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For most lesbians, hairstyles become a distinct way to express your authentic self, or that's what the general consensus is at least. And if it scares men off at the same time, even better. Trinity is a proud lesbian despite what her parents have to say on the matter. It's a sin, you'll go to hell, you're confused, the same phrases repeated over and over for hundreds of women. But as Huckleberry would, albeit probably stuttering, confirm, she fully embraces her gayness. That being said, for Trinity her hairstyle was much more toxic and corrupted than the simplicity that was identity.
She always had long hair that her mother was passionate and controlling of. She was determined to make Trinity a proud member of their church, probably hoping to hide the attitude she had even then. But while others would remark on its beauty, all Trinity remembers is the sharp bristles of the brush tugging through her hair every morning and evening, a special type of torture. One hundred strokes without fail. No matter what, she had to stay still and suffer through it. And then there was competition hair, which was a special type of hell. Hairspray, mousse, tight braids and ponytails, anything to keep that hair neat and out the way when you're turning your body 360 degrees on the mat and flipping through the air.
Then there was Lily, who was the first person to truly see her and care for her in a way her parents, or anyone else, truly did, or wanted to. They would spend their time before competitions calming each other's nerves and talking through routines while they gently did each other's hair, most of the time in matching hairstyles for luck. If Trinity concentrates hard enough she can still remember the gentleness of her hand and the brush as it went through her long hair. As much as she often complained and wanted to cut it all off just to save herself from brushing it, it was their routine which she valued and loved.
But as Trinity learned from a young age, anything she loved soon either ended in misery or pain. When Coach Hemlock first came to bring a special few girls up to their potential, it was an honour, a privilege. The girls looked at each other excitedly while simultaneously calculating how to be one of those chosen few. That day Trinity never felt the same in her body again. From friendly massages to a kiss on the head, a hand under her shirt to fingers inside her, her body was no longer hers but his. Her hair too. His big gentle hands running their way through the long strands while he whispered in her ear how she was special and he loved her, how it was their little secret.
But nothing can stay secret forever. And not everyone lives to see that day.
When the blood of her best friend covered what felt like every inch of her skin, where it would forever be embedded, she knew her hair was tainted and could never be cleansed. Not from him and not from her failure to save the person who meant everything to her, that was the only one who went through what she did too, together. They were supposed to be together. To go to the other side, of life or the trial, together. The paramedics arrived at the scene and had to grab her from behind as she thrashed and screamed and sobbed and cried, clinging to Lily's hand. Just another set of hands she couldn't stop from touching her. By the time her parents drove her home she was silent and stayed that way for months. No one would listen anyway and she had nothing left to say. After finally being alone for a second she felt nausea like nothing she'd ever felt before, even after being with him, as her body rejected everything in her stomach as if it could drain the poison from her. But that could never happen, she would never be free or clean again. Tainted and ruined forever. If she made it that long.
Looking up at the mirror, a ghost faced her. She took the scissors her mum kept in the drawer and didn't think to hide from her unstable daughter, and took the blades to her hair. The long strands that annoyed her and hurt her and connected her to Lily were gone, barely touching the back of her neck now. Her mother screamed when she saw and yelled and prayed, but the hair couldn't be saved and neither could she.
Since then she never allowed her hair to grow past her shoulders, just like she didn't allow a lot of things. Touch, friends, trust, men. By the time she finally escaped the claustrophobia of a town that knew everything and parents who couldn't accept her, for uni everyone assumed her hair was just a way of being a typical lesbian. Which was clear in the way she dressed to the rainbow badge on her bag, she made herself male-repellent in every way. From a buzz cut to an undercut to clipped hair to shoulder length, her hair was her control and no one could take that from her. She soon learned the moment she looked in the mirror and her hair was too long the screaming and suffocating panic and pain would follow, never mind the nightmares that already haunted her.
