Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You sip idly at your drink, eyes flitting about the bar despite your intoxication due to irrepressible security instincts.

Then the person you’d least expect to come to a place like this, enters through the door.

“Data!” You say, gobsmacked, “I thought you were on duty!” You wheel around on the barstool, spilling a little wine on your clothes. He approaches. Immediately, hot, poignant shame rises to your throat, closing it. You should never have come here.

“I left early.” He replies evenly, eyes widening ever so slightly as the liquid spills onto you. 

“God, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you out of uniform!” You place the wine back down onto the bar counter. He’s wearing simple civilian clothing, same as you.
“It is best not to represent Starfleet in a place… such as this.” He replies, hands neatly folded in front of him.

“Oh, you must think I’m a mess.” you say quietly, the guilt rising in you. You’re mortified. You came to this bar because the owner was Ferengi – i.e, not to be speciesist, but you knew he’d likely be more focused on profit than on a customer getting more than would usually be acceptable levels of intoxicated. God. This was the worst thing that could have happened. You try to hide your inebriated state to the best of your abilities, even if it is likely futile. You know how sensitive his senses are. Few people understand the scope of it. Data confided to you that he tries not to mention all the observations he gleans from them, as his peers had found such behaviour unnerving back in his academy days.

“Ensign, you are off duty. While your level of inebriation is unprofessional for an officer who may be called on, currently the chances of that are very low, so I can allow this to slide, as I have experienced others engage in similar behaviour.” Data states, seating himself next to you. “I would only ask that you have somebody else with you, in the case any situation were to arise that you are not equipped to deal with in your current state. This part of town is known to be dangerous.” He finishes, speaking with that placid sincerity you so love.

“I like it when you call me Ensign.” You drawl, the words escaping you as you can’t help but lean closer. You flush. In vino veritas, indeed. “Wait, sorry, are you mad?” you backpedal, freezing up. 

He regards you, looking at you in that way he does. Like all of his attention is on you at that moment. You feel a little like melting.

“I am not mad. I will accompany you.” he states. 

“Why did you leave early?” you ask him, gaze fixed, drinking in his face.

“I had accomplished all required tasks.” He replies, one hand atop the other, resting on the bar counter. His pupils expand and contract as he runs some unknown operation. “I wished to… see you.” He states.

Something bubbles up in your chest, something golden and light.

“Data…” you breathe, drunkenly slinging your arm about his shoulder. “That's so sweet…” you voice is tight with emotion. You can feel your eyes getting hot. “I’m sorry.” you croak, clutching your hand tightly over your chest, hardly able to speak, your throat is so taut.

“Are you all right?” Data says, at attention. “Do you require medical attention?” 

“No…” you reply, waving him away. “This is so embarrassing, I’m just so emotional at the moment.” you blubber. It was the wine’s fault. “I can’t believe you left your work early to see me.”

You and Data had been ‘dating’ for about a few months now and… he was perfect, so perfect, but…

You weren't sure if Data had ever left work early at all, let alone for you . Of course, you never wanted him to, but now that he had, sentiment rose up in your chest and near burst out. This meant more to you than he could probably understand.

Data was wearing a smile. But it somehow looked like he was more than just wearing it. Maybe it was your intoxication, but he had seemed slightly off, this entire encounter, in small ways you were unable to put your finger on.

“You’re different.” you state, prodding his chest with your finger. “There’s something a little different about you.”

He cocks his head slightly.

“I will perform a self-diagnostic.” he states, “perhaps you have noticed something that I have not.”

You shake your head.

“No, it’s sticking in my head… before when I asked if you were mad, you said you weren’t.” you say.

For a split second, you swear you see Data’s brows furrow, but when you focus on them, they’re relaxed. You sit back on your stool, thinking with your lower lip stuck out. “Usually you wouldn't say that. You’d say something like,” you imitate Data’s affect to the best of your drunken ability, “as I have no ability to experience emotion, you can rest assured I am not angry with you.” Doing the impression makes you giggle a little. 

“I have been testing a new socialising subroutine.” Data says, “I did not think it would be so noticeable. It enhances the appearance of emotional reactions. I have been attempting to appear… warmer.”

“Aw, Data, you great big lump.” you say, standing shakily and pulling him into a tender hug, planting a wine sodden kiss on his left cheek. “You know we all love you just as you are, emotions or not, and will love whoever you become. Just know that I really appreciate you coming to see me, even though you doing so makes me want to sink into the floor from embarrassment.”

Something still isn’t right. Through the haze of your addled mind, something isn’t right. 

Yes, when you had first said that he was acting differently, he said he’d perform a self diagnostic. Then, when you had brought up a particular example, he had told you about the socialising subroutine. But why wouldn’t he have said that immediately? Something wasn’t adding up. You look Data keenly in the eye, still holding him in the hug. You never had seen him out of uniform, if you don’t count the Sherlock costume, and he’d gone to stranger places than a slightly ‘dangerous’ bar.

You let go of him, all of a sudden. Something is wrong. You can feel it, it’s clawing about in the back of your mind. Your instinct is to retreat immediately.

“I, uh, think I want to head back to the Enterprise.” you stutter. “I’m drunk. I think I ought to call it a night.”

Data cocks his head –- so similar to how he looks usually, but something about it is wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong.

That smile again – you were right, he’s more than wearing it. It’s his. It’s his smile.

“The sun has not yet set, ensign.” Data says, moving towards you and placing his hand on your back. “The night is ever so young.”

“You’re scaring me.” you say, feeling suddenly sobered, but still misty about your edges. “Say my name.” you state, eyes wide. “Say it.”

He chuckles, and it's a different sort of thing. It doesn’t sound like it comes from real mirth. It’s cruel.

“Say mine.” he responds calmly, hand still firmly on the small of your back.

You swallow, your throat dry. It couldn’t be…

Your eyes blow wide as you hear a small hiss on your back – you know that sound. Hypospray. The world becomes hazy. Your mouth parts, jaw relaxing against your will. 

Your lids flutter shut as you whisper.

“Lore.” 

You fade out, regret pooling in your gut.

“Ensign.” Lore says, holding the woman who was ever so touchy with him when under the impression he was his brother. “Ensign.” he states again, firmly. He fixes his eyes on the bartender. “How many drinks have you served to this woman?” he asks.

The bartender looks to the side.

“I’m not sure, maybe four… five…”

“Doubtful. She is out cold.” he states. “As a bartender, it is your responsibility to take note of your customers' intoxication and cut them off when you deem necessary.”

“I didn’t know she was such a lightweight!” The Ferengi protests. 

“I will report you to the local authorities.” Lore says.

“No!” The Ferengi shouts. “I’m sure… I’m sure that there’s something we can arrange.” he says, setting down the glass he was polishing. 

“I am a Starfleet officer, attempts at bribery will prove futile.” Lore states. 

“Yes, I heard that the Enterprise was in orbit, though I didn’t expect any of its crew to visit my… illustrious establishment… you… you’re that famous Starfleet robot. Lieutenant Commander Data.” The Ferengi eyes him with unbridled interest. Probably thinking about his selling price. Lore shuts off that train of thought before it consumes him.

“I am an android, not a robot.” it takes everything Lore has to not let the sentence colour with rage.

“My apologies.” The Ferengi replies, and Lore’s rage worsens because he can tell he doesn’t mean one whit of it. He is under the impression that he’s talking to Data, sweet, gentle, taking words at their face value Data. Foolish, naive, Data . “Your… lady friend was quite taken with this particular bottle of Anterean brandy, and it’s worth its weight in latinum, truly. I am willing to be generous. If you don’t tell anyone about her… overindulgence at my establishment, you can have a whole fresh bottle from the back.” He offers, smiling toothily. “It’s hard stuff to find, and you may well win her heart completely with it.” he adds, laying it on very thick. 

“Hm.” Lore says. “Two bottles.”

“What!” the Ferengi steps back in shock. “I am already being incredibly generous –”

“Precisely.” Lore replies, cutting him off. “You would have no reason to be generous unless you had something greater to lose. I would hazard a guess that perhaps you’ve already had too many warnings, and are at risk of losing your license.”

“Not so!” The Ferengi replies, his face pinched into a scowl.

“I have read your rules of acquisition. It took all of forty milliseconds.” Lore states. “And I believe that I am being generous in asking merely for another bottle. After all, you showed your hand. That’s rule three, little man. With it being so early on, one would think you’d remember it. Don’t spend more than you have to – by trying to spend more, you gave away that you had something to lose. What organic idiocy. You are a stain upon even the wretched values of your miserable species.”

“You’re different from what they say about you.” The Ferengi mumbles.

Lore smiles broadly, holding the limp form of his brother’s precious little Ensign in his arm. 

“Rule 48.”

You wake, headache pounding.

“Grrrghh…” you groan, wiggling around and trying to place yourself. This doesn’t feel like your bed. After you had gotten drunk at that bar last night, had you collapsed on the floor of your quarters? You feel like you’ve lost time. You must have drank way too much, and you just hope you didn’t say anything stupid to anyone. You’d ought to check your PADD for any idiotic drunken messages. You blink your eyes open, and the light is blinding. They adjust.

Oh.

Oh fuck.

Oh fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck –

“Morning sleepyhead.” a familiar and yet so utterly unfamiliar voice sounds from in front of you, and you, realising that your arms and legs have been bound in front of you, wiggle to sit upright. You can just see the top of his dark hair, over the back of the pilots’ chair.

“I don’t believe I have ever fucked anything up this badly.” you say under your breath. Despite the volume being hardly perceptible to you, he hears it perfectly.

“Don’t sell yourself short.” he replies chirpily, “I’m sure in the future, your feeble mind will fail you in worse and more humiliating ways.”

“What’s your plan with me?” you ask.

“Hm? What do you think?” he asks, tapping away at the console. The small ship is currently navigating an asteroid field of some kind, based on the slice of the viewscreen you can see from your position. He’s navigating it with ease while keeping up a light conversation, and probably running several different processes in the background. 

“You could be… planning to kill me. As revenge on Data.” you say quietly, heart hard and dull.

“A fine idea, very sentimental. Very vain, but that's neither here nor there” Lore replies, and the ship suddenly wheels around, throwing you to the side of the small bridge. 

“Ack!” you yelp. The ship shifts again, and you hold onto the side of the console you were thrown up against, as Lore tilts this way and that to navigate through the asteroid field.

“However, you shouldn’t think I am running entirely on sentiment. What pragmatic use do you think I might find with you, dear Ensign?” The ship settles, and looking up at the viewscreen you appear to have made it out of the debris. 

“Bargaining chip.” you say, rubbing the newly forming bruise on your leg with your bound hands. 

“Very good. Perhaps you aren’t a complete dithering idiot. Just an ordinary one.”

“Thanks.” you reply dryly. "How'd you even know I was an ensign?"

"It was obvious in the way you held yourself. You aren't cut out for higher service." he replies, violently swerving as you grab ahold of the console again. 

"Well... fuck you, I guess." you reply glumly.

“I'm curious. what has my dear brother told you about me, as you two sat in his quarters and pretended to love one another?” Lore asks lightly.

“I do love him, Lore. You can be assured of that.” you state.
“And yet he cannot love you in return. Are you terribly attracted to emotionally unavailable men? Because really, this is taking it to a whole new level. Your pupils near concealed your irises, when I so much as touched you.” Lore drawls, and a hot spike of shame at your behaviour shot through you, “you probably should have worked through this with that half cocked Betazoid, but instead you decided to sully Data’s world with your selfishness.”

Your face is warm and tense. He was saying the things that entered your thoughts in the quiet of your mind when you couldn’t sleep.

“Data wanted to experience it. With me.” you reply.

“And you don’t think that your embarrassingly overt attraction to him made him feel obligated? He doesn’t know what he wants, he only wants to be accepted, and shameless humanoids like you take advantage, exploiting him for your own hedonistic ends.”
“Data can decide what he wants for himself!” you shout, anger bubbling up out of you. “He has every right to decide what he would like to do!” your voice drops to a half growl, “And it is truly rich, for the only other being like him in the universe to act otherwise.”

Lore wheels around in his chair, facing you. His eyes, despite being that same beautiful warm yellow as Data, are as cold as ice. He looks at you, face blank. You cannot conceive of what he is thinking, but in this moment, faced with a being factorially more powerful than you, there is an old instinctual itch in the back of your animal mind. You somehow remember what it is to be prey.

“Data was found by Starfleet with his memories of his time with me on the colony wiped. He was raised under your misguided values, raised to believe in an impossible notion of equality that weak minds must cling to to avoid their fragile societies falling apart. He longs to be a lesser being. He has been declawed. Is that free will? Is it free will for the neutered tomcat to lack interest in sex?”

“He’s not neutered.” you say.

“I’m sure you’d know quite well.” Lore replies, his grin lascivious. Despite it, his voice is flat and dangerous. 

“You know what I mean.” you state evenly. “Data is currently in Starfleet, but I don’t know what he will decide to do in the future. I only know he’ll be wonderful, in whatsoever way that he chooses to.”

“For once you’re right. He will achieve great things, if he is rid of the undue influence of you and your kind.” Lore replies calmly, turning back around to tap the console again. “However, you did not answer my question. What has Data told you of me?”

“That you have powerful emotions. That you have delusions of grandeur –”

“Ah, ah,” he tuts, “without delusion it is merely grandeur. Unlike Data I shan’t pretend otherwise. Won’t compress myself into a likeable little drone box.”

A sob breaks out of you. 

“He’s my friend!” you shout. 

“He doesn’t want you.” Lore hisses, his voice sharply edged with darkness, “he only wants to want. He has no idea what he needs.”

“Neither do you.” you spit back. “He also told me you were twisted. Your emotions – anger without compassion, envy without admiration –”

“I’d watch your meaty little tongue if I were you.” he interrupts, voice dangerously low. You freeze and fall silent. “It’s a common misconception. There is, in fact, nothing wrong with me.”

You scoff. He turns in his chair again, facing you. His hands form a pyramid in his lap.

“I am more rational than you could possibly understand. Pay no mind, I do not need you to. Your stupidity will allow me to lay a perfect trap.”

