Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Geordi wasn’t the type of person who made it a habit of prying into other people’s affairs. He was generally of the belief that, as long as it didn’t interfere with work, anyone’s personal affairs were their business and their business alone. But every so often, something cropped up that even he couldn’t ignore – and when it involved his best friend, he had to look out for the guy.

Ever since the events of the Psi 2000 virus, Geordi had noticed an odd change come over Data. It wasn’t readily perceptible, even for someone as close to Data as Geordi, but it was just enough to catch his attention.

Whenever a certain security chief came into the vicinity – starting her duty shift when Data was at ops, passing him the hall, sharing a table in the briefing room – Data’s eyes would follow her silently, his eyebrows furrowed as if trying to wrap his mind around some unfathomable enigma. He would suddenly become somewhat quieter – not exactly distracted, for he followed every order as instantaneously as ever – but less engaged with the people around him. He did not ask for clarification of slang or metaphors; he was less likely to attempt to contribute his own, unique input to the conversations around him; even his “approximated human movements” ceased, and he stood as rigid and stiff as, well, an android. He appeared, in his own way, to be . . . lost in thought.

If Tasha noticed Data’s behavior, she made no show of it. She ignored his questioning gaze, and when she spoke to him, it was always in the line of duty, curt and to the point. In fact, when Geordi thought about it, her behavior was a little strange as well – while she had never been quite close friends with Data, she’d never been so distant from him, either.

It wasn’t hard to guess what might have happened to prompt the change in their behavior – almost everyone on the ship had done or said something they wished they hadn’t while under the influence of the virus. People had fought and said cruel things, told each other secrets and vulnerabilities, embarrassed themselves with stunts, had kissed and made love to friends and strangers alike. There was a whole variety of things they could have done while intoxicated, each possibility more embarrassing than the next. And in all honesty, Data and Tasha weren’t the only ones who were acting a little uneasy around one another lately.

But whereas Geordi let all the other strained crewmembers work out their problems in their own privacy, he couldn’t ignore the situation that had cropped up between Data and Tasha. Data was not like the other crewmembers; he was childlike and innocent, with minimal interpersonal skills and no insight whatsoever into the complexities of human relationships. Geordi knew Data well enough to read the expression on his face whenever he stared at Tasha – he was lost, and confused, and Tasha wasn’t offering any explanation.

When Geordi asked Data, Data refused to divulge any information. “Nothing happened,” he insisted. Geordi pushed, but he could get no more out of Data than: “I was told not to speak of it.” And no matter how much Geordi told Data that he was his friend, and he was concerned about him, Data refused to say any more.

Which meant that Geordi had to fall back on Plan B.

“Tasha, can I speak to you?”

It was the end of beta shift, and both Geordi and Tasha were preparing to go off-duty. Data, who had arrived to take command of the gamma shift, was watching them curiously and looked faintly puzzled, but Geordi ignored him.

Tasha glanced up with him, looking slightly surprised. “Sure, Geordi,” she replied. “What is it?”

Geordi shook his head. “Let’s talk in the turbolift, okay?”

Now Tasha looked as bewildered as Data, but she obligingly followed him into the empty turbolift.

“Deck ten,” Geordi said.

“Deck six.”

The turbolift rumbled into movement – but the moment they were clear of the bridge, Geordi called out a halt. The turbolift slid to a smooth stop, and Geordi turned to face Tasha.

Tasha looked at him curiously. “So, what is it you wanted to talk about?”

“Well . . . ,” he paused for a moment to collect his thoughts “Listen. I know something happened between you and Data when the Psi 2000 virus was running rampant on the ship –”

“Did he say something?” Tasha broke in, an expression of shock and anger crossing her face.

“No, no!” Geordi assured her hastily. “I keep asking, but he keeps saying that ‘nothing happened’. But I’m his best friend, and I know him. Something’s eating at him, and I know it has to do with you, because he keeps staring at you.”

