Guidance

Stardate 45159.34

(Wednesday, 28 February 2368, 07:43 hours, ship's time)

I'd only been asleep for about three hours when Data's voice came as a breath directly into my ear, waking me as gently as he could. "Zoe, I am sorry to disturb your sleep. Please wake up."

I uncurled myself from the position I'd been in and rolled onto my back. He was leaning over me on the bed, his yellow eyes betraying concern. At least, to anyone who knew how to read them – to read him. "What time is it?"

"Not yet eight hundred hours. I must report to the captain, but then I will return. The doctor has relieved me of duty for the day."

"So, I'm not missing class because you're not teaching today?"

"That is correct." He refrained from pointing out that the doctor had 'relieved' me of duty as well – using the definition of 'duty' that meant 'classes' - after my late-night meltdown in sickbay.

Sleepily, I asked, "Does my mother know…?"

"Dr. Crusher informed her of your whereabouts last night. I spoke with her myself thirteen point six two minutes ago." He always gave precise times whenever he was in what I thought of as 'officer mode.'

"Is she mad?"

"She was extremely understanding and asked that I assure you that you are not 'in trouble' for breeching your agreement. As well, she wishes you to join her for dinner this evening, 'just the two of' you."

I nodded. "'kay. Thanks."

He pressed a soft kiss to my lips, dimmed the lights, and left me to drift back to sleep, though I woke up again when he came back an hour or two later. In the soft light of the bedroom – he'd left the lights set at about twenty percent in case I had a nightmare – I did what I'd been too tired, too altered, to do when we'd first come home: I watched him undress.

His upper body, I knew well, of course. His chest, his shoulders, the line of darker gold hair that ran from below his navel (I still couldn't fathom why Dr. Soong had elected to include that design feature, nor had I asked.) down culminating in a thicker nest of… oh. Ohhhh.

As if he knew I was watching, he turned his back to me when he bent to retrieve his trousers. Data would not be Data if he left clothing on the floor. My imagination had not let me down with regard to certain other assets, either. Dr. Soong, you do excellent work, I thought.

Data sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, and peeled off his socks, one at a time. "I know you are awake, Zoe," he said softly as he lifted the covers and rejoined me in the bed. I rolled onto my side, facing him.

"Do you blame me?" I asked. "You've seen all of me."

"I do not object," he said, though he continued, "Though I would have preferred this increased level of intimacy and comfort not be instigated by your emotional distress."

"Me, too," I said. I watched him lying there in the bed. "I thought you had a modesty program."

"It is a subroutine," he corrected. "And it is designed to accommodate romantic relationships."

"So, it doesn't apply to me?"

"Exactly."

I lifted my hand to ruffle his hair, and then ran my fingers down his side, past his waist and hips to rest on his thigh. It had been difficult to tell in the low light, and at the angle in which he'd been standing, but there was fine hair there, too. "Is this okay?" I asked.

"Yes, Zoe." It was satisfying to hear the tiny hitch in his voice when he answered, to know that I affected him.

I smiled at him, and flattened my hand against his skin, stroking my palm up and down. A part of me itched to take things to the next level, but that thought came with the fear that I'd have another meltdown.

I didn't want to have a flashback when we were having sex. More than that, I didn't want to see his face if I freaked out on him.

I moved my hand back to his chest, closed my eyes, and let the steady thrum of his pulse move through me. "Lift your arm," I said.

Data complied, and I rearranged myself, nestling into the crook of his arm, wrapping myself around him. "Will you rest now, Zoe?"

"Mmhmm." I kissed the part of his chest that was under my cheek, closed my eyes, and went to sleep before he'd even told the computer to reduce the lighting further.

(=A=)

Hours later, after I'd eaten an extremely late breakfast, I was curled into my corner of Data's couch with a mug of orange spice tea, while he explained how he'd ended up in sickbay.

"Are you certain you are up to this?" he asked.

"I'm still a little tired – emotional meltdowns are surprisingly exhausting – but I need to know why you were headless – not that it wasn't a neat trick. And melty."

"The ship was struck by a cosmic filament," he explained. "I am certain you experienced jolts and power fluctuations."

I nodded. "Not a lot of jolting – we were on the school deck – but yes, the power went out."

His voice was soft and steady as he told me what had happened. "The damage to the ship included damage to many plasma conduits and power circuits. As Commander Riker and I navigated through the access tunnels to reach Engineering, there was an open circuit that was ablaze."

"A plasma fire?"

"Yes. The only way to stop the fire, to close the circuit, was to use a non-conductive substance."

"You," I breathed. "You used you."

"Exactly."

"And the head thing?"

"Commander Riker required my assistance with reestablishing the warp core containment field and restoring access to the ship's computer."

"Oh, of course." It came out snarkier than I meant it.

"You are upset."

"Well, yes."

"But I have been repaired. My functionality has been completely restored. If you were to examine every millimeter of my form, you would find nothing amiss."

"I have 'examined your form,'" I pointed out.

"Then, why are you still bothered?"

"I don't know. I guess… I guess it's just hitting me that being with you – being your girlfriend – means learning to cope with the fact that you face a lot of high-risk situations."

"It is normal to be in denial about such things."

"I'm not in denial, exactly. I just… I just didn't realize. I never thought."

"Risk is a part of the job," he said. "That is true of all Starfleet officers."