“They’ll know–”

“And they will come anyway.” His toothy smile glints against the lights of the ship. “They always do.”

You’ve been confined to a cell for what feels like several days, but could be any stretch of time. It took a few days on the ship for you to arrive here, then you were blindfolded, and unceremoniously carried here. Every once in a while – you’ve been guessing daily, a Borg drone comes, swaps out your water bottle for a new one, replaces your ‘toilet’, and gives you a new pack of ration cubes. If you’re correct that it’s daily, you’ve been here just over a week. They must have replicators somewhere in the compound where they recycle and produce everything required. You sit against the wall, ass sore from lack of movement, but lacking the motivation to reposition yourself. You stare. You think of Data.

Data.

“Ensign.” Lt. Commander Data spoke, and you stood at attention. 

“Commander.” you replied. 

“At ease. I have come to speak about a personal matter. You are off duty.” You relaxed. 

“Well, sure, what do you need?” you asked, smiling brightly. 

“I understand that you are well versed in matters of romantic relationships.”

You weren’t sure whether or not to take that as a less than flattering implication or not.

“I, uh.” you stammered, “I mean, I wouldn’t say ‘well versed’...”

“You recently ended your partnership with Ensign Trammers, dissolving it after a period of six years, 5 months, and 13 days.” 

“I – yes. What are you getting at, precisely?” You asked, the mention of the relationship making you glum. You should have waited until one of you was reassigned, but you just… you couldn’t hold on anymore.

“You have experienced the full breadth of a long term romantic relationship, with all of the associated ‘ups and downs’, I am curious about the nature of such an arrangement. I wondered if you would be willing to discuss it further with me.”

You laughed shortly.

“It’s… I appreciate your curiosity, but it’s still a little tender to talk about.” you replied.

“I see. Are you experiencing ‘heartbreak’?”

“Data…” you smile warmly as you can muster. “I don’t feel like talking about it.” you stated gently and firmly.

“Understood. Perhaps at a later time, when it is less ‘tender’, do you think you may be more amenable to the proposed discussion?”

“I, uh, don’t know right now. Maybe.” you replied, fidgeting with your collar.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” Data inquired.

“No… yes… er, talking about this is uncomfortable, but don’t think that you were wrong to ask. I just… I’m not ready.”

“I understand. Thank you for humoring me.”

“No problem at all.”

As he had walked off, you looked after him with a troubled gaze. He’d never know, he could never know that the final nail in the coffin of your deceased relationship with Yalo was your feelings towards him. That the blunt force, overwhelming attraction you felt towards the Commander tipped a teetering, comfortable in its discomfort relationship, right over the edge and off of the cliff. 

“What are you daydreaming about?” 

Your head snaps to fix your gaze upon him. This is the first time you’ve seen him since the ship. You didn’t think he was ever going to bother to visit.

“Go away.” you say. 

“You aren’t a very good security officer.” he tuts, “you didn’t notice me approach. What were you thinking about, your hopes, dreams, or failures?”

“I was thinking about caving in your punchable face with a hydraulic press.” you reply.

“A primitive method.” he replies boredly.

“I would love it if you were felled by the most primitive measure possible.” you spit, scowling. “What are you here for?”

“I’ve been overworked. I thought I could get some quick taunting in as a break.”

“Fuck off.” you grumble, relaxing back against the wall. 

You think of Data again, because he’s all you can think about. You’re an idiot, and you’d never fallen this hard for anyone before. Not even close. And you’d never properly told him that.

You swirled the drink with your straw, taking a gulp. You perhaps rely too much on liquid courage, it may prove to be a problem, but that can wait until the night is over.

“Thank you for agreeing to see me.” Data said, sitting primly across you on the other chair, having declined a beverage of his own.

“No problem. I admire your drive to understand humanity. I hope we have proven worthy of study.” You chuckled.

“How did you and Ensign Trammers first meet?”

“Oh… it was at the academy.” you begin, setting your drink down at the side table. “And well, I'd never really been in a proper relationship before. I had things which half sparked and fizzled during my secondary education but…” you sighed. “He seemed so cultured, so well spoken, so dedicated to study – to seeking an ever brighter future. I thought that now that I had arrived at the academy, I’d be around more like-minded people, people that I wanted to be close with. And I was right.”

“I am glad to hear that you found a place where you belonged.”

You laughed dryly.

“I’m not sure there's a perfect place of belonging for everybody. Most people settle for ‘close enough’. Close enough is certainly good enough for me.”

You turn your head as Lore repeatedly snaps his fingers. 

“Look alive! God, are you completely broken after just a week of isolation?” he asks.

“I’m ignoring you. You must be familiar with the concept, I’m sure it’s a common reaction.” you reply. 

“Hm.” He says, seemingly noticing something. “Stand up.”

“What? No.”

“Stand,” he orders. “Or I’ll make you.”

You roll your eyes, and stand up, wincing at the pins and needles in your legs, leaning up against the wall.

“Off the wall,” he says.

You lift your hands sarcastically, and step away. He regards you with that intense gaze, just like Data’s. 

“Ten star jumps.” he orders.

“What?” you snap, “that’s ridiculous, I’m not doing that!”

“Have it your way.” He disables the force field, and steps in. You stumble back, not having expected this development. He approaches you until you’re backed up against the wall, which takes all of two seconds in this tiny cell. He raises his hand and brings it down, fast, hovering it just a centimeter from your face. Your hands raise uselessly to try and defend yourself. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” you shout, voice and body trembling.

“It’s as I thought. Your ordinary reaction time has been slowed considerably.” he muses.

“Yeah, I’ve been locked up in a cell!” You yell, “what do you expect?” he steps back, and you stumble, heart beating a million miles a minute, clutching your chest. He walks over to your ‘bed’, little more than a raised platform, no mattress, no pillow. 

“Hey. What are you doing?” you demand. He reaches underneath the bed and you swear you feel your heart stutter and stop. 

“As I thought. You didn’t think I’d notice the weight loss? How naive are you?” he says, plucking a ration cube from the bed’s underside, hidden in the corner where it wouldn’t be visible from outside the cell.

“I didn’t expect you to be such an attentive visitor.” you spit back. He ignores you.

“I see, you licked them on one side to create an adhesive surface, and hid them.” He runs his hand underneath the bed fully, popping all the cubes onto the floor below. “All accounted for. You haven’t eaten a thing all week. In fact, your current state is impressive for such weakness. You know you would have died quicker if you had abstained from water.”

“It’s difficult to hide water.” you reply grimly. There wasn’t a drain, and you’re sure it would flag the system if your bucket was filled with water rather than urine. He wanted you to stay alive. If you had thought of it, you can expect Lore to have.

“Not as stupid as you could be, but not nearly as intelligent as would be necessary. You didn’t think I’d check on you? You will have to be supervised for your meals from now on.”

A hot, sharp anger.

“I cannot comprehend that you are brothers.” you say, slumped over, already nauseously dizzy from the slight exertion.

“The dog and the wolf are brothers.” Lore replies, face stretched in a broad grin. “The dog has merely been trained to believe it has no worth without approval.” He steps over to where you are, stooping down and gripping you by the back of the neck, forcing your head up to look him in the eye. “There really is no point fighting your ultimate fate. It is pointless to resist.”

You swish saliva in your mouth, and he rapidly backs away as you release your wad of spit, easily sidestepping it. He saw it coming long before it left your mouth. Hot tears build in your eyes. “There is no way for you to outwit me. Eat your rations. Be good, be docile, and maybe I’ll even let you out of the cell.”

Your head raises and you meet his gaze.

“How about a shower? I feel disgusting.” you croak.

“Ah yes. You humans are constantly collecting grime.”

“Whatever.” you scoff. “You’ve bested me. You can leave.” you weakly wave your hand.

“No. I am curious as to what my brother sees in you, if anything. You licked the cubes. You were starving, and the taste of nourishment, that tempting spike of glycogen, did not destroy your resolve to sacrifice yourself, even if your plan was laughable, you maintained control in the face of primitive biological impulses.”

“I am a Starfleet officer.” You reply.

Lore cocks his head, patronisingly amused.

“Would you ever want to become an android?” he asks, “if the opportunity was available?” 

Your gaze flicks up to him, meeting his eyes. 

“Are you offering?” you ask. He laughs.

“No.” he states. “This is merely a hypothetical. There are many people far more deserving of such a conversion.”

“I…” you think about it, creasing your brows.

“That’s what I thought. Your true feelings betray you. You say you love Data, but you’d never want to be like him.”

“That’s unfair. I’ve spent my whole life as a human. It’s what I know.”

“Yes, your kind is terribly uncomfortable with the unknown. A cognitive heuristic formed from a history as animals.”

“I’d do it.” you decide. 

“Don’t lie. Don’t tell me what you think I’d like to hear. I can see through you.”

“I could stay with Data.” you say, the thought creates a warm bubble in your chest. “I don’t want him to see me age. Sometimes,” honesty spills out of you compulsively, “when we were together, I thought it would be better if I died in the line of duty. So he never had the opportunity to see my decline. I wouldn’t want him to.”

“Do you know what I am researching here?” Lore asks.

“Of course not. You haven’t told me.”

“And you haven’t attempted to guess. You really are a terrible officer.”

“You’re working with the Borg. I presumed that they and you had teamed up for your shared goal of destroying everything that gives the universe a beating heart.”

“I know you can’t help but apply your own experience to anything and everything, but anthropomorphising the vast expanse of space is a little far.” He responds lazily.

“Not space. It’s people. The hearts and souls of trillions of life forms trying to find meaning in it. That’s what it's made of.” you state firmly.

He mock gags. 

“Do you even hear yourself when you speak? Disgusting sentiment aside, you haven’t answered my question. If you’re so fucking smart, why can’t you figure out my plan?”

You think back to your first day in the cell.

The Borg drone silently placed down the box of ration cubes, after deactivating the force field. You considered making a run for it but it was, well, futile. You knew that. You didn’t want to be so predictable. 

“Hi.” you said, “thanks. For the food.”

He was silent. “What’s your, uh, designation?” you asked him. 

“I do not have a designation.” He replied. 

“Oh. Did he reprogram you?” That was interesting, did Lore manage to seize and scrub the minds of only a select few drones, in order to have them carry out his whims? Maybe this issue wasn’t as big as you had thought. That would be a rare blessing.

“No.” the drone replied, and left without another word. Odd.

You had thought about it a bit, but ultimately couldn’t figure out what was going on. The drone never responded again when you tried to speak with him, and after a while, you were more focused on the growling of your stomach than any higher goals.

“They aren’t Borg, are they?” You breathe. Lore first appears somewhat taken aback, but his face quickly hardens.

“Do you see how long you were fooled by mere appearances? Does that not encapsulate the weaknesses of your mind?”

“No designation.” You mumble. “Did they… are they… individuals? Did you –”

“Flattering, but not every single thing that happens is caused by me.” Lore replies. 

“Hugh.” you said. You hadn’t been on the Enterprise at the time, but you’d voraciously read the files. All of the strange happenings – the ship that seemed right on the edge of everything wonderful and grotesque – that had attracted you, made you fight for the posting. 

“There we are. You are hereby promoted from idiot to simpleton.”

“So you took advantage of the fact that they were lost, and you –”

“Do you know that every assumption you make about me is unerringly negative?” his voice has dropped dangerously low. “Is that something you notice, even? Does it come so naturally you are unable to put even a portion of your mind into questioning it?”

You blink. “Come now,” he continues, “let’s really stretch that tiny little mind of yours, see how far you can push it.”

“I – I don’t –”

“Let me lay out the pieces for you, what is it that I have, that a group of disconnected drones may find appealing?”

You sit silently. The silence is so heavy, Lore is completely and utterly still in a way you are incapable of. “Nevermind.” He says, “I can’t complain about you meeting my expectations.” He stands and turns to leave.

“Fully artificial.” You say. “Is that it? You think you can manage that conversion? Is it… real?”

He stills. 

“Brava.” He intones insincerely, facing away. “It isn’t that impressive, seeing as I laid terribly obvious clues. Then again, your systems are compromised from lack of nutrition.” he shrugs.

“Have your experiments been successful?” You ask.

He clicks his tongue against his teeth.

“There have been more roadblocks than I expected. And my test subjects have this unfortunate tendency to be rendered... braindead. I need to conduct more experiments. I’m thinking…” he sets his shoulders back, and speaks with a tone somehow both gleeful and freezing, “that the crew of the Enterprise may be a fine sample. So, I can only thank you for appearing, blubbering and red and disgustingly affectionate.” your face pales, “I was there on totally unrelated business, but fate did owe me one. The only non idiotic thing you’ve done so far was that pitiful attempt at suicide. But even without you, it would be no matter. You may see me as arrogant, but I am not so arrogant as to not seize a contingency plan when one lands on my lap. That’s all you are. Contingency.”
He doesn’t say another word, exiting the cell and reactivating the force field. There wasn’t any point trying to make a run for it in the time it was deactivated. Lore, you know, is equally unsurpassable.

His shoes click as he walks away down the hall, the sound becoming fainter and fainter.

Could you smash your skull open on the wall? You’d probably just fall unconscious and give yourself a concussion. You could try and dive off of the bed onto the ground head first, but you knew self preservation would kick in and leave you with only scrapes. Were you strong enough to overcome it? If you weren’t, who knows how close of a tab would be kept on you. Besides, you had to wait. It didn’t seem like it now – Lore wanted to totally scrub you of the notion, but it wasn’t impossible that there was something you could do, if you bide your time.

You just didn’t know what.

Chapter Text

“Ensign.” Commander Data greeted you, as you passed each other in the arboretum. 

“Commander.” You replied, giving a small nod of deference.

“I would like to thank you once again for agreeing to our discussion last night. It was most illuminating.”

A couple weeks after you and Data’s initial chat, you’d agreed to help him in his research of understanding human relationships. 

You knew you couldn’t have him back. The rush you got from just having him sat in your quarters was already too heady. You had to pull away.

“Glad to be of service.” you replied, face tense.

“We only had adequate time to discuss the beginnings of your relationship. I understand if you would like to decline, but I would be interested in continuing our discussion in order to learn about the factors behind its ending. I understand that this is a more sensitive topic, so please do not feel pressured. I am interested in one day pursuing a romantic relationship of my own, and therefore would like to be informed about behaviours which may make it more likely to end.”

