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Trinity has had a long day, a long, long, long day. The ED is never not chaotic, is never not stressful, is never not exhausting. But today? Today was a new low, even from Trinity’s standards.
The waterpark accident kept her in the hospital for longer than she would’ve liked, and the system came online just as she was about to head home. But there was nothing really waiting at home for her, so she sat and finished her charting, even if her eyes burned from the dryness and the bluelight.
She slams her locker shut, with far more force than necessary and ends up actually wincing at the noise. The nightshift has already clocked in and she’s one of the last few remaining day-shift residents still in the Pitt.
Dennis has already left, and Garcia… Well.
She takes her hair out of the half ponytail she had it in all day, and runs a rough hand through her hair, trying to ease the headache that she had felt lingering hours ago. She hasn't bothered to change out of her scrubs, she doesn't want to stay any longer.
And she thanks herself for taking the day off tomorrow, she really needs a long nap.
Backpack slung over her shoulder, phone in hand, Trinity pushes through the doors and steps into the heavy July heat.
Her car still has a flat tire, one she didn’t have time to fix before her shift, so she’s already calculating the distance to the bus stop.
She’s crossing the parking lot, trying to fish out her wired earphones from her backpack because she really needs to keep herself distracted with music or else she’s not sure what she’ll do.
But today is not Trinity’s day, so a voice calls out to her before she can press play on a boygenuis song.
“Dr. Santos.”
She almost freezes midstep.
She can be rude and pretend she doesn't hear Dr. Al-Hashimi’s voice from behind her, pretend like the music’s already on and continue to walk. She doesn’t really have to deal with her boss-who’s-technically-not-her-boss.
But she hesitates, just for a moment, enough to let Al-Hashimi know that she heard her so she continues, “Are you walking home in the July heat?”
Trinity scruffs her foot against the pavement of the parking lot, a petulant pout on her face, slightly annoyed to have been caught.
But if there is one thing she has learned about Al-Hashimi, it’s that she never really backs down.
“I can drop you off, I don’t mind.”
“It’s fine,” Trinity mumbles out far too quickly for her liking, but the words bounce strangely in the humid air of the nearly empty lot.
“Please, I insist,” Al-Hashimi continues from behind her, and Trinity finally turns towards the voice, “I don't mind at all.”
Dr. Al-Hashimi looks the same, with the same hairstyle, and the same perfect posture, the same hand in her scrub pocket. The only visible difference being the shoulderbag she’s carrying and the fact that her lululemon jacket’s off, leaving her in her half-sleeves scrub top.
Completely unbothered.
Waiting.
Trinity can already feel the sweat begin to bead at the nape of her neck and the collar of her scrubs shirt. It will take thrice the amount of time to reach her home from the bus than from a car ride.
But something holds her back from answering.
Dr. Al-Hashimi takes that as acceptance.
“Come,” She turns to leave and begins to walk towards the other side of the parking lot, “Car’s parked this way.”
She doesn't turn back to look to know that Trinity is following her, because her footsteps echo behind the attending physician, and soon they’re standing in front of a 2020 Toyota Camry.
“I don't know why I thought you’d drive a sports car,” Trinity mumbles as she opens the door to the passenger side.
However, she does manage to catch the small glimpse of a smile on Al-Hashimi’s face.
“I know I have the personality,” Al-Hashimi mumbles as she starts the ignition and puts on her seatbelt, but doesn't take her car out of park, “But I have to be mindful because my son’s still pretty young and hasn't really realised how ‘cool’ I am.”
“That literally doesn't make any sense.”
Al-Hashimi looks at Trinity expectantly and Trinity immediately turns to put her seatbelt on.
The attending physician turns the AC on high and adjusts the vents so the cool air blows toward Trinity. The younger woman swallows around a lump in her throat; the gesture is so mundane, so casual, and yet it feels unexpectedly thoughtful.
Al-Hashimi doesn't drive out the parking lot and turns to look at Trinity, who swallows another lump in her throat, clenching the backpack tighter against her chest.
Al-Hashimi takes notice, of course she does.
“Dr. Al-Hashimi–”
“Baran, please, Trinity, we are not at work,” Her tone is gentle, coaxing at best, but it doesn't feel condescending.
She’s still looking at Trinity, as if urging her to go on, to say what she wants to say.
And Trinity wants to say something. Wants the older woman to know that she doesn't really understand why she’s sitting in a car with her in the first place.