"I know," I said. "But it's also true that you put yourself in situations that 'all Starfleet officers' typically wouldn't." I held up a hand before he could interject. "I'm not asking you to change your job for me. For one thing, we haven't been together long enough for me to have the right to ask. And for another… it's a big part of who you are."

"Your assessment is not incorrect. But that does not help you."

I gave him a rueful smile. "No, it doesn't. But sitting here, talking about what you were doing and what happened – that does help." I drained my mug and set it aside, then moved into the curve of his arm. "This helps also," I said, and stretched up to kiss him.

Neither of us said it, but I'm pretty sure we were both thinking about the missions he wouldn't be able to tell me about, the ones that required security clearance and significant rank.

(=A=)

Stardate 45168.16

(Saturday, 2 March 2368, 13:09 hours, ship's time)

I finished playing the last legato section of the Debussy solo I'd decided to include in my audition recording and lifted my bow from the strings of my cello. "Well?" I asked looking at both the man in the room with me, and the man on the video screen.

Data opened his mouth, most likely to give a technical analysis of my playing, but he seemed to change tack even before he spoke a word. Addressing the remote viewer, he said, "I believe I will defer to your father."

"Dad?"

From the viewer, my father's 'critique face' softened into a steady, glowing, smile. "Zoetrope, if I hadn't seen you playing, I'd have thought I was listening to a professional recording. I'd ask what had given you the awareness for such a sophisticated interpretation of La Fille aux Cheveux de Lin, but I suspect I know."

I averted my eyes for a moment, confirming his assumption. "I guess a lot of my interpretations have gotten a lot darker lately," I said, looking up again. "I'm pretty sure I'll eventually find the light again. Things get a little better every day."

"Are you sleeping through the night yet?" he asked.

"Some nights," I evaded.

I wasn't really in the mood to share that the only night I'd been nightmare-free since my time with Data's brother had been three nights before, when I'd been both physically and emotionally exhausted, and had crashed in Data's bed – in Data's arms – after skinning off my clothes, and demanding he match my nudity. It hadn't been sexual; I'd just been desperate for skin-to-skin contact, and my amazing boyfriend had taken it all in stride, providing me with the anchor – and the safe harbor – I'd needed at that moment.

Still, I didn't think my father needed that level of detail.

"Data, you're not keeping her out too late, are you?" Like me, my father tended to use humor as a defense mechanism. His teasing was probably a cover for his real concerns.

"I am endeavoring not to, sir," Data answered as calmly as ever. "I believe Zoe's return to music will be beneficial."

"I suspect you're right. Alright, daughter-of-mine, what's your second personal selection? Not Le Cygne?" Le Cygne – The Swan – was the most cliché cello solo ever. Everyone recorded it at some point in their career but using it at an audition was like using the songs from whatever show was hottest on Broadway when trying out for a musical.

"No," I said. "Actually, Data hasn't even heard me play this one yet. Since I'm not allowed to go back to class yet," I made a face at the android. It was, after all, his input that was part of why I wasn't back in class. "I had nothing else to do yesterday but practice."

I started the next piece, the one I'd spent all day on. My father, I knew, would recognize the tune. I wasn't sure if Data would, but when I'd found it in the music library, I'd known immediately that I wanted to play it for him.

The piece was more contemporary than the Debussy, a slow, sensual, jazz-infused tango, the kind that always made me envision lovers in a club in someplace like Havana, on Earth, or somewhere on Caprica or Risa. My bow and my fingers danced with the strings, as I poured everything I felt for Data into my performance. True, my father was watching and listening, but he was a performer, too. He'd get it.

I finished the piece, adding a final pizzicato flourish that resonated throughout the room, then sat back and waited.

Data was watching me with more focus than I was typically aware of him using, and my father…my father was teary-eyed.

"If you play like that on your recording, they'll all be blown away," Dad said. "Now, I want you to take the rest of the weekend off, get some rest, if you can, and then make the final recording on Wednesday or Thursday. You'll want to send it in with a few days before the deadline."

I grinned at my father's image on the screen. "Thanks, Dad. I'll send you a copy, if you like."

"I insist on it. Darling, I need to sign off now. We'll talk tomorrow evening, yes?"

"Sure, Dad. Hug Gia and Zeke for me?"

"I will do." He said goodbye to Data, as well, and then cut the connection.

Data and I were both silent for a full minute after the call ended. Finally, he spoke to me, but he didn't say anything about the piece I'd played. Instead he asked, "Would you like another dance lesson this afternoon?"

"With you? Always." I put away my cello and went to wash my hands, pull my hair into a ponytail and change into the high-heeled shoes I'd begun wearing at those lessons.

(=A=)

Stardate 45196.32

(Tuesday, 12 March 2368, 20:33 hours, ship's time)

The ship's gymnasium was eerily empty at 8:30 on a Tuesday evening. Maybe I'd arrived between peak times, or maybe Starfleet conditioned all of its officers to be morning exercisers, but all my friends were either busy (Josh and Dana, Rryl and Serena were on a double date) or off-ship (Annette was at an incoming student mixer for her university), and Data was at his poker game, and I was feeling the need to blow off some steam.

"It's okay that I'm here, isn't it?" I asked the duty ensign at the desk. Use of the gym equipment was tracked and added to one's medical file, partly to ensure that officers and crew were getting requisite exercise, and partly to track errors and injuries. If a bunch of people started pulling muscles on a weight machine, for example, that meant either that a group of people hadn't been trained in correct use, or the machine was out of calibration. "I mean, it's so quiet."

