A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews! I really appreciate it! And to clarify, it isn't only the men who bring food - it just so happens the only two people I mentioned were guys.

I'm afraid there may be more questions than answers in this section, but don't worry, the answers are coming!


T'Pol tried to identify the emotion that was welling up inside her. She still wasn't used to the emotions, despite having dealt with them for months now. There was a gnawing sensation in the pit of her stomach. Guilt – that was it. She felt guilty because she was in the process of rifling through someone's personal effects for no apparent reason other than to assuage the captain's curiosity. She had avoided it for several days but could avoid it no longer. She had wanted to argue against the captain's order but could think of no excuse other than it was a violation of privacy. Vulcans, as a whole, were very private people.

But T'Pol found it difficult to think of the girl as Vulcan. Her appearance suggested otherwise, but T'Pol had grown up believing that a human/Vulcan union was not only impossible but also illogical. The Vulcan High Command deemed humans an inferior species, and relationships between the two species were riddled with problems.

Still, the girl lying in sickbay was proof positive that at least one such marriage had managed to successfully produce offspring. If there was one, perhaps there were more. Perhaps there were a number of previously unknown human/Vulcan hybrids scattered throughout the galaxy.

T'Pol took a deep breath and removed the lid from the first chest. She pulled out several articles of clothing – mostly Earth clothes, but there were a few catsuits that resembled T'Pol's own wardrobe, and two more gowns like the one she'd been wearing. The clothes had been folded so precisely to exactly fit within the confines of the chest, and T'Pol could not ascertain how the girl had managed to do that. After ten minutes of trying, she finally gave up and simply replaced the lid on top of the pile of clothes she'd shoved inside.

The next chest was far more interesting. It contained a collection of books, including a battered copy of The Teachings of Surak – in Vulcan. There was another copy of the same book, translated into English and in much better condition. T'Pol pulled book after book out of the chest and marveled at the variety of titles: The Complete Poems of Robert Frost, a biography of Zephram Cochrane, and something called The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.

She opened this last book and a picture fell from the pages. She peered at it. It seemed to be a picture of the girl as a child, surrounded by people T'Pol assumed to be her parents. The woman was beautiful, smiling elegantly, long blonde hair blowing in a breeze. Her brown eyes glittered as she gazed at her daughter. The man was the epitome of a stiff Vulcan, unsmiling, his pale face cold. But his blue eyes were filled with something T'Pol recognized as affection; she saw it in Trip's eyes whenever he looked at her.

There was something familiar about the man in the picture, though T'Pol couldn't quite place it. And his eyes were most intriguing, as T'Pol couldn't recall having ever seen a Vulcan with blue eyes.

She heard someone approach from behind and tensed automatically, but a familiar scent met her nose and she knew it was Trip. She relaxed slightly, allowing her shoulders to drop just a hair. She certainly felt more at ease with Trip than with any other member of the crew – including the captain – and the thought terrified her. She was married, bonded to Koss, and nothing would change that. But what she felt for Trip she would never feel her husband, no matter how long they were married.

"Have you finished dismantling the craft?" she asked, without even bothering to turn around.

"All done," Trip said, walking around the chests. "Seems a shame to tear it apart, though. It was a fine piece of craftsmanship." He sat down opposite her and picked the top book off the stack. "Thought you could use a hand over here." He squinted at the title. "Brief History of Time," he said. He gave a low whistle. "Wow." He put down the book and glanced up at her. "What's that you got there?"

She held the picture out for him to see, and as he took it from her, his fingers brushed against hers. She stifled her body's reaction to his touch and forced herself to remain composed.

Trip smiled and ran his finger over the photograph. "She looks like her dad. She's even got his eyes." He stared at the picture for a few more seconds, then looked at her. "You ever think it'd be possible? A Vulcan and a human gettin' married?"

She was sure the question was, to use an Earth term, loaded. Trip was obviously looking for something specific, and he would no doubt use her answer to relate to them and their situation, whatever that was. And he would almost certainly misinterpret whatever she said; he was excellent in that capacity. "It is possible." She wanted to tell him that he should know it was possible, as their counterparts on the second Enterprise had married. "It is, however, illogical."

The smile faded from Trip's face. T'Pol was sad to see it go. "Darlin', some of the best things in life are illogical." He flipped the picture around, showing it to her. "Look at them. You think they cared about logic? The best decisions in the world aren't made with logic. They're made with the heart."

