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Summary
“It’s—it’s clean.” She’s a doctor, and before she was ever a doctor, she was clinical, precise, and careful.
After a moment, Robby says, “I’m sure it was, but after a day in the ER it isn’t anymore.”
White lines, marred by angry red. Disinfectant stings but no more than she's used to (no more than she likes), Robby tending to it gently, like there's nothing more natural, but clinically, because he can't get too close. Her hands in her lap tense. Her muscles contract. On instinct her body doesn’t let her relax, and she’s not sure it ever will, not when Grace spent what was left of her sanity caring for Trinity, and when it was too much to handle, let her body relax forever. She let herself give into it. Trinity wanted to give into it too.
Trinity faces relapse; Robby tends to her. It's not as unnatural or wrong as either of them feels it should be.