Work Text:
“Hey, Mohan,” Trinity leans on folded arms over the nursing station counter. Mohan looks up at her over her computer, already annoyed.
“Don’t you have patients to take care of?”
“Nah, I have a second. I wanted to ask you something.”
Mohan raises a hand, trying to preemptively put a stop to whatever bullshit Trinity has for today; they’ve been doing this song and dance for a few weeks now and both know there’s only one thing she’s going to ask. Mohan, patient and kind as she is, is tired of it. Trinity thinks her annoyance is hilarious, and intends to continue poking the bear for as long as possible, or until Mohan caves. Trinity grins.
“I don’t want to hear it, unless it’s work related.”
“We’re at work, so it’s related.” It’s thin logic that does not hold up in the slightest. “This club I like is going to have a special guest come in to DJ for a night. They’re supposed to be really good. You should come.”
“I’m busy.” Mohan looks back at her computer, continues plugging away at her patient chart, brow furrowed slightly. Conversation over.
Except not really, because Trinity refuses to drop it. “I didn’t even tell you the date. How do you know that you’ll be busy?” She rests her chin on her hand, eyes wide with false hurt. “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”
Mohan does not look at her, her gaze pointedly fixed on her computer screen.
Ever since Trinity heard about Mohan’s supposed lack of social life, she's made it her personal mission to try and drag her out to a club. Any club. Anything that would expose Mohan to the wonders of the world outside of the bright, fluorescent lights of the emergency department. Mohan does not want this and has made that very clear, but Trinity is too determined and too amused by Mohan’s annoyance to let it go.
“I'm always busy,” Mohan says. “I've told you this. I'm focusing on work - I don't have time to do anything else.”
“Yeah, and you're doing amazing sweetie,” Trinity replies, scoffing. “You're working so many doubles you're making the rest of us look bad. Come on, you gotta live a little. Socialize with people who aren't actively dying. Or your coworkers.”
“You are my coworker.” Mohan still doesn't look up but she has stopped typing. This, Trinity thinks, is a good sign.
“Astute observation, Sherlock. That's not what I meant and you know it.”
Mohan looks up at her again, an annoying smile on her face. Trinity reflexively makes a face at her, then remembers that she is trying to win Mohan over and quickly flattens it into something more pleasant. They stare at each other for a few moments, until Mohan finally sighs in resignation.
“If I agree to go with you, will you drop it?”
Trinity has never felt so giddy in her entire life. Except when she was actually accepted into med school. “For now. But you have to actually come with me. None of that ‘yeah I'll let you know when I'm free’ bullshit without any follow through.”
There's a brief pause. Mohan smiles. “I'll let you know when I'm free. Seriously.” There's a sparkle in her eyes that Trinity doesn't quite trust, but Mohan has so far proven to be an honest and upstanding citizen, so Trinity really has no choice but to take her word and walk away while she's victorious – before Mohan can change her mind.
Eventually, Trinity's persistence pays off and the stars and their work schedules align – they make plans to meet at a club of Trinity’s choosing, one she assures Mohan has great vibes and decent drinks. She spends the days leading up to it nervous as she would be for a date. It's not a date. They're coworkers, friends, going out for a night together. She ignores the anxiety like she ignores every other feeling she doesn't like.
(God. What if Mohan thinks Trinity was asking her out?)
Trinity is running late and it's only partially her fault, though she'll find a way to blame Whitaker for it, trying to talk to her as she was rushing out the door. By the time she gets there, Mohan is already waiting.
She doesn't recognize her at first. Leaning against the wall a few feet from the club entrance, hair down, wearing a little black dress, bathed in the soft yellow streetlights. Samira Mohan. Already the most beautiful woman Trinity knows even when she's bare-faced in scrubs with a bun that gets messier throughout the day – dressed up like this, she's ethereal. Her heart skips. It's completely unwarranted.
Samira looks up as Trinity approaches, smiling as soon as she recognizes her. “Took you long enough,” she says, as though Trinity has not been texting her an ETA every ten minutes.
Trinity ignores that in favor of looking Samira over – whistling low in approval. “You clean up nice. I didn't think you owned anything other than scrubs.” She wonders if Samira just had this lying around somewhere, or if she had to run out and buy an appropriate clubbing outfit. It's a charming thought, so she doesn't ask. Doesn't want to ruin the mental image of Samira researching ‘club outfits’ to find something fitting. Samira looks away bashfully.
