Sixty some odd hours into the Enterprise's journey to Starbase 17, Kirk received a priority call from Starfleet Command. Fresh out of the shower and not quite in full uniform, he sat down to respond, rubbing a towel through still-damp hair, and wishing he'd thought to pour a cup of coffee first.

In retrospect, he probably should have been expecting some sort of reaction from Command, but he was still basking in the afterglow of an unqualified success. Mostly unqualified. Though Admiral Pike's expression when he appeared indicated he had quite a few qualifiers regarding the matter.

"First things first," Pike began, his lips wearing what could technically be called a smile, if one did not know what that smile usually preceded. "Captain James T. Kirk. You are hereby ordered to alter course for New Vulcan immediately."

"What? I mean, may I ask why, Admiral? We're less than two days away from Starbase 17."

"The acting High Council for New Vulcan has requested – well, more of a demand really – that their citizens you rescued from Romulan captivity be delivered to New Vulcan directly."

"Uh. Well, I understand why they're anxious, sir, but we have Romulan prisoners in tight quarters onboard. And one requesting asylum. Starbase 17 is already set up to process them."

"Yes. I read your report. Your very brief report. And we'll definitely be discussing that before this call is done. The problem is, however, that your first officer took it upon himself to inform his father about the successful completion of a mission we here at Starfleet Command knew next to nothing about. His father then shared that news with the Vulcan High Council who immediately contacted the goddamned president of the Federation."

"Oh. Crap," he whispered.

"Not only were we surprised to learn of the extent of your mission—"

"Sir, I'm sorry, but we had to act fast—"

"Oh, I don't doubt it. In fact, I look forward to reading all the particulars when I receive the formal, very thorough report your XO will be writing that I expect to receive by this time tomorrow." Pike looked away for a moment and scratched at a spot beneath his right eye. "I'm pissed as hell at him, by the way. He shared the outcome of a mission with civilians before any official operational debriefing had occurred. Ignoring proper channels, disregarding chain of command and protocols for fuck's sake – that's more your bailiwick. Spock damned well knows better."

Kirk had hoped Spock would contact his father. Counted on it in fact. He practically popped the top off Spock's raw vulnerability, poured the suggestion inside then shook it up for good measure. Jesus. He was a terrible friend—

Pike's next words pulled him out of his flagellating mea culpas with a good old-fashioned lecture.

"Congratulations, Captain. You pulled it off. The angels of fortune and excellent timing smiled down upon you. The Vulcans are as near to ecstatic as is possible for them. But I'm telling you right now, you cannot sidestep the chain of command again – for your own protection and the protection of your crew. I'm serious, son. Look at my face." Pike pointed at said face. Kirk gulped loud enough to be heard across the void. "If things go tits up, sometimes the only protection we have is that we did things by the book. Do you understand?"

"I understand, sir."

Pike sighed heavily. "I'm not sure you do. But here's the thing. One day, after you've been captain for more than three damned months – say, ten years from now – when you and your crew are all on your own out in the black, you'll find yourself in circumstances where you can't wait for authorization, or even tacit approval after the fact. And for those times you'll need to have banked a shit ton of good will and trust with those at the top. Until then you are to take no actions beyond those defined by the Enterprise's authorized short-term commission. Clear?"

"Yes, Admiral. Sir."

"And Jim? I really mean it. Congratulations on the successful completion on your first 'official' peacetime mission. The sooner I have that report, the sooner I can offer commendations to the officers involved."

"Yessir. Thank you, sir."

After Pike's image winked out, any fabricated self-assurance holding Kirk up collapsed. He sagged in his chair, put his head in his hands and groaned, "Fuuucckk."

Yeoman Zhu wore a harried expression, frantically checking her PADD and her chrono. As soon as she caught Uhura's eye she made a hurried one-handed circular gesture behind the backs of her charges – two young Vulcan women scrolling through images of all the clothing available in the "not uniform" category – oh my god can you help me make this go faster please. It took a moment for Uhura to realize the two young women were T'Lie and T'Vria.

