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By the time Garcia is done examining Trinity and after they’ve answered a cop’s questions about the incident at Marco’s, it’s almost ten o’clock when they find themselves loitering in the ambulance bay.
Trinity peers over Garcia’s shoulder to look at her phone. “You’re ordering a Lyft?”
Garcia just stares at her for a long beat. “I’m not walking four miles home,” she finally says. “Ambulance brought us here, remember? I don’t have my car.”
“I mean, I could always…” She lets her voice drone off as she makes a subtle gesture with her hand.
“What’s that supposed to be?” Garcia asks with a raised eyebrow.
Trinity tries again. “Y’know…” Her ring and middle fingers fold over her palm, forearm supine. “Thwip thwip?”
It takes a second, but Garcia realizes what she’s suggesting and immediately and firmly says, “Not a fucking chance.”
“I can get us home in less than five minutes.”
“Santos, you can hardly lift your arms without wincing, right now. I’m not sure I trust you not to drop me while swinging a hundred feet off the ground.”
“Ouch,” Trinity mumbles. “Way to kick a woman when she’s down.”
“You need to heal, Trinity,” Garcia emphasizes. “Ask me again in a week.” She glances down at her phone. “Ishmael should be arriving soon. Silver Honda Accord.”
🕷 🕷 🕷
It’s exactly a week later when Garcia gets a text towards the end of her shift. ‘Come up to the roof,’ Trinity had sent. ‘When you’re ready to leave.’
She’s not sure if she wants to know why Trinity asked her to go to the roof, but she has an inkling and it settles uncomfortably in her stomach.
‘You better not be bleeding out on the roof,’ she writes back.
Garcia climbs the stairs slowly, phone in hand as if Trinity might send clarifying information as to why she’s headed up to the roof after a sixteen hour day. Of course, nothing else comes through by the time she’s pushing open the roof exit door.
“Santos?” she calls out when she doesn’t see anybody else on the rooftop.
“Where’s your stuff?” a voice above her asks.
It’s slightly modulated but so clearly Trinity, and Garcia feels like an idiot for not pegging it when she was suturing the woman.
She turns around and sees Spider-Woman sitting on an even higher ledge above her. “In my locker. Why would I haul my shit up here?”
“Because you said I could take us home after a week of healing.”
Garcia plants her hands on her hips. “I said ‘ask me again in a week’. I didn’t agree to be swung through the city.”
“Please, Yoyo? It’s… there’s nothing like it.”
“My car is here.”
“I’ll swing us to work tomorrow. Or I can come back for your car and drive it home.”
“Do you even have a valid driver’s license?”
“… no. But I know how to drive.”
“If you’re trying to give me sad Santos eyes, I can’t see them through the mask.”
“Damn,” she mutters. “Well.” She holds out her hands, palms up. The yellow webbing glints even in the pale moonlight and lights of the city. “Is there anything I can do to persuade you? Buy you a cocktail, maybe?”
The corners of Garcia’s mouth start to quirk upwards despite herself. “You already owe me more than one.”
“And I’ll owe you another.”
Garcia looks out from the rooftop, seeing the surrounding buildings and listening to the traffic, ever-present even at this hour. The sky is clear and the moon is waxing overhead. It’s a beautiful night.
“Okay,” she says, more decisively than she feels about swinging hundreds of feet above concrete and asphalt and people.
“Wait. Really?” The words coming from Spider-Woman are jarring because all she hears is Trinity’s excitement wrapped in a thin sheen of incredulity.
“Yes, really. Let me go grab my shit.”
She pushes back through the exit door, descends the stairs, waits for the elevator, and finds herself back on the fourth floor of the hospital.
Of course, Walsh is there, pulling on an undershirt that she normally doesn’t wear under her scrubs. “Thought you were heading out?” the attending comments.
“I am. Pretend I’m not here,” Garcia responds, punching her code into the locker. It beeps and unlocks, and she grabs her coat and the rest of her shit.
Walsh quirks an eyebrow. “Is there a reason I’m pretending you’re not here?”
“Nope,” is all she gives, turning on her heel and heading back towards the elevators.
Behind her, Walsh calls out, “I learn all your secrets eventually, Yoyo!”
She flips the bird as she walks away.
She takes the elevator again, climbs the stairs to close the rest of the distance, leans her weight into the door again.
Trinity still hasn’t moved from her perch by the time Garcia gets back, wearing her coat with her bag slung over her shoulder. For once, she’s glad that she opted for the zippable sling bag today. Especially when Spider-Woman fucking somersaults from where she’s sitting, dropping at least twenty feet to land in front of Garcia.
Her heart lodges in her throat for the split second that Trinity’s in free fall. It’s one thing to see Spider-Woman do it; it’s an entirely different thing to know the woman she cares for deeply is under the mask.
“See? All healed. I’m not gonna drop you.”
Garcia deadpans, “That’s so reassuring.”
And then Trinity is gripping the fabric under her chin, tugging until the mask comes off. She pushes the hood of the suit back. Her hair is a mess underneath, even contained in a low ponytail.
“Hey,” she says softly, reaching out and resting a hand on Garcia’s hip. “If you really don’t want to, that’s okay. I just…” She pauses, biting at her bottom lip for a second. “I want to share this part of me with you. Now that you know. I want you to know all of me.”
And what is Garcia supposed to say to that? Because she wants that, too. “I want to know you,” she murmurs. “I trust you.”
Trinity’s expression softens, and she tilts her head just slightly. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
They meet in the middle, a brief but grounding kiss.
“Let’s do this, Spider-Woman,” she says when they part.
Trinity grins, eyes bright and gleaming. Maybe also with a hint of daring sparkling, too. In one smooth motion, she pulls the mask back on and lifts the hood. “Let’s fucking go!”
🕷 🕷 🕷
It’s terrifying. It’s exhilarating.
She’s never felt safer with Trinity’s arm wrapped around her middle, holding her close with Garcia’s arms loosely encircling her neck.
There are moments her stomach drops, her breath catches, her heart skips a beat. One moment where her grip tightens reflexively, tucks her face into the crook of Trinity’s neck for the downswing.
It’s less than ten minutes later when they land on Garcia’s fire escape with a clang. Her hair is windblown and she’s laughing giddily, riding out the adrenaline high.
“That was… amazing.” She exhales, long and slow as she works to gather her bearings.
Trinity removes her mask and somehow, her smile is even wider, even brighter. “Yeah?” she asks breathlessly.
Garcia leans into her, their bodies still flush after landing. “Thank you for sharing this with me,” she says, low and warm.
Her eyes flick to the window that leads into her dining room and then to the ground beneath them. “Now help me get down from here. I didn’t leave the window unlocked.”
Trinity laughs, and damn it, Garcia is so fucking smitten.