Enharmonics

In modern musical notation and tuning, an enharmonic equivalent is a note, interval, or key signature that is equivalent to some other note, interval, or key signature but "spelled", or named differently. For example, in twelve-tone equal temperament the notes C and D are enharmonic (or enharmonically equivalent) notes. Namely, they are the same key on a keyboard, and thus they are identical in pitch, although they have different names and different roles in harmony and chord progressions.

Stardate 45048.61

(Thursday, 18 January 2368, 18:59 hours, ship's time)

I was curled into my corner of Data's couch, reading a novel for my literature class with 'help' from Spot, while half-listening as Counselor Troi worked with the actual owner of said couch to try and decipher some new alien language apparently based on idiom. They'd been at it for hours, having merely been on a break when I'd arrived an hour earlier, and I'd asked twice if I should leave, but Deanna had insisted I'd find it interesting, and Data had reminded me that I'd been asking about observing his work. They weren't working on anything classified, he'd said, and he knew I enjoyed languages and literature.

After half an hour of watching them work, I decided that the real reason Deanna had wanted me to stay was because a hyper-focused Data could also be incredibly exhausting. She designated me their official sounding board. I designated myself their unofficial kibitzer. For all practical purposes this meant that Deanna would, every so often, throw a word or phrase in my direction and see how I responded. I had the distinct impression they were testing me in some way, but I had no clue how… or why.

As it approached 19:00 hours, the halfway mark for quartet rehearsals when we were holding them, I began to get antsy, and I think the counselor sensed it. Actually, I know she did.

"Data," she said. "I'm getting tired and punchy, and we're getting nowhere. Let's break for now. I've got dinner plans and won't be of much use without food and sleep, anyway."

"Very well, Counselor. We can reconvene in the morning and learn what the team in the anthropology lab has determined."

"Make sure you take a few hours off yourself," she advised him. "I'm sure Zoe wouldn't mind actual conversation from you."

"Hmm?" I said, having heard my name. I'd been listening of course, but I didn't really want them to know how closely.

Troi smiled tiredly at me, "I was just telling Data to take a few hours off. Make him take you to dinner outside of these quarters," she suggested. "Dinner without the entire senior staff tagging along."

I blushed faintly. "I kind of thought I was the one tagging along last week," I said.

"No, you weren't. But I can see why you felt that way. Data was lectured about when it's appropriate to say 'no' to a superior officer."

I glanced over at our android host, but he was either truly focused or studiously avoiding us. Either way, I felt bad for being the cause of a lecture. "We'd actually discussed it afterward," I said. "It wasn't his fault, and I should have been more assertive."

"Perhaps," she agreed in the tone that I'd come to learn meant we were totally going to revisit the subject in our next counseling session. "In any case, android or not, Data needs to take breaks from time to time. I leave it to you to see that he actually does. I'll see you in the morning, Data."

"Goodnight, Counselor." He issued the farewell just as the door closed behind her.

I waited a beat before glancing over at Data. "Go back to work; you know you want to." My tone was a bit grumpier than I'd meant it, but there was a chance he hadn't noticed.

"I wish to complete the task I was assigned, yes," he agreed. "But Counselor Troi was correct that sometimes even I benefit from stepping away from a problem for a time."

"You do?" I was understandably skeptical.

"Yes, Zoe. Just as, like you, when I return to such a task, I typically see it with 'fresh eyes.'" He rose from his work chair and came to join me on the couch. "Do you wish to have dinner in Ten-Forward, or one of the other dining lounges?"

"Truth?" I asked.

"Always."

"Eating here with you always feels cozy and domestic but going somewhere more public is probably a better idea if we're ever going to achieve any kind of normalcy. And by 'we' I mostly mean 'me,' since you don't get nervous or feel out of place."

"That is not entirely correct," he said softly. I saved my place in my book and set my padd aside. "There are times," he continued, "when I have been acutely aware of being… other."

"Do I make you -?" I began.

"You do not," he was quick to assure. "One of the reasons I was first drawn to you was precisely because you apparently accept who and what I am, and still treat me no differently than you do anyone else."

I shrugged. "People are pretty much people and should be treated the way they want to be. But I did treat you differently for long time. It took me almost a year to figure out you weren't a superhero, just a person." I paused, then retracted my original dining plan. "Look, I know Counselor Troi means well, but I really look forward to our video nights. Ten-Forward will still be there tomorrow or next week – I wouldn't object to a special birthday dinner, by the way – but tonight, I'd really like to just snuggle with you on this couch and watch whatever vid you've chosen."

"It has been… a while…" Data was getting better and better at knowing when to use vague time estimates, I noticed. "…since we have watched a video here, and I do have something I would like you to view."

"Why don't we just replicate a quiche or something and eat while we watch?" I suggested. "We can enjoy some couch time and then you can go back to work with the fresh perspective you need."

