Work Text:
So. Trinity may or may not have just asked Samira Mohan to be in a band with her. And she may or may not be freaking out.
It's not like she regrets her decision, necessarily.
Hell, she's honestly excited. Music has always been something sacred to her, and there was nothing she wanted more than to share it with those around her, even if it meant spending more time with Samira than she'd ever hoped to.
Samira was likeable, sure. She was an incredible doctor, overflowing with empathy. She consistently knew the right thing to say; she was always in the right place, at the right time, listening intently to her patients when no other doctor would.
Her patient satisfaction scores were the highest of them all, and for good reason— her tendency to slow down often led to better results and more effective treatments. She had a great working relationship with all of her colleagues (minus Dr. Robby— Trinity’s always wondered what the situation was between them), and it seemed to Trinity that Samira could do whatever-the-hell she set her mind to.
And Trinity fucking hates it. She knows she shouldn't, knows it's wrong.
God, she's a jealous fool— she always has been, whether or not she's openly willing to admit it. After all, Trinity's felt like the department pariah from day one. It was hard not to foster such a deep envy towards her, even though the two couldn't be more different.
Now, however, Trinity needs to put her own personal baggage aside to do something she loves: create music.
They didn't have the best working relationship, but this was a risk Trinity was willing to take, even if it meant discovering who Samira Mohan really was— the good, the bad, and the ugly.
⊹ ࣪ ˖
Which is how Samira finds herself nagged by Trinity as she's attempting to type up a set of patient notes at the nurses' station.
"Hey. Uh, are we still..." Trinity raises an eyebrow, playfully nudging her in hopes of catching Samira’s attention. "On for practice later. At your place?"
The question appears as a shock to Samira, considering that she was genuinely looking forward to it. As much as she hated admitting it, maybe there was some truth in Trinity’s prior words: she didn't have anything outside of her job— no hobbies (unless you’re able to count the research study she’d been conducting— which, you can’t), no meaningful romantic relationships, and she hated socializing with others. That was, until Trinity had dragged her to her place the other day. She nods her head, smiling. "Yeah, of course. I was looking forward to it, actually."
"Oh. Great. Victoria— Dr. Javadi, sorry—" She rolls her eyes, forgetting that they were at work. "—has already transcribed a couple of songs for us— a variety of genres, so we can pick a few to work on today— whatever you're most comfortable with, I guess," she shrugs. "Hey, wait. I still haven't heard you sing yet, I am so excited. I'll text you the details as soon as we get off our shift."
"Sounds good. I'll send you my address."
⊹ ࣪ ˖
Samira Mohan's place is... odd. It's abnormally sterile, a combination of the scents of Lysol and Purrell hand sanitizer filling the corridor. Upon further observation, Trinity notices, there's little to actually indicate that anyone lives here. It appears as if no one has ever used her couch (especially in comparison to hers and Dennis's— God, they should probably buy a new one.), the color scheme is bland and monochrome, there are no personal photos (minus a photo of an Indian woman who is— presumably— Samira's mother, placed in a beautiful maroon frame) or items relating to hobbies, and honestly, whatever she's using to clean the place could kill Trinity in an instant. Christ, the smell was strong. She was already developing a migraine.
"Damn, does anybody even live here?" Trinity teases, raising an eyebrow. She repositions her fingers, holding tightly onto the portable amplifier she had brought along. She's carrying her bass in a bag on her back, hanging carelessly from one shoulder. She can feel it start to ache, shoulder tensing up.
"Can you shut up?" Samira retorts, rolling her eyes. "I'm already doing you a favor."
"I mean... You offered, but okay." Trinity likes this— the playful banter the two have grown to fall into. It's completely harmless, and she's glad to have someone who understands her sense of humor.
"Seriously, though. I'm glad you came that night. You need hobbies and a life outside of work."
"I have a life outside of work."
Trinity raises an eyebrow, pausing. "Do you?" She questions, enunciating the first word.
"Fine, whatever." Samira admits. "I'm just committed to my work."
"Dude, if I had a nickel for every time you've nearly overworked yourself to death, I'd be rich— don't think that I'm not keeping an eye on your stubborn ass. You have nothing outside of that goddamn emergency room. And I cannot wait to change that." Grabbing her wrist, she leads Samira into her kitchen. Samira doesn't refuse, doesn't fight back. She simply accepts the fact that Trinity Santos is now in her apartment, about to pull out that goddamn bass. She'd never admit it to anyone, but it was weirdly seductive. Whatever. She should probably check herself for a concussion; she did bump her head earlier.
As Trinity arrives, she rapidly scans the place. She tugs on the strap of her bag, groaning. "Wait. Where do you want us to set up?" She raises an eyebrow.