But she can’t open her mouth, the words won't leave her tongue.
Because she’s also well-aware that there is no place else where she’d rather be, at this moment.
And it’s fucking terrifying.
When Trinity remains silent, her posture still stiff, Al-Hashimi hums out.
“Dr. Robby said you're a strong patient advocate,” the attending physician starts, “He said you’re confident and know what you’re doing here. That is good.”
She pauses for a moment, a hand resting on the steering wheel, tracing the Toyota label with an absentminded touch.
“You are aware of your positive traits and you make sure others are aware of them too. I saw it myself in the trauma room.”
Al-Hashimi turns to look outside the windshield, and Trinity’s eyes zero, unwillingly, on the attending physician's side profile. The slope of her nose is perfect, her jawline sharp, her lips pursed.
The younger woman forces herself to look away.
She cannot.
“It’s hard to find doctors who know how to properly fight for their patients,” Al-Hashimi lets out a quiet scoff, but it doesn't seem mean.
“And it becomes even harder when the system fails to listen to those doctors. Eventually they start to believe that remaining silent, remaining compliant, is the better option.”
Al-Hashimi turns to look back at Trinity and she offers her a small, tired smile, as if the day’s events are finally beginning to weigh on her.
“I hope that fight never dies in you, because it would be such a waste.”
A gasp catches in Trinity’s chest, and her fists clench tighter on the fabric of her backpack as the words settle somewhere deep inside her.
They are spoken with such earnestness, such warmth, that the younger doctor has no choice but to nod slowly.
“I also wanted to apologize for being too hard on you today, about the charting,” Al-Hashimi starts once more, when Trinity doesn't say anything again, not because she doesn't want to, but because she doesn't know what to say.
She lets out a sheepish chuckle, which almost sounds foreign to Trinity’s ears, “I shouldn't have forced you to focus on it more than the patient, even if efficient charting is required.”
“But I do believe you will manage to get a hang of it properly, and hopefully you won't have to stay behind after every shift.” She hums out, and Trinity finds herself nodding yet again.
It doesn't feel like a lecture, even if only Dr. Al-Hashimi’s talking, and it doesn't seem like a reprimand because Trinity can feel the attending physician watching her, not critically, but carefully.
Like she’s trying to understand her.
And that’s already more than what the ED has given her in the past 10 months, she wants to scoff.
Trinity shifts in the passenger seat, suddenly aware of the quiet hum of the car and the cool air blowing against her face.
“I also found out about what happened between you and Dr. Langdon,”
Trinity freezes and suddenly she has no air in her lungs. Her hands leave her backpack to dig her nails in the flesh of her palms, and the pain seems to ground her, just like it used to.
“I didn't want anyone to get into trouble,” It comes bubbling out, far more meekly than she would've guessed it would.
Al-Hashimi reaches over and places her hand over Trinity’s, her grip steady and warm.
“I know, Trinity,” Her tone leaves no place of doubt in Trinity’s mind, that there is finally another person in her corner, and she can't seem to breathe still.
Al-Hashimi doesn't seem to be bothered by the silence or the trembling, because she’s still gripping Trinity’s hand.
And the younger woman is holding onto her's too, grip tight, not caring if her hands are clammy.
“I know how detrimental it is for a person’s self-esteem and confidence when someone is constantly belittling them, especially someone who’s a senior or a supervisor,” She pauses and for a moment her voice turns even softer. “Especially for a woman in a field like this.”
Oh.
It makes sense that she doesn't know the full story.
She wants to laugh, she wants to cry, she wants to scoff and spit and fight.
“Trust me, I know.” She adds.
Trinity swallows again, and blinks away the tears that were beginning to sting her eyes.
“However, I also know better now, and I understand if you are uncomfortable, I will avoid pairing you up with Dr. Langdon on cases for a while,” She’s still continuing, and Trinity still cannot seem to meet her eyes.
“However, it’s also important for you to understand that you’re both doctors. While you may keep tiptoeing around each other outside of work, when you’re with a patient, that has to come first. The patient is our responsibility.”
The words settle in the quiet car.
Again, Trinity finds herself strangely conflicted.
Because it still doesn’t feel like a lecture.
It feels somewhat like support. In a way she wasn't expecting, from a person she wasn't expecting from.
“And I promise you this, I will also talk to Dr. Langdon. I won’t let him make things difficult for you.” She adds it almost as an afterthought, as if it was obvious. Like it's already decided.