Tasha was beginning to look a bit cornered, so Geordi quickly added: “I’m not asking you to tell me what happened. That’s between you and him, okay? I get that. Just – I wanted to remind you that Data isn’t like everyone else. He doesn’t understand, and he’s obviously lost and confused right now – and since neither of you are talking about it, you’re the only one who can explain it to him.”

Tasha’s expression had smoothed out somewhat – the fear and anger had drained from her face, and instead she had a faint look of guilt. “You want me to talk to him?”

“Yeah. I mean, I know it’s hard to get Data to understand some things about human interaction, so I’m not asking you to perform any miracles. If you can’t help him, you can’t help him, and that’s that.”

“Oh. Um, sure,” Tasha replied. “I guess I can see what I can do.”

“Thanks,” Geordi said, with a smile. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate it, whether or not you actually get through to him.”

“Of course. I – I really didn’t mean to hurt him.”

Geordi shook his head. “Oh, I’m not sure that’s even possible. If Data were here, no doubt he would remind us that he is ‘not capable of feeling hurt’. He’s just confused right now, and hopefully a simple explanation will sort it out.”

Tasha smiled wryly, and nodded. “I’ll talk to him,” she promised.

This was the kind of thing best left to Counselor Troi, and in another situation, she might have asked Deanna for help. But this was her mess, and it was her responsibility to clean things up. Besides, for Deanna to be able to help, Tasha would have to tell her about what happened – and Tasha was fairly certain she didn’t want to talk to anyone else about it just yet.

She spent hours lying awake at night, running conversations through in her mind. Nothing sounded quite right – either she was giving away too much or too little, and no matter what she did, she just never felt right about what to say. Two, three, four days passed with little progress, and it wasn’t until the fifth day that she threw in the towel with planning and jumped in headfirst.

It was early in the morning, at the start of alpha shift. Tasha passed through the hallway of the crew quarters, headed off for a long, hard workout with three of her security crew. As she approached the turbolift at the end of the hall, the lift doors open, and Data stepped out, apparently having just returned from his duty shift.

Data greeted her with a small nod. “Hello, Tasha.”

“Data,” she acknowledged.

He peered at her for a moment, as if trying to figure something out, but then he gave her one of his small, awkward android smiles, and stepped aside to pass her.

Tasha wasn’t sure what made her do it – she certainly hadn’t been planning to – but as he brushed by her, she suddenly reached out and grabbed his wrist. Maybe it was the way he looked at her, or maybe she was just exhausted after having spent so many sleepless nights planning for this conversation, but suddenly, she had to talk. “Data,” she said quickly, trying to get the words out before she could change her mind. “Listen. Can we go somewhere private to talk for a moment?”

Data blinked at her, looking faintly surprised. “Of course,” he told her. “My quarters are right here – is that acceptable?”

“Uh, yeah. That’d be great.”

He nodded, and led the way to his quarters, where he stepped aside to let Tasha in first. She obliged.

Tasha had never been in Data’s quarters before. Somehow, she found, they were not quite what she’d expected. They were fairly Spartan, that much was true, without stray socks littering the floor or leftover glasses scattering tabletops, but then there was a painting on the wall and a plant in the corner, and several books were scattered neatly across the desk. It was unusually neat for any human’s quarters, but it didn’t feel like the bare necessities of a standard-issue room either. It was . . . personal . . . and she felt distinctly as if she were intruding on Data’s space. Which, she supposed, she was; she just hadn’t expected it to be so evident.

“We are in private now,” Data said as the door slid shut behind him. “You may speak.”

Suddenly, Tasha wasn’t so sure this was a good idea. She still wasn’t sure what she wanted to say, and how on earth could she help an android understand why anyone did what they did? She eyed the closed door apprehensively, but then, as she caught Data’s curious gaze, she took a deep breath and struggled to swallow her anxiety. She knew she was making excuses again, and Data deserved better than that.

“Do you – do you mind if we sit down?” she asked, gesturing at the couch at the side of the room.

Data gazed at her. “That would be acceptable.”

