Chapter Text
“Do you understand my decision?”
“Of course I do, Data. Honestly, I think it’s the right one.” Nevertheless, Geordi walks with heavy steps down the hall. “That doesn’t mean I won’t miss you.”
“I will miss you too, Geordi. There is nobody aboard the Enterprise that I could confide in more than yourself.”
“It’s better than you being missing in action. That year and a half was just awful.” Geordi can see the shape of the updated Starfleet uniform on Data’s torso, its shoulders corresponding to his VISOR’s version of red. “I’ll find enough excuses to come visit. Maybe use some of that leave time I’ve stocked up.”
“I would appreciate that. I will endeavor to do the same.” Before the wardroom door, Data stops and faces his friend. “I must thank you, again, for your forgiveness.”
“Hey, it’s nothing.” Geordi takes Data by the shoulders, the glow of the android enveloping his fingers. “Even if you’re on some deep space station, I know you’re there for me. Seriously, thank you, Data. The past seven years would’ve been a lot different without you.”
Data has mastered the appropriate method for reciprocating Geordi’s embrace, no longer the stiff pole he often morphed into when appreciative gestures struck. He holds Geordi’s back tightly, hit with the urge to abandon his reassignment and gallop away on the Enterprise. Withholding himself, he recognizes that urge as an instinctive response to regret, and once the men detach from each other he remembers his decision.
“Let’s not make them wait for the man of the hour.” Geordi nods to the door. “C’mon.”
Inside, the joined crews are alive with celebration and glee, sharing drinks and chattering as they commemorate the reassignment of a valued officer. The Enterprise has returned from their rescue mission, coming right back to the station to return the Bajoran diplomats they saved.
Picard had intended to enter Sisko’s office to submit a report regarding the rescue, but he was met with Sisko, Data, and an unexpected proposition. At first he suggested some time to think, but one look at his android convinced him that he ought to let the bird fly. Data has grown, and he knew it was time to let him keep exploring.
The Enterprise crew refused to mourn. They will dismiss Data with joy, wishing him well by staying on the station a bit longer to celebrate.
Sisko was happy to host. Even now, he comes to his new lieutenant and puts a hand on his shoulder. “My friends!” he calls, his thunderous voice drawing the whole room to his speech. “A warm welcome for Lieutenant Data! Back from the dead, reinstated into Starfleet, and now my finest strategic operations officer.”
Data quirks a brow at the inaccurate title. “I am the only strategic operations officer you have ever commanded, sir.”
“Then it’ll be easy for you to keep that adjective of finest, won’t it?” Sisko gives a hearty pat on his officer’s back before gesturing to Data’s old captain. “Captain Picard, speak for us, won’t you?”
Picard is relieved by the shift in his relationship with Sisko—it must’ve taken handing over a prized officer to quell the tension between them. Near Data and facing his crew, he assumes each of their reactions as his own.
“With all due respect to the officers on Deep Space Nine, I have always known that my crew is the finest in Starfleet. You all have persevered in difficult circumstances, and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that Data’s bravery was a beacon for us all to turn to.”
Data has never qualified himself as a brave man. He wonders if lacking a sense of fright and bravery are truly synonymous.
“Data,” Picard directs toward his ex-second officer—his apprentice, in some ways. “You are entirely deserving of your position here, and you are going to do wonders for this station. I know you may claim that you’re incapable of sorrow, but just remember that my crew and I will hold that sorrow tenfold. You will be deeply missed.”
That is as good a blessing as any. Data glances down at the hand Picard offers and takes it, clutching his role model’s palm with refined pressure calculations. “Thank you, Captain.”
“Now,” Picard sighs, driving away the somber clouds, “this is a reassignment, not a funeral. Let’s congratulate Lieutenant Data with some celebration, hm?”
The crews cheer for him as he takes a glass of champagne and wanders through his friends. He is indifferent about the spotlight, neither proud to claim it nor quick to shed it. Making his first choice for conversation, he meets with Dax and Julian as they share a plate of small fruits.
