Blue and Black

Note: A revision and merging of "Monster", "Freak", "Mouse", and "Artist"
Date/Timing: 4 May 2017
Setting: The Icebox; Anchorage, AK, United States
.
The Icebox's general Rec is usually neutral territory but the person who just entered saunters right for them in a way that promises trouble.
And that is definitely /not a friendly smile.
Raleigh's fingers twitch nervously against the tabletop.
It's already a bad day and now the smiler's getting to him.
"You want something?" asks Yancy.
"Beckets, right?" replies the Aussie-by-accent.
"Who's asking?"
"Been looking /all over for you."
Yancy and Raleigh both raise eyebrows.
"Ye see, I heard you two were top of your class, ay? Earned yourselves a Mark III? More or less?"
Yancy bristles. "Whaddya mean 'more or less'?"
Aussie shrugs. "There was an investigation into cheating, yea? How'd that go for you?" Smirks.
Raleigh shrinks, knuckles white.
Yancy stands, gets between the asshole and Raleigh, growls, "We earned her fair and square, so you can just step off."
"Nah. Don't think I will." Smirk becomes a leer. "Maybe you did so well, Yancy-boy, since you have Rain Man—"
Raleigh flinches.
"—there for a li'l brother."
Yancy grabs the asshole by the hoodie.
Asshole grins like they just opened a Christmas present.
"You gotta protect him? 'fraid his special brain'll get all messed up and you'll be out on your asses?"
"You /really wanna fight me?" Punctuates with a little shake.
"That's the idea, Yank. Wanna see what you and Short Bus're made of."
A vein in Yancy's forehead throbs.
Asshole inclines their head. "You wanna do this outside so we don't get interrupted?"
Yancy shoves them away. "Let's."
"Awe/some," they chirp and just about /skip outta the Rec.
Yancy stomps—
Raleigh grabs his arm. "I got a bad feeling about this one."
"You and me both, kid." Grins nastily. "But I guarantee they'll be feeling even worse when I'm done with them." Squeezes Raleigh's shoulder. "You wait here and I'll be back in no time."
Raleigh chews his lip but sags back into his chair.
Yancy finds the Aussie asshole just outside the nearest exit and—of course—there's a crowd of techs milling around, betting.
Yancy huffs, trudges across the half-thawed ground, doing his best to stay on top of the mire. 
Asshole, though, seems to float over the muck. "What sorta odds are ye giving?" they call to the crowd.
Someone in LOCCENT colors yells back, "Five-to-one on you beating Becket."
"I'll have a bit of that action!" Digs in a pocket. "You take crabs?" >Chinese equivalent to 'bucks' as in, "Can you spot me five crabs?". The wording change doesn't have to stay, it just felt 'right'; I LOVE IT!<
""The cook does!"" 
"Aww ...." Asshole pouts mightily. "What if I promise to buy ye all drinks with the winnings?"
"Hey!" shouts Yancy.
"Hey!" Grins. "You made it!"
"I'ma make you regret startin' this." Yancy raises his guard.
Asshole laughs, "Gimme your best shot, Fancy." Swings straight for Yancy's gut.
Yancy takes a couple of blows—he can spare it; turns out Asshole doesn't hit all that hard—launches a haymaker, catches them on the shoulder.
Asshole just shakes out the sting.
Yancy throws another wide punch.
Asshole dodges—barely—scores with a really hard uppercut.
Yancy staggers, head ringing, swings wildly, hoping to buy time.
They step inside his reach, catch him on the cheek.
Yancy blinks rapidly, knocks Asshole's legs from under them.
They roll out of kicking range, jump up, swing for Yancy's face, miss.
All of Yancy's weight's behind the punch that /finally connects with their nose.
Blood just about fountains outta them.
Asshole grins despite the ferocious nosebleed. They wipe their upper lip with the back of their hand and cackle, "/That's more like it!"
Yancy steps back, guard up, shakes his head.
Asshole splits Yancy's lip on their knuckles.
Yancy lands another shot on their nose.
Asshole smashes a heel into the arch of Yancy's foot.
Yancy uses momentum to flip them to the mud.
Asshole hops up, throws a punch Yancy barely evades.
Yancy's winded, legs a little rubbery: fight's getting to him.
But the crazy Aussie's ... you'd think they're still warming up.
"Who the hell /are you?" pants Yancy.
"'m hurt. You really have /no idea?"
"Would I be askin' if I did?"
"S'pose not." The Aussie sweeps an exaggerated bow. "Logan Jones, he-him-his, at yer service."
Yancy knows that name ... if only his head wasn't ringing so bad ....
Asshole's blood drips into the mud.
It finally clicks and Yancy drops his hands. "You ... you're a /Ranger?!"
"You got it, Fancy!"
"Are you—we're on the same side! We're on the same side—we're /supposed to work /together!"