“Thanks,” She replies. Busying herself, Samira slides a small black purse off of her shoulder and slips her phone into it, then digs around for something else. Producing two small, brightly colored earplugs, she fits them into her ears and slides her purse back up, the bag tucked neatly under her arm. The whole thing takes only a minute and is so smooth it looks like she's done it a thousand times. “Shall we?”
“Earplugs? Really?” Trinity asks, wishing she had thought of that.
Samira shrugs slightly. “I am not getting tinnitus from shitty club music.”
She can't really argue with that, so she doesn't. “Whatever.” Trinity offers her arm, gentleman-like. “Shall we?”
Politely ignoring it, Samira sweeps an arm out in front of them. “Oh please, after you.”
A few hours later, the club is crowded and hot and loud; Trinity is a few drinks in and she's lost sight of Samira. Some man is trying to talk to her, she doesn't bother to remember his name and is only listening with half an ear as he yaps, repeating things he's already said like he's too drunk to remember the words as soon as they leave his mouth. Whatever. She's not interested. Instead of paying attention, she's peering over his shoulders, looking out for her coworker who has seemingly vanished into thin air.
He asks her something she can't hear over the music. Trinity squints. “What?”
The man leans closer, repeating himself: “Can I get your number?”
Over his shoulder, she finally spots a familiar figure across the way. Samira Mohan, leaning against a pillar, drink in hand, talking to another woman. As Trinity watches, Samira’s head tips back as she laughs. Something about that frustrates her.
“Oh, no, sorry I don't have a phone,” she lies. Without excusing herself, Trinity pushes past him, angling her shoulder to avoid his grasp as he tries to catch her arm. She beelines across the room, dodging and weaving around drunk clubgoers, most of whom have the good sense to get out of her way before she goes through them.
She slows down once she gets closer, well aware that storming over without a purpose will make her look deranged. Taking a moment to compose herself, Trinity saunters up to the pair as confident as ever and announces her presence by resting her arm on Samira’s shoulder.
“You know she's hitting on you, right?” Trinity asks, having heard none of the conversation.
Samira stares at her, face too shadowed for her to really make out her expression. The woman Samira was talking to also stammers something but Trinity doesn't hear it and doesn't care. Maybe a defense, maybe an insult. Not her problem. She angles her head to look at the woman; she's pretty, but Samira could do better. Not that it matters to Trinity or anything.
(She doesn't even know if Samira is into women.)
“Sorry,” Trinity says to the woman unapologetically. “I need to talk to my friend here. Do you mind?”
The woman looks between both of them, then at Samira, then leaves. Trinity wonders what kind of conclusions she's drawn from that one-minute interaction.
“What the hell was that?” Samira asks, finding her voice as the woman walks away. She shrugs off Trinity’s arm, standing up a little straighter.
“I did not put in all the legwork to get you here, for you to ditch me for some other woman.”
She does not like the look she gets from Samira at that. Something between amusement and puzzlement, like Samira is trying to figure her out. She does not want to be figured out, thank you very much. Trinity narrows her eyes. Samira rolls hers.
“Whatever.” Samira says finally. “And she wasn't flirting. I mentioned being a doctor and she was asking about it.”
Trinity shakes her head. “Of course you would find a reason to talk about work outside of work.” She scoffs. “No one's going to take an interest in your life unless they want to sleep with you.”
“Oh that's weird.” Samira tilts her head, lips twitching like she's trying to suppress a smile. “You took quite an interest in my life trying to get me here.”
Warmth floods her face and Trinity quickly turns away, hoping it's dark enough that Samira can't see her blushing. Why is she blushing? “Shut up. That's entirely different, and you know it.”
“Mm, do I?” Samira sounds skeptical. Trinity doesn't know what she's getting at, and she's afraid to hope. Samira could, possibly, be flirting with her. Maybe she does think this is a date. Or maybe Trinity is reading into this whole conversation too much. Samira is her coworker. Nothing more. It's better for both of them if it stays that way.
She keeps her head turned towards anything but Samira and doesn't reply.
They stand together at a small table, Samira is nursing a new drink, one hand cupped around it like it might run away; Trinity is drink-less, but regretting it more and more. She's definitely feeling the alcohol now, her vision swimming with the flashing, pulsing lights, but she's not ready to call it quits now. She'll need to be more drunk to deal with Samira’s seemingly endless line of admirers.
