#security team

Archer frowns slightly, as if he wasn’t expecting anyone to ask that, which would be laughable if Hayes was the sort of man who laughed. The security team are loyal to Reed first and the Captain second, as much as both Reed and Rogers would disagree with that. 

“He is refusing to follow orders and actively going against the safety of this mission.”

The statement is greeted by a stunned silence. The security team are looking at each other, exchanging glances which clearly suggest that they don’t really believe that.

Rogers doesn’t stammer, but only because that impulse was probably trained out of her. “He… disobeyed direct orders?”

“Are you questioning my reasoning, Ensign?” 

Some of the fleeters have said that the Captain used to be a calm, chilled out man who hadn’t really cared about the regulations and often let insubordination slide, but Hayes has never seen him as anything other than this hard, harsh man and struggles to imagine that. 

“No, sir.” Rogers replies, quite quickly. “That’s just,” she pauses, “out of character for Lieutenant Reed.”

Archer relaxes slightly, smiles a little sympathetically. “I know. I was surprised too.” He glances around at the gathered group. “I am assigning oversight of the security team and the MACO contingent to Major Hayes.” 

The hands Rogers has linked behind her back both ball into fists, tight and tense, before she forces them to relax. “Yes, sir.” 

He nods. “I hope you understand Ensign, this is an important mission, and I can’t have people questioning me at every turn.”

Which, even Hayes has to admit, is a description of someone who is not Malcolm Reed. Reed has snapped at Rogers in the past for questioning the Captain’s order when the Captain isn’t even there, disagreeing to his face or questioning him at every turn are not things he can really envisage Reed doing. 

Rogers just nods, apparently not trusting herself to say anything and stays there, one tense line, as the Captain glances around the rest of the room, nods at Hayes and leaves. The room remains silent for, and he counts, a solid two minutes, until one of the Petty Officers steps up and puts a hand on Rogers’ arm. 

“Emma, what the hell? That’s not just out of character for him, that’s incredibly unlike him!” 

Rogers shakes him off. “Go back to your duties.”

The rest of the team gape at her, out of the corner of his eye Hayes can even see some of his team giving her a weird look. 

“What?”

She turns and levels the man with a glacial look. “Go back. To your duties.”

Most of the team slowly start to drift away, not without shooting glances back at her though, like they’re expecting her to change her mind. 

“There could be something wrong with him.” The same guy insists. 

“Foster.” She warns. 

He relents, holding his hands up. “Just, this is weird.”

“I will speak to Doctor Phlox.” 

Foster nods, sighing, and follows the rest of the team back to whatever he was doing. Most of the MACOs have also dispersed when Hayes glances back, just McKenzie and Kemper hovering; they need to discuss the new command structure if Hayes is now in charge of both teams, but the way that the tension remains in Rogers’ body makes him unwilling to start that with her. As if she can hear him thinking about her, she turns to him.

“I would like to speak to Phlox about the Lieutenant’s condition. Sir.” 

It hadn’t actually occurred to him that she would now need permission to leave the room, from what he’s seen, Reed doesn’t seem to enforce that in any way, generally only wanting to know where someone is going and insisting on them moving in pairs. 

“I’ll come with you, Ensign.” He replies, ignoring the automatic frown that crosses her face. “McKenzie, keep everyone on task while we’re gone.”

“Gotcha.” 

Rogers walks out without waiting for him to catch up and he has to jog slightly to walk next to her. 

Rogers walks quickly, clipped strides that force Hayes to lengthen his own. She doesn’t look back, doesn’t slow, just leads him down the corridor toward Sickbay like this is a task she’s already rehearsed in her head.

The doors slide open to a wash of soft light and antiseptic air. Sickbay is calm the hum of biobeds steady, orderly, oblivious to whatever fracture has opened elsewhere on the ship.

Phlox looks up from a console as they enter, his smile already forming.

“Ah! Ensign Rogers, Major Hayes—” He stops. The smile fades, replaced by something sharper and far more focused. “What can I do for you?”