“I don't want to get anyone in trouble,” Trinity repeats. This time with more emphasis, more urgency.
I don't want a repeat of last year. She wants to say, she wants to grab Al-Hashimi by the shoulders and wants to shake her awake.
I don't want to go through that again.
Al-Hashimi just nods. The warm light flickering from the streetlights makes her brown eyes sparkle, as if an amber burns within them.
Trinity is a bit mesmerised.
“He doesn't have a right to belittle or humiliate his junior residents, that won't happen on my watch, ever,” Al-Hashimi mumbles, kindly, coaxing, and almost subconsciously, drawing her hand back to tuck the loose strand of hair behind Trinity’s ear.
Trinity flinches, partly from the suddenness but also the gentleness of the action, and Al-Hashimi backs away instantly.
“I’m sorry,” Her voice is calm, immediate though no less soft but now there’s restraint; as if she realised what she did and now wants to reel it back.
Her hand now gone from Trinity’s, she feels the coldness from the AC for the first time.
No, Trinity wants to mumble, to scream, please do it again, please be gentle. please. you're the first.
But she doesn't say it, doesn't say anything at all. Just nods.
Al-Hashimi looks at her for a moment longer, her eyes flickering ove rTrinity’s face, from her eyes to her hands still clenched in her lap. And it’s as if something suddenly clicks.
She reaches for her handbag that had been shoved in the backseat. With difficulty, of course. Trinity wants to offer her help, wants to let the older woman know that she’s more than this.
That she can do great stuff. That she can be useful for so much more.
Al-Hashimi already has her handbag in her lap though and she’s rummaging through it. Trinity hears a small clatter of things bumping into each other.
She imagines what they might be.
A small hand-sanitizer, probably a pack of gum. Maybe a small pocket-sized body mist or her pens. Maybe her stethoscope.
She’s still going through the list inside her mind when suddenly something soft is pressed into her hand.
She blinks, surprised and ends up reflexively squeezing the stress ball that was placed in her hand, one of the squishy ones that were shaped like a fruit.
She wants to laugh. She wants to cry.
She ends up doing neither before a cold bottle is also shoved in her other hand.
“Electrolytes,” Al-Hashimi mumbles, her voice still kind, “Got from the vending machine just before leaving,”
Trinity barely has time to react before the bottle is taken back from her and the attending physician is twisting the cap open. And then the bottle is again in her hands.
“Drink,” is said with warmth and then she’s driving out the parking lot.
The AC never turns off, the vents end up staying in Trinity’s direction, the radio is turned on to a pop station that fills the car with the quiet hum. Al-Hashimi ends up drumming her fingers to the beat of the song.
Only when they reach the highway, she asks, “Which side of the city do you live in?”
Trinity hadn’t thought about home since she first got into the car. Now, the sudden dread that knots her stomach makes her feel almost nauseous at the thought of her empty apartment.
She ends up slumping more into the passenger seat, her fingers gripping onto the stressball with newfound vigour.
I don't want to be alone tonight. She wants to say, I can’t stay alone tonight.
She doesn't manage to get the words out and Al-Hashimi misses the intersection where she usually exits from.
They both remain silent. The radio continues playing in the background.
Al-Hashimi gets off from an intersection Trinity has no idea about and they soon reach a neighbourhood with high-rise buildings and fancy restaurants with fancy cars.
Trinity is still fidgeting with the stressball in her hand when Al-Hashimi moves into an underground parking lot. The younger woman stares at her, like a deer caught in headlights when she turns the ignition off.
Al-Hashimi just grabs her bag from the backseat again, and beckons with a nod. Trinity follows, no questions asked, her own backpack slumped against her shoulder.
They both ride the elevator quietly to Al-Hashimi’s apartment, and Trinity’s foot bounces nervously the entire ride. They walk from the elevator and to the apartment at the other end of the hallway, even though there are only two doors.
The keys jiggle as the older woman unlocks her door unceremoniously and they’re both greeted with a dark apartment, it’s almost 11 pm.
“My son’s at his dad’s,” Al-Hashimi mumbles and that’s the quietest Trinity has heard her all day, but she follows in her steps and ends up standing directly in the older woman’s living room.
The apartment is modern, stylish, centralized air-conditioning, with those smart LED lights that you can change to a warmer hue, Trinity realises as Al-Hashimi taps a button. Small toys are cluttered around the carpet in the living room but most are tucked away in the basket in the corner.
