"You often behave in a way that I find irritating," Danger responded at length, making her way to the closet as she spoke, "Yet you still breathe. How remarkable. Perhaps you should speak to your therapist regarding a possible diagnosis of paranoia."

But it wasn't paranoia-- not really. Not when it came to her. Danger was, as her name suggested, dangerous, and a man of the doctor's intelligence would be careless not to treat her as a constant threat, no matter how often she referenced her own self-control. She was less stable than her unchanging, impassive exterior would suggest. Violence was always just the flick of a switch away.

"My purpose in making these modifications is purely as a security measure," she went on, opening the closet door and leaning to give a better view to her various sensors. "I am not your babysitter, nor your mother, Doctor. Your space is still your own. I will merely be watching."