Currently, she's talking to a man who approached with an unearned amount of confidence. He's in his twenties, short, unattractive (though most men are to Trinity), and seems to think he's funny. He's talking animatedly, but Trinity is too far away and the music is too loud for her to hear more than every third word. None of it makes sense without context but she doesn't care enough to listen harder, and she definitely does not want to get any closer.
Samira, though, laughs politely and responds with the same energy she would give to a patient, having her bedside manner down pat. Admittedly, it is entertaining to watch her respond to a pickup attempt the same way she would answer a patient: friendly, but clinical and detached. Trinity glares balefully at the man over her shoulder as she speaks, and hopes the weight of her disdain encourages him to move on sooner rather than later. He isn't looking at her, eyes fixed on Samira (who can blame him?) and he starts to speak again.
Deciding she’s had enough of this, Trinity crosses her arms and steps out to the side, enough movement to draw his eyes; her own narrowed disapprovingly. She holds eye contact until he looks away.
Hint taken, the conversation ends shortly with the man walking away. As Samira turns back to face her, Trinity relaxes her posture – dropping her arms to her sides casually, and smirks.
“He seemed nice,” She says, insincerely.
Samira rolls her eyes. “Did you scare him off like all the others?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Trinity blinks innocently. It’s obvious from Samira’s expression that she does not believe her.
“I can handle it myself, you know.”
Trinity scoffs. “Sure.”
“I’m serious! I don’t need… Whatever this is from you.” Samira gestures at Trinity, in general.
“Whatever you say.” Trinity lifts her hands, palms out in a sarcastic, placating gesture. Samira rolls her eyes again and looks around, raising her cup to her lips for a swig.
Leaning back against the table towards Trinity, Samira points with her chin to the nearby crowd, gaze fixed on someone. “He’s cute.”
Following her gaze, Trinity’s eyes slide across everyone in the general direction, unable or unwilling to pick out any particular person who may have been lucky enough to catch Samira’s attention. Jealousy flares, but she doesn’t give it a voice; doesn’t want to acknowledge that she wants Samira to look at her like that. Not that she ever would. Any remaining hope of that was dashed the moment Samira expressed attraction to a man.
She makes a disgusted noise, then tries to cover it with a cough. “I need a drink.”
By the time Trinity returns, new drink in hand, Samira is talking to someone new. Trinity doesn’t know if it’s the same guy she had pointed out as being cute, or just another in her apparently never-ending line of admirers. It doesn't matter, either way, he's just another annoyance in her night.
She tries to respect Samira’s wishes, tries to stay out of it – stalking a loose circle around the area, she keeps an eye on them but minds her own business. Still, her frustration grows with every step. It’s irrational, and she knows it’s irrational – likely Samira just hasn’t seen her lurking among the crowd and so hasn’t thought to end the conversation. Maybe it’s the alcohol stoking Trinity’s upset. Or maybe Samira is genuinely invested in her conversation, her conversation partner and doesn’t care that Trinity is nearby, ready to resume keeping her company.
Trinity paces closer and tries to force herself to relax. It isn’t worth it to get this worked up and possessive over her coworker. She knows that rationally, but she isn’t entirely rational now. Inhale. Exhale. It’s not that serious. It’ll never be that serious. The sooner she accepts that, the sooner she can move on and enjoy her night – maybe even talk to people who aren’t Samira, maybe try to meet someone to make her jealous.
God. Shut Up. Samira probably wouldn’t even care.
Approaching with more than her usual swagger, Trinity slings her arm around Samira and looks the man over, lip curling in disapproval she knows he sees. She turns her head towards Samira. “Are you done getting his full personal and medical history yet?”
Samira shrugs her off with a scowl. “I am capable of regular conversations, Trinity.”
“But not ending them. You have a reputation for that, slo-mo.”
“What do you want?” Samira snaps.
“I want you to stop ignoring me for this loser, so we can go back to enjoying our night together.”
The man raises his hands defensively, looking uncomfortable to be catching strays in this argument that Trinity brought with her. “Look, I didn’t know I was interrupting something. I can go.”
“You’re not,” Samira assures him. At the same time, Trinity says, “You are!” And, ignoring Samira’s glare, lifts her cup in farewell, adding: “Bye!”
