[ Data just tilted his head. It seemed like an odd suggestion to make. Even if it were suitable that he tried to stand up and continue - and it was indeed ill advised - Data didn't think that there would be any particular reason for him to remain bedridden if he truly wanted to stand up. It was not as if there was anything wrong with Peter's legs, after all.

However he had more often than not been used as a reminder, a way to tell people what they had asked him to remind them of their vices, such as if they had promised only to have one drink, or stay at a party for ten minutes, and changed their mind. He raised his eyebrows. Perhaps this was a similar thing. ]

I would be certain to insist, if that is what you wished. However for the moment, perhaps you would allow me to check the lengths to which your illness has progressed?

[ Data stepped after him, quietly offering Peter the bed to sit on, though he was just as happy to continue the examination upright. First, his tricorder, which was capable of observing the poisonous elements in his blood, the internal damage to various organs--they were some of the worst readings he'd taken, from anyone on the ship, and he narrowed the band, paying particular attention to Peter's liver, his lungs, his heart.

Setting the tricorder back on his belt, he changed his position in order to look into Peter's eyes, his own pupils widening and contracting like tiny camera lenses as he studied the spread of the blue tint, examined his pupil response, the decolouration of his skin, jaundiced but also edged by blue. Much greener, and Peter would be turning into an Orion. ]

I would like to time your physical responses. Would you catch this?

[ His Starfleet badge, flicked by his thumb into the air in front of Peter, in range of his hands. ]