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Trinity’s sitting in front of a computer near the nurses station, and she’s already feeling that dull ache behind her eyes. The one that makes her want to lay down in the dark, close her eyes and keep her head back against a thin pillow.
But there are still at least four hours left of her shift.
Trinity wills herself to hold on.
Things have been okay since her discussion with Dr. Al-Hashimi— Baran. She makes sure to have Trinity with Samira or Dr. Mckay for any incoming traumas. And if that seems impossible at that moment, she makes sure to place herself between Langdon and Trinity.
A part of herself, deep down, is very grateful.
And maybe that’s the reason things have been better for her at the hospital as well. It’s not that she hates Robby but with him gone, things are less… tense.
But the downside of whatever happened with her and Baran is that, well. Now Dr. Al-Hashimi seems to be everywhere.
“Dr. Santos,” Baran calls out, standing in front of the nurses station, arm resting against the counter.
“I’m catching up with my charting as quickly as I can,” Trinity replies, squinting her eyes shut as another surge of pain flashes through her head and to her eyes. And she has to bite back a frustrating groan.
“I wasn't coming over for that,” She lets out a quiet chuckle, and the younger woman’s eyes open as soon as a hint of something tender flashes through Baran’s eyes.
“Good job on the trauma earlier,” Baran nods, as if finalising the matter, a small smile on her face as she knocks against the counter.
Trinity blinks, surprised and giddy at the same time.
Praise is not something new for her. However, praise from Baran makes her want to sit up straighter, smirk and gloat and puff out her chest proudly.
But it also makes her feel softer. Makes her want to nuzzle her face in the palm of her hand, purr and mewl and beg for more. Makes her want to keep on basking in the feeling of pure, unadulterated joy that rushes through her veins whenever she passes her an approving look.
It seems to make her greedy as well.
Trinity purses her lips, and gives the older woman a nod, because that’s all she can manage to do.
And a part of her is sure that if she were to say anything to the older woman, her voice would give her away.
Baran smiles another small smile, another knock on the counter and she’s walking to catch up with Joy as she presents a case, a hand in her scrubpant’s pocket.
Trinity watches her go, watches her listen to the intern with gentle focus, giving Joy a nod and then adding her own suggestions.
The R2 also watches Dr. Al-Hashimi look over her shoulder, catching Trinity in the midst of her staring. And instead of teasing, passes the younger woman another soft, reassuring smile.
And then the moment is over.
Baran’s being swept away by another incoming trauma, hands ready to clutch at a pair of medical gloves. She’s gone before Trinity has a chance to blink.
She continues to chart.
//
She takes care of more patients, presents them to Baran, gets more praise, charts as soon as she can and the cycle continues until her shift ends.
It ignites a fuzzy feeling in her chest. The easy approval the attending physician sends her way, like she doesn't even have to think about it.
She’s like that with the others as well, Trinity notices. Notices the way Samira’s shoulders aren't as tense as she’s used to seeing. Catches the way Victoria lets out a surprised, awkward squeak whenever she’s somewhat stuck and Baran’s right there to help her through without fuss.
And Dennis is … fine.
They’re okay. He’s still sending her memes— reels of funny farm animals, and pictures of the house he lives in now. Robby’s. She’s still not sure how to feel about that.
Trinity swallows all of her emotions down with a snarky grin or a blunt comment, like she always does.
But yeah.
She lives alone now.
She’s thought about getting a cat, just for the sake of getting a cat. For the company she wants, that she won't admit to anyone.
If Dennis asks, which he will, because he’s so damn nosey. She will just blame it on him, that she wasn't able to keep one when he was around because there would be too many residents in her apartment.
The main concern she has currently, is the headache that refuses to leave her alone.
It’s still there, from before, but now it’s worse.
So much worse.
She’s in the bathroom, splashing her face with cold water when her vision fogs.
Her stomach drops.
She feels the overflow of saliva in her mouth, even if it still feels incredibly dry. She can hear the ringing in her ears and her vision blurs just for a moment more, her world tilting.
She grips onto the edge of the sink until her knuckles turn pale.
Deep breaths. Breathe through the pain, she reminds herself. In. Out. In and out. In. Out.
She’s not really sure how long she stays there for, hunched over the sink, waiting for it to pass. But it surely must've been a while because the bathroom door swings open and closed.
“Trinity,” is mumbled with softness, then closer, faster. Urgent footsteps echo against the tile until Baran is right in front of her.
“What is it? Are you hurt?” If Trinity didn't know better, she’d laugh and point out the panic in Baran’s voice.
But currently she can’t even think straight.
“Trinity,” her voice is tight, “Are you hurt? I need to know. Was it a patient? What happene–”
“It’s just a stupid headache,” The younger of the two whines out and it’s pretty pathetic. And then she’s forcing herself to stand up straight.
