Just For Practice:
Chapter 2
The turbolift took no more than three seconds to travel through the shaft and dock at the doors on Deck Two, far too quickly for Tom Paris's liking. Quietly cursing under his breath, he stepped inside and the doors closed behind him. Someone must have rode the lift to Deck One or Deck Three for it to arrive so fast, he thought to himself.
"Sick Bay," he called out.
The computer systems that controlled the turbolift chirped in response, acknowledging the Lieutenant's voice command. Much like the arrival of the turbolift, the ride to Deck Five was equally prompt. He exited the turbolift and trudged through the corridor to Sick Bay to report for his morning duty shift.
Walking through the entrance of Sick Bay and only just barely hiding a scowl, he glanced around until he caught sight of Voyager's infamous EMH through the window of his office. As usual, the holographic Doctor was sitting at his desk and staring fixedly at the computer console in front of him.
Tom picked up the PADD he had grown accustomed to using in Sick Bay and skimmed through the list of tasks he had to complete that shift. He shook his head, still feeling none too enthused about having to work in Sick Bay alongside the moody Doctor. He would much rather be on the Bridge where most of the excitement was, doing what he loved as Voyager's pilot.
"Morning Doc," Tom casually greeted him.
The Doctor did not look up from his console but his facial expression turned sour.
"You're four minutes late, Mr. Paris, that's the second time this week. Could you at least try to be on time for your shifts?" he said crossly.
Tom couldn't help but smile a little despite being reprimanded just then. Notorious as he was for his perpetually irate personality, it was also one of the Doctor's somewhat endearing qualities that made it difficult for Tom to take him seriously.
"I know Doc, I'm sorry. In my defense, the Mess Hall was a little hectic this morning. You see, uh, Neelix had the brilliant idea to experiment with some new ingredients again and he ended up burning most of the food," he explained with a laugh, "I was lucky I had enough replicator rations for peanut butter and toast."
Arching an eyebrow, the Doctor finally looked up from his console and gave the Lieutenant his trademark frown.
"I'm sure it was quite a dire situation," he replied, not even bothering to subdue the sarcasm in his voice, "but next time save yourself the trouble and just skip Mr. Neelix's breakfast."
"Yes sir," Tom half saluted, smirking.
The Doctor's glare did very little to wipe the smirk off the fair-haired Lieutenant's face.
"I guess I should get to work then," said Tom, excusing himself and walking off toward the medical cabinets where the instruments were stored.
Rolling his eyes, the Doctor looked back down at the text that was displayed on his console. Tom Paris could be frustrating to deal with at times. Nevertheless, he had shown himself to be a great officer over the years despite his past before Voyager. He was also the only member on board with any semblance of medical knowledge.
In between treating the crewmembers for all sorts of different ailments, the Doctor spent many hours researching various subjects, the majority of them being for medical purposes of course. He was, however, known to on occasion delve into more questionable subjects like ancient Earth music and sociology.
What occupied the Doctor's research as of late involved a certain former Borg drone. Having Seven of Nine on board Voyager had been monumental to the Doctor's understanding of Borg technology.
Seven's cortical node, the focus of his research, was a truly ingenious and advanced piece of Borg technology that could neither be replicated nor repaired. Very little was known about it to begin with, and with Seven's help, the Doctor endeavored to gain more information about the single most important implant for a Borg drone.
"Computer, what is the time?" the Doctor inquired.
"The time is 0724 hours," the computer stated.
The Doctor anxiously tapped a finger on the surface of his desk. Aside from needing her to conduct his studies, he was also very eager to discuss what happened the previous night between Seven and Lieutenant Chapman.
The latter had not been very forthcoming about what happened on their date when he came in with an injured shoulder, but there was every indication that the date went very badly. He felt personally responsible for pushing Seven into the precarious world of dating, something he barely understood himself.
With little choice but to wait for her to arrive, he buried himself in his research for distraction.
Some time later the doors to Sick Bay opened and the beautiful tall blonde strode in, hands clasped behind her back in traditional fashion. She immediately spotted Lieutenant Paris on the far side of Sick Bay working on a bio bed console.