"That is an equitable compromise," he agreed, getting up to work replicator magic. I used the time it took for him to order dinner to freshen up in his bathroom, and we both returned to the couch at about the same time.

"Tea, also?" I asked, noticing the pair of mugs steaming on the tray he'd set on his coffee table.

"It is later than you typically desire coffee," he pointed out. "And I have seen you pair mint tea with egg dishes before."

"Do you miss anything?" I asked, teasing.

"Very little," he answered. "For example, I have observed from your behavior this evening that something is troubling you. Perhaps if you tell me what it is, I can help?"

I sighed softly and looked away from him. "It's stupid," I said. "You took me off your privacy lock… and it… I don't know… hey're your quarters, and it's not like I've ever had completely free access, and when you added me in the first place it was because I was basically living with you."

"You were living with me," he corrected, ever so helpfully.

"There's living with and living with," I said. "But that's not the point. You didn't bother to take me off your privacy lock when we were just friends, even after I yelled at you. You didn't take me off when I asked for a break – you even asked me to take care of Spot during that break. So, why now, after our relationship has changed so much?"

"There is a reason," he said, "that I would prefer not to reveal just yet, though it will not be long before I do, and I promise it is a temporary condition. I did not realize it would trouble you."

I blushed faintly. "No, because instead of telling you – which I'd normally have done – it was easier to stew over it. I guess I'm still figuring out where our boundaries are. Anyway, they're your quarters – I know that – I just feel like they've become a home to me, too… and I'm being presumptuous again."

"No, you are not. I am glad that you see this space as a home. When I was first assigned to the Enterprise it was truly just a workspace."

"When did it change?"

"It began when Geordi and I became friends," he said after a brief pause, during which he handed me a plate and silverware and wordlessly encouraged me to eat. "When I created Lal, it was truly a home – one that we shared – but when she had to be deactivated the sense of my personal space as being more than a glorified office was diminished. When you began to visit, and later when we moved your theory lessons here, it seemed like a home again."

"And now?"

"Now, I have a constant reminder that 'home' and 'family' are not fixed concepts, but designations we choose for ourselves, and when my friends – and you – say that you feel 'at home' here, it is… gratifying."

I smiled. "I didn't realize you'd given it that much thought."

"It is a concept that is becoming more relevant as our relationship evolves," he said softly, and I melted a little inside. "Just as the concept of 'family' has been growing in importance. The time I spent with your family was educational."

"I hope you mean that in a good way."

"I had not expected your father and stepmother to accept me so easily."

"Dad has a lot of faults, but he's never been a racist or a bigot," I said. "He's too well traveled and too… well, he's not actually promiscuous anymore, though Zane is almost as bad as my father was. But they accepted you because they know you're important to me. It's what you do, in families. Well, in my family, I guess."

"Your father said as much," Data confirmed.

"In the conversation you won't tell me about."

"In the conversation I will not tell you about, yet," he clarified, "and in the conversation we had the night before the trip to Surfside, as we were watching 'home movies.'"

"Home movies?" I nearly aspirated a bite of quiche. "He really did show you those?"

"Yes," he said, and then, reacting to the pointed look I gave him, he elaborated. "I heard movement in the house. Your father was awake feeding David so that Gia could sleep, and he invited me to join him in the media room."

I nodded. "Dad and I both tend to be nocturnal, and whatever else he is, he tries to be a good father."

"We spoke of you, and he asked if you had shared recordings of your theatrical performances."

"I don't have recordings," I told him. "I never watch myself. Too creepy."

"That is a discussion for another time," he said. "In any event, we watched some of your father's 'home movies' of your childhood. I believe he felt guilty for not being a stable parent."

I rolled my eyes at that. "Please. He wasn't the most parental parent, and Mom was away a lot, but despite that, I think I turned out mostly okay."

"I agree. However, that is not the point."

"Sorry," I said sheepishly. "What is the point, please?"

"Your father was unaware that I had been a parent. When I mentioned that you had asked after my daughter, he suggested I show you some of the recordings." He deftly took my empty plate out of my hands, and then handed me a still-hot mug of tea. "I began to consider how I might go about such a thing. Most of the recordings I made are somewhat clinical. However, I was able to access the ship's onboard surveillance systems and find recordings of Lal in non-clinical situations."

"Wait, there's video of everything we do on the Enterprise?"

"There is not. Only specific sections of the ship are monitored in that way. I also had a complete memory record of Lal's life in my own memory banks, as well as all her memories. During my 'down time' while you were still on vacation, I used material from all those sources to create 'home movies' to share with you."

I could have done without the detailed behind-the-scenes making-of explanation, but it didn't matter, because I'd fixated on the kernel of information he was trying to impart. "You want to show me Lal?"

"Yes."

