CHAPTER ONE.

"Bullshit." Kirk said indignantly as he grimaced at the datapad.

Spock offered to clear things up. "Actually, Captain, it is a course description of the Classical Theatre class that all Senior Starfleet officers are required to take after a certain period of service."

Kirk was still skeptical. "You mean…plays? Like…Hamlet, and shit?"

Scrolling through the datapad, Spock confirmed this. "Indeed, that happens to be one of the required viewing pieces. Surely you are not unwilling to partake in this opportunity to enrich your understanding of your own native culture?" he said, almost as if he was issuing a challenge.

"Pft…no." He waved a hand, and if swatting away a fly. A fly that was buzzing in his ear. And the buzzing seemed to sound alarmingly like "To be, or not to be..."

"It's just that that stuff is so…boring. I'm a Starship Captain; what do I need to see plays for?" Again, Spock readily supplied a response. "I believe the intent is to familiarize you with common underlying themes that are, and have been, present in Human thought and behavior. I trust you are familiar with the phrase 'Art imitates life?' Logically, exposing you to classic works of theatre will further your understanding of such matters."

"So you're saying that watching a bunch of old dudes run around on a stage pretending to do stuff is supposed to make me a better Captain?" he said, just to clarify.

And apparently it was, because he saw that there was a Top Priority label placed at the head of the class description. "Well…what the hell. I guess we're gonna go see some plays. But there's no way I'm going alone—Spock, you're coming too." Spock seemed a bit taken aback. Kirk noted his reluctance, and stated "And I trust that you're familiar with the phrase 'Misery loves company.' Right?" he favored his First Officer with a smug grin, knowing that he had roped him into it.

Just as he was signing his name on the confirmation forms, the door to the bridge slid open and Dr. McCoy stepped onto the deck. "Bones!" Kirk exclaimed. The doctor knew full well that whatever was about to come out f Jim's mouth would drag him into some crazy goddamn scheme that he wanted no part in.

"How would you like to accompany me to..." Kirk trailed off as he glanced back down at the datapad, finding the titles of the shows he was required to watch. "To see…Sweeney Todd, and…Hamlet, and The Glass Menagerie? Shit, why can't they at least give these things decent titles?" McCoy groaned inwardly. "Damnit Jim, I'm a doctor, not a…a…a thespian! I have a ship full of 432 people that I have to take care of, and you want me to run around with you and watch…plays?"

The Captain's expression had not changed. "Uh…yeah, pretty much."

The doctor shook his head in an exasperated manner as Kirk continued his argument. "Come on, we're all due for a bit of shore leave, and…I think it would be a…uh…good opportunity to uh…" he tried to remember how Spock had phrased it. He had a knack for doing that so well. "To, uh, enrich our understanding of our planet's culture by studying classic works of theatre." Yeah…that was good.

Spock, meanwhile, was observing the conversation at a distance, curious to see who would win the battle of wills. And Kirk could clearly see that Bones was not sold on the idea, so he pressed on. "Come on, it's not like I'm asking you to…" he struggled to think of something that doctor would want to do even less than accompany him to the theatre. "To…sleep with Spock or anything." The Vulcan pretended not to hear, and a look of horror flitted across the good doctor's face. Jim laughed aloud at the reactions his statement had provoked.

"Plus, no one on the ship has had so much as a sniffle in at least three months, and most of them are going to be off the ship for shore leave anyways. I think they can survive an evening without you."

McCoy considered the argument. Well, perhaps just this once, he could take the night off. Besides, he hadn't been spending much time with Jim during their off-duty hours lately—he'd been far too busy filing reports according to Starfleet's goddamn new filing system.

"Alright Jim. But only because I feel sorry for your ass." The Captain's visage practically radiated satisfaction.

- - -

At 1700 hours, the Enterprise was in a stable orbit around Earth, and the landing party was already in the transporter room. "What time does this thing start again?" Kirk asked as he tugged at the sleeve of his slightly-too-small dress shirt. As always, Spock quickly replied, "According to the description, the performance is to be gin at 1900 hours." McCoy shifted reluctantly onto the transporter pad; he too was experiencing a certain amount of distress brought on by the "proper theatre attire" that they had been prompted to wear. "Damnit, these things should be considered a health hazard," he said, loosening the collar of his own apparel.

Jim looked over at his two friends. Both were dressed respectably, yet it was ridiculously out of character for both of them. He had to stifle a small giggle.

"What's so damn funny?" Bones demanded. The Captain shrugged. "Oh, nothing. Just…you two. Those outfits look fucking ridiculous." The good doctor shook his head and reminded the Captain that he was dressed exactly the same. Jim pretended not to hear.

Kirk heaved a heavy sigh. "Well, let's get this over with. Ready Scotty?" The Chief Engineer grinned widely at them from behind the transporter console. "Aye sir, energizing."

The last thing the trio saw was Scotty, fighting back a powerful bout of laughter as the gold shimmer swept them towards their destination.

It was hard to tell whether he was laughing because of the sheer hilarity of their clothes, or because a Starship Captain and his senior crew were going to see a fucking play.