Here Today
Stardate 46126.35
(Sunday, 16 February 2369, 02:52 hours, ship's time)
U.S.S. Enterprise
It was the jolting of the ship that pulled me from sleep, though, since I'd been on the verge of a nightmare, I was relieved enough that it took a moment for me to process it. There weren't any klaxons, and I didn't hear an emergency alert warning people to gather in designated shelter areas, so I stayed there, lying against the pillows, for a while.
Data was on the bridge, I knew, and I was tempted to comm him and ask if something was wrong, but at the same time, I didn't want to interrupt him for anything less than an emergency, and if something dire had happened, I trusted that he would let me know.
A second jolt, almost as if something was tugging the ship, roused Spot from her repose on my partner's unused pillow. She swiped at my hair with her paw, then bounced down the bed to land on my bladder.
That cat had an unerring knack for pouncing me in the bladder.
"Oof, Spot, this is not the way to win friends and influence people," I grumbled, as much because it amused me as because I thought it would work. She did nothing to relieve the situation, so I resorted to rolling onto my side, so she'd have to move, which she did… reluctantly.
Thus awakened, I left the bed and padded to the bathroom.
I was still there when Data returned from his shift. "Zoe?" His voice held a note of confusion when he called my name. He'd expected to find me in bed, at least, if not actually asleep.
"In here!" I called.
My partner, the man who had had no compunctions about using his own body to close a circuit during a ship-wide disaster, paused in the open bathroom doorway. "I will… wait…" he said averting his eyes.
I rolled my eyes at him. "Seriously? You can watch me take a bath, but you can't talk to me while I'm sitting on the toilet?"
"It is not appro – "
I shouldn't have found it funny. I mean, this was the main who had, two years before, failed to see why it might have been awkward having a sixteen-year-old girl staying in his quarters for a week. I was accustomed to his inherent reserve, but this reaction was atypical from him.
"Not appropriate? Data, really?" He raised his head and his yellow eyes met my brown ones. "It's not like you're some stranger," I reminded him, my tone gentle. "We live together. We exchange bodily fluids on a regular basi – "
"Forgive me, dearest," he interrupted me, "but my research on intimate relationships suggests that some 'bodily fluids' are more appropriate than others."
Snark from Data always amused me, and he was getting better and better at it. "Research, huh?" I asked, teasing him.
"Research and observation," he amended."
"Hmh." I imitated his signature non-verbal noise.
"Zoe?"
"It's just that… you assured me once that you were not a prude."
My tone was perfectly level, and it got the response I'd hoped for: a slight uplifting of his eyebrows and his own utterance of the same sound. "Hmh."
I could tell he was about to protest my assessment, but I spoke before he could. "Anyway, I'm done now, so why don't you go wait elsewhere, lest I offend what's left of your modesty." I spoke the last several words in a teasing tone. He turned away, closing the bathroom door as he left, and I couldn't help the chuckle that escaped. I finished my business, washed my hands, and went back to our bedroom, where he was sitting primly on edge of the bed.
I stopped directly in front of him. Before he could speak, I leaned down for a quick kiss to his lips. He let his knees fall apart, and I stepped between them, pressing against him. His head was at the level of my breasts, and he placed a kiss in the deep V of the t-shirt I'd worn to bed, while my hands landed in his hair, ruffling it, and smoothing it again. Being able to play with his hair was one of my favorite privileges of girlfriend-hood.
"You're home early," I observed. He'd been scheduled to be on duty until at least zero-six-hundred hours.
"You are awake early." The unasked question was in his tone: Did you have another nightmare?
"There was a jolt," I said, ignoring the question he hadn't asked. "And I waited for an announcement or klaxons, but there weren't any, and then there was another and your cat landed on top of me."
"I have observed that Spot is always 'my cat' when her behavior annoys you," he said, bringing his arms around me, and clasping his hands just above my buttocks. "The jolts you felt were the result of the Dyson sphere's gravitational pull. We have compensated. We have also found the Jenolan, a private craft that crashed into the outer surface of the sphere approximately seven decades ago."
"Is that where the distress signal was coming from?"
"Yes. We are currently running scans, and an away team will visit the ship later today."
"What time should I start worrying?" This question was becoming another of our rituals, a way for me to better cope with Data being in dangerous situations.
"There will be no need to worry about me at all; I was not assigned to this mission."
"Oh." I wasn't sure if I should be relieved for myself or disappointed for him. I knew he truly enjoyed the opportunity to explore new places and things.
"I will have to spend much of the day on the bridge, however."
Having determined that my partner's hair was suitably mussed, I moved my hands to his shoulders. "Do you have to report back right away?"
"I am not due back until ten-hundred hours."
"Got any plans between now and then?"
He knew exactly what I was really asking. "I had expected merely to hold you while you slept," he said.
"But I'm not sleeping."
"No, you are not." Had I imagined the slight shift in his voice? I didn't think so, but I was never entirely certain.
I let my hands wander, teasing the back of his neck, and then fiddling with the collar of his uniform jacket. "Sleep is overrated," I said, and kissed him again before he could argue with me.
The head tilt that followed my assault on his lovely cashew-flavored mouth was one I recognized as calculating. He lifted me and rolled backwards and sideways, so we were on the bed with him hovering over me. "I appear to be overdressed," he commented.
"We can fix that."
Something else of which I wasn't entirely certain: Data may have set a speed record for removing a Starfleet uniform that morning, even accounting for the extra time he spent divesting me of my t-shirt mid-process.
After our lovemaking, when I was sated and slightly muzzy and cradled against Data's chest, I asked, "Are there ever missions you aren't assigned to, that you wish you were?"
"It is typical for the best-suited members of the crew to be assigned to any away mission."
"That's not what I was asking."
"Then, please elaborate."
"Well, like this mission… you're not going, but don't you wish you were? Or… the thing in San Francisco at Christmas… the captain kept you aboard to try to protect you, but didn't you want to just go figure out the mystery?"
