Chapter Text
It was purely sexual.
That had been the idea from the beginning — no feelings, no attachment, no anxious need for each other. Casual, and not in the Chappell Roan way, and certainly not in the messy-ass Garcia way. In the actually casual way.
Trinity had approached Samira after an especially shitty shift for both of them. Samira looked like fresh hell, and Trinity knew she didn't look much better. Huckleberry would be at the farm that night and she didn't exactly trust herself to be alone in her apartment with that stupid scalpel she'd stolen.
"So…" she sighed out, hands in her pockets like she was the picture of nonchalance, "you wanna get drinks?"
Samira gave her a look: part surprised, part intrigued. "Drinks?"
Trinity rolled her eyes and nodded. "Yeah, you know, like what normal people do after work? This day isn't gonna forget itself. C'mon, I'll buy."
Drinks had turned into a long venting session, and by the end, both women were one step away from putting both Robby and Langdon's faces on dart boards. It felt good, really good, to talk to someone who understood. Who got what it felt like to be young and new and have your every decision doubted or undermined by the people meant to be guiding you. Who understood the pit in your stomach when a more experienced doctor gave you that fucking look, like they couldn't believe the hospital had allowed you through the doors in the first place.
Venting had turned into Trinity inviting Samira to come home with her. All blasé, barely looking at her as she booked an Uber, just a muttered "You could come back to mine, if you want. I mean, Huckleberry's gone, so I need someone to watch The Craft with." At Samira's raised eyebrows, she'd nearly taken it back. "Or not. Whatever, I don't give a shit."
Sitting a respectable distance away from each other on the couch while they watched The Craft had turned into… not sitting a respectable distance away from each other. Both of their eyes still trained on the TV, neither of them acknowledging the hesitant and nervous touches, both of their hearts racing. Finally, Trinity had had enough.
"You wanna have sex?" she'd blurted out, trying to act like the question didn't scare the hell out of her. After a long and painful moment when she 100% expected to be reported to HR, Samira had kissed her. Softly, sweetly. Nothing like Garcia, who kissed her like she was taking something from her.
And the sex, God, the sex was amazing. Samira had admitted halfway through, breathless and embarrassed, that she'd never been with a woman, but Trinity wouldn't have been able to tell with that goddamn tongue. Afterwards, when they were both panting and sweaty and naked, Samira had said what Trinity was silently begging her to.
"We should do that again."
"Yeah," Trinity had said, trying to hide a smile, before seeming to remember herself, "but just sex. Like… no mushy bullshit."
It wasn't really what she wanted, truth be told. Well, she didn't know what the hell she wanted, and before this night she'd never really thought much about Samira. But she wouldn't have been so closed off to a relationship if Garcia's rejection hadn't torn through her like a knife. Or a firework accident. The point was, she felt like she needed to put up a wall between the two of them before she got attached again. And plus, Samira definitely didn't want to be in a relationship — much less with a woman, much less with her — so really, she was doing her a favor by saying it that early.
Except Samira hadn't looked very grateful. In fact, when Trinity tilted her head up to look at her, she thought she caught a look on her face — hurt, maybe, and confusion — before she quickly wiped it away.
"Right," she'd muttered, "obviously. Just sex. We're both so stressed."
So it was purely sexual, obviously. Had been for the past two months. And Trinity ignored the pang in her heart when Samira would grasp her hand in the middle of sex, or when she'd nuzzle into her neck while they fell asleep together, or when she'd remember stupid little things about her.
Because it was purely. Sexual. Not romantic. Not intimate. Nope, not at all. Trinity Santos did not have room in her mind right now to be attached to someone.
But now, Samira Mohan was in Trinity's tiny kitchen in the way-too-early hours of the morning, drinking coffee in an undershirt and panties that left little to the imagination. Some stupid indie song was playing from Trinity's speaker. For a moment, Trinity just… watched her. Stood in the doorway like a creep, not making a sound, and watched Samira quietly sing along to the sappy ass lyrics as she looked through the fridge.
"Trin?" she called out, oblivious to the fact that the woman she was calling for was standing fifteen feet away. Trinity cleared her throat and walked into the kitchen, yawning like she'd just woken up.
"What's up?" She came up behind Samira and gave her ass a squeeze, eliciting an exaggerated eye roll.
"Perv. Do you have sourdough? I thought I'd make us some breakfast before our shift."
Trinity coughed, trying to ignore what it did to her to hear that.
I thought I'd make us some breakfast.
Like it was the most casual thing in the world. Like this was their kitchen, their life. She shrugged.
"Huckleberry eats it like a maniac. There's probably some in the pantry. I'll look."
Samira grabbed her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckle in thanks, grabbing a carton of eggs. Trinity's heart did a little flip in her chest.
It's just sex. It's just sex. It's just sex.
She stays over because it's convenient. Because that way we can carpool. It just makes the most sense. It's just sex.
And it didn't matter that, last night, the sex part hadn't exactly happened. Well, it had started, but then Samira saw Trinity's fresh cuts and everything went to shit.
She'd paused on her way to going down on her. Samira was accustomed to the scarring on her lover's upper thigh, but these were new. Her eyes flicked to Trinity's, who suddenly looked like she'd forgotten they were there. Like she'd been caught doing something she wasn't supposed to. Samira brushed a hand over them lightly, and Trinity winced.
"These are new," she'd murmured carefully, "you wanna talk about it?"
Trinity had swallowed thickly. No, she really did not want to fucking talk about it, especially not in the middle of sex. But suddenly she couldn't really form words. She tried to, but they got stuck on the way to her lips. And then tears were forming in her eyes, and she actually wanted to fucking die because the last person she wanted to cry in front of was Samira.
"Sorry," she finally choked out, "I don't know why I'm getting, like, so upset. It's not a big deal. Just had a moment. We can keep going."
She didn't especially want to keep going, not with this knot in her stomach, but she didn't want to upset Samira. She'd come all this way, and Trinity was worried that she'd feel let down if they had to stop because of her shit. It wasn't Samira's fault that she had all this dumbass baggage.
But Mohan, ever the mind reader, seemed to pick up on that. She nodded slowly and climbed up onto the bed again, pressing a kiss to Trinity's lips and stroking her cheek.
"We could," she whispered, "or we could just… do this."
This turned out to be both of them lying silently for a few moments before tears started rolling down Trinity's cheeks. She was scared that Samira was gonna interrogate her about it, or demand that she got help, but she didn't. She just… sat there. Held Trinity to her chest. Gently shushed her and petted her hair. Let her sob out months worth of frustration and fear and triggering conversations. Didn't complain once when Trinity's fingers dug into her shoulders, even though it hurt like hell.
Trinity shook the memory out of her head and finally fished the sourdough out of the fridge. She grabbed two plates and shoved her hands in her pockets, trying to seem unbothered.
"Hey, uh, sorry about last night. Won't happen again."
Samira's eyes flickered to her, and she smiled softly. "It's okay, I didn't mind. You know, you can come to me, if you ever…"
Trinity's eyes widened, and she put up her hands. "Woah, no, we are not doing the intervention talk right now. I'm fine, Mohan. Don't worry. I don't need you to be my therapist."
She didn't mean for it to sound as harsh as it did. Just didn't want Samira to feel forced into a position she didn't want to be in. But Samira actually flinched at her words, nodding silently and turning back to the frying pan. Trinity busied herself with toasting the sourdough and pretending she hadn't noticed the look on her face.