"Perhaps it would be better to visit Sickbay?"
He suggests, hands holding tight to her upper arms as she tries to lower herself onto the sofa, her own smaller hands grasped around his sturdy, mechanical forearms. In this way he seems the furthest from a machine that he could, strong and caring - concerned even.
Deanna groans into the cushions, trying to adjust the support behind her back.
"I'm sure it will pass soon, Data,"
She assures, not even totally certain herself, fingers moving back to pinch the bridge of her bleeding nose. He kneels in front of her and scrutinises her face; it is unnerving to say the least.
"It appears vasodilation caused by the hormone relaxin has resulted in the abruption of several small blood vessels in the derm…"
"Data,"
She cuts into his spiel before he can get very far, and the innocence returns to his face as he blinks in artifice, his mouth left open slightly as though he is startled.
"It's just a nosebleed."
Deanna reaches to pat the top of his hand, and so he stands upright once more and offers her another tissue, again produced from a place she cannot see.
"My apologies Counselor, can I get you anything?"
The tissue is quickly stained red, and she starts to wonder maybe if this really will pass, and her face is beginning to throb the pressure.
"Water would be nice please Data."
He nods immediately and leaves her to walk over to the replicator, machine commanding machine.
On the sofa Deanna continues to pinch her nose, breathing in deeply through her mouth hoping to calm herself some, all the different sensations of her body playing in her periphery. Still, there is a pressure on her hips, harsh and heavy, and her day had started with the damning realisation that she cannot keep replicating her science uniform in larger maternity sizes without looking so awful that her own body is too much to look at. Her dress is much softer in fabric, and it has room enough for her to expand some, as well as helping her maintain some sense of self, of individuality and control.
Data hands her a glass that is cool and filled only halfway to the top, then he perches himself on the edge of an armchair opposite her and watches intently at the hand holding her glass.
She drinks from it hesitantly, in slow sips, trying hard not to tip her head too far back as she knows that will not slow the bleeding, just alter its directionality; and that is entirely more concerning to imagine.
"I wonder if you might clarify something for me Counselor?"
He asks, eyes now focused tightly on her own.
"Of course."
Deanna shifts further back into the cushions, leaving her glass on the low table and repositioning the tissue against her nose.
"Is something bothering you?"
"Yes, I have read something which I do not entirely understand, regarding a certain phenomenon on Betazed, I was hoping you could explain it to me?"
She nods him on with a slight tip of her head, and he pauses to construct the perfect query, something which will not need to be worded twice.
"There was a passage on a certain water dwelling creature that possess powers of telepathic manipulation, but there was nothing explaining how this ability is functional across species, or what the extent of these abilities are."
For a moment, she struggles to follow along with his words, knowing almost immediately what it is he's asking about, the memory of all the things they had shown her within herself, fresh inside her mind.
Will, and the woman who shares his bed, faces both alight in shock at the sight of her there, until the image is gone. Then, mountains upon mountains, a deep valley cleft in the middle, church pews, a human caskett, the rain on risa. Her dress, torn in two, fashioned into many grander garments than before. His words, weeks late at a computer terminal, a clouded sky, a voice displaced, rows upon rows of packed church pews and starfleet uniforms everywhere, the sound of New Orleans jazz. The beating heart of a child, a baby crying, her own rattle falling from the smallest hand, a slamming door.
A single drop of clear water in an ocean of blue.
"I'm sorry Data,"
Finally, she undertakes to respond in the same tone of voice - no one could tell the difference.
"I have never heard of such a creature."
The man nods her back into awareness, oblivious, taken with her tone thinking she is telling him the truth. He has no reason to believe she lies to him.
If she were not so numb herself, she might feel bad for betraying his trust, because he is like a child who gives too easily, listens too keenly, and accepts all that is told him.
"Might I ask another question then, if you don't mind?"
Data asks her, and she hasn't the heart to tell him no, if only for his easy company.
"Of course,"
She says again.
He is like a statue where he sits.
"You and Commander Riker have 'broken up', correct?"
Deanna frowns at him, incapable of leaving the topic alone.
"Why do you ask?"
Her diversion is almost expert.
"I have observed a sudden lack of communication between the two of you, and his belongings are no longer in your quarters, I have also seen him leaving two separate female crew quarters since returning to the ship,"
He tells her like this is all very matter-of-fact, like it's an algorithm he has perfectly worked out, and though she is not surprised by this knowledge, it still takes her back to hear aloud.
Slowly, thoughtfully, she takes a sip of water and regards him from above the glass.
"We were not an item to begin with Data, he was just… helping me."
"And he is not anymore?"
The android asks her, and he is perhaps more difficult to hide herself from, because she cannot sense his emotions in the way she can with others. He makes her vulnerable, and in a twisted way, it is invigorating.
"No-"
She pauses, looks around the space and all the mess that is hers and hers alone - Will had been the one to start picking up after her when she couldn't anymore.
"Not anymore."
Data picks up on her sadness, and something Geordi told him once - about conversation, and women, and feelings - stops him from asking her much more. Her expression is a clear one that he has no trouble reading.
"I could take over in his role, if you need help,"
He offers, and she smiles softly, her sadness converted into grace.
Her eyes crinkle her gratitude.
"That is very kind Data, but I could not ask that of you."
Amber eyes shut over for longer than a blink, and then open up again like he had been in another world, calculating; he does a cursory sweep of their surroundings.
