Chapter Text
Trinity Santos did not cry in front of other people. It was something of a cardinal rule for her since her gymnastics days: if you show any weakness, it will be exploited. Whether at the uncomfortable hands of her coach or by the girls she shared the floor with, tears were a gateway to places Trinity never wanted to go.
Every bruise, sprain, or break (just that once) was taken with nothing but contracted face muscles and deep breaths, focusing on nothing but holding her tears right beside her eyes, keeping them from spilling out until she was buried beneath her blanket and her sobs could be muffled by her pillows.
Each time he would yell about her posture, her timing, her weight was taken in stride. She learned to stop crying over his criticisms and start using them as motivation long ago. Her court-mandated therapist said that was probably something they should unpack, but all Trinity thinks is that she probably should have lied to this woman way more.
So despite her years, scratch that decades, of not crying in front of other people (minus what Dennis witnessed when they got in the car after Pittfest, because he knows his housing hinges on him staying quiet about Trinity’s colossal breakdown as soon as she hit the safety of her car’s leather seats) Trinity Santos now finds herself on the verge of breaking.
And for a stupid fucking reason if you ask her. Today was her and Yolanda’s first day off together in a long time and Trinity was feeling so fucking domestic about the whole thing that her years and years of practice with repressing every emotion she’s ever felt was on the verge of bursting.
It started because Yolanda had somehow gotten out of bed before Trinity without waking her up, which allowed for the intern to get the glorious sight of Yolanda Garcia making breakfast clad in nothing but Trinity’s boxers and a white camisole that hugged her perfectly.
Trinity would have been fine if that's where the softness had stopped. If that had led to their usual bantering that had no real bite behind it, but allowed for Trinity to keep herself at a short emotional distance from the older woman. But Yolanda just had to retrieve Trinity from the door from which she was watching, had to wrap her arms around the intern's waist while whispering sweet nothings about how she had missed her in the short time they were apart.
Trinity would like to think she would have been fine if thats where the adoration had stopped, but Yolanda just had to pull Trinity into the kitchen with her to show her the pancakes she had made, and the fruit she had cut up, and the coffee she’d door-dashed because Trinity can’t stand the taste unless it has like five different kinds of syrups and sugars.
Maybe she would have kept the tears swelling behind her eyes at bay if that were it. But then Yolanda just had to come in so close that their noses were touching. She had to tug on Trinity’s chin when she avoided eye contact so the younger girl would have to look at her. And she apparently just had to say “I love you, Trin,” and upon impact her words broke down the dam behind Trinity Santos’ green eyes.
Yolanda surrounded Trinity instinctively, allowing her to put down the facade she carries religiously and become nothing but a puddle of emotion in the arms of the woman she loved. And who loved her back. It was that second part that had been the nail in the coffin of Trinity’s breakdown.
That someone was there for her, not out of obligation or ease, but because she wanted to. Yolanda wanted to surprise Trinity in the mornings, wanted to wear Trinity’s boxers and hoodies to sleep because they smelled like her, she wants to intertwine herself with Trinity in a way that's so parasitic that they become unable to live without the other. That last part probably isn’t something to strive for, Trinity thought, and then let out a small huff of a laugh at the way she policed herself, and admitted to no one but herself that despite that fact, it doesnt change the truth.
They went on like that until the well of Trinity dried up, and she finally had the courage to wipe her eyes and look up at Garcia. “So, whats for breakfast?” she said with a laugh in her voice, because no not even Trinity Santos was naive enough to think she could sweet talk herself out of their pending conversation.
Garcia, ever used to her tricks, looked down at Trinity with a tenderness in her eyes that almost made the younger girl start crying again. “What’s going on?”
“I’m scared,” Trinity admitted, saying her words to Garcia’s ear, rather than her eyes, to which Garcia responded by wordlessly shifting her face to match Trinity's eyeline. “I’ve never had this before” she continued this time locked on the older womans eyes “not even my own parents wanted to do this kind of thing for me, and here you are basically everyday showing up and taking care of me.”
Yolanda brushed Trinity’s self proclaimed slut strands out of her face as the younger girl continued “I mean you fucking took care of Whittaker too when we were both sick, who does that?”
Finally, Yolanda felt like she could interject, “I do, and I will. What’s important to you is important to me, even if it's a man who bears more resemblance to a wet rat than anything else.” That made Trinity laugh, and a small smile finally graced her lips, which Yolanda took as a massive win.
“I know you’re all grumpy and full of baggage and anger, and trust me I am too, but you, Trinity Santos, are worth all the trouble in the world.” Yolanda punctuated her sentiment with a small kiss.
The couple made their way to the couch, where for once Trinity sat enveloped by Yolanda’’s arms, which Trinity buries herself in with embarrassment while exclaiming “I can’t believe I fucking cried, I never fucking cry.”
“I’m not the wicked witch of the west, you know,” Yoland responded “a couple tears in my shirt isn’t gonna drive me away, or melt me into the ground.”
“I know” Trinity stated back, more to herself than anyone else, convincing the part of her mind that was telling her to run to heel, because this was gonna be okat if she let it.
“I can’t wait to tell Whittaker what a softy you are, though,” Yolanda teased while Trinity turned around to face her girlfriend with a horrified look on her face. “You wouldn’t dare,” Trinity teased back, as the concoction of melancholy and joy that was sitting in her gut turned straight into desire.
“Oh, but I would, unless of course something stopped me,” Yolanda began with a heavy lilt in her voice, catching that look in Trinity’s eyes and inviting the change of pace with open arms.
It didn’t take long before Trinity’s mouth was everywhere, not a thought on her mind other than fulfilling Yolanda’s every need, whim, and wish. Yolanda didn’t miss a beat, picking up Trinity who instinctively wrapped around her koala style, and led the two of them back to the bedroom.
When they were both run ragged in the best way possible, Trinity found herself between Garcia’s arms again, planting soft kisses and whispering sweet nothings into her tan flesh. “Thank you,” she said before she even registered she was speaking, “for knowing me and still choosing me.”
It was this admission that almost led Yolanda herself to tears, but she pulled it together to let out a small “I will choose you every single time, Trinity. I’m not letting you get away.” in reply. Yolanda smiled when she saw the steady rise and fall of the other woman’s chest, recognizing that Trinity’s only response was going to be soft snores that she would never admit came from her side of the bed, and Yolanda was okay with that so long as it kept Trinity in her life.