Fuck everything.

Fuck exercise, fuck training, and fuck getting up. And fuck this damn ship while he was at it.

He should be in the mess right now. He should be grabbing a light snack. After that, he should be running a PT session with his entire team.

But fuck it.

Hayes lay in bed trying to make himself get up, but he didn't think he'd ever wanted to do anything less in his life. He should be a responsible adult; he should be a good leader; he should be better leader, at the very least; he should have the God damn will power to get out of this fucking bed.

But he doesn't.

He doesn't, so he just lays there, not even bothering to turn off his alarm. He glances at his clock: oh six hundred. He should already be in the gym, and he can picture his team, standing around in there, waiting for him: joking around and waiting for him to tell them to get to it. Ten minutes go by: but by now they've probably realised he's not coming and Ed has taken over. He's not needed. He reaches a hand out, grabs his alarm clock – a bright green Lego brick – and weakly flings it across the room. He hears it clatter on the floor as it bounces. It doesn't stop blaring.

He thinks about his team again. They should have a better leader. They deserve better. Ed would do a phenomenal job; Malcolm would as well, now that he's gotten his head out of his ass and actually wants to work with them. They sure as fuck don't deserve him. Oh God, Malcolm. He'd barely spoken to him yesterday or the day before. The memory of the other night replayed in his head. Malcolm probably regretted it. Why wouldn't he, what the fuck had Hayes been thinking? Malcolm had never been with a man before, not to mention he had fucking PTSD from the shit his sister inflicted on him as kids; and Hayes thought he would be able to reassure him, and comfort him, and make it all better. Idiot. He pulls his blanket over his head and wriggles down into his bed, trying to force himself back to sleep. He hears his door open but doesn't look up. He can tell, even with his eyes closed and his head covered that they've switched on the light. His alarm stopped sounding. Whoever it is can fuck off.

"You planning on joining us, Jackson?"

Hayes whips the blankets off his face. Captain Archer was standing in the middle of his quarters, Hayes's alarm clock in his hand. "Sir," he says stupidly. "I, ugh, I don't feel too great, to be honest. Sir." His words are awkward and clumsy. You know who wouldn't be clumsy? Malcolm. That man could talk is way into or out of anything. Hayes stays in bed, awkwardly making eye contact with his blank faced Captain. Like hell is he getting out of bed wearing only his shorts in front him.

"And you didn't feel like telling us?" Archer asked rhetorically. He was wearing his workout clothes, but he didn't seem out of breath. A couple of days into the mission to find the Xindi they'd encountered a problem – the capacity of the gym, combined with the MACOs PT schedule. Hayes could still remember the look of surprise on Malcolm's face as walked into the mess that morning to see a shark infestation. He'd soon been joined by some very confused Fleeters, including the entire senior staff and the doctor a few minutes later. Malcolm had had to make a trip into the galley to get more cereal and snacks, the only things out at that time of the morning. After quickly realizing what the problem was the Captain had given them the use of the gym for the hour Hayes had planned (thirty minutes at a time was the max allowed), and most Fleeters went to either the yoga class Ensign Hira was running (which had to be moved to a half full cargo bay), or to jog around B deck with Tucker. Some went back to bed. As Hayes had space in his plan a few of the more adventurous Fleeters, including the Captain and Mayweather, had joined them. They'd kept it up even a year later, and Hayes was pretty happy with the way the Captain's fitness had skyrocketed. Later on that day Hayes, Malcolm, and T'Pol had met to work out a schedule that wouldn't clog the place up every morning; and Hayes had been left feeling like a colossal idiot for thinking that the Fleeters wouldn't need to work out nearly as much as MACOs did, and no way would that many of them be up that early. He'd also not expected a single one of them to keep up with his workout, and yet Mayweather and Dunne had actually outperformed him – easily. Idiot. Tucker still teased them about having a shark infestation in the gym – there had been a lot of 'we're going to need a bigger ship' jokes going around that day, and Shark Tales had been that week's movie pick. The Captain told them Jaws wasn't an option – he thought it was mean.

"Really don't feel great, sir." Nice. Real nice, Hayes.

Archer said nothing for a moment. Hayes started to get annoyed, but he would be damned if he was going to show it to his CO. Why couldn't he just leave him alone? Probably because it's his ship your wasting space on, not to mention his time. Hayes swallowed and felt nauseous all of a sudden.

