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It had been a difficult twenty-four hours for everyone. Data’s daughter, Lal, had quickly become an adored member of the crew, and her loss had hit everyone hard—even those that had barely known her, like Will. He couldn’t help but think of his mother, and how Data must have been feeling… even though he claimed he felt nothing.
The last thing Will had been expecting was for Data to turn up on his doorstep claiming that he needed to apologise.
“You… what?” Will blinked at him, confused by his very appearance, never mind the statement he’d just made.
“I must apologise for a misunderstanding,” Data repeated. “When I uploaded Lal’s memories to myself—”
“Wait, wait.” Will held up a hand to stop him. “Come inside. This doesn’t sound like something we should discuss in a hallway.”
Data considered for a moment, then pursed his lips and nodded. “You are correct. Privacy may be desirable.” The movement of his head was stiff and mechanical, so unlike the fluidity he’d gained over the past few years living on the Enterprise. Will found it strange.
Will stepped aside to let him pass, unconsciously watching for any hint of damage one would expect from a grieving father. He found nothing—just a pale mask of emotionlessness, as there always was. But it was almost too emotionless. Data always attempted to emulate and understand the emotions of the crew around him, but now his expression was rock-solid and lacking any feeling, real or simulated. It was thoroughly unlike the second officer Will had come to know and… respect.
Data sat down on Will’s couch, hands placed neatly in his lap. “Are you uncomfortable with me being here?” he asked simply, and Will realised with a start that he’d been hovering awkwardly at the edge of the room, staring at the gold-tinted android in his quarters. “I am able to leave.”
“No,” Will answered, taking a few steps towards him as the door slid shut. “I’m just… confused. The captain put you on leave, I wasn’t expecting to see you for… at least a few days, I don’t know.” It was mandatory time off to grieve, seconded by the ship’s counsellor. Will could remember the meeting—he’d been invited, at Data’s request—where Deanna told him, firmly, that it was unfair if he wasn’t extended the same courtesy as the rest of the crew.
“I do not require leave,” Data replied, parroting his argument from the same meeting. “I am not emotionally affected by Lal’s deactivation, as I do not have the capacity to grieve.” But there was something odd about the way he said it, and a twitch of an unreadable expression across his bioplast skin, before he locked his features in place again.
Somehow, Will didn’t fully believe his words.
Data continued, his tone even and measured as if he were giving a scientific report. “I also thought that it would be advantageous to resolve our conflict while it is still recent.”
Will blinked. “Conflict?” he repeated. “I don’t remember us having any conflict.” He’d barely even seen Data or his daughter throughout her regrettably short life, aside from duty shifts. And Data was someone he took great care with, after their rocky start at Farpoint. He always winced when he thought about some of the things he’d said, as a naive, clean-shaven young man on his first Galaxy-class starship. But Data had never held it against him, and he was eternally grateful. If they’d had some conflict, Will wasn’t aware.
“Ah. Yes. The human memory is not entirely reliable. Allow me to remind you.”
Not wanting to interrupt, Will quietly sat down in the seat next to Data. He forced himself to stay focused on what Data was saying—his speech always had a uniquely hypnotising nature to it, and on more than one embarrassing occasion, he’d fallen asleep listening to his poetry. Will never intended to be rude— quite the opposite, he found Data enthralling—but sometimes that siren’s song was just too forceful to resist. And this was important. It wouldn’t be helpful to make Data repeat his explanation.
“While Lal was aiding Guinan in Ten Forward, you encountered her for the first time.”
Will’s confusion was swept away, and he suddenly knew exactly where this was going. He could already feel his cheeks heating up with embarrassment. Of course, Data would want to talk to him about this. With everything else that had happened, he’d almost entirely forgotten.
Data cocked his head ever-so-slightly, fixing him with a pale amber stare. The gesture was almost cat-like. “She had been asking Guinan about romantic gestures that she had witnessed, and wanted to try. She kissed you without your consent, and then I entered and spoke harshly about the situation. I did not understand at the time, but with the addition of Lal’s memories to my own, I do now. And I would like to apologise for both her actions and my own.”
“Look, I, uh…” Will struggled to phrase what he wanted to say. “I really appreciate your thoughtfulness, Data, but it was just a small misunderstanding. There was no harm done, and then you went through so much…”
“Do you accept my apology?” Data prompted, when Will paused again. He seemed almost… desperate. Like he’d been losing sleep over this, but Will knew that wasn’t possible, even if Data was capable of sleeping.
