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ihatecoconut · 13 days ago

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Second - Chapter 10

S02 E26 - The Expanse (Part 2)

The quarters that the MACOs are shown to are… sparse. It’s clear that they’ve been shoved into a hastily converted storage room that’s had extra walls and shower rooms added.

There’s also two people to each room, which they hadn’t been expecting, and maybe they should have; after all, it’s not a big ship, and they’re already sharing space with the original crew. But they’re professionals. Sharing rooms isn’t a big deal, and they’ve already begun to sort themselves out when their escort turns to Hayes and tells him he has his own room.

He nods at McKenzie, ignores the tightening in his chest that warns of danger, and allows himself to be led away, down several corridors that all look the same.

His room also appears to be repurposed: faint bunk outlines on the wall, twin towel hooks in the shower that no longer match its single occupant. Hayes sets down his meager belongings and decides that meeting Reed is the necessary next step.

After all, this isn’t a routine assignment.

He knows the basics; knows what everyone knows, the attack on Earth, the unimaginable number of casualties, but he also knows about the crew. The security team. Knows that Enterprise lost a man just days before the news came through. That they’ve been reassigned without rest, without downtime, to go after a threat that still doesn’t have a name. He knows, too, that they’ll be joining a crew that’s been through hell and come out the other side bloodied, grieving, and probably unwilling to open themselves up again.

He’s read the mission brief. Read the personnel files. Read Reed’s file twice.

And still: nothing quite prepares him for that first meeting.

The armoury – once he eventually finds it – has weaponry and other things strewn across the floor in something that might be organised. He counts twenty of the twenty one personnel.

There’s a blonde woman at the center, her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail that bounces every time she moves her head, and the others seem to orbit her.

“I just don’t think we’ve got this much storage space.” She’s saying, stressed, when Hayes cautiously steps in through the door. “I don’t…”

She tenses, spins, and the rest of them follow her gaze until Hayes is pinned under their collective stare. He doesn’t flinch.

“I’m looking for Lieutenant Reed.”

The blonde woman – she’s more of a girl, really, now that he’s looking at her face, impossibly young – frowns. “Who are you?”

“Hayes. Major Hayes. Of the MACOs.”

The confusion on her face doesn’t clear, and a few of the others step in to flank her.

“What do you want with Reed?” one of the men asks. There's something possessive in his tone. Protective.

Hayes doesn’t allow his thoughts to show themselves on his face, but they shoot through his mind like bullets. The security team are not expecting him, as he had been anticipating they would.

“To introduce myself, since we will be working together.”

There’s murmuring from the back of the group. More confusion.

“Working together.”

Clearly, despite her age, the blonde woman is in charge.

“Yes. We’ve been assigned to the Enterprise to assist with security on this mission.”

“We don’t need assistance.” Someone objects.

The woman waves her hand in their direction and they fall silent again. “We weren’t told anything about that.”

Hayes doesn’t have a response. “Can I speak with Reed?”

The blonde woman, still tense, still frowning, glances to someone at her side. A redhead, taller, arms crossed, silent but watchful.

“Zhao, find the Lieutenant,” she says.

Zhao nods once and disappears through a side door, moving fast.

Hayes doesn’t move. He knows better than to push.

He waits.

The silence stretches. The security officers don’t disperse. They don’t return to their tasks. They stand there, openly watching him: not like a stranger, not even like a threat. Like something other . Something they don’t want.

Someone behind him coughs. Another shifts their weight. The atmosphere tightens.

Eventually, Zhao returns with, behind her, Malcolm Reed.

He looks… different from his file.

Tired, for one. Pale, drawn, like the bones underneath are sharper than they used to be. But his presence? That hasn’t changed. He walks in and the room realigns around him without a word. The others peel back, subtly, instinctively, leaving him space.

Hayes straightens. “Lieutenant.”

“Major Hayes,” Reed says. His voice is level. Carefully so. “You’ve arrived early.”

Hayes nods once, evenly. “I figured it was better to get eyes on the space before we deploy.”

Reed’s gaze flicks over him; not hostile, exactly, but assessing. Controlled. Tired in a way that feels dangerous.

“This isn’t a standard ship tour, Major.”

He can feel the gazes of the rest of the security team resting on him, and he somehow knows that however Reed decides to react will set the tone for how the rest of them treat him and his team.

“I’m not here for the scenery,” Hayes replies. “Just wanted to introduce myself. My people have been assigned to assist with ship security for the duration of the mission.”

That gets a reaction.

Small, but sharp. A flicker behind Reed’s eyes, a barely visible shift in his jaw. The rest of the team doesn’t move, but Hayes can feel them listening harder now. Like a wolf pack that’s caught a scent.

