Once he was repaired, Data sat back again and looked to Avon. "...I am. I hate the Borg." And even that emotion translated over. Though he suspected that if Avon was capable of following his train of thought, he owed them slightly. The collective prepared the human brain for thousands of minds, which meant even Data's sixty trillion thought processes could be remotely grasped by Avon's nanite addled mind.

"You have good reason to be angry..." he admitted. "If I am able to empathize with him, you can suspect what I am capable of forgiving in you." And there it was. Affection, deep and doubtless love echoed in every facet of the man's net.

Still, he suspected he could get angry, and that last body was waiting on him for repair. A short, snide looking form that needed tending to.