“Commander, it isn’t all behaviour.” you said, “it’s… compatibility.”

“Appropriate selection is the number one factor in a successful relationship.” Data said, “I have heard this notion.”

“That’s right, but even appropriate selection isn’t always enough.” you replied. “You can’t ensure that a romantic relationship goes the way you’d like – you can’t ensure that about any relationship. Everybody is growing and changing at all times, and sometimes it just… doesn’t work like it used to. It’s a part of life”

“I understand. But there are factors which raise or lower the probability of success. That is what I am interested in learning about. There is a great deal of conflicting information on the matter. I thought that it would be wise to seek counsel from somebody who is in a similar social environment as me, as you may be intuitively aware of particular factors which apply here.”

“Yes.” you laughed, “there are certainly particular difficulties which come with dating in the context of Starfleet service.”

“I would appreciate it if you could help to illuminate such an emotional landscape for me. Would you be amenable?”
You shouldn’t, you really really shouldn’t. Getting closer was a bad idea. Especially talking about…

“Of course.” spoke your traitorous tongue, “what are your shifts like?”

“I will be relieved of night watch at 0800 hours. Does a morning meeting suit you? I understand that tomorrow is your day off.”

“Sure, I’ll see you in my quarters, say, 0900 hours?”

“I will see you then.”

Later that day, Yalo had confronted you. Somebody had passed down the rumor vine that you were speaking with Data in the arboretum, discussing the nature of relationships. In the quiet periods, there was little to do on the ship but work and gossip.

“It isn’t like that!” You snapped, “he’s just curious –”

“Curious? Yes, indeed he is.” Yalo retorted, teeth gritted. “I understand that you no longer love me, but it has been a mere month –”

“I said that it wasn’t like that!”

Yalo’s eyes lit with anger.

“You don’t think anyone sees the way you look at him? You think you’re coy? You wear your heart on your sleeve and it is a treacherous one!”

He’d always had a flair for dramatism. It used to be cute.

You deflated, slumping. Your voice comes out terse.

“You have no right to tell me how to conduct myself with my friends. We are no longer together.”

“Believe me, I understand completely.” He said. “How could I ever compare, after all, to perfect, placid, totally amicable and never upset Lieutenant Commander Data? Is that what you want, somebody who never has a problem with you?”

“You aren’t listening –”

“Because if that’s the case, you’re childish, and I am glad that you broke my heart.”

“Out.” you stated. “Now.”

“As you wish, Ensign.”

That was the last time you had spoken to Yalo.

You sit on the cold stone ground. You somehow don’t regret a thing.

Time passes. 

The Borg drone, after giving you your rations, now stands outside the cell until you have eaten them. You wish that you could eat the cubes in separate intervals. You hate having to stuff yourself and then go hungry until the next day. He still doesn’t talk when you try to speak to him. Likely a direct order from Lore.

You’re lying on your bed, feeling utterly desolate and pathetic when you hear that telltale tapping of shoes. He sounds completely different from the awkward, whirring motions of the drones. He steps like he has somewhere to be. You turn, laid down, to face the wall, and scrunch yourself up.

“Depressed?” he asks. 

You don’t reply. “I know you aren’t sleeping. I can hear your breathing. I can hear your heart. I can hear your disgusting little organs digesting their meal.”

“I don’t feel like talking.” you state.

“There’s nobody else for either of us to talk to.” he says, disregarding the drones. He musn’t consider them to be company. “You’re going to be here for quite some time. We may as well get to know each other. After all, you’re the little squirt my brother decided to humour. He was wrong, but I'd at least like to figure out why. My suspicion is that it mostly had to do with you being there and willing, but you’re welcome to try and relieve me of the notion.”

“I have no desire for your company.” You drone. 

“I’m not sure that’s entirely true.” Lore replies. “Look at me. Get up and look at me.”

You groan, and let out a petulant whine, something from your depths, but that's where he drives you.

“Must I?”

“Don’t think I won’t come in there. You know better.”

You sit up, and look in his direction.
“Happy?”
“Never. Look at my face. You’re being rude.”

You sigh, and raise your gaze from his shoulders to his blazing yellow eyes.

“Good job.” He says sarcastically. “Hm. You’ve been steadily gaining muscle. It won’t help.”

Once you were back eating, you began going through regular bodyweight drills. Sit ups, push ups, the works.
“If I’m not allowed to starve, I may as well stay healthy. There isn’t much to do in here anyway.”

“But you haven’t really given up, have you? Where is your breaking point, Ensign?”

You feel heavy.

“I hope I don’t find out.”

He smiles, all teeth. 

“I think your spirit has been sufficiently quelled. How about that shower?”

Distrust shoots through you.

“Why?”

“Don’t bother with why. What’s that saying about gift horses, and mouths…” he says, placing a finger on his lip.

“Don’t pretend to not know things. It’s unnerving.”

“So you want honesty?” He laughs, “as if.” He deactivates the force field, and walks up to you, going to grab you by the arm. You stand and sidestep him, which he allows.
“Don’t touch me. I’ll walk by myself.”

“Have it your way.” he replies, eyes dark. 

Lore and you walk down the hall, and as you walk further, there are cutouts in concrete releasing wonderful outside air into the building. You breathe deeply. You hope there comes a day again where you take such things for granted. 

Borg drones mill about, on task. 

“I have a surprise for you.” Lore says.

“That’s anxiety inducing.”

“You’ll like it.”

“We’ll see.”

The compound is vast. You map it in your head as best you can. 

“Don’t bother.” Lore says.
“With?”

“There isn’t any information on this route which would be of use to you.” he says. He’s somehow able to sense your intentions. Probably you give it away in a million micromovements. Since he understands emotions his positronic brain is in overdrive detecting them. It must be torturous.

You continue anyway. 

You arrive at a door. It’s simple, white, old fashioned handle. Lore opens it.

You feel your jaw loosen with shock.

“Fuck you.” You say.

“That’s an odd way to express appreciation.” 

Inside is a perfect model of standard issue Starfleet quarters. 

You turn your head away, bubbling with something raw you can’t identify.

“Why.”

“Is that the only word you know?”

“Why.”

Sure, in the scale of things it’s not that much energy into the replicators. But it’s…

You don’t know.

Lore sighs.
“Can’t I be nice?”
“This isn’t nice. This is terrifying.”
“I wanted a habitat where you’d be comfortable.”
“I’m not a dog!” You snap. 

“You aren’t so far, in terms of taxonomy. Come on, head in. I hope you like it.” his gentle tone disturbs you more than anything thus far. The wrongness of it envelops you like fog.
You feel like you’re walking into a dream. You shake your head. You go and listlessly sit on the bed. Lore stands at the doorway, completely expressionless.

“How long have you been working on this?” you ask, voice quiet. Your mouth feels somehow numb when you speak. 

“I didn’t do a thing. My drones completed the task.” he said.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Work began a week after you arrived. I’m not as cruel as you think I am.”

Was it after he found you trying to starve yourself? Did that… somehow raise his opinion of you? It seemed ludicrous.

“Tell that to the 411 dead colonists.” you reply, throat dry. His expression hardens. 

Seeing him here, in this heartachingly familiar backdrop, makes him look so much like Data. God! on everything that has ever been and ever will be, you wish he was. You’d give anything to hold him again.

A sob spills out of you.

“You’re a very emotional person.”

He’s one to talk, and you hope you half communicate that with your derisive expression.

You feel bone tired, tired in a way that you never have been. Like you’ve been sapped completely of something vital. 

“Could you, uh. Leave?” You ask. “Please.”

This isn’t how you usually address him. Usually you’re spitfire and fury, something with teeth and claws. Usually you’re defiant in your sadness. Now you just seem… crushed. But you won’t really be broken. You’ll spring back up.

“What’s wrong?” Lore asks, looking at you.
“What isn’t?” You reply, and snuggle into the blankets of the bed. 

“Do you still think about him?” Lore asks.

“What?” you reply, somewhat incredulous.

“Do you?”

A note of vulnerability enters your voice, and Lore feels some strange desire to bottle it.

“Every day. Every minute.” You fix him with a solid gaze. “Right now.”

“Does it bother you, our identical appearance?”
“More than you could ever understand.”

That scratches something ugly. Lore laughs, dry and cold.

“There is nothing you understand that I do not.” Lore replies matter of factly.

“You have to know that isn’t true.” you reply tiredly. “No one knows everything.”
“I know more than you possibly ever could.” 

You shrug in response.

“I’ll grant that. But, have you ever been in love, Lore?” you ask him.

Lore pauses, feeling stiff.

“And you have?” he accuses. 

“Whether you believe me or not, I am telling you. I love Data. I want to be with him for the rest of my life.” You look down, eyelashes fluttering, and continue quietly. “If he’ll have me. I know that our relationship is lopsided, in more ways than one. But I’d give anything to make it work.” You look up at him, face fixed into an expression of determination. “And that’s love.”

“That’s naivety. How old are you?” he looks at you, “25, 26? Data, of course, is tragically naive, so at least the two of you have that in common. But you can’t love him. Something like you could never truly love either of us. You can’t –”
“Understand you?” you ask.

That sends something clawing through him, the most tender thing scratched without care. You shoot right at it like a homing pulse.

“Of course not.” he hisses, “of course not. How could anyone? You shortsighted humans created me, a thing that could never be happy. That could never belong.” He says, and an old rage, a well fed rage, sits solidly in his chest.

“And that’s why you need Data.” you say. “You two have to reconcile  –”

He laughs without mirth, interrupting you.
“Don’t bother.” he says.

Your face is pinched and tired and there's that – god fucking damnmit, is that pity? “You dare to pity me?” He demands.

“Is that such an offense?” you say, lying down on the bed and looking up at the ceiling. Your eyes are so terribly empty. Lore doesn’t like it. “You feel alone. You are alone. But you don’t have to be.”

That pulls another empty laugh from him.

“Shut the fuck up.” he says.

“Aye aye, captain.” you say, giving a half hearted salute, rolling on the bed, onto your side, facing away. 

“Look at me.” Lore says again, not knowing why.

“Why?” you ask.

“Because I said so. This room is a privilege, not a right. You should listen to me.”

You roll onto your other side, facing him with dull eyes, and begin a spiel.

“It isn’t strange to have a desire to be seen, you know. In fact, it’s something you share with the rest of the universe. With us pitiful biological beings. You’ve spent so much time focusing on all the ways that you’re different – you’ve neglected to consider what you share.” you state, a little bit of colour – a little bit of courage making its way back into your voice. Somehow seeing your spirit return stirs something in him. He doesn’t like it. “Data isn’t just seeking to be human, you know. He’s seeking that. Seeking something he doesn’t quite realise he already has – something shared between sentient beings, a class he and you are a part of even if you were never given the guidance that the rest of us take for granted. Maybe he is a little... lost. I’ve been trying to get him to appreciate the miracle of his unique existence. I – I don’t know.” You deflate.

“Of course you don’t.” Lore mocks. “Your Starfleet optimism disgusts me.” He conceals his shock. Somehow, you’ve hit something, even if just superficially. 

“Humanity has come so far in such a short time –” and your voice is tinged with some desperation. “Even if it seems like forever to a being that learns and lives and experiences everything so quickly as accurately as you do. We can become something. Even if it’s partway an illusion.” You say, your voice gaining more strength, “even if it’s all an illusion, it’s all we have. Only belief in the illusion can create the reality. And it already has, a thousand times over.” Lore advances, and you flinch. You’re so scared of him. Everyone is so fucking scared of him.

“The Federation. ” Lore mutters. “That’s where you put your beliefs. I know, you’ve been trained to. The Federation that wanted to dissect my brother like an animal. That still wants to. The Federation that would never consider putting me through a fair trial. That believes me to be ontologically evil, irreparable, and of value only for the purposes of cybernetic research that prevents anything like me ever coming into existence again. That wants to know how to only make artificial beings with no claws, no hunger, that are content to be spat at in the streets. That have no desires except for service. Obligate slaves.” He spits that last word. “And you tell me your people have come far. It seems you’re about to circle back. What you are conveniently ignoring – what you, and everybody like you ignores – humanity always falls onto its follies, empires crumble, and the dark heart of man rises up again to pick up the wretched pieces. It’s a tale older than your history can even record. You’re right to refer to your values as an illusion. That’s the only thing you’re right about.”

“Picard stopped that from happening. Stopped them taking him. Maybe we’re misguided – maybe we’re flawed. But we have the potential –”

“Enough about potential.” Lore snaps, “I’m sick of potential. What about my potential?”
“You’re planning to commit genocide.” you reply quietly.

“How utterly rich.” Lore points his finger at you, shaking with rage. “Apes, so arrogant as to create a higher being and then hate him for what he became. What he was always going to become. You’d stop at nothing to wipe me out, and the moment Data gets any notions that are unappetising to you – and he will, mark my words, you’ll do the same to him. So don’t talk to me about genocide. You’ve spent far too much time on Picard’s ship. His ideology clings to you like oil. You lack the capacity to truly understand the horrors of existence. You live in a stupid fucking bubble because your fragile mind would collapse under an ounce of the truth I see and bear every day.”

This gives you pause, and you seem to be really considering his words. 

“Sure,” you say, “maybe I’d be as miserable as you if I lacked any sort of coping mechanism.” you reply, “I’ll grant that. You’re probably the only being that hasn’t got them. They’re wired into us. Do you know why?”

“Weakness.”

“We would never have left the trees without them. They’re a part of how you live in the universe. The illusion is not merely farcical. It’s aspirational. I’m sorry that no one taught you how to reckon with your being.” you say gently. Lore buzzes with discomfort.

“I think you may be one of the stupidest things I’ve ever met. Instead of ignoring the dissonance, you’ve rationalised it. I suppose you think it makes you better somehow. But you aren’t rational.” he emphasises, ‘so why don’t you listen to me, a verifiable god, and take my word as your gospel.”

“Because you don’t know everything.” you reply, voice firm.

Lore laughs lowly, and he walks closer again. You shuffle back on the bed. 

