She'd meant it as a joke, but his words make her stop in her tracks as well, turning around to face him, the carrier full of squealing, cooing tribbles still in hand. Kathryn had anticipated some sort of witty retort in response to her jest, not this. And it was a good thing they were a good distance from Chekov's cottage and walking in the opposite direction of the rest of this evening's company, else she would've insisted wherever this conversation was going wait until they got back to their apartment.

Instead, she allows herself to be properly flabbergasted, command instincts taking on a rare secondary role.

"You what?"