This story, of course, contains characters, references to plot
lines and general and sundry elements that were originated and are
owned by Paramount.  I lay claim to the rest.  Feel free to pass it
around, but please give me the credit!  This is my second Star
Trek-TNG story.  It takes place shortly after "Phantasms".  I would
love to get some feedback at Brynnlune@aol.com.  Thanks for reading
it!  Lynn Bruner

Data and the Medicine for Melancholy

Deanna Troi tapped her communicator.  "Data, I would like to see
you.  May I stop by your quarters?"  "Yes, of course, Counselor. 
You are quite welcome.  Data out," replied the android.  Deanna
closed her eyes and sighed.  Being the counselor on Starfleet's
flagship meant that she rarely had a boring day.  But she had been
looking forward to having a routine day for a change...she had
three regular clients scheduled, one staff evaluation to complete,
and a relaxation seminar with the astrophysics staff.  A nice,
normal day, followed by a peaceful evening to herself...that was
what she had been anticipating.  Not two odd messages about Data in
the space of 10 minutes, for goodness sake!  And not a
psychological housecall to an android.  

Early in the day watch, Geordi LaForge had come to her office,
looking concerned.  "Counselor, I'm really worried about Data.  He
was acting a little weird last night, but I didn't think too much
about it.  You know our Data when he gets a new idea."  Geordi
smiled wryly and shook his head.  "We were talking last night in
Ten-Forward and I mentioned that I was feeling a little blue," the
chief engineer continued.  "Data seemed interested, and asked me
about it.  I told him I was just crying into my beer, daydreaming
about Leah Brahms again, and it was just one of those inexplicable
human things.  We kind of have a running joke about 'inexplicable
humans'...well, you get the idea.  Anyway, Data got this funny look
on this face, and after a few minutes he just got up and walked
out.  Didn't even say good-night.  I mean, he went off to start the
night watch, like always, but..."  

Deanna felt a bit impatient.  Her first client of the day was due
in a few minutes, and she liked to have some mental preparation
time.  "Geordi, what was it that concerned you enough to stop by
and see me?"  "Oh, right.  Well, Counselor, this morning I went by
Data's quarters.  I have a great idea for recalibrating the long-
range sensors, and I wanted him to..."  Geordi noticed Deanna's
mild frown, and caught himself again.  "Well, anyway," he
continued, "Data was still in bed."  Deanna frowned more deeply. 
"Was he dreaming again?" she asked with concern.  "No, Counselor,
he was just in bed.  Said he didn't feel like getting out of bed
this morning.  I asked him if he wanted me to do a diagnostic, and
he said, 'No thank you, Geordi, I prefer to be alone.  Thank you
for your concern.'  I mean, it was really weird.  So I came by for
a consult.  Data's told me he's been seeing you on a regular basis,
so I thought...you know."  "Well, thank you, I'm glad you came,"
said Deanna.  "I certainly want to find out what's happening."  

No sooner had Geordi left her office than Deanna's office monitor
sounded.  Will Riker's familiar face filled the screen.  "Good
morning, Deanna.  Do you have a moment?"  "Just about a moment,"
she replied.  "What's on your mind?"  "I'm concerned about Data,"
he began.  Deanna interrupted him.  "Not you too!  Geordi was just
here talking about Data.  Now what?"  "Well," replied Riker with a
slight grin, "he just contacted me in my quarters and asked if I
could give him the name of my favorite beer.  I gave it to him, and
when I asked him why he wanted it, he said that he was
'experiencing a faint shade of azure' and signed off.  I thought
that it might be something up your alley, Counselor Troi."  Riker
was smiling broadly now.  "Thank you, Commander Riker," returned
Deanna with a shade of asperity.  "Your concerns have been duly
noted...and yes, I'll go talk to him."  Deanna signed off and
thought for a moment.  She sighed again.  This might be a more
interesting day than she had bargained for.  After briefly
contacting her first client to postpone their appointment, she
walked briskly to Data's quarters.

