Chapter Text
*Trinity's Pov*
It had been about 9 months since Dennis moved into Trinity's apartment. For the first three months he had seemed to move around the apartment in silence, dishes were clean when she woke up or got home from her shift, food was untouched, the floors were kept clean. It disturbed her honestly, to know there was someone living there and yet barely a trace left. One day when he had been at a shift, she peeked in his room. She was normally against snooping but she wasn't looking through his things, just trying to see how he was settling in. She had found that the room looked nearly the same, the only evidence that someone stayed in the room being his small bag of items sitting by the dresser, with a few spread on top.
Over the next few weeks she had started to order them takeout or make food, knocking on his door and forcing him out to the living room. He would sit awkwardly on the couch, stiff back and hands fiddling on his knees trying to decline the food until she would shove it in his hands claiming "it'd go bad if he didn't eat it". She never really understood the soft spot she had for him, after all she was usually a certified man-hater, and yet she had invited him in after one shift of working together and continued to try and get him to spend time around her. But she trusted her intuition.
Around month 6 Dennis had finally started to open up more. He'd leave his worn out sneakers thrown by the door with hers, badge dumped in the key bowl, bag thrown under the coat rack. They would eat supper by the TV watching stupid reality shows, sometimes she'd cook, sometimes he would, and hell, if they wanted to order crappy takeout so be it. He still did all the dishes and repaired whatever shitty appliance broke, but it felt like she started finally living with a roommate. One night, after a few too many beers out at the park post-shift, Javadi had brought out her polaroid camera getting a photo taken of the so-deemed "Pittlings". Dennis had awkwardly asked for a second that he could have, and the photo was stuck up in his room later that night. Not many things did, but that small moment of him claiming the space brought a real smile to Trinity's face.
A week after, she saw Dennis have his first panic attack in front of her. She had gotten home from a particularly flirty shift of Garcia and burst into his room to tell him about it only to find him taping his chest.
"Shit Trin!" he had exclaimed, scrambling to pull a shirt over his head. She must've made a face without meaning because suddenly he was stumbling out words and throwing his items into his bag.
"Fuck, I'll uh- I know I should've told you sooner I just didn't- I get it, I'll be out of your hair, I can ask for night shift if you're not comfortable and,"
"Den! Dennis, breathe," she had said to the man who was starting to hyperventilate in front of her.
"You did nothing wrong, it's okay, you're okay. There's nothing wrong with it or you, you don't have to leave, you're safe here." she whispered out, settling on the floor next to him. He had curled into a ball and tried to cover his face, wracking in breaths while trying to cry silently.
"Let it out, it's okay, there's nothing wrong with it, I don't care, you're still you Den, it's still you." She murmured putting her arms around him.
He had spent that night sleeping in her bed, and told her that he was gay too. Trinity had gasped at that and swatted his head lightly saying he "didn't believe in her gaydar, of course she knew, she was a raging lesbian and why else would she let a man in her home?" (but she was proud of him for telling her).
There was still a lot she didn't know about Dennis. She knew he was trans now, knew he had been homeless for some time before she brought him in. She had learned that he didn't have a good relationship with his parents, they didn't call and neither did he, and occasionally he'd see something on his phone that made his stupid sad eyes look even sadder. She knew he used to be religious, he would twist a small cross chain in his hands when he was anxious, and knew he didn't really know that he believed it all anymore. On a few occasions, when his shirt would ride up, or he'd flop across her on the couch after too many drinks, she would notice thick welted scars on his back, but that wasn't her story to ask about until he was ready to tell. But most of all, she knew that she wouldn't let anyone hurt him again, because despite it all she loved him like a brother she never had, like someone she was missing her whole life.