Rogers stops just inside the threshold, hands clasped behind her back. Her voice, when she speaks, is steady to the point of strain. “Lieutenant Reed has been confined to his quarters.”

Phlox blinks.

It’s a small thing, but it’s enough to set Hayes’ nerves jangling.

“I see,” Phlox says slowly. “And may I ask the reason for this confinement?”

Hayes answers, because Rogers doesn’t. “He was deemed unfit for duty. For disobeying orders.”

Phlox’s brow furrows. “Unfit… how?”

There’s a beat of silence that stretches just a little too long.

“I have not examined Lieutenant Reed today,” Phlox continues, his tone now entirely professional. “Nor have I received any notification of medical concerns.” His eyes shift to Rogers. “Was he injured during the boarding?”

Hayes doesn’t think he was, but Rogers responds immediately. 

“Yes,” she says. “He was struck.”

Phlox straightens fully, already tapping commands into the console beside him. “Then I should very much like to see him. Even mild cranial trauma can cause impaired judgment, emotional volatility, confusion—”

“He hasn’t been cleared for visitors,” Hayes cuts in, hating how automatic the words feel.

Phlox’s hands still.

He looks at Hayes now, expression uncommonly grave, enough that Hayes feels a faint chill run down his spine.

“Major,” Phlox says gently, “confining an officer without medical evaluation following a head injury is… inadvisable.”

“I’ll inform the Captain,” Hayes replies, because that is what he knows how to do.

Phlox studies him for a moment longer, then inclines his head. “Please do. In the meantime, I will review Lieutenant Reed’s medical file and be prepared to examine him the moment I am permitted.”

He hesitates, then adds quietly, “For what it’s worth... this behaviour does not align with Lieutenant Reed’s psychological profile.”

They leave Sickbay in silence.

The corridor outside feels narrower, the lights harsher. Rogers’ posture is rigid now, spine straight as a blade, every movement precise. Too precise.

“I’d like to speak to Lieutenant Reed. Sir.” 

“Rogers,” he sighs, bringing the two of them to a stop, “you don’t need to do that.”

She blinks at him, suspicion still hiding behind her eyes. 

“You don’t need to ask me for permission to do things, alright? Especially not stuff you wouldn’t ask Reed.”

She doesn’t speak, but her shoulders relax slightly. 

“I trust you,” he continues. “I know the captain just put me in charge, but you’ve been running this longer than I’ve been here.”

He expects that to relax her further but she just looks away, won’t meet his eyes. 

“Alright.” She replies, quiet. “Thank you.”

He nods. “Just… keep me in the loop, OK?”

She doesn’t get a chance to respond; Archer’s voice comes over the comms, instructing him to report to the ready room. 

“You’d better go. Don’t need anyone else suspended.” 

Hayes thinks she’d intended that to be a joke, but it comes out flat. Unamused. 

Archer is standing at the window when he enters, hands clasped behind his back, and Hayes remains silent, waiting for the other man to speak. 

“There's nothing more important than the success of this mission. Do you agree, Major?”

It’s an unexpected opening. 

“Of course, sir.”

“My senior officers don't seem to understand what I'm trying to do here.” He finally turns away from the stars, to look at Hayes with sharp, searching eyes. “I guess I have myself to blame. In the past, I've encouraged them to ask questions, but we don't have time for that now. I need officers who respect the chain of command and can follow orders.”

It had been the one thing Hayes had noticed as soon as he’d come aboard – the Captain’s willingness to listen to his crew. He’s unlike any commanding officer Hayes had ever reported to before, and there’s something almost like relief that settles over him at Archer’s acknowledgement of the situation. 

“That won’t be a problem, sir.”

“I thought what happened with T'Pol might have been an isolated incident, but I'm not so sure now.” 

They’re both thinking of Reed – Hayes still doesn’t know what the order he questioned was. 

“Malcolm destroyed a ship that could have helped us.” The captain pauses for a moment, shaking his head, and then, to himself more than to Hayes, adds, “I'm starting to wonder if he deliberately tried to sabotage this mission.”

