Archive of Our Own ^beta

Santos is dressed in approximately 23 layers as she and Whitaker leave their apartment. Inside she is thanking Mel, who had introduced her to thermal tights, and also to Whitaker, who, for once, had listened to her and gotten his thickest coat out of the deep closet in their entranceway. The one that probably led to Narnia, if anyone were ever able to reach its back wall.

If she were not constantly nagging him about not freezing to death outside, she’s sure he’d leave their flat with just a normal jacket. She does think it’s unfair that he feels the cold much less than her, but this snow fall that has been going on the past few days seemed to have brought out the more sensible side of him. Thank fuck.

But if he urges her to drink tea one more time, it might be her who throws him out after all.

Not today, though. Because today she needs someone to cling onto during the Pitt’s holiday party. Bonus points if she can pretend to be the clingee and not the clinger, and, with the way Dennis has been acting, she’s certain people will attribute their staying together as his clinginess and not hers.

Maybe it sounds mean, but she can’t say that she is not slightly nervous about this get-together. Not that she has anything against her coworkers, especially with Langdon being gone for about four months now, everyone has chilled out a lot more regarding her presence in the ED.

Especially the tension with Garcia has been getting to her, so she is extra glad that things have smoothed over. As far as Trinity is concerned, only Garcia, Robby, and Dana know about the true reason for Langdon’s departure– and Trinity is no snitch– but that doesn’t mean she was less paranoid about getting interrogated at any moment.

In the true spirit of the ER, there is a bet going on for his absence too. Third child, becoming a stay-at-home dad and reinstating the Roman Empire all being on the board. And, to avoid suspicion, Trinity had even thrown her own guess in there: “deep interest for Mesoamerican architecture leading to surprise sabbatical”.

Seemingly it had worked, as no one but Mel had asked if she knew anything about Langdon in the following weeks. But mostly she’s thankful for her forming friendship with Garcia, had been shocked when the surgeon had come to apologise to her after the truth had come out. Even if it had taken the older woman a few weeks to get her shit together.

Trinity doesn’t begrudge her for it, though. She’s just delighted that someone has actually taken some time out of their day to right their wrongs. It’s not often that happens to her, so she’s extra grateful for it.

It also seems that no longer having the guy in the workplace that had completely lost his shit at her was more relaxing. Who woulda thunk?

“You coming?” Whitaker asks, opening the door to their car. Well, Santos’ car, but she makes Dennis drive most of the time, so really, it’s a communal vehicle now. Truth be told, basically everything she owns is now theirs.

“Yeah, yeah, Huckleberry,” she rolls her eyes good-naturedly but gets in, immediately pressing the ‘seat heating’ button – possibly one of the best modern inventions – the moment Whitaker starts the engine. “I just hope we don’t get lost in all of this snow-”

Pressing her face against the glass, she watches the constant stream of snow outside as Dennis leaves the parking lot. The number of crashes coming in due to slippery roads the past few days has been crazy. You would think that in a city used to snow, people were aware of the risks when driving, but apparently that isn’t the case here and every year, like clockwork, it starts again.

At least she now has a nice anecdote about cutting a guy out of an Iceburgh cosplay, not everyone can say that about themselves. She was so proud of it, even, that she had asked the guy for a selfie for her brothers.

Truly one of the highlights of moving to Pittsburgh was visiting a Penguin’s game life. Sue her, but she was also one of the kids growing up with Crosby and Malkin on TV, to her brothers’ dismay, who had called her a traitor for not sticking to their home team. As if those two didn’t get starry-eyed when Santos had taken a pic of her and Mohan at the rink.

Figuring out Mohan was into Hockey had taken almost two months of deliberate needling about free-time activities. And even then, Trinity had not been completely sure if Mohan was actually interested, or if she only knew so much about it to relate better to her patients. Only when Samira had gotten up from her seat, yelling in excitement as the Penguins won, Santos was finally sure.

