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Richard had warned him to stay away from the media, of course. It had been a year since Khan’s attack on Starfleet, and humanity was still reeling from how close Earth had come to destruction once again. It was only natural that reporters would be seeking out anyone who might have the slightest bit of insight into the horrific attack, and an admiral’s widower surely topped the list. Richard had even offered to provide Phil with a security officer, but he’d refused. He’d be perfectly fine staying at home with his grief and avoiding the public eye; he didn’t need a stranger to follow him around to remind him of what he’d lost.
But then he woke up on the morning of the anniversary to an empty, too-big bed and the first thing his eyes landed on was the photo of Chris and him on their wedding day. He went downstairs to make breakfast and automatically brewed a second cup of coffee, even adding in cream and two sugars the way Chris had liked before he realized what he had done. When he burned the pancakes in his husband’s treasured cast iron skillet, he finally gave in and called his boss. He didn’t care if he had to sit in the corner and fill out reports all day; he was going in to work.
Entering Starfleet Medical felt surprisingly normal, with no indications that it was anything other than a normal day. Some of Phil’s colleagues were visibly surprised to see him at work, but none of them said anything to him about it and for that, Phil was grateful. Another doctor asked him for a consult right away and although he suspected his input wasn’t entirely necessary, he felt grateful for the diversion and threw all of his focus into providing as much support as he could.
Near the end of the shift, Phil was called in to assist with a patient in the hematology department. “Hello,” he said. “I’m Dr. Boyce.” He motioned to his colleague. “Dr. Billings asked me to help prepare you for your infusions if that’s alright with you.”
The patient smiled back at him. “Of course,” she replied. “It’s nice to meet you, Dr. Boyce. I’m Sarah.”
The holographic projection in the corner of the room caught his attention. “Mind if I turn this off, Sarah?” he asked.
“Sure,” she replied. “It’s just the news. I wasn’t really watching, anyway.”
“Alright. Your infusion should take about…” Phil’s words drifted off as he saw the text on the projection. ANNIVERSARY OF STARFLEET ATTACK, it read prominently. IN MEMORIAM OF THE LIVES LOST
“Dr. Boyce?” Billings asked gently.
Phil blinked hard and looked away. “My apologies,” he said, forcing a professional smile. “What - what was I saying?”
“You were saying how long my infusions should take,” Sarah prompted.
“Of course,” Phil said. But a movement on the projection caught his eye again, and he couldn’t help but glance over again. THE LAST MOMENTS OF THE DAYSTROM VICTIMS, the news report now read.
And then his husband appeared onscreen and Phil forgot how to breathe as Chris in the security footage dove behind a table in the Daystrom conference room. Phil was distantly aware of someone saying his name and even touching his arm, but all he could process was the small figure of his husband with fire and debris raining down around him.
Phil knew it was coming. He knew, and yet he couldn’t look away as Chris tried to stand to run away. He tumbled to the ground and struggled to raise himself. Then something exploded and Chris collapsed. Phil screamed.
The next thing Phil knew, someone was helping him to lie on a couch. “It’s okay,” a soothing voice said as he pushed unfamiliar hands away from his body. “You’re at Starfleet Medical. You’re safe.”
“Chris,” he murmured. “I have to help Chris.” Then something pinched his neck, and the world faded away.