“I’ll miss the gold,” Dax sighs. “It suits your complexion much better than red.”
“Still an improvement over blue,” adds Julian.
Data has no opinion on the color that cloaks his shoulders. “I had not considered the aesthetic ramifications of a new position.”
“Well, either way, I’m glad you’re coming aboard the station.” Julian tempers his adoration in public, saving his truest thoughts for a later, more private time. “I hope the people here aren’t too difficult on you.”
“On the contrary, I enjoy the social environment on the station. I have already met several unique humanoids, and I look forward to working alongside some of them.”
Dax folds her arms and glances at the wall-hugging shapeshifter. “What, like Odo?”
“Indeed. The security chief and I have dwelled on our similarities; we agree that we are…‘fish out of water.’”
“With malicious counterparts, too.”
“Jadzia,” Julian scoffs.
Data does not mirror Julian’s offense. “Yes, we have discussed that as well. He tells me I am fortunate to have only one family member and not an entire species of hostile relatives.”
“Lieutenant!” Kira comes by to greet him, putting an end to the moral dilemma. “Welcome to DS9, officially. I’m looking forward to having you at Ops.”
Data touches his champagne glass to hers. “I intend to serve to the best of my ability.”
“I’m sure you will.” Her smile fascinates Data; he wishes he could possess one so warm. “How’s progress coming on the mainframe?”
“Swimmingly. Chief O’Brien has drafted several schematics to make interfacing more efficient. I hope to help him with modifications over the next few weeks. Also, I would like your permission to siphon from the power grid for a personalized workstation in my quarters.”
“We can do that, I’m sure. Do you know which quarters you’ve been assigned?”
Data is ready to answer, although he stops to consider the wishes of his partner. Their relationship is not a secret, but Data will not be the one to boast each step forward they take together.
“My quarters,” Julian mumbles, keeping the brag as small as possible.
Kira nods, withholding the urge to roll her eyes. “I should’ve figured. Look, I’ll approve the power transfer, but if you two don’t work out, Data gets the room. I’m not gonna reconfigure power and renovate different quarters just because of a breakup.”
“Noted, Major.” Julian matches her mocking grin.
Data fathoms the possibility of his relationship ending, but it does not exist as an enormous possibility to him. A rather miniscule one, to be frank.
“Speaking of,” Julian hums to his partner as they drift away from the women, “I heard the last of your things were beamed aboard earlier. Did you check our room?”
“Not yet, but I will sort them this evening.” Data adds it to the bottom of his priority list. “I do hope I can have your assistance yet again in sorting my belongings.”
“Oh, gladly. We’ll have to pour some wine while we’re at it.” Julian starts to distance himself as another friend approaches. “I won’t take up your time now, then, if I get you all evening.”
Data lets the praise grace his mind even as he turns to Counselor Troi. She hugs him, thanks him for all his service, and asks that he talk with her whenever they cross paths. He is a friend and a client to her, and she wants to make sure his personal journey progresses well.
He asks her to confirm that she senses nothing empathically off him. She assures him that he is on his own now, far from Lore’s influence and free to take control of his own thoughts. His reactions, whether or not he calls them emotions, are created by him and him alone.
That evening, after the Enterprise has disembarked and the bustle of the station has diminished, Julian wishes his staff a good evening before heading to the habitat ring, excited to see the progress of his renovated quarters.
When he steps inside, a bright burst of orange zips across the room, escaping its perch on the couch and disappearing into a partitioned room. Julian frowns, bearing half the mind to check himself for symptoms of hallucinations.
“Data?” he calls to the space.
Data steps out of the room the comet had disappeared into. “Good evening, love.”
“Evening—Data, what was that that came through? A cat?”
“Ah. Yes.” Data glances back at where his pet shrinks away in aggressive caution. “That is my cat, Spot. She is shy when moving to a new location, but I am certain she will adjust. Are you alright with her in our quarters?”
