#data simp

“Now, I want you to focus on not just creating a perfect replica of what you see in front of you,” you explained as you began tapping your brush across the canvas.

“Embellish it and give it its own unique quality. Van Gogh didn’t paint Starry Night as if he were looking at it through a lens; he put swirling motions into it, short and long brush strokes, he showed the world the way he saw.”

As you spoke, you moved your hand, adding your own strokes to the canvas.

“You don’t need to paint what’s in front of you,” you said. “You can modify it to your imagination. Just paint something beautiful.”

He looked at you politely for a moment more before silently turning to face his canvas.

The holodeck simulated a setting sun, with pink and orange colors streaking across the sky. The sun was barely visible over the mountains in the distance.

Data was an adept painter; he could easily look at a bowl of fruit and replicate it so well that you may think it was a photo rather than a painting.

He had presented his request to you during a particularly slow morning on the bridge.

He told you that he had noticed the paintings in your quarters one day while you were working on a report together, and he thought it was a good bet that you were at least somewhat knowledgeable in the arts, given that you owned so many.

To his surprise, you revealed that you had painted the majority of them.

“I was not aware that you were an artist,” he had stated with raised eyebrows.

You had shrugged, looking sheepishly at the ground. “I don’t really consider myself an artist. I’m a Starfleet Officer first and foremost; art is more of a hobby.”

“Lieutenant Y/N,” he tilted his head towards you with a puzzled, almost reprimanding look. “Is the definition of an artist not ‘one who creates art’?”

You looked down, laughing quietly. “You’re right, Data. I guess by those standards, I am an artist.”

He explained his situation to you then, stating that he and Geordi had been experimenting for a while to see if it was possible for Data to be creative.

As Geordi was not very artistic, and Data was an android, it had been something like the blind leading the blind (ahem… no pun intended).

So after talking to Geordi about it, Data elected to receive your help in their project.

Geordi was meant to join the both of you on the holodeck but had gotten caught up in engineering, so it was just you and your good friend, Data.

You glanced over at him, pausing in your painting. His canvas was angled slightly away from you so you couldn’t see what he was doing, and yours was angled away from him so he didn’t misunderstand the assignment and accidentally copy you.

He was in deep concentration, his brush strokes short as he picked up different colors onto his brush with nearly every stroke.

Well, it looks like his painting will at least be unblended… so it won’t be too realistic, you thought.

As he painted, you found yourself watching him. The concentrated look on his face, the way the light glinted off his pale skin and danced in his golden eyes. His dark hair slicked back… you wondered what it would look like if it was a little more messy; how it would feel to run your fingers through it and ruffle it up.

He glanced up at you, and you quickly turned back to face your canvas.

You’ve been alone for too long, Y/N, you thought to yourself, shaking your head.

You continued painting with no interruptions.

You finished your painting as the light was fading into night and the stars began appearing.

You looked over your canvas, inspecting it for any last minute improvements and found yourself satisfied with it.

You had changed the landscape to a white, fluffy texture, almost as if you were painting from atop the clouds, and left the sunset roughly the same, with the sun just barely peeking up behind them.

Data was still working feverishly, lost in his work as he stared down at his canvas, his brush strokes quick and rough.

He showed no signs of stopping, so you decided to have a seat.

You settled down in the grass, leaning against a tree just a few feet away from your easel.

You wondered how Data could still be working on his painting with the sun down, but you didn’t question him. No doubt he had a photographic memory and only had to look at the landscape once before he knew what to paint.

In fact, you hadn’t seen him glance up from his canvas at all while he was painting, save for the moment when you had made eye contact.

You rested your head back against the tree, still watching Data work. The sound of Data’s brush scraping against the canvas, the frogs and the crickets singing, the stream flowing nearby, all while under the light of the full moon and the stars… it was almost enough to put you to sleep.

The next thing you knew, Data was saying your name.

“Lieutenant Y/N,” he said gently, almost a whisper.

You opened your eyes to see his face hovering just in front of you.

It was bright now, and you jumped up. “Data?!” you looked around you in a panic, your heart beating fast. “How long was I asleep?”

“Only a few minutes,” Data informed you. “I instructed the computer to make it bright again, so we could present our paintings to each other.”