Hayes has nothing to say to that. It seems so unlike the Reed he’d slowly gotten to know, but… the evidence is there. 

Archer pauses, one hand on the panel to leave, and then turns back. “I have some concerns about Lieutenant Reed’s team.”

“The security team?”

“Yes.” He turns back around, looking at Hayes fully. “I want your opinion on the matter – if it came down to it, if they were forced to choose between following my orders and following his, what would they do?”

It’s a loaded question. It’s a question that could see the entire security team suspended from duty if he answers wrong, and as much as Hayes knows that they’d follow Reed without question, he doesn’t have enough people to defend the ship alone. 

“They respect the chain of command, sir. They’re soldiers at heart.”

Archer nods, slowly. “Good. Good. You're in command while I'm on the surface. You answer to me, and me alone. Is that understood, Major?” 

“Perfectly, sir.”

“That’ll be all.” 

He steps out onto the bridge, feeling Archer’s eyes on his back, and the remaining bridge crew’s on his front. It feels a lot like being pinned between two rock faces. 

He goes down to security before he takes over, explains the situation to Rogers, leaves command of security to her while he’s on the bridge. 

Rogers looks at him for a long moment. There’s nothing on her face to tell him how she’s feeling. 

“And, you’re going to do that?”

Hayes frowns, feels himself frown. “It was a direct order from the captain. Of course I’m going to do it.”

He can see her hesitating. 

“Ensign, if you can’t respect and obey the command structure, then…”

“Then what? You’ll confine me to quarters as well? Fully take over his job?”

He bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from screaming. “I do not want to take over Reed’s job. But if both of you are incapable…”

She raises an eyebrow. “We’re capable of finishing our sentences, at least.” And she turns on her heel and walks away without waiting for his response, leaving Hayes trying to form words in her wake. 

Hayes doesn’t spend much time on the bridge, all things considered. It’s not his job, and he’s honestly not interested in learning it. 

He doesn’t miss the way Ensigns Mayweather and Sato keep glancing at each other and then at him, movements a little too synchronized, like clockwork dolls. But they’re doing their jobs. They aren’t interfering. So he lets it slide.

The doors hiss open.

Security spills onto the bridge in a tight, disciplined line – and something cold settles in his gut.

Maybe he’d been wrong to reassure the Captain. Maybe he’d mistaken restraint for obedience.

Maybe he should have let them all be confined to quarters.

He stands, reaching for his weapon, but Reed is faster, and Reed was prepared. 

“Stand down!”

Behind him, Rogers meets his eye, momentarily, before she looks away again. He can’t decide if she’s sorry or not. 

“You intend to shoot me, Lieutenant?”

The MACOs on the bridge are uncertain, uncomfortable; they know Hayes is their commanding officer, but they’ve spent months now following Reed. 

Reed’s mouth pinches, unhappy. “Tell them to stand down.” It’s less of an order, more of a request – please don’t turn this into a firefight. 

“The Captain relieved you of duty.” Hayes says, because it’s the only thing he can hold onto. An order was given. “Both of you.” 

The Subcommander is unmoved. “We don't want anyone injured. Put down your weapons.”

Hayes exhales, careful and slow. “Until the Captain says otherwise, I give the orders on this Bridge.”

The security team haven’t moved out of formation – a formation that the MACOs taught them. Under any other circumstances he’d be proud, and maybe Reed can see that because he tilts his head slightly, a little, sardonic smile crossing his face. 

But Reed follows orders. If he can just get an order… 

“Contact the Captain.”

He’s not expecting to be overruled immediately. 

“Belay that.”

Surprise must show, briefly in his face, because both MACOs wince. 

“I gave you a direct order, Ensign.” He keeps his eyes on Reed and T’Pol, on the security team behind them, but turns his head just enough to see Hoshi take her hands off the console and settle them in her lap. 

“I'm sorry, Major.”

The Captain. He needs to get through to the Captain. If Archer can just explain himself, the chain of command will make sense again. He’s backing towards the comm. station before he’s fully aware of what he’s doing, keeping eye contact with Reed. 

