Soval's Perspective:
The Denobulan had been last among the Enterprise crew to depart. Through the means of this matter/energy transporter Dr. Phlox had left, personal volition notwithstanding.
Unbidden came the memory of his protests, abruptly ended as the body appeared, engulfed, in blue light, before seemingly disintegrating.
Once again he lowered his eyes, Commander T'pol lay in his view, staring.
Simply, staring, at the ceiling, the wall, Dr. T'pring, and himself, upon which Soval would avert his gaze.
Illogical, yes, to avoid her contact, emotional, certainly. However there were occurrences, when logic was too, debilitating, to be maximized fully. Simply too painful, to possibly endure without jeopardizing its own stability.
Should he allow himself such indulgences, these lapses of control? That particular topic was subject to such amounts of controversy that Soval deemed it unwise to dwell on. He, himself personally limited his emotional tendencies with a stringent manner bordering on the obsessive.
For those who fell too deep the path of passion, only madness did await.
Disturbing as it was, Commander T'pol, an esteemed and respected member of Vulcan society, one whose logic had withstood the trials of war and beyond, may have very well departed on that path.
The effects of Trellium-D, the horrors, so to speak, were among the few obstacles, that logic alone could not overcome. Soval had been at the debriefing, had witnessed the true fate of the Seleya, of its crew.
He would not shudder, nor shy from the responsibility should it befall him, the fate of T'pol, barbaric as it was, could not be argued.
She would either recover, restore herself with an aptitude possessed by few, or as Vulcan law dictated, she would die…
Phlox's Perspective:
The ensign ran a medical scanner over the length of his body, self-restraint, difficult as it was, kept his eyes from lingering on the device, lest he double the nausea.
Dizziness was the worst of it, disorientation had him floating up and above clouds, but the euphoric aspect to that metaphor? No, not to be found accompanying its sense of vertigo.
He could feel the skin on his face, contorting in its discomfort. For there was no pain, not precisely, just-
As if to finish his very sentence, the depths of the Doctor's stomach clenched, forcing him into a fetal position as pain, and definitely pain, lit up all through his body.
This continued, spasmodically. To look upon the Denobulan, one would see the stark difference in his demeanor. From the dazed, unreactive presence he had posed, just two minutes past. And to the present, doubled over on his side as moans of agony filled the room.
Phlox could see her, had eyes trained on the Ensign, yet her presence did not register within the tumulus boundaries his state did restrain him.
On a conscious level she was merely an object, one that happened to move about the room. A piece of sickbay that, for all Phlox could grasp, might as well have been non-existent. He did not sense his environment, it was safe, and that was all he needed to know, all that was necessary to lull him into sleep, the blackness to bring hope…