“Yes,” Will answered instantly. “I just want you to know that the apology isn’t necessary. I know I… encouraged her, and it’s not fair for you to take all the blame.” He managed a small smile. “Besides, I’d be pretty mad if I saw you kissing my daughter.”
Data’s mouth pinched into a frown. He didn’t reply.
Will hesitated, then moved slightly closer and gently placed his hand on Data’s shoulder. “Data…?” he questioned, his voice. “Are you alright?”
For a long moment, Data did nothing. Then his head snapped up again and he looked directly at Will. “Do you think I was wrong?” he asked bluntly. “Do you think it was right to create Lal when I did not know that she would survive?”
Will was taken aback, but he didn’t recoil nor remove his hand. “No,” he answered. “I know it’s… so, so hard to lose someone you loved, especially when they were only there a short time, but—better to have loved and lost than never loved at all, isn’t that the saying?”
Data nodded slowly. “Lord Alfred Tennyson,” he said, almost distractedly. “I am still… unsure. Commander—”
“Will,” Will corrected him gently. “We’re off-duty. Call me Will.”
“I will endeavour to do so. Will.” Data hesitated. Will wondered how many calculations he was making, and how many were dedicated to the here and now. Did he compute the angle of light bouncing off of Will’s skin as they talked? Did he calculate the pressure being exerted on his shoulder? Was he trying to quantify a feeling highly improper to feel in this moment, as they discussed a topic so deeply personal—
No. Will severed that train of thought before it could go any further. No, Data didn’t have feelings. Or at least, he was emphatically convinced of that fact. And this was about Lal and Data. Will just happened to be the one with a reassuring hand.
“I was her father,” Data continued, “and she was capable of emotions. She loved me, and her memories are so clear… but I have never loved. I could not return her affection. She experienced cascade failure because she cared for me and I was not able to stop it, nor even assure her that I loved her.” He paused. “Will, I have always wanted to be human. I have always wanted to be able to feel. But I must now assume that…”
“…the same thing might happen to you, if you ever did?” Will lifted an eyebrow. “Data… well, I—I’m no cyberneticist, but I know you, and you’re the most advanced artificial lifeform ever created. Dr Soong worked on you for years, and we already know that Lore came before you—I bet there were others, too.
“Lal was wonderful and she adored you, I know that, but she was also your first attempt to ever recreate yourself. I’m sorry for an, uh, insensitive comparison, but you can’t assume things about a finished product based on a prototype.” Will hesitated. “And… if it’s any consolation, I don’t think you’re as incapable of emotions as you think you are.”
“Will, I…”
“You did love Lal,” Will continued, before he ran out of steam. “I know you did. I barely saw you with her, but Deanna told me all about what happened. You fought for her, you cared for her, you were patient and taught her how to understand— that’s love, Data, and you don’t need to have flesh and blood to feel it.”
Data continued gazing at him, silently, for a long moment. Then he said, “Thank you.”
“I will always, always be here for you.” There wasn’t a dishonest bone in Will’s body.
“I…” Data tilted his head, making a contemplative or calculating expression. “I am familiar with a traditional human gesture of comfort, where one is embraced gently, to offer reassurance and warmth…”
Will didn’t need to ask; he could infer what Data wanted. Wanted— that was an emotion, wasn’t it? He wondered why nobody had ever thought to tell him. But Will thought it was best not to bring up any more philosophical musings, and pulled Data into an affectionate hug.
Data’s eyes fluttered closed against his chest; he didn’t embrace Will back, but that was okay. They’d never been this close before, and Will tried everything to calm his racing heart, knowing that Data could likely hear it, but it was all in vain. He was also surprised to find that Data was pleasantly warm, even more than the average human, and at that moment, he had never been less like a machine. The way he breathed, with an odd tick every few seconds as if he were struggling not to cry, and the way his hands rested on Will’s leg, gently tugging on the fabric to ground himself.
A year earlier, Data had been proven by law to be a sentient, living being. Will had always felt terrible about his role in that trial, but this was the worst he’d ever felt—how could he have ever, ever denied Data’s personhood, even when forced to? Data was more human than some humans he’d ever met… and a better father than his own, to boot.
“Are you okay?” Will asked quietly, tightening his grip around Data’s shoulders.
“I do not know,” Data answered. “You are… helping.”
“That’s good.” Will struggled for something else to say. “Do you think you should see Counsellor Troi?”
“I have already been seeing Counsellor Troi.”