He offered a hand to you and pulled you easily to your feet.

“You may present your painting first,” he gestured to your canvas.

You smiled, excited now to show him what you’d done.

You walked beside him and came to a stop in front of your canvas.

“The warm colors of the sunset made me think of something whimsical,” you explained as you gazed at your finished painting in the light of the morning. “So I wanted to reflect that, and let my imagination run wild. I painted it as if there is a city above the clouds.”

Data nodded, placing a finger to his chin as he studied my painting. “I see. You harnessed your imagination, suspending disbelief in order to cultivate the idea that you could stand atop the clouds and would not fall through.”

You smiled. “Yes, Data, that’s exactly what I did. Very good analysis.”

He nodded at you, before reaching out a hand. “May I?”

You were unsure of what he wanted at first, but quickly realized that he was asking for your hand.

You obliged, placing your hand in his and allowing him to lead you over to his canvas.

When you saw the painting, you couldn’t help but let out a gasp of surprise.

You could hardly believe your eyes. There, on the canvas, was a perfect rendition of you.

He had painted your hair longer, done up in a fancy manner, and changed your uniform into a pristine toga--one you may have worn if you were using the holodeck to visit Ancient Greece, or Rome. Gold jewelry dripped from your ears, laced around your neck, pinned in your hair; everywhere he could fit a piece of jewelry, there was one.

He had added complementary strokes of colors into your skin, mesmerizing next to the golden light of the sunset glinting off of you.

He had obviously painted you from his vantage point: a side view, with your eyes turned toward the sky, which was exactly the perspective he would have had while he stood in front of his canvas and you stood in front of yours.

You looked up at him, and he was gazing back at you, no doubt so he could gauge your reaction.

“Data…” you said, shaking your head as you stared up into his eyes. “Why did you paint me?”

The ground was uneven, the frosty grass crunching underneath your feet. You were sprinting full-tilt in the direction of a cave, the ground shaking as artillery shells dropped from above, growing closer with every shot.

Data was running behind you, maintaining the same pace as you… though you were sure he could have run much faster without you setting his pace.

The shells were dropping just behind you now, and you pushed yourself to go faster, but even with all the adrenaline coursing through your veins, you couldn’t get any more speed.

There was the sound of an explosion directly behind you before hot, searing pain shot through your thigh and you fell to the ground.

Your ears were ringing so loudly that you could barely hear yourself cry out, hands shaking as they hovered over your leg. Your vision was blurry, but you were sure you could see red beginning to soak into your black uniform.

“Y/N!” Data called, reaching you quickly.

He assessed you for just a second before apparently deciding that it was safe to move you.

He looped an arm underneath your legs, then placed a hand underneath your back and lifted you. The movement caused the pain to go searing up the back of your leg again.

“Ow-- Data!” you protested through gritted teeth.

“I apologize for--as you would refer to it--‘man-handling you’, Y/N,” he stated as he began running again. “However, I believe the alternative is far less desirable.”

You couldn’t argue with that.

You tucked your head into his chest to shield yourself from the wind. He was running much faster now that he wasn’t staying behind you, and it almost made you wonder why he didn’t just offer to carry you from the start.

You reached the cave in no time. The ground was still shaking from the force of the artillery hitting the earth and exploding.

“I am still not sure taking cover in a cave was the best idea,” Data sat you gently on the cave floor.

The rock felt cool against your flushed skin, the cold air biting your lungs as you tried to catch your breath.

“Yeah, I know,” you said through gritted teeth. “If one of the shells hits the cave, it could collapse on us and I’ll suffocate or be crushed, and if we stayed out there, we’d definitely be blown to bits. I chose the lesser of two evils.”

You steeled yourself, taking a deep breath before you looked down at your leg.

There was a piece of shrapnel lodged in your thigh, right in the center.

You grabbed it, testing it to see how deep it was. Even the slightest touch made you see stars, and you threw your head back.

“Gahhh,” you ground your teeth.

“Do not remove the shrapnel,” Data said quickly, turning his head towards you.

“I wasn’t going to,” you snapped at him. “If I remove it, I’ll probably bleed out. I was trying to figure out how deep it was.”