The ensign shook his head. "Unless we're on lockdown or there's some other emergency, we're open all the time. It's just a slow period. Thursdays. Thursdays we're packed. Everyone trying to get required physical activity in before the weekend."

I grinned at that, "I can just imagine. Well, I'm headed for the Pilates studio, if that's cool?"

"It is," he said grinning, "completely 'cool.'" Then he cocked his head at me. "You've used the studio before, right? I've seen you in here, but I don't remember your name."

"It's Zoe," I said. "And yes, I've used it before. Thank you."

"I'm Garcia," he said as I turned away. "Jose Garcia. Yell if you need anything." He flashed me the sort of grin that probably charmed the pants off the other ensigns. Literally. "Or, you know, if you just want company."

"Sure," I said. "If I need anything." I was fairly certain there was nothing I needed that he could provide.

I left the desk and made my way through the main part of the gym to the smaller rooms at the back, the rooms that were typically used for yoga and martial arts classes, handball, racquetball, and things like that. Just opposite the entrance to the Pilates studio, I noticed that one of the rooms had an open door. When I looked in, curious to see what sport or exercise was going on, I saw a black cylinder of some kind of thick material suspended from the ceiling.

I'd seen enough ancient videos to recognize a punching bag; it had just never occurred to me that anyone would be using one on the Enterprise. Most people would just run a program on the holodeck.

Someone had left a towel and a water bottle on the bench, along with a pair of gloves, but no one was actually inside, and I couldn't resist. I'd been wanting something to punch for weeks, and the universe had apparently decided to meet my needs.

I walked into the room, balled my right hand into a fist, and took an experimental swing at the bag.

I hadn't expected it to be that heavy. Punching it was like hitting a wall – a wall with a little bit of 'give' – but, still a wall.

I flexed my fingers and smiled.

Then I punched it again.

In the videos I'd seen, the plucky young boxer always had a gruff older coach who held the bag steady and gave pointers about how to jab or hook or…whatever. I was barely making the suspension mechanism tremble; I was pretty sure a gruff coach wouldn't be able to help with that.

I kept punching, alternating which fist I was using. I wasn't dancing around the bag or bouncing on my toes. It was more like I was whaling on a nearly inert, roughly body-shaped thing.

In my head the black punching bag was Lore, only it was a version of him that I could hit. I imagined his face, his smug, leering expression just before he'd ripped my clothes. I imagined what it would look like if his nose was dented by my fist. I raised my right hand again intending to punch with all my strength.

"Do that, and you'll break your fingers, and hurt your wrist again," came a voice that managed to be both gruff and gentle at once. A male hand captured my wrist as its owner moved to stand in front of me. "There's a reason boxers wear gloves, Zoe."

"Captain Picard?"

"It's customary to ask before you take over a reserved training room," he pointed out, not unkindly. He released my wrist. "I wouldn't have taken you for a boxer."

"I'm not," I said. "I just… the door was open, and I saw the bag, and I just wanted to hit something. I've been wanting to hit something since…" I trailed off. I was pretty certain he really didn't want to know any of what I was babbling.

"Since Lore hurt you?" he asked gently.

"Yeah," I said. "I mean, yes, sir."

He gave me a look I couldn't interpret but seemed like part sympathy and part understanding. "Well, if you're going to be punching things, it's probably best if you learn to do so without harming yourself." He pressed a button on the wall console. "Computer, one pair of bag gloves, size small." A second pair of gloves shimmered into existence on the bench, and he picked them up and turned back to me. "Hold out your hands."

I slid first one hand and then the other into a waiting glove, and watched as they self-adjusted, tightening around my wrists. "No offense, Captain," I said, "but I wouldn't have taken you for a boxer either. Everything I've read about you depicts you as an intellectual and a diplomat."

"Your father is a celebrity, of sorts, Zoe. Is everything the press says about him accurate?"

"Well, no…"

"Remember that."

I had the decency to look chagrinned.

"Now then," he said. "Let's start with the basics. Have you ever read any Arthurian legend? Or been to a Renaissance faire and seen jousting?"

I couldn't figure out how the Matter of Britain or Renn faire games had anything to do with boxing, but I told him what I'd read. I omitted the fact that I preferred cheesy musicals and ancient Monty Python sketches over the source material.

"Are you right- or left-handed?"

"Right."

"Alright, then. Your right hand is your striking hand. Your sword. Your first punch is always going to be with your right fist. Your left hand is your protective hand, your shield. Its main role is to block any swings at your face."

"Okay, but, I'm pretty sure Mr. Hefty over here isn't going to be swinging anywhere near my face."

"Mr. Hefty?"

I shrugged. "It's a brand of trash bags, and that thing's kind of heavy. It seemed appropriate." If he'd been anyone else, I'd have quoted the brand's advertisement about having been a successful part of domestic engineering since 1926.

"Fair point," he said drily. Something in his eyes made me think he would have laughed at my name for the punching bag if I'd been anyone else. "In any case, in order to punch with any kind of force, you must use your entire body."

"Wasn't I?"

"No."

"Oh."

"Face the bag and plant your feet." He demonstrated the way he wanted me to stand, and I followed suit.

"Good. Now, when you strike the bag again, bend at the knee, rotate from your waist, and use your momentum to power your punch." Again, he demonstrated, albeit in slow motion.