"There are times," he answered slowly, "when an away mission will include situations I am singularly qualified to assess or defuse. There are other times when I am not the best choice, and there are still other times when less experienced officers are selected for a mission with the intent of giving them much-needed experience. I am incapable of experiencing resentment, and I do not believe there is any mission I have been held back from when I have expressed interest." He paused, and added, "At least, that has been true since I have been part of the Enterprise crew."
"Dotty told me you weren't always treated very well… before."
"That is an understatement."
"I'm sorry you had to experience that," I said. "There are times," I echoed his phrasing intentionally, "when I wish I could go back in time, meet you then, and be with you your whole life." I wrinkled my nose. "Except, if I'd met you when you were at the Academy, I'd be old and saggy now."
"I do not believe I would have been ready for such a relationship then," Data admitted quietly. "But I appreciate the sentiment. He paused a moment then added. "I also do not believe you would have grown… saggy."
"Guess we'll have to revisit that question in twenty or thirty years," I was only half-teasing. I could have bantered with him a while longer, but I was tired, so I ordered the computer to extinguish the lights and let the thrum of my lover's internal systems and the steady rhythm of his pulse lull me back to sleep.
(=A=)
Stardate 46127.93
(Sunday, 16 February 2369, 16:41 hours, ship's time)
"Okay, spill," I instructed my best friend Dana. We were sprawled on her bed with several readers strewn between us – an array of popular magazines, novels, and reading assignments. "How are things going with Loverb – " She glowered at me before I finished her boyfriend's nickname. " – Ethan?" I corrected less smoothly than I would have liked.
"Things are… good," she said. "I mean, the day after I spent the night in his quarters for the first time, Dad had two security officers follow him around just… lurking… but then he came to dinner, and my father backed off some."
"Every time you talk about your father, I'm grateful my mother is a scientist," I confessed. The truth was, Lt. Swenson was a competent security specialist, and often served as Lt. Worf's replacement when the gruff Klingon was on an away mission.
"And every time I hear about you getting another gift from You-Know-Who, I'm glad my father does what he does," she countered.
"There's only been the one gift," I pointed out. "And his name is Lore. Calling him 'You-Know-Who' just makes him feel scarier."
"Really? I don't think I'd want to be reminded of…"
I cut her off. "Really." I said. And then, immediately contrite, I apologized. "I'm sorry, I just… can we talk about something else?"
"Sure," she said. "Actually, I was going to tell you anyway: I got into RISD."
"Rizz-Dee? Where's that. What is that?"
She grinned at me. "I can't believe there's something the great Zoificus doesn't know," she teased.
"Hey! I know a lot of things!"
"Well, you didn't know this thing, and I count that as a win."
"Fine, you win. What's Rizz-Dee?"
"RISD." She ticked off the letters on her fingers, explaining, "Rhode Island School of Design," she said proudly. "I'm going to art school."
I stared at my friend, noticing for the first time that she'd stopped wearing her blonde hair in utilitarian ponytails, and that her blue eyes were enhanced by just a touch of eye shadow. No wonder Ethan Lovejoy had fallen for her. My best friend wasn't just talented; she was gorgeous. When had she changed, I wondered, and had I changed, too?
"Zoe? Some kind of response would be nice."
"I'm sorry," I said. "I think I just had one of those moments when you realize you're grown up. Art school is stellar, Dana. Stel-lar. I'm beyond happy for you. I would totally hug you if it didn't mean moving."
She laughed. "That's okay." Then, in a quieter tone she asked, "Have you been having a lot of those moments recently? Because I know I have."
"Yeah," I confessed. "A couple weeks ago Data and I were at dinner with Keiko and Chief O'Brien, and we were all teasing Data a little, and… and there was this part of me that felt like I was sort of outside myself, watching a holo-vid of a dinner party."
Dana blinked at me. "I'm having another one of those moments right now," she said. "The image of you and Data being on a date with another couple…"
"It wasn't a date; it was just dinner. In their quarters. To celebrate his…" I trailed off. "Okay, it was a date, and god, I sound so old. I mean… my mother has evenings out with other couples." I wrinkled my nose at the thought."
"Yes, you're positively ancient, Zo', and I'll always be five months younger than you." Dana sing-songed merrily. "Focus on the important factor here."
"Important factor?" I felt like I'd missed something crucial.
"RISD is in Rhode Island," she said. "You're going to be in Connecticut. Not only are they both on Earth, they're super-close to each other. We'll be able to hang out on weekends if we want to."
"We will?" It took a moment for me to process what she'd said. "Oh, my god, we will."
We hung out for a while longer, but then I excused myself to meet Ray at the pool. I'd missed a couple of our swimming sessions and was craving time in the water. Still, I hesitated at the door that led out to the corridor. "Listen, Dana, do you and Ethan have plans tonight?"
My best friend shook her head, "Not tonight; why?"
"Data's doing an extended shift on the bridge," I said. "And I kind of… I kind of need to not be alone tonight." I wasn't accustomed to asking people for help, at least, not preemptively. "It's the anniversary – today, I mean – is the anniversary of my rape, and I just… I really don't want to be alone tonight."
Dana's response was instantaneous. "I'll comm Josh. We'll meet you at Da – your – quarters around seven for junk food and board games. If Serena doesn't need Rryl tonight, I'll ask him, too."
Impulsively, I hugged my best friend. "I love you," I told her. "Thank you."
(=A=)
Stardate 46128.41
(Sunday, 16 February 2369, 20:53 hours, ship's time)
"I have 'jump' as a skill," Rryl said. "What do I roll to successfully jump from one ship to the other?"
Josh, who was acting as the game master for the roleplaying game we'd chosen instead of the board games we typically relied on, referred to a padd and gave the response, adding, "But I'm going to add a drama die to the mix, so if you make it, you'll earn more."
We all performed our actions, explaining what our characters were doing. "I'm rolling to use my porting skill to transfer an active explosive from our ship to the enemy's," I added.
"Drama die for that as well." Josh's reply was almost perfunctory. "Wait… you have to rip open a pocket of otherspace, then direct the object through it… tell you what, increase the difficulty by five and I'll give you two drama die."
"Deal."
