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The morning in the emergency department had started badly, even by Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center standards.
And that was saying something.
“Why is he bleeding so much?” Santos grumbled while trying to keep pressure on the forehead of a man who had just come in handcuffed.
“Because someone shoved a bottle through him, genius,” Whitaker replied from the other side of the gurney.
“Thanks, Huckleberry. Your scientific contribution just saved lives.”
Whitaker didn’t even look up. He was already preparing sutures with that irritating calm that made him seem immune to chaos.
The patient, completely intoxicated, muttered an incoherent insult before suddenly trying to sit up. Santos reacted quickly to force him back down.
“Stay still or I’m going to—”
.
The man shoved her.
Hard.
Santos lost her balance and slammed the side of her head against the metal monitor stand.
The sharp sound made the entire trauma bay freeze for a second.
Whitaker reacted first.
“Santos!”
She stayed still against the wall, blinking.
Then she smiled.
“I’m fine.”
Which, in Trinity Santos language, meant exactly the opposite.
Dana Evans appeared almost immediately.
“What happened?”
“Patient got aggressive,” Whitaker said. “Santos hit her head.”
“I’m perfect.”
“You’re seeing double.”
“No, I’m seeing two Whitakers. Unfortunately that can happen.”
Dana pulled a penlight from her pocket and aimed it at Santos’s eyes.
“I don’t like your response.”
“I don’t like this shift either and here we are.”
“Observation room. Now.”
“Dana…”
“Now.”
Santos opened her mouth to argue, but the wave of dizziness that hit when she turned ruined any convincing attempt at looking functional.
Whitaker grabbed her arm before she lost balance.
“Don’t say anything,” he muttered.
“I hate you.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Dana walked ahead of them while still coordinating patients and giving orders to the rest of the department as if she could split herself into five people.
“Whitaker, you stay with her.”
“What?”
“She can’t fall asleep for several hours. Keep an eye on her.”
Santos laughed.
“Him? Dana, he’s literally a tired golden retriever.”
“Santos.”
“Fine, fine.”
Dana crouched in front of her.
“If you get dizzier, vomit, or lose consciousness, you tell me immediately.”
“So dramatic.”
“And you are not moving from here.”
Thirty minutes later, Whitaker was asleep.
Completely asleep.
Slumped in the chair with his arms crossed and his head tilted to one side.
Santos stared at him from the observation bed with absolute disgust.
“Incredible security guard,” she muttered.
He didn’t move.
He had gotten off shift hours ago. He’d stayed extra because Dana had practically threatened him into watching her.
And now he was snoring softly.
Pathetic.
Santos slowly grabbed her phone.
She had a message from García.
My break got canceled. Complicated case. Sorry.
That had been forty minutes ago.
Then another one.
Splenic injury. Pretty bad.
Santos’s green eyes lit up immediately.
Spleen preservation.
Complicated surgery.
And García was downstairs in the OR.
Santos looked at Whitaker.
Still dead to the world.
A slow smile spread across her face.
“This is your fault, Huckleberry.”
Sneaking out with a concussion turned out to be much harder than Santos expected.
Mostly because the hallway wouldn’t stop moving a little.
But she kept going anyway.
One hand on the wall.
Avoiding nurses.
Avoiding residents.
Especially avoiding Dana Evans, who had a demonic sixth sense for detecting stupidity.
When she finally reached the surgical observation gallery, she pressed both hands against the glass and took a deep breath.
Down below, García was operating.
And though Santos would never admit it out loud…
The sight always stole her breath.
Yolanda García under surgical lights was a different person.
Precise.
Cold.
Elegant.
Completely focused.
“Retraction.”
One of the interns hesitated too long.
“Today, please,” García said without raising her voice.
Santos smiled.
There she was.
The hospital’s favorite scalpel.
Emery Walsh stepped beside García.
“Pressure’s dropping a little.”
“I see it.”
Santos watched, fascinated, as Yolanda worked around the damaged spleen.
Every movement exact.
Every instruction firm.
Then García spoke again.
“What artery specifically do we need to preserve here?”
Silence.
One intern blinked.
Another opened their mouth.
Nothing.
García slowly looked up over her mask.
That surgical stare capable of destroying human self-esteem.
“No one?”
From above, Santos pressed the gallery intercom.
“The left gastroepiploic artery helps maintain partial perfusion if you control the rest of the bleeding.”
The entire OR froze.