I took a practice swing, imitating his movements, and I could feel how much more power there was in my arm.

"Excellent. Now again, with your off hand."

I repeated the action, punching with my left hand."

"Now, at speed."

I punched Mr. Hefty and was gratified to see him swing. It wasn't much of an arc, but I'd made the thing move.

"Continue."

I did. Actually, I punched the bag a bunch of times, but the captain kept stopping me, adjusting the angle of my hands, making me change how far apart my feet were spread, suggesting a different way to move my arms.

Finally, he was satisfied enough to let me go to town on Hefty. Right fist, left fist. I found a rhythm, and as I swung my fists, I started seeing the punching bag as Lore again. Anger and pain welled up inside me. All I could feel was the need to hit something, to hurt something. I swung faster, punched harder.

"You bastard! You goddamned fucking bastard!" I'd fallen into blind rage and I didn't even realize I was screaming and crying until I felt my knees impact the floor.

"Zoe, it's alright. Lore isn't here."

Sweat and tears were stinging my eyes, and I was panting hard, but Picard's voice brought me back, and suddenly I was mortified about having a violent meltdown in front of Captain Jean-Luc Picard, hero of the Federation. "Oh, god," I said. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have." And then, because I truly had no filter, I asked, "How did you know?"

He extended a hand, which I took, and helped me to my feet. "I cannot pretend I know what it is like to be raped," he said, in a moment of candor that I would later learn was uncharacteristic. He rarely opened up to his own counselor, let alone relative strangers, or so I would be told. "But I do know what it is to be violated, and I understand all too well the need to lash out with physical force. I assume Counselor Troi is aware of your…violent tendencies?" He said the last part with just a hint of humor.

"Yes, sir. She suggested I try some kind of martial arts."

"And have you?" He gestured for me to extend my hands, and he removed the boxing gloves as we talked.

"Nothing seemed appealing. It was all too… controlled."

"Hmph." I can't pretend to know what he was thinking. He was staring at me, as if taking my measure. "Give yourself time, Zoe. It won't go away, but in time it will fade."

"That's what everyone keeps telling me, sir. And honestly, I am doing… better."

"I'm gratified to hear it. Go home, Zoe. Shower here, or shower in your quarters – I'd recommend a combination of sonics and hot water – drink some water or tea and get some sleep. You've had quite a workout. Ah, Mr. Data, have you come to see Ms. Harris home?"

"Yes, sir, if she is ready."

The android's voice came from behind me and I whirled to face him. "Your game's over already?"

"It is seven minutes after midnight," he explained.

I turned back to the captain. "I didn't mean to take over your whole evening."

"I rather thought I took over yours," he said in the same dry tone I would eventually recognize as his own version of snark. "Dismissed," he added, but he said with a smile in his voice.

"G'night, Captain, and…thank you."

"Good night, sir," Data said, and he guided me back through the gym and out the doors.

"You didn't have to come get me," I said.

"Ending the evening with you has become a habit, Zoe, even a ritual. One I look forward to."

"I like it better when the evening doesn't have to end," I responded as we stepped into the turbo-lift.

"As do I," he agreed. "You seem overly tired. Perhaps it would be best if I escort you directly home and we forego tea tonight."

"You heard the captain. I've had 'quite a workout.' A hot shower and sleep are about all I can handle tonight. I'm sorry."

"Do not be. I am glad that you have found an outlet for your anger."

"How much did you see?"

"Nothing of what you were doing. I could only infer from the equipment in the room. I am curious, though. What made you seek out Captain Picard?"

"I didn't. I was going to do Pilates and he wasn't in the room, and the door was open, and I saw the punching bag and… it kind of just happened."

"Ah."

"He was pretty cool about it."

"That is 'good to know.'"

I grinned. "I suppose it is."

We arrived at my mother's quarters, and Data walked me inside. A flashing message indicator informed me that she was spending the night with Ed in his quarters. "If you wish me to stay…" he began, but I interrupted.

"I always wish for that," I said softly, echoing the spirit of the words I'd said to him at my father's house on Centaurus. "But I also recognize that you won't always be around, and it's not fair for me to expect you to be. So, how about you make tea while I take a fast shower, and you can stay while I drink it and kiss me goodnight before you go?"

"I accept your suggestion," he said, "with the understanding that if you do have a nightmare, you will contact me."

I stood on tiptoe to kiss him. "I can live with that. Tarragon mint, please?" And I went to let ten minutes under sonics and hot water work wonders on tired muscles.

It might have been the tea, or perhaps it was the knowledge that Data would come if I needed him, but I slept soundly that night.

(=A=)

Stardate 45209.98

(Sunday, 17 March 2368, 20:31 hours, ship's time)

"Okay, Zoe, I was only away for a week, and now you're living with Data?" Annette teased me as she entered my boyfriend's quarters. Data had suggested I meet with my friend for our study session in his space, just before he'd left for the bridge. Several different groups of scientists were squabbling over some piece of equipment, and he and Geordi were still working to solve that dilemma.

"Hardly," I snorted. "Well, only on weekends. Nights like tonight, when he's on duty, I just hang out here and practice or do homework and spend time with Spot."

"And when he's off duty?"

I laughed. "Pretty much the same, except he's here, and we alternate between talking and working in companionable silence. What did you think? That we're going at it like rabbits all the time?" I was teasing her.

