theoneandonly
His brain stalled.
Because this was **wrong.**
This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen.
He had **teased her for years** about cutting her hair.
Since the beginning.
Since the barracks, since before war carved its weight into their bones.
Since before he realized he **loved her.**
—
**A Memory, Years Ago**
It had been **one of those rare quiet nights.**
The kind where exhaustion settled deep in their bones, but the adrenaline of still being alive wouldn’t let them sleep.
Daniel had been leaning against the barracks doorframe, arms crossed, **watching her.**
Elena sat on her bunk, legs crossed, working **methodically through her braid.**
**Long. Golden.**
Even tangled from the day’s sweat and dust, it was beautiful.
**Not that he’d ever say that out loud.**
“You ever gonna cut that?” Daniel asked, his voice lazy but laced with **genuine curiosity.**
Elena didn’t even look up. “Not a chance, Carter.”
He smirked. “Come on. It’s gotta be a pain in the ass by now. Bet you’d sleep better without it strangling you.”
Elena **snorted.** “And let you hack it off with your combat knife?”
Daniel grinned. “Tempting.”
She rolled her eyes, **but there was a hint of a smile at the corners of her lips.**
That was when he said it—**offhand, teasing, meaningless at the time.**
**“One day, you’re gonna let me cut it.”**
Elena **paused.**
Just for a second.
Then, she smirked. **“Maybe one day.”**
And that was the problem.
**Daniel had believed her.**
He had imagined that **one day, years from now,** he’d sit her down, she’d roll her eyes, maybe laugh, finally let him cut it.
**Not like this.**
Not with her standing in front of the mirror, **clippers buzzing in her trembling grip, eyes red-rimmed with exhaustion and grief.**
Not **alone.**
Not **shattered.**
—
**Back in the Present**
Daniel **exhaled slowly.**
His hands curled into **tight fists.**
Then—**before she could take more than she already had—**he **moved.**
He **wrapped his fingers over hers, stopping the clippers before they could touch her skin.**
She tensed.
“El.” His voice was soft, **but unshaken.**
Her breath **hitched.**
She looked at herself in the mirror—at **the uneven, jagged mess of her once-golden waves.**
Her hands shook.
“It’s already gone,” she whispered, **a helpless, broken sound.** “I don’t even look like me anymore.”
Daniel exhaled. **Steady. Controlled.**
Then, carefully, **he pried the clippers from her grasp** and set them down.
His hands found her shoulders.
His **thumb brushed over the exposed skin at the nape of her neck.**
“Elena,” he murmured again, **and this time, her shoulders shook.**
And before she could **fall apart completely—**
He pulled her into his chest.
Held her. **Tight.**
Like he could hold her **together. Her body trembled**, her fingers **clutching his shirt like she was afraid to let go.**
His hand slid into her **butchered hair,** pressing his palm **against the back of her head.**
She exhaled a **shuddering breath** against his collarbone.
Daniel closed his eyes.
Then—**so softly, so deliberately—**
**“Let me fix it.”**
—
**The Haircut**
Daniel sat her down in front of the mirror.
He ran his **fingers through what was left.**
His jaw clenched.
It was uneven, **ragged, desperate.**
His chest tightened.
Because this wasn’t just a haircut.
**This was loss.**
This was **her**, trying to cut away the weight of everything she couldn’t carry anymore.
And he wasn’t going to let her take more than she needed.
Not when he could still **save something.**
Slowly, carefully, he ran his **knuckles along her jawline, measuring.**
“If I take it here,” he murmured, **his touch slow, careful, “it’ll frame your face.”**
His fingers **slid to the nape of her neck, smoothing the jagged edges, tracing the shape.**
**Shorter in the back.**
**Longer in the front.**
He lifted slightly, **his palm pressing against her skin, his grip tightening just enough to make her shiver.**
“A-line bob,” he murmured. **“Still something for me to grab.”**
Elena let out a slow, **shaky breath.**
Daniel smirked.
**“That sound good?”**
She met his gaze in the mirror, **her eyes a little clearer now, a little steadier.**
Then—**she nodded.**
Daniel exhaled.
Then—**he picked up the scissors.**
The first cut was **sharp, clean, final.**
**Snip.**
A thick, golden strand **tumbled down, landing in a heap at her feet.**
Elena **shivered.**
Daniel worked **slowly, carefully, deliberately.**
His **knuckles brushed against her jaw, the back of her neck, his touch steady, grounding.**
**Snip.**
More hair **fell in soft waves around them.**
Then—**a slow, deliberate tug.**
Elena **gasped.**
Daniel smirked.
And then—**in the softest voice he had ever used—**
**“You’re still you, you know.”**
Elena’s eyes softened.
Then—**a real smile, small but certain.**
“I know.”
—
**The Next Morning**
Daniel had spent the whole night **watching her sleep.**
Not in the creepy way.
In the **I-almost-lost-you-and-I-don’t-know-how-to-let-go-yet** way.
The storm had passed.
The world was still.
But inside—**he still felt the aftershocks.**
Elena stirred, shifting against the pillow.
Daniel braced himself.
**The moment she remembered.**
Her **hand slid into her hair**, running through the shorter layers.
A breath **hitched.**
Then—**a quiet, hesitant whisper.**
“…It’s short.”
Daniel finally let out a breath, **shifting onto his side, watching her.**
“Well, yeah,” he muttered, **voice rough from sleep.**
**“That’s what happens when you try to shave your damn head, Kovacs.”**
Elena groaned, **burying her face in the pillow.**
Daniel leaned in, his fingers **threading through her hair, tugging gently.**
“Still enough to grab,” he murmured.
Elena **shivered.**
His lips **brushed against her throat, pressing a slow, lingering kiss.**
A real one.
Something solid.
Something that said **I’m still here. And so are you.**
