Lapdogs

## Meta

**Setting:** Gym, Jaeger Academy

**Timing:** July 2022, after "Birthday Present"

## Text

Jackson props up the gym wall beside Logan, watching Ranger-track cadets spar.

An absolutely ripped black person slams a huge Latinx to mat with an impact Jackson feels through his bare feet.

He shudders. "They're throwing us to the wolves, ay?"

Logan scoffs. "These are /**lapdogs**."

"Compared to what?"

""Madrigal!"" yells the instructor.

Logan grins, all teeth. "Me."

"I hope they have medics on standby," mumbles Jackson.

The Uniform at his elbow chuckles.

Logan looks between them. "What's so—"

""Jones!""

Logan shoves Jackson forward.

Jackson whirls, offended.

"So they don't think you're on my level."

Jackson glares. "Any advice?"

Logan peers around Jackson at his opponent. "That one's all bulk, no conditioning. Just block until they start panting. If they don't knock you out before that, you'll be able to drop 'em with a feather."

"Great. Just great." Jackson sets his teeth, drags his feet to the center of the mats.

Madrigal bows politely.

Jackson bows— coughs, mumbles an apology.

Madrigal watches, like a dog wagging its tail and waiting to be let off its chain.

Jackson takes a deep breath, assumes the stance Logan showed him.

The fight takes /**waaaay** too long; Madrigal hits like he has skillets for hands, Jackson loses his feet twice and whiffs as often as he connects—he knows it's ug-/**ly**—but he's still thrilled when the instructor calls him the winner.

"Nice work, Jones." The instructor whacks him on the back.

Jackson grunts, limps back to the perimeter.

"Told you~," smirks Logan.

Jackson coughs into his elbow, "I hate you."

"Don't waste it on me."

""Other Jones!""

"Showtime!" chirps Logan, pushing off.

Jackson shakes his head, rasps, "What the hell went wrong with you?"

"Be glad it did, Jack." Logan looks back over his shoulder, smirks. "This would be a lot harder on you if it hadn't."

Jackson steps closer to the mats, half-hoping to see Logan bleed for being a cocky smartass.

"Hsüeh!"

Another cadet, the biggest person in the room, steps up, bows to instructor.

"Ten bucks says the skinny fucker doesn't last three punches," stage-whispers one Uniform to the other.

Logan stretches his arms over his head, rolls his shoulders, ambles to the center of the mats.

"I'll take that bet."

The instructor grins.

The Uniforms shake on it.

Logan bobs a smug greeting to both of them.

Cadet's guard comes up, they circle.

Logan stays relaxed, open, loose-limbed, pivots to keep Hsüeh in front of him.

The first punch, to Hsüeh's thigh, drops the cadet to all fours.

For a follow-up, Logan drives his knee into Hsüeh's chin and the cadet drops like a stone, out cold.

Jackson blinks.

Logan looks down, shakes his head sadly.

"Holy fuckin' shit," breathes the losing Uniform.

"Stay right there, Jones."

Logan sighs.

"Cedillo!"

After five moves Cedillo has two black eyes, two broken fingers, a broken nose, and refuses to get up.

Logan laughs.

Jackson's stomach turns.

"Nevzorov!"

One move and Nevzorov's clutching an ear, blood trickling between their fingers, keening in pain.

Jackson cringes.

Logan rolls his eyes.

"Bennett!"

Three moves: Bennett's face-down on the mat clutching a broken hand.

"Well, that was a nice warm-up," crows Logan. "When does the real fighting start?"

Most of the cadets shift their weight back.

Jackson. just. stares.

"That dude is a fucking monster," mumbles a Uniform.

"I'm asking for hazard pay," agrees the second.

Logan smirks.

"Hao!"

Four moves: Hao is spitting blood and short a tooth.

"No disrespect, sir," says Logan, arms crossed, head cocked, "but I think we should knock this off before you run out of healthy cadets." Grins. "I can keep this up for /**hours**."

The instructor scowls, barks, "Get outta here, Jones. Both of ya."

"Yes, sir." Logan snaps a turn, saunters back to Jackson.

Jackson chokes out, "What the fuck /**are** you?"

Logan quirks an eyebrow.

The Uniforms nudge them toward the door.

"You just fucking /**destroyed** five huge people and you're not even breathing hard."

"Jack, that's what I do." Waves a hand back toward the gym. "That's how I made my living since I left Mum and Dad's."

"I thought you were a—"

"Thievery was a sideline. Most of my money came from winning fights." Claps Jackson on the back. "Let's hit the showers before they run out of hot water."

Their bare feet slap the concrete floor.

"I knew you fought, but I had no idea you were—" Jackson swallows.

Logan raises an eyebrow at Jackson's silence but says nothing.

They reach the change room; the Uniforms do a quick sweep, post themselves at the door.

Jackson wanders to a bench, pulls off his t-shirt.

Logan takes off his, dumps it in a pile.

Jackson says softly, "You could've killed Charlie."

"Maybe." Logan shrugs. "She's pretty tough. She could've taken most of those guys or at least hurt 'em bad." Smirks. "Definitely would've done better against them than you."

"I was too busy being a—" Sags. "—dad to learn to beat someone up."

"Good thing you have me, then."

Jackson's hand goes still on the faucet.

"What?"

"I just realized. /**This** is why they said you were perfect. Why they— I didn't get it until right now."

Logan rolls his eyes, turns on Jackson's shower. "You thought they wanted me because I'm a decent thief?" Starts his own.

"I— I didn't—" Deep breath. "I hadn't thought about it, actually."

Logan sniffs, straightens.

"But, why'd you, uh, /**humiliate** them like that? Could've just won."

"We're supposed to keep to ourselves, ay?" Grins. "Can you think of a faster way to make sure no one comes knocking?"

Jackson blinks at him. "That's both efficient and terrifying." Coughs. "They're all going to be trying to kick our asses now."

"Practice is the best way to learn, Jack," smirks Logan.

"If you get me killed, Charlie'll—"

"Hunt me down and make a pie outta me, I know, I know." Logan rolls his eyes.