NOTE: This story takes place after “Generations.”
They were all going to be on Starbase 76 for awhile until the Crazy Horse arrived. The convoy had taken them the short distance from Veridian III to a rendezvous with the Atlantis, which had brought them to Starbase 76. Here they were to stay for a full week, the once-crew of the Enterprise-D. Here they were to remain, with no ship to call their own.
A solitary figure walked down the corridor. His stride, purposeful as ever, led him nowhere. He continued to walk, knowing that he could not tire. He was thinking; no, more like remembering. Not processing memories, but remembering moments with the emotions he now had the capability to feel.
After passing it twice, Data entered his temporary quarters. He flopped into a chair, making sure to limit the force with which he hit it. Spot was immediately in his lap, and Data stroked her absent-mindedly. Her purring still took him by surprise. The first few days with the emotion chip, Data had wondered at everything. How soft Spot’s fur was, how cold ice cream was, how gross synthale tasted. All new experiences, and so many to go. His painting had certainly been influenced. Except for that one painting. He had been working on it for what seemed like forever (he had discovered he was not a very patient person), but still that perfect touch eluded him.
He sighed. Everything, all his memories, all his experiences, everything was coming back to him. But now, he felt the guilt, the anguish, the sorrow, the sadness of many things. The happy moments, the red moments, had surfaced first. Now, all that was left were the depressing or embarrassing moments, the black moments. Most were pretty trivial, like pushing Dr. Crusher into the sea during Worf’s promotion ceremony on the holodeck, or causing the destruction of the Enterprise-D over and over when they had been stuck in the Typhon’s rift. Some things were buried so deep that Data didn’t know if he wanted to confront them. So far he had been able to successfully sidestep all of them.
So far.
Until now.
He stood, gently placing Spot on the vacated seat. Desperately he tried to will it away, but emotions also brought a stubbornness. And the memory surfaced.
He had been standing not far from her when she had made her move. She had grown weary of trying to reason with the creature and so had gone, fearlessly, to save two of her comrades, only to have her own life literally stripped away. He had mourned…when had he mourned? At the funeral? No, that had been a time for understanding. Then when? Certainly in sickbay, when Dr. Crusher had announced there was nothing she could do, the realization had come over him. But, when had he mourned?
Then another realization hit him: never. He had never mourned her because to mourn someone, one must be able to grieve, to feel a loss, an emotion, something he had not possessed, then. Now, all that was different.
^\/^\/^
Deanna sighed. The calisthenics routine just wasn’t helping to relax her mind.
Why did Beverly have to volunteer to go on that mission to Forkis III? It’s so boring here without her.
The few days she had already been at Starbase 76 had been dreadfully boring. She had no appointments, no duties. What she wouldn’t give for crew evaluations.
I must be getting desperate. Come on, Deanna. Get a grip. It’s not that bad. At least you don’t have Will around, trying to talk you into some crazy scheme of his.
She smiled to herself and concentrated on her movements. She moved to the soft music playing. She swayed from side to side, to the back, to the front…and fell to her knees in agony. She had been, perhaps, a little too relaxed. Instinctively the walls went up. She fought to keep them there. But something nagged at Deanna, begged her to allow her mind to open to what she had just felt. Knowing what she was facing, Deanna let the wall fall, block by block. Slowly, she absorbed the pain and sorrow bombarding her. A picture formed in her mind, that of a man trapped in a cage unable to say or do anything. Now, the cage door had just been opened, and the man wanted to say and do everything, but only for an instance. Then, the man closed himself in the cage, imprisoning himself once more. He left himself a prisoner, able to glimpse the outside but not experience it. He turned to Deanna in her mind, and she steeled herself as his golden eyes stared back at her unflinchingly. Then, the image was gone.
^\/^\/^
He sat at a desk in the quarters assigned him, chin rested on a fist atop a fist atop the desktop. He stared at her in disbelief. How could she truly be gone? Was all that was left of her sitting before him, a mere holographic projection? His ears told him that someone was at the door. He clicked the device off and placed it in a drawer.
