#neurdivergent reader

Data x Gender-Neutral Reader

First Chapter

You hear him coming closer. His footsteps echo on the ground of the arboretum. Still in shock, you haven’t stood up yet. Before you can, it’s too late.

“Excuse me, Ensign,” he addresses you in a soft tone.

You’ve heard him talk to others before — the tone is the same — but somehow it makes you nervous anyway.

You look up, still cross-legged on the floor like a toddler. “Yes?” you ask. Your voice cracks a bit; your vocal cords still haven’t understood the importance of this moment.

“Keiko told me you are the expert on the Auravine,” he begins. His hands rest at his sides, one of them mindlessly holding a PADD.

You look up at him, twisting your neck to meet his face. Then you decide that this arrangement is just too strange. You can’t stay sitting like this — even though you want to. But when a Lieutenant Commander talks to you, you need to be presentable.

Your hands, still full of soil, help you to stand. As you try to straighten your uniform, you only make it dirtier. Damn soil.

“I am,” you answer and nod slightly. Your neck feels stiff, and standing up so quickly makes you dizzy.

And since when is it so hot in here?

“I am curious,” he continues. “Do all plants require the same exact care? I told my team what you explained about watering the Auravine, and they said they would follow your instructions. But now, one of the plants is almost dying, and the other two seem… stressed.”

While watching his lips move, you should have listened too — but sometimes watching and listening are two things you cannot do at the same time.

Plants. He wants to know about the plants, you realize.

“Yes, I calculated the exact watering cycle. I used it on my plants—” You stop and correct yourself, “The plants we have here in the arboretum.” You gesture toward your three friends.

Data follows your hand with his eyes and nods. “I see. These plants are much older.”

You can’t help smiling. “Yes, they are. I’ve noticed that the male plants grow faster. It’s possible you only have female ones.”

He tilts his head. “Is it not obvious? Did you not know the sex of the plants?”

That word.

“No, it’s not noticeable until they’re a few days old. The plants I gave you yesterday are still very young.”

How did his team already manage to kill them? You’re angry at people you don’t even know.

Data looks down at his PADD and shows you pictures of the three plants. He steps closer — and that ruins what little focus you had left.

“These are the plants in the lab.”

You nod.

Sheepishly, you glance up at him from the side. Then there’s that pit again. The pit, and you’re falling right into it. At first it feels endless — but when you hit the ground, everything shatters.

“I think they need more supervision,” you mumble. The sinking feeling in your stomach won’t go away.

Data nods. “I understand. What exactly would you recommend, Ensign?”

You glance over at Keiko. She’s scanning the habitat again.

“Someone should supervise them. Constantly, if possible.”

It’s as if you’re not even talking anymore. You feel yourself floating away — out the airlock.

Data nods again. He’s taller than you.

“Could you supervise them?” he then asks, raising a brow.

Your heart stops for a second. You stare at him — at his questioning expression, his nose, his cheeks. Like a deer in headlights.

“Have I said something wrong?” he asks, bringing you back to the present.

“What?” you croak, uncharacteristically casual.

“Have I done or said something to offend you in any way? I sometimes do that and cannot notice it until later,” he explains softly.

“No,” you shake your head. Your cheeks redden.

“So you do not wish to help me with the plants?” he asks, lowering the arm with the PADD to his side again.

“Yes — I mean, yes, I would like to help you,” you stammer. At this point the Sonara orchid analogy doesn’t even apply anymore.

Data nods and smiles slightly. “Thank you, Ensign. Would you follow me to the science division?”

Inside, you’re squirming. You had other plans for the day. You’re not done with your work, and honestly, you just want to stay here, take a breath, and process what happened.

You see Keiko’s head pop up behind a large fern. She grins and nods.

“I’m not finished with my work here,” you mumble.

“I can finish it!” Keiko calls across the hall. You wince.

“But I’m dirty,” you say, looking down at your hands and uniform.

“I will get you a towel. It is no problem. But I would really appreciate your help as soon as possible,” he says, almost pleading.

You want to sink into the ground and dissolve into the warp core already. You can’t say no to Data.

“Alright,” you nod and glance around. At the entrance of the arboretum you spot a white towel. Without explaining, you walk over and clean yourself as well as a towel can clean off soil.

Data hurries after you and then walks ahead as you both leave the arboretum.

You walk behind him. He looks back at you a few times. Once, he even frowns. But he lets you stay there — even if it’s weird and awkward.

You take a turbolift to the lab. Data tells it which deck, then glances at you from the side, a little questioning.

“I saw in the logs that you document very precisely and in great detail,” he notes.

“Thank you,” you mumble. What else could you say?