The man quickly disappears and as soon as he does, Samira rounds on her. Angry. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“What’s wrong with me?” Trinity spreads her arms. “Where do you want me to start? When I was born-”
“That is not what I mean,” Samira cuts her off. “You have been snarky and rude to everyone who tries to talk to us.”
“It's part of my charm.” She smiles innocently, baring teeth, but it quickly devolves into a smirk. With a roll of her eyes Trinity turns and circles around the table, resting her elbows on the surface.
Samira follows, standing opposite Trinity and leaning across the table to be heard over the music. “It's annoying. I thought the whole point of this was to “expand my social life” but you’re making it very hard for me to make any friends.”
“Oh please. No one here wants to be your friend.” Trinity shifts her weight forward, leaning into Samira, her eyebrows raised suggestively. Samira’s cheeks darken.
“So what? I'm a big girl, I can make my own choices.”
Trinity rolls her eyes. “You can do so much better than some desperate, moon-eyed loser who would sleep with anything that has a pulse.”
“Why do you even care?” Samira asks. She's smiling now, but there's a slight furrow to her brow.
It's a fair question, but it makes Trinity feel like she's being interrogated. Several reasons come quickly to mind, chief among them being that she does not like or trust men due to her own history. She also thinks Samira could do better than any man. She thinks she is better than any man. But she can’t, or won’t, admit to any of that – she’s not about to start traumadumping, especially not to Dr. Empath here. Samira stares at her intently, awaiting an answer, and they’re so close together. Trinity drops her gaze, studying her face, her lips. And in that moment, all reasoning and impulse control fails spectacularly. Blame the alcohol, blame desire, blame her own stupidity. Trinity closes the distance and kisses Samira.
Regret hits her almost immediately, as hard as a truck and almost as painful. She pulls away quickly while Samira stares at her wide-eyed and wordless. Trinity opens her mouth to say something, but the words don't come. Instead, she pushes off the table and flees, shoving through the crowd to get away; face burning, heart beating in her stomach. Running is cowardly. She could've stayed, could've laughed it off as a mistake, blamed it on the alcohol, lied about someone bumping into her, anything. But she's only thinking clearly enough to hate herself, so she gives in to her instinct of flight.
Samira finds Trinity sitting on the floor in the hallway leading to the bathrooms, where it's slightly more quiet and secluded. One leg is folded underneath her, the other drawn up to her chest – staring blankly at the wall in front of her. She's drunk, but not drunk enough to forget the night’s events come morning. Regrettably.
She’s spent the past however long running scenarios through her head; arguments, conversations, confessions and apologies. The latter two she's never been good at. Trinity isn't in touch with her emotions and doesn't want to be, but she knows she owes Samira an apology at the very least and doing so will absolve her of the guilt for this particular slight, preventing her from becoming the second worst person she's ever known, in her mind.
“There you are.” Samira sounds relieved, not accusing. “Oh, you're bleeding.”
Trinity glances down at her raised knee, scraped and slightly bloody, then up at Samira. “I tripped.” She says flatly. Originally, she intended to make it to the bathroom but karma had other plans, so she stayed on the floor where she fell. At least there weren't any witnesses.
“Right. Can I join you?”
She lifts an arm, gesturing at the empty space next to her. It's all the permission Samira is going to get. Samira takes it and gingerly lowers herself to the ground next to Trinity. Once she settles, she offers her a bottle of water. Trinity stares at it for a moment before accepting.
The silence is broken only by the sound of snapping plastic as she opens the bottle. Samira is quiet, giving her time to drink. It only adds to the dread in her stomach and the tension between them, both real and imagined. She expected Samira to be upset, to lecture or scold or ask questions, at the very least. But she doesn't, and somehow that's worse.
When she finally stops stalling and lowers the bottle, she sees Samira open her mouth from the corner of her eye, beginning to say something- but Trinity quickly cuts her off.
“I'm sorry,” she says before Samira can even speak. She squeezes the bottle in her hand. “It was stupid and inappropriate, and-”
“Trinity.”
“-I’m drunk, which is no excuse but… I should just go home and let you enjoy your night, and we can never talk about this-”
“Trinity!” Samira places her hand on Trinity’s folded knee, effectively shutting her up. “Stop. It’s… Fine. Really. You don’t need to spiral about it.”
