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A heavy hand on your shoulder presses you down into the seat. Mirror in front of you. Tired grey eyes stare back, framed by fresh little scars. You resist the urge to reach up and touch them.
Clippers on the table. A monthly ritual you kept for years, only recently discarded. The other stations are empty. Just you this time. The runaway, brought back into the fold.
"You know what to do."
You do. You do but…
"Get to it."
Your eyes rise to meet his gaze in the mirror. His eyes harden, brows narrowing, hand on your shoulder tightening, bruising. Talodine burns in your veins, but you don't need your telepathy to sense the indignation at your gall.
"No."
The hand on your shoulder, a vice now. Footsteps from behind and you brace for—
"Riley?"
A name. Not a number. You're here. Now. Not there. Not then.
A silver face in front of yours, brows knit, slight frown. Silver hands loose on your arms. She's concerned about you, projecting it a bit, wants you to know. How long were you zoned out?
You pull on a shaky smile for her, fingers flexing in your lap. You wish you had something between them and settle for worrying on the frayed threads of your sleeves.
"Are you alright? You look like you're going to throw up."
"I'm okay." Slow deep breath through your nose, hold it, release it. Again. Relax. You have to relax. "It's just…"
Your eyes dart to the clippers on the sink. They're what set you off. Too many bad memories. She hasn't even turned them on yet. It's been three? four? years since you tried to do it yourself. Longer still since they last forced it on you. How can you still be this weak?
"Are you having second thoughts?"
You aren't sure if you regret your offhand remark admiring some stranger's undercut. You might regret taking up her offer to help you cut your hair. You're too stubborn to give in, regardless.
"No. I want— I need to do this." Choice, you remind yourself. Your choice. No one's holding you down, holding you to it. You stare down at your scarred knuckles, resisting the urge to pick at them like you did back then. "Just… please be patient with me?"
"Okay." A pause, a little unreadable eddy spinning in her mind. "Can you look in the mirror for me?"
Always a hard ask, but you comply after a moment. The good thing about wearing so many layers is you have one to spare for this endeavor. Don't have to stare at the tattoos and make this worse than it already is.
She runs a finger along the side of your head, just grazing the split tip of your ear. "Up to here?"
"Higher. Like… up to the crown."
"Here?" Another drag through your hair, right where your skull starts to curve.
"Yeah. But sides only."
"Leave the back long? Same width stripe all the way down?"
"Yeah. Same all the way." You meet her eyes in the mirror, curiosity furrowing your brow as it finally occurs to you that you can't picture her with a shaved head. "How do you know how to use clippers anyway?"
A sad, nostalgic smile graces her lips. "My mom taught me the basics. My older brothers would let me do their hair sometimes, then just buzz it off if they didn't like it."
A reminder of the divide between you and people that always feels insurmountable. How different would you be if you'd been reared by someone who actually cared about you? Was invested in you for you, not for whatever experiments they could concoct to torture you. Maybe still not normal, normal was never in your cards. Less broken, at least. Less twisted up inside. More human.
She starts parting your hair, digging out the line she's going to follow. Cool hands, cold metal clips to keep it in place. You let your eyes fall shut. Breathe. You're wound tight as a spring and you haven't even gotten to the main event yet.
"Your hair is so thick," she says quietly. "Have you ever grown it longer than what you had when we met the first time?"
Almost touching your shoulders then, savagely self-hacked with scissors to keep it tamed. You didn't care about what it looked like before Ortega barged back into your life. You did after. "Once. After I… returned to Los Diablos. It got to be too much of a hassle."
"You kept it all shaved as Sidestep, right?"
"Yeah, out of habit."
"But not after you got back?"
"No."
"What changed?"
"Me." You swallow down the sudden lump in your throat. "Everything."
You feel her curiosity bubbling to the surface, but she patiently continues pinning up your hair, letting you find words at your own pace.
"I actually did try to grow it back then. For Ric. And me, I guess. He asked about it and I couldn't answer. It was right before…"
You were theirs again.
Rough hand on your head, knotting in locks just long enough to pull. Hard. You can't stop the yell at the entirely new pain. You don't need telepathy to know how much they enjoy it, it's clear in the cruel laughter.
They could have cut your hair while you were half-catatonic and saved themselves the struggle. But they wanted to test you. Wanted to show how easy it is to strip away what little was still yours. Still you.
"… it stopped being my choice." Not that it had been the first time you were there but you hadn't known freedom then. Choice is irrelevant when you don't know it exists.
"Riley." Quiet, but firm. A cool gentle squeeze at the base of your neck stills your shivers.
Fuck, you're definitely tight there. You bite back a groan. "Yeah?"
"It's okay." Absolving you of having to talk about it. You haven't told her about the Farm yet, but she knows enough to put it together with being taken after Heartbreak. Her thumb rubs gentle circles in the taut muscle. "Do me a favor and look at the mirror again."
You open your eyes and can't contain the snort of surprise at the sight of your hair pinned up in a dozen different directions. Tension drains out of you in a fit of helpless giggles, you look absolutely ridiculous. She echoes your smile in the mirror, flicks a floppy clipped up chunk over into your vision.
"Hey!"
"You okay?"
You grimace as you look at the clippers on the sink again. "Maybe."
"You sure you're sure about this?"
"Yeah." You force your gaze back to meet hers in the mirror. "When you do it. Please don't pull my hair?"