"You fight harder when you're protecting your brother, ay?" Logan shrugs. "Wanted to get to the bottom of you."
Yancy blinks. "What do /you get outta this?"
"A good fight." Logan laughs, waves, strolls away, flicking blood off his fingers.
The crowd parts in front of him, murmuring nervously.
"Jesus Christ," mumbles Yancy. "He's a /monster."
The audience starts breaking up and drifting back inside.
Yancy straightens the best he can, calls, "'ey, Ren?"
Tucking something in her pocket, Ren ambles over. "What ye need?"
"Who won?"
"Uh, he did."
"Aw, really? Even after that nosebleed I gave him?"
"He might be bleeding, but you /definitely look worse than he does."
Yancy cringes, aims his feet for the 'Dome. "How much did I cost you?"
Ren, walking alongside, smiles sheepishly. "I actually made a few hundred."
"Wha—how /could you?"
"Sorry." Gets the door. "I recognized him from the Academy."
"You coulda warned me!"
"And missed an easy payday? I think not!" Ren pats his arm. "I'll buy you a drink this weekend."
"You'd better," Yancy grumbles.
"Later, Becket." She waves.
"Later, Ren." Yancy takes a deep breath at the door to the Rec, pushes through, limps over to Raleigh, and tries for a light tone. "Kiddo, you should /see that Aussie bastard. I broke his nose an' then I punched it /again."
Raleigh growls—
"Wouldja believe that asshole's one of the /Vulcan Specter Rangers?"
—seizes Yancy's arm—
"The younger one. Logan."
—drags him to their quarters, stuffs him into his favorite chair, stomps to washroom.
Yancy oozes against the cushion.
Raleigh grumps back with the first aid kit. «I'm gonna kick his ass—» Wipes away blood. «—take him down in the Kwoon with /la canne—» Tapes Yancy's lip. «—and make sure his every breath is fuckin' /painful for a fuckin' /month.» Sits back, jaw tight, his end of the link boiling with fury.
"Kid, don't—"
«If I end up in Medical, /fine, but he'll think /twice about messin' with anyone close to me again,» Raleigh growls, grabbing a salve.
"Whoa, no! Don't you remember the stories about these guys?"
Aims for the purple bloom on Yancy's cheek. "I don't fuckin'—"
"Logan's /nuts, sure, but his brother nearly /strangled a guy at the Academy." Yancy shifts. "He's got an honest-to-god berserk button." Offers a wry smile. "Sound familiar?" 
["Bring it." Raleigh squeezes out a little more cream than is strictly necessary. "What he said was messed up and he should know better than to harass another Ranger." Rubs in the cream.] "If the other one wants a piece, I'll give it to him, too."
"Just report him. It's bad enough /I fought him."
["I'm ...." Raleigh stares at his pile of swabs, then snatches a clean one. „He hurt you an' I'm gonna level his ass for it." Dabs furiously at Yancy's knuckles. „I'm sick of people taking shots at you because of me.„]
"Just report him. It's bad enough /I fought him."
„Alright, alright.“ Yancy gestures for calm. „If you see him before the day's out, then sure. If not ... drop it.“
„Fine. And only 'cause you asked, okay?“
„Thanks, kiddo,“ says Yancy with ill-disguised relief, shoving to his feet. "I'm gonna lie down for a bit." Fixes Raleigh with a Look. "Don't do anything dumb."
Raleigh puts on his industrial-strength puppy dog eyes.
"I'm serious, Rals."
"I'm not gonna do anything dumb," sulks Raleigh.
Yancy grunts and trumps off to bed.
Raleigh takes a deep breath, squares up his shoulders, pads over to the wall monitor. "AGNIS?"
""How may I assist you, Ranger Becket?""
"Where's Logan Jones?"
""You're not contemplating an action your brother would consider 'dumb', are you?""
"Of course not," scoffs Raleigh. "I just want to say 'hello' to a fellow Ranger."
""I am quite confident Yancy would call that desire 'dumb'.""
"AGNIS ...."
""One moment, please,"" sighs AGNIS, as the active GLITTER chips associated with R-LJON_104.27-G cross the threshold to the quarters temporarily assigned to the Rangers Jones, while local microphones pick up his questionably tuneful whistling.
""Take it you found 'em?"" calls Jackson from his cocoon of blankets.
"Yep!"
Jackson peeks out.
Logan saunters past, leaving a trail of muddy clothes all the way to the washroom.
Jackson sighs, picks up his sketchbook and pencil.
The shower runs.
Logan resumes whistling happily.
Jackson rolls his eyes, scratches in rough guidelines.
The shower stops and Logan reappears, toweling his hair dry. "Li'l disappointed with my sortie, though. Only got Older Becket—" Paws through his duffel, comes up with fresh kit. "—Younger went all 'rabbit-in-the-headlights'—" Dons his ensemble from shorties up. "—He'll probably come for me later seeing as I bruised Older pretty bad."
