[ST] Very Much Ado About Practically Nothing :: PG :: Gen :: 1/1
Title: Very Much Ado About Practically Nothing
Author: chaletian
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None
Summary: Village!verse. The Enterprise Dramatic Society is formed, and Jim Kirk is denied his chance to shine.
There are many aspects of life on Enterprise the origins of which remain a mystery. Movie Night. Karaoke Night. The secret away team rota to make sure Spock’s brain doesn’t get stolen again. These things just seem to leap spontaneously into being and, looking back, no-one can quite say who started them.
Not the Enterprise Dramatic Society’s production of Much Ado About Nothing, though. Oh no. McCoy knows he can put that one squarely on Lt Bridgerton.
“It’ll give the crew the chance to blow off emotional steam,” she says confidently, and it is one of McCoy’s greatest regrets that he didn’t, at that stage, point out that he was what passed for the ship’s counsellor (ha!) and she was engineer; she could fix the engines, he’d fix the crew. But he didn’t point that out, and the Enterprise Dramatic Society was formed.
~ Act One ~
“It would just be difficult for the female crew member who had to play opposite you,” Bridgerton lies.
“But I’d make an awesome Benedick,” protests Jim.
“I’m sorry, Captain,” says Bridgerton, and he scowls at her departing back.
“Why on God’s green earth would you want to go prancing around in a pair of tights?” demands McCoy.
“She’s going contemporary,” says Jim. “Although I have great legs.” He looks determined. “I need a plan. I heard that Chekov’s trying to get himself and what’s-her-name - Miya - cast.” He considers this. “Which, admittedly, is totally my own fault. I shouldn’t have told him about me and Suzy Duguid in seventh grade.”
McCoy does a double take. “Wait, what’s that about you and Suzy Duguid?”
Jim smiles reminiscently. “Oh, Suzy. She was the girl in the play, and I got to be the boy, and I kissed her. Good times.” He huffs a little sigh, then looks serious again. “Yeah, Chekov’s definitely got the same game plan. Damn! I should never have told him that-Hey, Bones! Bones! Where’re you going?”
McCoy has disappeared down the corridor. Jim looks around. He’s alone. Then he frowns: he has plans to be making. Also, the Enterprise is acting as escort to some Federation high-ups who seem prone to arguments, there’s been suspicious activity along the Romulan neutral zone, two security officers are in the brig after an unfortunate affair involving Cardassian ale, a vintage banjo, four stolen uniforms and Crewman Winters, Cook has run out of coffee and all currently known coffee substitutes (a disaster for any spacefaring vessel), he’s technically acting as arbitratror for the two developed planets (known to Starfleet as Niridians II and III respectively) in the solar system they are currently inhabiting (developed, that is, just enough to want to wipe each other out), and Spock and Uhura have had a row (or Uhura rowed and Spock watched her impassively) which is affecting morale on the bridge. Jim Kirk is a busy man.
But Chekov needs dealing with.
~ Act Two ~
“So, she kissed me,” says Chekov, pretending (unsuccessfully) to plot a navigational matrix, “and she was de-win-itely flirting on the ice cream planet, but now she has backed off.”
“Uh-huh,” says Sulu, pretending (successfully) that he’s paying attention and not, as he actually is, skimming personal server updates.
“So I am thinking,” continues Chekov, abandoning the Romulan neutral zone altogether, “that being in Bridgerton’s play is a good idea, yes? The keptin gave me the idea.” Sulu’s blushing a little, but it’s an automatic reaction whenever Bridgerton’s name is mentioned, and Chekov pays no attention. “Because,” he says, leaning forward to perch his chin on his hand and gaze dreamily into the middle distance, “Miya likes acting, and she will audition, and then perhaps we will be Romeo and Juliet.” He sighs happily, envisaging a future of torrid meetings in a darkened rehearsal room where he and Miya must practise, over and over, declaring their undying love for each other until they reach a fever pitch of passion.
This is ignoring the fact that Kirk has already signed off on Bridgerton using the observation deck, and also that the Enterprise Dramatic Society’s inaugural performance will be of Much Ado About Nothing, but these inconsistencies do not bother Chekov. He’s just reached a point where he and Miya are tumbling backwards into a pile of velvet Renaissance costumes, when the mess door swooshes open, and McCoy storms in.
