Disclaimer: I own nothing and profit none.
A/N: So I'm trying to ease back into this whole writing thing. And I got 1,000 words about hair dye. This might be a long process.
The night Kate dyes his hair auburn, he finally gets it.
It becomes blindingly obvious to him at Kate's reaction and more so the next morning, when the rest of their merry crew catch their first glimpse of the new redhead in their midst, but that's just supporting evidence.
Before all of that, when it's just him and the mirror and this head he doesn't recognize, he gets it.
This guy in the mirror, this stranger with a hazily familiar outline could be anybody. The eyes are bluer against the red, the strong cheekbones oddly softer and higher. The chin rounder. The hair, obviously, much redder and darker and – he runs a tentative hand over it – even softer.
He could be anybody, too.
So, the next morning, when he tries to casually stroll into Magnus' office and steal a seat away from those sharp eyes, his eyes flick despite his efforts, as though magnetized, to those thick, dark curls heading towards him.
"Hm," she hums, briefly, and he watches her eyes look him over, lingering on the short thatch of hair he's trying to pretend isn't inexplicably redder than yesterday. "I do believe something is different about you today."
He smiles, despite himself, because she is simply that bad at humor. He doesn't mind, though, because it earns him a flat-out grin, double-dimpled, and he would endure a whole lot more than terrible puns for that expression on her face.
Distracted by the grin, he's unprepared for the hand that weaves through his hair, skimming strands between fingers.
"Red?"
"Auburn," he corrects, in a snooty accent, before continuing, "at least, that's what I've been informed. At length."
"Ah," his efforts waken a softer version of the grin, which sinks towards sardonic as she inquires, "Any particular reason?"
"I was tired," he paused, trying to figure out exactly how to phrase his epiphany. He can't. "Of brown." Looking over to catch the darker blue eyes so close to his own, he realizes that he didn't need to say more. Of all people, she can read between those lines.
Tired of being that guy. The one who doubts – himself, others, the world. The one who thinks he's cursed. The one who keeps on losing. The one who's lost.
"I'll admit, I was fond of the brown," it's almost impossible to hold those soft eyes. I do not doubt you. You will not lose me. I won't let you be lost. "But I think red – auburn – will grow on me."
"That's good," he manages roughly, before salvaging himself with a cleared throat and a wry grin, "because I was also informed that it's permanent."
"'Informed' after the fact, I take it?" and the smile is sliding towards evil.
"You'd think I'd know better by now," he shakes his head deprecatingly. "But I'm learning," he knows his own smile is leaning towards evil now.
"What do you mean?" she manages to look curious, reproving, and delighted simultaneously, which is quite a feat. Before he can answer, however, they are both interrupted.
"William Zimmerman! I'm going to kill you!"
"Huh," he turns back towards Magnus innocently. "I wonder what that's about."
"Not in my office," she responds, confusingly. "It will take forever to get the blood stains out."
"Such faith you have in me," he claps his hand to his chest, feigning injury. Apparently red brings out the comic in him. And, perhaps, the prankster, although he doesn't think he'll admit that to Kate anytime soon.
"Hallway," she points, her lips fighting a smile.
"What happened to innocent until proven guilty?" he stalls. Kate probably won't try to kill him in front of Magnus. Probably.
"I don't think it's your status in the eyes of the law you need worry about currently. Now scoot," her hand waves him towards the door. They can both hear the heavy stomps getting closer by now.
"You'd just turn an innocent man over to her tender mercies?" he tries for a combination of mournful and appalled.
"I doubt 'tender' will enter the equation," she answers coolly. "What did you do?" she finally can't help but ask.
"Not a thing!" he defends, then gazing with deliberate unconcern out towards the window, continues wonderingly, "But it's amazing what people will do once they have most of a bottle of wine in them. So I've heard."
She coughs out a, "Will…" but before he can enjoy whatever admonishment is coming his way, Kate suddenly takes center stage in the room. One day he may learn how she does that, if he survives long enough.
"Blue?" and there's nothing subtle about her anger and the dangerous glint in her eyes directed all his way. He probably won't survive long enough. "What am I, a punky hipster?"
"I don't know," he manages (barely) not to laugh, "I kind of like it."
Red – auburn – worked for him. Blue looked like it was fighting a battle with Kate's head. And winning.
Her eyes narrow and he tries not to plot out an escape route visibly. Magnus or no Magnus, this doesn't look like it's going to end well.
"Kate," speaking of whom, "I doubt it's permanent."
Excellent timing, if somewhat deflating.
"What?" at least it diverted attention. Swiftly, he tried to fill his lungs. Breathing hadn't really been at the forefront of his mind for a long moment.
"Blue dye is usually temporary. Semi-permanent at the most. Have you tried washing it out?"
"No," Kate drawled slowly. "No, I haven't. You're still dead," she reassures him, before stomping quickly out the door.
It is temporary. Maybe that will downgrade his death to a maiming.
"Blue?" The tone is pure censure, but – Will sneaks a peek at her face – she can't quite subdue her twitching lips.
With a nonchalant shrug, he contributes, "I thought it would make a statement," before leaning back against the sofa with innocently spread arms.
Yes, he mused, letting his own grin emerge at her cough of laughter, auburn could grow on him.