Rank: Petty Officer 1st Class
Position: Security Crewman
Born: 2344 (41yo)
Quite a big man, Fletcher nevertheless is slightly more long-limbed than bulky. His dark hair is often rather messy, his features somewhat narrow, his green eyes keen and inquisitive but almost beady in their assessment. He doesn’t look especially suited to a uniform – somehow he manages to make it seem scruffy without trying, and it tends to hang off him even if he gets one which allegedly fits properly. Though he claims to shave, he perpetually has a hint of stubbly shadow across his chin. He’s often found wearing a smirk – sometimes a smug smirk, sometimes a knowing smirk, at bad times, a rather vicious smirk of intensely malicious intent. Jack speaks in a rather thick London accent.
Jack Fletcher, on the surface, comes across as irreverent and unprofessional. Digging deeper would show how he cares about his work intensely, just not the niceties of procedure, and that he'll pay lip-service to someone's rank but they'll have to earn his respect themselves. He seems to paint himself as a roguish charmer, the type who'll play good cop in an interrogation and win the confidence of a suspect, who'll take the lads out for drinks down the pub after a shift. He'll often push his superiors to see how much of his antics they can tolerate and then fall in line accordingly, but nevertheless has a somewhat paternal streak where he'll - in his backhanded and occasionally erratic manner - often take those more inexperienced of him, regardless of rank, under his wing. This may be on matters of profession, or matters of the universe at large, depending on his mood or interest.
He's an excellent criminal investigator, even his most frustrated commanders have to accept this. He looks beyond the immediately obvious, and is sufficiently cynical and paranoid that he suspects anything and everyone, often where some younger officers might be inclined to think the best of others in Starfleet. Fletcher most notably thinks of himself as an 'old guard' sort of Starfleet man, uncomfortable with the developing galaxy where Cardassians and Klingons he once fought are now allies, and how the Federation is very keen to hold hands with people who once tried to shoot him. A lot. He tolerates this, but is often inclined towards grumbles that begin with the words "In my day..."
He won't talk much about his past, especially not his past in undercover investigations. If pressed, he'll tend to default to his family. His parents are still alive, his sister is by now a qualified doctor - Fletcher is obviously immensely proud of her and thinks of her as being far, far better than him - and his brother is settled down with a family. He rejects any hints of bitterness at their lot being better than his, shrugging and saying it's an older brother's job. Fletcher will be more evasive about his ex-wife, unless he has a drink in his hand and then his expressions are rather more colourful, and turns wistful on the subject of how he's not been able to get to know his daughter as well as he'd like.
He never rose very far up the ranks, mostly because he enjoys doing the job in front of him and has little interest in responsibility beyond this. He's proven himself competent in commanding small units of men, including in high-stress combat situations, but has rejected most efforts to give him more authority than this. Fletcher is only above-average with a phaser for a security officer, mostly through sheer experience, but in close combat is something of a nightmare. Friends once tried to encourage him to take part in competitions until they noticed he fights vicious and dirty and would probably be disqualified in the opening ten seconds for bottling someone in the face.
Astute commanders have noted that there's more than meets the eye with Jack Fletcher. The broad London accent he speaks in will occasionally slip away in times of great stress; many suspect he embraces his irreverent manner in order to be underestimated. Then he'll enjoy throwing people off balance by displaying his love of music, literature, cooking; cultural pursuits that don't seem to at all match the stereotypes he embraces. Whether this is all part of a complicated defensive mechanism so nobody knows the real Jack Fletcher, or simply an escapade for his own amusement is unclear.
Jack Fletcher was born in London, Earth, eldest son of George and Mary Fletcher. Of rather humble origins, George was a retired Starfleet veteran of the Klingon conflicts, which had left him with a rather chequered pattern of self-control following the various traumas, and Mary was a freelance civil engineer unemployed more often than not.
It wasn't the easiest upbringing for Jack. His father was a bitter man run ragged by his experience, and attempted to instil in his children an attitude of discipline better suited to a boot camp than a household. His mother, disheartened by this long ago and losing her motivation with her work, tended to spend more time with a bottle of gin than her family. So it fell to Jack, as the eldest, to keep matters as under control as he could. Any criticisms laid at his brother Bill or his sister Anna he tried to deflect his way, putting himself directly in the path of his domineering father. And where his mother was neglectful, he tried to compensate.
The burden of this would prove to hold him back academically, as he spent more time tending to the household than his schoolwork. He would also blow off steam and stress by staying out of the house as often as he dared, usually spending it with other somewhat disreputable kids of his school and area. This brought more of his father's ire down upon his head, until he finally turned eighteen and left school with very few qualifications and even less training. There was no question of whether he'd be allowed to stay in the family home.
Almost to spite his father, Fletcher turned his attention to enlistment in Starfleet. When taking various aptitude tests he showed the bright spark in his mind that had never been honed, and the somewhat rough but well-formed character that his responsibilities had given him. But there was also an edge from his less reputable behaviour that Boot Camp was determined to wear off.
