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Partnership Disagreement

Stardate 52668.06

(1 September 2375, 20:15 hours, ship's time)

"Partner. I hate that word, 'partner,'" I grumbled as I flung tubes of my favorite shampoo and body wash, sunscreen, body lotion, and toothpaste into an overnight bag. It wasn't one of those Starfleet-issue resin-cast things that looked like a cross between a picnic cooler and a cat-carrier, either, but a black soft-sided case decorated with bright pink skulls and bones, found at a vintage store in New York, and lovingly cleaned and repaired. "It makes us sound like we own a business together."

Behind me, I knew, Data was picking up each tube and checking to see if I'd actually closed the lids securely. The first few times he'd been part of my packing process, he had turned the activity into a lecture, reminding me that I would be bitching (actually, he'd said 'making many unpleasant remarks,' but, whatever) about it if they leaked on my clothes, but after the time I accidentally (on purpose) squirted him in the face with lemon verbena hand lotion, he had wisely stuck to this quieter course of action.

I heard the soft clicks as he resealed two such containers before he spoke in his usual oh-so-rational tone. "Is it not correct, Zoe, that we are partners in our relationship? Have we not formed a tacit agreement to share our lives?"

"Yes," I grumped. "Well, sort of. I guess I'm just tired of seeing the headlines. 'Actress Zoe Harris and Partner Commander Data of the Enterprise Attend Symphony Gala.' 'Android Officer and Actress Partner Visit Museum of Federation History.' It just seems so cold. Like we're together because it's convenient. Do you think I need another bathing suit?"

"You have already packed three," I was gently reminded. "And I am reasonably certain there is at least one more waiting in our room in your father's house." Without skipping a beat he pointed out, "If I had chosen my significant other based on convenience, it is likely we would not be together."

I narrowed my eyes at him, even though he couldn't see the expression since my back was still turned. "There is that," I allowed. Then, because I couldn't help it, I had to ask in my snarkiest tone, "'Significant other?' Really?"

"You are significant to me," he said. "Is there a word which you prefer as a descriptor for our relationship?"

And there it was. The real reason why I was grumping, even as we were about to leave for a long weekend at my father's beach house on Centaurus. "Yes. No. I don't know." I turned away from the closet, and went to sit on the bed. "Our relationship has gone through a lot of...permutations."

Data closed the last of my cosmetic tubes and joined me on the bed. "Yes," he agreed, his voice softening just a little. "It has."

"'Friend' is too casual," I began. "'Companion' makes you sound like a pet; 'escort' implies that money is involved." He opened his mouth to speak but I kept going. "'Boyfriend' sounds stupid when you're over thirty - even if you had been a boy, ever. And 'lover' is too intimate for public use."

"'Husband' would be inaccurate, as we are not married," he contributed. His tone would have seemed mild - even innocent - to anyone else, but I could hear what wasn't being said. It was not, after all, the first time he made such a statement.

"Don't go there," I said."Not now."

He took my hand in his, twining his fingers through mine. As always, I was momentarily distracted by the contrast in our skin tones: his, pale gold, mine, perpetually sun-tanned with olive under-tones. "Zoe, when exactly will it be safe to 'go there?'"

"Maybe when I'm fifty," I muttered under my breath.

"Zoe..." Even before the emotion chip he'd been able to imbue the two syllables of my name with many layers of meaning. Years after its installation, there was even more nuance. In this particular instance, I knew, he meant it as an affectionate admonishment, a warning that he had no intention of letting the issue die, and a reminder that he knew me better than anyone else ever had - including, in some cases, myself.

I sighed. "I don't want to be a Starfleet widow." I used the term both figuratively and literally.

"You have made that clear every time we begin to discuss our future. You have avoided telling me your real concern. Will you do so now?"

"I've seen, Data, what happens to marriages when only one spouse is an officer. Look at my parents. For years their marriage was in name only, and finally it wasn't even that."

I was hedging, and we both knew it, but he addressed the point anyway. "Yes," he agreed. "Let us look at your parents. It is true that their marriage to each other did not end well, but each of them learned from that experience, did they not? Your father married Gia, and in forging his relationship with her, strengthened his relationship with you. Your mother has found great fulfillment teaching at the Academy and in her relationship with Professor Benoit."

"I know," I said.

"There is more." It wasn't a question. "Tell me."

Any other time, it would have come out as a rant. I'd have let go of his hand, stood up, paced, yelled. But I was tired of ranting, and his hand clasping mine reminded me of the connection we'd shared since I'd been his student, years before.

"As long as we don't have an official relationship," I said, speaking softly and slowly, "As long as there isn't that bit of legal formality, I can pretend that it wouldn't kill me if something...irrevocable...happened to you." I couldn't say 'fatal.'

"If I were to be destroyed," he corrected quietly.

"Die." I corrected his correction. "If you were to die."

"Would you like me to promise not to?" he asked, his tone both gentle and teasing.

"Oh, if only," I said. I relaxed my hand, preparing to slide it away from his.

He wouldn't allow it. "We cannot delay this discussion forever," he said softly. "Our relationship is already one of permanence. The 'bit of legal formality' you fear is merely a form of protection."

I looked at him sharply. "I don't understand," I said. "And anyway, I don't need to be protected."

"But I do."

"Excuse me?"

"You have observed on more than one occasion that even 'everyday life' is not without risk. You could be run over by an out-of-control ground vehicle."

"Gee, thanks," I snarked. "And that was 'hit by a bus,' I believe."

"Nevertheless, I would be unable to act on your behalf, unable, even, to find out where you were and what your medical status was."

"My parents would keep you informed."

"And if they were not present?"

"I hate it when you get all logical and rational," I complained, but we both knew I didn't really mean it.

"I am always 'all logical and rational.' What you actually dislike is when I win an argument, even if it is one you secretly wish me to win."

I closed my eyes, and just sat there for a long moment. Then I opened them, and met his calm yellow gaze. "Okay."

"O-kay?"

"Yes. Okay."

"You are agreeing to my proposal?"

"In point of fact, you haven't actually proposed." I held up a hand. "And don't you dare do it right now." I took a deep breath. "I am agreeing to consider. I'm agreeing to discuss. Will you accept that?"

For just a moment, the smile that stretched across his face was smug, but almost immediately his features smoothed into his more usual amiable expression. "Yes," he said. "For now."

"Good." I said. I leaned closer to kiss him. "Also? I definitely need to bring one more bathing suit."

Notes: Revised 28 February 2015 to clean up some punctuation issues, and correct where this falls in Data and Zoe's arc. (It takes place about ten weeks before the events depicted in Insurrection.)