Archive of Our Own

It's going on eight, one sticky August night. Trinity's redoing her messy ponytail into a messy bun and cursing the hot, humid air as she walks into the PTMC garage, exhausted and thinking about what to get for dinner, when she sees Langdon in his little red Ford. The husband car, the one you don't have to put the kid seats in, because your wife drives some minivan or top-rated SUV. He's got a Penguins license plate holder and a sticker in the back window from some sort of Polar Plunge.

The dome light is on; Trinity can see he's frowning down at something, probably his phone. She continues walking past, ignoring him.

Next shift, the same thing. Tonight there's an expression on his face that's so awful even her dislike of the dude can't overlook. She stops walking.

Goes over, knocks on the window. It startles him badly. It would almost be funny - she knows her own mean streak - but he looks terrible. "Why are you sitting here looking like someone killed your dog," she asks with a sigh, asking even though she doesn't want to ask.

Langdon stares at her like he can't comprehend the question.

Trinity looks up, studies the concrete ceiling of the parking garage above her for a second. Yup, still a monotonous gray. She spends ten seconds wondering why this is her life. "Langdon, what the fuck is it?"

"Sorry, I - " he scrubs a hand across his face, which she's annoyed to admit looks even thinner than last week. "Abby, she - doesn't want me at our house anymore, and the friends I've been couch-surfing with have plans tonight."

He sucks in a harsh breath. "Never mind."

Trinity looks up at the concrete ceiling again. Then she asks, "You need a place to crash?"

"What? No, it's fine, I -"

"Shut up. Just… follow my car."

The sharp planes of his face resettle into something both painful and hopeful. Trinity digs her nails into her palms, then points at her car. "The blue Nissan is me. I'm at the Walnut Park complex, it's about twenty minutes this time of night - on Harris Avenue, if you get lost."

"Okay." She sees his hands tighten on the steering wheel of the Escort until his knuckles go white. "Thanks. Yeah. Okay."

"What happened to Whitaker?" Langdon asks, when she unlocks her apartment door, confusion loudly coloring his voice. He's clutching the gym bag he fished out of the trunk of his car almost tightly to his chest. It makes her feel slightly better, that he's clearly containing himself. "Thought I heard you guys were roommates."

"He's, uh - watching Robby's place for a few more weeks." It makes her wince to say Robby's name, and she sees Langdon wince, too - which is sort of disgustingly fascinating. She gestures towards Whitaker's room, which is a door off the living room kiddie-corner from her own bedroom. "A bunch of his stuff is still in there, so… just so you know."

She pauses briefly, letting the A/C wash over her. "I'm going to lock my door."

"You can't think I'd -"

"There's a lock on yours, too," Trinity says over him. She points at the half-bath, next to Whitaker's room. "Bathroom there. Feel free to… whatever. I think there's some towels in there if you need them. I don't have much in the fridge right now, but I guess if you want some peanut butter or a cheese sandwich, go ahead."

She pauses. "I'm off tomorrow so be gone by the time I get up."

Langdon nods. She notices the purple shadows under his eyes; her mind files that information away, the rest of her preoccupied with getting into her room and locking the door.

"Thanks," she thinks she hears Langdon say, as he closes Whitaker's door between them.

Trinity makes the world's fastest sandwich and brings the plate into her room, and once she's finished it she does twenty minutes of yoga on the mat she keeps unrolled next to her bed, moving almost without thinking about moving, letting her body flow through the positions. All her attention focused on catching any out of place sound out in the apartment. There's the particular loud click of the guest bathroom door, the toilet flushing, the sink water running for a minute. Then nothing.

Trinity is the only one in the apartment when she wakes up twelve hours later with sunlight streaming through her window. When she finally looks, the bed in Whitaker's room is neatly made. Everything else looks undisturbed. She takes a deep breath. Lets it out, slow and long enough that at the bottom of the exhale she closes her eyes, exists in nothingness for a count of five.

Then she pulls herself back up. Thai for lunch sounds good.

It's two weeks later and Trinity sees Langdon sitting in his car again, gaze fixed on the steering wheel in a way she's loathe to admit she recognizes. She raps her knuckles on the window - again - while cursing that last bit of softness left in her heart. "Come on," she says, when he rolls the window down. She looks away, at the garage exit, or something that's not his face. "You can stay at my place."

Langdon opens his mouth like he's doing to reply. "Don't talk," she says, hitching her backpack a little higher on her shoulder. "You remember how to get there, or do you need to follow me?"

"I remember how to get there."

She nods and walks back to her car. She doesn't look for his Ford until she's parked, and then her eyes find it - like a homing beacon - parallel parking into a spot a block behind her. She waits for him on the sidewalk; he'd be buzzing her unit anyway, so.

Inside, she says, "I'm ordering delivery. You want something?"

Langdon nods. She holds out her phone, the GrubHub page for the local sub shop already pulled up.

"Venmo?" he asks, once he's input his order.

Trinity pulls up her QR code and lets him scan it; fifteen seconds later he's sent double what his sandwich costs. That'll cover all the fees and the tip, she figures, quickly transferring the money.

Langdon shifts uncomfortably. "I got puked on twice today, could I use the shower while…" he starts to ask, and she nods and waves him off.

She flips through the smart TV's recommended movies while he showers. It's been weeks since she's spent any actual time sitting in the living room - now that Yolanda's stopped coming over, Trinity mostly climbs into bed after a shift, and rots in it on the days she's not working. Logically, she knows that's probably a sign of depression. In other people, who don't work twelve-to-fourteen hour days in jobs where they get pissed on.

Realistically, she's fucking tired. And the man currently using the mango-coconut-sea salt body wash she leaves in the guest shower is a huge part of why.

Jurassic Park pops up. She hits play, then gets up to grab a 7Up from the fridge.

The shower in the guest bath stops abruptly. Her anxiety spikes. Three minutes later, Langdon swiftly crosses the few feet between it and Whitaker's room, a robe she doesn't recognize pulled tight around him and one of Whitaker's towels around his neck, with his hair still wet and dripping and clutching a wadded-up lump of scrubs.