Annette's face showed me that my jest hadn't been far off, but her question was asked in a neutral tone: "You're not?"

I took a seat at Data's dining table, the place where I typically worked on homework, and gestured for my friend to join me. "Truth?" I asked, and when she nodded, I continued. "We share his bed when I'm here – he holds me while I sleep – he's the one that stops my nightmares. We kiss, and we touch, and we cuddle – and the night before I went to Melona we came close to… I mean we were about to have sex and then he got paged… and then… and then everything happened with Lore, and it feels like forever, but it's really only been a few months since we've been a couple, and just over a month since… since I was raped… and…"

"And it's not time yet," my friend said softly, "is it?"

"Not yet, no. I mean, I want him, and it's not like he's pushing – that will never happen, I'm just terrified I'll have a flashback in the middle and he'll take it personally and - is it weird that I'm talking to you about this?"

Annette shook her head. "Not at all, but if we're going to have deep conversation instead of doing homework, we need sustenance."

"Coffee and cheesecake?"

"Sounds like a plan."

By the time our mugs had been drained and our plates were empty, we'd shifted from my love-life to hers. Wesley Crusher had arrived for a visit earlier that morning, and one of the first things on his agenda had been ending things with my friend.

"I knew it was coming," Annette said. "We've been growing apart for months, after all."

"I wish I knew what to say," I told her. "I mean, long distance is hard, and I know you've been less-than-happy about things since Christmas, but… I don't know… you two seemed so perfect for each other."

"Apparently not," she said drily. "Apparently the person who's perfect for Wes is Robin Lefler." The tone in which she uttered the other woman's name made it perfectly clear what she was thinking and feeling. "Did you see them in Ten-Forward?"

"I did," I said. "He could have waited a day, at least. I mean, I know things always move at warp speed on starships, but going out with someone else mere hours after you two officially ended things? Tacky in the extreme."

"You know what's truly unfair?" Annette asked me. responded with an encouraging expression, pretty sure she was going to tell me no matter what I said. "I was actually going to end things with him, but I never got the chance."

I reached across the table and squeezed my friend's hand. "I know," I said. She'd been thinking about it for months, and we'd been discussing it on and off for weeks. "What's done is done, though. So, you have two choices: you can wallow in the dregs of a relationship that hasn't been working for a while."

"That's one option," Annette agreed.

"The other option is that we can both be adults about this and focus on math homework for the next couple of hours, after which a hot ensign I know will be waiting to escort you home."

"Oh?" A small smile began in the corners of her mouth. "Ray Barnett?" she asked with a note of hope in her voice.

"None other."

"So, math," she said.

"Math," I agreed.

"One thing," Annette said. "Have you noticed a lot of people playing some weird game?"

"The headset thing with the optical interface? When Data and I were at dinner last night, I saw at least five people playing it."

"There were two people playing while they were in the turbo-lift with me," she said. "I felt like I'd walked into someone's bedroom."

"Yuck," I said. "It is all kinds of weird how many people are playing it though."

"You could ask your boyfriend," she said.

"If it's important, he'll tell me. I try really hard not to ask questions about his work."

"Really? Why?"

"Data doesn't like to lie. Most people think he can't, but that's not quite true. He's a line officer, a bridge officer. There are times when he can't tell me what's going on, and I try to minimize the number of times that happens."

"I never thought about how much you have to figure out," my friend mused. "Is it worth it?"

I didn't hesitate. "Yes," I told her. "It's worth it."

"Even without sex?"

I shrugged. "We'll get there eventually. In the meantime…" I let my words trail off into the slow smile that spread across my face.

"Alright, my love-struck friend," Annette teased. "Let's get back to work."

We worked until midnight, and then Annette left, and I cuddled Spot for a few minutes before I headed back home, as well. I wasn't sure why – Data wasn't in the habit of checking in with me when he was on the bridge – but I couldn't help feeling that something was wrong on the ship.

That feeling was only cemented when I noticed one of those game sets on the table in Mom's quarters.

(=A=)

Stardate 45211.43

(Monday, 18 March 2368, 09:16 hours, ship's time)

The corridors were eerily empty for just after nine in the morning. Or at least eerily quiet. I was en route to sickbay to see if I could get something for the cramps I'd woken up with, and the few people I saw all seemed to be playing the same game Annette and I had talked about the night before.

It didn't really seem like the kind of game that should be played in public. I'd heard random people asking about levels and how long it had taken and things like that, but almost everyone I ran into gave the impression that they were walking around in some kind of post-coital ecstasy.

"Zoe, shouldn't you be in class?" I looked into the face of one of the med techs whose name I couldn't remember. He, too, was sporting one of the headsets that had been appearing everywhere.

"Not until ten," I said. "Is Dr. Crusher around, or Nurse Ogawa?"

"I think the Doc's in her office," he said. "Alyssa's not in yet… probably trying to level up. Are you playing? You should. It's… fantastic."

"I'm not," I said. "Think the doctor would mind if I poked my head in?"

"She knows you; go ahead." He grinned a happy, stupid kind of grin. "Ask for a game set. It'll cure what ails you."

"Yeah," I said, moving away from him and toward the doctor's office. "I'll do that." I weaved between bio beds and other medical equipment and paused outside for a moment before I knocked on the frame of her open door.