Both were clothed in the utilitarian generic coverall they'd been issued after shedding the equally utilitarian garments they'd worn during their captivity. T'Lie had managed to turn it into a fashion statement, unfastened to the waist with the sleeves tied around her hips, exposing the regulation long sleeved black undershirt that looked like it was maybe a size too small, so it was really form fitting for someone not wearing a bra. Uhura thought this might be a bold effort on T'Lie's part to re-assert her rights to autonomous sexuality. Empowering? Maybe? Or something?

Also, she'd chopped off her hair and it was pixie goddamned perfect.

T'Vria glanced up. Uhura gave a restrained little wave. T'Lie gestured an invitation to join them.

"Perhaps you can assist us," T'Lie demanded as soon as Uhura stepped near. Then to Yeoman Zhu, "If you will allow?"

Well, shit. This was supposed to be a quick pre-breakfast stop to pick up shampoo before starting what was sure to be a difficult day. "I don't think I– "

"Okaygreatbye," Zhu chirped, scurrying away then mouthing "sorry, sorry, sorry" at her before disappearing into the corridor.

So. Maybe no breakfast. "How may I help?"

T'Vria eyed her up and down as discreetly as possible. Which was not very. "We have noticed that some on this ship wear a uniform with trousers and some, like you, prefer garments with a skirt."

"Yes. I like skirts and dresses. It's a personal preference. But when it's impractical or illogical to do so, like, if I'm working out or on a mission for instance, then I wear leg coverings or long pants."

"I would prefer to wear something other than this," T'Lie said, drawing her hand down along her torso to remind Uhura why.

"Like a dress?"

The Vulcan woman gave an inconclusive shrug.

"I would prefer a dress," T'Vria said. "However, none of these options cover one's extremities. I am aware that it is permissible in many humanoid cultures to expose the flesh and I am not opposed to it in general. I have modeled two of my cousin's more unconventional designs." She looked at the other woman, her dimples deepening in that deceptively cheery un-Vulcan way. Not a smile but nearly. "I-I should not be concerned about propriety were it not for the presence of your first officer, Mr. Spock."

What the hell did Spock have to do with it?

"I would not concern myself with propriety for his sake, Cousin," T'Lie said, glancing askance in Uhura's vicinity. Oh, that's right! T'Lie had seen her and Spock together in the Med bay. Apparently, she hadn't shared this tidbit with her cousin.

"He is owed all appropriate respect, T'Lie," T'Vria admonished. She shifted her attention to Uhura once again. "We heard it was Commander Spock who recognized the import of our message. Is this correct?"

"It is. I doubt we would have understood the significance of the message if he hadn't recognized lines from that play."

"Those particular lines are recognizable to many Vulcans who have not read the play – in much the same way humans recognize the line "discretion is the better part of valor" and do not know it is a misquote from Henry the IV Part 1 by William Shakespeare."

Uhura's mouth fell open. T'Vria inclined her head in a small bow, clearly pleased with herself. "I have an advanced degree in Pre-Reform History with a focus in Theater," she said. "I have also read several of the works of William Shakespeare."

Impressive. "You know, Spock actually translated the 'The Sundered Women of Irik-Ahkhan' into Standard when he was younger."

T'Vria linked her hands together over her heart, her face alight with…well, what was going to prove to be a problem, Uhura suspected. "Then truly I cannot dishonor such a scholar with improper deportment."

For her part, T'Lie was expressionless. Possibly frozen in embarrassment.

"I can assure you, T'Vria," Uhura said, gently. "Commander Spock will not be offended by the length of your skirt."

"You are smiling." It was an accusation.

"I'm not making light of your concerns, honestly, but Spock has been in Starfleet for several years, and on Earth for many of those years. You don't need to concern yourself about offending any Vulcan cultural sensibilities on his account. He's accustomed to seeing women's legs."

