Work Text:
Trinity is at a bar.
After that shift from hell, it was the only sensible place for her to be — certainly not in an empty apartment waiting for Whitaker to get back from Amy’s.
No.
Trinity’s at a gay bar and well on her way to being drunk, mindlessly people watching from her seat in the corner, thoughts blissfully going no further than the lives of these strangers.
She nurses her drink, eyes following a group of college kids laughing on the dance floor. She supposes they just finished a round of exams, that the one with the green eyes and dark hair is pining after the curly blonde, that they are coaxing the shy one into chatting someone up, and that they’re having an altogether better night than she was. Not that that was a high bar.
Thinking about these random patrons keeps Whitaker’s concerned eyes safely shoved in the back of her mind. How, at the suture cart, he had known she needed someone and had stubbornly stuck around until she talked. By the end of the shift, he left anyway. Amy needed help. And how could a sweet Huckleberry ever say no?
But that doesn't matter. The young woman over there had just spilt her drink all over some unfortunate bastard, and he’s laughing, and she’s stuttering apologies with a grin while he wipes himself off. Maybe he’s so jovial because he’s going home to the man watching him with fond eyes and a soft smile. Maybe she’s about to see her girlfriend for the first time in months.
Trinity takes another sip of her drink and zeroes in on the burn in her throat, settles into the warmth blooming at the back of her skull, and takes another slow glance around the room. Businessman walking in with his shoulders low, college kids dancing, green-eyes closer to the blonde than before, strangers around them laughing, couples grinding, a group doing shots near the floor, someone tired and alone slouching into a bar stool with her head low and hair falling over her face-
Familiar hair. Usually pulled up off her neck in a bun. Always falling captivatingly into her eyes by the end of a shift.
The woman agitatedly shakes out her roots and looks up to flag the bartender, Samira Mohan’s face peaking out from behind the curtain.
Unexpected.
It makes sense she’s here, now that she thinks about it — this place is close enough to the hospital for post-shift de-stressing alcohol — but seeing her out of scrubs and at a gay bar has her mind stalling.
She thinks back, pieces together the times she’d heard Robby’s raised voice from somewhere out of sight today, seen Mohan's eyes looking a little bit lower every time they’d crossed paths. She remembers something Whitaker was saying about some patients who died and one who came back on a stretcher — the diabetic. Guess her day sucked, too.
The promise of an empty waiting apartment settles heavily on her again. The scalpel in her pocket. Silence in the air. Her next shift crystallises in her mind, Langdon lurking around every corner. Her argument with him spins around her head again, things she should’ve said, phrases that would’ve twisted the knife harder, made her point irrefutable— she should have just told everyone herself! Then there would be no way he’d already be back to the golden boy status!
At least Robby gave him the cold shoulder, too. At least one person down in the Pitt knew what he did and thought it mattered. Not that Robby would be there for her next shift. Or the one after that. Nope, it would just be her and the man who tried to take her whole life away. Perfect.
Trinity slouches further into her chair with a huff. The point of this was to ignore the shitfest today and the shitfest guaranteed to occur tomorrow, to keep herself from bad habits for a long as she can stand.
Her eyes flick back to Mohan in the dark. A soft-looking navy shirt hangs over her hunched back, the pushed-up sleeves leaving her free to watch the flexing of her forearms as she raises her glass. She's sipping something dark now, hair pushed out of her face and brows pinched as she stares a hole into an unsuspecting tequila bottle on the shelf. There's a soft tilt to her head and a faraway look behind her eyes— yeah, the Pitt will do that to you.
She looks completely in her own stormy world, probably as detached from reality as Trinity wishes she was.
She's wholly unaware of the blonde woman approaching her with a hopeful expression.
The blonde opens politely, at least— Trinity can read the “excuse me” on her lips from across the room. She’s all thousand-watt smiles and calm gestures after pulling Samira from her contemplation. Mohan still looks spaced, but she nods along patiently, even smiling a little, before adopting a rather apologetic expression, one Trinity has seen all too often in the hospital. The blonde’s shoulders perceptibly drop, but she says something else with a smile before turning to go. Samira sure is more gracious than Trinity would have been. People should learn to read body language. The set of Mohan's shoulders clearly did not invite company.
It’s clear the blonde doesn’t stay in Mohan’s thoughts for long. Her all-too-kind smile has soon faded, and she’s back to her ghostly staring. Probably thinking about one of the patients from today, or whatever had made her anxiously avoid her phone all day.
Trinity forces her own thoughts away; the day seems to have fucked them both up, but there are better things to do than bleed her heart out for them both. That doesn’t help anyone. That just leads to more red lines and shame.
She turns to take in the mass of bodies dancing.
Drinking and dancing and not thinking.
It’s a little while later when Trinity falls back into her body from her wandering mind. Her glass is just about empty, the comforting fog diminishing, and the scalpel in her pocket weighing heavily against her thigh.
Some of the faces on the floor have rotated, notably the curly-haired blonde and their enamoured green-eyed friend have disappeared – good for them. At least someone’s getting some.
Like gravity, Trinity's gaze falls back to Samira — its only natural to be curious. She's carefully cradling a new tumbler of amber liquid, the other glass discarded beside it. Her profile has a beautiful orange light falling over it, bathing her skin in warmth. Her face is relaxed, her eyes mellow and fathomless, her lips softly parted. She looks decidedly like a painting.
Inevitably, Trinity is not the only one to notice, and who knows how many have tried while Trinity wasn't paying attention. Another person swaggers up behind Samira with a smirk in place. She slides in next to her with a sharp jawline and perfectly tousled brown hair, nudging Mohan with a shoulder and chuckling when she startles.
The words exchanged don’t reach Trinity’s ears, but Jawline is saying something with a crooked, overbearing grin, and Samira is letting out a startled, nervous laugh, her eyes darting. Jawline clearly takes it as encouragement and keeps it up, leaning closer with each line and looking expectant, cocky. Pushy. Trinity knows the type.
Mohan is leaning back in her seat now, subtly making space, shaking her head, eyes wide, lips in a more restrained but still polite smile. Then Jawline asks something, drops a hand high on her knee, adopts an expectant expression, and Mohan turns away to her drink, probably buying herself a moment of escape and a modicum of space. Jawline doesn’t let go. A thumb strokes her thigh.
Trinity pushes off the stool.
Samira can’t see her coming, but Jawline is facing her way, still waiting for some answer that Mohan must be tripping over her words with, and is yet to realise she’s stalking her way toward them. Of course she doesn’t notice, all she can see is her next mark.
“Hey, babe!” Trinity announces her presence cheerily with an arm around Mohan’s shoulders and a completely believable smile. “Sorry, I’m a little late.”