"Sorry, I'll be dressed in a minute," he mutters, as Trinity averts her eyes.

The GrubHub driver buzzes her unit while Langdon's getting dressed, and she jogs down to get their order, giving the dude an extra five bucks cash since he found the right building. She leaves Langdon's sub on the coffee table and unwraps her own.

He comes out in damp-looking sweats, with damp-looking hair. "That one mine?"

"Yep."

"I can eat in there, if you want me to," Langdon says, pointing at Whitaker's room.

"It's fine," she says. She gestures at the expanse of unoccupied coffee table space, then at the free corner of the couch. "Just… don't talk too much."

Langdon sits down on the opposite end of the sofa, and eats almost all of his turkey and cheddar with what looks like ranch, but could maybe be creamy Italian, or tzatziki, before he says. "I don't know how to cook anything but Kraft macaroni and cheese. Like, from the box."

"Good thing kids like mac and cheese." She picks up the bit of tomato that fell from her own turkey and provolone, then asks, "You said you have kids, right? How old are they?"

Langdon's face brightens, and she's annoyed by how much more human an honestly pleased expression makes him look. "Tanner's five, and Penny's three."

"Penny for real, or short for something?"

"Penelope. Like the wife of Odysseus."

"Was that your idea, or your wife's?"

Langdon's pleasant expression turns into a wince. "Abby was an English major," he mutters.

Trinity very carefully folds the paper sandwich wrapper into quarters. Then in half again. There's an odd sour feeling in her throat and she swallows it down. "Sorry."

"Look, we don't have to make conversation. It's fine. I appreciate the bed."

"What do you do when you don't come here?" she asks, even as she doesn't entirely want to ask.

Langdon pauses with the last soggy bite of his sandwich between his fingers. He drops it down onto the wrapper and folds it up, carefully. Then he says, "I have a couple other… Abby didn't get all our friends in the separation, but. Most of them are couples with kids, and they're not into some miserable sad sack taking up their couch or guest room for more than a day or two."

"And then what, you just -"

"I slept in my car a couple nights, yeah, Santos. What do you want me to say?"

Trinity shrugs. "Whitaker was sleeping in an empty patient room upstairs in the hospital when I collected him, so."

The expression on Langdon's face tells her exactly what he thinks of that option.

Because absolutely nothing in her life ever goes the way Trinity would like it to, her mom calls on Tala's birthday, like she does every year even though Trinity's told her more than once that it's not necessary. Her words in Tagalog are almost always the same: "I went to the cemetery with Maria and David."

The time changes - some years it's in the morning, others closer to sundown. "We brought Tala flowers," and this year it was pink carnations and roses, but last year it was sunflowers, and the year before that alstroemeria. Trinity can count back all the types of flowers laid on her best friend's grave, even though she hasn't gone in years, even though she doesn't want to remember, all the way back to the white roses at the funeral.

"Carnations and roses sound nice," she replies, as neutrally as she can.

Her mom continues almost like Trinity hadn't spoken. "Javier met us there, and he introduced me to his fiancee. She works in the city, some sort of biomedical research. I think you'd like her, Trinity."

Trinity wants to hold her breath; she doesn't. She used to worship Tala's brother. He was two years older than they were, thus two years more experienced, always getting to learn new elements first while they'd watch with jealous eyes from across the mats. She takes a glass from the cupboard and sets it carefully on the counter. "I'm sure I would, Mama."

There's a click behind her as her mom keeps going: what Javi is doing now, what Maria and David are doing now. Trinity turns slightly and sees Langdon's back with their dinner; the plastic bag is straining downward from his hand.

She gestures, moving out of the way, and he sets the bag on the counter. Work? he mouths.

My mom.

Langdon's eyes widen. Trinity moves halfway out of the kitchen into the living room and leans against the wall, gaze following Langdon's bony arms as he strips the plastic bag from the paper grocery sack inside of it, then unpacks the takeout containers.

"Mama, I have to go, my dinner just got here and I'm starving, I was at work all day," she says into the phone.

"Oh. Yes, all right. I -"

"Love you too, kisses, goodbye."

She disconnects the call and shoves her phone into the pocket of her hoodie. There's a brief but unmissable pause in Langdon's movements. A hiccup. Then he says, "You want a plate, or just eat out of the -"

"I can eat out of the containers."

There's too much force in how she opens the drawer where the silverware lives, too much force as she grabs forks, a grating rattle as she slams it back closed. The glass she took out earlier gets knocked, but inward, and Langdon stops it before it can skid more than an inch. "Uh, I got some extra noodles, if you want any," he says.

Trinity sees a visible spasm of his left trap. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing." He stacks two containers in one hand, then grabs one of the forks. "Something wrong with you?"

She flips him off and picks up her basil chicken.

Langdon sits cross-legged on the floor. She wonders briefly if it's because something's bothering him physically, or because she's probably radiating annoyance in such a huge bubble that he doesn't want to sit even on the far end of the sofa. Then he asks. "You close with your family?" as he winds pad thai around his fork.

"Close enough."

"Do they live around here?"

"We don't need to talk," she snaps, and catches his slight flinch; his gaze drops back to his takeout. She sighs. "Sorry. I'm tired, and my mom, she - she always calls on this date, because it was my best friend's birthday."

Langdon nods, the movement small. Trinity pokes her fork around the chicken for a minute, then takes a bite she hardly tastes. "They live in Niles, it's just north of Chicago."

"Never heard of it."

"Chicago?"

He flashes a sarcastic smile. "That where you went to school, Illinois?"

"No, I left. Came here." Fled is really more like it, but he doesn't need to hear that. "You got any more questions?"

"Plenty, but you're projecting a giant don't ask me sign, so I'm going to eat, and then go to sleep."

Trinity sighs again. She dumps half a box of rice onto her chicken and tries to mix it in without spilling. Langdon doesn't look at her again, just continues taking bites at steady intervals.

"Okay, what do you want to know most? Without promising that I'll answer."