"Okay," the Captain said abruptly. He set the clock down on the desk. "See you later." He turned on heel and left without another word.

Well, that was weird, Hayes thought as he closed his eyes. How the hell did he get away with that? Feeling like he now had permission to just lay in bed, he pulled the blanket up under his chin and curled on his side. He was almost beginning to doze again when –

"Thought you might need a cup of coffee."

The Captain was back, and talking louder than was strictly necessary, his voice an exaggeration of friendliness. "I'll just leave this here." He put a steaming cup of coffee and a blueberry muffin on Hayes's desk. "Okay, see you later." And then as suddenly as he'd come, was gone. Hayes stared at the closed door for a couple of minutes, in shock. He was just sure the Captain wasn't coming back and was contemplating eating the muffin when –

"You sure you got enough pillows? I brought you another, just in case." He threw it on Hayes face, and, still speaking too loudly, and too chirpily, and was already out the door with another "Okay, see you later" when Hayes pulled it to the side. He looked between the now closed door and the pillow next to him on the bed, and didn't even have time to formulate a thought when the door opened yet again.

"And a blanket, you always need a couple more blankets." 'A couple more' turned out to a large, messy plie of blankets, that the Captain unceremoniously dumped on Hayes, before flying out the door again ("Okay, see you later"). Hayes pushed them to the floor, and sat up. What the hell was going on here? Sitting on the edge of his bed, he ran his hands through his hair and just stared at the floor for a few minutes. What was the Captain playing at? He was certainly the oddest CO Hayes had ever had, but he'd figured that out before leaving space dock last year. Leaning his elbows on his knees he looked at his alarm clock and was relieved he hadn't broken it. He remembered telling Malcolm, months ago around Christmas, that his favourite toy had been Legos as a kid; he'd been secretly thrilled when Malcolm had plonked a wrapped box down in front of him over dinner on his birthday last month, but that didn't even compare to how he felt when he opened it and realised that he'd remembered the story. Like a dumb teenager when their crush notices them. He didn't think he could face Malcolm if he'd actually broken it. He was shaken out of those guilty thoughts by the door opening, yet again.

"Since you're not doing anything else, would you mind watching Porthos for me?" The Captain didn't even wait for a reply, just handed him the beagle.

"Sir –"

"Bring him back to me around oh seven, would you? He's been fed; shouldn't need to pee. I'll be in the Captain's Mess. Thanks. Okay, see you later." And he blew out, as fast he blew in. Hayes just started open mouthed at where the Captain had been a few moments ago, until he got a jolt from something wet nudging his jaw. Porthos's nose. He looked down at the dog he was holding to his bare chest and let him start licking his face.

"Your dad is weird, you know that, right?" He got hit by wet nose. "I'll take that as a yes."

He'd survived Lunar training; he'd led countless incursions against the Xindi; and hardest of all, he survived working with the man with whom his relationship could only be described as a weird cross between 'fuck you' and 'I'd fuck you'. And it was obviously much more on the 'I'd fuck you' side of things now. He should be able to walk across the mess hall, knock on the Captain's mess's door, and enter, like a grown up, and face his punishment. But no, here he was, standing outside the mess, just far enough down the corridor that he wouldn't be seen like he was lurking if anyone came out, like a complete tool. It didn't help that he was holding a beagle.

Not that he had anything against Porthos; he actually wished he had the courage to steal the dog sometimes like a lot of the crew did, but he was conscious of the fact that the dog would act like a magnet for the others and give them an excuse to stop and talk to him. And that was far from what he wanted at the moment. Porthos whined.

"What, you want to go in?" Another whine. "Give me a minute." He scratched Porthos under the chin with the hand closest to it. The dog started to wiggle.

"I know, I know, I'm being ridiculous." Porthos barked. "Yeah, yeah, watch the negative language, I know." Another bark. "Hey, I don't like lurking out here anymore than you do. I don't really want to get caught with you either, you know." Porthos started making a weird nose that Hayes couldn't identify. "Because what plausible explanation could I have for having the damn dog at this time in the morning?"