Jawline’s eyes snap her, her hand snaps back, grin faltering. Good.
“Don't- don't worry about it...” Mohan’s bewildered look slowly fades as she recognises Trinity, questions lingering in her eyes, but she relaxes fractionally under the touch.
Trinity’s smile comes a little easier now at Samira's cautious relief, a regrettably familiar warmth settling in her chest. But that’s a perfectly normal reaction to a beautiful coworker staring at you.
No time for distractions, though, there's a mission to accomplish. She turns to Jawline. “Sorry, who are you?” The slight edge to her voice bites.
Jawline’s eyes flick between her and Samira, reading. “Oh, I'm Amber. I was just keeping her company. No one likes to drink alone, right?” Her 'charming' laugh sounds forced.
“Not true, but either way, you’re free to go. I'm here now.” Trinity inclines her head, another perfect smile.
Jawline goes to speak—
“Nope, not interested. Go.”
After a pregnant pause, she waves for good measure.
Seeing their ego kicked is always the best part. Jawline draws her lips into a tight line, her jaw ticking as she pushes off the bar, eyes lingering too long on Samira as she leaves.
Under her arm, Samira sags gently. Trinity withdraws and spins around to take the stool opposite, searching Samira’s face quickly. She looks tired.
“Some of them really can’t read the room, can they?” she offers with a small smile.
Samira huffs a laugh.
“No, no they can not."
Samira spins back to slump against the bar. "Where did you even come from?”
“Oh, I was just huddled in the corner waiting for any opportune white knight moments,” Trinity responds with sarcasm and smirk.
It’s the safe play; she’s not interacted with Samira outside of work much, and after the day they’ve had, she’s not quite sure she can remember how to act like a person.
“I’m surprised you’re here, though.” She quirks an eyebrow, gesturing around the space. “This place doesn't strike me as your scene.”
Samira sighs and shrugs.
“It was on my way home, and I needed a drink.” Her expression softens. “Thank you for that earlier, by the way. I’m not in the mood for pick-up lines and strangers right now.”
Honest, raw eyes press into Trinity’s own, and her chest tightens. It feels too personal, looks too grateful.
“Ah, no problem. I get a kick out of sending them off with their tails between their legs anyway.” She plasters her best charming grin over the feeling fluttering up her chest. “Don’t you know abrasiveness is my strongest quality?”
Trinity turns away swiftly, only catching a small twitch of Samira's face before she busies herself with flagging down the bartender to avoid catching a proper response.
Once a tumbler is in hand and a fresh burn alights her throat, she settles enough to look at Samira again.
God, she looks rough. Her hair is frizzed and handsomely messy from what Trinity can only assume is fingers constantly running through it. There’s a lingering redness in her eyes, and dark, heavy bags under them. Her jaw solemn and slack. She’s looking down again, as if the weight of the day is keeping her gaze trapped low and her shoulders braced up against it.
That’s not right. While Samira’s always been connected to her work, her patients, her outcomes, it’s very clear that the current storm behind her eyes has been spun around more personal things. It’s too enveloping to have just been brought on by her unending professional empathy.
Trinity doesn’t understand that either; it’s already exhausting enough trying to sympathise with the occasional patient’s mental state, but doing that for all of them and always having heart-to-hearts has Trinity bone-weary at just the thought. Samira does it constantly, day in, day out, yet she’s still never seen her this wrecked.
The good thing to do would be to help, but how do you even comfort a coworker? Or anyone, for that matter? That's not exactly Trinity’s forte. Distraction’s simplest.
“You come here often?” Trinity asks. She aims for playful, but if it lands a little in the vicinity of flirty, that's nobody’s business.
“Definitely not. I don’t exactly go to bars much.” Samira replies with a rueful look.
“Shame." She draws out the word drolly. "That's where all the fun is.”
Mohan turns on her with a dry look, but there's a quirk to her mouth. “I'm sure. You know, I don’t think I can even remember the last time I went out to a bar.”
Mohan's actually giving it back to her. Win.
“Well, you didn’t pick the worst spot. I don't recommend this place for the dating prospects, but the drinks are fine.”
“Lucky me, that’s all I’m here for,” Samira sighs.
Talking about Mohan’s problems seems safer than dwelling on the cool presence of the scalpel in her pocket and the empty waiting apartment with no one in it to notice — so she continues, “Rough day?”
“You could say that,” Samira almost mumbles, facing the bar again, “maybe career-ending.”
Trinity can't stop the sarcasm in time. "What, did you kill a man?"
Samira's jaw tightens, and her eyes turn even further from Trinity. Oops. That was not the best thing to say to a doctor who you know has had patients die that day.
Samira's hand fastens around her glass again, bringing it to her lips with tight knuckles. The line of her shoulders is harsh and unforgiving, the calm lights on her profile doing nothing to soften her features now. Trinity has half a mind to look around for Medusa with how stiff she's seized up.
Trinity stops herself from getting lost. She returns to her own drink. She didn't mean to ruin it.
Fix it.
"Sorry."
After a palpable silence, and more alcohol to keep her calm for the impending heart-to-heart, she dares try again. She keeps her eyes forward.
"Do you want to… talk about it?"
Clean and simple, surely there's nothing wrong with that.
There's a soft sigh to her right, a drop of the head in her periphery.
"There was a patient, Orlando." Another deep breath. "He didn't have insurance, already had lots of medical debt, couldn't afford his meds and refused to stay for treatment."
Not altogether surprising. It's a sad but familiar story. A shame that Mohan was on his case, though; she always gets the most invested of them all. It should've been Trinity instead. She's famous for her ability to lack empathy. She would've been fine.
"I brought him a to-go bag with everything he needed, he left before I could give it to him. Abbott and I were even going to send it to his house, but then he ended up back in the ER anyway." There's a weary sigh. "Robby thinks he jumped. And now he's never going to recover, and his family is going to be saddled with so much more debt and medical bills for the rest of his life."
Tough break. Poor guy. Poorer family.
"That really fucking sucks, Mohan." Trinity finally glances over. Mohan's gaze is already on her, the eye contact heavy, dragging her in. Endlessly dark and raw.
Samira's voice turns raspy as she looks away again. "Yeah, it does. I knew he was a flight risk, I should've been faster… Maybe if I had-"
There's a sharp inhale, then nothing more than air leaves her lips. Her eyes drift, tracking upward, around, mapping invisible options. Kind eyes, soft again, tender from what was lost. Where there is kindness, there will always be pain.
Trinity leans forward.
"Look, from the sounds of it, you did everything to help him. Some people we just can't save, you know that. Nature of the beast, and all."
