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Running With Scissors

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Cameras have become part of Trixie’s life now, much as she despises them. She hated them when she was younger, capturing her crooked teeth and the way her gut would hang over the waistline of her pants in a muffin top that hadn’t ever really shifted, and she still hated them now. It’s less about her appearance though, these days. She knows she looks good; she’s tall with an hour glass figure, all tits, ass and bouncy blonde hair, thick thighs and fuckable lips. These days her hatred of cameras has more to do with the fact that they just won’t leave her the fuck alone whenever she comes out of court, with reporters and their mics following her round like she’s some kind of lame ass celebrity. They also have the unfortunate habit of still capturing the old crooked teeth and muffin top, not to mention that time a button popped on the blouse that had been straining over her boobs all afternoon. She longs for when she gets made State Attorney and she can afford Invisalign and a fucking good pair of Spandex. Or better yet, one day in the future, a day that seems to move further from her grasp with every passing minute, she’ll be a judge, and she can get herself a fucking nutritionist and her own personal dental surgeon.

When she emerges from the courthouse at six in the evening, Trixie is too exhausted to be furious about today’s loss, and groans inwardly at the crowd of journalists that await at the bottom of the steps, clamoring for a statement from the People. Her heels clack as she elbows her way past the cameras, open trench coat flapping around her calves as she repeats ‘no comment’ over and over, until she can get in the waiting cab and make her way home. She collapses into the back seat and slams the door shut, plucks her phone from her purse and swipes the local news alerts about her own case off of the screen, firing off a quick text to her best friend.

Where are you? I need a drink stat.

She heaves out a sigh and lets her shoulders drop for what feels like the first time in hours, staring out the window as the cab takes her into the city, the lights near the top of Willis Tower already twinkling in the distance against the darkening sky. Her phone vibrates in her hand, and she turns it over.

I’ll be at Holloway’s in fifteen, but I’m trying to get some pussy tonight so don’t show up all miserable because you lost, you’ll cockblock me

Trixie rolls her eyes and shoves her phone away. Violet’s always trying to get some, and she usually succeeds, probably because she’s young, hot, and unlike Trixie, has free time to date or fuck or lounge around or whatever the fuck she does. Trixie leans forward in her seat to reapply her lipstick in the driver’s rear view mirror, fluffs up her hair and tugs her dress down a little, showing a little more cleavage between the deep V neckline. When they pull up to the bar she pushes two twenties through the partition and all but hurls herself out of the car, crashes through the door and hurries up to the first floor. Violet is there, perched elegantly on a stool at a circular table by herself, looking like a slutty Loretta Young, the bowl of a martini glass balanced on three fingertips, and her eyes flicker over to Trixie before going back to their previous focus: the tight, round ass of a forty-something woman waiting at the bar.

“Nympho night came early this week,” Trixie smirks, shucking her coat off and draping it over her stool as she sits down, flinging her satchel beneath the table and sipping at the negroni that Violet had bought her.

“Every night is nympho night for me babe,” Violet chuckles, dragging her gaze away from the woman and taking in Trixie’s appearance. “You look like shit, girl,” she says offhandedly, sliding her olive off of the cocktail stick with her teeth and talking around the salty fruit. “You come straight here from the trial?”

“Yeah, I told you, I needed a drink,” Trixie huffs once she’s swallowed her whole cocktail down, wiping at her mouth gracelessly with the back of her hand. “You want another one?” She’s up out her seat before she’s finished the question, and when she returns back to the table minutes later with a fresh drink for them both, Violet is looking at her with mild concern.

“That bad?” she asks quietly, and Trixie’s stomach twists. They’ve been friends for five years, since Trixie was thirty and Violet was twenty-three, when Trixie had broken up with her long-term girlfriend and gone on a shopping splurge at Saks. She’d booked an appointment with a style advisor who had turned out to be Violet, and after convincing Trixie to spend over a thousand dollars of her grandpa’s inheritance money on two pairs of shoes, they spent the rest of the afternoon eating wings and drinking Manhattans in Z Bar at the top of the Peninsula Hotel next door, talking shit about Trixie’s ex and Violet’s boss until the sun set. Violet, despite her aloof demeanor, sharp tongue and cold features, can be kind, sensitive and affable when she wants to be, usually just for Trixie. She is able to soften up and be emotionally available for Trixie to rant at, cry on, and eventually, cuddle until she falls asleep in Violet’s skinny arms. But tonight, Trixie needs the spiky, viciously funny Violet to critique other people’s clothes, make crass comments about other patrons’ bad haircuts, and feed her alcohol until she can’t feel her legs, until she can’t remember anything of the shitty day she’s had.

“It’s whatever,” she shrugs, gulping at her cocktail and scanning down the drinks menu at the shots on offer. “I lost the case, a murderer walks free, same old same old. I just want to forget.”

“My advice? Get some ass,” Violet grins, her perfect eyebrows curved temptingly.

“Please, this is hardly lesbian Mecca,” Trixie scoffs, finishing her drink. “Getting some ass is your answer to everything.”

“What’s wrong with that? It works. When was the last time someone railed you?”

“Fuck off, Violet,” Trixie snipes at her. She pushes herself up off the stool, and starts towards the bar. “I’m getting tequila. You in or out?”


The moment Trixie steps into the squad room the next day, she’s greeted by a flurry of noise as a young police officer drags a man into a holding cell, while a woman clutching two hysterical babies cries in the Commander’s face that he didn’t do anything wrong and that she doesn’t want to file charges anymore. A detective is trying reason with two agitated teenagers as his partner detains a third across the room, while the phones ring off the hook and everybody ignores them. As Trixie takes stock of the havoc in front of her, she feels a presence at her side. “Good mornin’ Counselor, you look like shit,” Detective Taylor says, handing her a piss weak coffee in a paper cup. “Hope you’re not too bent outta shape about yesterday. New day new case. Come on, you’re gonna love this one.”

Before Trixie can say anything she’s away, weaving through the commotion towards the observation room, reeling off information as she goes. Trixie only hears the last part of it. “...We got this guy for the Humboldt Park double homicide. Need a warrant for his DNA.”

“On what grounds?” Trixie asks as she shuts the door behind her and turns to the one way glass, dumping her satchel on the floor as she watches the man in the interrogation room scratching at the table and rocking his chair back and forth where the legs are uneven.

“Witnesses put him at the scene, leaving the park at the exit on Augusta opposite the pool, ‘bout 500 yards from where the bodies were found, right around when the M.E. puts time of death.”

“I’m gonna need more than that, Trinity–”

“Workin’ on it.” Detective Taylor winks at her as she yanks on the door handle and marches over to the suspect, but before she can open her mouth there’s a loud clatter from behind Trixie as the door bangs open, followed by some muttered curses. She spins on her heel and her heart sinks at when she sees who enters the room, irritation already bubbling in the pit of her stomach.

“Commander,” Trixie greets him, ignoring the person he’s accompanied by, “I–”

“I sincerely hope that your detective is not about to question my client after he has requested legal counsel, Ms. Mattel.”

Trixie snaps her mouth shut and straightens her spine, drawing herself up to her full height and resting a hand on her cocked hip. “Of course not, Zamo,” she says sweetly, painting a fake smile across her face and turning back to the glass. She raps on it twice with one knuckle, her own expression mirroring Trinity’s sullen face when she slumps out of the room, looking like a kid who’s just been told no more cookies before dinner. They watch as the woman who had entered with the Commander pushes past them, and shuts herself in with the suspect. “You know better, Trinity,” Trixie hisses to the detective, “how long have you been doing this? Anything he says without his lawyer after he’s asked for one is–”

“Inadmissible, I know, I fucking know,” Detective Taylor grunts at her. “Should’ve known it’d be that bitch, as well.”

Trixie nods in agreement. That bitch is Katya. She’s sharp, annoying, knowledgeable, argumentative, and fucking hot. Trixie hates it. They’ve come up against each other three times to date, and Katya is winning two to one. She is by far Trixie’s least favorite defense attorney to deal with, because aside from being irritatingly good at her job, she seems to make it her personal mission to get under Trixie’s skin and rile her up. They bicker constantly whenever they’re in each other’s presence, and Katya will do anything to knock Trixie off her stride, be that asking for deals that are outright insulting, or flirting shamelessly with a dangerous glint in her eye. She comes to Trixie’s office and wheedles at her while she’s trying to make phone calls, flicks pieces of stationery at her, asks for her number, turns the tv volume up and down, messes with her papers, switches her computer monitor on and off, anything and everything she can do to get on Trixie’s last nerve. And it works. Trixie rises to the bait every time, always eventually losing her temper and telling Katya to fuck off, rolling her eyes at the cackles that echo down the hall when she leaves.

Hours after she’s chewed Detective Taylor out for trying to bend the rules yet again, Trixie’s folded over her desk, head in her hands as she goes over the witness statements in the Humboldt Park case. She’s looking for something, anything, something they or the suspect has said that the police might not have thought anything of, to lead them on a path to a warrant... she knows a judge that owes her a favor and if she could just get something

“Bad day?”

Her eyes are rolling with annoyance before she’s even looked up to see who it is, because she knows damn well it’s Katya standing there. She’ll never admit it, but she could tell from the rhythm of the heels clipping down the hallway outside her office. “What do you want?”

“Ooh, touchy,” Katya gives her a toothy grin, and slides down into one of the seats opposite her. “You’re having a bad couple of days actually, from what I can gather. The Tim Jackson case yesterday–”

“Do you have something you need, Zamo?” Trixie interrupts her, slamming a file shut and leaning back in her chair. “Because I have a lot to do, so whatever it is, get on with it.”

Katya smirks. “Yes, you do have a lot to do,” she says quietly. “Because you and your merry band of idiots have got nothing on my guy. You know you can only hold him for another ten hours without filing charges, Trixie. The clock is ticking–”

“I’m perfectly aware of how long we can hold a suspect for, thank you,” Trixie says coldly, scowling at Katya. “There’s DNA all over those bodies, and when I get ahold of his and it matches, you’ll be crawling in here begging me for a deal.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Katya scoffs at her. “You can’t get a warrant for his DNA because there is no sufficient evidence that he did anything wrong. And even if you did have it, it wouldn’t match what’s on those bodies.”

“Oh you think? Because–”

“Come get a drink with me,” Katya butts in, leaning forward in her seat and bringing a finger up to pull at the neckline of her dress. Her eyes shine as she watches Trixie shift a little in her seat. “Come on, we can talk this out over a scotch rather than the rat piss this place calls coffee–”

“I’d rather eat a beehive,” Trixie sneers, keeping her eyes on Katya’s face and determinedly not staring at her cleavage. Katya brays with laughter and stands, pushing a stack of files off the desk and onto the floor like a disgruntled cat as she rises, her gaze daring Trixie to retaliate. She moves slowly round to Trixie’s side of the desk and leans over her shoulder, her breath ghosting over the shell of Trixie’s ear and her hair falling onto Trixie’s collarbone. “This is wildly unprofessional,” Trixie mutters, tensing her neck and shoulders and leaning away from Katya with a grimace. She chooses to ignore the way her thighs clench under the desk, the way goosebumps have risen on the skin of her arms, and the way her nose chases the smell of the cologne Katya is wearing.

“Ten hours,” she purrs into Trixie’s ear, and then she’s gone, hips swaying as she struts out of the office and down the hall. Trixie watches her tight little ass clench under her tiny black dress, the muscles in her calves shifting deliciously as she walks with her chin high and her shoulders back, like she fucking owns the place. Trixie’s head is back in her hands as she tries to build a case, and force how good Katya had smelled out of her mind.


“Docket ending one four zero nine seven, People versus Steven Peters, two counts murder in the second degree.”

“How do you plead, Mr. Peters?”

Trixie glances to her left. She means to look at the defendant, the man charged with the Humboldt Park murders, his shoulders slumped and his chin pressed to his chest as he mutters, “not guilty, Your Honor.” She actually ends up looking at Katya, stood straight-backed next to him with a light smile playing across her lips. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail and she’s wearing a fitted navy suit with a white shirt buttoned right up to her throat. Her red lipstick is a shock on her pale, thin face and her eyelashes are thick with mascara as they flutter against her cheeks. She looks so gorgeous. Trixie can’t stand her.

“Bail, Ms. Mattel?”

She jerks a little in surprise, and looks up as the judge addresses her. “The People request remand, Your Honor,” she stutters out, ignoring the heat rising on her neck. She can feel Katya’s heavy stare. “Given the serious charges against the defendant, and the fact that he is a flight risk as he has no ties to the community–”

“I have to disagree,” Katya interrupts, and Trixie bristles involuntarily. “My client is a well liked and respected member of his Church–”

“Oh please,” Trixie scoffs, “his Church?”

“–and has a young daughter who is dependent on his care. He’s also an entrepreneur who is in the process of setting up his own tech business, so he is highly unlikely–”

“Save it, Ms. Zamolodchikova,” Judge Davis says, rolling her eyes. “I’m inclined to agree with you. Bail is set at five hundred thousand dollars, and the defendant will surrender his passport.” She bashes her hammer down and Trixie huffs, gathering up her things and bustling from the courtroom before Katya can say anything to her. She shoulders her way through the throng of people milling around in the foyer, looking for Detective Taylor or the Commander in the crowd.

“Hey, Trixie! Wait up.” Trixie sighs at the yell she hears over the general rumble of chatter and turns around, folds her arms as best she can around her files and raises an eyebrow at Katya. This arraignment was the last thing standing between her and getting tequila with Violet, and now there’s something else in the way.

“What do you want, Zamo?”

“I know you’re thinking of vodka right now,” Katya grins at her. “I’m Russian, you know. I could really help you out with that.”

“Tequila, actually. And you’re not invited.” Trixie turns and walks away, smirks a little at the sound of Katya hurrying after her, shorter legs trying to keep up with Trixie’s long strides. She gives up on trying to find Trinity, and heads for the exit.

“Hold on a second–”

“Look, you got bail, even though you and I both know that guy should be locked up. Why are you still here?”

“Because I–”

“And another thing,” Trixie rounds on her, and waves a finger in her face. “I might spare you the time of day if you actually did something worth shouting about, if you were a public defender helping people who can’t afford to be helped, but you work out of Bianca Del Rio’s law offices, who, by the way, is the biggest fucking shark in the sea–”


“–and you’re defending rich assholes who commit heinous crimes and think they can throw money around left right and center to avoid justice. It’s fucking abhorrent, I don’t know how you sleep at night.”

“Hey, I work every pro bono case we take on, okay, I am not a bad person, I just went where there was a fucking job–” Trixie takes off again and Katya scampers after her, following her outside and onto the courthouse steps. She finally catches up close to Trixie, plants a hand on a shoulder to slow her down. “Stop for a second, come on.”

Trixie stops, and looks at her expectantly. “Get on with it, Zamo, I haven’t got all day.”

Katya takes a breath. “You know the grounds for that warrant were bullshit.”

Trixie takes a step back and cocks her head. “Are you accusing me of lying to a judge?”

“I’m accusing you of... bending the truth. The grounds were that you found fibers on the victims’ bodies that were specific to an area of woodland my client admitted under questioning that he had visited recently.”

“I don’t need you to read my own grounds back to me, I fucking know what I put to the judge–”

“Then you probably know that while those fibers are specific to the woodlands my client visited, they’re also specific to two other forests in the tri-state area,” Katya snaps back at her, “so the grounds for the warrant are bullshit because you neglected to tell the judge that, and now I have reasonable doubt.”

“You do not have reasonable doubt, because we matched his DNA to the DNA found on the victims,” Trixie replies hotly. “His blood, from a scratch he received when the woman tried to fend him off. You are deluded–”

“I can get the DNA thrown out based on the fact that it was obtained under a dubious warrant,” Katya says calmly, stepping forward into Trixie’s space until their chests are centimeters apart and they’re breathing the same air. Time seems to freeze as they stare at each other, and Trixie feels a sudden pull towards Katya, deep in her core. Her eyes flicker down to Katya’s lips and back up again, and she hears Katya’s breath hitch. “I will get it thrown out, unless you offer me a deal. Fifteen years.”

The moment is gone. Trixie steps back and shakes her head disgustedly, choking out a disbelieving grunt from the back of her throat. “You’re a fucking idiot,” she snarks at Katya, and starts making her way down the steps. “Fifteen years for murdering two people, get out of my sight.”

“You know what, you can be a real bitch Mattel,” Katya calls after her as she storms away towards a cab. “You’ve got a real fuckin’ hard-on for me, and something’s gotta give! Someday soon you’re gonna have to fight me or fuck me, get it all out of your system baby.”

Trixie throws her the dirtiest look she can muster, slams the car door, and doesn’t look back as it speeds away.

Chapter Text

Trixie doesn’t look up from her notes when there’s a sharp rap on the glass of her open door, she just waves whoever it is into her office and then holds up her hand while she finishes what she’s writing. When she sets down her pen and looks up to see Katya waiting quietly, shuffling her weight from one foot to another, she feels the familiar stab of annoyance and the urge to roll her eyes, accompanied by something a little different, that feels awfully like attraction. She brushes it off, and stares at Katya expectantly. “Yes?”

“Twenty five years,” Katya blurts out, like she was bursting to talk for the whole forty five seconds she’d had to stay quiet. She slides into a chair on the other side of Trixie’s desk. “With the possibility of parole.”

Trixie leans back in her chair and considers Katya. “You remember when you came in here warning me that I only had ten hours to file charges?” she asks lightly. A flash of irritation crosses Katya’s face. “I said that when I got ahold of your guy’s DNA, you would come crawling back begging me for a deal.”

“Well I’m not crawling, and I’m certainly not begging,” Katya drawls acidly, crossing her legs and clenching her jaw tightly. “You don’t offer the deal? Fine. I go and get the DNA thrown out, as we discussed after arraignment yesterday. Or, I could go down the mental illness route.”

“You’re going to plead not guilty by reason of insanity?” Trixie asks cynically, squinting at Katya and chewing on her pen.

“I haven’t decided,” Katya snaps, “I’m throwing some ideas around. The guy is mentally ill, he’s depressed, anxious. I think he might have... something. There are also extenuating circumstances, I have evidence that the victims were trying to blackmail him, okay, I have plenty of options, Mattel–”

“Not Trixie anymore?”

Katya pauses. “What?”

“Do I have you rattled, Zamo?” Trixie smiles. She’d gotten home at a reasonable time last night and gone to town with her vibrator, before taking a long bath and getting a good night’s sleep. She’s put a little extra effort into her appearance today, and she feels good. Confident, sexy. Her hair falls perfectly over her shoulders, and her makeup is precise and slick. Katya, on the other hand, looks like Trixie has been feeling the last few days. “You were calling me Trixie, now it’s Mattel. You look like you didn’t sleep last night and then were dragged backwards through the woods on your way here. I think I’m getting to you.”

“I think you’re getting on my last nerve,” Katya bites back, getting up from her seat and straightening her spine. She’s buttoned her shirt wrong at the bottom. “Give me the deal or don’t give me the deal, whatever.” She turns on her heel and stalks out, kicking petulantly at the door on her way.

“I’ll give you a deal,” Trixie calls. She waits a beat, then Katya appears at the doorway again. “To save you the embarrassment of getting your ass whipped in court. Thirty five years with the possibility of parole after thirty, and he has to sign in with a shrink weekly for ten years upon release. Fifteen years per murder, and that’s generous, blackmail or no. And I’ll give you another deal too.” She beckons Katya into the room, and smirks when Katya inches forward, fingertips playing across the surface of her desk. “I’ll let you take me for that drink,” Trixie murmurs, and it’s all she can do not to lick her lips.

