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When Yolanda makes her way down to the ED for what has to be the fourth or fifth time this Friday shift, she gets accosted.
There is no other word for it.
Dana catches her by the wrist the moment she steps into the hallway and steers her with surprising strength toward an empty patient bay.
"Hey—"
Yolanda barely gets the word out before the curtain is pulled shut behind them.
The ambush has clearly been coordinated.
McKay is already inside, arms folded across her chest as she positions herself squarely in front of the only exit with the attitude of a nightclub bouncer who has decided nobody is leaving.
"Excuse me, I was paged, what—"
"The frat bro with the arm lac can wait two minutes," McKay says evenly.
Dana nods once. "But for the sake of my floor, you better fix this." Her stern stare pins Yolanda in place.
It is very rare for anyone to leave Yolanda Garcia genuinely speechless in the Pitt, yet she suddenly has no idea what the hell she's been dragged into.
"...Fix what?" She works very hard to keep the irritation out of her voice.
Dr. Shamsi is waiting upstairs, and she wants to be scrubbed in for a complex hepatic artery reconstruction in less than thirty minutes.
"Your wife, Garcia," Dana stage-whispers, like someone might somehow hear them from the opposite end of the department.
Yolanda's shoulders tighten automatically.
"I assume it was something you did."
"...What?"
McKay sighs quietly and uncrosses her arms. "She's been very... off all day."
Unlike Dana, her voice carries no accusation.
"She snaps at people one moment, then barely talks the next. She apologizes immediately afterwards, but..." McKay hesitates.
"I also heard her crying in one of the bathroom stalls earlier."
A warm hand settles on Yolanda's shoulder.
Dana gives it one brief squeeze. "Mel said it happened again later."
Yolanda swallows. Her mind is already racing back through the morning.
Trinity had been tired, sure, a little quieter and shorter with her than usual.
Nothing she hadn't attributed to another exhausting week of trying.
The obstetrician had specifically advised them not to let "it" consume their lives. Keep working and living. Don't overanalyse every symptom. Don't turn every day into a countdown.
Easy advice to give when you're not the couple sitting on three unsuccessful attempts while trying to hold demanding careers together.
In the most stressful field of work, no less.
Yolanda bites the inside of her cheek. Maybe this simply wasn't meant to happen.
Like flipping a coin, the doctor had said. Fifty-fifty.
Except lately it feels like the coin refuses to land at all, suspended endlessly in the air while every month steals another piece of Trinity's certainty.
Yolanda is getting dangerously close to wanting to throw the damn coin out of the nearest window.
She misses her wife.
Between the timed medications, the hopeful waiting and the inevitable disappointment, her wonderfully smug, brilliant wife has slowly become a tightly wound bundle of anxiety.
The excitement had carried them through the beginning. Now the hope mostly seems to hurt.
"Dr. Garcia." Dana's hand squeezes her shoulder again.
Yolanda blinks exactly once.
Then, she carefully smooths every crack out of her expression until the professional neutrality settles back into place.
Their colleagues intentionally don't know that they're trying.
The last thing Trinity wants is sympathetic smiles, whispered speculation or, worst case, someone suggesting she take a step back because of her condition.
"I..." Yolanda begins before clearing the tightness from her throat. "I think I know what this is about."
"Yeah?" Dana asks, still sounding unimpressed. "Then why has it taken you so long? You've been down here half a dozen times today."
"Dana," McKay interrupts gently. "Not helping."
The charge nurse rolls her eyes but relents. "Fine. Anyway, Al-Hashimi ordered her to take twenty."
Yolanda nods, already turning toward the curtain. "Do you know where—"
Dana simply points upwars before she even finishes. "Go. I already paged Henderson for the guy. You don't need to worry about that one."
Despite everything, a laugh escapes Yolanda. "You dragged me downstairs just to scold me?"
Dana raises an eyebrow. "Somebody had to."
McKay steps aside from the entrance, finally allowing her through.
"You know better than anyone," she says with a sympathetic smile, "that irritated Trinity is already... irritaing company."
"And now add weirdly sad into the mix," Dana mutters. "Whoever we've been working with today wasn't Santos."
That settles like a stone in Yolanda's stomach.