"Maybe." Samira's breath catches and her eyes turn glossy. "I don't think I'm cut out for the ED."
The look of incredulity that overtakes Trinity is entirely genuine.
"What the fuck made you think that?"
All tact of her 'comforting' demeanour is forgotten. Samira only flicks her eyes over to her fleetingly, continuing to fidget with her glass and stare into the middle-distance.
"I just can't keep up with the pace and the cases, evidently. I should go into geriatrics. That's my best shot at staying in medicine."
She doesn't sound thrilled at the prospect, speaking like even the thought of it is dull and disappointing.
"No seriously, where did you get that idea?"
She waits for Samira to speak, but nothing comes out.
"You aspirated a heart with a pigtail catheter on my first day!"
Samira shakes her head sharply. "That was all Dr Abbott. And definitely some abnormal circumstances."
"Abbott didn't have the balls to do it himself. You did. That man is alive because of you."
She knows she's gotten a little too passionate, knows Samira's staring at her with wide eyes, but Samira Fucking Mohan thinking she doesn't belong in the ED is absurd.
"And doing that during Pittfest? The biggest fucking MCI Pittsburgh has had? That makes it even more fucking impressive. That is the most badass thing that has ever been done inside those walls."
Samira's searching helplessly for words, a slight dusting of pink on her cheeks, eyes still blown wide. Her jaw snaps shut audibly. She chews on her lip.
"Robby and Dr Al both think I should go into it," she says quietly.
Trinity makes an effort to calm herself.
"Do you want to?"
Samira's mouth hangs open again as she searches for words, head weaving side to side.
"It might be good for me-"
"But do you want it?"
She looks down. Takes a big breath and holds it. Shakes her head.
Trinity sits back, hesitant to keep pushing, but itching to fix this one thing today. She steels herself again.
"Look, you are a fucking brilliant doctor, especially in the ED. What Robby and Al-Hashimi think doesn't matter. If you want to stay in emergency medicine, you should. You're one of the best."
She sits back, but watches Samira closely, anxiety in her stomach, and tries to judge if she's helped or hurt with her overzealous and slightly blunt tirade. Samira has only looked at her a few times fleetingly during it, mostly staring at something below the bar with her head cocked and face solemn. She looks almost forlorn now as she goes to speak.
"Pittfest was awful… but I've also never felt that good since. Now I'm just slow-mo again… I don't know how to get that doctor back."
"Hey — that's not the kind of thing you can fluke. You've definitely still got it there. Robby can go fuck himself for saying otherwise."
Samira shrinks at the last bit.
"You heard that?" Her voice walks the line of bitter and embarrassed.
"No." She didn't need to have heard it. "Not directly. But I can guess."
Samira grimaces and takes a big drink.
"Look, whatever he said, he's wrong, and you are still that badass doctor, even if he can't see it."
Samira finally looks her in the eyes again, albeit briefly, before she replies quietly. "Thank you."
Trinity can't make heads or tails of what's going through Samira's head, but she holds onto that 'thank you'. Trinity managed to say some genuine things that maybe helped, no one yelled or stormed off, and in fact Samira sounded sincere, so the conversation wasn't a failure. Maybe even a cautious success?
She takes a moment to forcibly relax her shoulders as she turns back to her own drink.
They finish them in silence, but Trinity takes comfort it. She likes the reassurance of having someone with her, someone who even understands her, albeit only in the context of their shared world. There's comfort in a presence beside her who knows she's there and sees her — even if it's just this quiet, almost anonymous affair. She knows Samira is aware of her, her breathing, her drinking. If she were to disappear, Samira might just notice she's gone, maybe even try to find her. It's nice: a solid mast to cling to when the ship's threatening to capsize; another rope to bind her together, keeping her away from herself, for as long as it lasts.
Later, when Samira signals for her tab, the impending end of the night has ants crawling under Trinity's skin and cold spreading up her arms. She's searching for a way to prolong this before she can even process it, anything to get away from the jittery static that starts creeping up on her.
"So what are your plans for the rest of this momentous Fourth of July?"
To her credit, Samira takes the abrupt break of silence in stride.
"At this point it's just bed and a book, really. Or maybe a movie," Samira replies with a sigh as she sorts her tab, looking resigned.
"While I understand the appeal, considering the day we've had, it is a holiday and the night is young…" Trinity summoned her most charming smirk. "Can I interest you in a surprise?"
Samira's wariness is clear in her drawn eyebrows, but there's curiosity as well. After a long look, she softens and breathes out an adorable little chuckle before answering. That's definitely something she wants to hear again.
"You know what, yeah. But I want to be at home and in bed by midnight," she replies firmly.
Trinity feels her grin broaden, adrenaline thumping.
"Not a problem, Cinderella. We'll get you back before you pumpkin-ify." She chances a wink. The dancing warmth in her chest only grows at Samira's blush.
She swings her jacket on, having already paid for her drinks as she ordered them, and waits for Samira to follow before pushing out into the night.
Though she was trying, Trinity couldn't keep the victorious smile off her face. She settles for keeping her head angled down as she throws a quick "It's not too far" over her shoulder. There's a low, excited buzz in her fingertips that has them tapping her thigh to a fast beat, and they're off, Mohan following just behind her.
The city is buzzing in the dark, the occasional pop of a distant firework audible over the bustle and cars. The world feels so open and full with it.
Her next tap lands on the solid metal of the scalpel she had forgotten was hiding there. The world slams shut. Its pressure against her leg keeps her thoughts snapping back to it. She's lashed and it's getting tighter. Cold creeps out slowly, the blood cut off from her heart. Each step pulls it harder against her. Each step wrenches her back to Whitaker leaving, Robby gone, Garcia looking at her like a goddamn chew toy. Her face feels frozen, her walking mechanical; robotic and uncontrollable. She's just a puppet on a timer, taxidermied and empty. Her breath leaves her with less and less oxygen each time.
"So are you going to tell me anything to prepare me for this surprise?"
Right. Samira Mohan. Behind her. Following her. With her. She's not at home yet — not alone yet. She forces her wooden feet to slow, stuffs her hands tightly in her jacket pockets, away from her thighs. She focuses on the slight brush of her elbow against Samira's, like the tide coming in and out. Something to try match her breath to.
"Not a fan of the unknown, Doctor Mohan?"
She knows her tone didn't quite land as jovially as she wanted, but she managed to hide her shaky breathing.
"I think I get plenty of the unknown at work. When I'm off the clock, I'll admit I am far more of a planner," Samira throws a rueful smile her way briefly.
Focus on her. Samira walking next to her, hair blowing across her face, the twitch of her lips.