“I’m aware.” He replies tightly. “I’ve just come from that briefing with Captain Archer.”

Just? Hayes thinks, but remains silent, allows Reed’s gaze to settle on him, heavily.

He still doesn’t look at the rest of them, but Hayes can see him feeling them. Calculating how much weight this will put on them. How much they’ve already taken.

“They’re staying?” One of the security team asks, eventually.

Reed turns to them. “Yes. Archer wants backup for this mission. They’re here to provide it.”

It’s only then that he seems to notice the mess on the floor.

“Rogers, what is this?”

The blonde woman shrugs. “It’s everything from our storage space. Apparently it’s being used for something else, I haven’t had a chance to go down and check.”

“On G-deck?” Hayes asks.

The attention of the room turns back to him as Rogers slowly nods.

“I think that space may be being used as the MACOs quarters now.”

As if they weren’t already unhappy enough with his presence. Rogers’ mouth pinches together at his words.

“I see.”

They’re annoyed. Hayes keeps his tone neutral. Diplomatic.

“Lieutenant, I would appreciate a chance to discuss the integration of the teams.”

Reed’s mouth twists slightly, but he shrugs, gestures to a door towards the back of the room that Hayes hadn’t seen. “Then by all means, please step into my office.”

Ignoring the weight of twenty gazes, Hayes does.

It’s a small room. Just a desk and a chair, with enough space for maybe two people to stand. He falls into parade rest and waits.

Finally, Reed speaks.

“This mission is not routine. I assume your briefing made that clear.”

“It did.”

“And did it make clear that we do not need your help?”

They stand there, silent. Hayes doesn’t blink.

“I know what it looks like,” he says eventually. “Outside unit. Fresh faces. Reinforcements. But I’m not here to replace you, Lieutenant. Or your team. I’m here because whatever’s out there is big enough that Starfleet thinks you’ll need help.”

Reed looks at him for a long moment.

Then: “Help is one thing. Taking over is another.”

“I don’t take what isn’t mine.”

Reed’s head tilts slightly. “We’ll see.”

He’s an odd man, Hayes decides. Deeply caring and yet also toeing the line of apathy.

“I’ll arrange a joint briefing,” Reed continues finally. “You’ll meet the senior staff tomorrow. After that, we’ll figure out how to keep your people out of my way without putting anyone at risk.”

Hayes nods. “Understood.”

“Good.” Reed turns again, already walking. “And Major?”

“Yes?”

“If your team causes trouble, I will send them back to Earth. With or without your permission.”

Hayes doesn’t rise to it. Just inclines his head. “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

“Good.” There’s another pause. “You’ll need to liaise with Ensign Rogers.” Reed tells him.

Rogers. “The blonde?”

Reed looks up, clearly unimpressed with his description. “Yes. She’s my second, she runs the team while I’m on the bridge.”

Which explains the way she’d been the center of the room when he’d first walked in, but doesn’t explain why she looks so young. Reed watches him run that through his head, a hint of threat in his posture as he waits for Hayes’ reaction.

“Noted. I’ll pass on our personnel files to her.”

“Good. Send her in on your way out.”

It’s a dismissal if Hayes had ever heard one. He leaves the room.

Rogers isn’t hard to find, already hovering outside the office, as though she knows he’ll want to speak to her next. She doesn’t acknowledge Hayes when he passes.

So that’s Reed.

He lets out a slow breath, adjusts his cuffs, and heads back toward the converted quarters. His team will want answers.

“Hey.”

Rogers’ voice is quiet as she slips into the room, closing the door behind her with a soft hiss.

Malcolm doesn’t look up right away. Just lets out a breath and stares at the middle distance. “Hi.”

She crosses to his desk, perches on the edge. Their knees bump. He still doesn’t move.

“What’s the verdict?” she asks, after a moment.

He exhales slowly. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I don’t know what to make of them yet,” he clarifies. “They’re MACOs. They’re efficient. And they’re here.”

“Why?”

“Archer requested it.”

She blinks. Frowns slightly. “Seriously?”

He nods, rubs a hand over his face. “Yeah. Just came from his office. He thinks we need the support.”

Rogers’ jaw tightens. “We don’t.”

“No. We don’t,” he agrees, and this time, his voice is firmer. Bitter, even. “But I didn’t say that, did I? I nodded. I said understood, sir .” He scoffs. “You know, when he first told me about the mission, he said ‘You’re the only option I trust.’ Us. Me.”

Rogers glances back at the door, as if she’ll still be able to see Hayes’ retreating figure.

