"On the lips?" Troi asked, eyebrows raised.

Geordi shook his head. "No, here." He touched his jaw.

"What did you do?"

"I…" Geordi sat back in the therapist's chair. "Pushed her away. Told her she was out of line."

Troi took a deep breath. "Do you regret that?"

"Regret? There's no regret – because – there can't – Counselor." Geordi took off his VISOR, rubbing his temples. "I'm her commanding officer."

"That… certainly complicates the issue. But your rank aside, how do you feel about her?"

"Can't you tell?" Geordi was puzzled.

"This isn't about me. This is about you and your feelings. And owning up to them. So tell me, Geordi," Troi leaned forward sympathetically. "How do you feel about her?"

Data rang her doorbell for a second time. He waited, patient, as always. He calculated another 4.72 seconds was appropriate before he should ring the bell again.

Justine opened the door. Data automatically scanned her. Her hair contained 75% more grease then the previous six times she had passed through his field of vision. Her skin was 10% more flushed, based on the same data set. In addition, her body temperature was 0.4 degrees higher than was advisable for humans, and her eyes were experiencing significant vasodilation. Conclusion: dehydration, sleep deprivation, and inadequate personal hygiene. However, all fluctuations were below the threshold for comment. "Hello, Ensign Riley," he said.

Justine wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her Starfleet hooded sweatshirt. "Data? Did you need something?"

"I have come to pay a social call. I believe that I may offer some insight into your current situation. In addition, I would like to solicit comment on my latest artistic endeavors."

Justine glanced at the easel and art case that Data had tucked under one arm. "Did Counselor Troi send you?"

"No. However, I did consult her as to the appropriateness of this visit. I also wanted the opportunity to visit my little toe."

Justine wrapped one hand around the frequency converter on her wrist. Data's little toe was inside, a relic of her encounter with the Romulans. "Was... that a joke?"

"Was it amusing?"

Justine felt the smallest of smiles pull at the corners of her mouth. "Not really. Uh.. you can come in." She stepped aside and Data walked into the room.

Justine suddenly realized just how dirty she had let her quarters become. Embarrassed, she began snatching at clothes and threw them into the bedroom. When she turned back around, Data was setting up two easels.

"This is my most recent painting," Data said, setting a canvas on his stand and removing its cover. Justine edged closer to see.

"What is it?" she asked.

"This is my interpretation of the quantum states of an electron."

Justine tipped her head to one side, studying the painting. "Oh."

Data handed her a palette and brush. "The blank canvas is for you."

"For me?" Justine gripped the brush awkwardly in her fist.

"Yes."

"I don't know how to paint."

"I can certainly advise you on several techniques and schools of thought. However, the purpose of this exercise is free expression as a means of therapy."

"Troi did send you."

"I am incapable of lying." Data turned to look at her, and Justine felt herself suddenly locked in his gaze. "I am suggesting this particular exercise because I found it very helpful myself."

Justine was still staring, blinking.

"When you paint, you create something that is uniquely yours. I find it a meaningful exercise."

Justine looked at the palette in her hand. With a sudden vengeance she stabbed into the orange paint and then smeared a single line across the canvas. Data had returned to his own painting, quietly. Justine punched the brush into the green paint, and then fiercely dragged it across the canvas, reveling the feeling of the paint, the violence of the colors, the muddy mess she was making. She painted, painted without thinking, without emotion, swirling the colors into a crazy, meaningless mess. She shocked herself, when, ten minutes later, she stabbed the paintbrush, pointed end first, into the canvas, splattering paint across her sweater, her face.

Data turned. "An interesting addition," he said. "It is invocative of Kerellian Post-Modernism."

Justine snorted. "It's stupid."

"Hardly. You have created seven distinct brown hues by overlapping every color available in varying concentrations."

"Eh." Justine began to droop a little, and Data took her palette from her.

"This is only your first attempt. Do not be disappointed."

"I'm not… disappointed." Justine felt unexpected tears well up in her eyes.