Trinity has worked incredibly hard to regulate her emotions over the past few years. She still vents at home, still rants about impossible patients and impossible colleagues over takeout or late-night tea, (they both do). But very little rattles her once she's on the floor.
If the people who know her best are pulling Yolanda into interventions, then something is much more wrong than she realized.
On her way upstairs, Yolanda detours through the surgeons' locker room, grabs the worn canvas tote from her locker and slips into Dr. Shamsi's office before she can lose her nerve.
Her attending is visibly unhappy about losing another surgeon so close to the end of the shift.
The schedule is already stretched thin, tomorrow's cases are piling up, and leaving early is not something Yolanda Garcia does.
Still, something in the way Yolanda quietly says 'personal emergency' makes Dr. Shamsi stop asking questions.
With a reluctant sigh, she waves her toward the door. "Don't make a habit out of it."
"Thank you." Yolanda is already gone.
The elevator feels impossibly slow.
She knows exactly how many seconds it takes to reach every floor in this hospital. Her body has memorized the rhythm after years of riding these elevators many times a day.
Without realizing it, she has clenched both hands into fists inside her scrub pockets. She forces her fingers to uncurl.
Then, almost instinctively, they find the ring resting against her chest, hanging from the silver chain beneath her scrub top.
Her thumb rubs slowly over the smooth metal.
It's going to be okay. If this isn't meant to happen.....then it isn't.
The image of Trinity one day holding their child would always linger somewhere inside her, tucked away beside all the futures they had quietly imagined together.
It would hurt. But no imagined future is worth losing the life they already have.
The elevator doors slide open with a familiar chime.
Yolanda steps out and heads toward the narrow metal staircase at the end of the hallway. Each step echoes softly beneath her shoes.
The rooftop door resists for a moment before giving way.
As Yolanda steps out, cool early-evening air brushes across her face.
The day is beginning its slow surrender to sunset, the sky painted in soft gold and pale peach that reflect from the buildings surrounding the hospital.
A gentle breeze drifts across the rooftop, stirring loose strands of hair and carrying with it the distant sounds of traffic far below. It is neither warm nor cold, simply comfortable for September.
For a few seconds, the rooftop seems almost empty. Then she spots her.
Trinity stands at the far railing with her arms folded tightly across herself, gazing out over the city like shes trying to find an answer somewhere between the rooftops and the fading light.
"Trin?" Yolanda keeps her voice gentle. "It's me."
The gravel crunches beneath her shoes as she walks closer. The sound feels strangely loud in the quiet.
Trinity turns. She looks exhausted.
Her eyes are lightly swollen and red-ish, and yet something still lingers behind them.
She doesn't speak, simply watches Yolanda approach.
Yolanda lifts the tote bag slightly. "I'm sorry I didn't notice you weren't feeling well." She reaches inside awkwardly.
"I brought the thermos." Out comes the insulated flask. "And the heat pads you like."
She fumbles deeper into the bag. "I also grabbed the mints, in case you..."
Her voice falters. "...if you had to throw—"
Yolanda doesnt get to finish.
Trinity closes the distance in two quick steps and throws both arms around her.
The force of it almost knocks Yolanda backwards. Instinct takes over before thought does.
Her arms wrap tightly around Trinity's back, one hand finding the base of her neck while the other settles firmly between her shoulder blades.
Yolanda takes a long breath, hoping her wife will mirror it.
For a long moment neither of them says anything. Trinity simply buries her face against Yolanda's shoulder.
Trinity's breathing starts turning uneven, and then the first sob escapes.
"Oh, cariño..." Yolanda strokes slowly through her hair. "I've got you."
Another sob shakes Trinity's whole body. "I've got you."
She presses a kiss against Trinity's temple. "You don't have to do this alone."
"I know," Trinity manages between shaky breaths."I know."
Yolanda simply holds her tighter."I love you."
"I love you too."
Another silence settles between them, broken only by Trinity gradually crying herself quieter.
Eventually she leans back just enough to look at Yolanda. Her cheeks are wet.
Her mouth opens, then closes again.
She laughs once through another sniffle.
"I... shit, this is hard."
Yolanda smiles softly despite the fear still twisting inside her chest. "You don't have to."