Trinity's fists, trembling in her pockets, slow marginally. She starts to pick at the corners there, pulling on the threadbare seams. With great effort, she pulls the smirk back out and puts a twinkle in her eye.
"You like to be in control, then, hey?"
Samira laughs, shaking her head, and the sound of it pushes some of the black from her mind. She really is a beautiful sight under the streetlights. Trinity's breathing deepens; sweet air finally filling her chest.
"I guess I do, yeah," she says, still grinning, looking adorably inviting in her oversized shirt and relaxed hair.
"Well," Trinity starts seriously, "all I will tell you is that Huckleberry could keep this place afloat singlehandedly if he had to. The guy loves it."
Samira hums in response, chuckling again. "Well, whatever awaits can't be too bad if Whitaker loves it."
He'll be sad to learn he missed this, but in truth, Trinity's appreciating the understated calm of Samira's presence alone. Whitaker is sweet, but being with him is always accompanied by the pressure of him watching her. Mohan doesn't know her tells, which means there's more freedom; she doesn't have to be as aware of her microexpressions and pauses. Huckleberry was very fast to learn and is far too astute for his own good. He's endearing, but that makes him dangerous.
Plus, she won't deny she's very much enjoying seeing this side of Samira. She's only seen her a few times outside of work, but always in larger groups, and both of them definitely had their walls up each time. This, though… It feels like there's some exposed authenticity underlining every word and movement.
"Don't you worry, princess, it's just around the corner now," she says, smiling sideways again in what she hopes was reassurance.
She doesn't give Samira any warning later when she abruptly turns into a random doorway and holds it open with a flourish.
"Tada!"
Trinity keeps holding the door like a true gentleman, letting Samira see the pulsing lights and flashing rows of arcade games within. They're on every wall, in every corner, tucked into smaller zones on the right, and there's a small bar on the left. It's a dark atmosphere, primarily just the games and the roving multicoloured lights illuminating the space, with spray-painted video characters all over the walls, and a few tables and cubbies for drinking.
Trinity allows herself a grin at the look on Samira's face, and she doesn't try to keep the pride out of her voice when she asks if this particular establishment is deemed an acceptable pastime.
Samira's eyes stop running over the machines and meet hers as she steps into the club, her smile breaks into a grin, and Trinity can feel her own grow to match it.
She gets an emphatic "Yes" in reply as Samira enters the building.
They're on their fourth game of Mario Kart when Samira finally scrapes a win.
She springs out of the chair cheering and jumping, beaming at Trinity, practically yelling over the music, "YES! In your face! I nailed that! Get wrecked!"
Samira Mohan's trash-talk is so disconcerting, it has Trinity laughing til her cheeks cramp. She gets up and goes straight for a high five, swiftly moving past the breath stolen from her when Samira holds onto her hand for an extra, excited shake, still buzzing.
"Damn, princess! Didn't know you had it in you! We might have the next pittsburgh champ on our hands!"
That earns her another exhilarated chuckle and a breathless 'shut up' that really shouldn't be legal when Trinity is tipsy and Samira is so close to her and glowing, with stars in her eyes and dimples in her cheeks. The way she sounds catching her breath as the laughter recedes has Trinity enraptured and butterflies filling up her stomach. There's a gorgeous, rosy blush to her cheeks, her eyes are still dancing, she's smiling because of her, and Trinity can't look away.
She looks relaxed, finally. Like she's slowly been shedding the tethers from the day that were weighing her down. She's moving carefree and loose, maybe for the first time in a while, like she's no longer thinking every action through before she does it, as captivating and free as a flame.
Trinity shakes herself and swings an arm around Samira's shoulders, steering her to the bar for a celebration. The bartender smiles at their matching grins, whips up whatever themed cocktail she ordered with flair, and slides the finished bright blue concoction over with a wink before turning to serve someone else.
"Now that is an unnatural colour," Samira exclaims with raised eyebrows.
"Drink up, buttercup, embrace the holiday!"
At some point during the evening, Trinity's baseline facial expression became a small smile. She has no idea when that changed, but it only grows as Samira tucks some unruly hair behind her ear and raises the cup to her lips confidently. The glass comes straight back down and her face is immediately contorts. She rasps, "That's sour! Wow!"
Snickering, Trinity asks, "You alright there?"
Samira visibly collects herself and sits up a little straighter. "Yeah-yep! I just wasn't prepared," she chuckles and goes back for a second sip. The twitch between her eyebrows still noticeable, but maybe more thoughtful.
"Actually, that's quite good."
"Wait, really? That is a sharp turn around— can I try?"
Samira nods and passes it to her. Trinity is not sober enough to remember to avoid brushing their fingers when she reaches for it. Thankfully, she's drunk enough not to drop it at the flutter in her stomach or the spike in her heart rate.
The drink is icy and tastes like sour raspberry slushies and cheap rum, but not half bad. She says as much as she hands it back, loving the challenge in Samira's eyes when she jokes about stealing it, and savouring the lingering warmth in her fingers.
Her head feels blissfully, properly calm, for the first time all day. There's just Samira, the light in her eyes, the thrill when she's near, and the promise of another couple of hours like this.
They make sure to play every game during their lap of the club, Trinity taking incredible joy in blasting zombies and Samira crushing rhythm games with a fierce focus, before they slump into a booth with fresh glasses of water.
Samira has discarded her shirt by this point, just a simple dark tank top underneath. It leaves so much more to take in. The slant of her shoulders, the smooth slope of her neck, the delicate little gold necklace settled neatly over her collar bones. So simple and so beautiful.
"Where'd that necklace come from?"
Samira looks down in surprise, as if she forgot she was wearing it. She picks it up carefully between her fingers to study it.
"My mom got it for me when I graduated med school. She wanted me to wear it when I moved away so I'd always have my family with me."
She glances up at Trinity through her lashes, lips pursed, hands clasped around the charm.
"That's sweet. And it's beautiful," on you.
Samira's eyes fall back to it, voice turning droll.
"I thought so. I thought it was so special, I've always worn it since." She sounds sarcastic, verging on bitter.
Trinity cocks an eyebrow pointedly, waiting for her to elaborate.
"She does these big acts of sentimentality, family, and all that, but now she's gone and decided to sell the house I grew up in just to run off for a year with some guy." She throws her hands up with a huff, head hitting the back of the booth in defeat.
"That's… Unexpected."
"It's stupid!" Her vehemence is startling, like a toddler swearing. "She hasn't even known this guy long! He could be anybody! I've still never even met him, and in a year she's going to come back with no house and no job and maybe not even a husband!"