Julian crosses to Data and peers into the room, meeting the thin eyes that watch him underneath a pile of equipment. “It’s been a while since I’ve owned a pet. I hope she adjusts to me.”
“I know she will, in time. So long as you are kind to her.” Data returns to his work, picking up a support panel for his disassembled computer terminal. With Kira’s approval, he has relocated the terminal to Julian’s quarters, where he intends to reconnect it to the power grid.
“Who did she stay with on the Enterprise? Commander La Forge?”
“Lieutenant Barclay. Although, Barclay informed me that she gave birth around ten months ago. It seems her offspring will remain on board.”
“Quite the legacy to leave behind.” Julian reopens a box of Data’s possessions, remembering how Data described each of the memorials inside. “I have more shelf space in the living room—should we put a few of these out there?”
“If you find it appropriate. I would not want to intrude on your space.”
“Data, this is our space. I want your style to overlap with mine.” Julian takes the crate. “Come help me decide where we should put a few things.”
A collection of classic books are lined up atop a console table, against which a stuffed bear slumps. Lacking the high shelves that would protect his instrument from the explorative feline, Data chooses to store his violin in its case and under their bed. They both agree on tall plants to occupy the corners, and the paintings from which Data takes inspiration are put in the living area.
His most recent work, and Julian’s stern favorite, is put up in their bedroom so Julian can marvel at it every night. Data thinks aloud about if he should add more, but Julian insists on the simple beauty of it. He even warns Data that Quark might try to pawn off paintings by an android if he ever learned of Data’s hobby.
Data memorizes the view of the stars from their window. He has never had windowed quarters, to which Julian pities him.
“The stars in this window are special,” Julian remarks. “This specific view of space—it feels like it’s mine.”
“But it is Bajoran space,” Data counters.
“Right. I just mean in a personal, figurative sense.” Julian has infinite patience when it comes to Data’s misunderstandings. For all the glory in Data’s talent and personality, occasionally stumbling over nuance is not an inconvenience to Julian. “As the station rotates, sometimes a star shifts out of view, and I imagine it’s off on holiday until it comes back around.”
Data has already memorized the position of each star from this vantage point; he knows it is a marginally harder task for a human to tackle. “You know the position and designation of each one?”
“Of course. Star charting is typical Starfleet education.”
A blithe and simple answer. No room for argument.
Data tries anyway. “Memorizing this collection of stars based only on their positions is extraordinary nevertheless.”
“It’s nothing special. Even in a full rotation, the view is pretty easy to memorize.”
Maybe it is. Every clue Data gathers has the potential to be innocent, easily attributed to a unique skill or concentrated practice. All the details are so unremarkable, nobody would even consider looking into them, like replicated jewels amongst authentic ones. Data cannot determine what is his own paranoia and what is worth prying apart.
He wants to go just a step farther this time.
“Is it?”
Julian does not look away from the stars. He can tell this has strayed from a simple query about navigational memorization.
“It is,” he asserts.
He is not ready, Data surmises. Exercising vague confirmation is Julian’s way of dodging the topic. What that topic is exactly still eludes Data.
Or, he pretends to be blind to it, even though the truth is embedded in his processor. Garak was the keystone, the last piece that drew each odd puzzle piece into a coherent image. He wielded an Occam’s razor against Data and cut up whatever contrived theories the android had poised.
The true answer was revealed, and now Data wants to shove it back into the jungle of mystery.
Because, even if unintentionally, Julian does clench his jaw when he is cornered. He has reacted to moments that are otherwise mundane, and Data’s flawless memory has recalled them. Julian made astronomical calculations in seconds, withheld his strength when playing racquetball against O’Brien, and—worst of all—flinched when Geordi compared Data to augments.
Augment. The razor is woefully sharp. Data cannot turn his gaze away from its gleam.