"I do." Trinity wipes uselessly at another tear. "I just..." She laughs again, completely overwhelmed.
"I don't know how to say it." Yolanda reaches up and brushes a few hairs away from her face.
"Whatever it is," she says quietly, "we'll deal with it together."
Trinity shakes her head. A watery smile appears. "That's... that's the thing."
She reaches into her pocket with trembling fingers.
It takes two attempts before she manages to pull out a tiny white plastic stick.
Yolanda looks at it.
Then back at Trinity.
Then at the stick again.
For several long seconds, nothing happens.
"I..." Trinity's smile trembles. "It worked."
Yolanda blinks.
"It actually..." Another shaky breath. "I'm pregnant."
Silence.
"I... I'm about three four weeks."
Yolanda continues staring, her mind simply refuses to catch up.
Trinity's smile slowly begins to fade. "I know it's early." Yolanda still doesn't move.
"I know we shouldn't..."
Then something breaks loose inside of her.
"Oh my God." Both hands fly to Trinity's face. "Oh my God."
Fresh tears spill freely down Yolanda's own cheeks before she even notices them.
"You are?"
Trinity nods so hard she starts crying again. "Yes."
"You really are?"
Another nod. "The blood test confirmed it."
Yolanda lets out something halfway between a laugh and a sob before pulling Trinity into another embrace, gentler this time, one hand instinctively spreading protectively across the small of her back while the other cradles the back of her head.
"Oh, Trin..." Her voice cracks completely. "We're..." She can't finish.
Trinity presses her forehead against hers. "We're having a baby."
Finally, the words become real and Yolanda laughs through tears.
Then she kisses Trinity.
Again and again, softer each time, like every kiss is another chance to convince herself this isn't a dream.
When they finally separate, she carefully kneels down in front of Trinity, both hands coming to rest almost reverently against her still flat stomach.
Yolanda can still feel her own eyes shine.
"Hi there," she whispers, smiling so brightly her cheeks ache.
Then she looks back up at Trinity. "Youre going to be the best mother. I know it." Another tear escapes despite the smile stretching across her face.
Yolanda leans forward and places one impossibly gentle kiss against Trinity's abdomen.
"You have the strongest Mama," she whispers before pressing another lingering kiss to the exact same spot, like the tiny life tucked safely beneath Trinity's skin can already recognize the sound of her voice.
Her knees are beginning to hurt against the rough gravel, and somewhere beside them the thermos has rolled away with a hollow clunk, disappearing beneath a bench.
Yolanda cant bring herself to care. Right now, the entire world has narrowed to the warmth beneath her palms, the rise and fall of Trinity's breathing, and the impossible knowledge that their child is there.
Above her, Trinity blinks rapidly and rubs at her damp eyes before letting out a watery little laugh.
"I thought you were going to be Mama," she murmurs. "And I was going to be Mom."
Yolanda's grin grows even wider as she wraps both arms around Trinity's middle and presses her cheek fully against her wife's stomach, staying as close as possible.
"Right," she says with exaggerated seriousness. "Sorry. I forgot."
Trinity's fingers disappear into her hair, gently combing through the dark curls until some of the frantic energy finally begins to drain from her body.
"Hey, little bean," Yolanda says softly, smiling through misty eyes. "It's Mama. Mom's had a difficult day, but we're going to make it better."
"Tell bean not to make me so emotional and nauseous all the time." Trintiy huffs above her.
Yolanda tilts her head toward Trinity's stomach again.
"Did you hear that?" she asks in a conspiratorial whisper before placing another kiss there. "Mom says she's having a rough time, but none of this is your fault. You don't even have ears yet."
Trinity's stomach tightens beneath her cheek as another burst of laughter escapes her, bright and entirely unguarded.
Yolanda closes her eyes. She could spend the rest of her life making that laugh happen.
She will.
Plus a smaller, but similar one.
Eventually she pushes herself upright, brushing gravel and dust from her knees. By now, the sun has almost disappeared behind the skyline, flooding the rooftop with deep orange light that catches in Trinity's hair and paints her skin gold.
For a long moment, Yolanda simply stares.
Trinity looks tired. She looks nauseous. Her eyes are still swollen from crying.