We rolled our dice and began tallying points. I was about to provide my total when door opened, and Data entered. I'd warned him that I'd be having friends over, so it wasn't a surprise to find our quarters filled with my friends, but I saw the merest flicker of indecision cross his pale gold features as he came to stand behind my chair.
I was pretty sure a far less subtle version of the same expression was evident on my own face, and I was about to excuse myself from the game for a few minutes, when my partner beat me to the punch. Bending slightly, he brushed a chaste kiss across my lips, then straightened and addressed all of us. "I apologize for interrupting your game," he said, but then he added, "Zoe, may I have a moment?"
I glanced at my friends, none of whom were objecting. "Back in a flash," I said. I left the table and followed Data to our bedroom. "Is something wrong?"
"Not as such, no. I wished to 'check in' with you in person and assure myself that you were well."
"I am," I promised. "I probably wouldn't have been, but Dana and the boys cleared their evenings to hang out with me."
"It is good that you have maintained your friendship."
"Yeah," I said. "It is. I'm glad you encouraged me to." It had been Data, after all, who had cautioned me about moving away from them too quickly. "Did you really come home just to check on me?"
"I did," he said. "Your sleep is still fitful, and I am aware of what day this is. While I will likely be home by midnight, I wished to assure myself that all is well."
"It's… well enough," I said. "I've been a little jumpy, a little edgy all day, and having people around is helping…"
"But…?" Data knew me too well.
"But I keep expecting another pigeon to arrive."
"If that should happen while I am on duty, do not hesitate to contact me. In the meantime, I must return to the bridge, and you must return to your friends. I will be home in three poin –" He stopped and amended his estimate to "- a few hours."
I stepped closer, slipping my arms around him for a hug that didn't last long enough. He kissed the top of my head, and we left the bedroom together, to find Dana glowering, Rryl staring at the surface of the table, and Josh smirking. Data headed back to the bridge and I resumed my seat.
"So, what, he comes home for quickies now?" Josh asked. "I mean, with android speed, you totally had…"
"Joshua… you have a girlfriend, right?"
"Nedra," he confirmed.
"If you ever want to satisfy her again, you'll stop the teasing." I lowered my voice and filled it with just enough menace to reach him. We were friends, but sometimes Josh pushed a little too far.
"Sorry, Zoe." He was sheepish.
"It's okay," I said. "So, did my porté work?"
We all snapped back into game mode. "It did," he said, "But you neglected to close your eyes when you reached through the portal, and you were touched by the entities inside."
"And that means?"
"You take a health hit, but Rryl's jump was successful. Now he needs to rescue Dana and jump or swing back before the explosive completes its countdown. The ship is smoky from canon-fire and musket-fire and people are screaming. Some of the younger pirates are jumping over the side… "
"I roll to pluck the strings of fate and convince the captain of the pirate ship to fall for me, and be convinced to let me go," Dana said.
"Didn't you have star-crossed as a flaw?" Josh again, with the gleam in his eye that meant he was
"Yes… why?" She rolled the dice and tallied her points. "That's success, isn't it?" Dana was never the most confident player when we chose these types of games.
"Yes, but when you pluck the strings of fate, fate answers back. The captain does succumb to your seduction, but it backfires – you fall for him as well."
"Josh!" Dana protested. If she'd had a napkin in her hand, she'd likely have thrown it at him.
"You shouldn't play a fate witch if you can't handle what fate deals out," he snarked. I sat back and watched them bicker. They weren't dating each other anymore, but as friends, their connection was undeniable, and their complete unaffectedness gave me just the comfort and familiarity I needed that night.
(=A=)
Stardate 46130.88
(Monday, 17 February 2369, 18:32 hours, ship's time)
I'd been tired all day. Data had, indeed, arrived home around midnight, just as our game was breaking up, and when my friends had all gone, he and I had some decompression time on the couch with mint tea.
"There was a survivor on the Jenolan," he revealed. "Captain Montgomery Scott; perhaps you have heard the name?"
"I know there was an engineer named Scott on an older Enterprise. He served under… Kirk, right?" I waited for Data's nod of affirmation. "But that can't be the same guy, can it? I mean, he'd have to be about a gazillion years old."
"It is the very same 'guy,'" Data told me, the last word sounding distinctly wrong coming out of his mouth, even with the audible quotation marks. "But he is only one hundred forty-six point four-two-seven years old."
"I thought he was an engineer."
"He is."
"But he's a captain?"
"As we discussed once before, 'captain' is can be a position and a rank, and one can be one, or the other, or both. In this case Captain Scott is a captain of engineering."
"Got it," I said, racking my brain for the original conversation. The memory came, but wasn't really relevant, so after a beat I asked, "Can I meet him?"
"It is likely that you will."
But that had been Sunday night. By six hundred hours Monday morning, I still hadn't slept, though it wasn't for lack of trying. Three times, Data had gently pulled me out of nightmares I couldn't escape and kept falling back into. When a fourth bad dream had moved from a mere nightmare into a full-on flashback, and I'd knocked a padd out of his hands and across our bedroom, Data had made an executive decision, and contacted both Dr. Crusher and Lasso.
The former had arrived with a drug meant to suppress dreams. "I hate to use this," she said. "But Data says you've been sleep-deficient for days, and we need to break that cycle. It won't knock you out, but it will keep the nightmares at bay. I want you to skip your classes and duty shifts tomorrow and get some rest while it's in your system."
"I have already contacted Lt. Prerr and warned him that Zoe would be staying home."
"Without asking me?" I objected, bristling slightly.
"As second officer it is within the scope of my duties to relieve a crew member who is not functioning at full capacity," he stated in what I referred to as his 'officer-y' voice. But then in a softer tone, he added, "As your partner, it also within the scope of my duties to insist that you take care of yourself, is it not?" The faint note of uncertainty in his voice was enough to melt the slight anger I'd exhibited.
"Yes, it is," I answered, somewhat sheepishly. "Thank you…" I trailed off, not sure what I was really thanking him for. Doing his job? Caring for me when I needed someone outside myself to do so? Just being there?