“Why in the blue blazes has my damned comm stopped working?” he demands of no-one in particular. “Are we living in the middle ages?”
Sulu points at a comm. McCoy sits down, and everyone eavesdrops unashamedly as he links up to his daughter and starts quizzing her on the play she’s in at school and the boys involved.
“Dad, I’m playing a nun,” says Joanna McCoy. “And it’s five am. GO AWAY.”
“But boys…” starts McCoy. Joanna cuts off the connection. Everyone pretends to be doing something else.
Chekov wonders how much kissing there is in Shakespeare.
~ Act Three ~
Jim Kirk has his left leg propped against seat. As the door from the turbolift opens and Bridgerton appears, he strikes an attitude, looks at her as if he’s surprised to see her (which, since he asked her to come to the bridge, doesn’t fool anyone), and says, “What, my dear Lady Disdain! are you yet living?”
Rand, standing next to him, ubiquitous padd in hand, rolls her eyes. So too do Uhura, Dawson, Henderson and Chekov. Sulu is too busy not looking at Bridgerton and surreptitiously checking the personal server updates again to do anything. Bridgerton raises an eyebrow.
“You asked for the manifold reports, sir.”
Jim puts his leg back where it belongs, and takes the padd, says, “Right! Thanks!”, looks at it blindly for a second, then passes it to Rand.
“They’re the manifold reports,” he says.
“Yeah,” says Rand. “I’d gathered.”
He slides into the captain’s chair. “So, Lieutenant,” he says jovially, “how’s the play coming along?”
“Fine, thank you, sir,” says Bridgerton. “I just posted the cast list on the ship’s server.”
“Excellent,” says Jim. “Excellent. Well, that’s all, Lieutenant. Dismissed.”
“Aye, sir,” says Bridgerton, and heads back to the turbolift. She doesn’t look at Sulu. Sulu doesn’t look at her.
“Mr Spock,” says Jim, “any signs of any imminent danger? Any asteroids? Unidentifiable objects? Hostile vessels? Inexplicable power traces?”
Spock raises an eyebrow. “There are not, Captain.”
Jim taps the controls on his arm rest, and the server file structure appears on the viewscreen, quickly resolving into Bridgerton’s cast list. The bridge is represented by Chekov as Claudio (“And Miya will be my Hero,” he sighs rapturously). Jim’s name is noticeably absent.
“Sickbay to Kirk,” squawks the comm suddenly. “Jim, you there?”
“Yeah,” says Jim dolorously.
“Well, come down. I need you tell me everything about you and Suzy whatshername. And I mean everything.”
“Sure,” says Jim. He flicks the toggle off. “My life is so tragic,” he says, then glares suspiciously at the padds in Rand’s hand. “And if you tell me to shut up and sign those, you’re going in the brig.”
Rand looks at him. He looks at her. He signs the padds.
~ Act Four ~
“I could assign him to the gamma shift,” says Jim.
“Nope,” says Rand.
“Accidentally drop him off on that planet that turns people into geometric solids?”
“Nope.”
“There’s bound to be somewhere with spores.”
“No spores, Captain.”
“Everyone loves spores.”
“Captain, you’re not getting in the play.”
“It’s discrimination,” grumbles Jim.
“Oh, who the hell cares?” demands McCoy, looking up from the communiqué he’s been composing to the boys of Jefferson Middle School’s sixth grade. “You’re a goddamn lousy actor, Jim! Remember that time you tried to con Admiral Barnett into thinking you were from one of the Century colonies? Or that time on Linus Prime when…”
“We don’t talk about Linus Prime,” Jim and Rand reply in unison. McCoy flaps a hand.
“Whatever. This play is a crappy idea. Didya hear Henderson and Chitnavis are at it again? Who thought casting them as Beatrice and Benedick was a good idea? Damn fool decision.”
Jim nods wisely, as if his casting choices would have been far more sensible.
“Fernandez has developed an artistic temperament,” McCoy continues.
“That’s true,” agrees Rand. “He rearranged the mess hall. Feng shui. It looks good. And I think it did need more autumnal colours.”