Getting Samira to agree to take a day off and join the holiday-party had been even more difficult, but with the help of Javadi and Whitaker and a 12-step plan, Trinity had pulled it off. Even more surprising was the fact that even some of the usual night-shifters had given their assent. Most notably, Shen and Ellis. And no, Trinity was not significantly more excited about one of them being there than the other, thank you very much.

Trinity was a grown up woman whose work crushes did not define her. She was capable of looking Ellis into her eyes and having normal conversations without blushing. She was a strong and capable woman, and nothing could change that. So far she had not dropped a second scalpel – an incredibly efficient way to nip a flirtation in the bud, as she had so painfully figured out– and was very keen on keeping that streak going.

“Oh shit!” The yell and subsequent swerving of the car has Trinity gripping her seat with all her might, yanking her back to reality. Whitaker keeps yelling, fingers white-knuckling the steering wheel, “Fucking idiot!”

The car that had cut them off was slithering around in front of them, tires not having enough grip on the wet road. With halted breath, Trinity watches as it comes dangerously close to hitting the vehicles in the other lanes or, worse, the buildings next to the road. Finally, Dennis gets their car back under control, warning lights on and slowing down significantly.

“Should we call 9-1-1,” Whitaker asks, “tell them about this?”

“I have no idea,” she answers truthfully. “Probably? I mean, he’s endangering traffic. And himself. He almost hit us-“

“Yes, of course, yeah-“

“Relax, Huckleberry, I’m gonna make the call. But only if you can tell me the location, I have no idea where the fuck we are,” Trinity fumbles around in her purse for a second, her phone hidden underneath lipstick, tissues, and her wallet.

It takes a bit to get through, but soon enough she’s talking to the 911 operator, relaying everything that happened, their location, and asking what they should be doing now.

The woman on the other end gives them instructions, praises them for warning the drivers behind, and asks them to be patient for a few minutes until the swerving either stops or the police are there to take care of it.

“Well, you heard her, Huckleberry! Time to play heroes on our day off!”

Whitaker grins and gives her a thumbs up, “You got it, boss!”

By the time the situation is resolved, they are already half an hour late and still have quite a bit to go. Apparently, Shen lives on the other side of the city. Trinity really doesn’t want to know how long he commutes for every day. But maybe, with almost always being on the nightshift, the traffic is much easier to bear.

They arrive in front of a house – more than an hour later than planned – that is too big, really, for one person, and Trinity rings the doorbell. It’s Javadi who answers, already lightly buzzed, which Trinity clocks immediately. She has a wine glass in hand and an antler headband keeping her long hair out of her face.

“You’re here!” She practically screams over the loud music in the background. “We thought you might’ve ditched us!”

Her face is slightly flushed, and Trinity wonders if this is the first time Javadi has ever tried alcohol. When being asked about it a few months ago, she had insisted that “of course she had, what do you take me for, Santos?” but Trinity is not too sure about that anymore. Maybe she just has a shit tolerance, which wouldn’t be surprising at all.

“McKay here?” She asks, because deep down she’s a little shit who thinks it’s funny when Javadi blushes and starts stammering. “Just kidding, Crash, I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Javadi, who quickly regains her composure, glares at her. “Well, just so you know, Ellis already asked about you.” With that she swirls around and heads back into the house.

Now it’s Trinity who blushes, Whitaker cackling loudly behind her. His hand lands on her shoulder, “That was so deserved,” before he too, goes inside.

“Fuckers,” she mumbles. But secretly she’s proud of Javadi for growing a backbone. It’s simply no fun if they don’t clap back. And really, it’s beautiful to see how much Javadi has grown into her role at the ED, how much more comfortable in her own abilities she feels. And how she has started to stand up more against her mother as well. Because if there’s one thing Trinity can approve of, it’s better-late-than-never teenage rebellion.

