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Trinity Santos doesn’t let people in. Can’t.
Couldn’t?
That was until everything changed. It had all veered straight off course when Yolanda Garcia had taken her hand during her first shift in the ED, guiding steady fingers around the cold, lightweight instrument that felt impossibly heavy in Trinity’s grip and shown her masterfully how to slice human skin for the first time.
Ever since that moment, they’d been in an awkward game of push and pull.
Trinity would invite her over- only if Huckleberry was out of the apartment -and they would banter, throwing jabs at eachother until Yolanda took the next moment of silence as an opportunity to shove Trinity up against the nearest wall, and they’d end the night panting and breathless, tangled up in sweat soaked sheets.
Then Yolanda would go back to her own home, and that familiar pit of vacancy would burrow and poke and prod until the tarnished steel mouth of the shovel hit the rock bottom of Trinity’s gut.
Other times, Yolanda would invite Trinity out for a drink—they’d spend some of their time talking, teasing, sharing not so secret glances before they decided to leave. In the dark, Yolanda’s hand would splay protectively across Trinity’s back as they moved under the barely visible stars in the Pittsburgh skyline. Then they’d finish the day out, as they always did, in bed, bodies worn and exhausted but warmed with the hot memories of soft lips against damp, sticky skin.
On rare occasions, the two of them would pile under heavy knit blankets on Trinity’s cheap leather couch and watch obscure indie movies that Whitaker chose.
It’d been a little awkward at first—the mousy boy didn’t know how to interact with Yolanda when she wasn’t Dr. Garcia, the terrifying surgical resident, but he’d eventually adapted and after a while when they’d joke about his ‘terrible farmboy taste’, he’d even throw a few punches back.
Everytime she had to pull away from Yolanda’s expensive sheets or her warm embrace, the cavern in Trinity’s stomach widened—an unbreachable fissure that not even Yolanda’s talented hands could sew back together.
One night it had all become too much.
Yolanda’s fingers had been tracing the smooth lines of Trinity’s back, gently stroking across the skin there. Tenderness seeped through every touch. Trinity’s breath hitched each time she felt hot rushes of air against the nape of her neck, and she couldn’t stop the words that came clumsily tumbling off of her tongue.
“What is this?”
“You’re unfamiliar with the concept of a back rub, Santos?” Yolanda had murmured, her usual dry humour normally would have made Trinity laugh, but in the moment it just made her feel worse. The distance felt like a never-ending expanse.
“No I mean—what are we?” Trinity’s voice wasn’t cracking yet, but it was teetering on the cliff edge of breaking, slightly raw as she mumbled into the pillow in-front of her.
Yolanda’s movements halted, waiting as Trinity continued on.
”We hang out outside of work, we fuck, God—you watch Huckleberry’s shitty ancient movies with us. That’s not just casual,” She’d turned over at that point, facing Yolanda with slightly pink cheeks as she spoke. “So be honest with me, what the fuck are we? Because I can’t do this anymore, not knowing where we stand.”
Yolanda had stuttered, unsure of what to say, eventually having settled on, “Trinity, you thought this was ‘casual’? You’re telling me, this whole time you thought us going on dates, sleeping together, eating Whitaker’s terrible food wasn’t us dating?” She asked incredulously, shock clear in her tone.
Trinity felt stupid after that, dumb for not realising that she had a girlfriend the entire time.
“God, you’re such an idiot, Santos.” Yolanda had teased once Trinity’s embarassment subsided, just to fuck with her a little. The glare she got in return made her relent, “I’m sorry, really but—you seriously didn’t know?”
”How was I supposed to know if you never fucking asked me out?!”
“For starters, I wouldn’t eat undercooked meatloaf for just anyone, baby,” Yolanda had said, sending Trinity into a fit of laughter. “I like him, he’s grown on me but fuck, I’m gonna need to teach him some recipes if my girlfriend won’t help the poor boy out.”
The way she emphasised girlfriend had made Trinity’s heart pick up, sending it into a rapid state of thundering as Yolanda pulled her into a gentle kiss.
Thankfully, ever since then they’ve been on a good track. Steady and stable and sweet.
In the ten months since Trinity’s first day, and the four months since Trinity learnt they were actually a thing, something tangible and real that she could think about without a fear of losing, their days have been good.
When they have days off, they normally relax at Yolanda’s apartment—Yolanda having control over most of the cooking whilst Trinity sits on the counter, rattling off details of the gnarly cases she’d treated in the ED that day. But when they have long shifts upcoming, they spend the night at Trinity’s; Huckleberry’s presence on the other side of the thin walls being a deterrent for them to do anything but sleep.