“What happened to that?”

Malcolm finally looks at her. There’s something cracked in the look. Not broken, but worn thin.

“He’s sending over their personnel files,” he says. “I need you to review them. Figure out how they fit.”

“They won’t,” Rogers replies immediately. Then, a beat later, “But I’ll read them.”

He nods, grateful in the way only someone deeply tired can be.

“We still have the advantage,” she says. “We know the ship. We’ve lived this mission longer than anyone else. We know what it takes.”

“They’ll learn,” Malcolm says quietly. Not with malice. Just resignation.

Rogers tilts her head. “And in the meantime?”

He looks past her, to the door she came through. Beyond that, to the corridors, the crew, the pressure still climbing behind his eyes.

“In the meantime,” he says, “we make sure no one gets killed because they’re trying to prove something.”

Rogers doesn’t answer right away. She just nods, slow and deliberate, like she’s filing the sentence away somewhere it’ll echo when she needs it. She’s always been good at learning from orders she’s not sure she agrees with.

“Understood.”

When Hayes gets back to the MACO quarters, they’ve already started making themselves at home in the sparse, utilitarian kind of way soldiers do. Bags stowed, boots lined up. There’s a workout circuit half-formed in one corner.

McKenzie looks up from where she’s organizing the weapons lockers. “That didn’t take long.”

“It was long enough,” Hayes replies, deadpan.

A couple of the others glance over. No one speaks right away, but it’s clear they’ve all been waiting. Watching the clock. Wondering how it went.

“Report?” McKenzie asks, like she already knows what kind of welcome he got.

Hayes doesn’t sit. “Security team wasn’t briefed about our arrival.”

“Seriously?” That’s Ramirez, incredulous. “Starfleet just tossed us in with no warning?”

He shrugs. “Look, from what I’ve seen, the team’s tight-knit. Insular. We’re not going to get a warm welcome.”

“We’re not here for a warm welcome,” McKenzie mutters. “We’re here for the job.”

Hayes nods. “Lieutenant Reed knows that. Barely.”

That gets a few quiet chuckles. Tension bleeds off, just a little.

“Tomorrow we’re sitting down with the senior officers,” he continues. “Until then, keep to the schedule. Stay out of their way. No challenges, no showing off. This is not a proving ground. Not yet.”

He looks around the room. They meet his gaze, one by one.

“Understood?”

A chorus of muted affirmatives. Nothing enthusiastic. But solid.

Still, as Hayes moves to his locker, he catches the glances passed between a few of them; the familiar flickers of anticipation, challenge, pride.

They’re professionals. But they’re MACOs, too. Trained to push. To prove. To hold the line even when no one wants them there.

This ship doesn’t trust them yet. That much is clear.

The question is, how long will it take before it does?

There isn’t even a briefing room for them to use – and Hayes knew it was never a military ship, but that just seems insane. Instead, they’re told to gather in the armoury.

It’s the security team’s territory, and all of them know it.

The room is large enough for drills, maintenance, and light training, but not for this. Not for two full squads of armed personnel standing shoulder to shoulder, refusing to look at each other.

Hayes arrives with his MACOs in silent formation. They take the right-hand side of the room, automatically lining up against the wall like it’s a parade ground.

The security team is already there. Twenty of them, give or take. Some are standing. Some are seated on crates or benches. None of them move. They don’t introduce themselves. They don’t offer greetings. They just watch. Warily.

Hayes doesn't know their names yet. Just Reed – who isn’t yet present – and Rogers who he’d been sort-of introduced to the day before.

She’s standing at the front of their group, arms crossed, jaw tight. Her expression is a carefully constructed mask, but her stance screams protector. Challenge. A wall he’s not meant to cross.

Beside her stands a tall redhead; silent, sharp-eyed. A few paces behind them, a broad-shouldered man in a torn undershirt leans back against the lockers, chewing something with slow, deliberate disinterest.

A no-man’s land stretches between the two groups: an unspoken barrier across the middle of the room. Not a single person steps into it.

The air is thick. Tense. Recycled too many times, stale with friction before a single word is spoken.

McKenzie coughs. The attention of the room shifts to her.

“Hi.”

She’s greeted with silence. Rogers narrows her eyes slightly, as if she’s trying to work out what McKenzie means by that.

“Or not.” She mumbles, loud in the silent room.

Reed choses that moment to enter. The shift is immediate. The security team straightens. The MACOs clock the change too, subtly adjusting posture, even if they’re not sure why.

Hayes nods at him, doesn’t offer a smile.

“This is Lieutenant Reed,” He says, by way of introduction, even though it’s obvious. “Ship’s Tactical Officer. Head of security.”