Katya looks at her for a moment, then grins. “Maybe some other time, baby,” she laughs. “Gotta go tell my client the good news.”

She waltzes out of the office, smiling brightly, and Trixie’s cheeks flush while her heart falls out of her ass. She gets up and slams the door shut, pulling the blind down and collapsing back behind the desk, drags her notes back towards her and starts to write furiously, ignoring the embarrassed tears in the corners of her eyes.


“Oh my God, it was so humiliating. She just completely played me. The whole time she just wanted to get a deal out of me. Like I fully thought she was attracted to me and she actually wanted to go out, but she just lied basically, had me believing she was into me when really she was manipulating me. God I feel so stupid.” Trixie can hear the whine in her voice getting nasally and more annoying by the second, but Violet doesn’t complain. They’re halfway through their second bottle of wine, curled up together on Trixie’s couch, No Country For Old Men playing quietly from Netflix on the tv in the background.

“Maybe she didn’t play you,” Violet says thoughtfully round a pretzel. “Maybe she’s playing with you. There’s a difference. It means the game isn’t over. Come on Trix, from what you’ve told me she’s basically a little boy pulling your pigtails in the playground.”

“Well what am I supposed to do?” Trixie moans. “I’m not asking her out again, she fully rejected me to my face, it was humiliating. I’m not even sure I wanna go out with her anyway, she’s a fuckin’ bitch, she’s been a bitch from the start.”

“Girl.” Violet looks down her nose condescendingly at Trixie, rolls her eyes at the thin line of Trixie’s lips and her stubborn scowl. “You like her. Admit it.”

“I will not,” Trixie bristles.

“She’s hot, smart, successful, why wouldn’t you like her?” Violet asks, and presses on when Trixie opens her mouth to interrupt. “She also challenges you. She gets the better of you and keeps you on your toes. When was the last time you had a woman do that?”

Trixie doesn’t answer, just folds her arms sullenly and watches Javier Bardem kill a group of Mexicans in a motel room on the tv. She can feel her bottom lip pushing out into a pout, and she knows Violet is smirking, but she ignores her. She burrows her feet under a blanket and leans back into Violet’s chest, wiggling until Violet wraps her arms around Trixie’s shoulders. She’s reaching for the bag of Cheetos when her phone vibrates in her lap.

katyazamo posted for the first time in a while. Be the first to add a comment.

“You follow her on Instagram?” Violet drawls, giving Trixie a withering look. Trixie hisses at her and gets up from the couch, shuts herself in the kitchen while she opens up Instagram. Katya’s posted a selfie and checked herself in at Goose Island Brewhouse with a @shea.coulee, and her red lips are stretched into a wide smile, showing every one of her perfect white teeth. Trixie spends far too long leaning against the counter and staring at the photo, her thumb hovering over the white heart at the bottom. She jumps when Violet barks, “stop fucking mooning over her and get in here, Tommy Lee Jones is telling his uncle he wants to retire!” and double taps her screen before she can overthink it, hurrying back into the living room.


The first time that Trixie looks anywhere but down at her papers is when the clerk asks for everybody to rise for Judge Davis, and she stands, lifting her chin and tugging her blouse more comfortably over her breasts. She does not look to her left, where she can sense Katya watching her, sees her out of the corner of her eye, craning around her client to look at Trixie.

“So, I’m told you wish to change your plea, Mr. Peters?” the Judge says, peering over her glasses at the defendant.

“Yes Your Honor,” he replies, “I want to plead guilty.”

“To clarify,” Judge Davis booms out over the courtroom, “You wish to plead guilty to two counts of murder in the second degree?”

“Yes Your Honor,” he whispers, head hanging and eyes trained on the floor.

“So be it. The defendant is remanded for sentencing. Ms. Mattel, I’ll see you in chambers this afternoon for the People’s recommendations.”

“Yes Your Honor,” Trixie smiles, sighing in satisfaction when she bangs her gavel. She shoves her notes into her satchel and barges out of the courtroom, waving noncommittally across the foyer at Detective Taylor before elbowing her way into the bathroom. She’s got her mouth wide open with her tongue hanging out while she stares in the mirror, focused on reapplying her mascara, when Katya walks in. They stare at each other in the mirror for a second, before Katya hurries into a cubicle and rattles the lock. There’s silence for a while, a beat too long, and Trixie glances at the closed door. “Didn’t have you down as the shy and retiring type,” she calls out with a smirk, throwing her mascara into her satchel and taking out her lipstick. She hears Katya huff.

“I got fuckin’ stage fright, okay,” she grunts, and Trixie laughs, smearing her lipstick on as Katya finally pees and flushes. When she emerges they stand next to each other at the sink, and Trixie watches Katya try not to look at Trixie’s tits. “You liked my photo the other day,” Katya murmurs, and Trixie blushes.

“Yeah,” she replies softly, turning to face Katya and folding her arms. Her hip digs into the marble sink. “You looked cute.”

Katya opens her mouth and takes a step towards her, a hand reaching out slowly, and she takes a breath. “Counselor?” Detective Taylor hollers, holding the door half open as she shouts. Trixie and Katya both flinch, and jolt away from each other in surprise. “Caught a break in the Ukrainian assault case, bloody t-shirt. Commander wants you to ride along.”

“Coming!” Trixie squeaks. She shoots Katya a regretful look as she gathers up her things, and bustles out the door after Trinity.


Trixie rubs at her temples as she tries to block out the background noise of the squad room while the detectives talk her through the assault case from yesterday. Half of her mind is still caught up on the Humboldt Park murders, and she’s spent all night mulling over a decision she made on it the day before. The lab tech had called her yesterday afternoon with an update on the phone dump they’d done on the perp, and she’s had to make a choice. She knows it’s not going to go down too well with a certain defense attorney, and she thinks she may have ruined the progress they’d made in the bathroom yesterday.

“So on the shirt here, there are five different samples of canine blood. He’s either working dog fights or channeling Michael Vick,” Trinity says, pointing at a photo of a bloodstained t-shirt on the screen beside her.

“Well we gotta try and look at why any of these guys would work the dogs,” her partner, Detective O’Hara, says, gesturing at the photos of four different men on the screen, all with sunken, dead eyes and unruly gray stubble covering their chins. “We know whoever beat the victim’s ass wore that shirt. We just gotta figure out which one of these morons it was.”

Trixie pinches the top of her nose, eyes flickering from one mugshot to another. “Okay,” she sighs, “let’s talk about credit scores. If any of these chumps owe money then I wanna know about it. Check their ratings, employment history, bank accounts, whatever you can. Maybe one of these idiots has debts he’s tryna pay off with a little extra cash on the side.”

“Asia, lets go,” the Commander jerks his head and Detective O’Hara nods and hurries off to her desk, leaving Trixie and Trinity to stare at the screen.

“We might be able to get a DNA match, if our assailant got himself hurt during the attack,” Detective Taylor suggests, frowning down at her notepad. “They’re all in the system, and forensics should be back on the weapon soon–” a burst of yelling in the hallway interrupts her, and the rest of the squad room falls silent as the sources of the noise crash through the door, arguing viciously.

“Ma’am, you can’t just storm on up here without a visitor’s pass, if you don’t leave now I’m gonna make you!” A junior police officer is yanking at the arm of a woman dressed impeccably in a charcoal gray suit with a black shirt, and she is verging on frothing at the mouth as she wrenches her arm away from him.

“An officer of the law assaulting a defense attorney, how ‘bout it?” she hisses at him once he’s let go, and she turns her back before he can say another word, rounding on Trixie. “You retracted the fucking deal? Went to chambers with the Judge and changed your fucking mind without even thinking to notify me? You just came back here to nail the next depressed person who ever did anything wrong to the wall, huh?”

“Katya, calm down. Come to my office and we can–”

“No,” Katya snarls, “you and I are done. You wanna play dirty? Fine. You can expect a file on your desk by the end of today with printed text messages showing your victims threatening my client with blackmail, plus my list of witnesses for the defense, all of whom will testify that my client was not of sound mind–”

“I was not playing dirty,” Trixie snaps, pushing herself away from the desk she’d propped her ass on and towards Katya. She ignores the Commander shuffling closer to them, ready to split them up. “I left a voicemail with you last night telling you that I had rescinded the offer and why I had done so–”

“I don’t give a fuck,” Katya spits. She squares her shoulders and stares Trixie down, and Trixie sees all of a sudden why Katya is so successful. She is livid, but still restrained and put together, coherent enough to take Trixie to pieces. She is intimidating and formidable, and it’s fucking hot. “We’re pleading not guilty by reason of insanity. He belongs in hospital, not jail.”

“You’re changing his plea again?” Trixie says incredulously, “Katya–”

“You’re damn fucking right I am,” Katya interrupts, “you have no idea what you’re up against. Don’t even think about trying to fuck with me again.”

“You will lose all credibility changing your plea again,” Trixie talks over her, “I am happy to sit down with you to hash out another deal–”

“No more deals,” Katya says firmly, cutting Trixie off. She looks Trixie dead in the eye, and there’s a fire behind her gaze that almost brings Trixie to her knees. “We’re done.”


The apples of Trixie’s cheeks prickle with the sudden warmth of Pete’s Place when she steps inside, out of the plummeting October temperatures. It’s packed as usual, and the windows are steamed up from the amount of people getting their breakfast, including plenty of law enforcement. Pete’s is right across the way from the precinct, and there’s always a crowd of cops calling in throughout the morning for coffee and pancakes. She stares round as she waits in line, watches a mom trying to feed her young daughter an omelet while she spits it back at her, two teenage boys guzzling Mountain Dew in a booth by the window, their school bags piled on the table, old Mr. Robinson who sits on a stool with his little Jack Russell in his lap between eight and nine every single morning. She orders take out and stands back to wait, shifting her purse higher up her shoulder and tying the belt on her trench coat, tsk-ing grumpily when she’s jostled by the teenage boys as they leave, pushing each other rowdily.

“Here y’are, Ms. Mattel,” the young man behind the counter smiles shyly at her, handing her a paper bag and a styrofoam cup. His eyes determinedly look anywhere but her cleavage. “Y’all have a good day now.” She thanks him and turns to leave, paper bag under her arm as she sips at her coffee and wrestles her cell phone out of her purse one handed to call Detective O’Hara.

“Didn’t have you pegged for a Pete’s kinda girl.”

Trixie looks up, and Katya’s blocking the doorway, hands on hips. “It’s cheap and close,” Trixie mutters, shoving her cell phone away. “Can you move?” She tries to push past Katya, but it’s like walking into a wall. Katya smirks at her. “For fuck’s sake Zamo, I have things to do, get out of my way.” Heat rises on the back of her neck and she can feel her cheeks flushing as she raises her voice, other patrons turning to watch their exchange. Katya says nothing, just keeps grinning, obstructing her path. She huffs, and stuffs the paper bag of food into her purse, uses her free hand to shove hard at Katya’s shoulder, barging through when Katya staggers back slightly. She’s almost out the door when the sleeve of her coat gets caught on something, tugging her back, and when she turns to pull herself free she sees that it’s Katya’s fingers, gripping her cuff tightly.

“Watch who you’re pushing around, Counselor,” Katya murmurs, crowding into Trixie’s space. “I told you not to fuck with me.”

Trixie scoffs at her, and pulls her sleeve out of Katya’s grasp. “You really think you’re the shit, don’t you?” she laughs harshly, straightening her coat. “You’re just a jumped up–”

“Shut up, Mattel,” Katya growls at her. “I went to Judge Davis yesterday and she accepted our insanity plea. I found a shrink that’s diagnosed my client with bipolar disorder.” She smirks again as Trixie gapes at her, and tugs at Trixie’s lapels sharply, presses her palms down on them firmly and brushes down them under the guise of neatening her up. She leans close, and pretends not to notice Trixie’s breath hitch. “If you can’t run with the big dogs, stay on the fucking porch.”

Chapter Text

The office of the Cook County State Attorney is bigger than Trixie’s. Her boss has ornate oak double doors, a wall of thick, leather-bound books, a deep brown winged swivel chair, and a huge mahogany desk that dwarfs the woman sitting behind it. The place is like something out of Harry Potter. Trixie could think of a thousand places she’d rather be on a Friday afternoon.

“Okay,” Sasha says once Trixie has taken a seat on the other side of the desk. She sips delicately from a mug of tea and regards Trixie thoughtfully over her glasses. “You’ve had a busy week. Give me the highlights.”

Sasha continues to watch Trixie carefully as she fills her in on her two main cases, nods and hums without interrupting as she talks. They go through Trixie’s notes together, discussing everything from courtroom tactics to partial fingerprints, and Trixie starts to relax as they go back and forth on the credibility of the doctor who has diagnosed their murder suspect as suffering from bipolar disorder. Sasha finishes her tea.

“So, I hear that Katya Zamolodchikova is defending this guy,” she says, glancing at Trixie as she scribbles in the margin of Trixie’s notebook.

“What of it?” Trixie replies, a little more waspishly than she intended.

“The Commander told me you two got into it down at the precinct the other day.” Sasha’s voice is slow and cautious, like she’s trying not to spook an animal. “Don’t let her distract you with tricks and stunts. She’s a fox, that one.”

“I’m aware,” Trixie grits out, tugging her notebook back towards her to read through Sasha’s amendments. “She’s just trying to play games. I won’t let her get to me.”

“She’s also a fantastic person.” Trixie looks up at Sasha, who’s smiling gently at her. “An absolute shark in the courtroom, sure. But if you did want to get to know her–”

“I don’t,” Trixie says shortly. Sasha just grins.

“Okay,” she shrugs. “But, if you did, you would thank yourself. She clerked at the Public Defender’s office while I was there doing God’s work, so I know her quite well. She’s a catch.”

“I’m sure,” Trixie says through clenched teeth, trying to force a smile. “Are we done? I have a date with Don Julio.”

“Go, enjoy.” Sasha waves her away. “Don’t let Katya get under your skin,” she calls after Trixie’s retreating back, watching as she flashes Sasha a polite smile and shuts the door. “Or do,” Sasha mumbles to herself with a smirk, pulling a new case file towards her.


“Trix!” Trixie turns her head away from the bartender when she hears Violet drunkenly yell out from behind her. She’s sitting in a booth off to the side with her hand halfway up a woman’s skirt, and a whole bunch of people are peering round at her shouting. She was on her way to being wasted when Trixie arrived, and is now leaning precariously off of her seat, looking like a gentle gust of wind could blow her over at any second. “Just get the bottle!”

Trixie rolls her eyes goes back to the drinks menu. “Get the fucking bottle,” she mutters to herself under her breath. “As if they’re gonna let me buy a full bottle of fucking Grey Goose, idiot.” She raises her voice a little to address the bartender. “Can I get two vodka lime and sodas please? One with no vodka for her.” He laughs and winks at her, tries to brush her hand when he passes the drinks over to her once she’s paid. She shakes him off and marches over to their table, dumping Violet’s drink in front of her. “I’m going outside,” she says loudly over the music and chatter, turning away before Violet or tonight’s conquest can say anything. Drumbar’s terrace is just as busy as it’s interior, and she has to squirm through clusters of people to get to the railings at the edge of the patio, with the good view of Downtown Chicago. She leans against the cool metal and sticks her ass out to stretch her back a little, ignoring the men leering at her tight skirt and the panties they can probably see through it, toying with her phone while she drinks her vodka. She knows it is not a good idea to call Katya’s office after she’s had a drink, in fact it’s an unequivocally bad idea, but she’s still scrolling through her contacts to get to Katya’s direct line at the Law Offices of Bianca Del Rio, and pressing call before she can talk herself out of it.

“Hi, you’ve reached Katya Zamolodchikova, I’m not available right now but leave me a message and I’ll do what I can.”

“Katya... hi. It’s me. Trixie. Trixie Mattel. Listen, I–”


Trixie damn near drops the phone eighteen floors to the ground in surprise when Katya picks up, and scrambles to get the phone back to her ear. “Katya?”

“That’s who you called,” Katya says dully at the other end of the line. “What do you want?”

“What... why are you answering?”

There’s a pause. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s eleven thirty on a Friday night, Katya. Even I’m not working right now.”

“The devil works hard but Bianca Del Rio works harder,” Katya grunts. “If you’ve called for a drunken ramble, Mattel, I–”

“No,” Trixie rushes to interrupt her. “No I haven’t. I want to talk to you about the murder case. It’s in your best interests to take a deal.”

“I told you, no deals,” Katya says angrily, her voice deep and rough, and Trixie grips the railing a little tighter. “We’re done. Enjoy your evening.”

She puts the phone down, and Trixie lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She downs the rest of her drink and heads back inside, picks up her jacket and tells Violet they’re leaving. She drags her up and away from her lady friend and manages to ease them into an Uber downstairs, after a lot of slurred complaints from Violet, and helps her into her apartment when they finally arrive. Fifteen minutes of hugs and drunken declarations of love later, having tucked Violet into bed with a bucket and a bottle of water by her side, Trixie’s settling back in the Uber with a sigh. Her phone screen flashes in her lap.

katyazamo liked your photo.

She opens up Instagram and taps on the photo again to look at it. It’s a selfie of her and Violet at the bar, not long after Trixie had arrived, when her hair was still bouncy and Violet could still string a sentence together. She’s wearing a patterned blue dress that’s tight to the skin of her upper body, reaching halfway up her neck and covering all of her chest but still somehow making her breasts look huge. Her hair was holding perfectly and her makeup was flawless... she doesn’t blame Katya for liking the photo. She looks fucking good in it.

katyazamo: Damn

Trixie smirks and swipes the ribbon showing the DM up off the top of her screen as she gets out of the Uber and heads up to her apartment. Once she’s inside, she peels off her clothing item by item as she walks through the living room until she’s completely naked next to her bed. She lays down on the soft sheets and rubs at a nipple, touching herself to the sound of Katya’s gruff voice saying I told you, no deals deeply and firmly on the phone to Trixie earlier, playing the words over and over again in her mind until she comes with Katya’s name on the tip of her tongue.


“You got a second?”

Trixie’s head jerks up from her files at the sound of Katya’s voice. She’s leaning against the doorframe, her navy blue blouse with the top three buttons open is tucked tightly into a slate gray pencil skirt, and her expression is apprehensive, a little unsure. “Shut the door.” Katya steps into the room and shuts the door quietly, drags out a chair and sits on the other side of Trixie’s desk. Trixie waits for her to speak, but it doesn’t look like she’s going to, she’s just staring at Trixie expectantly. “Katya, I want to help you.”

Katya makes a face that Trixie ignores. “Why would you want to do that?”

“Because I respect you, and I know you just want what’s best for your client.” Trixie leans back in her chair, closing her file and pulling another one towards her. “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want to know what I’m offering.” Katya doesn’t say anything, just eyes Trixie skeptically, one perfect eyebrow raised as she waits. “The doctor who’s diagnosed your guy as bipolar is a punk. He got his MD from some jumped up online college, his credibility is not going to stand up in court.” Katya goes to argue with her, but Trixie cuts her off with a hand in the air. “Wait. Just listen for a moment.” Her voice has slipped into something close to a murmur, and she leans her forearms on the desk, tamping down on a smirk when Katya’s gaze flickers to where she knows her breasts are pushed together. “I know the victims were trying to blackmail your man, and I agree that it would be a valid defense... if I didn’t have evidence that showed their murders were pre-meditated. Evidence that’s dated before your blackmail texts.” Trixie watches Katya as she absorbs the information. She has an almost-perfect poker face, her expression is one of mild disinterest, even boredom, as if she’s heard this a hundred times before. The only tick that gives her away is the slight clench of her jaw. “You know that bumps this up to murder one. Twenty five to life, per victim. And he’ll get life, Katya. Consecutive life sentences. You know he will.”