Even as a doctor, who should leave their baggage at the door, she still couldn't quite drop the urge for pain and punishment-she deserved it and needed it. Just for a moment of peace. She wears her hair up to stop the constant urge to pull her hair out the moment she's triggered or anxious or anything, because no one wants a doctor who can't handle her emotions. So that stays hidden within the carefully built walls. Wearing her hair in tight ponytails also helps, not so much her hairline, but the pain keeps her head from screaming. The louder the noise, the tighter the hair, the higher the pain. And never letting it grow long enough to bring her back to who she used to be, and secretly still was.
Her hair had been her burden and her control for over ten years and no amount of talking or supposed friends had changed that. Until Dennis huckleberry Whittaker. Maybe it's the kicked puppy expression or sad eyes, but he manages to sneak his way through her walls, and while she'd never admit it, into her heart. A place she thought was dark and abandoned a long time ago. She doesn't even notice how long her hair has grown until she's doing her hair for their weekly pub debrief. The breakdown nearly occurs there and then, the urge to get scissors echoing through her mind. But as usual, in a way he doesn't even realise, he distracts her from the suffering in her own head, normally with a, "Trinity, where is the hair dryer?" or, "You need to eat something before we go because I know you haven't eaten all day." Then time goes past and she's back being numb before the breakdown can even occur.
Being the huckleberry he really is, not only does he become her best friend but looks after her in a way no one ever has before, in a way she's ever let anyone. He knows how to see right through her and be by her side through the glares and sarcasm and clear aversion to vulnerability. It started when they were going to be late for work and her hair was in tangles from a particularly chaotic night out. She was raging and half yanking her hair out, in which he takes the brush from her and makes her sit down. She's so stunned and in such a rush it barely comprehends before he is gently detangling and brushing her hair until eventually it's smooth. Her roommate takes that as permission to elevate their friendship to the next level, which Trinity learns means he soon becomes her personal hairdresser when it's clear she sees her hair as a burden she'd rather not deal with, and he's all too happy to help. After a long shift, when she's so exhausted she can't see straight or her mind so heavy every move seems to be too much, he will brush and braid her hair for her. It even gets to the point if she won't shower he'll make her lay down on the kitchen side and wash her hair in the sink while she complains and grumbles the whole time.
The thing is, the reason Dennis, sweet awkward Dennis, gets away with such blatant care and love is, minus his growing thick skin to her insults, he does it so subtly he's already done it by the time Trinity realises what he's doing. Even when she's stressed and pulling her hair, which is most of the time, suddenly he's asking to practise a new braid in her hair which happens to put all her hair out of the way.
When she has nightmares of inescapable hands on her and wakes up screaming, crying and losing her mind, he never once runs away. He stays and lets her come to him where she'll bury herself in his side and he'll carefully stroke her hair as her breathing slowly evens out. Not that he would know the significance of letting him do such a thing, being the first man she's ever felt safe with and let touch her hair like that.
Once he knows the magic touch of stroking her hair is enough to slow her body down and eventually get her to sleep, to save everyone the suffering of a sleep-deprived Trinity, he can't seem to stop. Soon it's a regular routine. After almost every shift they'll sit on the sofa pretending to watch whatever shitty TV is on while Trinity cuddles into his side. He'll stroke her hair and she'll grumble he's making her sleepy, but the second he stops the soothing motion she just has to make an indignant sound and he starts again. And when she has urges, the ones that make her want to add to the growing lines on her thigh, he seems to know despite her never telling him about it. He'll stroke her hair and rub her back to get her out of her head and they'll usually stay like that until they wake up the next morning to distant alarms waking them up.
On a random evening after what was another chaotic shift in the Pitt, the two are sat in their normal positions on the couch getting cosy to recover from the day. Dennis is running his fingers through her hair starting from her hairline to the back of her neck, occasionally rubbing his thumb along her forehead. Trinity's half asleep, leaning her head on his shoulder, when she quietly says, "You know I used to have super short hair, like your length and shorter."
He hums a response. "Really?"
She nods against him. "Had a buzz cut, undercut, short layered hair, mullet, everything basically."
He takes a moment to consider and replies with, "I want photos," as she predicted he would say.