Even what had actually happened didn't seem plausible – he had refused to get out of bed, so his CO had handed him his dog? They'd think he was drunk. But regardless of how weird it had been – or maybe because of it – he'd managed to get himself showered, shaved, and dressed once the Captain had left, and even brought the pillow and blankets back to the store room he assumed the Captain had gotten them from; all in the time allotted to him by the Captain. He actually felt productive. Until he arrived outside the mess hall and his nerve failed him and instead of just going in he'd loitered like a coward. He'd already done a lap of the deck, telling himself he was early and needed to kill time. He wished the Captain had just punished him earlier and not kept him waiting around like this.

Porthos stared at him. "Yeah, yeah, I know, I was meant to be in there five minutes ago; you're a dog with no concept of time keeping, stop judging me."

"Oh, he definitely can keep time."

Crap. Hayes whirled around to see Tucker walking towards him and the knot in his stomach got tighter. How much did he know? Oh God, how much had he heard?

"Dogs know exactly when their owners are meant to come home, and feed them, and all the rest of it; they just don't understand that dinner is at six." Tucker had reached them and started rubbing the dog's head with both hands. He looked up at Hayes. "I heard they missed you this morning."

"Needed a rest day, sir." The prepared lie came easily. It would want to, he'd been reciting it to himself since he got up. "Think I've been overdoing it a bit."

Tucker didn't say anything, just looked Hayes dead in the eye, with one hand on the dog's head. Hayes started to sweat. He's not buying it. But he didn't break eye contact, his face completely blank as he stared Tucker down.

"Are you okay?" Tucker asked eventually, his brow furrowed. Hayes assumed he was annoyed that he felt he had to ask. Like everyone else he'd ever disappointed – how dare he have an issue? How dare he need help? Hayes agreed, but that was beside the point.

"Just have to watch what I lift, sir," Hayes replied, resisting the urge to take a deep breath.

"No, I mean…" Tucker trailed off, finally breaking eye contact. When he looked back his face was open, with an emotion Hayes couldn't identify written all over it. "It's just I know that Malcolm is a little bit worried about you, and Hoshi says she thinks you've been quieter than normal…" He left that hanging in the air before he continued. What the hell had Malcolm been saying about him? "And I kind of thought you were a bit off the other week, when we were playing poker. Are you dealing with everything okay?"

And there it was. Sure, he was 'concerned'. Right. Hayes could count the number of superiors who actually gave a damn on one hand – it was all lip service, an ass covering exercise so that they could say they gave him all the help they possibly could when he eventually drank himself to death; or fucked up so badly that someone else got hurt.

"I mean, I know we don't know each other all that well, but if you need to grab a cup of coffee or anything, I just wanted to let you know I'm here," Tucker continued. Hayes had heard that before. He'd actually taken a few of his superiors up on that offer in the past – when he was fresh out of the Point and hadn't learned how to recognise the insincerity yet. And here was this fucking Fleeter engine rat trying the same bullshit; like fuck was Hayes going to fall for it.

Hayes kept his thought off his face, with well-practiced ease. "Thank you sir, but I'm doing just fine." He was about to turn and finally head into the mess when Tucker spoke again.

"You know that's what I kept saying after my sister passed." Hayes froze. He didn't think he'd ever heard Tucker mention his sister; he wasn't even sure what her name was; Hayes felt a sliver of shame slide into his stomach – he should probably know that. Tucker continued, oblivious. "I actually bit Malcolm's head off a couple of times, and all he was trying to do was make sure I was dealing. I eventually talked about it, but…" He shrugged. He finally took his hands off of Porthos and held them up in a shrug. "I wish I'd done it sooner. What I'm trying to get at, in a roundabout way, is that the Captain, and the entire Senior Staff, take our duty of care towards the crew very, very seriously – and that includes everyone dressed like a Shark." Tucker grinned. "Even you; so if you need to take me up on that coffee, I'll be around. Unless, you know, the engine's about to blow, then I'll have to take a rain check."

Hayes was speechless. After a moment he managed to stupidly get out "Yeah, uh, yeah, that-that sounds good –"

Tucker clapped Hayes on the shoulder. "Great, you busy around ten thirty?"

"Sir?"

"Yeah, I know Malcolm likes to take a tea break around then. I'll meet you here." And with a smile, he side-stepped Hayes and headed towards the mess. He glanced over his shoulder, and jerked his head in the direction of the door. "Captain probably wants his dog back."

