Jackson and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Date/Timing: 17 January 2019
Setting: In and around the Shed; Vaucluse, NSW, Australia
.
""Up'n at 'em, boys!"" Jamie yells waaaaay too fucking early.
Jackson stuffs his head under his pillow.
His door slides open.
""This's no time to be sleeping, Ranger Jones! You've got patrol in fifty minutes!""
Jackson peeks out. "'ve—pa—/what?"
"Patrol. Prancing about in your Jaeger. Monitoring—"
"The fuck?"
"Last minute schedule change." Jamie heads off. ""Oi! Logan! You, too! Move your ass!""
""Fuck you!""
Jackson groans, digs himself from under his blankets—
""You're not my type!""
—into positively arctic air.
He whines, burritos up in his quilt, drags himself into the hall.
Logan stomps by, chafing his arms, mutters, "Mine."
Washroom door slams.
Jackson ducks back into his room, bundles himself in two each shirts, jumpers, and pairs of socks.
When he drags himself out, Jamie's leaning against the table checking something on his mobile.
"The fuck's wrong with the A/C?"
"Not sure yet, but AGNIS's working on it." He frowns. "Whatever it is, though, it's just in here. Totally normal in the rest of the wing."
"Figures." Slumps against the wall.
Washroom door opens.
Logan stomps back to his room.
Logan's door slams.
Jackson pushes off, trumps to the washroom, does morning stuff.
Opens the door to Lachlan wearing Andrea on his back like a cape and thank god they're both wearing clothes. "Bit nippy in here, ay?" he says.
Jackson grunts, squeezes past.
Washroom door closes.
Jackson joins Logan on the couch.
Andrea, /sans Lachlan, reappears a few minutes later.
"And we have the complete set," announces Jamie, herding them to their feet and out the door.
The three of them trudge to the canteen, collect servings of porridge, plunk at the regular table.
Half a bowl in, Jackson's mobile sounds off.
AGNIS: Your quarters will soon return to their normal sauna-like condition.
Captain_Jack: Thnxs
Captain_Jack: Teh fcuk hapnd?
AGNIS: Local temperature controls were overridden by an outside command.
Jackson blinks.
Captain_Jack: U gto hcked?
AGNIS: I find your lack of faith in the security of my systems disturbing.
Captain_Jack: So u DID gte hcked
AGNIS: Was that a request for permanent morning patrol duty? I can easily accommodate such a schedule change.
Captain_Jack: NO!!!
Captain_Jack: Fngers slippd
AGNIS: Much better.
AGNIS: Have a pleasant day, Ranger.
Jackson thumbs out of the messenger, checks his—glowers.
"What's wrong?" asks Andrea.
Jackson scowls, taps furiously on his mobile.
Andrea shrugs, returns to her breakfast.
Logan leans over Jackson's shoulder.
Jackson growls.
"What's that? Pyramids?"
"Someone keeps changing my background."
"From what? Lieutenant Uhura?"
"Hell no," snaps Jackson, and then buries himself in his bowl and refuses to make eye contact. 
"Thought so," smugs Logan.
Andrea giggles.
Logan claps a hand on Jackson's back. "C'mon, Spock, we gotta go or the Marshal'll be on our asses for being late."
Jackson grumbles and they tromp to the door, dump their trays, head toward the hangar.
Something bounces off Jackson's side.
"Christ, Klingon, you're wearing more wool than a sheep!"
"Get stuffed, Chuckles."
"Maybe I'll get lucky and you'll freeze while you're on patrol—'s only gonna be twenty-three out there today."
Jackson scoffs, pushes by.
They trump along.
"See you!" chirps Andrea, peeling off for the gardens.
Jackson and Logan grumble, autopilot their way to the Drivesuit room, then through armouring, the drop, the handshake, the launch, and the first twenty min—
‒Thirty-one.‒
‒Shut up, Logan.‒
""Guys, you realize you're connected to /Vulcan, ay? You just flipped off Manly.""
Jackson cringes.
Logan sighs.
Walk, walk, walk—
‒Oh look, there's that nasty shoal. One checkpoint down.‒
‒Would you /stop with the gameification?!‒
‒Fuck off, Logan, seventeen to go.‒
Sigh.
More walking.
Whee.
Walk, walk, walk, walk—
‒Logan, stop humming.‒
‒Make me.‒
Rumble to a stop.
‒The usual, ay? Best three of five?‒
"One—"
"Two—"
"—three!"