"That-"
Samira doesn't stop. Her gestures grow more erratic as she leans over the table, her pitch keeps rising, and her forehead scrunches.
"She doesn't even care that all my memories of my father are in that house. I might not even get to see it again before it's just gone!"
Trinity tries her most gentle voice, usually reserved for small children and scared animals, and leans back in, pressing her hand into the table in front of her. "Hey…"
"And I know they had their problems, but we had some really nice times in that house that I'll never get back! She's getting rid of all I have left of him — all for what? An adrenaline trip? With a man who could ruin her?"
She finally makes eye contact again, looking up from where she had slammed the table, wide eyes shining with unshed tears.
"Look, that's a really shitty deal." She moves her hand slowly and reaches for Samira's opposite wrist, circling it with a soft grip, sweeping her thumb back and forth. "It sucks she didn't even talk to you about the house first."
Samira is staring at her hand, seemingly only half-present, but she returns the gentle clasp and watches the steady movement of her thumb on her skin. She lets out a hoarse, "yeah."
"Has she done stuff like this before? The big, impulsive decisions, I mean." Trinity's trying hard not to think too much about how smooth and soft her skin is, how warm and comforting the weight of her arm is, how well it fits in her own hand. Just keep going, no need to panic; simple, friendly reassurance.
"No, not really," Samira sighs, "She usually plans everything almost as much as I do, and she always asks me for my advice before anything big. That's why this is just so wrong."
"Well then, even though she's going about it differently… Do you think that maybe you could trust that she did think this trip through? That she trusts this guy?"
When Samira stays quiet, she tries again.
"At least until you can talk to her properly about it all?"
There's a big sigh from across the table, and Samira looks off to the side, eyes wandering.
Trinity starts to feel itchy in the silence, but focuses on keeping her face open, her hand relaxed and, hopefully, comforting. She's reticent to move it lest Samira remembers it's there.
She lets herself trace Samira's profile slowly, memorising the planes and curves. It's rare for her to see someone so open and unguarded, like stumbling upon a moonflower in bloom. Who knows when she'll next get to experience this, if ever. It's existence demands attention, captivates her by nature. She must at least trust Trinity a little to allow herself to be so free in front of her. That's good. That means something's going right.
"I know, you're right, I should." Samira doesn't turn her head at first — leaving Trinity free to keep taking in the smooth curve of her neck, the sharp line of her jaw, her cheek, the curls cascading over her shoulders — before Samira looks back at their hands again. "I'm just worried."
"Of course you are," she says with a fond chuckle, daring to give her wrist a small squeeze for emphasis. "You're just about the most empathetic person ever. Just try and hold on until you guys can talk it through. She sounds like a smart lady, I'm sure she knows what she's doing."
Samira just nods, lips pulled between her teeth.
"I really am sorry about your house."
Samira tries for a smile around her bitten lip, but it's wobbly, and the sadness is still palpable in her gaze.
Trinity starts to relinquish Samira's wrist, brushing lightly over her palm, her fingers, when Samira reaches out to grasp her hand properly. She squeezes once steadily, before letting them fall apart.
That was unexpected. That wasn't in the plan. It was so gentle and tender. Trinity's heart aches and her cheeks burn. She lets her eyes flicker between Samira's face and their hands, now resting open next to each other in the centre, fingertips so close. Hers feels so empty now, still fuzzy with phantom warmth.
Samira's looking at her softly — maybe curiously or with gratitude, her head tilted sideways, eyes still damp and mouth still sombre. Trinity offers a nervous smile, feeling raw and bare under the scrutiny.
"I'm sorry," Samira sighs. "I guess I'll call her tomorrow."
"Good! So that means until then, no worrying," she says it lightly, but hopes it's heeded.
The space between their fingers looks so tempting. Trinity so dearly wants to bridge it again, trace the pads of her fingers, run over her nails, hold desperately onto the hands that heal so many people every day. But the space between is a chasm, it's been crossed now, and the way back over seems far too much to risk. It was scary enough the first time.
She reaches for her glass, letting the cool water soothe her racing heart, but she holds firm, keeping her tingling hand in place next to Samira's. Little victories.
And this is a victory, she decides. In most scenarios, she would've hightailed it out the door by now. Still, even this relatively short conversation burns from how much she let Samira see. But the thrill was almost addictive. She wants to try again, see how close to the edge she can get, tempt it, inch by inch, until she tumbles over. Either that, or she runs away screaming.
"You got the day off tomorrow?"
Samira leans back now, slouching, letting her hands fall into her lap. She takes the tantalising warmth with her.
"I do, thank god." She huffs a laugh. "At this rate, I might spend the whole day passed out just because of this shift from hell," she adds with a sardonic grin.
"You hated analogue that much, huh?"
"It certainly didn't help, but that was somehow the easiest part of the whole day. You?"
"Hell. I couldn't get any of my goddamn charting caught up." Trinity rolls her eyes, but even mentioning it has the anxiety of repeating her year crawling up her spine, frustration curling tightly in her chest. Samira hums.
"Yeah, R2's a bitch. You'll get into the rhythm of it soon, and if you ever need someone to cover for you while you get some work done, you can just ask me."
She makes it sound so simple. Like that wouldn't be taking on far too many cases for one person to handle while keeping their sanity. Like she truly wouldn't mind helping, even at her own expense. Like asking her for this sacrifice would be trivial.
"Uh, thanks," that didn't sound very genuine. "Yeah, yeah I will," she says, more decisively.
It's probably a lie, but the offer settles quietly in her sternum next to Samira's smile anyway, like a promise.
She can't stay in this moment, though, otherwise it will claim her like the tide and wilt her away.
"Well," Trinity smacks her hands on the table with a smirk, "before we blow this popsicle stand, you up for a victory lap?" Samira's grin matches hers instantly, and she's slipping out of the booth before Trinity can say anything more.
All their favourites get replayed with awful trash-talking and wicked grins, but soon they're shrugging back into their jackets and stepping out into the darkness, one bright pacman plush poking out from Samira's pocket that she'd won earlier.
They stay closer as they walk now. Somewhere between the adrenaline rushes and the drinks and the emotions, Trinity stopped having to force herself to relax after every unexpected touch. The sure, repetitive brush of Samira's shoulder against hers is grounding as they wander in the general direction they came from.
"How're we doing, princess? Not turning into a pumpkin yet, are you?"
Samira ducks her head, smiling as she shakes it.
"You make one comment about being home for midnight one time…" Her teasing is ridiculously cute. "No, I'm having fun. Plus, you still have over an hour, it'd be rude to deprive you of my presence."
"Exactly right, that would be incredibly cruel."