“And,” finishes McCoy triumphantly, “all actors are sex fiends!” He returns to the crafting of his communiqué.
“That reminds me,” says Rand, “Chekov thinks they should put it on for brass hats. He thought you might talk to Bridgerton about it.”
“That woman is dead to me,” says Jim.
Rand nods. “OK. But will you talk to her about it?”
“Sure.”
~ Act Five ~
The day of the performance arrives quickly. Claudio is in the middle of lambasting Hero for betraying him (which would have been more realistic if Chekov wasn’t still giving Miya puppy-dog eyes) when the lights go out. There’s a murmur of disquiet, which grows even stronger as the ship is suddenly rocked by an impact to the aft shields and a line of panels against the viewing wall is blown loose. Jim makes a beeline for the comm and shouts for the bridge, demanding a report.
“Niridian II has launched an attack,” says Spock unemotionally. “Scans indicate that Niridian III is planning to do likewise. Going to red alert.”
“I’m on my way,” says Jim, and he lurches towards the doorway, Sulu, Chekov and the rest of the crew hot on his heels. It doesn’t take long to subdue the Niridians, who’ve only just branched out into intragalactic battle, and Jim finds himself fitting more arbitration meetings into his schedule.
“Shouldn’t someone else be arbitrating between us and them?” he asks, but apparently no-one takes this question seriously.
“It’s too bad,” says Uhura. “I bet Bridgerton’s mad they ruined her play.”
“She’s pretty pissed off,” says Sulu, then tries to look far too busy flying Enterprise to be checking personal server updates.
“I think the play was cursed,” says Jim.
“That statement is illogical,” says Spock.
“Ah, Spock,” says Jim wistfully, “there are more things on Heaven and Earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”
Spock raises an eyebrow, which is universally and correctly interpreted as, “Whatever.”
The bridge is silent for a few moments as they maintain their orbit. Spock checks sensor readings. Uhura monitors Niridian communications. Chekov thinks about kissing Miya and resetting the photon torpedoes, which gets confused to the point of kissing torpedoes. Sulu nobly refrains from server-stalking Bridgerton and takes the thrusters through their paces.
Jim says, “Hey, I wonder what play Bridgerton will choose next?”
THE END
Author: chaletian
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None
Summary: Village!verse. The Enterprise Dramatic Society is formed, and Jim Kirk is denied his chance to shine.
There are many aspects of life on Enterprise the origins of which remain a mystery. Movie Night. Karaoke Night. The secret away team rota to make sure Spock’s brain doesn’t get stolen again. These things just seem to leap spontaneously into being and, looking back, no-one can quite say who started them.
Not the Enterprise Dramatic Society’s production of Much Ado About Nothing, though. Oh no. McCoy knows he can put that one squarely on Lt Bridgerton.
“It’ll give the crew the chance to blow off emotional steam,” she says confidently, and it is one of McCoy’s greatest regrets that he didn’t, at that stage, point out that he was what passed for the ship’s counsellor (ha!) and she was engineer; she could fix the engines, he’d fix the crew. But he didn’t point that out, and the Enterprise Dramatic Society was formed.
~ Act One ~
“It would just be difficult for the female crew member who had to play opposite you,” Bridgerton lies.
“But I’d make an awesome Benedick,” protests Jim.
“I’m sorry, Captain,” says Bridgerton, and he scowls at her departing back.
“Why on God’s green earth would you want to go prancing around in a pair of tights?” demands McCoy.
“She’s going contemporary,” says Jim. “Although I have great legs.” He looks determined. “I need a plan. I heard that Chekov’s trying to get himself and what’s-her-name - Miya - cast.” He considers this. “Which, admittedly, is totally my own fault. I shouldn’t have told him about me and Suzy Duguid in seventh grade.”
McCoy does a double take. “Wait, what’s that about you and Suzy Duguid?”
Jim smiles reminiscently. “Oh, Suzy. She was the girl in the play, and I got to be the boy, and I kissed her. Good times.” He huffs a little sigh, then looks serious again. “Yeah, Chekov’s definitely got the same game plan. Damn! I should never have told him that-Hey, Bones! Bones! Where’re you going?”
