"I need a martini."

Uhura looks up from her datapad—a tricky Romulan to Deltan translation, she'll have to look at it with Kirk, later.

"I swear your hair was red this morning."

Gaila gives her a withering look. "Very funny, Ny."

Uhura's face twists into something resembling a grin, but she tries to wrangle it into a neutral expression. There's just something about seeing her roommate this annoyed… As passionate as Gaila tends to be, frustration isn't within her normal spectrum of emotion. It's sort of… Fascinating. In a morbid kind of way.

She raises both hands in surrender. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't laugh. It's just… You've got a little something…"

Gaila's look morphs into a full-blown glare. "Thanks, Ny. Ever so."

"Glad to be of help," she quips, lying back on her bed to look over her translation again. Only to be hit on the back of the head with the top of Gaila's uniform. Gaila grins at her, leaning against the doorframe leading to their bathroom. She looks ridiculous, standing there in her black bra, which matches the black… whatever that stuff is in her hair (hey, she's a linguistics focus, what does she know about engineering?). And also… It's sort of stunning.

"You…" Uhura trails off as Gaila unzips her skirt and slides it off her hips. "You, uh… You look good in black."

Gaila freezes, and Uhura's terrified that she's said something wrong. Her throat seizes up. Gaila just looks at her for a minute, skirt pooling at her bare feet.

Her voice, when she finally speaks, is soft. "I… Women on my planet are born with black hair. My mother and I… We dyed it when we arrived on Earth. To… Symbolize freedom."

And then she turns and walks into the fresher. Uhura rolls on to her back, staring at the ceiling as she listens for the sound of the shower coming on. She closes her eyes. Dammit.

"You know what, I shouldn't have even said anything. I'm sorry. You didn't say anything offensive. You didn't know, okay? Don't get all upset."

Uhura must have… Fallen asleep or something. She hadn't even heard Gaila get out of the shower, but when she opens her eyes Gaila is sitting on the edge of Uhura's bed, hair free of black goo and wrapped in some sort of mostly-sheer sarong.

"Manicure," Uhura decides. Gaila raises her eyebrows, wide eyes questioning. "Yeah, manicure. You said it helps."

"It's only Wednesday."

"So? Invalid argument. Come here."

She does, and Uhura maneuvers Gaila until her head is resting just over Uhura's heart.

The silvery blue nail polish stands out beautifully against Gaila's green skin. Uhura is aware, vaguely, that she is whispering in Gaila's ear, but she isn't sure what she's saying. Not that it matters, with Gaila humming happily as she admires Uhura's handiwork.

"Not bad, for a xenolinguistics major," she teases as Uhura adds the clear overcoat.

It takes less than three days for Gaila's nails to be chipped and broken all to hell. It isn't like she didn't expect it, it's just that she… It's just that Uhura painted them, and the Betazoid woman she goes to every week is nice but she just isn't Uhura. This was special, in a strange kind of way. In a way that makes the little things magic.

So, when she gets back from class, she sits on her bed and cries.

Gaila isn't given to tears, normally. Strong emotions, yes. But not tears. Not since she was a girl. Slavery beat all her tears out of her. But now… Now she cries, because it's ridiculous, because when Ny gets back from the library she chokes off the question she's about to ask and just wraps her arms around Gaila.

It doesn't make any sense, but it feels… Good. As if she can let go.

"Please tell me this wasn't actually about the nail polish, Gaila," Ny says, pulling away but keeping her hands on Gaila's shoulders.

And Gaila laughs, stretching the drying paths of tears on her cheeks. "It wasn't."

Uhura sighs, relieved. "Good. I'm not sure I'm equipped to deal with that."

"Me neither," Gaila agrees. "Martini?"