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Summary
It’s one of those things—words, phrases, insults, sometimes even compliments—that sticks with Trinity, even though it shouldn’t. Lodges itself somewhere in the gaps of her ribcage, so with each step she can feel it there under skin, flesh and digging through bone. It grooves into the recesses of her mind, it gets caught in her throat, she can taste those words just on the tip of her tongue and she really fucking hates it.
Much like everything else her stupid brain clings to (it’s a trauma response, she knows that, she’s a doctor, but calling her brain stupid is easier than really facing the problem) it sticks.
Trouble, trouble, trouble.
Or: Trinity Santos learns to let her guard down, just a little bit.
Podfic of guard down (what's the rush?) by tapestryoftrauma.