He pushes his container across the table. Trinity takes one of the shrimp, since it's on offer. He asks, "Are you close with your mom?"

"Not really," she mutters, the words almost bitten.

"Why not?"

Trinity looks at him for a long moment. Then she says, "Some bad stuff went down, when I was younger… my mom had a hard time believing it. Then she felt bad about not believing it."

Langdon nods.

"And now she pretends like… I don't know, like it never happened. Except obviously it did, if she's going to the cemetery with Tala's mom and dad every year." She digs her fork into the rice and leaves it there, concentrating on letting the tense, anxious knot in her chest dissolve a little. Hoping it'll dissolve.

"I'm sorry about your friend."

Trinity nods. "Thanks."

"I left my iced tea in the kitchen, you want something to drink?"

"Oh - if you could grab me a bottle of water."

Langdon unfolds himself - she doesn't miss how carefully. "There's Aleve in the cabinet left of the sink," she calls after him, as he goes into the kitchen.

The anxiety knot has killed her appetite, but she makes herself sit there a while longer and eat at least a third of her meal. Better than waking up starving at four in the morning, when she has to get up for real at six. Then she closes up the container.

Langdon notices immediately. "Too spicy?" he asks, handing her the water.

"No, it's… I'm not as hungry as I thought I was. I think I'm just going to go to bed early."

"Oh. Well, leave it there, and I'll stick it in the fridge for you in a minute, once I get the lid back on mine."

"I can put my own leftovers away," Trinity mutters. She stands up.

Langdon's face tightens briefly. "I was only trying to be a nice guest."

"I don't need you to be a nice guest." She knows she's being a bitch, but the clutch of stress in her chest is getting almost painful, and she just wants to get into her room and close the door. "I don't need anything from you."

"Yeah, okay," she hears him breathe out, unmistakable annoyance in his tone. "Sure."

Her bedroom is only a few steps away. She barely registers getting there, locking the door behind her, collapsing on the bed because she can't be upright any longer. The ceiling is an expanse of white above her. It's calming. She concentrates on breathing evenly. She can hear Langdon cleaning up, the sound of the refrigerator opening and closing. Then a door, and water running for a while.

The anxiety starts to drain away the longer she focuses on the white space of the ceiling, leaving her feeling tired and almost empty.

Ten minutes later she hears the door open. Footsteps. A pause. A knock on her door.

"What?" she calls.

"Want your phone?"

"Guess I need that. I'm coming."

When she opens the door, Langdon hands her the phone, bounces once on the balls of his bare feet, and asks, "You want to watch a movie?"

She waits several seconds. "What movie?"

He shrugs. He's wearing pajamas now, clashing sweatpants and t-shirt. His hair is sticking up like he's been running his hands through it. "I don't know, fucking… Armageddon. Independence Day. The Color of Money."

"The color of what?"

"You've never seen The Color of Money? Seriously?" he asks. "Paul Newman, Tom Cruise, playing pool?"

"The salad dressing guy?" Trinity replies, even though she's mostly sure she's seen a Paul Newman movie before. Maybe one of the ones with Robert Redford. The heist one. Maybe there was a train? It was undergrad, so the memory is a little blurry with beer.

"We're watching The Color of Money," Langdon says firmly, and spins on his heel.

Trinity yanks a robe over her pajamas and sits on the sofa with her arms folded across her body, watches as he orders the movie on Amazon, then Venmos her the cost. "I swear, it's good," he insists, as her phone chimes with the payment notification. "If you don't like, you can tap out."

"This is my apartment," Trinity protests, but part of her wants to know what's so good about it that Langdon's so insistent.

She finds herself relaxing the longer the movie plays. He's right; it's pretty good. Cruise's character wearing a shirt with his name on it makes her snort a laugh, and the dynamic between all three main characters is compelling. "I feel like Carmen should be fucking the old guy instead of Vince," she says, when Eddie sees Carmen topless in the motel bathroom. "Look at how stupid Tom Cruise's hair is. You can't tell me Paul Newman wouldn't be better in bed. Why else would she be flashing her tits?"

She sees Langdon's face twitch. "Manipulation, probably. I never really thought about it."

"Or they could all fuck," she adds, mostly to see what Langdon does.

Which is make a strangled sort of noise. Then cough. "Didn't think about that, either."

"Really?"

"Really, Santos."

Trinity rolls her eyes and refocuses on the movie.

When it's over, Langdon looks at her with a well? expression. "The woman that's Newman's girlfriend, she was in the queer classic Desert Hearts," is what Trinity says. "You ever watch that?"

Langdon shakes his head. "Never heard of it."

"All right. Next time, we're watching that." She stands up from the sofa. "I'm going to sleep. Thanks for the movie, goodnight."

"Goodnight," Langdon replies, his voice soft in a way she resolutely ignores.

They watch Desert Hearts that Friday, and Abyss the Tuesday after that, and then Trinity picks Out of Sight for Sunday night. It's probably too late for a movie if they worked something like a normal nine to five, but her feet hurt and it's almost nine o'clock and she wants to eat shitty microwave popcorn for dinner and rest her legs on the coffee table, and watch something she's seen a dozen times before, all while she thinks idly about stopping at the store tomorrow night for a bottle of wine for her random Wednesday off.

"Have you seen this before?" she asks Langdon, setting the bowl with two bags of popcorn between them on the sofa.

"Maybe?" He makes a face. "I'm not sure. I know I've seen Ocean's Eleven."

Trinity waves her hand, broadly in the air. "Ocean's whatever. It's all about Jennifer Lopez in this. Just wait until they're in the trunk together."

Langdon looks disbelieving. He shakes his head. "That doesn't sound familiar - maybe I'm thinking of something else."

"I don't know what else you could be thinking of," she says, dismissively, and sees Langdon roll his eyes.

Then his phone rings and she sees Abby on the screen before he grabs it from the coffee table. "Give me a minute, huh," he mutters, before allowing the call. He goes into Whitaker's room but doesn't close the door entirely.

