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The hum of the warp core was steady, a low, constant thrum that filled Main Engineering like a heartbeat. For Lieutenant Commander Geordi La Forge, that sound was comfort — a reminder that everything was working just as it should.
Or almost everything.
At the master console, Data stood with his usual precision, his head slightly tilted as his fingers danced across the controls in perfectly calculated rhythm. Geordi had long ago given up trying to understand how Data’s hands could move that fast without tripping an alert. He just leaned back against the railing, watching him.
Watching him had, lately, become something of a problem.
Data looked up. “The matter-antimatter injectors are functioning at optimal levels, Geordi.”
“I can see that, buddy.”
Geordi smiled, and Data smiled back — that gentle, deliberate curve of his lips that was as close to shy as an android could get. Geordi liked to think it was for him, even if he knew better.
He pushed off the railing and joined him at the console. “You ever think it’s weird, the way the Enterprise almost feels alive sometimes? Like she knows what we’re doing?”
“I do not find the analogy unusual,” Data said. “Many humanoids attribute anthropomorphic qualities to their vessels, particularly those they have long served aboard.” He paused. “However, in this case, I would argue that the Enterprise’s integrated computer network, coupled with the warp core’s semi-autonomous response matrix, could be considered a form of—”
“—yeah, yeah,” Geordi interrupted with a laugh. “I wasn’t being literal, Data.”
Data blinked. “Ah. I see.”
Geordi loved that blink — the way Data always seemed so genuinely intent on understanding. “You’re too much sometimes, you know that?” he said affectionately. Then, without thinking, he added, “Thanks, baby.”
Silence.
The sound of the warp core filled the space between them, louder now, as if even the ship were waiting to see what would happen next.
Data’s head tilted again, almost imperceptibly. “Baby?”
Geordi froze. “What? Oh — uh — I didn’t mean— It just slipped out.” He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly aware of how hot it felt under his VISOR. “It’s something people say sometimes. Like, uh, a nickname.”
“I see.” Data’s eyes brightened a little. “A term of endearment.”
“Yeah,” Geordi said, trying to sound casual. “Just… something people call someone they’re close to.”
Data looked thoughtful. “Am I your ‘baby,’ Geordi?”
Geordi nearly choked. “No! I mean— not like that— I mean, I didn’t mean it that way.”
“I understand.” Data’s tone was perfectly calm, but something about the faint curve of his mouth made Geordi think he wasn’t entirely sure what he understood. “Nevertheless, I did not find the term objectionable.”
Geordi laughed, relieved. “Good to know.”
He tried to go back to work, but his brain was busy replaying the moment, over and over again, like a malfunctioning tricorder. Baby. He’d called Data baby.
And worse — he kind of liked the way it sounded.
---
The next day, Data appeared in Ten Forward during Geordi’s off-shift, holding two glasses of synthehol.
“I have learned that sharing a beverage is often considered a bonding activity among friends,” Data said, setting one glass in front of him. “Would you care to join me, Geordi?”
Geordi grinned. “You didn’t have to bring me a drink, Data.”
“I wished to,” Data said simply, taking the seat across from him. “You appeared fatigued after recalibrating the impulse manifold.”
“Yeah, well, that thing’s a nightmare.” Geordi took a sip, then eyed Data curiously. “You’re getting pretty good at reading me, you know that?”
“I attempt to,” Data replied. Then, with almost imperceptible hesitation, he added, “Baby.”
Geordi froze mid-sip. “What did you just say?”
“I have noticed that humans often reciprocate verbal patterns as a means of establishing social harmony,” Data said earnestly. “Therefore, I am reciprocating your usage of the term ‘baby.’”
Geordi put the glass down very carefully. “You’re— you’re calling me baby now?”
“Yes.” Data tilted his head. “Is that incorrect?”
Geordi’s laughter bubbled up before he could stop it. “No, it’s not incorrect. Just unexpected.”
Data considered that. “Unexpected but not unpleasant?”
Geordi’s laughter softened. “Not unpleasant at all, Data baby.”
Data’s eyes widened slightly. “You have modified the term. ‘Data baby.’ That… feels agreeable.”
“Feels?” Geordi teased. “You sure about that word choice?”
“I am aware that my emotional subroutines are limited,” Data said. “However, I can still recognize patterns of positive response. When you say ‘Data baby,’ I experience a sensation similar to satisfaction.”
Geordi’s smile softened, his heart squeezing in his chest. “Then I guess I’ll have to keep saying it.”
---
It became a quiet sort of game after that — one only they seemed to understand.
In Engineering:
“Hand me the phase calibrator, Data baby.”
“At once, Geordi.”
In the corridor:
“You dropped your PADD, baby.”
“Thank you, Geordi. You are most attentive.”
And once, during a mission briefing, when Riker was droning on about plasma surges, Geordi had leaned over and whispered, “You keeping up, baby?”
“Yes, Geordi,” Data had replied, voice low but audible enough that Riker had glanced their way in faint confusion. Geordi had to fake a cough to hide his grin.
---
One evening, long after beta shift had ended, Geordi found himself back in Engineering again, tinkering for the sake of tinkering. The ship was quiet, the crew mostly asleep. Data appeared beside him without a sound, as usual.
“You should rest, Geordi,” Data said softly. “You have been awake for twenty-two hours.”
Geordi leaned back, sighing. “Yeah, I know. Just trying to clear my head.”
Data regarded him for a long moment, then reached out — gently, carefully — and placed a hand on his shoulder. The touch was light, but steady.
“You may confide in me if something troubles you,” he said.
Geordi looked up, meeting his gaze. The golden eyes, the precise stillness, the quiet sincerity — all of it hit him like a photon burst.
He covered Data’s hand with his own. “You’re too good to me, you know that?”
“I am only doing what any friend would do,” Data said.
“Yeah,” Geordi murmured. “Maybe.” He hesitated, then added softly, “Thanks, baby.”
Data didn’t respond right away. He just looked at Geordi, his head tilting ever so slightly again.
“I believe,” Data said slowly, “that when you call me ‘baby,’ you are expressing affection.”
Geordi swallowed. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I am.”
Data’s eyes softened — or maybe it was just the way the light from the warp core flickered across them. “Then… I like it.”
Geordi’s breath caught.
“I do not fully comprehend the emotional parameters of the term,” Data continued. “But when you say it, I feel… connected. Chosen.”
Geordi smiled faintly, his thumb brushing against Data’s hand. “That’s exactly what it means, Data baby.”
For a long moment, neither of them moved. The ship’s heartbeat thrummed around them, warm and alive.
Finally, Data tilted his head again and said, almost shyly, “Then may I continue to call you ‘baby’ as well?”
Geordi’s grin widened. “You can call me anything you want.”
“Very well,” Data said, and for the first time in his life, his smile wasn’t practiced or learned — it was something new, something felt.
“Goodnight, baby,” Data said.
And Geordi, still smiling, whispered back, “Goodnight, Data baby.”
The warp core hummed on, steady and warm — a perfect rhythm, just like them.