I resettled myself, curling my legs beneath me, and moving so that I could rest my head against his shoulder. I couldn't wrap an arm around his midsection, as I was holding tea, but I could – and did - relax the arm that otherwise would have been pinned between us and let my hand fall to rest on his leg. Another time, putting my hand there could have been construed as a sexual overture, but in that context, it wasn't anything more than a simple physical connection.

"Okay," I said. "Show me."

He gave the computer the necessary commands to engage the entertainment system and begin the video.

What I saw was a combination of images – Lal's point of view of kissing Commander Riker made me laugh. Lal in school made me cringe, and I was grateful that even though I had been aboard at that time, we had never crossed paths. Would I have been as cruel as some of those other kids? I wondered. Or would I have befriended her? I hoped with all my heart that I would have done the latter.

It was interesting, watching them together. I knew the way Data touched me - had, since the holidays, seen a couple of pictures of us together - but he was absolutely paternal with her, and I was reassured to notice the differences in the way he touched - had always touched – me. As well, I found it both moving and kind of sexy seeing him actually being a father.

The last few scenes were the cruelest: Lal and Data side by side on his old couch, holding hands. Lal telling him she would feel love for both of them. Lal lying on a worktable in Data's lab as his hands moved faster than I could follow. It confused me when the last frames were blurry, but then I realized it was because I was crying.

The images faded away, and I knew Data expected me to say something, but I had no words, just feelings. I leaned forward to discard my mug, and then I shifted against him, wrapping him in my arms and hugging him with every ounce of strength I had.

His arms came around me, returning the embrace, and then, with no apparent effort, he had lifted me onto his lap again. It wasn't for a heated make-out session, though, not that night. Insteadit was about closeness. Connection.

He held me that way – we held each other, really – for several minutes before I shifted my position, moving to be able to meet his eyes. "Thank you for showing me," I said softly. "Data, she was amazing." But why show me this now? I wondered. This was definitely not some kind of quid pro quo because he had seen home video of me. "You're amazing. She was so lucky to have you as a father."

Something I'd said to my mother came echoing back to me… the same comment Zane had made. I wasn't dating a boy. Even if Data was very like an older adolescent in some ways, he had never actually been a boy. I'd known for over a year that he'd been a parent, but actually seeing him in that role, interacting with his daughter made it more real. And very adult. And… a little bit intimidating.

I let my hands drop away from his body, and he let me go, as well. "Zoe…?" He made my name into an expression of concern.

"I'm fine," I said. "I'm just a little overwhelmed. Sometimes it feels like we're moving too fast, and sometimes it feels like everything's just crawling, and dating you is vastly different than dating anyone else, ever, even when it's also mostly the same." I reached up to run my fingers through his hair, indulging in one of the small liberties I was now allowed. "Do you mind if we call it a night? I know you want to get back to work, even if Counselor Troi thinks you shouldn't, and I think I should go home now, put in some face time with my mother." Staying in my mother's good graces was something that was becoming increasingly important to me, and I was suddenly very tired.

"If you wish," he said, and helped me to my feet. "I would be happy to escort you."

"Naah, this wasn't a date, just a normal Thursday. And you have a language to crack and people to negotiate with and a universe to save, and all that."

I retrieved my padd and the shoes I'd kicked off almost as soon as I'd arrived while he recycled our dishes. We met just inside his door, and when we had our 'goodnight' kiss, it was sweet and tender.

"Thank you for dinner," I said. "And the home movies. I'll see you tomorrow sometime."

"It is likely that we will be able to have class," he said softly.

"Okay." I turned to go, then stopped and turned back. "Hey, Data?"

"Yes, Zoe?"

"If my mother isn't already on your team to figure out how to talk to the Children of Tamar, you should ask her to be. I mean, I know it's not my place to tell you how to do your job, but she's not just a cultural anthropologist. She's also got a special interest in folklore."

"I was not aware of that," he said. "Please tell her to expect my comm."

"I'll do that," I said. "Goodnight."

(=A=)

Stardate 45051.31

(Friday, 19 January 2368, 18:42 hours, ship's time)

We did have class the next morning, but everyone dispersed almost immediately afterward. Dana and Josh were off for a picnic in the arboretum, Rryl was having lunch with his father, and Annette said she had a scheduled comm-call with Wesley.

Data was still working on the Tamarian language, and my mother had been called to join the back-room team, which basically meant she and a bunch of other people helped with research while Data and Counselor Troi were the faces of the team, interacting with the bridge and the captain.

I didn't mind having lunch alone – sometimes it was nice to sit at the table in our quarters with a book and a sandwich and have fictional characters for company – but when all my friends begged off our planned Friday afternoon hangout time, I began to feel a little paranoid.

Fortunately, my lit professor, Edouard Benoit – 'Ed' to me and Mom, and 'Prof' to my classmates – rescued me from eating dinner alone as well. "Since Data has your mother in his clutches," he teased when he stopped by our quarters, "it's only fair that I get to steal his girl for the evening."