Yolanda snapped her head toward the gallery.
Her eyes narrowed dangerously.
“…No.”
Santos smiled innocently behind the glass.
“Hi.”
Emery actually laughed.
“Oh, this is about to get ugly.”
García clenched her jaw.
“What are you doing here?”
“Educational observation.”
“You have a concussion.”
“I have academic curiosity.”
“Santos.”
“Yes, García?”
“Did you sneak out?”
The interns looked between them like they were watching professional tennis.
Santos leaned casually against the glass.
“Technically I relocated without authorization.”
“I’m going to kill you.”
“Romantic.”
Emery was enjoying this way too much.
“I have to admit, it’s impressive she made it here without passing out.”
“Don’t encourage her,” García said.
Santos grinned wider.
“Missed you too.”
García went back to the surgery, clearly trying to ignore her.
It lasted exactly forty seconds.
“Clamp.”
The intern handed her the wrong instrument.
García closed her eyes for one second.
From above:
“Kelly clamp. The curved one. Not the straight one.”
The intern obeyed automatically.
Without looking up, García pointed one finger toward the glass.
“Not another word.”
“But you people clearly need help.”
“Santos.”
“Fine, fine.”
Two minutes later:
“What structure is most at risk if we go deeper here?” García asked.
Silence again.
Santos instantly pressed the intercom.
“Pancreatic tail.”
García let her shoulders drop.
“Oh my God.”
Emery burst out laughing.
“You can’t blame her. Technically she’s right.”
“I’m not arguing that.”
“Then admit it,” Santos said. “You need me.”
García slowly looked up.
Even from above, Santos recognized that expression.
The expression of wait until I get my hands on you.
And still she smiled.
Because that look usually ended in kisses afterward.
Dana Evans discovered the disappearance exactly twelve minutes later.
And the problem was that she found Whitaker first.
Still asleep.
Dana stared at him in absolute silence.
Then looked at the empty bed.
Then back at Whitaker.
“Whitaker.”
Nothing.
“Whitaker.”
The boy opened one eye slowly.
“Hm?”
Dana smiled.
And that was terrifying.
“Where is Santos?”
Silence.
Whitaker looked at the empty bed.
Blink.
Looked again.
His soul left his body.
“…Oh no.”
“OH NO?”
He jumped up so fast he almost knocked over the chair.
“I was awake.”
“Sure.”
“I just closed my eyes for a second.”
“Whitaker.”
“Dana, I can explain.”
“The resident with a concussion disappeared under your supervision?”
“When you say it like that, it sounds bad.”
“Because IT IS bad.”
Whitaker was already dragging both hands through his hair in panic.
“I’ll go find her.”
“You better.”
The surgery ended forty minutes later.
And against all odds, it was a success.
García pulled off her gloves while Emery tried not to laugh.
“I’ve never seen someone give surgical instructions from a gallery before.”
“Shut up.”
“She looked happy.”
“Emery.”
“Very happy.”
García looked up toward the gallery again.
Santos was still there.
Though now she looked much paler.
And was leaning way too hard against the glass.
The irritation instantly vanished from Yolanda’s face.
“Shit.”
She practically ran upstairs.
She found Santos trying to walk like a functional human being.
Trying.
Because the floor was clearly still moving for her.
“Don’t you dare pass out,” García said while wrapping an arm around her waist.
“Wasn’t planning on it.”
“Does it hurt badly?”
“Maybe a little.”
“Trinity.”
“Okay, a lot.”
García sighed deeply.
“You’re impossible.”
“But charming.”
“Not now.”
Santos smiled weakly.
“You look pretty when you’re angry.”
“And you have a brain injury.”
“That explains a lot of emotional decisions.”
García finally slid an arm around her back to help her walk.
Half carrying her, really.
Because Santos insisted she could walk alone while very clearly walking diagonally.
And that was exactly how Dana Evans found them entering the emergency department again.
Dana froze completely.
Looked at García holding Santos up.
Looked at Santos trying to look innocent.
Looked behind them.
Whitaker came running around the corner at that exact moment.
And stopped dead when he saw the scene.
Perfect.
Absolutely perfect.
“Dana,” Santos said carefully.
“Don’t speak.”
“I can explain—”
“You neither,” Dana snapped at Whitaker.
Whitaker raised both hands.
“I was literally about to find her.”
“Sure.”
García tried to maintain professional composure.