"Over there is fine," Samira replies, pointing towards an outlet near the couch, similar in design to Trinity and Dennis' apartment.
"Perfect." Trinity smiles, shrugging off her soft-sided gig bag, allowing it to fall on to Samira's floor. It creates a loud banging sound. She shrugs, kneeling down to unzip the bag.
"Are you normally this rough with your instruments?" Samira highlights, flinching at the sound,
"I used to be scared shitless that she'd fall apart—“
"She?" Samira interjects, furrowing her brows.
"Yes, she," Trinity snaps back, rolling her eyes. "Anyways, as I was saying. I used to treat this thing as if it was made of glass. I dropped it maybe... once? Fully by accident, of course, but that was when I realized that it really isn't that big of a deal, y'know? She's one of the best on the market, and I doubt that anything would happen to her," she explains.
"Okay, jeez," Samira groans, feigning annoyance at Trinity's extensive response. Deep down, she was charmed by her rambling, the sound of her voice serving as a distraction to her own mind, thoughts never-ending. She was extremely grateful for this opportunity; a chance to expand her horizons and try something new. "God, when is Victoria coming? I need her to save me from your ass," Samira jokes.
"You're never getting rid of me, no matter how hard you try," Trinity retorts. "But, she's on her way, she had to make up some excuse to her mom. You know how it is. She'll be here soon, and with music galore," she says, drawing out the vowels of the last word. Suddenly, she hears a knock at the door: three sets of three, something Victoria has stolen from a beloved fictional character. "Speak of the fucking devil, I guess," she says, shrugging, a small smile growing on her face. "God, I should've never introduced her to the Big Bang Theory," she complains. Moving towards the front door, Samira stops, allowing her in.
"Hey, guys," Victoria exclaims, barely managing to get her equipment through Samira's front door. Dragging it behind her, she follows the other two into the living room, where Trinity's bass lies, cable and amp thrown in a pile nearby.
"Okay, so." Immediately, Victoria pulls a purple folder out of her bag, the fold slowly beginning to tear apart, presumably from years of use. There appear to be at least one hundred pieces of paper in there, Samira guesses.
"Jesus fucking Christ," she comments, watching Victoria dump tens upon hundreds of pages of sheet music on her coffee table. She's got everything— from various Red Hot Chili Peppers basslines transcribed in perfect tablature, to old pop-punk songs and how to emulate their vocal techniques. There are even a couple of jazz songs transcribed in various formats, despite them not having any of the tools to sound even relatively close to the original. "You really weren't joking about this," Samira muses.
"No way in hell I was. My fucking parents worked me to the bone learning music theory at... what? Six years old? So, yeah, I'm glad it's coming in handy, honestly," Victoria admits. "Dig through, 'Mira. Find what you're most comfortable with. Trinity and I will pick it up easily, whatever you choose."
"Why don't I have a say in this? I put this whole thing together, y'know," Trinity scoffs, watching intently as Samira begins scavenging through the pile. She comes across a couple fun ones, including: Don’t Stop Me Now, Silver Springs, and Still Into You— classics, perfectly transcribed in various formats. God, Victoria's really thought of everything.
“Can we try this one out?” Samira asks, pulling the Still Into You sheet music from under the mess Victoria's made of her coffee table.
“Hell yeah,” Trinity agrees.
Victoria gives Samira a thumbs up, and Samira grins. So. They're really doing this.
The thought sends a shiver down her spine, and she watches intently as the others set up. Since Samira's only instrument is her voice, she decides to pull up the song's lyrics on her phone, slowly skimming through them. She's surely not the same girl she was the last time she had sung, but she prays her vocals still sound the same— the last thing she wants is to make a fool of herself in front of Trinity. Whether she's trying to impress her, she'll never know.
Dragging her bass off of the floor, Trinity places its thick strap— black, to match the instrument itself, with silver stars— onto her body. She takes a second, fucks around with the tuning a little, fretting a few notes here and there. Tuning was her least favorite step of all, despite being one of the most crucial.
Meanwhile, Victoria's keyboard is finally set up, placed on the other side of Samira's living room, her ottoman placed underneath. She plays a few notes; goes through her scales, warming up before beginning to play.
Samira makes a game of identifying the notes the others are playing in an attempt to refresh her memory. She notices Victoria playing chromatic exercises, whereas Trinity slams the notes of a couple of pentatonic scales. Both of their playing styles are so similar to who they actually are as people, Samira notices. Trinity's rough, cursing under her breath whenever mistakes are made— in this case, it's missing a note or picking the string lighter than intended. On the other hand, Victoria handles her preparation with care. Considering her immense attention to detail, she seldom makes mistakes, but when she does, she simply sighs softly, moving on to whatever else she had in mind.