Self-consciously, Tasha approached the seat and sat down, tucking herself back up against the wall as much as she could. Data followed and sat himself lightly on the edge next to her, his strong gaze never leaving her face.

“Look, um . . . Data,” Tasha began, once he’d settled himself. He turned his head slightly, and she couldn’t help a small smile at his expression of intense curiosity. It helped alleviate the knot in her stomach somewhat – but it was still a struggle to not flee the room then and there. She swallowed hard. “Data,” she tried again. “About . . . what happened between us, with the Psi 2000 virus . . .”

“I have not told anyone about that incident,” Data said. “It is, as you said, as if ‘it never happened’.”

But although his voice was steady, the expression on his face was confused and hopeful, as if he were trying desperately to alleviate her fears, but had no idea how or why those fears even existed. Tasha forced herself to smile warmly.

“I know,” she replied. “But about that – I didn’t mean to be so harsh, and you deserve an explanation.”

“I have been confused as to the nature of the events that transpired,” Data admitted. “But you do not have to explain it to me if you do not wish to. I am not ‘hurt’, and if you would prefer, I will continue to ignore the occurrence.”

“I want to explain. I was unfair to you.”

“I see. You may continue, then.”

She heaved a deep breath and met Data’s eyes. He blinked back at her. “Data, you didn’t do anything wrong that day. How I acted – it wasn’t your fault. I was just . . . scared.”

“Scared?” he echoed. “Why?”

“Because . . . do you remember what I told you about the colony I grew up on?”

“Yes.”

“Well, Data,” she said slowly, all the different ways she’d thought of to say this over the past few days tumbling through her head at once. “On that colony, showing vulnerability could get me and the people I cared about in a lot of trouble. And – that virus – it made me show you those vulnerabilities that could have gotten me badly hurt. It scared me.”

Data was still staring at her, and now his eyebrows had drawn together in concern. “I would not hurt you,” he assured her gently.

“I know,” she replied with a small smile. “But sometimes, when people have been really badly hurt, they’re always scared. It doesn’t matter who they’re with; they’re just scared of being hurt again.”

“I see,” Data replied slowly. And to her surprise, it appeared that he did. The confusion was gone from his expression, and rather, he was watching her worriedly. “I hope I did not upset you.”

“No,” she assured him. “You didn’t. In fact, Data, if that was going to happen with someone, I’m glad it was you.” She smiled softly. “I don’t think anyone else on this ship is quite as capable of the same gentleness you showed, and it really helped to know that sometimes, my vulnerabilities will be met with kindness and gentleness and attention.”

Data looked surprised, and faintly pleased with himself. One corner of his lips twitched upwards in a small smile. “Really?”

“Really,” Tasha said. “You did wonderfully.”

He smiled slightly. “Is there anything more I can do to help you?”

And his eyes were so sincere and imploring that she couldn’t help but smile back. “No, that’s alright, Data. Just . . . be yourself, okay? It’s comforting to know that people as kind and gentle as you are out there.”

“Of course,” he replied solemnly.

“Well, I’d better get going,” she said suddenly, and stood. “They’re probably waiting for me on the holodeck.”

“I see. I appreciate the explanation.”

“Of course,” she said with a smile. “I just wanted you to understand why I did what I did.”

“I do,” he assured her. “Thank you.”

Data sat on the couch, staring at the door, long after Tasha had left. He was deeply concerned by what he had heard; he’d known that she’d faced a difficult past, but he had not been aware it continued to affect her so profoundly. She was a good friend, and he wanted her to be happy – when she smiled, it was pleasant, and the thought of her being troubled by fear even in the company of friends unsettled him. He wanted to help.

Gentleness and kindness, she’d said. It was comforting to her. He’d tilted his head slightly in thought. He’d never considered himself unusually gentle, but if she found his behavior helpful, he would continue to express that kindness and compassion to the best of his ability.

He blinked slowly as his programming formulated a new directive: he would find a way to help.