“I find it difficult to understand why humans do not document as precisely. As you do.”

You glance at him briefly, then look back at the doors.

At this point everything feels like a daze.

Your personal log will be long today.

“I noticed you seemed uncomfortable in Ten Forward last evening,” he continues.

You nod silently. Words fail to describe your inner world at this point.

“Why was that?” he asks.

The turbolift doors open, and you let him step out first.

But now he wants to walk beside you — still waiting for an answer.

Your hands still feel dirty, so you rub one with the other.

“I don’t enjoy social settings,” you mutter.

Data nods thoughtfully.

“But do humans not crave interaction?”

“Others do,” you say, almost smiling out of nervousness.

“Do you consider yourself to be different?” He tilts his head. The PADD is clamped between his hand and his armpit — a position that might look natural if Commander Riker or Kelly did it, but with Data it looks oddly deliberate.

“No,” you say. You don’t want to be that kind of person — the one telling people they’re different.

Because everyone is different from the next person. To say you are different feels imprecise.

You mumble your way through that conclusion you’ve just reached in your head.

“Interesting. And you are correct,” Data muses, looking ahead.

“We have arrived,” he announces. He places a hand on the panel next to the lab door, and it slides open.

You let him enter first. Who knows who’s already inside?

The plants you gave him yesterday all stand on one table. A light above them keeps them warm.

“These are the plants,” he states.

You nod and take a look — first with your eyes, then with a tricorder. You scan each plant individually.

“They’re overwatered,” you diagnose, not looking at Data. You just stare at the three plants a moment longer.

“But how is that possible? My team promised they would water them every hour exactly.” Data furrows his brow.

“It isn’t the frequency — it’s the amount. These plants have been watered too much,” you explain.

You turn toward Data, but eye contact is another challenge. So instead, you focus on his badge.

He notices your stare and looks down at his chest.

“Is something there?” he asks.

Your face heats up again, and you avert your gaze to the plants.

“Do you think the plants can be saved?” he wonders, also looking at them.

You stand there side by side, staring at three little plants.

“I’m not sure. But I could try.”

“You would?”

“What?” You didn’t quite hear what your mouth just said.

“You would take care of those plants for me — for the division, I mean?”

You hear Keiko’s nice but concerned voice in your mind: You need a break.

Then you nod, still looking at your new plants.

Next Chapter

Data x Gender-Neutral Reader

Summary:

You’re a botanist on the Enterprise. You know how to care for foreign plants — but not for yourself. And you definitely can’t tell when you’re falling in love with an android.

The first time is always the hardest, as they say. What they should also mention is that the first time is also very awkward.

You see him that day, standing in front of the turbolift, looking down at his PADD. His face is perfectly still while his eyes process everything on the PADD at more than five times the speed a human could.

Because he doesn’t look up when you approach from the side, you clear your throat. That’s when he looks at you for the first time.

“Are you in need of water, Ensign?”

You look at your hands — the hands holding the plants the science division has asked for.

“No, sir. Here are the specimens you requested,” you say, awkwardly holding out the tray with three small seedlings. They will need some time before they can survive on a harsh planet’s surface. For now, they need care, light, and small doses of water — every hour.

The words cling to the back of your throat, holding on for dear life. Instead of informing the commander, you just look at him, almost shocked.

“Thank you,” he says, nodding as he takes the tray from you.

As you fail to activate your legs or avert your eyes, he raises a brow and tilts his head. “Is there anything else?”

“The plants,” you begin.

This was not planned — this kind of feeling. The boulder rumbling around in your stomach, the force — apart from artificial gravity — holding you down, making it not only unlikely but impossible to move even one more meter.

“Water. They need water every hour for six days. After that, every second hour for four,” you explain, far too hastily.

He just nods — understanding, or giving you the feeling that he does. “Thank you for these instructions. Are there any other needs I should be privy to?”

Words again cling to your mouth muscles. They won’t come out. Not now. Not while he’s looking.

“No, sir,” you say.

You didn‘t become a botanist because you’re a great communicator. You notice this again now. It’s painfully obvious.

You take a few steps back before hastily scurrying down the next corridor again. As you awkwardly jog, hands stiff at your sides, you notice the embarrassment coloring your neck and cheeks in an all-too-familiar red.

Behind the next corner, you slow down a little. You mumble to yourself, trying to calm down by repeating what the Commander just said to you.

When you apply to the Enterprise — for the third time after being rejected twice before — you don‘t‘t imagine ever being here. It’s not that you’re not good at your job or don’t put in the required hours. It’s more a matter of people skills — something you, well, sometimes lack in certain areas.