"Not much to get home to anyway," she says, forcibly wry. Then, louder: "If you want to call it a night, though, go ahead. I don't want to keep you up."
Behind her smile, Samira's face is solemn again, and she's scuffing her toes into the pavement as she walks. Trinity slows her with a hand on her bicep.
"Nah, I don't want to go home — but hey," she searches her face, "what was that?"
"Oh, nothing. Today's just made painfully aware of my lack of a life," she looks up with her lips pressed together, imitating a smile. She continues when Trinity keeps looking at her questioningly. "My apartment is so empty, you know? And I don't really do anything outside of work anymore. I mean, I didn't even have anyone to watch the fireworks with."
"Well… You can put pacman in your apartment! And as for the fireworks, we could be each other's date? Mine cancelled on me, and Huckleberry's at Amy's, so I'm flying solo too." She's getting closer to that edge again, and Trinity's not certain the ground she's standing on will hold. She runs her fingers over the scalpel in her pocket, letting the smooth and solid feel of it keep her sane. It's not the end of the world if she says no. "I bet there'll be another round of them soon?"
She ends up getting a timid smile as Samira responds, "There's a nice spot in a park I know that might have a good view?"
Score. "Lead the way, Cinderella,"
Samira sets off with a purpose, feet no longer dragging, biting the side of her lip as she spins backwards to check Trinity's keeping up.
They aren't the only ones who thought of watching the fireworks from this park, but it's dotted with bushes, trees, and the occasional overgrown flowerbed, so it feels a little more secluded anyway. They find a spot nearer the top and drop their things, the river hidden somewhere below behind a couple rows of buildings, as it nears 11 pm.
The pair sprawl next to each other on the grass. Trinity leans back on her arms, head already tilted to the sky, but she can see Samira fidgeting cross-legged in her periphery, turning the little pacman in her hands.
She notices when Samira turns to consider her, instead.
"I'm sorry Garcia cancelled on you."
Trinity's breath snags before she can stop it. She drops her head to the side, aiming for indifference.
"Don't you worry," she replies, flashing a tight smile, "I knew exactly what she was in it for— what we both were. It was always bound to be over fast."
She gives a small shrug while she regards Samira sideways. The chill on the wind bites her arms. Her fingers itch to reach for her pocket and fidget with the blade as the conversation from the stairwell comes back to mind. She presses her palms into the grass harder.
"Still. You deserve more than that, Trinity." Samira mirrors her, leaning back on her own arms, eyes firm and delicately insistent where they press into her own.
She says it with such certainty that Trinity believes her.
Then reality comes flooding back.
Everything she's done comes back.
She knows all her deeds, and she knows what she's doing here. It's just some mutual loneliness alleviation. She's doing it for herself; Samira being helped is just collateral. This isn't a true good deed, nothing to actually make up for her sins.
She forces down the lump in her throat.
"You don't have to say that, Samira."
She pulls her knees up to her chest, bracketing them with her arms. Idly watches her fingers pick at her nail beds.
There's rustling to her left. From the corner of her eye, she watches Samira shuffle closer til she's cross-legged, knees bumping Trinity's thigh.
"I'm not just saying it." She's looking at her with her brows tight, unyielding and sure. "You do deserve more. Far more than she was giving you."
Trinity lets her knees fall, her arms drop. She takes in Samira's belief, the eye contact profoundly intense, reaching down into her chest and fisting around her heart, as if trying to shake her and say believe me. It's always been hard to let Samira down.
Curls are falling in her wide eyes, dark and captivating in the city night; she feels like she could fall right into them and stay huddled and safe, but she can't. She wants to smooth the small crease between her brows with a thumb, trace her hand down her cheek, feel the smoothness of her skin, but she can't. Her lips are pressed together lightly; soft, round, tantalising, and she's not allowed. She isn't worthy of it. Of her. Samira doesn't deserve anything to do with Trinity.
But Samira's looking at her like that's not true, and like she wants Trinity to believe it. It would be so easy — so selfish — to let herself give in to that. Take what she doesn't deserve, again. Use what's good and kind for her own comfort and leave Samira worse-off in the end.
Trinity wants to believe her, but she knows she's not there yet. She's still just pretending to be a good person.
She still can't pull herself away from Samira. She wants, and she wants, and she wants, so desperately — it's nice to sit in the illusion of it, even for a moment.
She can feel how wide her own eyes are, her mouth slack, air puffing out softly. Samira's lips are not that far, and she's so intensely focused on Trinity. So sincere..
It's not that big a distance.
Trinity feels herself start to sway closer.
A flash of red erupts above them. Their heads whip around to watch as the bang reaches their ears. Samira gasps.
Trinity chuckles quietly as more launch behind it.
Divine intervention.
Their eyes trail each firework, explosions of blue, purple, red, white raining in the sky. They settle back, shoulder to shoulder, gazing with rapt attention. Samira's hand sneaks into hers, giving a steady squeeze. Maybe it's a sorry for the interruption, maybe it's a promise that she'll come back to the conversation, or maybe she just likes the fireworks. Trinity memorises the feeling anyway. It feels like treasuring something that isn't hers.
Samira gasps again at a particularly spectacular combo. Trinity watches it fall in Samira's eyes, the colours dancing in her pupils, painting across her cheeks, catching her breath in her throat, shining on her collarbones.
It's a beautiful view.
A while later, the fireworks start to slow.
Trinity's spent most of that time watching Samira out of the corner of her eye, tracing the contours of their joined hands in her mind, cataloguing Samira's favourites from how much her hand tightens on her palm and how much her fingers twitch.
She likes the multi-layered red ones the most.
After the lull, Samira leans forward with a happy sigh, propping her cheek on a raised knee to look at Trinity through half-lidded eyes.
"Thank you for this," she says, sweeping her thumb over Trinity's knuckles.
"Don't mention it," Trinity shrugs, but it's getting harder and harder to remember this is a casual night out when Samira is still holding her hand, and she's looking at her like that, content and leisurely.
Trinity doesn't know what to do with that.
"I mean it. You didn’t have to do all this to cheer me up. I appreciate it."
Trinity sniffs quietly, slides her hand out from under Samira's to bracket her knees again. "Oh, I didn't, princess. This was classic self-interest, I just wanted to spend my night with a beautiful woman." She flashes a grin.
A blush rises on Samira's cheeks, but the sincerity doesn't leave her face.
"I don't think that's true," she says, still serious.
"What? You best believe I always want to spend my time with beautiful-"
"You've been kind to me tonight."
Okay, I guess no steering out of this one. Trinity drops her charmer act slightly, switching to satire in an instant.
