"Lal thought highly of Counsellor Troi and Commander Riker." Data says, out of the blue, as they are walking through the science lab. "I am most pleased that they accepted the roles of extra parents for Leonard, so that we may continue to have them in our family."
"Yeah. You wanna keep people like them around, in some way."
It's the problem with Starfleet, Geordi thinks. The special persons that you've grown close to, the ones you regard as your extended family, move ship or get in harm's way. And you never see them again.
He takes Data's hand, just because he can. His mate glances down to get a visual confirmation on what has occurred and gives Geordi a faint smile.
"I imagine Lal and Riker could have 'found each other' eventually. She approved of his presence. And I think with her charms, there was a possibility Riker might have found the idea appealing too. Once he got over the initial shock of their first encounter."
Geordi suppresses a giggle. Data is after all perfectly serious. "No question about it, baby. They would've been a great match."
If Lal had polished off some of the sharp android edges, and Riker had been more inclined towards monogamy. If Lal were still alive.
"I have to correct myself." Data says. "I used past tense just now. The truth is, she approves of Commander Riker in the present. I know you are sad for her, Geordi, but you do not have to be. Lal is in my head. As you know I have incorporated her programs into mine, and I have transferred her memories to me. So one could say she is still around."
His boyfriend's eyes are glassy, mouth turned up in an imitation of a smile. "But I admit it is not exactly the same thing."
Shaking his head, no it's not the same thing, Geordi thinks this might be the biggest difference between him and the androids. One hanging on to the mind of his lost child by incorporation, the other storing millions and millions of former life in a designated partition. It's rather creepy.
Still, if he could save a loved one in this fashion he'd go for it himself. If he could, and didn't go crazy in the process. He glances at his mate who walks briskly at his side, carefree and alert once again. Not crazy yet. But sometime in the future, he shall suggest that Lal could be stored on a separate unit instead.
—
There's always someone's birthday it seems. Ten Forward is teeming with music, drinks and garlands. They both went this time, the baby placed in Troi's care for the evening. Any excuse to see Data discover new things in social settings is good enough for Geordi. His mate is already absorbing the interactions going on all around him with an open, curious expression.
It's Grissne Or from Medicine who's celebrating her birthday. Geordi glances worriedly in the direction of the kitchen. Unfortunately for the lion's part of the crew, Grissne is an Eetrie, and a homesick one at that. The buffet menu will surely be taken straight from her culture. A traditional Eetrie feast usually leaves everyone irritated and hungry, and leaves the humans wishing for something solid with melted cheese on top. Even the best, most inventive Eetr chefs can't find a way with Starfleet's replicators if their furry heads depended on it.
But it's a more international and appealing menu than he originally feared. As the plates are being carried out Geordi's mood is getting brighter. Fat and butter-smooth ox pellets with avocado crystals, grilled chicken, rosy Upen beets strewn with granulated sugar, big juicy bodons, and fruits and cakes with unfamiliar but alluring shapes and colours. This evening might turn out all right after all.
Having downed two full plates (his own and Data's, who filled a plate just because he wanted to), accompanied with generous helping of squich, tiredness is starting to creep up on him. Data has been working two night shifts in a row, and it has taken its toll on his hours of sleep. That phrase 'sleeping like a baby' makes even less sense now. He heard it used in Engineering the other day and just wanted to walk up to the person and scream for five hours in their ear.
A voice somewhere in the crowd says his name. He looks up. A group of young men catches his attention as they stare at him, but trying not to stare. It's the same group he overheard by the drink buffet at the previous event, the ones who joked about how he was fucking a hard-drive. Glaring at them, he notices that this time there is not a trace of mockery in their faces. They quickly scatter under his gaze, awestruck and respectful. He can hear disparate words drifting over the din: "..caught Lore." "..the brother of.." "…by himself." Well, seems like the story is making its rounds among the crew. Maybe they have even read his report. He smirks to himself and scrapes up the last of the pudding.
