Prologue

Stardate 44892.63

(Wednesday, 22 November 2367, 19:27 hours, ship's time)

He raised his left hand and lifted my chin just a little bit. Then he bent his head forward and kissed me. It was soft, and tender, and spoke volumes, and was over too soon, but the taste of him, the fact that it had come from him, still left me breathless.

I knew we still had to figure out the 'rules' for this new version of us. I knew we still had issues to work through. But for the first time, I also knew – really knew – that we could do it. We weren't a couple, exactly, but we were definitely an 'us.'

"Yeah," I said, feeling my heart racing in my chest. "Break's definitely over."

- Crush II: Ostinato, Chapter 13, "Endurance"

(=A=)

Data had asked me not to run from him the next time we kissed, and I didn't, exactly. We went to dinner with my mother and Ed to celebrate my scores on the college entrance exams, and kept things pretty light, adjourning to our quarters for dessert in a more casual setting.

It was both completely comfortable and completely weird having Data there. On the one hand, we'd had such evenings before, but there had always been underlying tension – at least on my part – a worry that I might reach out to touch him when I shouldn't. That evening, that tension was lifted. Oh, we weren't holding hands under the table, or anything like that, but when Data took his leave of us around midnight, and I walked him to the door, he pulled me close and kissed the top of my head, whispering his "goodnight, Zoe," into my hair.

Two days later, I was on a shuttlecraft en route to Starbase 84 for the college faire that was to begin that Monday. We were making a stop at the Berlin so their high school juniors (T'vek and two of his friends) could join us, and then it was the better part of a day spent in transit.

The faire lasted for a week, but when we got there, I found that one of my best friends from Centaurus – Schuyler Bennett – was there, too. Apparently, her father had been transferred after the battle against the Borg the year before. She invited me to stay for an extra week, and I was grateful that my mother allowed me to accept.

By the time I returned to the Enterprise, my time was absorbed by finals in all of my courses (well, all but one – I'd taken an incomplete in Data's class, pending a discussion with Ms. Phelps at a later date), and Data was involved in figuring out why floors and tables and replicators kept going wonky. It ended up having something to do with pockets of dark matter.

By the time things had begun to approach normalcy, I was getting ready to head home to Centaurus for my semester break: sun, sand, surf, and the imminent arrival of a new (half) sibling. The break I'd asked for may have, technically, been over, but we were both so busy, it effectively lasted for extra month.

(=A=)

U.S.S. Enterprise & U.S.S. Descartes

Stardate 44967.78

(Wednesday, 20 December 2367, 05:47 hours, ship's time)

The corridor lighting on the ship was still dimmed for 'night' watch, which only enhanced the feeling of pre-dawn that hovered over the shuttle bay when we arrived at an absurdly early hour in the morning. Ridiculous, really, as there is no 'dawn' in space.

My mother wasn't due on duty until nine, but she'd been up before me, not so much to make sure I was on time, as to see me off. I had insisted that it wasn't necessary; she had insisted that it was, and since she hadn't balked about the person who was to be both my pilot and my traveling companion for the next twenty-six or so hours, I figured I'd let her do the mom thing.

"Zoe, Emily, good morning." Data greeted us from the open hatch of the Descartes, the shuttlecraft we were be taking. I wasn't sure I'd ever heard them use each other's first names before. He came down the ramp to take my luggage from me – the same rolling suitcase I'd used the previous summer during my time on Earth, and my cello in its hard travel case – "I will stow your gear. You will be able to access it in-flight if necessary. We must be ready for launch in eight minutes."

"Data, wait?" my mother called him back to us.

"Emily?"

I watched my mother meet my - meet Data's - eyes, and in that moment, she wasn't an officer under his command, nor was she a fellow scientist. In that moment she just was a mother issuing a warning to the man she was entrusting with her daughter's – my – life. "Keep her safe for me."

He extended his right hand, clasping hers in a firm handshake. Gravely, he promised. "I will do so." He held her gaze for a long moment and then released her hand and returned to the shuttle with my stuff.

My mother turned to me, apparently sensing that I'd been watching her pretty closely. "Before you say anything, that wasn't about you being a child."

But that wasn't what I'd seen at all. "I know," I said. "Mom, you don't have to worry. It's not like we're going on vacation together. He's dropping me at Centaurus Spaceport, and then going off to his conference, or whatever."'