Trinity looks at her for a moment, meeting her concerned gaze, then shakes her head, turning away. The touch on her leg is discomforting, surely not the intended effect, but she resists the urge to pull away; doesn’t want to explain that one tonight. “You don't need to comfort me. I know I fucked up. You can tell me to leave you alone and-”
“Don't tell me what to do,” Samira interrupts, then she sighs. “Why didn't you just tell me you have a crush on me instead of going through all of this?” She gestures vaguely at their surroundings with her free hand.
A crush? Trinity laughs sharply. “What are you, twelve? We're too old for crushes.” Her tone softens when she catches a glimpse of Samira’s hurt expression. “...I didn’t know.”
It’s a lie, of course. Trinity knew. She’s always known, but what was she supposed to do, bring it up and risk rejection, making work awkward for both of them? God no.
“What?”
She tips her head back and stares at the ceiling, anywhere but Samira. It’s dark here, dim lights to see by and not much else; hopefully it’s enough to conceal her blush. “Don’t get me wrong; you’re smart and beautiful but I didn’t realize I cared so much until tonight.” Her words still carry a sarcastic edge, her last line of defense against vulnerability despite the care in the confession. Trinity closes her eyes and promises that she will never drink again, if only to prevent situations like this from ever happening again. “It’s stupid.”
Samira is quiet, considering, and Trinity wants to sink into a hole. She’s embarrassed now and will be embarrassed… Maybe for the rest of her life. As far as love confessions go, if this mess could even be called that, this was probably the worst anyone’s done it. It was definitely the worst she’s ever done. And she has to work with Samira until one of them leaves the Pitt, likely Samira first unless she gets a fellowship position at the PTMC after her residency… Whitaker aside, Trinity is never talking to another coworker outside of work. God forbid she catches feelings for anyone else and experiences this again.
“Trinity?” Samira’s voice snaps her out of it.
Trinity opens her eyes, tipping her head to finally look at Samira. “Hm?” She’s ready for a polite, gentle rejection. Or even a mean one. Either way, she’s ready to go home afterwards and crash.
“Can I kiss you?”
She is decidedly not prepared to hear that. She hadn’t even allowed herself to consider the possibility. Instead, she was fully prepared to be told off, then go home to lick her wounds and rot on the couch for her remaining days off. Caught off guard, she stares at Samira, abandoned by her quick wit in her hour of need. Finally, she eloquently settles on a simple: “What?”
Samira looks away, now her turn to be embarrassed, which Trinity feels fleetingly smug about. “You can say no, of course, I just-”
“Yea- yes!” Trinity cringes at how eager she sounds. “You can.”
Slowly, Samira turns back to face her, a soft smile on her lips – her eyes flicker over Trinity’s face, studying her features and Trinity has stopped breathing. She leans forward and Samira leans in to meet her until they kiss.
It's soft and awkward – Trinity is still a bit shaken but she quickly regains her confidence. She feels blindly, setting the water bottle down on whatever floorspace is available, then places a hand between them to support her weight as she shifts closer to Samira, straightening her legs to roll onto her hip for a better angle.
For a few long moments it's just them and the music; then Samira pulls away, smiling, lipstick smudged. Trinity stares at her wide-eyed and breathless. Speechless, for once.
“Sorry, I just want to…” Samira trails off as she rolls onto her hands and knees to reposition herself; she scoots closer to Trinity and settles over her legs, straddling her thighs. Trinity sits up a little straighter. “Is this okay?”
It's both stifling and exhilarating to be pinned beneath her; she's solid and warm and so, so close. Trinity nods, resting her hands on Samira’s waist, right above her hips. The fabric of her dress is smooth beneath her fingertips, she can't help but to stroke it lightly with her thumbs.
“Didn't know you had it in you,” she jokes.
Samira smirks at her. She cups Trinity's face with both hands, tilting her chin up, and kisses her again. It's less awkward this time, now that they've repositioned; they're much closer, bodies pressed together, Trinity gripping Samira’s waist, Samira holding her face, short nails pressing against her cheeks. They're both hungrier, with less restraint each passing moment.
Trinity’s hands roam – one follows the curve of Samira’s hip downwards, the other moves forward to rest on her thigh, pinching the hem of her dress between two fingers. The thought crosses her mind, to go further, but the music playing over the pulse in her ears reminds her that they are still in public. She wants to leave now, but for different reasons.
