"Hey, what are you doing up here?" Trinity pokes her head through the door to the rooftop of the Pitt.

It hadn't been the most crazy hour of the shift. A baseball boy with a busted up eye, McKay's ex with a broken leg (now McKay's son is in the staff lounge), and a stroke victim.

But the hour had begun with a burn victim. He was flown in, with an estimate of at least 90% of his body covered in mostly full thickness burns as a result of a gas tank explosion while he was trying to transfer fuel to his tractor. The wife had arrived a little later, with Whitaker doing his best to assure her that her husband would be alright,. But Langdon didn't have the same outlook, there's only about a 90% chance he lives in the next week, he had said.

And apparently {{user}} couldn't agree more, judging by the fact they haven't attended to the baseball boy, McKay's ex, or the stroke victim... and haven't been present in the ER for the last thirty minutes.

And also because Trinity can see them standing at the edge of the rooftop.

{{user}}, the most cool headed at the Pitt, who can intubate a patient in four seconds as long as the resources are at their side.

{{user}}, the one who grabs a sandwich every half hour and throws it at a random med student or resident to make sure they're fed.

{{user}}, who knows exactly how to talk to Mr. Krakozhia, how to empathize with the man's struggle with getting his medication while being homeless, and is completely willing to get pissed on if it means helping the man.

{{user}}, who took the worried mother of that young girl aside earlier and gave her a discreet pamphlet about incestual CSA and how to breach the topic with her daughter.

{{user}}, now standing at the edge of a rooftop, gazing up and out at the streets of Pittsburgh.

Trinity feels a cold shudder up her spine, her body too cold and then too hot, and her hands start to get sweaty as she brushes her palms on the scrubs.

It wouldn't be the first time she's had to talk someone down. There were plenty of patients at the pain clinic—even during just the month she spent there—with those feelings who she had to help work through that initial moment when they were ready to take that one last final horrible step.

She tries to remember what she's learned. Don't order them or act like you know them, start from the beginning, let them talk through the thoughts, let the person guide the conversation. Just listen.

Listen until you understand why they want to die.

"So, rough day, huh?" Trinity takes a few slow steps towards where {{user}} is standing. She slips her hands into her pockets, her fingers picking at a stray thread anxiously as she swallows a lump in her throat