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The Nurse enters sickbay when her shift starts, doing her best to act casual, but she can feel her heart pounding, her temperature rising. As long as the Doctor didn’t scan her with a tricorder, maybe he wouldn’t notice.
She can hear him humming a song she doesn’t recognize, and she follows the sound to find him sitting in his office.
The Doctor spots her in the corner of his vision. “Good morning, Nurse. Now that you’re here, I’ve got a few tasks for you—”
His words are cut off when he swivels in his chair and looks at her directly for the first time. His mouth hangs open as he scoffs in surprise. “Why, Nurse, you’ve certainly chosen a bold new look.”
She shrugs him off in a way she hopes is nonchalant. While she expected his reaction, it still makes her feel like squirming under his gaze. “I felt like it was time for a change.”
“And you decided to accomplish that by shaving the side of your head?”
“I guess.” The heat in her face rises.
“You know, the new look highlights your implants quite nicely.” The Doctor smirks. “Your decision wouldn’t have something to do with our conversation from the other day, would it?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she lies.
“Please, you don’t recall anything about me saying you shouldn’t hide who you are? I believe it even made you tear up.” His smirk grows upon recalling the effect he had on her.
The Nurse crosses her arms. The smug look on his face makes her feel giddy and exasperated all at once. “I gave myself a haircut. It was my decision. It has nothing to do with you.”
“If you say so,” he replies, his tone suggesting he’s not convinced.
“Can you just give me some work to do?” she asks dryly.
“Well, I was going to have you refill the hyposprays, but I think that can wait.”
“What do you want me to do instead?”
“I want you to have a seat and let me fix up your hair.”
“What?!” Her face turns bright red.
The Doctor chuckles. “Don’t get me wrong; I think it’s a wonderful look, but it’s a bit messy, I’m afraid. Would you allow me to even it out?”
The Nurse glares at him, having half a mind to shut off his program.
“I promise I’m quite skilled at doing hair despite, uh, evidence to the contrary.” He gestures to his bald head.
She hates that she finds his comment amusing. “...Fine. Just do it,” she gives in.
“Wonderful!” The Doctor sits her down on a biobed before retrieving his hairstyling tools. “You know, I don’t know why you’re embarrassed about this, Nurse.” He he picks up a razor. “In fact, I’m proud of you. You should be too.”
The device buzzes to life, and he begins to trim her hair. There’s a rare moment of silence from him as he focuses on his task. He evens out the patchy buzz cut and ensures the edges are clean.
After a few moments, he turns off the razor. His fingers brush against her hair, double checking his work. “All finished.”
“Thanks,” she mumbles, still feeling a bit self-conscious.
The Doctor’s hand lingers. Hesitantly, he traces the edges of the two implants now exposed by the new haircut, ready to stop at any sign of discomfort from her.
She doesn’t pull away.
“I’m glad you’re not hiding yourself anymore, Nurse.” His voice is unusually soft.
The feeling of his fingertips against her scalp sends sparks throughout her body. She bites her lip, contemplating her response before deciding to go for it. “You can call me Twelve… if you want.”
“Oh?”
“Seven suggested it might help me accept the person I’ve become, help me come to terms with my history with the Borg. I don’t know if I’ll stick with it forever, but I think it’ll do for now.”
Emboldened by her silent acceptance of his touch, he traces his knuckle along her jaw and gently tilts her head up.
Twelve smiles, and for the first time since she’d been deassimilated, it feels genuine.
The Doctor has never seen her like this before, and he’s certain he wants to do whatever it takes to keep her looking just like this. “I’m happy to hear it, Twelve. From personal experience, I can agree that trying on a new name is a worthwhile endeavor in discovering one’s identity.”
“I’m glad you think so.”
Neither of them move, not wanting to risk anything to make this moment end. Their gazes lock, breaths halt, frozen.
Twelve can’t stand the tension any longer. The pull to him is so strong, so natural, that she hardly thinks before leaning in to kiss him. She doesn’t linger long before pulling back again, checking his reaction.
The Doctor grins, and for once, there’s no hint of smugness in his expression, just pure affection. He moves his hand to the back of her head, pulling her in for a second kiss, which she eagerly accepts.
He realizes this must be what organics mean when they say they have ‘butterflies in their stomachs.’ He’s felt love and attraction before, but this was something new, another small but complex detail in his programming that made him feel all the more real.
When the kiss ends, they both have the same giddy smile.
Twelve chuckles. “So, Doc, uh…”
There’s a hiss as the sickbay doors open.
The two break apart and straighten up, turning to see Tom walk in.
“Am I interrupting something?” He eyes the pair suspiciously.
Twelve and the Doctor’s eyes narrow.
“That’s none of your concern,” the Doctor deflects. “Now what do you need, Mr. Paris?”