I laughed, all pitiful feelings instantly gone. "Is it just the two of us, or will Bogart be dining as well?" I asked.

"It's a funny thing," Ed answered. "Guinan's pretty open, but she draws the line when it comes to dogs in Ten-Forward."

"Aww, poor pup. Well, maybe I could visit him, later?"

"Count on it," the dapper older man had said, and we'd gone off to the lounge to share a replicated cassoulet and some warm, crusty, rustic-style bread.

While we ate, we discussed the books I'd been reading outside of class. "I enjoyed the Hemingway you gave me last year," I said. "The way he used language was so intense – simple words but used so effectively. Is it true he used to write standing up?"

"He did when he was a journalist," Ed confirmed. "I'm fairly certain he used a desk and chair as he got older…and drunker."

"Yeah, that makes sense. Anyway, I liked what he wrote."

"I had a feeling you might," he said. "Contemporary literature is wonderful, but you shouldn't overlook the classics."

"Speaking of classics," I said. "Mom had me doing college applications over the semester break, while I was home on Centaurus…"

"Isn't it a little early for that? You're a second semester junior, aren't you?"

"I am," I confirmed. "But I have enough credits to graduate now if I really wanted to, and when you're on a starship, it takes longer to get applications in – even over subspace – and schedule interviews and stuff. We have to be ready early to accommodate lag. The galaxy isn't exactly tiny, you know?"

Ed chuckled, "I see your point." He called over the server and asked for another glass of wine. "Do you drink, Zoe?" he asked me.

Well, there was this one time, on Centaurus, with a bonfire and a kamikaze punch bowl, I didn't tell him. And then there was the martini I had before my boyfriend's brother groped me in front of a Fedora-wearing Ferengi. "Sometimes," I said out loud. "Rarely." I also didn't mention stealing sips of Data's beer at my house over the holidays, or of his martini a week before. "'Play drunk, listen sober' doesn't really work for cello," I added, riffing on a quote often attributed to the author we'd been discussing. "Though I did notice that one of the universities I'm considering made a point of listing some of the more popular off-campus pubs."

"Which university?"

"Yale," I said. "Also on my list of options: Harvard, Princeton, Brown, Stanford, The Martian, and Osiris U."

"You weren't kidding about classics," he said. "Not the Sorbonne? Not Berkeley? Not NYU?" He listed the schools with which he had some sort of affiliation.

"Not that you're biased?" I asked, matching his linguistic pattern.

"Not at all," he shot back, and I grinned. "Listen, Zoe, I didn't really invite you to dinner to talk about your college plans. Not that I'm averse to giving advice, but…"

"I get it," I said. "College plans were just a red herring." I stole a phrase from an ancient video he, Mom, and I had watched one night on vacation the previous summer. "So, why are you really here?"

To his credit, he didn't evade or stammer, just met my eyes and said honestly, "I want to marry your mother."

"Shouldn't you be telling her that?"

"I have," he said. "We've been discussing it for quite some time, but we wanted to have a plan. As you know, your mother has committed to remaining on the Enterprise until you've finished high school."

"I'm aware," I said. "But whether or not Mom accepts your proposal – I mean, I'm assuming you proposed? I suppose she might have."

"I haven't yet. Officially. Your mother was very concerned about the way your father handled things with Gia."

"Wait, there was handling? I don't remember handling. I remember finding out my father had a new girlfriend in front of all my friends."

"That was my point. Your mother made it clear to me that you were to be included from the start."

"Like a threesome?" I teased. "Kinky."

"Zoe, are you trying to embarrass me?" he seemed truly perturbed.

I sat up straighter in my chair. "I'm sorry," I said. "I'm just playing with you a little. Consider it a tolerance test. Or something."

"Or something?"

I delayed my answer as two orders of crème brûlée were delivered to our table, with tiny mugs of espresso. Well, mine was actually a cortado, but whatever.

"So, young man," I began while I cracked the caramelized sugar crust of my dessert, "What are your intentions toward my mother?" I used an imperious tone as I asked the question.

"I'd like to marry her, Zoe. I'd like to ensure that you approve, that you support her – and me – and that you'll feel part of the family."

I dropped the imperious tone. "Well…" I began. "Do you mind answering a few questions?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Not really, no."

"Fire away, Ms. Harris."

"Will you make her happy?" I asked.

"I will do my best."

"Are you prepared to deal with the fact that Starfleet careers often mean long separations?"

"I believe so, though I should add that your mother will be requesting a transfer to a position on Earth."

I hadn't known that, but it made sense. I'd been getting the impression that my mother was ready for a slightly more sedate life. Or at least a more stationary one.

"When I was six, would you have bought me a pony?"

"Absolutely," he said, smiling.

"Good answer," I grinned back. "One more thing?" He nodded, and I continued. "Don't make me sing at the wedding without asking me first. My father 'volunteered' me for his, and I really wasn't happy about it."