Logan cackles.
"I hate—"
""Gentlemen, while rock-paper-scissors /is preferable to your previous conflict resolution technique, we have a professional image to maintain and you are within sight of civilians.""
"Yes, sir," sigh Jackson and Logan.
Walk, walk, walk, walk, walk—
Eventually the trudgery ends and they're back at the 'Dome and the Drivesuit team's unscrewing them and they're dragging their cold, goo-coated, kinda tired, and /definitely hungry selves into the showers.
Fresh-scrubbed and minty, Jackson robes up, steps into the changing room, shakes out the kit roll, retrieves the shorties from the floor.
Blinks.
Squints at the label. Checks the tags on all the other garments.
"Ha ha. Very funny," he calls. "Where're /my clothes?"
Slessor pokes his head in. "Those came straight here from Laundry."
"Well, they sent the wrong size. I can't wear these." Tosses over the shirt.
"Same here," adds Logan.
"Must've been a mix-up. We'll get it straightened out right away."
Jackson huffs, huddles deeper into his robe.
"Catch."
Jackson snags his mobile—barely—pokes it awake, demands, "Are /you the asshole doing this?"
"Pyramids again?"
Jackson grunts.
Logan drops next to him, scoffs, "You /know I had to have Ray reset mine."
"That explains the kittens."
"Fuck. You."
Jackson snorts, punches up a time-wasting game, lets himself zone out until Slessor appears with kit in the right size.
"Any idea what that was about?"
"Something glitched and your sizes got reset in WholeMaster." Shrugs. "So Laundry did what they were supposed to and filled the request with the new size."
Logan snickers as he threads himself through his tank.
"What?"
"This's why I don't trust computers."
"Says a guy who was mind-melded to a giant robot this morning."
"That doesn't mean I /trust 'em."
""Rangers, your midday meal is ready at the canteen,"" announces AGNIS.
"Whee."
Off they go.
Logan gives his tray the evil eye. "You're kidding, ay?"
Jackson glowers at his bowl of porridge.
"There was a note saying you had a bug and needed something mild," says the cook, "but, if you're feeling better, we can whip up something else for you in about thirty minutes."
"We'll deal," Jackson grumbles over his stomach's whining.
They drop in at the usual place.
"Think AGNIS's messing with us?" asks Logan as he peels an orange.
His mobile /maaus.
He snorts, sets it where Jackson can see.
AGNIS: I have much better things to do than inflict petty torments on the likes of you.
"Hasn't stopped you before." 
AGNIS: I beg to differ.
AGNIS: My torments are much more inventive than these.
"She has you there, Jack."
Jackson concedes. "Any idea who /is doing it, then?"
AGNIS: I have much better things to do than determine which of your many 'friends' feels your diet requires additional fiber.
"Whoever it is, they're gonna regret it when I find 'em."
"I'll help," agrees Logan. He stands, stretches. "But I'm gonna grab a nap first."
"Good idea you have there." Jackson yawns.
"Aww ...," coos Chuckles. "Does Gwampa need more sleep?"
Jackson scoffs.
"Bet you won't be /half as fresh after a five-hour sunrise slog," grumbles Logan.
"Probably won't even feel it. /Striker's gonna be /soooo much better than your ol' rust bucket."
"Aha, that's it!" Logan crows. "They have to give ye the fancy Jaeger to make up for your weak ass!"
Chuckles puffs into Logan's space. "I'll show you how we—"
Jackson shoves between them, says to Chuckles, "Don't you have homework to do, Junior?"
Chuckles sniffs, sulks off.
"Later, Shortstack!"
Chuckles replies with an obscene gesture.
Logan shakes his head. "Kids these days."
"No respect."
"'specially not for elders like you, 'ey, Jack?" drawls Logan, ducking Jackson's half-hearted punch.
Jackson grumps and they stroll back to the suite side-by-side.
Logan steps through the door, heads straight into his room.
Jackson sighs into his, flops in his desk chair, fires up his computer, clicks into his works-in-progress folder.
He squints.
Clicks about with increasing viciousness.
Absolutely.
Nothing.
Except for what look like low-grade spy movies.
The kind L—
Jackson throws himself into Logan's room, shouting, "The fuck did you do to my computer?!"
Logan looks over his glasses, eyebrow quirked.
"My design files, fucker. They're /gone and there's a /tonne of crap movies instead!" 