The hiss of the hypo-spray against my neck distracted me from trying to finish my sentence. "There you go, Zoe. I'm going to suggest you also replicate a mug of warm milk to help you get back to sleep. There's a blend on file that has nutmeg in it. Comes highly recommended."
The notion of drinking warm milk was only slightly less gross than that of eating fresh gagh, but I promised to do so anyway. "I'll try," I said.
The doctor left, and Data went to replicate the milk. "You're going to watch me to ensure I actually drink this, aren't you?" I asked accusingly.
"Do you expect anything less?" he countered.
I rolled my eyes at him, but I dutifully drank the warm creamy beverage and observed, "You added vanilla." I even managed a sincere, if sleepy, smile. "I think I'm ready to try sleeping again," I said. "I'm sorry you didn't get any work done tonight."
His answer was to stack all of his padds and readers on the far side of the nightstand, join me in the bed, and dim the lights. "May I hold you?" he asked, though he didn't really wait for my agreement before he drew me to lie nestled against him, with my head on his chest. "Zoe, the work I was doing was a personal project, not crucial to the function of the ship. You are more important to me than such things. Please do not worry. Just rest."
I tried, but even with the dream suppressor in my system, I was afraid to go back to sleep, and we ended up just lying in the dark talking softly, until I finally drifted off just as Data was leaving for the bridge.
"I will check on you in four hours," my falling-asleep brain heard him say, before he placed a soft kiss on my lips. "Rest well."
Ten and a half hours later, having slept and showered, I ventured into Ten-Forward to meet Data for dinner. I saw him at the bar, chatting with a portly older man in a uniform I'd only ever seen in history books, but something about their body language made me refrain from joining them.
I watched as Data went behind the bar to retrieve something from Guinan's secret stash, and then present it to the man – it must have been Captain Scott. They chatted a little longer, and then the older man moved past me and out of the lounge, bottle in hand.
I crossed the room and met my boyfriend with the observation, "He doesn't look a hundred and forty-six."
"He survived by locking the transporter into an endless diagnostic cycle."
"Wait… he was in the transporter for… how long exactly?"
"Seventy years."
"Wow."
"Indeed."
We chose a table, and had a quiet dinner, chatting more about Captain Scott. "When I was a kid, we all used to play Starfleet, pretending our surfboards were fighter drones, or the sailboats were starships. There's an island not far offshore from the Beach Haven Yacht Club, and I can't remember how many pretend missions we all went on, and how many of the boys - well, girls, too, but mostly the boys - wanted to be Captain Kirk."
"You did not?"
"Naah. I always wanted to be the space pirate who got away with murder. Villains – fictional ones, anyway – are way more fun."
Wryly, well, wryly for him, Data observed, "This explains much about your personality."
I had no argument for that, but after I'd eaten the last bite of the vegetarian pad Thai we'd been sharing, I asked, "Do you think someday kids will pretend to be Captain Picard and Commander Data?"
"It is not something I have ever considered," he responded.
I was definitely going to have to find a 'Starfleet Commander' action figure and paint it gold, just to tease him.
(=A=)
Stardate 46132.89
(Tuesday, 18 February 2369, 12:07 hours, ship's time)
I woke up on Tuesday feeling a bit 'off' and when using the bathroom burned, I made it a point to stop by sickbay after Lasso's ritual Tuesday morning coffee & conversation session with everyone doing a Protocol rotation, which basically meant almost everyone except me and one other civilian from the Federation Diplomatic Corps was wearing Command red or Operations Gold. It was like being stuck inside a ground-based traffic signal. All we were missing was green.
En route, Counselor Troi comm'd me, telling me she had to reschedule our lunch. A patient needed her. Since we weren't in the same room, I wondered if she could tell that I was oddly relieved. I wasn't sure I was quite ready for a meal with Deanna-the-friend after years of sessions with Troi-the-Counselor.
The ship's medical center was pretty quiet when I arrived, and Dr. Crusher activated a privacy shield as soon as she heard what I said. Her scans didn't take long. The first was just to make sure I wasn't having a late reaction to the dream suppressor, and the second confirmed what we both already suspected. "Well, Zoe, you have a urinary tract infection." She loaded a hypo-spray, explaining, "I'm giving you an antibiotic, and you should be fine by the end of the day. You should refrain from having sexual intercourse for few days, though," she added.
"How long is a few?" I asked.
"Come talk in my office." Her face betrayed slight embarrassment for a fraction of a second. Or… maybe not embarrassment but possibly discomfort. Whatever it was, her professional demeanor was back before I could ask what I'd said that was wrong.
"Doctor?"
"Wait until Friday," she said. Once we'd settled into chair on opposite sides of her desk, she continued in a gentler tone, asking, "Zoe, how frequently do you and Data have sex?"
"It depends on what's going on," I said. "When I was still living with Mom, it was limited to weekends. When we were on Hunter's Moon, or in San Francisco, it was almost every night… and now it's… well, the last week or so has been more intense than usual, I guess." I paused, searching her face for a reaction, even if it was a judgmental one, but found nothing to betray her thoughts. "Why?" I asked. "What's normal?"
Her professional veneer dissipated into something almost maternal, and she patted my shoulder in what I think was meant to be comforting. "Oh, Zoe. I forget sometimes how young you are. First, there's no such thing as 'normal.' Some couples have sex fairly frequently, others barely have any, especially if they've been together a long time. And, as you said, it can depend a lot on external circumstances. You've had the mandatory health classes, right? You know that too-frequent sex can increase the likelihood of a UTI?"
I shook my head. "I missed that session, I think." My tone was only slightly sheepish.
"Alright, well, I'm going to send some information to your padd. Be sure to read it." Those last five words were uttered in an admonishing tone. "Also remember that it's important to stay hydrated – " that was actually her standard advice no matter what "- and if you urinate right after sexual intercourse it will help you avoid getting another UTI in the future."
I managed not to blush at that last bit of information – barely. "Got it," I said.
"Good." She paused a moment, then added with her usual good humor, "Now get outta here!"
I laughed. "I'll do that; thank you."