"I think we have a bargain," Ed laughed. "Let's toast on it."

He was out of wine, and I'd read that it was bad luck to toast with water, so we each scooped a spoonful of crème brûlée and raised them in tribute. Or something.

We finished our dessert with more casual chatter, and then we went to hang out with Bogart for a while. The dog seemed unusually interested in me, but I quickly realized, "It's because I smell like cat."

"Data's cat?"

"Spot thinks my hair is an endless supply of macramé yarn," I explained. "She's going to pull it all out, one piece at a time."

Ed laughed. "I doubt that. But it's another reason I prefer dogs."

"Don't tell Data," I said, "but, so do I."

(=A=)

Stardate 45053.29

(Saturday, 20 January 2368, 12:05 hours, ship's time)

If I'd been mildly suspicious about all my friends bailing on me the day before, I was absolutely suspicious when Data contacted me at eight on Saturday morning to apologetically cancel our music session because of a 'personal project,' about which he declined to share the details

I knew it would be useless to attempt to wheedle information from him, just as I knew he was telling me the truth, so I did what any self-respecting about-to-be-seventeen-year-old would do: I went back to bed for a serious sleeping-in session.

Around noon, my mother came into my room and woke me up. "Hey, birthday girl," she greeted.

"You of all people should remember that my birthday isn't actually until tomorrow," I said.

"Oh, I know," she answered. "I'm actually here on a mission, of sorts. Mind if I sit down?"

I sat up in my bed and scooted back against the pillows. "Go for it."

She sat down and patted my knee through the covers. "Zoificus, you're not a little girl anymore."

"Not to burst your bubble, Mom, but…kinda knew that." Something in her expression softened my auto-snark. "Sorry…what's this about, really?"

"Well, first, Data asked me to make sure that you were willing and ready to go on a date with him at eight tonight."

"I had a feeling he was up to something," I grinned. "Did he happen to mention any kind of dress code?"

"He said something about a red dress you bought at a boutique in Beach Haven?"

"Oh… okay, yeah, I brought that back to the ship with me."

"There's more."

"What, I take him on one shopping trip and he wants to decide which shoes I wear, too?" I was teasing, mostly.

"No. The 'more' isn't from him. It's from me."

"Well, I know a pony isn't in the offing."

"No, kiddo, it's not," Mom agreed, smiling. Too soon, her expression faded into something sober. "Watching you and Data since you've been home has been an educational experience, Zoe. You're so connected to each other… I worry you're moving too fast, too soon."

It crossed my mind to tell her that sometimes I felt that way too, at the same time I felt that things weren't moving fast enough, but I stayed silent and let her continue.

"When I spoke to Data last summer, your relationship was nothing like it is now, was it?"

"We were good friends," I said. "And I was crushing on him, but that's it. Why?"

"Because I extracted a promise from him I had no right to ask for."

"Yeah, you did," I agreed. "I yelled at you about it already. And… and Data and I had quite an intense conversation about it, as well."

"When Data asked me to help him with his… project… today, we talked again."

"So, how much more of my life did you two plan without asking first?"

"Only the part where your curfew is two AM on school nights," my mother said softly. "Fridays and Saturdays, as long as I know where you are, you're own your own recognizance." She took a breath and added, "I still think you should wait." She put up a hand, stopping me from interrupting. "Sweetie, I know you're not a virgin, but I also know that this relationship is different. You don't have to rush anything."

"Data and I have talked about it, Mom… or started to. I know we're going to be intimate in that way eventually. I also know neither of us is really ready. He may be older, but when it comes to relationships, he's kind of…" I trailed off. It really wasn't appropriate for me to say more. Instead, I paused a moment before asking, "Are you seriously telling me that if I'm with Data having tea, and it gets late, I'm allowed to crash there, if he invites me?"

"Something like that."

"Mom, is it weird if I talk to you about my relationship with him? I mean… he's sort of your boss, but there are things I can't talk about with my friends."

"Anything in particular?" I saw concern in her eyes.

"He showed me… he basically made home movies of his daughter for me to see."

"You mean Lal?"

I nodded. "Did you ever meet her?"

"Once, briefly. She seemed lovely. I think you would have liked her."

"I hope so. Some of the video he had was… the kids here weren't very nice to her."

"Kids can be cruel," Mom agreed. "But you, even at your snarkiest, you're not cruel."

"Well, not usually," I allowed. "Anyway, seeing her… seeing him actually being a parent… it was sweet, and it was – sorry, Mom – a little sexy, but it was also overwhelming. I mean, so many people – me included, sometimes – treat him like he's not the officer – the man – he really is. And then... he'll do this thing that reminds me how much more he is than I'll ever be."

"Than any of us will," she said softly. "You have a lot to navigate, both of you, in this relationship."

"I know this," I said. "This, I know."