Hayes followed numbly. Well, he could also count on one hand the number of times that had happened. Tucker bade him goodbye to take a seat with Cpl. Cole and Malcolm, as Hayes made straight for the other side of the room making no eye contact with anyone. He realised just before he rang the bell what that look that Tucker had been giving him was. He glanced around the where he was sitting with Malcolm and Cole, and all three of them ducked their heads quickly. Hayes whipped back around and rang the bell, ignoring the flush he could feel creeping up his neck. Back straight, eyes dead ahead; he entered when called, put the dog down gently, and stood at attention. "Captain, Sir." Nice and snappy; his grandparents would be proud. Grasping at straws, there? You're here to get yelled at.

"Are you going to eat breakfast like that?" the Captain asked, reaching down to pet Porthos. He then poured juice into the glasses in front of him, as he asked Hayes to take a seat. He did so, but did not lose his composure for a moment. Back straight, eyes forward; he resisted the urge to examine the place settings. What the hell was the Captain doing? "Unclench, major; it's just breakfast."

Hayes looked around as one of the stewards – Johnson? – brought in two plates of eggs Benedict, but other than that kept his posture. "This is your favourite, right?" The Captain waited until Johnson(?) had left before speaking.

"It is, sir." Hayes glanced down at the plate, and then stared straight ahead. He was being set up. He was being set up, and the Captain was going to use this to help throw the book at him. You got a nice lie in, pawned your responsibilities off on your deputy, and now you get your favourite breakfast, aren't you special? He was starting to feel ill, and lightheaded, but was doing his best not to show it. He gripped his hands tightly together on the table in front of him so they wouldn't shake. He really wished the Captain would just get this over with.

The Captain had been silent for a few minutes but had kept his eyes on Hayes the entire time; Hayes could feel his gaze burning a hole in him; he was waiting for him to crack, obviously, but Hayes was not going to make things worse by speaking before being spoken to. "Okay," the Captain finally said slowly. "Let me break down what is going to happen here: we are going to eat our breakfast, and we are going to have little chat about what happened this morning." He paused, but then continued emphatically, "What is not going to happen is a reprimand; I'm not going to give you a slap on the wrist; I'm not even going to lecture you a little bit. But we need to seriously speak about your place on this ship."

Somehow, that was worse. Like he wasn't even worth the effort of getting angry or delivering a proper rebuke. It normally came before he was transferred to some office posting that he needed to drink to survive in. He'd worked so hard to get out of that environment – he'd signed up for every extra training seminar, every weapons demo, put more hours than anyone on the range and in the gym, and applied every year, every God damn year, for Special Operations and after seven years of being the Perfect Soldier, he'd done it. And he came out on top; he'd made major; he'd been given command of the MACO contingent that Captain Archer himself had requested aboard his ship.

And then he ruined it, as he should have known he'd do eventually.

"I'm sure I could be transferred back to Earth quite easily, sir." Not that he wanted that. Or did he? It's not like anyone would miss him, not really; Ed could finally get that promotion; there had been talk of him taking over the MACO contingent on Columbia, when she finally launched, but that was just rumours. He should just be sent back to Earth, and have done with it. He was starting to hate this place, anyway.

But then who would drive you to distraction by taking your toys apart? Whose pretty blue eyes would you be hoping to see all lit up each day?

Okay, maybe there was one person he'd miss, and who might miss him…

The Captain picked up his knife and fork. "Didn't I tell you part of this was going to involve eating breakfast? Dig in." Hayes did as he was told, like a good soldier. "Don't get me wrong," The Captain continued, "What happened this morning cannot become a habit. But for the minute I am not making plans to get rid of you. If you don't say anything this is going to become a lecture, and I already said I don't want that," he said, when Hayes remained silent.

Hayes swallowed his food. "All I can really say, sir, is that I apologise, and to assure you it won't happen again; if you are giving me another chance."

"Great; now what exactly are you apologising for?"

The Captain's tone wasn't severe. It was actually very calm and even, and Hayes didn't know how to deal with it. He didn't even know how to answer the question exactly. He went blank. The training session was mandatory for MACOs, but because Hayes had made it so, not the Captain. By not showing up, he didn't technically have to answer to the Captain for it anymore than anyone else he was running PT for. "For shirking my responsibilities this morning; I had people relying on me to show up, and I chose not to."