The place is spacious, it’s an open concept and from where she is standing, she can immediately see in the kitchen where Al-Hashimi seems to be pouring herself a glass of seltzer.
Seltzer.
Trinity almost wants to laugh.
“Can I get you anything?” She asks, and the younger of the two watches Al-Hashimi take her hair out of her hair tie, running a hand through her hair and Trinity wonders if they would be as soft to touch as they look.
“I’m fine, thanks, Dr. Al,” She hums out, placing the stressball on the couch, eyes now flickering from the floor to ceiling windows and back towards the older woman.
Al-Hashimi fixes her with a look sharp enough to make Trinity bite her bottom lip to keep a grin from spreading.
“Please, I hate being called, Dr. ‘Al’, just say Baran or say the full form, Al-Hashimi,” She scoffs, rolling her eyes and Trinity lets out a quiet chuckle.
“I apologize,” She hums out and ends up rolling the name between her tongue, just to test it out, “Baran.”
Al-Hashi- Baran hums out, nodding her head in approval. Trinity feels giddy.
“Thank you, Trinity,” She replies easily and then she’s turning towards the fridge to open it up. “Hungry?”
Trinity blinks, as if startled awake, because yes, she’s hungry, she’s starving. She hasn't eaten anything since that small granola bar in the breakroom.
She must’ve taken too long to reply because Baran just clicks her tongue, a sharp tsk that snaps Trinity out of her daze.
She’s fucking exhausted. Why is she zoning in and out in the middle of a conversation?
“Take a warm shower, the bathroom’s down the hall, second left,” She’s humming out, and she’s tying her hair in a bun again, “I’ll get you some options for your clothes.”
You don't have to, Trinity almost lets slip.
She can't seem to speak.
That has been the case for most of the night.
But she bites her tongue again, gives a nod to no one in particular and she’s walking towards the door Baran mentioned.
The bathroom is fucking huge, just like the rest of Baran’s apartment. And the toilet and the bath sections are separated by a frosted glass door. The bathtub’s massive, there are probably jets in there. All marble tiles and very clean girl aesthetic, though Trinity is sure the older woman wouldn't know what the means.
She places her backpack on the vanity and ends up stripping off her clothes as she turns the hot water on. Though she’s not sure what to do with her scrubs so she just ends up folding them next to her bag, just to be polite.
Taking a hot shower in the summer is something people have made fun of her for, but she’s not sure if she will ever be able to explain what it means for her.
It’s steam grounds her, and instead of feeling suffocated, she actually feels like she can breathe. Her tense muscles, that are stiff from always being in fight or flight, actually relax.
She doesn't take long, as soon as the mirror begins to steam up, she’s diving in the stream of water and she lets out a groan.
She’s genuinely exhausted, and the water pressure from the showerhead is so absolutely perfect that Trinity’s sure she can stay in here all day.
But she’s a guest and she doesn't want to overstay her welcome. She uses the shampoo and conditioner that are already present on the shelf, rinses and repeats and within ten minutes she’s out of the shower.
When she opens the glass door though, there’s already a warm towel on the vanity that the R2 wraps around herself, along with some clean clothes.
Trinity smiles to herself, because there are options, Al-Hashimi keeps her word.
There’s an oversized t-shirt, some cotton shorts, a pair of cotton sweatpants, a few tank tops and an actual matching silk pajama set that makes the younger woman laugh.
She’s not that fancy and she’s not going to wear shorts in front of Bsran because she’s sure they’ll reach her mid-thighs and that… would be an entirely different topic she doesn't want to dive into yet.
So she settles for a t-shirt and the sweatpants, and she wears the extra, just-in-case, clean pair of boxers she keeps in her backpack.
She towel dries her hair because she’s not asking if her new boss will let her use her hairdryer and she’s out the door and back into the kitchen.
Baran’s not there, even though there’s meatballs and spaghetti on the kitchen island. But Trinity won't touch it without the older woman there because, well, manners.
Instead she focuses on the pictures on the fridge. One of them is a younger looking Baran with a young boy, Trinity is assuming that’s her son, along with some old pictures of her new attending physician at the VA and some drawings that her son made for her.
“I put your scrubs in the laundry, hope you don’t mind, I’m sure you probably want them clean before tomorrow’s shift,” comes from behind her, and Trinity looks over her shoulder and towards a now freshly showered Baran.