And if it were so, Data would be confronted with another test of his loyalty. It is wrong to expose his partner; it is also wrong to lie to Starfleet. Once he crosses the threshold of the truth, he is faced with the forked paths of love and duty.
He is operating on speculation, and such a venture is a hazardous one. Forcing labels on his partner is not appropriate, nor is keeping quiet about them. He promised to never keep heavy secrets from Julian again, and that includes the conclusion he has reached about who Julian really is.
“Julian.”
Data offers just his name, crafting his tone with an edge of warning. He is warning his partner of what he intends to say.
Julian hears everything he needs to know. His teeth ache with the strength they are forced together, and his folded arms have tightened into an immovable straitjacket. Data is at the precipice, peering at the chasm below. He’s about to jump.
“I must tell you that I never accepted your reasoning for contributing to Lore’s hearing,” says Data. “I…investigated it further.”
It is a kinder way of saying him. Data investigated Julian.
Julian swallows. If he lets Data keep speaking, they’ll both end up entangled in the thorny pits of that chasm.
“Garak provided me with insight on your body language that led me to my conclusion.”
Damned Garak, of all people, is the one to tip Data in the painfully correct direction. Julian had never considered telling that untrustworthy tailor, yet somehow he gave Data more information than either of them could predict.
“And I must be honest with you, Julian. I believe you are—”
“Data.” Julian’s interruption is sharp and cold, forcing a halt to the sentence.
Data yields to that interruption. He almost wants it.
With his mind made up, Julian stiffly rotates to face Data and pushes his closed fists down to his sides. In several slow seconds, he relaxes, flushing out his tension and starting again.
“Data,” he repeats, now as a soft endearment. “Did…did I ever tell you about that teddy bear I have out? The one against your books?”
Data is at a standstill. He wanted Julian to speak, yes, but not to divert. A frivolous explanation about some stuffed animal has nothing to do with their discussion. “Julian, we must address—”
“I know! I know we do—but I want to tell you about this bear. It’s very important to me.” Julian takes Data’s hand, squeezing it hard and tugging him to the console table where the pathetic artifact slouches.
Data assumes Julian would have the maturity to face the topic instead of aggressively steer away from it. Perhaps recalling a memory will soothe him enough to broach the subject.
“I’ve had him for as long as I can remember. He’s nothing remarkable—not some clever gadget or fantastic toy—but he was enough. Just a proper teddy bear.” Julian scoops up the dreary bear in both hands, looking over its amateur restitching and flattened fur. “My parents said I could have a newer toy, something that would be more fun than this bear. I didn’t understand—I was happy enough with him—but I figured they knew better than I did.”
Data cannot predict the purpose of this story; he cannot even fathom how it holds nostalgic value for Julian. He exercises his reticence.
“Well, they couldn’t deny that I loved this one. They wouldn’t go out and get a new bear—they’d stick with the one they had. They’d take what already existed and just…improve it. However they could.”
That especially is strange to Data. He has some knowledge on parenthood, but he is not accessing any information about human parents that would vigorously improve their offspring’s toys. New ones are replicated as replacements; the cherished, special ones remain as they are. Cherished and special.
“So, they restuffed him, rethreaded all the stitching, even changed out the beaded eyes. There was hardly a single part of the original bear left behind—I wasn’t even sure he was my bear!” Julian sighs, resting his sorrowful gaze on the animal’s shiny black eyes. “But they gave him to me and said, ‘Yes, this is Kukalaka, the same bear you’ve always had. He’s just a little…newer.’ I accepted it and moved on. To this day, I accept that they gave me back the bear I knew back then, even if all but his name was changed.”
The spirit of nostalgia is more abstract than expected—that is all Data can glean from that story. He fails to see how it adds to their real conversation. The android is wholly perplexed, craving a logical connection between some story and the crux of Julian’s identity. They are utterly unrelated to him.
“Maybe he isn’t the same. Maybe he is.” Julian offers the bear to Data, urging him to hold the treasure. “But either way, he’s all that’s there. Whatever he was before my parents changed him can’t be brought back.”