"But you will be spending over a day in a close environment." She sighed. "Zoe, I'm your mother. I love you, and I am allowed to worry."

"Honestly, Mom, it'll be miraculous if I even get a goodbye kiss from him when he leaves me." I paused. "Can we talk about something else now? Like what you and Ed are doing for Christmas? Is there a ring in your future?"

My mother actually blushed. "We've been discussing the future," she said. "But nothing's certain yet." She took a deep breath, then drew me into her arms. "Have fun. Be helpful to Gia. Be nice to your father. And don't forget to check your six before you engage thrusters when you take your license exam."

I laughed at the last bit of advice. "I won't, Mom. I promise. See you next year. Love you." I tightened my arms around her for a moment, then pulled away and ran up the ramp and into the shuttle.

Data was already doing his pre-launch checklist. "You may sit 'up front' if you like," he said.

I grinned and slid into the other seat in the cockpit. "You know I would." He turned his head toward me, favoring me with a slight tilt of his head and a brief quirk of his brows. Then he turned his attention back to launch procedures, and I watched his hands playing over the console.

I'd never been in the cockpit for a launch before, and I couldn't help but react as we left the shelter of the shuttle bay and thrust away from the Enterprise. The ship was so big, that from inside it felt more like a moving place, but seeing her from outside, "Wow," I breathed.

"Zoe?"

"I've never seen the Enterprise from outside before."

"But this is not your first time in a shuttle."

"It's my first time in the cockpit during launch or docking," I said. "Different view, different angles."

"Ah."

I met his gaze, reflected on the main viewer. "She's really beautiful."

"Yes, she is," he agreed. But he wasn't looking out, he was looking at me, and I had the distinct impression he wasn't talking about the giant, silvery starship, either.

(=A=)

Some author from forever-ago on Earth once wrote in a novel that "Space is big. Really big." He was right, but what he neglected to add was that space could also be boring. Really boring. Translation: I hadn't had coffee before we left, and the early hour and quiet hum of the engines had me yawning about an hour into the trip.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I was up really late with Annette and Dana last night, and then too early this morning. I think I'll move to the back and stretch out."

"Please do not go." He didn't blurt it. Data never blurted anything. But it seemed abrupt even so.

"Data?"

"These seats recline to an angle that is optimal for spinal support during sleep, and a pillow and blanket are stowed in the comfort pouch on the back. Unless you desire privacy, it is not necessary that you relocate."

"Is it typical to sleep in the cockpit, or did you anticipate that I'd need a nap?" His expression told me all I needed to know. "Is there any particular reason you want me to stay here?"

"Is that not the typical arrangement for the non-piloting member of a couple on a 'road trip?'?"

But we're not really a couple, I didn't say. Instead I pointed out, "Road trips usually require being in a ground vehicle on an actual, you know, road."

"A predetermined flight path with periodic check-ins is somewhat analogous to an 'actual, you know, road,' is it not?" He mimicked my snarky slang, which made me grin.

"I guess so," I allowed. I wanted to ask him if he considered us to be a couple. Instead I fetched the pillow and blanket he'd mentioned and reclined my seat all the way back. "Wake me up when it's time for the sing-a-long."

"Sing-a-long?" he asked.

"If this is a road trip, there has to be a sing-a-long."

He didn't respond directly, but he did cut the illumination in the cockpit down to about thirty percent of normal. "Sleep well, Zoe."

(=A=)

I slept for about three hours, waking up to Data's voice on the comm-system checking in with both the Enterprise – we were almost out of communications range – and one of the starbases between us and Centaurus. "Shuttlecraft Descartes out," he said, cutting the signal at the end of the latter conversation.

"Hey," I said softly. "We're not making a stop, are we?"

"We are not. Outpost Eighty-Four Beta is merely the next checkpoint."

"I don't remember you making regular check-ins when you took our math class to Serenity Five last year." I brought the seat back to its upright position and tucked the pillow and blanket away.

"This is a new policy in effect for small craft, since the Borg incursion and the Battle of Wolf 359."

"That was almost a year ago."

"That is correct."

"How does that qualify as 'new?'"

"Policy is not typically made in a day. It was only implemented thirty-seven days, sixteen hours ago."

"It took Starfleet ten months to put check-ins into place?"