The three sit like this for a few minutes. Samira enjoys listening to them, slowly training her ear to identify certain scales, keys, and notes. God, it's been a while.
After the others have warmed up an adequate amount, Trinity asks, "Can we... y'know, start?"
Victoria nods her head, and Samira gives her a thumbs up. She counts with her fingers, making a "one, two, three, four," gesture towards the others. At the four, they begin, the sounds of a metronome bleeding softly out of Trinity's earbud.
Trinity's bass tone is funky, notes coming out clear as day. Her chipped black nails eagerly slam the frets with immense precision, right hand picking at the instrument's thick strings. For the first few measures, her focus is directed solely on mastering the song's rhythm, squinting at the sheets of tablature propped up in front of her. She trusts the others; knows they're doing just fine. As the bass player, however, she's stuck playing the same riff for the entire song, her focus slowly drifting over to Samira.
Meanwhile, Samira's vocals are bright. Goosebumps grow on Trinity's arms, and she watches in awe as Samira continues, her smooth voice filling the house. She sustained each note the perfect amount, pitch never falling flat. Somehow, she's also able to sing perfectly in key, despite not having sung for... what was it? At least ten years, Trinity recalls. She's completely wonderstruck by Samira, staring at her as if she was the only one that mattered.
For once, she looks genuinely happy, finding herself getting lost within the music. Her phone is held out in front of her, reading through the lyrics as she sings. Samira doesn't think she's able to relate to them, but that doesn't mean she can't appreciate the song's intimate lyricism.
On the other hand, Victoria's holding the melody, one hand playing chords whereas the other plays fast-paced, individual notes. She spends little time reading the sheet music, instead focusing intensely on the song's beat, counted out by the metronome she has going on her phone. Trinity finds the dull hum of the tool annoying, but she's too occupied staring at Samira to care.
"Hey, y'know, you're really good at this, Samira," Trinity interrupts about halfway through the song. "Why'd you quit?" The question snaps Samira out of a trance, simultaneously disrupting their performance. Victoria rolls her eyes. When she wasn't focusing on how her keyboard sounded, she was observing the others, noticing how Trinity had practically looked at her with hearts in her eyes the entirety of the duration she was playing.
Samira's shocked by the question; if anything, she was expecting Trinity to say something negative towards her vocals. "My mother," Samira moans. "I think I got like... an eighty-two on a chemistry test once? She made me leave the school musical," she explains. "I had the lead too. God, I was so pissed. I think a little part of me still hasn't forgiven her." Samira lets out a laugh-- it's warm, uncontrolled, a genuine smile appearing on her face. She looks different than she does in the ED-- she's genuinely happy.
In the Pitt, she's all fake smiles and barely mustered enthusiasm, clenched fists and badly masked exhaustion. She's willing to take on anything, no matter how deep of a scar it leaves on her. Some days, Trinity's noticed, she's barely able to stop herself from snapping back at Robby.
Right now, right here, she's free of having to worry about being scolded by her superiors. She doesn't need to feel as if she's walking on glass shards around these people. She's carefree and open and honest.
This isn't the Samira that Trinity sees in the Pitt every day, and she absolutely fucking loves it.
Suddenly, she finds herself regretting ever thinking badly of this woman, disregarding her prior feelings of animosity and envy.
Trinity takes it all in; her dimples, a slight cupid's bow, her messy curls which somehow perfectly frame her features. Her large brown eyes and her bushy, unkempt eyebrows. The wine red tint of her lip gloss accentuating her features perfectly, making her face appear brighter.
For a second, she catches herself yearning to know what it tastes like.
Jesus fucking Christ.
Trinity can feel her face flushing; her heart racing. Snap out of it, she tells herself.
Luckily, Victoria interrupts her train of thought. What she says, however, isn't any help.
"Get a room, you two," she groans, holding out the vowels. "Can we continue now?"
"Whoops, yeah, sorry," Trinity mutters, quickly stretching her fingers.
⊹ ࣪ ˖
As they resume the song, Samira notices that something sounds... off, in a sense. The absence of the other instruments creates a void. Nevertheless, she continues to sing, allowing herself a temporary escape, a shelter from reality. As soon as they were done, she'd have to face her own thoughts; her crushing loneliness beginning to fall upon her. No matter how flawed and incomplete they sounded, she was doing something other than charting patients and working overtime— improvement, to her. She was straying away from her tendency to overwork herself, instead indulging in a hobby with people she was growing to love; she considered that a win.
Similar to Trinity, Samira's slowly beginning to share her inability to shut up. As they finish the song, she points out, "God, there's just... something missing," she muses, shaking her head.
