Work Text:
☆☆☆
“You seem very focused this evening,” Data says, suddenly, lifting you out of your reverie and depositing you back into the harsh light of reality. “However, judging by the fact that you have not moved your paintbrush from that spot in three minutes, I must assume that what you are preoccupied with is not your vision of what this will be when it is complete. Am I correct in my analysis of this situation?”
There’s a long drip of blue running down the canvas, originating from the expanding, webbed blob of blue that’s soaking just beneath where the skyline was supposed to be, making it seem as though the horizon is melting down onto the landscape that you’d spent the last three of these art lessons painstakingly crafting so that it was as close to your memory of your home planet as possible. It’s ruined, you realize, thanks to your wandering mind. All of that work ultimately for nothing and suddenly you want to rip the picture to shreds, wet paint or no wet paint. Biting your tongue helps you curb that impulse, but you can’t stop yourself from throwing your paintbrush into its cup of water with more force than necessary. You push your hair back with both hands and smile tightly at Data, who is still looking at you with an expression of polite concern.
“I’m sorry,” You say, thickly, as your throat feels unbearably tight. Angry tears prick at your eyes and your lower lip trembles. “Really, I am. I just didn’t have a good day. I should have canceled, but I was hoping that painting with you would cheer me up… but it didn’t, and now I ruined my picture. I just shouldn’t be allowed to touch things. I ruin everything.”
“That is a statement with no factual basis,” Data says, setting his own brush down and stepping away from his immaculate painting of what you think must be an earth city from a long time ago. “You have made an error on your canvas, but I believe that it can be corrected. And I have not judged you to be particularly destructive. Certainly not with everything, as there are many things in the universe that you have yet to encounter and many things that you use on a day-to-day basis that are left intact after you come into contact.”
“Okay, so maybe I was exaggerating a little,” you mutter. Even the usual amusement you would feel after hearing Data take something at face value is buried beneath the pit of self-loathing that has formed in your stomach. “But that doesn’t mean I’m completely wrong. I messed up at work, today. I made a mistake that’s going to take my commander all night to fix — I shouldn’t even be here, right now. I should be helping but he insisted that I leave, probably because I would only make it worse. He yelled at me in front of everyone, which was so embarrassing… I only got transferred to the Enterprise eight months ago and I haven’t proven that I belong here in any capacity.”
Sometime during your rant to him, the tears that had been stinging your eyes has finally welled up and over, wetting your face and you rub furiously at your cheeks, trying to dry your tears. You shouldn’t be doing this, complaining to and crying in front of a superior officer. Even if you and Data have become friends since you transferred, the last thing you needed was for him to think that you were weak or incapable of handling life on this ship. There were cadets who would trade their right arm to serve here, under Captain Picard.
“…Perhaps you would like to pet Spot?” Data offers, quietly.
You lower your hands from your face, meeting his gaze. “Huh?”
“I find that when I am facing a period of great tension, it is easier to come to the right conclusion when I am petting Spot. Her presence is soothing and she is not sentient, therefore incapable of the judgment that human companions sometimes offer.”
You sniffle and wipe at your eyes again, swallowing back against the rest of your self-pitying rant where it lies in wait, ready to be spewed. “Yeah? Okay. I’ll give it a shot.”
“Excellent. Please sit. I will find her and bring her to you.”
He directs you to his couch and you awkwardly amble over, watching as he moves in perfectly measured steps around his quarters, searching for where his pet may be hiding. He finds her under the kitchen table and retrieves her with gentle movements, lifting her to his chest and murmuring something to her, too softly for you to hear, until he comes closer again.
“Spot, this is a friend of mine. I would like you to spend some time with them and offer them the companionship that you often bring to me.” Data says to her, before gently placing the cat on your lap.
Though you’ve been over before, Spot had never seemed to take much of an interest in you. And part of you wonders what you’ll do or say if she decides that you’re not worth her time. But she sniffs at your hand and walks a small circle in your lap before settling down, apparently deciding that you’re a comfortable enough perch. You scritch at her head, trying not to focus too much on how intently Data is staring at the two of you.
“Who’s a pretty kitty?” You ask, as you run your hand down her back. “Who’s a good kitty? It’s you. Yes, you are. The sweetest kitty I’ve ever met.”
Spot seems to enjoy the praise… but not as much as Data, who nods affirming when you look back up at him.
“You are correct in your handling of her,” He says, nodding again. “Spot is indeed a pretty cat. And it seems that she has decided that you are adequate company.”
That’s high praise from him and you know it. That’s why you smile. And that little expression seems to be some relief to Data, who politely sits beside you.
“You are no longer crying. Spot’s presence is working as I determined it would. I am glad.”
“It was a good idea. Thanks, Data.”
“You are welcome,” he reaches over and gently pats Spot on the head, before continuing. “Though I cannot feel stress in the same way that humans do, I have had some experience with “bad” days, myself.”
“You have?” you ask, doubting that a little. Data is practically perfect. You’ve never seen him be wrong about anything.
“I have,” he confirms, despite your misgivings. “Though I am capable of performing most tasks as ordered, some things do continue to allude me. Social interaction, for one, but also the intricacies of human communication. I often find that I, too, am yelled at in front of people. If I am speaking too much on a particular subject, for example, I am sharply told to discontinue. Though I have grown used to it, I remember a time at the Academy where one of my professors did not find my presence in her class to be beneficial to the learning environment. She considered me unfit for Starfleet though I excelled academically and would often attempt to make things more difficult for me. I was asked, along with a peer, to perform a hypothetical situation in front of the class. When we had decided that I would take the role of the captain in our demonstration, she became very angry. She stated that an artificial being, such as myself, could never be a Captain in Starfleet. I attempted to explain that my knowledge of the information needed for the demonstration was what made me adequate for the position, I inadvertently interrupted her. It did not help her understanding of why I was chosen to lead. I remember not understanding why she was getting louder or why she did not approve of my existence. It was a singularly unpleasant experience and I found that I did not want to return to her class.”
“Did you?” you ask, taken by his story. You never thought much about what the Academy was like for him, and you can feel fury at the way that he was treated burning through the resentment that you had been harboring against yourself. “And please tell me that you told someone about how she was talking to you. That woman doesn’t deserve to be teaching anyone!”
“I did return. I decided that she could not possibly determine my value because she did not know enough about my design or programming to come to these conclusions. Though it was difficult to understand why she responded to me as she did, it was evident that I was not to be held responsible for it. But had I let her response deter me from continuing my education at the academy, I would not be here in this moment.”
“So… you don’t think I should let my commander’s reaction influence how I go from here?”
“No, I do not.”
“…Maybe you’re right,” you concede, offering him a wry smile. “And, for what it’s worth? I’m glad you didn’t let that bitter old harpy keep you from pursuing a career in Starfleet. Maybe you should invite her onto the Enterprise so that she can see just how well you’re doing. They say that success is the best revenge.”
“I do not think that it would be beneficial,” Data said. And you start to laugh, because of course Data wouldn’t be interested in revenge… but then he continues on. “You see, she did not believe that I would be an adequate Captain. I will have to wait to extend an invitation when I am given such a position.”
“I really hope I’m there to see it.”
“I do as well.”
You fall into companionable silence, then, with your cheek pressed against his arm and with Spot stretching out to reap the benefits of lying on both of your laps, her purring reminding you that not everything is as awful as it seems. Not with friends like these.