McCoy doesn't want to know about that, Mister Stefan Salvatore. It has the ability to send him to sleep and incite rage in him at the same time. And if it isn't space, it's the ocean. And if it isn't the ocean, then it is something like bacteria found in some far-off galaxy that can cause your lungs to inflame or make you cluck like a chicken whilst your nose is bleeding. All of this McCoy fears, which is why he is affronted by the mere notion of being compared to some navy boy.

"Does it look like I'm in the navy, kid?" He scowls, pulling at his bitching Starfleet uniform which –- to the untrained eye –- could simply look like pyjamas, but they were an improvement from those jumpsuits. "And why the hell should I filter this?"