This morning had been a slow one. Trinity and Dennis had woken up to the enticing smell of freshly brewed coffee whilst Yolanda sat already dressed on the couch, scrolling through emails and various texts from Emery, teasing her about being whipped for Trinity.
(”Where’s your intern?” Emery had said a week or two back, a teasing grin already plastered on her face.
“I already told you she’s an R2 now, you asshole. Besides, don’t you have Mohan to go annoy?” That had shut the other woman up quick, who nodded in defeat and walked back to the elevator with pink tinged cheeks.)
The three of them had piled into Yolanda’s sleek, reliable BMW, and arrived early to work, enough so that Dennis took the hint to go work on his charts and give them some space.
“As much as I would love to sit here and make out with you all day, you have charts to finish too baby.” Yolanda regretfully murmured after only a few minutes alone, laughing quietly as Trinity threw her head back.
”Fuck, don’t remind me.” She whined. “Al-Hashimi is on my ass about them, I don’t need my girlfriend doing it too.” But she wasn’t really mad, just exhausted and sick of typing all the time instead of being in on the action.
“I know, so go get a head start on them now. I’ll catch you later.”
“Fine.” Trinity huffed, eyebrows furrowed in frustration until she felt the unmistakeable sensation of a kiss on her cheek. “Have fun actually slicing people open, whilst I wither away writing about fucking stomachaches.”
Yolanda chuckled again, watching with a smile as Trinity got out of the car, until she walked through the hospital doors and just out of view.
The rest of the day felt impossibly jarring for Trinity; everything was either so dull she didn’t even want to get in on it, or just words on a screen, practically bored into her skull and printed onto the back of her eyelids in size 12 Spectral.
Then, as if her day couldn’t get any fucking worse, the nurse in the room across from her desk had dipped, leaving her alone with a screaming Baby Jane Doe—who she’d been carefully avoiding.
It’s not that Trinity hates babies. She doesn’t. She just doesn’t know what to do with them, how to deal with them.
“What is your problem?” Trinity huffs, looking back at the bassinet and the tiny, squirming infant inhabiting it. “This is precisely why I didn’t go into PEDS.” She groans, feeling completely and utterly out of her depth as she walks over, bracing her hands against the cool acrylic edge of the crib.
“Okay, hey, hey, little miss… sunshine? Is it time for you to take a little nap?” She asks, rhetorically really because duh, obviously a 2 month old can’t answer her. “That would be so fucking nice. Yeah it would.”
The baby continues to cry, wailing hysterically in that god awful way that sends a violent ringing straight through Trinity’s ears. “I’m starting to understand why you got left here.” She sighs, but her throat feels a little tight, and her stomach churns uncomfortably as she glances around.
No one else is here, or at least, anyone that could do anything to sooth the infant, so she leans down, and does the one thing she hopes will send her to sleep.
Trinity sings. To the fucking kid.
She keeps her voice as soft as possible, low and quiet as she brings her hand to gently rub across the front of her onesie and she feels—lighter?
The ear piercing shrieks ease to inaudible little gurgles and faint breaths as the little girl calms in the comforting air that Trinity has crafted.
Soon, Trinity’s vocals trail off into nothing, becoming muted as the baby’s eyes fall shut, her tiny, smooth palm closing around the rough surface of Trinity’s finger.
Then, as lightly as possible, eager to not awaken the thing that feels closer to a literal bomb in her hands than a living creature, Trinity guides the hospital blanket over the baby’s relaxed body. Keeping her warm and comforted, in the otherwise slightly chilled room.
“Didn’t know you were a baby whisperer, Santos.”
Trinity almost jumps out of her skin, jerking back and immediately glancing down to make sure the sudden movement didn’t jostle the little one.
“Uh, I didn’t—“ Trinity shrugs, staring at Yolanda like a deer in headlights.
“You also didn’t share that you had the voice of an angel.” Yolanda smirks, eyebrow raised as she leans against the doorframe, taking Trinity in, in all of her glory.
Her finger still trapped by the infants tight grip, her breathing measured to keep certain she doesn’t disturb the baby, and those pretty green eyes all wide.
“It never came up.” Trinity dismisses carefully.
Nobody knows she can sing—not that she does it often. Only when she’s in the privacy of an empty house. The result of an unfortunate incident when she was in the shower, humming along to a random Mac DeMarco song and Huckleberry had complimented her harmonies when she finished.
Thin walls will be the death of me, she had thought.
“I like your voice, you’ll have to give me a concert some time. Little miss here liked it too, apparently.” Yolanda says, ignoring Trinity’s clear embarassment, wanting to praise her girlfriend.
The whole thing had sent a heated ball of light swirling in Yolanda’s stomach—watching Trinity’s tender side on display.
Singing to a goddamn baby.
“How much of that did you see?” She asks, changing the subject as she pointedly avoids Yolanda’s gaze.