Data inspects the bear silently, developing a critical analysis of its aesthetics that he should not share with Julian. He knows such blunt observations are not preferred in regards to sentimental objects.
He memorizes the fur’s color, the eyes’ material, and the general viscoelasticity of the bear’s body. The stitchwork is examined next, up until he comes across the peculiar work done on the left leg.
Shoddy, haphazard, and of a completely different thread. It is a sufficient job, but hardly a professional one. It contradicts Julian’s story.
A glance up and parted lips are enough for Data to earn permission to ask about it. “Did your parents send him—this bear—to a professional restoration business?”
“Of course.”
“Were any modifications made to him since then?”
“Not that I know of.”
Indeed, a contradiction. This supposedly refit bear should not have a messy stitch job anywhere.
Again, Julian has provided Data with a mystery, although a rather unfulfilling one. There is a conundrum with no leads, a devastatingly dull closed room that gives the android nowhere to go. This bear never underwent a refit. Julian’s story was not real.
No, it has to be real. Julian did not distract Data and insist on telling a story just to make up a fairy tale. Julian would not shroud himself in hypocrisy and wield the very deceit that Data once used against him.
The story is true, and the bear’s alterations are false. The contradiction persists, clashing in his processor.
Data knows that he is missing something. That empty, abstract something plagues him, almost wounding his rigid processor. He has all the facts before him, all a computer like him could ask for, but he is still ignorant.
He does not understand. He never could. He can say that over and over again, and it will not bring him any closer to understanding.
Only his father would soothe that discrepancy. You’re not supposed to understand, assured the mental representation of Doctor Soong. In his cybernetic dreams, his creator could walk with him in his incomprehension, encouraging him to embrace the empty sky and soar through it. You are the bird, were the words with which Doctor Soong exalted his son.
Data could at least recognize the purely metaphorical meaning of those words. Even if he did not know the message, he had the capacity to acknowledge a metaphor.
His attention is drawn back to the pathetic stitching, and he asks himself why he did not consider the remaining, improbable truth. The only possibility left: both the bear and the story exist simultaneously. After all, one is a physical object and one is an intangible series of events. To make them coexist, one simply must change the latter into a metaphor.
The bear is out of his mind now. He eyes Julian, and he puts a new metaphor into Julian’s character description. He retells the story in his mind, swapping in a different name and changing out a stuffed animal for a young boy.
It should have been obvious. Perhaps it would have been to a normal human.
Julian is the bear.
His partner never meant to distract Data from the topic; he has instead told the entire story through metaphor. Julian disguised himself as a stuffed animal, hiding behind fairy tales and analogies to answer Data’s accusation. He does not grasp why Julian chose this unnavigable approach.
“Julian.” Data sees a new man before him, yet the same one. “Why…?”
“Why what, Data?” That question is nearly a plea, an impoverished cry from Julian that is delivered in a weak, cautious voice.
He sounds scared to ask. He does not want to know Data’s question.
Thus, Data should not ask. He must deduce for himself why Julian spoke in riddles, and why now Julian begs him not to request an explanation. Julian keeps avoiding the blatant truth, even though it is quite clear that they both are aware of it. He simply does not want it spoken aloud.
Data figures the quarters do not have surveillance cameras or listening devices. The only such machine in the room is Data himself, with his recording eyesight and his perfect memory log.
It clicks.
Julian must have kept this secret for years, and he has done so very diligently. Even when he wants to tell his partner, he must find a way to confess without a permanent record stored in an android brain. He must maintain deniability.
And in that venture, he has granted Data the same right. They both can know the truth and simultaneously deny it. All that has been recorded in Data’s memory is a few minutes of stargazing followed by a story about a teddy bear. If Julian has a secret, Data knows nothing about it.
He abandons his question and tries again.
“I did not realize this bear was so important to you.”
