Disclaimer: Star Trek: The Next Generation, the U.S.S. Enterprise, Lt. Commander Data, and anything else recognizable belong to Paramount. Zoe and her mother belong to me. This takes place during the first four seasons of TNG.

ASK HIM

"Ask him." My mother leaned back in her chair, cradling her coffee mug between both hands and just watched me. She wouldn't speak again until I had. I think it was a negotiation tactic she learned at the Academy. Or maybe it was just parental thing. Either way, I knew I'd cave before she did.

I returned her gaze, noting that her chestnut hair was pulled into a single braid that fell between her shoulders. Her face was thinner than mine, more heart-shaped than oval, so even though we both had the same medium-thick eyebrows arching over brown eyes, and the same full lips, she could get away with pulling her hair back while I couldn't. We were sitting at a table in the Ten-Forward lounge aboard the Enterprise. My father had disappeared again, this time to conduct the Capital City Orchestra on Centaurus, but it wasn't like he'd ever really been a constant in my life. Mostly, I'd lived with my grandmother, but three months before my mother had suddenly decided it was time for some mother-daughter bonding, and brought me here to live with her. School had only recently started, and the teacher in charge of the high school aged students wanted me to do some stupid accelerated math tutorial thing, so instead of our usual dinner in our quarters, we were here, discussing it in public. It was my mother's way of defusing the bratty behavior that had become habitual for me since she'd dragged me away from home. "Isn't that sort of your job?" I asked her. "Arranging my education, and all?"

"If it was really a question of arranging, then yes, it would be," my mother answered in her best rational voice, the one she used when she was being more Lt. Harris than Mom. "But Zoe," she continued, "Ms. Phelps has already stated that Commander Data has offered his tutorial services to any student who asks, and I'm concerned that you're avoiding interaction with the officers and crew." She took a sip of her coffee, and went on, the way parents can when they have you trapped. "I know you're not thrilled about being here, but if you'd come out of your shell and stop being so shy you'd find that everyone on this ship has something pretty interesting to offer. Most fifteen-year-olds don't get the opportunity to have their math classes taught by ranking officers."

"I'm not shy," I protested, focusing on that part of my mother's mini-lecture. "I'm just very selective about who I talk to." I sought refuge in a bite of chocolate mousse. "And anyway, I'm pretty sure Ms. Phelps made a mistake. I'm abysmal at math."

"Abysmal?" The corner of my mother's mouth quirked up in a slight smile. "Surely you're a little better than that. Your test scores have always been excellent."

I shrugged. "Maybe I just test well. Mom, I hate math. The last thing I want is a teacher who's literally made of it."

Her smile grew broader. "You do have a way with words, Kidlet." She took another sip from her mug, then set it down on the table, and placed her hands palm-down on either side of it. She wasn't intentionally showing off her perfect manicure, but I couldn't help noticing, and thinking about how ugly my own fingers looked. I put my fork down, and folded my hands in my lap, waiting for her to finish. "I know you're not thrilled about being on the ship, and I do realize that math isn't your favorite subject, but you need to realize that I want the best for you. In just a few years you'll be going off to college, or the Academy – "

I interrupted with an ill-contained snort. "I am SO not Starfleet material, Mom. College, yes. The Academy, never. Anyway, I'm going to M-SOMATA, like Dad."

" – and then you can make your own decisions. Until then, you're stuck with me, Kiddo, and I think you should follow your teacher's suggestion and take this tutorial with Commander Data, and in order to do that, you need to ask him."

I sighed, clenching my fingers into fists under the table then releasing them. "I'll do the tutorial," I said, "but can't you ask him? I mean, you see him every day – you report directly to him – and I've only ever said hello once." I was whining, and I hated it, but I really didn't want to go up to any officer and ask for math help, and especially not the only android in the 'fleet. I mean. Commander Data was the epitome of "proper" and I was decidedly…not.

"Zoe…" My mother was still smiling, but her tone held that warning note. The one that meant if I didn't agree to her wishes she'd move to phase two. Nevertheless, I whined a little more.

"Mo-om. Please?"

But she was ready for me. "Zoe Lauren Harris, you are fifteen, not five. I love you, but you need to do this on your own," she said. And once she'd used my middle name, I knew there was no chance of winning.

"Alright," I said. "I'll do it. Is an intra-ship communication acceptable, or do I need to replicate stationery and use actual ink?" I'd moved from whiney to snarky, but that was normal for me. I lifted a hand to push a stray piece of my own chocolate-brown hair back behind my ear, then returned it to my lap.

"Intra-ship text may be fine with your friends, but it's not appropriate with senior officers," my mother decreed. "Commander Data's actually very nice, Zoe. Really. And you know, he's a musician, too."

Carrot. Stick. My mother knew me too well. I'd do almost anything that involved hanging out with other musicians. "Okay, okay," I said. "I'll ask him. But when I fry his circuits with my complete and total stupidity, I reserve the right to say, 'I told you so'."