Deanna stood outside the door of Data's quarters with a slight
feeling of trepidation.  She hoped that Data wasn't really
ill...that is, that he wasn't malfunctioning, or having further
difficulties with his dreaming program.  Drawing a deep breath, she
sounded the door chime.  A muffled "Enter," was heard from inside. 
Walking through the doorway, Deanna was struck by the condition of
Data's quarters.  Normally neat and tidy, the rooms were strewn
with half-emptied paint tubes, half-finished canvases, and empty
plates and cups.  Spot had evidently been playing with some of
Data's paint, since Deanna could see a trail of feline footprints
leading under the computer table.  Data was propped up on his bed,
dressed in his full uniform and boots.  He was holding a large,
frosted glass of what Deanna assumed was synthehol.  Next to him on
a bedside table was a large chocolate brownie covered with fudge
icing and a steaming mug of what smelled like Earl Gray tea.  The
lights were at half intensity, and lugubrious music was playing -
Deanna thought it might be a Terran symphonic piece.  Most
certainly, something odd was happening.

"Data, what in the world is going on?" exclaimed Deanna confusedly. 
"I am experimenting with another level of human experience,
Counselor.  I have written a program for mild dysphoria.  In short,
I have the blues."  Deanna fought the urge to laugh wildly.  "Um,
Data, perhaps you should tell me some more about this," she said,
controlling herself nobly.  "Of course, Counselor.  Please be
seated.  Would you like some tea?  Or perhaps some beer?"  Data
proffered his frosted glass politely.  "No, Data...please, just
continue."  "Very well, Counselor.  I have noticed that most
humanoids have 'blue' periods.  Times of mild depression. 
Experiences of sadness for no particular reason.  Occurrences of
malaise and ennui.  Incidents of..."  "Yes, Data, I understand. 
Please continue," interrupted Deanna.  "Of course, Counselor.  As
you know, I have been experimenting with different methods of
exploring what it means to be human.  Painting, writing poetry,
acting, keeping Spot, and dreaming have all been examples.  These
activities have increased my 'enjoyment' of life.  And yet I still
feel that I miss much of the human experience.  Last night, when
Geordi stated that he was 'blue', it occurred to me that this was
an experience I have not tried.  Also, feeling blue seemed like a
more benign emotional experience than some others."  

"I think I see," said Deanna, more sober now.  "You felt that by
acting 'blue', you could understand Geordi's blues and other
friends' low periods a little better.  And perhaps, after your
experiences with Lore, trying out feeling blue seemed pretty
safe...safer than other feeling states you could experiment with." 
"Yes, Counselor.  As you can see, I have obtained a beer into which
I may cry.  Also, I have noted that you often eat chocolate when
you are feeling 'down'.  I have obtained and eaten some chocolate,
and as you may observe, I have not cleaned the plates.  I thought
that some unconcern for disorder might be appropriate for a person
who is 'blue'.  Captain Picard often drinks tea when he is
stressed.  I have ingested several cups of tea.  Finally, Guinan
has informed me that she prefers to stay in bed and listen to music
when she is sad.  Therefore, I am remaining prone and listening to
Tchaikovsky's 'Symphony Pathetique'."  "And the paint?" asked the
bemused counselor, glancing around the disheveled room. "Previous
to reclining, I experimented with being dissatisfied with my
painting due to my dysthymic state.  As you can see, I threw my
paints in a fit of pique.  It was very interesting.  Spot seemed to
find this activity quite entertaining, however, and I found it
necessary to clean her."  Data frowned slightly.  "Spot does not
appear to be sympathetic to my 'blues'."  

Deanna pondered what to say next.  "Data, I am sympathetic, believe
me.  I can see that this new program is important to you, and I
think I understand why you're doing it.  But, you see, this sort of
behavior was so unusual for you that some of your friends became
quite worried.  Both Geordi and Commander Riker were concerned
about you, and contacted me.  Would you consider putting off the
rest of your experiment until a later time?"  "Yes, Counselor.  I
have noted that friendly concern is often the result of a person
expressing 'the blues'.  I will take the concern as a compliment to
my success in programming dysphoria."  Data got out of bed and
began tidying his quarters.  "The next time I am dysphoric, I think
that I will be neater," he mused.  "Uh, yes, Data, perhaps that's
a good idea," said Deanna, now having serious difficulty
controlling the urge to laugh.  "I'll see you at our regular time
tomorrow...and Data?"  "Yes, Counselor?"  "Next time you decide to
experiment with the outward manifestations of a mood state, could
you warn me first?"  "I would be happy to, Counselor.  Thank you
for your visit.  Goodbye."  

