"Come in," Deanna called. The door to her quarters hissed open, and Riker stood there feeling not unlike a lump of wood. Too long, since he had seen her, too long since things had ended, perhaps he was presumptious- but when Deanna saw him she smiled, huge and beaming, and rushed over into an embrace. She was as beautiful as she had always been. A little older- Riker was, too. Her dark hair smelled of perfume, soft under his chin.

"Imzadi!" she said breathlessly, and she kissed his cheek before withdrawing. "Have you met him yet?"

"Excuse me?"

Deanna's eyes, more Betazoid than human, were like pools of dark water, and today they glowed as brightly as Riker had ever seen them.

"Data!" she said at once. "Oh, Will- when I saw that name on the ship's roster, I couldn't help but think-"

"Of course," Riker said, and he smiled at her, rubbing his hands up her arms once before stepping away. "So did I. But he's not human, Deanna, so no dice. Tell me, though, how are you? I know it's been too long-"

"But he was built by humans," Deanna said, unwilling to let the subject drop; she looked surprised by him. "Or a human, at least. In a way, that makes his lineage the same."

"Maybe," Riker's fingers curled briefly, then he relaxed. "But he…it's not him, Deanna."

She knew he didn't want to talk about it. Surely she knew that.

"Oh…well," Deanna looked him up and down, then smiled again, a little less honestly this time. "Well, why don't you come in for tea, anyway? Or coffee?"

Riker agreed to this, and Deanna took him to her kitchen table, which was decorated with lovely replicate flowers. They had their tea, and a plate of biscuits also, and the tension bled slowly from the room, like water moving naturally downstream. The breakup hadn't been messy- a kind of no-fault divorce. The only fault was that Riker hadn't kept in touch, even though Deanna had wanted him to. But still, she was warm with him- they spoke of what they had been doing, all these years apart, amusing anecdotes and honest wishes and serious hurts alike.

Was it strange? Deanna was so beautiful, and he had loved her once, still, he found he loved her now- but the colour of that love had cooled. Perhaps that was for the best. A new ship, with lofty new positions and dire new responsibilities- they could both use a good friend.

When their conversation naturally wound down (which was to say, after a long while) Deanna put the used dishes back in the replicator, and then looked back at Riker. She was smiling, but that smile had taken on a certain tinge he recognized for concern. Not the first time she had looked at him like that.

"About Data," she began, and Riker looked away. "I…I take it you did meet him?"

"Yes. Have you?"

"Not yet. But I-"

"Once you do, you'll see. It couldn't be him, Deanna. He doesn't have a mark, for one, and he-"

Riker's mouth quirked into something that was surely a very poor attempt at a smile.

"He told me, to my face, that he didn't have a soul. So that's that."

Deanna came to sit next to him again, now frowning slightly, the kind of expression he imagined she wore with all her counseling clients.

"You're disappointed," she said, and Riker chuckled. His answer, though, was measured.

"I was. Briefly. I think that's understandable. But…I've never tried to follow the quest, you know that. Nothing's changed. I just…it was a surprise, is all. It's such a rare name."

"Very rare," Deanna said softly. "I've never met anyone else with it. Neither, I think, have you."

Riker didn't like the implication.

"Deanna, I just told you, he said he doesn't-"

"Wait a moment, Will. Just listen."

Deanna had placed her hand over his, a warm touch, like honey to a sore throat. Riker swallowed his words.

"When I saw his name on the ship's roster- and the 'android' classification- I was surprised, also. And I did a bit of research."

"As counsellor?"

Deanna's lips lifted wryly.

"I know, I know. But it was very interesting. You know, the colony on Omicron Theta, where he was found- it was completely destroyed. He was the only survivor. The scientist who made him went missing- some think he's dead. And all that scientist's research- all the work he did, building Data- it's gone, too."

"And so…?"

"So," Deanna squeezed his hand more firmly. "The Federation's treatment of Data was the same as with any new alien species, first-contact. He hasn't been studied, not deeply, no one really knows how he works on the inside. For all we know, there might be something…something in him that connects him to you, even if no one understands it yet."

"Why does this matter so much to you?" Will asked, trying not to sound bitter- not that there was any hope of hiding that from her.

"Because I care for you," Deanna told him. "I love you, Imzadi. I want you to be happy."

"With a robot?"

Now that did sound bitter.

