If the conversation over the viewscreen continued any longer, Captain Jean-Luc Picard was sure a nervous tic, caused purely from stress, would begin revealing itself to the world.
Or, more particularly, to Captain Kirk, the direct cause of his stress.
"Jim, for the last time, I can't go orbital diving with you tomorrow," said Picard calmly.
"Aw, come on Jean-Luc. You know you loved it last time."
"For the time being, I believe I'd be satisfied with it remaining in memory as being my last time."
For a moment, he was sure Kirk was pouting. He sighed.
"Look Jim, I admit it was a truly exhilarating experience."
Kirk beamed.
"But the fact remains that I don't want to end up -- to put it in bluntly -- splattered on some planet's surface."
Kirk grimaced.
"Again," added Picard.
The other man seemed indignant. "Hey, we didn't 'splatter' on Bajor."
"What about your nose?" Asked Picard, hiding the slightest of smiles.
Glare.
He continued. "And if my suit's shields hadn't held up as long as they did, failing in quite the same manner as did yours, we both would have been splattered on Bajor. And you would have had more than a bloody nose and a concussion."
Kirk looked a trifle crestfallen.
"But Jim, allow me to tell you a story I once heard from a friend. Apparently, it dates back to late-twentieth century Earth."
Kirk's interest was undeniably piqued, his denied request forgotten.
"It involves telling the difference between a bad golfer and a bad skydiver."
"...I understand what a skydiver is," said Kirk after a moment, frowning. "But as for what a golfer is..."
"Like croquet, but with greater distances and more powerful swings."
Kirk grinned. "Sounds like fun."
"The story is basically this: a bad golfer goes, whack, "Damn." A bad skydiver goes, "Damn," whack."
Kirk stared blankly at Picard, most likely questioning his sanity.
The latter gave his friend another moment for it to sink in, then stopped hiding his smile. "Ask me again in a week Jim."
Picard shut off the viewscreen.