McCoy has disappeared down the corridor. Jim looks around. He’s alone. Then he frowns: he has plans to be making. Also, the Enterprise is acting as escort to some Federation high-ups who seem prone to arguments, there’s been suspicious activity along the Romulan neutral zone, two security officers are in the brig after an unfortunate affair involving Cardassian ale, a vintage banjo, four stolen uniforms and Crewman Winters, Cook has run out of coffee and all currently known coffee substitutes (a disaster for any spacefaring vessel), he’s technically acting as arbitratror for the two developed planets (known to Starfleet as Niridians II and III respectively) in the solar system they are currently inhabiting (developed, that is, just enough to want to wipe each other out), and Spock and Uhura have had a row (or Uhura rowed and Spock watched her impassively) which is affecting morale on the bridge. Jim Kirk is a busy man.
But Chekov needs dealing with.
~ Act Two ~
“So, she kissed me,” says Chekov, pretending (unsuccessfully) to plot a navigational matrix, “and she was de-win-itely flirting on the ice cream planet, but now she has backed off.”
“Uh-huh,” says Sulu, pretending (successfully) that he’s paying attention and not, as he actually is, skimming personal server updates.
“So I am thinking,” continues Chekov, abandoning the Romulan neutral zone altogether, “that being in Bridgerton’s play is a good idea, yes? The keptin gave me the idea.” Sulu’s blushing a little, but it’s an automatic reaction whenever Bridgerton’s name is mentioned, and Chekov pays no attention. “Because,” he says, leaning forward to perch his chin on his hand and gaze dreamily into the middle distance, “Miya likes acting, and she will audition, and then perhaps we will be Romeo and Juliet.” He sighs happily, envisaging a future of torrid meetings in a darkened rehearsal room where he and Miya must practise, over and over, declaring their undying love for each other until they reach a fever pitch of passion.
This is ignoring the fact that Kirk has already signed off on Bridgerton using the observation deck, and also that the Enterprise Dramatic Society’s inaugural performance will be of Much Ado About Nothing, but these inconsistencies do not bother Chekov. He’s just reached a point where he and Miya are tumbling backwards into a pile of velvet Renaissance costumes, when the mess door swooshes open, and McCoy storms in.
“Why in the blue blazes has my damned comm stopped working?” he demands of no-one in particular. “Are we living in the middle ages?”
Sulu points at a comm. McCoy sits down, and everyone eavesdrops unashamedly as he links up to his daughter and starts quizzing her on the play she’s in at school and the boys involved.
“Dad, I’m playing a nun,” says Joanna McCoy. “And it’s five am. GO AWAY.”
“But boys…” starts McCoy. Joanna cuts off the connection. Everyone pretends to be doing something else.
Chekov wonders how much kissing there is in Shakespeare.
~ Act Three ~
Jim Kirk has his left leg propped against seat. As the door from the turbolift opens and Bridgerton appears, he strikes an attitude, looks at her as if he’s surprised to see her (which, since he asked her to come to the bridge, doesn’t fool anyone), and says, “What, my dear Lady Disdain! are you yet living?”
Rand, standing next to him, ubiquitous padd in hand, rolls her eyes. So too do Uhura, Dawson, Henderson and Chekov. Sulu is too busy not looking at Bridgerton and surreptitiously checking the personal server updates again to do anything. Bridgerton raises an eyebrow.
“You asked for the manifold reports, sir.”
Jim puts his leg back where it belongs, and takes the padd, says, “Right! Thanks!”, looks at it blindly for a second, then passes it to Rand.
“They’re the manifold reports,” he says.
“Yeah,” says Rand. “I’d gathered.”
He slides into the captain’s chair. “So, Lieutenant,” he says jovially, “how’s the play coming along?”
“Fine, thank you, sir,” says Bridgerton. “I just posted the cast list on the ship’s server.”
“Excellent,” says Jim. “Excellent. Well, that’s all, Lieutenant. Dismissed.”
“Aye, sir,” says Bridgerton, and heads back to the turbolift. She doesn’t look at Sulu. Sulu doesn’t look at her.
“Mr Spock,” says Jim, “any signs of any imminent danger? Any asteroids? Unidentifiable objects? Hostile vessels? Inexplicable power traces?”
Spock raises an eyebrow. “There are not, Captain.”
