Mr. Frost
Stardate 46150.45
(Monday, 24 February 2369, 21:58 hours, ship's time)
U.S.S. Enterprise
"Then we sat on the sand for some time and observed
How the oceans that cover the world were perturbed
By the tides from the orbiting moon overhead
'How relaxing the sound of the waves is,' you said.
I began to expound upon tidal effects
When you asked me to stop, looking somewhat perplexed.
So I did not explain why the sunset turns red
And we watched the occurrence, in silence, instead."
Data finished the last of his poems and waited expectantly for my critique. My partner being who – and what – he was, the decision to attempt to write poetry had occurred over the weekend, sparked by my own gushing over the sample of fiction and verse that had been included in the latest dossier on the Mutherians. Their delegation was due to join the Enterprise in just over a week, and Lasso had tapped me to be one of their liaisons.
It was my first real assignment since I'd begun my internship with Protocol, and I was both excited and anxious.
As to Data's poem, I was torn. It may have lacked the subtle emotional nuance that I so often saw in him, but it wasn't awful, at least in terms of form and structure. To me, however, it was a piece of quiet devastation.
"Was that about Jenna?" I asked.
Data blinked at me. "It was," he confirmed. "Is it obvious? While she no longer serves aboard this ship, I would not wish to embarrass her."
"Right," I said. "You don't want to embarrass her." I didn't know why I was being so touchy. Intellectually, I knew his relationship with Jenna had never approached the level of intimacy we'd had even a year before, but in the moment, all I could feel was hurt that he'd produced twelve poems with subjects ranging from seeing animal patterns in nebulae to watching an ocean sunset to a celebration of his cat, and not one of them had included me.
"Zoe?" His voice and face both demonstrated that he was perplexed by my less-than-favorable response but was uncertain how to ask for more information.
"Your poem – all of your poems actually, but especially this one - was well-constructed, Data. Your use of language makes it very clear that the two people in the story are on a date. It tells a good story. The meter is good. The phrasing is… good."
"If that is so, Zoe, why are you upset?"
I got off the couch. "Shall I explain in the form of a haiku?" It came out snippier than I meant it. Maybe I needed to get a t-shirt warning people of snark-infested waters.
"A… haiku?"
"Japanese poem, seventeen syllables long, usually arranged in three lines of five, seven, and five syllables?"
"I am aware of what haiku is, but…"
I interrupted him, ticking off the syllables on my fingers as I spoke:
"Writing poetry
About other women, not
Your lover, is wrong!"
"But… my poetry only an exercise in creativity, Zoe. An attempt to evoke an emotional response."
In my head, I knew I was overreacting, that even though I never, ever doubted Data's devotion to me, I still had some insecurity about being able to be an equal partner to him, and that I was manifesting that insecurity then. What I should have said was, I appreciate what it is that you're trying to do, but I'm hurt that it didn't occur to you to write about me, after all that we've been through, and all that we are to each other. What came out of my mouth was vastly different.
"Oh, is that what you were attempting? Well, congratulations, Mr. Frost, you succeeded."
I saw understanding start to color his expression. "But, Zoe, I did not intend any of my compositions to exclude or slight you. I only meant to – "
"Don't…" I brushed past him, heading toward our bedroom. I wasn't ready to talk things through. I was hurt, and a little bit angry (as much at myself as at him), and I wanted to stew in those feelings for a while. "I'm tired and I'm crabby and I can't do this right now. Lasso wants me to meet him for breakfast and spend the morning working with Sokel, so I'm going to take a bath and go to bed."
I could tell he was fighting his need for resolution. I could also tell that he honestly didn't understand how to react to my behavior. I'd only ever been truly angry at him twice, and one of those times had been precipitated by me putting a chip in his head and being forced to deactivate him. The other had involved a request from the captain to ensure I wouldn't tell anyone about something I'd observed in sickbay, but it had only been a minor squabble.
"Would you prefer that I do not join you in bed, later?" he asked. His voice would have sounded completely neutral to anyone but me, but I heard the infinitesimal quiver beneath the words, and even though I wasn't ready to explain or forgive, it still caused a minor twinge in my heart.
Stopping just inside the bedroom doorway, I turned to face him. "I never prefer that," I said. "I'm hurt and angry, but I still love you, Data. I just…" I took a deep breath. "Give me an hour or two and make peace with the fact that I probably won't be able to talk this through until sometime tomorrow. Okay?"
I imagined him making a note on some kind of internal calendar: discuss abnormal poetry reaction with Zoe. "O-kay," he agreed.
I knew he'd used that word because his inability to utter it smoothly usually made me smile, but I let the door slide shut behind me without a visible reaction.
(=A=)
Stardate 46152.19
(Tuesday, 25 February 2369, 13:12 hours, ship's time)
"Have you ever wanted to blow off your career and become a surf instructor on Akkalla?" I asked Deanna Troi at lunch the next day. It had been about ten days since I'd fired her as my therapist and recruited her as a friend in the same conversation.
"Not surfing, no," she answered with a trace of amusement shining through her dark eyes. "But on particularly trying days, I've considered teaching yoga on Risa." She paused for the chuckle she probably knew I'd give her, then asked, "Are you having a bad day, Zoe?"
"Bad week," I corrected. "And yes, I know it's only Tuesday." Her response was a look that encouraged me to continue – a tip of her head, a lifting of her eyebrows. "Data's been writing poetry."
I saw her swallow reflexively and school the grin that was threatening to overtake her face into some semblance of a neutral expression. "Poetry, really?"
"It gets worse."
"Oh?" Her apparent nonchalance was almost convincing. "How so?"
"He's writing poetry about other women." I stabbed a piece of the chicken in my Capellan chicken salad. "Specifically, he's writing poetry about Jenna."
All amusement left the other woman's face. "Oh… Zoe… you know anything between them was over long ago."
"Intellectually, I know that – " She cut me off with a look that broadcast skepticism. "I do," I insisted. "But emotionally… I'm…"
"Jealous?" The word was uttered with infinite gentleness.
"Something like that," I admitted sheepishly. "Not a lot, but enough that there's this niggling sense of doubt: did we move too fast? Are we really meant to be together?" I ate another couple of bites of my lunch. "He was reading it all for my opinion last night, and I overreacted and picked a fight with him."
"But you talked it through afterward, didn't you?"
I had the decency to look ashamed. "No. We didn't. And now I'm going to be spending the rest of the afternoon knowing that he's waiting to pounce on the topic when I get home, which will be late because it's poker night for him and boxing night for me."
"Boxing night?" She seemed amused. "I thought you'd resolved your need to hit things."