He trained as a security officer, physically fit and capable, and showing a keen mind for tactical operations and criminal investigation. As the conflict with the Cardassians stumbled on, he was posted to the USS Terpsichore as what he would describe a simple grunt. For the most part, Fletcher's job there was to be a part of a security team on a ship that saw conflict more often than not. He honed his capability at teamwork, his skills with a phaser, and overall began to grow up as what was only not a war by legal definition echoed around him. The Terpsichore was withdrawn from the lines in time for the Battle of Wolf 359, however, and Fletcher considered himself lucky to have been posted near the escape pods at the time of the battle.
Afterwards he was assigned to the USS Dallas, in a rather more peaceful time. Still young, it was then that he would meet Ensign Brad Clarke, newly graduated from the Academy and technically Fletcher's superior. But the two would become firm friends as they worked together, being of a similar age - though otherwise they couldn't be more different. Clarke was from a strong Starfleet background and a good education; Fletcher had signed up mostly to spite his father and schooling was something that had happened to other people. But he had experience over Clarke, and giving him advice at first turned into a firmer bond. Clarke also introduced Fletcher to the various aspects of life and culture he'd missed out on - music, literature, cuisine, and encouraged his friend to have slightly grander aspirations than just being, again, a simple grunt.
Fletcher moved towards criminal investigation on the Dallas, showing himself to have a sufficiently suspicious and cynical mind to be a natural at it. He would tend to frustrate his commanders with his disregard for the procedure and fondness for his gut instinct over his regulations, but his results were sufficient - and his friendship with Clarke helped - that there were no disciplinary disasters.
It was also at this time he met the civilian engineering consultant Emily Sullivan, and the two would fall into an ill-advised, passionate affair that would result in a pregnancy, and then a subsequently even more ill-advised marriage. That was in 2367. By 2370, they were divorced, the two thoroughly incompatible and by then unable to stand the sight of her. Emily took their daughter, Nathalie, back with her to Earth. Their daughter has remained, over the years, their only point of contact, and though Fletcher stays in touch with her, they have never lived together since.
An embittered Fletcher pushed himself back into his work, though more erratic work practices and the transfer of Clarke off the Dallas meant that his behaviour became rather less tolerated. Circumstances might have worsened had it not been for the outbreak of the Klingon war, where Fletcher embraced the rifle over his investigative mind, and was quite content to get to work. He was actually decorated for bravery in this conflict, and in the ones to come - Sector 001, and the Dominion War. His commanders noticed his aptitude when it came to leading small teams, his absolute fearlessness in battle, and his laid-back manner which earned him the trust of his men. The more astute realised that this was because Fletcher didn't especially care any more.
His Security Chief at the end of the Dominion War pulled him off active assignment almost forcibly, and sent him back to Earth, back to the Security Department Headquarters. There Fletcher underwent some quite intensive psycho-therapy which he resisted quite determinedly and counsellors remain uncertain of how much slipped through his walls. But they did achieve what they intended to - ensuring he was suitable for duty. Most notably, ensuring he was suitable for the duty his superiors had picked him for. A tough upbringing, a confidence in the morals of Starfleet without adhering rigidly to the rules, and a definite devil-may-care attitude saw command wishing to post him to criminal investigation full time.
The next ten years would see him mostly off starship assignments. Officially, and even sometimes literally, he would be working with starbase and colony security and police forces, coordinating street efforts with Starfleet and lending his expertise. More actively, he was sent on various undercover assignments with a variety of criminal elements. For long periods, Fletcher would descend into the Federation's underbelly and emerge, months later - once disappearing for a year - with some sort of arrest under his belt. He was a social chameleon, sharp and quick on his feet and adaptable to most any situation. He was also a sufficiently unorthodox Starfleet officer, in a galaxy where the bright spots were become increasingly bright and spotless, to not draw attention to himself.
But it had its toll. One post-operation psychological evaluation saw Fletcher's counsellor recommending he be taken off these assignments, and returned to a more mundane Starfleet life. Despite Fletcher's own protests, he was posted to the USS Finnegan for six months as a temporary measure, thoroughly upsetting his by-the-book Chief of Security and his newly-graduated superiors, before a place was found for him on Kepler Station. Perhaps because someone thought his skills were suitable - or perhaps to just keep him out of the way.
- 2362 - 2366: USS Terpsichore; Security Crewman (Crewman)
- 2366 - 2372: USS Dallas; Security Investigations Officer (Petty Officer 3rd Class)
- 2372 - 2376: USS Ironside; Master-at-Arms (Petty Officer 2nd Class)
- 2376 - 2385: Security Liaisons Department; Security Crewman (Petty Officer 1st Class)
- 2385: USS Finnegan; Security Crewman (Petty Officer 1st Class)
- 2385 - Present: Kepler Station; Security Crewman (Petty Officer 1st Class)
Father: Chief Petty Officer (ret.) George Fletcher
Mother: Mary Fletcher
Younger Brother: Bill Fletcher
Younger Sister: Anna Fletcher
Ex-Wife: Emily Sullivan
Daughter: Nathalie Fletcher