"Think for a second, Jack," sighs Logan. "Mobile background? Kittens?"
Jackson deflates, rubs the back of his neck.
Logan sniffs, goes back to his reading.
Jackson drags himself back to his room.
""Now that you have finished throwing your tantrum, shall I restore your files from the backups I so thoughtfully maintain?""
"Yes, please, Computer."
Jackson's computer reboots and the drive whirs cheerily. "Computer?"
""Go ahead, Jackson.""
"Can you turn up the heat?"
""Your quarters have already reached regulation temperature. I suggest you employ wool overwear.""
Jackson grumbles, shtumps over to the dresser, opens the drawer of Best Jumpers.
He squeaks.
Nothing but standard navy and Team Vulcan grey peer out at him.
His vision greys and he sleepwalks to check on Logan—
Who's frozen in front of his dresser, every pore radiating fury.
"What's missing?"
"Gear from Drapes," he grinds out.
Jackson swallows, croaks, "AGNIS, call Jamie, please."
""Officer Walker will arrive within the next five minutes.""
"Thanks, AGNIS." Jackson sits on Logan's bed.
Logan still hasn't moved.
Jackson touches—reconsiders, settles for twisting his hands in his lap.
Jamie peeks in. "Everybody take a deep breath."
Jackson does.
"Okay, first: your stuff is on its way back."
The line of Logan's shoulders softens.
"Second: someone submitted a request to the Quartermasters' to have /all your clothes put in storage and replaced with new kit two sizes smaller. They thought it was weird but it was stamped with your electronic signature so."
"/Who."
Jamie leans on the doorframe. "Well, whoever it was covered their tracks pretty well, but AGNIS's put a couple of daughters on their trail, so it's only a matter of time 'til we know."
Logan drops down beside Jackson. "And then we can have a little chat with 'em."
Jackson grunts agreement.
"You'll be happy to know, I took some initiative and had the patrol rotation restored to normal." Snickers. "Your secret admirer /had given you three of the next five morning runs."
Logan cracks his knuckles.
"How 'bout you two do something nice and relaxing until dinner or AGNIS finds something, whichever comes first. I'll comb the rest of the systems and make sure there aren't any more unpleasant surprises lurking."
Logan grunts. 
"Thanks," says Jackson.
Jamie acknowledges, pushes off. "Later, gents!"
Jackson shoves to his feet, shuffles back to his room to put in some quality time on that sunset painting.
Which he does, despite Logan's snoring.
A bit of chartreuse riiiight—
Tinny, chirpy music explodes from Logan's room.
—smeared all the way across the digital canvas.
""Your evening meal will be ready by the time you reach the canteen,"" says AGNIS.
Jackson rolls his eyes, undoes the damage, mumbles, "Thank you, Computer."
""You're very welcome.""
Back to the canteen, back through the chow line.
"I'm so fucking done," Logan mutters.
"Wha?"
He brandishes his tray.
Porridge.
"You are /shitting me." Jackson collects his identical meal. "I'm not eating this." Hands it back.
"Same," says Logan.
"The note in your file—"
"We're not sick."
The cook sighs. "Well, if you wait thirty minutes, we can have something else ready for you."
"Yea, go ahead. We'll be at our table."
"Be with you in a jiffy, then," replies the cook and they bustle off.
The slouch into place at the table.
"I'm ordering a goddamn pizza," declares Logan.
"They'll confiscate it at the gate again."
"'Security precaution', my ass. Those guards ate it and were totally fine."
"Yea, but there /was the cheesecake incident."
Logan shudders. "Fucking cultists."
"Pretty sure they aren't behind today's troubles, though."
"Nope." Sighs. "Any ideas?"
"Well, there's really only one of the usual suspects that fits."
Logan considers. "He /was looking awful pleased with himself today."
Jackson pulls out his mobile, asks, "AGNIS, where's Chuckles?"
""Several team recreation rooms are currently occupied by staff enjoying comedic programming.""
"Where's Chuck Hansen?"
""Cadet Hansen is in his quarters, where he is most certainly not doing his tactics homework.""
"Cool, cool," says Jackson. "Where's Pietr Vos?"
""Cadet Vos is teaching a self-defense class in the gym.""
"For how much longer?"
""Approximately forty-seven more minutes.""
"Awe/some. Thanks, AGNIS." Jackson looks to Logan.
Logan hops to his feet.
"We'll be back in an hour!" Jackson calls. 
A cook throws him a thumbs up.