Deanna began the walk back to her office.  Despite the humor of the
situation, Data's initial impulse was right.  He still "missed"
much of the human experience, and his best understanding of human
emotions seemed to arise out his attempts to adapt his close
observations of human behavior.  She needed to think about more
ways he could explore what it meant to be truly human.  Without
messing up his quarters, of course.  Deanna indulged herself in a
quiet fit of laughter, which drew the amused glance of a passing
ensign.  Oh well.  Back to her nice, normal, routine day.  But who
was she kidding?  This was the Enterprise...and there was no such
thing as a routine day.  And she loved it.

The next day, Deanna waited in her office, idly toying with the
Rahmellian weaving draped over her table.  What was she going to do
with Data?  He had come so far, so quickly.  It seemed to Deanna
that in the short time since Data's discovery of his dream program,
he had become much more psychologically mature.  Data had something
like an unconscious now...through his dreams, he was dealing with
images and experiences that he didn't fully understand, and
grappling with them was fueling his growth as a person.  But Data's
new psychological growth, his *soul* growth, also came out of his
experiences with Lore and Lore's false "emotions".  Data had grown
psychologically in a very human way: through both joy and pain.  He
had found a wonderful new part of himself in his dreams.  But he
had also hurt friends because of "emotions", and he had lost a
brother, no matter how evil Lore may have been.  Data was now more
aware than ever that there was more to living fully than he could
truly grasp.  Deanna sighed deeply.  What if Data was never
satisfied?  Always moving forward, and never quite there...well,
then, if that were true, he really would be closer to the human
experience, she reminded herself with a rueful smile.  Didn't
someone say, "A man's reach should always exceed his grasp"?  Of
course, whoever penned that aphorism didn't have to try explaining
its meaning to an android.  

Deanna's door chimed.  "Come in, Data," she called.  As Data walked
into her office, she continued to muse.  Maybe what Data really
needed was to get down to earth again, to step away a bit from
feelings and images.  He needed time to process some of his new
soul growth.  Getting grounded...a creative time, a good hands-on
creating time where he could channel some energy and still explore
humanity.  Suddenly, she knew what to do.  She looked at Data, who
was waiting patiently on the couch beside her.  "Data, I think we
need a change of pace."  Data raised one eyebrow at Deanna.  "Shall
we take a walk during our session, Counselor?"  Deanna laughed. 
"Yes, Data, I think we shall.  A nice walk right to Ten-Forward. 
I have an idea."  As they rose and turned toward the doorway,
Deanna slipped her hand through Data's arm and looked at him with
a mischievous smile.  "Data, how would you like to learn how to
cook?"

A few days later, members of the senior staff of the Enterprise
awoke for the day shift to find that small paper envelopes had been
attached to their door frames.  Inside each envelope was a
beautifully hand calligraphed card.  "Chef Data invites you to a
culinary repast!  1900 hours, in Holodeck 3.  Dress is festive:
RSVP requested."  This invitation caused a bit of a stir. 
"Festive?" growled Worf to Riker in the turbolift to the bridge. 
"I do not believe that a warrior can be expected to be...festive." 
"Come on, Worf," teased Riker, "you've got to start learning to
have fun without maiming anybody or having them swing a pain stick
at you.  Besides, this will give you a good opportunity to break
out that Hawaiian shirt I got you last time we were on Earth." 
"Klingons do not adorn themselves with palm trees and hula girls,"
bristled Worf.  Riker thought that he had pushed Worf far enough
for the time being.  "Actually, it's the Chef part I'm worried
about," he said quietly.  "Somehow I never thought of Data as the
domestic type."  The turbolift doors swished open as he finished
his sentence, and as Riker walked onto the bridge, he found himself
looking guiltily into Data's expectant face.  "I'd be happy to
attend your dinner, Data," he said with gusto, elbowing Worf.  "I
also will attend," muttered the Klingon.  "But no hula girls!"  "I
have not yet learned to cook hulagirls," said Data with some
concern.  "Of course, my lessons are not yet complete."  "But.."
began Worf in exasperation.  "Mr. Worf, please take your duty
station," interrupted Riker.  "And...try to calm down."