"Yes."

"And you're the people we trust to protect us?" I snarked.

"If it had not been for testimony from Captain Picard, Commander Riker, and myself, this policy would not be in effect at all."

"You never really let me see the entire scope of what you do, do you?" I asked, struck by how much I still didn't know about him.

"At the time, you were more focused on your mother's recovery. As well, it did not occur to me that you would be interested." He turned to look at me. "As our friendship has deepened, so too, have our subjects of conversation. If I were to be asked about such a policy now, and the information was not classified, I would likely tell you."

"I wasn't ever really not-interested," I confessed. "It was just… expressing any kind of interest always ends up with people going, 'So, Zoe, does this mean you'll be applying to the Academy?' And every time I say no, I feel like they don't get it. Get me. I mean, Data, what you do, what Mom does – what you all do – I may joke about it, but I have enormous respect for it. For all of you. It's just not… I'm not…"

"It is not where your destiny lies," he said simply. "I have never asked if you were considering the Academy," he added.

"No, you haven't. Thank you for that."

"You are welcome."

"What made you choose Starfleet?" I asked. "I mean… you could do anything, be… anything."

"I believe you are overestimating my capabilities," he said.

"I believe that's not an answer," I shot back.

He set the shuttle's controls to auto-pilot and turned his chair to face mine. I shifted in the other chair, sitting cross-legged in the seat. "It was Starfleet officers who found me, left out in the open, alone and inactive, on Omicron Theta. It was Starfleet officers who helped me realize that I was not just machine, but that I was a person, as well. Joining Starfleet was a way to give something back."

Somehow, the way Data told his story in the same soft inflection he always used, the same, familiar, matter-of-fact tone, only made it seem more poignant. "They're lucky to have you," I said softly.

"Thank you, Zoe. However, I, too have been 'lucky.'"

"Do you think you'll do something else someday? I mean… it's not like you don't have oodles of time ahead of you."

"Perhaps. For now, I am content where I am."

He swung his chair back toward the controls, but I stayed where I was, just watching him. I let silence dangle between us for several seconds. Finally, I asked the question that had been rolling in my mind since he'd decided we were on a road trip. "Data, are we a couple?"

"I can think of no other term that adequately describes our current relationship," he said, his voice quiet.

"Okay," I said, as butterflies took up residence in my stomach. "Okay," I repeated. I stood up and began to move toward the aft door, heading toward the craft's main cabin, but I paused behind him and laid a hand on his shoulder. "I'm not running from you, okay? I just have to pee."

In the reflection of his face on the control panel, I saw the corners of his mouth lift ever-so-slightly.

(=A=)

"So," I began a couple of hours later, "tell me about the conference you're going to?" The shuttle was still on auto-pilot, and we were both in the main cabin. I was having lunch, the food resting on a fold-down table between two rows of facing benches. Data was keeping me company.

"It is a symposium on cybernetics, and I am a featured speaker," he said.

"They hold symposiums over the December holidays?" I asked.

"Even on worlds with human majorities, the traditional winter holidays are not universally celebrated," he reminded me. "It is held on a different planet each year. This is the third year I have attended, and my first as a speaker."

I ate a few bites of fettuccini al pesto while I listened to him describe the format of the symposium, explaining that it was after the last one that he made the decision to construct his daughter. He never faltered with his explanation, but I set down my fork and covered his hand with mine, anyway.

He looked down at my hand, then up to meet my eyes, as I asked, "Will there be a live-stream of your presentation, or at least a recording?"

"There will be a recording."

"Will you bring me a copy?"

"I did not know you had an interest in cybernetics."

"I have an interest in you," I said. "You'll probably have to watch it with me and translate it into words of one syllable, though." I was only half-kidding.

"It will certainly be a departure from our usual video night fare," he said.

I laughed. "You'll have to be in charge of the popcorn, so I don't throw it at you if things get too dry."

"That may be wise," he agreed. "It is nearly time for our next check-in," he added, sliding his hand from beneath mine, and leaving the bench where he had been sitting. "Please take your time in finishing your meal and rejoin me when you are ready."

"Actually, if it's alright with you, I'm going to hang out back here for a while. I promised Mom I'd have practice college applications done by the end of semester break, and that means I have a bunch of stunning essays to write."

"You have made your decision about where to apply then?"