She says it'll take a dangerous amount of alcohol for her to reveal those secrets.
He huffs but knew that was going to be the only circumstances she would ever get that vulnerable. While Dennis may appear clueless at times he is smart, and more than that observant, enough to know that his best friend doesn't just control and have short hair for image purposes. He knows to wait until she is willing to tell him about the past that keeps her up at night and the habits she has from it, but he has always managed to see through her facades.
None of that matters, not the cosy nights, not the back rubs after nightmares or soothing words or gentle hair braiding, because everyone leaves. When Robby gives him the offer to house-sit for three months, Dennis, her Huckleberry, is gone before she can bring herself to beg him to stay. The dark thoughts build and spiral and nearly consume her whole. She doesn't eat, doesn't sleep, barely exists outside of work. Barely able to stand the silence that once again echos her apartment, a reminder of loneliness she refuses to acknowledge. Her hair becomes a burden once again, something that needed to be controlled. She needed to be in control. Through tears and trembling, hair falls to the floor in clumps as she slices through the hair he has stroked, feeling only the reminder of friends lost and boundaries crossed. Only when it barely touches the top of her neck in a short bob can she finally take a full breath.
It's clear, not just from the change in appearance, that something has changed. She isn't acting like the doctor and colleague the staff know, even if all they did was tolerate her before. It takes longer than Trinity could deal with, but Dennis realises how deeply he misses Trinity and the lack of thought he put into the decision that was pushed onto him by Robby. Dennis knew things had been bad when he was away, could only guess the ways she hurt herself physically and the mental spirals. He waits for her to talk about the new length. He never once mentions it. Back in their routine they're snuggled on the sofa and he's stroking her new short hair, feeling the difference in his fingers, a reminder of the way he hurt his best friend. He places a kiss on her head and she leans more into his shoulder, feeling as close as she gets to peace in a while, trembling a little at the relief that her person is back where he should be.
Panic attacks are certainly not a foreign experience for Trinity. She's had them most weeks since the day he decided her body was his to control and use, and by now Dennis was well trained in what to do when she had one. Especially as she wanted him there as the best way to slow her heart rate and breathing again. But he had never seen her have one this bad.
It was just another trauma patient whom he and Trinity saved. They ended up covered in the patient's blood, but that isn't unusual in the ER. What was different, however, was the way Trinity was still scrubbing her hands violently in the sink as her breathing got quicker by the second. Dennis tried to talk to her but she ignored him, or maybe wouldn't or couldn't hear him. Then her eyes go to her hair that has been growing out since the day he moved back in and she sees blood staining the end. Trembling immediately takes over her body and her hands go to her hair, nearly pulling it out at the root, crying and hyperventilating, close to passing out. He tried to reassure her but nothing was snapping her out of the frenzy. Desperate, he gently tugs her to the floor with him and holds his hands firmly on her wrists, curling her into his chest. She sobs into him and he rocks her gently, reminding her she's okay. Slowly, very slowly, she manages to slow her breathing enough, but she's still distraught. Dennis gets a cloth and whispers in her ear as he washes the ends of her hair, trying to wash the pain and trauma away.
It's only back at home, after Dana sent them back, that in a half-dissociated state, as she sits cross-legged between Dennis's legs while he brushes her hair, she tells him about Lily and the stain she could never be rid of. Her quiet sobs, unlike before, are more gentle, and his heart silently breaks for her. In the end he gets up and takes the scissors from their kitchen drawer, knowing only one thing will make her feel better and stop her doing something more harmful to herself later during a spiral. Carefully measuring the ends of her hair, he cuts enough that her hair's back just below her shoulders, with any strand tainted now on the floor. She feels, even half out of it, as he places a kiss on her head after braiding the now shorter hair. Then, with one arm under her legs and one around her back, he picks her up and walks them to his room. They're soon both cosy in a nest of blankets and she's placed under his arm close to his heart, where he strokes her hair and she knows that no matter what trauma or horrors she throws at Dennis, her huckleberry will be there for her in the way he always has.