On his left, with an empty and symbolic plate in front of him, his boyfriend is making small talk with two young trainees from Med bay. Data is not noticing how they are studying his jaw movements with rapt fascination, looking more at his throat and the faint outline of his voicebox than listening to what he's talking about. Or maybe he does notice.
"It is a fact" his mate says, "that on a space ship you cannot really discuss the weather. Because we have an absence thereof indoors. It would be pointless to call out: 'my, the weather is unsettled today.' Ha-ha-ha."
The trainees jolt to attention by the unexpected sound. Baffled, they stare at Data. Then they join in with their human laughs. He can tell they are already charmed.
"It was a real pleasure meeting you Lieutenant Commander." one of them says, squeezing Data's hand. Then, as an afterthought: "Oh, and you too of course, Mr La Forge."
"Yes, a pleasure!" the other chimes in, only looking at Data. "I hope we shall run in to each other again Mr Data, in some fashion. Have a nice night!"
"You charmer!" Geordi hits a hard android shoulder as the trainees disappear into the crowd. "Handsome, good at conversation, intelligent…did I mention handsome? Remind me to lock you up when we get back to our quarters!"
Data looks confused. "Locking me up would prevent me from doing my duties, Geordi, so it would not be acceptable. Except if it was temporary and in a bedroom setting. Besides, I thank you but I think you are slightly exaggerating my qualities because you hold me in high esteem due to your personal attachment to me. A more objectiv-mmmmph!"
Another social adaption, Geordi muses as Data's cheeks inflate slightly under his palm. Technically his hand is only muffling a speaker outlet. If Data wanted he could just raise the volume of his voicebox and be heard through Geordi's hand. But he plays along, having grown quiet and looking guilty for babbling again. Geordi does the only thing he can think of in a situation like this; he removes his hand and replaces it with his lips.
It gets more intense as his mate moans and sighs at the same time, sounding like a chaste-ish kiss in a crowded Ten Forward smelling of Upen beets and warm, sweaty uniforms is the most arousing thing in the world. Geordi presses closer as Data's mouth opens, accepting and eager.
A gruff voice growls close by, demanding their attention. Detaching himself, Geordi makes sure he is presentable and no unseemly saliva string is hanging anywhere before turning around.
"Good evening Worf." Data says, having reverted to unaffected in something like 0.0021 seconds.
It is indeed Worf, who is so used to seeing them making out by now he doesn't even bother to look affronted. "Greetings. This may not be the time. But I thought you should know. I shall sit."
The Klingon takes the chair on Geordi's right side, but halts as he sees it is covered in confetti and glitter. The former occupant of the chair, Beverly, tried to throw the stuff on a colleague but ended up getting most of it on herself. Worf frowns and selects another chair. Surely he would not live through getting as much as a tiny little spark on himself.
Having found a safe chair and taken his place, Worf resolutely puts his half-full glass of bloodwine down on a free spot on the table. "As I was saying, this might not be the time. But the sooner the better." He leans forward and rumbles in an uncharacteristically low voice: "This morning I informed the prisoner he will be terminated tomorrow."
Tomorrow? It's like something sinks in him, a hollow opening up in his belly. Isn't it tomorrow already? He glances at his info screen. The stardate has just moved one digit forward.
The big Klingon looks at them. Geordi studies the blood-black wine in Worf's glass, happiness and horniness both gone in an instant. He doesn't know what to say. Maybe Data should say something. It's his bloody brother.
"It was the honourable thing to do." Worf says.
"I suppose. Thanks Worf. Tomorrow it is.. or more like later today." He looks up from the glass at his boyfriend.
Data is staring through the Klingon, a thousand yard stare. "Very well, Mr Worf. Thank you for the information."
Geordi watches the big Klingon get up and head for the buffet, thankful that at least Worf used words like 'he' and 'the prisoner' instead of 'it'. And it was good he had informed Lore about what what going to happen. Respectful, in some twisted way.
