Seven of Nine (nolongerborg) wrote in colligo_threads, @ 2009-08-19 00:47:00 |
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Entry tags: | !closed |
WHO: Seven of Nine and Doctor McCoy
WHAT: Idle chit-chat. Or, at least as idle as Seven's conversation skills will allow.
WHEN: Early evening
WHERE: The clinic
RATING: TBD
STATUS: In Progress
Although Seven of Nine spent quite a bit of her spare time aboard Voyager in the sickbay, rarely was she there because she was ill. Mostly she was there to visit with the Doctor, for a lesson in humanity, or for a general check-up. In Colligo, the same general concept applied, although not nearly as often as before. Her lessons in humanity weren't as frequent and her general check-up wasn't as strict of a requirement as it had been aboard a Federation starship traveling through an uncharted section of space. However she did still enjoy visiting with the Doctor and felt a sense of obligation to make sure that his programing was running at maximum efficiency as well. After all, Lieutenant Torres wasn't present to keep an eye on such things herself and Seven didn't enjoy the thought of something going wrong and her potentially losing her closest friend, confidant, and link to the ship she'd come to call home.
Unfortunately not all tweaks to the Doctor's programing were ones that could be performed while he was active. Some required that he be offline and remain offline for the duration, and it was one of those sorts that she was on her way to perform now. She waited until later in the evening so the Doctor could continue his duties until the clinic had slowed a bit, and then simply made her way inside without any fanfare whatsoever. Her steps were light, measured and even as she passed down the corridor and to the main computer area that she'd designed to house the Doctor's programing subroutines upon his initial arrival in Colligo.
It was as she neared the area that a thought occurred to her. This was not sickbay, nor was the EMH the only one who worked at the clinic. Perhaps, she decided, it would be best to inform someone else of her intentions. At the very least she supposed it would be considered the polite thing to do.
So rather than continue on to the computer to begin her work, she instead pulled her tricorder off her hip and scanned the area for the nearest life sign. Then she followed the signal down another corridor and up to a door that appeared to be an office. With very little fanfare she rapped her knuckles against the smooth, polished wood and waited for whoever was on the other side to respond.