If you lot weren't so goddamn secretive about your physiology, I'd be a lot more helpful, you know. [She sounds a little bitter because she is. She's a doctor, dammit, the ship's Chief Medical Officer, and she's kept in the dark about all but the most basic of facts regarding the First Officer on her ship. If he wasn't so famously touchy, she'd be badgering Spock way more to tell her what's so goddamn important about his body that it must be kept secret when none of the other races on the ship feel the need to keep her in the dark regarding the way their bodies function.

Chomping bitterly on her square of chocolate, she's so shocked by Spock's miniature monologue about her good qualities that she almost chokes on the sweet in her mouth.

She coughs, attempting to regain her composure.] Spock. [If he were anyone else, she'd reach out and touch his hand; she may be tipsy, but she's not drunk enough to touch a touch-telepath without thinking about it long and hard. Yet.] I thought you didn't even like me. Illogical and rash. Gosh, I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said about me. [If she's blushing, it's all because of the alcohol, alright. Definitely not because of the startled pleasure curling under her breastbone.

She doesn't care what Spock thinks about her because she doesn't care what anyone thinks about her. She's a grown-ass woman, and a successful doctor to boot. She doesn't need anyone's approval.

Though it is kind of nice to know she's held in some esteem by her fellow officers.]

I guess you're not so bad yourself. Even if you are pedantic as all get-out.