Jackson stops adding detail, drags an eye over Logan. "Giving up on incognito?"
Checks himself over, shrugs. "Pretty sure everyone knows who I am now. Might as well show some team spirit, ay?"
Jackson snorts. "You need me around in case they come after you together?"
"Nah. They're not the type. They'll fight fair." Plunks on his bunk, pulls on his socks. "If Younger can keep up with Older, they're better than the hype. Wouldn't beat the Curtains—'course—definitely better than the Odd Couple and, on a good day, they might take the gingers, too."
"Good to know, I guess." Jackson applies pencil to paper and scratches away.
Motion in his peripheral.
Glances up.
Logan, bouncing on his toes.
Raises an eyebrow.
"Think my nose can handle another scrum right now? Haven't tried the Eskimos yet."
"You'll be worried for more than your nose if you call 'em that."
Logan files that away.
Jackson sighs.
"Soooo ...?"
"Better to let it heal a little first. Take a nap."
Logan snaps a mocking salute—"Yessir, Cap'n Boring, sir!"—flops on his bunk and's out instantly, snoring like a chainsaw.
Jackson huffs, mumbles, "What the hell went wrong with you?" Takes a deep breath, turns his eyes to the ceiling. "An' what the hell's wrong with me?"
""Would you like me to read highlights from your latest psychological examination?""
Jackson cringes. "No thanks, Computer."
""You're certain? There's a very interesting note here wherein the doctor refers to you as a, and I quote, 'drama llama'.""
"Get stuffed."
""I'm sorry, Jackson. I'm afraid I can't do that.""
"Oh for—okay, /HAL, how 'bout you go bother someone else?"
""Good idea, Ranger. You're too grumpy to be much fun.""
Jackson grumps.
""Shall I queue a reminder for you and Snoring Beauty for your appointment with Doctor Lightcap?""
"Yes, please." Snorts. "And, if you have some spare cycles, could you research ways to stop Snoring Beauty's snoring?"
""I believe a pillow held firmly in place will—""
"/Non-fatal ways."
""Grumpy~.""
"Maybe because it's so damn cold in here."
""Language, Ranger.""
"I'm very cold, Computer. Would you be so kind as to turn up the heat?" 
""I'm sorry, Ranger, but you have reached the temperature limit of your quarters."" 
""Of course I have.""
[Raleigh]: Joneses itinerary, please. >AGNIS can give this to Raleigh because his security clearance is high enough (so not everyone and their cat can get a copy of schedules) and Jamie marked it to 'not private'<
[Raleigh making his way to the ceiling conduit, asks AGNIS for a notification when the Joneses get close. 
AGNIS notes it's time to wake up the Joneses--]
A sickeningly perky song blares from the room's speakers.
"Jesusfuck!" yelps Logan, sitting up fast.
"Turn that off!" roars Jack, hands over ears.
The music stops with a squeal.
""You're welcome,"" smugs AGNIS.
Logan grunts, heaves himself to his feet. "Take it it's time for our chat with the Drift nerds?"
""If you set out now, you should reach your destination on time.""
"Oh boy, lucky us," mumbles Logan, tugging on his boots and heading for the door.
Jack drops his sketchbook (so /nearly finished the draping over the shoulders!), eases to standing, stretches his arms over his head.
Logan bows Jack out—"Age before beauty!"
Jack shoves his head on the way by.
"Know where we're going?"
Jack sighs to a stop.
""Please follow the route indicated,"" says Jack's mobile from his pocket—
Jack retrieves it.
—snickers.
Logan exchanges a look with Jack, who shrugs, takes a deep breath, and sets off.
They stroll a while—
Logan stops.
"What?"
"We're going the wrong way."
"But this's what the map—"
"It's s'posed to be a five minute walk and we've been going for nine."
Jack blinks. "Still have /no idea how you do that."
Logan shrugs. "AGNIS, stop fucking with us—" Glances at Jack's mobile. "—and put the clock back the way it should be."
""I have calculated the shortest route from your current location and reset the chronometer to local time.""
"Thanks," says Jack.
"Lemme see that." Logan grabs the mobile, squints at it. "Very funny, Sparky, this goes through the kitchens—"
""You require the short—""
"—and the /freezer."
""Unconventional shortcuts are necessary in order to arrive on time.""
Logan rolls his eyes, takes hold of Jack's arm, tows him along.
"You're not—!"
"It really is the shortest way."
"But I'll—!"
"You can thaw out while Doctor Drift talks at us."
Jack whines. 
"Thank you /so much for your help, Sparky."
""You're very welcome, Ranger Jones,"" AGNIS purrs, and, with something like pride, tracks the active R-LJON_104.27-G and R-JJON_689.18-G chips as they plod obediently along the path she so kindly laid out for them. 
A path that with a vector intersecting with the active R-RBEC_122.21-B chips. 
