With the Lieutenant accompanying, the Commander utilizes the following hour or so engaging in what the Captain had dubbed 'mingling'. A secondary round of light wine in their respective grasps, the couple socialise with other participants of the event, conversing with one or two at a time. These individuals are co-workers, comrades, crewmates, each taking time from their own schedules to attend this gathering, out of respect for the Vulcan First Officer. After discussions of work, life, interests, hobbies and whatnot, all relative small-talk, they offer their well wishes to him, with words of 'long life' and 'happy returns' and 'longevity' offered through friendly faces. And, of course, he responds with a polite 'thank you' in some form or another, through typical stoicism, yet still showing appreciation, before finally departing to engage in another bout of discourse with another crew member.
Acquiring a break from their socialising, the pair once more approach the table of cloud cakes, allowing the rest of the gathering's participants to mingle amongst themselves. Having been left untouched by the hands of others, the Vulcan yet again tops his plate with another piece of the special bread. Utilising also the same fork he had prior, he takes a bite of the airy pastry. Naturally, he had grabbed the bun at the highest point of the small mound of cakes; moreover, the very bun that, unbeknownst to him, had been contaminated by a watchful ensign.
Slowly and methodically, the sweet bread is consumed, the Commander showing no haste as he enjoys the familiar flavour.
With the mixture of cheerful discourse and pleasing music behind him, his plate is cleaned of the bread's final crumb, as the Lieutenant enjoys her second serving of fruit. Concluding that this is enough foodstuffs to bring them contentment, the couple make one last journey to the refreshments table, each acquiring a glass of the same beverage they had consumed earlier. Thusly, with drinks in hand, their mingling is also resumed. Cautious to not rouse any suspicions from other attendees, the pale ensign awaits the unfolding of his plan, and the correct moment with which to utilise for his departure.
With the progression of the gathering to its continued level of light merriment, there also begins some rather unusual symptoms in the officer to whom the event is honoured. Initially, the Vulcan had dismissed the early signs of mild dizziness and anxiety as an aftereffect of the alcohol he had consumed. Peculiarly, such a beverage of relatively low strength should not render any effects within him. And yet, these current sensations and their increasing severity only add to his level of confusion.
There are, presently, small droplets of sweat forming on his brow; extremely odd for him, yes, considering that he is not suffering from a severe wound, nor illness, nor participating in anything too overly strenuous. Moreover, his heartrate has now elevated, the organ thumping at his side, in the place of its usual hum. This, in turn, results in a quickening of his breathing; again, not even a high degree of activity can cause his breaths to hasten so. Moreover, there also begins a twinge of pain in his right hip, radiating to the rest of his torso on that side. Combined with all of this, there is also a growing nausea, a symptom he rarely endures.
Of course, along with the passage of time, there too progresses a worsening of the symptoms, and a greater sense of unease from the Vulcan. So much unease, in fact, that it morphs into an alarming concern, and the inevitable touching of his suitor's hand in a beckoning of her attention. Her gaze had shifted from him to the room, the music, the cheerful faces all around. Now, however, with his contact of fingertips to hers, the eyes shift once more. It merely takes a single moment for her eyes to detect his distress, and for her heart to realise that something is amiss.
"What's wrong?", a gentle caress of her dry palm to his clammy face, her own face displaying her concern.
"I am...uncertain.".
"Do you think it's a panic attack?". Her irises continue their scanning of him, as if a tricorder were searching for an answer.
"That is...possible. Perhaps, even...something more.".
With his staggered breaths and growing nausea, it is more difficult now for him to even answer her inquiries. Of this, yes, she is quite aware and gifts him her patience, allowing him time to respond if inclined to do so.
"Okay...we'll go to sickbay, alright? Hopefully, they'll find out what's wrong.". Her voice cracks slightly with her words, while a slender thumb strokes his face.
"May we...please be discreet. I do not wish to...alarm the other...crew members.".
"Of course. I'll alert McCoy so he can meet us there.". A gentle grasp of the hand, while dark irises continue to worryingly study him.
As the Vulcan's head lowers and eyelids close taut, the Lieutenant utilises a subtle hand gesture to signal the good doctor, once his gaze met hers of course. Also, thankfully for them, he is within the couple's proximity, making the summoning of him easier. Upon spotting her signal, the rather odd sight of the Commander's pained face and the hand clutching at the hip, McCoy travels the few metres toward them, his expression mildly perplexed. Another who had spotted the Lieutenant's beckoning is the Captain, who also approaches his friend.
"Everything alright?", the physician taps the shoulder of his friend.
"You don't look too good, Spock... didn't eat too much chocolate, did you?", queries Kirk.
"He didn't have any.", begins the Lieutenant on her suitor's behalf, upon noticing his taut and pained face. "He's not well. I'm taking him to sickbay.".
"Yeah, I saw that something was up when you called me over. I'll grab a scanner from the emergency medkit here and go with you.".
"I'll clean up here for you, the party's nearly done anyway.", adds the Captain.
"Thank you, Captain.". Uhura turns to the Vulcan by her side.
She touches the hand of the mysteriously-ill Spock, who in response, straightens his posture with an uneasy nod of his head and hands clasped together at his lower back. A usual pose for him, now a facade to conceal his current condition, what ever that may be. During these brief moments, the doctor moves across the room to his intended destination. Fortunately for him, he knows precisely where an emergency medkit is located within this venue, and stealthily takes the opaque box from its housing. Unfastening the container, he glances at the couple, and the awkward steps of his Vulcan friend.
Something's definitely wrong.
With the medical scanner in hand, the kit is shut once more and returned to its former placement, and the physician proceeds to trail the couple now making their way out of the room. Not halting their journey, they bid brief farewells to crew members as they pass by, all the while attempting to adhere to the Commander's wish of discreetness. It is, however, quite lucky that the gathering itself had already begun to 'wind down', with attendees slowly trickling out of the mess hall in sparse numbers.
This staggered mass departure also includes the young pale ensign, upon sighting the Vulcan's condition, and the unfurling of a plan.