Jackson leads the way, double-time, to Team Lucky territory, rings the bell of the Ranger suite.
After a beat, Old Hansen opens the door.
"Good evening, sir," greets Jackson—
Logan bows.
—"We're sorry to bother you, but we're hoping to speak with your son for a moment."
Old Hansen shrugs, hollers, "Chuck!"
""What?""
"Someone to see you!"
Grumbling, gradually increasing in volume.
"Thank you, sir."
"We'll have him back by his bedtime," adds Logan.
Chuckles stops cold.
Old Hansen grunts, heads back inside.
"Hello there, Chuckles," sneers Jackson.
"Let's have a li'l chat, yea?"
Chuckles shifts—
Logan grabs his shoulder, hauls him down the steps—
Jackson quickly shuts the door.
—frog-marches him along.
"In here."
They stuff Chuckles in a supply closet, loom between him and the exit.
"Well, ain't this cozy," he sneers.
"We know it was you."
Chuckles rolls his eyes. "You know /what was me?"
"/Morning patrols."
"Sending our stuff to storage."
"Porridge three meals in a row."
"Too-small clothes."
"Deleting my files and messing with the background on my mobile—"
"Wha? I didn't touch the mobile."
"But you did everything else." Logan crosses his arms.
"Of /course I did," sniffs Chuckles. "You know anyone else who could break into all those systems?"
Jackson and Logan exchange a look. 
"Well, /yea," says Jackson. "AGNIS /is all those systems."
"And Chantell wouldn't have to break in," points out Logan.
"Jamie probably—"
Chuckles clears his throat.
"Yea, yea, yea, Shortstack, you're a genius, blah, blah, blah."
Chuckles pouts.
"'ey, Logan, how far you figure /Vulcan can throw fifty kilos of cadet?"
"/Fifty-eight, asswipe."
Logan smirks. "Distance doesn't really matter 'cause if the g-forces from the launch don't kill 'em, hitting the water will."
"/Excellent point." Cocks his head. "How far you figure /we could throw a cadet?"
"Throw or drop?"
Chuckles swallows.
"/Throw. Don't feel like cleaning up the splat from dropping him."
Logan makes a show of considering. "You know, I'm not sure, but I think we should find out."
Chuckles makes a break—
Logan gets him in a headlock.
"Careful now, I want him conscious for this."
—thrashes.
"Don't worry, I'll makes sure he stays awake."
Logan drags him, kicking and squealing, along empty halls—Jackson makes sure of that—all the way to the apron of the cold pool.
Chuckles' eyes get /enormous when he sees the water and he flails all the harder.
Jackson seizes his ankles. "On one—"
"Two—"
"—three!"
/sploosh
"How far ye figure that was?"
"I thought you were measuring."
Jackson sighs.
"Guess we'll just have to try again."
Logan smirks.
Chuckles splutters to the lip of the pool, hauls himself—
Jackson and Logan each grab an armpit, yank him the rest of the way.
"What're ye—?"
"Wash, rinse, repeat, Shortstack," smugs Logan, switching his grip to Chuckles' ankles.
"On one—"
"You—"
"Two—"
"—mother—"
"—three!"
"—/fuckers!"
/sploosh
"See it that time?"
"Nope."
"What use /are you?"
"You wanna throw him by yourself?"
"Nah, but check it out. He thinks the other side is far enough away."
"How wrong he is."
Category:Ficlet
Category:Skeleton Key
Category:Jackson
Category:Jackson's POV
Category:Jackson (ficlet)
Category:Jamie
Category:Jamie (ficlet)
Category:Logan
Category:Logan (ficlet)
Category:Andrea
Category:Andrea (ficlet)
Category:Lachlan
Category:Lachlan (ficlet)
Category:Jackson is not a morning person
Category:Logan is not a morning person
Category:Jackson is always cold
Category:AGNIS
Category:AGNIS (ficlet)
Category:AGNIS is an unrepentant shipper
Category:Star Trek (reference)
Category:Nguyen
Category:Nguyen (ficlet)
Category:Orenstein (ficlet)
Category:Orenstein
Category:Logan's internal clock
Category:Jackson is an artist
Category:BuenaKai (mention)
Category:Logan's glasses
Category:Feng (mention)
Category:Pietr (mention)
Category:Herc
Category:Herc (ficlet)
Category:Chantell (mention)
Category:Chuck H is a genius
Category:Ficlets with images