Spock finds them fascinating. He notes how the tendrils of her thick, ebony hair seem to caress the rounded pinna, swirling around the delicate helix and the sensitive, almost elfin lobes. The swish of her hair, easily discerned with his acute Vulcan hearing, draws his eye to the way they seem to peek coyly out from beneath the black tresses snaking smoothly across her shoulders. This effect is particularly evident when she leans forward to help one of the students in the language lab. Framed in his office doorway in this rare unguarded moment, he imagines himself stealing silently up behind her and encircling her strongly, surely, whispering his love…K'diwa... Dark eyes closing, he will burrow his face in the softness of her neck and bend his head down to take the closest one in the gentle, possessive, alien grip of his teeth. He envisions her supple skin communicating a thirsty yearning for his touch and almost hears the faint gasp that will issue from her perfect mouth. Rivulets of fire dance through his veins as he considers this feeble possibility, the actions of a braver man. Would the gasp become a moan?
He burns suddenly with as much disgrace as desire. He is unworthy of these thoughts. Shame defeats him, and he turns away.
The kaluk-mokovlar are prominently displayed in a gallery window in Shi'Kahr. He sees them while visiting his parents on Vulcan and uncharacteristically, impulsively, ducks inside the shop.
"Ah-Pyrellian mood crystals," states the owner, a rather jovial Bolian dressed in somber Vulcan robes that do not suit him. "Interesting properties—they change color with the mood of the wearer. Note the pearlescence in its neutral state." He slides the display subtly to catch Eridani's orange rays, looking up expectantly. Spock's anticipative silence, rocking slightly back on his heels, hands clasped behind his back and eyeing the Bolian with a cool, studied detachment, spurs the bald, blue gentleman on into a rapid salesman's pitch about the aesthetic value, the rarity, the envy to be inspired by possession of these understated yet lovely gems! Spock's face is impassive but his mind is ticking along at warp speed as he considers possibilities he never before imagined…
The gallery owner is perspiring and growing impatient in the heat of the afternoon sun as it beams in through the front window. His potential buyer is clearly on the fence, teetering on the brink of finally taking these things off his hands! He's been trying to sell them for ages, but he doesn't want the Vulcan to know that!
The Bolian at last winds down, realizing that the customer before him is the unlikeliest patron on the planet for this particular type of jewelry. His huffing sigh is a surrender. "I must say I really don't know what I was thinking, purchasing them from the artist in the first place." He produces a dust cloth with a flourish reminiscent of a circus showman and proceeds to swipe it across the display and the counters fussily. "Vulcans would never voluntarily acknowledge that they HAVE moods, let alone buy an item that openly advertises them!"
"And yet they are so beautiful," Spock's murmured response is a complete surprise to himself even as the words leave his mouth.
He hesitates, reaching forward and lightly fingering a smooth, tapered seed-pod shape. An eyebrow quirks upward as he perceives a flash of iridescent red against the surface in response to his touch. Fascinating. They are perfect for her. An upwelling of embarrassing emotion catches him slightly off guard. It is illogical, this desperate wanting to see her human emotions, without the stumbling block of cultural misunderstandings and the inherent difficulty of reading human expressions...He wants her to know that he accepts her humanity, despite his own shortcomings. In his mind's eye Spock sees tapered, pearly flashes against coils of jet-black hair—tears of flame and defiance touching, rebounding against her proud neck—amber droplets silently speaking her worry, her concern…each showing another facet to her incomparable spirit. He is flushed with the incredible hope, the possibility- Perhaps a gift of these will finally show her…? Handing over his credit chip, his words are decisive:
"I will take them."
The End