"Zoe!" The doctor's voice was bright and welcoming, but her eyes looked a little unfocused. I wondered if she had a game set stashed in one of her drawers. "How are you? No more nightmares, I hope?"

"This person has gone 17 nights without a bad dream," I said, riffing on the safety signs posted in each of the ship's cargo bays. Ordinarily, she'd have laughed at that. Instead she offered a taut smile. "Well, what can I do for you?"

"Actually, I come seeking help. I woke up with really bad cramps and when I did the math, I realized we'd missed my last birth control shot. I mean… not that it's strictly necessary, considering, but… I don't know… it's nice not having to worry about…"

"I completely understand," she said. "I'm not sure how we missed your dose." She seemed slightly scattered. Or maybe she was preoccupied. Either way, the usual focused professional was not the same person who was looking out from behind the doctor's eyes.

"I sort of assumed you didn't want me having to deal with yet another sickbay thing…" I hedged.

"Yes, that's right," she said. "Well, why don't we put you in one of the privacy bays and see if we can't make you feel better." She rose from her chair, pausing to reach into a bin to the right of her desk. I saw a game set in her hand, but I didn't comment on it, though I was more than a little surprised when she took me by the arm and led me to the bed in the alcove furthest from the main doors. "I need to prepare your hypo-spray," she said. "Hop up on the bed and I'll be right back."

I did as she asked, but instead of walking away to prepare the shot, as she'd said, Dr. Crusher leaned over me and put the headband for the game over my head. "You will love this," she said. "Trust me."

Less than five minutes later, I understood why everyone was walking around as if they were in sexual bliss all the time. That game was amazing.

(=A=)

I don't know how long I sat on the bio-bed playing the game. I vaguely remember reaching level thirty-one, but the levels were vague anyway. Most of the time, it was as if the game played itself.

I was still playing when I heard a voice that sounded like Data's. I looked up, and saw him talking with the doctor, but he was focused on the conversation, and I was in an alcove.

"I'm working on a new experiment with bio-active silicon," I heard Dr. Crusher tell him, before asking him to reprogram a medical tricorder.

"Certainly," he said, taking the device from her. I craned my neck, but couldn't focus on his fingers, and the game blinking at me, encouraging me to take it out of standby mode.

I heard the doctor apologize for asking Data to spend time on such a task and heard him assure her that he was happy to help. I could hear his inflection shift into his questioning tone, likely to ask her for details about her experiment.

He never got the chance, because Dr. Crusher put her hand to his back and deactivated him.

The sight of the man I loved falling forward over the diagnostic bed jarred me out of any thoughts of playing the game, but something told me not to move. I took the headset off just long enough to bend the eye pieces so they wouldn't actually meet my gaze, and then I put it back on, and relaxed against the deactivated display panel of my bed.

It was at least an hour before Dr. Crusher left sick bay, chatting with Counselor Troi and Commander Riker – I hadn't noticed them arrive, but they were definitely with her when she left, because she'd explained exactly what she'd done to my boyfriend. I wondered what else was going on, that they would so casually injure a man who was their friend and colleague.

I wanted to run to Data and see if he was okay, but I really had no idea what to do to help him. Feeling utterly useless, I chose to simply wait and watch over him. If the entire senior staff was involved, there was no one I could turn to, anyway.

I don't know if I fell asleep, or just zoned out, but the next thing I knew, another familiar voice was filling the space. I leaned out of my alcove and saw Wesley Crusher talking to some girl – the infamous Robin Lefler – about what happened to Data.

I put my headset back on, making sure I really wasn't making eye contact. While I pretended to play, I listened to Wes and Robin, as they were discussing who had deactivated Data, and where, and how. I was about to scream at them to look just below his positronic cortex when they figured it out and made the requisite repairs.

"How do we wake him up?" Robin asked.

Wes hesitated. "He has a power switch somewhere," he said. "I'm not sure I remember where…"

I pulled off the headset and slid off the bio-bed. "I think I can help with that," I said as I crossed the room. "Hey, Wes. Sorry we haven't had a chance to hang out."

"Zoe? But you were playing the game…"

I shook my head, "No, you only thought I was. Well, actually I had been playing it until I saw your mother deactivate Data."

"The game is psychotropic," Robin said. "The shock of someone you trust doing that to a colleague must have broken you out of thrall."

"Something like that," I said vaguely.

"What made you decide to keep acting like you were playing?" Wes demanded, as if he were testing me.

"Oh, please. I'm dating the second officer. You think I haven't figured out when there's something really wrong happening on the Enterprise?"

"Everyone is addicted to that game," Wes said. "Everyone. Wait… you're dating Data? When did that start?"

"A few months ago. Could you both turn around, please?"

"Zoe?"

"If you had a power switch, would you want the whole ship knowing where it was?"

"Good point," Robin said. "That would make a good law."

"What?"

"A law," she said, and went on to explain about her personal collection of laws.

I slid my hand under Data's uniform jacket, partly because it was easier to find the switch with less fabric in the way, and partly because, even though they weren't actually watching, I wanted both of them to know I was familiar with the android officer. It was stupid, and petty, but at the same time, it felt kind of good.

I hesitated before I actually pressed the button. The last time I'd done this, I'd ended up in a mind loop and a flashback. I took a deep breath, calming myself, and applied pressure.

"Doctor?" Data asked. He was still lying mostly on his stomach, his face toward the floor. He immediately rolled to his back and then sat up.