As he'd only ever considered Starfleet, Data had never gone through the process of sorting through brochures and picking schools, weighing the likelihood of admission to your dream school against the reality of life if you only get into your safety school. With my grades and activities in theater and music, I wasn't terribly worried about any of my options turning me down, but I also knew that there were gaps in my resume. Gaps I'd have to address when I returned to the Enterprise in January.

"Well, I'm only a junior, so I've got a list, but it's kind of long at the moment," I said, not giving him the information he really wanted.

"May I ask where?"

"The Martian, obviously," I began.

"Even though you have made it clear that you do not necessarily want to pursue music as a career?"

"Even though," I said. "I'm kind of obligated to apply," I added softly. "Otherwise I've wasted Dad's money… and your time."

Data sat back down. "Zoe," he said, his voice still quiet, but with a note of firmness that I'd come to associate with his 'officer' mode. "Whether or not you use the work we have done together in music theory to help forge a career in music, or simply accept it as an enhancement to your education, you have not wasted my time. Our hours studying and playing together have improved my musicianship, as well as your own. Those 'Saturday Sessions' are also what helped us to become friends and served as the catalyst to the relationship we have now."

He paused, checking to see that I was really listening, and when he saw that I was, he continued. "You once told me that our Saturday morning routine had become 'imprinted on every part of your being.' Can you accept that I, too, have gained something from those hours, and that when we eliminate them from our schedules, I miss them, as well?"

For several seconds, I fiddled with the remains of my pesto, not looking at him. Just as he was about to prompt me, I met his eyes. "See, you say these things, and then I feel guilty for cancelling something we both enjoyed, and you're sitting so close and... couldn't you have been mean and gross and ugly? My life would be a lot easier if I wasn't constantly distracted by wanting to kiss you."

"Constantly?" I wasn't sure if he was teasing me, or not, but it was the perfect response to bring me back to center, so to speak, and he delivered it with the lifting of his brow that denoted skepticism.

"Well," I teased. "Maybe not constantly. Sometimes I sleep." I took a breath. "Go pilot the shuttle or something? We can save the rest of my list of college choices for later."

He seemed to understand that what I really wanted – needed, even – was some alone time to regroup. "Join me up front when you wish," he said, standing. "And Zoe?"

"Hmm?"

"There are times when you 'distract' me, as well. I find the experience to be… quite pleasant."

I glared at him. "So. Not. Helping."

He retreated to the cockpit.

(=A=)

U.S.S. Descartes (NCC-1701-D-011)

Stardate 44969.12

(Wednesday, 20 December 2367, 17:30 hours, ship's time)

"It's too quiet," I said when I returned to the cockpit a few hours after lunch. Dropping into my seat, I continued, "The shuttle has a decent music library, doesn't it?"

"I am not certain what you would classify as 'decent,'" was his diplomatic response. While we had some overlapping preferences in music, we – mainly I – also had some preferences that we did not share.

"Something cheerful and sing-able, preferably with a beat. No Gilbert and Sullivan, nothing Kzinti, and no opera of any kind."

"It may be best if you browse through the visual menu," he suggested, tapping a couple of controls. "It is now available from your console."

I reached for the controls nearest my seat, then stopped, staring at his display. "Is that us?" I asked, looking at the vaguely shuttle-shaped marker on his panel.

"It is," he said.

"How far is it to Centaurus?"

"At our present speed, we will be there in thirteen hours, twenty-six minutes."

"With the understanding that I am not asking for Navigation 101 or anything, can you show me our route?"

"Yes." He changed the main viewer from a real-time view to a map. "We are here," he said, placing a marker with the touch of a button. "The Alpha Centauri system is here, and Centaurus specifically is… here." He indicated the star system and planet of my birth.

"Wait…" I was staring at the chart, and something niggled in the back of my brain. "Isn't that Hunter's Moon?" I asked, pointing to a smaller star system sort of between where we were and where we were going, "I mean, isn't that the system where Hunter's Moon is?" I corrected myself.

"You are correct," he said.

"I've always wanted to go there," I said. "I mean, I know it's a constructed world, but I've heard it's got some of the best restaurants and entertainment facilities in the sector."

"I have heard that as well," he said. "Diverting would delay our arrival at Centaurus by six-point-nine-seven hours, Zoe, not including any time spent there. I am afraid we will have to visit another time."