Shen finds them relatively quickly, greeting them, iced coffee in hand. But he too, seems slightly drunk already, and Trinity knows for a fact that that man is not a lightweight.

“Do I wanna know what is in there?” She asks, pointing at the cup in his hand.

He laughs and shakes his head, “Probably not, and you also don’t wanna know how long I pregamed for, before all of you crazy people showed up!”

Trinity takes his words seriously and eyes the dubious concoction one more time. “Well, you have fun then. Just don’t pass out on us, please, I have no idea where shit is in this house!”

Someone has put in an early 2000s pop playlist, and Trinity watches in delight as Abbot more yells than sings the lyrics to ‘Poker face’. At the bar because apparently Shen is one of those rich fuckers who has that, she sees McKay and Mohan deep in conversation, Javadi on the other side of the room, longingly gazing at the former.

It’s lucky, really, that Trinity has not seen a mistletoe in this house yet, otherwise she might do things that’ll make Javadi quit their friendship. Or, worse, might make Javadi enact on a revenge Trinity will be embarrassed by for the rest of her time at the Pitt. It’s good, really, that she has not seen Ellis yet. She definitely needs more alcohol to survive an interaction with the resident all dressed up.

Today might not be a Christmas party, Robby and Perlah are here after all, but it is definitely a non-denominational holiday get together. Or just a party for almost having survived the year. Trinity’s glad for it, then, despite her name, she’s quite disconnected from the religion she grew up with. And happier for it, despite her mother’s disappointment.

But well, it’s not like they’re in contact anyway, so who cares at this point? Trinity has spent most of her life trying to please her mother, never quite succeeding. There’s a reason she moved halfway across the country as soon as she was able to.

“You alright?” Dennis suddenly appears behind her, two drinks in hand, startling the shit out of her.

“Jesus, Huckleberry, where’d you come from?” She does take the drink, though. It’s not wine, that much is clear, possibly rum or tequila, mixed with … something. Maybe juice, or some type of soda.

“Don’t look at it like that, it’s not gonna kill you,” Whitaker rolls his eyes, “I know you don’t really like the taste of alcohol when getting shitfaced, but I was not about to raid Shen’s kitchen to make one of those complicated cocktails you like.”

“Alright alright,” she acquiesces and takes a sip. Surprisingly, it doesn’t taste as bad as it looks, which she tells him, though he doesn’t seem to like that either.

“Wow, thanks for that vote of confidence, Dr. Santos.“

“You know what I mean, Huckleberry-“

“You really are like siblings,” Mel’s voice comes from nowhere. Unlike Trinity and Whitaker, her glass seems to be purely water. At their questioning glances she just says: “I’m taking a break for a bit, don’t want to overdo it.”

Mel might be the only person, doctor or not, who listens to the ‘one glass of water per glass of alcohol’ rule. Apart from the older ones, that is. But the rest of them still sustain themselves with the advantages of youth, trusting that their body would right everything the next day.

They chat a bit, Trinity explaining the entire car-chase sequence that had led to their late arrival. “I’m just glad we aren’t on shift today, god knows how bad the carnage is out there.”

Through the window she can see that the snowfall has picked up once more, the light of the street-lamps outside illuminating the ground. How the fuck they’ll get home is a mystery to her, but she’s sure someone will remain sober to drive them home. Worse comes to worst, Shen had already agreed to have some of them over if need be.

Maybe they should have taken an Uber, but neither of them were swimming in money, and Trinity trusts Dennis’ driving much more than she did some random person’s. After all, if Whitaker had barely kept control over their car, who’s to say what might’ve happened with someone else-

She’s glad most of the people she has talked to so far, have been ones she’s already kind of befriended. Perhaps she should give her other coworkers more credit, but she had been nervous nonetheless. As much as she gets along with most people on shift, in a private setting – outside of the rushed environment of the ER – everyone behaves differently. Especially with alcohol flowing, there is suddenly an element of unpredictability with each other they don’t usually encounter at work.

