I am Vulcan, madam. We do not discuss Vulcan biology with off-worlders. [ Not even M'Benga knew everything about Vulcan physiology, though his scope of knowledge was quite impressive. Spock knew well that certain conversations were dropped when a off-worlder entered the room.

There were reasons he could understand, when it came to particular causes. A male Vulcan's time was the cause of a deep, abiding shame, and that was something none wished for the galaxy to know. But otherwise? There were good reasons, Spock was sure, but he could not recall them, could not remember why they were so stubborn about allowing records to be translated and given to medical personnel.

For Spock, it was a different story. Enough time under the cold, calculating eyes of scientists who viewed him as nothing more than a specimen has left him reluctant to spend even the slightest time undergoing poking and prodding.

This chocolate really is going to his head.

He does not mind, however. The taste is still pleasant, and his limbs feel relaxed. He even deigns to slouch the slightest bit, tension bleeding from his frame. ]

I assure you, that was not meant as a compliment. [ Though her reaction does not surprise him; he has always found Lenore to react in ways he does not comprehend.

He recognizes her own words are a return of his sentiment, and bows his head in response. It is, in a deep, startling way he cannot thoroughly describe, gratifying to hear her claim. ]

Someone abroad this vessel needs to be exact, and none but me seem capable.