OstrichInAPearTree
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Summary
Yolanda Garcia reminded Trinity Santos it was casual. Is it?
Trinity and Yolanda work through their situationship after the events of Fourth of July.
Trying to be as accurate to the show as possible but no promises…
**Adult themes, some things may be missed by the tags so check the notes before each chapter**
Bookmarked by OstrichInAPearTree
03 Jul 2026
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Trinity Santos knows how to fight. She knows how to fight with her words–acerbic exegesis disguised as something lighter, something that takes a second or two before the burning really begins to sink in. She knows how to fight with her body, the exact shapes to make to cause maximum impact. And when, exactly, it’s appropriate to embody herself so wholly that she becomes only her body. She knows how to fight with silence so cold that she herself is scolded by the ice, left scarred and shivering. And she knows how to fight by running–her absence the final blow, any and all closure absconded alongside her ghost. So really, fighting is what she does best. She’s been doing it her whole life. Bruised knuckles, bruised heart, bruised soul. She’s been doing it her whole damn life–but she cannot seem to win the battle against one Yolanda Garcia.
Bookmarked by OstrichInAPearTree
03 Jul 2026
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“I pride myself on efficiency, Trinity.” Baran leans in, hands slowly sliding higher before scraping her nails back down until Trinity gasps. “What do you think the best approach is in this case?”
“Starting.”
Baran smiles. “Good answer.”
Or Trinity is five minutes from losing her shit, Doctor Al-Hashimi does NOT help.
Bookmarked by OstrichInAPearTree
02 Jul 2026
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Summary
After Garcia ditches her on the Fourth of July, Trinity is still deciding how angry to be.
What happens when a trauma comes through the ED doors and Trinity realizes she never actually knew Garcia at all?
Bookmarked by OstrichInAPearTree
30 Jun 2026
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So she stayed silent and didn’t talk back, forced her eyes to not wander, hid, bared herself as an offering to Al-Hashimi's dark-brown gaze. Held it a little too long and a little too silently, maybe, to fit into her usual patterns. The shortest creasing of a brow, the letting her off with a gentle warning that was too gentle for what she would usually have gotten.
Pity is the highest and most final form of contempt, the last saint before downfall, maybe that’s why she takes to it so well.
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Sometimes things have to get really bad before they can get better again - and oh, how she tries.Bookmarked by OstrichInAPearTree
29 Jun 2026