"Yeah, just because I wanted a distraction," she scoffs, turning her wry expression on Samira, keeping her straining heart confined in her chest. "Sad people are no fun."
"It was more than that," she keeps watching Trinity calmly. "You're a good person, Trinity."
She laughs this time. "No, I'm not." How can she not see-
"Yes, you are-"
"You don't know me," she mutters, shaking her head.
Samira looks at her quizzically, pursed lips and creased eyebrows.
"I do," she says flatly.
Trinity chuckles.
"You let Whitaker move in with you after one shift," She says in that soft tone, with eyes that see more than they should.
"I just wanted the free manual labour, and-"
"You always back me up to Robby." Another patient look.
"If a man's wrong, I'm gonna point it out-"
"You leave me protein bars." A challenge in the arch of her brow
"Huh? No I don't-"
"You know when I haven't had time to eat, or don't bring any food, and you leave a protein bar on my station." There's a slight crumple to her forehead now, her dark eyes shining in the darkness. "I know it's you," she nearly whispers, as if she's pleading.
Trinity's mouth snaps shut, heat rising in her cheeks, and Samira's expression relaxes, the corner of her lips rising slightly.
A single firework goes off over the river, sparking in her eyes.
Trinity clears her throat and mumbles, "You're nicer when you've eaten."
The stripped-down and examined feeling isn't as strong as she expected, and there's a steady glow in her sternum. Samira Mohan really thinks I'm worth noticing, worth knowing. It's heady. She feels like she hasn't earned it, like this is all some big mistake. Samira Mohan is sitting across from her, under the stars, gazing at her tenderly, a fond smile lighting up her lips, a dimple just visible. Why is she here?
"You're nicer when you accept that I mean what I say."
It's said with easy humour, but Trinity can hear the plea underneath it.
"Sorry, princess," she sighs. It wasn't that long ago tonight that she had been doing well at this whole bonding and talking thing. Evidently, this round didn't go so well, but Samira wasn't put off. She remembers the thrill she felt after their talk earlier, the burn in her sternum of wanting to comfort Samira and to share herself. "It's a work in progress."
Samira nods calmly, face open and light, a smile tugging at her lips.
Trinity forces a slow exhale to dispel the anxiety in her belly and watches the sky once more. The fireworks are still intermittent, a couple every few minutes, and Samira seems content to stay watching. They make idle conversation about the birds and the other people in the park. It's as if the past conversation was merely a drop in the pond, ripples dispersing and the water vastly unchanged. Like there's no underlying judgment now, like Trinity doesn't have to replay it a million times in her head, and like Samira can see past that wall without the world upending.
Once they reach a particularly long stretch with no fireworks going off, it occurs to Trinity that they probably need to head back. Time is running short. All good things…
Doesn't mean she's happy about it, but it has been a hell of a long day.
"Those were lovely, but I do believe I promised to get you in bed by midnight."
Samira looks up in lethargic surprise, definitely tired again. Her eyelids are staying lower, and her shoulders slightly slumped.
"Don't suppose you can teleport me there, can you?"
"I would if I could, babe."
The term just slips out, testament to the long day, but Trinity says that to her friends all the time, so it's nothing to read into. Samira definitely won't read into it.
She clamps her hands on her knees and pushes herself up, holding out a hand to help Samira, which is soon accepted with a tired giggle. A giggle. It unleashes a fucking bubble blower in her heart.
"Alright then, my lady, let's get you back before you become a truly boring and unremarkable vegetable."
They start toward the exit with matching beat grins.
Samira takes the lead after they leave the park gates. The walk is peaceful, a loose silence over the pair, peppered with small conversation. Trinity spends the time concentrating on the lingering warmth in her hand, the light in her head, and the ease of her steps.
Despite Samira's no-big-deal behaviour surrounding their conversation, it noses its way to the forefront of Trinity's mind quietly. Her certainty in progressing whatever this was between them has Trinity a little dumbfounded. Samira's always so methodical and calculating, practically always correct in her conclusions — her saying those things means something. She asked Trinity to believe her; the least she can do is try. Samira makes her want to try.
A while later, she feels Samira slow, a set of apartments just ahead.
Trinity angles towards her a little, nodding her head towards it.
"This you?"
There's a deep breath, a slight squaring of shoulders, weariness visibly hanging off her frame.
"Yeah."
"Walk you up?" The grateful smile she's met with confirms it was the right choice.
They head in, catching the lift up. Samira fishes out her keys as they near her door, pausing after it's unlocked, leaving them hanging in the door. She looks at Trinity seriously.
"Thank you for tonight, really. It truly helped."
"It wasn't-" Samira's eyebrow shoots up in playful warning.
She trails off with a rueful smile. Right. Take her at her word. She starts again.
"You're welcome. I had a good time, too."
Samira glows and places a hand on her bicep, thumb rubbing gently. Then she turns the handle and heads in to the apartment.
Cold floods the base of her skull, her whole body screaming wait, before she realises Samira's turned back to look at her, leaning on the open door; not quite summoning her to follow, but definitely an invitation.
"Do you want a drink? Tea?"
The sensation is quickly flushed out with something lighter, buzzing and hopeful. Maybe she doesn't want the night to end, either. The corner of her mouth lifts.
"Yeah, actually. That'd be nice."
At that, Samira pulls the door back fully, smiling from behind it.
Trinity follows her in, toeing off her shoes and taking in the open-plan space as Samira shuts the door. Clean grey walls and simple furniture adorn the place, books and textbooks covering shelves, occasionally sprawled on surfaces, sparse frames hanging on the walls, soft lamps dotted around, replacing the overheads.
It's understated; maybe lacking in purposeful decoration, but Trinity can see pieces of Samira everywhere: a study printout on the coffee table, a homemade mug on the counter, one lamp placed deliberately behind the impression in the couch, a blanket rumpled next to it, and mug rings on the table beside. She probably curls up there in the evenings to read. It's charming to imagine.
Trinity looks back at her; she's now emptying her pockets onto the counter — her eyes crinkling as she retrieves the small pacman plush.
"Make yourself at home," she says over her shoulder, gesturing to the space as she turns to start the kettle.
Trinity takes Samira's invitation at face value, but allows herself a moment to take her in like this. Soft lights falling on softer skin, curls fanned across her shoulders and spine, the hint of muscle under the fall of the shirt. Her posture is so at ease here. Admittedly, some of that could be due to how tired she clearly is, but she's so comfortable in her space — and in Trinity's presence. The scene is so intimate that it warms her cheeks, she feels intoxicated.