“Come,” he said after the second chime. He forced a weak smile as Deanna entered. “Hello, Counselor.”
“Hello, Data. Is everything all right?”
“Yes. Everything is fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“My self-diagnostic reveals nothing wrong with me,” he replied after a short pause.
“But what about you, Data? you personally?”
“I am fine. May I inquire as to the reason for your visit?”
“Nothing important, I suppose. I thought I felt…I don’t know. Maybe the boredom’s getting to me.”
“Are you not aware of the fact that there are presently seventeen different plays, readings, and concerts taking place aboard this starbase?”
“But none of them seem interesting.”
“Ah…Then perhaps you do not realize that this starbase offers more sophisticated holodecks than the Enterprise does…did.”
Deanna felt a new wave of emotions, different than before but still tinged with a sense of sadness and loss.
“You miss her, don’t you?”
“Who?” he asked, puzzled and yet defensive.
“The Enterprise.”
“Ah, yes. I do. While I look forward to seeing the fitting of the Enterprise-E, whose schematics have already been sent to Geordi and myself, I had come to think of the Enterprise as…home.”
“I know how you feel, Data. Everyone does because everyone is feeling the same thing.” So perhaps that was it. It was perfectly understandably that Data should miss the Enterprise. Like many of the crew, it had just taken awhile for it to “sink in.”
“Yes. I had gathered as much from the general conversations amongst the majority of the crew.”
“She went before her time,” continued Deanna, taking a seat.
“Yes, she did,” replied Data, leaning back in his chair with a sigh.
Again Deanna felt the sadness, the melancholy perturbing his entire mind. Again though, there was a difference in the nuance of sadness. This was more like the first time.
“Data, what is it? You’re holding something back.”
“No, I am not.”
“Data, if I didn’t know you better, I’d say you were lying.”
“I am not, Counselor. I am not holding anything back,” he finished, spreading out his hands.
Deanna did not smile.
“Data, you know full well what I meant. Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“My positronic brain contains much information that I have never told you.”
Deanna could feel a slight fury building but dismissed it for the more prominent problem. Data was deliberately trying to change the subject, divert her attention.
Well, it’s not going to work.
“Data, you’re trying to avoid me, and I want to know why.”
Data stood and paced the quarters. He recalled the minuscule trinkets that had cluttered his room. Each was significant, and yet none were as important to him as the projector. He had been overjoyed when he had found it salvageable. He paced for a few minutes more, trying to decide how to approach his feelings.
He sat back down behind the desk, picking Spot up with one arm and placing her on his lap. He stroked her, bracing himself. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words just weren’t there. Finally he reached over, opened the drawer, and took out the projector.
Deanna looked curiously at the device, not recognizing it. He turned it so it would face the counselor. Then he pushed the button.
Tasha appeared before Deanna with no warning. She gasped slightly at the sight of her old friend, gone from before her eyes for so long. Deanna tried to keep the tears at bay, but she felt the sadness, her own coupled with Data’s.
Her mind wandered back to the short time she had known Tasha. Tasha had been as good a friend then as Beverly was now. Her death had been senseless, so senseless. She could still feel the impression of emptiness, of loss, when Tasha’s spirit had been stripped away.
Finally, Deanna drew her eyes off the image. She looked to Data, who had since turned his gaze towards Spot.
“Data, I…”
Data looked up from Spot and raised a hand.
“It is not necessary, Counselor.”
Now it was Deanna’s turn to pace. She tried to remember all the times Tasha and her had spent together. She let the tears fall as she realized she could remember only a few. Too bad she couldn’t be more like Data. Data could remember everything. Data could…
“Data, you could remember every movement she ever made when she was in your sight, couldn’t you?”
“Yes, Counselor. I could, and I do.”
“Why, Data! Why are you sad about that? I would be happy! You have a record of one of your friend’s lives in your head!”
“Yes, a record of it, which can by no means replace the real thing.”
“But you can relive every moment you knew her.”
