When I awoke, I found myself on a bed in Sickbay with Doctor Phlox to my right, Captain Archer just behind him, and Trip to my left. Doctor Phlox looked slightly smug, like he was the proverbial cat who had just swallowed a canary. Captain Archer looked calm if slightly concerned. Trip, however, looked as though he hadn't slept in days. His uniform was rumpled, his hair was a mess, he had dark half-circles under his eyes, and he appeared to have gotten several new wrinkles on his face. It was then that I realized how incredibly handsome he was. I sat up on the bed, and immediately wished I hadn't. My head was pounding like no pain I had ever known before, and Trip's face swam before my eyes. I blinked slowly, and his face righted itself. A light blanket fell from my torso, and I noticed I still had on my dress from-

     "How long have I been unconscious?" I asked quietly.

     "Lights, one-half intensity," the Doctor said. I welcomed the decrease in light. It made my head hurt less. I wondered if total darkness would take away the pain altogether, and if there was anything darker than total blackness. I doubted it. The Doctor continued. "Approximately 2 days. The crew has been very worried about you." He glanced at Trip. "How are you feeling?"

     "Two days? Why?" Two days? What was wrong with me?

     "When you passed out at the party, Commander Tucker here carried you to sickbay. I ran some scans, and-" he looked at the Captain, at Trip, and then back to me. "You may wish to hear the results in private." He looked at me questioningly. I looked at Trip, his face scrunched up with worry and concern.

     "No, it's alright. You can tell me here," I said, still looking at Trip.

     "Very well. You are suffering from, simply put, emotional overload. I assume you have not yet broken your betrothal link as of yet?" I shook my head slightly. "You should do so, and as soon as possible. It is causing your brain to produce massive amounts of hormones, which are affecting your ability to control your emotions. If you had kept your betrothal, not that I am disputing your choice of course, but if you had kept your betrothal, you would have coupled with your mate by now, and the emotions you have been feeling would be directed at your mate, completing the link between the two of you. But as you have decided to stay with us, I assume you have no one to direct your feelings toward." I looked away from Trip, and to my dress, which had become wrinkled from being slept in for two days straight. I probably smelled terrible.

     "So you mean that everything I have felt in the last 9 days has been a result of a hormonal imbalance?" He nodded solemnly. That meant that nothing I had felt was real, everything I had done was because of my choice to stay aboard the Enterprise. Nothing I had felt mattered, it was all fake, it was all a product of my hormone-crazed mind.

     "The way I see it, you have two choices. You can either break the link completely, but you will have to find someone you trust to help you, as I understand it is very invasive, mentally." I nodded slightly, willing myself not to look at Trip. I knew the chances of being able to break the link without harming the person helping me were not too good. I also knew what my other choice was, but I allowed the Doctor to continue. It would be better that way. Trip was the only person I could think of that I could trust as implicitly as was needed, and it would be better if he knew what his options were as well.

     "Your other choice is to find someone else to bond with." I heard Trip inhale sharply.

     "I, uh, have to go to the bridge. Inform me of your-uh, well, get better soon." Captain Archer walked quickly out of Sickbay, leaving me alone with the Doctor and Trip.

     "Thank you, Doctor," I said. He caught the hint, nodded, and left to his office.

     Trip sat down on the side of my bed and put his hand on my leg. It was very reassuring. I felt as though he was trying to comfort me, though I knew it was merely a side effect of my problem.

     "So now you know what I have to do," I said quietly.

     "Yeah. What are you going to do?" he asked.

     I didn't speak for a long time. What was I going to do? What if he couldn't-or wouldn't-help me? What would I do? With the first option, I would loose all the emotions I had felt, and would remain alone until death. And it was definite that I would never laugh. But with the second option, I could mate with someone, and there was the possibility of keeping some aspect of my new emotional freedom. And I might have the chance to laugh. But Trip was the only one I would consider for aid in either option. What if he didn't want to help me? What would I do? There was only one other option, and that was death. And even if I had to give up my emotions, there was one thing I had learned in the past week: I did not wish to die. I had found beauty and wonder in all my surroundings, and found such joy as few other Vulcans could claim.

     "I do not know," I finally said. I looked up at him, and found him staring at me.

     "Well, whatever you choose," he paused for a moment, and touched my hand. "I would be honored to help you in any way I can." I was taken aback and elated at the same time.

     "I- I- Thank you. I would like you to help me. I- trust you very much." Why did I say that? Why couldn't I just tell him? Why couldn't I just say what I felt? What was holding me back? I did not understand. Why couldn't I just tell him how I felt about him, tell him how much he meant to me? Why couldn't I tell him how much I wanted him?