Data knit his brows together, kneeling next to you and pulling out his tricorder. He scanned around the area before looking at you with a grave expression.

“It appears to have cut into your femoral artery.”

You leaned your head back, taking a deep breath. “You need to apply a tourniquet.”

“Lieutenant Y/N, you could lose your leg,” he stated.

“Yeah, but it beats bleeding out,” you sighed. “Are you going to help me, or do I have to do it myself?”

He seemed to think it over for a moment before answering.

“I will assist you.”

He pulled his jacket off and tore the sleeve. Then he wrapped it around your leg and tied it in a half knot.

He stopped as if he was processing something.

He looked around for a moment before leaving your side, only to come back with a small stick.

He placed it on top of the jacket sleeve, then tied a knot around it and began twisting. The pressure became uncomfortable as he twisted, but you knew that meant he was preventing the blood flow and saving your life.

He tied it off and you rested your head back against the cave floor, your breathing shallow and your forehead damp with cold sweat.

“I have done everything I can,” Data sat back on his knees, looking down at you. “However, without serious medical attention soon…”

“I will still bleed out and die,” you finished for him. You sighed. “Thank you, Data. I’m sorry for snapping at you, I’m just… in a lot of pain right now.”

“That is understandable, Y/N,” he nodded.

He didn’t say anything else. You gazed up at him for a while. In the dim light of the cave, you could barely make out his features that you had grown so familiar with over the years.

So, you reached out and did something you’d wanted to do for a long time.

You traced your finger down his nose, along his cheekbone, down his jaw, and then up to his lips. He didn’t move or try to stop you; just allowed you to repeat the cycle as many times as you wished.

His skin was soft and smooth under your fingertips, and even though you were in immense pain and light-headed from the blood loss, the feeling was gratifying.

“Lieutenant Y/N, you are shivering,” he informed you.

You pulled your hand away, suddenly noting your chattering teeth and shaking shoulders.

“Huh,” you said, genuinely surprised. “I wonder if it’s the shock, or if I’m cold. Or both?”

“It would be in your best interest to stay warm,” Data stated as he began shifting down from his sitting position.

“What are you doing?” you turned your head ever so slightly to look at him, but that sent your head spinning.

“We must huddle together in order to keep you warm,” he answered simply as he laid next to you and pressed his chest to your back.

He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you in closer. As he shifted you, your leg ached slightly, but he was definitely warm.

“Data…” you looked down at the ground. “This is all kind of a futile effort, isn’t it?”

“Lieutenant Y/N…” he began, but you went on.

“Taking shelter, applying a tourniquet, keeping me warm… the Enterprise won’t be back for a while,” you said, your voice flat. “I’m going to die here.”

“You do not know that for certain,” he said quickly.

The ground shook as another shell hit the ground.

“I’m dying, Data,” you said, your voice weak. “I’ve already lost a lot of blood, and the tourniquet doesn’t stop the flow completely. I’m already getting light-headed. I won’t be conscious for much longer.”

Data was silent now, contemplating that.

You felt tears gathering in your eyes. There were quite a few things you wanted to say before you lost consciousness.

“Data… I have loved you for a long time.”

He shifted slightly at that, and you realized he was leaning over you to look you in the eyes. You turned your head slightly to look up at him.

You reached out, taking one of his hands in yours. “You’re kind, and gentle, and you have the… the curiosity and ambition of a human, but you’re so smart and you can process a million things a second.”

Your vision began growing dark around the edges, but you fought to stay awake.

He was quiet, simply gazing down at you with a look of confusion.

“Can you tell me that you love me?” you asked, the tears gathering in your eyes with much more persistence now. “You can lie. I know you can’t mean it, but I won’t mind if you lie.”

He seemed to deliberate for a moment before leaning forward slightly, letting his hand hover near your face.

He hesitated, before reaching forward with his free hand—the one you didn’t have a death grip on—and brushing the hair away from your face.

“I love you,” he said in a soft voice as he gazed down at you.

You closed your eyes tightly, your grip tightening around his hand. The way he said it, you could almost make yourself believe him.

“Thank you,” your voice was barely a whisper.

If he responded, you couldn’t hear it. Your grip on his hand went slack.

The world went dark.