AGNIS: Raleigh, the Rangers Jones will [verb] your location in approximately forty five seconds. Please refrain from anything 'dumb'. >I don't know if AGNIS can see the hallways in 3D ... Unless conduits and stuff are a different layer? That'd make sense, actually ...<
[Raleigh:] recon for now. ]
One of the Joneses swears a muffled blue streak and chafes at his arms while the other snickers, ""Aw, c'mon, Jack, it wasn't all /that cold."" >And who's POV?; Raleigh's.; a leftover comment I forgot to delete >__< Thank you!<
""I hate both of you.""
Raleigh grinds his teeth as Team Vulcan ducks into DriftSci, and drops from his hiding place. He takes up a spot on the stairs in front of storage room, pulls his Game Boy from his pocket, starts up Pokémon, listens to the chatter of passing techs with half an ear. 
""—was them?"" says one of Raleigh's favorite mechanics.
""Pretty sure.""
""Awful stupid of 'em, taking on the Beckets.""
""Thought it was just Big Becket?""
""Well, you know those guys: take on one, you get them all,"" he drawls as they pass.
Raleigh keeps his head down and grins.
More footsteps.
They stop.
"Becket, what're you doing there?" asks Sergio.
"Playing Pokémon."
"Which you could be doing somewhere more comfortable."
"Waitin' for that /stronzo," Raleigh growls. 
"I assume you mean Logan?"
"Owe him a punch to the face /and an ass-kicking."
Sergio sighs. "If you're hoping to teach him a lesson, it's not going to work."
"Don't care. He started some shit and I'm gonna finish it." Swallows. "He called me 'Rain Man' in front of Yancy and the entire Rec an' implied I'm ... I'm not all there."
"Listen, Becket, just let it—"
Raleigh leaps to his feet, shoves past Sergio—"/Hey! /You!"
The Jones brothers turn—at slightly different times.
"'sup, Short—"
"Kwoon. Now," growls Raleigh. "Unless you're not up for another round?"
Jackson puts a hand on—
Logan shrugs him off—
Jackson looks pained.
—"'m /always up for—"
"Then it's on," Raleigh sneers. "You got thirty minutes to show up." He snaps a flawless about-face and stalks away without a backwards glance.
Sergio watches him go, then turns back to Logan—
Who's hopping on the spot.
—sighs, "You sure kicked a hornet's nest, kid."
"You've stumbled upon my cunning plan," drawls Younger Jones. 
Older Jones tries to pretend he's not related.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to warm up." Younger Jones twirls, ambles in the direction of the Kwoon.
Older Jones trudges in his wake.
Sergio shakes his head.
His stomach grumbles.
"Okay, okay. We'll hit the mess." Off he goes, through the line for Ranger chow, then spots a familiar face sporting some new bruises.
"Hey, Sergio," greets Yancy, hunched over a mug of tea.
Sergio drops his tray, slides in next to him. "Greetings, Becket." Picks up his fork. "See Logan Jones introduced himself."
Yancy raises an eyebrow—ish.
"Word travels fast." Stabs his pasta. "Didn't I warn you about him?"
"Yeah, you did," Yancy sighs. "I didn't recognize him and he said some fucked up things to Raleigh." Deep breath. "I let him get to me."
Sergio grunts around his mouthful.
"How—" Swallows. "Why'd they make him a Ranger?"
"The reason's written all over you."
"Oh."
"He was dangerous as hell when he showed up at the Academy and training's made him even more so."
Yancy blinks a couple of times. "He learned all that on the fly?"
"That he did," says Sergio. "Not everyone has a Mémé." Queues a mouthful of vegetables. "Checked his rep with some RAAF buddies: used to be a street fighter." Chews. 
Yancy grabs a bite, too. 
Sergio swallows. "Kid had a knack for getting run out of fight clubs for 'excessive violence', then his brother dragged him to the Corps."
"Good lord—" Sits straighter. "Raleigh's gonna challenge him."
"Already did."
Yancy grays.
Sergio checks his watch. "You've got about five minutes to make the Kwoon before the fight starts."
Yancy makes the entire trip at a dead sprint, skids to a halt beside Raleigh. 
«I gave that asswipe thirty minutes to show.»
Yancy wraps him in a hug.
Raleigh buries his face in Yancy's shoulder, shaking with anger.
«Keep your guard up. This guy's—»
«Gonna get everything he deserves.»
«Yeah, he probably is.»
«Still think /La canne'll do the trick?»
«With a French quarterstaff.»
Raleigh likes this. 
«See if a street fighter can keep up with Mémé's training.» Yancy presses a kiss to Raleigh's crown— «And speak of the devil.» Spins him around, excuses himself to the sidelines.
Raleigh straightens his spine. "Rules are simple, Jones: last twenty minutes with me—"
"Only twenty?" smugs Logan, pulling off his boots and socks. "I won't even be warmed up!"
