“Did I do something?” he wondered, fighting back the surge of sudden fear that strangely did not feel like it was entirely his. When T’Pol gave him a sharp glance, he groaned. “Oh, God,” he muttered. “I did do something, didn’t I?” Tucker’s imagination ran wild – what could he have done or said that was making her so skittish? He had the terrible vision of him having a wet dream while moaning her name, or vomiting on her boots. No, none of those were bad enough, not if the thoroughly freaked vibes emanating from T’Pol were any indication.
“It is not something you did, Trip,” she stated, her eyes once more locked on his boots, “but rather something I may have … inadvertently done to you.” Her body language screamed worry and borderline despair, though Trip suspected that very few people wo
