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If Data could feel emotions like excitement, he imagined he might have skipped on his way down to engineering.
He had just returned from the official Federation trial regarding the humanity of androids. It was really more of a formal acknowledgement of the unorthodox Starfleet hearing Picard and Riker had undergone to establish his personhood.
The outcome had been in his favor. The trial had been ruled valid, and he was now legally a citizen of the United Federation of Planets. He rounded the final corner to engineering (10% faster than average, he noted with a vague curiosity) intent on telling Geordi the news first.
“That thing’s got more circuits than sense, if you ask me. It definitely wasn’t worth coming all this way for.”
Data halted in the doorway, neural nets whirring as he struggled to contextualize the dismissive smirk in Geordi’s voice. Engineering was thankfully empty, only Geordi and a young ensign working side-by-side at a bench, facing away from the door. Neither one had noticed him enter.
“Yeah, I sure wouldn’t want to be the one performing maintenance on it day in and day out. It breaks during nearly every away mission it’s on,” replied the ensign with a rueful chuckle. Geordi laughed as well, elbowing them jokingly.
“Well I guess you’re lucky you have a masochist as your chief engineer, huh?”
Data shook himself out of his stalled state, turning to flee with quiet footsteps before they could notice him eavesdropping. His mental processes had ground to a halt, only a single thread looping the same words over and over, screaming, no no nonoNO!
It took exactly 10.359 seconds for his digital recall to replay the memory at real-time speed. He replayed it as the turbolift took him to the crew deck. He replayed it as he walked from the lift to his quarters, eyes unseeing. He entered and sat absently on his couch, not bothering to turn on the lights. Spot jumped up on his lap and his hands came up to cradle her, stroking her back repetitively. Despite three more play-throughs, the memory remained unchanged and terribly precise in his digital recall. He curled forward, burying his face in Spot’s soft fur. There could be no mistaking the subject of that conversation.
What good was a legal ruling in the face of a best friend that secretly viewed him as nothing more than an overcomplicated, faulty machine. He had planned to wait until after the trial to confess his feelings for Geordi—or, well, not so much confess as lay out the many logical reasons and empirical evidence he had gathered as to why Geordi would benefit from a romantic relationship with him, and then politely await his response while pretending his circuits were not buzzing with anticipation. But now…
The captain had informed him there was a party planned that night in Ten Forward to celebrate the legal victory. All crew, except for a sparse watch to man the bridge, were invited to attend. Data stood stiffly, internal chronometer indicating he should start getting ready. He stood before the replicator, face reflected bleakly in the black surface. He tried on a smile but could detect no warmth in it.
If he would never truly be seen as a person, he would just have to settle for being the prettiest toy, he told his dark reflection silently, and as the idea took hold it burned along his neural pathways like acid—hot and corrosive.
- -
Geordi arrived at Ten Forward early, nerves and excitement having gotten the best of him. Normally he wasn’t one for large gatherings, preferring one-on-one conversation or a small group game night to the chaos and noise of an honest-to-god party. But this party was special, being a celebration for his dearest friend, Data, so he made an exception.
He leaned as casually as he could against the bar, chatting distractedly with Riker as he scanned the room, eager to spot Data’s characteristic golden glow amongst the growing crowd. The captain had shared the big news of Data’s legal victory with the crew that afternoon, inviting them all to join a celebration in his honor. He was so excited for his friend he could just about burst with pride. It was about damn time.
When Data stepped into the room Geordi’s VISOR feed locked onto him almost immediately. And then his jaw dropped.
Data was wearing sheer lavender silk wrapped close around his slender torso, a long wedge of white gold chest visible where the neckline plunged nearly to his waist. Streamers of the same light purple material hung in near weightless strips from his shoulders, loosley gathering again at the cuff of each wrist. Tight-fitting dark pants and golden heels accentuated his long legs as he sauntered through the crowd with inhuman grace. As he got closer the glint of gold at his wrist and throat resolved into delicate jewelry chains, wrapped and looped around the pale column of his throat and manacled around each wrist.
