Disclaimer: Star Trek: The Next Generation, the U.S.S. Enterprise, and all the canon characters belong to CBS/Paramount. The rest is mine. This chapter takes place immediately after the season three episode "The Most Toys."

Unsettled

Stardate 43907.87

(Monday, 28 November 2366, 08:58 hours, ship's time)

I woke up on Monday morning to find my mother waiting for me at the table in our quarters. She was sipping coffee, but had left a glass of orange-cranberry juice sitting at my place. "Morning," I mumbled sleepily.

"Back at ya, kiddo," she said, her gentle tone belying the flippant choice of words. "Join me?"

I padded across the room in bare feet. "Sure," I said as I sat down. "What's up?"

"I wanted to make sure you knew that Commander Data is actually alive, and has returned to the ship."

I had the good grace to look sheepish. "I kind of knew that already," I confessed. "Wes sent me a message last night. About the alive part, anyway."

She nodded. "I had a feeling he might." There was a long pause as she swallowed some of her coffee, grimaced, and pushed it aside. "Cold," she said.

"You could just replicate another," I pointed out.

"True enough," she agreed. "Commander Riker mentioned that you hadn't been aware of notification lists."

"Is that what they're called?" I asked, deflecting a little. "And, wait, how did he know. I don't think I've ever even met him."

"You have; you probably just don't remember. My time at the Academy overlapped with his somewhat. We're not best friends, but we do talk, so when one of his department heads told him you'd reacted oddly to hearing you were on such a list –"

"It wasn't oddly," I interrupted. "I mean, how would you feel if someone you'd only really known for a few months had you on their list?"

"If the 'someone' in question was also someone with whom I was spending quite a lot of time, much of which in pursuit of a mutual personal interest…"

"Mom, could you talk like you and not a textbook?" When she was being all sciency, she sounded like Data, and I didn't want that right then.

She sighed. "Look, Zoe, Data and I are colleagues. I report to him in his role as head of Operations, but we don't work together directly very often – you know my specialty is considered a 'soft' science."

This I knew. "Okay, and?"

"And even I know that while he's always personable and amiable, he doesn't truly connect with many people. So if he has included you on his notification list, it means he considers you a real friend. And if I were you, I'd consider it an honor."

"Am I on your list?" I asked, even though I was pretty sure of the answer.

"At the top," she said.

"Okay," I said. I was quiet for a while, before I asked, "Mom, do you think I spend too much time with him? With Data?"

"Do you think so?"

I toyed with my juice glass while I thought about it, swirling it so the orange and cranberry juices would stay blended. "I don't know. It's just…people keep referring to me as his protégé, and Wes went all cryptic in the 'lift yesterday and told me I had a deep connection with Data, and sometimes I worry that T'vek is right, and I am crushing on him. A little."

My mother smirked. "Sounds like T'vek is a mite jealous."

I grinned. "Maybe a little." I shrugged, "But he's the one who makes me all dizzy and ishy inside. He's the one I love. And when I'm spending time with Data, it's almost exclusively related to music. But, god, Mom, he's amazing with music. We're supposed to focus on theory, but right off the bat, he figured out I respond better when I can apply ideas, so we do textbook stuff for the beginning of our time, and then we play together. And… I get lost in it."

My mother's smile was a fond one, even though she reached out to take my glass and set it down on the table just firmly enough to make a point. "So, it's a good partnership?"

"The best. I wish… I wish I could stop taking lessons from Seth and only study with him. I mean, he keeps saying he doesn't have feelings, and he kinds sucks at improvisation, but my technique has improved so much from playing with him, and theory actually makes sense now."

"Have you asked Data about that?"

I shook my head. "He's giving up so much time for me already; that really would be overstepping."

"It's your call, Zoe. If you want to take a break from formal lessons for a while, I'm sure your father would allow it."

"Only if he hears me play, and he hasn't since I've been here. There wasn't time on Serenity."

"You could have made time, instead of shopping."

"Give up a shopping spree on Dad's credit account? Mother! Bite your tongue." I was teasing her, and she knew it.

"Alright then. Call your father and discuss it with him, and let me know what you decide."

"I will."

"Make sure you ask him about Christmas, also - I think he wants you to spend the holidays with him."