     He looked very slightly disappointed, but after watching his face change expressions so many times in the recent past, I felt myself capable of perceiving what he was feeling. And he was feeling much more disappointed than he looked. "I trust you as well," he said somewhat stiffly. I saw his face start to blur again, and I closed my eyes. But I still felt a tear run down my cheek. This time, it went to the outside of my cheekbone and dropped from my chin. I could feel more coming, so I ducked my head and turned it away from him, taking my hand from him and using it to shield my eyes from his view. It was in that moment I realized that I loved him. Me, T'Pol of Vulcan, in love with a human. That was the final straw. I made a croaking sound and turned over onto my right side, away from Trip, and started to sob. I cried for all the emotions I had experienced, all the ones I now knew were just the result of a horrible hormonal imbalance. I cried because I was a failure as a Vulcan, and I could never be a human, I would never be accepted anywhere. I cried because the Humans and the Andorians and the Klingons and the Suliban and every space-faring race the Vulcans met always ended up hating us. I cried because I had no idea what I was going to do about anything. And then something happened. Instead of going, as I had expected Trip to at my blatant display of weakness, he moved closer and started to rub my shoulder. His touch was strong but gentle at the same time, and very comforting. After a few minutes, when I had stopped crying, I brushed the remaining tears from my eyes as best I could and turned over to face him.

     "Trip, I-"

     "T'Pol, I-" I smiled weakly and he laughed a bit when we started speaking at the same time, interrupting each other simultaneously.

     "You can go first," I said, my voice still a bit croaky from crying.

     "T'Pol," he said after taking a deep breath, "I want to help you in any way I can. I think you know that already. But there's something else I think you should know. I think- I mean, oh God, T'Pol, I think I'm in love with you." Did he just say that, or was I hallucinating? Did he just say he loved me? How was that possible?

     "I- I also have something to say. I- think- I feel- I-" I bit my bottom lip and closed my eyes. Now was the time, I had to tell him. If I didn't... So I did. "I- love you also." I watched his facial expression go from shock to confusion, pause at terror for an instant, and then move on to realization, and finally settle at happiness- and perhaps relief? He reached out and ran his fingers down my left cheek, and I felt my skin prickle with goosebumps. His touch felt exactly as I had imagined, soft, warm, with the sensation lingering for a moment after. I closed my eyes, unable to control the feelings inside me. I felt like I was frozen in time, flying like a bird, dying, being born again, burning in a pit of flames, freezing on a glacier and exploding all at once, in that single moment when he touched my face. I had no idea of what was happening to me, inside me, but I knew that I would never be the same again.

     "My God, you're freezing," he said quietly.

     "It's shock," I managed to get out, my eyes still closed. "My body has not become used to the 'raging hormones' controlling it, and is trying to adjust as best it can. But as long as the link remains incomplete, my health will continue to deteriorate. If you are going to help me, it will have to be soon." I opened my eyes and found him staring at me.

     He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Hang on, let me clear something with the Doctor." He squeezed my hand one last time before releasing it and getting off the bed and walking toward Doctor Phlox's office. I sat up again and watched him go. I tried to get my thoughts in order, but my mind was full of questions I couldn't even begin to answer. Was I actually going to mate with him? What was I doing? What was it going to feel like? Was I going to enjoy it? How did I get myself into this position? Could my situation be termed a 'mess'? Was it going to work? Or would I be worse off than before, my link begun with one and completed with the other, but not fully linked with either of them? I began to cry again.

    "The Doctor says we can- Oh, T'Pol, what's wrong? T'Pol, honey, it's okay, I'm here. Shh, it's okay, it's okay." He got up on the bed again and hugged me close to him. I buried my face in his shoulder. "Boy, I see what he meant by 'emotional overload'. Come on, here, I'll dry your eyes, and we can go to my quarters and talk. Or would you rather go to yours?"

     "Whose are closest?" I asked through my tears.

     "Um, mine."

     I sniffed and said, "Then logically, your quarters would be most preferable." He looked at me curiously, and then started laughing.

     "Oh, T'Pol. I think you'll be just fine. Here, let me help you up." I got off the bed, but when my feet touched the ground, I started to fall. But he was there to catch me. He wrapped an arm around me and looked me in the eye. "Maybe I'd better carry you," he said with a very serious expression on his face. I saw in my mind him carrying me in his arms, walking down the corridor, and crewmembers walking by with confused expressions on their faces. I couldn't help it. Oh, how I tried to hold this noise I found myself making inside of me! But I was unsuccessful. I smiled, and then my lips opened, and then I heard this noise come from my throat, slightly higher than my normal voice, and I immediately covered my mouth with my hand and I laughed. I laughed. And I couldn't stop laughing. My eyelids closed slightly as my cheeks pushed them up, and I could feel my teeth under my fingers as my lips uncovered them in a smile. It was incredible. Trip stood there for a moment, in complete surprise, I suppose he thought I was having a spasm of some sort, but once he got over his initial shock, he realized I was laughing. I watched as his face unfolded into a smile. And then he started to laugh. The sound of our two voices laughing made me feel like, like, I am unsure how to describe it, but incredibly happy and content.