"Counselor, I do not mean to be impolite, but I believe your living area resembles what Lieutenant Laforge might refer to as a pigsty,"
Deanna has to snort back a laugh.
"I believe you do require the help,"
He tells her with sympathy, and she has to stifle her giggle with the back of her hand, suddenly full of a feeling that is something at least, more than her new customary emptiness.
She just shakes her head at him in jest, puts the glass back down on the table, and then readjusts her back against the sofa, making sure to wipe the blood from under her nose before it runs onto her lip. Data frowns a brief concern.
"How are you feeling?"
He asks, and he gestures a hand to her stomach, where it is so obvious out in front of her. It's subtle of him, and she wants to smile the pride of how he has grown in the image of what he desires so much, only her face cannot cooperate.
"I am fine now, thank you Data,"
Deanna replies, truly grateful for his concern, but his face does not register any change at all.
"And the child?"
He continues to press, and she pushes a customary hand over the topmost swell of her stomach, down to where it crests at her naval, then leaves it there resting in her lap.
"Fine,"
She repeats, and then a breath catches in her throat and her hand jumps back up to her naval, stolen for oxygen. She tries not to wince the ache.
"Kicking, actually,"
Deanna tells him, and now his face rises in his wonderment, a sheen of lubrication covering his eyes as though he is completely animated, and for a moment, he is terribly real.
"Fascinating."
She shifts upwards a little in her seat as she is kicked again, and the child starts more to squirm, pushing in on all of the tender flesh she is made up from; a cringe now escapes her.
"How does it feel?"
The man's eyes have widened considerably, and he is straining against the machine that he is to become more, he is striving to learn things that he maybe will never understand. Deanna is taken aback a little, because she has never once personally considered how it feels to have an independent, living creature move inside her, without just thinking of it as a parasite. This pregnancy has brought about a bitterness she had no idea she possessed, until it was too late to hold back; all she can hope to do now is hide it from the others, to protect them from herself.
"It is like -"
She huffs when it moves again, and shifts once more to lean more heavily on her right side. The tissue under her nose is becoming heavy with blood.
"Do you have internal sensors?"
Her tactic changes.
Data nods in response.
"Okay, so what would it feel like if you didn't disengage them during a maintenance session?"
Deanna asks him, and she is drawing on such limited knowledge of his systems; he seems to understand regardless.
"I imagine it would feel as though Geordi was using a micro-laser in my internal circuitry,"
He is missing the point.
"And that would be…?"
At her prompt, he frowns mechanically, and searches for a word.
"Uncomfortable."
He finishes, as though it is something, and he has found the meaning. Deanna nods to him, raises one finger to point in his direction, a wicked smile that means really nothing at all come upon her face.
"Exactly."
Then, there is some more silence, because he is filing away this information as though he hasn't been told much of anything, and she is swiping the tissue out from under her nose, now that it is becoming stiff and dried up. She frowns down at it in her hand, then drops it on the tabletop, another something she probably will never get around to tidying away.
Another few moments pass, and she finds herself fiddling with the pleat on her skirt, trying to lay it flat over an exposed portion of skin that has started to tingle the cold, the anticipation of when he will speak again.
"Counselor?"
Her head snaps up to regard him.
"Do I make you uncomfortable?"
Data asks her, and she is shocked for the fear in his voice, that he would think such a thing.
"Absolutely not Data, why would you think that?"
He himself has not moved an inch since he sat down.
"Because of your telepathic abilities."
She frowns.
"I don't understand?"
And it is perhaps the truest thing she has said all day. He reformulates.
"I know that, as a Betazoid, your interpersonal skills rely heavily on the emotions of the individual, and so I wonder if maybe, because I do not have emotions, you feel uncomfortable in conversation with me,"
She shakes her head at him, before he can even finish his sentence, and a humour that is moreso one of disbelief encompasses her words.
"Data, no."
He tips his head again, confused, because this is not a reaction he would have expected: she is laughing softly, strangely.
"You're very easy to be around, you are comforting,"
"But I am not real, not in any sense that you experience reality,"
Data counters, putting words in her mouth without realising it, and she continues to shake her head in response, just to reinforce how wrong he is in his view. She shifts in her seat again, to release the ribs that have become caught up by her stomach.
She takes a deep breath.
"Data,"
Deanna chides.
"You're one of the most real people I know,"
A beat.
"I have never once felt deceived by you, or taken advantage of, you are genuine and that is refreshing to see."
Another deep breath.
"You might not have emotions Data, but to say that I sense nothing from you would be a lie."
His eyes light up suddenly.
"There's something familiar about you, something which I feel only from you - you occupy a space in my mind that is comforting, and you should be proud of that Data, never question that you're real, you are more real than I am,"
Deanna explains to him, emphatically, and somehow an emotion stronger than anything she has felt all day comes over her, a dreadful kind of love for him, like for a brother she has never before had. There is a tear threatening the corner of her eye, dangerously close to spilling over the edge.
He moves forward to pat her knee, to offer her something of comfort that he cannot understand.
"Thank you, that is relieving to know,"
Data expresses, but she is almost certain that there is something of shock, of pride and joy that surges in his circuits, whether he can recognise it as such or not. And she is not lying to him, because his skin is warmer than most, his eyes more expressive, his thoughtfulness is much more than a formula and certainly much more than most people possess. He's not perfect, never professes to be, and in her mind, this makes him the most perfect person she knows.