Langdon and his drug habit were an outlier and should not be counted.

Trinity has spent a lot of her time becoming, and remaining, competitive and independent. In Gymnastics and med school, both of those things had gotten her to places she previously could only dream of. Especially with how young she started Gymnastics, Trinity has never known an environment that wasn’t competitive.

It was simple maths. If you wanted a scholarship, wanted to rise in the ranks and maybe even have a chance at the Olympics, you had to work your ass off to be better than everyone else. Trouble being that everyone else was also working their ass off to reach their goals-

Training and competing with injuries was expected, eating disorders practically inevitable, and it took her best friend breaking under the pressure for Trinity to see the toxicity around her. Too bad that spending more than a decade in it had shaped her into the person she was today.

It had gone surprisingly well for most of med-school, her competitive nature urging her on to be the best of the best and never asking for help until it was almost too late. But then arriving in the real world had very quickly given her a reality check. She had chosen a profession where team work was essential – especially in the ED – and not being able to work with other people had the consequences of potentially losing a patient.

But she had been working on it for the past few months. She had started letting people in, not immediately getting offended when a resident or attending corrected her, and all in all, she is proud of her progress.

“Oh sorry, I have to go now,” Mel takes a look at her watch. “I promised to call Becca and tell her everything. She’s planning on watching ‘Elf’ afterward, so I need to be on time.”

With that she excuses herself, taking out her phone and disappearing in the direction of the corridor leading towards the front door.

“You know,” Trinity starts, “I really hope she doesn’t go outside in this weather, she’s gonna get sick-“

“Softie,” Whitaker says, immediately ducking away from the light slap Trinity aims at him, grinning widely.

“You better not tell anyone,” she glares. Whitaker, the traitor, doesn’t even pretend to be scared at all though – has long gotten over his fear of her – and just grins wider.

“Your secret’s safe with me”, he motions zipping his lips shut, then mimes throwing away the key. “Promise.”

Trinity rolls her eyes, and takes another sip of her drink. She’s far too sober for this. “Fuck it,” she thinks, and downs the rest of the strange mixture in one go. Finally, she tastes some of the alcohol’s sharpness, even if it’s so strong it almost makes her gag.

Usually, she’s not a very picky person. Could probably survive on anything if it came down to it, but she’s very peculiar with her drinks. Which is why she mostly makes them herself. Otherwise she’d always need to add one thing or the other to have that perfect balance between tasty and enough alcohol to get drunk on. Well, at least it starts that way. Once she’s a certain level of buzzed, she’d drink most things. As long as the taste’s not too strong.

Chatting with Whitaker, she slowly relaxes more into the environment. Somewhere in the background – presumably another room – she can hear a bad karaoke rendition of ‘My Heart Will Go On’ that would surely give Céline Dion a heart attack, overlapping with a wild Techno beat that is playing in the living room. At some point, Garcia walks by them. Trinity gives her a small wave, and then watches her vanish back into the crowd.

Whatever, she’s long over her crush—

“Oh shit,” she mumbles as her eyes land on Ellis dancing with Shen. Some of her braids have escaped the tight knot she usually has them in, and are now wildly flying around her face. Shen gets hit in the face more than once, but just laughs before he continues with his head banging.

And dammit, Trinity shouldn’t find one of her bosses drunkenly fooling around on the dance floor so attractive, but she’s a simple woman, and Ellis in that high-fashion jumpsuit and boots is just something else. Not to mention the entire energy she’s emitting.

Trinity’s a sucker for confident women who know their shit. Women who have the guts to do something and the skills to back it up. Someone who can stay calm under pressure, controlling a room without having to yell, and who’s able to give criticism without being condescending.

Yeah, sue her, she’s got a bit of a competency kink, and Ellis easily ticks all of her boxes.

She must make obvious heart-eyes because Dennis sighs dramatically and tells her to get her shit together.