I left her office only to be greeted by the loud, Scottish-accented complaint. "Och! Yer a Vulcan and a doctor? Seems bloody unfair. Listen, lassie, I didna come here fer a lecture. I just need a painkiller t'take the headache away."
"And I would be remiss if I did not remind you that you would not be experiencing a headache at all if you had limited yourself to synthehol instead of imbibing half a bottle of whatever you had." The responding voice belonged to Dr. Selar, and the man she was arguing with in the middle of sickbay was Captain Scott.
More specifically, it was a bleary-eyed, pale-faced, kind of droopy-looking Captain Scott, who admitted. "Lass, it was more like three quarters of a bottle. Yer captain barely had any."
As Vulcans go, Selar was pretty expressive, so there was a noticeable softening of her tone when she asked the living legend standing in front of her, "Can you remember what it was? You said it was green."
I glanced at Dr. Crusher who, like me, seemed to be fighting not to chuckle, though she was also visibly concerned.
"Green, aye. 'Twas in a frosted glass bottle with a stopper. Illegible label…" He described the bottle he'd been drinking from, and recognition sparked a memory from before my mother had brought me to the Enterprise.
"Aldebaran whiskey," I blurted, causing Captain Scott and both doctors to turn sharply and look at me. "Wasn't it?"
"How does a snip of a girl like ye know about whiskey?" Scott asked the question I'm sure Dr. Crusher really wanted to.
"Well, I'm just guessing," I said. "But I used to sneak drinks from a bottle like that in my father's liquor cabinet, and the riot act he read me when I got caught was both informative and memorable. Aldebaran whiskey isn't cheap."
"Nae, lass, the good stuff rarely is."
Dr. Selar was already setting up a hypo. "This will counteract most of your… hangover. I suggest your next task be to eat a healthy meal." The hypo hissed against his neck and the tension around his eyes lessened.
"Captain Scott," Dr. Crusher had been standing back, allowing her colleague to treat the visiting engineer, but just then, she involved herself. "This is Zoe Harris. She's a student who lives here on the ship. Why don't you let her escort you to Ten-Forward and have lunch with you? I'm sure some of your stories would be very educational."
The gruff Scotsman looked at me, and immediately changed his demeanor, relaxing his posture and softening his expression even further. "'Tis a pleasure to meet you, lass. Call me Scotty."
"It's an honor to meet you, Scotty," I replied. "Do you like Mexican food? I'm told that tacos are the ultimate food for curing hangovers."
"Tacos ye say?" the portly engineer chuckled. "In my day it was black pudding Scotch eggs. Have you ever had them? I finally managed to cajole the replicators on the old Enterprise to spit out a decent recipe just before we took the old girl into battle against Khan…"
We continued our chat as we moved into the corridor, with me asking the occasional question, and pretty much just letting the man babble. His accent was pleasant to listen to, and he was an excellent storyteller. "Khan… wasn't he one of the leaders of the Eugenics Wars?"
"Aye," he said.
"But I thought Starfleet came much later?"
"Oh, aye. But you see, Khan Noonien Singh was a smart man. He escaped the aftermath of the wars by heading into space on a sleeper ship, and it was around Stardate three-one-four-one that we happened upon him and his cadre adrift in the Botany Bay…"
His story continued on while we found a table in the lounge, and I ordered tacos and horchata – also a good post-hangover choice – but part of me was stuck on the name and wondering if Khan Noonien Singh had any connection to Dr. Noonian Soong.
"So, was that when you managed to replicate adequate Scotch eggs?"
"Och! Nae. That was a decade or more later. Captain Kirk had been promoted to Admiral and Mr. Spock was captain of the Enterprise when we ran into Khan the second time…" and he launched into another reminiscence pausing only to crunch a taco or sip the horchata.
It was nearly two hours later that Data and Geordi interrupted us, and by then a few of my friends and several of the youngest officers on the ship had gathered around our table, listening to the old engineer spin yarns.
"And so I beamed the whole kit an' caboodle of 'em into the Klingons' engine room - " Scotty was saying, but he paused before the punch line he'd clearly set us up for to acknowledge the two senior officers with a nod before finishing, "- where I'm certain they were no tribble at all."
Geordi's trademark laughter joined everyone else's while I caught my boyfriend's 'accessing' expression out of the corner of my eye. It was the chief engineer who spoke though. "Captain Scott, I'm sorry to interrupt, but I was wondering if I could have a moment of your advice."
Scotty looked around at his rapt audience, and released a quiet sigh, his amiable expression morphing into something a little bit sad, and a little bit fatigued. "If you lot will excuse me?" he asked, and there was a general assent from all of us. He got up, but his gaze found me, and he added, "Lass, thank you for your company. I hope we'll talk again."
"Count on it," I said, grinning.
He turned away then, and I heard him ask, "How can I be of service Mr. LaForge?" except that he pronounced Geordi's name more like 'LaFarge.'
Our little gathering dispersed, then, but Data was clearly waiting to leave with me. "Is everything okay?" I asked.
"Geordi and I have run into an impasse in our attempts to access the Jenolan's computer core," he explained, speaking softly to keep our conversation relatively private. "He and Captain Scott will be returning to the ship."
"Geordi didn't seem too thrilled about that," I observed. Our friend's expression when he approached our table had betrayed his reluctance to involve the older engineer.
"He and Captain Scott do not 'see eye to eye,' it seems," Data explained.
"That's too bad. Scotty seems like a really nice guy. Great storyteller." We entered the turbolift, and I waited for the doors to close. "Hey, he mentioned something about knowing the guy from the Eugenics Wars… Khan Singh. Did you know his middle name was Noonien? Is he any relation to your father, do you think?"
"It has never occurred to me to pursue an investigation of the matter," he said. "Though there is a vague similarity between the names 'Khan Noonien Singh' and 'Noonian Soong,' I do not believe it is anything more than a coincidence."
I shrugged. "Yeah, I figured. I was just curious."
"I do not blame you."
"So, are you going to the Jenolan, as well?"
"I am not," Data said. "I am continuing the remote investigation of the sphere, while we are still in proximity. Once Geordi has extracted the information he requires, we will be leaving."