“With perfect clarity,” said Data, his voice cracking slightly. Tears were welling, but he would not let them fall; not after experiencing 529 different states of emotions.
Deanna could feel the sadness building again, the resistance to the memory, singular.
“Every moment, every second with perfect clarity,” reasoned Deanna. She laid a hand on his shoulder, giving it a
sympathetic squeeze. “I’m sorry, Data. I didn’t realize… “
“It is all right, Counselor. I have dealt with some basic elements of sorrow.” He did not add since I got the emotion chip, since he was still incapable of lying.
“Of course, Data, but it is in most humanoids’ nature to sympathize with others. Especially when the pain they share is mutual.”
Data placed his hand over the one she still rested on his shoulder. The counselor understood his pain so well because she had been one of the few to share it so completely.
They stayed there, for what seemed like hours, remembering in silence. Finally Data stated that he had to report to the science labs to assist the resident technicians in some tests.
He was just about to step through the door when the Counselor spoke.
“Data, do you mind if I…if I borrow this for awhile?” she asked, pointing at the projector.
“Not at all, Counselor,” and with that he left.
Deanna marveled at Data’s detachment towards his temporary quarters. He felt no attachment to them at all. Truth be told, neither did she, but for the moment she thought of them as her quarters. Perhaps a trip home would help her. Maybe it would do Data some good as well…but where would he go? His home, his birthplace was no more than a deserted, desolate rock. The Enterprise had been as close to a home as he had had. So now, that left him orphaned, orphaned by tragedy.
Just like Tasha, thought Deanna. But other than that, what do they have in common? She picked up the projector.
“What is it that links them?” Deanna was befuddled. “I know they were friends, and I think Tasha was slightly attracted to him, but…well, what do you think, Spot?”
Spot answered in cat lingo. Deanna nodded.
“I don’t know either. Oh, well.”
At the site of Spot curling up on the couch, Deanna yawned. “Are you lonely, Spot? I thought so. Well, I tell you what,” she continued, lying down on the couch behind her, “I’m lonely too, but don’t tell anyone. Worf’s taken Alexander to Qo’noS, Will’s got to attend the court-martial, Beverly’s on a mercy mission, and everyone else has got something to do. So, what do we do?”
Spot yawned.
“Yah, good idea. Or rest at least. Let’s make a deal: I keep you company, and you return the favor, okay? Good.” She reached over Spot and gently set the projector on the coffee table. Tasha appeared again, and Deanna settled back into the couch. Spot demanded attention, softly purring against Deanna. And so they both fell asleep, Deanna petting Spot, Spot curled into the nook of Deanna’s abdomen, dependent on each other for company.
^\/^\/^
The tests had taken longer than Data had expected. An hour and a half for a simple geometric representation of the nearest system. It just went to show the degree of disorder on this starbase.
He entered the quarters, noting that the door was not locked. He should have asked the Counselor to do so. No matter now.
1200 hours. Time for Spot’s lunch.
“Feline Supplement,” he ordered. Unfortunately, the Starbase was not equipped with as vast a variety of cat food as the Enterprise had, and Data had not been willing to program the replicators for such a short stay. Spot had not taken well to the change. Data placed the dish on the floor and waited.
No Spot.
“That is unusual. Spot is usually quite eager to eat by now. Spot? Spot?” he called, as he began to search the quarters. “Spot? Spo…” Data stopped as he saw Spot curled up tight against the Counselor. Several programs ran through his head as he considered his options. He could ask her to leave, kick her out, let her be, or make her more comfortable. The first two seemed inconsiderate and unnecessary. And the third seemed a bit aloof, which left the latter: to make her more comfortable.
Data considered the firmness of the couch with what he knew most humans considered comfortable, what he considered comfortable. A bed would be more suitable. And since he had no need of his, it would not be an imposition.