Trinity pulls up the start of the movie and leaves it on pause, and eats a handful of popcorn very slowly while she tries to eavesdrop. Langdon's voice is just a low murmur, though; she can't hear much of what he's saying. Something about an appointment for one of the kids, and definitely the word lawyer a little after that. She eats some more popcorn and thinks about drinking one of the beers Dennis left behind in the fridge. He didn't take it with him to Robby's, so she figures it's hers now.

She's getting a Diet Coke when Langdon reemerges. There's more color in his cheeks than usual. "You want a pop?" she asks, holding open the fridge door.

"Uh, sure. Yeah. Diet Coke is fine."

Trinity grabs another can. "Everything okay?"

His eyes snap to hers as she sits down on the couch again. "I - it's fine."

"Mm."

Langdon's gaze wavers, and she sees the ruddiness in his cheeks now goes down his neck. A flicker of surprise runs through her as she realizes he's flustered; he's holding himself oddly, an elbow in the opposite hand, his body angled to push itself into the corner of the couch.

"I meant more like, she didn't call because something's wrong with one of your kids, right?" she asks, consciously trying to make the question softer.

"No, the kids are fine."

"That's good."

Langdon reaches for his soda and wraps his hands around the can. Trinity waits a few seconds, to see if he's going to say anything else, then picks up the remote and gestures towards the television with it. Langdon nods. "Yeah, go ahead."

She's watched this enough that the rhythms of the plot are familiar, and the cadence of the dialogue is almost calming. She finds her eyes flicking to Langdon where he's loosened himself from the corner slightly, his hand creeping over every few minutes to grab some popcorn, the flush still on his face. He's fixed on the screen and, as Jennifer Lopez racks a shotgun, Trinity sees his huge eyebrows bob up and down.

"You were right," Langdon says, as the credits start to roll. "That was hot."

"When did I say it was hot," Trinity replies, deadpan, draining her can of Diet Coke.

Langdon looks over. He raises his stupid giant eyebrows. Trinity flushes despite herself. "With Clooney in the trunk."

She shrugs. Langdon gives her a look like she's testing his patience. "What are we watching next time?" she asks, ignoring the heat curling in her belly. "It's your pick."

He takes a moment to answer. "Let me think about it."

"All right. Goodnight."

"Night."

She feels like she's escaping something, as she closes her bedroom door and locks it. The heat thrumming in her veins hasn't faded; it's almost worse now, making her too aware of the touch of fabric on her skin, too aware of the look she'd seen on Langdon's face when she glanced over during the hotel room scene, too aware of the growing sensitivity between her legs.

With a whimper, Trinity swipes to one of the playlists on her phone - she's not even sure which one she picks, because it doesn't matter, she just needs the noise - and sends it to the bluetooth speaker on her nightstand, then strips out of the stupid robe and climbs into her bed.

It doesn't take much. A few seconds of light, drifting touches over her nipples through the t-shirt. A hand run down her belly and pushed under the waistband of her pajama pants. She's almost surprised by the amount of wetness her fingertips encounter, and then she's slipping two fingers into herself straightaway, no teasing.

It's been a while. She's either too tired, or Langdon's been here and the thought of him overhearing her masturbate borders on horrible. But she's too turned on tonight to care. She can be quiet.

Her mind slides to that expression on Langdon's face again, the way the flush ran down his throat, his long fingers wrapped around the soda can, and she bites at her own fingers to stop herself from moaning. It's not like she actually wants to sleep with Langdon; it's the spending too much time together and that weird intensity he has, and Jennifer Lopez's tits. She bumps the heel of her hand against her clit and whimpers at the sensation.

There's a split-second pause as Lorde changes to Bad Bunny and the bed creaks slightly as Trinity turns over. Grinding down onto her hand, she thinks briefly about rolling the other way and grabbing her vibrator from the nightstand drawer, but the thought of Langdon hearing the buzz is more mortifying than it is arousing, and she's working a decent angle in her current position.

The orgasm creeps up slow, a long wash of pleasure. Trinity feels her toes curl as her whole body goes tight, pressing her burning face into the pillow to muffle her groan.

"You and Langdon don't seem like you're about to rip each other's throats out over a tracheotomy so much anymore," Dennis says, the following Tuesday morning, after they pry a couple nails from a guy's leg, and leave a couple for surgery to deal with.

"Mm," she replies, ignoring his unspoken question. "How's Robby's place?"

Dennis looks a little uncertain. "What, you think you're not allowed to tell me about Robby's house?" she asks.

"Kinda."

She scoffs, reaching behind the counter for her water bottle, thinking about everyone noticing that she and Langdon are getting along, after weeks of everyone noticing she went almost out of her way to avoid him.

"It's fine," Dennis says. "It's quiet."

"You still going out to Amy's on the weekends?"

He slants her a look. "What?" Trinity asks, shrugging. "I wonder what you're up to, Huckleberry."

"I'm not up to anything!"

"Hey, you two," Dana says, appearing in front of them as though out of thin air. "The infected knee wound in South 12 and hand versus hammer in Central 7 need doctors. Get moving."

"Dibs on the knee wound," Trinity says to Whitaker. She grabs the tablet, then spies their latest med student looking lost at the other end of the nursing station. "Hoffman, you need a wound debridement for your checklist? Doesn't matter, we're going to do one right now."

Hoffman hurries along behind her, his shoes squeaking on the floor. "I did one in the cadaver lab."

"Not the same as seeing the blood actually squirt out." At Hoffman's slight flinch, she chuckles. "Relax. It won't be that bad. There'll be some bleeding, but there shouldn't be any fluids gaining altitude. You'll see a million of these in the ED. It's a goddamn staple."

Langdon's car is gone when she goes to her own that night. She ignores the surprising pinch of disappointment. She drives home, does half an hour of yoga, gets off in the shower, and falls asleep.

Dr. Al-Hashimi draws Frank aside a week later and Trinity pretends she's not looking, sees Langdon's gaze flick to her. Later, he says Al-Hashimi was complimenting how smoothly they worked together on the morning's trauma, a moped versus delivery truck, a guy's arm nearly severed.

