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Eight or more years ago Jim probably would have started his log along the lines of something like this: Stardate 2265.3, Tswos IV smells like the worst outhouse in the history of the universe.
Well. Something like that. That Jim Kirk at 24 years young would have definitely included some unapproved Starfleet verbiage and expletives.
For a planet that smelled like the worst fart packed in with every combination of rotting fish, Tswos IV was actually fairly nice looking. As far as M-Class planets with a sulfur-oxide atmosphere went. McCoy had harassed Jim for an extra fifteen minutes about keeping track of his life support tank and not to touch anything without his hazard suit on. (Jim was pretty sure that McCoy was giving him longer lectures in relation to the number of Sickbay visits Jim earned on the last few trips.)
As far as Jim knew there weren't any eight foot alien spiders or mystical carnivorous snakes hiding under the dirt, which was a vast improvement from their last away mission. (McCoy hadn't stopped whining about that yet, either.)
Jim did a quick headcount over the crowd. There was at least one blue shirt missing, which was expected given the chaos and the number of people in need of medical attention, but there was a specific scowling blue shirt he was looking for.
At the evacuation center he found Uhura, kneeling beside a stack of Starfleet standard crates filled with arrays and the rest of their communication equipment. He tapped her on the shoulder; their touchdown camp was full of noise and he needed her attention. "Where's Bones?"
Uhura picked up her head. Even with her excellent hearing, speech was twice as hard to decipher with their filtration masks in the way. She tapped at her ear and switched off the commlink, which probably wasn't helping her any. Jim patiently repeated the question.
"He's in the children's ward," Uhura replied distractedly. "Chapel said the adults and older children were ready to evacuate." She lost interest in him and frowned at her tricorder.
Jim stared at her. He poked her again, until she rolled her eyes under the visor and reluctantly gave him another second of her precious time. "Alone?" Jim demanded.
With a shrug she answered, "Spock's with him."
That was somehow worse. Spock was a huge pushover when it came to Uhura's wants and desires. He was about thirty times worse with McCoy. He usually gave McCoy a hard time about it for show, but Spock caved in about a quarter of the time it normally took Jim, so.
Uhura finally looked up from whatever was so fascinating on her readout. She caught Jim's expression and Jim watched the realization cross over her face. "I mean," she started. "He's not alone this time…"
"This is going to be Onlie II all over again," Jim said with a sigh.
Through the mask screen he watched Uhura bite her lip. "I'm sure he wouldn't," she tried, but she sighed with him and pushed herself off the ground.
"For the record, this time it's your fault."
Uhura hip checked him hard enough that he stumbled into the cargo container. "Careful, Kirk."
Jim hip checked her back. "You're so mean."
"Just to you. I know you like it." Uhura patted his cheek—or rather, clumsily patted around the mask and visor covering his entire face, grinning. Jim gestured for her to lead the way to the hospital.
The Enterprise had arrived two weeks after hearing the initial distress call from Tswos IV. There wasn't much left of the original buildings or infrastructure by the time the crew arrived to lend aid. From the amount of dust and craters, Spock had theorized the usage of primitive bombs— thankfully nothing nuclear—as the cause. The city was not so fortunate, leaving behind a mostly unsalvageable pile of rubble, but at least the lucky inhabitants they found were alive, and healthy for the most part. It was far better than the alternative, or treating radiation sickness after a two-week wait, by which point almost all of the Tswos IV population would have already passed on.
Despite the grim nature of their circumstances, the Tswosians seemed optimistic, as far as Jim could tell. Starfleet had ordered them to evacuate whoever they could find, but Jim had already overheard conversations from the civilians about their plans to return, one day, and rebuild.
That was about as good as Jim's luck was willing to go. He and Uhura climbed up the stairs to the third floor, where the makeshift children's ward was. Chapel spotted them and did some sort of evil wink that struck terror to Jim's core, while Uhura made a sound between a sigh and a soft laugh.
"They're in there," Chapel warned as they approached the makeshift desk Chapel was using out of storage bins. Jim didn't even have to ask. "I think they're doing storytime. All the parents we've found have come through already, so they're dealing with the stragglers now."
Good God. Jim said, with half-exasperated, half-fond dismay, "Not again..."
