Spock was being inundated with emotions. He was trying to keep a level head, which was difficult considering all of the unnecessary medications that the staff of the hospital insisted on injecting into his system. Spock didn't approve of such methods. If they hadn't held him down and forced him to accept the medications, he never would have allowed them to poison his system. Vulcans were a very particular people, especially when it came to their bodies and what went into them. He didn't like this lack of control.
She was verging on frustrating.
"I am quite comfortable. I see no need in kicking my feet up nor does my vertebrae require a massotherapeutic stimulus. "
He took another cautious bite of the cookie, careful not to eat the portions that he had touched with his fingers. It was impossible to tell what sorts of bacteria were growing in this environment.
"I am incapable of being happy. As a Vulcan, it is part of my culture to purge such emotions. I am, however, relatively content. Please do not persist in weeping. I would not know how to react."
Spock paused and stared at the television.
"Is that device capable of receiving any other transmissions? I do not understand the significance of a laughing sponge. Why does he live in a pineapple under the sea?"