He should perhaps have done it. Gone down there and asked some more about the weapon, trying to get a reading on the brain scan. And if no clues were forthcoming, casually mention that they had the data on another carrier, and that time was up, over, done for the android. See what reaction it would spark. Maybe Lore would want to spill all his secrets, giving up the story of his life now when it was coming to an end? Geordi would have been an apt listener. If Lore had wanted to talk.
No. He feels like a coward, but he just can't face the android anymore. The guilt is weighing. If he hadn't shut him off, brought him here.. but then again, how many lives will be spared with Lore's death? In the grand scheme of things he has done good.
—
He waits until Data is busy in conversation with the two Crushers ( -'Have you noticed there is no weather in space?' - 'oh come off it Data!') until he approaches Worf. The big Klingon has perched himself and his glass on the most isolated barstool available, nursing his drink and glaring at people.
"Worf. Um… about that.. did he say anything when you told him? What did he do?"
"Well -" Worf looks uncertainly at his hand holding the glass, then out in the room, as if Picard would magically materialize and give advice on whether Worf should feed La Forge's strange interest in the prisoner, or report the incident to high command.
"Please. Just tell me."
"All right." Worf growls, relenting. "He tried to trick me into entering the cell, goading and insulting me. I would not have it. It would not be honourable to beat a foe weakened like that." The Klingon blinks, his hand holding the bloodwine-glass trembling ever so slightly. "He threatened to destroy the cell, and to kill me in many different ways. He suggested a deal. We get the information and we let him go. I said we do not do deals."
"That's right." Geordi sighs. "At least not that kind of deals."
"No. Not that kind of deals. I left and returned some hours later to check that no destruction had occurred. It hadn't. He then suggested we get the information if he would get to live. I gave the same reply as earlier. Then I left. I haven't been back."
He can't ask, really, but he has to know. "Did he mention me at all?"
Worf glares suspiciously at him, but then Worf always glares, doesn't he, but maybe he's glaring more than usual?
"Well. Maybe." The Klingon growls, still not finding Picard in the crowd.
"Worf, I need to know. It could help me break the memory bank and get the information about the weapon."
It's a good thing Worf is such a push-over, really. "Like I said, he tried to make deals. Three times. The third suggestion was more… personal."
Geordi digs his nails into his palm. What now? "Oh? He wants to have my head on a plate?"
"He said he will tell us all about the weapon…" The Klingon suppresses a growl "…if he was allowed to hold your baby boy."
Oh, the bastard. "No! Never!"
"Of course not! Out of the question!" Worf bares his teeth in a snarl. "I asked the villain how he knew about your offspring, but he just laughed and turned his back! Then I left."
"I certainly didn't tell him. Lore saw the melon attached to Data just before I switched him off. He must have…smelled it and drawn the correct conclusion."
Why did he ask, gods, he just feels worse now. "Thank you Worf. I need to go and…run some code."
"Did this information help?" Worf gives him an inscrutable look.
No. "I don't know. Maybe."
—
His mate has moved on to a woman from accounts who is looking like she can barely restrain herself from pinching his cheek and feed him cookies.
"…no weather? Ha-ha-"
"Pardon Ma'am, I need to borrow Data's ear for a second. Babe, I'm gonna go pick up my nephew and go back to our quarters. You stay and enjoy yourself."
"Is there something amiss Geordi?" Data attaches himself immediately to his arm. "You are not feeling unwell I hope?"
"Nah, I'm just tired, that's all."
"Well, I shall follow you and assist with your nephew so you may sleep properly."
He crooks his arm in Data's, secretly thankful that they're going back to their quarters together. Sleep, oh to sleep, perchance to dream! His bed is beckoning.
"By the way babycakes, that thing about 'no weather in space' isn't really funny."
"Oh? But…they were laughing. And they were not laughing AT me, but WITH me. I ran the checks we programmed together to analyse situations like that, and there was no indication they were malicious."
"They were laughing because you looked so sweet when you were talking. Sorry darling, it wasn't your witty cocktail conversation this time."
"Well." Data looks a little crestfallen, but quickly perks up again. "I shall have to practise some more on my humorous observations."