She was dead.
Shoulders slumped with exhaustion and eyes devoid of their familiar merriment, Phlox loosed a deep sigh as he pulled the sheet up over the corpse. Almost mechanically, he began to input the appropriate data into the PADD that he carried, recording the time of death of Lieutenant Burke with a heavy heart. He had been so sure that she would pull through.
"Phlox?" Captain Tucker's voice jarred him back to the present and Phlox pulled his attention away from the still and silent form. The captain stood with a grim expression on his usually cheerful face, his leg encased in an auto-splint. Tucker was tired; that much was evident in his stance, but there was a sadness lurking in his eyes that had not been present for a long time. Everything about the captain appeared tense, knotted up in some internal struggle that he seemed to feel he had to deal with entirely by himself. From the rigidity in Tucker's posture, Phlox suspected that the captain wasn't sleeping very well either. The image was altogether too reminiscent of the weeks after Enterprise had entered the Expanse. Idly, the doctor wondered if he could exercise his medical authority and order Tucker to undergo a neuropressure session; he doubted T'Pol would resist the idea as she had the first time Phlox had suggested it.
That thought caused the doctor to smile slightly.
"How can I help you, Captain?" he asked with forced levity.
"Who'd we lose?" Tucker inquired softly, staring at the shrouded corpse. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Phlox answered.
"Lieutenant Burke," he said flatly, noting the captain's fractional wince. "I really thought she would make it," the doctor admitted sadly. He straightened his shoulders. "Providing the computer cooperates, I will have a revised casualty list to you within the hour."
"You're havin' computer problems?" Captain Tucker asked, narrowing his eyes.
"Sporadic system failures and data corruption. I presumed it was battle damage." Inwardly, Phlox grimaced. The data loss had been particularly bothersome; the trauma records of twelve crewmembers had simply vanished or been so corrupted that they were of no use. Although he was not a computer technician, he was familiar enough with their operation to hypothesize that it was a database error: nothing else explained why only records ranging from Gomez to Konikowski were affected.
"I'll have Riggs take a look at it," the captain said before frowning. "How much of a priority is this? Riggs is pretty swamped right now." That was an understatement if ever there was one; the death or incapacitation of the entire Alpha shift engineering staff left the acting chief engineer critically shorthanded at a time when they could least afford it. Phlox had prescribed more stims in the last four days than he had in his entire time with Starfleet.
"It's not an urgent problem, Captain." Phlox drew a steadying breath. "But that's not why you're here, is it?"
"Not really." Tucker rolled his tongue around the inside of his cheek before speaking. "I understand you relieved Lieutenant Devereux," he said after several moments of silence. Phlox nodded.
"She was suffering from extreme emotional distress," the doctor explained. He paused, remembering all too well the image of the lieutenant staring in shocked horror at Lieutenant Commander Drahn's radiation-scarred body. Lieutenant Hsiao had helped her to her quarters, a conflicted expression on his face as she clung to him and sobbed; Phlox had recognized the reason for the conflict that the helmsman was experiencing. Before Endeavour had launched, the doctor had noticed the sexual attraction that Hsiao harbored toward the COM officer, but had said nothing. He had learned his lesson about dabbling with the personal lives of his fellow crewmates. All too well, he recalled offering advice to Captain Archer regarding T'Pol, advice that Archer had not heeded, despite the clear evidence that the Vulcan was attracted to Tucker.
Inwardly, the doctor sighed and wondered if humans would ever make sense.
"You were aware of her ... relationship with Commander Drahn?" he asked a moment later. The captain nodded grimly.
"I'd heard the rumors," Tucker admitted. He was silent for a long moment before adding, "Do what you think best, Doc. I'll sign off on it." The captain shifted his balance, his expression still grim. Finally, he spoke. "Your staff," he said as he crossed his arms over his chest, "is worried about you, Doc." Phlox gave the captain a surprised look. "You've been on duty for over ninety-six hours without stoppin' for food or rest."
"There hasn't been time, Captain," the doctor retorted with a frown.
"Make time," Tucker ordered. "An exhausted doctor is a useless doctor," the captain said, quoting something that Phlox had told both the commanding officer and the chief medical officer of Columbia.
"Captain," the doctor began, intent on arguing the point, but Tucker cut him off with a sharp gesture.
