[Felix Culpa AU: I, Robot]

[stilljustandrew]

It's Happy Hour, and there's a new guy behind the bar who gives his name as Jake; the Specials board reads HALF OFF FOR ANY ORDER INVOLVING A PUN.

This has led to a discussion of puns in particular and humor in general, between two regular patrons seated at the bar.

"-- but the 'hickory daiquiri' pun relies both on phoenetic similarity and awareness of an element of popular culture," Andrew explains earnestly, and takes a sip of his kahlua-spiked milkshake.

Comments

[mr_gaeta]

"How do you mean?"

Curious.

[au_npcs]

Data blinks. "Being an android, defined by Webster's 24th century dictionary, fifth edition, as 'an automaton made to resemble a human being', I am incapable of emotion."

[mr_gaeta]

Well, he thinks. That would explain it.

"You're an android."

[stilljustandrew]

At the sound of his voice Andrew turns in his seat to look at Felix, the smile sliding off his face and leaving it blank.

[au_npcs]

"Yes." A beat, and there's a modulation to his voice that somehow speaks of momentary uncertainty. The change in mood has not escaped him; the reason for it remains unclear. And then...

"Would you like to know my specifications?"

[mr_gaeta]

"No, thank you."

It's quite calm. It's the sort of calm Andrew's heard before: when Gaeta's dealing with a superior officer; when he's trying to maintain his equilibrium after being thrown off-balance; when what matters more than personal like or dislike is professionalism and keeping the peace.

"That won't be necessary, sir."

[stilljustandrew]

Calm as a frozen pool.

Andrew's glance at him is sharper, now, and more troubled; and it flicks back to Data almost immediately.

"I was," he starts, trying to get the injured conversation back up on its feet, "we were just having a discussion about the nature of humor. 'Cause, the Specials board."

[au_npcs]

Data turns his head from Felix to Andrew in a slightly too smooth motion, yet another tell that his skin isn't skin, and beneath it lie no such things as bone or muscle.

Andrew is clearly uncomfortable, and his friend is very obviously distancing himself from Data. He is intrigued (as much as an android can be intrigued), and wishes to understand why. He returns his eyes to Felix, changing his mode of address to a more suitable one. "May I pose a question, sir?"

[mr_gaeta]

Data's a friend of Andrew's; for now, Gaeta can leave behind the sting of having never known about that (an android, how is that any different from) and focus on the need to be civil.

That means, to some extent, ignoring the look Andrew's giving him.

"Yes."

[stilljustandrew]

Andrew's stomach is sinking into his shoes.

This was a bad idea.

[au_npcs]

"I am detecting signs of distress on your part, which is currently transferring onto Andrew," he states, as precursor to his query.

"You were showing none before Andrew indicated he wanted a precise summary of how long we have been acquainted. Do you find our friendship offensive?"

[mr_gaeta]

It's...a little hard to maintain the professionalism in the face of that amount of bluntness. With effort, Gaeta holds Data's too-level gaze.

"No," he says. "I don't."

[stilljustandrew]

Hearing the lie in his voice makes Andrew's heart shrivel to a cold dry husk in his chest.

All he can do is hope Data doesn't hear it too.

[au_npcs]

"My apologies," Data replies softly, averting his eyes down and to the right (in afterthought, perhaps, or the carefully calculated approximation of it). There and back again to the topic at hand. "I cannot see the cause of your emotional response."

[mr_gaeta]

"It's not something to worry about."

He's still not looking at Andrew; his tone still hasn't changed very much.

[stilljustandrew]

Andrew pushes his milkshake aside.

"Listen, Data," he says, low, "maybe we should finish this conversation another time."

[au_npcs]

"I am incapable of worry," he says. There is no reproach in his voice. Indeed, how could there be?

Data's eyes lift to meet Andrew's, his posture following without delay as he straightens into the default positioning of his spinal column. He inclines his head, a slight frown barely visible between his pale eyebrows; a tension to his mouth, around his eyes, denoting something akin to stress.

He stands up, arms at his side. "Until next time, Andrew. In the meantime, I shall endeavor to expand my understanding of humor. Good day to you both."

[mr_gaeta]

Gaeta nods, less stiffly than might be expected.

"You too. Have a good evening."

[stilljustandrew]

"Take care, Data," says Andrew, trying to smile.

[au_npcs]

There is no trying for Data, only doing. He smiles, turns on his heel, and exits the bar through the front door. Beyond it lies the Starship Enterprise-D, and for all intents and purposes, the closest thing Data has to a home.

[stilljustandrew]

As the front door closes behind Data, Andrew turns back to Felix.

"Dude, what the frell."

It's low but vehement, and the look on his face is both stricken and angry.

[mr_gaeta]

The look he gets in return is nothing like that: taken aback and quickly shading into bewilderment, like Andrew's suddenly lapsed into a foreign language.

"What?"

[stilljustandrew]

The bewilderment makes him angrier.

"What was that?"

[mr_gaeta]

"What was what?" It sounds closer to a demand this time, still utterly uncomprehending.

[stilljustandrew]

How can you not know. How can you --

Andrew makes himself breathe.

"You just," he says with careful precision, "gave the brush-off to a friend of mine."