Chapter Text
Trinity Santos’s day starts off with so much promise.
First, there’s the fact that she convinced Whitaker to pack her lunch. No vending machine cardboard for her, not this Thursday when she’s finally gotten enough sleep to walk into work firing on all cylinders. Second, Robby gave her his word of honor that she gets first pick on a case today, and he’d said it in earshot of Dana, Whitaker, and McKay, so she knows there’s no backing down.
Third, right as she arrives at the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center at 7:00 a.m. and clocks in, one of the finest women she’s ever seen walks up to her.
“Good morning,” the stranger says, holding out a hand. “I’m Doctor Al-Hashimi, I’ll be working with you today.”
Trinity raises an eyebrow in what she hopes is an enticing way. “Upstairs worried about our patient satisfaction scores again?”
She’s met with an impassive stare. “Never mind,” she mutters. Brown eyes bore into her and she clears her throat. She’s not awake enough to feel awkward, per se, but she hurries to shake the offered hand. “Doctor Santos, R2.”
Al-Hashimi’s grip is strong and Trinity can feel the ring on the woman’s finger pressing into her skin. She’s not sure if she’s squeezing too hard or not hard enough, and then the moment is over and Al-Hashimi is withdrawing, crossing her arms.
“I heard you worked at the Hopkins pain clinic,” the older woman says after a beat. It doesn’t sound like a question.
Trinity is about to ask how she knows that, and also since when did upstairs start hiring MILFs, when Robby swoops in and saves her. He guides Al-Hashimi towards the waiting group of staff and shoots Trinity a look over his shoulder that makes her roll her eyes.
“Alright, alright, settle down. I’m sure you all heard about the blackout at Westbridge last week and our little analog stint. I’m here to tell you that’s no longer a concern, everything is back up and running and…”
Someone sidles up to her and Trinity turns to see Dennis, his eyes on Robby.
“Who’s the Pittsburgh eleven?” she mutters in his ear.
Dennis follows her gaze to Al-Hashimi and barely moves his lips as he replies. “I only got her name earlier but…she’s looking directly at you.”
“No, she’s not. And, ow,” Trinity hisses as he pinches her arm. But when she glances up, she sees that he’s right. They make eye contact for the briefest of seconds and Trinity receives a pointed look that hits her somewhere below her stomach. She stares back defiantly, daring the woman to do something, but Al-Hashimi just turns back to Robby as he wraps up his announcements.
Something about the silent chastising sends a hint of embarrassment mixed with something else through Trinity. She's about to say something to Dennis when the Chief Attending claps his hands.
“Most importantly, I’d like to introduce you to the newest addition here at the PTMC. She’ll be shadowing for a week before I give her the keys to the kingdom, so play nice. Doctor?” He nods and Al-Hashimi steps forward.
Trinity’s mouth drops open slightly and she exchanges a look with Dennis.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
Surveying the waiting doctors, Al-Hashimi offers everyone a smile. Everyone except for Trinity, apparently, who can practically feel the way the woman's glance skips over her.
“Good morning. I’m Doctor Baran Al-Hashimi. As Doctor Robinavitch said, I’ll be around for a few days before taking over as interim Chief Attending Physician. You don’t have to worry, Doctor Robinavitch is still very much in charge until he transfers the title—just keep doing your jobs and you won’t even notice I’m there. I look forward to getting to know you all.”
Her voice isn’t loud but it commands attention. As she says ‘getting to know you’ her cool gaze finally lands on Trinity and one of her eyebrows arches. Trinity flushes, which thankfully no one notices, and Al-Hashimi gives her a curt nod while everyone disperses.
“What’s your problem?” Dennis complains when Trinity shoves him around the corner. “I have to start rounds.”
“Keep your voice down! What do you know about the new doc?”
“As much as you do,” Dennis answers, confused. “We’ve both known her for all of twenty seconds?”
Trinity bites her lip. “She gave me a look earlier.”
Dennis stares at her, not understanding why this warrants making him late. “What does that mean, she gave you a look?”
“I mean, she shook my hand and then just stood there staring at me. And just now when she saw us talking, it was like—”
Rolling his eyes, Dennis starts to walk away. “I’ve got too much work for this. You’re already dating a fellow, now you want to add an attending?”