Jean-Luc Picard and Beverly Crusher, enjoying their customary
breakfast, were also musing over their invitations.  "What kind of
cuisine do you think Data will prepare?" wondered Beverly.  "He did
ask me about my favorite French dishes yesterday..." replied the
captain.  "I was going on about cassoulet, pot-au-feu, and chicken
with apples, heavy cream and Calvados until even Data had enough
information.  Perhaps I need another vacation," he said wryly. 
"Right," said the doctor with gentle sarcasm.  "I won't hold my
breath.  But a French feast would be wonderful.  I can't wait!" 
"And shall you be festive?" asked Picard.  "You'll just have to
wait and see," said Beverly with a teasing grin.  Picard couldn't
hold her gaze.  "Ah.  Yes.  Well.  About those bacteria cultures
you were thinking of starting..."

At 1900 hours, the senior staff of the Enterprise gathered outside
Holodeck 3.  Deanna looked at her crewmates and friends with
pleasure.  Geordi looked sharp in a brightly striped shirt and
white trousers.  Captain Picard wore a creamy collarless shirt with
a bright ascot, and was sporting a navy blue beret.  Beverly had on
a short-skirted and low-necked clinging mauve dress that her
Captain quite seemed to appreciate.  Worf wore a long brown and
rust textured caftan that made him look very...well...handsome. 
Quite handsome.  And Will...Will had on the loudest Hawaiian shirt
she had ever seen.  "Will, are those supposed to be dancers on your
shirt?" asked Deanna cautiously.  "Hula girls, Counselor, they're
hula girls.  I borrowed it from Worf."  "Worf?"  When Deanna saw
Worf's expression, she decided not to pursue it.  "I see.  Well,
shall we go in?" she asked cheerfully.  "Indeed, we shall,
Counselor," said Picard, taking Beverly's arm.  "Let us proceed." 

As the Holodeck doors opened, Deanna could hear the strains of
music inside.  "That sounds like a mariachi band!" she said to
Will.  "Indeed, Counselor," answered Data, walking toward her. 
"Please come in...welcome to my fiesta."  The Holodeck had been
transformed into a village square, bounded by haciendas with red
tile roofs and hung with colored lanterns and paper streamers.  The
moon was out,  stars were shining on the ocean and hills in the
distance, and the breeze was pleasantly warm.  "Oh, Data, it's just
beautiful!" exclaimed Deanna.  "Thank you, Counselor.  Please come
and sit down."  Data led his crewmates to the table in the square,
set with brown glazed pottery and green-tinted glassware,
surrounded by blooming plants and greenery.  "Looks like we're in
for a hot and spicy night," murmured Beverly to Captain Picard as
they all took their seats.  "You said it, Doctor," said Geordi. 
"Data, this is great!  It must have taken ages to program all of
this!"  "Yes, Geordi," replied Data, ready to explain the program,
but Deanna interrupted.  "Data, let's just enjoy the night and
forget the programming for now.  I see you've provided us with
drinks...let's all toast our host!"  "Good idea, Deanna," said
Riker.  "To Data, our new Chef...it's about time somebody took over
my job," joked Will, lifting his glass.  He took a big swallow of
his drink...and started to cough violently.  Geordi patted him on
the back, and the others froze with their glasses in hand.  "Data,"
sputtered the First Officer, "what is in this drink?"  "It is
tequila, Commander," explained Data.  "Guinan helped me to create
the drinks.  Please be careful...it is not synthehol.  Nothing has
been replicated for tonight's meal...it is all quite authentic." 
"Thanks for telling me now!" exclaimed Riker, wiping the tears out
of his eyes.  "Tequila?" said Picard speculatively.  "I'm going to
have to talk to Guinan.  But for now, Data, do you think that you
could add some more of that mixer to our drinks?  They are a bit on
the strong side."  "With pleasure, Captain.  And now I will serve
the first course."  