“Stop ogling your boss, Santos.”

That gets her flustered enough that she whirls back around to him, not having noticed that she had started leaning forwards. They start bickering again, before Dennis tells her to just “talk to her, she obviously likes you as well”. And Trinity might be starting to feel the alcohol warm up her body, but she’s not drunk enough for this yet.

He agrees, taking her hand and dragging her back towards the bar. The point he’s making is pretty clear, and so Trinity starts helping herself to an open bottle of vodka, and pours a shit-ton of coke on top of it. The drink that is.

“I call this one the ‘broke college student’,” she says, clinking her glass with Whitaker’s. He has opted for a beer, boring, almost cutting his hand when opening the tab, leading to him shaking the can and getting foam running over his hand.

“You didn’t see anything,” he hisses, licking the beer from his index finger.

Now it’s Trinity to mime her mouth being shut, before they devolve into giggles. At least there’s no blood. Seeing as Huckleberry’s luck is truly atrocious, a light spillage is actually a huge win for him.

It doesn’t take long for Trinity’s focus to be pulled back onto the dance floor, where Ellis has moved towards the edge of it, almost hitting the couch that got pushed against the wall.

Sipping on her drink, Santos feels like one of those disgusting men who sneak into lesbian bars to stare at them. Still, she cannot take her eyes off Ellis.

She swears that at one point, Ellis looks up, making direct eye contact with her. But the moment happens so quickly, that she can’t be sure whether it was real or just her imagination playing tricks on her. She should probably be embarrassed by the prospect of Ellis possibly catching her staring, but with the alcohol starting to kick in, she just feels all warm inside.

Whitaker’s talking about something next to her, but she’s not paying attention. Before coming here, they had promised to each other not to leave the other alone, but right now, Trinity just wants to yearn in peace.

A hand on her shoulder yanks her back to reality, where she is very much being in the way of everyone trying to access the bar. It’s Dennis who tops up her drink and then drags her further into the room. Closer to the dance floor. Closer to Ellis.

“What the hell, Huckleberry?” She screeches indignantly.

“Stop being so useless and talk to her,” he says, before depositing her on the couch. Thankfully, it’s the other end of where Ellis is standing, but that’s still far closer than they’ve been during the entire party. Trinity scrambles into the corner, staring at Javadi who is sitting a few cushions further, staring at McKay.

Her eyes widen when she notices Santos’ gaze, and if Trinity is half as obvious as Crash with her ogling, she does not want to know who has been observing her so far.

She gives Victoria a little nod, trying to bring across the fact that they are in this together. If Vicky won’t say anything, Trinity will also keep her mouth shut. They can be two useless queers yearning together. Pining in solidarity. Each for a woman way out of their league.

“You better sing ‘Chant’ with me some other time,” are the last words Whitaker mutters before vanishing from her side. She has just enough time to agree, and then he’s gone.

This is a much better place to sit and watch, she has to give him credit. The alcohol is burning down her throat, and she automatically starts smiling. Her cheeks are hot to the touch and her entire body feels like it’s buzzing. She feels like she could take on the world!

Not a conversation with Ellis, though, even though the other woman has definitely been glancing at her as well.

Instead, Trinity decides to just lose herself in the music – giving proper credit to Eminem as she does – of course. She owns the moment and will never let it go.

“Are you okay?” For a second, Trinity thinks it’s her who’s being addressed. But no, it’s McKay who has sat herself next to Javadi, who looks like she’ll combust any minute.

“I’m f-fine,” she stammers, and Trinity almost feels bad for her. With her growing confidence and security, Victoria has also gained the ability to say long sentences in one go. But, like most queer women would if confronted with their crush speaking to them, Crash stands no chance.

Unfortunately, or, well, very fortunately for Javadi, McKay seems to find the blubbering mess that is Victoria amusing. Endearing, even, judging by the way she starts to smile softly.