"You mean with him and Gia," I corrected. "But… yeah. I'd already figured I'd be going home for the December holidays." I retrieved my juice glass and drained it in one long swallow – my way of making a point - then moved to the comm system to place the call to my father. I was interrupted by an incoming message informing me our math tutorial had been cancelled for the day. "Hey, Mom, I thought you said Data was back on the ship?"

"I did; why?"

"He cancelled tutorial this morning. Is something wrong with him?"

"I don't know much more than you do, Zoe, but I'd guess that he might be involved in debriefings."

"Oh," I said, feeling deflated. "Yeah, that makes sense."

She must have heard it in my tone because her next question was, "Can I believe this? Is my daughter disappointed over missing a math class?" This time her teasing was gentle.

"Not exactly. I just kind of wanted to see Data for myself. To know he's really back."

My mother stared at me for a long moment. "I have a meeting I need to get to," she said, getting up. "Make sure you eat something before you leave quarters." She ruffled my hair as she moved past me. "I love you, kiddo."

"Love you, too," I said, before getting up and moving to the food slot, determined to convince it that peanut butter on toast was a thing it could actually deliver.

(=A=)

With no math tutorial to attend, I didn't really need to rush to contact my father, but I didn't really have anything else to do, either. I placed the call and was happy to find he was actually available in real-time for a change. "Hey, Dad," I greeted his slightly out-of-phase image.

"Zoetrope!" he seemed delighted to hear from me. "How are you?"

"'m okay," I said. "I guess. Data invited me to join his string quartet."

"That's wonderful, darling," my father enthused. "I'd love to come hear you play sometime."

"Would you," I asked, wrinkling my nose, "actually do that? I mean, wouldn't it be kind of awkward with Mom and stuff?"

"Your mother and I aren't enemies, Zoe." His voice took on a more serious tone. "And we both love you, so I think if it meant seeing you perform we'd be able to cope."

"That's good to hear. I keep having these images of epic battles, cello bows used as swords, that sort of thing."

He laughed, as I'd hoped he would. "What pieces are you working on?" he asked.

I ran down the list of the quartet music, and the music I was working on with Seth. "The thing is, Dad, I'm learning so much from working with Data that I feel like Seth doesn't have anything left to teach me, and sometimes he's a little creepy."

His Dad-alert instantly engaged. "Creepy how? Has he done anything…?"

"No, Daddy, I promise. Just…he keeps making comments that I seem really mature for my age, and that my boyfriend must be jealous of our time together. Stuff like that." I ran a hand through my hair and added softly, "He keeps wanting to put his hands on me to show me better positioning, better technique, but it's all kinds of skeevy. I made him move our lessons to a public space. And Tev – that's T'vek to you – walks me back to quarters, after." Well, he walked me back most days.

"Have you told your mother?"

"She knows I don't want to work with him, but not why. I'd like to ask Data if he could work with me exclusively, but I don't want to impose when he's done so much already."

"I wish I knew him well enough to advise you." A thought seemed to occur to him. "Have you mentioned your concerns about Seth to your Mr. Data?"

"It's Commander Data, Dad, not mister. And he isn't mine." I was deflecting and we both knew it.

"Zoe…"

"Dad…" I sighed. "Okay, no, I haven't given him any details, either."

"Why not?"

"Because Seth hasn't actually done anything. I've had other teachers reposition my arms or tell me to relax my shoulders, just as much. Aside from that, he's only made some creepy comments." I paused. "The thing is, if I tell Data, it's not like telling a friend, or even like telling Mom. If I tell Data, I'm telling the second officer of the whole ship, and it becomes official. It becomes a thing."

"Zoe, if Seth's behavior is making you uncomfortable, you need to tell someone. Your mother, at least. Something tells me Commander Data might have some inkling of how to separate a friend in need of advice from someone making an official complaint, though."

"I'll consider it." I took a breath. "Mom said I should confirm holiday plans…?"

"Your grandmother and I both miss you, Zoe-licious, and I'd want you here anyway, but Gia and I are planning a wedding – nothing huge or fancy – over the break, and it would mean a lot if you could be in it."

"You're marrying her? Already?" I wasn't really as surprised as I probably sounded. More hurt. "You and Mom are barely divorced."