"Why not?" The Captain took a swig of his juice. He didn't sound accusatory; instead he seemed genuinely curious. Gentle, even. Hayes was still waiting for the other boot to drop.

"I don't have a good answer for that, sir."

"So, what, you just didn't want to?" The Captain still didn't sound pissed off. That was probably going to change any second now.

"I guess, so. Sir." Neither of them said anything as the Captain ate, Hayes just following suit. As far as last meals went, it wasn't a bad one. Was the Captain waiting for something? Did he think Hayes was going to dig himself an even bigger hole if he just kept talking? Well, what was more damning than saying that he hadn't shown up when needed for no other reason than he 'didn't want to'? He jumped when the Captain next spoke.

"I'm going to level with you Jackson: this situation is severely testing my ability to balance pragmatism with compassion." Time to pack your bags; time to be sent home in disgrace. "What I said the other week hasn't changed: I want to see you through this, I want you to get better, and I am willing to give you whatever assistance you need to get that done." He drank some of his juice. "Now, if we were closer to Earth, I'd consider sending you back to get intensive treatment, but we're too far out for that to be an option. Unless you want to take an extended leave of absence, in which case I can make arrangements and we can have you back here in a few months; it's up to you. Is that something that appeals to you?"

He was serious. He would actually send him home to get better, but Hayes wasn't so sure he'd just welcome him back with open arms. In the past, every time he'd messed up he'd just been reassigned to 'a less stressful environment', with a new CO who knew exactly why he'd been reassigned, was not happy about having a drunk under his command and got rid of him at the first opportunity. Or maybe he would be, what the hell did he know. He was still only eighty percent sure that the Captain wasn't about to start yelling. It could be a good idea, going back to Earth for a few months; he could check in with his sponsor, see his family – actually maybe not. "I think I'll try and stick it out, sir." Closer to Lt. Pretty Eyes…

The Captain nodded, and to Hayes's surprise seemed pleased. "Good; good." He smiled, kindly. It actually reached his eyes. "I've spoken to Lt. Reed, he says your performance hasn't slipped, you're seeing Phlox regularly…" He paused to allow Hayes to confirm he'd seen Phlox several times so far. "So, as far as I am concerned the situation is currently under control."

Hayes hesitated before asking. "About away missions?"

The Captain had just taken a big bite of eggs. He shook his head and waved that idea away. "Out of the question for the minute. Just give yourself some time," He quickly cut Hayes off. "I trust your not getting sloshed every night, but I need Phlox to tell me your in a good headspace before I put you back on the ground."

He expected that, but he'd gotten away with so much today, what could asking hurt. Hayes didn't know if he wanted to ask this next question, or if he really wanted to hear the answer. "Sir, may I ask –"

"Why am I being so lenient?"

"Yes, sir."

Captain Archer put his knife and for down, and placed his fingertips together, elbows on the table. "I watched my father deteriorate at a rapid rate from a neurodegenerative disease as a child; he couldn't even remember me on his death bed. And after the Expanse…" He paused and briefly ducked his head. When he looked up at Hayes there was a soft, open look on his face. "Do you honestly think I've never had days where I cannot physically get out of bed?"

Hayes forcibly swallowed the lump in his throat. "I guess I never…" He trailed off, staring at his barely touched breakfast. He slowly looked up. "I guess I never actually thought about it." The realisation had hit Hayes like a quantum torpedo. Captain Archer was serious. He was seriously more interested in helping Hayes than getting rid of him so as to have an easy life. He had to fight the urge to run out of there, instead hiding his eyes with one hand, pretending he was trying to fight off a sudden headache. He scrunched up his eyes against the onslaught and managed to fend it off, for the most part. After a moment he took a deep, gasping, breath and looked up wiping his eyes.

Captain Archer handed him a napkin, which Hayes gratefully took and dabbed at his nose.

"Jackson, please tell me that means I've actually gotten through to you?"

"Matthew."

"I beg your pardon?"

Hayes looked up at him. "I use my middle name, sir. It's Matthew."

"Okay Matthew; please tell me that you actually believe I want to help you?"

"Yes sir; and… and thank you."

"Don't mention it. Now eat your eggs, they're going cold."