"—in whatever style you like." Raleigh takes up his favorite staff, gives it an experimental heft, and{,} steps onto the mats with his bare feet. >I dunno about this last line.; never liked it, either. Too smug for Raleigh, methinks.; then it's gone!<
Logan stands, strips to a tank top, rolls tattooed shoulders. "Ye sure you wanna give me a handicap, seeing what I did to your better half?"
Raleigh concentrates on his footwork.
"[Aw, Jack,] he doesn't wanna be my fwiend. I'm /hurt." >not sure if you were going for 'ha, see? told you I could do it!' or belittling Raleigh's reaction--the second made more sense here to me<
Raleigh cracks his neck, shoulders, and back in one smooth roll, sets his feet for a long fight.
Logan heaves a disgusted sigh, makes a show of inspecting the staffs on display. "Bruises alright or do I have to play nice?"
"Planned on leavin' a few."
"Awe/some." Logan grins nastily as he picks a short, heavy staff, stretches with it over his head. "This'll be fun, won't it?"
Raleigh waits, silent.
Logan lashes out—
Raleigh shifts his weight—
—misses the back of Raleigh's knee by the barest whisker—
—spins the staff into a whistling blur and strikes—
/THWACK
—grunts, lands a blow on Raleigh's ribs, slides out of reach. "You pull that shot?" he demands.
"Won't make that mistake again."
"Good." Smirks, edges closer. "I do believe it's your turn."
Raleigh mercilessly drives Logan back and forth across the mats, exploiting Logan's height with moves he could't pull off against shorter opponents like Yancy or his Mémé.
Logan's equally relentless, not wasting an ounce of energy as he pounds at Raleigh.
Some of their blows crack against staffs, others slip past guards to smack muscle. They both hit the mat repeatedly, tripped by clever sweeps or knocked down by punishing impacts. Even so, both quickly regain their feet and resume battering each other.
Raleigh ducks a vicious thrust, drums Logan's hip, finishes with a strike which has a good deal of weight behind it. 
His staff creaks dangerously.
Raleigh spins away, takes a deep breath.
"Uh oh~! Don't tell me you're getting tired /already! We've still got four minutes!"
Raleigh blinks at him.
Logan circles idly, taps the side of his head with his staff. "Family gift: mental stopwatch."
A smile full of knives creeps across Raleigh's face. "That the only mental 'gift' you've got?"
"Well, I /did bend a spoon once—"
"How 'bout your last fitness assessment? They call you for another psych eval?"
Logan's eyes narrow.
—Gotcha, asshole.— Out loud, Raleigh sneers, "Touchy subject? Worried about losing your Jaeger?"
"Not—" Logan swings overhand. "—particularly." Smashes down on Raleigh's shoulder—
Raleigh blocks, shoves Logan away. "I wonder if you've got a younger brother. I'm sure he'd /love to hear what you have to say about me."
Logan channels a shrug into another shot at Raleigh's ribs.
"Imagine, wontcha, someone implying your brother's not right in the head—"
"No need to imply."
Cheers around the margins yield to uncomfortable murmurs.
Raleigh spits, "That shit eats away at him, cuts deeper every time some asshole repeats it."
Logan whacks at Raleigh, every strike chipping away at Raleigh's guard. "Heard this song—"
"Your baby brother keeps hearing that voice say he isn't right, isn't normal, he's a complete freak. /You hear people say it behind his back and, when you defend him—/like /you /should—'Oh, you're such a /good brother. You're shouldering such a /burden with that brother of yours.'—"
"You aiming to /talk me to death?"
"I'm not done!" Raleigh roars, a flurry of vicious blows driving Logan back onto the defensive. "And they keep it up: call him 'Short Bus', 'Rain Man', 'special brain', a cheater for getting something he worked his ass off for! Well, guess what?! He's done with it!"
Logan blocks across his body—
Raleigh slashes downward with all his strength, snaps both staffs in half.
The crowd stares in horrified silence.
Logan whistles. "Didn't—"
"That's what you get!" Raleigh shouts as he drops the shattered staff. "I deal with that shit every damn day of my life. So fuckin' /think next time ya wanna pick a fight." Spins on his heel. "C'mon, Yan. I'm done with this asshole."
"Lucky for him you are, I think," smugs Yancy.
Logan rolls his eyes makes a mocking 'talk, talk, talk', gesture.
Raleigh storms to the edge of the mats, pulls on his socks and boots, slings his arms around Yancy's neck as soon has he stands.
Yancy touches his forehead to Raleigh's. «Good job, kid.»
«Thanks.»
They separate, join the crowd leaving the Kwoon.
«You need Medical to check you over?»
«Nah. He doesn't hit hard. Let's go—»
""Oi! Beckets!""
Raleigh and Yancy turn together.
Jackson jogs up to them, fists tightly clenched.