"I know it feels sudden –."

I cut him off. "It is sudden. You only even told me about her a couple of weeks ago."

My father took a deep breath. "You're right. I haven't been as open with you as I should have been. Nevertheless, Gia and I are getting married, and I would like my beloved daughter to be part of it."

"Beloved, huh?" I asked, a smile threatening to take over my face.

"Darling girl, I really can't do it without you." And his smile was the thousand-watt one that magazines and news agencies always talked about. "Say you'll come."

"Okay," I said. "I'll come."

"And participate."

"And participate. But, it'll cost you." I was smiling when I said it.

"Clothes? Shoes?" He hesitated before asking, in a very small voice, "You don't still want a pony?"

"No pony," I said, grinning. "I was thinking more like flying lessons so I can get my license while I'm there…and maybe my own flitter. Xenon is making this cloud-to-ground model that comes in British racing green with white pinstripes, and a sunroof."

"You're fifteen."

"I'll be sixteen in January, Dad. As long as it's not more than thirty days before my birthday I can take the class, and Christmas is twenty-seven days before." I'd done my research, after all.

"That's so old," he said, teasing me.

"Yes," I agreed, "But I'll always be younger than you." I sing-songed it, as our personal tradition required.

"You wound me, darling," he accused, but he was laughing as he said it. "You should probably go. I'll contact your mother to arrange travel."

"Hey Dad, one more thing?"

"Name it."

"Can T'vek come? I mean, I can't possibly go to my own father's wedding without a date."

"If his parents approve, I don't see why not."

"Thanks, Daddy," I said. "Zoe out." And I closed the call. Then I opened the comm channel again, and asked the computer to connect me to Data.

- Lieutenant Commander Data is not receiving communications at this time. came the computer's matter of fact announcement. You may leave your name, leave a message, or close the comm-link.

"Leave a message," I said.

- Begin recording.

"Hi, Data," I said, feeling a little stupid. "I'm glad you're back, but I wish you hadn't cancelled class this morning. When you have time, I really need to talk to you. Please." I was silent after that, long enough for the computer to prompt me to end the recording. It seemed like a lame message, but I told it to save and send, anyway.

- Message sent.

(=A=)

Stardate 43914.24

(Wednesday, 30 November 2366, 16:45 hours, ship's time)

I wasn't the only one of my friends who was pretty subdued on Monday, but it only got worse as the week drew on, and both Tuesday night's quartet rehearsal and Wednesday morning's math tutorial were cancelled as well.

That day, as T'vek and I walked to my voice lesson, he asked me, "Zoe, you know I love you, but…should I be jealous that you're this mopey over Commander Data cancelling class?"

"You're haven't exactly been a bundle of laughs yourself," I pointed out, "but there's nothing to be jealous of. I'm probably just overreacting." I managed a watery grin. "Would you feel better if I made a proposition?"

His grin was more wicked than watery. "Depends. What is it you're proposing?"

"Be my date to my Dad's wedding over Christmas. He says it won't be huge or fancy, but I'm betting it will actually be one or both of those things." I'd waited two days to ask him because a part of me was afraid he'd refuse.

"Why, Zoe Harris, are you inviting me home to meet your parents?"

"Why, Stevek Mairaj, are you being coy with me?"

We both laughed then, and I leaned up to kiss him. "I love you," I said. "Ask your parents if it's okay? Otherwise, I'll have to ask Sven the farmhand, and he might get…ideas…"

"Sven…the farmhand…?"

"Yep. He's six feet tall, blonde, muscly…"

"Zoe…"

"…thick as a brick, most of the time, but…"

"Zoe…!"

I blinked innocently. "Tev?"

"I would be honored," he said, "to escort you to your father's wedding… assuming my parents approve."

"Oh, good," I said. "Though, Sven will be bitterly disappointed."

We kissed some more, even though we were in the middle of the corridor, until he pulled away. "I have to go," he said. "See you tomorrow."

"Bright and early," I agreed. I went into my lesson feeling better than I had before.