“Yolanda and I are not dating, you idiot,” she shoots back. “I just meant she seems weird, or, I don’t know.” She opens her mouth to try to explain when she sees the look on Dennis’s face. “What?”
“Oh my god.”
The silence stretches between them.
“Spit it out, Fuckleberry.”
His mouth makes a little ‘o’ shape as he studies her face. “You like her.”
"I don't even know her."
“Oh my god, you’re not denying it. Trinity, she’s going to be in charge of the ED. Don’t tell me you have a crush—”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” she says sharply, pushing past him. God forbid she tries to gossip a little with her roommate without him being an asshole. So what if she’s looking around the room as she heads for the Hub? It has absolutely nothing to do with the glimpse of curly hair she sees through the window in Central 8.
“I cannot wait to see how this goes for you!” Dennis calls after her, drawing everyone’s attention.
“What’s that all about?” Samira cranes her neck as she passes through, catching a glimpse of Dennis’s shit-eating grin.
Trinity flips them both off and glowers at the clock. It is 7:15 a.m.
Trinity spends the rest of the morning avoiding Whitaker. At one point she saw him chatting with Princess and brushed past them on her way to a case, but they were only talking about Robby's sabbatical. The only highlight to her day (aside from meeting her new attending, but she’s not going to think about that) is the pericardiocentesis Robby lets her do on a patient who was “accidentally” impaled with the grill skewer his wife was using. On her way out of the room Dana even gave her a “good work, kid,” which put a bit of a swagger in her step.
And if she looked around to see if a particular person noticed, who’s to say? Certainly not her.
While she finishes her lunch, she hears whispers coming from around the corner and rounds the bend to find Mohan and Javadi with their heads together. They both fall silent as soon as they see her and she feels the beginnings of suspicion dawning.
“And what have we got here?” She juts out a hip and stares down the senior resident. Javadi’s eyes flick between the two of them, glittering with something that Trinity can’t name but knows she doesn’t like.
Samira, looking entirely too pleased with herself, gives her a wide grin. “Just the person I was looking for! They need extra hands in Trauma 1, but I’m tied up with labs right now.”
Trinity, unconvinced, looks at Javadi. “Why can’t Crash help out?”
“I’ve also got labs,” Javadi says lamely. She looks at Samira and whispers something that sounds suspiciously like “see if he’s right.”
With an annoyed sigh, Trinity takes a few steps towards Trauma 1 then freezes, her arms halfway to her sides. There is a distinctly curly head of hair very visibly in the room. Behind her, the whispers turn into snickers and she hears Samira hiss “alert the press,” but she forces herself to keep going.
This is fine, this is totally fine, she repeats to herself, but as she gets closer she starts cursing Samira Mohan with every word she can think of.
Garcia is also in the room, barking orders at Mel who has her hands full of what looks like part of the patient’s scalp. Al-Hashimi is standing back, at attention but not getting in the way. Trinity snaps on a pair of gloves and looks Al-Hashimi up and down quickly as she enters, listening to Mel rattling off the stats.
Eyes to yourself, Trinity. Look at the patient. Is that grey matter? Thank god.
“Thank you, Doctor King. Doctor Santos, welcome.” Al-Hashimi gives her a nod and Trinity feels the same flush from earlier creep up her neck. She forces herself to look at the patient who is groaning in pain, and tries not to feel Garcia’s eyes on her.
“Irrigation?” she asks.
“Irrigation? I can see part of his brain, Trinity. We can irrigate in the OR. Get out of the way.” The surgeon’s biting tone earns her a raised eyebrow from Al-Hashimi, but she holds her tongue. She looks from Trinity to Garcia, then back, silently observing. Noticing.
“That appears to be the best plan of action,” she says calmly. “Doctor Santos, did you have a case to present?”
“Um, no,” Trinity says slowly, still trying to catch up. “Samira said you needed someone in here?”
Al-Hashimi frowns, her eyes leaving the patient and meeting Trinity’s. “I don’t recall seeing Doctor Mohan recently, and this case just came in.”
Trinity’s eyes narrow. “Oh, I am going to kill her.”
“I wouldn’t suggest that on hospital grounds, Doctor Santos,” Al-Hashimi says evenly.
