AN: So! Act 5. The act in which Kirk proves it isn't so much WHERE he is as much as simply THAT he is. (Chew on that convoluted sentence for a while, I dare ya.) Poor the bridge crew. Yay more Kirk/Spock interaction! Anyone here ever heard of the band Death Cab for Cutie? One of their songs inspired one of my sentences. But I'm not tellin' which one. Ha!

Also, this one is longer than the last couple. Hurray! I'm gonna go back to building bookcases now, so my books can stop being homeless. Ta!

Act 5

In Which the Crew of the Enterprise

Can't Catch a Break

" 'It's not even on an alien world,' " Dr. McCoy whined in a high, annoying mockery of their host's invitation. " 'So of course Captain Kirk can come! You should all come!' Are we all completely mad?" he demanded of Sulu, who grinned at him with an unrepentant shrug.

"I don't know, Doctor. The captain seems to be having a lot of fun, and we aren't on-world after all."

"No," the doctor snarled, "we're just on a pleasure vessel, an interplanetary cruise ship, attending some spoiled rich grandmother's latest who's-who gala of idiots and brats."

"Have you tried the buffet?" Chekov asked, sidling over to join in their conversation with a loaded plate and a huge grin. "It has all the finest cuisine from the major worlds of the Federation! It's delicious, Doctor!"

"And the captain is having a good time," Sulu pointed out again, indicating Jim where he twirled a dignitary's daughter across the dance floor, "without nearly getting himself—"

"Not another word," Bones snapped with a glare. "You'll jinks it."

Sulu put up both hands with a grin, following Chekov back to the buffet. Spock was the only other officer in attendance who seemed to be waiting for the inevitable shoe to drop. Then again, equipped with a thousand degrees of Vulcan non-expressions, he might also just be bored.

Still, Sulu made an excellent point. Jim seemed to be in his element, hobnobbing with the best of them. And where had he learned to dance like that? No song came on, no choreographed number or waltz began, that he didn't seem to know intimately. He switched partners and laughed and chatted, forming an endless string of high-powered alliances for himself and the Enterprise with effortless charm and wit.

Was there nothing Jim wouldn't do for the sake of that ship?

As the night wore on and alcohol mellowed even the most temperamental of guests, Bones began to harbor the secret hope that maybe they would all escape back to their ship whole, intact, and without death-defying stunts.

Which was the exact moment, of course, everything went sideways.

It happened in seconds: A scream, three shots from an antique gun someone had brought as a showpiece and been stupid enough to load, the shrieks of male and female partygoers as they surged away from the source of the commotion. And then, terrible and predictable, Captain Kirk, matter-of-factly unloading the remaining rounds with the perpetrator unconscious at his feet and blood raining from his dress uniform onto the multibillion-credit flooring.

The bridge crew of the Enterprise pushed through the fleeing crowd, fighting to be at their captain's side even as he began giving his statement to the ship's security officials. "I guess they'd both had too much to drink," he said in conclusion when his crew finally made it to him. "I doubt he meant for me to jump in the way. In any case, Lord Astrokan should know better than to point any weapon at someone he doesn't intend to injure. Please notify my ship and Starfleet when his sentencing comes up. I'm sure we'll all be very curious to see how your courts work."

"Yes sir," the security guard replied instantly, fumbling through a salute that Jim only halfheartedly returned, expression grim.

"Jim—" Bones began, reaching for the bloodstains on his dark dress uniform.

But Kirk waved him off with a sharp look and a hard smile. "It isn't bad, Dr. McCoy." He turned to their hostess, who was pale and teary with mortified remorse. "Ah, don't cry, milady." He kissed her old hand, offering her the last dashing smile of the evening. "It's barely a scratch. My medical team will have me patched up in no time."

"How can I ever—" She motioned helplessly.

"Save the first dance of the next ball for me," Kirk requested cheekily, startling a laugh out of her. "Get some rest," he suggested. "We'll keep in touch."

"Please do," she agreed, more to McCoy than the captain.

When they beamed back onto the Enterprise, the senior medical team was waiting for them. Nurse Chapel strode forward, face pale, reaching for the captain with something like panic in her eyes. "His bio-readings are getting ready to—"

Captain Kirk collapsed, caught by Spock on one side and Chekov on the other. Alarms wailed, red lights flashing with warning, and the transporter room descended into chaos.

"He's crashing, get these clothes off him—"

"Someone get me an injection of adrenaline and four CCs of—"

"Doesn't anyone have a stretcher—"

"We're losing him!"

"Somebody get me a fucking compress!"

"Don't go, don't go," Bones snapped, soaked up to the elbows in Jim's lifeblood. "You stay with me, James Kirk!"

Spock pressed his fingers over Jim's psi-points, snatching frantically at his consciousness as it faded, slipping through his fingers like diamond dust. Still he fought, following his captain into the dark. A flicker of concern floated to him, a gentle urge to go back before it was too late.

I followed you here, he replied in challenging response. I will follow you out, or I will not go at all. Captain.

Grudging irritation swept over him from a mind brilliant with its own potential. Stubborn pointy-eared bastard.

"I've got a heartbeat! Get him to sickbay, now, and take Spock too!"

"So," Sulu said, pinning a printout onto the wall of Captain Kirk's quarters right where he couldn't help but see it. "This is the list of restricted activities we drew up while you were comatose."

Jim shifted with a faint frown, too tired to argue but too incredulous to let that pass. "You all came up with a list of restricted activities?"

Sulu nodded, studying the list thoughtfully. "It isn't comprehensive, of course, but that's what Item 96 is indented to cover: 'Any and all activities, recreational or exploratory, that have greater than a fifteen-percent chance of resulting in Captain James T. Kirk coming to harm, serious or superficial, are restricted'. Pretty ingenious, don't you think?"

"I think," the captain said dryly, "that it sounds an awful lot like something a green-blooded hobgoblin would write. And I'm just wondering when this turned into a democracy."

"Well," the helmsman pointed out reasonably, "Commander Spock has had the conn while you were in surgery and recovery and comatose and everything. Dr. McCoy says it'll be at least another week before you're fit for duty. Commander Spock's had to make some hard decisions in that time, but they were only logical, you see." He patted the list fondly. "Sleep well, Captain, and recover quickly. The Enterprise doesn't like anyone else in her chair, and, to be honest, neither do we. Including Commander Spock."

"Out!" Bones demanded, bustling in with the latest battery of medication. "Out, Mr. Sulu, before I send you to the brig!"

Sulu left with a wave and a smile, abandoning Jim to his doctor's irritated mercies.

"Now, Bones," he began reasonably.

"Don't you now Bones me, James Kirk!" He shoved the first hypospray into Jim's neck, releasing it with a savage punch that he knew drove Jim crazy.

"Would you please not do that!"

"You nearly died after telling me you were fine!" He drove in the next two hypos with the same ferocity. "Bleeding all over the ship, without a thought for anyone else! Not even Spock, who could have died anchoring your mind!"

Jim frowned. "That was real? I thought I was dreaming. I'll have to talk to him about that. He's getting reckless."

"Damn it, Jim!" Bones spluttered in fury, all but stabbing Jim with the last hypo. "Go to sleep!"

And Jim did, helpless under the pull of heavy medication. The last thing he saw was the list Sulu had pinned to his wall, and the first of nearly a hundred rules designed to keep the captain of the Enterprise from getting himself killed.

"Item 1: All parties, balls, extravaganzas, mixers, or other events of a social nature not of Crew planning or Starfleet requirement are strictly forbidden."

Wet blankets, the lot of them.