repost for the masterlist: Ramble!verse fic wherein Spock's hair is too long
689 words, PG, Spock/Uhura
"It appears to be a side effect of my Time," Spock says. His voice is unusually hoarse. That, too, must be a result of hormonal fluctuations. This period promises to be quite inconvenient. "I am 86.5 percent sure that these abnormalities will disappear upon conclusion of the physiological event. Until such time, my hair will continue to grow at an increased rate."
He pauses, examining his profile in the mirror. A human, perhaps, would not be able to discern the details so clearly, but his half-Vulcan peripheral vision is superior. This ability arose in his species to aid survival. On hazardous away missions, it serves a similar purpose. Now, confined to quarters for the safety of the crew and himself, it is nearly useless. It is not necessary to see the exact shape and flow of his hair. For the first time in years, it completely covers his neck.
"For that reason, I have chosen not to cut it until the cycle has finished. It would be a waste of effort, as it would surely need cutting again only a few days later."
Even a human would be able to spy Nyota’s approach, though they might not see the exact angle of her fingers stretching out. If he remembers correctly, humans are colorblind on the edge of their vision. A human in his position would not be able to see the crescent of pale rose at the base of each fingernail.
"It is logical to wait, then," Nyota says. Her tone is softer than normal, though more than adequate for communication considering the stillness of his quarters and their close proximity. He turns his head slightly away; in the mirror, he can see her smile. "It's curly," she says. That is an unnecessary comment: the texture of his hair is an easily observable fact and, unlike the fringes that prickle at his eyes, it has no bearing on the situation.
Nevertheless, Spock finds it pleasant when Nyota wraps a curl around her fingertip.
Spock continues to perform his duties as well as he is able. He cannot serve shifts on the bridge, of course; Kirk takes his place assisting Pike on Alpha and, most days, continues into Beta. Gamma has been doled out to senior officers or other promising crewmen. Nyota is given the conn while maintenance was being done on the communications console, and though she would prefer to be the one down there teasing the circuity with delicate tools, she enjoys bossing about her Alpha-shift counterpart in languages no-one else knows. It is possible, though no-one on the bridge will dare tell, that she mimics some of Kirk's more infamous mannerisms.
She indulges herself, when half the crew is on break, with a call to Spock's quarters. This is permitted, of course; Spock communicates quite often with the bridge, transmitting the reports he has been composing in his quarters and offering consultations on the readings being sent to his PADD.
"Bridge to Spock," she says in the professional tone they have perfected over the past months.
It is a fraction too long before he answers, "Spock here," and she decides he must have needed to brush the hair out of his eyes. The rubber band he uses to restrain it is suitable only for the most part. There are some locks of hair, originating on the upper borders of his brow, which work their way out and fall across his face.
Nyota finds those curls endearing: tender little things, poking from the bottom of his ears or curving underneath his jaw. Spock has informed her that he is distracted by the tickling sensation, and finds the obstruction of his vision most vexing. He does not say, but Nyota understands, that it bothers him greatly that he cannot control these emotional responses.
He has even begun to increase the volume of his voice when it is unnecessary.
Nyota runs her forefinger around the comm button. She is placing undue significance on a simple disc of plasteel, but it is tangible and it is the only visible portion of the mechanism, spidery and electric, that connects her to Spock.
"It appears to be a side effect of my Time," Spock says. His voice is unusually hoarse. That, too, must be a result of hormonal fluctuations. This period promises to be quite inconvenient. "I am 86.5 percent sure that these abnormalities will disappear upon conclusion of the physiological event. Until such time, my hair will continue to grow at an increased rate."
He pauses, examining his profile in the mirror. A human, perhaps, would not be able to discern the details so clearly, but his half-Vulcan peripheral vision is superior. This ability arose in his species to aid survival. On hazardous away missions, it serves a similar purpose. Now, confined to quarters for the safety of the crew and himself, it is nearly useless. It is not necessary to see the exact shape and flow of his hair. For the first time in years, it completely covers his neck.
"For that reason, I have chosen not to cut it until the cycle has finished. It would be a waste of effort, as it would surely need cutting again only a few days later."
Even a human would be able to spy Nyota’s approach, though they might not see the exact angle of her fingers stretching out. If he remembers correctly, humans are colorblind on the edge of their vision. A human in his position would not be able to see the crescent of pale rose at the base of each fingernail.
"It is logical to wait, then," Nyota says. Her tone is softer than normal, though more than adequate for communication considering the stillness of his quarters and their close proximity. He turns his head slightly away; in the mirror, he can see her smile. "It's curly," she says. That is an unnecessary comment: the texture of his hair is an easily observable fact and, unlike the fringes that prickle at his eyes, it has no bearing on the situation.
Nevertheless, Spock finds it pleasant when Nyota wraps a curl around her fingertip.
Spock continues to perform his duties as well as he is able. He cannot serve shifts on the bridge, of course; Kirk takes his place assisting Pike on Alpha and, most days, continues into Beta. Gamma has been doled out to senior officers or other promising crewmen. Nyota is given the conn while maintenance was being done on the communications console, and though she would prefer to be the one down there teasing the circuity with delicate tools, she enjoys bossing about her Alpha-shift counterpart in languages no-one else knows. It is possible, though no-one on the bridge will dare tell, that she mimics some of Kirk's more infamous mannerisms.
She indulges herself, when half the crew is on break, with a call to Spock's quarters. This is permitted, of course; Spock communicates quite often with the bridge, transmitting the reports he has been composing in his quarters and offering consultations on the readings being sent to his PADD.
"Bridge to Spock," she says in the professional tone they have perfected over the past months.
It is a fraction too long before he answers, "Spock here," and she decides he must have needed to brush the hair out of his eyes. The rubber band he uses to restrain it is suitable only for the most part. There are some locks of hair, originating on the upper borders of his brow, which work their way out and fall across his face.
Nyota finds those curls endearing: tender little things, poking from the bottom of his ears or curving underneath his jaw. Spock has informed her that he is distracted by the tickling sensation, and finds the obstruction of his vision most vexing. He does not say, but Nyota understands, that it bothers him greatly that he cannot control these emotional responses.
He has even begun to increase the volume of his voice when it is unnecessary.
Nyota runs her forefinger around the comm button. She is placing undue significance on a simple disc of plasteel, but it is tangible and it is the only visible portion of the mechanism, spidery and electric, that connects her to Spock.