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Data entered his quarters at precisely 2200 hours.
“Well hello there. May I have this dance?”
“Hello, Q. Why are you in my quarters?”
“I would have thought that was obvious. I saved this last dance for you, dearheart.”
“My name is Data, not ‘dearheart.’ Please leave, or I will be forced to inform the Captain of your intrusion.”
“Oh, don’t be coy, lovebird. And don’t tell me you’ve forgotten about last night, you promised… Wait. What day am I in?”
“Stardate 44386.9.”
“Well shit. Must have gone back too far. So terribly sorry about this! I seem to be doing things out of order again. Pesky linear timelines and all that. Oh well, let’s just forget this ever happened.” With that, Q snapped his fingers and vanished in a flash of light.
Data shrugged.
“Hello, Spot. Would you like me to make you dinner?”
-/\-
Nearly four days later, on the day Keiko was to be married, Data entered sickbay, intent on finding Doctor Crusher.
“Doctor, may I ask a favor of you?”
“Of course, Data.
“Would you teach me how to dance?”
“What?”
“I would like to learn how to dance.”
“Why me?”
“It was in your service record. Awarded first prize tap and jazz competition, Saint Louis Academy.”
“Okay, okay.”
“Have I said something to upset you?”
“It’s just that, that was a long time ago, and I don’t want to be known as the dancing doctor. Again.”
“Then your answer is no.”
“I...honestly, Data, I would, but Lieutenant Juarez’s baby has been having trouble latching, so we have an appointment in a few minutes, and then there’s the wedding to get ready for, and...I just really don’t have time today. I’m sorry. Maybe I can figure something out tomorrow?”
“Thank you, Doctor, but it is for the wedding that I must learn to dance. I understand that you are busy, therefore I shall endeavor to find another instructor.” Data nodded respectfully, then turned and left the good Doctor’s office. As he entered the corridor, he spoke aloud to himself. (He had noticed Geordi doing so often and had added the behavior to his Friend Emulation subroutine.) “Perhaps this is the situation to which Q was referring…”
-/\-
Data stood in the middle of the empty holodeck. He had originally reserved the time for dance instruction with Doctor Crusher, but now he had other machinations. He was, however, slightly unsure how to begin.
“Computer? Are there any recorded instances of the entity Q appearing at the request of another party?”
“Searching…”
There was a flash of light. “Hello,” said Q, drawing out the vowels in what he probably thought was an endearing manner.
“Computer, cancel search. Hello Q. Would you teach me to dance?” Data turned to face Q expectantly.
Q’s mouth opened slightly. He cleared his throat. “One moment, please.” He snapped his fingers, and time appeared to cease its forward progression.
Q then began to perform what would, to an outsider, be described along the lines of “the happy dance of a toddler,” but was in reality a complicated series of quite serious expressions of victory. No, really. It was definitely behavior befitting an omnipotent being with the ability to alter reality with a snap of his fingers. Yup.
“Oh, shut up,” muttered Q to the narrator. “Okay, okay. Play it cool. This is it. This is how it starts. You’ve got this.” He shook his head roughly, performed some rather inhuman sounding vocal exercises, then snapped his finger.
There was a flash of light. Data blinked, then found himself standing in the middle of an empty ballroom, wearing a perfectly fitted navy blue tuxedo. Q was wearing one of a similar cut, though his was more of a burgundy.
“Of course, my dear Data. I would be happy to teach you to dance.”
Q waved his hand, and “Musetta’s Waltz” began playing softly. He demonstrated the position Data should take, then fit himself into the equation, placing one hand on Data’s waist and setting the other for his partner to take when he was ready.
“Is this correct?” asked Data, taking Q’s hand.
“Yes. It’s perfect. You’re...well.”
“Excellent.” Data nodded his head and affixed his gaze to their feet.
“No, no. Don’t...Just look at me. Trust me, Data.”
“You have never proven yourself to be particularly trustworthy in the past.”
“You wound me! If that’s the case, then why call me instead of running to one of your little mortal friends?”
“I was merely taking you up on your offer.”
“Hmm?”
“Did you not come to my quarters three nights ago and offer to dance with me?”
“Did I? Oh dear. You see, I’m not quite as attached to linear time as you and your compatriots. So it’s entirely possible that you’ve experienced an event in which I have yet to participate.”
“Ah. In that case, perhaps I should--” He began to disengage himself from Q’s arms.
“No! No, I mean. I’m perfectly capable of teaching you to dance. I might as well, since I’m here. I promise not to do anything particularly chaotic. Please stay.”
Data cocked his head, considering. “Very well.”
Q let out a sigh of relief. “All right then. Now, when I move my hand like this, you step back with your right foot. Then to your left, and then together. Now…”
Bit by bit, he taught Data how to follow, and then how to lead.
“Now, remember how I dipped you? You can--oh my. Mister Data, you are quite the charmer. That was very well done.”
“Thank you. Do you believe I am prepared to dance at Keiko’s wedding?”
“Quite. Mm. I suppose I should let you get back to the real world, now.” Q snapped his finger, and Data found himself and his partner once more on the Enterprise holodeck. Q had something of a bittersweet expression on his face.