Behind Reed, the security team readjust, focusing on Hayes himself as the main threat, even as Reed drops his phase pistol, letting it point at the floor instead. It’s a move that sends off red alerts in Hayes’ brain, but he’s still not prepared for the attack to come from behind. 

Mayweather. 

He’d taken his eyes off the other Ensign – classified him as non-combatant. The fact that it’s Mayweather’s body covering him when he hits the floor suggests that might have been a mistake as well; he’s made a lot of those today. 

Above them, he hears the sound of phase pistol fire, three bodies hitting the deck, and when he’s pulled to his feet, he sees both his MACOs on the floor. Mayweather had grabbed Hayes’ weapon as well, leaving him unarmed in a room full of armed people. 

“It’s over, Major.” 

When he turns, Reed has a pistol to his head; eyes and voice oddly soft for the situation. 

And then, to Mayweather. “Take him to his quarters.”

Hayes only briefly hears the response, only registers the order as Travis gently pokes his arm to get him to move. He’s too focused on Reed and the expression on his face; not anger. Not antipathy. 

“I am sorry about this.” Travis says, as they walk through the ship. “But it’s really the best move at this point.”

He doesn’t get a response.

It’s only after he’s been let into his own quarters and left alone that he identifies Reed’s look: understanding. And sympathy. 

*

Later, Hayes finds himself in Sickbay. He’s supposed to be here, he reminds himself, had been summoned by the Subcommander; but Tucker and Reed are already there, waiting by one of the biobeds, and he feels utterly surplus to requirement. 

The Captain isn’t there. 

“Where is he?” The words come out clipped, military, a demand more than a question, and he winces internally. 

Phlox seems distinctly unbothered by his tone. “In his quarters, resting.” 

He nods, glances up at the other three. Tucker gives him a smile that’s more of a grimace. 

“Do you recall when the Captain was attacked by one of the eggs?”

Thankful for the distraction, Hayes turns his attention back to the doctor. “It sprayed something in his face.” 

Phlox nods, “I thought it was a defence reflex,” he continues to speak, something about neurochemicals and imprinting, but Hayes finds his gaze focusing on Reed. 

Still, he’s paying enough attention to respond when Phlox finishes. 

“Are you saying he thought he was the mother of those things?” 

Phlox smiles faintly. “More accurately, a caretaker. The Captain did not perceive this consciously, of course. But over time he became obsessed with protecting the eggs – to the exclusion of everything else.”

“Including,” the subcommander adds, “our mission.” 

It probably isn’t intended as a reprimand, but Hayes feels it hit him in the chest – he’d followed those orders. He’d also put the mission at risk. 

He exhales carefully, feels the four sets of eyes watching him. Space is weird. Space is nothing like any combat environment he’s trained for. He’s starting to realise that the rules that kept him alive on Earth don’t necessarily apply out here – and worse, that rigidly clinging to them might be dangerous.

“I’d like to speak with him, if you don’t mind.” 

Phlox pauses to glance at the other three, but receiving no objections nods. “He’ll be awake in a few hours. He should be fully recovered by then.” 

He nods, unable to say anything else – except “yes ma’am” on autopilot when T’Pol instructs him to return his men to duty – and watches her leave with Tucker. Not for the first time, he absently notes how close they stand to each other. 

Movement by his elbow takes his attention. It’s Reed, standing at his side and looking up into his face instead of after the other two members of his crew. 

He doesn’t say anything, and the silence feels deliberate, pushing Hayes to speak first. It’s odd – he’d never noticed how hypnotising Reed’s eyes were before. 

“Not exactly the sort of thing they trained us for at West Point,” Hayes says at last.

“I imagine not.” There’s a hint of amusement in Reed’s tone. 

Still, the betrayal stings. “You could have come to me, explained the situation.”

That finally makes Reed look away. “We couldn't take the chance that you'd side with the Captain.”

“I probably would have.” 

The admission comes easy now. He thinks of Rogers, the way she’d looked at him – not disgust, not even confusion, and finally places the expression on her face: bitter understanding. 

“Yeah.”

