trinity hadn’t even been on your case at first.

she was on a different one — a finger amputation. but dr. ellis had asked for a second opinion, and so she had gone.

you was on a gurney. not bloodied. not hurt. if trinity had known any different, she would’ve said you was completely fine. but then parker gave her your chart. jane doe. minor. over dose. found on bus. trinity has to hide her facial expression.

she approaches you. checks your vitals. you cooperate, silent and follow instructions as she checks your temperature, gives you some more narcan and checks your heart rate and bp. and all the while, she tries not to think about why all of a sudden she feels so… connected, intrigued in me and my situation.

maybe… she sees some of herself in you, as much as she tries to shove that down.

so she takes over the case. keeps asking questions, to which she gets no reply.

and then parker is going home, and trinity is the lead on your case. she steps in, shuts the door. approaches your gurney and sits beside you.

she tells you her story, quiet. how she and her friend had a pact. how her friend went through with it, how trinity lives with the guilt. how she and her friend got mixed up with the wrong people. how they trusted the wrong men and got pulled into a world bigger than they could’ve guessed.

and you just stared. but trinity saw it — the tears building behind your eyes. but still you don’t talk.

after that, she gets up. walks out. takes a breath as she leans against the nurses station. all she can… stupidly think about is how she wants to take me home. do what trinity wanted her parents to do — but trinity makes the presumption that my parents don’t care. she groans softly.

robby approaches, and trinity explains. robby nods, tells her to do what she thinks is right, and to keep updating him. that he’ll support trinity in any decisions she believes are necessary.

so trinity walks in. determined to get a name from you, at least.