Garcia glares at them for a moment, her brows meeting, then tries to regain control of the room. “Doctor King, you’re with me. I’ve already called upstairs.
“I’ll get out of your way then.” Al-Hashimi is pulling off her gloves and speaking to Garcia, but her eyes haven’t left Trinity’s. The air in the room feels too heavy, which everyone except for Mel seems to notice. Mel, bless her, is trying to carefully put down a portion of someone’s skull without detaching it.
"You do that," Garcia says coldly.
"Unless you could use another pair of hands?"
Trinity sees the surgeon’s hackles raise and she winces internally when Garcia answers.
“I’d invite you up, but I know you have to get back to shadowing.”
There are sections of Antarctica that are warmer than her tone.
As the gurney pushes past them, Al-Hashimi gives Trinity a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. Trinity stiffens, waiting for some sort of reaction.
"You seem like trouble." The attending's tone is razor-sharp but she offers up nothing else, pushing her way out of the room.
Trinity, not sure where she should go, follows. Al-Hashimi slows her pace until they’re walking side by side, neither of them looking up. Trinity fixes her eyes on her shoelaces and turns the phrase over and over in her head.
You seem like trouble.
What the hell does that mean?
Al-Hashimi stops in front of a row of desks and brings them both to a halt.
“Doctor Santos—”
“I didn’t—”
They both pause, brown eyes meeting pale green. Al-Hashimi nods at her to continue and for a second Trinity falters, casting about for something to say instead of what she really wants to say, which is something incredibly inappropriate. Something about getting drinks and seeing what exactly she means by 'trouble.' Something about—
“I see you’ve met Garcia,” she says instead, forcing out a fake laugh that turns into the real thing when Al-Hashimi tries, and fails, to stop her lips from pursing. “If it helps, she’s like that with everyone.”
“And what are you like?”
The question catches Trinity off guard. She recovers after a beat, arranging her features into a smirk. “Incredibly smart. Funny. Irresistible, some might say.” The words are out before she can stop them, before she can examine them in the light of ‘you are talking to an attending.’
“I’ve heard only good things from Doctor Robinavitch,” Al-Hashimi continues as if she hasn’t spoken. “Maybe you have some trouble with paperwork, but otherwise everyone here holds the opinion that you’re a valuable asset to the ED. In fact, some even seem to think you’re something special.”
She stands a little straighter at the praise. “Well, I’m an R2 now and thinking of double boarding in surgery and emergency medicine. Which I know would sound ridiculously ambitious if I didn’t have the talent to back it up, but I don’t have that problem.”
Al-Hashimi’s face betrays nothing as she takes that in. Refusing to be the one to break the silence, Trinity swallows slowly. Brown eyes flick down to her neck then back up and something zips across a static line between them.
“Are you something special, Doctor Santos?” The quiet tone burrows under Trinity’s skin and twists her stomach.
"What's it to you?" Something about this woman makes her bristle, something to do with the magnetic pull between them. Maybe it's her perpetual composure.
Al-Hashimi's mouth forms a thin line and Dana chooses that moment to interrupt.
“Left your charts, Santos. Thought you were trying to get out of here early,” the nurse teases, oblivious to the energy. “And you never discharged North 4.”
Trinity turns to Dana, equal parts disappointed and relieved at the interruption. "Maybe I just missed your face and knew you’d hunt me down,” she laughs. She rolls her eyes but takes the clipboard and walks away, leaving the two women standing together.
“Is that standard for Doctor Santos?” Al-Hashimi asks the charge nurse. “Deficient charting?”
Dana’s smile fades away and she gives the attending an odd look. Realizing how accusatory she sounds, she backtracks quickly.
“There just seems to be a backlog of charting in general. If there are several doctors shirking administrative duties, it will affect all of us.”
“Santos is a big girl, she’ll be fine.” Dana’s voice is noticeably defensive and she doesn’t offer any ground. “Do you want me to send her to you for charting practice?”
“No, that won’t be necessary,” Al-Hashimi says smoothly, regretting the whole interaction.
Everything she’s heard about Trinity Santos has made her curious, but no one needs to know that. There’s no reason for her to be bringing this kind of attention to herself, especially on her first day.
“Thank you, Dana. I’ll keep observing.”