"She deactivated you," I said. "And severed some of your crucial connections. Wes and Robin made the repairs."

"And Zoe reactivated you," Robin said.

"Thank you, Wesley," Data said, "And Ensign Lefler." He turned toward me and said. "Zoe, I am very glad you were here."

"Me, too," I said.

"Data, the game that everyone's playing is addictive, and I think there's something else going on," Wes brought us all back to the urgent situation at hand.

"I agree. Please update me."

I drifted away as Data, Wes, and Robin formulated a plan. The cadet and ensign left, and Data immediately went to work on his part of their task.

"I should go," I said. "I've lost a whole day in here, and you have to save the ship." I said the last part in a slightly teasing tone, but I knew it was a deadly serious situation.

"Please do not," Data said.

"Data?"

"I will need to test this device on someone who has played the game."

"Oh."

"You will need to begin playing now."

"Oh." I don't know what I'd been expecting, but it made sense. I repaired the headset I'd bent, sat on the diagnostic bed, and played the game. It picked up where I'd left off, and I must have played about ten more levels before there was light flickering in my eyes, and I was clear-headed again.

"How do you feel?" Data asked.

"Normal," I said, smiling. "You are a miracle-worker."

"No, Zoe, I am not." But there was a hint of a smile in the corners of his mouth, anyway. "You must make your way to my quarters, now," he said. "I will either come home or contact you. Either way, do not leave unless I have told you it is safe to do so."

"I promise," I said. Impulsively, I hugged and kissed him before I bolted from sickbay.

(=A=)

Stardate 45226.56

(Saturday, 23 March 2368, 22:07 hours, ship's time)

Five days later, Wes had returned to Earth and Starfleet Academy, Ensign Lefler and I had gotten to know each other a little, Annette and Ray had gone on their first date.

Data and I had finished dinner in Ten-Forward and were on our way for another dance lesson, but he was being evasive about what dance he had planned to teach me. We entered the holodeck as we always did, but the program running wasn't our usual dance studio. Instead, we were in the kind of club when I'd envisioned when playing the Piazzolla tango for him weeks before.

"Data? What is this?"

"For the dance we will be experimenting with today, I believe a more intimate venue is called for."

"This is lovely," I said. "But it feels like a special occasion. Not one of our usual dance lessons."

"I had originally intended today's dance to be the culmination of our lessons, but recent events led me to the conclusion that it would be an appropriate choice for today. You may find the music selection… somewhat ironic. Computer, begin program DZ-Tango1."

The music that wafted through the softly lit, unpopulated club was the full-band version of my tango, rather than the transcription for cello. "Oblivion," I said, smiling. "How long have you this planned?"

"As it did for you, the Piazzolla tango evoked my memories of us. The club and the music were originally intended to be a Valentine's Day celebration…"

"But Valentine's Day got kyboshed in more ways than one."

"Indeed."

"So, how do we start? I don't have to stick a rose in my mouth, do I?" I was teasing him, but only a little. I was also really glad I'd worn a skirt. He hadn't mentioned dancing in his initial dinner suggestion.

"No, Zoe, you do not." Data turned toward me, his body language shifting from officer-correct to a softer 'dancer' stance, and I was struck, not for the first time, by the way his strength seemed so be both compact and tensile, especially dressed as he was then, in a soft blue waffle-weave Henley shirt that was almost as close-fitting as the t-shirt he typically wore as part of his uniform. I had a sudden urge to see him in jeans, finding the image in my head a lot less out-of-character than I'd thought when I'd guided him toward khakis months before on Centaurus.

Lore wore jeans, the thought flashed through my head, and I squeezed my eyes closed, forcing it away. A couple of seconds later, I met my partner's eyes.

"The tango is a dance that involves close – even intimate – contact. If you become uncomfortable, please tell me."

He had, I realized with a start, chosen that shirt specifically because it was the furthest thing he owned from anything I'd ever seen Lore wear. The soft material, the light color, the change of setting - we were about to do a dance that had become synonymous with sex – and Data was doing everything possible to put me at ease.

"Data, I'm never uncomfortable with you." I said, but it wasn't precisely true. Pressing his power-switch had caused a flashback less than a month before, after all. "Or at least, nothing you do makes me uncomfortable."

He chose not to refute that, instead informing me, "The opening form of the tango is called abraza – embrace. Typically the dancers begin with the leader holding the follower against his chest, either back to front –" and he guided me into the position he'd painted us in – my back against his chest, his right arm wrapped loosely around my rib cage, his left hand lightly gripping my left bicep "- or facing one another."

I let him guide me through the basic steps with soft words and subtle pressure. Two dancers, one axis, fully-clothed bodies touching, then moving slightly apart, following the rhythm of the music.

My tango segued into another that I could tell was from the same composer. It wasn't quite as 'soft' a piece, and Data stopped counting, trusting me to follow where he led. He varied the steps, making them more intricate. Our feet crossed. Our legs twined and came apart. He nudged me into a turn within the frame of his arms.

When the second piece ended, I was breathless. "I need a break," I said. "And some water."

"Do you wish to continue dancing, afterward?"

What I wished was to go back to his quarters and do a more horizontal kind of dance, but at the same time, I was still afraid that I would freak out if we tried. The advantage of an android partner was that he would never pressure me.

The disadvantage was that it was up to me to take the lead. Data wouldn't. I was pretty sure he couldn't. Before I could even think about sex, though, I needed to ask him my big question.