(=A=)

Stardate 43916.02

(Thursday, 1 December 2366, 08:23 hours, ship's time)

Thursday morning, I met T'vek for an early breakfast in the rec hall nearest the rooms where we had most of our classes. It had become a pattern for us to sit there and quiz each other for our Federation History class, and since we had a test scheduled that morning, we wanted to be ready.

He was at our usual table, immersed in reading something on his padd, so I went directly to the food slot for hot chocolate and a strawberry and sweet cream cheese croissant, took my tray to the table, and slid into my usual seat before greeting him with "So, do you come here often?" offered in my most over-the-top seductress voice.

"Every week," he answered without looking up. "Better watch out; if my girlfriend sees you at her table she'll snark you to death, and make you enjoy the process."

"Mmm. I'm not afraid of a little snark. Is your girlfriend hot?"

"Not only hot, she's awesome."

"Awesome, huh? Is she around? I bet her ears are burning."

"C'mere," he said, "and let's find out what else might be."

I laughed, but I moved to his side of the table, and we ignored both books and breakfast for a make-out session.

"Could you two possibly get a room," Wesley Crusher's voice interrupted us.

"Hey, Wes," T'vek said brightly. I straightened up in my seat. "We're studying for history class. Join us?"

"Only if you're done –

"Playing tonsil hockey?" I asked, blinking innocently at him even as I finished his sentence for him. "But I was winning." He rolled his eyes and started to move away. "Wes, seriously, please stay?" I called.

"Okay, fine," he grumped, but he took a seat opposite us. "Captain Picard says I need more knowledge of history, anyway."

I raised an eyebrow at him. "Does he really?"

"Yeah," Wes said. "Really. He's kind of a history buff."

"Probably has to do with that whole learn-from-mistakes-or-repeat-them thing," I said, tacking on "Hey, get your own!" when T'vek stole a bite of my croissant.

"But it looks so tasty," he protested.

"It is. But you don't like it when I'm mopey, so I'm self-medicating with unhealthy amounts of sugar."

"I'm sure Data'll be back in class tomorrow," T'vek said, putting down his padd, and taking one of my hands in his. With the other, he stole another piece of my croissant.

"Actually," Wes said, "he won't."

We both stared at him.

"He's talking to you?"

"Sort of. He was on the bridge this morning – I was there from four to eight – and he asked me to relay that class was cancelled. He was incredibly quiet otherwise, even for him, but he also had the conn, so…" He trailed off. "Zoe, I'm sure there's nothing really wrong with him, he's in charge of the prisoner."

"Prisoner?" I asked.

T'vek leaned forward, "Are you supposed to be telling us this?"

"Probably not," Wes admitted. "So if I tell you two, you'll keep it to yourselves?"

"Wait, aren't you the one who lives and dies by the book?" T'vek demanded.

It was Wes's turn to shrug. "Usually, I guess. But right now, I'm worried about a friend, and I think maybe Zoe can help."

"Me? Why me?"

"For the same reason Geordi and I called you down to Data's quarters the other day. You're important to him, and you're a civilian, which means you don't have to worry about chain of command stuff."

"You came in here on purpose," I said. "You wanted to find us."

"Yeah," Wes admitted. "I did."

T'vek and I shared a look, and then we both leaned forward. "Okay," T'vek said in a low voice. "You have our attention. Spill it, Crusher."

Wes told us about Data being actually kidnapped by some megalomaniacal toy collector, and having been in the process of escaping, when the Enterprise found him, and beamed him back.

"So, wait," I asked. "There really was something off in the recordings Geordi was listening to?"

"Oh, yeah," he said. "The last time, he didn't finish the routine checklist."

"And Data never, ever, varies a routine," Wes and I said together.

"Guys," T'vek said. "Don't ever do that again."

"Agreed," I said to my boyfriend. I took a bite of my rapidly diminishing pastry before asking, "But what does this have to do with Data being off-duty, and cancelling things left and right?"

A troubled look crossed Wesley's face. "You weren't here when he built Lal," he said. "His daughter?"

