Work Text:
Trinity sits at her desk, half-awake and staring at her laptop.
hulyo 2 11:16 pm
- huckleberry stood up too loudly
- long shift; let huck drive us home (lights)
- pizza probably didn’t help
hulyo 3 3:03 am
- woke up; could not sleep it off
- forgot to tell huck that lavender is a trigger these days; caught him doing laundry
- yelled
- sorry huck
- resolved-ish ~4 hrs later just before shift; ice-cold dark chocolate milk helped surprisingly
hulyo 3 2:20 pm
- whoops
- jumped into basketball game w/ mckay/evans right after shift
- overtired, awful headache (8.5/10)
- resolved w meds/water/cooling/long nap ~3 hrs later
- helps when ur team can run a hospital
Okay. That’s it.
She scrolls through her migraine log. Relatively, it hasn’t been a bad month. Sure, she could use more sleep to stave them away. But on the whole, manageable.
She hears Dennis getting ready in the other room, trying his best not to draw attention to himself. He’s like a mouse these days (but she tells him he’s always looked like one)—quick on his feet, quiet. She feels a little bad that today is her day off and it isn’t his, so last night she bought two cinnamon buns from the bakery near their apartment and put one on Dennis’s designated space in the fridge.
Her phone lights up.
reepicheep
appreciate the breakfast:) yum!
hope appt. goes okay
Her finger hovers over the thumbs-up emoji—her default.
She sighs.
Her finger lands on the heart.
big bad wolf
thanks
don’t go killing anyone today
reepicheep
:(
so ill bring home tacos for dinner
big bad wolf
depends
my neuro is dangerously close to banning me from processed meat and explicit acts of affection
ur literally making me sick
reepicheep
:(
She chuckles. She does hope Dennis brings home those spicy cheese-and-chicken tacos. And an ice-cold horchata…delicious.
—
The waiting room is sleepy today, which is a win in Trinity’s book. No long lines, and her neuro will probably be willing to talk for longer.
Back To The Future is on the TV. She settles in her chair and watches—Doc Brown is endearing, so much so that she’s engrossed and doesn’t notice when someone occupies the seat next to her.
“Dr. Santos?”
Trinity gulps. She’d recognize that soft voice anywhere.
Her eyes turn away from the screen slowly, with the terror Marty has upon seeing his father, his age, in the 1955 diner.
Dr. Baran Al-Hashimi, in a shirt and shorts and her hair down, is inches away from her in a doctor’s office. And not for any professional reason.
“Dr. Al-Hashimi,” she breathes out. “Hi.”
“Are you here for Dr. Ferrer?”
Trinity realizes. “Yes. She’s…she’s your neuro, too?” She wonders if this has anything to do with her first shift at the Pitt, the night she broke down driving Trinity home. She always assumed it was exhaustion (who wouldn’t be around Robby, right?).
“Just this year, when I moved to Pittsburgh,” Baran explains. “I heard she has a good track record.”
“Oh, she does,” Trinity nods. “She’s been mine…I mean, I’ve been her patient since I was a teenager.”
Baran takes this in, grateful that Trinity trusts her with this information.
“For migraines,” Trinity explains. “Anything headache-y. I go here every three months.”
“I see.”
Baran doesn’t seem all too willing to share her health history. Trinity gives her a small smile, just to make it known that she isn’t going to probe.
She notices Baran steal a glance at her watch every now and then, unable to focus her eyes on any one point of the waiting room.
“She’s a talker,” Trinity offers.
Baran nods. “I’m on shift,” she admits. “I promised I’d be gone for an hour, nothing more.”
“Okay, let me swap with you.”
“What?”
“We’re the only ones here. You should go first.”
Baran studies Trinity. She knows she should initially refuse, but she also doesn’t have the time to dance around the offer. It also looks like (unless Trinity is just very good at hiding things, which Baran has a feeling she is) the appointment is a regular check-up, not a career-defining discussion like hers is.
You have until Monday to tell the administration, Robby's threat growls in the back of her mind.
She cannot lose this job.
She cannot let that one night determine all the nights after, not when the Pitt has come to feel like a place where she does belong.
“It’s my day off,” Trinity smiles. “Please allow me.”
“I would be very grateful,” Baran gives in.
—
Trinity gives a gentle nod when Baran exits the door twenty minutes later.
Baran can't meet her eyes.