Work Text:
I watched Fox push his curls back for the fifth time in a row. His brow scrunched over dark circles as he studied the intel we’d received. For the past week his appearance became more disheveled. First, he looked tired all the time as we rationed the instant caf. Although we both agreed it was necessary, I couldn’t help feeling a piece of his soul break as he reluctantly scrubbed off the paint from his armor. Now the man drooped as his once meticulously styled hair fell loose and frizzed with every touch as he pushed the grown out mane up and away.
Since departing Coruscant, staying as under-the-radar as possible, there’d not been a moment. There was always something to fix, to find, to hide from. We started running out of the type of supplies you take for granted back - well not home anymore.
Here we were now, resting in the ship that served as home for the past two months while we waited to hear more from a contact.
“Come here,” I cooed, pulling his head down to my shoulder and planting a kiss on his head. He hardly moved, but I could feel a tentative exhale leave his lungs and he relaxed into my embrace. I twirled my fingers into his hair, playing absentmindedly.
“How”, I gently rubbed my fingers into his temple now, “did you ever keep all this under your bucket?” The datapad faltered in his hands and a small whimper escaped his lips.
“Well,” he raised the screen back up, “it was easier when I could easily find styler to keep it in place.”
“And you had shorter hair.” His jaw tensed in a grimace.
We sat in contemplative silence while he read and I searched for the right words.
“Fox I can’t watch you like this anymore. You need to trim your hair. Please let me help you.” He got up from the bench, arms crossed.
“I - I can’t do this right now,” he huffed.
“I know not everything has been easy. It’s been a lot of change. I’m not asking you to shave your head entirely, I just don’t want to worry about you being able to see,” I pleaded.
He turned and gestured exasperatedly at my hair which fell well below my jaw, “You can see just fine! Why is my hair a problem?”
“Do you want to grow your hair out?” I couldn’t believe how touchy he was being about something so practical. At least I could pull my hair back and tie it, and my hair was never plastered against my skull under a helmet. I searched his eyes darting around the ship’s cabin for what could be bothering him so badly.
His shoulders slumped and finally a soft dejected no choked into the silence. I reached out and gently grabbed his hand, finding his sad brown eyes. “We can just clean it up a little, maybe make it easier to maintain. You get final say.” I could see a glimmer of a reassured smile tug at the corners of his mouth.
-
There wasn’t much by way of grooming tools. The standard grooming kit had a razor and a comb but not much else. I ransacked the first aid kit and pulled out the blunt-tipped shears. They would have to do. Fox rolled his eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Not like I had scissors at home to pack up,” I quipped. This is what we have. Maybe I can find something better someday.
“Soooo you haven’t even done this before? Just my luck.”
I stood, hands on hips, challenging him. “Do you want my help or no? Maybe I can find you a nice bounty hunter to cut your hair. I hear they have all sorts of skills…” He knew I wasn’t serious, but that shut him up long enough for me to start trimming the back and sides with the top of his curls carefully held out of the way with one of my hair ties.
Eventually he stopped pouting and held up the small palm-sized mirror to watch.
“It’s too long on the bottom” I cut it closer.
“See this here? It’s not blended very well” I squinted in concentration to get it just right.
I got a hang of using the commandeered scissors just in time for dealing with probably the most anxiety-inducing part of Fox’s haircut. I couldn’t tell you why he insisted on styling a small waterfall of curls to cascade down his brow when he had his helmet on most of the time. It was all I ever knew from him, and now that it was a mess so was he.
I carefully combed out the top of his hair and found his familiar curl pattern. “Here”, I pulled his hand back up with the mirror, “is this okay?” I held up my finger to point at a spot on his forehead and gently held away the hair below so he could get a look. I watched him bite the inside of his cheek, unsure.
“How about we start here?” I instead held the very end, hardly any change.
“No, no, up a little” he grabbed my hand and landed it somewhere in the middle.
I checked his expression before leaning over to remind him that hair does in fact grow back and plant a kiss on his temple. He chuckled and I clipped away until finally his hair was out of his face. After a bit of styling his fingers, he actually smiled. Or maybe it was a smirk.
“Not bad, for a first time.”