He picked her up as gently as a piece of fragile porcelain. Spot stretched a good moment before following. He laid her down in what he deemed would be a comfortable position. A subroutine reminded him of how uncomfortable boots were, so he removed the Counselor’s. Then another subroutine suggested that her feet might then get cold. So, Data searched a nearby closet for a blanket. Gently he placed it over the lower part of her body. Spot was soon beside Deanna, curling once again into her abdomen.
^\/^\/^
Data was now completely at a loss of what to do. Most things would create too much noise, and he did not want to wake her. However, a replicator should not cause any restlessness.
“Computer, a canvas approximately 61 cm by 41 cm.”
It appeared in a moment, and Data retrieved his paints, his brush, and his easel, a few more items he had been able to salvage. With the canvas from the replicator, Data was left with only one more obstacle: what to paint. Recent events brought to mind a picture of a woman dressed in gold, with golden hair.
And so, Data started to paint.
^\/^\/^
A half an hour later, he was finished, almost. In the lower right hand corner was the word Forever. The canvas was covered with memories of Tasha. In the middle was a portrait of her, taken from one of the many times he had seen her smile. Scattered around the edges of the canvas were various scenes that he remembered. The tense moments in the courtroom when they had stood trial for the backwardness of humanity. The time she had been forced to fight Yareena on Ligon II, but not the fight itself. What he had painted was the look Tasha had when she placed the glavin on her hand. Her amused attitude at Deanna’s pre-wedding dinner. The time they had had to confront the Echo Papa 607’s killer drones on Minos. And then, on Vagra II when she had been sent through the air to her death. And finally, the serene face she wore under death, the mark of Armus still upon her. The events made a U-shape around the initial portrait.
But there was still an empty spot at the top. Data was unsure of what to put there. As he glanced around the barren quarters in thought, his gaze fell upon the projector, still activated on the table. At the funeral, on the holodeck, with the trees and meadow surrounding her. Now, it was finished. He set the painting aside to dry, careful to make sure it was someplace where Spot would not disrupt it. But something still wasn’t right.
“Computer, another canvas, same specifications as before.”
He set this one on the easel as well. First he painted himself, in the middle, walking down a clouded corridor. But around that, what could he put? He had no memories of what he himself had done, only how he had perceived them. He finished the picture by painting a starfield around the corridor he was walking in. Then in the corner he painted in silver the word Solitaire.
^\/^\/^
When Deanna awoke, the first thing she became aware of was the fact that she was not in her own quarters. Secondly, she became aware of the ball of fur curled up next to her. Then, she became aware of a soft sobbing.
Careful not to jostle Spot too much, Deanna got up from her nap. She had no idea what time it was, and she didn’t want to ask the computer, for she was sure that that would bring his focus to her. She needed to catch him off guard, as devious as it was.
She reached the threshold of the bedroom, and watched him. His head buried in his hands, elbows upon his knees, Data was crying. She could tell that he was trying to weep softly, perhaps so as not to disturb her. In fact, she would have been happy to see Data cry, to see him resolve some of the issues he had been struggling with. But something warned her that this was not the end. Underneath the sorrow, she could feel currents of anger, hatred, animosity, malice, and malevolence growing stronger within him. She needed to help him, before those currents took control of him.
“Data,” she said softly, walking over towards him.
Data looked up at the Counselor as though he had forgotten about her and rued the person who dared disturb him. As the Counselor approached him, he stood. He could not face her now. He wiped the tears from his face with the back of his hand, as he tried to erase all the signs of weakness, of hapless feelings from his face.
Deanna gave him the time he needed and took to looking at the paintings Data had done. The one of Tasha gave her encouragement. At least he was acknowledging his grief. But the second one birthed in her a feeling that was beyond pity, sympathy, everything. She couldn’t identify it, not now. All she knew was that Data probably didn’t know what it was either.
Or does he? The question popped into her mind as she read the title, Solitaire.
“Data, it’s time we had a talk.”
Data looked at her like she were the crazy one.
“Talk? What for?”
“Data, you’ve got a lot of things running through your head right now. You need to sort them out.”
“I do not need to sort them out, Counselor. I need to get rid of them.”
“Data, that’s not a healthy attitude, and you know it.”