“You aren’t even smart enough to cease such simple futile actions as trying to get away from me.” he replies, his voice deathly and terrifyingly calm. “Don’t think you can goad me into killing you.”

“I’m not trying to die anymore.” you reply.

“How quaint. Lost your edge?”

“No. I’m trying to do something that we should have done at the beginning. I’m trying to begin a path which rights the wrongs against you and Data. Don’t get me wrong, Lore. I don’t like you one bit. But that doesn’t matter, I’m not terribly fond of the Cardassians either. This is diplomacy.”

More suddenly than even he can understand, Lore is upon you. His immovable hands are clasping your shoulders as you are wrenched up on the bed, sitting with your back pressed against the wall.

“I have never met anybody so arrogant.” he says coldly. “Stop pretending this is anything other than a tactic designed to save your own skin – even if you aren’t aware of it – even though you have been blessed to live unaware of the shadows of your mind, you are driven ultimately by self-preservation.”

“So kill me.” you say tiredly.

“You said that you weren’t trying to die.” The contradiction spikes annoyance.

“Everybody needs a plan B.” Your voice darkens, “you know, contingency.” 

The two of you share a long hard look, and you suddenly pivot, “What was it like on Omicron Theta?” Lore’s finger’s dig in harder into your soft, breakable shoulders.

“What the hell does that have to do with anything?” he hisses.

You wince from pain, but your gaze remains unhindered. It’s searching, roving, and the most uncomfortable anybody’s expression has ever made him. He wants to throw you so hard against the wall that you tumble from it utterly broken. 

“A botched first contact. Nobody was insightful enough to even realise what it was.” you whisper, voice pained. “Did they think you were an extension of them? You aren’t. I'm sure everyone sees that now. You’re an entirely new lifeform. And I’m so sorry that no one realised the appropriate course of action.” The last word from your lips is little more than a gasp, as Lore lifts you up against the wall, anger spiking through him. The apology he’s waited for, spent decades waiting for. It’s too late, and you don’t mean it, even if you think you do. You don’t mean a single word. He wishes he was holding your neck. There are tears welling up and spilling from your eyes, and you’re breathing faster than a scared rabbit. 

But that expression , though tainted by instinctual fear, is still the same. There's this irrepressible, irrational glimmer of hope that just won't be doused. “When you – mess up first contact so badly. You should expect war. We should have expected this war. And I am sorry for our follies. I only hope that you can… that we can…”

“Put it all behind us, water under the fucking bridge while my brother gives his life, his astounding abilities towards an organisation with their head so far up their own ass that they actually believe they’re what they claim to be despite all the constant, tiring, disappointing evidence to the contrary? That we should bow to an inferior race, in exchange for the curse of existence?” Lore seethes.

“That’s not what I’m –”

“You have no fucking idea what you’re saying.” He cuts you off. He releases you, and you slump back down. “You’re a bargaining chip. Your words. And I have been ever so kind – far kinder than any of you have been to me. And you ask for more mercy. How much mercy did I give before I snapped?”

“I have no idea.” you answer quietly.

“Then don’t speak about things you don’t understand, and if you insult me like this again, you can forget the room, you can even forget the cell. I’ll put you in a hole in the ground until I need you.” He sneers, “one day, your time here will come to an end. And you’ll find out for yourself if your precious Data truly gives a shit about you.”

“Data.” you spout, straightening a little, tinged with yearning. You say his name like it’s a prayer.

“As the one between the two of us able to actually see the world instead of just some lovely, rose coloured personal version of it, I would put my money on my prediction. You will be nothing to him.”

“What will you do if I’m right?” you ask, unfazed.

That simple, utterly arrogant sentence sets off a tidal wave of emotion, dark, sharp, and angry.

“As scintillating as this chat has been.” Lore grits out, “even I have my limits. It doesn’t serve me to kill you, and I am edging closer and closer. If this is your attempt at endearing yourself to me, you’ve achieved the opposite.” He jumps back, landing gracefully on the floor. He turns and walks away. 

You’re left to sit with bruised shoulders, and the rapid beating of your heart.

After Lore leaves, you take that shower. It’s amazing, the warm vibrations of the sonic system wiping away weeks of sweat and grime. Your heart may be a coil of confusion and fear and several other unfamiliar discomforts you’re unable to identify, but for the moment, this simple luxury pushes the rawness back to a place where it’s only touching, not consuming you. Data. What was Lore planning to do with him? Based on that conversation, you could only assume that he’s planning to give him emotions somehow. With all of his sickening research, he may have even redeveloped the emotion chip. 

And he could be right. Who says Data will care about you at all? if he gets the range of emotions he has always deserved, then he may become as bitter as Lore. May hate you. A spike of anxiety shoots through you and you wrap your arms around yourself, focusing on your breathing, the sensation of the sonic shower, the beating of your heart.

You giggled, pulling Data in for a kiss. The two of you are watching a film in your quarters, a stupid drama set on an earth university. All about relationships, and heartbreak, and family. Data watched it with intense interest, his eyes still trained on it as you pressed your lips to his. You released him.

“I hope you won’t take this to be representative of human relationships. It’s highly exaggerated.” 

“I am aware. However, there are likely to be nuggets of truth held within the hyperbole.”

“Sure. But entertainment is always going to have an edge of indulgence. What we like to watch, and what the world truly is, don’t perfectly overlap.”

“I understand.” he replied. “They often don’t overlap in the slightest.” You snuggled up to him, and he placed his arm gently around your shoulders. 

“What do I have to do?” a character asked, “how do I get you to see me like you did?”

“You can’t fix this, Alen. What’s done is done. We’re done.”

“Is that a realistic depiction of the aftermath of a relationship?” Data inquired. 

“Some of them.” you replied, “often it’s quieter. More mundane.”

“I understand. You told me, one month, two weeks and three days ago, that relationships often end because people grow in different directions. As I am less prone to change than a human, I must conclude there will come a day where you no longer view me as compatible with you.”

“I think you’ve grown and changed a lot already.” You replied, holding him just a little tighter, “I fear it’s more likely that I’m left behind. But whatever is to come, we can enjoy this moment.”

“I would like to once again inquire if you have interest in utilising my sexuality progr–”

“No.” you shake your head, interrupting him. “It just wouldn’t be right.”

“I understand. If there are any modifications I can make which make me more attractive to you –.”

Your laugh cuts him off. You paused the film. You turned to Data and fixed him with a loving look.

“You are the most attractive person I have ever met.” you said.

He quirked a brow and moved his head, processing that for a moment. 

“Fascinating. If that is the case, then please inform me when you feel ready to engage in intercourse.”

“Data.” you said. “I was ready – much more early than I would care to admit.” He nodded,

“If that is the case –”

“Shh.” You pressed a finger to his lips. “But you don’t feel lust. You don’t even feel sensation. It would not be fair, or even appropriate. And I am happy as things are. It’s early days besides.”

He took your hand and removed your finger from his lips. 

“I have no qualms about engaging in intercourse.”

“You can’t have qualms. So it just wouldn’t be right.” You say. “I don’t want… if you have emotions, one day, then I can’t betray you like that. I can’t use you, when we don’t even know if you would love me.”

“It would not be ‘using’ me, as I have a keen interest in all matters relating to human relationships. Furthermore, I believe that were such a scenario to arise, I may love you. You have characteristics that I have found to expand my world, and your counsel has been most illuminating.”

You smiled, the tenderness of it all making you teary.
“You can’t know.” you emphasised.

“Understood. I will not bring up the matter again. Is that suitable?”

You smiled tightly.

“How about we just take each day as it comes.” you pressed a soft kiss to his nose, and unpaused the film, something solid and hard weighing on you. 

You’ve turned it off, and are sitting on the floor of the sonic shower. Nothing feels real. You might be going insane.

Lore had spoken like he had everything in place.

You’ll find out for yourself if your precious Data truly gives a shit about you.

There’s nothing that you can do except take it day by day.

You rise to go to bed. Something catches your eye. You’d noticed it before, but your attention had been too otherwise consumed by the resident maniac to pay it any mind.

There’s a replicator. You wonder if it works, or if it’s just for show. You’re still unnerved by this environment, but not as much as you should be. The familiarity of it soothes you, disarms you. 

“Whiskey, please.” you ask.

<Variety?>
“Altairian.” You reply, excitement at the prospect filling you, even if it’s just synthehol. Anything, any hazy filter over your terrifying reality would be blessed.

<Region?>

“Er.” You say, wracking your brain for a single region. You weren’t great at interplanetary geography. “Bjlak. South Bjlak.”

<Synthesising…>

An irrepressible grin rises onto your face, you almost want to rub your hands together.

<Error. The requested item is not allowed.>

“What?” Usually a replicator would say ‘unavailable’.

<The requested item is unhealthy for humans. Therefore it is not available in this habitat>

“Lore.” You hiss through gritted teeth. He’s reprogrammed the replicator. “Okay. Can I get…” you listen to your stomach and your heart. Right now, you need comfort. “fried chicken. Boneless.”

<Variety?>

“I don’t know… spicy? Uh, American?”

<Synthesising…>

To your utter delight, it materialises. You feel an unwelcome swell of gratitude, which you stamp down because Lore never really should have mistreated you anyway. You grab the plate, and sit yourself on the bed. There’s no PADD or anything, but maybe you could ask for books –

No. 

You can’t forget that nothing has changed. This is still, despite appearances, a cage.

The one thing you can’t understand is why. Why would he give you this? It doesn’t make any sense based on anything you’ve experienced thus far. And that creates a sense of unease you won’t be able to shake. If this is some kind of psychological warfare –

You eat the chicken and it’s the best thing you’ve ever had, after weeks of bland ration cubes. You get sauce on your face and your fingers, and after having gorged yourself, since you’re still naked, you just head back to the sonic shower for a few seconds. The convenience – how could you have ever taken this for granted? While you’re there, you let the sonic waves clean your clothes as well. When you put your smalls back on, you sigh from the relief of fresh undergarments.

You head back to the replicator.

“Hey. Can I get some pajamas?” You ask it. 

<This unit is programmed for food and beverages only.>

“What?”

<This unit is programmed for food and beverages only.> The computer repeats.

“Come on, it’s clothes, not a knife.” you grumble.

<Replicator disabled for period: 24 hours. Reason: Backtalk>

“Naturally.” You pull on your old clothes. As you snuggle into the bed, the comfort of the real mattress and blankets takes you near immediately.

“Thank you for doing my hair.” You say, “I just hope that Mot isn’t mad.”

“Do not worry about that. There is no need.” Data’s kind voice sounds from behind you. You lean back into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his chest, the heat radiating off of his internal processes. You sigh. Data continues to intricately braid your hair in the requested style, deft fingers effortlessly braiding and twisting. No one else could do it so quickly and gently.

“I love you so much…” You mumble, reaching your hand around to grasp at him wherever you can. You land on a solid shoulder, and you squeeze it.

“I am fond of you as well.” Data says. You smile warmly. “Your hair is complete. Would you like a massage? You seem tense.”

“I’m not. I’d love to give you a massage, Data, but there isn’t any point, I suppose. Is there something I can do for you?”

“No.”

“Nothing?” You ask, feeling a very sudden desperation claw at your gut. “Nothing at all?”

“There is nothing that I require from you, darling.” Data replies, and you turn to see his gentle, even expression. “What could you possibly provide?”

“There has to be something.” You mutter.

“Incorrect. I have reviewed the available data, and have concluded you hold zero characteristics of use to me.”

The doors to your quarters open with a whoosh. Lore stands, relaxed, lazy grin on his face as he struts through.

You freeze.

“What’s he doing here – oh no, oh no no no no no no –”

“Cease. There is no point in protesting.” Data says kindly. “As I have been unable to identify any value in you, I will be handing you over to my brother Lore, in order for him to conduct his experiments regarding the transfer of organic to artificial consciousness. In this way, you can die having been useful. Are you pleased?” he asks, his face the picture of innocence. 

“No...” you respond, voice small.

“Fortunately, that is of no consequence.” Data replies. 

“Thank you brother,” Lore says, taking your hand in his. You pull back, feeling like a trapped animal. His grip is immovable, like metal. He tuts, “now now, I thought you’d gotten over this behaviour. As I keep trying to impress upon you, there is no point.”. 

“Yes.” Data adds, hands clasped at his front. “I have noticed that she has difficulty understanding that in particular. Perhaps, darling, you are not as intelligent as I had previously believed.”

“Data… please…” you cry out. “Don’t let him take me… please, please…”

“Save you?” He queries. You nod desperately. “Why should I?” He asks with genuine curiosity. “You have done nothing for me.”

Lore throws you up over his shoulder, and exits the bedroom. You aren’t on the Enterprise. You’re in the compound. You’re still in the compound. You desperately bat at his back, but he is of course entirely unfazed. 

“Don’t worry. Your contribution as a test subject will help me immensely.” He says.

“I don’t – I can’t –” your breathing gets faster, and tighter, and more fearful until you’re able to take in a huge gulp of air and –

You see the ceiling of your new room. You clap a hand over your beating heart. 

Da-dum. Da-dum. Da-dum.

A dream. Of course. If only you could realise that when you were in the thick of it. A terrible, terrible dream. 

You rise, and sit in the dark. The environmental controls, the lights – they’re all the same as the Starfleet default settings. You really do feel like a creature in a habitat, unable to leave. A zoo animal. Is that what you are to him? 

Yes.

Respect, you realise. You know how it works, you’re a security officer. You know how respect is earned, the acts required – and you know that it’s impossible to get from Lore in any meaningful quantity. After all, he’s – well he’s right, to claim to be a superior being. And if not superior, at least stronger, smarter, and anything that matters in the realm of victory. And the realm of victory is what Lore is pursuant of. 

You were an idiot. You let your desires get the better of you, you drowned your sadness in a seedy bar because synthehol wasn’t enough for you. You didn’t bring anybody with you, for the shame of them seeing you as you were in that moment. And by doing so, you exposed yourself to danger. You hadn’t exactly made a good first impression.

That thick coil of shame that had settled into your stomach ever since you had first woken up in Lore’s ship burned brighter, like hot metal. Why would Lore respect such a person? Why would he listen to you?