"Don't be like that," Deanna scolded, albeit gently. "Just give him a chance, for me. You don't have to say anything about your mark. Just…get to know him. Maybe some feelings will develop. And then…"

Whatever she had thought to say then, she didn't say it, though Riker waited for her to do so. Eventually she just shrugged, and Riker offered her a smile, placating and indulgent both.

"Alright. He's third-in-command, we'll be working together often. I'll get to know him, Deanna. Whatever there is to know."

"Good," Deanna said primly, and she released his hand at last.

"Engage."

Through the viewfinder, the stars began to speed by, stretching out into streams. Riker watched from his chair by the captain and tried to look professional, when he wanted to grin. Even after all these years with Starfleet, he still felt giddy during moments like these.

Riker's eyes turned, almost involuntarily, to find the back of Lieutenant Commander Data's head. His dark hair had a reflective quality to it, though less so than his skin, and it gleamed softly in the starlight.

The android did not look back.

Watching Data work was, Riker thought, very much like viewing a recording of a twenty-first century factory apparatus. It was admirable, perhaps, even enjoyable in a sense, to see all the pieces moving together in perfect unison, perfect precision, not a moment wasted, not a single inefficiency anywhere. Input, output. Give the android an order and he would carry it out faultlessly, in an instant. No daydreaming with this one, no mucking about, no getting stressed.

(Inhuman, an unhappy part of Riker murmured- entirely inhuman.)

At night, Riker sat in his quarters with a bottle of red (or two, or three) and read through paper after paper on early cybernetics until his eyes blurred. No, no one else in human history had manifested the name of a machine. Well, wasn't he special?

When he couldn't think straight anymore, Riker lay back on the bed, lowered the lights in the room to ten percent. He should get up, shower, drink some water- he'd regret it on duty in the morning- but before he could stop himself, he was already drifting.

Riker dreamt there was metal in the bed beside him, a steel figure as hard and heavy as the heart of a star. He tried to reach out, to hold it, to bring it close to him- but it was so cold to the touch it burned. Unyielding. Wake up, he thought to himself, wake up, you're only dreaming.

Oh, if only that were so.

Riker was in command while Picard took a rest shift, along with most of the crew; it was 'night' by Starfleet's standardized time, and so only necessary operations were maintained. Only two officers were technically required on the bridge- and currently one was him, and the other was Data.

This was already awkward enough- despite his promises to Deanna, Riker had found himself rather avoiding the other officer's 'companionship', whatever that might be like. But to make matters worse, the common cold- that undefeated nemesis of humanity- was going around the ship at the moment. Riker had felt alright getting up for his shift but now, four hours in, he was quite certain he had it. In the quiet ambiance of a conversation-less bridge, every time Riker shifted in his seat or coughed discreetly into his elbow the sound made felt vaguely deafening. Checking the time was torture- the shift could not be passing any slower. Well, at least stoic Picard wasn't present to listen to him sniffle in the officer's seat.

"Sir."

The silence was broken by Data, who swiveled the Operations chair around abruptly to stare. That brilliant yellow gaze was as disconcerting as always; Riker felt like he'd been caught out in something and immediately sat up a little straighter, trying to look more authoritative.

"Yes, Commander? Something the matter?"

Data twitched, like the movement of the seconds-hand on an analogue clock.

"Sir, my readings are showing that your body temperature is elevated. Also, the sound of your nasal inhalations suggests there is an obstruction in your sinus pathways."

Riker stared at him for a moment, feeling stupid, and then he closed his mouth.

"Uh…yes, Data. I've definitely got it. It's fine. I'll get a hypospray after the shift."

Data leaned forwards a little in his chair, looking impossibly even more intent.

"What is 'it', sir? Are you unwell? My understanding of human physiology says that these signs indicate you are unwell."

What was this? The machine couldn't be… concerned, there was no reason for that- unless there was some program running in that pretty head that told him to mind the health of his crewmembers. In case of some medical emergency, perhaps? But hell, what did Riker know about it? Really, what did Riker know at all? He rubbed his eyes; yes, there was definitely some 'sinus pressure'.

"'It' is the cold everyone's talking about, Data. So yes, I am unwell. I told you, I'll be fine."

Data let out a small, almost flute-like hum in response, a sound Riker had never heard him make before. It startled him enough to make him open his eyes- Data was still staring at him, head now cocked at an angle. An involuntary thought shot through Riker like a bullet, as forceful and hot as lightning:

Cute.