“What are you offering?” Katya grunts, snatching the file away from Trixie and leafing through to copies of emails that their tech guy had dredged up from the perp’s laptop. A frown deepens the skin between her eyebrows as she reads. Trixie wants to kiss it away.

“Fifty five years, with the possibility of parole after fifty. Upon release–”

“We’ll take it,” Katya says. She flings the file back across the desk, and it lands perfectly in front of Trixie. “Whatever it is, we’ll take it.” She sits back in her seat and looks at Trixie, really looks at her, long enough that Trixie starts to squirm. “Why are you doing this? You know the jury will side with you. He is guilty of the things you say he’s guilty of. There’s no reason for you to offer him a deal.”

“Saving the taxpayers’ money,” Trixie shrugs, “you know how expensive trials are. Also I believe you when you say he is ill. Perhaps he didn’t mean to do it, perhaps he did. But if he didn’t, then maybe he doesn’t deserve to rot in jail forever. And I will make sure he gets medical attention in there, and a proper diagnosis. From a real doctor, rather than one that you got from Craigslist.”

Katya snorts out a laugh. “Fuck you, Trixie,” she sniggers, her shoulders shaking. It’s the first time Trixie has seen her face do something that isn’t smirk or look furious, and it’s incredibly attractive, to watch Katya let her guard down a little. She goes silent when her laughter dies in her throat, and watches Trixie thoughtfully. Trixie feels her mouth dry up. “You looked very nice on your Instagram photo,” she says finally, and it looks like it hurts her to admit it. Trixie smirks. “Is that your girlfriend you were with?”

Trixie frowns, then her eyes widen with realization. “Violet? God no!” she laughs. “She’s my friend. No, not my girlfriend.” She’s not sure if she’s seeing things, but Katya looks... relieved?

“Cool,” she sighs, getting up from her chair. “It’s getting late, I have to go.” She stops when she gets to the door, gripping the handle, and twists at her waist to look at Trixie. “I’ll be at Alice’s Lounge later. Come by if you want. Don’t dress up.” The second she’s closed the door behind her, Trixie has both Google Maps and her WhatsApp thread with Violet open on her phone, conjuring up a mental image of her closet and wondering what the fuck she‘s gonna wear to a dive bar.


Turns out there was absolutely no point in her caring what she looked like when it was too dark to see anyone properly, everyone else mostly looked like shit anyway, and it‘s getting close to eleven and she still hasn’t seen Katya. Trixie’s perched on a stool at the bar gingerly, wary of the dried up gum stuck to her seat, holding her drink instead of leaving it on the sticky, disgusting bar where some hairy biker would probably try and spike it. She grimaces at the stench of vape in the air, soaking into her denim dungaree dress, and leans away from a huge guy in a ripped up leather jacket as he leers at her, all yellow teeth and chapped lips. A drunk forty-something woman with a Carol Burnett haircut is screeching out an old Thin Lizzy song on the karaoke, and the whole bar is filled with people who look like they have nowhere else to go. Cigarette smoke keeps wafting over to her every time the door nearby opens, and she eyes the gaggle of people surrounding the pseudo-stage, trying to spot a flash of artfully unkempt blonde hair. The regulars are clamoring to get poor Carol Burnett off the mic, and eventually an overweight bald guy with gray stubble takes over, the song switches to something by the Ramones (the screen that flashes the lyrics tells her it’s Beat On The Brat) and the crowd cheers, starting to nod their heads, wave their drinks around, and bounce on the balls of their feet. A fog machine pumps from behind the bald guy and laser lights start to flash all over the bar as he stutters the words out over the crashing drums in the chorus, just like Joey used to, and she flinches as he flings himself up onto the bar with the microphone and it’s stand. She rolls her eyes when he kicks over her shot of Malört, and leans over the bar once he stomps away, trying to get the attention of the bartender. A gentle hand touches where her dress is pulled tight against her ribs, and she feels warm breath on the shell of her ear.

“I got it.”

Trixie turns and Katya’s there, wearing a red and black plaid shirt over a baggy black t-shirt, tight black jeans with army boots to match, a leather jacket tied loosely round her waist. She smells like men’s cologne and there’s a tiny pool of sweat sitting in the hollow of her throat. Trixie’s mouth is dry when Katya leans across her to pay the bartender, and she lets Katya clink their shot glasses together in a daze. When she’s done wincing around the bitter liquor in her mouth and questioning why she continues to drink it when it tastes exactly what she imagines gasoline tastes like, Katya pushes a sweating brown bottle towards her that reads ‘Okocim’ on the label. She squints at it.

“It’s good, trust me,” Katya murmurs, and when Trixie’s looks up from the beer she’s close, her eyes are bright and sharp and her hair is pulled back into a tight ponytail. Trixie wants her so bad.

“Dance with me,” Trixie says, taking a swig from the bottle and grabbing at Katya’s hand. Fred the karaoke master is wrestling the microphone away from a stumbling old broad in a Rolling Stones t-shirt, and the DJ is cycling through music while the next singer awaits their turn. Trixie leaves her bottle on the bar and pulls Katya into the horde of people, keeps their fingers twisted together as she starts to dance.

Katya’s eyes are all over her, flitting from her chest to her neck to her hips to her face, and Trixie squirms under the heat of her gaze, lets Katya shove her leg between Trixie’s thighs and mash their breasts together under the crush of the crowd. She rolls her body against Trixie’s, her hand hot and firm on the small of Trixie’s back, holding her close while they grind as Prince croons to them about a girl that’s got the look.

Trixie can’t catch her breath at the look in Katya’s eyes, she can feel her panties getting damp where her cunt is rubbing against Katya’s thigh, and she slides her arms around Katya’s neck, lets her lips brush Katya’s ear as she whispers along to the song, “Your face is jammin’, your body’s hecka slammin’.” Katya’s hands move to grip her hips and she digs her fingers in, and Trixie can hear her panting as she sings, “If love is good... let’s get to rammin’,” stroking her fingertips across the hairs on the back of Katya’s neck while she purrs into her ear. Katya’s t-shirt is soaked in sweat and stuck to her abdomen, creased around the contours of her stomach, and her shirt is twisted round her shoulders, the cuffs cutting into her muscled forearms where she’s shoved the sleeves up. Trixie lets her lips linger over the damp skin underneath Katya’s ear as their hips rock together, and she can feel herself dripping beyond her thong and onto her thighs.


The songs changes, and Katya’s whisper gets caught in her throat. Trixie pulls back to look at her, and they stare for a second before the moment is shattered by a skinny white frat boy starting to slur unintelligibly into the microphone, while the lyrics to Shining Star by Earth, Wind & Fire bounce along the screen, unsung. Trixie sniggers and takes Katya’s hand again, peeling their bodies apart and tugging her over to an empty table. She sits while Katya goes to get drinks, watches her shirt strain across the muscles in her back and shoulders, the way her pink tongue pokes out to lick at her lips while she waits to be served. She feels a swoop low in her stomach when Katya turns to smile at her, and she clenches her thighs together under the table as she smiles shyly back. Her thoughts are consumed by Katya’s tongue when two bottles of beer and two shots of absinthe are set on the table, and she jumps a little, scowling up at Katya’s smug grin.

“Absinthe? Are you trying to kill me? I already did Marlöt.”

“Absinthe is Marlöt’s less hot little brother, come on, don’t be a pussy.” Katya sits and chugs down the absinthe without flinching, flashing her teeth in a wide smile when Trixie coughs and splutters her way through the shot. They talk and drink with their heads pressed close together, Katya’s hand resting on Trixie’s knee under the table, the music and the karaoke and the loud buzz of chatter fades around them as an hour turns to two, Katya’s hand is sliding steadily up her thigh underneath her dress and by the time they’re on their fifth beer and their third argument about the inadequacies of Miranda rights, Trixie’s bladder is almost at bursting point.

“I have to pee,” she announces as returns from the bar and sets their drinks down, presses a fleeting kisses to Katya’s high cheekbone and glides through the crowd in the direction of the bathroom. When Trixie finally reaches the end of the queue and slams herself into a cubicle, she gets out her phone as she pulls her panties down and sits heavily on the toilet.

I’m out with hot defense attorney

She gets a reply from Violet in under twenty seconds.

Bitch yes! Get it! Is it going good?

Yes. I want her to fuck me senseless.

Her phone vibrates with a reply but she ignores it and shoves it back into the front pocket of her dress, flushes and elbows her way back out into the bar in record time. As she pushes through a group of guys thrashing around by the bar, their table comes back into sight, and her heart drops. There’s a pretty brunette sitting in Trixie’s seat, leaning across the table, propped up on her elbows and staring at Katya. Katya is talking to her, laughing with her, letting the girl touch her hands where they’re clasped on the table in front of her, and Trixie clenches her teeth, barges past them and ignores Katya’s yell of her name as she shoves her way out into the smoking area. She coughs and chokes on the thick air and tries not to cry when everyone turns to stare at her, just pushes her way past to the edge where she can breathe.

“Trixie, baby–”

Trixie spins at the sound of Katya’s voice behind her. “Don’t fucking baby me,” she spits, “I went to the bathroom for two minutes and I come out to see you already flirting with the next bitch. What the fuck is the matter with you Katya?”

“I wasn’t flirting,” Katya says hotly, “she sat down and started flirting with me, and I was in the middle of telling her to fuck off when you came storming out here–”

“It didn’t look like you were telling her to fuck off,” Trixie sneers. Her voice sounds acidic to her own ears and it burns her throat as she laces it with as much venom as she can muster. “I’m fucking tired of you messing with me, Zamo. We were talking for two hours in there and now you’re making moves with someone else. Either you want me or you don’t! I’ve been all over you all night, God I nearly fucking came when you put your hand up my dress, but I’m just never gonna know where I stand with you am I? You’re just a selfish, greedy, narcissistic fucking asshole who–” she’s cut off abruptly when Katya brings two hands up to shove her shoulders back. They slam into the rough brick wall behind her, and she barely has time to gasp and arch her back before Katya is kissing her.

Chapter Text

Trixie can feel Katya’s palm sweating against her forearm where she’s clutching it tight; Katya’s body is pressed up close to hers and she can’t catch her breath properly as Katya kisses her, her tongue rolling in Trixie’s mouth, fucking past her teeth carefully. The t-shirt she’s wearing under her dungaree dress is snagging against the brick of the wall she’s been shoved up against, and she tangles her fingers in Katya’s free hand at her side, letting out a shaky breath when Katya rubs their open lips together.

“Can I fuck you?” Katya whispers into her mouth. “I want to fuck you now.”

“Please,” Trixie whines, pulling her arm out of Katya’s tight grip to scrape her nails across the back of Katya’s neck and up into her hair. “You wanna get an Uber?”

“No, I can’t wait that long,” Katya murmurs into her ear. “I’ve got another idea.”

Ten minutes later she has Trixie bent over the sink in the disabled bathroom, rucking the hem of Trixie’s dress up her fat thighs and over her ass, dragging her panties down and bending to bite at her ass cheeks. “Katya,” Trixie pants, arching her back and pushing her ass higher to Katya’s mouth, “we really can’t be in here, I–”

Katya hushes her from behind, rubbing the tips of her pointer and middle fingers down over Trixie’s asshole and through the folds of her pussy, spreading her fingers and holding Trixie’s labia apart. “You want me to stop?”

No,” Trixie whimpers, her fingertips white where she’s clutching at the sink. She clenches her pussy where Katya is holding it open and feels wetness squeeze out and dribble down her inner thigh. “Can you fucking...” she trails off, her voice going reedy and nasal with want, “get the fuck on with it.“ Her chin drops to her chest as Katya pushes a finger inside her, presses and twists and wiggles until Trixie is pleading for more. She sighs when Katya fucks a second finger into her, shunts her ass backwards to take Katya deeper into her pussy. Fingernails scrape her skin as the straps of her dress are pulled off her shoulders, and Katya’s free hand roots around to find the hem of her t-shirt and pull it up over her breasts.

“Take it,” Katya snarls under her breath, her voice harsh and raw, as Trixie locks her elbows and grinds back into Katya, quiet moans dripping from her mouth when Katya spreads her fingers inside her pussy, and Trixie flushes at the liquid that drips onto the floor when Katya starts to fuck her roughly. She’s huffing heavy breaths out from deep in her chest as Katya fills her, and she grunts when Katya grabs her by the hair and drags her head up. “Look,” she mutters, her eyes meeting Trixie’s in the mirror. She tugs at Trixie’s hair again so that the length of her neck is exposed, and Trixie watches in the mirror as her throat contracts when she swallows, there’s saliva pooling at the corners of her open mouth and her eyes are rolling back in her head as Katya fingers her, yanking sharply on Trixie’s hair to keep her head pulled back. Her tits are bouncing on her chest with the force of Katya’s thrusts, they’re spilling out of her bra and she can feel them sticking together with sweat. Her mascara has run over her cheeks and her lips are swollen from kissing Katya. Her back is arched and she can see Katya’s forearm pumping beyond the swell of her round ass, her forehead is sticky with sweat and her hair is a mess from being pulled. She looks completely obscene. “Look at you,” Katya growls from above her.

Trixie’s more interested in Katya, tries to focus her eyes to look at her face, tries to watch her sharp jawline twitch when she clenches her teeth, the way her eyes flicker from Trixie’s tits in the mirror to down at her ass cheeks in front of her, then back again, like she can’t decide which she wants to watch more. Trixie’s mouth is hanging open as she tries to catch her breath, the air stuck in her throat where it’s stretched out, and when she stares at the mirror Katya looks like she’s fucking her; she’s being jolted forward as Katya’s hips bump into her to stuff herself deeper, and her eyes roll again when Katya squeezes a third finger in alongside the other two and spreads them wide. They draw loud, filthy wet sucking sounds from Trixie’s pussy as her hole leaks around them, and she’s midway through a long, high whine of Katya’s name when the door crashes open.

“Shit, Amber, can you–oh Jesus–” A guy stumbles into the bathroom with a girl in tow, but stops in his tracks at the sight of Trixie bent bare-assed over the sink, her tits hanging out and Katya behind her with her fingers buried deep in her cunt.

“Fuck outta here,” Katya barks at the couple. They stare for a second as Katya doesn’t break rhythm, keeps fucking Trixie hard and fast, before they come to their senses and hurry out as Katya snarls at them again.

“Katya, you didn’t lock the fucking door...”

She cuts herself off when Katya growls unintelligibly at her, and her quiet sob is swallowed by the sounds of Katya’s hand slapping against her pussy and the dull thumping of the music that rattles the mirror on the wall.

“I want to make you come,” Katya whispers, shoving her fingers in deep and rough so that her knuckles stretch the tender skin of Trixie’s entrance, as she rubs her thumb over Trixie’s asshole. She jiggles Trixie’s ass with her free hand, and Trixie snorts with laughter, glances at the mirror to see a soft smile creep across Katya’s face. It disappears when she meets Trixie’s eyes, her face hardens and she spanks her, quick and sharp, grinning at the moan it shocks out of Trixie. She does it again and Trixie can feel her cheeks get hot, her thighs are soaked and trembling and she’s dripping all over Katya’s hand as Katya fucks her and slaps her, and she grinds down hard as she comes with a shout, panting heavily and clenching tight round Katya’s fingers, wringing every last twitch of pleasure from them. There’s a quiet slop when Katya pulls out, and her touch is gentle as she helps Trixie upright, rubbing slowly over her lower back as it twinges from being bent over. She turns Trixie so she can lean against the sink, her ass propped on the edge, and pulls up her panties for her, presses a kiss to one of her nipples through her bra before she tugs her shirt back down over her breasts. She takes her time putting Trixie back together, as she had when she was taking her apart, and Trixie looks almost presentable once she’s done. Her makeup is still all over her face and her lips are covered with indents from Katya’s biting kisses, but her clothes are straightened out and her hair isn’t such a mess.

“My place?” Katya grins.


The best part of Katya’s apartment is the balcony.

Her home hadn’t been what Trixie had expected... she’d thought that it would be small, a little old-fashioned, overflowing with artwork and knitted wool blankets with strange patterns on them. She’d pinned Katya for the creative type, who might like watching history documentaries and reading feminist literature in her free time, in between like, racketball or some shit. Instead, Trixie’s confronted with a huge, immaculate lounge area, the most uncomfortable-looking couch she’s ever seen, a modern kitchen that looks like nobody’s ever used it before, and a large oak dining table that appears fresh off an IKEA truck. She had thought that Katya’s apartment would be exactly like its owner; colorful, chaotic and full of life. In reality it’s soulless. Clean, boring, barely lived in.

The balcony is a slightly different story. There’s a small table covered in cigarette butts, a barbecue that looks as though it’s put to frequent use, and two big, comfortable chairs with thick blankets draped over them. Trixie eyes one of them as the skin of her arms pebbles into goose flesh and the hairs on the back of her neck stand up from the chill in the air.

“You want the blanket?”

Katya’s voice is thick and quiet from between Trixie’s legs, and Trixie glances down with a smirk. “Yeah,” she whispers, carding a hand through Katya’s hair gently. They’re on the floor; Trixie has her bare back resting against the glass panel of the balcony, legs spread around where Katya is lay on her belly, her fingers gripping Trixie’s thighs tightly as she slowly, carefully licks Trixie’s pussy.

She pulls away and Trixie misses the heat of her tongue instantly, manages to choke back a pathetic mewl that she knows Katya would tease her for. She leans forward, peels her sweaty back away from the glass and lets Katya wrap the blanket round her shoulders, watches as she folds elegantly back down to the ground, settling back between Trixie’s legs and pushing her tongue gently into her cunt. Trixie gasps quietly into the night air when Katya licks over her clit, pulls Trixie’s fat pussy lips wide with the tips of her fingers so she can go deeper. It’s cold outside but Trixie’s naked and hot and writhing under the blanket, the air is so still and silent up on Katya’s balcony where they hang over faintly honking cars thirty one floors below, and the only things Trixie can hear are her own soft pants and the wet squelch of her cunt around Katya’s tongue.

“You gonna take your shirt off?” Trixie murmurs, her fingers playing along Katya’s collar and tugging lightly at it. She shivers when Katya rubs her nose over her clit.

“Inside,” Katya mutters. “It’s too cold out here.”

“So let’s go inside then.”

The plush carpet is soft under Trixie’s bare feet as she walks Katya backwards through the living room towards where she’s guessing the bedroom is; she’s got her hands pushed up underneath Katya’s t-shirt and is tracing over the contours of her stomach muscles with cold fingers, kissing her and trying to guide her blindly around the unfamiliar apartment. Trixie pushes the shirt off Katya’s shoulders and smirks as she kicks the door to her bedroom open, shakes the shirt off and pulls Trixie inside. She spins them and eases Trixie down on to the bed, spreads her thick thighs apart and makes to eat her out again, when Trixie stops her with a hand on her chest.