She failed a little when she automatically brushed a strand of hair behind Santos’s ear.
Dana saw the gesture.
Whitaker saw the gesture.
Mateo Diaz, who had arrived early for the night shift, saw the gesture.
Perlah saw the gesture.
Princess saw the gesture.
Even Robby, from the other side of the department, slowly raised one eyebrow.
Because they genuinely thought they were discreet.
Unbelievable.
“You escaped to watch a surgery?” Dana finally asked.
Santos pointed at García.
“It was spleen preservation.”
Dana closed her eyes.
“Of course it was.”
“Worth it.”
“You did not help.”
“Technically I did.”
García let out a defeated sigh.
“She did help.”
Dana slowly opened her eyes.
“Excuse me?”
“The interns were panicking.”
“And Santos answered questions through the intercom,” Emery added while appearing behind them, clearly entertained.
Dana looked at Santos.
Santos smiled proudly.
“Interdisciplinary education.”
Whitaker muttered:
“I’m going to die.”
“Correct,” Dana replied.
Robby finally walked over.
He observed Santos leaning against García.
“Concussion?”
“Mild,” García answered before anyone else could.
Robby looked at that.
Then at Dana.
Then at Whitaker.
“She escaped?”
Whitaker immediately pointed at Santos.
“She runs fast.”
“With a concussion,” Dana said.
“Very motivated.”
Santos tried to stand upright by herself.
Bad idea.
She immediately got dizzy.
García grabbed her tighter before she fell.
The silence around them lasted exactly two seconds.
Because Perlah smiled.
Princess smiled too.
And Samira, walking by with a coffee, muttered:
“Yeah, super discreet.”
Santos closed her eyes.
“I hate all of you.”
“You earned it,” Dana said.
Then she pointed toward a room.
“Back to observation.”
“Dana…”
“With supervision.”
García immediately started guiding Santos toward the room.
Dana looked at her.
“You stay too.”
García turned around.
“What?”
“She’s obviously not staying put if I leave her alone.”
“That’s unfair,” Santos protested.
“Quiet.”
Whitaker let out a tired laugh.
Dana slowly turned toward him.
He stopped breathing.
“And you owe me six coffees for falling asleep.”
“That feels low for what I did.”
“I’m not done with you.”
An hour later, Santos was still trapped in observation.
Though now she was lying down with her head in García’s lap while Yolanda reviewed scans on a tablet.
“This is humiliating.”
“I warned you.”
“You betrayed my adventurous spirit.”
“Your adventurous spirit has brain swelling.”
Santos smiled faintly.
Then looked up at her.
“The surgery was incredible.”
García finally looked down at her.
The annoyance was still there.
Just softer now.
“You scared the hell out of me when I heard your voice.”
“You should’ve seen the interns’ faces.”
“Don’t ever do that again.”
“No promises.”
“Trinity.”
She sighed.
“Okay. Maybe not with concussions.”
“Thank you.”
A brief silence.
Then Santos murmured:
“Watching you operate was completely worth the lecture though.”
García tried not to smile.
Lost the battle.
“You’re flirting while concussed.”
“And it’s working.”
“A little.”
Santos smiled smugly and closed her eyes.
Whitaker appeared in the doorway seconds later carrying three coffees and looking emotionally defeated.
“Dana says she still hates me.”
“Correct,” García replied.
“She also said if Santos disappears again she’s chaining me to the front desk.”
Santos opened one eye.
“That would actually be useful.”
“Shut up.”
“Never.”
Whitaker watched García automatically adjust the blanket over Santos.
Then sighed.
“You two are a disaster.”
“And yet you’re still here,” Santos muttered half asleep.
“Somebody has to stop you from killing yourself.”
García looked at Whitaker.
“Thanks for staying with her earlier.”
He shrugged.
“Yeah, well… I tried.”
Santos smiled without opening her eyes.
“Terrible attempt, Huckleberry.”
Whitaker pointed his coffee at her.
“Go to sleep and I’m abandoning you in neurology.”
“Coward.”
Dana appeared in the doorway again.
She looked at all of them.
Santos half asleep.
García sitting beside her.
Whitaker holding coffees like a war survivor.
And for the first time all morning…
Dana smiled a little.
“Five more hours of observation,” she said.
“That’s cruel,” Santos muttered.
“And you are not escaping again.”
Santos slowly opened one eye.
“No promises.”
Dana shook her head.
“Of course not.”