"I had," I confirmed. "I mean, the urgent need, anyway, but, the more time I spent with… the person who's coaching me… the more I realized that I really enjoy the pure physicality of it. It's cathartic in a way that swimming isn't."
Deanna was smiling at my statement. "I completely understand," she said. "Are you ever going to tell me who your boxing coach is?"
"Don't you know?" I asked, all innocence.
"I truly don't," she confessed. "I haven't pried because it didn't seem necessary. I'm just a little curious. Why is it such a secret?"
"I'm not sure it really is, anymore. Mostly, I just like having something that's mine. I'll ask him tonight, and if he says it's okay, I'll tell you."
"I'd like that," she said. Then she changed the subject. "So, are you enjoying your time with Lasso?"
"Well, the first month was pretty much just reading everything he threw at me – declassified mission reports, etiquette guides from a gazillion different cultures, diplomatic briefings – and then summarizing it all. It took me about a week to figure out he wanted me to learn to write clear, concise reports, and another several days beyond that to realize that I could ask Data or Geordi or Will or Dr. Crusher –
"- or me – "
"- or you - for first-hand information."
"And then he had you babysit Scotty for a few days."
"Right. Which was actually kind of a blast. Also, I think I've nailed his accent." I slipped into a Scottish brogue. "An' lass, if ye ken twist yer tongue into a proper brogue, ye c'n manage any other language in a snap."
Troi laughed. "Well done."
"Well," I admitted, "Six months with Lachlan Meade might have helped with that a little. But really, it's music. It helps you hone your ear. Speaking of which… Sokel says that the Mutherian language is closely related to Old Vulcan, and he's having me study that as well as continuing our regular Vulcan lessons."
Lt. Sokel had been my Vulcan teacher from my first year aboard when I'd had to choose a non-Terran language to study. Sure, the universal translator could do a lot, but for times when you didn't have one, or wanted to be convincing as someone who wasn't necessarily well-educated, actual knowledge of a few different languages came in handy. I'd chosen Vulcan before I'd ever really gotten to know T'vek, because it was one of the most frequently used languages in the Federation. After spending six months on tour with Somak, I'd even become fairly fluent in the common tongue.
"The Mutherian delegation is coming soon, aren't they?" Deanna asked.
"Next week. I think Lasso is using them as a sort of field test of his guinea pig."
"He wouldn't let you participate if he didn't believe you were ready," she assured me.
"Oh, I know. I'm feeling all contrary though: I'm looking forward to actually being able to do something, and at the same time I'm terrified I'll do something wrong."
Troi laughed. "I know that feeling all too well, Zoe. Every time I'm tapped for an away mission, I still feel that way."
"Really?"
"Really. And I bet if you asked any officer on the ship they'd confess to the same."
"That's oddly reassuring," I told her, and meant it.
(=A=)
Stardate 46154.39
(Wednesday, 26 February 2369, 08:27 hours, ship's time)
It was childish and stupid, I knew, but I'd managed to avoid Data all Tuesday afternoon and evening.
Partly, this was because he'd had his poker game and I'd had my boxing date with the captain, but when he comm'd to let me know he had to assist Geordi with some modifications to the sensor array, and would only have time to walk me home before he had to return to engineering, where their project was "…likely to run significantly past midnight," I suggested that he not come so far out of his way, just for five minutes of together-time.
If his agreement seemed somewhat reluctant, I was only projecting, wasn't I?
Still, after a shower, a light dinner, and catching up on messages from both sets of my parents and grandparents, I regretted brushing him off. Around midnight, I went to bed, but it took forever to fall asleep, and I kept waking up to see if there was light – or at least monitor-glow – seeping through the slightly-open bedroom door.
By the time Data got home, around two hundred hours, I was more than ready to talk through my mood and behavior, but it was too late for a heavy discussion. I welcomed him home with a kiss and the information that blowing him off had left my whole evening off-kilter.
"I, too," he told me, "was operating at less than optimal efficiency tonight."
His confession surprised me. "I affect you that much?" I asked. "I affect you at all?" I amended after a beat.
"I assumed you were already aware of that fact."
"I knew you were in a 'sub-optimal state' when I was with Idyllwild, Data, but I didn't think ordinary spats touched you that much."
"Is that what we are having?" he asked, a hint of the eagerness that meant he was cataloguing a new experience mixing with the faint note of confusion in his tone. "A 'spat?'"
"Kind of," I said. He'd been undressing as we talked, and at that point he slid into the bed. "It's a little hard to be in a spat with someone who doesn't reciprocate the annoyance or anger… so I guess, it's more that I've been in a snit." I splayed my fingers across the center of his chest. "I'm not negating my emotional reaction," I elaborated. "But… I probably could have handled it better."
Data covered my hand with his. "Despite the fact that we have been a couple for over a year, there is much about our relationship we must both learn to navigate," he said gently. "I believe we are both still learning the nuances of living in a committed relationship."
"There you go, being right again," I teased. I snuggled closer, leaving my hand where it was. "I believe I should try to sleep now. Too much deep talk right before bed isn't healthy."
His response was to nuzzle my hair and place a kiss on the top of my head. "Good night, Zoe."
I answered by pressing my lips against the bare skin of his shoulder.
I fell asleep soon after that, but when morning came, I was reminded afresh of why I'd been fractious in the first place because even before I'd had coffee Data was asking me about his poetry reading, scheduled for later that day.
"Zoe, should I begin with 'Ode to Spot' or make it the final selection in my presentation?"
"Um…" I began oh-so-eloquently. "I'd make it the last one, I think. People always remember the first and last things they hear, and it's one of the stronger things you've written."
"Then, I should begin with 'Sonnet of the Nebulae?'"
"Sure," I said. "That works." I searched for something positive to say about the piece in question. "You've got some really vivid imagery in that one, actually, so… yeah. It definitely works as an opener."
"Will you be able to attend?"
I froze, unsure of how to answer. As much as I didn't want to sit there surrounded by his colleagues and our friends as he recited verse after verse about everyone in his life except me, I did want to support Data's explorations of creativity.
"I'll ask Lasso. If he doesn't mind me skiving off early, I'll be there," I promised. I finished the fruit and yogurt I'd been eating, recycled my tableware, and retrieved my padd from the bedroom. Data had also left the table. "Wanna walk me to work?" I asked, mostly teasing.
He accepted it as the peace offering it was meant to be, and even gave me one of his rare real smiles.
Outside the protocol office, I kissed his cheek. "See you this afternoon."