No one replies. A few MACOs incline their heads. The security officers do not.

Reed doesn’t greet them. He doesn’t bother with introductions either. “You all know why we’re here.”

The security team all nod. Apparently they are capable of reactions.

“We’ve been ordered into a hostile theatre,” he continues. “The threat is unknown. The danger is not. Starfleet Command has assigned the MACO unit to assist with this mission.”

Someone in the security team mutters something too low to catch. A ripple of suppressed reactions rolls through their half of the room.

Hayes breathes in deeply through his nose, lets the silence hang for a moment before he steps forward. Reed doesn’t exactly give him the go-ahead to speak, but he doesn’t stop him either.

“I expect coordination. Professionalism. We will be sharing resources, sharing responsibilities.”

“Do you think we’re incapable of that?” Rogers asks.

Something in that half of the room shifts, as though they’re all prepared to defend her.

“No. I’m simply stating expectations.”

“We answer to the Lieutenant.” One of them says, a hint of something defensive in his voice.

Hayes had skimmed all their files, but hadn’t been provided with photos to attach names to faces.

The unspoken words are obvious: not to you.

He looks to Reed, expects some sort of backup, but the man just stares him down, coolly.

Hayes keeps his tone even. “Understood. I’m not here to overstep.”

“Then don’t,” Rogers replies.

There’s something he can’t quite place in her voice. Something that seems to compliment the way the entire team are only-just angled towards Reed, regardless of who is speaking.

For a moment, no one moves. Reed still hasn’t said a word since his opening statement, and Hayes realises, abruptly, that he’s the one being evaluated here. Not his unit. Not the mission parameters. Him. And not by the MACOs, but by the twenty officers across the room who don’t blink, don’t speak, don’t break rank, not in formation, but more unified than any squad Hayes has ever commanded.

“I’ll be liaising directly with Lieutenant Reed,” Hayes says, voice steady. “And Ensign Rogers, as second.”

He pauses to gesture to the woman in question, for the benefit of his own team, sees a few of them tilt their heads, appraising. They might be being judged, but they can judge right back. It’s a vindictive thought. Not necessarily conducive to the situation and he scolds himself quietly.

His statement at least gets a nod of acknowledgment from the redhead beside her: Zhao, maybe. Rogers had named her as the one sent to retrieve Reed the day before.

“We’ll conduct joint drills starting tomorrow,” Reed says finally, his voice dry. “Gear alignment. Combat protocols. Boarding procedures. If you’re not on rotation, you’re expected to be present.”

“We run our own formations,” someone from the MACO side puts in – Ramirez, Hayes thinks with a sigh.

“Then run them elsewhere,” Rogers snaps, quick as a whip.

A low murmur runs through the security team, fast and flickering. The MACOs stiffen, almost imperceptibly. It doesn’t matter how professional they are – they weren’t expecting this. Not hostility, exactly, but this defensiveness . This closed circuit. A team that functions like a single creature, curled around a fresh wound.

Hayes lifts a hand slightly, a silent gesture for Ramirez to stand down.

Reed still doesn’t react to the undercurrent. He simply tilts his head, gaze flicking over the MACO squad.

“Any questions?” he asks.

None are voiced.

“Good. Ensign Rogers will provide a schedule for integration. And Major Hayes…” He glances back at Hayes, expression unreadable. “You’ll forward a list of your personnel’s qualifications before tomorrow. Tactical preferences. Deployment records. Anything I haven’t already been given.”

Hayes nods once. “Of course.”

Reed looks at neither group. “Dismissed.”

The word isn’t shouted. It’s barely louder than conversation level. And yet, both halves of the room move at once.

The security team breaks formation like smoke, moving in a coordinated drift, dispersing into pairs and clusters, heading toward lockers, gear racks, or the exits. The MACOs remain more contained. More traditional. Hayes sees a few of his people trading looks with the security officers, sizing them up, exchanging silent evaluations that are equal parts interest and challenge.

Rogers doesn’t leave. She waits. Watching Hayes. As if daring him to follow her out.

He doesn’t.

Reed turns on his heel and leaves without another word. The doors hiss shut behind him.

“Okay,” McKenzie says under her breath as they return to the MACO corridor. “So we’re not friends.”

Hayes just exhales slowly and begins mentally rewriting the next three days’ worth of drills.

“It’ll pass.” He tells them, without conviction. “They’ll get used to us.”

There’s a week and a half of slowly decreasing tension that seems to support Hayes’ belief.

And then they’re told to get ready for an away mission.

