My second oneshot, for Star Trek and in general. Once again, characters do not belong to me. Enjoy.

Ill-logical

It started with a loss of appetite. For those who noticed, they suspected another impending period of Pon Farr. As it never came, that suspicion was ruled out. Besides, the I-really-don't-want-soup-behavior and inexplicable un-Vulcan-like anger never appeared. In fact, a kind of moroseness grew in its place.

Then it became an unusual fatigue. Only one person noticed, and that was Spock himself. He kept it to himself, and only allowed himself to experience it when alone, or struggling to wake or sleep. He never realized that a certain doctor had indeed recognized and made note of his strange exhaustion, especially when he could no longer elicit an expected irritated (or passive-aggressive, in the doctor's opinion) response to his smartass comments.

Finally, there was the loss of interest. By the time Spock himself had noticed, the doctor had already detected the lack of his "fascinating" and "interesting" remarks, as well as a general lack of willingness and cooperativeness. Between the Vulcan and Kirk, conversations had changed from "Yes, captain," to "That is clearly illogical, captain, and I refuse to do it," that would lead to "That was an order, Mr. Spock," which would end with "…yes, captain."

It didn't take a doctor to notice and diagnose Spock's problem.

But it seemed that only the doctor had.

Some observant crew they had…

So after a couple of weeks of the Vulcan's sustained (and worsening) behavior, Bones had personally and privately asked him to visit the sickbay when time permitted. It only took a few questions and some simple tests to diagnose Spock's problem – depression (which the doctor could only attribute to an earlier exploration of a planet whose atmosphere was found to cause possible chemical imbalances in the brain).

It wouldn't have been so bad if McCoy hadn't said the first thing on his mind when informing the Vulcan of his condition.

"I didn't know computers could get depressed."

Well, he could just say that the look Spock gave him would make that the last smartass comment to Spock-the-patient…not Spock-the-First-Officer. After all, the Vulcan had all but begged Bones to keep his diagnosis confidential, especially from Kirk.

So it was decided that the Vulcan would, from then on, report to the sickbay daily for a hypospray (which became more of a somewhat enjoyable daily visit), typically late at night, so as to keep his condition between the doctor and himself. McCoy had repeatedly informed him that the daily medication was not guaranteed to work, even over a long period of time, but Spock insisted on having it done, so determined he was to regain his emotional stability.

In the solitude and secrecy of the sickbay at night, and through the connection that came with a secret shared between doctor and patient, between friends, a new bond was formed. On Bones' side, it would be jokes or laughter or drinks (or all of these), and on Spock's side, it would be a roundabout comment of gratitude, hidden in a swath of self-serving logic, or a smile, visible for a fleeting second in his eyes.

But once outside the sickbay, Spock-the-patient all but disappeared, leaving the doctor with a First Officer armed with logical comeback after logical comeback prepared for any Vulcan-ruffling remark he might have stowed away during their visit.

It wasn't until McCoy's "You seem just about ready to be raisin' hell on the bridge again," that Spock had realized most of his symptoms had gone, some months later. Unwilling to give up his newfound and pleasant (though strange) friendship, the Vulcan had "admitted" to his doctor that he still wasn't quite feeling 100%.

Instead, he said he felt more at 72.6% precisely.

Which only earned him a grumbled "bullshit."

But that was fine for Spock, as he was as unwilling to relinquish his friendship as he was to admit it.

After all, he did need a logical reason to visit Bones each and every day, didn't he?