(=A=)
Stardate 46155.34
(Wednesday, 26 February 2369, 16:47 hours, ship's time)
"Zoe, tell me again what happened?" Dr. Crusher was bending over Lasso where he was lying on a bio bed, running scans.
"We were going over the last round of requests from the Mutherian legate. We were watching a video message, but she recorded it while sitting in her garden. She does that a lot, actually. Can't say that I blame her, it's a lovely setting. There are all these exotic plants and birds and – "
The doctor cut me off. "Zoe, I know you're worried, but stick to the relevant information, please."
"This is relevant, I promise. One of the birds suddenly became agitated and it was making this clicking sound. When Lasso heard it, he seemed to get agitated as well."
"And then he fainted?"
"First he screamed, then he fainted."
"Screamed… as if he were in pain?"
I thought about it. "No, it was more like… more like something had terrified him."
"You're sure about that?"
"Ask Data about my 'dubious taste in video entertainment' sometime," I snarked. At the doctor's questioning look, I elaborated, "I have a thing for horror vids. Trust me, I know what a terrified scream looks – and sounds – like."
I saw her hide a smile as she continued her scans. "Well, it looks like Lasso's going to be fine. He hit his head on the console, you said?"
"Yes, when he fell. I called you right after."
"It's a good thing you were there," she said. "You can go now, if you want."
"He'll be okay?"
She nodded, and assured me, "He'll be fine. I've already treated his concussion. I'll keep him sedated for another hour or so and then keep him here another couple of hours just for observation, but he'll be fine."
"Could you let him know I responded to the legate and copied him with the response?" I asked.
"I'm sure he'll appreciate knowing that," she said. She glanced at the display on the bio-bed, then added, "If you hurry, you'll probably get to be there for the last few minutes of Data's poetry reading."
I laughed. "I'd better get going then." I left sickbay and headed to the closest lift-bank. Data's reading was in one of the multipurpose rooms on deck two, and he was just finishing the poem that had bothered me so much when he'd initially shared it with me two days before.
The chairs were all filled, but one of the civilian scientists, a man in an orange shirt who gave every appearance of having been roped into attendance, gave me his seat in the back row and went to stand against the wall, right near the door. There was a smattering of polite applause and then Data launched into his last piece – an ode to Spot. The poem was clever, and I'd become as fond of the cat as my partner was, but it still irked me that the orange menace rated an ode while I got… nothing.
When Commander Riker interrupted the poem with his own applause several stanzas before the end, I had to fight not to laugh. Then I caught a glimpse of his face, and I covered my mouth to muffle the gasp I couldn't stifle. His eyes had darker circles than those I'd sported a year before when I was having constant nightmares, and after Data resumed his performance, I caught Counselor Troi elbowing him in the ribs to keep him awake.
Something was definitely going on. I wondered if my boyfriend knew, or, if he did, if he'd tell me what it was.
I remained in my chair as the room emptied, until finally I was alone in the room with one somewhat dejected android.
"Hey," I said moving to greet him. "Sorry I was late, there was an accident. Lasso fainted and hit his head, and I went with him to sickbay." I searched his face, then asked, "What's wrong?"
"I do not believe my poetry was favorably received," he said.
"What makes you say that?"
"The applause was what one might call 'only polite,' and Commander Riker fell asleep three times during the reading."
"Did you happen to notice his face at all?" I asked. "He looks like something out of a zombie video. I don't think he was reacting to your poetry."
"Hmh." That sound always meant Data was considering new information. "Perhaps you are correct."
"And perhaps you're over-analyzing people's responses," I suggested. "Did you still want to have dinner with me before rehearsal?"
"Would you prefer Ten-Forward, or dining at home?"
I shrugged. "Home's more convenient. We can eat, feed Spot, and collect our instruments without having to double back."
"A valid point," he said.
But when we arrived at home, we had a message from Dennis telling us he was exhausted and needed to beg off, and Cress Parish called during dinner, apologizing both for not sticking around to tell Data his reading had gone well, and also that she needed to stay home with her son. The twelve-year-old had only joined her aboard after Christmas, and he was having nightmares that she'd thought he'd grown out of years before.
"Is it just me or are a lot of people having issues with sleep lately?" I asked after Cress severed the comm-link. "Is there anything funky about this region of space? I know we're mapping the Amargosa Diaspora, but…"
He interrupted me. "I am not aware of anything particularly unusual, other than the density of the globular cluster we are charting. However, this is typical of any time when the ship is on an extended mapping and charting mission. Long periods of downtime with no call to action generally result in people spending more hours socializing, and fewer hours at rest."
"Yes, but Commander Riker seemed a lot more tired than someone who's just partying a little too much."
"I am certain he will be fine."
"And us?" I asked, turning the conversation back to personal matters. I cleared the table while I talked. "Will we be 'fine' as well?"
"It is my hope that we will," he said. "Are you ready, now, to discuss your reaction to my poetry?"
But we didn't have the chance because the comm-link chirped again. That time, it was Geordi, apologizing for disturbing us, and asking for Data's assistance in engineering once more.
"Looks like we're tabling this discussion yet again," I observed.
He answered me with an apologetic look (raised eyebrows, a slight shake of his head) and a too-brief kiss. Then he left me with the promise, "I will inform you if we will be later than midnight."
(=A=)
Stardate 46157.22
(Thursday, 27 February 2369, 09:17 hours, ship's time)
When my initial alarm sounded at eight-thirty, I was too groggy to do more than register the fact that I was alone in bed, before going back to sleep.
When I woke up again, nearly an hour later, I was still tired, but not so sleepy that it prevented me from realizing there was no sign of Data. Had he come home at all? Had I slept through him coming home and leaving again? He'd promised to call if he was going to be late, and when I'd gone to bed at eleven, I hadn't heard from him.
I sat up in bed. "Computer, tell me the location of Lieutenant Commander Data."
- Lieutenant Commander Data is in his quarters.
I was about to snark at the computer for being completely off base, when I realized that the doors had opened and shut, and my partner was standing in the bedroom doorway wearing his concerned face. "Zoe, did you just return home?"
I'd been about to jump out of bed and run to him, but that question made me freeze in place and look at him as if he'd had some weird memory dump. "Are you kidding? I've been here all night." In a softer voice, I added, "You're the one who never came home."
Still concerned, but with a hint of his android-on-a-mission persona coming out as well, Data moved all the way into our bedroom and sat gingerly on the bed. "I came home at zero two thirteen hours," he said. "You were not here. I assumed you had chosen to spend the night with your friend Dana and left your comm-badge behind intentionally."
I shook my head. "I stopped playing that game a long time ago."
He accepted that with a slight movement of his eyebrows. "Nevertheless, you were not here when I arrived. Nor were you here thirty-nine minutes ago when I went to look for you."
