Chapter Text
Trinity has a lot going on.
First, and perhaps most importantly, is the whole "I'm not gay for you, but let's hook up" thing she's got going on with her hookup.
She'd met Megan at Uncle Cat's during the Lydia Lunch tribute show. More accurately, she'd ended up in a dingy bathroom stall with Megan during the Lydia Lunch tribute show. Megan was pretty much everything Trinity was not- effortlessly popular, with a bright smile, sultry eyes, and the kind of confidence that made everyone else seem a little less interesting. She sat on the Tri-Delta executive board and was training to be a fucking meteorologist.
Trinity had met her maker.
They'd ended up making out in the women's bathroom stall. Well... kind of. There'd been a lot of heavy petting. They'd both been wasted.
When they exchanged numbers at the end of the night, Trinity still tasting Megan on her tongue, she hadn't expected to hear from her again.
And she didn't. Not for a few weeks, anyway.
Then Megan got bored. Or horny. Probably both.
The next thing Trinity knew, they were hooking up again. And again.
It was fun and easy. Almost familiar.
But Trinity kind of resented being snuck into Megan's apartment through the back entrance. She resented being shushed so they wouldn't wake Megan's roommates. Most of all, she resented always having to leave before sunrise, like she was something that had to disappear with the night.
Once, when Trinity had foolishly suggested they go out and do something- even just as friends- Megan had given her a tepid smile and an even more tepid excuse.
Right.
Problem number one.
Problem number two: Robby.
Ever since the MCI, he'd been short with everyone. Not just her, but she felt it the most whenever she was the one standing in front of him. Every interaction left her convinced she was one eyeroll away from getting written up.
It wasn't like she was doing anything wrong. She was just a little slower than everyone else at finishing her charting.
Still.
She'd started avoiding Robby whenever she could. And anyone who might decide to report back to him.
She had enough on her mind already. Megan. Making rent. Dodging her mother's calls. Trying to stay off administration's, and Robby’s, radar.
That's why it's so unexpected when she finishes giving a bicarb bolus to a patient and Donnie walks up, patting her on the shoulder.
"I get it," he says. "It's rough. How's he holding up?"
She frowns, still holding the empty saline bag, thoughts of pretty blonde future weather girls evaporating from her already overworked brain.
"What?"
Donnie gives her a sympathetic look, raising an eyebrow.
"Who?" she adds.
He stares at her for a beat, clearly assuming she's playing dumb.
The only problem is that Trinity has absolutely no fucking idea what he thinks she knows.
"Ah." Donnie nods knowingly. "Keeping it under wraps. Smart."
Now she's genuinely lost.
"Keeping what under wraps?"
Donnie nods again, as if everything has suddenly clicked into place.
"That explains why you guys are roommates. Poor guy probably needed a fresh start."
It's like he's speaking another language. The only word she manages to latch onto is roommates.
"Dennis?" she asks. "What about him?"
Her tone is so openly bewildered that now it's Donnie's turn to frown.
"His divorce."
She pauses.
"The what?"
"Dennis. His divorce."
She blinks.
"Dennis is married?"
"Was," Donnie corrects with a shrug. "I guess."
"Also..." She points at him. "What do you mean, divorce?"
Now Donnie blinks.
"His wife literally came into the ER today and asked him to sign the divorce papers. He signed them right there. I figured it was because he wanted to… you know…” he pokes two fingers togethers and wiggles his eyebrows.
"Ew!" Trinity recoils. "Absolutely not. There is no me and Dennis. Wait. What do you mean, his wife?"
"Ex-wife now." Donnie scratches his head. "Tall. Dark hair. Came in, handed him the papers, he signed them..."
"Oh my God."
Trinity doesn't even bother saying goodbye before walking away, leaving Donnie standing there looking thoroughly unsatisfied.
Dennis had a wife?
Dennis had a fucking wife?
Why in the ever-loving hell was she the last person to know this? Dennis was her roommate, for Christ's sake.
“What the hell?”
Donnie jogs after her, stepping in front of her, suddenly realizing he'd just revealed something he probably shouldn't have.
"...You didn't know?"
"Of course I didn't know!" Trinity exclaims.
A violent urge to punch something blooms in her chest, but that sort of behavior is generally frowned upon in polite society. Instead, she hurls the empty saline bag into the nearest biohazard bin hard enough that it rocks against the wall with a metallic creak.
Is that what Dennis had meant when he'd said he was "between places?"
He'd had an entire wife?
Why the hell hadn't he told her?