She shakes her head, less at the question and more to herself because … well, Baran is gorgeous. She’s also in some sweatpants and she’s wearing a long-sleeved shirt that loose around her frame.
But she’s so pretty, Trinity is dumbfounded.
She has eyes, she knows Baran is beautiful but God, there’s something about her being in her apartment and looking this soft.
“Thank you,” she ends up saying after a while, “I don't have a shift tomorrow though,”
“Oh,” Baran hums out, looking slightly embarrassed and Trinity’s heart lurches in her chest, “My bad.”
“It’s perfectly alright,” She’s immediately saying, because it is. And Baran passes her a small grin before she’s pointing at a barstool.
“Sit, please, I put the food out because I wanted you to eat as soon as you were done showering,” The older woman’s mumbling as she reaches to take out two plates and Trinity’s taking them from her hands to place them on the kitchen island.
“I waited for you to be free,” Trinity replies as Baran reaches for the cutlery from the drawer and she passes the younger woman a gentle smile.
“You didn't have to,” is said softly.
“I wanted to,” is said just as softly.
They eat in relative silence, except the small clanking of the cutlery and the occasional pouring of water, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s just the silence that lingers after a long day, where everyone is eating just for the sake of eating before they eventually pass out on their beds.
And Trinity is exhausted, she can feel her eyes drifting shut and the full-body aches are here and the wine was sweet and just the overall comfort is lulling her to sleep and-
“Do you want to watch the fireworks?”
She looks at the woman sitting in front of her, all doe-eyed and pretty and she finds her eyebrows furrowing, confused.
Huh?
“Fourth of July fireworks,” Baran explains as she reaches forward to press her thumb on the wrinkles that formed on Trinity’s forehead, as if she’s actually pressing down on them to smooth them out.
Oh.
Trinity flushes, and she finds herself nodding wordlessly. And the older woman smiles a beautiful smile and Trinity’s breath catches in her throat.
She wasn't aware that the apartment had a balcony but Baran opens a window and suddenly they’re leaning across the railing from the 18th floor, waiting for a fireworks show that would probably start in a few minutes.
Trinity watches the older woman take a sip of the water she brought with her, and suddenly she’s annoyed that she didn't bring anything with her as well, so she presses her hands against the metal railing firmly.
“I feel like I don’t know what I’m doing half of the time,” Baran says after a moment of quiet.
Trinity stops rocking on the heels of her feet, her attention snapping toward the older woman, eyebrows furrowing. She wasn't expecting that.
Baran continues before the R2 can say anything.
“I’m still trying to find my footing in an ED, even after so long, and you’re all so talented,” she pauses for a while and Trinity catches a strange blankness flash across Baran’s face.
For a moment, she worries, but then the older woman speaks again, as if shaking herself free of something. As if a spell’s broken.
“I don;t want to disappoint you guys, and I know you're all expecting a competent attending who’s a teacher and a fighter and– and I just–”
She’s cut off by the first wave of the fireworks, and they’re loud, rattling her ear drums and they’re white and red and blue and golden and Trinity watches them reflect in Baran’s eyes instead of the sky.
Trinity tries to look away, towards the actual sparks dazzling above her.
But all she can focus on is Baran.
Her pupils widen just a fraction with each burst, and it’s oddly endearing.
For a moment, Trinity forgets the noise, the exhaustion, the long day, even what Baran was saying. They all fade into the background, leaving only the twinkle in Baran’s gaze.
The older woman’s lips part slightly, as if she’s about to continue what she was saying and she turns to look at Trinity and she’s already looking at her.
The way Baran’s expression softens under the glow of the fireworks makes Trinity’s chest tighten.
And then the second wave starts, just as loud, just as colorful but sparks within sparks and Trinity’s finally looking at the sky and she leaning against the railing.
And Baran leans closer to her, and she leans on the railing next to her and they’re standing side-by-side.
And Trinity wants to say something.
Thank you.
I’m here and I didn't know if I'd still be here.
Thank you.
You’re here and because of that, I’m here.
You’re good, so good.
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
“I think we’ll all be perfectly fine under your supervision, Dr. Al-Hashimi,” is what she settles with, voice wobbly as she clears her throat.
Baran just scoffs out a small laugh, giving the woman next to her a side-eye and the laugh rings in Trinity’s ears over the fireworks.