There were no surprises on the scan.

"You may get dressed," Phlox told her as T'Pol emerged from the imaging chamber. Without a word, she began donning the Starfleet uniform in quick, economic motions. Her decision to begin wearing them had been one based in psychology; as long as she had worn her colorful jumpsuits, many of the Starfleet officers and crewmen continued to see her as a Vulcan first. While he had to compliment her on such an effective use of psychology, Phlox continued to worry about her health - the jumpsuits had been thermal-lined and helped her cope with the cooler temperatures humans preferred.

It was somewhat amusing that Captain Tucker also routinely complained about her change in wardrobe.

"The fracture in your pelvic ring appears to have healed rather nicely," Phlox told her with a slight smile. "Have you experienced any residual pain?"

"No," T'Pol replied as she zipped up the Starfleet uniform. "There has been a noticeable loss of lower body strength despite the physical therapy."

"That is to be expected," he pointed out. "You were bedridden for nearly three months." She gave him an accusing look at that; the enforced bed rest had been at his direction. "The severity of your injury demanded a slower than normal recovery plan." He studied her vitals for a moment longer before continuing. "I have compiled a new therapy program for you that should have you back to full strength in a few weeks." Standing in silence, he made additional notes to her medical record before finally looking up at her, his eyes narrowed. As he spoke, his voice was hushed; this was meant for her ears only. "How is your emotional control?"

"Adequate." She was clearly uncomfortable admitting this, but just as clearly realized that he had a need to know. "In recent weeks, I have experienced momentary flashes of uncontrollable anxiety, centered around ..." She trailed off and he gave her a discreet nod, recognizing at once that her distress had revolved around Captain Tucker's well being. Knowing the Vulcan propensity for personal privacy, he allowed his eyes to communicate his understanding as he spoke again.

"Not surprising given Endeavour's recent mission profile." Phlox nearly sighed. "The neural pathways damaged by the Pa'nar and the trellium have not regenerated despite my best efforts." She said nothing, simply stood before the biobed and awaited his next words. He felt as though he had failed her. "There has been no additional degradation but ... but the damage remains." T'Pol gave him a short nod; she knew better than he did what it meant to her. "However, I see no reason you cannot assume full duty status."

"Thank you, Doctor." Her tone was flat but he knew her well enough to see that she was eager to resume full duties. Offering her a PADD, he continued.

"This contains the new physical therapy plan in addition to a suggested nutritional regimen. I expect you to have gained at least two and a half kilograms by your next check-up." T'Pol gave him another blank look before turning to the door.

"I am cleared for all activity?" she asked and Phlox frowned. It wasn't like her to ask a question that he had already answered.

"Yes," he replied hesitantly, wondering why she would ask. A flicker of something ... predatory flashed briefly in her eyes as she glanced away.

Ahhh...

"Please inform Captain Tucker that he is overdue for his six month physical," he said abruptly with a smile that was broadening by the moment. "Tomorrow morning would be good." He made a mental note to have pain meds standing by.

Just in case.

"I will relay your request to him," the Vulcan said with no hint of what she was thinking. She gave him the slightest of nods and glided from the medical facility. As the door slid shut, Phlox chuckled; tonight would be a good night for the captain.

His amusement faltered as his thoughts turned to Charles Tucker.

By rights, the Captain should not be alive. He should not have survived the silicate virus that nearly killed him over two years ago, should not have been up and walking around the next day. It had turned into something of a minor obsession on Phlox's part, and he had spent countless hours poring over the data and running hundreds of simulations, but the results were identical no matter what variables he plugged in.

Tucker should not have survived.

The radiation therapy would have worked, but not in time; both Sato and Tucker had been too far gone when it was implemented, their bodies too badly ravaged by the silicate virus. Every single simulation told him the same thing, told him what he already knew: they should not have survived. But they did.

And Phlox had no idea why.

To complicate matters even further, Phlox had later detected minor genetic changes in Tucker but not in Sato, changes that he could find no scientific reason for. At first, he had discarded the data as the result of errors on his part or scanning errors due to residual radiation from the therapy (that should not have worked). He kept his eye on the two though, studied their medical records with a focused determination and gradually began to believe that he was in error.

The incident with the Romulan holoship had convinced him he was not.

Exposed to levels of radiation that should have been lethal - would have been lethal to any other human - Tucker had walked out of Sickbay that day, healthier than he had any right to be. Then-Lieutenant Reed had spent more time in Recovery than Trip Tucker, and the engineer explained it away as having built up a resistance from working around warp reactors all his life. Phlox had briefly considered enlisting T'Pol's aid in deciphering the growing mystery, but his observation of the young Vulcan caused him to reconsider that plan. It was patently obvious to him that the two had been intimate a number of times and, from their strained interactions, he had begun to suspect they were a bonded pair, so he kept his suspicions to himself.

And then, after baby Elizabeth died and the two Commanders began to grieve, Phlox discovered the most amazing thing: Tucker was aging more slowly than a normal human. The Denobulan had no idea if it was a side effect of the mating bond or if it had something to do with those genetic anomalies, and honestly didn't know how to ask. Vulcans were notoriously private and it had taken him nearly a year to get T'Pol to admit to having formed the bond in the first place. So far, he'd discovered no direct correlation between the mating bond and Tucker's slow aging.

But that didn't mean that it wasn't there.

It was enough to give him a headache. Phlox sighed, turning his attention back to more important matters. After baby Elizabeth died, he'd told Tucker that Human-Vulcan offspring were possible, and he had meant it.

That, of course, hadn't been taking Tucker's genetic abnormalities into account.

"Doctor?" The pained voice of Lieutenant Commander Drahn echoed loudly through the med-bay as the door slid open, and Phlox glanced up from his research. Cradling his left hand, the Andorian chief engineer stood calmly. Phlox shook his head in amazement; Drahn was worse than Tucker ever was ...

"Another burn, Commander?" The doctor grabbed his portable scanner and approached. "You really should be more careful." The Andorian gave him a look that was nearly identical to the one Charles Tucker had given him so many times in the past.

"Easier said than done," Drahn replied. It was amazing how quickly he was picking up human idioms. "Sometimes, I think this ship is trying to kill me."

"Let me see that hand," Phlox said with a broad grin as he slipped into his unofficial role as ship's counselor. "You look tired..."