“Take off your clothes, baby,” she says quietly, and her hand slides over Katya’s shoulder down to where a dark tattoo wraps around her bicep. She traces over the outline of it with her fingertip, realizes Katya has never worn short sleeves around her before for her to see it. The centerpiece of the tattoo is a black and gray lion, facing front, beautiful and proud with intricate detail and soft shading, its mane flowing across Katya’s skin. When Trixie pulls Katya’s t-shirt over her head, she sees that the tattoo is a half sleeve covering the whole of Katya’s upper arm and shoulder; there are elaborate mandala pattens and patches of what appears to be Russian script, and when she starts to kiss over the tattooed skin and turn Katya’s body slowly, she sees that the back of the arm is taken up by a huge landscape of a forest with mountains, being swallowed by a storm. “This is so beautiful,” she whispers, stroking along the lengths of the trees down to Katya’s elbow. She snakes her other hand up Katya’s ribs and unhooks her bra deftly, pulls it away and urges Katya down onto her back, pressing gentle kisses across Katya’s chest and along her collarbone. “You’re so beautiful, Katya.”

Katya lets out a strangled groan from deep in her throat. “That’s the first compliment you’ve ever given me,” she laughs breathlessly. She lifts up a shaky hand and cups Trixie’s cheek with it, draws her close until their lips are touching while she talks. “I’ve wanted you for so long. I thought you didn’t want me.”

“You drive me up the fuckin’ wall,” Trixie huffs with a smile, nuzzling her nose underneath Katya’s ear and breathing in her cologne. “You’re annoying and smug and so obnoxious I honestly want to punch you a lot of the time.” Her lips twitch into a smile when she feels Katya’s chest puff up with laughter. She draws back and kisses her, slips her tongue quickly into Katya’s mouth and revels in the long, broken groan she draws from her throat. “I feel like your intentions are bad and you’re going to totally fuck me over, too. But you’re also fucking gorgeous. So are you gonna let me eat your pussy?” She kisses Katya hard and deep and swallows her sharp bark of laughter with a grin, starts to snake her way down Katya’s body while fumbling with the zipper on her jeans. She manages to get them most of the way off while her mouth is attached to Katya’s nipple, her breaths are heaving as her body surges so her tits are pressed tight to Trixie’s face, and she chokes back a moan when Trixie bites down and rolls her nipple between her teeth.

“Yeah, fucking... suck my clit, fuck–” Katya grinds out, whimpering when Trixie licks over her nipple and reaches a hand down to rub over the front of Katya’s tight black boxers. The material is damp and Trixie suppresses a moan, her fingers scrabble and scratch over Katya’s skin as she drags her underwear down, leaving a trail of saliva along Katya’s abdomen from her sloppy wet kisses as she moves down her body. She threads her fingers through the neat patch of pubic hair and tugs sharply, smirking at the whine Katya lets out, and looks up as she draws her fingers through Katya’s thick, wet folds, to see her pressing her head back into her pillow, the long expanse of her throat contracting around each rattling breath she takes. When Trixie finally eases a finger into the tight heat of Katya’s pussy, she hears all of the air leave Katya’s lungs as her hips shift on the bed and her hole clenches repeatedly, pulling Trixie’s finger deeper.

“Feel good?” she asks quietly, lowering her head to suck Katya’s clit between her lips without waiting for an answer. She slides another finger in on the next thrust and has to jerk her head upwards to ride the roll of Katya’s hips, she massages Katya’s clit with her tongue and brings her thumb up to swipe across Katya’s pussy lips as she starts to fuck her in earnest.

“Tell me you want me,” Katya gasps out. She’s writhing on the bed, grinding her hips down onto Trixie’s hand with her own fingers tangled in her hair. Trixie looks up along the length of her taut, beautiful body as she flicks her tongue around where her fingers are stretching Katya’s hole, watching her breasts bounce in time with Trixie’s thrusts and her muscular stomach tense and relax, over and over. She’s unrestrained and sexy and so, so graceful without even trying, and Trixie feels something tighten in her chest as she sucks and licks and then pulls her mouth away abruptly, saliva stringing from her tongue to Katya’s cunt.

“I want you, baby,” Trixie murmurs. She crawls up Katya’s body without taking her fingers out of her pussy, pushes in and drags out slowly as she sucks a hickey onto Katya’s collarbone. “I want you. I’m so glad I have you. Katya.” She kisses Katya gently and gives one, two, three rough rubs of her thumb over her clit and then Katya’s coming, moaning softly into Trixie’s ear and squeezing round her fingers as she rides out her orgasm.

Trixie tries to pull away to lie down but Katya won’t let her, won’t stop kissing her and touching her stomach and whispering nonsense against her lips. It sounds like a different language and she tries to concentrate but all she can think about is Katya’s mouth on hers, Katya’s hard body underneath her that yielded so willingly to Trixie’s touch, her dry palms skimming lightly over Trixie’s back and the crack in her voice when she’d said tell me you want me, her eyes bright and brows knitted together with pleasure. She rolls onto her back and pulls Katya with her, wraps her arms right round her bony shoulders and lets her settle her cheek on Trixie’s chest.

“Stay,” Katya murmurs, and Trixie stays.

Chapter Text

The daylight that streams through the gap in the drapes is cold and bleak when Trixie wakes up. For a second she forgets where she is as she squints around a little frantically from the duvet burrito she’s rolled herself into, the hardwood floor and minimalist, modern decor completely foreign to her. She’s naked under the covers, her inner thighs are sticky and her skin smells faintly of cigarette smoke. When she breathes in a familiar scent of cologne on the pillow, she remembers.

Last night was so perfect, but now all she feels is anxiety, and regret. She’s nervous; nervous that Katya will stop talking to her now she’s got what she wants, will stop teasing her and pushing her buttons. Nervous that the Commander will find out that they slept together. Nervous that she’ll never touch Katya in that way again.

“Good morning.” She looks up to see Katya watching her from the doorway, wearing nothing but a very tight pair of white boxers. A tiny smile is playing across her lips, and she folds her arms over her breasts as she leans her shoulder against the wall. Trixie can’t look below her neck. “Can I get you anything?”

Trixie sits up in bed and wraps the sheet around her, the back of her neck heating up with discomfort as Katya just looks at her. “Um, just–” she shifts herself off the bed and almost overbalances, both hands occupied with keeping the covers tight around her body. “Can you just–an Uber. Get me an Uber. Please.” She tries to ignore the strain in her voice as she totters towards the pile of her clothes that lie crumpled next to the nightstand. She glances up at Katya when she doesn’t sense any movement. “Can you do that for me?” She can hear her voice getting pissy, and she tries to flash a smile at Katya. It comes out like more of a grimace.


Katya turns on her heel and walks away towards the kitchen, and Trixie won’t let herself watch her ass in those boxers as she does, won’t let herself think about how she saw the light in Katya’s eyes go out when she asked to leave, and how Katya’s voice went dull and dead after Trixie had snapped at her and given her a fake smile at odds with her genuine one.


Trinity’s eyes have been burning holes into the back of Trixie’s head all morning, since she had shown up at the precinct twenty five minutes late for the Commander’s briefing, with dishevelled hair, a haphazardly thrown together outfit, and last night’s makeup. Her gaze follows Trixie round as she looks up reports with Asia, makes phone call after phone call to judge after judge chasing a warrant, and finally stands in front of their bank of big tv monitors, staring unseeingly at the ugly mugshots leering over the room.

“What?” she snaps finally, when Trinity passes her a coffee with a knowing look in her eyes. She props her ass up on the edge of Asia’s desk, both hands cupped round her drink as her eyes slide away from Trinity and back to the screens, and she tries to take in the digital scribbles all over the images of scanned documents and photos. Trinity nudges her.

“Are you alright?” she says simply. Trixie stares at her.

“I–yes. I’m fine.” She’s taken aback by her succinctness, had been expecting to be teased or interrogated mercilessly.

“You don’t seem fine,” Trinity says quietly, glancing over her shoulder to make sure Detective O’Hara isn’t listening. “Look I’m not gonna grill you, girl. But if that no good Zamo woman is fucking you over–”

“She isn’t fucking me over,” Trixie butts in hurriedly, “it’s fine, it’s nothing–”

“It’s not nothing,” Trinity insists, her voice raising a little, “this morning you’ve been as useful as a canoe with a trap door, bitch. What gives?”

“Okay shut up will you?” Trixie hisses, pulling her into the Commander’s empty office and shutting the door quietly. She flicks the blinds closed when she spots Detective O’Hara looking over curiously. “Um, so... Katya and I had a little thing last night–” she gestures at Trinity to be quiet when she tries to interrupt, and barrels over her, “it’s not a big deal, like, we went to a bar, we slept together, it’s nothing.”

“So it’s a one night thing?” Trinity’s expression is skeptical, to say the least, her palm cups her her chin and one eyebrow is raised into a perfect, disbelieving curve.

Yes,” Trixie says firmly. “Completely a one night thing. It’s not going to happen again, it’s kind of unethical and I just don’t want to get into anything with her, she’s a bitch.”

“You mustn’t have thought so last night,” Trinity grins. Her eyes twinkle a little when Trixie huffs at her.

“I was drunk last night, obviously,” Trixie groans, rolling her eyes. “I wasn’t thinking properly, and she just... drew me in, I guess. We had this tension between us–”

“More like a raw, sexual energy–”

“Shut up bitch, or so help me God,” Trixie threatens, scowling when Trinity laughs at her. “Anyway, whatever it was between us, we’ve fucked, so it’s gone, out of our systems. I’m just tired, okay. That’s it.” She yanks open the office door and stomps back out into the squad room before Detective Taylor can respond, ignoring the quiet, dubious snort from behind her.


So what the fuck happened the other night?

Trixie stares down sullenly at the text from Violet, nursing her dirty Martini and glaring at anyone who tries to sit on the empty stools either side of her. The Berkshire Room isn’t that busy on a Thursday, but as more people start to crowd in around ten she slouches off to the Whiskey Vault, a little side room of the bar that always tends to be quieter, where the green-tinged lighting matches her sour mood. She slumps onto one of the purple leather seats, tucking herself into the corner, and fingers her phone idly.

She has no idea what to tell Violet. It’s been three days since she went to Alice’s Lounge, three days since she’d gotten drunk on alcohol and then jealousy when she’d seen Katya talking to another woman at their table, three days since Katya had kissed her outside in plumes of cigarette smoke and then fucked her over the sink in the sticky, grimy bathroom, with the heavy beat of a Santana song bleeding through the walls. Three days since Katya took her home and slowly, gently ate her out on the balcony. Three days since she’d buried her tongue in Katya’s pussy and thought of nothing but how good she tasted, how intoxicating her smell was. Three days and she’s no less cut up and confused now than she was when she fell asleep with her cheek pressed against Katya’s collarbone.

Bitch, I don’t know what to tell you. I went to a bar with her, then we hooked up.

The tapping of her own nails on the back of the seat starts to irritate her as she waits for a reply. The phone buzzes in her lap.

Don’t bullshit me. I’m calling you.

Her phone vibrates again with Violet’s incoming call, and the hum is loud in the subdued bar. She hits decline.

I can’t talk, the bar is too loud. I’ll call you later.

It’s unusual for her and Violet not to have broken down and analyzed every single second of her encounter with Katya. She can’t bear to talk about it, can’t bear to try and vocalize her convoluted thoughts, still unable to untangle her own feelings even after ruminating over what happened continuously for the last two days.

The night she had spent with Katya was exciting and sexy and fun, but the next morning she’d felt... empty. Guilty. Immoral. She‘d stressed over whether she had been more into it than Katya, and that Katya would think her clingy and naive for wanting more. Then she had stressed over whether Katya had been more into it than she had, whether Katya wanted a relationship or a friends with benefits scenario or just a quick fuck. She can’t bear the thought of their professional lives becoming so enmeshed with their personal state of affairs, but it’s already happened. She cringes at the idea that maybe Katya had seen her as something to conquer, and now that she’s got some it’ll spread round the offices like wildfire, her credibility will be shot and all hopes of promotions will go out of the window after questions are raised over her professionalism. She goes back and forward, tries to replay each part of the evening. It had been so intimate, and Katya had said things when they were in bed together, tell me you want me and I’ve wanted you for so long, and she had called Katya baby and whispered so gently in her ear about how glad she was to have her.

She can feel her own paranoia spiraling in the dead minutes that she sits in the bar staring at the wall, so she swigs at her drink to try and calm down. She doesn’t know what Katya’s thinking or feeling because they haven’t spoken, she’s passing snap judgements with absolutely no clue of what Katya might be going through. She doesn’t know if Katya got what she wanted, or if she wants more. She doesn’t know what more would even entail. She does know that if she wants to keep her career as a prosecutor, a future State Attorney, even a future Judge alive, she can’t start up anything intimate with one of the most prominent and skilled Defense Attorneys in the district. She also knows that they need to talk it out. She picks up the phone.

“Good evening, you’re through to the Law Offices of Bianca Del Rio, how can I help?”

“Hi,” Trixie takes a breath. “I’d like to book an appointment with Katya, please.”

“Oh, she’s still here, shall I just put you through...?”

“No,” Trixie cuts in. The receptionist’s voice is warm and friendly. Trixie’s chest feels cold. “No, that’s not necessary. Can you just book me in, please?”

“Okay.” She can hear the click of the woman’s nails tapping on the keyboard at the other end of the line. “She has a block of time free tomorrow at eleven, a cancellation, would you–”

“That’s great,” Trixie butts in again. “It’s Trixie Mattel, she’ll know what it’s regarding. Her office is fine. Thank you.”

Her palms are sweating when she hangs up the phone without waiting for a response, and when she picks up her drink the metal olive skewer rattles against the glass as her hand trembles. She downs the dregs of vodka and vermouth and stands, lifting her phone to her ear as she hits call on Violet’s contact details.

“Hey,” she sighs, shrugging her coat on and shouldering her way out of the bar. “Where do I fucking start?”


“Ok Ms. Mattel, if you’d like to take a seat just over there, Katya will be right with you.”

The leather of the chair squeaks under Trixie’s ass as she sits, and she glances round uncomfortably at the sparse, corporate reception area of Katya’s firm. She’s considering picking up a magazine to read while she waits when she sees a flash of movement through the glass in the door and then Katya bustles in, juggling a notepad and four pens with a takeout cup of coffee. She’s wearing a dark green suit with navy blue brogues and a crisp shirt in the same color, and her crimped hair is bundled up into purposefully messy bun on top of her head.

“Trixie? If you’d like to come through.” As Katya props the door open with one foot and gestures vaguely at Trixie, the young receptionist gets to her feet.

“Oh Katya, I reserved Meeting Room B for you–”

“My office is fine, thank you Laila.”

The girl looks crestfallen as she drops back into her seat, and Trixie smirks a little as she follows Katya through the door, and down the hall in the opposite direction from which she came. “She’s got a crush on you, that one,” Trixie says quietly, tries adding a teasing lilt to her voice.

“Who doesn’t?” Katya bites back over her shoulder, and Trixie smiles drops. She’s not having any of it.

Trixie drops delicately into the seat Katya indicates when they get to her office, and watches as she slopes gracefully round to her side of the desk, throwing the coffee cup into the trash and dumping her notepad and pens onto the floor by her side. Trixie waits for Katya to say something, but she busies herself fidgeting with bits of stationery on the desk, determinedly not making eye contact. Trixie reaches over and wraps her fingers firmly round Katya’s wrist, stilling her. “Katya.”

Katya pulls her hand away sharply. She looks up, finally, and her eyes are hard, her smile is cold and guarded. “What can I do for you, Ms. Mattel?” she says, forcing out a faux-cheerful voice from behind gritted teeth.

“Oh Katya drop it will you?” Trixie huffs, exasperated. “We need to talk about what happened.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Katya snaps. She leans back in her enormous, thick leather office chair, her elbows propped on the armrests at her sides and the fingers from both hands bridged together in front of her own eyes. Trixie watches as she stares into nothingness. “I don’t have anything to say to you.”

“That’s crap,” Trixie spits back at her. “You have plenty to say and you know it, so go ahead and get it off your chest.” She’s leaning forward in her seat, Katya’s harsh tone and bullish demeanour getting her back up already. She tries to calm down, and remind herself that she didn’t come here for a fight, but then she sees Katya’s jaw twitch and thinks she’s might end up getting one.

“Fine,” Katya grits out. “You want to talk about what happened the other night? Let’s do that. I wanted to fuck you and I fucked you. I got what I came for.”

Trixie takes a breath. “So it was... just sex.”

Katya looks steadily into her eye. “Yes. I don’t want anything more from you. So you can leave here guilt free.”

“Are you sure?” Trixie feels her throat tighten, and her voice breaks a little. Katya wont look at her again.

“Yes. We shouldn’t have slept together. It was a stupid thing to do, and we’ve crossed lines we shouldn’t cross. From here on out I’d like to keep things strictly professional.” Katya’s gaze is trained on her own hands once again, and Trixie can see her temple throbbing as she grinds out words it seems she doesn’t want to say. “I’m sure you’ll agree, what we did was unethical.”

“I... yes,” Trixie breathes. Katya rises and Trixie understands that she’s dismissed. She gets up, too, and looks Katya up and down. “Blue doesn’t go with green,” she murmurs, eyeing Katya’s suit. Katya’s lips twitch, and she almost smiles.

“I think I make it work, don’t you?” Her eyes twinkle a little and she waves Trixie away, moves from behind the desk to close the door. The receptionist’s expression is sullen when Trixie passes her on the way out, and she buzzes the door open with a petulant huff, but Trixie doesn’t notice, she’s too caught up in her thoughts. She’s gotten the answers she’d thought she wanted from Katya, but that doesn’t explain the pang in her chest that flares when she pictures Katya’s face as she said we shouldn’t have slept together, screwed up ever so slightly with something that looked a lot like anguish. But Katya had looked her dead in the eye and told her that it was just sex, that she didn’t want anything more. Then again, Trixie thinks as she opens up her phone to summon an Uber, Katya lies for a living.

Chapter Text

“Come on, please, we haven’t gone out in forever because you’ve been mooning over your hot enemy lawyer–”

“I have not been mooning over anybody, you fucking awful lanky old fucking camel.”

Violet snorts with laughter from the living room. “Sure. It’s been a week and a half since she fucked you inside out and you have not stopped talking about her.”

Trixie stalks through the apartment towards where Violet’s inelegant guffawing is coming from, her toothbrush hanging from her mouth. “Excuse me, I fucked her inside out,” she tries to snap, garbled around the froth of toothpaste leaking over her lips. Violet sneers at her.

“Mm hmm,” she grins. “So what she did to you in the bathroom of that bar was soft, gentle lovemaking, was it?” Trixie flips her the bird and storms back to the bathroom, trying to think of a comeback while she spits into the sink. Violet slinks up behind her and leans in the doorframe, staring her down in the mirror. “Please let’s go out,” she wheedles, batting her eyelids at Trixie. Her thick lashes cast shadows over her high cheekbones in the dim bathroom light. “We can go wherever you want. Even that awful shuffleboard place I know you’ve been wanting to go to.”

Trixie glances at her in the mirror. “You must be desperate if you’re willing to go to there,” she muses with a smirk, her mouth distorted around her fingers where she’s squeezing at a pimple. “Fine. Let’s go out.” She laughs as Violet lets out an uncharacteristic chirp of excitement, and scurries off into Trixie’s bedroom to re-do her makeup.

Two hours later they walk into the Royal Palms with their arms linked, and Trixie yelps at Violet when she trips over a stool and the heel of her shoe jabs into Trixie’s foot.