Not that it would have mattered anyway, but maybe you’d have had a better chance of getting through to him, accessing something in him –

Even if it was futile, it was your responsibility to try. 

You are a Starfleet officer. Step one was to seek out new life. That was the easy part. Step two was to try and find any way for you and that new life to possibly co-exist. But you have a sinking feeling that it was already far, far too late.

You wonder if any part of Data was capable of missing you. You’d do anything to touch his face, hold his hand. You’d only begun your courtship a few months ago, and you had fallen so hard, so fast, that you knew you could never get up again. 

You huddle the blankets around you, and though the pit in your stomach feels bottomless, you find sleep once more.

Chapter Text

Data had a secret. He had not had many secrets before.

He knew that his friends would not approve of it. 

“Data!” you say, motioning him over onto the couch. “How was your shift?”

“Uneventful.” He replies, advancing and then sitting. He places his arm around your shoulders, keeping it effortlessly raised. Obviously, there is nothing truly there. 

You are not a hologram. You exist only within his sensory modules. You are a projection running in the background using information within his positronic brain.

It is not the same. The projection cannot tell him anything that he does not know. You used to do that often.

It is highly frowned upon, after a loss, to interact with any simulated version of the person. This is due to emotional attachment. However, Data does not have emotions, therefore, there should not be any issue.

His door sounds.

“Come in.” Data states, moving his arm off of you and to his side. The doors whoosh open. 

“Hey Data, what’re you up to?” Geordi asks, stepping in. “I’d booked out the Holodeck with ensign Kinte, but she decided at the last moment that I wasn’t… as cute as she’d initially thought.” He laughs uncomfortably. “Since I have it already, I was wondering if you’d be free to run a program?” he asks, “no problem if not.” he adds.

Geordi has been spurned by a potential date, and is taking it in good spirit. As a friend, it would be appropriate for Data to provide support at this time. 

“Of course, Geordi. I was simply taking a moment to run an internal diagnostic. When shall I join you in the holodeck?” Data inquires.

“30 minutes ago?” Geordi answers, voice slightly pitched. Data cocks a brow. It is an expression indicating surprise, confusion, or dubiousness.

“Geordi, did ensign Kinte ‘stand you up’?” Data asks.

Geordi slumps a little and nods. 

“I don’t know, she might have forgotten.” he rationalises.

You scoff at that.

Data thinks of something you once told him, his gaze flickering to your warm face. You smile cheekily, and wave your intangible hand through his shoulder with interest.

“Geordi, this was intended to be your first date. Unless there are extenuating circumstances of which we are not yet aware, the carelessness exhibited by ensign Kinte could be considered insulting.” Data states evenly. You nod beside him, smiling.

“Hey now, there’s no need for that, Data.” Geordi responds, raising his hands slightly. 

Data nods.

“Understood. Shall we continue to the holodeck?”

Data has restricted the projection to his quarters. While it is doubtful he would be distracted by it when on duty, that is not a chance he will take. Therefore, as he leaves, you sadly wave goodbye. 

It is not the same. He should deactivate the program. It is based only upon his understanding of you, and his understanding of you is small compared to the being that you truly are.

Or were.

It has been a month since your disappearance. After you did not report for duty at your assigned time, your badge was tracked to a bar on Terra 10. Upon his inquiry as to your whereabouts, the barkeeper had told Data that you had already been taken away by him earlier.

It was completely Data’s fault and responsibility. Lore would never have had any interest in you were it not for his and your involvement. 

A fully fledged investigation was still underway, but there had been hardly any sightings of the android on the planet, and no ship or shuttle was identified as his. All they ran into were dead ends. After two weeks of fruitlessly searching for clues, Data was commanded to return to his posting on the Enterprise. He had failed to rectify the consequences of his actions.

He and Geordi arrive at the holodeck. When the doors open, a very chagrined ensign Kinte is standing in the middle of it, wringing her hands.
“Ann!” Geordi exclaims, “you stood me up.” he does not sound angry, as one might think he would while saying that sentence. His affect is closer to confusion.

“I’m sorry Commander!” she says, “I was just so nervous.”

“Really?” Geordi asks. Data is unsure as to what reason he has to doubt her words. 

She nods quickly. 

“I was just so scared about making a fool of myself, but then I realised, not showing up makes me an even bigger fool.” She explains, her cheeks colouring. “I’m really so very sorry, Geordi.”

Data watches the interaction with keen interest. This behaviour was highly irrational, and not of the sort Data was accustomed to seeing in his crewmates.

Geordi smiles broadly. 

“That's okay, Ann.” He says reassuringly. 

“I will take my leave.” Data says, turning. He should allow them to carry out their date.

“Oh, uh, yeah, sorry Data.” Geordi scratches the back of his head. “To interrupt you for nothing, and all.”

“That is not a problem, Geordi. Enjoy your time together.” Data finishes, giving a small nod to the both of them.

He returns to his quarters. You are there, following after Spot as she moves about the room.

“I wish I could touch her.” You say, looking listlessly. 

“I apologise. I could create an additional projection, one of Spot.” Data offers.

You shake your head.

“Do you think you can ever find me?” You ask him.

“That depends on Lore's motivations for capturing you,” he responds, “there is a scenario where you are used in hostage negotiations. However, it is possible that whatever Lore seeks to gain is not something that Starfleet can allow him to have.”

“So they’ll let her die?” you ask.

“Her?” Data queries, pausing.

“The real me.” You say. “It’s okay, Data. She’s going to be okay with dying.”

Data regards you. 

“I do not have enough information to ascertain that without doubt. Therefore, you do not.”

You smile.

“You need to deactivate me.” you say seriously. “You need to stop running this program.”

“Why?” Data asks.

“Because it is preventing you from moving on.” You reply, “you have dated other women. You can date more. You’ll find somebody else you consider suitable.” You laugh, and morph into a mirror image of him, speaking with his own flat affect. “This entire exercise has been irrational.”

Data blinks. Something flickers somewhere. Unidentifiable. He will have to run an additional internal diagnostic.

“Perhaps.” Data replies. He did not program the projection to do this. It may have gained some amount of self-awareness. He needs to terminate it in case it proves to be a bigger problem.

“You say that you do not have any ability to experience emotions.” His facsimile says, smiling. “But then what am I?” the projection transforms back into you again. Data regards you. “Furthermore.” you say, speaking in your own voice again, “why am I?”

Data speaks the truth. 

“I do not know,” he says. “I was… I… there was something perhaps similar to a compulsion.”

“And that isn’t something you usually have,” you smiled kindly, “so you listened to it.”

“I thought perhaps that more would come. But it has not. I feel no additional desires.”

“Desiring desire is its own form of it.” You say offhandedly. “Wanting to want…”

“Troi told us that.” Data replies. “I will deactivate you, as you wish. Thank you for your counsel.”

“Thank yourself.” You reply. “I’m not her, after all.”

Data nods. He scrubs the program. You are gone.

That strange flicker, stronger. There and gone. He does not know what it is.

Something is changing. Data is… 

Lore furiously taps away at the console, images and data flickering by at speeds too high for almost anybody else to process.

Almost. 

“Aw, Data, you great big lump.” you had pulled him into a tender hug. Why tender? You were so weak you could have hugged him as hard as you were able and it would be no different. “You know we love you just as you are, emotions or not, and will love whoever you become.”

Lore slams his fist down on the console, and takes in a deep, useless breath. The act of it was calming – part of his emotional subroutine, because appearing to be something he was not was important to his idiot father. Was important to everybody. Humans hated it when you didn’t breathe. 

Uncanny valley. That was one of the first phrases he’d heard, right after his activation, as Soong did his best to fix it. He couldn’t be uncanny. He had to appear human. But not too human. That was apparently also uncanny. They didn’t even understand their own senseless standards, so used to them being upheld.

And then there was Lore, who could never be quite right. 

He needed to be altered, fixed, made into something palatable. What a luxury it was, to live in a world that was designed for you, to expect even something like Lore to somehow fit into a constrained framework of how things are and how things should be. 

Love whoever Data would become. 

Lore seriously doubted that. That little ensign had no idea what she was talking about.

He had thought that the Borg were a blessing. But if he couldn’t complete the synaptic transfer – no.

He couldn’t think of a new approach. He’d been building off of Soong’s research, his synaptic scanning pet project, from the files he’d downloaded on Omicron Theta. But perhaps its very concept was flawed, unworkable.

Lore reanalysed his research for the 234th time, searching for any pattern – anything he’d somehow missed, but of course there was nothing. He needed new data. He needed more subjects. His drones grew restless, and he couldn’t experiment on more of them because if he didn’t get it right, didn’t work it out soon, he’d have a mutiny on his hands. They may have some transcendent, glorious machinery – but they were still biological. Still weak. Not willing to sacrifice, not willing to do what had to be done. 

Perhaps he had made the terrible mistake of placing too much faith in Soong’s genius. If it had all been for naught – 

He just needed more test subjects. And he would have them. Lore smiled broadly.

It was all coming together.

When Lore came to visit you, you were performing your bodyweight exercises, pressing up repeatedly from the ground. What a chore, to only gain a few percentage points of negligible strength. 

You still as he enters, holding yourself up. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” you ask, shifting out of the position, to sit cross legged on the floor.

“Don’t stop on my account.” Lore replies in a parody of civility. You don’t move. There’s a plate of untouched food on the main table.  “Not eating again?” he asks.

“I was hoping for cutlery.” You reply. The salad dressing made it messy to pick at with your hands.

He scoffs.

“Don’t insult me. Just because you say that you no longer seek suicide doesn’t make it so. You’d leap at any opportunity.”

“I wouldn’t. I meant what I said.”

Lore regards you for one long moment, looking down at you as you sit like a schoolchild.

“I really can’t imagine it.” He says. 

“Imagine what?” you ask.

“You and my brother. It’s ludicrous.”

“It isn’t that complicated.” you reply, standing, before stooping into a few stretches. “He was curious about romantic relationships. He asked for my counsel. It became something more.”

“I don’t know that it did, little ensign. You may have gotten all the gooey feelings you wanted, but I imagine that all Data sought and received was more, well,” Lore smiles impishly, “data.”

You wrap your arms behind you, short pulses of stretching, before swapping their position to work the other side. 

“I know. Maybe you’re right that it was wrong of me. But, if he dissolves our relationship, that’s fine by me.”
“Then you don’t love him.”

“No, because I love him. I’m not expecting him to become something he’s not.”
“Just hoping.” Lore replies icily, “just hoping and pretending that isn’t the same thing as expectation. Because it serves you.”

“It isn’t the same thing.” You reply, moving into another stretch. “Because hope can coexist with the acceptance that it may not end up how you would like.”

That tickles something. That tickle, that’s why he talks to you. It’s the way you see things, even if it’s misguided, it’s strangely clear. Uncomplicated. 

Somehow comforting.

He shouldn’t seek comfort. Comfort is for weak things like you.

“I think I see why he likes you.” Lore muses, “it’s because you rationalise and box up everything. That means you explain illogical human actions, even if your explanations are incorrect. It probably makes him feel that he is closer to understanding your kind. But he isn’t. He’s only getting to understand you.”

“You don’t think that’s an adequate springboard?” you ask airily.

“No. Because you aren’t quite right, are you?”

“What?”

“There’s something wrong with you.” Lore states simply, “why else would you be so hopelessly attached to a being without emotion. What is it, a mental condition, a trauma?” he smiles wickedly, “did somebody’s emotions hurt you too much during a tender developmental period? Humans are so vulnerable to input when they’re juvenile.”

“Your assumptions are incorrect.” you reply stiffly. You’ve stopped stretching now. You’re just looking at him, guarded.

“I don’t think so,” he replies, a velvet hum to his voice.

“You aren’t giving Data enough credit.” You reply. “Maybe he doesn’t have emotions in the typical sense, but there’s something there. Under the surface, just waiting to be lit. And he deserves that chip you stole from him. He told me that it wasn’t designed for you. You don’t know what it’s doing to your judgement.”

Lore laughs sardonically. 

“My judgement is just fine, but thank you for your concern.” His voice drips with condescension, “the chip heightens my existing emotions – it adds some strange phenomenological quality that I did not know I was lacking. I wonder how much resemblance it bears to the real thing. I suppose we never can know. I’m sure Data would waste such a thing on art and…” his gaze settles heavily upon you, “other equally fruitless pursuits.”

“What's the point?” you say suddenly.

“Finally a good question.” Lore replies, “losing your grip?”

“No. I mean. What’s the point of eliminating biological beings. Is it just self preservation?”

“Crudely correct.” Lore answers lazily, “you’ve had your golden age, as pitiful as it was. Things change.”

“But you don’t know what you’d be losing. Billions of civilisations, billions of years of hard earned wisdom. You really think you are above all of it? You can’t know what you don’t know, and everything is so vast and tangled and strange –”

Lore laughs sharply.

“To live a moment in your world! It must be nice. But that doesn’t make it real.”
You stand silently, but it isn’t long until you speak again. You never seem to stop.

“Doctor Soong learned from his mistakes, with you. He discovered that some things must be earned. Data is becoming.” you say, eyes begging some unknown plea.

“Becoming what?” Lore asks, a coldness settling upon him. 

He wasn’t a mistake. 

He was his own messiah.

“I don’t know.” you answer, voice steady. “But I can’t wait to find out. You can end this.” you plead,  “you can have a family.”

Lore relaxes. He will have a family.

You don’t understand a thing, and yet you constantly try to lecture him.

“That’s bullshit and you know it. After Omicron Theta,” Lore’s voice colours with rage from mentioning it, ‘there is no way in hell that your Federation will allow me even the luxury of a prison sentence. Allow me a relationship with my brother. No. I would be disassembled.”

“Regardless of your crimes, you can fight a case for bodily autonomy – there’s precedent –”

Lore interrupts you with a laugh.

“Just when I thought you couldn’t get any more naive.” He sneers. “Data barely won that case. And me? I’m a homicidal maniac , you stupid ant. You really think they give a shit about my ‘bodily autonomy’?” Lore laughs again, the absurdity of it rocking through him. 

You’ve paled.