"But I was," I insisted. "I didn't even see Dana last night. After you left, I practiced for a while, worked through another of the Popper etudes – I never did finish the book." I stared at him, trying to discern what he was thinking. "I'm not lying, Data. I would never lie to you."
He was quiet for several seconds – eons in android time – before he said, "I do not believe you are lying. I do believe that one of us has an inaccurate perception of your whereabouts last night."
"But you think it's me. I swear, the last time I walked through our door was when we got home last night."
"I have a complete memory record of attempting to reach you by comm with unsatisfactory results, and finding our bed rumpled, but empty, when I arrived home," he countered. "If you had been wearing your comm-badge, I could run a computer trace to determine your actual location, but…"
"Data, you don't wear your comm-badge to bed, either," I pointed out, though the last few words were lost in a yawn.
"No," he agreed, "I do not. However, given that we have not yet resolved your extreme reaction to my poetry - " I glared at him, but he continued, just as rationally as ever, "- and that I had to cut our evening short, it seemed logical that you would have chosen to avoid me."
"Even though you knew that avoiding you Tuesday night left me all unsettled?"
"Your responses are not always predictable."
"Hmph."
"I apologize if I have offended you, dearest. However, it is true."
I supposed I had to allow him that. "I guess."
Whatever Data was going to say next was interrupted by the computer chiming a reminder at me.
- The time is zero nine forty-nine hours. The time is zero nine forty-nine hours.
"Computer, cancel time alert," Data instructed before I could.
"I'm going to be late," I said pushing the covers back. "I have to get ready."
"Lt. Prerr will understand if you are slightly delayed," Data offered.
"Yeah, he'll understand, but I don't want him to have to." I was out of bed by then, pulling clothes out of drawers. I walked into the bathroom, stripped off the t-shirt I'd worn to bed, and stepped into the shower, setting it for five minutes of sonics. No time for water, that morning. I continued our conversation while I was getting clean. "Lasso was really understanding when I had that meltdown on Valentine's Day, and if he hadn't fainted, I would have been at your reading on time. I don't want to abuse his generosity by asking for special treatment."
Out of the shower, I dressed quickly in a turtleneck, a skirt, and tights, sliding my feet into shoes, and then returning to the bathroom to brush my hair and apply the bare minimum of make-up – enough to make me look as though I was well-rested and not a zombie.
"Do I look okay?" I asked, presenting myself for my partner's approval.
"You are as aesthetically appealing as you always are," Data answered, "though a close observer would assume that you had not slept well."
"I am pretty tired," I admitted.
"But you will not request the morning off to rest?"
"Are you asking as my boyfriend or second officer of the ship?" It had become a common question at times when we were doing the role dance.
"In this case, Zoe, it is both."
I nodded. "Okay," I said, rejoining him on the bed, just for a moment. "Well, to Commander Data, I'd say that while I'm a little tired, nothing we're working on is strenuous or dangerous. I'll probably spend a lot of the day reading briefs summarizing them for Lasso, and working on improving my Mutherian language skills, and after lunch I'll be in the aquatics lab because I still need to finish my science credit, and once I'm actually focused on something I'll be fine."
"And to your partner?" he asked.
"I'd remind him that if I ask for the morning off, Lasso will feel obligated to approve my request because I'm dating the second officer of the ship."
"Ah." Understanding seemed to deepen the yellow of his eyes.
"There are times," I said, "when you're going to be on an away mission and I'll be going crazy with worry, or you'll pull another stunt like you did last year, and end up crispy-fried, when I'm going to need special treatment. And when those times come, you better believe I'll ask. But today? I'm just over-tired and unsettled because we still have unresolved issues, and I hate feeling like we're not communicating."
"Perhaps learning to move through a 'spat' is another etude we must both master," Data suggested. He lifted a hand to my face, cupping my cheek and leaning close to kiss me. "Even when our communication on other subjects is somewhat… lacking… please do not doubt that I remain devoted to you." His lips were soft against mine, and the cashew essence of him was subtle that morning.
Was it wrong to enjoy the physically intimate part of our relationship, even when I was still hurt and angry? I wasn't sure, but I lingered there for another minute anyway, my foreheads pressed to his. "I love you, too," I said, recognizing his words for what they truly meant. "Are we still doing date-night tonight?"
"Do you wish to?"
I hesitated.
"Ah, I see," Data said, before I could speak. "You are still angry with me."
"Less so, but… can we… can we just play it by ear? I mean, don't plan anything fancy, but don't schedule anything else?"
Data also hesitated, though most people probably wouldn't have recognized his behavior as such. "As you wish," he said after about a second of silence.
I left our quarters feeling as though there was a rift between us that I was causing.
(=A=)
Stardate 46157.98
(Thursday, 27 February 2369, 15:57 hours, ship's time)
"Zoe, just the woman I was looking for!" Ray Barnett caught up with me in the corridor on deck four, just outside Protocol. I had been released early. Lasso was still exhausted, and he had seen the same tiredness in me that Data had, and declared our work done for the day. "Sis? What's wrong?"
"Sorry, Ray, what's up? It's not pool day." We'd resumed weekly swimming sessions just after the first of the year.
"I came to invite you to a party."
"A party?" That was new. Most of our socializing had been him joining my friends.
"Robin Lefler's birthday is today, and we're putting together a little soiree in the deck sixteen observation lounge tonight at twenty-one hundred hours. Nothing formal. Music. Cake. Presents optional."
"Robin knows you're throwing this party?" I asked. Geordi had paired me with Ensign Lefler for shuttle practice about a year before, when Data had been on an away mission he couldn't tell me about, and we'd become friends, though not close ones. Still, we'd talked enough that I knew she often had problems fitting in.
"She does, and she said you had to be included."
"Data and I have date-night on Thursdays," I said to my 'adopted' big brother. "If he doesn't mind, I'll swing by, but I probably won't be able to stay long."
"Fair enough."
"Unless you want Data to stop by as well?" I was kidding, mostly. I couldn't really envision my partner at a lower decks party.
"Ah, Zoe… it's not that he wouldn't be welcome…"
"But he'd cramp your style a little bit?"
"Pretty much."
"No worries. I'm sure he won't mind."
We'd been walking as we talked, but we parted ways at the turbo-lifts. "See you later, Zo."
"Sure thing," I said. I instructed the computer to take me to the deck where the quartermaster had her domain, replicated a gift for Robin, and then headed home, where I found a bouquet of flowers in a vase on our dining table (gerbera daisies in a riot of colors) and a blinking light on the comm-unit, indicating that a message was waiting.