"You know I'm going to hold you to that."

"I do not doubt it."

I went back to browsing the music selections, finally finding an entire section of ancient rock and roll. Someone in systems design evidently had a 'thing' for Motown. "Oh, perfect," I said, hitting the 'play' command. "Data, we have reached the sing-a-long portion of the journey."

He didn't have time to ask what I'd selected, because the song started, and even though I was a little shy about singing more than a few notes in front of the man with super-android-pitch, I was caught up in the tune almost from the start, singing along with the recording:

"I need love, love
To ease my mind
I need to find, find someone to call mine
But mama said"

"You can't hurry love
No, you just have to wait
She said love don't come easy
It's a game of give and take"

When the song ended, Data looked at me and said, "The Supremes. Recorded circa nineteen sixty-six on a 'label' called 'Motown.' It is a classic. Do you know 'Ain't No Mountain High Enough?' Would you like to sing it as a duet?"

I nodded and queued the song, making a mental note to ask him how he'd managed to discover Motown. If his voice was a little too precise for rock and roll, I overlooked it, just as he politely ignored my occasional off-notes, and we continued singing – me for the joy of it, and him because it was something he could fully participate in – until the next check-in.

(=A=)

By twenty-one hundred hours we had finished dinner (vegetarian moussaka and a salad), the shuttle was on auto-pilot once more, and we were playing cards. Or, more accurately, we were arguing about playing cards.

"Poker? Really? It's a total geezer game. It's for old guys in bad suits."

"I believe you are drawing your perception of poker from the noir films you enjoy," Data countered calmly. "I can assure you, Zoe, it is a much richer experience than you give it credit for."

"Richer for you, maybe. You're the king of the poker face. You're guaranteed to win. Anyway, the only kind of poker that's fun for two people is strip poker, and I'm pretty sure that isn't happening."

"Strip… poker? I am not familiar with that variation."

"You wager clothes instead of credits or chips. Losing bettor has to remove an article of clothing."

"You have played this game?"

"At CentaurArts Camp, two years ago, yeah. It was a refreshing change from Spin the Bottle and Smooch or Dare."

He didn't often say 'accessing' any more when his eyes did that birdlike flicker, but that night he did, and then his eyes widened. "Kissing games. Traditionally played among adolescent humanoids."

"You put a bunch of hormonal teenagers in a contained space, things happen," I said, shrugging. Then I sighed. "So, poker."

"If you are uncertain of the rules..."

"Just because I don't like the game, doesn't mean I don't know how to play. I know how to bait a fish hook, too, but fishing is supremely boring. I'd rather swim or surf." I watched him shuffle the cards, his hands moving quickly and gracefully, especially when he bridged them after the fourth riffle. Just as he started to deal, however, I stopped him. "No."

"Zoe?"

"What variation were you going to deal for?"

"We typically play five-card stud."

"Yeah. Definitely no. If we're going to do this, I get to choose the game."

"If you wish."

"I do wish. We'll play Texas Hold 'em. Loser buys breakfast. There's a bistro, dirtside at Centaurus Spaceport, that does this sort of pancake-crepe-thing with lemon and butter… they fold it at your table."

"I accept your terms," he said, and shuffled the cards before dealing them out. If I had known poker meant watching him do fancy riffles with the cards, we would have started playing months before. God, his hands were beautiful.

We played until I started yawning. "I'm sorry," I said. "I really need to sleep soon."

"Do you wish to make up a bed here or would you prefer to come back to the cockpit?"

"I'll come back up front, but we should finish this hand first."

"There is no need," he said. "Breakfast will be 'on me' whether you overtake me on points by winning this hand, or not."

"Data…" I began, but I wasn't sure what I wanted to say. Finally, I just said, "Thank you. I'm looking forward to it."

He collected the cards, flipping both our pocket cards to show that I would have taken the hand, after all. "If you are willing, I would like to play with you again sometime."

"I'll consider it," I said, "if you teach me how to do that bridge thing after you shuffle, just… not right now."

"I would be happy to," he agreed.

I excused myself to the restroom to wash up and brush my teeth, and when I emerged, he'd dimmed the lights again, and left the pillow and blanket I'd used earlier on the seat of my chair. He'd also left a mug of tea on a tray that pulled out beneath the main control panel. "Mmm. Peppermint," I said, breathing in the aroma. "Are you this solicitous with everyone, or just me?"