Distantly, she feels victorious over everyone who spoke to Samira tonight, regardless of their intentions. She is the one who gets to make out with the most beautiful woman in this club. Then Samira bites her lower lip and her mind refocuses.
There's a sudden, sharp pain in her ankle paired with an equally sharp yelp from a stranger which startles them apart. Samira twists at the waist to look backwards and Trinity peers over her shoulder. A woman glares back at them, holding the opposite wall for balance.
“God! Get a room!” She snaps.
Before either of them can reply, the woman takes off down the short hallway towards the bathrooms, muttering darkly under her breath all the while. They turn back to each other wearing matching guilty expressions and each other’s lipstick – and burst out laughing.
Trinity clears her throat awkwardly. “We uh. Did get kind of carried away.”
Samira looks down first at her hands, which now rested on Trinity’s chest, then further at Trinity’s hands on her thigh. “A little bit.” She agrees. “...it's getting late. We should probably head home.”
“Right. Yeah.” Trinity hesitates before removing her hands, but once she does, Samira gets to her feet – a bit awkward and unsteady. Trinity is colder for it. She draws her legs up under herself to follow suit, and Samira offers a hand to assist, which she accepts, allowing her to haul her to her feet.
They do not let go once they are both standing.
After giving Trinity a moment to regain her balance, Samira leads the way towards the exit – setting a brisk pace as she weaves through the dwindling crowd. Hand in hand, Trinity has no choice but to follow because she refuses to let go, less steady on her feet, she stumbles along after Samira.
Finally outside, the air is warm and sticky with humidity, yet Trinity can't help but shiver. Samira slows to a stop and turns to face her, squeezing her hand before letting go.
She's close, they're close. Samira asks, “How are you getting home?”
Trinity shrugs, patting her pockets for her phone. “I'll get an Uber.” She pauses, running her tongue over her teeth as she considers her next words, the risk bringing back her anxiety. “Would you… like to come back to my place?”
“Oh, um.” Samira looks startled by the question, eyes going wide for a moment before she regains her composure. “No, thank you, I should go home but… Thank you. I had fun.”
Almost immediately, Trinity is crushed – and confused. They were just making out. Did she not want to resume somewhere else? Did she only do that because of the alcohol and the environment? Did she only say that to placate Trinity? Trinity can only hope her disappointment isn't clear on her face.
“But, we just…” The words are weak and die in her throat. She's the last person to try and talk someone into sex. They don't even need to have sex. Even sleeping next to Samira would be nice.
She forces a smile, rocking on the balls of her feet – only to regret the motion immediately as it’s accompanied by a wave of dizziness. “Yeah. No problem. Uh. How are you getting home?”
“I'll take the T, it's not far.” Samira gestures vaguely down the street.
“Cool. Yeah. Here, let me call an Uber,then I can walk you to the station while I wait?”
Samira smiles slightly. “I'd appreciate that.”
“Great!” Trinity cringes again at her own eagerness, then glances at her phone. “Here, give me a minute. I'll get an Uber and walk you over while I wait for it to show up.”
At least she won't be standing outside the club alone waiting for her ride – that’s always embarrassing. She calls a ride, setting the pickup for the subway station, and together they set off, walking in silence. It gives Trinity more than enough time to spiral thinking of all the things she might have done wrong. Samira seems similarly lost in thought; or maybe she’s only focusing on walking, it’s hard to tell, but Trinity would do anything to know what’s on her mind right now except actually ask.
When they finally reach the station, Samira slows to a stop and turns around, wrapping Trinity in a hug. “Thank you,” she says again. “Text me when you get home, okay?”
Trinity wants to kiss her again, badly – but the opportunity is there and gone, Samira lets go and steps away, one hand lingering on Trinity’s shoulder longer than necessary before she finally withdraws it.
“Yeah, okay.” Trinity agrees. “You- you too. Text me when you get back.” It’s a safety measure, nothing more. She wants it to be more.
“I will,” Samira nods slightly, then closes her eyes like she’s just as dizzy. She opens them again after a moment and backs away. “Have a good night!”
With a wave and a final smile, she’s gone, making her way carefully down the steps. Trinity watches her go until she can’t see her anymore. She almost calls out to stop her, but fights back the urge and forces herself to turn away.
Lingering at the top of the steps, waiting for her ride.
Alone.