Yancy and Raleigh tense.
Jackson forces his hands open. "You leave our brother outta this," he growls. "He's already had a /lifetime worth of shit because of us and he's still just a little kid." Pulls himself up to his full height. "You wanna pick on someone, come looking for me, yea? Logan and I can take care of ourselves, but the kid's outta bounds. Understand?"
Raleigh drops his eyes. "I'm sorry about dragging your other brother into this. I was trying to give Logan a taste of his own nastiness." He sags against Yancy, sighs, "Didn't seem to work at all."
Jackson crosses his arms. "Because screaming and beating on each other is a /great way to communicate."
Yancy snorts. "Fair 'nuff. Now, I'm sure you've heard this before, but Logan's an asshole."
"Nope, that's /completely new. Thanks for sharing."
Yancy rolls his eyes. "Look, Raleigh's had enough of that shit said to him. If we can't get that message through Logan's thick skull, maybe you can."
"You honestly think he listens to me. 'm flattered."
Raleigh blinks. "But you're—"
"Anything else?" Jackson taps a foot. 
"Well," says Yancy, "if ya come across a Jumphawk pilot with a 'Becket' name tape, run."
Jackson raises an eyebrow.
"He's our uncle and ex-U.S. Special Forces. If he hears what Logan said to Raleigh, you're /both in for a world of hurt."
"I'll keep that in mind." He turns away, marches off. After the first corner, Jackson leans against the wall, takes out his mobile, taps a contact.
""How may I assist you, Ranger Jones?"" says AGNIS.
Jackson drags a hand down his face. "Where's Logan?"
""Your brother is currently moving along a fairly direct vector back to your lodgings, although at roughly two-thirds of his usual strolling speed.""
"Thanks, AGNIS."
""You're welcome, Jackson.""
He disconnects, takes a deep breath, pokes another contact.
""Hello?""
"Hey, Mouse."
""J-Jackson?""
"Yea. Just wanted to check in."
""Uh, o-okay.""
"You doing alright?"
""Y-yea.""
"Cool. Take care, Mouse."
""Th-thanks. Uh, y-you, too.""
"Doing my best." Jackson disconnects, sighs, shoves off, plods back to the room.
Water runs in the shower.
Jackson paws through his duffel, grabs the bottle of aspirin and his water bottle, and swallows three pills with a gulp of water.
""You have consumed an overdose of that medication. I have notified an emergency response team.""
"No, you haven't." Jackson flops on his bed. "I do this every time Logan takes a beating and it hasn't killed me yet."
""There's a first time—""
"I did /not take a beating," sniffs Logan.
"The little bit of you in the back of my skull begs to differ."
Logan perches on the edge of his mattress—hisses.
Jackson smugs.
Logan grumps something in Curtain-ese.
AGNIS scolds in the same language.
Logan snaps back.
AGNIS replies.
Logan smirks, drawls something.
A beat.
Logan smirks louder.
""Jackson, please remove your brother to the canteen before he says something truly regrettable.""
Jackson rolls his eyes, heaves himself to his feet. "C'mon, Shakespeare, let's go eat."
Logan eases upright—
""The kitchen staff have been warned of your impending arrival, as have security personnel.""
—huffs.
The halls in front of them clear with jazz hands, whispers, and evil eyes—and a familiar blond yanking their sibling into a side corridor.
Raleigh stumbles. "Wha?"
"Joneses," mutters Yancy.
"Oh." Raleigh rests his hand on the back of his neck as they resume strolling. «Sooo, umm ... Jackson seems like an okay guy.»
Yancy shrugs. «Gotta wonder how messed up he is, though, being Compatible with that prick.»
«He stood up for his little brother,» Raleigh points out.
«After letting his other little brother bad-mouth you.»
«Logan doesn't really seem the type to be talked out of anything.»
Yancy sighs.
They make another turn.
«Are you seriously thinking of adopting a Ranger like a stray?»
«Of course not,» scoffs Raleigh, «but we're gonna be working with them, so I want to get to know him better.»
«Just ... just be careful, alright? Berserk button, remember?» 
Raleigh unlocks the door to their suite. «I'll watch my step.»
Yancy heads straight for the kitchenette. "I'm makin' tea. Want some?"
"No, thanks. I've got research to do."
That might be a sigh Raleigh hears over the rattling of the kettle.
He shuts the door to his room and straddles his desk chair. "Hey, AGNIS, what're Jackson's hobbies?"
""If you are hoping to kindle a romantic relationship—""
Raleigh squeaks.
""—I regret to inform you Ranger Jones the Older is strictly heterosexual.""
"I—I just—I'm not—" Deep breath. "I just want to /talk to the guy."
AGNIS sighs.
"Are you /disappointed?"
