Love is Illogical ; Spock

Chapter 12

"I do not require your attention doctor." I said in a monotone batting his hand away.

"You were unconscious for 3 god damn hours! You're getting medical attention even if I have to follow you around the ship giving it to you!" Doctor McCoy exclaimed.
"Follow me around the ship then, it was a harmless toxin and I don't require your attention."
"Pointy eared bastards" he said under his breath.
"My pointy ears also have superior hearing doctor, refrain please" I said, walking out of the medical bay and I headed for the bridge with a disgruntled doctor McCoy on my heels attempting to administer medical attention, grumbling incoherently about having to follow me.

The bridge was mundane. Everyone was working in tandem, flying the ship towards Vulcan, to retrieve this element that was so rare and valuable that selling a few hundred grams of it was enough to buy a starship, in the wrong hands, the radiation and gasses it releases can be used in the creation of city destroying bombs. I had to do a thesis on it as a part of my degree so I was well equipped to see why it was a priority.

However, going to Vulcan was almost certainly going to mean confirming to the strict rule set that made me want to leave in the first place. The fact that a mother showing love to wards her child garnered scorn stumped my, internally of course.

Vulcans feel emotion however hard they try to conceal them. That's why we partake in the ritual of Kholinar, because it purges the so called "filth" from our bodies.

By the time I was a teenager I was desperate to leave the bindings of logic, I wanted to experience emotion, to marry for love not practicality but having received my wish I was now spoiling it for myself. I was clinging to logic, pushing away everything else.

There were people here who considered theirselves to be my friends and I was holding them at an arms length and greeting them with cold indifference.

I still think upon logic as a blessing. It granted me the ability to never have my judgment clouded by anger or to never be immobilised with fear, rendered useless with sorrow. Logic was a tree I clung to and the tree had sprouted vines and now clung to me.