As I expected it was a message from Data, but the content surprised me:
Dearest, I hope the flowers I left for you will suffice until I can make a 'proper' apology to you.
I experienced something today that led me to understand that you were correct when you stated that no one had used the doors to our quarters between your return home and mine. I am currently in my laboratory conducting a comprehensive self-diagnostic which will conclude at approximately twenty-three forty-seven hours. I am capable of limited conversation during this process, and you are welcome to stop by if you wish. If you are amenable, we can reschedule our 'date night' for tomorrow.
Again, Zoe, I apologize for doubting you and for cancelling our evening.
I wondered what it was that had changed his mind, but I also wondered what exactly 'limited conversation' entailed. I'd never been present during his diagnostic process, and I was more than a little bit curious.
I could visit the lab for a while, drop by Robin's party, and still be home when his diagnostic was complete. I was about to delete the message and shut down the comm system when the alert sounded for an incoming call. The origination point was the Daystrom Institute, so I sent it to Data's message inbox and went to feed Spot, shower, and change to clothes that were a little more casual – and more festive – than what I'd worn to work.
(=A=)
Geordi La Forge was exiting the cybernetics laboratory just as I approached the doors. "Hey, Zo'" he greeted amiably. "Haven't seen much of you lately; Lasso keeping you that busy?"
"Kind of," I said. "Mostly." I amended after a beat.
But the engineer was staring at me through his visor. "Data mentioned that the two of you have been in a fight."
"He used that word?" I bristled slightly.
"He described a series of misunderstandings and asked if it 'constituted being in a fight,' yeah."
His impression of my partner was dead-on, and I had to laugh in spite of myself. "That sounds like him."
"So, are you?"
I sighed. "I had an extreme reaction to his poetry."
"The one about Jenna?"
"That and the fact that Spot rated an ode and…"
"And you weren't mentioned… I didn't even think about that. Zo'… you know he didn't slight you intentionally."
I nodded. "Calm, rational, has-had-two-days-to-process Zoe knows that," I explained. "But eighteen-year-old-terrified-we-won't-last Zoe was not so understanding during the initial reading, and we've barely had time to talk about it, and if you add to that the fact that he didn't believe me when I said I'd been home all night last night..."
"Then he hasn't told you?"
I'm sure even people who'd never met me would have been able to tell I was confused. "Told me what?"
"Over the last few days – ever since Data and I reconfigured the sensors?" He paused, waiting for my affirming nod. I knew about that project. "People have mysteriously been absent from the ship, mostly when they're sleeping. They wake up really tired, but with no real memory of what happened."
I stared at him, "No one's said anything…"
"The captain doesn't want people panicking."
"Makes sense. But you're telling me."
This time it was Geordi who sighed. "Listen, Zo', it's not classified, it's just not public. You get the difference?" I nodded, and he continued. "I guess… I consider you part of the 'need to know' circle. Especially when Data is affect – "
I cut him off. "Oh, god. That's why he's doing a diagnostic, isn't it? He was taken, too?"
"Yeah. Around lunch-time."
I was putting things together in my head. "That explains the flowers and his note."
"Flowers?"
I wondered if he could read the soft smile that I could feel spreading across my face. "He had flowers waiting for me in our quarters, and a message apologizing for doubting what I said… but that means… that means I was taken, too. So, we were both right…"
Geordi was shaking his head, perplexed. "Zoe?"
"I insisted hadn't left our quarters through the doors. Data insisted I wasn't home when he got there."
I saw the light dawn on his face. "But since you were already hurt and angry over the poetry…"
"Yeah," I admitted, "we haven't really been communicating well this week. And the thing is… I'm not even angry with him anymore. And even when I was it was more hurt than angry. We've had arguments before, but this is… I don't know…" The middle of the corridor wasn't really the place for this conversation, but there was no one around, and Geordi was probably the only person who knew Data better than I did. "Geordi, did Data and I… did we move too fast? Because underneath the momentary hurt and anger… I keep worrying that we're kidding ourselves that we can last. I feel like time is ticking so fast… and…" I finally found words for the feeling that had been subtly gnawing at me for days. "Sometimes I feel like Data's trying so hard to be what he thinks I want, and the reality is, all I want is him. Just… him. Not some perfect boyfriend. But…"
"Hey..." Geordi interrupted me. "Hey," he repeated in a soothing tone. "All the things he does for you – he does them because it's the best way he can express what you are for him. He knows, Zoe. He knows you don't expect him to be anything other than what he is. And as for whether or not you two will last – well, I'm the last guy to give an opinion on that – but if anyone can figure out how to sustain a relationship with the kinds of separations you two will be facing over the next few years, it's you and Data."
I blinked away the tears that were threatening to form in my eyes and managed a real smile. "You're a really good friend, Geordi. To both of us. Thank you." Impulsively, I hugged him. Then I stepped back. "So… what does 'limited conversation' mean?"
His ringing laughter - Geordi had the best laugh – filled the corridor. "Not as limited as you might think. Go in. I'm sure his invitation was vague, but I know he wants you in there."
I grinned. "Gotcha. Thanks, G-man."
He flashed me his trademark smile, and walked away, and I entered the lab.
I'm not sure what I was expecting to find, but when I walked in, the lights were dim, and Data was in the central alcove, an optical cable snaking from the panel in his head to a panel on the front railing/control panel.
His eyes were open, fixed on some invisible mark straight ahead of him, but unfocused and still. I paused in front of him, and he blinked a few times, then focused his attention on me. "I was not certain you would come." His voice sounded noticeably computerish, and I found the effect somewhat jarring.
I forced a light tone. "It's date night," I said. "You shouldn't have to spend it alone. I thought I'd just use the replicator in here and keep you company while I eat." I glanced at the monitor. "Does 'limited conversation' include translating the readouts on this thing into concepts I can understand?"
"I can reroute results to an external monitor," he said. "Activate the central console on my work-station."
I did as he instructed, and a flood of information flowed over the screen, faster than I could read it. "Data, how do I knock this down to a speed I can actually keep up with." I cringed at my own grammar, but he got the point.
"Hold."
I waited, and after a moment the data stream slowed. Some of the information was familiar to me from our time on Terlina III the previous spring, while the rest made zero sense, but I knew it meant something to him that I wanted to learn.
It took him longer to explain than it typically would have, but eventually I understood that he was checking to make sure his internal chronometer was still functioning, and matching conscious memories against timestamps in his programming, as well as seeking the presence of some kind of energy signature from the ship that always left an imprint on his systems.