""I am software, Ranger Becket, and as such I lack the capacity for emotion."" Clears her 'throat'. ""Extrapolating from his requisition and purchase history, Ranger Jones shares your enthusiasm for drawing with pencil on paper.""
"Drawing? Really?"
""In addition, his media file indicates he holds a baccalaureate degree in art and design."" 
"Hmm. I never woulda guessed." Brightens—"Thanks, AGNIS!"—drapes himself over the edge of the mattress, pulls open a drawer. He  swings himself to his feet, small box in his hands.
A quick wrap with plain brown paper and Raleigh skips off for the guest Ranger quarters.
Outside the door, though, he hesitates. He takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders, leans the little package against the door, then hoists himself into a nook in the overhead cabling.
It's not long before Australian accents tickle his ears and Jackson rounds the corner into sight, leading Logan, who limps every third step.
Raleigh treats himself to a grin for that.
They stop in front of the door—and the package—Jackson halting Logan behind him with a gesture.
"Looks like we got ourselves a secret 'mirer~!"
Jackson tilts his head from side-to-side to examine the parcel, drawls, "Yea, /that's it. 'cause we have so many of those."
"Ooo ... it's addressed to you." Logan ribs his brother. "When'd you find time to try your charms on the locals?"
Jackson scowls at the box.
"Soooo ... think it's safe?"
"Dunno." Jackson shrugs. "Better check. AGNIS?"
""Yes, Ranger Jones?"" crackles a nearby speaker.
"This li'l gift cleared by the folks in Mail?"
""It was hand-delivered directly to your door by your 'secret admirer'.""
Jackson and Logan step back.
"Who delivered it?"
""Telling you will ruin the surprise.""
Logan rolls his eyes. "If Jack opens it, will it hurt us? By, say, /exploding?"
""The contents are nonexplosive, largely nonflammable, and mostly nontoxic.""
"That's not real reassuring, AGNIS," says Jackson.
""It is, however, real accurate, Jackson.""
He sighs. "Guess there's nothin' for it if we wanna get some rest." Crouches—
""As it has been several months since you have reviewed them, you may wish to update your last wills and testaments, Rangers.""
—grumbles—"Very funny."—picks up the box.
Nothing happens.
Carefully tears part of the brown paper wrapping.
Nothing.
Rips the paper off, opens the box.
""/Surprise!""
Jackson startles so hard the box flies and the contents scatter.
The speaker snickers.
"You /suck!" hollers Jackson.
The speaker continues snickering.
Logan peers over his shoulder. "Wha'd ye get?"
"Charcoal pencils, looks like." Jackson shrugs him off, plucks a pencil from the floor, and examines it. "Handmade. Nice work, too."
"Nerd," says Logan.
Jackson elbows him.
Logan hisses, pushes past and into the room.
Jackson gathers up the rest of the scattered pencils and a folded slip of paper.
- Figured you could use some quiet time. These are a couple of good spots. 
Respectfully, GD -
Jackson studies the hand-drawn map, grunts, heads inside.
Logan's already got his boots off and sprawled on his bunk—
"Jamie packed your glasses, ay?" snickers Jackson.
—makes an obscene gesture without looking away from whatever he's reading on his tablet. "Who's trying to encourage your nerdery?"
"Someone from Team Lady Danger."
"Should've known you'd be one of those," sniffs Logan.
"It's a slur," huffs Jackson, "and I can't believe Command let 'em use it."
"Not everyone's sensitive as you."
Jackson pulls an extra jumper, his hat, and a scarf from his duffel and his parka from the closet, wraps himself up tight.
"Bit overdressed for a one-night-stand ain't ye?"
"All that time and /that's the best you could come up with?"
Logan sorta shrugs. "Got better things on my mind."
"Yea," Jackson drawls, "that's a mighty cute kitten."
"Fuck. You."
"You and Drapes trying to out-cute each other? Thought he'd already won."
Logan growls, hurls—
Jackson ducks—
Bits of tablet tinkle onto Jackson's bunk.
—chuckles—"How're you gonna look at kitties now?"—
—smirks. "How're you gonna sleep with glass in your bed?"
—blinks, glowers. "I /hate you."
"Ditto," mutters Logan.
""Priority requests have been submitted to the Quartermaster for a new tablet and Custodial for a de-sharding.""
Jackson and Logan sigh, "Thanks, AGNIS."
Jackson steps out, checks the map again, and trudges for the nearest exit.
Raleigh, still watching from his hiding place, smothers a squee, and drops to the ground. He hums his way back to his quarters and across the suite.
"Rals, what're you doing?" calls Yancy over the book with which he's sprawled on the sofa.
"Heading out to sketch the great Alaskan wilds, bro. Gimme a break." Raleigh ducks into his room, grabs his pastel kit, some Bristol board, cardboard for backing, and his coat.
"Be back in time for our appointment with Cait," Yancy says absently.
"Will do." With a mock salute, Raleigh's out the door and on his way to his favorite Cold War bunker.