“Enough to know I want to see more.”
Trinity’s cheeks darken, somehow redder as she feels the almost imperceptible squeeze around her index and she can’t help a small smile despite her mortification.
“The nurse left me with her, and the crying was getting fucking annoying so—“ Trinity huffs, trying to feign nonchalance, gesturing with her free hand.
Yolanda knows better.
“It was cute, Trin, I’m not gonna make fun of you for it. You can be honest.” Her voice is gentle, no traces of mockery anywhere and Trinity exhales weakly.
“My Lola used to sing it to me. It’s an old lullaby, I guess I remember more of it than I thought—wanted to see if it’d help calm her down.”
“You thought right,” Yolanda affirms as she crosses the room, looking at the baby with her softened gaze before her eyes flit back up to Trinity. “She likes you.”
“She’s a baby, she likes anyone who’s willing to feed or hold her.” Trinity jokes, despite the feeling of pride that had wormed its way through her body when she noticed the infant succumbing to sleep.
“Try it then.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Hold her.” Yolanda says, like it’s that easy, like she told Trinity to help out with a chest tube rather than pick up a sleeping baby.
“Are you crazy? Nope.” Trinity shakes her head frantically, still keeping her hand perfectly frozen in Baby Jane Doe’s grasp.
“Why not? It’s not like she’s gonna do anything. She’s a baby, Trinity.” Yolanda pauses, then, “You scared?”
That catches Trinity’s attention. Shes always been competitive, easily drawn into doing just about anything with just a simple ‘don’t be a pussy’ or, bet you can’t do it.
“No, obviously not.” She lies— she’s absolutely fucking scared.
“Prove it.” And now Trinity knows Yolanda is definitely doing this on purpose. But she’s never been one to back down from a challenge, so she inhales deeply and goes for it.
Trinity adjusts to pull her finger free before lightly placing her hands under the baby’s arms and lifting her until she’s cradled tightly against her chest.
“Told you it’d be fine.” Yolanda teases, an honest to god grin wider than Trinity’s ever seen on her as she watches her girlfriend cuddling the tiniest little baby, now asleep in her arms.
“You’re an asshole.” Trinity jabs, her voice lowering slightly as she swears. Thinking she should probably at least try to be family friendly with the baby in such close proximity.
They stand in a comfortable quiet for a moment—Yolanda watches in awe as Trinity keeps the baby cozy and comfortable against her skin, before she brings her own hand up to gently run across the infant’s blanket-clad back. Her knuckles just grazing Trinity’s where she’s supporting the baby’s head.
“Yolanda Garcia having a soft spot for babies, who would’ve guessed?” Trinity snarks, knowing she herself had been in the same position just minutes ago.
“Like anyone would believe that.” Yolanda rolls her eyes, but she still has that smile as she absorbs the softness of the moment. Trinity scoffs but says nothing, meeting Yolanda’s eyes.
Baby Jane Doe interrupts the quiet with a feeble grunt as she wiggles in Trinity’s hold.
“Oh God, what did I do?” Trinity asks, worrying her lip.
“Go sit, she’s just getting used to the feeling of human touch instead of the bassinet. You’ll be okay.” Yolanda reassures, guiding Trinity to the leather rocking chair in the corner of the room as she quietly shuts the door.
By the time she’s turned around, Trinity’s already sat with the baby laid in her arms, head nestled in the crook of Trinity’s elbow.
“Maybe sing again?” Yolanda proposes as she sits on the edge of the chair, her hand resting lightly over the top of the baby’s.
“If anyone hears about this—“ Trinity starts, but Yolanda cuts her off with a fond i know, i know and with that she begins again.
Yolanda lets her other hand run calmly through Trinity’s hair, feeling weirdly emotional as she watches her girlfriend comfort the infant through her angelic voice. She presses a barely there kiss to Trinity’s temple before letting her head fall onto her shoulder with a soft thud.
“You’re good at this.” Yolanda praises, subtly as they both keep their eyes trained on Baby Jane Doe.
Trinity doesn’t say anything but leans closer into Yolanda, nodding.
Ten minutes later the nurse from earlier appears, but Yolanda waves him away as she and Trinity take in the ephemeral peace before one or both of them eventually get paged away.
“Heard you and Dr. Garcia played house today?” Robby says in passing when he spots Trinity doing her charts an hour later, and she huffs.
“Who the fuck told?”
It’s not all bad though, she thinks, as she looks at a picture Huckleberry sent her at 14:32;
It’s her and Yolanda, both squeezed tightly onto the chair with the baby snuggled between their arms. Loving smiles grace both their faces, as Trinity stares at the baby and Yolanda stares at Trinity.
Maybe she is a baby whisperer.