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"Sit Still, Archivist. I Don't Want To Slip!"
Jon thrashed, desperately trying to get away. The gag muffled his pleas for her to 'stop, please stop, oh god, please'.
"If You Can't Sit Still Then I Will Get Upset!"
The first snip was far too loud. A small shower of hair fluttered down, tickling past his arm and sending him headfirst into hysterics.
Nikola tutted, or made a noise that could've been tutting if she'd actually had a mouth. "Silly Archivist, It's Only Hair!". She squeezed his cheeks in one cold plastic hand. "You Won't Need It When I Peel You!"
The scissors closed next to his ear, so close he could feel the cold metal of the blades, and he finally stilled, terror overtaking him and freezing his muscles in place. He didn't move as she continued to cut his hair, moving his head from side to side with a firm grasp on his scalp. Tears ran down his cheeks, saturating the gag. Every decisive snip of the scissors was like thunder in his ears, sending a cascade of hair into his lap where it landed against his trembling legs.
"You Cry A Lot, Don't You?" Nikola said in her horrible sing-song voice. "Tears Are Good For Your Skin, So I'm Glad You're Crying."
Jon shook his head, trying to hold back his sobs.
"None Of That. Stop Moving." She pulled on his strands harshly. "I Don't Want To Ruin Your Skin!"
Jon choked out a desperate plea against the gag. "Please, Elias, help me, dear god get me out of here."
-
Jon stared at his reflection, running a hand through the mess that was his hair. It was wildly uneven, with patches still long and stringy while others were cut close to his scalp. There was no order to his hair anymore, not that he'd been a particularly tidy person before the Circus had kept him tied up in a basement for a month. His wrists still ached. Being dragged back to the Institute should've been a relief, but all he was feeling was a deep exhaustion. So much had happened so quickly and Jon was rapidly loosing control. He couldn't even get his hair to look neat.
One of the stall doors opened. Jon dropped his hands and stepped away from the sinks, putting his back against the wall. Tim came out of the stall, glaring at Jon.
"What are you doing here? Still sneaking around? You following us to the bathroom now?"
"No, I- I just needed to wash my hands."
"Sure." Tim didn't sound convinced. He crossed over to the sink furthest from Jon and washed his hands, glaring at him in the reflection from the mirror.
Jon pushed off the wall and hurried to leave, desperately wishing to avoid an argument that he didn't have the energy for. Smoothly, Tim stepped in front of him, blocking the doorway. Jon didn't meet his eyes, just stared at the door over Tim's shoulder, quietly praying that he could leave soon.
"You look like shit."
Jon closed his eyes.
"Did you do that?"
He shook his head.
"What, didn't have the guts to fight back? Just stood there and took it?"
He flinched. The feeling of plastic hands against his scalp filled his mind, the gag in his mouth, muffling his screams, the cold press of the scissors against his neck.
Tim scoffed. "Yeah, thought so. Don't move."
He vanished out of the room. Jon stayed where he was, fidgeting with this sleeves. When Tim reappeared a few minutes later, he was carrying a plastic case and a hand towel from the breakroom. He pushed Jon backwards slightly, shoving him further into the room. Jon stumbled but let Tim manoeuvre him until his lower back collided with the sinks.
Tim dumped the case on the counter and snapped open the clasps, revealing a set of hair clippers.
Jon stared at them. "Why are these even here?"
"Martin bought them while he was staying in the archives." Tim said, tossing the hand towel over Jon's shoulder. "He still needed to cut his hair. You'd know that if you actually payed attention."
"Right." Jon ran a finger along the plastic casing of the trimmer. "Sorry."
"Stop saying that."
Jon fought down the urge to apologise again.
"Turn around."
The first brush of Tim's hand against his hair sent him staggering into the sink.
"Sorry, sorry, I- I'm sorry."
"Jon."
"It felt- I thought-"
Tim's voice was quiet. "You thought I was one of them?"
Jon nodded weekly.
Tim took Jon's hand pressed his thumb into the pulse point on Tim's wrist. "I'm real. I am not one of those things. I'm human."
Jon felt the steady beat of Tim's heart against his thumb and forced himself to focus on it, counting the steady rhythm of it.
"You okay for me to try again?"
A moments pause. More heartbeat under his thumb. Jon nodded.
Slowly, Tim raised his free hand to Jon's hair. Jon tensed, feeling Tim's fingertips against his scalp, knowing that there was blood beneath his skin, a heart pumping that blood.
"I'm going to need my hand back." Tim shook his hand gently, not enough to dislodge Jon but enough to get his attention.
Jon let go, immediately missing the touch.
"Is this going to be too much?" Tim held up the clippers. Jon shook his head. "Good. Turn around. You don't have to look, I just need to get to the back of your head."
Jon turned, meeting his own eyes in the mirror. Deep breath, Sims. Come on now.
The buzz of the clippers was nothing like the sharp snap of scissors, but it still made him feel sick. Feeling Tim press them gently into the back of his neck sent him reeling, gripping onto the sink as Tim methodically shaved off the longer portions. He paused every few seconds to brush away the loose hair with the back of his hand.
"Why did they cut your hair?"
Jon glanced up at Tim's reflection. He was staring at the back of Jon's head, not meeting his gaze.
"She said it would be easier to- To use my skin if it was all clean."
Tim didn't respond. He placed a hand on Jon's temple to tip his head back, swapping out the blades of the clippers for ones that would cut the hair longer. He started on the top of Jon's head, leaving the hair about an inch or so long. Some of the patches were still too short to fully match, but they were far more hidden. Tim was silent as he worked, but he was gentle. He didn't pull at the strands, just pushed at Jon's head when he needed him to move.
Once he was done, he dropped the clippers back in the box.
"Well?"
Jon ran a hand over his head. It was far tidier, if still a little messy. It was manageable. He could live with it. "Thank you."
Tim scoffed. "Don't. I just didn't want to have to see you looking like a walking guilt trip."
Jon smiled weakly. "That's fair."
"Besides, Martin would've worried. It's not healthy for him to care this much about you."
"I know."
"You're going to get him killed. You know that, right?"
Jon nodded. "I know."
"You just don't care."
Jon tried to protest, but Tim was already gone, slamming the door to the bathroom behind him. "Yeah." He sighed, staring at the sink full of hair. "Yeah. I deserved that."