“You fucking moron, watch where you’re going!” Trixie hisses at her, scowling when Violet just laughs and rolls her eyes. When they get to the bar she orders herself a Shuffleboard Bob and Trixie a Sam Allen Margarita, and the bartender serves them in glass jars with a flourish. Trixie squints at Violet.

“I came here a couple weeks ago with my brother when he visited, don’t go on,” Violet huffs, elbowing Trixie when she laughs and puts on a reasonable imitation of Violet’s voice.

‘Even that awful shuffleboard place’ you fuckin’ bitch, you love it really–”

“Fuck off!” Violet shoves her shoulder and snorts with undignified laughter. She drags Trixie back over to the front desk where there’s a small queue of people waiting, two harassed-looking girls trying to book them all in to play. Trixie barely notices anything as they wait in line, too engrossed in Violet’s dramatic re-enactment of her recent venture into the use of sex swings with some woman who’s called either Raja or Aja, she’s not sure. She’s clutching at her jar of cocktail and honking with laughter at Violet’s spread legs and swaying hips when the men in front of them move to the left to be served, and they step forward.

“Hi, welcome to Royal Palms.” The woman’s voice is tired and she gives them a haggard smile that she doesn’t really mean. Her name tag reads Tatianna and she’s absolutely fucking beautiful, Trixie can feel Violet’s shoulders square at her side, and hears her spine creak a little as she straightens up. “Would you guys like to book a court?”

“Yes please, Tatianna,” Violet purrs, and Trixie rolls her eyes.

“Okay, I’m gonna put you guys on the last available court we have which is court number four–”

“Oh wait, Tati!” the other girl working behind the desk chirps over in Tatianna’s direction, “I just put two ladies on four, that was the only one left!”

Tatianna turns to Violet. “Wanna make some new friends?” she smiles. Trixie starts rooting around for her wallet when Violet leers back at her.

“We’re good to share with them, right Trix?”

“Whatever,” Trixie grunts back at her without looking up, still sifting through the mulch at the bottom of her purse.

“Okay great,” Tatianna says, and Trixie sips on her cocktail and blocks out Violet’s obnoxious flirting while they’re booked in. She passes over some equipment and asks if they need a lesson, to which Violet shakes her head no, ignoring Trixie when she smirks. She nudges Violet when they move away from the desk and make their way over to their court.

“You should’ve said you needed a lesson,” she laughs, “then Tatianna could have give you a good groping while she showed you what to do.”

“Fuck, I didn’t even think of that,” Violet moans, twisting round to look back at the front desk. “D’you think I should–”

No,” Trixie says firmly, hooking her free hand into the crook of Violet’s elbow and tugging her forwards. “Let’s go see which poor unsuspecting strangers are gonna have to suffer through my shuffleboard ineptitude.”

When they get to their assigned court there are two women with their backs to them, surveying their scores. One is tall with long, black hair cascading down her back, wearing tight jeans and a huge gold tinsel turtleneck, while the other is shorter with almost white blonde hair just past her shoulders, draping haphazardly over the black leather jacket she’s wearing, with skinny blue jeans and Timberland boots.

“One of the T Birds, apparently,” Violet sniggers, but before Trixie can laugh along with her the blonde woman reaches up to tie her hair back, and Trixie spots a flash of red lip.

“No, we have to go,” she hisses urgently, pulling at Violet’s arm as she backs off, “come on, I can’t–”

“What are you doing?” Violet asks loudly, and Trixie’s stomach drops when the two women in front of them turn around at the noise.


There’s a beat of silence, and then Trixie hears Violet’s soft oh! of understanding next to her. She steels herself, and fixes a bright smile to her face. “Hi Katya!”

Katya looks like a rabbit in headlights; her mouth has dropped open slightly and her eyes are wide with surprise. Her friend has one perfect eyebrow raised and a light smirk of recognition playing across her lips as she looks Trixie up and down. “Hi,” Katya finally breathes. “They, uh... they put you on our court, huh?”

“Yep!” Trixie grits her teeth and cringes internally at the forced cheer in her voice. “Hope that’s okay with you!”

“You’re literally speaking with so many exclamation marks I can’t even be near you right now,” Violet drawls exasperatedly. “I’m going to need another drink if I’m going to get through this.”

An hour later the tension between Trixie and Katya hasn’t eased at all. Her friend, Shea, seems to be finding the situation increasingly funny. Violet is finding the situation increasingly irksome. “I’m bored of you skirting around her,” she hisses as Trixie when returns to their bench after taking her turn. Trixie ignores her. “I’m serious,” Violet presses. “If you’re into her then do something!”

“I am not into her!” Trixie snaps, rounding on Violet, her voice going shrill with indignation. She opens her mouth to keep arguing when Violet butts in.

“Oh you’re not into her?” she asks disbelievingly, leaning back. “Oh, okay. So if I flirted with her you wouldn’t care?”

“I–” Trixie stops in her tracks. She looks over to where Katya’s taking her turn, laughing at something Shea’s said, and looks back at Violet’s smug face. “No,” she says haughtily, tilting her chin into the air. “I wouldn’t care in the slightest.”

Violet looks at her carefully, Trixie tries to tuck her bottom lip in so she doesn’t pout. Violet’s jaw sets, she gets up from her seat. “Fine,” she grits out.

“Where are you going?”

Violet doesn’t answer, just throws her a dirty look over her shoulder, and walks over to Katya. Trixie watches as Violet works her magic, and where Katya had been startled and wary when Violet had approached, now ten minutes later she’s laughing shyly with a pretty blush high on her cheeks, her eyes glancing down every so often to where Violet is touching her forearm. Trixie’s stomach is jolting every time Violet gives Katya a predatory smile, and she tries to push away the sick feeling in her stomach when Violet strokes Katya’s hair back from her face. She stands up suddenly when she can take no more and picks up her purse and her coat, turning on her heel and storming out of the bar, ignoring Violet’s shouts following her.

“Trixie, wait a second–”

“You got what you fucking wanted, Vi, okay?” Trixie snarls, spinning around to face Violet. They’re outside the bar now, Trixie’s breath is rising in the air with her angry huffs, and passersby are turning to look at them. “Are you happy? I like her, okay, and I couldn’t fucking watch you touch her. You always do this, you always fucking push me too far. I’m going home.”

“I was just trying–”

“I don’t care, Violet. I don’t care.” She turns away from Violet and shoves through a cluster of people who’ve been watching them, pulls out her phone to summon an Uber and walks away.


Friday morning sees Trixie immersed in case notes and coffee. It’s 10am, and she has her head buried so deeply in her work that she doesn’t hear the knock at her open door, only looking up at the sound of somebody clearing their throat.

“Can I come in?”

Her stomach drops at the sight of Katya standing in the doorway. Her long, bleached hair is knotted up in a tight bun at the back of her head, there’s a bright smear of red lipstick over her lips, and she’s wearing a fitted dark brown suit. Brown looks fucking awful on everyone as far as Trixie is concerned, but she finds that saliva still gathers in her mouth like some pathetic dog at the way the material grips Katya’s muscular shoulders. Brown looks fucking awful on everyone except Katya, it turns out.

“Yeah, sure.” She winces at the way her raspy voice cracks, and folds her notepad closed, setting her pen down carefully. “Have a seat.”

Katya shuts the door behind her and settles into the chair, shifting distractedly. Trixie waits her out, watching as she readies herself to say what she has to say. “So,” Katya starts. Her eyes are flickering all over the room, everywhere except Trixie’s face. Still Trixie waits. “I wanted to talk about the other night, at the shuffleboard place. Your friend, I–” Katya breaks off for a second, glancing briefly at Trixie before looking away again. “We were just talking. There’s nothing there.”

“Okay.” Trixie fidgets with the corner of the file that she’d been working on. “Is that all?”

Katya appears taken aback at the veiled dismissal. “Uh... no.” She casts around the room again, and looks as though she’s waiting for Trixie to say something. Trixie doesn’t. “I believe you’re prosecuting a woman... Kim Barber. Attempted murder. Her trial is in two days’ time.”

Trixie narrows her eyes at her. “What about it?”

“Her attorney–”


“Yes. Darienne.” Katya’s voice is starting to become strained at Trixie’s bullishness. Trixie smirks. “She’s been taken off the case. You’ll be summoned to chambers this afternoon for the Judge to notify you. But I thought I’d come and give you a heads up out of courtesy. And respect.” Katya finally looks at her, and Trixie doesn’t know what to say. Her eyes are earnest, bright and blue boring into Trixie’s, and her face is open and honest. “I’ll be defending Kim from the People’s charges.”

“You’re taking the case?” Trixie sits back in her seat, staring at Katya. She feels that her jaw has gone slack in surprise, so she tenses it again.

“Yes.” Katya gets up from her seat, and opens the door to Trixie’s office. “I’ll see you in court, Ms. Mattel.”

Chapter Text

The courtroom is dead silent and the eyes of the twelve jury members bore into Trixie as she stands from behind the desk, and clears her throat softly. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury.” She does not look to her left, at the defendant, or the woman’s defense counsel. “On January seventeenth of this year, at eleven thirty in the evening, Martha Pope left her workplace, Declan’s Irish Pub on North Wells Street in Chicago’s Old Town, and began the short journey home to her two young sons. Now, ten months later, she sits behind me.” She glances quickly over her shoulder to the woman sitting in a wheelchair, in the front row of the public seating area. She lets her eyes linger on the woman long enough that the gaze of the people in the jury settles on her rather than Trixie. “She is unable to walk. To run around and play with her boys. To return to her job. To live her life the way she did before, because of the actions of this woman, the defendant.” Trixie pauses, and gestures quickly with her left hand, keeping her eyes on the jury. “Kim Barber. Kim was once Martha’s friend. Yet that night, she attacked Martha, in a frenzied and brutal attempt to kill her, so that she and Martha’s husband could finally be together. During these trial proceedings I will show you various items providing evidence of Kim’s guilt, from the would-be murder weapon, a kitchen knife covered in only Kim’s fingerprints, to a series of text messages between Kim and Martha’s husband, planning the attack. Psychiatric professionals will testify to Kim’s sound mind, and her unwavering intent to take Martha’s life. Everything about her crime was calculated and premeditated. Using these pieces of evidence, amongst others, and with the testimony of witnesses to the attack, I will prove beyond reasonable doubt that Kim Barber is guilty of attempting to murder Martha Pope.”

Trixie sits briskly, and takes a breath. She rests her lightly trembling hands palms-down on the desk in front of her, and bows her head while she breathes, and waits.

“Ms. Zamolodchikova, the court will hear the defense counsel’s opening statement now.”

“Thank you, Your Honor.”

Trixie looks up at the jury, watches their every reaction to Katya’s words as she begins to defend Kim Barber. She does not look at Katya, rising to her feet behind the desk to her left. She hears Katya cough softly.

“Counselor Mattel, representing the People, has outlined the evidence she will produce in order to try and prove that my client attempted to murder her friend.” Katya’s voice is calm and measured when she speaks, every word is slow, deliberate, delivered to each member of the jury individually. She has an innate gift for captivating her audience immediately. Trixie detests it. “I will produce evidence in order to provide reasonable doubt as to her supposed guilt of this crime. Kim Barber has entered a plea of not guilty by reason of self defense. I will show you that Martha Pope relentlessly intimidated my client, through text messages and in person. I will show you that yes, my client, Kim Barber, did attack her friend, and as such, her fingerprints are of course all over the knife. But I will also show you the reason for the attack. Counselor Mattel has focused on whether or not my client committed the act she has been accused of.” Trixie glances sideways, to see Katya staring right at her. She feels heat rise in her cheeks, and looks away. Katya has fallen silent. The quietness stretches out, and the people in the court begin to shift a little, uncomfortable with Katya’s extended pause. Trixie looks back at Katya, who begins to speak again. As though she was waiting for Trixie to make eye contact. “I am not disputing that my client attacked Martha Pope,” Katya says softly. Every person in the court is hanging on to each word she speaks. She’s just looking at Trixie, a light smile on her face and a knowing look in her eyes, as if they’re sharing a secret. “What Counselor Mattel doesn’t care about, is why the attack took place.” Katya looks back at the jury, and the spell is broken. “And I am going to tell you all why. Once I have told you, once we have heard testimony from the women’s friends and family detailing the harassment Martha inflicted upon my client, once we have received witness from independent psychiatrists explaining my client’s fragile mental state, once you have heard any and all evidence I put before you, you will have no choice but to find my client, Kim Barber, not guilty of this crime, by reason of self defense.”

Members of the jury mumble quietly amongst themselves, as Judge Hides frowns at them. “Settle it down,” she mutters. “This morning’s been a little drawn out. We’ll take a thirty minute recess before the People call their first witness.” She bashes her gavel and gets up from her seat to head to Chambers, and Trixie slumps back in her chair. There’s a flurry of movement around her in the courtroom as people move to leave, and as she bends to pick up her purse, she senses someone approaching.

“Counselor,” Katya murmurs from above her. Trixie jerks in response, and hits her head on the desk as she comes out from underneath it with her purse.

“What do you want?” Trixie snaps, rubbing her head and trying to fix her hair exasperatedly. She straightens up and walks through the small wooden gate separating them from the public viewing area. Katya follows closely behind.

“Grab a coffee from the cart outside with me.” Trixie huffs at her and shoves through the courtroom doors, past the crowds of people milling around in the foyer, and out into the cold November air.

Once the guy at the cart has pressed her change into her clammy hand she spins to face Katya, who’s blowing delicately at her takeout cup of coffee. “What then?” Trixie says dully, moving to lean against the black iron fence that circles the courthouse building, stirring cream into her coffee and staring skeptically at Katya through narrowed eyes.

“I wanted to talk to you before the trial started, but I didn’t get the chance,” Katya says, glancing at Trixie a little apprehensively. “Despite what’s happened between us, I’d like for us to try and maintain some professional behavior and courtesy during this whole thing. Can you like, cool it with the animosity? I just–”

“Excuse me?” Trixie butts in. “What do you mean, ‘cool it with the animosity’? I’ve been completely professional–”

“Oh please,” Katya scoffs, rolling her eyes, “you barely made any eye contact with me in there, your body language is completely hostile–”

“You’re out of your fucking mind,” Trixie snarls at her, and heat flares in her stomach when Katya squares her shoulders. “I have behaved in the same way I would with any fucking low life lawyer attempting to defend that piece of scum who put her best friend in a wheelchair, you are the one that’s being unprofessional.”

“Me?” Katya sputters at her, mouth agape and eyes wide. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“With all your fucking Counselor Mattel has done this, Counselor Mattel has done that, Counselor Mattel doesn’t give a fuck about why the attack took place–”

“And what about that was unprofessional?” Katya grunts, flinging her coffee into the trash and pushing into Trixie’s space. “That is exactly how I would behave–”

“Save it,” Trixie spits back at her through her teeth, “you would not be continuously referencing the Prosecution by name and you fucking know it, so whatever weird fucking power play bullshit you’re trying to pull here can stop right now.”

Katya gives a humorless laugh. “Get the fuck over yourself, Mattel. I came out here to have an adult conversation with you about work. I don’t know why I fucking bothered.” She pushes past Trixie, barging their shoulders together, and doesn’t look back as Trixie watches her stamp up the steps back into the courthouse.


“The Prosecution may call their next witness.”

“The People rest, Your Honor.”

Trixie sits down behind her desk a little wearily. She has presented five witnesses a day for the past three days, testifying to both the defendant and the victim’s characters and their relationship with one another, not to mention witnesses to the actual crime, and medical professionals to boot. She’s exhausted, and hopes beyond hope that Judge Hides feels the same, and will let Katya call her first witness in the morning.

“Alright, it’s been a long few days, I’ll hear the Defense tomorrow–”

“If I may, Your Honor,” Katya interrupts, standing to address the judge. “I’d like to call my first witness this evening, please.”

“Ms Zamolodchikova,” Judge Hudes sighs tiredly. “Do you think that is really in the Court’s best interests?”

“My client has a right to a speedy trial–”

“Your Honor, the right to a speedy trial is relevant to the build up to legal proceedings, it doesn’t refer to rushing the actual trial itself,” Trixie also stands to argue, glancing across at Katya in time to receive a dirty look as she opens her mouth to retort to Trixie.

“I’m inclined to agree with Ms Mattel,” Judge Hides says to Katya, “but I will indulge you, this one time. Call your witness.” Trixie sits down grumpily, and shares a look with the Judge, who shrugs apologetically.

Katya grins triumphantly. “The Defense calls Michael Wilson to the stand.”

Trixie leafs through her notes to find the details on the witness Katya has called as he makes his way to the stand and is sworn in by the court officer. He allegedly saw the victim punch the defendant before the attack. As though that’d be a reasonable excuse for what she did, Trixie thinks bitterly. She sits back and listens to Katya lay her foundations, stifling a yawn as Katya starts to try and coax the witness into spinning his story the way she needs him to.

“And Mr Wilson, can you please tell the Court what you saw when you left the bar?”

Trixie glances up from her note-making. The witness shifts in his seat. “My friend came back into the bar and told me that there was a scuffle goin’ on outside–”

“Objection,” Trixie interrupts. “Testimony contains hearsay.”

Katya continues before the Judge can sustain Trixie’s objection. “Mr Wilson, just what you saw, please.” She gives the witness a tight smile, and her eyes flicker over to Trixie. She flashes Katya a smug smirk.

Trixie listens carefully while the witness describes what he saw, gently prompted here and there by Katya questions. They teeter on the edge of being leading, but not quite enough for Trixie to object. Katya is an expert at direct examination. She knows exactly what to ask and how to ask it, she stands behind her desk and speaks slowly, gesturing with her hands, half addressing the witness, half addressing the jury. Trixie just waits for her, or her witness, to slip up.

“Did you see the victim strike the defendant in the face before she was stabbed, with her fist?” 

“Objection,” Trixie says quickly. Katya throws her a sharp look. “The Defense is asking a leading question.”

Katya scoffs at her side. Judge Hides looks down at Trixie. “Can you expand?”

“There are too many variables,” Trixie explains as she stands, “for the witness to give a simple, reliable answer.”

“Sustained,” the Judge agrees. “Separate your questions, Ms Zamolodchikova.”

Katya rolls her eyes. “Did you see the victim do anything to the defendant?”

“Yes, the victim punched the defendant.”

“Where did she punch her?”

“In the face.”

“No further questions.” Katya sits down, her face twisted sourly. “Your witness,” she all but hisses at Trixie.

As Trixie rises and starts to cross examine the witness, Katya begins to object to almost every question Trixie asks, with the most ridiculous and unreasonable grounds that the Judge overrules every single time.

“Mr Wilson, can you tell the Court roughly how many times you saw the defendant stab the victim?”

“Objection,” Katya barks for the fifth or sixth time. Trixie wants to strangle her. “Badgering the witness.”

Badgering the witness? For crying out loud–”

“Save it Ms Mattel. Your objection is overruled Ms Zamolodchikova, and I will warn you against making an objection with questionable grounds again,” Judge Hides grinds out, throwing a contemptuous look at Katya. “Answer the question Mr Wilson.”

“Roughly nine or ten times.”

“And would you say that they were delivered with reasonable force?”


Trixie grits her teeth and almost cricks her neck turning to look at Katya, who’s lounging in her chair. The Judge sighs heavily. “On what grounds, Ms Zamolodchikova?”

Katya casts around for something to say, chewing on the end of her pen. She shrugs. “Speculation.”

“Speculation describes your continuous objections, not my questioning,” Trixie snaps at her.