They lapse into silence again and Hayes expects Reed to say something else, to make some sort of excuse and leave, but despite everything, Reed seems oddly willing to stay with him – the paranoid part of Hayes’ brain suggests that he’s going to try something, that he’s waiting for Hayes to let his guard down, but… what would be the point, now? If they were truly having a competition, Reed has won. 

“The armoury?” 

It’s an open invitation. “I should check on my men.”

“They’re in the armoury.”

Hayes can’t stop himself frowning – they’d been relieved of duty. 

Reed smiles, just slightly, at the expression on his face. “Emma is of the opinion that they should still be training.”

“The armoury then, sir.” 

“Look, we’re sorry we didn’t invite you to our mutiny!” It’s Romeo, he recognises the way her natural accent breaks through the Starfleet standard when she gets irritated. 

“It’s not about the mutiny!” One of the MACO snaps back. He can’t quite recognise them all by voice alone yet. 

“Really? ‘Cause it sure feels like it’s about the mutiny.”

For a moment he considers just turning around, walking away, and coming back later when it’s either blown over, or he’s been called because it turned into a brawl. 

Reed’s face suggests he’s having much the same thoughts, but he takes a breath in, walks through the door with an incredible level of confidence. With nothing else to do, Hayes follows him. 

Glancing around, Hayes sees Rogers against a back wall, watching, not doing anything. She meets his eyes briefly, before her gaze turns to focus on Reed. 

“Alright!” 

The room falls silent, even the MACOs responding to Reed’s yell. 

“It has not been an easy few days.”

A few murmurs cross the room at that. Hayes is struck with the unusual urge to laugh – that is an understatement if he ever heard one. 

“And we all made choices that we cannot take back.” 

It’s magnanimous of Reed to say that, when he had made what was unmistakably the correct choice. 

“It was my choice to keep the MACOs in the dark.” He pauses to glance at Hayes. “It was not an easy decision to make, but it was the one that I made.” 

They all watch him exhale slowly. 

“I can’t take that back,” he continues, “but I can admit that I underestimated what it would cost.”

“I won’t pretend that what we did was clean, or comfortable, or fair. But it was necessary. And I will stand by that.”

Silence stretches. Not tense now. Listening.

“That said,” Reed adds, and there’s something different in his tone — quieter, more human, “this ship doesn’t function if half the people on it feel shut out when things go bad.”

His gaze finally flicks to the MACOs, lingering there.

“You were excluded. That wasn’t about distrust. It was about time, fear, and the limits of my own judgment.”

He nods once, decisive.

“If we’re going to keep going — and we are going to keep going — then that can’t happen again.”

A pause.

“We don’t have to like each other. But we do have to trust that when someone acts, they’re doing it to keep this ship and its crew alive.”

His eyes meet Hayes’ at last.

“That includes knowing when to follow orders,” Reed says evenly, “and when to question them.”

Rogers shifts against the wall, arms unfolding.

“I’m not asking for forgiveness,” Reed finishes. “I’m asking for honesty, and for cooperation. From all of us.”

Another breath. Then, clipped and familiar: “Drills.”

Rogers and McKenzie react immediately, moving through the group, corralling them into pairs – even if their attempts at cross-group pairs are rejected – and Reed steps back to stand next to Hayes. 

“This isn’t going to be easy.” 

“I followed the rules,” Hayes says quietly. He can’t think of anything else to say.

“I know.” There’s a pause from his side, the sound of Reed sighing. “If I was in your position, I probably would have done the same. It wasn’t an easy situation.” 

He nods, slowly, watching the careful divide that has remerged between the two groups, as much as Rogers and McKenzie are trying to cross it. 

“Thank you, sir.”

Reed nods, once. “We’ll invite you to the next mutiny.”

Hayes feels his head snap around, fast enough to send a bolt of pain up his neck, the panic only subsiding when he sees the faint smile on Reed’s face. 

It’s a joke. Reed is joking with him. For a moment he just blinks at the other man, aware, in the deep recesses of his mind that he should say something back. 

“We’ll invite you if we start one as well.”