And other things, T'Lie's expression seemed to say. But her mouth said something else. "What my cousin is suggesting, Lt. Uhura – and we mean you no insult – is that there are different standards and expectations of comportment for women of his own kind, no matter how … easy he may seem with you."

All I wanted was shampoo and my damned breakfast.

"Are you closely acquainted with the Commander, Ms. Uhura?"

"She is, indeed, Cousin," T'Lie said. T'Vria was beginning to seem nervous now.

"We serve on the bridge together. He also taught several classes at Starfleet Academy. I was his teaching assistant for a time, as well."

"You would have no reason to share with him the private queries my cousin and others asked of you? Before we left the compound?"

It took a moment. Oh. The abortion queries. She shook her head, emphatically. "No. That has nothing to do with the ship so certainly none of his business."

"I care little for his censure, Cousin," T'Lie said. "He is in no position to judge any of us." She gestured vaguely at the shopping screen. "My concern is only that these choices are dull."

"Well. There are color options," Uhura said.

T'Lie wrinkled her nose delicately. "But the designs are so uninspired."

"I thought vanity was frowned upon in Vulcan society," Uhura said tartly, grabbing her preferred shampoo and packet of breath mints.

"It is not vanity to present oneself in an aesthetically pleasing manner," T'Lie replied with equal tartness. "Although my mother took issue with the degree to which I sought to please only myself in this regard." She blinked slowly at the image of a dumpy-looking bathrobe. "I suppose I need never concern myself with her opinion again."

Uhura squeezed her eyes shut, feeling like shit. She mentally shook off her annoyance with T'Lie's 'tude and said, "We usually shop for the aesthetically pleasing designs on leave. I'm sure you'll find more choices once we get to Starbase 17. But let me contact the quartermaster and see if she's hoarding anything good. Maybe we can scrape together some more interesting options by the end of the day."

T'Vria looked at her cousin, who tipped her perfect pixie-cut head (with her perfectly upswept brows and perfectly elegant ears) to the side, as if suspicious of booby-traps. It was only a scant second but felt like much longer. "Thank you, Lt. Uhura."

If Uhura's "my pleasure" was less than sincere she doubted either of them would notice or, in T'Lie's case, care.

Jim Kirk was good with kids. It was the only genuinely endearing thing about him McCoy would admit out loud without a sarcastic qualifier. And kids loved Jim. His daughter Joanna had met him twice and now whenever McCoy called, she barely got out "Hello, Daddy" before "Can I talk to Uncle Jim?"

So, when he stepped out to do a quick headcount of how many of Vulcan children were still waiting for vaccinations, he was not surprised to see the captain of the Enterprise losing a game of memory-match to a four-year old.

Two decks of playing cards were laid out, taking up entirely too much space on the open floor of Receiving. He noted lots of gaps in the grid, so they'd been at it for a while. Two other kids, a little older, had small piles of matched cards next to them, but the little girl's stack was impressive. The captain's stack, a close second.

McCoy watched as Kirk reached for one card, then another, his hand hovering indecisively before darting a glance at his competition. A tiny furrow of exasperation knitted the child's brow before she directed his hand (with her own) to a completely different card. McCoy wasn't sure if she was trying to help him or hinder him. But before Kirk could turn it over, an enthusiastic toddler broke through the line of players and scattered the remaining cards with one destructive sweep.

Kirk hoisted the toddler into the air with a growl of mock outrage, eliciting an answering growl. The older kids began gathering up the scattered cards, speaking rapidly in their own language. The younger ones were in the first throes of "rambunctious fever." Restless and hungry, there was only so much distraction a Starfleet captain and two decks of cards could afford. Or so McCoy thought.

Kirk set the ferocious toddler on the floor, who immediately went for his knees. Keeping a hand on the tiny terror's noggin so as not to be head-butted in the crotch, Kirk smiled and said, "Oh, hey, Bones."

"Hey, yourself."

"Criminy, these kids are strong," Kirk said, laughing between gritted teeth.

"Did you need to see me?"