Data glared at her, but she stood her ground. Backing off now wouldn’t help anything.
“What do I care?”
Deanna flinched despite herself. The animosity was so inhumane, so un-Data.
“Do you care about your friends, your family these past seven years? Do you care about the captain? Will? Worf? Do you care about Beverly? Do you care about Geordi? or Spot?”
Data stood there for a moment. He did; he cared about everyone that he had known, and that was part of the reason he was feeling the way he was now.
“You cannot understand, Counselor. It is most unlikely that you would.”
“Oh, don’t I? Take this painting of yours, Solitaire. I can tell you exactly what you were thinking when you painted it.”
“It is highly unlikely that you would be able to read my thoughts at that exact moment, especially when one considers that you were asleep at the time.”
“Oh no? You walking down the corridor is symbolic of your life, your path to where you are right now. The fog, the clouded parts, signify your uncertainty about where you want to go next in life. And the starfield signifies the loneliness you feel among many.” She paused. “How did I do?”
“A lucky guess, Counselor. Using simple techniques of psychology, anyone could have identified the picture as representing those elements.”
“Only I’m right, aren’t I, Data.”
“Perhaps.”
Deanna sighed heavily. “Look, Data. I’m not going to force you into anything, but I think it would be to your benefit to resolve the loss you’re dealing with. I know it’s hard; it may have been seven years ago, but if there’s one thing I remember, it is the grief. You can’t let it consume you. She wouldn’t want that; you know she wouldn’t.” She walked to the door and paused before leaving. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Data. I hope by then we’ll have something to talk about.”
The doors closed behind her, leaving him all alone again.
^\/^\/^
Deanna was right, of course. He had to resolve this or he would never have peace again. He needed to go back, back to Vagra II, back to the place of her death. Perhaps then he could make some sense of it.
^\/^\/^
There was no answer as she tried the door again.
“Computer, location of Lieutenant Commander Data.”
“Lieutenant Commander Data is no longer aboard this station.”
“What?” she asked perplexed. “Are…are these quarters still assigned to him?”
“Affirmative.”
She quickly overrode the lock, and the sight that confronted her scared her. The room had been left in a hurry; that much was obvious. Things had been carelessly tossed outside, and numerous bowls of food and water took up much of what precious little floor space there was.
“Spot?” Deanna called tentatively. Surely he had not left her in this…
“Warw?” came the curious cry as Spot bounded out of the bedroom, surely fully expecting to see her master. Deanna quickly recycled the old bowls of food and water and replicated something fresh which Spot chomped down gratefully.
Deanna surveyed the room. Would he be coming back? Many of his things were still here, but would it matter anymore?
“Computer, discontinue reservation for Commander Deanna Troi in three hours.”
“Voice recognized and order confirmed.”
“I’ll be back, Spot. I just have to get some things of mine.” She petted the cat as she ate. “And then maybe we can figure out what that owner of yours is up to.”
^\/^\/^
It had not taken long for Deanna to decide that the only place Data could have gone was Vagra II. There he could resolve his grief. She discontinued use of his quarters, after a little finagling, and with Spot in tow, boarded the Starship Mandela. The captain had graciously agreed to make a stop at Vagra just for her. Hopefully by the time she got there, Data would be ready to talk.
^\/^\/^
How well he remembered this place. Bleak, desolate, barren. Nary a sign of life anywhere, much like his home planet after the Crystalline Entity had destroyed it. Except that this planet held something much more precious: Armus.
He could see the black pool from where he stood as it glistened under the almost stale sunlight. So much time had passed, and yet seemingly nothing had changed. It was just as he remembered it; even the hull of the debilitated shuttle still remained captured in the nearby rockface.
For a moment he doubted this. Why had he come back here? To relive the hell? To relive every memory he had of her, the only one who had ever truly seen him as something more than a machine? True, his friends now, Deanna, Geordi, Beverly, they all recognized him as a sentient lifeform and a good friend, but there had been something more with Tasha. It had been before he had had the emotion chip yet she had sought out the deepest emotions in him, and he realized now that they had all too easily bubbled to the surface in her presence.