T'Pol glanced up sharply. She remembered Trip saying that to her before. Only it hadn't actually been Trip who said it. Had it only been a dream?

Follow your heart. That was what T'Pol's counterpart had said, when referring to her relationship with Trip. But the other T'Pol hadn't been given the choice between love and saving her mother's honor. T'Pol steeled her gaze and told him what she had told herself. "What if the heart doesn't know what it wants?"

He shook his head sadly. "The heart never knows what it wants. It only knows what it feels." He slid the picture back between the pages of the book he'd been holding. "Whaddaya say we open that last chest?"

She didn't trust herself to speak. Never before had she heard such confusing advice. What good were feelings going to do her if she was unable to act on them? She simply nodded, and he tossed the books back into their chest and slid it aside. She pulled the remaining one between them and removed the lid.

Trip grabbed the first item, a wreath of wilted flowers. He smiled at the sight of it, then deposited the wreath around his neck. "Cool," he said. "I just got lei'd."

T'Pol narrowed her eyes. She understood the term; she had heard several male crewmembers using it to refer to sexual conquests, but she could not fathom why Trip would apply the term to a flower necklace. "I beg your pardon, Commander?"

"It's a joke, T'Pol," he said. He gestured at the wreath. "This is a lei. They're Hawaiian in origin. You get them at luaus – they're parties – and when we'd have them in college, we used to walk around sayin' we got lei'd. Only we'd spell it like lei, you know, kind of a play on words."

She raised an eyebrow, and he coughed, obviously uncomfortable. "So it is human humor," she said. He nodded, and she continued to stare at him, one eyebrow cocked. The amount of asinine colloquialisms that humans had never ceased to amaze her. She wished a tutorial on Earth slang had been included in her education of the species. She didn't like finding out what a term meant after it had been used; it made her feel inadequate, somehow, as if she didn't know as much as she should.

"Don't look at me like that," he said. "It's not like I made up the joke."

T'Pol chose not to comment, instead reaching inside the chest and pulling out the next item – a string of beads. She held them out at arm's length, then followed Trip's lead and placed them around her neck. She shot a defiant glare at him, and he grinned.

"Those're prayer beads," he said. "A rosary. Looks like our little hybrid's Catholic. Or at least someone in her family was. I'm bettin' it was her mother. She was probably excommunicated for marryin' way outside the church."

T'Pol furrowed her brow in confusion. She knew from Enterprise's extensive databank what "excommunicated" meant and that Catholicism was an Earth religion, but she had never bothered to examine it any further. Such knowledge had not seemed to be important, but now her curiosity was piqued. "What do you mean?"

Trip lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "Well, normally Catholics only marry Catholics. Religious differences are huge, you know. People used to kill 'cause of 'em."

She thought of the different factions of Vulcans and dreaded what would happen if they ever decided to declare war on each other. She also decided that Trip's explanation had been unsatisfactory and resolved to research the topic when she next had the opportunity. She removed the beads and watched as Trip pulled out the next thing – a woven blanket. He unfolded it, and T'Pol saw that symbols had been stitched into the fabric.

"Think it means anythin'?" Trip asked, examining the writing.

T'Pol stared, unable to believe her eyes. Impossible, she thought. That is impossible. She forced herself to speak, lest Trip grow suspicious. "It is Vulcan," she said. "It is a custom on Vulcan for mothers to make blankets for their children." She pointed to the symbols. "That is a name."

Trip scratched his head. He didn't seem to notice her discomfort, and for that she was grateful. "What does it say? What name's on it?"

She opened her mouth, unsure of how to respond. She couldn't tell him the truth, but what other choice did she have? Her mind fought to recall some name, any name, that she could tell him; he couldn't read Vulcan. He need never know that she had lied. But in her stunned state she could barely remember her own name. Thankfully, before she had the chance to answer, the companel buzzed. "Archer to Tucker."

Trip rose and walked to the companel on the wall. "Commander Tucker."

Archer's voice filled the room. "Is T'Pol there with you?"

"Yeah, Cap'n. We were just goin' through the girl's things."

"Meet me in sickbay," Archer said. He sounded urgent, so T'Pol got to her feet. "She's awake."