A/N: Seriously, why?

"Oh, look, a bar," McCoy said. "One would think no other places existed."

Kirk crossed his arms. The doctor had stopped in the middle of the pedestrian street before their destination leaving him to walk a few paces farther before he noticed. Clearly, McCoy had something on his mind, but if the doctor was in a mood to be stubborn, then Kirk could certainly give him a run for his money. Right now, McCoy continued to stare at the faded sign of Marauder's Tavern creaking over the front door.

"Seriously," he finally continued. "We are finally blessed with shore leave- some time off from the hazards of our job- and what do we always do? We find the nearest bar. We left our livers in the Academy, Jim. Why is it always a bar?"

"Bones, do you want a drink or no?" Kirk said flatly.

McCoy waved his arms. "It's another bar! Are we hitting some kind of checklist or something? We've sampled every alien bar, pub, tavern, and winery we've come across! After a while things start to run together. My God, Jim, are we just that boring?"

Kirk pinched his brow. All he wanted was a drink with Bones, but when the doctor waxed philosophical…

"Do you realize this makes us borderline alcoholics? Do you know the first place the ship looks for us on shore leave is a bar and the second is jail? Do you know what that means?"

"Bones, could you save your lecture for…"

But McCoy had turned and was pointing wildly about the street. "Look at all this! See all the other buildings lining the street? They're not just part of the background, Jim! Why don't we ever go souvenir shopping on shore leave? Why don't we ever dine at an exotic restaurant? Why is it always a bar?!"

"Conversation?" Kirk offered, aware that this mood was stronger than he originally suspected. "Besides, I know you like a good mint julep, c'mon."

McCoy looked offended. "My tastes run further than alcohol, Captain. Why don't we ever catch some of the local entertainment? A play, an opera, or a concert… oh good Lord sporting matches? Does this planet even have sporting tournaments? How do we not know these things?"

"We've been to entertaining places before."

"Strip clubs, Jim, which are about as bad as the bars!"

Kirk made an indignant squawk before scowling. He planted himself in front of McCoy. "Okay. So what do you want to do?"

"Not bar-hopping, that's for sure," McCoy snorted. "I need a break. I'm sick of the same old, same old. Do they have theme parks around here? What about tourist rides? Any good museums? National parks? Famous historical sites? We're two of the brightest men in Starfleet and we keep killing our brain cells on alcohol?"

"Bones, I don't make the rules."

"Exactly my point!" McCoy triumphed. "What rules say we HAVE to visit a bar on shore leave? You know what? I'm going abstinent. No more bars. No more drunken brawls. No more me patching you up after said drunken brawl. Instead, we're going to have a nice, safe, shore leave picking out souvenirs from the tourist traps and eating at actual restaurants. We're going to stay in a nice, Starfleet-funded hotel and then go sailing on this planet's sea-horse thingies in the morning. No agonizing hangovers, and no confusing memories. After the horses you can pick what we do next, but no bars!"

Kirk tossed up his hands. "Alright! Have it your way!"

"Dammit Jim, don't be so prissy, all I want is a shore leave I'll actually remember!"

"We could go camping."

McCoy's eyes widened and he pointed wildly at him. "And that's ANOTHER thing…!"