"Perhaps another canvas?"

Justine nodded. Data replaced her easel with a new, clean board. "Here," he said, wrapping her fingers around the brush, careful not to apply more than 1500 torr of pressure.

Justine sniffled, and this time regarded the blank canvas solemnly. "I don't know what to paint."

"You may paint anything."

"Mmh." Justine drew a yellow circle absently.

Data visited her again the next day, bringing a fresh set of supplies. When Justine opened the door Data's automatic scan indicated a 56% decrease in the grease in her hair, 20% decrease in the flush of her skin, and a 92.3% decrease in the vasodilation of her eyes. Conclusion: Increase in both sleep and personal grooming. Corollary: Justine was again functioning within acceptable parameters. "Hello, Ensign Riley."

"Hi Data." She did not smile, but her pupils dilated 3%. A common human reaction to a pleasant situation. "Come in."

Data again set up a new canvas, this time for each of them.

"Finish your electron painting?" Justine asked, accepting her pallete.

"Yes. I have given it to Chief O'Brien."

"Oh, I bet he liked that." Justine swallowed and stared at the canvas. "A blank slate is so intimidating."

"I initiate a random processing sequence to suggest topics for my art."

"Would you suggest a topic for me?" Justine asked.

"Why would you need my programming, when you have your own faculties at your disposal?"

"Er. I dunno." Justine picked a color. "Just don't laugh, ok?"

"I will not laugh." Data said solemnly.

Justine began the crude outline of the warp drive, in a bronze metallic shade. She painted the coils a bright yellow in gently curved rings. She belatedly added a background, and an observation deck around the perimeter. It looked like a child's drawing to her, and she stepped back from it uncertainly. "Can you tell what it is?"

Data glanced at her painting. "It is a crude likeness of the warp engine."

Justine's face drooped a little. "Yeah. It's… not very good."

"No."

Justine had to laugh at that. "You don't pull any punches, do you, Data?"

"I would never hit you, Ensign Riley. My programming expressly forbids it."

Justine laughed, the first laugh in this long, terrible week. She laughed and laughed and laughed until she began to cry, without even realizing it.

"Why are you crying, Ensign?"

"I don't know. I've been crying so much I can't even remember why I'm crying anymore."

Data looked down at her. "Justine, I envy your humanity. I could not cry if I wanted to."

"I don't want to cry anymore," Justine said, wiping at her eyes. "I'm sick and tired of this. Of everything."

"In ten days your legal status will be determined. Perhaps afterwards you will feel more at ease."

Justine felt like she'd been punched in the stomach. She sat heavily on her sofa. Her hands began to tremble.

"Have I said something to offend you?"

"Data, oh my god, Data, what if they say I'm not human? What if they say I belong to her?"

"Captain Picard and Commander Riker will undoubtedly provide you with the best legal counsel possible."

"Are they good?"

"In my experience, yes."

"So, they'll win?"

"Possibly."

"Possibly?" Justine's voice raised an octave, a sign of distress.

"You are approaching a dangerously high rate of respiration," Data commented. "It is advisable that you take deeper, longer breaths."

Justine shot him a look that would have quailed a human, but the effect was lost on the android. He continued to stare patiently.

"Data, what if they loose?"

"There are always alternatives. It has been my experience that Captain Picard would never knowingly submit a crew member to a dangerous situation."

That last comment seemed to calm Justine, although she gripped the edge of the sofa with both hands. "Ok, ok," she said, to herself. "It's ok." She raised her gaze back to his face.

"How do you stand it, Data? Knowing that somebody made you?"

"We are all created, Ensign Riley, whether through the material workings of others or through natural reproduction. But once the creator relinquishes control we are very much individuals. This painting is yours, not hers," Data said. "You are not hers. You are more than the sum of your programs." Data paused. "As am I."

"You really believe that?" Justine asked.

"I am incapable of lying."

Justine closed her eyes, squeezing out the last few tears. "Thank you," she whispered.