But she was gone, gone to this damn place.
“Curse you, Armus!” He shouted the words as loud as he could, listened as his voice echoed endlessly. Then he heard another sound. The sound only Armus could make, a slow oozing permeated every moment by an innate evil.
It rose before him and assumed its shape… but it was not the shape of Armus that he had come so readily to loathe. No, instead it was more the form of… of Tasha rising from the blackest pool.
“Tasha?” he asked, ignoring the lump forming in his throat.
“Almost, Data. I am TashArmus.” The sound was hers, no doubt.
“Who… what happened?”
The figure seemed to sigh deeply as it remembered the trial of years past.
“When Armus killed me, stole my energy, everything that I was from my body, I was still alive in a sense. I existed only as he did, but I fought against the pure hatred and evil. It was one of the hardest fights I’ve ever had, Data, but I finally won. I control him now. I am the ruling conscious.” It seemed to pause a moment. “And, I’ve missed you.”
“I… I have missed you, too. But, do not worry. I will find a way to… to restore you.” His mind was racing. His own father had done it for the woman he had loved: constructed an artificial body to house a completely real existence. He could do the same. He could recreate her and have her by his side for eternity. Yes, it could be done.
“You must hurry, Data. It has been a long fight to maintain the upper hand. I don’t know how much longer I can hold out.”
Data stared curiously at the formation, so like his Tasha in form and movement, and yet she seemd so different. No sparkling eyes – would he be able to recreate that sparkle? No gracefullness – the fault of the battle she was fighting? So many questions had to be answered before he could be positive about this, before he could risk losing all of her forever.
“Data,” it said, reaching out arms that dripped viscous sludge to the ground. “Come here. Everything will be all right. I know that. I trust you. You’ll do nothing to harm me. Come into my arms…if you’re not too repulsed.”
Data could admit to some degree of revulsion in the pit of his stomach even as he took a step forward. All he saw was Tasha, her golden hair, her beautiful eyes that had always looked on him with such kindness. She was beckoning him, and he obeyed.
He could feel the ground give way slightly beneath his feet as he stepped into the pool. Almost there…
And then thick coils entrapped his legs, countering even his superhuman strength.
“What…”
“Foolish android. Apparently that emotion chip has given you nothing in the way of common sense. Did you really think that one puny little girl could possibly fight me?” The sound of laughter filled only with evil reverberated through Data’s frame. “She was dead and gone before she hit the ground. I sucked the energy from her as easily as you pushed Dr. Crusher overboard.”
Data looked up from his encased legs.
“How did you…”
“Oh, I’m inside you know, android. I know everything you’ve ever experienced, including the feelings of the killing machine you became.”
“That was not…”
“Yes, yes. Your brother Lore was kind enough to give you those feelings. I must say, quite an improvement. I could live off of those alone for centuries.” The creature paused as its tendrils kept further and further up and into his body. “Yes, don’t be afraid, my friend. Be angry; be malicious; be evil. It’s so much better. Just think about it: I killed her, for no reason. I was bored so I killed her. Simple as that. I would have killed everyone in your precious landing party, but they didn’t hate me enough. That damn empath…”
“You leave Counselor Troi out of this,” Data said, the urgency and reality of the situation finally taking hold. “It was you all along, was it not? Tasha was never, never in there.”
“Oh, she’s in here, all the hate and anger she held tightly masked at those on her homeworld. She’s the reason I’m still here. Even evil and anger abates after awhile. I needed a fresh supply, just as I do now.”
“Just as you did then.”
“Yes,” came the slithery response.
Data simply nodded in acknowledgement…before he felt the feathery effect of a transporter beam take hold.
The last sound he heard was a howl of anguish, slightly feminine in its tone.
“No!”
^\/^\/^
Deanna rushed into the transporter room just as Data materialized on the pad. And she stopped almost as quickly.
