Missing Scenes from Season Four: Cold Station 12

DISCLAIMER: All things Star Trek belong to CBS/Paramount. "Cold Station 12" was written by Alan Brennert.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: I'm on break this week, so I get to do more writing. (Not that this is what I OUGHT to be doing, but this is much more fun than grocery shopping.)

Some review responses: For anyone who feels Trip isn't suffering enough, I highly recommend you go seek solace in my Commander Tucker series – it's a true angst-fest. Or, you could just wait. There's no way Season 4 can be easy on this Trip, either.

To address another concern that was raised, none of this means I'm going to accept TATV as canon. TATV concerns a vapid holodeck novel/training exercise written hundreds of years after the fact. I'll accept it as a set of missing scenes for a forgettable The Next Generation episode. I'll even accept it as an honest attempt to creatively unite the two series in a nostalgic farewell to the franchise. Unfortunately, the end result is strangely petulant, even insulting, and like most of you I simply won't accept it as Enterprise canon. Frankly, I'm not even sure we are meant to. If you ask me, the whole thing is constructed like a great big giant reset button that's just sitting there, waiting to be pushed.

Having said all that, I hope anyone who raised these concerns feels reassured rather than abashed, because I very much appreciate ALL comments.

Mess Hall was buzzing, the happy drone punctuated by the occasional shriek or hug. The crew was still catching up with each other after their long leaves. Hoshi already knew who was back and who had left – a few of the MACOs, including Amanda Cole, and Anna Hess, who had decided to get married and stay planet-side – but she was eager to see how their returning crew mates looked. There were some new engagement rings or wedding rings being shown around, she noticed, and some happy, relaxed faces that suggested the break had allowed for some real recovery from the trauma of the Expanse.

There were quite a few new faces, too, all marked by various combinations of excitement and uncertainty. The new people were still figuring out how to get lunch, let alone how to master their assignments.

Then there were the returning faces that made her wonder. Ensign Masaro, for example, was taking some pains to avoid direct eye contact … not that he'd ever been the warmest guy in the room. She was surprised that he'd signed on again. She filed a note away to keep an eye on him.

She saw their new passenger Udar walk in, escorted by a MACO corporal, on his way to the captain's mess. Not long after, their chief engineer entered, took a quick assessing look around, and grabbed a sandwich and a cup of coffee. When she caught his eye, he smiled and came over to sit. "So how are you?" he asked.

"Great," she said. "No more bugs in my head."

"Glad to hear it."

"So what's with the hair?" she asked. Trip's usual combination of ash blond and brown had turned a rather startling yellow.

He rolled his eyes. "I made the mistake of letting Grandma give me a home-do."

She chuckled. "My mom tried to talk me into a new style, but I kept putting it off, and then getting called back early saved me. Everyone at home all right?"

"Yeah, they're fine," he said, and smiled, but it was a polite smile instead of a genuine one. "And your family?"

All was not well with Commander Tucker; that much was obvious, though he looked better than he had when his sister died. Hoshi desperately wanted to ask him about his trip to Vulcan, but Malcolm had already warned her that it was a sore subject.

She was considering whether to ignore Malcolm's advice when she saw Trip glance up and stiffen. T'Pol had entered the room. Trip put his head down and began to eat in double-time.

Hoshi saw no reason to put her head down herself, and smiled a greeting at T'Pol, who loaded her tray and made her way to their table.

"Aren't you eating with the cap'n?" Trip said.

"He wanted a private meal with our passenger," T'Pol said. "Am I interrupting?"

"Of course not," Hoshi said, and gestured for her to sit. "I believe congratulations are in order, Commander."

"Thank you," she said. "It is agreeable to have an official rank to go along with my responsibilities."

"Yes, congratulations on that, too, but I was actually referring to your wedding."

T'Pol glanced at Tucker, who didn't look up. "Thank you, but that is merely a marriage of convenience undertaken to help my mother. I am hopeful that it will not last long."

"Oh," Hoshi said, a little stunned.

Tucker, still not looking up, said, "You know, I really don't see how it's going to help your mother if you go around letting everybody and his brother know that."

"My mother has already resumed her post at the Vulcan Science Academy."

Tucker finally looked up. "And she could lose it again. If you're going to marry someone you don't love to help your mother, you might as well try to make sure the sacrifice was worth it."

T'Pol flushed, but she didn't say anything.

Well, this is definitely awkward, Hoshi thought. Perhaps it served her right for ignoring Malcolm.

Tucker added, "I have to assume it would also embarrass the hell out of your husband if talk like that got back to Vulcan."

T'Pol regarded him coolly. "Koss is well aware of the nature of our arrangement."

Tucker shook his head and turned to Hoshi. "Do you see what too much logic can do to people?"

"Commander?" she squeaked.

He seemed to suddenly realize what he'd just said. "Sorry. I didn't mean any offense, T'Pol."

Like hell you didn't, Hoshi thought.

T'Pol regarded Tucker for a long moment … long enough that he frowned and looked back down at his plate. "Your … concerns are understandable, Commander," she said softly. "But perhaps we should confine our conversation to other matters. How was your leave, Ensign?"

Hoshi had gotten halfway through her answer – which she had made longer than usual out of a desperate hope to avoid any more unpleasantness – when Trip suddenly stood up. "Excuse me, ladies, but duty calls."

Both of them fell silent while they watched him stalk across the room to deposit his dishes – he still hadn't eaten all his lunch, Hoshi noticed – and leave without a backwards glance.

T'Pol bowed her head.

Hoshi said, "I'm sorry, Commander. I guess I shouldn't have brought up your wedding."

"There is no need to apologize. Commander Tucker is probably correct that more discretion from me in this matter might be beneficial."

"Well, you don't have to worry about me," Hoshi said, though it was going to be damnably annoying not to be able to talk to Malcolm about it. But then again, Malcolm could probably be trusted to keep it quiet. "I am the soul of discretion."

T'Pol's eyebrow rose – she was probably trying to parse all the colloquialisms. "Thank you."

Hoshi said, "I'm wondering about something else, actually. How did you manage to communicate with the Orions on the station without your translator?" This was at least a work-related question, and presumably a safe one.

T'Pol frowned. "I believe it was more a question of how they communicated with me." But she went on to theorize about their translation abilities, especially given the enormous variety of languages present, and the rest of the meal passed in comfortable conversation.

Indeed, it struck Hoshi eventually that she and T'Pol had never spent this much time over a meal before. Could it be that their Vulcan first officer was lonely?

As she walked back to the bridge, she reflected on that, and on Trip's uncharacteristic rudeness. Clearly, that notorious visit to Vulcan hadn't done much for the relationship between their chief engineer and their first officer - which wasn't too surprising, given that she'd come back married to someone else, however unwillingly.

Hoshi shook her head slightly, and resumed her post. If the second and third officer couldn't even manage a civilized lunch together, how were they supposed to work together on this mission?

Of course, there had been long stretches in the past when they would be fairly obviously on the outs with each other and yet manage to perform their duties.

That must take extraordinary discipline.

Or, perhaps, an extraordinary attachment.

But would it survive this?