Riker whistled low. “Wow, ‘I dream of android’,” he said wryly, a bemused smile on his face. “That’s one way to celebrate, I suppose.”
Geordi barely heard him over the ringing in his ears. The blood had drained from his face, his hands balling into fists of their own accord. Lavender. He might be the only person on the ship that knew Data’s strong aversion to the color. Data had admitted to him once that the color reminded him of his encounter with Kivas Fajo. It reminded him of being enslaved and de-personalized as a collectors item with no hope of rescue. Something twisted sharp in Geordi’s gut, adrenaline spiking through his chest. Something was wrong.
Before he could think he had made it across the room to the outskirts of the group gathered around his friend. Data was even more stunning up close, untouchably ethereal and indefinably alien. Matching lavender eyeshadow turned his heavily lidded expression sultry, his golden irises flashing fever-bright in the low light. Dr. Crusher and a medical ensign were crowded close, gushing enthusiastically about his outfit, while Deanna Troi looked on with a thoughtful expression. Her black gaze found Geordi’s across the press of bodies and she flashed him a worried frown. Geordi gave her back a small grimace and pushed closer.
“Absolutely beautiful, Data!” the ensign was saying. “Where did you find the replicator code for such a stellar outfit—you look ready to dance tango or salsa or—“
“Would you like to try the tango together, Ensign? I have downloaded several dance sequences in preparation for tonight’s festivities,” Data cut in, voice soft and deferential. The subtle changes to his tone and mannerisms seemed undetectable to the crowd surrounding Data, but it set alarm bells ringing through Geordi’s mind. Something was definitely wrong. He decided enough was enough and elbowed his way to the center of the crowd of admirers.
“Data!” he gasped, a little out of breath from all the shoving. Data turned and looked down his nose at Geordi. Way down. Jeez-louise, those heels make him tall, Geordi thought, a twinge of attraction mixing uncomfortably with his unease.
“Hello, Lieutenant La Forge,” Data replied. Each precise syllable was undeniably icy, impersonal in a way Geordi had never before heard from his friend. He gaped up at him uselessly. After a short pause, Data turned away, saying, “If you would excuse us, the ensign would like to try out some of my dance programs.”
- -
The party passed in a blur, time stretching and skipping as if his chronometer was malfunctioning, though a quick diagnostic detected no fault. It was as if he was observing his actions from somewhere outside his body, a half-step from normal, a millisecond out of sync with the real world. He watched with disinterest as he twirled partner after partner across the impromptu dance floor in Ten Forward.
Tango, salsa, free-form 21st century club moves—all dances were performed flawlessly thanks to his pre-loaded algorithms. I am a much better dancer when I give up trying to act human, some ugly, corrosive subprocess supplies. It wasn’t really Data dancing, it was just hardcoded reactions and decision trees moving his limbs with graceful precision in response to the music and his partner’s actions. Yet no one noticed the difference, or if they did, they did not care. And why would anyone miss his bumbling, clumsy attempts at dancing from his heart. And what a poor imitation of a heart it was—inferior, mechanical, broken.
Dripping in chains of gold, surrounded by a dizzying swirl of admiring faces, he tried to accept the truth they had told him so many times, in so many ways large and small. He was truly nothing more than a living doll, a sophisticated toy to be played with and rightfully discarded when the real people tired of his tricks.
When the next dance ended, he realized with dim curiosity that his respiration was close to red-lining. How strange, as it was considerably more rapid than his exertion levels and the temperature of the room would rightfully justify. He begged off the next number and grabbed an ice water from the bar, hoping the liquid would help regulate his overheating processor cores. He leaned against the wall, alternating sips of water with deep, measured breaths, trying to regain his control.
“Data, what is going on with you?”
At the sound of Geordi’s voice, his eyes widened involuntarily before he remembered himself and shuttered them again behind lavender painted lids.
“To what are you referring, Lieutenant La Forge?” he queried. Some small subprocess in his positronic network twinged at how coldy he was speaking to his best friend. He doesn’t consider you his friend, screamed every terrible, burning frame of that afternoon’s memory, flooding his cache anew with that acid burn that might have been shame or hurt, if he had been human.
