"Watch your mouth or I'll push you back over." McCoy threatened him albeit only half-heartily. It only required a firm prod in the chest and he was sure the Irish man would fall back over, but with his luck, probably hit his head and then bleed to death on the Romulan ale splattered carpet. If he still held the inflatable hands thing against him, he doubted a concussion and memory loss would tide over any better.

He narrowed his eyes and instead jabbed the empty air in front his best friend's sternum and used his outside voice. "No. I am a doctor. A surgeon. A physician! A psychologist! I can even cure a rainy day. Not that we have rainy days in this fucking city."