"No further questions, your Honor."

It has to be admitted that for all that Phlox hoped he was very tolerant of other professionals doing their jobs in exactly the same way he did his, it was all he could do not to snort at these words.

If he had carried out his job all these years the way these prosecutors had done theirs, he reflected, it was not immodesty to say that considerable numbers of his patients would not have survived to lead the happy and useful lives they had done – or, indeed, in many cases, any lives at all.

Admittedly, the close (if comfortable) confinement in which he was held between the day of his rescue and the start of the trial had been somewhat trying. But the computer terminal of which he was allowed the use held all the documentation he would need, up to and including material that was strictly classified.

When he'd demanded how this was possible, his laconic female Human guard simply observed that the best way to avoid finding out he wasn't going to get any answers was not to ask any questions. Nevertheless, he still persisted for some while – patients' records were protected for a reason, and he was most indignant that these appeared to have been obtained without even a legal subpoena – but apparently the files were protected by retinal scans, and on top of that the scanner checked for a pulse before taking the image. Whoever his very secretive rescuers were, they were no slouches in the technology department, and appeared to have at least some respect for the laws that governed data protection.

But though they might be disobliging with regard to answering questions about themselves, they were unfailingly polite, and within reason anything else he requested was provided without question. Even his food preferences seemed to have been taken into consideration, though he had always been happy to expand his horizons as regards the dishes native to any planet he visited. He did recall one rather unfortunate misunderstanding when Lieutenant Reed appeared to be confessing to a sneaking fondness for consuming a protected species of amphibian cooked in some kind of special receptacle, but that was soon cleared up.

And now, as nobody seemed to have anything more to ask of him, he was finally thanked by the judge (with a measured warmth) and dismissed.

As he walked past the defending counsel's table he was able to get a closer look at the defendants. Naturally as their medical practitioner in their professional lives he had already glanced at them from time to time, assessing their condition after the wearing months of awaiting the hearing, but what he had seen made him a little anxious.

They would have been other than Human if they hadn't been tense. Superficially both of them appeared healthy enough, but the captain looked tired and drawn, though he managed a grateful smile for the doctor's brisk and compelling testimony. Lieutenant Reed, however, was so rigid it seemed an unwary movement might snap him like an icicle, and contrived only a brief, tight nod. Of course, he was secured to his chair like a criminal, which would exacerbate anyone's anxieties, but the presence as a witness of a psychologist who had apparently been treating him had aroused a good deal of Phlox's professional curiosity.

The extraordinary stresses and burdens laid upon the shoulders of all the Enterprise officers and crew during the mission to the Expanse had led to his recommendation to Starfleet that counseling should be made available to all of the survivors as a matter of the highest urgency. Naturally this would be under the protection of strict confidentiality, but as the ship's physician he had made recommendations as to who should be regarded as a priority.

This list had included all of the senior officers, though it certainly had not been confined to them. There were many of their juniors who had been traumatized by things they had seen or suffered, including a number who had sustained life-changing injuries. His role after the battle at Azati Prime had required him to carry out several amputations, this being the only way to save the lives of some of the casualties, and all of Starfleet's rehabilitation programs would be focused on helping these survivors learn how to navigate their new world with the prosthetics they would be given.

It was probably inevitable that although the junior ranks had by and large accepted the help they were offered – even the Bridge ensigns had agreed to attend counseling – their seniors had baulked. Lieutenant Hess had been the only one who wisely did as she was advised to.

It was probable that at least some benefit was to be expected from Captain Archer escaping into the mountains with Captain Hernandez; even if they had not indulged in mating (which Phlox certainly hoped they had, given the time the captain had endured enforced celibacy on board ship), fresh air and strenuous exercise were beneficial in themselves and it was a reasonable expectation that Archer would feel able to unburden himself at least to some extent to a woman and an old friend who co-ranked him. It might not be as effective as help from a professionally trained counselor, but it was a great deal better than nothing. As his CMO Phlox could technically order him to attend sessions before the ship set out again (after all this nonsense of a hearing had been disposed of, naturally) but enforced compliance was never as effective as willing cooperation. And after this additional misery of ridiculous and entirely groundless accusations leveled against him, it was to be hoped that he would be more amenable to the idea when it was set before him.

Phlox had been happily surprised by the news that Commander Tucker and Sub-Commander T'Pol had traveled together to Vulcan. Given the difficulty he had had in engineering their closeness in the Expanse – a closeness that could surely only benefit both of them, especially Commander Tucker, whose mental acuity was suffering from his inability to relax – he had not been sure it would survive the return to Earth. But the commander's return alone and subsequent disappearance had caused him the greatest anxiety; had he completely misread a delicate situation and made things not better but infinitely worse?

He was later relieved, and again somewhat surprised, to learn that Lieutenant Reed had accepted the services of a psychologist. However, as Phlox emerged back into the corridor, he looked at Doctor Langford and wondered when exactly Mister Reed had been referred to her and why.

Over the course of the ship's voyages, the lieutenant had occasionally and in the strictest confidence made reference to his previous role as an undercover agent for Starfleet's Black Operations arm. He had clearly regarded that service as over and done with, but the past and its influences are never quite that simple.

Until the trial was over Phlox was still prevented from speaking to her, even in his capacity as her patient's CMO on board ship. Afterwards, if the opportunity offered, he might see if there was any way of introducing himself to her. Because for all that he was frequently exasperated by his most obdurate patient's lack of cooperation with him, he knew that the lieutenant was a devoted servant to the ship and its crew. If any careful understanding he could come to with a fellow professional would enable him to better understand and help a secretive and complex officer, he was more than willing to make the attempt.

Phlox, too, was a protector.