Missing Scenes from Season Three - Strategem

SPOILERS: "Strategem," but only in the most peripheral way.

DISCLAIMER: All things Star Trek belong to CBS/Paramount.  "Strategem" was written by Michael Sussman.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  Well, you knew Amanda had to come into this equation sooner or later.  I decided to take a break from the routine and use her point of view for this episode.  Thanks to you generous reviewers - I welcome any feedback, positive or negative. 

Amanda slumped over her cocoa in the mess hall - nobody was around, so she didn't need to project  professionalism - and wondered whether living aboard a ship in deep space could give a person a case of Seasonal Affective Disorder.  Certainly there was a lack of real sunshine, after all.

Or maybe this was just normal holiday depression.  Not that she was usually depressed during the holidays.  She loved the holidays.  She just didn't expect to love this one.  Her life as a MACO corporal hadn't always allowed her to be home for Christmas Day, but up to now sometime during the season she'd always managed to get back for a home-cooked meal and presents and hugs and the simple joy of relaxing amid one's own family - something she doubted anyone would take for granted this year, when so many families had lost it.

But this year she and her comrades in arms were as far away from home as any Human had ever been, on duty that combined the long, day-after-day tedium of Major Hayes' stultifying training routines with occasional episode of brutal combat.  There would be no trips home this Christmas season.

Not that she didn't want to be here.  This was their best effort to ensure that the Human race and all its holidays and all its families were not about to be annihilated by some crazy ass alien species that had apparently taken what sounded like some wacko Bible story from the future way, way too literally.

At least the scuttlebutt on the ship tonight was that they had discovered where the weapon was being built, which meant that now they could go get it.  The terrible boredom should be ending soon.

Unfortunately, this also meant they probably would all be dead soon.  Enterprise was just one ship, just one crew, against a whole civilization bent on destroying them.  The Xindi had already proven their ability to whup their asses pretty much at will.  Nobody was talking about it out loud, but Amanda didn't think she was the only one on board who expected it would take nothing less than the sacrifice of all their lives to have any impact at all in this particular contest.

So it didn't look particularly good for any future holidays that might make up for how crappy this one was looking to be.

The door whooshed open and she straightened up.  Hayes wouldn't want her to let the team down by looking depressed in front of anyone else.  

It was the ship's yummy chief engineer, Trip Tucker, looking adorably rumpled but also unusually intimidating.  He stalked to the cabinet to get a mug, stalked to the beverage dispenser for a cup of "coffee, strong," and took a sip before he even noticed she was there.

When he did, he raised his mug and gave her a grim smile.  She raised her cocoa mug back at him and gave him the same grim smile back. 

She wasn't sure why, but when it came to leisure time there seemed to be an invisible line drawn between Starfleet and MACOs.  So she certainly wasn't expecting him to walk over.  But he did. 

"Corporal Cole," he said, gesturing at an empty chair.  "May I?"

"Knock yourself out."

"I don't believe I've ever seen you alone in here.  You MACOs always seem to eat together."

"Oh, you know how it is, sir.  We don't want to mix with the riff-raff."

He snorted.  "So, what are you doing here all by your lonesome now?"

She shrugged.  "I couldn't sleep."

"I know that feeling.  Phlox has some excellent hypo-sprays for it."

"So I've heard.  Apparently our science officer can offer relief as well."

Tucker scowled.  "Yes, she can definitely help, too.  I see that even if you avoid mixing with the riff-raff, you still hear all the same rumors."

"Yes, sir, I believe we do," she said with a smile. 

"It's called Vulcan neuro-pressure, actually.  It's ... I dunno ... I guess the closest Human equivalent would be acupressure or therapeutic massage, or something like that.  It really does do wonders."

"I'm sure it does."

He looked irritated.  "I'm serious, Corporal."

"Of course you are, sir.  Perhaps you could show me sometime."

His face flushed charmingly pink.  "I've only been doing it a couple of months.  I'm not sure how good I'd be at it.  I could ask her if maybe she could ..."

"Sir, there's really no need for that," Amanda said quickly.  "I don't get insomnia that often."

"She doesn't bite, you know."

"No?" She raised her eyebrows suggestively.

He smirked, thankfully at least partially amused by her insinuation.  "You're very bad, Corporal.  All I can say is that the rumors you've been hearing must be vastly overstating the matter.  T'Pol and I are just close colleagues and ... friends." 

Did he have the slightest idea how sad he'd looked as he said that?

She sat up straighter, all her senses suddenly engaged.  Commander Tucker was enamored of their first officer.  That was widely rumored, and here was the evidence right in front of her. 

But T'Pol was Vulcan.  So she wouldn't be interested or perhaps even capable of responding to him.

Which meant that their lovely chief engineer must be quite sad, and frustrated, and lonely. 

Just like Amanda.

"I heard another rumor, Commander ... that you're from Florida.  So am I."

His face lit up with interest.  "Really?  Where?"