"Hey Seven," Tom acknowledged her cheerfully, "are you feeling sick?"
"No Lieutenant, the Doctor requested my presence this morning to conduct scans on my cortical node," she replied simply.
"Ah! You made it," the Doctor exclaimed as he emerged from his office with his arms outstretched, "have a seat on that bio bed and we'll get started right away."
"Very well."
As the Doctor followed closely behind, Seven walked over and sat on the bed, her legs being long enough for her feet to touch the floor with ease.
"This procedure should only take about ten minutes," he said enthusiastically as he picked up a modified medical tricorder from the table next to the bed, "I will need to recalibrate this a few times as I scan you to ensure I get all the data I need."
"I understand," her reply accompanied with a slight nod.
In contrast to the annoyed expressions he usually wore, he smiled brightly as he held the instrument several millimeters away from the right side of her skull where the cortical node lived. Unlike his relationship with the rest of the crew, the Doctor felt a special connection to the former drone in that they were both somewhat outsiders. The Doctor, a being made up entirely of photons and energy who not too long ago had been given the same considerations and respect the organic crew members had, and Seven, a former long-time member of the Borg Collective who had her humanity brutally stripped away from her at a young age and then slowly restored by Captain Janeway and the crew. In essence they were both set quite far apart from their fellow crew mates, creating a sort of bond between them. Quiet beeping sounds emitted from the device as he slowly moved it upwards, and then back down.
"So far so good," said the Doctor, still beaming at Seven. She kept quiet, uncertain as to how to respond.
A minute had gone by in silence, save for the sounds the Doctor's tricorder was making. Seven wondered to herself how long it would take for the Doctor to bring up the date, or if he was perhaps waiting on her to bring it up. Seven came out of her regeneration cycle this morning feeling a little less ashamed of her dating attempt, but she still had some reservations about discussing it. The device trilled sharply, and the Doctor pulled it away to reconfigure.
"So…" the Doctor drawled, unable to hold in the nagging curiosity any longer, "I don't suppose you'd be willing to tell me what happened last night?"
A blonde eyebrow raised up. Well that didn't take long.
"I had intended to, Doctor. I did not want to interrupt your scan," she answered back, realizing that it sounded like an excuse.
"Should I dismiss Lieutenant Paris?" he asked in a lowered voice and glancing in Tom's direction, still working on the other side of Sick Bay.
Seven contemplated for a moment. One of her many observations from working with the crew over the years was that secrets were not very well kept on Voyager; news of her date had undoubtedly become common knowledge by now. Was there really any point in preventing Voyager's favorite helmsman from hearing how her date went? As the expression goes, she threw caution to the wind.
"No, I don't think that is necessary," said Seven, taking a subtle but deep breath.
While he continued running his scan of her cortical node, Seven recounted the entire event in great detail as if she were reciting a simple report, her voice a steady monotone. No longer smiling, the Doctor's eyebrows shot up several times throughout the story. But he did not say anything and kept scanning, stopping once to recalibrate the tricorder.
"He then promptly left the Holodeck to go to Sick Bay and I returned to Cargo Bay 2," Seven finished, bringing it to an end.
"Well then," the Doctor said dryly, feeling an immense amount of guilt after hearing what Seven had gone through, what he had pushed her into, "that's quite a first date." A poor joke that was, and he instantly regretted making it.
"Indeed," Seven said, her pale blue eyes narrowing slightly, "and it will be my last."
The EMH's eyes widened in shock upon hearing this.
"Are you sure, Seven? I should have mentioned that dating isn't an exact science and it doesn't always work out between two people, and for that I apologize," he said earnestly, "but if you'd allow me, we can go over more lessons and perhaps fine tune your dating skills-"
"Doctor," she interrupted, "your assistance in getting me accustomed to the nuances of social interaction have been invaluable to me so far, but I would prefer not to continue with that social activity," she said with some degree of finality.