She has never looked more beautiful.
Mother of my child. Feels very right.
"What are you staring at, Doctor?" Trinity asks, nudging her gently with one shoulder.
Yolanda blinks herself back into motion, stoops to retrieve the tote bag contents and then reaches automatically for Trinity's hand.
Their fingers lace together without either of them thinking about it.
They have almost reached the heavy rooftop door when Trinity's grip suddenly tightens.
Yolanda feels the hesitation travel through her wife's hand before she sees it on her face. "Trin."
She stops walking and turns fully toward her. "It's going to work out."
Trinity's eyes, bright with joy only moments ago, flicker with uncertainty again. "I know. I just..."
"Yeah." Yolanda cups her face with one hand, rubbing her thumbs gently across her cheek. "Even if it doesn't, none of it will ever be your fault."
Trinity's expression pinches, like hearing the words hurts almost as much as needing them.
"We have every reason to hope," Yolanda continues quietly. "The odds are good, and I also know I can't ask you not to be scared after everything it took to get here."
She smiles softly before lifting their joined hands and pressing a kiss against Trinity's knuckles.
"But imagine it with me anyway." Trinity watches her silently.
"A tiny hand wrapping around your finger so tightly that you can't believe someone so small can have that much force."
Another smile breaks across Yolanda's face. "And then one day those beautiful little green eyes opening for the first time."
Trinity lets out a tiny laugh. "How do you know they're going to be green?"
"I have a feeling."
"A feeling."
Yolanda reaches for the heavy rooftop door. "We won't tell anyone yet."
Trinity nods immediately. "Not for a while."
"But hoping is allowed," Yolanda says as she pulls the door open and warm hospital air replaces the evening breeze. "Dreaming is allowed too."
They step inside together and walk down the hallway, never letting go of the other's hand.
The elevator arrives and the doors buzz lightly as they slide open.
Trinity is staring at the floor when she speaks, wiping at her face again.
"I should warn you, though." Yolanda glances over. "At the rate this is going, I'm going to be crying more than the little one."
The teasing tone is there, but Yolanda hears the familiar insecurity underneath it.
The elevator doors slide shut.
Instead of answering immediately, Yolanda steps forward until there isn't any space left between them.
She cradles Trinity's face, kisses her slowly and carefully, pouring every promise she cant find words for into the touch.
When she finally pulls back, their foreheads stay together.
"I don't care," she whispers with a smile that still feels too large for her own face. "I'll happily take a thousand crying fits, yours or theirs, if it means we get to have this."
Her hand slips between them until it rests around Trinity's waist.
"And if they're anything like their mother," she says, smiling through the sting behind her eyes, "I'll probably fall in love with them before they even have the chance to say hello."
At central, Dana looks down from the tracking board, crossing off the rooms that have finally turned over after what feels like the longest shift in a while. The evening rush has eased enough for everyone to relax by a fraction.
Movement catches her eye.
Garcia is making her way toward the hub, one arm settled firmly around Santos, who looks exhausted.
Dana raises an eyebrow. Garcia showing affection in public is uncommon enough. This, however, is something else entirely. The surgeon seems to have been crying, too.
Before the pair even reach the desk, Dana waves them off. "Go home, kid. Al-Hashimi agrees."
Trinity opens her mouth anyway. "Look, Dana, I'm sor..."
"Forgiven and forgotten, alright?" Dana cuts in, dismissing the apology with a flick of her hand. "Go home, get some sleep, eat something that isn't cafeteria food, or whatever the two of you need to do, and then come back sounding like yourself again."
Trinity's shoulders loosen a little. She nods slowly. "Thanks, Dana."
Without another argument, she turns toward the exit.
Dana watches them go, noticing that Garcia's arm never leaves Trinity's waist.
If anything, she draws her a little closer once they reach the doors, leaning down to murmur something that earns the smallest, tired smile from Santos before they disappear into the hallway.
Cassie drifts up beside her, parking her tablet in the charging stand.
"So," she says, following Dana's gaze toward the doors, "she's feeling better?"
Dana lets out a quiet huff that borders on a laugh.
"Oh, sure is." Smiling, she sits down in her chair again. "I think I'm going to place a bet."