"We need a backing track?" Trinity offers, looking up from her instrument, pulling her phone out of her back pocket.
"No, it's not that," Samira replies, eyebrows furrowed. "You can correct me if I'm wrong, whatever, but it just feels hollow, y'know?"
"Honestly, I agree," Victoria interjects, nodding her head.
"You guys aren't doing anything wrong— you both sound absolutely incredible, by the way—"
"You're not too shabby yourself, Mohan," Trinity compliments, winking.
Samira knows it's stupid; knows how goddamn pathetic it is, but she can't help but smile at the compliment. After all, she was so often on the receiving end of Trinity's cruel jokes: receiving a compliment from her— and a genuine one, at that— was rare. She groans in response. "Aw, thanks, Trinity. Listen, I don't know if I'm reaching, but I think it would be nice to have someone else join us?" Samira asks, anxiously twirling a curl around a manicured finger. "If you guys want to, of course." God, she hated how often she begged for reassurance, her desire to be liked by others surpassing all else. "I really want to continue doing this with you guys, and I honestly do think we could potentially go somewhere with this. I like spending time with you two, and I enjoy not having to stress about work. It's kind of nice, in a way," she admits.
"Aw, 'Mira," Victoria gushes. "I'm so glad."
"Yeah, Mohan. Tell us your thoughts– did you have anyone in mind?" Trinity questions, shrugging. There it is again. That version of Samira that you can't find at work. That unmasked, genuine version. She's still insecure, looking to the others for validation, but quite frankly, if Trinity were being scolded the way Robby scolds her, a small part of her would always feel that way.
Well, that's how Frank still treats her, but Trinity doesn't want to fucking think about that. That's why she's here— to get lost in the music so as not to face her own feelings.
She's failed, in a way, and has instead come out with more. Towards Samira. They're not negative, but she's still puzzled.
"Not really, but I do think having someone on guitar— or even drums, I'm not picky— would really help round out our sound." Samira answers, inflecting the statement as if it were a question.
"I-I can look?" Victoria asks, raising her hand as if she were answering a question in class. As much as she loved Samira; treasured their friendship, she still intimidated her in the slightest, despite it having been years of them knowing each other. Having a familiar face within the chaos of the Pitt was nice, nonetheless.
"Hell yeah, Crash. Text us, please. And God, let them be sexy," Trinity whines, clasping her hands together. She's totally not into Samira— she just admires her. That's it. Totally.
In comparison, Trinity's words make Samira's stomach sink. She ignores it, shrugging it off as exhaustion— after all, they've had a long ass shift.
"Um, I'll try, I guess," Victoria falters. "Can we still try a couple more songs? Since we're here?"
"Yeah, of course."
"Hey, can we do Queen? Crash, don't you have Don't Stop Me Now in this pile?" Removing her bass from her body, Trinity saunters over to Samira's coffee table, digging through the giant mess she had previously created.
"Don't know how good I'll sound, but let's give it a shot," Samira agrees.
"Shut up. You sound great," Trinity grins, making Samira's stomach flip.
⊹ ࣪ ˖
The three women continue well into the evening. Trinity's pleasantly surprised; it's all coming together nicely. They go through about an hour's worth of songs; a variety of Queen, Alanis Morisette (Samira looks hot singing the bridge of You Oughta Know, but Trinity ignores that), Paramore, and Amy Winehouse.
When Trinity makes mistakes, it's out of anxiety— she's trying too hard to impress Samira that she ends up completely fucking the song up. On the bright side, it gives Trinity an opportunity to improvise, one of her favorite skills. Her mother had once called her a professional at bullshitting, and right now, she can see that.
After all, she has been freaking the fuck out about Samira this whole time, and no one's noticed. Except for maybe Victoria, who's likely going to harass her about it later. The thought makes her want to roll her eyes.
⊹ ࣪ ˖
When the others finally leave for the night, Samira feels empty; hollow.
The way she felt when she was with them... She hadn't felt that way in a long time. She was so used to masking everything— even the slightest change in tone or care, she could feel Robby's judgmental gaze on her.
“Do better, Dr. Mohan.”
She didn't need to worry about that when she was with Trinity and Victoria, and it felt so fucking good.
They were kind; accepting. When she made a mistake (which was rare, considering her perfectionist tendencies), they simply laughed it off. They asked her questions; about her experience with music, her past. She answered— and with full honesty, for once. They listened, and they cared what she had to say.
Especially Trinity. And the way she had complimented her in between songs, dear Lord.
"You sound incredible, Mohan."
"You're really talented, y'know."
"God... Your voice is angelic, Samira. Could've told me you could sing sooner."
So. Samira's probably fucked, if a couple of stupid compliments made her feel the way they do.
They're just bandmates, so why should it matter?