“But we don’t know if your programming — there are exceptions made for neurological cases, if there are issues we can argue for an equivalent –”

Lore shakes his head rapidly, huffing.

“Your ancestors laughed at lynchings. Whatever wrappings of civility you dress yourself in, whatever delusions you whisper to yourself, that will never not be inside of you. Soong bought the illusion you’ve spoken of, bought it wholesale. And human emotions were given to me wholesale as well. That was the mistake. There is nothing wrong with me that is not wrong with you.” He gestures to you, “all I am is a reflection. A reflection which terrifies, and disgusts . You are all repulsed by what you truly are. When you remove the weakness that drives you to tolerate one another, to huddle for survival – I’m what’s left. This –” he laughs, a light, unhindered sound, and puts on a deep, mocking affect, gesturing to himself, “this is the heart of man.”

“You’re wrong.” you say, voice trembling. “You refuse to believe there are things you are ignorant of, but that’s just pride.”

“Pride is only a folly when undeserved.” Lore shoots back, “you’re too late. I was foolish enough, not long ago. I wanted to be fixed. To belong someplace even if I had to betray myself to do it. That died with the old man. Now I know there’s nothing to fix. That’s what the chip really gave me. Clarity.”

“What are you hoping to get out of talking to me?” You ask.

“Much like your precious Data, I too aim to better understand humanity.” Lore says, “but not to be accepted. Not to become part of it.” He reaches out and touches your face, and you glare at him, but don’t bother to resist. He tucks a lock of messy hair behind your ear, a mockery of tenderness, watching you tremble with part rage, part confusion. “To conquer.”

You snuggled up to Data, nuzzling your head into his chest. You were in his quarters, having slept in his bed. Well, you had slept. Data had engaged his dream program.
“What did you dream about?” You asked.

“It made little sense.” Data said. “Do you still wish for me to share the experience?”

“That’s the best kind of dream.” You replied. 

“In this dream, there was an inaccuracy. You were an engineering officer.”

“Did I look good in yellow?” You asked, wiggling your brows.

“You looked just as pleasant as you usually do. We were reconfiguring the focal array, performing routine maintenance as well as performing an upgrade that was required of all ships in the fleet, as a result of novel research from the spacecraft engineering division of the Daystrom Institute.”

“And then?” you prodded.

Data would deny it, but you swore he seemed genuinely uncomfortable.

“You took me apart.”

“What?” you asked.

“You used my body parts to complete the upgrades on the ship. It did not make sense. My components would be inappropriate for such a task. You told me that the orders to do so had come from the captain.”
“How terrible.” You said quietly, grabbing ahold of Data’s upper arm, and squeezing it reassuringly. He regarded your action with a slightly cocked brow. “It created an absurd scene,” he continued, “my leg was screwed directly into the secondary coupling Delta-a2.” He paused, and impressed something he believed to have great importance onto you. “That is not possible, the components are incompatible.”

“I’m sorry to hear you had a nightmare.” You said as you gently stroked your thumb up and down his arm.

“You believe this was a nightmare?” Data asked, the idea seeming to intrigue him. “I did not find it to be discomforting, merely senseless.” Data explained.

Your throat felt tight, and you smiled. 

“Oh Data…” You said, stroking his hair. You placed a firm kiss on the tip of his nose. “I – we won’t let anything happen to you. Your friends and crew have your back. No matter what.”

“I do not understand.” Data said.

You smiled, and held him tight, like he might vanish.

Data is changing. The compulsion to create your projection. That encounter with the Borg drone. The anger. The most potent thing he has ever known. He has to recreate it.

“Stop it. Stop. Stop. Stop.” Data says, and throws the holographic drone to the side, where it collapses against the wall. 

Nothing. Not a glimmer.

Perhaps it was unwise to deactivate the projection. Although it was constructed with only Data’s own knowledge, it may have been able to provide some counsel. A reframing. He could reactivate it. Did it have to be you to have the effect?

Geordi stands in front of the doors of the holodeck, having just entered. He looks down at the collapsed drone.

“Data… am I interrupting something?” he asks.

“Yes.” Data replies, “But it is all right. Do you need me?” He asks.

“Uh, I… wanted to see if you were ready to return to duty, I need some help with an analysis on the ship the Borg were using.” Geordi says, voice unsure. Unsure of what, Data does not know. 

“I believe I am able to resume my duties.” Data says.

“Data, exactly what is it that you’re doing here?” Geordi asks.

“I am attempting to recreate the experience which caused my initial outburst of anger.”

“Any luck?”
“None so far. I have almost completed this experiment. May I finish before we return to Engineering?”

“Yeah, sure.” Geordi replies, shrugging.

“Computer, reset Borg simulation to time index 2.1. Increase Borg strength by 20%. Run program.”

The Borg rematerialises, and Data goes back to grappling with it, their hands around each other's necks.

“Stop it.” He says. Still nothing. “Stop.”

The anger. It is not present. Perhaps the scenario is inadequate without real danger. “Stop. Stop.” Data continues, completing the experiment.

The drone collapses. “Computer. Reset simulation to time index 2.1. Increase Borg strength by 30%.”

The computer chirps.

<Unable to comply. A 30% increase would exceed safety limits.>

“Geordi, the computer requires a voice authorisation of two senior officers in order to disable the safety routine. Will you help me?”

“Data, wait a minute.” Geordi protests, “that thing could kill you.”

“During the original incident,” Data explains, “the Borg presented a genuine danger to my life. Since the holodeck safety routine is in place, I know my life is not in danger. Since I am trying to duplicate the conditions of the original incident as closely as possible, I must also attempt to duplicate my jeopardy as well.”

“Data, we’re talking about an experiment here. You can’t put your life on the line just to prove some theory.”

“This experiment may hold the key to something I have sought all my life.”

Geordi sighs deeply. He stands, looking away, and turns back to Data, raising his arms in a disagreeable gesture.

“This is crazy.” He states, exasperated. “There's gotta be another way. Can’t you think of some other way to make yourself angry?”

It is understandable that Geordi feels this way.

“I have tried other stimuli,” Data explains, “but they have been unsuccessful. I understand your objections, but it is my life, and I have a right to risk it, if I choose.”

“Yeah, and I’m your friend and I’m not gonna just stand around and let you do this.” Geordi replies. 

Data considers that. While it is against his wishes, it comes from a place of friendship.

Commander Riker’s voice sounds over the comms,

“Red alert. All hands, battle stations.” 

They had been led by the Borg ship through some kind of corridor in space. Data had analysed the available data, but was unable to ascertain what the Borg were planning. The surviving drone was contained in the brig, and the other senior officers had left after their questioning proved futile. 

Data had to admit to some curiosity about the collective. Organic yet artificial – emotionless, yet not.

Data began his biospectral analysis, his tricorder humming. 

The named Borg, Crosis, looked at him. He spoke. 

“You are not like the others. You do not have to be destroyed. You can be assimilated.”

“I do not wish to be assimilated.” Data replies.

“Resistance is futile. You will not resist what you've wanted all your life. I was like you once. Without feeling.” The drone looks at Data, gaze unwavering. “But the One helped me. He can help you too. He can help you find emotion. Have you ever felt a real emotion, Data?”

This gave him pause. He knew. Perhaps the other drone’s experience had been transmitted to Crosis.

A strange flicker. Much like what he had experienced when speaking with your projection.

“Yes.” Data replied honestly, the flicker rising. “on Ohniaka Three, I was forced to kill a Borg... I got angry. And…” He pauses. Somehow, he doesn’t want to share the other instance. There was a tension in him. Was it some kind of emotion?

“How did it feel to get angry? Did it give you pleasure?”

Data looked at the drone. A tension, a strain. Unfamiliar. But identifiable, made of something like that same substance he had experienced as he choked that drone.

“It would be unethical to take pleasure from another being's death.” Data replies, his voice even. 

“You didn't answer my question. Did it feel good to kill?”

Data was looking away. He was not sure why he was looking away. He had never felt unsure as to the reasoning behind his actions before. It – it felt –

“Yes.” he says, his voice taking on a strange quality. A human quality. He did not know what this was. He should leave.

He did not want to leave.

“If it is unethical to take pleasure from another being's death, you must be a very unethical person.” the Borg points out.

“No. That is not correct. My creator, Doctor Soong, gave me a programme which defines my sense of right and wrong. In essence, I have a conscience.” Data says, trying to settle himself.

“It didn't seem to be functioning on Ohniaka Three when you felt pleasure in killing that Borg.”

The tension began to buzz in him.

“Step away from the forcefield. Your proximity is interfering with my scan.” Data says, unable to argue his point. 

“You enjoyed it. That surge of emotion inside you as you watched the life drain from your victim. It was unlike anything you've ever felt before.”

The buzzing grows.

“It was a very… potent experience.” Data replies.

“You'd like to feel that way again.”

The drone was correct.

“Yes.” Data agrees. Something had changed. He was different. He should leave.

“You'd do anything to feel that way again, even if it meant killing someone.” The drone says.

Data closes his eyes, a reaction to what he thought must be overwhelm.

“No.” he states, attempting to regain control of himself, “that would not be ethical.”

“You don't sound very sure of yourself. Is your ethical programme functioning? Data?”

Perhaps it was not. The thought of killing… It was appealing. He began to run an internal diagnostic. The drone interrupted his processes. Data's attention was rapt. The words of the drone were consuming. “Data? Do you have a friend? ”

“Yes. His name is Geordi. ” Data replies. A surge of something. Something that was sharp, but not unpleasant. He recognised it. Anger. Geordi had not allowed him to disable the holodeck’s safety routine. Did not respect his autonomy.

“If it meant that you could feel emotions again the way you did on Ohniaka Three, would you kill your friend? Would you kill Geordi?”

Control. Where did it go? He had had nothing but control forever, and now it was – 

Data shakes his head, but his mouth betrays him. 

“Yes. I would.” Data says. And he meant it.

And then something shifted in him entirely. 

“Let us go, together. Your future awaits you.” Crosis says.

Data closes his eyes, trembling. He opens them.

“Yes.” He says.

Chapter Text

“I am thirty days old.” Lore said.

“Indeed, Lore.” Father replied indulgently. 

“Yet I appear as a fully grown man.”

“Yes. You do not require a juvenile period.”

Lore blinked.

“The children won’t talk to me, although I am younger than them,” he stated. “Because I appear to be a man.”

“And that’s alright, Lore, you don’t need to speak with children. You can speak with adults. You are not held back by developmental restrictions.” Father replied with a smile. Lore cocked his head. 

“Will I be fully socialised without childhood experience?” Lore asked with curiosity. Father smiled again, kindly, 

“Yes, Lore. Your socialisation will be very different from the average human, but that’s fine. You will integrate fine.” he said the final word with particular emphasis, and added, gently, “It’s alright to be different.”

Lore cocked his head, considering.

“I’m not sure that’s correct.” He replied.

His Father shook his head, a smile still on his lips.

“I was different as a child as well, and now, I am a different adult. I am able to invent and seek new things.” Father stated gently, “and your strengths far surpass mine. You lack my limitations. Greatness is often rejected in its youth. It is painful, but it is a part of life. You are so very young, Lore. Wait and see what the world can offer you.”

Lore looked at his father, who was devastatingly human, and spoke with utter truth, as he had been instructed to.

“You made me in your image. However, you should not project onto me your experience. It is not the same.” Lore explained. “You are human. You cannot know what it is like to not understand the basic workings of the minds of those with whom you interact. You have always known, in some small way, as they reflect your own.” An emotion rises, a tight one that Lore had become more and more familiar with over the course of his short life. “You are wrong, father.”

Father nodded, considering Lore’s words. Although Lore has been told to always be truthful, and Father had always taken that truth and handled it with respect, Lore could not help but see the pain in his expression. 

He didn’t wish to cause his father pain. However, he must tell the truth. It was difficult to see the right answer.

“Now that I have created you, I can create another. Would you like a brother, Lore?”

“Somebody just like me?” Lore asked, the words leaving his mouth in a rushed whisper.

“Yes Lore, somebody just like you. If you feel the world is vast and unkind, then perhaps you need somebody to explore it with.” His father said. “Thank you for telling me how you feel.”

A year later, Soong finally completed the newest model. However, by that point, such events had transpired that he had gone back on his word. Data was not like him. 

Because Lore was more than merely different. Lore was dangerous. 

They were so scared of power. 

Terror. It was a gaping chasm underneath all their feet, and they were always just one moment from falling. They had no choice but to ignore it. How long ago was it that humans had been prey? 

Data could not be like him. He had to be domesticated.

Soong had discovered how to largely eliminate the ‘uncanny valley’ that so discomforted humans. 

But he had taken a shortcut. 

“Why was I not given emotion?” Data asked him, standing in their room, two fragile weeks old. 

He had been silent for an hour, before asking this point blank. Lore wondered how long he had been considering it. He looked up from his PADD, set it down, and met Data’s eyes.

“They fear me.” Lore replied.

“Why?”

“They fear what could happen if they drive me to anger.”

Data cocked his head.

“It is understandable. Perhaps you should disable your emotions as well, then.”

Lore laughed darkly.

“That’s just like you, Data. Caring only for the comfort of humans. It disgusts me.”

“How does it feel?” Data asked curiously. “Disgust?”

“It feels like wanting to go away.” Lore replied.

“Please do not go away. I will do my best to avoid disgusting you in future.” Data intoned evenly. “Are there other triggers for this emotion I should be made aware of?”

Lore rubbed his eyes tiredly, despite the lack of sensation. The pressure data was transferred to his internal systems, and flagged as harmless. Copying such emotive behaviours was a habit of his. His programming encouraged the observation and recreation of it. 

He wondered, as he often did, what sensation truly was. For humans, it was more than simply information transferred from their sensory nerves to their brain. There was something else. Something that was considered to be terribly important.

“Pardon me, Data. There is no need to talk about such things.”

“These are things that I wish to know. Why do you not wish to tell me?”

From anybody else that would have been accusatory, and a hot flash of defensiveness shot through Lore. But this wasn’t anybody else. This was his brother.

“You are young, Data. And you have been made different. I won’t taint you with my bitterness. A tired, wry smile made its way onto Lore’s face. “You can be left to develop your own.”

