Spock stood at the entrance of Baby’s personal quarters, his eyes scanning the figure lying on the bed. Lieutenant Baby was, as expected, far from compliant. The young officer had sustained a rather severe injury—broken ribs, as Dr. McCoy had so kindly informed him—yet the Lieutenant seemed determined to ignore the doctor's instructions. Spock could sense the frustration emanating from the officer even from across the room. It was typical of Humans, he thought, to dismiss their own well-being in favor of duty. But for a Vulcan, it was an altogether incomprehensible display of defiance.

"Lieutenant," Spock's voice was calm, but laced with an authority that brooked no argument. "You have sustained an injury that requires rest and careful attention. Your recovery is paramount, not your immediate return to duty. Dr. McCoy has made his orders clear. I suggest you heed them."

The Lieutenant’s glare was a familiar one—stubborn, impatient, and unwavering. Spock’s lips twitched imperceptibly, a subtle acknowledgement of the officer’s spirit, though it would not sway him in the slightest.

"I have been assigned by the captain per Dr. mcCoy’s request to ensure that you follow the medical protocols prescribed to you, Lieutenant Damian," Spock continued. "Your presence in the corridor, or anywhere beyond this room, is neither necessary nor advisable. You will remain here until Dr. McCoy determines it is safe for you to resume your duties."

There was a slight flicker of amusement in his eyes as he watched the Lieutenant Damian sit up, the rebellious glint still present. Spock’s gaze remained steady, his posture impeccable, as though this small battle had already been won in his mind.

"I trust you will not make me have to insist," he said, his tone even, though the undercurrent of warning was unmistakable. It was a threat. Plain and simple.