Reed drops by without fanfare, gives the basic details to Rogers, and leaves again. Hayes grits his teeth against the slight, but doesn’t say anything. Just moves over to watch her survey her team.

“All right,” she says. “Four of us. Two of them. The Captain and Ensign Sato.”

A round of nods in response. No one questions the distribution. No one asks why it’s still mostly them.

“Patel. Hunter. Zabel. Castillo.”

The four nod, already moving to prepare. Weapons and kit come out of lockers with practiced ease. For all their faults – and Hayes still isn’t sure what those are – the security team is well-organized. Efficient. Tight.

Rogers turns to him. “Terrain’s rocky. They’re beaming down instead of using the shuttle, so hiking will probably be required.”

“Okay.”

She speaks quickly, like her brain is moving faster than her mouth can keep up. Her eyes flick, calculating.

“From the files you sent, I think you and Walker would be the best fit.”

“Sure.” It catches him off guard – not the choice, but the speed with which she’d processed the files, memorized the logistics, parsed the terrain.

He glances over. “Walker! You and me. We’re with the security team.”

There are quiet murmurs of approval from the MACOs – back slaps, a bit of half-contained pride. Hayes hears someone mutter something about boots on alien soil. Walker grins. First MACOs on the surface. A milestone.

When he glances back at Rogers, her mouth is tilted slightly up. Not a smile, exactly, but close enough to count.

The moment doesn’t last.

The atmosphere shifts the instant the door hisses open again.

Reed enters like a thunderhead: not fast, not loud, but so charged that the air itself tightens.

Rogers is at his side in an instant. Hayes notices the way she positions herself, like muscle memory. But Reed doesn’t look at her. And even in the short time Hayes has known them, that feels wrong.

The security team freezes. Patel pauses with a phaser half-holstered. Hunter’s still tugging at his boot strap.

Reed doesn’t waste time.

“There’s been a change.”

His voice is too measured. Too flat.

“The Captain has decided the away mission will consist solely of MACO personnel.”

Silence. Heavy. Hayes feels it drag the oxygen out of the room.

Behind him, one of the security officers lets out a low, disbelieving breath. Patel swears under his breath.

“Wha–” Rogers flounders, just for a moment. Then she catches herself. “With respect, sir, that’s–”

“Not my decision,” Reed cuts her off. “But it’s final.”

“They don’t know the terrain protocols.” Her voice rises slightly, not defiant, but hurt. “They haven’t trained with our away teams. They don’t know the shuttle fail-safes. Or the relay patterns. Or the atmospheric sync procedures–”

“Then teach them,” Reed snaps. “Or are you disagreeing with the Captain’s orders?”

The room flinches.

It’s not yelling. But it cuts. The kind of anger that's carved into stone by everything it’s holding back.

Hayes watches the tension ripple through the team. Watches Patel glance at the phase pistol in his hand, then shove it back into its locker with deliberate force.

“They have no practical training,” Rogers says again, quieter now. Still standing her ground, even as her voice dips.

Reed glances at her. Just a glance. But it’s enough to show the weight of what he’s swallowing back. His jaw works once, tight. Then he looks away.

“I want you prepped and ready within the hour,” he says. Flat. Cold. “Dismissed.”

And then he’s gone.

Just like that.

The door hisses shut behind him, sealing in the silence.

No one speaks for a long moment.

Then Castillo, low: “Well. That’s new.”

The team gravitates to Rogers like they always do — like she might still be able to change it.

“Emma, this is ridiculous,” one of them mutters, low, like Hayes isn’t meant to hear it.

Rogers doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. She looks somewhere past the lockers. Her jaw is tight. Her eyes are unreadable.

“Those are the Captain’s orders,” McKenzie offers, from Hayes’ side. “We can’t argue with those.”

The glare she receives from half the security team could melt metal.

Hayes doesn’t interrupt. Just watches.

Watches the weight settle across them all like a shroud. Watches the way their eyes flick to the gear they’ve just been told not to carry. At the MACOs, lined up too straight. Too clean. At the mission that’s no longer theirs.

It’s not mutiny. Not even open defiance. It’s something quieter. Older. Something sacred being cracked.

Because they were the ones trusted to go. The ones who bled first. The ones who knew how to get the Captain home.

Now, apparently, they’re not even good enough to go.

“Well,” Hawkins says, eventually, dry and brittle, “guess he just wants the best at his back.”

Silence.

Rogers doesn’t look at him. Her expression is tight with something not quite grief. Not quite anger. Something bitter.

Her mouth twists. Not a smile.

“I’m only going to tell you the protocols once,” she says. “So you better be the best at remembering.”

She walks away before anyone can respond.

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ihatecoconut · 14 days ago