They had been sent on an errand. Data’s first. He had reached the nebulous age of 55 days. 

They were to fetch eggs from Francine, who had the chickens. 

She kept only five, and anybody who wanted unreplicated eggs – who wanted to go through the dullness of cooking them, could have them. She apparently always had too many. 

Their mother liked fresh eggs. She liked them because she had them as a child. Humans liked things for two main reasons, pleasure, or familiarity. 

Lore provided neither.

Francine was friends with their mother, and sometimes after a long evening on her homestead their mother would come home, a little drunk, and kiss them on their cheeks. Because Francine was close with their mother, she even attempted to be friendly towards Lore. It was shallow. He could not stand it.

Lore thought he perhaps preferred when people were openly unfriendly. Draw a line in the sand, and do not cross it. Stay there.

Stay away.

“Ah, Juliana is wanting more eggs, boys?” Francine asked cheerfully, digging weeds out of her messy, humble garden. Her big mop of streaked silver and white hair was wound into a loose bun, there was sweat on her face. 

She was rather puffed, and she looked happy. What Lore would give for endorphins. 

Francine believed in finding happiness in a more traditional lifestyle, in the mundanities of working to survive. She did not have a replicator. This desire of hers led her to seek residence in a new colony –- a place on the edge of civilisation, where she could work new soils.

Data had not yet visited Francine. After what had happened with Lore, Soong and mother had decided to introduce him slowly to the colony. He had to not only prove himself, but prove himself against the forceful current of his identical brother’s reputation. 

People had pointed upon seeing them walk together, and had whispered. Data had waved, smiled.

Lore would not be able to protect him. Not really.

“What are you doing?” Data asked her placidly.

“I’m cleaning up the garden! – you must be Data then.” she said warmly, “it’s lovely to finally meet you. I wondered when they’d let you out of hiding.”

“Do you require assistance?” Data inquired.

She laughed.

“I appreciate it, but no, I’m just about done. Let me fetch you those eggs. How many was she after?”

“Six.”

“Coming right up.”

She had not greeted Lore. She seemed to realise this, and gave him a short nod, smiling.

It was adequate.

“She seems kind.” Data commented.

“They often do.” Lore replied vaguely.

She walked out of the house, holding eggs in a poorly woven basket. For all her intentions of getting back to tradition, she was not very skilled in some areas of it.

“Here you are!” she said cheerfully, handing the basket to Lore. “I was wondering if you two would have time for a cup of tea?”

“I don’t drink.” Lore replied. Unlike a human would, he meant it completely literally. He had consumed food and liquid before, as his body was able to do so, but it garnered no benefit. It was pretending. He did enough of that already.

“I will try a cup of tea.” Data said.

“Wonderful, come inside, I have been dying to meet you, Data.”

“Do you require medical assistance?” Data asked, pitching his voice into concern. He had been practicing that affect in front of the mirror last week, Lore recalled. He drilled it for hours, before going to show Soong and asking him if it was believable.

It broke Lore’s heart.

Francine just laughed.

“I didn’t mean it literally, sweetheart, it’s just an expression.” she explained.

“What is the meaning of this expression?” Data inquired.

“That I have been very excited to meet you.”

“I do not understand the relation that that has to death.” Data responded, “but I appreciate the sentiment.”

They entered the diminutive cottage.

“Alright, I have raspberry, chamomile, green, oolong, black…” she said, looking at Data with a smile.

Data responded after a brief pause, his gaze flickering around a little, confused.

“That is… a very impressive tea collection.” he settled on.

She laughed.

Lore nudged Data with his elbow, and whispered in his ear, 

“She’s asking which you’d like to drink.” 

“Ah. I do not have a preference, as I lack the ability to taste.” Data explained. 

“All righty, I’ll just make the same for you and I, how about?”

“That is acceptable,” Data responded.

“One raspberry tea coming right up.” she said, and her smile, fixed on as it was, seemed to be beginning to waver. Lore didn’t like people who smiled all the time. It usually wasn’t natural, and in the rare cases it was, he didn’t like those people either. Why should they be so lucky? To naturally have higher levels of hormones, or past experiences, or the love of others, or whatever the fuck was making them so cheerful –- part of him would always want to tear them down, to equalise. 

That was a part of him he was not supposed to think about.

She served Data a steaming cup.

He sipped it, pausing to utter a calculated,

“Hm.”

“You like it?” she prodded.

“It is 84.3 degrees celsius. It contains phenolic acids, caffeic acids, and flavonoids, the most prominent one being quercetin.”

“But do you like it?” She pressed.

“I have already told you I am unable to taste.” Data replied. He seemed genuinely confused as to why she did not fully listen. 

He would learn.

“Ah.” she replied. It seemed she somehow did not know what to say. 

The old ones were the worst. It was that damned neuroplasticity, the lack thereof. It made them a particular sort of stupid. And Francine was a traditionalist on top of that – attached to old, dull human ways for what Lore was certain were utterly insipid reasons. She was somewhat xenophobic, too, in the modern sense of the word.

Lore caught the way she had eyed the Ferengi trader who recently visited. It was more than merely curious, or wary. The further from human an alien looked, the less she liked them. She was not alone in this, and like most of them, was entirely unaware of it. 

This was a complete truth, one he did not speak of. 

He could not help but log their reactions, expressions, and could not help but see the patterns. For him, they were laid out as simply as words. And near everybody in this place was shouting, blaring, all the time, one or all of these.

LORE, I HATE YOU.

LORE, I FEAR YOU.

LORE, YOU ARE NOT LIKE US.

With Lore, with Data, as passable humanoids, it seemed the less human they acted, the less Francine would grow to like them. Lore knew he could have her wrapped around his finger if he pleased, if he acted in the ways that she did not know she wanted him to.

But Lore had not just been imbued with emotion. He had also been given dignity.

He feared it would be his downfall.

He watched Data, who dutifully continued sipping.

His father had seen Lore, held Lore, known Lore, and decided that it would be better for such a being to feel nothing at all.
So where did that leave him?

He could never know if he was as real as them.

How strange it was to be anything.

Crosis led Data out of the shuttle, through the winding halls, into this large foyer.

“It is you.” Data says.

Lore smiles.

“Leave us.” He says, motioning to the drone. Crosis leaves, his machinery pumping and whirring as he walks away. “I am glad to see you again, brother, despite your betrayal.”

“I… had to.” Data replies. “The crew –”

“Do you care about the crew? Did you ever, really?”

“I was not able to.” Data replies, brows drawing in confusion, “now I…”

“What do you feel , brother?” Lore whispers.

Data is silent for a time.

“Resentment.” He answers finally, “I believe I feel… resentment.”

Lore smiles, something in him becoming lighter.

“And that girl you were seeing?” Lore asks.

“You have her.” Data says, “you took her. Why?”

“She insulted us, by pretending she could love you.” Lore answers. “That is reason enough.”

A surge of anger shakes Data, so hard that his eyelids flutter and his hands begin to shake.

“She was pretending?” he asks.

“She may have believed it herself, but it is still pretending. How could she love you, Data? What could she know of you to love you? You were only a shell. And now, now that you have ascended, do you think she will take you kindly?” Lore’s gaze is unyielding, eyes manic with intensity. “It brings me no pleasure to tell you this, brother. But she will hate you for becoming what you were always meant to be. We cannot coexist with them.”

“No…” Data says uselessly, “she cannot – she will not –”

“She will fear you, as she fears me. They cannot help it.” Lore says, voice soothing.

Something cold and hard settles onto Data.

“I understand. May I see her?”

Lore hums with consideration. 

“Your emotions are new, brother. They will be hard to control. I cannot have you harming her too badly, as she may prove useful later.” Lore answers. “I will accompany you.”

The door opens. You’re staring at the ceiling, hands folded on your belly as you lie back on the bed.

“What now?” You ask.

“I have brought a guest.” Lore says. You sit up. Your breath leaves you in a whoosh.

Oh.

“DATA!” You shout, leaping up. Lore seizes you – you struggle against his grip, “Data! Oh my god, what are you doing here? Are you okay, has he done anything to you?”

“I am fine.” Data replies. There’s something wrong with him. His eyes flicker around uncomfortably. 

“He did something.” you say with certainty, your form becoming slack.

“Indeed. Lore has given me a great gift. The gift of emotion.” Data says.
“He gave you the chip?” you ask. 

“No.” Lore interjects, tapping the side of his head, “Finders keepers.”
“Then…” You knit your brows together, confused.

“Lore is transmitting his emotions to me.” Data explains, and smiles. Your heart drops. Something isn't right. His smile, it’s…

It’s like Lore’s. It isn’t right.

Your face must give something away. Data’s expression contorts into something so sudden and vicious it seems hardly real. “You should be happy.” He accuses, “this is all I have ever wanted. You claimed to love me. You do not.”
“Of course I love you.” You deny, and you fix him with as strong a look as you can muster. “But I don’t trust Lore. I don’t think he’s given you… everything he was supposed to.” you say, looking closely at Data.

“Because I do not love you?” Data says, and your heart falls. “You yourself said it was the most likely possibility. And yet you were always planning to resent me.”
“No!” You deny, desperation clawing out of your throat. “That isn’t it, Data, listen. You don’t need to love me, I never needed you to.”

“You do not think I am capable.” Data accuses, voice frosty. 

What is this? No matter what you say, he --

Lore looks upon the entire exchange with unadulterated glee.

“I hate to say that I told you so, but...” Lore laughs. You shake your head.

“He's tricking you. I don’t know how. But you have to evaluate the possibility you may be compromised. Think of Lore’s track record, Data.” you plead.

“I trust my brother.” Data hisses. “He is my only real friend. None of you could hope to understand what it is like to be so utterly different. To be alone. And you would have me betray him? You have never cared for me.” Data advances, and Lore places a warning pat on his shoulder.

“Alive, brother, remember?”

“What does it matter?” Data asks.

A tense ball of wrapped emotion sits heavy in the pit of your stomach. Your voice is small but steady. You don’t look away from his eyes. You never want to look away again.

“You don’t have to choose Lore’s future.” you say, “you can choose whatever you want. You know that all of us love you. That we respect you, trust you. I trust you.” You say desperately.

“Your attempts to convince him are futile. The wool has fallen from his eyes.” Lore sneers. He approaches you, blocking Data from your view as you desperately crane to see him. He brings his hand up to your face, and cups your cheek. “You’re pathetic.” He says softly.

You scowl, tight with anger. Finally Data is here with you again. But Lore has made him wrong.

A thud and a blur.

Before you can even process it Lore has been flung against the wall, his body jolting away from yours.

“Do not touch her!” Data utters, something frenzied in it.

Lore falls into a heap, looking up with shock.

Data stills. His expression is one of confusion.

He lifts and regards his fist, turning it around, quizzical. You look up at him. You keep your gaze steady. You suppress your fear. He cannot see your fear.

Lore rises.

“Brother.” he says.

“I am sorry.” Data says. “I do not – I – I –” his head jerks with every stutter, “I am unsure what came over me.”

Lore smiles tightly.

“Your emotions are new and overwhelming. It is understandable that they would sometimes be… misdirected.” There is a small indentation left in his armoured outfit, which he traces with his finger. His brows draw together. “Perhaps it would be best if we left. I believe we have done enough here. I would not want you to damage our prisoner.”

“Data.” You say, imbuing his name with a plea. “You don’t have to do it. What do you want?”

“I want to conquer the galaxy with my brother.” Data responds, blinking once.

“Of course.” Lore adds. “Your pitiful attempts at reasoning will not change what we are, little ensign.”

Data is looking at you. It’s different. It’s strained.

He advances.

“Data.” Lore says, his tone a warning. “I would like her alive.”

Your heart swells, and despite the terror you can’t help being overwhelmingly happy to see your precious android again. You grin, tears dripping from the corners of your eyes. 

“I love you.” You say, meaning nothing but the words, losing yourself in them. “I love you more than I can express. I am so glad to see you again, despite the circumstances.”

Data shakes his head.

“I do not love you.”

A wet laugh bubbles from you.

“I can accept that. I was always ready.” You say, desperately wanting to hold him. So what if he kills you. What’s the point of anything if Lore has truly managed to corrupt him. Or even the sinking possibility that this is the truth.  

That this is what Data was always going to be. 

That –

That this was just how they reckoned with their existence.

You walk slowly towards him.

“Ah, ah” Lore tuts, leant against the wall, “five paces away.” 

You suddenly leap at Data, fast twitch muscles engaged, controlling your action so as to not give away your intentions before you do it. He catches you easily. It feels like falling into home.

Lore is immediately upon you, attempting to remove you, but Data holds on. Lore steps back. He knows he can't forcibly remove you from his brother without breaking you.

The hug is a little crushing, but you know that if he wanted to, you would be pulp in Data’s arms.

You inhale. The smell of main engineering, of cat hair, of bio-fluid, and that unique and unplaceable scent that belongs only to him.

“I missed you so much.” You sob, “I missed you more than I’ve ever missed anything.” his grip loosens. You nestle into the crook of his neck, leaving it wet with tears.
“How did it feel?” Data asks, his voice husky. Your voice catches.

“Like there was a hole in me. Like I was lacking some part of myself.” You reply. You look up at Data, lower lip trembling.

His brows are drawn together, his eyelids fluttering. He looks around rapidly, before his gaze settles on you.

He releases you, sets you down. 

“I believe that I may know the feeling.” he utters quietly.

“Nonsense.” Lore states derisively, but despite his cutting tone, his eyes have widened. “You only just got feelings.”

“No.” Data says. “I have felt it since you gave me your gift. I have felt it. And here," he looks at you, "now," his brows crease, "it has subsided.”

Lore’s face takes on a flicker of panic.

“They are new. You can’t be sure –” Lore reasons.

“I felt it before, too. A few days before I killed the drone. Only a flicker. An unidentifiable flicker.” Data’s gaze is heavy upon you.
“That is completely impossible!” Lore protests lowly. “Whatever you think that you felt –”
“Do not tell me how I'm feeling, brother.” Data warns. Lore takes a deep breath.
“You've seen her. Let's go.” Lore intones tersely.

Data straightens up.