The fuck was going on here, anyway?

"You're lucky you don't have to deal with these kinds of things," Riker said at painful length, when it became clear Data was not going to stop staring at him. "Never getting sick. It's pretty uncomfortable, you know."

"But the way the human immune system functions to manage such illnesses is very impressive, if imperfect," said Data. "Right now, your white blood cells are latching onto the infective agents, and emitting chemicals designed to destroy them. Simultaneously, your lymphocytes are releasing antibodies that combat the virus."

Riker needed a minute to take all that in; he was sure he had never heard someone refer to having a cold as 'impressive', before. In spite of himself, he smirked.

"So, what," he said, "you want to deal with it? Hey, I'll trade you now- this cold for…for whatever invincible android immune system you've got."

"I want to be human," Data replied, immediately and firmly, without a trace of doubt. Riker's heart panged. "I would take the possibility of illness that comes with it. However, I do not see how we can 'trade' in this circumstance."

"No," Riker murmured, and he rubbed his eyes again. He didn't know what he was feeling- he rather wished this conversation hadn't started. "I was being…figurative. But you'd be human, anyway? Despite all the disadvantages?"

"Yes, sir. It is my greatest wish."

There it was again. It almost felt like pain, pulsing against the inside of Riker's heart.

"Honestly?"

Data paused; his face and figure went through a short series of minuscule ticks, like a mechanical lock coming undone.

"...yes, sir. Honestly."

Riker lifted the trombone from its case, giving it a loving once-over with the cloth, though he'd polished it well enough that morning. There was an open concert today in Holodeck Five, which had been transfigured to resemble a beautiful music hall, with white marble pillars and high windows and evergreen bushes at every other corner. Deanna had insisted he perform- not that he had needed much convincing.

"Greetings, Commander."

Riker looked up automatically, though that voice, he would recognize anywhere. Yes, he was pretty sure he was having nightmares about that voice. Still, he found himself startled. Data was out of uniform- like everyone else- in a black turtleneck and black dress pants, but it was the first time Riker had seen him in such clothes. All the black, for whatever reason, made the gold in his skin and eyes brighter. In the holographic sunlight coming through the windows, he glittered like a sculpture of crystal.

"Data," Riker remembered himself- it was ridiculous to stare- and smiled politely. "You've come to see the concert?"

"Yes," Data replied, "and I will be playing, also."

Riker observed, then, that the android was holding a violin case. Riker felt surprised- but perhaps it was unfair to think so. Though Riker had become used to Data in a professional environment- all that hyper-efficiency, all those perfect calculations- the first time he had seen him, after all, he'd been singing.

"I see you will be as well," Data said, angling his head towards Riker's trombone. "The trombone is an instrument with many remarkable properties."

"Mm, just like me," Riker said with a quick grin. It was practically automatic, this base, sexual flirtation- what kind of instrument, what remarkable properties? But Data did not smile, he did not blush and avert his eyes, or laugh like any of Riker's previous paramours might. Of course not, he just looked…confused.

(The thought came again, almost as reluctantly as before: cute.)

"Ahem." Riker didn't want to explain. "Nevermind that, Data. Anyway, ah…you like music, don't you?"

Try to get to know him better, he'd promised Deanna- but he wasn't entirely incurious, either.

Data paused, and blinked once; for an instant it did not seem he knew how to answer. Then he said:

"I am an android, I do not possess human emotions. Therefore I cannot like nor dislike anything."

"I see, I see. Of course."

Stupid. How oddly easy it was to forget.

Riker finished his jazz solo to much fond applause, and even a few whoops from the audience- he was already popular onboard the Enterprise. He didn't look for Data, to see if the android had had some reaction to the sound- it would be vaguely unbearable, Riker thought, if he hadn't.

Data played a short concerto without accompaniment. The beginning of the piece was very technically difficult, extremely fast paced and rhythmically erratic, but Data handled it with the unerring precision of a synthesizer; his fingers flew across the strings so smoothly it almost felt like Riker was watching a recording that had been sped up. It was impressive, of course, but just like watching him work, something in Riker felt cold at the sight.

But the second half of the song was quite different- much slower, moodier. Obviously more emotional- and the emotion in question was clearly 'tragedy'.

