Chapter Text
On the rare occasion that Trinity and Yolanda's day off for the week matches, best believe they have something sickeningly cute planned out. Usually, it's a hike to a doughnut place, or seven kilometers around their favorite loop with threats of additional chores for the slower one.
Yolanda booked them for a brunch at a fancy rooftop place this week, just because. She didn't make a big deal out of it leading up to the date, but she was looking forward to it.
So it's bad news that the place is an hour and a half away, and Trinity can't be called out of bed.
Yolanda ignored the first few missed alarms, then tried to coax Trinity up by reading off the brunch menu. But she was met with stone-cold silence every time.
“Trinity,” Yolanda’s voice is urgent, and commanding, as she gets her socks on. This is starting to get less and less cute, this cat-and-mouse they’re playing. She sighs, storming into the bedroom.
“It's almost rush hour, and we can't..."
Trinity shifts in bed, face sweaty and cheeks alarmingly pink. Yolanda crouches in front of her, putting a careful hand on her forehead. She clicks her tongue through gritted teeth.
The waffle stocks are crashing with every passing second.
“What hurts?”
Trinity stirs and moves this way and that.
“Achy all around. Arms feel like lead,” she mumbles. “Like I lifted too much.”
“I know, I was with you at the gym yesterday,” Yolanda reminds her. “How long have you been feeling bad?” She unzips her work bag for a thermometer, for once proud of her inability to put things away (that her girlfriend has berated her for multiple times).
“Woke up…once last night. Chills. Bad dream," Trinity shudders from the cold.
“Great,” Yolanda closes her eyes. “How’d I miss that?” She was so out of it after a whatever-the-hell-that-was shift last night that she doesn’t remember much besides being conked out on the mattress from sundown.
“Deep sleeper,” Trinity grins through bleary eyes. “My temperature made the bed more conducive to sleep."
“Okay, you can joke. That’s a good sign.”
“Yolanda, I’m…”
“No, you’re not fine. You’re at one hundred-friggin-two degrees,” Yolanda looks at her temperature gun with a wince.
"You can swear in front of me," Trinity closes her eyes.
She calculates in her brain.
102.
What the hell is that in Celsius.
Thirty-
Thirty-something.
Ha-ha. Like Yolanda.
Ah, crap. I can’t even convert Fahrenheit to Celsius.
Maybe I’m not at 100% today.
She giggles to herself. Yolanda’s eyes go wide in amusement.
“Any dizziness? You want to throw up?”
Trinity doesn’t answer within half a second. Yolanda nods at that.
“All right. Breakfast then ibu.”
“No,” Trinity grunts. “Sleep.”
“Toast, meds, sleep. Deal?” Yolanda starts to shake a sheet off Trinity, and the latter kicks in protest.
“Jesus, you’re strong.”
Trinity takes offense at that. “Does it surprise you because I’m a woman?”
“Because I could cook an egg on your scalp right now, stupid,” Yolanda shakes her head, successfully pulling off the sheet. "If we had a pool, I'd throw you in it."
We. Not I.
“I bet your grades for bedside manner were zero, zero, zero…”
“Shush, amor mío,” Yolanda cups Trinity’s cheek. “No more talking.”
Trinity shuts up after that. Yolanda doesn’t know if it’s the first-time usage of the term of endearment (which rolls off the tongue pretty nicely, by the way) or just the fact that Trinity feels too shitty to retaliate, but she’s thankful.
“Let’s get you into something more comfortable,” she suggests. Trinity nods when Yolanda hesitates at stripping off the sweat-soaked sleep shirt.
“Good girl,” Yolanda dries Trinity off before helping her into a fresh top. She thinks for a moment, then goes to her drawer for a small white towel. Her hand is cool and steady on Trinity’s back as she puts the towel in place, then pulls up the excess at the top of the shirt.
Though half-asleep, Trinity registers the gesture. She hasn’t had that done to her since she was a kid.
So Yolanda does listen when she tells her stories about her childhood. And she remembers them.
“Thanks,” she whispers.
“Sweating like a sinner in church,” Yolanda teases, but she presses a kiss to Trinity’s forehead. “Go back to sleep. I’ll just get you ice.”
She gets up, but Trinity pins her arm back down on the bed with a forehead crease so pronounced that Yolanda's worried she'll pop a vein. Wow, she's really strong.
Not that that's any new information, given all the time they've spent spotting each other at the gym.
“I thought it was toast…”
“Playing it by ear, girl. Ice, toast, meds, sleep.”
“But you said go back to…” her voice breaks.
And she isn’t joking. Whether from fever, overwhelm, or emotional exhaustion, she’s close to tears, her eyes glassy.
“Trinity, let me worry for you. That’s my checklist, not yours. Just close your eyes."
But she doesn’t.
Yolanda isn’t normally this patient, but she hates seeing Trinity so agitated. And Trinity isn’t just anybody.
She makes space for herself on the bed and leans against the headboard.
"Deep breaths, Trin. Doing well."
Trinity tries.
And then she forgets how.
"Easy. Easy. See?" Yolanda's hand slides down Trinity's abdomen, then gently taps her diaphragm. "There you go. Breathe."
"Have you...been...doing yoga or....something?" Trinity wheezes.
"Wouldn't you like to know," Yolanda smirks. "Don't change the subject."
Just before she can put her hand on Trinity’s shoulder to massage her, Trinity’s head jerks.
“Nauseous?” Yolanda asks, and Trinity shakes her head.
“Not used to it,” she murmurs sleepily.
“Consider this exposure therapy,” Yolanda hums, her touch slipping down the small of Trinity's back. For me, too.
"Trin, wake up for me?"
Yolanda holds up a plate of toast and a bottle cap of fever reducer.
Trinity manages a few bites.
"Okay, okay, you don't have to finish it," Yolanda takes the plate away when Trinity shows signs of struggle. "No need to prove anything."
"You'll eat too?" Trinity leans her head on Yolanda's chest like a sad puppy.
"Don't worry about me."
"Then who will?"
Yolanda chuckles.
"I'm a big girl."
"I know."
"First things first. Bottoms up," Yolanda taps the bottle cap.
(She eats the leftover toast.)
It's now noon.
Yolanda has fallen asleep face-down and curled up next to her girlfriend, one protective hand still on Trinity's cheek to gauge her temperature. The breeze is gentle today, and the curtains dancing against the grills are what wake Trinity up.
Her lips turn upward at the sight. Yolanda looks so sweet, absolutely not anyone you'd expect to reduce a stranger's humeral head with more force than Godzilla.
"Shit," she opens her eyes, guessing at the time. "Are you okay?"
"Better," Trinity pats her hand. "I think it's good we stayed in. We both needed the sleep."
"Agreed," Yolanda adjusts, narrowing the distance between her and Trinity.
“Yolanda,” Trinity taps on Yolanda’s index finger.
“Yeah?” Yolanda props herself up on her elbow. She’ll also admit the day has worn her out. She’s not normally this fussy over anyone.
But again. Trinity is different. For her, she’s more than willing.
“You know I love you, right?”
She doesn’t miss a beat. “Jeez, how bad is your fever?” She knows full well it's coming down.
“I do. I love you.”
“I love you, Trinity,” Yolanda rubs Trinity’s shoulder. “If you didn’t know that already, I’d refer you to this psych friend of mine.”
"You've done that already."
"Yes, and I know many others."
"Okay."
"Okay," Yolanda smiles. She leans in for a kiss.