Work Text:
It was early morning on a weekday, and, as promised, there was no one else there, a prerequisite for Linda's acquiescence. She stared at the color selection under the harsh fluorescent lights, wrinkling her nose at the smell in the air. Linda was no stranger to chemicals. Certainly, she was used to stenches far harsher than bleach and acetone. But this was an unfamiliar harshness, which was worse, somehow. She scanned the wall of color before unceremoniously plucking a pale pink off the shelf.
"Really? You won't even be able to tell you got them done," Kelly said.
"That's the idea."
"You can try to enjoy it. I won't tell anyone."
Kelly's hairstylist began the finicky task of separating her hair into sections, making a show of periodically trimming the ends and quietly tsking at the condition of her hair. Tour after tour of saving the galaxy evidently left her ends split. Linda would have simply shaved her head clean and started anew, but Kelly had an attachment to her tresses, even as a child. Her hair was something just for her.
Linda's nail tech paled at the sight of her, but nodded for her to sit all the same. She reached out to take Linda's hand, and she instinctually flinched from her grasp.
"Getting your nails painted usually involves letting them touch your hands, Lin," Kelly ribbed.
The employees exchanged glances but were professionals: they did not comment on how Kelly could see and hear everything that was happening from across the room.
Linda felt heat creep into her cheeks. She placed her hand back on the table for the nail tech to examine.
"Try to sit still," she murmured, subtly frowning at the deep calluses cutting into her palms. She gave her a short nod and swallowed. Sitting still was her specialty.
They entered a rhythm. Trim, file, paint, cure, paint, cure. This finger, now that one. She followed the tech's instructions to the letter.
"Goodness, are you even breathing?"
"I'm doing everything you ask," Linda responded flatly.
"You sure are," the tech said, breathing out a laugh. Why was that funny?
Unnerved, Linda turned to Kelly, whose hair was now layered in foil, standing in every direction. Her hairstylist mixed bright blue pigment in a bowl beside her.
"You look like you have old UNSC tech in your hair. Metallic and clunky."
"Old tech?" she snorted. "'Metallic and clunky' describes us to a T. Then again, I guess we are old tech, now."
Again, the employees exchanged pointed looks they thought the sisters wouldn't notice, but it hardly mattered. No one would mistake them for average women.
"All done," the tech said, swirling a final pad of lotion into the cracks in her hand. Linda turned her palms in to examine her nails.
Between training and ops, they would last two weeks, tops, and only if she was easy on her hands. She was not easy on her hands.
But right now, the soft pink glistened with a subtle shimmer under the lamplight. Her usually frayed cuticles were smooth and brushed with soothing oil. Linda frowned.
Later, Kelly paid at the front, periodically catching herself in a mirror and shaking out her bright blue mane, tips tapping shoulder to shoulder.
"You look nice," Linda said as they nodded farewell to the employees, who seemed to breathe a sigh of relief as they left.
"Thanks," Kelly said, taking Linda's wrist to examine her hand. "Still can't believe you went with boring old—Oh." She swallowed. "That's a lot of rhinestones."
"They're pretty," Linda said, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
Kelly opened her mouth but, for once, had nothing to say.