[For Spock]

[leftwithmybones]

Disheveled and discontent and goddamn pissed is how McCoy is coming back to his home, not tipsy enough to stop caring and not sober enough to actually be thinking clearly about the situation. He's straddling this twilight in-between and knows that he's in one helluva mood and that's about all. His hair's a mess, his clothes are wrinkled, and he's only wearing a black t-shirt, button down clenched tightly in his hands.

When he gets back to the hut, he slams the door behind him because it feels good. It feels so good that he wants to recommend that wherever he serves next has manual doors just so he can slam each and every one until they break. "Damn it," he hisses to himself. "Alright, Cat, get out here," he half-heartedly commands, because what good is a pet if you can't even be comforted in your time of need.

Comments

[leftwithmybones]

With the cat in his arms, McCoy shakes his head and stands at the full height he can muster because he refuses to back down even an inch in front of Spock, feeling like that says something about him. "It's my goddamn ex-wife ruining my life four years later," he says sharply. "That and the goddamn divorce."

Which is mostly to say the reasons for the divorce and the events of the custody hearings after, but he doesn't want to talk about it. "Four years," he seethes. "Four years later and I'm having issues."

[and-prosper.livejournal.com]

Spock is coming to understand, over time, that getting a clear and direct answer from Leonard McCoy is unlikely to ever be a straightforward task. The onslaught of utterly unenlightening information he calmly accepts with nary a blink.

"Being unfamiliar with the nature of your matrimony, I require additional information if I am to infer the nature of your issues," he prompts when it becomes clear that McCoy isn't going to continue his explanation.

[leftwithmybones]

The damn cat is quivering in his arms and McCoy sighs as he curls it closer to try and swaddle the damn thing and give it some kind of comfort, heading out of Spock's room to the main area and completely not sure he wants to be talking about this with Spock, but the man's there and McCoy has the feeling Jim will be pissed off if he gets woken up for this. "I couldn't have sex."

There, out in the the plain daylight, for everyone to laugh at.

[and-prosper.livejournal.com]

"As you are a medical professional, my assumption is that you are aware of the pharmaceutical solutions to such a dilemma," Spock curtly replies, one brow slowly arching. He fails to see why this is an issue.

[leftwithmybones]

McCoy sets his jaw tightly as he glares at Spock. "I'd show you personally in a second that I can still get it up without enhancement drugs, but I'm not about to ruin your goddamn Vulcan sensibilities," he growls. He's a medical doctor and he's got training in the psychiatric arts and he knows, goddammit, he knows that this isn't an issue of his body, but of his mind. "It's not my body's fault."

[and-prosper.livejournal.com]

"I doubt your ability to ruin my Vulcan anything, Doctor," Spock primly says. "If you believe yourself more capable of producing an erection for me than the previous object of your affections, the root of your problem may very well lie therein." He might be more dubious regarding this theory were he less capable of rebuffing any surly advances.

[leftwithmybones]

McCoy counts to ten and calms himself before he lets go another comment that would probably rival his damn stallion comparison for stupidity and just gives Spock a very long, very frustrated look. "I like women just fine," he settles for assuring. "I was married to one! I had a daughter with one! Liking men versus women is not the issue here, my goddamn ex-wife stole everything she could from me and it looks like she got parts of my sanity, too."

[and-prosper.livejournal.com]

"To my knowledge, sanity has very little to do with one's ability to maintain an erection." He would never admit it, but he may be enjoying this exchange just a little. If he is, McCoy only has himself to blame, as he makes an exceedingly easy target.

[leftwithmybones]

McCoy narrows his eyes at Spock and all but juts a finger in his direction to accuse him of enjoying his displeasure. He takes a deep breath and pushes a hand through his hair, collapsing on the couch and letting the damn kitten take roam of wherever he wants. "Arguing's not going to do a damn thing to help," he mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'll keep it down, you can go back to ... whatever it is you do at night alone in that room."