“No, I mean—right now?”
Data lifted his chin, looking up to meet Will’s gaze. “You are more than sufficient,” he said simply.
“Okay,” Will murmured. He didn’t have the willpower for a louder volume, after that. “I don’t think—I don’t think I told you how sorry I am.”
Data blinked at him.
“About… about Lal. I wish I could’ve helped.” But that wasn’t all. “And… and the trial, with Maddox, and all the things I said when we first met—”
Data pursed his lips. “You told me not to blame myself. And yet now
you
are blaming
yourself.
I recommend you to listen to your own advice.”
Will shut his mouth with an audible click.
“As I said in our first encounter, prejudice is very human. I do not fault you for being insensitive at the start, especially because I cannot be offended. I now value you as one of my closest friends,” Data continued. “The trial was also entirely out of your control. If you had not represented Commander Maddox, my rights would have been automatically lost. You needed to present a strong case. I do not fault you for removing my hand or deactivating me, either.
“And there was nothing you could have done to save Lal. You are not, as you said, a cyberneticist. I do not think there was anyone in the universe that could have helped her.”
Will didn’t say anything for a long time. He didn’t know how to respond. Data had an acute skill for cleanly slicing through his mental walls and saying exactly what had to be said; with Data, there was no desire to keep up appearances. Data would never care if he was bubbly and bright or sombre and pensive. And no matter the situation, he was always what Will needed.
“Do you think you’ll ever want to try again?” Will finally asked, tone thick with restrained emotion.
Data blinked, gently detangling himself from Will’s arms so that they could see eye-to-eye. “If you are referring to the creation of another android as my child, I do not know. I would like to carry on my father’s work, but after my failure, I know I have much more work to do before it is likely that I will achieve a stable positronic brain. Even then, I have learned that being a father is much more difficult than I anticipated, and I do not know if I would be ready for the challenge.”
“I know how you feel.” Will let out a small sigh. “I’ve always wanted kids of my own, too, but my dad and I… well, he left me on my own when I was fifteen. Not exactly stellar parenting. I guess I’m just… always worried that I’ll turn out like him.”
“There is no evidence to indicate that you would be anything but a good father,” Data replied. “You have many parental qualities that I lack, and any family would be improved by your presence.”
Taken aback, Will attempted to reply, but only managed, “Data…”
“If I were to ever construct another android, I would be appreciative of your assistance.” Data looked at him expectantly, as if there were a question hidden in that matter-of-fact statement.
Will stared at him. “Are you asking me to co-parent with you?” he questioned, stunned.
“I cannot guarantee I will ever succeed,” Data reminded him, “but yes, if the opportunity were to arise.”
“I… I don’t think you understand how much of a big deal that is,” Will said. “In human culture, parents are typically romantically involved, or very close in other ways—”
Data gently interrupted him. “I am aware of the implications. There is nobody else I would extend this offer to.”
The weight of Data’s words hit Will square in the gut, and he realised once again how close they were sitting. “Christ,” Will squeaked, in a very undignified and unprofessional manner.
“If you would not be willing…”
“Data, I’m honoured that you would even consider my help,” Will stressed. “Yes. The answer’s yes. I’d love to.”
“I am glad.”
Will held Data’s gaze, wondering if Data could sense the thick tension in the room as well, and wishing he had something sharp to cut it with. They both appeared to be out of things to say, but Data was clearly not in a hurry to leave. Was there something else he wanted? Will couldn’t tell.
The silence was finally broken when Will cleared his throat and asked awkwardly, “You, uh, want to get a drink in Ten Forward? You caught me just as I was planning to head there, and sometimes—well, humans find it useful to clear their head with food or drink after a heavy conversation.”
“‘Heavy’?” Data repeated, questioning, as he cocked his head in that cute, cat-like manner once again. But Will didn’t need to clarify—he figured it out on his own. “Ah, I see. Are you referring to the emotional weight of our discussion?”
“Yeah, that,” Will replied. “So, what do you think? I know you can’t taste drinks, but it might be… nice.”
“Nice. Yes.” Data nodded. “I will accompany you to Ten Forward.”
“Great.” Will cleared his throat and got to his feet, clumsily searching for a new conversation topic as they both made their way towards the door.
Then Data gave him an almost-smile, and Will’s anxiety flooded away.
“Tell me about Spot,” he decided. “Is she doing well? I heard you’ve been trying to train her…”
And Data seemed eager to oblige.