"Doctor McCoy's been bonding really well with them," Chapel continued. "He's really a natural with kids. It's adorable." She was really twisting the knife on him. Like he was the asshole for barging in before the real disaster struck.
"Very sad," Uhura agreed, and now she was making a little disappointed face at him too. Jim glowered at her, because they were supposed to come in here as a united front, and Uhura's defenses were already sliding out from under her. Ugh. Jim hated being the reasonable one. It always made him look like the bad guy.
"Yes, it is," Jim said, with the right amount of injected sympathy and gentleness, but he was not folding like a damn paper table either. "And I'm sure Starfleet will do their utmost to find their relatives or other family members to take them in."
"Hm," Chapel said. "Anyway. What brings you up here, Captain?"
"Just checking in."
"I'm sure you are," Chapel drawled. Jim made a face at her (which was their default method of communication). Chapel stuck her tongue out at him. Jim was mature enough not to do it back—at least not until Uhura turned her back to peer through the door to the ward—and turned that evil eye on McCoy's head nurse.
Spock, that traitor, was in the children's circle holding a toddler one hip while the other was asleep in his lap. McCoy had at least three hanging off him, and despite all that, was still making a grand effort to keep reading from the PADD in his hands.
He and Uhura didn't have to announce themselves. Spock's ear twitched and he turned his head to the door, saw the two of them, and Jim watched the infinitesimal emotional shift as Spock realized who had joined them, had a very small and quiet guilty panic about it, and then settled back into enjoying himself. The children were all somewhere between four and seven, if Jim had to guess, with the Tswosian red hair and yellow pigmentation around their hands and ears.
Two of them turned and took note of Jim and Uhura, but then turned back around to watch McCoy with a rapt and adoring attention that chipped away at Jim's ice cold resolve.
Jim twisted, looking for support, but Uhura's expression was pure joy. Damn it. He'd already lost her. Now he had two traitors in the midst of it all.
McCoy picked up on Spock's momentary distraction but he kept on reading, making those goofy voices and growls, much to the delight of the children if their giggles were anything to go by. After storytime he plucked the kids off him and either patted them off to bed, or scooped them up and dropped them on their mattresses while they giggled and made grabby hands for him.
One of the toddlers clung to McCoy's neck and refused to be convinced back to bed, so McCoy kept him there. "Captain," McCoy said formally as Jim approached him, but his mouth was twitching. Spock followed him solemnly in his shadow, though his eyes were on the child chewing at McCoy's tunic.
"Bones…" Jim started.
McCoy's expression shifted, and then he wasn't the Enterprise CMO or McCoy, and Jim knew he was talking to Leonard. "Hear me out. I know that—"
"No."
"Leonard has made exceptional progress in bonding with these children already," Spock said quietly.
Jim shushed him. "As your Captain, I am ordering you to stop adopting every child you run into."
"Jim." Nyota's voice was soft. She leaned into Leonard's side and ran her fingers over the boy's little nose, then his round cheeks. Then gave him that look, like, I know you're being difficult on purpose, and you don't have to fight us on this anymore.
Weakly, Jim explained, "I'm trying to be the voice of reason. For once."
Leonard gave him a flash of that sheepishly smug smile he got when he knew he'd won, and Jim was debating how hard it'd be to kiss it off him while he had a toddler hanging off him. It would probably get him a smack on the head.
Worth it. Probably.
"Unfortunately," Spock said, his eyes twinkling in that way they did when he was laughing at Jim, "I fear that may be, as you say, 'a lost cause' in this instance." He brushed his hands against Jim's, and Jim felt Nyota on the other side. Leonard's smile widened, which really should not be fair, because a person who scowled that much was not allowed to look that adorable. Nyota's cheeks were pinched where she was biting. And Spock…well. He wasn't smiling, but he was getting close to it.
Really, truly, tragically unfair. That was Jim Kirk's life.
Jim sighed. He was a folding table afterall. "Oh, shut up, all of you."
"I didn't say a thing," Nyota sing-songed.
"Next time," Jim swore, "I'm going with Bones. As neither of you can be trusted."
"We shall see," Spock said sagely. Jim gave him an extra evil eye for being a smartass, and as Bones often bemoaned, Spock always found some way to have the last word.