He opened his mouth to say something, but the sudden lack of determination to press the matter compelled him to hold back. The success of his so-called social lessons with Seven gave him a false sense of confidence in his abilities. Then, in his arrogance, he had ultimately set her up for a world of failure and embarrassment. The thought of that stung him deeply down to his subroutines.
"I understand," he said rather wistfully, "Though I shall have to think of some way to make up for your bad date."
"Perhaps." There was the faintest of smiles on Seven's fair-skinned face.
"Um, hey Seven?" Tom Paris suddenly piped up behind her, walking around the biobed to face the former Borg.
"Yes Lieutenant?" she replied, regarding him curiously. Still holding the tricorder level with Seven's head, the Doctor had also glanced at Tom and wondered what the young helmsman was up to.
"Okay so full transparency, I was eavesdropping back there," said Tom, grinning sheepishly, "but I also think you shouldn't give up just because of one bad date."
At that, both Seven and the Doctor looked at each other, blinking. It wasn't necessarily a shock to them that he had been listening, but they were a little taken aback by his boldness.
"Why?" she asked.
"Let's just say I've had my fair share of bad dates," he replied, looking slightly embarrassed, "I took a girl out to dinner one night. Me being the charmer that I was, I made a few comments on her dress and ended up really offending her. She then proceeded to dump her bowl of scalding hot soup all over me and stormed out of the restaurant."
That drew a small chuckle from the Doctor, but Seven was more intrigued than amused and maybe even a little relieved at hearing Tom Paris's bad date anecdote. It was nice to know she wasn't alone. The Doctor's tricorder beeped again and he pulled it away for the last time, closing and slipping the device into the pocket of his uniform as he stood aside, his interest in the conversation palpable.
"You are saying that it is normal, perhaps even necessary for one to be subjected to such an undesirable experience to find a suitable mate? Multiple times?" Seven asked incredulously.
"No, well I mean sort of," Tom stumbled over his words, "all I'm trying to convey here is that bad dates can happen, but they're absolutely worth the risk if and when you meet that special someone."
"If and when…" Seven repeated slowly, furrowing her brow, "there are still no guarantees that I will meet this 'someone', Lieutenant, even if I agreed to go through more unpleasant dates."
"Sadly you're right," he shrugged, smiling solemnly, "I won't lie, you may never truly hit it off with someone. But those are the risks you take, that all of us have to take to find our potential partner or soulmate."
For almost point five seconds, Seven gave his words a fair amount of consideration, however, she was not entirely convinced she was ready to cross that rickety bridge again.
"Thank you for your input," she replied with practiced politeness, "perhaps I will re-examine my conclusions."
A wholesome and radiant grin appeared on that boyishly handsome face of his and the Doctor had to refrain from rolling his eyes out of habit.
"Happy to help really," said Paris, "I hope you do find that special someone."
"Janeway to Seven of Nine," a low and familiar voice came through suddenly from Seven's combadge.
Both men glanced at each other and then looked at Seven questioningly. Seven took a breath, pursing her lips slightly and tapped her combadge to respond.
"Yes Captain?"
"If you're not busy, I'm still expecting your report," said Janeway.
Alarmed, Seven could practically hear the Captain raising an eyebrow in the way she spoke. Was it past nine hundred hours already? Clearly she was making a habit out of losing track of time.
"I apologize Captain," Seven responded, nearly hopping off of the bed, "I will be there shortly."
"Understood, see you soon. Janeway out."
Nodding almost involuntarily when the Captain ended the transmission, Seven then gazed expectantly at the Doctor, waiting for his official discharge.
"I think I got what I needed, thanks for your assistance as always," the EMH said warmly, gesturing towards the doors.
"You are welcome," she replied automatically. After turning to face Tom and acknowledging him with a crisp, "Lieutenant," Seven left Sick Bay, her legs moving at a quicker pace than usual.
Stretching his arms above his head, Tom softly groaned contentedly.
"Back to work I guess," he said, glancing at the Doctor and smirking before walking off.
Having his holographic feathers ruffled once again by the fair-haired pilot, this time the Doctor did not refrain from rolling his eyes and sighing exasperatedly.