Data brought out a tray with brightly painted bowls.  Geordi's face
lit up.  "Gazpacho!  I haven't had gazpacho in ages."  "What is
gazpacho?" asked Worf.  "Cold tomato soup with cucumbers, green
peppers, and spices," answered Geordi.  "It's great, Worf.  Try
it!"  "Vegetables...humans eat far too much vegetation," grumbled
the Klingon.  "Eat up, Worf, it's great," encouraged Riker.  As
they sipped their soup, Data explained his recent efforts.  "I
studied many different cuisines in the past few days, but this
particular cuisine seemed to be the most 'fun'.  The fiesta
tradition is a long standing one, with traditional music,
decorations, and dishes.  I thought it would be appropriate for a
celebration with friends."  Deanna smiled warmly at Data.  "Very
appropriate, Data.  I'm so glad you're doing this."  "As am I,
Counselor.  And now it is time for the main course."  Data briefly
disappeared into one of the haciendas and returned with two
steaming trays.  "I have prepared bean enchiladas and burritos. 
There is also rice, and a tomato salad."  "It all looks wonderful,
Data," said Dr. Crusher.  "And I love Mexican food."  She took a
heaping forkful of enchilada, and started to chew.  Others followed
in her wake.  Deanna, still serving herself, heard Beverly make a
strange noise and looked up.  The doctor's face was bright red, and
she seemed to be sweating.  Deanna looked at the others around the
table.  Riker was sitting with his eyes wide open, tears streaming
down his face.  Geordi was reaching wildly for his glass, and
Picard seemed to be choking.  Finally, in a tiny voice, Picard
breathed out, "hot!"  "Yes, Captain," said Data.  "Most Mexican
recipes call for hot peppers.  Unfortunately, I was unable to
locate the jalapeno peppers called for in these recipes, so I
substituted Klingon fireplants."  "Fireplants?" wheezed Geordi. 
"Klingon?" whispered Riker, still wiping his eyes.  All heads
turned to Worf.  He was busily helping himself to a second large
plateful of enchiladas.  "Delicious.  Much better than the cold
vegetation soup."  "Data?" said Deanna, "could you pass the tomato
salad?  I think I'll stick to the side dishes tonight."  "Of
course, Counselor.  Would anyone like another margarita?"

The next day, Data sat again in Deanna's office.  Deanna was still
feeling a little fuzzy-headed from the night before, but Data, of
course, was his usual self.  Just as well.  She'd hate to have to
help an android with a hangover.  "Well, Data, it looks like I
steered you in the wrong direction."  "Perhaps, Counselor.  My
inability to taste seems to be more of an inconvenience than I
anticipated.  However, I believe that this experiment has not been
a failure."  "Really, Data?  Say some more about that," encouraged
Deanna.  "The margaritas seemed to be a big 'hit', especially with
Commander Riker."  "Yes, I need to speak to him about that," said
Deanna with some asperity.  Riker had become a bit rowdy - and
randy -  as the night went on.  "But continue, Data."  "Captain
Picard also seemed to enjoy the entertainment, as did Dr. Crusher." 
"Yes, Data, you're right.  I never thought I'd see our captain
doing a Mexican hat dance.  Or wearing a sombrero, for that matter. 
I think he enjoyed the tequila as well."  "You may be correct,
Counselor.  My fiesta was successful because my friends and
colleagues were able to enjoy themselves.  I did not succeed in
creating a perfect meal...and yet the evening was enjoyable.  My
cooking was not up to human standards, and yet I succeeded.  It is
somewhat confusing."  Data's eyebrows knitted as he thought out
loud.  Deanna looked at him with a small smile.  "Data, humans are
never perfect.  Our failures and foibles are part of what makes us
endearing and lovable to each other.  When we think about you now,
when we remember you in the future, and consider all the elements
that make you uniquely yourself, we'll remember this wonderful
'failure'...and love you more because of it."  "I believe I
understand, Counselor.  I must process this further."  "I think
that you'll be processing it for a while, Data.  It's all part of
becoming the android and the person that you truly are."

Deanna sat quietly for a moment after Data left her office,
thinking about her own words.  Her failures, foibles, and mistakes
certainly helped to make her the person she truly was...but she
felt too tequila-fogged to be serious right now.  What she needed
was a good hangover cure.  Maybe Data had some leftovers from last
night...well, maybe not.  Deanna wondered if Will had any hangover
cures, or any fried tastebud cures, for that matter.  Time to go
visit one of her foibles!  And then on to the rest of her nice,
normal, ordinary day.  If there was such a thing on ships called
Enterprise.