Julian exhales. Data did it. When confronted by a nonanswer, Data pushed past his binary thought and applied abstraction to the issue. Data conquered the metaphor and responded in his own, wordless way. Neither of them have said anything, and yet they have shared so much.
“Very important,” Julian mumbles as the stuffed animal is given back to him. “I’m…glad I could tell you about it.”
“I am glad you told me. I always want to know more about you.”
Gratitude overwhelms Julian, sinking from his throat to his stomach and pricking at the corners of his eyes. He swallows down a heavy lump in his throat and gathers the strength to push out an exhale. When he speculated about telling this secret to somebody else, he never anticipated this outcome.
Data is still standing here, thanking him for his vulnerability. He has not run off to report an illegal human, nor scowled with jealous anger at an artificial man. It is simply inputted as another part of Julian—a unique one, but nothing worth rebuking.
And whether for Data’s stoicism or sympathy, Julian is grateful. He can’t find the words to express the infinite lengths of his appreciation. “Data,” he tries, his throat tight. “Thank—thank you for letting me tell you that story. Nobody’s ever been interested in hearing it before.”
Data draws him in, allowing the wounded child to hide his teary face against his shoulder. He has memorized dozens of methods for assisting in emotional situations, and he figures he should forgo his ungraceful way with words at the current moment. He merely holds Julian, allowing his uniform to scrunch in Julian’s clenching fingers. His frame is a sturdy cornerstone for the might of Julian’s sorrow, bearing well against how fiercely Julian clings to him.
“I’m sorry,” Julian chokes. “This isn’t—I shouldn’t be acting like this—”
“There is no obligatory way to act. You do not need to be sorry.”
“Still—some doctor I am if I can’t keep it together—”
“You are off-duty. You are not standing here as my doctor. I want you to experience your emotions as you are meant to.” Data pities himself for lacking the ability to empathize. “For my sake,” he adds. “Please continue to feel your emotions.”
Julian has reduced himself to silence, red eyes, and a crushing embrace. He stares at the window across the room, pulling back from the peak of disgraceful tears and collecting himself. “You are a good man, Data,” he ekes out. “I have always thought that. Since the day we met. A good, honorable, dependable man.”
“Thank you, Julian. Those words are precious to me when they come from you.”
With enough resolve in his heart, Julian lifts his head and cups Data’s jaw, finding the soothing gaze of his partner. “You might say you can’t reciprocate, but I do care about you a lot. I—I love you, really. I love you, and I’m so incredibly thankful for everything you’ve done for me.”
Indeed, Data knows he cannot echo those words, nor reflect their sentiment. He appreciates Julian in an objective and technical sense, but he cannot burgeon feelings that are not in his programming. Maybe at one point, with Lore’s influence, he could have felt the urge to say I love you, but that opportunity is destroyed and his computational way of thinking will not suggest such words.
Nor can he lie and say words without any meaning. He must be as Julian requests: just himself.
“I am glad I mean so much to you. I will do everything I can to earn that appreciation.”
And for Julian, that is as good a reciprocation as any. In his own way, Data loves him. Just because the words are different, that does not mean there is no truth. Data speaks in his own metaphors, whether he realizes that or not.
Julian does not feel any warmth in his kiss with Data, nor does the android’s pulse quicken, but it is Data and that alone is precious to Julian. Simulated physiology will not change that.
In his heart, he thanks Data for allowing what nobody will ever accept. Every part of him has been exposed, and Data has embraced it all with kindness and understanding. Julian is not freakish to him, nor even a security risk. He is simply a man, just the same way Julian sees Data.
The distinction of artificiality crumbles into obsoletion. They both have bodies, and heartbeats, and thoughts of delight. However those beautiful parts came to be is unimportant—they are here now, connected at last as it was always intended. It is a sort of glory that does not require explanation, existing only to be cherished. For as long as he lives, Julian intends to hold that splendor close to his heart.
“C’mon. We should get ready for bed.”
“Certainly, love.”