Riker watched, and saw that Data's brow was faintly furrowed, where it hadn't been before- a sign of effort, as though this section of the song (so much technically simpler than the first) was more difficult for him to play.

The melody was lonely sounding, and almost unbearably sad. It made Riker think of all the little things he had lost over the years- made him wonder if they had felt hurt, to be so abandoned.

When Data was done, Riker had tears in his eyes- too many to tell whether he was the only one.

"Commander, may I ask you a question?"

"Shoot, Data."

They were in the lift, nineteen-hundred hours. On the way to another shared graveyard shift, with Riker in the captain's chair. Riker hadn't slept during the day as he responsibly should have, and very much wished he was going to bed. Data had no problems like this, of course.

"When we first met, on Holodeck Six you said to me: 'Nice to meet you, Pinocchio'.' What did you mean by that?"

Riker shrugged. "It was a joke, Data."

"That is what you said the first time. Joke: a thing that someone says to cause amusement or laughter, especially a story with a funny punchline. I do not understand the source of humor in your remark."

Riker gave him a slightly wary look- from someone else, such words might suggest offense. Could Data feel offended? Apparently, Data couldn't feel anything. And he certainly didn't look offended- but now, looking closely, Riker found he did not think Data was utterly expressionless, either. No, the android looked curious, earnestly so.

"You know the story, 'Pinocchio'?" Riker asked. Data cocked his head and his gaze shifted, so much like a camera going out of focus; Riker recognized this gesture by now, and knew it meant he was accessing some stored information.

"Yes. After our encounter, I downloaded the original novel from the ship's computer."

Downloaded- to what? Not a PADD, Riker guessed. Christ.

"Then, it's simple," Riker said slowly. "I was just saying that…that you're like Pinocchio. It wasn't really a joke in the, uh- 'funny', ha-ha sense. Sometimes people use that word- joke- to mean little remarks like that, also."

"I see. But I am not like Pinocchio. I am not made of wood, nor was I animated through magic. My nose does not increase in size when I lie-"

Riker snorted.

"-and I have never found myself trapped in the belly of a whale. Commander, why are you laughing?"

When Data looked at him like that- all honest confusion, and concern, and that intense mechanical focus… he was rather beautiful.

"Oh, it's nothing, Data," Riker told him with a sigh, and he rubbed his hand over his face again, perhaps to dislodge that last thought from his mind. "You're right, you're not much like Pinocchio. I mean- do you ever lie?'

Data blinked, the same response as at the concert, when Riker had asked him if he liked music. What did that gesture indicate? That he hadn't been programmed with an answer? Perhaps, just that he had to think first?

"I am capable of lying," Data said eventually. "But throughout my career with Starfleet, I have found no reason to."

"I see."

What a terrible thing- if he only told the truth, then he really was a soulless, unfeeling automaton.

It was strange- Riker found he didn't really want that to be true.

Deanna refused to abuse her power, and give Riker access to her more complete personnel files; still, there was far more information to be had than that little overview in the Starfleet public record. There were news articles, for one. The destruction of the colony on Omicron Theta had been widely documented. So had the very start of Data's career- he was, after all, a new lifeform, and the Federation loved that. There was even an interview, the broadcast of which, apparently, many had listened to.

Riker sat in his quarters, the room semi-dark, he hadn't bothered to turn the lights up. The audio rewound over and over.

"No. I have no personal memory of the colony, or of my creator. My memory begins when I was activated by Starfleet rescue personnel, stardate-"

"So. As far as you know, you're unique? No others were made?"

"That is correct."

"You have no connections? No one you've been programmed to know, or to find- other than Dr. Soong, no point of contact?"

"No. Yes. I…I am alone."

Rewind.

"I am alone."

Riker buried his face in his hands and groaned. This did nothing to stop his heart from aching.

On Holodeck Six, Riker opened the Alaskan forest program. Was it the same one Data had used-? No, he wouldn't think about that. The whole reason he was coming out here was to get some clear air into his head. A bit of space.

Riker threw himself into the hiking, choosing the most difficult route through the woods on purpose, so before long his lungs were burning and his body was covered in a healthy sheen of sweat. The air was cold, not unpleasantly so, and even if it lacked the freshness of the real world, Riker found he didn't mind.

When he reached the top of the mountain, he stood tall to catch his breath, hands on his hips. The view of the wilderness stretching out before him, artificial or not, was breathtaking.

