Wife-Kids-Family

## Meta

**Timing:** immediately after "Replacements"

**Setting:** Jones' quarters

## Text

Herc sighs after the tiny Quartermasterling fleeing down the corridor, scrubs his face.

The VS Rangers' suite door is wide open.

[He steals a look inside.

""—have a goddamn conver—""

What must be the Jones siblings, tall and kinda thin for Rangers, hissing at each other on the far side of the kitchenette, oblivious.

""—rules, Jack! Play along and you'll—""

Pictures taped all over the walls—

""—fuckin' /**know**, alright! 's just—""

—Beautiful Indigenous woman smiling at the photographer like they're the best thing on the planet—

""—sucks, but you've gotta—""

—Anklebiter hugging a plush giraffe—

""—shut /**up**!""

—Angelic baby napping.

""—fuck's sake, lis! en! to! me! Won't—""

Herc frowns at the hand twisting his wedding ring, peels it away.

""—be like /**you**!""]

A deep breath, shoulders back. "Jones?" he calls.

They freeze mid-snarl, turn slowly to face him.

"/**What**," snaps the one in the t-shirt[.]

The one in the jumper winces.

{—looking daggers.}

"I, uh, just wanted to come by and introduce myself. Herc Hansen." Offers his hand.

They remain in place; T-shirt frowning, Jumper staring at the floor.

Herc retracts the hand. "Uh, and you are?"

"Logan." T-shirt indicates themself, jerks a thumb toward Jumper. "Jackson."

"He-him-his," says Jackson. A spark of light from a gold band as he rubs his neck. "Both of us."

Herc's eyes flick from Jackson's hand to the wall of photographs.

Wife.

Kids.

Family.

Metal under his fingers.

Quit it with the ring, Herc.

Steels himself, nods toward the photographs. "Wife and kids?"

Jackson follows his gaze. "Yea." Shoulders sag.

"Reminds me of when Chuck was little." Gaze drifts floorward. "They going to live on-base?"

"We're—" Shifts. "—not sure yet."

"Command usually lets families stay—"

"Is that what you did with Chuck?"

"Yea. Tyke was only [thirteen]." <to avoid the 'child soldier' thing, the PPDC amends Chuck's documents so that he's 'born' two years earlier than he actually was, making him 13 when Herc's at the Academy and starts in Hong Kong and 15 when they move to the Shed; Herc's been lying about this long enough now it's second nature>

"Is that how it works, then?"

"What—"

"Would make it easier, I suppose," Jackson's eyes are bright and bloodshot.

"It really would."

"They're right there, twenty four-seven." Wild-bright. Unhinged. "Kids get to be with their parents, get [turned] into little soldiers?"

"I don't—"

"Is that what you're suggesting?"

"I—"

"Is this parenting advice from the 'great' Herc Hansen?"

"Not trying t—"

"But you think I should bring my kids here." Rounds the table, jaw tight. "You think I should bring my kids here, hand them over to the Corps, sit back and watch them make soldiers out of them?"

"But, don't you thin—"

"Is that it?"

"Jack—" Logan grabs his arm.

Shakes him off. "Are you /**suggesting** I turn my /**children** into /**killers**?" Stalks into Herc's space.

Herc holds his ground, eyes locked on Jackson's.

"They can sign my warrant a hundred thousand times but they will /**never** get my kids."

"Sounds like you've made up your mind, then."

"You better fucking believe I have."

"Right."

"Anything else to say, /**sir**?"

"Nah. I'm done." Herc steps back. "I'll see you 'round." Turns and strolls off down the hall, Jackson's stare on his back.