"You're not obligated to stay with him, Zoe. If it's too much, or if you feel like you're in over your head…"

I shook my head. "It's too late for that, Mom. We're… we're too connected. He told me I was basically a part of his programming, and he's become part of me." She gave me a look, and I added, "Believe me, I know how hokey that sounds." Then I took a breath and voiced the words to her that I hadn't yet shared with the man in question. "I love him, Mom. I mean, I'm in love with him, but also… I just...love him."

"Have you told him that?"

"Not yet." I held up a hand, to stop her from interrupting. "You don't have to tell me that he can't say it back. I already know this. But he's already told me in… well… Data-speak, I guess – android-ese? – whatever. He's already made it very clear..." I faltered again, and finally decided on a different tack. "I know what I mean to him. Sometimes the little things scare me a little, but the big picture stuff? It never does."

My mother was silent for a long time. "Is it wrong that I sometimes wish you were still young enough to be happy with dolls and horses?"

"I never liked dolls," I reminded her. "Although, the next time I see a Starfleet Commander action figure, I'm totally buying it and painting it gold, and giving it to Data as a joke."

"Zoe…"

"Sorry. And thanks for listening," I said. "I have the best mother ever." I leaned forward and hugged her.

She hugged me back, laughing softly. "I'm pretty sure I got the better end of the deal, even so."

She stayed a few more minutes, and then patted my knee again and left. "Eight o'clock," she reminded me. "Twenty-hundred hours."

"I know," I said. "I wouldn't miss it – whatever it is – for all the coffee in the galaxy." I hunkered back under the covers, though, to doze a little longer, imagining a night in Data's quarters like the night we'd shared after my brother was born, and wishing for the day when heated kisses didn't have to stop.

(=A=)

Stardate 45054.20

(Saturday, 20 January 2368, 20:07 hours, ship's time)

"Surprise!"

"Happy Birthday!"

The lights in holodeck two came up to reveal a reproduction of my favorite café, the Red Sands Coffee in Beach Haven. Standing around the room were Mom and Ed, and all my friends – as well as some of the officers I'd gotten to know – Geordi, Reg, and Counselor Troi prominent among them.

"Oh, god! This is awesome!" I turned to my escort, who had shown up at my door just before eight wearing another of the outfits we'd picked out together, this time a deep blue – almost midnight - shirt and soft black trousers. "This?" I asked him. "This was your 'personal project,' Data?"

"Yes," he said as I hugged him. "Happy birthday, Zoe." His arms came around me, meeting my embrace.

"Best boyfriend ever," I whispered softly, "Promise me we'll have some time alone, though, later?"

He surprised me by pressing a light kiss to my lips. "Of course."

"Data?" I asked my tone still soft. "I thought you said…"

"This is a private party," he reminded me, "and I am not in uniform." His voice was also soft. "Our guests are waiting."

"Our guests?" I asked wryly.

"Yes. I am hosting this party, but it is for you. Therefore, the guests are…ours."

I laughed and stepped away from him. "Did you program a decent barista? I haven't had caffeine yet today?"

It turned out that not only had Data programmed a barista who could pull shots and froth milk with the best of them, but the food menu was just as good as the drinks being created. With my friends' input, he had also arranged for a selection of board games and for acoustic guitar versions of some of my favorite music to be playing in the background. It was a low-key party, but then, seventeen is a low-key birthday, and having several hours just to hang out with my friends was worth more than anything louder or noisier could ever have been.

Two hours later, I was in the process of introducing Reg and Geordi to Objects and Obfuscation, and half-listening while Deanna and Ed played Starship Conundrum at the next table, along with Annette and Dana, when the lights began to gently dim.

"Ah!" I heard Data's voice from the table on the other side of mine, where he, Josh, Rryl, and my mother were playing Infinite Fluxx. "It is time for the cake and presents."

We all pitched in, pushing two of the larger tables together, and re-arranging the chairs around it. The cake appeared, borne by two holo-baristas, but there were only three candles on it. I glanced at Data, "Are we counting my age in some weird numbering system I'm not aware of?"

"We are not," he said. "The candles are symbolic, representative of the past, the present, and the future."

"You came up with that?"

My answer came in the form of a brief nod, and then people started singing.

The cake, it should be noted, was dark chocolate mousse with orange filling.

The presents were pretty much what I expected. Music and games from the boys, earrings and a really adorable top from Annette, and art from Dana, whose watercolors were gallery-worthy after her summer of art and design intensives. Counselor Troi gave me perfume and a collection of meditation techniques, Lt. Barclay had given me an upgrade to the night surfing program – bigger waves and options for different oceans – and Geordi gave me six hours in the basic shuttle simulator.

"What, flitter lessons weren't scary enough for you?" I teased.

"You don't have to be in Starfleet to have a shuttle license," he responded in a friendly-but-serious tone. "And I heard a rumor you might be gallivanting around the universe for your own reasons fairly soon. Can't hurt to pick up a new skill."