Or at least, that was my interpretation of Data's explanation. I confirmed that he was letting me see the information from his diagnostic subroutines mostly so I'd feel included, and let them continue to scroll by while I replicated a Greek style salad with chicken shawarma on top, then pulled an extra chair over to his desk.
Sitting in his chair, with my feet kicked up on the other, I ate my salad, drank iced tea, and – after confirming that he'd be able to follow what I was saying – caught him up on the news from my various family members until I had to excuse myself. "Ray Bennett tracked me down in the corridor today," I said, as I was recycling the plates I'd used. "It's Robin Lefler's birthday. I replicated a couple of scarves I know she'll love, but I wasn't sure if it should be a joint gift, or just from me. I know the Enterprise is hardly strict about ranks mixing and such, but I don't want to make things awkward."
"Ensign Lefler attended your birthday," he pointed out, still sounding flat and computer-y. "I have worked with her. She has potential."
I grinned at him. 'Potential' was one of his words for 'exceptional.' "So, I'm putting both our names on the card?" Maybe it shouldn't have, but somehow, giving a present from both of us felt like a sort of relationship milestone.
"Affirmative," he said.
Too soon, I had to leave. "I'm not staying for the whole party. I'll meet you back here, when I'm done. " I paused, "Am I allowed to touch you while you're all plugged in?"
"Always." On that word, Data sounded more like his usual self.
I walked around to the back of the alcove and stepped into it with him. It was a tight fit – it hadn't been designed for two – but I managed to get close enough to kiss his cheek. Then I stepped away and headed for the door, pausing to tease him a little. "I had an interesting chat with Geordi, earlier. I'm going to let you stew about that until I return."
(=A=)
Stardate 46158.90
(Friday, 28 February 2369, 00:02 hours, ship's time)
Like the woman herself, Robin Lefler's birthday party was quiet and low-key. The gathering included mostly other ensigns, mostly those from engineering and operations rotations, a few of the younger civilian scientists, a couple of lieutenants (junior grade), and me. Fortunately, I'd met almost everyone there, and was friendly – if not exactly friends – with most of them.
"Zoe! You came!" Robin's greeting was both sweet and completely sincere. "I'm so glad." She surprised me with an impulsive hug and took my proffered gift-wrapped box with the sort of expression that implied she wasn't accustomed to receiving gifts.
"Well, you know, any excuse for cake," I teased. "Besides, you came to my party; how could I not return the favor. Happy birthday, Robin. Data sends his regards."
We chatted a bit more, and then Ray pulled me away to ask if I'd heard anything about people being taken from the ship.
It wasn't the first time I had been privy to information that wasn't entirely public, but it was the first time I'd been asked to share. "I've heard rumors," I said after a beat. "And I know there are a lot of people reporting that they're unusually tired, even after a full night's sleep, but beyond that, I'm probably more in the dark than you are."
One of the Bass brothers - Carvel, the more gregarious one – insinuated himself into our conversation, teasing me in greeting. "Well, if it isn't Mrs. Data," he said. "Can I hook you up with a drink?"
I knew perfectly well that Carvel was trying to bait me with the new name, and a refused to let him succeed. "A drink would be great, Fish-boy," I answered him in my sweetest tone. "Thanks for offering." The snarky nickname was doubly appropriate. He was currently doing a rotation in aquatics.
"Fish-boy?" he asked, pretending to be insulted. "Really? Zoe, you cut me."
"Actually, I think I filleted you," I corrected.
He laughed and saluted me then went to get a drink, returning with a glass of a sparkling fruit beverage. "Corellian Sunrise," he said. "It's spiked, but it's only synthehol."
I sniffed the drink before sipping it and found that I liked the sweet-tart flavor of the red and orange liquid. "Not bad," I said. "Your invention?" Both he and his brother had been put on report a year before for building a still in one of the science labs. Data had discovered it and punished them by making them act as servers in Ten-Forward for a week.
"It is, and I'm glad you approve," he said. "I'll give you the recipe if you dance with me."
There were a few people dancing, so I asked Ray to hold my drink. "One song, nothing slow."
He took me at my word, picked a truly raucous pop song that my uncle had ghost-written (though I kept that detail to myself) and then took his leave of me, thanking me for the dance.
"He's into you," Robin said softly, as Ray and I flanked her on the sofa she'd commandeered.
"Doubtful," I said. "He knows I'm with Data – you heard what he called me – and anyway, last I heard he was more into boys than girls."
"No, Joren is the one who prefers men," she corrected.
"Oh." I shrugged. "No matter; I have zero interest in anyone that way."
"Except Data," she teased.
"Except Data," I agreed. "He's not the only one who refers to me that way," I confessed, elaborating, "As 'Mrs. Data,' I mean. Just one of the loudest." I hesitated for a breath or so then added, "I'm never sure if I should be insulted or not."
"Mmm. Not," Robin determined after apparently thinking it over. "They tease you that way because they know you'll give as good as you get."
"Well, I do aim to entertain."
The quirky engineer laughed. "You do more than that, you know. Anyway, they like you and they respect Data, and they see you two as a permanent thing." I nodded, accepting her words, and she changed the subject. "I heard you talking about the weird sleep issues happening. Did Data mention there was a false reading of an explosion in Shuttle Bay Four earlier?"
I shook my head. "We've been… we haven't had a lot of alone-time this week."
"Well, there was. And there've been other odd things happening. The computer's been saying people aren't on board when they should be."
Ray interrupted. "Robin, if the next thing out of your mouth is that we're dealing with alien abductions…"
"Ray, all I'm saying is that stranger things have happened."
"We do live on a starship," I pointed out. "What's that line of the captain's that all the newsfeeds love to quote? 'Things are only impossible until they're not'?"
Both ensigns turned to look at me, at a loss to continue either side of their debate.
"Hey, Robin, you ready for cake?" Ray lamely changed the subject.
Cake was served, and Robin opened her gifts – she gushed over the scarves – and then the party loosened up again.
I stayed to chat with people a little longer. Laura Gilbert teased me that she'd finally had a crack at a lead role while I was away and made me promise to join the 'girl's night' she would be hosting. I enjoyed the evening for the most part, but there was also a small part of me that felt like a fraud.
I was eighteen, surrounded by people five, six, and seven years older than me, and while I kept up with the conversation, the sense of being betwixt-and-between kept flickering to life, and then dying again.
In the end, I left around twenty-three hundred, absconding with a slice of the cake. It was lemon-curd with a white chocolate and ginger frosting. (Robin's Law number forty-seven: Go with the unusual choice.) Data would only eat one bite, I knew, and leave the rest to me, but he'd appreciate the gesture.