Trinity, feeling entirely betrayed by the fact that Crash apparently has more game than her, just gives her a quick thumbs up of support, before turning her head back towards the dance floor. Sure, she is supportive of Vicky, who wouldn’t want her to succeed, after all? And she doesn’t want to disrupt them, but it also does sting a little that Trinity herself has not had the courage to walk up to Ellis yet.

When she looks back, McKay and Javadi have gotten up. Probably to go somewhere that is a bit more private than the middle of the living room.

Trinity needs another drink.

Even though she should probably take a break. Drink a glass of water or eat something. Theoretically, she knows what to do, in order to avoid the worst of a hangover, and to get the alcohol level a bit under control. But she has no real interest in pursuing any of those ideas.

Really, she would much rather get shitfaced, were it not for the lingering anxiety to have the people she looks up to– the one she needs to respect her as a doctor and as a person– witness her doing something very embarrassing. Not to speak of the fact that being too drunk surely won’t make her look good in Ellis’ books, should she actually talk to her.

Somewhere between here and now, her glass has gotten empty. She tries to stand up, but her first try has her almost immediately fall back onto the couch. For an ex-gymnast, she should really have a better balance.

The wobbling doesn’t get better on her second try, but at least she stays upright.

Damn, either she has put too much alcohol in there or it was Whitaker when he topped her up. Maybe it’s also the lack of food beforehand. They had eaten at home, but then they had gotten distracted– each of them taking ages to get ready– and with the whole driving incident, it has been a while.

She gets as far as the other side of the room, puts her glass on some strange piece of furniture that looks more like a modern art piece than anything actually useful, and promptly decides it’s floor time now. The corner she has picked is a bit hidden away, the weird structure with her glass shielding her, and a big, floor-length window behind her, where she leans on.

Immediately she feels better, though she wasn’t aware she had not been feeling well beforehand. In general, she is a huge advocate for spending time on the floor, reading, watching TV and chatting just hit different there, in her opinion, but lying on the ground when she was drunk was even better! The coldness of the parquet beneath her hands is soothing, and so is the glass at her back.

It’s still snowing outside, she notices when tilting her head to the side. The little movement makes the room blur a bit, almost as if the visuals were lagging behind, before it clears again.

Logically, she knows this would probably be a good time to take a break, but with the alcohol in her blood, she just wants to drink more. She’s having fun, giggling when she sees someone step back without looking and fall onto the couch she had just been on, but if she drank more, she could have even more fun! To achieve that, she’d have to get up, though, and she currently has no intention to move in the near future.

Her attentions jumps between the condensation of her breath on the window, towards the dancing crowd. She doesn’t know the song, but sometimes, people clap in short bursts, matching the rhythm. Her feet move in time, fingers tapping on the floor.

Like this, she gets a bit lost in the feeling and buzz of alcohol. Her body warm and throat parched. Drinking always makes her thirsty. And also, she has to pee, like, badly. She manages another minute or so before the urge gets too strong.

Using the window to hoist herself up, Trinity quickly makes it to the bathroom and out again in record time. All that standing up and sitting down has her stumbling around even more and this time, she does need the wall to stay upright.

It’s like this, gripping the doorframe for dear life, that Ellis suddenly appears in front of her. Rudely, she still seems to be perfectly put together, even though Trinity can tell that she, too, is drunk. Even if it is way less than she is. But who knows, Ellis just might be an undiscovered acting talent.

“You doing alright, Santos?” She asks, more sincerely than Trinity has ever heard her.

“Just peachy, Ellis,” she answers. “Don’t you worry about me.”

Immediately disputing her words, Trinity almost falls trying to nonchalantly walk away. Hands under her armpits quickly catch her, though, putting her back onto her feet. Trinity blushes.

She is acutely aware of the questioning eyebrow-raise aimed at her, and can also feel her face heating up. And this is definitely not the alcohol’s doing.