She mentally rifles through everything she knows about Dennis.
He’s from Nebraska. Tiny town, some older siblings. A bunch of nieces and nephews. Likes black coffee. Somehow owns more flannel than should legally be allowed.
That was... basically it.
She'd always assumed he hadn't been back home in years because plane tickets were expensive and new doctors got paid approximately three dollars a month.
But maybe it had been because he'd gotten married.
Or divorced.
Or both.
Jesus Christ.
How do you accidentally fail to mention a wife?
Honestly, Trinity had always suspected Dennis was some flavor of queer. Not because he acted a certain way- God knew straight people came in every variety- but because she couldn't imagine willingly sharing an apartment with a straight man unless there was at least something weird about him. And he’d seen the way Dennis looked at Robby, like he hung the moon and stars. She’d seen the way Robby looked back when he thought no one was looking.
But apparently the weird thing wasn't that he was gay.
The weird thing was that he'd been hauling around a secret wife like it was a spare hoodie.
She felt... weirdly betrayed.
Not because he'd been married, but because he'd managed to keep a secret that big while living twenty feet down the hall.
"Donnie," she says slowly, "I need you to understand something."
"...Okay."
"I know what brand of frozen pizza Dennis buys."
Donnie blinks.
"I know he alphabetizes his spice cabinet."
"...He does?"
"I know he folds fitted sheets."
"What the fuck? Who can do that?"
"I have watched that man spend twenty minutes comparing laundry detergents because one was thirty-seven cents cheaper per ounce."
She points an accusatory finger down the hallway toward absolutely nowhere Dennis currently is.
"And not once did he think to mention he'd had a whole-ass wife?"
Donnie can only shrug.
"I kinda figured you knew."
"Well, I kinda didn't."
"To be fair," Donnie says, "I don't think anyone else did either. According to Dana, she just walked in, handed Dennis the papers, and he signed them. Didn't even seem all that torn up about it."
"He what?"
Donnie nods conspiratorially.
"Dana said they even made plans to get brunch afterward. Post-divorce! Apparently she's staying at some luxury hotel."
"...She's rich?"
Donnie shrugs again.
Trinity can't make any of this make sense.
Dennis had been homeless.
She'd found him sleeping in an abandoned hospital wing. He'd sold plasma to keep his phone turned on. He'd stuffed cafeteria sandwiches into his backpack for later. She'd watched him rinse out paper towels to use them again until they disintegrated.
And somehow his ex-wife could casually afford a luxury hotel?
What the fuck kind of life had this man been living?
She spins on her heel, fully intending to hunt down the little lying weasel. Instead, she walks directly into a broad, immovable chest.
Great.
"Dr. Santos."
Robby peers down at her over the top of his reading glasses, tablet tucked under one arm.
"I believe you have some charting to complete for the metabolic acidosis patient you just gave bicarb to?”
"...Uh."
Damn it.
She hates getting caught off guard. It remind her of being twelve again sitting in the hallway outside of the principal's office, wondering if she was going to get in trouble for something she's not even sure she even did.
"Sorry, boss we were just talking about Dennis's divor-,"
Trinity elbows Donnie in the stomach hard. Feelings of betrayal aside, she know there's something going on with Dennis and Robby, even she'd not sure what it is exactly. This would probably upset their boss.
Donnie wheezes, bent over from her attack.
"Nothing," he manages to squeak out.
And then, before Robby can say anything and because the three of them are standing in the middle of a crowded ER, they are immediately joined by Mel.
Because of course they are.
"Robby, I wanted to see if you- "
She stops when she sees the scene. Donnie, wounded and hunched over, Trinity tight-lipped and face-pinched, and Robby's deepening frown .
Mel pushes her glasses up with one finger and looks between the three of them.
"...Are you guys talking about Dennis's divorce?"
Trinity freezes.
Donnie, still recovering from Trinity's elbow to the gut, slowly looks up.
Robby looks from Mel to Trinity and then to Donnie, and back to Mel again.
Trinity has never really understood the saying silence is loud until now.
Because this?
It’s fucking deafening.
Robby looks like he's swallowed a lemon. Or maybe a live fish.
Actually, no. One of those Korean dishes where they chop up the live octopus and you try to swallow it while it is still actively fighting its way down your throat.
That.
That is exactly what Robby looks like right now.
"Why..." Robby starts carefully. He trails off briefly. He opens his mouth.
Closes it. Opens it again.
"Dennis is married?"
Yep.
Live fucking octopus.