"You just want me to invite you the farm to meet Bertha," I accused.

"Who is Bertha?" Data asked.

"I'll explain later," I promised him. To Geordi I said, "Thank you. Can we maybe not take almost a year this time?"

His laughter was all the answer I needed.

Ed gave me another data solid of classic literature while Mom gave me a messenger bag with a vintage coffee poster printed on it. "I know you might not need it on the Enterprise," she told me, "but it felt like you, and you will need it when you're at Idyllwild this summer."

"I can go?" I asked. "Really? You're letting me take the contract?"

"We still need to finalize the emancipation agreement – and no, it won't affect you finishing school here – but yes, you can go."

I got up and hugged her, but then I turned back to Data. Android or not, there was something, some subtle thing in his eyes, in his face, that wasn't entirely joyful. I sat back down, slipped my hand into his, and squeezed. He met my eyes, squeezed my hand back, gently, and handed me a package with his other hand.

The box was of the size and shape that usually meant jewelry, but I was pretty sure it wasn't. At least, I hoped it wasn't. I didn't want Data giving me jewelry in public, not yet. I opened it, and was immediately relieved to find that it wasn't anything embarrassing. Instead, it was a card promising a seventeen-lesson course in social dancing. There was also a data solid.

"Dance lessons?"

"Not every partner will be kind enough to count for you," he teased.

"Thank you," I said. "What's on the solid?"

"The program for this café, should you wish to use it again."

The party devolved into conversation, after that, and finally broke up completely around midnight. Data and I packed all my gifts into the messenger bag. My friends all hugged me as they left, and Mom and Ed both did as well, the former whispering, "Brunch tomorrow, Ten-Forward, eleven-thirty. Look in that bag when you get to…" She glanced in Data's direction, and I nodded.

Counselor Troi hugged me as well, explaining that Commander Riker had volunteered to command the bridge so that Data could host the party for me. "Tell him I said thank you," I told her. "And bring him some cake."

"He'll appreciate that," she said.

"Can we talk on Monday or Tuesday?"

"I'll send a message with my schedule," she promised. "Happy birthday, Zoe. It's good to see you happy."

I grinned at her. "Yeah, I am."

Finally, it was just Data and me, and I walked over to where he was still gathering gifts and packing them. I hugged him from behind, and then we moved to embrace more properly. "Thank you," I said. "For the party, for everything."

"You are welcome, Zoe."

"Can I do anything, or are you ready to go?"

"I must recycle the leftover cake," he said.

"Isn't there a way we could take it home? My family has this tradition of eating leftover cake for breakfast the day after someone's birthday."

"That does not seem like a healthy practice."

"Oh, it's not. But it's a delicious one."

He replicated a portable 'fresher unit. "I will carry the cake," he said, "if you will carry your bag."

(=A=)

Stardate 45054.82

(Sunday, 21 January 2368, 01:32 hours, ship's time)

Spot didn't deign to leave the couch when we returned to Data's quarters, but she did look up for a few seconds, as if to say, "Oh, it's them."

Data placed the cake on his table, and I moved toward the couch so I could kick off the heels I'd chosen to wear, freezing as I realized his easel was out, and that there was a painting resting on it., covered with a cloth. "Am I allowed to peek at what you're working on?" I asked.

"It is the rest of your present," he said. "And yes, you may look, there is no 'peeking' necessary."

I lifted away the cloth and came face to face with…us. Well images of us. He was standing behind me in the picture, and had his arm wrapped around my waist. We were both in civilian clothes – party clothes – and the window behind us looked familiar. "Data… this is from New Year's Eve."

"Yes," he said.

"You didn't paint this from memory, did you?"

"I did not."

"Then how…?"

"One of the photographers documenting the party took the picture and your father sent it to me. I thought you would appreciate it more… this way."

"You painted us," I said, marveling. I turned the easel to face the couch, and went to sit, but continued to stare at the picture. "You painted us."

"Yes, Zoe." He came to join me, but his next words were almost hesitant. "Do you like it?"

"Like it?" I pulled my attention from Data's artwork and focused on Data himself. "I love it. I love you." His eyes widened, and mine felt like they were saucers. "I'm sorry," I said. "I shouldn't have said –"

"Do not apologize," he said softly, cutting me off. "Do not ever apologize for what you feel."

"I wasn't going to tell you…"

"Because you knew you would not hear the same words in reply?" His question was asked in a gentle tone, and he reached for me, pulling slightly so I would move into the curve of his body. "If I could feel love, Zoe, do you not believe I would feel it for you?"

"I know you would," I said.

"I have suspected that you felt this way since before the holidays," he said, making the time vague again. But then he specified, "I have wondered for four weeks, three days, and twenty-point-six-seven hours why you did not tell me. I decided that you were simply not yet ready."