An hour or two ago, Trinity would’ve gladly taken the chance to finally start chatting with Ellis. But now that she has been caught in a quite embarrassing moment, more at the edge of the party – just the two of them – Trinity is panicking. This is not helped by the fact that with their closeness, Trinity can smell Ellis’ cologne.

“Thanks,” she mumbles and turns around towards Ellis. She regrets it instantly because suddenly they are face to face. Her throat dries up, and she has to suppress the sudden urge to climb Ellis. Jesus, Santos, get it together.

“No worries. Though I would suggest taking a break, you’re way too drunk.” Ellis takes a step back, but leaves her hand on Trinity’s shoulder. Guiding her towards a couple of soft-looking bean bags in what looks to be Shen’s office, she never lets go. “I’m gonna get you some water. Stay here.”

Even if she wanted to – and she doesn’t – Trinity has no time to refuse Ellis’ request, as the woman is out of the door before she can fully process what has been said to her.

Through the open office door, she can still hear parts of the party. It’s quieter here. Gives her breathing room she hadn’t known she was missing. Sitting here, taking deep breaths of fresh air – or at least air that has not been breathed in by thirty people for multiple hours – her heart rate also starts to calm down.

The tiredness hits her suddenly. They’re well into the night, but only now that she’s taking stock of her body, does she notice the signals it is sending her. Leaning back into the bean bag, she inhales deeply and closes her eyes. The lights are too bright here, otherwise she would fall asleep immediately.

It must not take long for Ellis to come back, but Trinity has long lost her sense of time. In her hands, Trinity can see a glass and some snacks. Probably chips or something of the sorts, maybe even some of those little catering sandwiches Shen had put onto his kitchen table. Cute appetisers. Because Trinity refuses to call them ‘hors d'oeuvres’. It really pisses Whitaker off, which delights her greatly.

“Here,” Ellis says, handing the glass towards her.

“Thanks, Ellis-“

“Come on, Santos, you can call me Parker,” she smiles. “I’ve already seen you almost eat shit on the floor, and you’ve definitely watched me embarrass myself dancing. We are way past the professional work boundaries.”

“Yeah, sure. Thanks, Parker, but if we’re already there, then please call me Trinity.”

Holy fuck, what is even happening right now. She is doing her best to not start screeching in fear and excitement. Ellis, no, Parker is actually talking to her!

To not put her foot in her mouth, like she is prone to do, Trinity starts drinking the water. Where a clear head was awful before, the current buzz in her brain and body are even worse. Whatever is going on here, Trinity wants to be fully sober for it.

She may not get the smaller hints, but she’s pretty sure there’s something brewing between them right now. Huckleberry can laugh at her all he wants, but she’s not as useless at this as he accuses her of. Even though she was almost shitting herself before, in fear of even talking to Parker.

Her stomach grumbles loudly. A sound she can’t muffle, even as she quickly hugs her arms around her mid-section. Whatever bit of blush had receded, it’s fully back now. And she can’t even blame it on the alcohol this time. Her ears never get red from that.

“So, uhh, what brings you here?” She starts, and immediately wants to kick herself. So much for having game. She scrambles to save the situation. “I mean, not that I don’t appreciate it, but it’s not like I’m blackout drunk. And you could’ve just sent Huckleberry my way, seeing as basically everyone thinks we’re codependent already. And that way I wouldn’t have to burden you with-“

“Relax, Trinity,” Parker sits down on the bean bag next to her. “I didn’t do anything I didn’t want to do, and also, you’re funny when you’re drunk.”

Trinity gives her a side eye, and almost chokes on a piece of bread at the awkward angle of her neck. Parker pats her on the back as she starts coughing, a tear forming in her eye.

“Fucking hell,” she wheezes. “How did I manage to do that?”

“Skill issue.”

Parker looks at her with such a straight face that Trinity loses it. Never had she thought Parker as the sort of woman who would say something like that.