It had gone smoothly. Trinity's trying not to think about anything with Langdon going smoothly, and she frowns. "That's nice. Do you want my key? I'm off tomorrow, so I'm going to get dinner and margaritas tonight with my old roommates from undergrad."

Langdon's eyebrows raise. "You've got friends?"

"Fuck off. Where do you stay when you don't stay with me, again?"

"I told you, Abby didn't get all our friends." He exhales loudly. "Why are you like this? And it's fine, I wouldn't feel right being in your place without you there."

"Shut up and take the key." She wrestles it off the set. "Don't lose it, the complex makes us pay for new ones."

Langdon holds up his hands, his meaning clear.

Trinity hasn't seen Caitlyn and Paolo in at least six months, but it's easy to slip into their old rhythms, recounting nearly every minute of their lives since they saw each other last. It takes Caitlyn halfway through dinner to catch Trinity up on all the advertising campaigns she's worked, and what feels like a zillion anecdotes about her co-workers. Paolo works for the same company, one floor up in the design department, and for every story Caitlyn tells he has an epilogue.

Trinity's ordered her third cocktail when Caitlyn asks, "So? How's saving lives?"

She looks at her friends. They're bright and happy in their little capitalist world where the color copier breaking down is probably the worst thing that could happen in a day. They don't want to hear about the patients that didn't make it, the ones who weren't much older than the three of them are, like Amy's husband or last week's overdose. So she flips through her mental catalog, tells them about the disgusting-yet-funny ones, people who'd lost a finger to ill-advised construction projects, or introduced items somewhat incompatible to the human body to said human body.

Caitlyn's looking fascinated at the tale of the guy who'd failed at putting together a trampoline over Labor Day weekend when her phone rings. Sorry, she mouths as she slides out of the booth, and Trinity nods over her margarita and looks at photos of Paolo's layouts on his phone until Caitlyn comes back.

"We have to go," she says, apologetic. She grimaces. "My sister got a flat tire twenty minutes from here, and everyone else she could call is at work or back in Indiana. I'm so sorry, Trin."

"Don't worry about it," Trinity answers, even as she looks at her almost-empty glass. She'd been expecting to be here at least another two hours; they'd been planning to split several desserts.

Paolo's setting cash on the table. "Are you sure? If you want to come with, we can drop you off after?"

"No, I can - I'll call my roommate to come get me, he's home."

They both hug her tightly, then leave in a hurry. Trinity sighs. She could call a Lyft instead, and get another Lyft tomorrow to pick up her car. It feels like too much.

She pulls the basket of tortilla chips towards her and eats a few while weighing her options. Then she calls Langdon, wondering at the same time how she got his number in her phone. He answers on the first ring.

Trinity has to swallow to speak. "Hey… Would you mind coming to pick me up? My friends had go deal with something, and I've had a few."

"No problem," he says, and something weird and hot wriggles down her spine. Probably the tequila. "Just tell me where you are."

Trinity settles the bill while she waits, and confirms with the server that her car won't get towed if she leaves it in street parking overnight. Then she goes out into the cooling September night and leans against the brick building, watching for the red Focus.

"Your friends okay?" Langdon asks, as she gets in the car.

Trinity takes a breath. Buckles her seatbelt. "Caitlyn's sister got a flat tire, so they booked it on out."

"People don't have triple-A anymore?"

"What's triple-A?" she deadpans, then laughs at his expression. "Relax. It was just a lot faster for them to go."

"And leave you drunk in a restaurant."

"I'm not falling-down drunk." She knows her tone is defensive. "Just a little too tipsy to drive safely. I don't need some DUI on my record."

Trinity blinks, realizing a little too late how that could come across. But Langdon doesn't seem to either notice, or care. He's drumming his fingers on the steering wheel; he's got the radio on. There's an empty McDonald's soda cup in the holder, a little kid's plastic car toy in the footwell by her purse, and when she glances into the backseat, she sees two bags of groceries.

"Sorry if I -" she starts to say. Langdon just waves a hand, cutting off the apology.

"I was bringing it to your place when you called."

She slumps down in the passenger seat with a sigh. The next thing she knows, the car is rolling to a stop. They're outside her building.

"Come on, Margaritaville," Langdon says, pressing the seatbelt button for her. "Home sweet home."

"Those margs were good, though. No regrets."

Langdon transfers all his groceries to one hand and offers her his arm, which she takes only because the stairs are a little steep. He's bony. After a stumble or two he huffs and says, "Just - let me," and secures his arm around her waist. Her hand settles on his back and she feels the muscles shift under her palm.

He drops his arm again immediately at the top of the stairs and digs her apartment key out of his pocket. Then he passes it back to her. "One key returned, as promised."

"Awesome."

Trinity fits the key back onto her ring once they're inside - it takes her a minute, the world is moving incrementally slower. Then she drinks a full glass of water standing at the kitchen sink wile Langdon puts away his groceries. "I got some stuff to make up for what I ate over the last few weeks," he says.

"Great. Thanks." She refills the glass. "Did you do something to your back?"

He shakes his head slightly. "Aggravated an old injury a couple months ago. It's better, just a little stiff after I've been on my feet all day."

"Mm. You know where the Aleve is."

It's not until Langdon's gone into Whitaker's room that Trinity looks at the bunch of bananas he left on the counter and thinks, he bought groceries.

She wakes up at ten to the scent of coffee. Which is confusing at first. Then she rolls out of bed, and finds Langdon in the kitchen, standing at the counter eating a slice of toast with a steaming cup at his elbow.

"How's the hangover?" he asks.

"Nonexistent."

His eyebrows lift. "Really?"

"I was too drunk to drive, not too drunk to easily sleep it off," she answers. She pours herself a cup, then jerks her chin at his pajamas. They're a matching set. It annoys her. "You're not working today?"

"I'm on the one to nine float, I traded with Ziegler."

"Can you drop me back at the restaurant to get my car?"

"Sure."