"I was, but formal classes hadn't started yet, and I'd only been on board a couple weeks, when… Anyway, I know the story," I said. "He built her, she came to sentience, found emotions, and died of cascade failure." I softened my tone. "He… Data and I talked about it." Both boys sharpened their focus on me for a moment, as if they were surprised I'd been sharing intimate conversations with our tutor. "What?" I asked, suddenly irritated. "I'm very nocturnal and I couldn't sleep on the way to and from Serenity – especially after he caught us – well, anyway, he let me hang out in the cockpit with him for a while, and we talked, and since then… I mean… when you play music with someone it's kind of…" I was going to say 'intimate' but thought better of it. "It's kind of intense."

Tev reached covered my hand with his, still sticky from my purloined croissant.

Wes continued his story. "Yeah, well, afterward, he isolated himself from everyone for almost two weeks. He says he doesn't have feelings, but… things happen and he goes all internal."

"He broods," I said, turning my hand underneath T'vek's. "And you think he's brooding now?"

"Well, he's back on the bridge," Wes said. "But no classes, and Geordi says he isn't talking to anyone. Not him. Not the counselors."

"Which leads us back to the question," T'vek said as I pulled my hand back. "Why do you need Zoe?"

"I thought maybe you could reach him. Get him to open up and talk."

"Wes, I'm his student. Just like you are. Just like Tev and Josh and Dana are. "

"No," he said, "You're more. You speak his language."

"Music? You mean music?"

"Yeah. Also… I think maybe…"

T'vek stared at our classmate. "You think Zoe reminds Data of his daughter?"

Wes shrugged. "Yeah, maybe. She always so..." He caught my glare. "Sorry, Zoe. You're always so easy with him. Casual."

"I'm really not," I said. "I'm supposed to have a lesson with him tomorrow morning. If he doesn't cancel it, I'll see what I can do.

"And if he does?"

"I don't know… maybe we could all stage a sit-in outside his door, or something."

"What's a sit-in?" T'vek and Wes asked, as one.

"Never mind," I said. "I'll try, okay?"

None of us studied any more, but we all aced the history test anyway.

(=A=)

Stardate 43917.76

(Thursday, 1 December 2366, 23:36 hours, ship's time)

I wasn't surprised when I returned home after classes to find that Data had, in fact, cancelled our theory tutorial, but I was disappointed. I thought about practicing anyway, but chose to spend the evening curled up with a book.

When Mom got home, it was pretty late – after eleven – and she looked tired and strained. "Shouldn't you be sleeping?" she asked me.

"No math again tomorrow," I said. "So, actually no. Did you eat?"

"We ate while working," she answered me. "We're piecing together the history of a previously unknown culture," she added. "Nothing dangerous, but Captain Picard came to check out some of the artifacts we were examining."

"I thought you were an anthropologist," I said.

"I am. I work with the archaeological and linguistic teams to put together a whole picture, based on artifacts, pictograms and writings, and even the way buildings are laid out."

"So, you're kind of like a detective?" I asked.

"Sometimes I am," she said. "What's behind this newfound interest in what I do?" She perched herself on the end of my bed.

"Maybe I've always been interested and just didn't want to tell you." I suggested, setting my padd aside so I could watch my mother's face.

"Afraid I'd inundate you with information?"

"Afraid you'd make me go look at dusty old ruins. I do not do dust," I said.

"Mmm. I'll remember that the next time your room is a disaster area. Did you eat, child-of-mine?"

"Oh, yes. I had a lovely bowl of chili with a tart little cheddar on top, and a glass of uttaberry soda. It was an audacious drink…a bit too much sparkle, but tasty."

My mother was laughing by the end of my speech. "Kiddo, you crack me up," she said.

I grinned and picked my padd back up. "Then my work here is done. G'night Mom, don't stay up too late."

Mom was still laughing. "I think that's my line." She rose to leave, but paused to ruffle my hair and kiss my forehead before she did.

(=A=)

Stardate 43919.71

(Friday, 2 December 2366, 16:42 hours, ship's time)

By the end of Friday, I was ready to storm Data's door and just demand he return to class, or at least that he reinstate our Saturday session. Not only was my routine off, but even Seth could tell that I hadn't practiced all week. He'd decided that technique was the order of the day.

"You aren't drawing the bow to its full extension," he told me, at one point. "Let me show you." He stood behind me, and put his hand over mine on the bow. His breath was hot on the back of my neck and I felt really uncomfortable. "Here. Now when you do a down-bow you should feel it all the way into your shoulder, and when you go up," and he pushed my arm the other way, "you should feel it, too. Do you?"

