"Cynicism"
A sigh escaped my lips and my posture all-but-deflated where I sat. Head lowering back into the cradle of my hands, I spoke in a near-defeated tone, "I just.. I can't, Data."
Which, in all fairness, was true... Probably.
"Doctor Korvinn," Data replied, "There is no logical reason that you would lack the capability to complete the mission; All accounts provided by Doctor Crusher have described your qualifications as more than satisfactory for the task at hand."
My face lolled upwards again, allowing me to send the android a half-hearted glare, "That's not... I mean, I didn't.. The point is-" I began. My hands flailed slightly with each sharp attempt at coherence, with my facial expressions following them in a rather pointless, directionless dance of emotions. "I just..." The words drifted off.
Eyes scanning across the room, I took time to consider my next words carefully.
I tend to zone out an awful lot more than a 'responsible adult' with 'important responsibilities' really should.
Or, at least, that's what I'm told on a more-than-regular-basis.
I like to think it's not entirely my fault- I've just reached that age where words begin to feel like pointless fluff in comparison to the ever-elusive thoughts they're meant to encompass. Well... I suppose that's not really the correct way to put it. But, that's kind of the point, isn't it?
Intention never quite translates into action or speech in a direct line- It more-so grasps the general outline and delivers a haphazard silhouette of what you actually intended. And now, in light of all my thoughts formed from years of (questionable) wisdom, intertwined with the present moment's worries- in the face of a being who takes almost all words at face value- I somehow found the process of finding precisely what to say to be a-harder-than-usual balancing act to perfect.
So, I zoned out.
I stared into space.
I considered my options.
Or, at least, that's what I intended to do.
I find that my brain often begins with honest intentions... Before inevitably succumbing to the kind of pointless dribble that rendered all those previous attempts at productivity completely pointless.
Today was no exception.
Which meant that, after about the third productive thought, my mind then drifted to Data (No, Not like that).
Quick-as-a-whip Mr. Data- Who made life for me far more complicated than it outta' be because, despite his seeming naivety for flirting and utter obliviousness when it came to social-cues, nothing fully went over Data's head. Sure, he may not understand every wink or hint you threw at him, but hell would all-but freeze over before he forgot that you did it. And sooner or later, whether it be through pure deduction or with a helpful hint from someone more adept, he'd put the pieces together.
In short; Data took notes. More than notes, actually- Data took detailed records with photographic detail, time-stamps and no expiration dates. It's why you can make an offhand joke to him about his 'Shakespeare-like-eloquence' one day and receive a puzzled expression, only to have him fill your ear with a poetic ode to his cat a year later; He remembers things.
Except, not all situations brought about by his astounding memory lead to mere surprise and a weird sense of pride for my friend; some elicited pure, barely restrained terror.
Because it's these instances that rather quickly lead me to the realization that it was going to be real, damn hard to keep anything hidden from the guy. Which, given my current situation, meant trouble.
But, I'll get to that.
For now, I just need to emphasize that anything I told Data had to be intensely considered, and heavily filtered. Even more so than in conversation with the other officers at Starfleet.
Because, sure, my boss was wicked smart (with good reason to suspect I was hiding something) and my therapist was the next-best thing to a damned mind-reader- But both were still flesh and blood. And flesh and blood meant limitations- Meant missing details.
Data, though...
Data, despite whatever fondness I had for him, was still a machine. A machine with a knack for noticing anything and everything, while also having an obligation to Starfleet outweighing any comedic, buddy-buddy répertoire we may have.
As much as I hated to admit it, he would always be 'Lieutenant Commander Data' first and 'your-friendly-neighborhood-android-pal Data' second.
And I knew that- I'd reminded myself of it every conversation I'd had with him.
Every Joke I told him, every laugh he drew from me, every smile I gave him...
Every smile he gave me.
Every spark of hope that shot through me when gave me one of those smiles because that meant...
That meant...
No. It didn't mean anything.
Because it couldn't. He could call me a friend until the world turned to ash, he could laugh at my antics, he could give my that damn smile of his, but... But that wouldn't make it real. Data was still an android.
And because...
Well, because I don't know what I'd do if it was actually real.