The 'lift paused on deck three, where Protocol was located, but we held the car a moment before I exited. "Think you'll be home for dinner before your poker game, or should I feed Spot and do my own thing?"
"Spot will appreciate being fed at her usual time. I may not be home until somewhat late," he hedged.
"Okay. Love you. See you later."
Data bent his head to brush a kiss across my lips and then I left the turbo-left and went to check in with Lasso.
(=A=)
Stardate 46134.95
(Wednesday, 19 February 2369, 06:14 hours, ship's time)
When a discrete message from Captain Picard arrived for me a little after seventeen hundred hours, I knew that there would be no officers' poker game, and that Data probably wouldn't be home for dinner. Armed with that knowledge, I headed home for my favorite alone-time trilogy: a bath, a book, and bed. Spot kept me company while I ate and sprawled on the bathroom floor grooming herself (and daring me to get her wet) while I soaked in the tub. Sonic showers might have technically been more efficient at getting you clean, but hot water and bubbles were still a kind of magic.
A little after twenty-one hundred hours, I was in bed with a mug of tea and a novel about a wizard who bribed faeries with pizza and had a talking skull for a housemate while Spot had curled into a purring ball of orange fluff on Data's pillow.
I was in the most intense part of the story when the lights dimmed and an alert signal activated. It wasn't the teeth-grating klaxon of a red alert at least, but the insistent pulse of a less lethal (in theory) yellow. A few seconds later, the disembodied voice of the ship's computer issued instructions:
- Attention all hands: this is a ship wide alert. The ship is in a yellow emergency condition. Please shelter in place. Message repeats: this is a ship wide alert…
Starships are orderly places, as a rule. Even those of us who had come aboard as dependents had gone through many, many drills for different sorts of emergencies. During the third iteration of the warning, I got out of bed, pulled socks, underwear and sweatpants on under the pajama top – Data's pajama top - I was already wearing, and put shoes near the bed, along with Spot's cage. This was the standard practice Data and I had agreed upon for any non-evacuation scenario when he wasn't present.
Thus prepared, I replicated another mug of tea, got back into back into bed with Spot, and tried to immerse myself in my book.
The actual red-alert klaxons came just before the ship seemed to buck like a stalling ground-car, and it was everything I could do not to comm Data, but the chirp of a comm-signal came as soon as the computerized message warning of ongoing turbulence and reminding people to remain in place ended, though the red emergency lights remained aglow.
- Zoe, it is Data. Are you well?
"I'm fine," I said. "I mean… Spot and I are home and secure, and… are you allowed to tell me what's going on?
- The ship has been pulled inside the Dyson sphere, and cannot exit the way we came. The captive star inside is unstable and we are operating at reduced power.
There was another jolt and I let out a startled yelp. "And the turbulence?"
- It is a combination of solar flares, weakened shields, and fluctuating power to the inertial dampeners.
Sometimes, I wished my partner was a little bit less matter of fact and a little more practiced at down-playing dire situations. "Oh," I said lamely. Maybe I was becoming accustomed to living on the edge of danger, or maybe there's just no good way to respond to such information. I hesitated for a long moment, before asking softly, "Data, are we going to die?"
- We are doing everything possible to prevent that from occurring. His tone changed to one of ever-so-slight regret. Perhaps I should not have contacted you. I wished to… hear your voice.
That surprised me. "Data… are you well?"
- I am functioning… I am fine. He accented the last word just a bit. I must return to my duty station in thirty seconds, Zoe. Please try not to worry.
"I'm not worried. I'm a little scared, but I have faith in Captain Picard and Commander Riker and you. Especially you, but…"
- If there is something you require, please tell me.
"If things escalate to the point where there really is no hope, come get me. Intellectually, I understand that living on the ship is high-risk, even for people like me, but emotionally… I don't want to die with only Spot to cling to."
- Very well. If the situation becomes that dire, I will come. I must return to duty now, Zoe. Perhaps you should consider this an extremely challenging étude.
His reference to études made me smile slightly. It meant that somewhere in his positronic brain, there was at least a kernel of belief that the ship would remain structurally sound, and we'd all survive relatively unscathed.
"I'll try," I promised. "And Data… I love you."
- And I am devoted to you. Data out.
The next several hours were a mix of quiet waiting and tummy-twisting fear. The ship would be fine for long moments, and then there would be a wave of turbulence. Too frightened to really go to bed, I was at a loss for how to kill time. The power fluctuations meant that the entertainment system was down, but replicators were functioning, so I retrieved another mug of tea, gathered Spot against me, and returned to my reading. It wasn't easy to focus – every sound, every jolt made me jump – but eventually I was immersed in the world of wizards and vampires and faeries once again.
I must have fallen asleep despite everything, because I woke to a kind of eerie silence that was reminiscent of the way everything is quiet after a major storm has blown itself out. The red alert lights were no longer blinking, but the ship still felt… off.
"Computer, what time is it?" I asked, with no real hope that the voice response system was actually working.
"It is zero-six-fourteen." The answer came, not from the computer system, but from Data, who had managed to come home without me knowing. "The ship is out of danger," he added helpfully.
"Data!" I got out of bed, not quite flinging myself at him, but he anticipated my need and his arms wrapped around me, holding me close. "Geordi and Scotty?" I asked against his chest.
"They are safe and back aboard the Enterprise. It was they who managed to arrange for our egress from the sphere."
I pulled away from him enough to look into his eyes. "Be sure to thank them for me?"
"I will certainly do so, if you do not 'beat me to it.'" He studied my face. "You are tired. Did you get any sleep last night?"
"A little…" I stepped out of his embrace. "If you polled every civilian and a good portion of the younger officers on this ship, I'm betting no one got much sleep last night, though. No nightmares, though. Just… reality was a bit too intense."
"You should return to bed and attempt to sleep," he suggested.
"Are you staying, or did you come home just to check on me?" I pulled my sweatpants back off while we talked, preparing to go back to bed. Looking back up at my partner I saw… something… flicker in his expression. As an android, he couldn't be tired, but he could be troubled, and that's what I thought I'd seen. "Data, what aren't you telling me?"