She collects the pacman from the counter while Samira's preparing the drinks and wanders over to a shelf in a spot of some pride near the TV. There's a framed picture of a young Samira with her mom and, presumably, her dad, all grinning and brandishing ice creams on a sunny day. Sweet. She props the pacman up between the photo and her diploma — the only other thing on the shelf — smiling to herself.
She returns as Samira is pouring the tea, a calm, herby scent wafting from the mugs.
"I made you my favourite, hope that's all right," she says as she turns, both of them in hand, passing one to Trinity and settling back against the counter, watching her intently.
Obediently, Trinity takes a cautious sip, humming as the heat spreads through her body and the taste hits her tongue. It's sweet, soothing.
"It's just chamomile with honey and lemon," Samira clarifies, clearly satisfied with her approval.
The combination of the soothing tea, low lights, and Samira looking so damn comfortable in front of her all adds up to Trinity feeling far more relaxed and at home than she has any right to. The quiet intimacy that Samira's sharing is almost overwhelming for how eagerly she accepts it, craves it. It fuels the glow in her stomach, spreading it through her chest, keeping the weights from her mind.
They share their tea quietly for a few minutes, basking in the calm that couples exhaustion.
Samira looks down, a few stray curls falling in her face. Trinity's moving before she is even aware of it, hand coming up, tracing gently across her forehead, curling behind her ear to tuck it away, pads of her fingertips burning.
Samira's eyes lock onto hers from under dark lashes, the audible catch in her breath bringing her back. Her own breathing stopped at some point, too. She hesitates, hand hovering, fingers tingling. A puff of breath passes Samira's lips, and Trinity watches the almost imperceptible twitch of her brows. Confusion, shock…
Anticipation?
That dizzy feeling is dancing at full force now. She follows that warm exhilaration: stepping in carefully, sliding her mug onto the side by Samira's waist, bracing against the counter there. All she can see are deep brown eyes locked onto hers, honey-like in the light, a rosy blush painted across smooth cheeks, parted lips, chest barely rising.
Trinity leans in, entranced, until her forehead is a breath away from Samira's, their noses nearly brushing. She feels fingertips settle on her hip, feather-light. Rich eyes transfixed on her lips. She can scarcely breathe.
Samira gasps minutely.
She can't close the distance. She's locked.
"Please," she hears, barely a whisper.
The plea frees her. She leans in, nosing Samira's cheek as their lips meet. The tenderness makes her ache; her lips are so soft, so gentle as they move against hers, that for a moment she trembles. Fingers tighten in her jacket as she melts into the kiss. The glow has turned into a sun now, bursting in her chest, warmth spreading like wildfire through her.
She carefully slips Samira's mug from between them, resting it on the side as she takes that final step closer and presses her gently into the counter, cherishing the stutter of her lips, the feeling of their hips. Another hand lands flat on her stomach, steadying, dizzying. She cradles the side of Samira's neck, traces her jaw with her thumb, revels in the heat of her skin, presses gently to tilt her head a little further.
It's such a stark contrast to how Garcia kissed her, single-minded and hungry, all sharp teeth and fighting tongue — the way Trinity's made every kiss be for years. This is just warmth and sweet reverence. She feels like she's gazing upon a star — the intensity stripping her soul bare and leaving her alight. She could die like this.
She slowly pulls back, just enough to breathe, Samira chasing her cutely, pulling lightly on the hand fisted in her jacket. Trinity lets out a quiet laugh and can feel Samira's matching smile beneath her. She takes a shaky breath, watches Samira's eyelashes flutter against her cheeks as she opens her eyes.
"Was that…" she pulls back a little more just so she can meet Samira's eyes, "I mean, was that… okay?"
Samira's expression is so deeply fond, it hurts. She slips a hand around the back of Trinity's neck, toys with the hairs there rather distractingly while stroking her thumb calmly behind her ear. If Trinity's knees weaken, that stays happily between her and the counter holding her up.
"Yes, it was," she says, big eyes shining in the low light.
A teasing smirk appears.
"But I think you should do it again to double-check."
Samira's eyes dance, and there's a gentle tug on her neck that Trinity gladly follows.
It's languid and unhurried. Blissful. The hand in her jacket slides around to rest on her lower back, nails scratch lightly on the nape of her neck, not demanding, just steady and reassuring. The pressure is heady, the closeness delicious.
Trinity steadfastly resists the urge to bite, to hurry and roughen the kiss to get to ground she's familiar with — the perceived safety of harshness, of turning this into a quick one-night stand so that Samira will forget it ever happened. She doesn't want that. She thinks maybe Samira doesn't either. Samira's kissing her like it's all she wants in the world, like the possibility of more or further is the farthest thing from her mind, and like every second of this is to be cherished. It feels like turning herself inside out for someone else to see. It feels like New Year's Day, of making it through, the relief of a clean slate. It feels like she might be enough just as herself.
When they separate again, Samira's already smiling leisurely at her. The hand in her hair traces rhythmic patterns, drawing the exhaustion from her bones.
"Do you want to stay?" Her gaze is so open, so lacking in expectation.
"You're exhausted, I don't want to get in your way."
Something ticks into place behind Samira's eyes. There's subtle, inarticulatable shift to her posture.
"I'd like it if you stayed."
She says it so freely. So matter of fact.
Trinity wants to be able to do that.
All of her reflexes are clamouring to make a joke, make a swift exit and pretend that feelings don't exist until it almost feels true — but she feels so good in this little bubble, and Samira sees her.
Samira has spent the whole night with her. She talked about her private life with her. She chose to stay out with her longer. She said she deserves more than Garcia. She said Trinity's good. She invited her in. She said please.
This is real.
Or it could be, if Trinity lets it.
Samira's still watching her, still carding through her hair gently, but there's a fraction of a crease between her brows now, as if she's trying to see into Trinity's mind, find all her inner workings so she can say the right thing.
This isn't something Trinity wants to lose.
With a deep breath, she nods slowly.
"I want to stay."
She can't help the small shudder that runs through her at the words, at the pressure slipping off her shoulders, but it's joined by the warm flush of having this for at least the rest of the night.
Plus, the way Samira is looking at her now, shining despite her exhaustion, is worth everything. There's a knowing in her gaze that says she understands what that took Trinity.
A gentle pressure alights between her shoulder blades as Samira pulls her into a tight embrace, sweet as saccharine, solid and sure. It's been years since Trinity's hugged someone like this, all-encompassing. It's so intensely intimate — far more than any of the sex she's had — that she's burning again. With another slightly shuddering breath, she wraps her arms around Samira in turn, dropping her head onto her shoulder, and lets Samira hold some of her weight. For the first time in a while, she lets herself feel safe. At least for the night.
At least for as long as she keeps trying.