“You do that, honey.” Dana peers over her glasses as Al-Hashimi walks away. The woman moves like she’s trying to contain something and when Cassie walks by, Dana waves her down, lowering her voice.
“McKay. You have any opinions on our new attending?”
Slowing next to her, Cassie follows Dana’s line of sight to Al-Hashimi’s retreating figure. “Not really. Seems a little uptight, but I haven’t worked on a case with her yet. Maybe she’s just nervous?”
Dana appears unconvinced. “Yeah, maybe. Doesn’t seem like the type to though.” They head for the Hub, threading a path through a flurry of activity. Someone calls over the loudspeaker and Cassie’s ears perk up.
“That’s for me. Maybe she just needs someone to reach out, connect?" She shrugs, backing away. "I’m sure she feels a little out of place.”
“You volunteering?” Dana calls after her, “because I am definitely not.”
As dinner time approaches, Baran finds herself scanning the Pitt. She sees Mohan and a few other residents shoveling food down in the breakroom, but no sign of Trinity. Doctor Santos, she corrects herself. No sign of Doctor Santos. Something bumps into her elbow and she turns, hand already reaching out.
“So sorry, I totally didn’t see you there,” Whitaker apologizes, hands full of papers. He draws up short when he sees who it is. “Doctor Al-Hashimi.” He glances behind her, then back, like he’s not sure what to do.
“Doctor Whitaker. I see you’re working through dinner,” she comments. “Any interesting cases?”
He scuffs a shoe on the floor and clears his throat. “Yeah, well. Um.”
When he doesn’t come up with anything else, she takes the top folder and starts to rifle through it. It’s a thoroughly done chart, and she nods at the notes with a hum of agreement that dies in her throat when she gets to the name at the bottom.
“These are Doctor Santos’s charts.”
Whitaker’s wide eyes focus on something past her, and she feels pretty confident that Trinity Santos is now somewhere behind her. With a tsk sound, she sets the complete chart in the proper bin decisively. The sound of paper against metal draws Whitaker’s eyes back to her and he clears his throat again.
“Just trying to do a favor for a friend, you know how busy it gets.”
“I see. And do you all do favors for each other?” Her eyes narrow when he looks behind her again. “Or is it just Doctor Santos who needs help filing her charts?”
“...No?” Next to them, the red phone rings and Whitaker seizes the opportunity to deposit the remainder of the charts and head for the ambulance bay. “I’ve got it, Dana.”
Avoiding Dana’s gaze, Baran waits a few seconds then turns around. Not too fast, but as if she just remembered something she was doing across the room. The movement stops before she completes the turn.
Bingo.
Trinity is standing at the suture cart, looking furiously between the ambulance bay that has swallowed Whitaker, and the Hub where Baran stands with Dana, the incriminating charts filed next to her. She meets Baran’s scrutiny with a stubborn jut of her chin and something crackles in the air.
Baran can’t tell if it’s the brash defiance the resident usually emanates or something more. She takes too long to examine it and the results come up inconclusive as McKay approaches her.
“Doctor Al-Hashimi! I just wanted to see how you were doing.”
“I’m still getting a feel for things, but I like what I’m seeing,” Baran turns to answer her, very aware of Trinity still watching her.
“...nothing too serious, I just thought I’d ask if you were free tomorrow night,” McKay is saying.
“Of course. As long as it remains professional,” Baran answers, only half listening.
McKay flushes a little, then laughs. “Oh, god no. I don’t mean it like that, I just thought I’d organize a little ‘get to know you,’ like you said earlier. I think Samira and Yolanda are both free, and sometimes Robby hangs out but it’s more of a girls’ night on Fridays.”
“Yolanda?”
McKay nods enthusiastically. “Doctor Garcia. She’s always game for a round of trivia or two. She hasn’t agreed yet, but I can sway her.”
“I’m not sure Doctor Garcia and I agree on much,” Baran murmurs, her eyes flicking across the room.
“Mmm.” When she sees what—who—the attending is looking at, McKay lets out a knowing sound. “I see.”
That embarrasses Baran enough to break her concentration, and she exhales in relief when Robby waves her over to an incoming gurney. “I don't know what you think you see, Doctor McKay, but I’m sure you’ll enlighten me tomorrow.”