"Zoe?"

I blinked. My musing had taken longer than I'd realized. "Sorry, Data, I was…thinking. I do wish to dance more before we go home, but right now, can we sit?"

He nodded, and we moved to one of the tables, sitting in opposite bentwood chairs. A holographic server appeared, brought my requested water with lemon, and then disappeared into the shadows of cyberspace until he was needed again.

"Have I done something wrong?"

I blinked at him, and felt a stab of pain on his behalf, that he would immediately go to that question. "No. You've done – you're doing – everything right. You ask before you touch me, you've avoided wearing solid black when we're alone and you're out of uniform. You've given up whole nights of work or personal time just to hold me while I try to sleep, the last couple of weekends. That has to be boring as hell for you."

"No, it is not."

"If the only reason why not is because you don't experience boredom…"

Data cut me off. "It is not. The time spent in bed with you is not wasted; I am often analyzing information, sorting files, considering any number of personal projects. As well, I find I prefer to spend as much of our time together with you as I can. I have even been experimenting with sleep."

"You can sleep?"

"I do not require sleep, but yes, I have a function somewhat analogous to sleep."

"Do you dream? Wait, is it rude that I'm asking these things?"

"No, I do not dream." He tilted his head at me, "And no, it is not rude. You are not asking simply 'to ask.'"

I shook my head, "No, I'm not. I'm asking because every day we spend together only shows me something else I don't know about you. But right now, I want to ask something a little awkward."

"Of course, Zoe, you may ask me anything."

I sipped some of my water, and then I spoke slowly and carefully. "In the last thirty days, I've seen you injured and deactivated twice. The first time, you had people ready to help. The second time, I was alone in the room. If Wes and Robin hadn't shown up… "

"What is it you wish to ask, Zoe?"

"I would like to have a better understanding of how you… function. I'm never going to be any kind of computer expert or cyberneticist, but the book I do need doesn't exist. No one's written a guide to the Care and Feeding of Devastatingly Handsome Androids." The humor was for my benefit more than his.

Data's voice was soft and serious when he answered me. "I will always endeavor to answer your questions, Zoe, as they occur to you. I would offer my technical specifications, but I do not believe they would give you the data you are seeking."

I laughed, "I've already got the Data I'm seeking, don't I?"

He blinked at me, as if surprised I would make such an obvious pun. "Indubitably," he assured me. "I will… see what I can do."

I reached across the table to cover his hands with mind. "I have more."

"Continue," he encouraged.

I nodded. "This dance. Being so close to you. It's… it makes me… it felt a little like foreplay. And I don't want you to think I've lost interest. I just… I'm scared. I don't want to melt down while we're in the middle of anything intimate. I think I may need more time. But eventually I'm going to be ready again. When that happens… do I have to be explicit, or are subtle non-verbal cues enough with you? I mean, you didn't initiate a kiss until after I had, and until we'd talked a lot. I guess… just like whether you sleep or dream, and how your systems operate… I need to know how you… work."

Data's answer was given in a tone that managed to be both muted and intense at once. He freed one of his hands and captured a lock of my hair, twisting it between his fingers and then letting it go, as he spoke. "I have held you while you slept, felt your responses to my touch, watched you preparing for the beginning of the day, and the end, and exchanged many kisses with you. I am certain that when you are truly ready for the next shift in our relationship, I will know without explicit statements."

Mere weeks before, that candor from him would have made me blush. Instead, it gave me a sort of thrill deep in the center of my body. I drank some more of my water, and then I set the glass back on the table and rose to my feet. "There's a move in tango where the one partner hooks their leg over the others and is dipped backwards. I think we need to try it."

Data's eyebrows rose slightly toward his hairline, but he stood up as well, instructed the computer to play another song, and guided me into a face-to-face opening abraza. His hands slid over my body; my hands slid over his; we stepped and turned to the rhythm of the accordions, strings, and piano. "Turn," he whispered softly. "Lift." I did as he asked, resting my leg over his. "Relax into a backwards layout."

When we'd accomplished the move once, and I was vertical again, I smiled at him. "Again."

The second time Data dipped me, he echoed the movement, bending forward over me. I had a second of panic – Lore's looming image flashed through my brain – but the music and the soft expression on my partner's face made the panic dissipate almost instantly. He was holding me securely, balancing both of us, and looking at him, I couldn't help it. It only took the slightest movement of my head to meet his mouth with mine.

Dancing with Data was lovely, but it was kissing him that I could never get enough of.

Notes: Spans the episode "The Game." Zoe's cello pieces are Debussy's La Fille aux Cheveux de Lin (English: The Girl with the Flaxen Hair) and Oblivion by Astor Piazzolla. Both of these, as well as the Libertango, also by Piazzolla, are in the "Crushing on Cello" YouTube playlist. I have no idea if it's canon for Captain Picard to box, but I know that Patrick Stewart used to, and it seemed like something he might do when no one was around. He's pretty buff, after all. If you're keeping track of dates, you might be wondering why March 2nd is a Saturday. 2368 is a leap year, which gives February 29 days. Do they still do the leap year thing on 24th-century Earth? I say, yes, because it's entrenched into Terran tradition, and the people who were vocally against the practice probably didn't bother to vote. Two lines of dialogue (or two partial lines) were lifted from "The Game." Revised 12 May 2019.