Phlox: I don't care what it tastes like.
T'Pol: Wake up doctor.
Phlox: Subcommander? Has it been 48 hours?
Phlox: Then why did you wake me?!
T'Pol: There's a medical emergency.
Phlox: Emergency? Then call the doctor.
T'Pol: You're the doctor.
Phlox: Of course. Who's sick?
T'Pol: Ensign Mayweather.
T'Pol: Ensign Mayweather. Our helmsman.
Phlox: I know who he is! Where is he? (looking under his blanket)
Cuttler: In sickbay.
Phlox: We're not in sickbay?
T'Pol: We're in your quarters.
Phlox: Well then... to sickbay! (he trips and falls on the floor) I could use some assistance, please.