“All this,” Geordi replied, gesturing broadly to Data’s outfit, lip curled in obvious disgust.
Data noticed a sudden dimming of his circuits before he abruptly shoved that thought process to the bottom of his priority queue.
“If my attire is not to your liking, Lieutenant, you are not obligated to continue viewing it.”
Geordi brows drew down over his VISOR and he let out a frustrated sound, stepping forward into Data’s personal space. Data fell still, memory banks reliving how Riker’s had frowned at him before stepping close to dismantle his body and refute his right to life with the flick of a switch. Picard won, Data reminded himself, struggling to maintain his grip on the present. At least legally, he was a person. He straightened his posture and met Geordi’s gaze.
“My liking? My—” hissed Geordi when they were nearly chest to chest, his jaw clenching with anger. He broke off—darting a discreet look around to check who might be in earshot—before continuing more quietly, “You hate lavender, I know you do!”
“Mr. Fajo informed me it was the ideal color to complement my dermal coloration.”
“And why would you listen to anything that sick bastard slave-trader said?!”
The bitterness and disgust in Geordi’s tone landed like a slap, and Data couldn’t help but search his conversation tree for the most calculatedly hurtful reply he could.
“Well, I suppose I really do have more circuits than sense then, as per your previous judgement,” he enunciated precisely.
Geordi staggered back, facial expression registering as confusion. “What?!” he cried.
His voice rang loud in the lull between songs, and Data was suddenly acutely aware of the stares they were attracting from all sides. The weight of curious eyes prickled on his dermal like phaser sights. He could tell his grip on the present was faltering, processors heating up as waves of memories battled for space with his sensory input. I must leave now, he thought frantically, or I will show them all what an android looks like when it ceases to function. Broken toy. Brokentoybrokentoybroken—
“You will have to excuse me, Lieutenant,” he demurred, barely able to spare enough processing power to move his lips in time with the words. He turned abruptly and strode out the door, Geordi’s gaze on him registering as nearly a tangible weight.
He made it to the turbo lift before he lost control of his leg servos, sliding heavily to the floor. His respiratory processes cycled faster and faster, out of control, and he hid his face in his hands. The last visual of Geordi’s face played over and over behind his closed lids. He had been unkind to Geordi. He had hurt his best friend. He was defective.
Somehow he made it back to his quarters. He changed out of the party clothes (hurled with forcible precision into the recycler) and sat curled in one corner of his couch, face buried once more in Spot’s soft fur. He may have chosen to change into the gray hoodie because it reminded him of one of Geordi’s. He may have felt, as much as an android could feel, like he was alone in the universe.
- -
Geordi was in front of Data’s door, hands braced on his knees as he tried to catch his breath after running all the way there from Ten Forward. After a long moment he straightened, smoothing his uniform nervously, and hesitantly requested entrance.
After an interminably long pause that had him holding his breath, the door swished open.
He took in the dimly lit room and his eyes lit at last on the huddled form on the couch. Data looked up at him with wide eyes, his hair uncharacteristically rumpled. The sight of him in an oversized hoodie squeezed something in Geordi’s chest. After the first shocked pause, Data stood, posture stiff, yellow eyes intense, and Geordi hesitated at the door frame.
“May I come in, Data?” he asked gently. Data broke eye contact, directing his nod of assent at the floor, hands coming up to grip his arms defensively.
Geordi stepped inside and the door swished closed behind him, plunging the room into silence. He cast about helplessly for what to say, still at a loss for how the night had veered so off course. He had been so excited for the party, he had even entertained the idea of asking for a slow dance or two with Data when everyone else had trickled back to their quarters, and maybe broaching how he felt about his android friend.
“I… didn’t get to tell you earlier, but congratulations on officially gaining citizenship in the Federation,” he said, wincing slightly at his awkward tone. It was a weak peace offering.
But Data’s shoulders relaxed half a notch and he replied, voice gentle, “Yes. Indeed, the party in Ten Forward was held, in part, to celebrate that event.”