“It’s all those kids I’ve been treating lately,” she says when Trinity finally stops laughing and asks her about it. And well, that’s fair. Trinity is mostly glad that no one in the ED has started with the worst slang yet. To her knowledge, at least. Who knows what Harrison has been teaching McKay.

They quickly fall into a nice conversation. Parker tells her about an awesome save she had done a few days prior, which she counters with a nice roommate story. She’s rambling too much and she knows it. But Parker does not make her feel bad for it. She looks interested instead of bored, like Trinity would’ve expected her to be.

There’s still anxiety thrumming through her, but Parker seems to genuinely enjoy their conversation. Seems to like spending time with Trinity, and so she decides to trust her. Decides to just let herself relax and let some of the rest alcohol spur her on.

Liquid encouragement and all that.

With a small nod, Parker reminds her of the snacks she had brought with her, and hands her one. They’re good, really fucking good. And probably quite expensive. But with all she has learned about Shen so far, that is to be expected.

It interrupts her mid Broadway-show tier list ranking, but how could she be mad when they taste so amazing. Parker laughs as she tells her that – or at least tries to, eating with one’s mouth full of bread is a rather difficult operation, after all – but readily agrees.

“He’s got good taste, that’s for sure,” she says proudly.

It reminds Trinity of her friendship with Whitaker. Though she’s not sure which of them has adopted whom in their case, there are definitely some similarities. Although she bets Shen is not half as pathetic as Whitaker is. But, credit where credit is due, Huckleberry has improved a lot in that regard recently.

She fears there is nothing to be done about that haunted look he carries around. That of a little orphan boy mixed with the saddest wet-dog eyes she has ever seen. It’s impressive, really.

There are also definite similarities between Parker and her. It’s part of the reason she feels so drawn towards her. She bets that Parker is only ahead of her by a few years, regarding character development. Maybe a more rounded version of her.

Though, she is not saying that Parker isn’t her own person. Of course not. It’s just fun to see the overlaps. And, possibly, also a way for her to gauge out if it would work between them.

Not that she has spent a lot of time thinking about that. She’s better than that. Daydreaming about your boss was a definite no-no. Imaging yourself in a relationship with them was even worse.

But how could she feel truly bad, if Parker is currently sitting next to her? After having brought her water and snacks to come down from the alcohol. And with the way she is staring right back at her, Trinity thinks that it may not have been one-sided pining.

Or maybe Parker just caught her staring and decided to shoot her shot. Perhaps Trinity is just imagining things, and Parker is that considerate and affectionate towards everyone. Even towards interns who she has barely spoken a word with.

“Can I have your number?” Parker suddenly asks.

And well, there aren’t many ways that could be misinterpreted. Not with the way the other is nervously avoiding eye contact. Looking embarrassed of herself to have blurted that out into the silence of their conversation. That’s a sign if Trinity’s ever seen one.

“It’s fine if not, obviously. But I definitely caught you staring, and Shen’s told me he’d never buy me coffee again if I don’t shoot my shot. And, well, Whitaker may have also let a few hints slip. They’re not very subtle, your friends-“

“I– what? That traitor!” Trinity whips around, completely ignoring the first part of the question. “I mean, of course you can, you don’t know how glad I am that you made the first move, but I trusted him with this!”

Parker laughs, “I wanted to ask anyway. But you were pretty drunk, and I didn’t want to do it in front of the entire department. Not to mention the fact that HR will probably not be happy with us. We definitely need to talk about the power imbalance, by the way, but that should wait until we’re both completely sober. Probably.”

Trinity’s heart warms at that and she nods. Of course they would need to figure out a good way on how they could work, and whilst she far more clear-headed than before, she can still feel the remnants of alcohol in her blood.

But because she has been emotional enough today, she just looks at Parker and simply says: “Our first date better be a theatre visit-“

“Of course,” Parker answers. “After all, it seems I have much to learn about that. Though I call dibs on the second date location.”