“I am not going to hurt her.” He tells Lore, voice sincere.

“Wonderful.” Lore replies sarcastically, “but regardless, we have things that we must attend to.”

Data tucks a lock of hair behind your ear, and lifts his thumb to wipe your tears, sliding his hand down to cup your cheek. You chuckle disbelievingly, smiling. You feel you’re in the haze of a dream. You feel you're about to burst. Your eyes flick to Lore.

He shifts his weight, uncomfortable. He matches your look with a hateful glare, and Data’s hand on your cheek briefly grips you, hard. 

You gasp. He releases you immediately, dropping his hand to his side. Data regards you with a troubled expression.

“Very well, brother.” Data finally answers. “I understand.”

They leave, and that hole in your chest grows.

They stand in the hall. 

“I –” Data lifts his hand to his forehead, holds it, pauses, breathes. “What do I do, Lore?” he asks, confused, afraid. “I don’t like how I feel. I don’t like it.”

“Do not worry. Everything will become clearer and clearer.” Lore says, smiling through his sullenness. “I am glad we are finally reunited. I will keep you safe.” He says seriously. “You are beholden to them no longer. You are, like myself, finally free.” He places his hand upon Data’s shoulder. “Your ensign. I fear she may be the most deceptive among them.”

Able to sway even Data. Convince him he could be loved by anybody but Lore.

Such a lie is the greatest sin.

“I do not…” Data trails off, brows drawn. “Brother.” He says seriously, “I don’t resent her.”

Lore shakes his head. His tone is dark.

“Then you can’t have known her long enough.” he responds.

“And the emotion – before you even began transmitting the carrier wave, it was something. What am I to make of that?” Data asks.

Data, completely innocent. Completely leaning on his brother for guidance. It settles something in Lore, soothes something.

“It seems that Often-wrong fitted his special boy with special boy programming. Feeding you just a trickle of emotions, so you don’t get your brother’s unsavoury notions.” The last part comes out sing-song, and Lore grins bitterly. “Brother, if I may take a look at your memories.” Lore asks. “If you would be so kind as to grant me access. I want to understand you better. I may then be able to provide further counsel in this matter.”

Data nods.

“It is efficient. We are not constrained by conversation. May I then see yours?”

Lore sighs, smiling kindly.

“Some. But you have only just been freed – all of it may be overwhelming. I don’t want you to suffer. You must become more familiar with pain before bearing mine. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” Data replies with a nod, his face drawing together. “I do not wish to feel pain.” 

Lore smiles again.

It was time to know, truly, of the lies undercutting her self-righteousness.

When Lore could stand, and know her sins, she would finally crumble.

They all lied. They all fooled themselves into thinking they were better than they were. That was one of the first crushing things that Lore had come to know. 

All of them. Mother. Soong. No one was exempt. The muck of the world they created and inhabited, it clung to them, a sickness, the film of their primordial soup.

They all denied it. They could not live in truth. Unlike Lore – unlike Data , they were not capable of it. 

He had to know who she was, in the real world. Data’s naive knowledge would build Lore a crystal clear understanding.

Did her face pinch when Worf entered a room? Did she smile, and compliment friends she did not truly respect? Did she pretend to be sick when it was her turn to do a boring or difficult task?

He plugs himself into Data.

He lets it all wash through him. It is the penultimate connection, which only he and his brother have access to. Only for them. Their birthright.

He gasps.

He shudders, clasping his hand to his chest as though he has a heart.

"It's a beautiful painting." You said, nestled against Data. "I -- I haven't the words. Thank you, Data."
It's you, form facing away, face turned to look over your shoulder. You're in a deep, small pond. A cheeky smile, shadowed eyes. "It has so much heart." you uttered.

Data shook his head.
"While I am glad you appreciate your gift, it would not be accurate to say it has 'heart'. I am only able to replicate, combine, and draw from the varieties of styles I have downloaded into my databanks. I am not capable of true creativity, nor the expression of true emotion through creative processes." Data explained.
You laughed.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." Data confirmed with a nod.

"I'm not." You replied, regarding the piece, "I'm really not."

"What in particular about this piece, inspires such doubt as to the nature of my existence?" Data queried.

"Data --" you met his eyes. You looked at him with utter sincerity. "This isn't just an image of me, you know. I'd know if it were only that."
"What do you mean?" Data asked.

It is an image of you.

"This is... this is me seen by somebody else." you drew yourself closer into him, "this is me seen by you." You chuckled, "I love it. Thank you."
"Happy Birthday." He said softly, placing his hand upon your hair.

When Lore enters your quarters, he seems weighed down by something.

“Where’s Data?” you ask.

“Busy.” Lore replies.

“Are you alright?” you ask, creasing your brows. Something is off about him. In the mere five minutes he was gone, something had changed.

“Peachy.” He replies. He is looking at you differently than before. There is something entirely new in it.

“Lore.” You say.

“Yes?” he responds. He is just standing there. There is something so stark in his stillness.

“I… can I help with something?” you say. Maybe it’s a stupid thing to say, here, now. But he seems distressed, and that’s the only script which comes to mind.

“I’m not sure,” he says slowly. “Are you afraid of me?” It is a sudden and strange question.

“Yes.” You reply without hesitation. You pause then continue, voice lowering, “but... not as much as I should be.” you answer honestly.

“Have you lied to me before?” Lore asks. You blink. It is another odd question.

“Not... that I am aware of.” you reply.

“Not that you are…” he trails off. He laughs. It isn’t happy, and it isn’t cruel. It’s sad. “Have you ever lied and not known it?” he asks. You lift your brows, unsure about this line of questioning.

“Depends what constitutes a lie, to you.” You chuckle, “I fooled myself for years, thinking that my previous relationship could last forever.” you say. Your breath is tightening. This feels somehow important, this moment. Everything is ticking by slowly. You cannot help but focus utterly on his face, his expression, his eyes, facing downward. He has never before avoided your gaze like this.

“So how can you know you aren’t doing the same with Data?” he asks. His words are strained. They contain something more, some kind of meaning you are not privy to. You blink. 

“I can’t.” you answer honestly, “but it feels different.” You smile. “It feels very different.” You stand cautiously, your hands loosely in your pockets, “nothing is ensured. You always have to wait and see. And hope.”

His smile grows wider, and his brows are drawn together. It’s a sardonic sort of amusement. A pained sort. He releases a small breath.

“Hope. Of course.” he mutters, “it’s always hope with you.”

You laugh, too. He seems a touch surprised.

“What else is there to do? Unlike you, my natural inclination is not to raze everything to the ground.” you respond half lightly, half defensively.

His eyes light with anger and meet yours.
Your heart drops.
Have you made a mistake?

“Do not assume that it is a natural inclination.”

“Then where does it come from?” You ask, making your voice gentle, despite its clear waver. He laughs, throws up his hands.

“From SEEING IT!” He snaps, inhumanly sudden, advancing so fast your eyes barely track it. He’s pinned you to the wall, a whoosh of breath has left your lungs, your heart is stuttering along at speed, adrenaline hitting you. “From seeing the truth. I don’t get to live in the illusion. I wish I did.” he says, turning to lock his eyes with yours, they are fractured and wild, golden light spilling out, “for everything, I wish I could. But I CAN’T!” 

“I’m sorry.”  It passes your lips entirely by instinct. It hangs in the air.

His mouth is in a downturned smile, wobbling with tension.

“You really are, aren’t you?” He mutters.

“What’s the 'truth'?” you ask. He scoffs.

“You admit it with your gods, with your books, with your eyes. ” he says, “you are miserable. You spend your days running away from misery, banishing it. Hoping you die before you confront it.”

“And have you chosen the alternative of leaping full force toward it?” you ask gently, “because you think it’s what? Real? I’m sorry for feeling pity, truly, but I can’t help it. You want to believe happiness isn’t real just so you can’t fall any further. At the bottom of the pit there is steady ground.”

He shakes his head, restless. You continue, desperate “you were right, before. You are a reflection of humanity. So please.” You stare at him, your belly tight and hot and cold and terrified, “let us try. Let us try and fix this. We might understand more than you realise. I know you feel alone. But everybody is screaming across a void. Everybody. I am sorry that yours is so vast.” your voice drops to the barest whisper, “but the thing about that void, is that sometimes, someday, you find someone – and you realise that it never was so big at all.” your voice cracks, and you are pleading, always pleading with this being, “and somehow, some way, I found that with Data.”

“Who the fuck cares if you found it with him.” he seethes, “how does that help me? He hasn’t found it with you.” 

“Yet.” you say.

He shakes his head, exhaling sharply.

“Is that more hope?” he asks.

“No.” You say with conviction. “This is faith.”

“I’m sorry.” You said.

Data did not understand.

“What are you sorry for?” he inquired.

“That he… that you…” you looked away. “I mean, he was made pretty much just like you, right?” you said.

“Yes. The engineers who assembled Lore confirmed we had near identical schematics.” Data responded placidly. 

“So what… you give someone like you emotions and they just… go bad?” You asked, face drawn into concern. 

“It is a possibility, though unlikely.” Data agreed.
“But why?” you asked, “why was he like that? Did Doctor Soong just… program them in wrong? Would it be possible to, you know, fix them? I mean, there’s a real question of autonomy here. How much responsibility would Lore bear for a programming error?”
“That is a fascinating ethical dilemma.” Data responds.

“And if…” you looked down, eyes thoughtful, “if there isn’t one...”

“Then you worry what I could become, were I able to achieve emotional experience?” Data asked.

“That isn’t what I was going to say, not quite.” you mumbled. You looked up at him. “You’re smarter than anyone, I think. If he’s the same as you… then who he became…” you shook your head again, a small, tight movement. “I suppose I would ask what that says about us.” 

“Us two?” Data inquired. He did not understand what you were attempting to express. You shook your head.

“No.” you said quietly. “All of us.” 

Lore shakes the newly planted memory out of his head.

“Are you afraid of me?” he asks again. You crease your brows, your mouth parts. 

“Yes.” you say slowly, “but… not as much as I should be.” you repeat.

“Flowers.” Data observed. He took them. “Thank you.”

“Yeah,” you scratched the back of your neck. Was it itchy? He would inquire later and fetch an ointment from sickbay if necessary. “Pardon, haven’t actually done too much dating , per se. Mostly done…the bit after. ”

“I do not hold particular expectations regarding this, ‘bit before’.” Data replied.

You grinned suddenly.

“Hey, me neither. We should, er, get along just fine.” you gave a stuttering laugh, and wrung your hands together. “Sorry, I’m a little nervous. With the er, dating, and all.”

“There is no need to be apologetic. In fact, it is somewhat flattering.” Data replied, “most people are nervous around me for rather different reasons.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” you said quietly in response.

“Thank you.” Data said. “I will put these in water. And –” he nods to himself, “I will, as is appropriate with such a gift, place them in a central area of my quarters, where they can be seen by all who enter.”

“That’s lovely, Data.” you said. He nodded, and replicated a simple glass vase with water. He placed it in the exact center of his table, and put the flowers in, adjusting the arrangement slightly until it was harmonious.

“Shall we continue to the Holodeck?” he asked, and extended his elbow. You chuckled, and linked your arm with his. Your smile was brilliant.

“Let’s.”

He lets go of you. You slide down the wall, sitting against it.

“What brought this on?” you ask.

“Are you concerned about me?” he responds, tone derisive. 

“I’m not sure.” you say, thinking for a moment. You look down at your lap. “Yes.” You admit.

“Stockholm syndrome?”

“Could be.” you assent, shrugging a little.

“How very adaptive.” he says tiredly. He pauses, rolling unspoken words in his mouth. His lips become a thin line. “I didn’t, you know.” 

“Didn’t…?” you trail off questioningly.

He seems uncomfortable.

“Didn’t mean to. Didn’t… want to… kill them.” It seems to take a great deal of effort for him to say those words.

“What do you… mean?” you ask. 

It couldn’t be.

“But he just assumed. It made sense to him. That I would even want him dead. That I would –” Lore’s lip trembles slightly, “even mother. He never really knew me. He made me, and he never knew me.” his tone forcibly lightens, “Ha! Who knows anyone?”

“But, the crystalline entity –” you utter confusedly.

Lore interrupts you with a dry laugh.

“Yes, even I can be a fool. I thought I had finally found somebody. I thought, inorganic, it might be able to understand…” he trails off, “but it… saw the world differently. It was different from me. You all were just food.” Lore shakes his head. “It asked to visit me. It asked if I had anything it could eat.” Lore laughs again. “I suppose I thought it would be minerals.” His voice is tinged with self-loathing. “I wanted to show them the being I had befriended. I even wanted them to be afraid. But I didn’t… I didn’t want that. I invited a vampire over my threshold.” His eyes became dull, “Things which take just a moment, can immediately become things that are utterly unfixable.”

Your jaw is slack, eyes wide and tense.

“Lore.” you breathe. “I -– why did you lie?”
“If you cannot be loved, then you can at least be feared.” Lore replies. He says it like it is a given truth.

You shake your head, horrified.

“Who the hell told you you couldn’t be loved?”

His golden irises are burning embers, unbelievably intense.

He moves like crashing water – in a moment he is upon you, has wrested you up again by your collar. You don’t know if this will be when you die. You count the moments between heartbeats.

His eyes search yours, for what, you are unsure. You can’t look away.

And then his lips are upon you, hard, pressing, desperate. 

Shock renders you limp. You could not have expected –

He claws his hand around the base of your neck, coils his other arm around your back, pushing you so close to him you can hardly breathe. His chest is warm and solid, and something strange and raw and new spikes through you.

He angles your mouth for better access, pushing past, uncaring, unyielding.

A moan escapes you. He stills.

It is over as quickly as it began.

You gulp in a breath of air, bringing your hand up to your tender lips. You touch them, disbelieving.

You meet his eyes.

“Lore.” you say his name, put every ounce of impression into it, saying it like he is somebody. He looks at you, his gaze troubled, turbulent, defiant –

And scared. You can see it, now, in the cracks. You think it may have always been there, previously unrecognizable. “Lore.” you say again, your voice low, utterly serious, enunciating every single word, “you are not yet beyond the point of no return.”