     We calmed down after a while, but we were still smiling broadly.

     "Okay, maybe that idea was a little silly." I bit my lower lip in an attempt to keep my laugh from returning. It worked, but just barely. "How about if I just keep my arm around you like this-" he hugged me closer, till my back was covering half his chest, "-and if you want, I can hold your other hand so that there's no way for you to loose your balance." He guided me toward the door from sickbay, and into the corridor. "See, we can walk real slow, so you can't fall. I won't let you fall, I promise." He looked at me, and I in turn looked at him. It felt so good to be held by him.

     I paused for a moment, and said to him quietly, "I already have fallen. For you." He smiled, and we walked the few remaining meters to his quarters. For some reason, I hadn't seen a single crewmember on our walk, though it was supposed to be time for a duty-shift change. I dismissed it when he slowly let go of my hand and pushed the button to open his door. We walked in, and he sat me down in a chair.

     "Would you like something to drink, or eat or something?" he asked politely.

     "Perhaps something warm to drink would be nice. Can you recommend anything?"

     "How about some chickenless-chicken-noodle-soup?" he asked with a wry grin.

     "That would be fine." I smiled weakly.

     "Okay, I'll be back in a few minutes. Don't go anywhere, alright?" He looked slightly concerned, but I could tell he was joking. I merely raised my left eyebrow in response, and he left shaking his head and smiling.

     I took this opportunity to look around his quarters. They were just like him: well within regulations, but there was a certain-something-about them that made them seem uniquely "Trip". Perhaps it was the smell; a little engine lube mixed with sweat and light cologne. Perhaps it was the little trinkets he had around his room, a small statue of a winged female smiling peacefully and sitting on the edge of a shelf covered in books, the row of photographs of people who appeared to be his family (the men all had his hair, the women his eyes, and they all had his smile), and the series of paintings on his walls. They showed beautiful images of space phenomenae; flowing nebulas of every color, the ice mountains on a frozen moon, and the night sky from Earth, during a summer meteor shower. The furniture was also unique; for all the uniformity Starfleet regulations required, the chairs, pillows, table and couch practically screamed his name. I stood up unsteadily on my feet, and found I could walk if I kept my hand on the wall. So I walked slowly over to the door-to his bedroom? The bathroom?-and walked through. It was the bedroom. His bed looked like he had slept on the top of it (or had tried to, based on my observation of his apparent lack of it), not even bothering to crawl under the covers. The table next to his bed had an alarm clock, a book of poetry from Earth's 19th century, a broken stylus, and a crumpled piece of paper arranged randomly on the top, with another two balls of paper on the floor. I sat down on his bed, picked one up, uncrumpled it, and started reading. It was the beginning of a poem, about the stars and the coldness of the vacuum of space. What was written was quite lovely, except that it had a large scribble through it, and little doodles below it portraying a snake and a schematic for an anti-matter converter. I smoothed it out, and put it inside his book, trailing my fingers over the slightly textured green cover. Perhaps he would finish it sometime.

     I looked around, sensing for some intuitive reason that I should, and saw him standing in the doorway, one hand on the door frame, and the other on his hip, shaking his head slightly with a half-grin on his face. His eyes twinkled as he said, "Prying into other people's business, I see."

     I raised my eyebrow and heard myself reply, "It is my turn." I was still not quite myself, though I hoped I would become 'me' shortly. Whoever I was. After this experience, I did not know if I would ever know who I was again. He laughed slightly, and walked over to me. He picked up his book, with the paper still inside, and I stood up slowly and followed him to the main room, still depending on the wall to keep my world from flipping itself around too much. He set down the book on the table, and pulled out a chair for me. I made my way across the room without too much trouble, and as I sat down, he pushed my chair in with practiced ease. He sat himself next to me, and pushed the soup and a spoon toward me. He picked up his spoon, dipped it into his soup, and watched me eat.

     The soup was incredible. It was much, much stronger than the soup I usually ate-Vulcan soup-but the flavors, so alien to my tongue, were so intensely wonderful-the whole experience was indescribable. After I had taken my first spoonful, and he saw that I wasn't going to spit it out, his nervous expression melted into contentment. He was so handsome. "Good, isn't it?" he asked, and I nodded, still savoring the unique flavors. He then picked up his spoon, and we ate together in silence.

~*~*~*~*~

A very large supernova of thanks to Blue Mercury Girl for nobly beta-ing my story!