(=A=)
I made it back to the lab just in time to witness Data pulling the optical cabling out of the ports on his skull. "Zoe," he greeted. "Did you enjoy the party?"
"It was nice," I said. "I brought you some cake." He seemed to want more information, so I continued, "Robin really liked her gift. I danced with Carvel Bass –tried a new drink he invented – got invited to hang out with the girls – Ensign Gilbert and some of her friends – but…" I trailed off.
"Zoe?"
"I never feel like I quite belong at these things."
He peered at me, his gold eyes seeming to search my face. "Is it possible that our 'spat' colored your perceptions?"
"Possible. Probable, even," I allowed. "You're a much better dance partner than Fish-boy, by the way."
His eyebrows lifted. "'Fish-boy'?"
"Well, he called me 'Mrs. Data,' so…" I blushed. "I probably shouldn't have mentioned that."
"If you wish me to speak to him…" Data began, but he trailed off in response to the look I was giving him.
"He teases me out of friendship, Data, nothing more. It's the junior officers' way of telling us they approve of our relationship. Robin put it best… they like me and respect you."
"I see." He busied himself at his console, sending copies of his reports to the computer in our quarters, as well as to Geordi, and then he shut everything down. "Perhaps we should continue this conversation at home."
"I'm good with that," I said.
We walked to the lift in companionable silence and kept quiet on the brief ride to our deck. I was still carrying the slice of cake I'd brought home, but Data caught my hand as we left the lift car, lacing his fingers with mine. I glanced down at our hands and then up at him, but his face was blank, and we were already home before I thought to ask what was going through his head. Or at least, what the uppermost thoughts were.
"If you would like to change, I will replicate tea," he said when the door had swooshed shut behind us. "We have much to discuss."
Avoidance couldn't last forever, so I smiled and nodded and said, "I'd like that. Something minty, please."
I went to our bedroom to exchange my blouse and jeans for an oversized t-shirt – one of his old uniform undershirts, actually – and padded back to the living room barefoot. He'd already brought a tray with mugs of tea and the slice of birthday cake (and two forks) to the coffee table, and I was already curling into my corner of the couch and reaching for one of the mugs as I said, "You want me to explain my reaction to your poetry."
"That, yes, but first… Zoe, when you insisted that you had been home in bed on Wednesday night, I should have investigated your claim at that moment. Earlier this afternoon, I 'lost' approximately ninety minutes of time – time for which my memory engrams have nothing recorded. The diagnostic I completed this evening confirmed what I already suspected: I was not aboard the Enterprise during the missing time."
"Supposed alien abductions were the hot topic at the party tonight," I shared. "And Geordi filled me in on some of what was going on when I ran into him outside your lab earlier. Don't worry, I didn't confirm anything anyone was saying."
"I have no such concern, Zoe. I trust you to be discriminate about what you can and cannot share. I should have realized that you were telling the truth as you perceived it this morning."
"Yesterday morning, technically." The hour had flipped past midnight during our chat. I sipped the tea, enjoying the slight bite of the peppermint.
"Indeed."
"So, I was taken off the ship when I thought I was asleep?"
"Very likely. The doctor can scan you to confirm that if you wish, but as you appear to be unharmed, I do not believe it to be necessary."
I nodded. "I'll see what my day is like tomorrow, but except for being a little tired, my only stress is coming from what's been going on between us."
Data set down his mug, met my gaze with his, and held it. "Our 'spat' began with your reaction to the sunset poem."
I glanced away from him, embarrassed. "Yes. It did."
"I understand that part of what you were feeling was jealousy, but I do not comprehend why you would experience such an emotion when the poem clearly conveyed a 'bad' date."
"It wasn't so much the poem itself it was…" I set the cup down, afraid I'd splash the tea if I gestured. "It was that in twelve poems you talked about poker, a nebula, an ex-girlfriend, and your cat – "
" – our cat – "
"Fine. Our cat. But not once did you mention me. In the entire time I've known you, and especially since we've been together, I've never felt like I didn't matter to you. I've felt respected and wanted and cherished, and even loved. You've painted me, but I know painting is how you process your… feelings." Something flickered in his eyes, but since he didn't immediately insist that he had no feelings, I continued. "It felt like… it felt like you were erasing me. Erasing us."
"I cannot 'erase' our relationship, Zoe." Data's voice was quiet. Intense, but quiet. "Nor would I ever attempt to. Have you forgotten? You are a part of my programming." He reached for my mug of tea and I let him take it from my hands. Then he took my hands in his. "I did not intend to make you feel as though you did not 'matter.' I did not mean to… hurt you." He said the last two words as though he was experiencing them in a new way.
"Then why wasn't I included?"
"I attempted to write a poem about you. I attempted to do so many times. Every attempt… failed."
I almost threw his oft-used phrase back at him. I do not understand. Instead, I just made his name into a question: "Data?"
"When it comes to you, Zoe, and your place in my life, your importance and significance to me, words are… inadequate." I was melting, until he added, "Or I am."
"Don't say that." I pulled my hands from his and moved across the couch to straddle his lap. Looking him dead in the eyes, I repeated, "Don't ever say that." My conversations with Deanna and Geordi flooded into my head. "You don't have to be the perfect poet. You don't have to be the perfect boyfriend. You don't have to be the perfect anything. And the idea that imperfect equals inadequate is a false equivalency. Living beings are all imperfect, because perfection isn't real."
"But my inability to compose a poem about you caused you emotional distress."
"Yes, but you didn't do it on purpose."
"That is true, but – "
I didn't let him continue. "Data, we may have been together for over a year, but we're both still new at this. Living together. Planning for a future together that's years away. Neither of us have done this before, and that means there are going to be bobbles and spats and miscommunication. It doesn't mean that we moved too fast or I'm too young, and it doesn't mean that you're somehow inadequate – which you are not. It just means we're both learning. Both growing."
"If any of my attempts to write about you in verse had succeeded, I am not certain I would have included them in my reading," Data confessed after we were both silent for several seconds during which I changed my position so I was sitting on his lap with one of my arms around him, and his arms wrapped around me. "I believe many of my thoughts were… too private."
I chuckled softly. "Well, now I'm intrigued." I took a beat. "I could have handled things better. I should have explained then why I was upset, instead of blowing up at you." I rested my head against his shoulder. "This is nice."
"I concur." I felt his head descend towards my hair, though he paused to ask, "Does this mean that we are no longer 'in a fight'?"
"Yes, it does."
He nuzzled my hair. "There is an aspect of romantic relationships we have yet to experience," he murmured, his tone softening to the one he used during our most intimate moments. "I believe it is called 'make-up sex.'"
