#dykerory

Her powers, her calling -- whatever-the-fuck -- had come too late.   It doesn’t suck, having them now -- Trinity can subdue someone twice her size with one hand behind her back, can pinpoint the exact direction of a scream from four blocks away, can even use a little non-sanctioned Slayer strength to fingerbang the life out of the flavor of the week. Better late than never, the second best time to get superpowers is right now, blah blah blah. But still. It's hard not to wish, when she's [FIGHTING VAMPIRES] and [MORE FIGHTING] and [INAPPROPRIATE MEDICAL / BAD GIRL KNOWLEDGE] that she'd had this strength back then. Could've rode in like a white knight and rescued Tara from the jaws of the dragon, could’ve run a sword through his black heart and watched him bleed out. And he'd know, as he gurgled and choked, that it was Trinity that did it. Trinity would have ripped him apart with her bare hands. “Heading out?” Princess asks softly, coming up behind Trinity at the lockers, and Trinity blinks herself back to the present.  “Yep,” Trinity says, grabbing her backpack and hauling it over her shoulder, the wooden stakes clinking quietly against the glass med vials Trinity had tucked in there a few hours ago. “You okay?” Princess asks, and when Trinity glances back at her Princess’s face is calm, even, not a trace of syrupy sympathy.  Thirteen year old boy testing positive for [STI], [SYMPTOMS POINT TO SA], refused all offers of help, released into Dad’s not-surprised-enough custody. Trinity hadn’t even been in the room, hadn’t been there, she might have…she could have…she would have… “Yeah,” Trinity says shortly, swallowing the burst of sudden nausea, turning away again. “I mean, no, but…but yeah.” “It’ll be alright,” Princess says, reaching out and rubbing a single circle into Trinity’s back, light as if she were petting a feral cat. Trinity closes her eyes, her throat thick.  Trinity was already pre-med when she found out, already knew she wanted to be a doctor and that nothing on this earth would stop her; vamp slaying didn’t really change that. And Emergency Medicine had fit so perfectly it had been like a stupid divine mandate, because now Trinity knows firsthand what to look for, how to help save the bite victims and trace their whereabouts so she can go full Bruce Lee on a den of monsters. 

"So uh —"

"How was Okinawa?" Johnny asks (and thank god because Sam doesn't know what she was gonna say. Because it's different when they're in a dojo, it's different when Miguel or Robby are around, it's different when it's just the two of them and no karate is involved.)

Sam relaxes a little in her chair. "It was great, actually. Really beautiful. I had always heard stories about it from my dad and Mr. Miyagi growing up so it felt...I don't know, like going home? In a sense?"

Johnny nods like he gets it but Sam doubts he does.

"What was he like?" he asks.

Sam's brows furrow. "Who?"

"Mr. Miyagi." He's looking straight at her now, no quick glances or fast movements. His eyes are the color of the sky, clear blue and focused and so soft. Sam's never seen him so open before.

"My dad hasn't talked about him enough?" Sam jokes.

Johnny smiles and it feels like a secret, something just for her. "No, your dad talks about him plenty. And I mean, I met the guy. He saved my life, you know? That night in '84. Sure your dad must have told you that."

Yeah, Sam knows about that night in '84. But not from her dad. Well, not directly. She had overheard him one night, talking in clipped, harsh whispers to her mom over a bottle of wine. Back when karate in the valley was all anyone could focus on.

"Yeah," Sam says, solemnly. She shakes her head free of the images she's never seen: Johnny in a headlock thrashing against the pavement. She thinks of happier times, of an old face with the most infectious smile.

"Mr. Miyagi was, well...I don't know how to do him justice in describing him. He was so different from anyone I've ever known. He could be really quiet sometimes. Actually, he was quiet a lot. And our house was constantly filled with noise, especially after Anthony was born that I used to love when we'd go to his house and the world finally seemed a little calmer."

She laughs a litle, a soft dance of memories playing like a carousel in her mind.

"He was funny," she continues. "And stubborn. Like, more stubborn than my dad if you can believe it."

Johnny smiles. "I can't imagine anyone more stubborn than your dad."

"I think that's where he gets it from, honestly. Like this one time, he was working in the garden and he pulled this weed that was really stuck in there way too hard and we literally heard his back pop from across the yard! Just, pop! And Dad rushed over to him and was trying so hard to convince him to go lie down but he absolutely refused until the whole garden was done!"

It's a stupid little memory but it still makes her smile, as all memories of Mr. Miyagi do. "I never really saw him angry, but I knew he could be," she continues. "He had this way about him where he could be so light hearted and free but still take things seriously and treat them with reverence."

"Balance," Johnny says.

Sam stops. She looks at Johnny, really looks at him. There's no hint of sarcasm in his voice, no mocking judgment on his face. He's not the same guy who drew a dick on his dad's billboard. And yet he's still the same guy who let her hide out her drunken night in his apartment. He hasn't so much as changed as he's evolved, maybe.

"Yeah," she says. "Balance."