Trinity nods. "Thanks." She's aware of his gaze dropping to her legs, bare after her pajama shorts end mid-thigh. Then it snaps away, back to the coffee maker, and she sees color rise in his cheeks.

She says, "Don't you dare say a word."

Langdon shakes his head. His gaze tracks down her legs again, slower.

"You want to watch a movie?" she asks, clutching her mug so hard it almost hurts. "Let's watch a movie."

He sits closer to her on the sofa than normal, close enough she thinks she can feel his body heat. He won't stop looking at her. Halfway through Crimson Peak, Trinity has no idea what's happening on screen and the back of Langdon's hand is pressed against her bare thigh. She feels like she's about to lose her mind.

She pulls Langdon's hand between her legs.

Langdon doesn't hesitate. He pushes aside the thin strip of fabric that's pretending to be pajamas, then the crotch of her panties, and rubs three fingers against her. She breathes out. "Yes. More."

His fingertips move, slipping just a little further down, then out - spreading her inner labia. Trinity squirms, heat flooding through her. Langdon skims a light touch over where she's most exposed and she feels herself melt completely, arousal shivering through all her muscles.

"Fuck, you run hot," she hears him mutter.

"Put your fingers in me," is her response.

Langdon flicks a fingertip against her clit, making her jump, then immediately slips two long fingers into her, in two pushes. She inhales sharply.

He asks, "You okay?"

"Yeah." Trinity hitches her hips, grinding down on his hand. "Perfect."

He crooks his fingers just slightly, and now she can feel the rough slide of his knuckles. But the angle isn't quite right, no matter how she tilts her hips, and she pushes her hand over his, chasing the right pressure.

"Fuck - fuck it, just move over here -" Langdon says, and Trinity's molten enough now to let herself be moved, onto Langdon's lap with his hand between her legs, two fingers slipping into her once again. There's probably still an uncomfortable bend to his wrist but she barely cares, riding his hand with no thought of anything but release. Trinity closes her eyes, shutting out the fact that it's Langdon.

Except he still smells the same and their faces are close enough that she feels his hair brush her skin. He adjusts his hand enough to press deeper. Her head is spinning. Orgasm is a bright spark, cascading. She's clutching his arm with one hand, the other hand holding his shoulder for balance.

"Jesus, Santos," he mutters, as she breathes heavily through the last few shocks that catch her. She's still holding his arm, still clenching around his fingers. When she lets go, his other hand comes to her hip, helping move her as she lifts shakily off his lap.

She lands back in her original spot. Langdon adjusts his pajama pants, mutters something under his breath, and rolls to his feet. Then he walks away into the bathroom. She hears the shower start up a moment later.

Fuck.

Trinity readjusts her underwear and watches the next twenty minutes of the movie alone, drinking cold coffee and letting the screen blur in front of her. Langdon doesn't look over as he goes into his bedroom. She hears him getting dressed.

"If I'm dropping you at your car, you better get ready," he calls through the door.

"Shit. Yeah, I'm - yeah."

Trinity hurries through a shower. It's colder than her usual, but thankfully it stops the buzzing just under her skin. When she exits her room, dressed, she finds Langdon standing next to the couch, shifting his weight. They're both wearing red t-shirts, Langdon's under his scrubs, and Trinity would find it funny if her head wasn't still spinning. She tosses her phone into her bag and grabs her keys.

Neither of them say a word, until he pulls up behind her Nissan, thankfully still in the same place. "Look, I -" she starts, one hand on the door handle, ready to flee.

"Don't," Langdon replies. "We're good, for right now. Conversations…" He makes a vague hand motion. "Later."

Later sounds like a plan.

"I thought you were a lesbian," he whispers, his eyes wide, two mornings later by the lockers. She hasn't seen him since he dropped her at her car. "With - I thought you and Garcia -"

"For a few months," she answers. Finishes double-knotting her sneakers. "I guess we can talk about it later, if you really need to. After work."

The day goes by in a blur. She hopes he won't want to bring it up again, but when their shift finally ends, Langdon follows her to her car and doesn't even act like he's making sure no one sees when he climbs into the passenger seat. "The fuck are you doing?" she asks, even as she starts the engine and waits for him to buckle up before she shifts into reverse.

"I could ask you the same question."

Trinity narrowly misses hitting the bumper of Shen's gleaming new Audi as she swings out of the spot. "I'm not doing anything. You're still an asshole."

"One who had his fingers inside you two days ago," Langdon replies, almost hissing the words. "Not to mention: you're also an asshole."

She risks a glance as she slows to exit the garage. He looks honest-to-God annoyed; his hair is hanging in his face, and there are dark circles under his eyes again like she hasn't seen since he first started crashing at her place.

Neither of them say anything the entire drive. Trinity stomps a little too hard on the brakes once she's brought the car to the curb, and Langdon bounces a little in the passenger seat. He undoes his seatbelt, opens the door, then says, "If you're just trying to fuck with me, you can let me know, and I'll leave."

"You followed me home!" she protests. Then she sighs. "But I'm not trying to fuck with you, I swear."

She might not like Frank, but she's not trying to sexually torment him. He doesn't look like he entirely believes her. As he gets out, she asks, "What movie are we watching tonight?"

"You're the one with the list." He slams the door.

She is the one with the list. Langdon follows her up to the apartment, then it feels like he brushes past her on purpose, close enough she can feel the heat of his body, his hand sliding none too lightly over her back.

Trinity ignores the shiver that runs through her, sets down her backpack and eats an apple cold from the fridge. She thumbs through Letterboxd until she gets to her watchlists.

"We're up to Final Destination Bloodlines," she calls out.

"I'm not in the mood for that."

Honestly, neither is she. "I assume that also rules out Hereditary."

Langdon pauses in Whitaker's bedroom doorway, his arms stretched up above his head. The movement lifts his t-shirt enough that Trinity sees a strip of pale skin, his dark body hair. "Isn't there anything funny on this list?"

"I think we were spitballing by genre when we made it." She looks away from Langdon's body and scrolls down. "Ant-Man?"