Jackson's already there, bundled up in the black version of Hermann's parka, absorbed in outlining something in a sketchbook with one of Raleigh's pencils.
Raleigh settles down a short distance away, safely outside Jackson's personal space but within his awareness.
Jackson ignores him, keeps scratching away.
"The pencils working out for you?" Raleigh hazards, arranging his pastels on the floor and the boards in his lap.
Jackson huddles deeper into his coat.
"They're my favorite blend." Flicks in the subtle curve of the hill in front of the bunker. "It's been a long time since I've had a chance to share it with someone." 
Nothing but pencil and pastels scuffing.
"Us artists gotta stick together."
Jackson hunches further.
"I'll, uh, show you mine, if you show me yours?"
Gets a dubious Look for that.
Raleigh offers his outline of a landscape, faint green strokes implying the aurora borealis.
Jackson sighs, shows Raleigh a wistful portrait of a beautiful person with /amazing hair.
"Wow," breathes Raleigh. "Who're they?"
Jackson mumbles, "Nobody," and goes back to work. 
"How often do you get to spend real time on a piece?"
His lips press then. "'s been a while. Work keeps getting in the way."
"That's right, you guys are already doing patrols."
Jackson grunts.
"But you haven't fully synced up."
Jackson glances over, raises an eyebrow.
"You an' Logan don't react together yet."
"Probably never will."
Raleigh's turn to lift an eyebrow.
"Low sync rate."
"Really?" Raleigh scoots a little closer. "How low?"
Jackson bristles. "It's good enough to do the job."
"Well, it'll probably still happen if you keep Drifting." Smiles. "I've been talking about Drift side effects with Cait a lot lately."
"Awesome. I can't wait."
Raleigh grins. "Yan an' I started Ghosting while we were still at the Academy and it's been getting stronger ever since."
Jackson takes a deep breath. "How bad does it get?"
"We usually kinda switch talents for a bit." Raleigh tilts his head toward Jackson's sketch. "You might wanna get him his own kit."
"What do you give and get?" He holds his sketchbook at arm's length and squints.
"He starts carving and—" Ducks his face to hide a blush. "—I kinda start flirting."
Jackson snorts a little laugh.
"So, yeah, we trade some of our strengths and ... in /really Compatible pairs, you start ...." Raleigh swallows.
Jackson studies Raleigh's face, then he swallows, too. "Their personalities start bleeding together."
"Yeah, they can, but it doesn't happen to everyone. We've—Doctor Gottlieb, Cait, and I—only noticed it with the pairs who do almost everything in sync first. You and Logan, though, you're not there yet."
"We Drift enough and we could be."
"Exactly."
Jackson sighs, turns to a fresh page.
Raleigh adds a swirl of pink to his project.
A twisted tree takes shape on Jackson's paper.
Raleigh adds a shrub to his. "You guys were at the top of your Academy class, aside from /Shaolin Rogue's pilots."
"Been doing a lot of digging on us, ay?"
"Not exactly? Just looked at your Academy and press stuff," Raleigh explains sheepishly.
"Hmph."
Raleigh chews his lip, centers himself. "I really got to Logan with that crack about psych exams."
"Get that from the press kit, too?"
"Took a shot in the dark."
Jackson snorts.
"He's always looking for a fight, isn't he?"
"What tipped you off?" snarks Jackson.
Raleigh's hand stills on the board and he blinks a few times. "You're trying to protect him."
"He doesn't need—"
"You're trying to protect him—and your other brother—because they're both neuroatypical."
Jackson's resigned sigh sounds very much like Yancy's. "I'm protecting them because they're my brothers." Looks Raleigh dead in the eye. "Whatever may or may not be in their medical files."
Raleigh drops his eyes to his work-in-progress, switching out the pink pastel for a purple and feathering the color down to the barest wisp.
Jackson goes back to sketching.
They sit for a while, aware of each other, but silent.
A chuckle from Jackson.
Raleigh attends.
"You should be honored Logan came for you and your brother first, though," says Jackson. "Based on your rep and files, he figured you two'd be the best fights in The Icebox for him."
Raleigh rolls his eyes. "I guess that's something, but I'm wondering if we should still be pissed about the way he started 'em. We woulda fought him fair 'n square if he'd just asked."
"He's not much've the 'asking' type."
Raleigh chuckles. "What about you? You looking for a fight?"
"Nah," he drawls. "Got better things to do with my time."
""Speaking of time,"" says Jackson's pocket, ""you have ten minutes to reach the Drift Science laboratory, Ranger Becket.""
Raleigh eeps, hastily packs his gear, and hops to his feet.
"You should thank her, Becket."
"Right! Thanks, AGNIS!"
""You're welcome.""
"Think you can find your way back from here?" asks Raleigh, bouncing on his toes.
"I've got your map," huffs Jackson. "Go."
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