"Partly," I said softly, half-noticing that he was stroking light fingers up and down my bare arm. "But partly, it was because those words are hard enough to say when you know you'll hear them back. So, I was protecting myself. And partly," I admitted, "it's because whenever I respond to something emotionally, or I've turned to you for support you act as though you're somehow… lacking… because you don't – can't – respond in kind. And I didn't want to be the cause of that perception, Data, because I don't feel a lack of anything in our relationship."

"Zoe." He breathed my name in a tone that was laced with something like wonder, and he kissed the top of my head. "I have given much consideration to the way I would answer if you gave me those words. I do not have a pithy response to offer, nor can I give you a three-word reply. Instead, I will tell you this: I experience a sense of loss when you are absent from my presence, and a keener one when you are not aboard the Enterprise. Even though I can estimate to the nanosecond when you are likely to arrive at my door, I count the moments until you are actually here."

I felt my breath hitch in response to his words and his fingers on my skin. "Data…"

"I am not finished," he said. Then he continued his litany. "I devote time to you even when that time would be more productive if devoted to the ship. I consider you, and your thoughts, even when your input should be irrelevant to my task or opinion. I allow you to distract me from my duties. You make me less efficient, but I do not accept the logic that would remove you from my presence or alter our relationship. You – your presence in my life and the relationship we have – have become necessary to my ability to function."

"Oh, Data…" Tears were streaming down my face, I was pretty sure my mascara was running, and I didn't care.

"I have made you cry," he observed quietly. "There is a seventy-three percent chance that you will run from me, because I have made you cry." His voice got even softer. "Please do not."

"Happy tears," I managed to say. "These are happy tears, Data. No more running from you."

In movies and holo-vids, whenever couples declare their love, they end up having sex. The truth is that sex was the furthest thing from my mind that night. It was enough just to sit with Data's arms around me, to lean my head against his shoulder, to just be with him.

Emotional revelations are kind of exhausting, though, especially when you're processing them on only sugar and caffeine, so it wasn't long before I began drifting to sleep. He must have noticed the change in my breathing, or felt my muscles relax, because his voice calling my name woke me. "I'm sorry," I said. "I'm so tired."

"It has been an eventful evening," he said, still speaking softly. "My bed is yours if you wish to stay."

"I'd like that," I said. "I need to wash my face though."

"You know where everything is," he reminded me. "Go prepare for bed."

I left my shoes on the living room floor and padded through his bedroom to the bathroom, where I washed my face and rinsed my mouth out. I started to unzip my dress, but then I realized that I hadn't brought anything resembling sleepwear. I opened the door, "Data?"

"Yes, Zoe?"

"Do you have a t-shirt or pajama top I can borrow? I don't want to sleep in this dress, and… I'm not quite ready for total nudity with you." Fatigue always took away my filter.

He didn't seem at all phased by what I'd said. "I have both. Which would you prefer?"

"That depends, are you sharing the bed with me?" I knew he didn't need sleep. I had a feeling he wouldn't mind working in bed that night.

"If I am welcome."

"It's your bed," I reminded him. "Of course, you're welcome."

He came to the door, and I saw that he was already wearing the pajamas he'd worn at my house on Centaurus. Well, he was wearing the bottoms. His chest was bare, and I couldn't help staring at the expanse of smooth, sculptured gold. He offered me the top. "My studies of typical human relationships have shown me that many couples 'share' their nightwear," he said.

I took the soft, blue, cotton shirt from him, retreated to the bathroom, and changed clothing, leaving my dress hanging on the towel bar. The difference in our heights meant that his pajama top was long enough that it wasn't entirely scandalous worn over just panties.

Data already had the bed turned down when I emerged, and a glass of water was waiting on the side I'd slept on the last time we'd shared a bed. On his side, I noticed, were a stack of padds and a length of fiber-optic cable.

I met him near the foot of the bed, and I couldn't help it. I reached out and put my hands flat against his bare skin, and then stretched up to kiss him. Not the heated kisses we'd been sharing – I was way too tired for that – but a proper goodnight kiss nevertheless.

He didn't extinguish the lights until we were both in the bed, me settled against his chest. "You can work if you need to," I said. "It won't bother me."

"Not yet," he said. "Computer, reduce lights by ninety percent."

I closed my eyes, and just enjoyed being close to him, feeling the soft, steady thrum of his pulse. "G'night, Data," I murmured, drifting off.

"Happy birthday… my Zoe." His words were the last thing I was conscious of for several hours.

Notes: The games referenced in the chapter have already been included in notes on other chapters, except Infinite Fluxx, which is basically every version of Fluxx over 4 centuries…combined. The 'red herring' line that Zoe uses in her conversation with Ed is, of course, a riff on the movie Clue. The use of only three candles on cakes for non-landmark birthdays after the age of fifteen is my own family tradition. Ditto leftover cake for breakfast. Spans the episode "Darmok." Special thanks to saya4haji for help with Data's response at the end.