(Author's Notes: Written for Sickbay Month. Sorry it's a bit late. I couldn't write it at the time, but I had this idea and it wouldn't let me alone until I got rid of it. Spoilers: Harbinger, Countdown.)
Major Hayes, commander of the MACO forces assigned to the Starfleet vessel Enterprise for the duration of the Xindi conflict, was disappointed. This wasn't what he had thought death would be like. Not that he knew what to expect, exactly, but it certainly wasn't this unsettling sense of awareness he was experiencing.
It reminded him of a surveillance operation. He could see what people were doing and could hear their conversations, but they didn't know he was here. The weirdest part was that he wasn't seeing with his own eyes or hearing with his own ears. His body was over there on a sickbay biobed. He could see it, but he wasn't attached to it. Somehow, the essence of whatever he'd been in life had left his body and was floating in the vicinity of the ceiling, looking down at what he used to be.
He had heard the machine's flat-line tone. He'd seen the shocked look of disbelief on Lieutenant Reed's face as the alien doctor had begun disconnecting the life-support equipment. He was absolutely positive that he was dead, but he couldn't fathom why some part of him was still here.
There had been times when he had wondered what death would be like. He'd assumed that having such thoughts was only natural for someone in his profession. Death was part of the package of being a soldier. He'd usually tried not to dwell on it. He was of the opinion that, if it was his time to go, worrying about it wouldn't change matters. In fact, worrying about death was a distraction that could lead to making an error, possibly disastrous, during a mission. He was too disciplined to let that happen.
But there had been times, usually after difficult missions when he'd lost some of his men or he'd had a close call himself, that Hayes had found himself pondering what it would be like to die. Maybe it would be like turning off a light switch. If that was the case, death would be a nothingness made up of darkest black, he'd decided. Or maybe it would be a long tunnel with a bright light at the end. He'd heard stories of people experiencing something like that. But they'd never said what was at the end of that tunnel, for no one who had experienced the tunnel had gotten to the source of the light before they'd returned.
He'd always found the thought of a quick death oddly comforting. The last thing he had wanted was a protracted death full of pain and suffering. However, given his job, injury was a very real possibility. So was the horrifying chance of being so crippled that he would have to spend the rest of his life dependent on others. That would be a fate even worse than death. As far as he was concerned, quick and easy ranked right up there with dying in your sleep as the best way to go.
So this strange, painless state of semi-being confused him. He could see the ugly wound that had claimed his life. He'd been around enough battlefield casualties to know that there was no way he could have survived that. Even now, he could remember the sensation of the Xindi Reptilian's weapon boring through his chest just as the transporter beam had started disassembling his molecules. It had been the most agonizing pain he'd ever experienced. Then, suddenly, the pain had gone. He didn't know if it was because of the painkillers the doctor had pumped into him, or because he was already dead. All he knew was that as soon as he'd told Reed to work with McKenzie, his vantage point had shifted. He was no longer looking up at Reed standing stiffly next to his biobed, but looking down on a tableau of two warriors who had finally come to respect each other.
Yes, he really did respect Reed, but it had taken quite some time for him to be able to do that. The stiff-necked armory officer had been a pain in the butt from the moment Hayes had come on board. For some reason, Reed had taken an instant dislike to him. But then again, Hayes knew he hadn't done anything to help the situation. He'd tried to undermine the man's authority almost every time they'd disagreed on procedures or training protocols, which was about every single day. They each had their own ideas about how things should be done, and neither had been willing to give an inch. But the timing of their knock-down, drag-out fight couldn't have been better. Not only had it cleared the air between them, it had been broken off before they'd killed each other when Enterprise had been attacked. They'd had to work together to save the ship. The shared victory over a common enemy had played a big part in Hayes coming to respect the other man.
From his lofty position, Hayes watched Reed move over to the biobed where Ensign Sato lay. She was the reason he'd been killed, but he wasn't resentful. He couldn't be. His orders had been to bring her back from the Xindis. If that meant sacrificing his life, so be it. But he had also understood that her incredible talents with languages and encryptions were far too valuable to be wasted. In the larger scheme of things, he was expendable, and she wasn't.
For the first time since he had entered this strange not-really-existing state, Hayes felt a rush of emotion. He had died, yes, but his death had had meaning. It had been a hero's death. He ought to be proud, he knew, but that wasn't what he was feeling.
He finally identified the feeling as contentment. He didn't know why he should be feeling that way until he remembered the conversation he'd had with Reed before departing on the mission. The other man had indicated his desire to be part of it, and Hayes had reminded him that his place was on the bridge. He wouldn't have been surprised if Reed had blustered at him like he had before when they'd disagreed. Instead, Reed, obviously struggling with his pride, had told him that Sato was more than someone for whom he was responsible -- she was his friend. Hayes had immediately understood that Reed had entrusted him on a personal level with her safe return, and by doing so, the Starfleet officer had indicated his own trust in the MACO.
Hayes had, of course, promised to bring Sato home. Those had been his orders. He had been duty-bound to carry them out. He hadn't realized at the time that it was something more. Now, seeing the relief on Reed's face as he gazed at Sato, Hayes knew he'd been right when he'd told Reed that, despite their initial differences, they were all part of the same crew. What Reed hadn't said aloud, and what Hayes just now understood, was that they were even more than crewmates. They were as good as family.
He wondered if he'd been allowed this extra time in order to have to this revelation. At that thought, his awareness began to fade. The activities in sickbay were becoming harder to see, the perception of light dimming despite his desire to continue watching. It seemed unfair to have to leave now when he'd just figured all this out, but he didn't fight the pulling away. He could sense that whatever was telling him to leave outranked him, and that this order was not to be disobeyed.
A soldier followed orders, and Hayes was the type of soldier who followed orders until the very end. Perhaps even beyond that.