"Sure."

It's lucky that Langdon's only a few feet from her bedroom door, as they both hear the sound of a key in the lock at the same time. Trinity feels her eyes widen. Then she hears Whitaker cursing at the deadbolt. Langdon disappears into her room, leaving the door open, presumably to hide in the master bath.

"Hey," she says, when Whitaker swings open the front door, willing her pulse to slow. "Sorry about the deadbolt."

"No, no, it's good. Safe."

Her mind is speedrunning the terrifying possibility that Whitaker's back for the night and she's going to have to hide Langdon in her room, but then she sees he's not carrying his big duffel, and relief floods through her. "Robby's not back already, is he?" she asks, carefully tucking the bottle of water she was holding behind her back, so Langdon's on the table looks like the only one.

"No, I just need to grab a few things."

Shit. How much stuff does Langdon leave in there? Trinity hasn't gone into that room in weeks, and it's too late now, Dennis is already walking through the doorway.

She hears him rustle around. There's no sound at all from her room.

"Whose books are these?" Dennis calls.

"What?"

"Some paperback thriller and a… non-fiction something about a war. Doesn't look like something Garcia would read."

"Caitlyn crashed a few nights last week, a pipe burst in her building," Trinity lies smoothly. "She must have left them."

"And this sweatshirt?" Dennis asks, reappearing in the doorway. He holds up a hoodie with the Penguins logo on the back. "I don't remember Caitlyn being a hockey fan."

Trinity's committed to this falsehood now. "She's really not, she just thinks that one player is hot."

"Yeah, okay."

Her phone vibrates. It's Langdon. How long is he going to be here?

Hasn't even been 5 min, she replies.

I'm snooping in your bathroom.

No you're not.

Dennis comes back out with a tote bag in one hand. "I left Caitlyn's stuff on the bed," he says.

"Cool. You keeping all Robby's plants alive?"

He frowns. "There's only a couple."

Once he's left, Trinity gives herself a second to breathe. Then she throws the deadbolt again, counts to five just to be sure Whitaker's reached the stairwell, then calls, "Langdon!"

"I'm still rummaging through your bathroom!" he yells back, but strolls through the doorway a moment later. "Jesus, I thought he'd never leave."

Trinity rolls her eyes. Her pulse is still racing. "He was here, what, ten minutes max? You need to learn patience."

Langdon gives her a look that says exactly what he thinks about that and grabs his water. "You still want to watch Ant-Man?"

The words are out of her mouth before she can think about them. "I want to get laid."

He frowns. "I could have crashed somewhere else -"

"You want to fuck me or not?" Trinity pulls her t-shirt up over her head, ignoring how hard her heart is pounding.

"Yeah, sure," Langdon actually says out loud, and lags behind for a second before following her into her bedroom. "The thrill of almost getting caught with me get your libido going, or what?"

Honestly, yeah. "Something like that." She grabs the front of his shirt and yanks him into a kiss, their mouths colliding almost painfully for a split second before they both adjust.

Part of her feels like it's weird this is the first time they've kissed, and the other part of her thinks it's weird she's kissing Langdon, and this into it. One of his arms wraps around her waist and his other hand goes to her ponytail and yanks free the elastic. She bites lightly at his lower lip as he sinks his fingers into her hair, shaking it out. His mouth moves wetly from hers, across her cheek to her ear. "Come on, Santos," he breathes. He rolls his hips and she can feel where he's hard, his dick rubbing against her stomach through his sweats. "You want my cock or not?"

"Shut the hell up." She backs up only enough to pull her bra up over her head, and it hasn't even hit the floor before his hands are on her breasts. His fingers pinch and she shudders, looking down so she can watch, every touch making her pussy throb.

Langdon ducks his head to mouth at her nipples, first one, then the other. His teeth scrape lightly at her skin. Then he nudges her down onto the bed.

She strips off her pajama pants. Langdon pulls his shirt up and off, exposing a hairy chest and an expanse of pale skin. He's lean and defined. He gives her a look when his face is exposed again: You still want this?

"Keep stripping," she hears herself say.

Langdon pauses with his hands at the waistband of his boxer-briefs - navy blue, Trinity notes almost absently, and skin-tight, hiding absolutely nothing at the moment - and says, "This isn't some revenge scheme, where tomorrow you're going to HR, is it?"

How the fuck can you think that? is her first thought, but: fair enough. She narrows her eyes at him. "How about you fuck me good enough I forget about going to HR?"

His expression tightens briefly, then smooths out into something Trinity can only interpret as challenge accepted. He bounces her further back onto the bed before she can even breathe, hands catching the sides of her panties, and he wiggles downward with them quicker than she can comprehend. "Oh, fuck," she groans, as Langdon glances up at her just once before sliding his thumbs up her pussy and spreading her open.

He doesn't waste any time; there's a slick tongue cradling her clit before she can take her next breath. Then she feels his jaw flex; his face somehow gets closer and his tongue pushes into her. She's got a hand in his hair before she even realizes, breathing fast and shallow as he tongue-fucks her.

The bottom of her stomach seems to drop out and the air feels hot in her throat. He keeps up the same steady rhythm, his hands sliding to her hips and squeezing. Then his mouth moves away; she shudders at the feeling of him breathing over her cunt, the puffs of warm air. "Relax," he murmurs, moving his hands and rubbing her inner thighs. "You're wound so tight."

"Fuck off, I'm not," Trinity tries to lie, but his tongue is inside her again and who knows what words she manages. Her heels dig into the bed.

She feels like she wavers on the edge of coming for a long time; Langdon pulls back and starts over again more than once, giving her half a second to catch up on oxygen before teasing her clit again, or dipping two fingertips shallowly into her a few times before replacing them with his tongue, relentless. Then she's coasting down that mountain, shivering, her toes curling, and Langdon's licking broad stripes up her cunt.

He doesn't stop until she pushes his head away.

"Do you have a condom?" he asks; oh, yeah, they should have thought about that.

Trinity doesn't say I don't usually sleep with men. She just says, "No."