"Lieutenant Cutler!" he barked. From across the Sickbay where she was checking the vitals of a patient, Liz Cutler looked up. "Can you handle things for a while?"
Cutler nodded, casting a defiant look at Phlox and, without asking, the doctor knew who had spoken to the captain. "Good," Tucker continued. He speared Phlox with a look that demanded obedience. "I'm relievin' you of duty, Doc." The harshness faded and he spoke again, this time with a friendlier tone. "So," the captain said, "first you're gonna come with me and eat, then you're gonna go to your quarters to rest for six hours."
"I can give you two," Phlox argued, his thoughts immediately turning to which patients were the most critical. He trusted Liz – he had trained her, after all – but she didn't have his experience, and he resisted the thought of abandoning his patients.
"Four and not a minute less," Tucker countered, offering a smile that never reached his eyes. "Haven't we had this conversation before?" he asked. Phlox gave him a blank look for a moment before suddenly remembering; had he been any less emotionally drained in that moment, he would have chuckled at the memory of negotiating with the then-Commander Tucker over how long he would sleep, years ago in the Expanse.
"I believe we have, Captain," he replied with a weary smile of his own.
"Then you know how it ends." The captain uncrossed his arms and gestured toward the exit. With a sigh, the doctor preceded him through the door.
As they entered the mess hall, Phlox realized how long it had been since he had been out of Sickbay. Fewer than ten crewmen were present in the hall and, as he and Tucker walked quietly toward the Executive Mess, the doctor could not help but notice how no one looked up at him. Every single one of those present had at least superficial injuries, and Phlox recognized two that should not have even been out of bed yet. He said nothing to them, however, knowing that actually doing something other than resting was how many were coping with what they had been through.
It was, after all, how he dealt with loss.
The door to the captain's private dining room was locked in the open position, an indication to the crew that the "Old Man" was available. It was an "open door" policy that Captain Tucker had adopted shortly after assuming command of Endeavour, one that had been suggested by Commodore Archer who, in a moment of candor, had admitted that he should have implemented such a policy from day one. Had Archer done so, Phlox mused, the Expanse mission might not have isolated the captain nearly as much as it had.
Commander T'Pol was already inside, seated in her usual place and engrossed in various PADDs scattered before her; the Vulcan first officer sat quietly with her back to the viewport facing the doorway and looked up they entered, her eyes automatically seeking out Tucker. Had he not known her as well as he did, Phlox would have missed the glint of worry in T'Pol's eyes as she studied her mate's profile.
"Have a seat," the captain said as he took his own chair at the head of the table, unaware of or perhaps ignoring T'Pol's silent observation of him. The moment that Phlox sat, a wave of fatigue washed over the doctor and he realized that he couldn't actually remember the last time he had sat down for more than a few minutes; in a moment of dark amusement, he wondered how difficult it would be to stand back up after the meal. Reaching back over his shoulder, Tucker triggered the comm panel. "Killick," he called. The response was instantaneous.
"It will be ready when it's ready, sir," the chef of Endeavour snapped and the captain rolled his eyes as he released the comm button; everyone was accustomed to Chef's sharp tongue and short temper. Only his culinary genius kept him out of trouble.
"How are we lookin'?" Tucker asked, finally looking at his first officer. She inclined an eyebrow.
"There is no indication of pursuit," she replied crisply. "The Romulans appear satisfied in taking the system." The captain's expression darkened and he glanced away as she spoke; Phlox could almost see the human's jaw muscles tighten. T'Pol continued, her face devoid of expression but her eyes gleaming with concern. "Endeavour is maintaining warp two without difficulty. We should arrive at Starbase One on schedule." Tucker nodded, still looking away with a grim expression, and the worry on T'Pol's face grew. She gave Phlox a sideways glance and he offered her a shrug in return; if the woman with the telepathic mating bond couldn't figure out Tucker's moods, how was Phlox supposed to?
Incredibly, she reached out and touched the captain's hand.
Almost at once, Tucker's demeanor changed. He gave her a sad smile that seemed to convey some sort of private communication; their fingers touching in an unmistakably Vulcan caress, the two sat quietly for a long moment. This time, the smile on Phlox's face wasn't forced.
It was moments like this that made the suffering worth it.