"You should observe the way Commander Riker responds to hot chocolate with mini-marshmallows," he deadpanned, though his features broadened (for him) to a hint of a smile when I laughed.

I reached out to touch his shoulder, meaning to thank him for making what could have been a really dull trip feel almost like an extended first date, but as soon as I made contact, there was a shift in the mood between us. Almost as if lightning had moved through the shuttle. I heard him confirm a course correction with the computer, then re-engage the auto-pilot. (In truth, it had been engaged far more than not.)

Data swiveled his seat away from the controls again, to face the seat I had not yet taken. The unexpected motion caught me off-guard, and I lost my balance, but he caught me, easing me down, not into the right-hand seat that had become 'mine' for this journey, but onto his lap.

"Data?"

"No more talking," he said softly, using the words I'd spoken to him weeks before. His arms encircled my waist, and I slid my hands up his chest, over his shoulders, clasping them behind his neck. Our lips met, tentatively at first, and then we both seemed to grow more confident. Yes, we'd been sharing chaste kisses for months. Yes, we'd shared real kisses – proper kisses – on previous occasions, but those had all been prompted by external events. The kiss we shared in the shuttlecraft that night was just two people coming together. It was just...us.

I opened my mouth against his, and he matched me. Our tongues danced. The tip of his tongue found the edge of the stud I still had and teased. I was flooded with the taste of him, the feel of him, and the connection I finally knew was both real and mutual.

When his left hand left my waist, I stiffened, expecting him to end things, the way he had before. Instead, his right arm shifted, holding me more securely, and his left hand lifted to my head, first to smooth my hair away from my face, and then to tangle in it.

He wasn't the only one with a hair fetish. I'd wanted to bury my fingers in his hair since forever. I took the opportunity to do so, surprised by how thick, how soft it was. I wondered what it looked like without the pomade he seemed so fond of using. Inwardly, I grinned, knowing I was bound to find out… eventually.

We continued kissing. Slow, soft, lingering kisses gave way to deeper, more intense ones. At once point he held my bottom lip with his teeth and sucked, eliciting a moan I didn't know I could make. I knew my lips would be swollen in the morning, and I didn't care.

His hand fisted in my hair, and both of mine were tangled in his, and I lost awareness of almost everything else.

He, of course, did not, because he stopped things just as the comm beeped with in incoming message. "Computer, audio playback."

It was a recorded alert from the first marker beacon in Centauri space. Another checkpoint was imminent.

Our eyes met, and I grinned at him, and placed a chaste kiss on the tip of his nose. "I know," I said before he could apologize for ending things. "Duty calls."

"Quite literally, in this case," he agreed.

I stood up, feeling a tiny bit off-balance, and moved to my own chair, less than a meter away. Kicking off my shoes, I reclined the chair and curled up in it, lying on my side so I could watch him. I listened as he made the check-in and confirmed an estimated arrival time of "five hours, fifty-seven minutes from now."

"Data?" I asked softly, not wanting to completely break the mood.

"Yes, Zoe?"

"It's not going be another month before we do that again, is it?"

"That would not be my preference, no."

"Just checking." I yawned and shifted slightly in the reclined seat. "G'night, Data."

I'm pretty sure he replied, but I was asleep almost instantly, lulled by the comforting combination of monitor glow, his soft commands, and the steady humming of the engines.

Notes: Revised 13 March 2018. There is a reason this story exists as its own piece and isn't incorporated into OSTINATO: it's a holiday tale, with both Data and Zoe operating in a new environment and in a new dynamic. It's not quite a fairy tale, though it is pretty fluffy, but that's okay. They deserve a little fluff.

Zoe's inner monologue about the size of space references The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, by Douglas Adams.

The shipboard incidents Zoe refers to are from the episode "In Theory." In the CRUSHverse, the dark matter plot happened in December 2367, as canon says, but the Jenna romance happened a year earlier. The Descartes is a type-7 shuttlecraft (which design was revamped about a gazillion times) also identified as shuttle number eleven.

Zoe sings "You Can't Hurry Love," which was originally written and produced in 1966 by the Motown production team Holland–Dozier–Holland and recorded by The Supremes.