"I think I've got one in my wallet," Langdon says, scrambling off the bed, his fingertips trailing over her knee. Still in a post-orgasm stupor, Trinity opens her eyes enough to watch him walk out of the room. His hair is sticking up where she had her hands in it. And his dick is nice, she has to admit. Reluctantly. She breathes up at the ceiling once he's disappeared. If she wants to tap out of this, now's her last chance.

Instead, she doesn't move, feeling herself get even wetter - how is that even possible - and curling her fists in the sheets. Frank comes back holding up a condom between two fingers and looking smug, and Trinity says, "Just hurry the hell up."

She doesn't cry out as he pushes into her, but it's a near thing.

"You okay?" he mutters in her ear.

"Fine. Don't stop."

He slips a hand under her left hip, and just that small adjustment makes all the difference. A new wave of pleasure rolls through her whole body - slow and syrupy, making Trinity feel almost outside herself. Langdon's hairy legs rub against hers and she thinks distantly about how it's different than what she's used to.

"That better than my fingers?" he asks, with a stuttering sort of thrust that makes her moan.

It is, but she's not about to say so. She kisses him again and they bite at each other's mouths. Frank tries to roll them over and she doesn't let him at first, but then thinks better of it and maneuvers them so that he's on his back. He slides a hand up her torso, pausing at the starburst tattoo over her ribs and tracing the pattern.

Trinity closes her eyes so she doesn't have to look at him; it's better this way, not having to think about who she's fucking. Except his hands are still everywhere, raising goosebumps where his fingertips trail lightly. He doesn't touch the scars on her thigh except by what's probably accident, and he doesn't grip anywhere too tightly. Trinity lets her head fall back as she settles into an almost lazy rhythm, listening to Langdon breathe and the wet sounds their bodies make together, the squeak of the bed.

"You can come again, right?" Langdon asks. His voice is rougher now. "I know you've got it in you, Santos."

She groans at him to shut up and droops forward, pressing a hand to his chest.

"Fuck," he gasps, right before his body tightens like a strung wire. Trinity can't help the moan that escapes her, at the feel of Langdon losing all control, the gorgeous and infuriating way his face goes lax. Part of her wants to slap him; she squeezes his chin instead and Langdon tosses his head, pretending to bite at her fingers.

His hips still. Trinity shifts uncomfortably, every part of her feeling too sensitive, for a brief moment. Then he's moving her body, pulling her upwards, bringing her pussy back to his mouth. It takes thirty seconds - gentler than before, she realizes dizzily - before she's melting in orgasm, grabbing the metal bar of the headboard just to keep upright. After another unmoving minute, she can finally lean over and swing herself off Langdon's face, and not knock out one of his teeth with her pubic bone, or something like that. His hand slides down her leg as she tips.

Trinity's in enough of a stupor that she barely registers Langdon get up and deal with the condom; he's stretching out next to her again before she can tell him he shouldn't. He doesn't try to cuddle - that's good, she doesn't want to have to parse something like that - and he doesn't try to stop her when she rolls to a seated position at the edge of the mattress a few minutes later.

Her mouth is dry. She says, "You should go."

"Why?"

Trinity rolls her eyes, mostly at herself. "What, you think you're going to come out of the bathroom with your aftershave on, and I'm going to fall all over you?"

Much to her surprise, Frank starts to laugh. "You gonna rack your shotgun instead, Marshal?"

She twists to look at him. "You remember that much of a movie you watched once?"

"I watched it again," he says with a grin, rolling onto his back. The amount of chest hair he's got is so unexpected. She's honestly almost impressed. "I crashed with a guy from my running club last week and I made him watch it."

"You sleep with him, too?"

"Oh, fuck off, Santos," Langdon groans, and she laughs at him, getting up. She feels his fingertips trail down the back of her thigh.

"We can just forget about this," she says, quieter, even as there's a part of her that wants to climb back into the bed and fuck him again.

"Yeah," she hears him say. "Yeah, I need to - to find my own place, anyway. I can't sleep on sofas and in spare rooms forever. Especially if I want to spend time with my kids."

"Exactly." Trinity goes into the bathroom, then pauses and turns around again. "Hey, you should probably get out of my bed."

Langdon rolls his eyes towards the ceiling, but she sees him sit up, then reach down to grab his clothes from the floor. "You kicking me out entirely, or am I still allowed to sleep in Whitaker's room?"

"I guess you can still crash." She watches him tug his boxers back on before turning away again.

Langdon tells her he's found an apartment, finally, a week before Robby rolls back into town, wind-blown and resuming both his Chief of Emergency Medicine post and his residence, which sends Whitaker back to Trinity's spare room. Dennis does still go out to Amy's on his days off, which leaves Trinity to be blessedly alone for at least an entire single day every week or two.

Langdon switches to night shift now that Robby's back on days, and most of the time the most Trinity sees him is an hour or two a couple days a week, as they cross over. She's frowning at a set of notes she's finishing when he stops next to her, barely taps her foot with his own.

"Don't mess around, I'm exhausted," she grumbles.

"Anything good today?"

"More gunshot wounds than usual, couple MVCs, a STEMI," she says, then glances up at him. The blue of his undershirt makes his eyes even brighter, somehow, and his hair seems taller today. "You look disgustingly awake."

"I kind of like night shift," Frank replies. He opens a Red Bull. "You off this weekend?"

Trinity blinks at the monitor for a moment. "I am off this weekend, why, you need a babysitter?"

"I don't think my kids would like you, Santos," he says smoothly, and Trinity swallows a laugh. He angles his gaze downwards to meet hers. "You could, uh. Come see my apartment."

She looks at him leaning on his elbows on the counter, aluminum can dangling from his pale hands. "That's a fucking terrible idea."

Abbot and two EMTs are wheeling a screaming, blood-smeared person towards Trauma 1. "I don't care if you don't," Langdon says, leaning close to be heard over the noise. He raises both eyebrows briefly. Then he tucks the can behind the counter and jogs after the stretcher.