"I guess," I said. I leaned forward and away from him, but I couldn't play that way.

"Let's try again," he said, "together. Down." He guided my arm back. "And up. Now you try."

I did what he'd demonstrated but not before he'd let his hand trail up my arm. "Don't," I said.

"I'm only trying to help your technique," he said. He rested both hands on my shoulders. "Play the arpeggio from our warm-up. I want to feel it in your shoulder."

As I'd told my father, I'd had other teachers do similar things… and the truth was, there was nothing wrong in the act. Cello technique is physical. But his manner was all wrong. "Seth," I said. "I understand what you want me to do, but I'm really not comfortable with this approach."

"I thought you told me," he said, "that you and Data were into a hands-on approach."

"Aren't you supposed to call him 'Commander Data'?" I asked, seething. "And anyway, hands-on doesn't mean literally having your hands on my body." I shrugged away from him, again wishing someone – anyone – would enter the observation lounge where we were working ever since I'd refused to meet in his quarters.

"I saw you in the rec room this morning, with your boyfriend," he countered. "You didn't mind him touching you."

"T'vek waits for an invitation, and isn't eighty million years too old for me." I put down the bow and set my cello on the floor. "I have to go now."

"Your lesson isn't over," he said.

"Actually," I corrected him. "It is."

I packed my cello in record time, and while I didn't run, I walked exactly as quickly as one can while carrying a large, stringed instrument.

Mom wasn't home when I got there, but she'd left a message telling me I was welcome to swing by the lab if I wished to. I comm'd T'vek to see if he was available, but he had a chess date with his father, and Dana and Josh were double dating with Wes and Annette. Usually, a night alone was a rare gift, but tonight, I felt like I really needed company.

I put my cello away, had the replicator give me a bowl of tomato basil soup and a grilled cheese sandwich, and ate in the living room, in front of the entertainment unit. One of the shipboard vid channels was running a marathon of vintage pirate movies, so of course I had to watch.

Finally, I gave up on the night, took a shower, and went to bed.

(=A=)

Stardate 43920.57

(Saturday, 3 December 2366, 00:12 hours, ship's time)

I tossed and turned for several hours, only to wake up around midnight, suddenly in possession of the knowledge of exactly how I would get Data to come back to class.

I got out of bed, dressed in sweats and a big t-shirt, and grabbed my padd. Mom was still out – there was a message not to expect her before two - so I left her another message in reply, and made my way out into the dimly-lit corridor (because the ship was technically on night watch) and into the turbolift, to deck eight.

Outside Data's door, I took a deep breath and activated the annunciator.

It was probably just me, but when he asked, "Who is it?" his voice seemed heavier than usual, despite the tiny speaker. Also, I'd never before heard him ask whom a visitor might be. Usually he just called out for whoever it was to come in.

"Zoe," I said. "It's Zoe Harris. Please Data, I need to talk to you."

"It is very late, Zoe," came his too-polite response. "Perhaps we can speak at another time."

"I'm sorry," I said. "That won't do. Lieutenant Commander Data, under the brethren pirate code, and upon the honor of the Royal Navy, I hereby invoke the right of parley."

There was a long pause, but he hadn't cut the signal to the annunciator. Finally, he said, "Very well, Zoe Harris. You may enter."

The door slid open and I stepped inside his quarters to find the room filled with new paintings. Many of them were still wet; some were still in progress. Two figures were prominent in many of them. "Geez, Data, if this is supposed to be art therapy, you're kind of taking it to extremes." I blurted the words without thinking.

He just stared down at me, a paintbrush poised in each hand. "You said you needed to speak to me."

"Yeah," I said. "I do. Could you maybe set the brushes aside and make tea or something? Conversations like this are easier when you have something to fiddle with, you know, hold and stir and stuff."

(=A=) To Be Continued (=A=)

Notes: As it said in the disclaimer, this takes place after The Most Toys. We never get to see what happens after, but if Data was ready to pull himself off the bridge during the war games when he managed to lose a game of Stratagema, I think it's plausible that he'd go all broody after pointing a weapon at an unarmed man. (Revised for typos and timeline correction 19 April 2016).