“Could you… give us some time?” she asked the transporter chief, who simply nodded before leaving. She was hesitant to approach the figure huddled on the pad before her. His eyes were wide, like a child’s, but there was the air of trauma around him… great trauma.
More than losing the Enterprise? More than reliving Tasha’s death?
“Data. Data, what happened down there?” She could feel the emotions pouring from him, try as he did to stop them, to destroy them.
“I lost her.” It was the tone of someone in denial, who could not believe what had happened despite all the knowledge in the universe that it had. “She… it was so lonely, Counselor. Feeding off the evil of others, but totally alone. And for a moment, I thought I could help, I thought I could be the one… to end… its loneliness.”
“Data, what happened? I’m here only as your friend; you don’t have to put up any walls to me.” Deanna paused. At least she hoped he didn’t have to.
She could see the change in demeanor and posture before the report, for that’s what it was, a detached clinical report of what had happened, issued from his lips. He didn’t flinch once during the dissertation, and Deanna attempted to do the same. She could already feel him pushing the feelings back, hiding them underneath scars long healed.
“Data, don’t push this away. You can’t just… pretend like this never happened.”
It never happened. Tasha’a voice echoed in his head, mingling with the last howl he had heard from Armus.
Hands clasped over his eyes, he rocked back and forth, trying to break the Sirens’ call these memories had over him. He had to forget, had to erase her from his mind.
“Come on, Data. Why don’t we go to my quarters? They’re just down the hall.” He made no move. “Please, Commander.”
The use of his rank seemed to slip him into a state where any hand could lead him. Just following orders, as he had done with Tasha. But then, he had never truly forgotten.
^\/^\/^
“Have a seat, Data. I have to get something from the other room.”
Data complied, taking a seat in the chair nearest him. Standard guest quarters. But what ship was this?
He heard Deanna returning, followed by a slight thud. He turned his head to see and golden eyes met golden eyes. The small creature regarded him quizzically, as if doubting who he was.
“Spot?” The surprise clearly shone from Data’s face, and from the cat’s as well if that was possible. She was immediately in his lap, begging to be petted. “I am very glad to see you, Spot. I was very foolish to leave you all alone on that starbase.”
“Well, I convinced her to let me accompany her on her trip to find you,” Deanna said, taking a seat opposite of Data.
“That is highly unlikely, Counselor. Despite your empathic abilities, I find it hard to believe that Spot would have such high ambitions or that you would be able to carry on a conversation with her to determine your escort.”
“It was a joke, Data.” Deanna smiled gently, realizing that anything that Data said was good, meant that he was on the road to recovery, especially if it was in such typical Data-esque fashion.
“Oh.” He knew that, didn’t he? “Counselor, may I ask you a question?”
“Shoot.”
He paused, before recognizing the figure of speech.
“What ship is this?”
“The Mandela.”
There was a long pause as Data seemed to contemplate this new information, but what could be so vital about what ship they were on?
“It was not my fault, was it, Counselor?”
“No, Data, it wasn’t. It was nobody’s fault, and that’s what makes it so hard to accept. We couldn’t have prevented or foreseen it.”
The simple explanation seemed to register easily in Data’s mind. It had been a senseless act, to feed Armus and continue its existence. An existence that held no purpose. He had to make sure he did not end up the same way.
“Counselor…”
“Data, when are you going to start calling me Deanna?”
“I had always assumed that first names were to be used only with close friends.”
“Data, why do you think I call you Data?”
“Because I have no other name.”
Deanna laughed quietly.
“It’s because I consider you a close friend, Data.”
“Thank you, Cou… Deanna.”
For a moment, the road to recovery was shattered as the silence settled the situation heavily on Data’s shoulders.
“Data, how would you like to have dinner with me?”
“I would like that very much, Deanna.”
^\/^\/^
Data soon enough found himself in his own quarters onboard the latest ship to bear the name Enterprise. It had felt like a long time, though; living out of a suitcase, as the expression was, tended to do that. And so, it was a great relief, to both himself and Spot, that the Enterprise was one of the fastest built ships in history that was completely spaceworthy.
