HC:
That Leon sucks at doing hair but his daughter loves it.
While Chris is amazing because he always took care of Claires hair when she was young so Chris is just the go to for hair.
Chris learned young.
Not from manuals or mission briefings, but from long nights in a drafty house where it was just him and his baby sister. From brushing knots out of Claire's hair while she complained and laughed at the same time. From tying ribbons because someone had to make mornings feel normal.
So when his little girl climbs onto the counter, swinging her legs, Chris doesn’t hesitate.
He gathers her hair with careful fingers. Big hands, gentle pressure. He sections cleanly. Clips tucked where they won’t snag. His brow furrows in the same focused way it does before a mission, except this time the stakes are curls and comfort.
“Hold still, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice low and steady.
He braids slow. Even. Perfect tension. A style that will last the whole day, playground-proof, nap-proof, life-proof. When he ties it off, he smooths flyaways with a thumb like it’s second nature.
She looks in the mirror and gasps. "You made me pretty!”
Chris swallows. Hard. “You always are...just like mommy,” he says, quietly.
You watch from the doorway, chest tight, because you see it, the way his shoulders relax when she leans into him. The way he presses a kiss to the top of her head like it’s muscle memory. Like somewhere, a younger version of him is still standing in a kitchen, making sure his sister’s hair was neat because the world had already taken enough.
They only had each other.And he never forgot how to care. Not with you, not with his little girl.
Because you two were his everything.
Leon tries.
And that has to count for something.
Your daughter is vibrating with excitement, surrounded by a battlefield of supplies—clips shaped like stars, hearts, dinosaurs and little pugs, Glitter gel in random spots. Hair ties in every color known to man. Leon stares at it all like he’s defusing a bomb.
“Okay,” he says, cracking his knuckles. “We’ve handled worse.”
He absolutely has not.
He gathers her hair. Loses it. Regathers it. One clip goes in sideways. Another somehow vanishes entirely. There is glitter on his cheek. There is glitter in places glitter should not be.
She watches him with absolute trust with wide eyes and toothy smile.“Daddy, can I have all the clips?”
Leon grins. “Kid, I would never deny you greatness.”
The final result is… a lot.
Too many clips. A ponytail that leans slightly left. Sparkle gel applied with reckless abandon. It is asymmetrical. It is chaotic. It is aggressively enthusiastic.
It is perfectly Leon.
She beams like she’s just been crowned queen of the universe.
“I look AWESOME.” Her arms raise in the air.
Leon straightens, hands on hips, pride radiating off him. “Yeah you do. Best hair in the room.”
You’re laughing so hard you have to lean on the doorframe. Leon looks at you, glitter still on his face, and shrugs.
“She asked for style.”
She runs off, clips clacking happily, confidence sky-high. Leon watches her go, soft smile tugging at his mouth.
“Hey,” he says quietly, to you. “She likes it.”
You kiss his glittery cheek.“That’s all that matters.”
And somewhere between the mess and the laughter, Leon realizes something important:
He might be chaos, he might be a mess.
But to her?
He hung the stars in her hair.