Artificial.

And there he went again.

These days, Riker couldn't keep artificial things out of his head. When Data was on the bridge, Riker felt too-aware of him, all the android's little movements catching his eye. When they were apart, which was most of the time, Riker found himself thinking of him anyway- any yellow uniform made him look up, any flicker of gold made him startle. Every morning he woke from a dream wherein he was caught in a swarm of yellow butterflies, only they weren't real butterflies, they were wind-up toys made of rusting old clockwork…

"You should just talk to him," Deanna had said. "Tell him the truth, see what happens."

Riker wasn't sure he wanted anything to happen. But on the other hand- he wasn't sure that he didn't want anything to happen, either.

This was foolishness, of course. Rationally, Riker knew that Data was no different from any other crewmember- there was nothing special tying him to Riker, there couldn't be, that had already been determined.

So why, then, couldn't Riker stop thinking about him?

Shaking his head hopelessly, Riker took a few more puffs of pseudo-mountain air, and then began to head back down the trail.

The ship was docked at Starbase 34, and as the Federation's flagship, she was not there for exploration, oh no. There was a diplomatic 'party' held at Ten-Forward, with representatives from a number of different Federation factions gathered there to engage in small talk and remind each other of how very important the union of planets was. And gossip, of course.

The entire senior crew was required to attend, in dress-uniform; Riker did not especially enjoy these kinds of events, but he was good at them. In the past, he had always been able to charm his way into the affections of at least one attendee (usually female, but hey). Tonight was no exception, judging by the way the Andorian woman he chatted with was giggling at even his worst jokes.

…though there was, in a sense, an exception.

Lieutenant Commander Data looked particularly shimmery in the imitation candlelight that lit the hall. The dress uniform suited him well, if the setting perhaps didn't. It seemed that every time Riker glanced his way (which was too often) the android looked confused. The mechanical way he turned his head, the anxious furrow of his brow, it was almost- no, no almost. It was endearing.

Riker had had a few drinks, more than he should as First Officer, but he was long accustomed to handling it, and he doubted anyone could tell. He felt bolder, though- he felt like some knot in his chest had straightened out, just a little. At the bar, he went for another glass of champagne, and there was Data, talking with some human man who, despite being classically handsome, was invisible to Riker in the pearlescent light the android seemed to be giving off.

(The alcohol blurring Riker's vision, the candlelight making everything flicker- for a moment, before he blinked to clear his eyes, it almost looked like Data had a halo.)

"...coronagraphs were used by twenty-first century human astronomers to detect fainter objects orbiting visible stars, but the technology was later-"

"Alright, alright," said the man, waving his hand in Data's face, the way someone might motion at a sticky door sensor to have it open, or to shut off a desk hologram. "Enough of that. I don't need to hear it, yeah?"

He took his drink from the bar and turned aside, brushing past Riker as he did so; their eyes met and the man rolled his, one shoulder lifting in a gesture of exasperation.

"Bloody robot," he said, voice pitched low for Riker's ears, a wry grin on his lips. Commiseration. Before Riker could say anything in answer, though, the man was gone.

Data was still sitting at the bar, as attentive as always, head tilted slightly to watch. Riker knew without a doubt he had heard that last remark, and he felt something flush through him, a bitter wave in his chest, dull-hot and sticky magenta.

"Hello, Commander," said Data, in the same neutral tone of voice as always. "Are you enjoying the party?"

"Sure," said Riker, taking another flute of champagne as it was offered. "Sure, I was. And you…"

Data waited for him to finish, his politeness as perfect as his posture. Riker didn't care- shouldn't care- he had no reason to care, and yet…and yet… he took a deep breath, the inverse of a sigh.

"...what were you talking about?" he asked. "Uh- coronagraphs? Tell me, it sounded interesting."

And then, quite suddenly, all Riker's miserable certainties were cracked like struck glass. An emotionless machine, he had thought, a soulless, unfeeling, passionless hunk of metal and wires-

Data lit up like a fucking lightbulb and, with an expression of obvious delight, began to chatter happily away to Riker about early astral observation techniques.

Riker hardly followed, he was a little too drunk and it wasn't his background anyways- but Data looked so sweet it damn well hurt.

What was this, hurtling through space towards him? He could feel it prickling on his wrist.