He got as far as the turbolift before he tore the box open.

And collapsed to the floor of the lift, staring.

"A Vulcan's Travel Guide to Human Popular Culture" he read – and then, surprisingly, a comic drawing appeared on the screen...with a note, written in T'Pol's meticulous hand. "It seems, husband, that there will be lively discussion, at dinner. I see at least three possible interpretations of the art, and my initial reaction approached laughter. I look forward to hearing your response."

There was a little notation, beneath. "There will be no more such sharing. Trip was killed today. Is it illogical that I feel anger that he never saw it with me, shared in it?"

Just that.

And a letter, saying that they had shared things this way, since they became trapped. That it had been a sweet part of their lives together, one of many. That she wanted him to have this, now – to see the life they had shared.

He sat on the floor in the turbolift and cried, huddled over that PADD.