Jim taps the controls on his arm rest, and the server file structure appears on the viewscreen, quickly resolving into Bridgerton’s cast list. The bridge is represented by Chekov as Claudio (“And Miya will be my Hero,” he sighs rapturously). Jim’s name is noticeably absent.
“Sickbay to Kirk,” squawks the comm suddenly. “Jim, you there?”
“Yeah,” says Jim dolorously.
“Well, come down. I need you tell me everything about you and Suzy whatshername. And I mean everything.”
“Sure,” says Jim. He flicks the toggle off. “My life is so tragic,” he says, then glares suspiciously at the padds in Rand’s hand. “And if you tell me to shut up and sign those, you’re going in the brig.”
Rand looks at him. He looks at her. He signs the padds.
~ Act Four ~
“I could assign him to the gamma shift,” says Jim.
“Nope,” says Rand.
“Accidentally drop him off on that planet that turns people into geometric solids?”
“Nope.”
“There’s bound to be somewhere with spores.”
“No spores, Captain.”
“Everyone loves spores.”
“Captain, you’re not getting in the play.”
“It’s discrimination,” grumbles Jim.
“Oh, who the hell cares?” demands McCoy, looking up from the communiqué he’s been composing to the boys of Jefferson Middle School’s sixth grade. “You’re a goddamn lousy actor, Jim! Remember that time you tried to con Admiral Barnett into thinking you were from one of the Century colonies? Or that time on Linus Prime when…”
“We don’t talk about Linus Prime,” Jim and Rand reply in unison. McCoy flaps a hand.
“Whatever. This play is a crappy idea. Didya hear Henderson and Chitnavis are at it again? Who thought casting them as Beatrice and Benedick was a good idea? Damn fool decision.”
Jim nods wisely, as if his casting choices would have been far more sensible.
“Fernandez has developed an artistic temperament,” McCoy continues.
“That’s true,” agrees Rand. “He rearranged the mess hall. Feng shui. It looks good. And I think it did need more autumnal colours.”
“And,” finishes McCoy triumphantly, “all actors are sex fiends!” He returns to the crafting of his communiqué.
“That reminds me,” says Rand, “Chekov thinks they should put it on for brass hats. He thought you might talk to Bridgerton about it.”
“That woman is dead to me,” says Jim.
Rand nods. “OK. But will you talk to her about it?”
“Sure.”
~ Act Five ~
The day of the performance arrives quickly. Claudio is in the middle of lambasting Hero for betraying him (which would have been more realistic if Chekov wasn’t still giving Miya puppy-dog eyes) when the lights go out. There’s a murmur of disquiet, which grows even stronger as the ship is suddenly rocked by an impact to the aft shields and a line of panels against the viewing wall is blown loose. Jim makes a beeline for the comm and shouts for the bridge, demanding a report.
“Niridian II has launched an attack,” says Spock unemotionally. “Scans indicate that Niridian III is planning to do likewise. Going to red alert.”
“I’m on my way,” says Jim, and he lurches towards the doorway, Sulu, Chekov and the rest of the crew hot on his heels. It doesn’t take long to subdue the Niridians, who’ve only just branched out into intragalactic battle, and Jim finds himself fitting more arbitration meetings into his schedule.
“Shouldn’t someone else be arbitrating between us and them?” he asks, but apparently no-one takes this question seriously.
“It’s too bad,” says Uhura. “I bet Bridgerton’s mad they ruined her play.”
“She’s pretty pissed off,” says Sulu, then tries to look far too busy flying Enterprise to be checking personal server updates.
“I think the play was cursed,” says Jim.
“That statement is illogical,” says Spock.
“Ah, Spock,” says Jim wistfully, “there are more things on Heaven and Earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”
Spock raises an eyebrow, which is universally and correctly interpreted as, “Whatever.”
The bridge is silent for a few moments as they maintain their orbit. Spock checks sensor readings. Uhura monitors Niridian communications. Chekov thinks about kissing Miya and resetting the photon torpedoes, which gets confused to the point of kissing torpedoes. Sulu nobly refrains from server-stalking Bridgerton and takes the thrusters through their paces.
Jim says, “Hey, I wonder what play Bridgerton will choose next?”
THE END