It’s very clearly a bad idea.
The room tilts again, just slightly. Baran’s hands reach out immediately to help her.
Trinity doesn't see.
She’s already steadying herself once more against the sink.
She’s positive she looks like a mess. She feels like a mess. She can feel her baby hair sticking to the nape of her neck. And her lips feel super dry. She smacks them slowly, just to get rid of the crackiness.
When she finally manages to open her eyes fully, against the fluorescent light of the bathroom, Baran is already watching her.
Closely.
Her gaze moves over Trinity’s face, taking everything in—the sheen of sweat on her forehead, the dryness of her lips, the way she’s holding herself too stiffly.
“You’re pale.” She comments, voice controlled but firm. “Very pale.”
For a second, Trinity watches her hands clench at her sides, before Baran forces them behind her back, locking them there like she’s holding herself in place.
“South 16. Go.”
“Dr. Al-Hashimi–”
“Go.” Baran’s voice trembles just a bit, the R2 bites on the inside of her cheek.
Trinity doesn’t argue. She knows it’s pointless.
She pushes the bathroom door open and makes the walk of shame across the ED toward South 16.
No one notices her, or they do, they just don’t say anything.
She doesn’t know which is worse.
By the time she reaches the room, her head is pounding again, insistent and annoying.
She keeps the lights off, the curtains closed. She sinks onto the bed, legs dangling off the side, and drags a hand through her hair, exhaling slowly through her nose.
She’s not sure how long she waits, but it must've been enough for her to lay down on the bed and close her eyes, trying to get rid of the pain.
Then there’s a knock on the door, small but present and Trinity blinks open her eyes to see Baran walking in.
“Good to know that you haven't passed out on me,” She mumbles and she’s handing the younger woman a small ice pack that she places on her forehead, just above her eyes.
The iciness helps more than she would’ve liked to admit.
“Sit up for me, let me see what’s going on,” Baran is coaxing, and Trinity’s chest tightens.
“Nothing’s wrong,” the younger woman mumbles, lying straight through her teeth.
Baran hums, noncommittal, like she’s indulging her even if she doesn't believe a word of it.
“I never said anything is wrong, just let me check your headache,” Trinity lets out a small sigh but pushes herself upright, slower this time.
Baran takes the ice pack from her hand and replaces it with a bottle of electrolytes, the cap already twisted open.
Trinity lets out a small, breathy chuckle at the gesture and takes a sip just as Baran reaches up, brushing the damp strands of hair away from her forehead.
This time, Trinity doesn’t flinch.
“You’re obsessed with electrolytes,” she mutters.
“I’m a doctor,” is all Baran mumbles out, but the smile on her face is fond.
“Now tell me where your headache is,” Baran hums, her voice soft.
She steps closer before Trinity can answer, stepping in between Trinity’s knees which Trinity spreads some more, fingers already finding the base of her skull.
The touch is careful, deliberate, pads of her fingers pressing lightly at the back and front of Trinity’s head, testing, mapping.
The R2 exhales, eyes fluttering shut for just a second.
Baran moves slowly, tracing upward, then downwards, then forward, fingertips skimming along her scalp, pausing here and there as if committing each reaction to memory.
“Here?” she murmurs.
Trinity shakes her head faintly.
The pressure shifts. A little firmer now, just above her eyes.
“Here?” she asks again.
Trinity sucks in a quiet breath, her fingers tightening around the edge of the bed. “Mm… a little.”
Baran hums again, thoughtful, adjusting her touch, moving with quiet precision.
They both know she doesn’t have to do this.
They’re both doctors. Trinity could name the location, the intensity, the likely cause without hesitation.
But she doesn’t.
She lets Baran do this, lets her take her time, lets her hover just a little closer than necessary.
Lets herself focus on the warmth of her hands, the steadiness of her touch, the way her attention feels so completely, undeniably hers in this moment.
“Gets worse with bright lights?” Baran asks softly.
Trinity nods, eyes still half-lidded.
“Any nausea?”
“Yeah,” she admits, voice quieter now.
Baran’s fingers still for a second, then press once more at her brow ridge, gentler this time. As if massaging the pain away.
Trinity’s eyes flutter close.
“Alright,” she murmurs, almost to herself.
She’s above to say something else, Trinity can hear the deep breath Baran takes before it’s interrupted by the door opening.
The moment’s gone.
Baran takes an immediate step away, Trinity leans back just as fast on the bed, putting as much distance in between them as she can.
It makes her stomach tie itself up in a knot.
“Dr. Santos?”
Trinity’s heart stops just for a beat.
It's Yola- Dr. Garcia.