The plea comes out more pathetic than you intended and her face twitches. Something roils under the surface of her mercurial thoughts. Offended that you think she would? Anger at the ones who did? You won't delve deeper to find out. Your word has never been worth much, but that's one promise you intend to keep as long as you can.
"I won't." A quiet pledge as she picks up the clippers. "You ready?"
"No, but do it anyway." You squeeze your eyes shut.
A click and the buzz goes straight to the base of your spine, a prickly itch skittering its way up to your skull like spider legs. A cool hand on your head. A flat, open, gentle grip to steady your tremors and tilt you a little to the side. She has you. She'll stop if you ask. You suppress your flinch as she makes the first pass with the clippers, buzzing in your spine so much worse when it touches. Suppress the maddening urge to throw yourself off the stool at the next one. No pain or pulling, just a light rain of hair on your neck. One more and then the buzzing recedes as she withdraws. You let out the breath you didn't even realize you'd been holding.
Cool fingers massage your skull between the clips, warmer lips press to your forehead. "You okay?"
"Yeah." Not fully the truth but you're better than you thought you'd be. It's enough to get there.
"Good. You'll look really stupid if we stop now." Her tone is light, teasing, and again you can't help the snort that slips out.
You crack your eyes open to look at the patch of peach fuzz behind your ear. She's not wrong. You run a finger through it. So soft, you missed that texture.
"Is that length good?"
"Yeah."
"Ready to go again?"
"Mhmm."
You close your eyes again, steel yourself for another pass, and another. Her hand shifts, finger pressing your ear gently out of the way as she works around it. The buzzing echoed in the base of your spine doesn't get any more bearable, but the urge to flee does.
A brief pause as she moves to the other side. Hand shifts and tilts you the other way. Same thing once more. It's probably all over faster than you think, but time has never been on your side. Another click as she turns it off, brushes the hair from your neck and shoulders.
You open your eyes to examine her handiwork. Run your hands through the fresh cut, back to the waves still brushing your neck. The sides are level, even. Your face looks a little younger without all the hair framing it. A little sharper. More like the old days, before the scars. Most of them, anyway.
"Let me see."
You hold still as she examines your cut, tilting your face in multiple angles. Care in her gaze and handling, not like before. Not like you're a piece of meat on the block. You let out a held breath when she turns you loose.
"It's a good look on you, shows off those lovely cheekbones and earrings." She nods her satisfaction and digs the scissors out of the kit you brought. She doesn't need to own a pair with her hair. "Just need to trim some strays and you'll be done."
"Okay." You tilt your head as she directs you, watching in the mirror as she carefully works around your ears.
"You know we'll have to do this again in a month or two if you want to maintain it."
Not the most pleasant prospect, but this went much better than when you tried to do it yourself after you escaped. Easier to accomplish when the hands doing the deed aren't shaking hard enough to lose their grip. Easier to take with support. Maybe it'll keep getting better. Other things have.
"I can handle it. Do you mind?"
"No." She cleans up the line of your cut and moves to the other side, lips quirking in a soft smile. "I like playing beauty parlor."
She releases your hair from the clips once her trim is complete. It tickles over the shaved parts, a strange and new sensation, but not bad. You ruffle and fluff it with your fingers. Try to resist scratching your neck as tiny hairs trapped under your shirt irritate your skin.
"Definitely liking this look on you." You glance over to find her watching you with a wide indulgent smile. "I bet you feel itchy though."
"Can I…?" You gesture to the tub.
"Of course." She puts the scissors and clippers away, spotlessly clean after a silver hand trails over them. "I'll have some coffee ready when you're done. Ricardo should be here in an hour or so."
—
You're both settled together on the couch, well after the promised hour, when Argent suddenly perks up. She unfurls from her curled up recline against your side and heads for the door. You don't sense anyone on the other side, but he can't hide from her security like he can your mind. It's handy to have machines looking out. Might be worth adding more to your lair.
"How're my ladies today?" Ortega asks as he steps in, kicking his shoes off at the entry.
"Ready to kick back with some movies and doughnuts." Argent pulls him down by the collar for a kiss and you hear a hiss from him. The teeth are out. "You're late."
"Sorry. Got tied up helping Wei." A little apology peck on her forehead. "How'd beauty parlor go?"
"See for yourself." She gestures towards you.
"Oh…" An exhale of the softest wonder. "Now that's a blast from the past."
He sets the boxes on the counter, takes a seat on the edge of the coffee table. Knees intertwining and bumping yours. Warm hands cupping your cheeks, fingers caressing your newly clipped fuzz.
"You kept the top long."
"Yeah. Back too."
His hands trail back, burrowing into the waves at the base of your skull as he gently butts your head. "I love it."
"You love all my haircuts…" you mumble, cheeks warming. He's had a gush of compliments every time you see a stylist. Likes that you're taking care of yourself more.
"I especially love this one." A little kiss on your forehead. Nose. Lips. A glance over your shoulder. "You did a fantastic job, Angie. Maybe I should ask you to give me a haircut too."
"You couldn't afford me, Ricardo." A scoff but you feel little undercurrents of pleasure at the compliment. "But I guess I could make an exception this time. We haven't cleaned up the mess yet."
"Hmmmm, I do like you fluffy like this." You bury your hands in his curls, butt his forehead back gently. "But maybe you could use a trim."