“Counsel, approach.” Trixie struts up to the Judge’s bench with Katya following closely behind her. Judge Hides lowers her voice. “One more objection from you with nonsense grounds and I’ll find you in contempt, Zamo,” she grunts at Katya. “Your little inflammatory tactics may work with other judges but they won’t fly with me. Cut it out.”

“You kept this trial going late into the evening and now you’re messing around, treating legal proceedings like a game,” Trixie mutters hotly. “You’re a disgrace.”

“I’m doing my job,” Katya snarls back at her, spinning on her heel and marching back to her bench, sitting down next to the defendant and furiously scribbling in her notebook. Trixie goes back to questioning the witness and Katya allows it continue without further interruption. When the Judge finally dismisses them for the day, she gets up to leave and gathers her jacket and her purse, and looks over at Katya quickly. She’s rubbing the defendant’s arm as the court officer leads her away back to her cell, and then she glances up at at Trixie. She can’t decipher the look on Katya’s face. It’s mostly resentment, but her gaze is hot and intense and the way she slides her eyes up and down Trixie’s body is almost... hungry. Then she snaps her briefcase closed, and saunters away.


Trixie’s got a mouthful of beef rendang from Rickshaw Republic and is halfway through an old episode of Pawn Stars when the buzzer to her apartment sounds.

“Who is it?” she mumbles, wiping a piece of fried onion from her chin.


A cassava leaf drops out of Trixie’s open mouth. “How did you get my address?”

“Does it matter?” Katya’s voice crackles through the speaker. “Let me up.”

Trixie presses the buzzer to let her in, then paces the hallway of her apartment, abandoning her bowl of food on the side table and jolting when there’s a knock at the door. She flings it open. “How do you know where I live Katya?”

“I’m a lawyer, bitch, I know how to find shit out.” Katya rolls her eyes, and starts to unravel her scarf from around her neck. “You gonna let me in or what?”

Trixie pulls the door close to her side, and leans against the doorframe. “What are you doing here?”

Katya huffs. “Trixie come on, just fucking let me in.” She pushes lightly at the door with her fingertips, but Trixie doesn’t budge.

“What do you want, Katya?” She waits, tilting her head a little to try and make eye contact with Katya, who has her chin tucked into her chest and her gaze trained on the floor. When Katya finally looks up, her eyes are bloodshot and a little desperate.

“I want you,” Katya murmurs finally. Trixie lets go of the door in surprise. “And before you start, this isn’t some booty call bullshit–”

“Are you asking me out?” Trixie butts in. Katya flushes.


“Then it’s some booty call bullshit,” Trixie says decisively, folding her arms and looking down her nose at Katya, who squirms under her gaze.

“Okay, maybe it’s some booty call bullshit,” she concedes, glancing at Trixie furtively. Trixie lets her flounder a little more, before she smirks.

“Come in.”

Chapter Text

The ceiling fan whirs quietly above Katya’s head as she sits back into the deep couch, waiting while Trixie fixes her a drink over in the kitchen with her back to Katya. Ice rattles in a glass and Trixie’s shoulder blades shift under her soft t-shirt as Katya watches her move. She glances around Trixie’s apartment, takes in the exposed brick walls, the wooden cabinets and modern shelving, the sleek open kitchen with its gleaming appliances, marble breakfast bar and matching island. Her apartment is warm, and Katya feels safe there. It’s lived in, calm. Dr. Phil plays quietly on the tv in the background, there’s a half empty glass of red wine on the side table next to her, and a scrunched up blanket lies abandoned on the couch, still warm from where Trixie must’ve been tucked into it.

“You eaten?”

Trixie’s voice jolts Katya from her reverie, and she lets her gaze flick over to the kitchen. She shakes her head no. “I’m good.” Trixie shrugs, and slopes over to her, handing off a glass of Jameson and dropping to the couch next to Katya, folding her legs elegantly underneath herself. Katya watches as her thighs pool outwards when she sits, the hem of her shorts cutting into the flesh a little as they strain to cover her skin. When she looks up, Trixie is smirking at her.

“Have you had your fill?” she murmurs, leaning her elbow on the back of the couch and propping her chin in her hand. Katya takes a gulp of her whiskey and sets it on the coffee table.

“Not even close,” she grins at Trixie, shuffling forward on the couch and running a fingertip along Trixie’s cheekbone. Trixie’s eyes close and she’s smiling gently when Katya’s hand snakes to the nape of her neck, her fingers threading through the soft hair as she pulls Trixie towards her.

Her lips are full and soft when they finally press against Katya’s, her breathing is deep and steady and she whimpers so gently when Katya nips at her bottom lip. Her mouth opens a little when she sighs and Katya slides her tongue in, grinning satisfactorily when Trixie lets out a long, deep moan into Katya’s mouth. Her arms slide around Katya’s shoulders where her shirt is straining over the muscle, and she doesn’t break the kiss as she shifts forward and guides Katya back until she’s straddling her. She takes control; one hand cupping Katya’s jaw and tilting it upwards as she takes what she needs from Katya’s lips, the other hand screwed up into a tight fist in Katya’s hair. Her hips are starting to swivel in Katya’s lap as she searches for some friction, and her moans have stretched out into a constant, gentle whine.

“Switch places with me,” Katya gasps, shoving at Trixie’s shoulder to break them apart. She wipes saliva from the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand, whether it’s her spit or Trixie’s she’s not sure, and pushes Trixie so her shoulder blades are pressed to the back of the couch. “Take your clothes off.”

“I–Katya...” Trixie looks up at to where Katya’s stood back from the couch. Her eyes are wide and desperate, her pouty lips bitten and kiss-swollen. “Can you–”

“I wasn’t asking,” Katya says, low and dark, and she sees a shiver ripple across Trixie’s shoulders. “Do as you’re told.”

She smirks as Trixie’s eyes roll back in her head a little, and she pulls her t-shirt up over her head. Her chest is heaving as she reaches behind herself with both hands to unclasp her bra, and she holds Katya’s gaze with lidded eyes as she tugs it away from her body. Her upper back presses into the couch as she lifts her hips to push her shorts down over her thighs, kicking her legs a little to shake them down her calves. She isn’t wearing any panties.

“God,” Katya sighs, falling to her knees. She runs her palms up and down the tops of Trixie’s bare thighs, watching intently as the fine hairs raise in the wake of her steady strokes.

“Please, Katya,” Trixie murmurs, and Katya looks up to see her eyes closed and her head rolling slowly from side to side along the back of the couch.

“Okay baby,” Katya whispers. She nudges her fingers between where Trixie’s knees and pressed together, and eases her legs apart. “Spread these pretty thighs for me.” She smiles when Trixie groans, opening her legs for Katya. When they separate Katya can see wetness at the top of the insides of Trixie’s thighs, and she can smell Trixie’s arousal. “You’re so gorgeous.”

Please, Katya,” Trixie says again, her voice thin and reedy with want, and she threads her fingers into Katya’s hair to pull her down to her pussy. Katya lets her, lets her tug her face to where she needs it. She noses through Trixie’s pussy lips and nuzzles her clit, slipping her tongue out to swipe through the wetness that’s gathering at her hole.

“Keep your feet still,” Katya grunts, holding them momentarily where they’re planted on the floor, wide apart. She grips two handfuls of Trixie’s thick thighs and starts to eat her out properly, alternating between sucking at her clit and fucking her tongue into Trixie’s entrance. Trixie’s squirming and gasping but she keeps her feet still and her legs splayed like a good girl; her hips are shifting as she tries to roll them up into Katya’s mouth, and every time she does her pussy squelches obscenely.

“Katya,” she pants, her fingers twisted tightly into Katya’s hair as she tries to hump her face. One hand works it’s way free to pull at the collar of Katya’s shirt.

“I’m not taking my suit off yet,” Katya mutters, licking gently at Trixie’s perineum in between her words. “You need to earn it.” She smirks at Trixie’s bratty little whine, before pulling the fat of her inner thighs back and fucking devouring her, breathing heavily onto Trixie’s clit as her tongue fucks it’s way through her folds. Trixie has pushed up onto her toes but she doesn’t move her feet, her hips are pumping forwards into Katya’s face, held tight to her cunt from her grip on Katya’s hair.

“Katya, fuck.” Her pussy’s slopping all over Katya’s lips as she rides Katya’s tongue, and her breath is coming in sharp, staccato bursts in between her feeble gasps and whimpers. “I’m gonna come.”

“Come for me baby,” Katya grunts, flicking her tongue mercilessly against Trixie’s clit, holding her thighs tight as she whines and begs and cries and comes all over Katya’s lips. When she’s done she slumps down the couch, her chest heaving while she tries to catch her breath. Katya sits back on her calves, and gives Trixie a lascivious grin.

“Take me to bed, you little shit,” Trixie sighs, her stomach swooping when Katya licks her lips, and nods.


Trixie’s sitting up on the bed, two thick pillows wedged beneath her lower back, and when Katya glances over her shoulder she can see her rolling the taste of Katya’s come round her mouth with her tongue. When she’d dragged Trixie into the bedroom and shoved her down onto the bed Trixie was already on the verge of coming again. Katya had used her knees to pin Trixie’s hands down so she couldn’t touch herself, then rubbed her pussy all over Trixie’s lips and tongue, dripping onto her nose and down her chin, until she’d come with Trixie’s tongue fucking deep inside her. Now Trixie’s sitting patiently on the bed, naked, savoring the taste of Katya’s cunt on her tongue, waiting like a good girl.

“Where are your toys?” Katya murmurs. She hears Trixie inhale sharply behind her.

“Top drawer of the dresser,” Trixie croaks out. “But I have a vibrator here in my nightstand too.”

Katya saunters over to the dresser and tugs the top drawer open. “Fucking hell, check your fuckin’ elephant dildos.”

Trixie snorts with laughter on the bed. “Fuck off,” she sniggers. “They’re average.”

Katya lifts up a large translucent blue dildo the length of her arm up out of the drawer between two fingers, and raises an eyebrow at Trixie. “This is at least nine inches.”

“It’s ten,” Trixie snaps irritably. “And unless you’re gonna shove it inside me, put it back and get over here.”

Katya puts the dildo carefully back in the drawers and traces her fingers lightly across some of the others. She hears Trixie huff impatiently on the bed behind her and she smirks, picking up a deep purple curved dildo that looks to be about seven inches. It fits perfectly in the palm of her hand, the tip resting on the end of her middle finger and the base touching the crease of her wrist. She turns to Trixie and passes it to her silently, before moving to kneel on the ottoman pressed up neatly to the end of the bed.

“Fuck yourself,” Katya orders quietly. She watches as Trixie represses a shudder, and turns the dildo in her hand.


“Baby girl.” She watches as Trixie’s throat bobs while she swallows. “Fuck yourself for me.”

Trixie’s hips shift on the bed, and she moves so that her feet are planted, knees inching apart slowly. “Will you touch me?”


Katya smirks as a hopeless little whine slips out from between Trixie’s lips. She lubes up the dildo quickly and makes to shove it in with an urgent grunt, when Katya’s voice stops her.

“Slow.” She watches as Trixie’s whole body coils like a spring, then relaxes again. She spreads her legs wide, and starts to ease the dick inside her. She has no trouble whatsoever taking it. “You don’t bottom out until I say. Slow down.” She can hear Trixie’s teeth grinding as she tries to pace herself, the muscles in her forearm tensed with the effort of not ramming the dildo in hard and fast like she wants it. Her wetness is leaking around the shaft and dripping down her pussy lips. Once the dildo is all the way in she moves to pull it out and start fucking herself with it, but Katya stops her again. “Hold it still for a minute.”

“Fuck, Katya.” Trixie’s rolls her hips frustratedly, and her whines become incessant the longer Katya makes her wait. The bedsheets underneath her are damp.

“Okay, get it baby.” Katya laughs under her breath when Trixie’s eyes roll back in her head and she starts to fuck herself, she shifts her weight to her feet so she can lift her hips. She’s putting on a show for Katya now, her tits are bouncing as she jolts her own body with the force of her thrusts, and Katya’s skin feels like it’s on fire at the wet sound of her pussy getting smacked over and over by the base of the dildo.

“Katya,” Trixie gasps, and she looks so beautiful that Katya momentarily forgets what to do. Her chest is flushed and heaving and her blonde hair is coming out of its loose bun, her cheeks are pink and her gaze is lidded and hot when she stares at Katya, holding eye contact as she fills herself over and over. “Please touch me.”

“No,” Katya chokes, digging her fingernails into her own thighs, wrestling with herself to stay where she is, on her knees.

Baby,” Trixie whines desperately, lifting her free hand to rub at her clit, and Katya’s last ounce of resolve leaves her body. She flings herself onto the bed and smacks Trixie’s hand away with a growl, replacing it with her mouth and sucking at Trixie’s swollen clit, silicone bumping her jaw as Trixie fucks herself harder with the dildo. Katya bobs her head to ride Trixie’s thrusts, and grins at Trixie’s deep groan when she swipes her tongue thickly over her clit.

“You tell me when you’re close,” Katya rumbles, pulling away to speak and smirking at the string of wetness that stretches between her bottom lip and Trixie’s pussy. “I want you to come in my mouth.” Trixie gulps in a breath and nods frantically back at her, bumping her cunt back towards Katya’s mouth.

“Greedy,” Katya murmurs with a smile, she licks over Trixie again and clenches her own pussy at wet slops emitting from Trixie’s every time she fucks the dick into herself. Her thighs have started to shake; she makes a cut-off grunting sound and pulls the dildo out, moaning high in her throat when Katya seals her mouth over her pussy and sucks. Trixie lets out a loud moan that sounds like it’s been ripped from her lungs when she comes, spurting into Katya’s mouth and all over her tongue, her hips humping Katya’s face in a frenzy as she rides out her orgasm. When she’s done she slumps back into the pillows and drags Katya towards her with a palm right and heavy on the back of Katya’s neck.

“You’re unreal,” Trixie whispers onto Katya’s lips, her tongue darting out to clean her own come up off of Katya’s face. “Let me make you feel good.”

She snakes her hand between them down Katya’s belly, stroking gently over the ridges of her abdominal muscles, and pushes her fingers through Katya’s labia, rubbing the pads of two fingertips gently over Katya’s entrance.

“You’re so perfect,” Trixie murmurs into Katya’s ear. “I want to take care of you.”

“Shit,” Katya gasps, sinking her teeth into Trixie’s shoulder when a finger slides into her cunt. Her gangly limbs are everywhere as she writhes, rubbing her body against Trixie’s underneath her, and she groans round the flesh in her mouth as she sucks a deep hickey into Trixie’s shoulder.

“You want another finger?” Trixie asks her softly, and she shakes her head no. “Okay baby. You gonna come for me? I wanna make you come so bad.”

“Fuck me,” Katya grunts, and she squeezes her cunt round Trixie’s finger, mouthing sloppily at her neck while she whispers sweetly into Katya’s ear. Trixie pumps her finger up into Katya hard and fast, pressing her g-spot relentlessly until Katya finally shudders and clenches and comes, her hips rolling uncontrollably, the hairs standing on the back of her neck where Trixie’s fingertips are gently tracing patterns across her shoulder blades and down her spine.

“Will you stay?” Trixie breathes into her ear.

“Yeah.” Katya presses a light kiss to Trixie’s cheek and shuffles down her body, resting her ear against Trixie’s chest to listen to her heartbeat. “Yeah.”

Chapter Text

The bar is so busy when Trixie gets there that she can barely move. It’s a Tuesday, and the place is crammed with college students playing foosball, guzzling Miller Light, and screaming at the Bulls game on the TV screens.

“I never thought you’d get me to meet you in a bar that has the word ‘Tavern’ in its name,” she huffs when she’s finally shouldered her way through the sweaty meatheads clamoring around the pool table to where Violet is perched on a stool at the bar. “What the fuck are we doing here? I thought you wanted to try that new place? Ludlow?”

“I had a rough day and I couldn’t be bothered going all the way up to Avondale,” Violet sighs, sniggering when she sees Trixie turning her nose up at a guy bellowing at the TV for Kris Dunn to pass the ball. “I would’ve thought you’d be much less likely than me to be so snooty about a dive bar.”

“Fuck off and get me a drink,” Trixie snaps, dragging a stool away from a girl in a tube top (are tube tops back again? Fuck) who’s dutifully gulping down a yard of Coors while a circle of boys howl at her. She can’t hear what Violet says to the bartender over the furious shouts as some guy who doesn’t play for the Bulls scores, and a few minutes later he pushes a Cuba Libre towards her that’s almost overflowing with ice. When she sips it she grimaces at the taste of the cheap, watered down rum, and wishes she’d gone straight home.


She looks up, and realizes Violet has been talking to her while she looked at tube top girl’s ass and slurped mindlessly at her drink. “What?”

Violet rolls her eyes. “I said, have you spoken to Katya after what happened the other night?”

Trixie lifts her drink to her mouth and takes a long sip through the paper straw that’s steadily deteriorating at the bottom of the glass. Violet taps her nails on the bar, raising her eyebrows and pursing her bright red lips at Trixie. “It’s been… kinda awkward,” she says finally. When Katya had left her house the morning after they’d fucked, she’d floated around all day with the biggest smile on her face. Katya had dawdled in the doorway of her apartment, kissing her slowly and letting her lips linger below Trixie’s jaw and behind her ear. They’d texted sporadically, and Trixie had breezed her way through her household chores and a home workout before drinking a bottle of wine and going to bed early with her vibrator. But the next time they had seen each other, she was disappointed to find that their conversation was a little stilted and clumsy, like they didn’t know how to be around each other anymore.

“Awkward like how?”

“I don’t know, like, it was almost a little bit like we did what we had to do, y’know?”

“Like now that the sexual chemistry has gone, there isn’t anything else?”

“Yeah.” Trixie’s shoulders slump and she waves in the general direction of the bartender, who comes back with another drink within seconds. Probably something to do with the way her tits are spilling out of her blouse. She throws back half of it in one gulp. “I know we fucked once and this didn’t necessarily happen after that, but like now, I feel like… it might be done? I don’t know.”

Violet stirs her drink thoughtfully. “I’ll be honest with you, I thought you were gonna walk in here and tell me you caught the feels with her.” She puts her drink down and shrugs her jacket off, balancing on the foot rest of her stool so she can push it under her ass and sit on it. “I mean, she’s fucking hot. Like, supremely hot. She’s rich and successful, ambitious, great at her job–”

“She’s not just those things you know,” Trixie interrupts, a little waspishly. “She’s funny, intelligent, kind, thoughtful…” She stops when she notices Violet’s smug smirk. “None of that means anything, you awful rat. I don’t wanna be with her.”

Violet snorts, and tilts her head. “Sure Jan,” she sniggers.

“I’m serious, you know. You were doing her a little bit of a disservice by just talking about the superficial things. She’s a lot more than that. It doesn’t mean that I want her to be my girlfriend. I really, desperately, do not want to catch any feelings for her, and I am not catching any as it stands.”

Violet hasn’t stopped smirking. “Why wouldn’t you want to catch feelings for her, if she’s as great as you’re saying she is? If she’s more than her money and job and, by your account, she seems to be the most amazing girl in the world?”

Trixie exhales slowly, closing her eyes while she finishes her drink. The bartender appears at her elbow, as if by magic.

“She’s not gonna fuck you dude, fuck off,” Violet snarls at him, shaking her head haughtily as he shuffles away.

“What did you do that for? I want another drink.”