Sitting on the edge on the bed, he answered my first question first. "I am staying." One of his boots made a soft thunk on the floor, and the other followed after. "I can recall at least twenty-three instances where I was on the bridge when the ship was facing destruction, but this time was… different."
He had my attention. "How so?"
"A significant portion of my processing power was diverted from my duties, to thoughts of you. I was… concerned for your safety, and I found the possibility of being on the same ship, but apart from you while we were facing imminent destruction… unacceptable."
"No one wants to die alone, Data."
"So, I have heard. Technically, however, I was not alone. I was simply… not with you." He had finished undressing and had changed into his pajama bottoms.
Data had comforted me many times, but I was suddenly faced with comforting him. He slid into the bed, and so did I, rolling toward him. "Lift your arm." I no longer really needed to ask him to do that, but it had become another of our personal rituals. "There were moments last night - every time the ship jolted – that all I wanted to do was run to you, but I knew you were on the bridge working with everyone to keep us all alive. I was scared – at times I was terrified – but some part of me realized that this was just another étude. Besides," my hand was wandering over his bare chest while I spoke, "you said I was part of your programming. You've become part of me, too. We may not have been physically together, but we were never apart." I didn't remind him that he'd promised to come if things really got that desperate. I didn't need to.
"That perspective was very helpful," he said, nuzzling the top of my head. "Thank you, Zoe."
I stretched up for a proper goodnight kiss, then settled against him again, ready for sleep. "No padds?" I asked.
"I have been instructed not to return to duty for twenty-four hours," he replied. "As has everyone who was on duty on the bridge or in engineering." He paused to play with some of my hair, twisting it around his fingers, then brushing it back, and away from my face. "I prefer to focus on being here, with you just now."
"Think Lasso will let me play hooky today?" My tone was a mix of sleepy and flirtatious.
"I am certain of it. Non-essential personnel are off-duty today, as well, as a precautionary measure."
I yawned. "I'm afraid it won't be a terribly intimate day off, though. I was treated for a UTI this morning – well, yesterday morning – and Dr. Crusher recommended refraining from sex until Friday."
"As you once reminded me, Zoe, our relationship was already intimate before it became sexual. That intimacy does not fade merely because we are not engaging in sex. However, we will not be able to have any 'day off' if you are too tired to enjoy it."
My hand found a comfortable position, with my arm resting across his middle. "I'm enjoying this, right now," I said, punctuating it with another yawn. "Sleep is good, too."
"Indubitably," he said softly, and followed up with a command to the computer to extinguish the lights.
(=A=)
Stardate 46139.16
(Thursday, 20 February 2369, 19:03 hours, ship's time)
It was rare that I arrived home after Data, but when I entered our quarters after a long day of classes in Vulcan language and culture, planning for a visiting delegation, delivering the news to Scotty that he was officially, legally, back in the world of the living (and getting drawn into a three-hour storytelling session in the lower decks mess – he'd wanted to meet the 'newest crop' of potential engineers), it was to flickering candles and dimmed room lights. There was a vase of Turkalian irises on the dining table, and covered dishes arrayed on the coffee table.
Data, however, was not ensconced behind his console, where I would have expected him to be. "Hello, lover-mine," I sing-songed into the room as the door swooshed shut behind me. The endearment that I very infrequently used with him was an equal mix of snark and affection. I hadn't yet found a mushier phrase that fit him. "Are you hiding?"
"I am right here." He emerged from our bedroom wearing the close-fitting long-sleeved red shirt he knew I loved to see him wear, paired with soft black trousers. "Lt. Prerr informed me you were running late, due to your unofficial position as Captain Scott's liaison."
I laughed. "Is that what he's calling it? I thought I was just the only person who liked his stories. He reminds me of a combination of Lachlan Meade and Grandpa Harris." I shook my head. "You're distracting me. What's with the flowers and candles and mood lighting." I lifted my left wrist displaying the gold tennis bracelet that dangled there. "We celebrated Valentine's Day last week."
"This is not a celebration," Data informed me. He stepped close and leaned down to give me a gentle, chaste, kiss. "This is 'date night.'"
I tried not to let my amusement show too much. "Date night? On a Thursday?"
"If you will recall, our initial explorations of 'what we are' to each other, included 'video night' on Thursday evenings after quartet rehearsal. We did not label those evenings 'dates,' but I believe we can agree now that we were, in a sense, 'dating.'"
"I really can't argue with that," I said. "I got teased enough about it by my friends."
"I was not aware you were being – "
I cut him off, "It was over a year ago, Data, and… it was affectionate teasing, not malicious. Anyway, you were saying?"
"You often tell me that it is the 'quiet times' when we are 'simply being' together are more significant to you than more impactful events."
I shrugged. "I love you. I love the life we're building. It's the everyday stuff that I lean on when we're separated. The way we've turned routine into ritual, at times."
"I experience the same sense of contentment, completion, when we are simply coexisting in our quarters," he confessed. "My reaction to being apart from you during the events of Tuesday night and Wednesday morning, as well as our conversation once the danger had passed, suggests to me that we must nurture those small intimacies."
"So, you've decided to institute date night?"
"I have decided we should resume date night," Data corrected gently. "I have replicated Ethiopian food for our evening meal and selected a video to watch. Will you join me?"
I was suddenly glad I'd dressed up a little that day. The V-neck tunic and skirt I was wearing were much more conducive to date night than jeans and a sweater. "I'd love to," I said. We adjourned to the sofa, where we watched Mississippi Masala, and ate stewed vegetables and injera bread, and sipped replicated Tusker lager (of the syntheholic variety).
By the end of the video, with the food all gone, I had removed my tights in addition to my shoes, my feet were on Data's lap, and he was massaging them, his deft fingers finding all the right pressure points to relieve tension.
After the credits rolled, he observed, "The polish on your toenails is chipped."
I scrunched my toes, and began to pull my feet away from him, explaining, "I haven't had time to visit the spa. Besides, pedicures are no fun without a friend, and most of my friends have schedules that haven't meshed with mine lately."