('No', a small voice in the back of my head says, 'What you mean to say is "Because I don't know what excuse I could tell myself to justify keeping my distance from him if it was actually real".' I proceed to beat said-little-voice back into whatever hell-scape, corner of oblivion it dared crawl out of before I even have the chance to consider that thought.
I don't take back-talk.
Even if it's... You know... From myself.)
All this to say; as much as I felt Data was the closest thing I'd ever had to a friend, I knew I could never allow myself to actually consider him as one.
And that didn't hurt in the slightest.
Obviously...
Alright, maybe it did. But this wasn't about what hurt, it was about what kept me alive. Opening up to Data meant opening up to Starfleet and if they found out that would mean-
Well, I'm not actually sure what that would mean. But, my gut told me it didn't bear thinking about. And, while the heart thrives in romantic dreams of 'what could be' and 'if only' that inevitably lead to disappointment when paired with reality- The gut tends to live in the grim, jaded nightmares that truly reflect what life tends to be. So, I went with my gut and, with some effort, put an end to the train of thought that held any high-hopes of connection or trust, and forced my mind back on the 'reality' track.
Like I said, my brain is a sucker for useless dribble, and dribble thy name is 'hope'. This time, though, my short derail into foolish fantasy had at least help sober me in regards to the actuality of my current situation; I couldn't do what Data was asking, and I couldn't tell him why that was- Which left me with three options, really. I either agree to Data's request and find some other way out, refuse both the order and his request to know the reasoning for my refusal, or reconsider my previously ruled-out nose-dive into deep space... Okay, fine; I had two options. But only because I'm not sure how to work the window cranks on this tin can. (See? Jokes. I'm not a complete cynic these days). Two options, then... Except...
Damn it.
When I finally allowed my eyes to focus again, I found Data sitting patiently on the coach across from me, while I sat on my bed. (We'd moved into my quarters once I'd realised the conversation was heading in the direction of 'I'm going to have- A) a mental-breakdown or B) six gin-and-tonics- before the night is over', and made the responsible deduction that neither would be entirely appropriate to do in the hallway). I guessed I'd only been lost in thought for around a minute or so, given he'd yet to become concerned for my health.
Sighing for about the millionth time since we'd began our conversation, I broke the silence I'd allowed to fill the room, "Data, be honest with me," I said, my voice carefully even, "I don't have a choice in the matter at all, do I? This isn't coming from you."
His features showed a shadow of apology, but his tone remained nothing short of professional, "Doctor Crusher made it very clear that she wished for you to accompany us."
"But it wasn't a suggestion." I said, flopping onto my back to stare at the ceiling. My tone devolved into something akin to a distant recounting as apposed to that of realisation,"She doesn't care if I'm willing or not, she just wanted to give me the illusion of choice so I didn't feel belittled".
Upon ending the sentence, I drifted my eyes to Data's face. His brows were furrowed slightly, but nothing else betrayed his pretense of indifference. I let out a breath and returned my eyes upwards, "There's no getting out of this one, is there, Tin-Man?"
"I'm sorry, Doctor Korvinn, but I don't believe your ranking will allow you to deny Doctor Crusher's orders. Your presence is expected on the bridge at Nine tomorrow"
My eye-lids fluttered shut.
"Of course it is."
I needed a nap.
Author's Note:
(I don't know if Author's notes are annoying for anyone, so I'll try to be quick! Sorry!)
So, uh... Hey there, folks(?)
I honestly didn't expect this to be met with such a warm reception! I genuinely just put this up for fun and forgot about it, but holy heck, y'all have been genuinely so sweet and complimentary?? Which is surprising because I was under the impression that my writing-style sUckED (Too many indents, semi-colons, dashes, grammatical errors, repetitive formatting, etc.), but reading all of your comments was absolutely heart-warming!!! That said, I wanted to come back and write for this again since some people seemed to be enjoying it, and also wanted to see if there would be any interest in me keeping this story going? Because, despite not having the details down, I do have a general plan for the over-arching plot of this story that initially prompted me to write it in the first place, and I'd be more than happy to continue it for you all!
Any-who, feel free to leave me a comment and let me know! Thank you all so much, and I hope to be seeing you soon! <3
-R.J. (LTOV)