“If you would like, Q,” Data began, but paused when Q’s face brightened immediately, “and if you promise to behave appropriately...We could engage in further social interaction at a later date.”
Q grinned cheekily. “I promise to be the perfect gentleman.”
Data nodded, then turned and left the holodeck. Q busied himself with popping the heart shaped bubbles he had accidentally created, then snapped his finger and disappeared.
-/\-
Three weeks later, Data sat in his quarters. He was simultaneously formulating a new nutritional supplement for Spot, proofreading one of Keiko’s papers, writing a poem for Geordi’s birthday, and attempting to modify his Chess.Strategy program with his Poker.Bluff subroutine.
He finished Keiko’s paper (a study on the modification of hydroponics for plants that required compounds other than water to survive) at roughly the same time that the modified code began compiling.
He devoted his newly freed processing power to the contemplation of his budding friendship with Q. They had met four times since the dance lesson, and had participated in a variety of activities. They had attended an opera in 19th century Italy (the opera had been Data’s idea; the time travel, Q’s.), watched the Seneca Falls Convention take place through the eyes of a cat (Data had found the experience enlightening on multiple levels), watched a supernova from inside the exploding star itself (“No, Data, I didn’t cause this, I just happened to know when and where it would occur!”), and gone bowling on the holodeck. He had enjoyed bowling the most, as Q was able to change the laws of physics slightly whenever Data played, and Data could program slight variations to the laws of probability when Q played.
He had been concerned, at first, that Q would take the opportunity to wreak havoc on board the Enterprise, but he had been surprisingly well behaved. Data smiled slightly when he thought of the flowers Q had “purchased” for him after the opera. (“It’s perfectly legal currency.” “You created it out of thin air.” “So?”)
The program signaled that it was done compiling. Data checked it over, nodded, then rose from his desk. “Q, would you care for a game of chess?”
There was a flash of light.
-/\-
“Geordi?”
“Hm?”
“May I ask you a question about interpersonal relationships?”
“Of course, Data.”
“How does one know when one is being courted?”
Geordi froze, his glass halfway to his mouth. “What now?”
“That is to say, how does one tell the difference between a friendly advance and a romantic one?”
“Well, Data,” said Geordi as he put his drink down. “I guess it really depends on the situation. I mean, the easiest thing would just be to ask the other person, but then you run the risk that they’ll be offended. Is there any sort of... context for this question?”
Data began to answer, but was interrupted by the arrival of Guinan. She put a drink on the table and a hand on Geordi’s shoulder. “It’s real alcohol, kid, so go easy. But I have this feeling that you’re gonna need it.” She patted him gently, then went back to the bar.
Geordi looked from his friend to the drink, then back to his friend. “Who, exactly…?”
“Q.”
Geordi then forgot how to do several things at once, such as breathing, blinking, and producing sound with his vocal cords. It was going to be a long lunch.
-/\-
“Q?”
“Yes, dear?”
“Are you courting me?”
“Yes dear.”
Q was lying on the sofa with his head in Data’s lap. They were racing to see who could read the entirety of Charles Dickens’ works the quickest, with several limitations placed upon both parties.
Data put his padd down. “You do realize that I do not experience emotion.”
Q sighed and sat up to face Data. “Look, I know that’s what you’ve been told your entire life, but frankly, it’s poppycock.”
Data’s brow furrowed. Q held up a finger.
“No. Hear me out. You have preferences. You get attached to people. You miss them when they’re gone. You give people things for the sole purpose of making them happy. Out of all of time and space, for our first date you wanted to see La Boheme because you liked the song I played when I taught you to dance! You paint, you write poetry, you listen to comedy. Dammit, Data, you care about things. And you care about people. Just because your emotions are a different shape, size, and color than those of everyone around you doesn’t mean they’re not there.”
“Oh. If you would give me a moment?” Data looked at Q, concerned.
“Of course,” said Q, sliding a little bit away from him on the couch. He knew Data needed to process his outburst.
Maybe he had said too much. Maybe it was too soon to be this passionate. In the future, after Data installed his emotion chip, he had told Q that it had taken a while for him to come to terms with the way he processed the world around him. Maybe…
Q snapped his fingers subtly, and the narrator found herself shutting up before she made things worse.
Data turned to Q. “Do you...require anything of me?”
Q furrowed his eyebrows. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Am I,” Data seemed to be struggling with the phrasing, “required to do anything?”
Suddenly understanding, Q reached out for his hand. “No, no, of course not. No, I would never. No. No, just...just be who you are, do what you’re comfortable with. If we could keep...if we could keep going the way we’re going, that would be wonderful. No, I’d never ask you to...God, no.”
Data gave him a small smile. “You are babbling.”
“I am, aren’t I?”
Data thought for a moment, then nodded to himself. He returned his attention to Q, who seemed slightly upset.
“Q?”
“Yes, dear?”
“Would you like me to write a cuddling subroutine to implement during our interactions?”
Q grinned widely. “Yes dear.”