Trinity feels sick.

Not to be egotistical, but Trinity confidently considers herself to be a good intern. She’s smart, efficient. Has the answers to all the questions and isn’t afraid to jump in. She may challenge authority at least once a day, and is chided for her patient satisfaction scores, but she’s also praised for her quick thinking and her skills.

Especially by you.

Trinity doesn’t really know what’s going on with you, the surgical attending that Robby always wants down here, because you’re the ‘only one he trusts to not fuck up’. So you come down. Get Trinity involved. Praise her when she does something right, and corrects when she nearly does something wrong. There’s fleeting touches, quiet conversations in supply closets, even a hug and a cup of the cheek. But that’s as far as it’s gotten — Trinity and you make sure you maintain strict workplace professionality.

But you both know, deep down.

You walk back from a surgical consult, asked for by Dr. Langdon. It’s been a long shift, and you see Trinity. She’s slumped at the computer, and she looks utterly exhausted. There’s a speck of dried blood on her cheek that you’re certain she doesn’t know is there, because knowing Trinity, she wouldn’t leave it on her face. You drum your hands on the nurses station.

Her head snaps up at you. “Oh. Oh— Hey.” She blinks rapidly, brushes her hair that’s fallen out of its bun behind her ear.