“We’ll go somewhere else, that fucking sap is getting on my last nerve.”

Trixie takes a deep breath when they shove their way out of the bar, hitching her purse further up her shoulder as they walk down the street. “Where are we heading?”

“I know this place down here… it won’t be very busy. So, go on. Why are you so desperate not to feel something for her?”

Trixie takes a breath, and links Violet’s arm. She stiffens a little, but lets it go. “I think it’s a little late for me to stop myself from feeling something for her. But I don’t want anything to progress.” She uses her free hand to pull her coat a little tighter around herself, as Violet pulls them round a corner. “It would just be so complicated.”

“Because of work?”

“Partly. Mainly. We’re on opposing sides with all of that, and it’s not just like, ‘I’m on this team, she’s on that team’, like, when you choose defense over prosecution, or vice versa, it comes from within, it’s a part of your personality, it’s engrained in who you are. It’s a core belief. I just worry that that makes us too different.” They walk into a small bar, and her shoulders relax a little at how much quieter it is than Streeter’s Tavern. Violet orders them both a glass of wine, and they tuck themselves into a booth. “We’re both just so stubborn though. We’re argumentative and we wind each other up–”

“Do you not think that was just the sexual tension?”

“Maybe, but then… now what is there? I don’t know, things just didn’t feel right when we saw each other again.” She sips at her wine, and hears her phone ping in her purse.

“I think you should think about giving things a shot. What’ve you got to lose?”

Trixie pulls her phone out, and the screen is lit up with a message from Katya.

Can we talk?

Chapter Text

“Mother fuck.” Katya scratches out the word that was supposed to say ‘arbitrator’ and now just resembles a mess of ink after she jolted at the sound of her phone ringing. She rolls her eyes when she sees L McQueen on the display, and snatches up the handset. “What?”

“Ms Hytes is here to see you. Should I send her in?”

Katya twists her wrist to glance at her watch, eyebrows shooting towards her hairline when she sees it’s already 6:30. “No, keep her there.” She jams the phone between her shoulder and her ear, as she snaps her laptop closed and shoves her notes into her briefcase. “Did you book somewhere?”

“Yes, Roanoke.” She can hear Laila’s nails tapping on the keyboard at the other ending of the line. “I thought it would be good because–”

Katya puts the phone down. “Fuckin’ boring,” she mutters to herself, dragging her coat off of the back of her chair and draping it round her shoulders. It flaps around her calves as she struts out of her office and down the hallway towards reception. She rounds the corner and tuts under her breath at Laila making as though to stand up upon her entrance, fussing with the paperwork in front of her. She waves a hand at Laila dismissively, and focuses her attention on the woman rising gracefully from her seat, brushing non-existent dust from her elegant camel trench coat, cinched neatly with a tight belt around her tiny waist.

“Katya, so good to see you!” Brooke’s long arms envelope Katya delicately, and she air kisses each side of Katya’s face with a flourish, the faint smell of raspberry lingering around them as they part.

“You smell great,” Katya blurts out, and feels the skin of her cheeks heat up. Brooke laughs gently.

“Thank you sweetie, it’s The Moon by Frédéric Malle!” Katya shakes her head, nonplussed, and lets Brooke lead her out of the building with a hand hovering around the small of her back. “So, where has your smitten little assistant booked for us?”

“A place called Roanoke. It’s just down the street this way.” Katya glances at Brooke as they start walking. “What do you mean, smitten?”

Brooke chuckles softly, and it sounds musical. “She couldn’t stop talking about you in the three minutes I was sitting there. Katya this, Katya that, my boss this, my boss that–”

“Cut it out,” Katya grunts, rolling her eyes when Brooke laughs again. They make it into the bar without further issue, settling into a small booth below a huge mirror. A server comes over and Brooke orders them a bottle of wine (“You’re okay with the Ziata right? Pinot noir?”), then settles back in her seat to survey Katya closely. She shifts uncomfortably under Brooke’s gaze, but refuses to break the silence.

“So,” Brooke sighs finally, leaning forward conspiratorially, “still got a crush on me?”

She sits back and howls with laughter while Katya splutters indignantly, her face reddening with embarrassment. “Fucking hell Brooke,” she chokes out, fanning herself with a menu, “that was fucking years ago, why do you have to–”

“Katya, relax,” Brooke grins, glancing up at their server appreciatively as he arrives at their table and pours out their wine. “I’m kidding with you, that shit’s been and gone, baby.”

Katya and Brooke had met seven years ago, at a fundraising event, the Make-A-Wish Illinois Wish Ball. Katya was new to Bianca’s firm and had been strong armed into representing the company at the event along with now-retired senior associate Raja. Brooke, a celebrated ballet dancer, was making the wish of a small girl come true. They ran into each other at the bar, and Katya fell completely under her spell. They spoke on and off from then, always flirty, always teetering on the edge of being sexual, with Katya harboring a massive crush, but they hadn’t seen each other for a year and a half when Katya got a text last Friday, asking if she wanted to catch up.

Now that she’s older, wiser, and not as bewitched by Brooke as she used to be, Katya resents her friend a little for leading her on. Brooke has been married to her husband Andrew for eleven years and they have two young sons… not that that ever stopped her from teasing Katya with suggestive looks and touches every time they saw each other, and sending provocative messages at 3am when she was drunk every other month.

“Whatever.” Katya downs her wine, and pours herself another, ignoring Brooke’s inquisitive gaze.

“Are you seeing anybody?”

“No. How’s Andrew?”


The silence becomes a little stonier between them. Brooke shoos the server away when he comes over to ask if they’d like to order some food. “Just another bottle, the same again.” Her expression is haughty and demanding, ugly even, and suddenly Katya can’t see what it is about her that she used to be so drawn to. She toys with the idea of getting up and leaving, when Brooke touches her hand.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep.” She smiles patronizingly at Katya. “Can we start again? How have you been?”

“Not too bad.”

“Any big cases?

“A few.”

“Katya.” Brooke levels an admonishing glare at her over the rim of her wine glass. “Come on.”

Katya sighs. “Fine. I’m working on a case at the moment; this woman tried to kill her friend and ended up putting her in a wheelchair.”

Brooke whistles. “Damn. Did she do it?”

“Oh for sure,” Katya says offhandedly, swigging at her wine. “I’m going down the self defense route. I don’t think it’s gonna work, but I don’t really have any other option. The prosecutor is killing me.”

“Really? Is he good?”

Katya glances at her, and clears her throat gently. “It’s, uh… it’s a she.” She looks away as she sees the smirk start to creep across Brooke’s lips. “It’s not like that.” It’s exactly like that. “I’m not into her.” I’m so fucking into her. “Like, we haven’t fucked or anything.” We have definitely fucked.

“Okay, you have definitely fucked,” Brooke laughs, spraying her wine a little. “Judging by how high pitched your voice has gone and how red your face is.” She settles back in her seat, folding one leg over the other with a grace that makes Katya ache. She takes a long sip of her drink, and raises one perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Spill.”

It takes Katya half an hour to tell her the full story. Right from when they first met, up until they fucked the other day, covering the court cases they’d gone head to head on, the many fractious and hostile conversations (read: arguments) they’d had, and their encounters at the dive bar, at her apartment, then at Trixie’s.

“So you’re in love with the bitch.”

Katya scoffs at her, waving the hand with her glass in around as the effects of the wine begin to take a hold. The drink sloshes precariously, and Brooke eyes it as Katya speaks. “I am not in love with Trixie Mattel, okay? I am not. I am not in love with Trixie Mattel. I am… not. In love. In love with Trixie. I’m… am I?” She looks up at Brooke, eyes wide with realization. “I am in love with Trixie Mattel.”

“Sure are, honey.” The corners of her mouth twitch as she watches Katya have an epiphany in front of her eyes.

“What am I gonna do, Brooke?”  Katya despairs, downing her drink and reaching for the bottle. “I can’t be in love with a prosecutor. I can’t be in love with anyone, I’m so bad at this. This is never going to work, she fucking hates me, and everything at work is going to be so fucked up, we can barely look at each other without fucking or screaming at each other as it is, and I just–”

“Stop.” Katya takes a breath, and looks up. “You need to talk to her. Text her. Just do it. Do it now. Get your phone out, and text her.”

Katya huffs and tries to stare Brooke out, but she doesn’t blink, and Katya knows she won’t budge. So she takes her phone out of her bag, types out a text, and hits send before she can change her mind.

Can we talk?

Chapter Text

“All rise.”

Katya picks a speck of lint from the front of her suit as she stands.

“The Circuit Court of Cook County is now in session. Judge Hides presiding. Please be seated.”

The sound of feet shuffling on the old wooden floor as people move to sit down thunders in Katya’s ears, and she can hear her own shallow breaths.

“Good morning everybody. I am calling the case of the People of the state of Illinois versus Kimberley Barber. Are both sides ready?” Judge Hides glances upwards for the first time, her eyes flitting from right to left, her pen hovering over her notebook.

“Ready for the People, Your Honor.”

“Ready for the Defense,” Katya chokes out, “Your Honor.”

“Excellent.” The Judge shifts around some papers in front of her, and peers over her glasses at the words in front of her. “Okay, where were we up to?” she sighs. “Ms Zamolodchikova, I believe you are ready to call character witnesses?”

“Yes Your Honor. The Defense calls Scott Barber to the stand.”

There’s a collective, quiet murmuring amongst the spectators. The defendant’s husband makes his way to the witness box without looking up from the ground, and Katya sees his hand shake as he steadies himself on the front of the stand.

“Raise your right hand.” The material of Scott Barber’s cheap suit bunches at the crease of his elbow as he bends it to raise his hand. “Do you swear that the testimony you shall give in the case before this court shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”

Katya watches his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows nervously. “I swear.”

“Please state your full name for the record.”

“Scott Brian Barber.”

The court reporter interjects before the clerk can continue. “Can you spell your middle name for the record please?”


“You may be seated.” He settles gingerly in his seat and looks expectantly at Katya. She can see a sheen of sweat running along his hairline. Katya gets up from her seat, steps around her desk, and stands at the corner of the witness stand. She stands between Scott and the jury, hoping that he will focus on her.

“Mr Barber, please confirm the nature of your relationship with the defendant,” she says, holding eye contact with him.

“I am her husband.”

There is further conspiratorial muttering, and Judge Hides’ hand twitches towards her gavel. Katya doesn’t allow Scott to look away from her gaze.

“Can you describe your wife’s state of mind on or around January seventeenth of this year please?”


Katya clenches her teeth, but doesn’t look away from her witness.

“Grounds, Ms Mattel?”

“Is it on or around the seventeenth? I imagine the Defendant’s state of mind would’ve been rather different the day after she crippled her best friend than the day before–”

“Your Honor!” Katya whips around, enraged, and feels the hairs on the back of her neck stand up in fury at the smug look on Trixie’s face.

“Ms Mattel!” Judge Hides barks, slamming her gavel down two, three, four times to quieten the shocked buzz in the courtroom. “Silence!” She smashes the gavel down hard, and the crowds hush. “Strike that remark from the record. The Jury will disregard the Prosecutor’s–” she pauses, her lip curling in distaste, “inappropriate comment.” She turns to Katya. “Clarify. Quickly. Move it along.”

Katya glances at Trixie, who looks a little unsettled at the Judge’s anger, and smirks inwardly.

“What was your wife’s behaviour like in the build up to the seventeenth? Say, in the preceding week?”

Scott Barber swallows, glancing first at his wife, then at Trixie, before letting his gaze settle on Katya. “She was… out of sorts,” he says quietly, rubbing his hands together anxiously. Katya wishes he would stop it. “She was not behaving normally. She was reserved, nervous, and quite jittery.”

“Is Kim not normally an anxious person?” She reminds herself to use her client’s first name more, to personalize her to the jury.

“No,” he shakes his head. “Ordinarily she is very confident. Nothing fazes her. But that week she was notably unsettled.”

“Do you have any idea why she may have been behaving like this?”

“Objection. Speculation.”

“Sustained.” The Judge looks over her glasses at Katya.

“Can you recall any elements of her behaviour specifically,” Katya says carefully, “that may have indicated why she was, in your words, out of sorts?” ‘You better tell us all about the motherfucking texts, you bitch,’ she thinks desperately, and she feels her fist clench and unclench.

“She was receiving a lot of text messages around that time,” Scott replies dutifully, just how they had practised. “She was hiding her phone from me, and whenever she looked at it, she appeared frightened, and worried.”

“Objection, how can he tell us that she was frightened and worried–”

“He is her husband, I believe he is in a superior position to advise us on his wife’s emotions in comparison to you–” Katya spins round again, spitting the words out before she can stop herself. Trixie stands to argue back, but the Judge interrupts them.

“Enough. Your objection is overruled Ms Mattel.”

Trixie sits, annoyed, and Katya turns back to her witness, feeling Trixie’s stare prickling up her spine. “Your wife was receiving text messages that you believed were frightening and worrying her.”


“Your Honor, the Defense introduces exhibit 106, a transcript of text messages in the five days before January seventeenth between the defendant, Kim Barber, and the victim, Martha Pope.” Judge Hides waves lazily, so Katya continues. “Scott, read the highlighted text messages for the court, please.”

He takes the sheet from her, and begins to read. “Martha: I know about your affair with Adam–”

“Please clarify for the record who Adam is, Mr Barber,” Katya interjects.

“Martha, the victim… Adam is her husband,” he says, before continuing to read. “Kim: I don’t know what you’re talking about. For the last time, I’m not having an affair with Adam. Martha: Stop lying, you bitch. I know you’re fucking my husband behind my back. What do you think Scott would have to say about this? Kim: You can tell Scott whatever you want, I know the truth and so will he. Martha: I’m going to fucking kill you when I get a hold of you, I’ll be damned if I let you ruin my life and split up my family you fucking whore.”

“Thank you, Scott.” She smiles sympathetically at his as he rubs at his eyes with the back of his hand. “I think you would agree that this demonstrates very aggressive behaviour, threats to kill and the like…” she pauses, and lets her eyes flick over the jury, “more than enough to potentially require Kim to defend herself, don’t you think?”

“Your Honor!” Trixie cries out, scattering her papers in front of her as she pushes herself to her feet angrily.

“Withdrawn,” Katya shrugs, with a sly grin. “I have no further questions for this witness.” The courtroom is abuzz with talk again, but it soon dies down as the Judge glowers.

“Does the Prosecution wish to cross examine?”

“Yes, absolutely,” Trixie says hotly, drawing herself up to her full height and making to step around her desk. Judge Hides eyes her thoughtfully.

“We will take a ten minute recess,” she says, and bangs her gavel once more.


Katya rubs her lips together as she puts the lid back on her lipstick, batting her eyes at herself in the mirror. She straightens up as the door to the bathroom slams, and glimpses a cloud of blonde hair in her peripheral vision.

“I cannot believe you got that bitch’s husband to agree to be a character witness.”

Katya focuses on her reflection, taking her mascara out of her purse and unscrewing it carefully. She dips the wand in and gently scrapes the tiny bristles against the rim of the tube, before swiping it over her lashes, mouth wide open as she stares at the mirror in concentration.

“Katya? Are you not even gonna look at me?”

“What is there to say?” Katya asks quietly, leaning closer to the smudged glass and ignoring Trixie at her side. “You made it clear you didn’t want anything, so…”

“I thought you were in agreement,” Trixie says, barely above a whisper. “We talked about it, right? It’s too complicated. We’re on opposite sides–”

“We’re not fucking Tony and Maria, Trixie,” Katya snarls at her. “You said you don’t want things to go any further so they’re not. Now you’re complaining that I haven’t fucking looked at you.”

“I want to at least be adults about this,” Trixie says, exasperated. She makes to touch Katya’s arm, but Katya jerks away from her. “Like I said the other night, I just never meant for things to go this far. I think you’re great, you’ll be a real catch for somebody else, but things are just not going to work out for us.”

Katya rolls her eyes, but doesn’t say anything. She ignores Trixie as she moves around to Katya’s other side.

“You said you were on the same page,” she murmurs, her hand hovering around Katya’s elbow. “Did you want… something to happen between us?”

“Of course not.”

“Are you sure?” Trixie asks. Katya doesn’t say anything. “Look, I like you. Maybe we could be friends–”

“We weren’t friends before,” Katya snaps, before turning on her heel and storming out.


“All right, settle down please.” Judge Hides moves in her seat as she adjusts her robes. “Ms Mattel, you may commence with your cross examination whenever you’re ready.”

Trixie steps in front of Scott Barber, and positions herself between him and Katya. She stands are watches him for a moment longer than is comfortable, and Katya sees Scott’s hand shake as he reaches for his glass of water. “Mr Barber, are you aware that your wife was having an affair with the victim’s husband?”

“Objection,” Katya says immediately. “Speculation.”

Judge Hides glares at her. “Counsel, the alleged affair was mentioned during your own questioning with this witness and you had no such qualms with it being brought up then. Overruled.”

Trixie hasn’t moved a muscle so Katya can’t see her expression, but she knows that there is a smug smirk on Trixie’s face right now. “Answer the question please Mr Barber.”

“She was not having an affair. That’s not true.”

“Really?” Trixie mocks in a disbelieving tone. “If she wasn’t having an affair, then what reason would the victim have to be aggressive towards your wife?”

“The victim believed my wife was having an affair,” Scott Barber bristles, “that is why she was aggressive. But there was no affair.”

Katya stops her note-taking to look up, to see that Trixie is now pacing back and forth in front of Katya’s desk.

“I have transcripts of some text messages here, between your wife, the defendant, and the victim’s husband. Here.” She passes the sheets to Scott Barber. Katya grimaces. “Please read the highlighted passages aloud to the court.”

He swallows, before he starts to read. “Adam: Can you get away tonight? I need you. Kim: I’ll try, I’ll tell Scott you need help with the kids’ homework while Martha is out running. Adam: Great. God I’ve missed you. Need to hold you. Kim: I know babe–”

“Is this really necessary?” Katya asks. Nobody responds to her, but the look on Judge Hides’ face tells her she better shut up.

“So Mr Barber,” Trixie continues, as if there’d been no interruption, “an affair was going on behind your back, and behind the victim’s back. Your wife attacked the victim, and tried to kill her, so that she could be with Adam Pope, isn’t that correct?”

“Objection, badgering the witness–”

“Your wife tried to murder her best friend so that she could be with her husband, and yet somehow you have been bamboozled into not only believing that there was no affair, but also into getting up here and actually trying to defend her–”


“Ms Mattel–”

“Have you ever thought you might’ve been next, Scott?” Trixie says loudly over both Katya and Judge Hides’ voices, drowning them out as she bears down on the witness stand, gesticulating angrily. “Once she’d gotten rid of Martha Pope she was probably going to come for you, killing you as well and leaving your children without their father so that her and Adam could go public with their sordid affair–”

“Counsel!” Judge Hides yells, and Trixie finally stops. The courtroom is up in arms, excited chatter spreading along the gallery like wildfire, and the Judge bashes her hammer down in an attempt to restore order.

“I have no further questions for this witness,” Trixie says offhandedly, sitting down, and Katya swears she sees steam coming from the Judge’s ears.

“We are breaking for an early lunch,” she fumes, her voice shaking with barely concealed rage. “Ms Mattel, you will report to my chambers immediately.”

Katya gets up and pretends to listen to her client jabbering at her about ‘that fucking bitch ass lawyer’ as everyone files out of the courtroom. She stays standing and watches as her client is led away by the bailiff, and Trixie slopes into the Judge’s chambers, looking like she couldn’t care less about the roasting she’s going to get.

