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Summary
The Trauma Room floor was a mess of gloves, paper gowns and blood, scuffed by shoes.
Langdon breathed out long and hard. He knocked his fist against Trinity’s outstretched one.
“Good work,” he said. “That was a good catch.”
He’d let Trinity do the chest tube, let her call the shots. It was part of teaching, his ED education fellowship had told him. It was about letting the bird fly free, but knowing exactly what to do if they plummeted towards the ground.
It had been long enough that he knew Trinity was no longer the plummeting type.
“Thanks,” she said, and it didn’t even sound forced.
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Langdon and Trinity are friends. Best friends. It has been a long road to this point: here is a week in their lives.
Series
- Part 9 of conflict resolution