She’s stepping into the room just as Trinity’s eyes flutter open, adjusting to the view of Garcia in her blue scrubs, her hair perfect in her high bun.
Trinity takes a long gulp of her drink.
“What’s going on?” She asks carefully, measured, completely ignoring the attending physician.
She had heard it in between passing, the bickering between Baran and Yolanda, the tension, the jabs.
But it must've been real; sharp and cutting due to the way Baran is standing stiffly at Trinity’s side, shoulders squared.
But she takes the initiative, stepping in before Trinity could.
“Dr. Santos,” Baran drawls out, eyes flickering towards Trinity and then at the surgeon, “Almost passed out on us in the bathroom.”
“It’s just a headache,” Trinity mumbles weakly in her defense.
“Have you taken anything?” Garcia asks, eyebrows furrowing, stepping closer as she presses the back of her hand against Trinity’s forehead.
Baran’s eyes zero on the gesture, Trinity’s breath stutters.
Yolanda looks at Baran for the first time since she walked in the room, arms crossed over her chest, “Dr. Santos has chronic headaches, the yget bad sometimes. Today must be one of those days.”
“Oh,” Baran nods, hands clasped behind her back, nodding her head again in understanding, “well, that explains it.”
“Yeah,” Yolanda nods as well, jaw tight before she passes Baran a grin that feels as fake as it looks, “I’m sorry, Barney, you think you can give me and Trin a moment alone?”
Trinity winces at the comment, at ‘Barney’ and ‘Trin’ both.
She hears Baran take in a sharp inhale, eyes flickering down at Trinity before she’s nodding her head, “yes, of course. I’ll be just outside.”
And then she’s gone, just as quick as she came.
Yolanda’s shoulders drop and she lets out a small exhale before she’s moving closer to Trinity.
“How bad was it?”
“Pretty bad,” the younger woman answers honestly, her voice quiet as she runs a hand through her hair. “I almost did pass out, felt my vision go dark and everything.”
Yolanda hums out sympathetically, brushing the strands of hair that fell in front of Trinity’s face away.
The gesture is absent-minded, backed up by the easy familiarity between them.
It doesn't feel as good as when Baran did it.
The R2 feels her eyes sting and that worsens the pain behind her eyes.
“You sleeping well? It gets worse if you're staying up late,” Garcia hums out and her arms are folded over her chest once more.
Trinity nods, blinking away the sting in her eyes and huffs out, “Yeah, I have. It’s— I’ve been so busy with everything, maybe it’s the stress and all,”
“Busy enough that you haven't texted me back in over a week?” Yolanda’s tone isn't pointed, but it’s direct enough that Trinity freezes.
Yolanda’s always been blunt though, that’s kinda her thing.
“Yeah… It’s been a shitshow with Dennis moving out and everything,” Even to Trinity’s own ears, it sounds thin, like an excuse made up on the spot.
“Look,” She sighs out, when Trinity doesn't look at her and she is leaning down to meet the R2’s eyes.
“If you’re done, that’s fine. Just say it. You gotta let me know because I’m not… I’m not someone who waits around hoping for a reply.”
“I know,” is all Trinity can seem to manage, voice timid.
How can she tell Garcia that the reason for it all is because she realised she has a crush on her new attending physician, who will probably leave after three months.
How can she tell Garcia that she’s so fucking depraved of basic human care that the first person who ended up showing her kindness resulted in her having a crush on them and she feels awful about it.
She can't tell Garcia that she knows it’s selfish and it feels ridiculous that she can’t stop thinking about Baran. Her thoughtful acts and her gentle hands and her small smiles that seem reserved just for her and make her feel less crazy.
She can’t tell Garcia that she feels utterly alive and fucking terrified at the same time.
So she remains quiet.
“I’m not stupid, I hope you know that,” Garcia ends up mumbling, head tilted to the side as she stands up straight again.
She looks over her shoulder then and towards the door. The R2 follows her gaze, where they can both make out the silhouette of a person standing, right next to the door.
It’s Baran, Trinity can see some of the curls and her heart skips a beat, then two more.
“I know it’s her, she’s been soft on you since day one.”
Trinity’s eyebrows furrow, eyes shifting from the door towards Yolanda and she can't help the spike of defensiveness that rises in her chest.
“Well, so were you.” She shoots just as quick, maybe a little too sharply, hoping Garcia doesn’t see past the deflection.
Garcia’s eyes widen just slightly before she’s back to looking smug.
“So it is her,” She hums.
Fuck.
Her head is killing her.
“It’s cool,” Yolanda hums out, when Trinity doesn't say anything and she’s turning to leave, “I think I get it.”
Trinity barely has any words thought in her head before Yolanda’s opening the door, and she doesn't even have time to step out before Baran’s barging inside, looking slightly frazzled.
