décolletage, but much more attention grabbing in this moment was an assemblage of text that was definitely not a tattoo. “I recognize it’s not all legible, so let me spell it out for you, Trinity. It reads, and I quote ‘MILF in lululemon dead ahead. Don’t drool, idiot!’”
“Oh god. I’m so sorry.” Angels and ministers of grace, defend her. Her fucking soulmate? Really? This fucking day.
“I don’t think I can really blame you, though I would perhaps have preferred a location other than, well, my cleavage.” A wide grin spreading under golden curls, let down from the tight control they’d been under all day.
She flushed. “I didn’t even, I didn’t realize, I thought my skin was just irritated. I didn’t even think I’d ever…”
“Oh, sweetheart,” a gentle hand found her chin “I didn’t either. I won’t lie, it’s not a situation without challenges, but perhaps we should get dinner tonight. Have a conversation about how we feel, what we’re both thinking about all of this?”
“Yeah, no, yeah that’s a good idea.” Her back. Her lower back. She flashed a wicked grin. “So, what’s it say on my ass, Baran?”
“On your… ass?” The attending bit her lip, cheeks flushing, “I’m not, precisely sure.”
“Wanna see? Read it for me?”
-
Five years later, Trinity Santos was nervous. Really properly nervous. It was her first day back at the PTMC since starting her fellowship, her first day as an Emergency Pediatrics junior attending, and to top it all off, it was only her 15th morning waking up as a married woman.
“How’s my drooling idiot this morning? Ready for your first day?”
“Your favorite ‘Stubborn, Pretty, Slow charting, Patient Advocate’,” patting the phrase permanently and unforgettably across the top of her posterior, “needs breakfast, a red bull, and hugs from her two favorite people, if she’s going to survive Princess and Perlah today.”
Thirteen year old arms wrapped tight around her midsection, “you’re going to do awesome Nanay.”
She affectionately touseled the brown curls that were just like his mother’s “Thank you Cyrus. Well, that’s my favorite handled. How about number-“
She was suddenly cut off by warm lips meeting her own, strong toned arms pulling her by the waist into the kind of kiss that still made her knees wobble. Baran’s forehead came to rest against hers, her voice a whisper “the MILF in lululemon will do everything in her power to make sure the chismosas don’t pester you too much about our honeymoon, my love,” punctuating the sentence with a squeeze of her ass.
“Maman! You’re being gross!”
-
She was leaning against the hub, the Peds case that had brought her down resolved, just waiting on transport to bring her upstairs to monitor overnight. “I can’t believe you’re retiring Dana. This place won’t be the same without you.”
“Well, shit, Santos. I’m not gonna live forever, you know. Plus, Lamb,” the woman grinned wolfishly, “that is to say, Nurse Nolan, is finally trained up to my specifications as a charge nurse. She’ll run this place just fine without me.”
“Still calling her Lamb at work, eh?”
Princess and Perlah appeared from the direction of behavioral health, “She never stopped, I guess, that july 4th was a pretty big shift for both of you two, wasn’t it?”
“I’m still your boss for another month, Princess, I’d watch your tone when there’s an impacted bowel in south 16.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” the nurses drifted away with a smirk.
Trinity pushed herself up, moving to leave, but the queen of charge nurses still had something to say. “It was a beautiful wedding, Trinity. I’m proud of you, kid. I know you did a lot of work in therapy to get there. “
Trinity, never one to let someone else get the last word “Still calling me kid, when I’m older than your fiancée, Evans? Really.” She headed upstairs with a swagger.
-
Pediatric trauma was never easy. The Pitt was always tense when one rolled in. A nasty fall at a skate park, the same one Cyrus liked, thankfully with no LOC on scene had brought this kid in. The room had run without a single spare word or emotion until the airway was secure. They were ready to head up to an OR, when the surgical attending on shift, her own bridesmaid, asked “You’re scrubbing in on this one, right? I like to have someone from Peds on hand when I’m,-”
“Of course, Yolanda, obviously. Thank you.” Her voice was shaking slightly. As they made their way to the elevator.
“You know Cyrus is fine, Trin.”
“I’m not worried.”
“Sure you’re not. Well, in case you were, Baran just got off the phone with his summer program, and she looks relieved. So. Let’s save the kid in front of us, and then you can come back down here to comfort your wife.”
“Yeah, lets.”
-
She’d been the first one home, a late trauma had kept Baran long.
While the rice cooker worked, she called the man she couldn’t help thinking of as her brother. “Hey Huckleberry, you busy?”
“I’m exhausted, but for you, I’m free, today was your first day, wasn’t it?”
“That it was, that it was.”
“How was it?”
“Brutal. Scrubbed in with Yolanda on a kid with a flail chest. He fell at Cyrus’s skate park.”
“I don’t know how you do it, Trin, that’s gotta be hard.”
“Says Dr Rural Medicine fellowship, ready to be the only doctor in a whole county. “
“Hopefully not the only doctor.”
“You’re a brave man, Huck. Wish you were closer, I’m making more adobo than Baran, Cyrus and I can eat.” She paused, her voice tender with emotion, “we’ve gotta get you to Pittsburgh again soon, Cyrus misses you, and I know you love Sabzi Polo.”
“I love all of your wife’s cooking, to be fair. Most of yours too.”
“Wow, thanks Huckleberry. I see where I stand.”
-
Cyrus was in his room, working on some obscure minecraft project the details of which eluded the two women cuddled on the couch.
“I hardly saw you today, B. How was your day?”
“Admin wanted my eyes on numbers, so I spent far too much time upstairs, and well,” she sighed. “Peds cases are still challenging for me. Still seizure free, obviously, but,”
“I know baby, they rattle you. It’s okay.”
“I’m just greatful the hospital agreed to hire a sexy new emergency peds attending fresh out of her fellowship. It means I don’t have to worry about the peds cases, and well,” that wicked grin, those bunny teeth, “you should see the way she fills out a pair of pink scrub bottoms.”
She nipped at her wife’s neck “I bet she looks even better without them.”
A low purr escaped Baran’s throat. “You have no idea.”
Raw, animal need narrowed Trinity’s vision. “Meet me upstairs, my love. I need to get that thing out of the suitcase that we still haven’t unpacked. Tell Cyrus he should test out his new headphones, I want to make you sing tonight.”