I laughed against his chest. "I like this plan."
He carried me to our bedroom, where we made love twice that night, despite the lateness of the hour.
The first time was fast and intense, an urgent joining that left me breathless and quivering, and Data looking slightly smug.
A while later, as I was drifting toward sleep, he spoke my name. "Zoe?"
I rolled over so I could look at him. "Data?"
"Perhaps I could write a poem about you… now."
I was suddenly fully awake and attentive. "Oh?"
"If I were to compose such a poem," he began. "It would not be composed of words. It would be written in the way your hand fits within mine, and the way your breath whispers across my skin. It would be in the way your hair is an untamed creature with a life of its own, impossible to capture in paint, and the way your face betrays every emotion you experience, no matter how fleeting."
I gasped, "Data…"
He turned onto his side, so we were face to face. He cupped my cheek, and leaned close to kiss me, flooding me with his cashew essence.
"The poem of Zoe would be created by the way you instinctively move toward me in your sleep when I join you in our bed, and in the soft sighs you make when I touch you here – " he caressed my breast. "- or here –" His hand moved to my buttocks. "- or here." His fingers wandered over my belly to insinuate themselves between my legs.
"It is in the way you have given me your body and accepted mine in return - " He nudged me onto my back and began punctuating his words with kisses and flicks of his tongue, beginning with my lips and working downward. "- and in the way you trust me with your heart and tell me that what I offer in exchange is neither a poor substitute nor somehow lacking – " the latter two were my own words "- but enough."
He positioned himself on top of me, and broke out of his 'poem' to ask May I? In truth, he didn't request explicit permission every single time, but at that moment, I think it felt right for both of us that he did. "Please…"
Our second round of lovemaking was slow… achingly, wonderfully slow, and Data finished his composition as he moved inside my deepest center. "My poem would be written in every hope for our future together, and every plan we create. It would be in every note of music we play together – in your laughter, your tears, your anger, and your joy. And it would be in the way I remember every conversation, every nuance of your voice, your face, your body, your mind, and marvel at the ways in which we 'fit' together."
"Oh… Data…."
"That is the poem I would create for you Zoe. It is written in… us."
I was never quite sure what Data did differently that night. Sex with him was always good, but when my climax came and his lips found mine again, there was a moment when I felt like I was the warp field that propelled the Enterprise – incandescent and shattered into infinite particles - and then myself again, all at once.
I was crying – weeping, really - from his 'poem,' from the heightened emotions of the last week, and from this wonderful man's ability to erase my doubts and remind me of our connection.
When I could talk again – when I could think again – I brushed a tender hand through Data's hair and smiled at him. "So, does this 'poem' have a title?"
His answer was both unsurprising and completely appropriate. "Devotion."
(=A=)
Stardate 46177.65
(Thursday, 6 March 2016, 20:13 hours, ship's time)
It was another three days before the issue with people losing time, not getting rest, and disappearing from the ship was solved. It turned out that it was aliens after all. Data likened them to explorers 'like ourselves' although some of their methods were a bit lethal. One crewmember died. I didn't know him, but I still felt the pall that his loss cast over the entire ship.
The Enterprise entered orbit at Muther (It is pronounced Muu-t'errr, Lasso kept reminding everyone at the briefing) at four-thirty on Tuesday morning, as planned, and by nine hundred hours I was engaged in my first official duty, serving as companion and guide to the legate's daughter, Erelan. She was my age, and in the middle of planning her wedding, and by the end of the day, we'd become friends.
By Thursday evening, I'd made my first presentation in front of the senior staff, and with the Mutherians in their quarters for the night, Data and I were finally having another date-night.
Specifically, I'd asked him to join me on the holodeck at a beachfront restaurant program that was extremely popular. The other diners were holographic, but the food was real – fish tacos for me, a bean and cheese burrito for Data – and the paper lanterns that framed the outdoor dining space mixed with the sound of the ocean lapping at the shore lent a magical quality to the not-quite-twilight sky.
"Okay," I asked when we were nearly done with dinner, and I was contemplating dessert. "Truth. How badly did I suck this morning?"
"You are referring to your presentation on the Mutherian petition for admittance into the Federation?"
"Yes."
"You were poised and well-spoken, and your research and attention to detail were evident."
"But…?"
"You seemed anxious."
"I was. Actually, I was terrified."
"But you are a seasoned performer."
"Acting isn't the same. You know this. Acting is being someone else. This morning… that was just plain old, ordinary Zoe, talking to a room of big damned heroes, one of whom I'm madly in love with. I didn't want to disappoint Lasso. I didn't want to disappoint Captain Picard. I really didn't want to have to face you if I'd failed. So, yeah, I was terrified."
"Hmh."
His non-verbal response made me smile. "Before you launch into a lecture about how I'll be less anxious next time, could we have a slight change of venue?"
"Where would you like to go?"
"There are lounge-beds on the beach – big enough for two. I want to watch the sunset over the water. Then maybe a swim. Night swimming is safe in this program, isn't it?"
We left our table and walked down to the beach. As soon as our feet were on sand, the restaurant disappeared and the lounge-bed I'd mentioned came into view, a small table with a glowing lantern on either side. I kicked off my sandals and curled up on the bed. Data did the same, having finally given up on the notion of socks with sandals.
He wrapped his arm around me, and I cuddled against him, and we were quiet together as the sun began to sink below the horizon.
When the sky had turned a rosy color and the water looked like glitter, I turned my attention to the man I loved, stretching up to coax a kiss from his lips before I asked, "Data?"
"Yes, Zoe?"
I nestled even closer to him, reveling in the sound – the subtle feeling – the constant thrum of his internal systems. Then I asked the question that had been noodling around my brain for over a week, the question that I knew he would understand was another way for me to say I love you, and I love who and what you are.
"Why does the sunset turn red?"
Notes: Wow, I had not intended to take more than a month for this update, I swear. Autoimmune conditions suck! (Okay, I was also wrapped up in HorrorDailies. If you like spooky stories check out the October posts in my blog at MissMeliss DOT com, or the last two episodes of my podcast which is at BathtubMermaid DOT com.)
Special thanks to the Brain Trust – you know who you are. I love you all, and I appreciate that you put up with me.
And finally: this chapter revolves around the episode "Schisms," and, I confess, I've known for months what the final line would be, I just wasn't sure how to get there. The poem at the beginning is from the episode and technically Brannon Braga wrote it. Lasso and the Mutherians are all mine, and eventually Lasso might actually get a scene of his own, but it's more fun for me to keep him as someone off-screen. (Revised 12 September 2019)