He held my ankles, studying my toes with enough focus that I blushed. Then he released me, stating only, "Please remain here." He left the couch, gathering the dinner dishes and recycling them. I heard him tapping commands directly into the replicator interface, rather than speaking them aloud, and then he returned, carrying a tray. "Computer," he said, sitting down again. "Increase illumination by seventy-three percent."
"Data, what are you doing?"
His answer was nonverbal. He spread a towel across his lap, and reached for my feet, favoring me with an expression that clearly meant, "Allow me."
I hesitated for the briefest of moments, but when the man you love is holding your feet in his lap and offering to give you a pedicure, refusing him would be kind of stupid. I smiled my approval of his plan, forced myself to relax, and let him go to work.
My partner was accustomed to doing delicate work, I knew, and was fairly skilled at representational art as well, but I'd never expected him to be so adept at pampering my feet. He'd begun by continuing the massage he'd started with the addition of a mint-scented foot cream. Then he gently removed my existing polish, trimmed and filed my nails, and pushed back my cuticles. He had been humming lightly as he worked, but he stopped humming at that point to ask, "I have selected two colors that are typical of what you wear. Would you like to choose the one I use?"
He held up two bottles of nail polish. One was a rich, creamy, burgundy, and the other was a vibrant, springy fuchsia. My previous color had been very close to the pink, but I chose the darker color. "I like the burgundy," I said. I didn't tell him that I especially liked the way it looked against his skin. I didn't need to.
"Very good." Data's artists' hands applied the polish to my toenails in precise, delicate strokes. Super android pedicure skills, I thought to myself, but I didn't share the thought, only widened my smile. His breath, blowing on my toes even though modern polish dried in an instant, informed me he had finished.
I lifted my right foot from his lap to get a better view, and pronounced the result, "Perfect. Just like you are. Thank you."
"I am not perfect, Zoe," he admonished gently.
"Tonight, you are," I said. "Will you make tea and come back to the couch after you recycle all this?"
"If you wish."
"I do wish. Peppermint, please." It was one of the first blends we'd ever shared and seemed appropriate for The Return of Date Night (I gave it capitals in my head.) A few minutes later, we'd lowered the lights again, and Data had instructed the computer to give us some quiet background music. I cuddled against him, curling my legs behind me, and held a mug of the fragrant herbal brew with both hands. "Spending time with Scotty has been informative," I told him quietly. "He reminds me of you, sort of?"
"I do not understand." Data's default statement when faced with confusing statements.
"Everyone he knew is either incredibly old, or long-since dead. He's essentially alone in the universe, except for the people he's met here. It's kind of sad. And it's made me think about you… about how you'll eventually lose all of the people who matter to you."
"Geordi and I had a similar conversation in December… when we learned I would die in ancient San Francisco."
"Except you managed to cheat death, that time," I reminded him. "The rest of us aren't quite so immortal."
"No, you are not. But as I told Geordi, while I am not looking forward to 'losing' you, or him, or any of my other friends and colleagues, I expect that I will gain new colleagues, and form new friendships…" he trailed off, apparently unwilling to continue his thought aloud.
"… and new romantic partnerships," I finished for him. "I know that. I understand that. And I would never want you to be isolated, but… it never occurred to me before that immortality, or even just a hyper-extended lifespan, could include so much loneliness or sadness."
"Do you mind if we discontinue this topic?" Data's expression had taken on that troubled aspect again.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to… disconcert you."
"You did not… much. I merely believe that it is more prudent to focus on the fact that we are here today, at the beginning of what I hope will be a long life together."
His words didn't require a direct response. I answered by snuggling closer and resting my head against his shoulder. The music he'd selected was instrumental, a classical guitar piece I didn't recognize, but would ask about later, the candles were still flickering, and I let myself sink into the mood he'd so thoughtfully created for me – for us.
When the guitar piece ended, I broke my silence. "Data?"
"Zoe?"
"I think we should get the quartet going again."
"I concur."
The next track began to play, the next movement in what was evidently a guitar concerto, I supposed. "Data?"
"Zoe?" His voice betrayed no hint of impatience, but there was a slight note – so slight only I would likely identify it – of amusement.
"I like date night."
He buried his face in my hair, nuzzling it for a moment before he replied. "As do I."
Notes (LONG): Special thanks to Javanyet, ReLive4Love, and Selena.t for general assistance of the brain trust kind. Also: attention angeleyes24245, your account is set to not allow PMs, so I couldn't reply to your review, but I wanted to thank you for your note.
Portions of this chapter may have been unduly influenced by the 50th anniversary of Star Trek. References include: the TOS episodes Space Seed and The Trouble with Tribbles, Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan, and of course, TNG episode Relics, which this chapter spans.
Per Memory Alpha, Scotty was born in 2222. As there is no canon date of birth, I've arbitrarily decided he was born in August. The U.S.S. Enterprise (the original) found Khan on Stardate 3141.9, which should be around the year 2266, but three different stardate converters insist it's in 2326, which isn't possible, which is why Scotty references only a stardate.
Dotty is an OC I created, a former classmate of Data's turned commercial captain. Zoe meets her in the final chapter of Unaccompanied: A Suite for Actress & Android. Scotch eggs come in many flavors but are usually a hard-boiled egg wrapped in minced meat and breadcrumbs (or in this case, black pudding) and then deep fried. Mexican style horchata, which is what Zoe orders, is a drink made of rice, cinnamon, almonds (optional) and sugar. Some people make it with milk, but traditionally it's non-dairy.
The book Zoe was reading in this chapter is one of the Dresden Files novels by Jim Butcher, but there are a gazillion of them (or twelve, so far) and I didn't have a specific one in mind. If you like urban fantasy with a touch of humor, check them out. The game Zoe and her friends are playing is a tabletop RPG called 7th Sea, a swashbuckling adventure. It's one of only two such games I've ever truly enjoyed. The two nail polish colors that Zoe is offered are from OPI's Spring 2016 Alice Through the Looking Glass collection. Data offered her "What's the Hatter with You?" and "Mad for Madness Sake," and she chose the former.
(Revised 12 September 2019)