McKay smiles when her invitation is accepted. “I’ll send you the details later. And just...be careful with that one.”
Baran doesn’t answer. The remainder of her shift is noticeably Trinity-Santos-less, but that doesn’t stop her from searching the Hub each time she walks by. She keeps her face carefully neutral, but the stab of disappointment each time her efforts turn up nothing lodges itself like a splinter in the back of her brain.
“Doctor Santos?”
Trinity blinks the blur out of her eyes and tries to focus on the figure in front of her. It’s hour thirteen of her twelve-hour shift and before she looks down, she already knows her handwriting has morphed from ‘barely legible’ to the kind of skittering lines that tell the night shift she was half-asleep when she wrote them.
“Doctor Robby.”
The attending leans on the desk, his tired eyes crinkling with a small smile. “You’re dead on your feet. Why don’t you go home?”
“I’m sitting down,” she retorts, flipping back through the chart. She slaps herself awake a few times and starts correcting the scribbled lines.
Someone walks behind Robby and Trinity sits up a little straighter, gripping her pen with unnecessary force.
“Doctor Santos.”
“Doctor Al-Hashimi.” Trinity keeps her eyes down. She knows if she looks up she’ll see brown eyes studying her, brown eyes that catalog every move she makes in a way that leaves Trinity feeling very exposed.
She knows this because she watched the entire time the older woman guided Whitaker through an emergency thoracotomy, and twice she caught Al-Hashimi looking at her. Or maybe she got caught looking at Al-Hashimi. Not that she’s looking now.
“I see you’re working on your charting before hand-off.”
Trinity says nothing, but a puff of air leaves her nose. She doesn't quite know what to think of the older woman, especially after Garcia’s earlier jab which had the odd effect of making the surgeon seem almost territorial. Like Trinity is a territory.
A territory that Yolanda has made every effort to point out is not exclusively hers, but still feels the need to defend.
Al-Hashimi doesn’t comment on her silence, just watches her with that unreadable expression until Robby waves his hand in an unsubtle ‘well, go ahead’ motion.
“Today was a long day,” she begins slowly as Robby nods supportively, “I know the more tedious tasks of medical care can seem trivial or boring, but you would have saved yourself a lot of time by doing it throughout the day instead of all at the end. You wouldn’t want to repeat your R2 year again because of this.”
Behind her, Robby puts his head in his hands.
Baran watches in real time as her attempt to appear impartial has a profoundly irritating effect on Trinity. Whatever energy was between them evaporates as she shoves her chair back and stands, stretching.
“Good thing I just finished reviewing, then,” she says in clipped tones. “Now are you going to leave me alone, or are you going to keep dogging me for my charting?”
She elbows her way past them before she can dwell on what she might have said if Robby weren’t there.
Baran turns to Robby as the locker room doors swing shut. “When I agreed to shadow for a week, you told me there was nothing to worry about with the residents.”
He drums his fingers on the desk. “Doctor Santos is one of the best we have. Doesn’t mean she’s not guilty of getting in her own way. Like all of us are.”
She doesn’t miss his pointed look. “Fine. Maybe I overstepped with the charting,” she admits.
His eyebrows raise. “Just the charting?”
Baran’s face stays impassive but a muscle in her jaw twitches. As they watch Trinity gathering her things through the window, her eyes narrow when the woman fumbles with her bag.
“Is she scheduled for tomorrow?” She does her best to keep the curiosity out of her voice, but it’s not good enough.
“Are you asking out of professional courtesy or personal interest?” Robby’s tone is light but his prying glance searches her face for a reaction.
He’s been noticing all kinds of things about the new attending throughout the day, things like how her mood only ever changes from placid to unruffled, how she avoids the breakroom unless it’s empty, and how she seems to get along with everyone while simultaneously not seeming to like anyone.
How she’s now asked after Trinity, specifically, twice. How she hasn’t asked about any of the other residents.
She doesn’t answer and he exhales sharply, rubbing at the knot in the back of his neck. “Look, I don’t keep track of all of them. I'd have to check the…and you’re gone,” he trails off. Al-Hashimi is already walking to meet Abbott and doesn’t even acknowledge Robby as she leaves.
“Speaking of courtesy,” he mutters, heading for his own locker, “this is going to be a long week.”