Work Text:
The first time Trinity catches Dennis asleep in the bathtub, she thinks nothing of it. Accidentally falling asleep in unusual places and positions is an occupational hazard when you work long, grueling days on your feet. She’s only checking his bathroom to make sure his refusal to answer her about coffee isn’t because he died, anyway.
She leaves him be and doesn’t bring it up when he finally surfaces an hour later, rumpled and bleary-eyed. She simply gestures to the coffee pot, still warm.
She also doesn’t bring it up the next time she catches him there a few months later. Or the next.
By the fourth time, Trinity is more than a little curious. It’s not like she makes a habit of barging into Dennis’ personal space, so she can only wonder how frequently he’s falling asleep in the cold, hard tub instead of his bed. The more she thinks of it, she realizes she’s never actually seen him use his bed. She’s seen the covers pulled back and wrinkled, and she’s seen him drag his sheets to the laundry, so surely he is using it.
…But how often?
She isn’t planning to bring it up when she does. It’s just that they’re sitting on the couch and Dennis’ eye bags are as deep as she ever sees them, and he’s wrapped in a fuzzy blanket, sinking into the cushions and sipping hot tea, and she finds herself thinking of the cold porcelain. His sleeping face is too peaceful in there. She hits the pause button on their show and turns to him.
“How often do you sleep in your bathtub?”
Dennis stalls, mug halfway to his lips. Slowly, he lowers it to his lap and hums.
“I don’t know. A few times a month? Sometimes more,” he says. “Why do you know about that?”
Trinity sidesteps his question. She says, “What, is the bed too comfortable for you? Miss being homeless?”
It’s harsh, but they have enough of a rapport at this point that she knows he won’t take it at face value. Dennis looks thoughtful rather than offended.
“Of course not. It’s not that. I just… you don’t really want to hear about this, do you?” he asks. He meets her eyes, and they’re unusually guarded.
Trinity’s brow furrows. “Well, now I definitely do. Spill it, dude.”
Dennis sighs, defeated, and sets his mug down on the coffee table. Beside his coaster. She tamps down the urge to call him on it in the middle of what is, apparently, a somewhat serious conversation.
“I did sleep in a lot of weird places when I was homeless. The abandoned wing was probably the most comfortable place I found before I moved in here. Um, the shelters were overcrowded and noisy, and when I had to find someplace outdoors it was usually cold, and sometimes wet…” Dennis pauses for a moment, then shrugs like it’s the most casual thing in the world. “I guess I got used to a bit of discomfort, so when I’m feeling stressed out or I can’t sleep, I’ll sleep in the tub or on the floor. I don’t know why, but it… kind of helps, I guess?”
Trinity watches his face. She takes in his expression, which is less guarded now and more honest. He doesn’t look sad or nervous at all. Like his time spent unhoused somehow didn’t rattle him like Trinity imagines it would. Or maybe those feelings are buried a lot deeper. Maybe he can’t quite recognize them, can’t admit they’re there. And maybe Trinity is just making assumptions because she’s never lived on the streets.
“How long were you out there?” she asks.
“Mm… a couple months shy of a year. I had about a month and a half in the abandoned wing, so that wasn’t too bad,” he says.
“Jesus. And your family, what, didn’t know? Didn’t bother to help you?”
That seems to prod at something. Dennis tenses ever so slightly, then relaxes quick enough for Trinity to wonder if she was making things up in her head.
“That,” he says, grabbing the remote from between them, “is another conversation entirely.”
He presses play, focusing his attention back on the TV. Trinity purses her lips, then nods and does the same.
“‘Kay.”
The next time Trinity finds Dennis asleep in his bathtub, she pulls his quilt off the bed and drapes it over his shoulders.