Chapter Text

It’s pushing nine when Katya finally sweeps out of the office, pulling the glass door securely closed behind her having ignored the alarm, in the knowledge that Bianca is still burrowed away in there. She tips her head back and lets her mouth drop open as she stands in the elevator, staring up at the ceiling while her shoulders slump. The doors slide open and she struts through the cool lobby, nodding at the security guard before shouldering her way out into the heavy, sticky night air.

Horns blare and headlights flash in front of her eyes so she squints, rubbing at them and trying to will away the dull headache she can feel stirring in her temples. It’s Friday, and her week has been shit, although thankfully she hadn’t had to see Trixie today. After her outburst yesterday Katya heard that Judge Hides wiped the floor with her, and ordered they recommence trial on Monday. She’s spent the day attempting to catch up on the work she’s been ignoring while she prioritized Kim Barber’s case, meeting a murderer Bianca had asked her to defend (unpleasant to say the least), and a banker accused of money laundering she was hoping she might be able to pass to the newbie, Nina… something. An issue that had come up with a witness that one of the young paralegals, Blair, was dealing with had taken up most of her evening, and kept her from leaving at six like she had planned, so now her hand twitches towards her phone in her pocket as she deliberates over whether to call Shea or just head home.

Katya’s still stood in the middle of the sidewalk, letting herself be jostled by a stream of people barging past her while she’s lost in thought, when her phone pings with a text. She moves back towards the building, leaning back against the cold wall as she lights a cigarette and digs her phone out of her coat pocket. She almost drops it right there on the concrete when she sees whose name flashes up.


“W-Y-D?” Katya mutters to herself around her cigarette. She swipes up on her screen and taps on the Safari icon, typing ‘what does wyd mean’ and looking at the results. “What you doing,” she mumbles, reopening her texts and staring at the three letters. “What you doing.” She goes back to Safari and scrolls down, seeing ‘People also ask: What does WYD mean from a girl?’ and pressing on the little drop down arrow. She reads through, her eyes focusing in on the words ‘hook up’, and then clicks her phone shut. She props her foot up on the wall behind her, bending her knee and feeling the hem of her pants ride up her shin a little, and takes a long drag of her cigarette, inhaling deeply and flicking ash down by her side. She pulls out her phone again as she exhales smoke into the thick muggy air, and types back.

Lazy bird 10pm

Katya smirks, and taps on the Uber icon.


The noise of ice rattling at the bar just to her right makes Katya wish she chosen a different table, although she’s not sure she could’ve snagged one. Lazy Bird, the bar she’s currently sitting in, tucked beneath The Hoxton in the Fulton Market District, is loud, dark, and busy. The hum of voices battles with the piano on the other side of the room, the man seated behind it invisible to her, but the notes of Sinnerman by Nina Simone that he’s playing more than audible. It’s hot, almost unbearably so; outside Chicago is in the middle of summer and in here the A/C appears to be non-existent. She can smell tequila and sweat and night and it’s intoxicating. There’s a scrape as the chair next to her is dragged away from the table, and then she’s smelling Diptyque perfume while soft lips brush against her ear.

“Hi, Katya.”

She takes a breath. “Hi Trixie.”

Blonde hair trails over her shoulder and collarbone, making her skin tingle, as Trixie drops the gentlest of kisses below her jaw before sitting down next to her. She tries to look Trixie over subtly, taking in her tight dress with the yellow and black plaid pattern and the cute little button up collar, but she Trixie catches her staring and smirks, lounging back in the chair and stretching her legs out theatrically. She’s wearing white leather boots and Katya thinks her tongue might be comically lolling out of her mouth as she follows them all the way up to where her dress is clinging to the tops of her thighs. Katya tugs gently at the open neck of her shirt, glad she got the Uber home before coming here to change. She’d picked a white satin revere shirt, unbuttoned to an inch above her navel, forgone a bra, and paired some tight khaki pants rolled to her lower shin with a pair of shiny black Dr. Martens derby shoes, no socks.

“What are you drinking?” Trixie’s soft voice jolts her out of her reverie, and she’s leaning close, almost whispering in the noisy bar, like they’re telling secrets. Katya clears her throat a little, so she’s confident it won’t break when she speaks.

“It’s a Blackthorn,” she answers, swirling the amber liquid around the bottom of her tumbler. Trixie takes it from her, and sips delicately around the sliver of orange peel, making a face like she’s eaten sour candy.

“Whiskey,” she says, her nose wrinkled. “Absolutely not.”

Katya laughs, and watches as Trixie beckons a server over and orders a Clover Club, giving the girl a flirty smile that stirs a burning sensation in Katya’s stomach. A silence settles between them, and they listen to a man get on the mic and introduce himself to the bar as Sam Trump (“unfortunate,” she hears Trixie snigger), before he begins to sing. Katya recognizes the melody, and warmth floods her chest at the memory of her father carrying her around in their living room, crooning the lyrics in her ear.

Stay, little Valentine, stay

Each day is Valentine’s Day

“You okay?” Trixie’s looking at her, a little concerned furrow in her brow, barely paying any attention to the girl putting her drink in front of her, who hovers for a second hoping for another flirty glance.

“I’m fine.” Katya gives her head a little shake, and downs her drink, making eye contact with a different server, who comes over and takes her glass without a word. “Why did you text me tonight?” She says it a little more harshly than she’d intended, the memories of her childhood still fogging her mind, but Trixie doesn’t seem to care.

“I wondered what you were doing,” she shrugs, a little guarded, sipping at her cocktail. “Thought maybe we could hang out.”

“So let me clarify,” Katya’s trying not to sound like she’s starting an argument, but she thinks she might be failing, “we have an in-depth conversation about whatever… this… is between us, and decide that we don’t want things to go any further. You.” She stops, and looks Trixie dead in the eye. “You, decided that things weren’t going any further.” Trixie makes to interrupt, but Katya holds her hand up. “Then you say you want to be friends? You act like a complete bitch to me most of the time, including whatever that was in court yesterday, then you send me a fucking hook-up text out of nowhere tonight, the one day we haven’t seen each other in God knows how long.”

Trixie holds her gaze unflinchingly, her mouth set in a stern line. “We decided things wouldn’t go any further,” she says through gritted teeth. “We both had that conversation Katya, we both said that things were too complicated, and we’re incompatible, we’re at each other’s throats constantly, it would never work–”

“Whatever Trixie,” Katya snaps, making to get out of her seat right as the guy brings her drink over, “I don’t even know why I fucking replied to you–”

“But that’s just it, isn’t it?” Trixie grabs her arm and pulls, not sharply, but enough to stop Katya dead in her tracks. She looks up at her through her thick eyelashes, a smirk spreading across her face. “You answered. We’re here. Sit down.”

There’s something in her voice that makes Katya drop back into her seat immediately, something dominant and commanding that sends a shiver down her spine.

“You replied to me, so whatever is happening right now, you want it. You want me.” Trixie licks her lips, and Katya’s jaw goes slack as she stares. “The question is, do you want me for the night, or do you want more? Because when I asked you, you said no. But that’s not the vibe you’re giving me, sweetie.”

Katya flexes her fist, then takes a big gulp of her drink, the whiskey burning her throat and the bitterness of the vermouth making her tongue twitch. “The night,” she chokes out, shifting in her seat, sweat dripping beneath her shirt between her shoulder blades.

Trixie scoots her chair closer, leaning in to Katya closely, and Katya feels like she’s suffocating; between the scent of Trixie’s perfume, and the dark, hot bar vibrating with noise, bodies pressed close as the performer sings something heavy and sultry. The atmosphere is thick and heady and Katya can’t sit still, Trixie’s heeled shoe rubs over her ankle and slides itself up her calf and she squirms, desperate to reach out and touch and kiss.

“You sure about that, baby?” Trixie whispers in her ear, her tongue lingering around Katya’s earlobe, then trailing down the side of her neck. Her lips brush the skin just below Katya’s collarbone, and then she bites, sucking the flesh into her mouth and drawing it hard between her teeth. Katya can feel Trixie grinning when she groans hazily, and her hips twitch upward towards where Trixie’s hand is inching up her thigh.

She grabs a handful of Trixie’s hair and pulls her up, moves her other hand to Trixie’s jaw and kisses her, parts their lips and slides her tongue into Trixie’s mouth straightaway. Trixie gasps into her mouth and presses her tits to Katya’s chest, she grips at Katya’s shoulders and scratches at her chest as they kiss, and she may as well crawl into Katya’s lap on the chair at this point. “No,” Katya rasps when they finally separate, “no, I’m not sure.”

Trixie grins, and swipes a smudge of her lipstick off the side of Katya’s mouth with her little finger. “Either way, take me home.”

Chapter Text

“Why are you smiling like that?”

Katya looks up from where she’s staring into her coffee and feels the stupid grin spread across her face for the first time. She loses it promptly, and tries her best to look Shea in the eye. “No reason,” she shrugs, fiddling with her spoon. Shea ducks her head to meet Katya’s gaze.

“Come on,” she smirks, “something happened with the big titty lawyer didn’t it?”

Katya smiled sheepishly. “You could say that.”

“I’m getting bored already,” Shea sighed, folding her napkin over one finger and delicately dabbing at the corners of her lips with it. “Spit it out.”

“I think we’re a thing now,” Katya said, “like we didn’t outright say, we - are - a - thing, but we pretty much agreed it. Last night.”

Shea beamed. “About time! I knew it was more than fucking. Congrats, Katya.”

Katya looked out at the street, feeling the grin creep across her face again. It’s so bright outside, and the street is bustling. Someone is playing ping pong behind them, and she mentally curses Shea for bringing them to Sawada again (“but the fairy lights, Katya!”). Shea excuses herself to go to the bathroom, and Katya’s phone buzzes on the table.

Hi baby. Thanks again for last night. I’m so happy <3

The grin is starting to hurt Katya’s cheeks now.

Me too. Wanna get dinner later?

Can’t sorry, work to do on the Kim Barber case. Rain check!

The grin disappears. The Kim Barber case. Fuck. Fuck. 

“Jeez, who shit on your biscuits?” Shea tucks her skirt neatly as she sits, glancing at Katya with mild concern. “What’s going on?”

“I’ve just realized...”

Shea waits for a beat, but there’s no follow up. “Yes?” she prompts.

“The Kim Barber case,” Katya groans. “We’re up against each other.”

“Well... yeah,” Shea stutters out a laugh, shaking her head. “Of course you are.”

“I completely forgot! Now we’re dating and we have to go up against each other in this fucking case, oh God, what am I going to do, this is going to be so awkward, and she– and I–“

“Okay, shut up a second,” Shea cuts in. She grips Katya’s erratically bouncing knee hard, and squeezes until its still. “You’re a professional. She’s a professional. You guys both have a job to do and you can get through it. Then, once this case is done, make sure you don’t take any clients that she’s prosecuting, yeah?”

Katya takes a deep breath, and smiles at Shea. “Yeah,” she says, “you’re right, of course you’re right. We are both adults, this is going to be fine.”


“Please rise for the honorable Judge Hides.”

There’s heavy shuffling in the courtroom as everybody stands while the Judge enters. Katya glances sideways, and sees Trixie smirking at her. She looks away, down at her notepad in front of her, and tilts her head from side to side, trying to crick her neck.

When Judge Hides emerges from her chambers, Katya can tell immediately that she is not in the mood. She barely looks up as she barks “sit down” and drops heavily into her chair, shuffling notes around and huffing quietly to herself. Once the sound of people seating themselves dies down, the drop of a pin could be heard in court, as everyone waits for the Judge to speak.

“We’re all done with character witness, I sincerely hope?” she mutters finally, still looking down at her notes. Trixie and Katya both stand, and glance at each other quickly.

“Yes, your Honor,” they both say at the same time. Katya cricks her neck again.

“Fine. Closing arguments. Ms. Mattel, for the People. Go.”

Katya sits down and spends the next forty-five minutes making pretend notes on the sheet in front of her and completely ignoring Trixie. It’s the closing argument tactic she opts for in almost every trial, and it very rarely lets her down. People tend to think that trials are exactly the way they see them on Law & Order, where lawyers stroll around the courtroom at will, approach the jury and speak directly to them, and argue constantly and dramatically for effect. This couldn’t be further from the truth. If Trixie or Katya started wandering around giving pointed speeches or addressing jurors, any judge would reprimand them extensively. There have been a few dramatic arguments in this trial, but Trixie is no Marcia Clark and Katya is no Johnnie Cochran, they (try to) stay calm, play by the rules, and observe proper courtroom etiquette.

So when Trixie stands and begins her closing argument, Katya does what she always does at this point in any trial: under the guise of taking notes, she lists every single character she can dredge from her mind that features in Grey’s Anatomy, then The West Wing, then Friday Night Lights, and steadfastly does not look away from her paper at any point. When she runs out of characters, she lists every president in chronological order along with their political party and the years they were in power. After this she lists every NBA Most Valuable Player in chronological order along with the team they were playing for at the time, and the year they were drafted. This is usually enough to see her through her opponent’s argument, and it is this time too. When they run longer, her next options are songs by Frank Turner and female Roland Garros champions of the Open Era from 1968 onwards.

This tactic tends to work as it riles up whatever prosecutor is trying to beat her, and she knows that it will definitely have the desired effect on Trixie. She stares down at the lists in front of her even when she feels Trixie glancing at her every so often, when she hears Trixie go silent and knows it’s because she wants a reaction from Katya to whatever she’s just said.

Katya won’t give it to her. She knows that no good ever comes from listening to your opponent’s closing argument. She’s read paper after article after textbook that says she needs to stay on high alert throughout this final part of the trial, listening out for inappropriate statements or colloquy, especially after Fitzpatrick v. Wendy’s when the defense failed to object to so-called “reptile-based remarks” during closings. In her opinion, this kind of oversight is a rarity, especially in criminal trials. The jury has already made their minds up at this point, for the most part. There is no use in her objecting to anything that Trixie says at this point, because it won’t matter. It won’t have any bearing on the jurors’ opinions of her client. Objecting anything at this time would only ever be for an inappropriate statement, which is what she pays law clerks to notice.

Katya doesn’t listen to her opponents’ closings because she doesn’t need to. Nothing that they say will sway her from what she has prepared for her own closing.

Katya’s job in her closing argument is to tell the jury what to do. That’s all they want to hear. They’ve made up their mind on the case, and they just want to be told what to do next. Katya tells them. She uses her closing to tell them to acquit her client, it’s that simple. They want to know how the questions on the verdict form tie to the evidence they have just observed. They want to know how to deliberate. Katya tells them. She anticipates the arguments of opposing jurors, and arms the favorable ones with the rhetoric she thinks they’ll need to persuade the ones that don’t agree with her case, or the fence-sitters. The real work she does here is on the favorable jurors, because they are going to argue her case in that jury room when she can’t, and they are the ones that will win her the trial.

“Ms. Zamolodchikova, would you like to take a recess before your closing argument?” Judge Hides says as Trixie takes her seat.

“Yes your Honor,” Katya replies. Always give the jury a rest where you can. Give them time to forget what they’ve just heard from Trixie. Give them time to reset and be ready to really listen to her.

“Very well. Ten minutes everyone.”


“Ladies, gentlemen, and anyone who identifies as otherwise. This is the last voice you will hear from the defense. Only you will judge this case as far as the facts go. You have sat here and listened for a long time to me, Ms. Mattel, Judge Hides, and the many witnesses we have called. You must have a lot of questions. You have heard the same case described by two people in entirely different ways. I am relying upon the oath you have taken to decide the outcome of this case based on the facts which have been presented to you, concluding that my client is not guilty of this crime.

For all I know, you may hate my client. You may like her. You may see yourself in her, whether you wish to or not. You should not let any of this interfere with your decision, even though this is difficult to do. The oath you have taken states you should decide based on the facts presented to you, and nothing else. If you don’t do this, and you find my client guilty beyond any reasonable doubt, you will be living a lie that you must carry for the rest of your days.

The key here, is reasonable doubt. This is the key in many cases, and it most certainly comes into play today. Do you truly believe, truly believe, beyond any – reasonable – doubt, that this woman is guilty of this crime and deserves to spend the rest of her life in prison? Away from her family, her loved ones, her community?

The term ‘reasonable doubt’ can be wide meaning. But here, you must ask yourself… was there a witness presented by the prosecution in this trial that I didn’t believe was telling me the truth? The whole truth, and nothing but the truth, may God help them? If there was, and I know you know there was, then you must find my client ‘not guilty’, because this is reasonable doubt. You doubt that the statement made by a prosecution witness was wholly and one hundred percent accurate, and so you cannot find my client guilty based on the case Ms. Mattel has built against her. Johnnie Cochran said it best, and you will have heard this many times: ‘if it doesn’t fit, you must acquit’.

In that jury room, you are going to come together and decide the course of this woman’s life, and the lives of everybody she is connected to. So are you sure, are you absolutely sure that she is guilty? Because you must be. You must be cross-your-heart-and-hope-to-die certain, that she is. You are going to go into that room and deliberate. You will discuss the facts of the case, and the opinions you have formed based on these facts. You must remain focused and clear headed. You must not be bulldozed by others, and you must fight for your voice to be heard in that room.

Then you will vote, one by one. You may have to deliberate some more, and then vote again, maybe again and again. But do not be swayed in your belief. Do not be pressured into voting a certain way just to get it over with. A woman’s life hangs in the balance. What if it were your life? What if you were sitting here, accused of a crime you did not commit? Would you want the jury to convict you, if they had the smallest, most miniscule doubt in the back of their mind, in the pit of their stomach, that you were innocent? You would not. You would want them to find you ‘not guilty’. And that is what you must do for this woman here. If your life hung in the balance… would you want you in your corner?”


“If it doesn’t fit you must acquit? Are you kidding me? Fucking Johnnie Cochran?”

Katya looks up from her coffee to see Trixie standing at the end of her booth, her trench coat flapping around her thighs as she hitches a bag more securely onto her shoulder. She smiles as she sees how the usually-unflappable Trixie looks… well… flapped.

“It’s used so often because it’s true,” she shrugs, stirring her pistachio latte. Trixie huffs and sits down in the booth opposite her, flinging her back to the end of her bench.

“Do you think there’ll be a verdict today?”

Katya checks her watch. It glints in the early afternoon sun as she twists her wrist. “Doubt it,” she says, sipping her coffee. “I’m going home when I’ve finished this, I don’t want to sit in this shitty Starbucks all night for a verdict that won’t come til tomorrow at the very earliest.”

“I don’t even think it’ll be tomorrow,” Trixie says, absentmindedly swiping her finger through the foam at the top of Katya’s cup. She sucks the tip of her finger, and grimaces at the nutty flavor. “I think it’ll be next week. That jury is totally split.”

“What day is it?” Katya mumbles, squinting at the screen of her phone.


Katya hums thoughtfully. “Yeah, you might be right.” She glances at Trixie, then offers her hand out to shake. “Ten bucks says it’s Monday?”

Trixie grins, and grips her hand. “I’ll take that. It’s definitely gonna be Tuesday.”

They fall silent for a few minutes, Trixie scrolling through her phone and Katya making notes on the murder case Bianca has given her.

“What’re you doing tonight then, at home?”

Katya looks up from her notepad. “Nothing, probably just order in and work on this new case I’ve got.”

Trixie nods, and looks out of the window. “Want some company?”

Katya smiles. “Sure.”