One night, Data pulled out some of his older pictures, looking over them and immediately spying their flaws, where a stroke was too bold or too thin, where the coloring and impact of the light was off ever so slightly.
Sighing with the devaluation of self-creation that only an artist can appreciate, Data picked up another piece of canvas, brush in hand, and started to paint.
The lines came sure and strong, and his picture soon began to take shape. It was much like an earlier painting, the one he had done of Tasha, the one that hung on the wall in his bedroom. But this time it was darker eyes that stared back at him from the canvas, a face softly framed by dark curls. She stood, dressed in the aquamarine dress that, while not the most flattering, accentuated her grace and elegance. She held out inviting hands that were clasping pale yellow ones.
She had helped him so much since the incident with Armus, and indeed thay had become closer friends… but could they become more? He knew whatever she had had with Worf was over, though the reason behind it still escaped him. Was he ready to love again? Yes, again, for despite all the logical and scientific basings for why he had not had feelings, he had loved Tasha while she lived and after she died. Was he ready? No diagnostic in the universe could tell him the answer to that question. He had to go with his gut instincts, with his feelings.
So, was he ready?
Yes.
He went to exit his quarters and almost ran smack dab into Deanna.
“Oh, Data. I was just about to see if you were home.”
“I could say the same thing.” Her unexpected appearance had caught him off guard.
“Could I… come in?” she asked after a moment.
“Oh, of course, please.” He made a quick glance and determined that the painting was out of sight, safely in the other room. “Please, have a seat.”
“Thank you.” Deanna sank wearily into the chair and welcomed Spot as she immediately jumped into the newly available lap.
“I have been doing some thinking, Deanna.” Why not just jump right into it? He had to say it eventually.
“I know,” came the soft reply.
“What? What do you mean?”
“I mean that it’s taken all my techniques to shut you out of my head so I can concentrate on my work… or get some sleep for that matter, which if I’m not mistaken you have not.”
“I do not require sleep.”
“I know, Data, but I do!” She gave a tired laugh. “Oh, it’s all right, Data. I’m not angry at you. It’s not your fault; I mean, I could have asked Beverly for something, but the things you’ve been thinking… intrigued me, and I’ve been doing some thinking of my own.”
“And?” Data asked after swallowing nervously.
“Well, I’ve come to the conclusion that I’ve been a damn fool all these years.” There was nothing but silence. “You are one of the most considerate, compassionate and tender men I’ve ever known and I don’t know why…”
“I did not have feelings until recently. Perhaps that was a…”
“Data, I don’t believe that for one moment. I think that it was all just in your head.”
Data laughed, a deep throaty laugh that one tends to subconsciously use when you know you’re the only one laughing.
“What’s so funny?” Deanna asked, disconcerted.
“Well, you see, Cou… Deanna, literally speaking, it is in my head. That’s where the emotion chip goes.”
“Data, I think we still need to work on your sense of humor.”
“But, I have been taking lessons and tips from Commander Riker.”
Deanna groaned.
“Oh no. Then we definitely need to work on your sense of humor.”
“That is what everyone says when I tell them that. Is there something wrong with the Commander’s sense of humor?”
“Yes. He doesn’t have a very good one.”
“Deanna, would you… would you like to have dinner with me?”
“Data, I would be delighted.” She stood, carefully placing Spot on the vacated seat. “Where?”
“Ten-Forward?”
“Sounds great. Just lemme go change out of this uniform. I meet you there in… twenty minutes?”
Data nodded.
“And, Deanna?”
She stopped just short of the door.
“Do you think afterwards we could… talk?”
She could feel the rush of grief and agony still left over in his heart, but he was ready and willing to deal with it, all of it.
“Sure. See you soon.” She flashed him an enigmatic smile before leaving.
He looked at his painting once again. perhaps he would show her this one tongiht… or perhaps it would be too soon. One thing was certain: it needed a titled. He took up his brush and lightly wrote three words in the corner:
To New Beginnings.
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