Like telling others where you are. Not wandering off on a strange, unknown planet because there seems to be a beautiful plant you really want to look at.

Not forgetting to tell your superiors what you’ve been doing for the last couple of days because you lose track of time — and honestly also of where you are. Not because you’re lazy. Just because you get engulfed in studying one particular star system.

After your years at the Academy, you move back in with your parents for a while, applying again and again to the Enterprise.

“There are other ships, you know,” your mother mumbles once, putting your plate back into the replicator.

“But it’s the Enterprise,” you insist.

“Yes, it’s the Enterprise, dear. That’s what I mean. You can’t just apply there and get picked. You weren’t the best in your class, so you should apply after having worked somewhere else.” She sighs, putting her hands on her hips.

She has that look again — the one of worry and wonder. She often asks herself what goes on in your head.

And you’re not about to tell her, ever. Because sometimes you don’t really know yourself. And other times it’s too embarrassing or complicated.

As you tell one of the turbolifts — far away from the one where Lieutenant Commander Data stood — that you need to go to the arboretum, you close your eyes. Then you notice that your hands are still shaking.

“You’re a grown-up,” you mutter. “Why are you reacting like a child who just saw Santa in the mall for the first time?” An embarrassed laugh escapes your lips. You shake your head.

When the doors open, you quickly walk into the arboretum. Just being here calms you down a little. There are the smells, the humid air, the artificial breeze, and the rustling of the leaves.

And of course your friends are here. You grin as you see them, walking over.

“Guys, I did it.”

They are silent. Cory, Millie, and Hannah just look at you.

“I know what you want to say. I’m overthinking everything, and I know. But I’m stupid like this,” you sigh and take a spray bottle.

You wet Cory first. His leaves are coming in the most. After him comes Millie. She’s the smallest. You’re a little worried about her, to be honest. And then, last but certainly not least: Hannah. She’s growing into a big plant, you can just tell. But she’s also a little askew. Her leaves are only on one side of the stem, weighing her down unevenly. Every time a breeze comes from the side, you worry she’ll fall over — maybe even break or crack her dainty little stem.

But these plants are the first to grow in the Enterprise’s arboretum. Their species isn’t even fully logged in the database yet.

You look at them, watching them with care while giving everyone a last little spritz on the upper leaves — or, in Millie’s case, the one she has.

Somewhere behind you, you hear footsteps. Your shoulders tense a bit. Oh no.

But it’s just Keiko. She walks toward you and your friends and grins — first at the plants, then at you.

“You four make a good team, Ensign.”

You look at her briefly, then back at the plants.

“I give the three specimens to Commander Data,” you mumble, spritzing the air around the plants aimlessly — just to do something, and maybe to keep your brain from going down that road again.

That road with no end. The road where there might be an end, but if there is, it’s just a long fall down a black hatch.

“That’s great.” Keiko nods and smiles. You like her smile — and her presence. She’s almost as calming and quiet as the plants.

“I have an odd request,” she then says, hesitating a little.

You look at her, frowning slightly.

“I need you to take a break.” She’s still smiling, but her expression changes. “You’ve been working so hard these last couple of weeks. And I get it: you’re new and maybe still think you need to prove yourself. But you don’t. You’re here. You can relax.”

“But I—” you start to protest but stop when Keiko shakes her head.

“No, I need you to take a break. I know I’m not technically your supervisor, but I feel like if I don’t say it, you’ll just never stop working.”

You bite your lip and look down at the three little creatures you’ve gotten so attached to since you first see them on Narthea Prime. They are just small seedlings then. Now they’ve grown so much.

“I know you really tried to get posted on the Enterprise for a long time. I also get that it’s a game of chance — many people apply here. But what you need to realize is that you’ve actually been picked to work here! That’s huge!” She nods at you, a gleam in her eyes.

“But I just love being here,” you try again, gesturing to the arboretum.

“But if you don’t take a break, you’ll burn out. I know how that goes. I’ve seen it so many times before.”

You sigh. She’s kind of right, and you know it.

But the truth is, apart from loving the arboretum, you also hate the hallway where you have to sleep — with so many other ensigns.

That one Tellarite just won’t stop snoring. How is anyone supposed to sleep like that?

Here in the arboretum, it’s quiet. Not many people — not even the botanists — spend that much time here. You, though, volunteer for manual watering of all the plants. You trim the leaves and log everything that needs logging.

At this point, you’re more gardener than botanist.

“Just spend some time with other people. Maybe have a nice meal and a drink in Ten Forward,” Keiko suggests with a shrug. She gives your plants one last look and walks away to do her other work.

Next Chapter

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