Geordi stepped forward, noticing how Data’s eyes widened a fraction. He slowly reached up, resting a hand on Data’s shoulder. The intensity with which the android tracked his movement sent a shiver of sudden desire through him.
“Then why-” he paused, trying to swallow around the sudden lump in his throat, “why didn’t it seem like you were celebrating?”
The android cocked his head to the side, one eyebrow raising in confusion. “I believe I performed my part in the celebration perfectly adequately. By all metrics I could measure, my dance partners had an excellent time. I believe you could say we ‘tore up the dance floor’, or at least as much as possible without causing any real structural damage to the ship.”
The unexpected humor startled a small chuckle out of Geordi, but somehow this just made his heart hurt more.
“I’m not talking about them, Data,” he said, catching the android’s gaze and holding it. “I’m sure they had a blast. But you didn’t look happy out there.”
Data frowned, looking away as he replied, “I am an android. I do not feel, therefore it is hard for me to ‘look happy’ in any authentic way. But, I will endeavor to perform more adequately in the future if it causes you distress.”
“Come on, Data,” Geordi groaned, scrubbing a hand over his hair in frustration. He stepped away to pace the width of the room, gesturing emphatically. “You know that’s not what I meant. Just tell me what’s wrong!” He stepped close once more, laying a hand on his friend’s arm. “I just want to help,” he finished softly.
Data stilled, eyes flicking rapidly over every detail of his expression. Geordi held his ground, hoping that whatever Data saw convinced him of his earnest desire to help.
“You. You don’t think of me as human,” Data whispered finally, his soft voice impossibly bleak.
“Of course not-” Geordi started and Data reeled back as if slapped, hurt plain on his features.
“Whoa, whoa,” he continued hastily, bringing his palms up. “Slow down that big positronic brain of yours for half a second and let me finish.
“I don’t think of you as human. But that doesn’t mean for one second that I consider you any less of a person. You are an android, yes. And, you are a decorated Starfleet officer, a painter, a poet, a cat-owner, and most importantly, you are my best friend.”
He took Data’s wrists gently, noticing how Data’s gaze flicked up briefly before hiding again behind pale lashes.
“But I heard you and the ensign earlier. You. You said—”
His words stuttered to a halt.
“What, that circuits thing you mentioned earlier? Data! We were just talking about the new tricorder models. We had to pick up replacement parts while we were docked here for the trial because they have proprietary boards that kept breaking. A classic case of over-engineering.”
Geordi grimaced as the full contents of that conversation came back to him.
“I would never refer to you as a ‘thing’, I hope you believe that,” he said softly and Data’s face looked so relieved Geordi couldn’t help but pull him into a tight hug.
His friend faced so much discrimination—dehumanization (for lack of a better term), rudeness, mirth at his expense. The fact that he had thought Geordi secretly held the same views made his heart ache.
They stayed like that for a long moment, Geordi sniffling quietly, face pressed against the soft material of Data’s hoodie.
Finally he pulled back, swiping under his VISOR surreptitiously to clear away the wetness from his eyes before summoning his best smile.
“Hey, what do you say to a redo? I didn’t get a chance to dance with you at the party. We could put something on and give it a try.”
“Geordi, I fear I’m— I can’t dance as well without the pre-loaded algorithms. Would. Would you rather I load one?” he said, voice hesitant.
“No, just dance the way you want to dance,” Geordi said earnestly. ”I know I’ll like it.”
“How can you be so certain, Geordi?” Data asked, head tilting slightly, eyes intent on his face.
“Because I’ll be dancing with you, Data,” Geordi replied, trying to fit as much warmth and reassurance as possible into his expression.
This earned a small nod, and the ghost of a smile. Data took Geordi’s hand in his, settling the other on his back to bring them into a traditional dance frame. His touch was so tender it made Geordi silently curse anyone who had ever called Data mechanical, unfeeling.
They spent the rest of the night swaying to the soft saxophone melodies of Data’s favorite 20th century jazz, Geordi’s head on Data’s chest so he could hear the soothing thrum of his friend’s kind, gentle, synthetic heart.