Yolanda looks at Baran weirdly, before letting out a snort, turning to look back at a now blushing Trinity.
“Text me if you ever need anything,” and then she’s gone.
Baran and Trinity both watch her go, however the attending physician’s eyes linger, just for a moment more.
And then, Baran’s back in front of her, hands both tucked inside her scrubs pockets, eyes focused on Trinity.
“How’s the headache?”
“It’s better, I think.”
“Yeah?” She drawls out, in a tone that makes Trinity pause and her thighs clench together.
“I think.”
Baran hums out and lets out a small sigh, rubbing her forehead with the hand, “That’s good, I’m very glad to hear that, Dr. Santos.”
They stay in an uncomfortable silence for a while, with that same blank look on the older woman’s face that Trinity saw in her apartment. But just like before, Baran snaps out of it and she pushes the stool in front of Trinity so she can sit down.
“Let’s talk about your chronic headaches,” Baran starts gently and it’s Trinity’s turn to rub her forehead with her hand.
Baran’s eyes flicker over the R2’s face and then she’s taking out a strip of ibuprofen from her pocket.
“You've had this the whole time?” Trinity’s tone isn't accusing but the older woman shakes her head, explaining slolwy.
“No, I just went to get it when Dr. Garcia was here,” Her voice quietens and then she pauses completely.
“Dr. Santos,” She starts again when Trinity has taken a painkiller.
And when the younger woman looks at her expectantly, she passes the R2 the icepack again, so she can place it against her forehead again.
“If you’re involved with someone in the department, I need to know.” The attending physician’s voice is seemingly detached but her eyes give her away.
Trinity’s eyes widen just a fraction as she stares at the woman in front of her.
But Baran is pointedly avoiding her eyes now, looking at the R2’s shoulder, her own shoulders tense, her posture stiff and her jaw locked.
“Bar- Dr. Al-Hashimi, no,” She exhales, half-disbelief and half-nervousness, “Dr. Garcia and I are not dating, I can assure you,”
“I’m aware that she’s here on a fellowship and she’s your seni-”
“Baran,”
Trinity scoffs out, her headache forgotten and that forces the older woman to look at her, “I assure you, Yolanda and I are not dating. She doesn’t date.”
“What about you,” The attending physician asks, “Do you date? Do you want to date her?”
The question comes out without a beat, without a moment’s hesitation, sharp around the edges and the younger woman is stunned.
But seemingly so is Baran, because her shoulders tense even more if possible, and her eyes widen just a fraction, and she’s parting her lips, most probably to apologiz–
“No. I do not.” Trinity replies, her voice quiet, though no less honest. “I don't want to date her.”
They both stare at each other for a moment, eyes locked.
Baran looks away first and takes out her penlight, scooting her stool even closer to Trinity again, their knees almost touching.
She shines the light in Trinity eyes and begins her questioning again, “How often do you get your headaches?”
“Often enough that I can mostly deal with them, today got out of hand,” She answers truthfully, her gaze still focused on the older woman in front of her, not caring about the light.
“Anything that might have triggered the symptoms? Lack of sleep? Dehydration,”
The penlight is taken away and Trinity blinks slowly, reaching to take another sip of her drink.
Baran’s eyes remain fixed on her.
“No, I don't think so.” She lies easily, Baran just nods her head.
“I know a neurologist,” she says after a moment, her voice softer now, slipping back into something familiar. “One of the best. You should get it checked out.”
Baran stares at her for a while more, before she takes her phone out of her pocket and hands it over to the younger woman.
“Put your number in, I’ll send you his details,” Baran nods again, well, mostly to herself as she looks down at her lap, suddenly more interested in her jacket’s zipper.
Trinity stares at her for a moment, before she feels like a small smile tug at the corners of her lips.
She takes the phone, slower than necessary, and types in her number. Then, without thinking too much about it, she presses call.
The ringtone hums in the quiet of the room for a small moment and then Trinity is handing Baran her phone back to her.
Neither of them say anything.
Baran’s grip on her phone is tight before she’s standing up slowly.
“I have to stay for a while; finish handoffs, sign a few things off,” Baran says, voice slower now, her gaze soft and steady on Trinity.
“You should rest for a bit. Then I’ll drop you home.”
“Dr. Al-Hashimi—”
“Trinity,” she cuts in gently. Her eyes soften even further, something firm but kind settling in her expression.
“I insist,” she adds quietly. “You know I don’t mind.”
All Trinity can do is nod, heart stuck in her throat. And then Baran is already at the door.
She pauses, just for a second, and turns back.
Their eyes meet. Trinity notices the same amber spark in them. Baran gives her a small, almost imperceptible nod in return. And then she’s gone.