"Yeah, I— aaahhhh!"

Another little girl wrapped herself around the captain's knees from behind. Then another from the side, all accompanied by high pitched squeals. Thrown off balance Kirk's arms shot out, and the toddler, who'd been pushing against his hand, hit the floor face first.

A woman rushed forward, scooped the wailing child up, and was quickly back in a chair without a word. Kirk now had a kid clinging to each leg, his expression one of anxious amusement, as he attempted to walk towards the wailing toddler dragging his kiddie barnacles along with him. The decibel level was suddenly deafening.

That's when McCoy caught a good look at them, mothers and caretakers darting furtive wary glances at the young captain currently working their children into a lather, their behavior devolving into what must have seemed like utter chaos to Vulcan sensibilities. Yet they said nothing, made no move to stop it.

Didn't think they could, he realized.

He put two fingers between his lips and let loose a shrill whistle bringing everything to a standstill.

"Everyone not an adult, sit your bottoms down, right now!"

At this assertion of his authority, he set parameters for the mothers and they acted swiftly. He didn't understand the language, but he knew the tone. Quiet, firm demands from mamas followed by the grudging obedience of children.

"All right, then. I think we're through with the babies—" Elva, the nurse in charge, nodded. "It's just these six here and you can all go eat lunch. Captain? A word?"

The door to his office hadn't even slid shut before Kirk was holding up his hands in surrender, or maybe to fend off blows. "Sorry, sorry. I was getting them too rowdy, I know."

"You were, but that's not the issue. Well, it is the issue, but not the reason I need a word. Sit." McCoy went to the synthesizer and hit "coffee," asking if Kirk wanted any without turning around.

"I'm pretty sure you think I don't need more coffee." He hadn't sat down yet.

McCoy slid into his comfy chair and leaned back with his mug semi-perched on his solar plexus. "Here's the deal. You are, in those women's minds, the ultimate authority figure on this ship and as they don't know the limits of that authority as it relates to them and their children, they don't know how to deal with you. You're both too genial and too powerful at the same time."

Kirk sat down, made a face and a mildly dismissive noise. "How the hell am I powerful?"

"Stop being obtuse, or falsely modest, or whatever the hell this is. Think about where they've spent the last few years. They don't know what might cross the line with you. How you'll react. What you might do if they displease you in some way—"

"Jesus! Do they think I'm like Kaol?"

"No. Well, probably not. But I just saw those women sitting on their hands, not correcting their children's behavior because you, the ultimate authority, was the one riling them up."

"Just those last couple of minutes! Jeez. We mostly played memory match."

"Jim."

"Yeah. Fine. Not sure what I can do about it now though."

"Maybe just not do it again?"

Jim turned the small holo cube of Joanna towards him and flicked it on and off a few times – McCoy's daughter at 3 in a tutu (adorable but not talented), 5th birthday (huge grin, huge cake), tutu again, at the lake with her grandpa (holding a catfish aloft in triumph).

He reached out and gently pulled the cube back his way. "You said you needed to see me."

"Admiral Pike tore me a new one this morning. Then congratulated us all on a successful mission. And now, because the Vulcans found out we have their people, we've been ordered to go directly to New Vulcan. That means our Romulan friends in lockdown will be in close quarters for at least another two to three weeks. Not sure how that affects their general health or what, if anything, we need to do about it. Giving you a heads up."

"Okay. I'll get some people on it. Their health assessments are on the schedule anyway."

"We're going to start interviewing the women, regardless, get their insights while we have the opportunity. The prisoner interrogations can wait since we'll have them longer. Maybe leave them for Fleet Intelligence to deal with? Eh, we'll see. Except for Dr. Mas. That interrogation is a go if you still want to sit in on it. "

"I do."

"1500 this afternoon. That scary room in security detention."

"Got it."

The captain jumped up, then stopped before he could trigger the door. "I'm afraid to go out there now."

"Oh, for Chrissake. Go out through Emergency then."

McCoy went back to finish vaccinations.