Chapter Text
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The following days were a calculated blur of double shifts, cold coffee and deliberate silence. Trinity stopped answering Yolanda’s messages after that night
Just answering the essentials "See you in the operating room"
But then came the "Are you okay?". He read them, felt them like pinching in his chest, and then filed them as "unread" as if that could erase the weight of rejection he felt.
It wasn’t pride, it was surviving the presence of the person who made him feel things. First of all, every time Yolanda touched her - with that mixture of authority and tenderness he only used in private - Trinity felt he was drowning in something that would never be mutual.
Yolanda wanted her close, yes. He wanted her in his bed, in his operating room, in his orbit. But in his life? I had never said that. I had never crossed that invisible line separating "good dust" from "something real". And Trinity was tired of begging for crumbs from someone who just didn’t try or have an interest in her.
Dennis noticed it immediately. The first morning after what happened, he found her in the kitchen looking at the void with a cup of coffee, her eyes were swollen from so much crying and she was very faint.
-Santos, are you going to talk or are you going to keep looking at that coffee like it’s gonna save you?
She shrugged, took a long sigh and stared at Dennis
-I decided that I’m not going to wait anymore if she doesn’t take me seriously, I’m not going to keep heating her bed whenever she wants. It’s over.
Dennis sighed, sat in front of her and took the cup off her hands.
—I understand. But... what if she does want to, but doesn’t know how to say it? It’s Dr. Garcia. His emotional language is basically codes of trauma and bad sarcasm.
Trinity let out a bitter laugh.
-Right. And I don’t want to try to figure out what he wants anymore. I’m going to focus on saving lives and finishing my reports.
Dennis didn’t insist any longer that morning. He just gave her a smile before going to the bathroom. But the following days witnessed how Trinity became a machine: it arrived early, offered for all complicated cases, stayed until the last resident left. Work was her shield, her shell to everything she was feeling. If she was exhausted, she had no energy to miss. If she was covered in blood and sweat, she had no time for tears.
Yolanda noticed, of course. In the halls, their eyes crossed and Trinity looked away first. When Yolanda tried to stay after her shift, I would text her - "Coffee in the break room?" - , Trinity made up impeccable excuses: "I have to do my case reports," "Dennis is waiting for me with dinner," "I’m dead, I’m going straight home."
Two weeks went by like that. Yolanda didn’t force anything, but her expression grew hardening.
Until that Friday afternoon.
The turn had been brutal: three polytraumas in a row, a layoff in pediatrics that was almost out of their hands, and Trinity had led the resuscitation as if his own life depended on it. When he finally came out through the automatic emergency doors, the sun was already setting and the air smelled of hot asphalt.
There she was: Carla, her friend from university. The same one who had survived with her the endless nights of study, the parties that ended in existential hangover. They had been texted that same week - "I need to leave this hospital" - and Carla had accepted without asking too much.
They were laughing on the sidewalk, Carla in her leather jacket and Trinity still in his wrinkled uniform under his sweatshirt, when a voice cut the air.
-Santos.
Trinity turned. Yolanda was standing at the entrance, clean white coat, arms crossed, expression that could freeze blood.
-Dr. Garcia, said Trinity, neutral, sipping his beer as if they were talking about a patient.
-I need you to come with me. You have overdue reports. Several. And they’re not going to write themselves.
Carla raised an eyebrow looking at Trinity, trying to understand the situation.
-Wow, sorry but he just left his shift, you can’t...
Yolanda didn’t even look at her at first. She just clapped her eyes on Trinity.
-It’s work. Priority and necessary so you don’t repeat. Come on.
Trinity felt the heat rise up his neck. It wasn’t just the order; it was the possessive tone, the one he used in private when he wanted Trinity to stay longer in his apartment.
But now I was using him here, in front of Carla, as if he had a right to her, which made him upset.
-I can’t now, said Trinity, sign it. I have plans. The reports can wait until tomorrow. I’m not on call at the moment.
Yolanda stepped forward. Her voice lowered, but no less sharp.
-They’re your patients, Santos. Your responsibilities on them come first.
Carla stepped in a bit, protective.
-Hey, listen. She said no. Why don’t you let her breathe for five minutes outside of that place?
Yolanda finally looked at Carla. He walked her up and down with a clinical chill.
-You don’t work here. You have nothing to do in this conversation. So, if you don’t mind...
Carla let out an incredulous laugh. Finally understanding the situation.
-Really? 'Cause he wants to go out with a friend? How mature of you, come on, Trinity, you have nothing to do here for now.
Trinity placed a hand on Carla’s arm.
-Okay. Leave it. Give me a few minutes.
But inside it was simmering. This was exactly what I had feared. That Yolanda had a wrong thought of possession over her.
Yolanda ignored Carla and went to Trinity alone.
-five minutes. I’ll see you inside.
Trinity clenched his fists. I wanted to yell at him to go to hell, that he didn’t play that game anymore. I wanted to tell her that if she cared so much about the reports, she would write them herself. But she also knew that Yolanda wasn’t playing. He could make his work life a hell if he wanted through robby or frank.
He looked at Carla, whose eyes were lit with indignation.
-I’m sorry, Trinity muttered. Wait for me here, will you? This... it won’t take long.
Carla shook her head, disappointed but not surprised.
-Okay, Trin. And if you need me to come and get you out of there by force, let me know.
He turned around and walked away without looking back.
Trinity was left alone with Yolanda on the sidewalk. The silence was deafening.
-Happy? - asked Trinity, low and trembling with contained anger.
Yolanda didn’t respond immediately. He just looked at her, as if assessing a wound that was not visibly bleeding.
-I didn’t mean to interrupt your... date.
-It’s not a date. It’s a friend.
Yolanda swallowed saliva. For a second, something like regret crossed her face.
-The reports...
-The reports can wait, cut Trinity. You didn’t have to put on a show, what if someone saw us?
Yolanda stood still. There was no immediate response, just that harsh look starting to crack at the edges.
Trinity took a step back.
—I’m going home. If you really need anything from me other than sex or work, you know where to find me. But don’t do that again, you can’t control me or decide when I’m going to barge into my life.
- You’re the one avoiding me.
Santos exploded.
- It was you who made things clear, I won’t be after someone who treats me as if it were their relief outside of work, you decided this, so live with the consequences of what you say.
He turned and walked to the parking lot without looking back. His heart was beating so hard that he thought it would come out of his chest.
Behind her, Yolanda did not move. She just stood by and watched as Trinity walked away, with her hands pressed to the sides and her jaw tense.
For the first time, he didn’t know what to say, he didn’t know what to think.