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Summary
And still Trinity’s not quite getting it, her mind spinning on an axis that’s too thick to budge, Huckleberry farm boy who runs from gay clubs, not at a gay panic clip but an I’m really not interested jog.
Scowling, Huckleberry thrusts his hand under the blanket, directly into Robby’s lap. The axis shifts, creaking. Oh, Trinity thinks, laughing silently so she won’t cry. Robby’s his Garcia. That’s why he ran.
Even Trinity can be a little oblivious.