trigger_man | (no subject)

Jack's been keeping an eye on Beckett, and he's starting to have to admit to himself that it's not just out of ordinary human concern. He's worried about her, particularly considering the hallucinations she'd had. Which means that he's started to see her as more than an acquaintance. Maybe not quite a friend, yet, but more than just someone whose name he knows.

He's not sure how he feels about this. He doesn't want to get close to anyone; getting close means getting hurt eventually. And it's not himself getting hurt that he's really worried about.

But even with those misgivings he can't not head up to Beckett's room, carrying a tray from Bar with the kinds of things she needs, or should have. Chicken soup, orange juice, ginger ale, kleenex; it might have been Bar's idea, but Jack had been intending to get a few things anyway.

He shifts the tray to one hand so he can knock on the door. He has her key, of course, but he can't be sure she isn't taking a bath to try and cool off or that she wants the company.

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"Us," Beckett answers, almost too quickly. She clears her throat, starts over.

"Uh, you and me."

Of course he notices the slip, but he's sure as hell not going to draw attention to it.

"Yeah, me too. A lot less dangerous for you."

"I'm not a stranger to dangerous, Jack."

She's going to be the first to draw attention to that. Granted, what she'd seen through Stenger's memories had been more than slightly off-putting, but she's been in particularly hairy situations that have left her in a life-or-death moment more than once.

"No, you're not. But I'm guessing you haven't been five feet from a nuclear bomb that's been about to explode before," he says, wryly. "I'm not trying to make this some kind of competition or something. But generally if I meet someone because of CTU it's not a good time to be around me, because usually there's some pretty high stakes involved."

"Maybe not."

She sets down the glass, then leans back against the couch cushions again.

"No high stakes here, though. Actually, I don't think there are any stakes whatsoever."

"Yeah. Definitely a welcome change. For you too; no dealing with humanity's failings in here."

"That's a pretty bleak way to look at the world, you know," she tells him.

She doesn't know the half of what he's seen, what he's had to deal with, but the only reason she gets through each day after what she deals with is maintaining some semblance of hope about it all.

"Sorry," he says, rubbing his face. "This isn't the kind of thing you need to hear right now. I guess I'm just...burned out. I haven't entirely lost my faith in people, I don't think."

Just in a large number of those I should be able to trust.

"That's reassuring," she says, and her expression reflects it.

"Though you have every right to feel burned out. Now I'm wondering if maybe I should be the one who makes sure you gets some rest."

She's partly teasing.

He gives her a long-suffering look. "I'm getting as much sleep as I'm going to, Beckett. You, however, should probably get some more rest."

She knows she'll have a hard time pressing the issue with him, especially when she's not one-hundred percent.

Beckett sighs audibly.

"You're probably right," she murmurs, as she rises from the couch.

"Anything you want from the Bar, later?" he asks, getting to his feet.

"Like I said, I probably wouldn't pass up a sandwich. Maybe grilled cheese?"

He gets a grateful smile for his trouble; if she considers reaching out to him, briefly, the urge is curbed, and she crosses her arms over her front.

"Thank you, though. For all of this."

"It's no trouble. Get some sleep," he says, nodding toward the bed as he heads for the door.

"Okay."

She nods, once, and waits until the door closes behind him. She takes a shower first, despite her promisings, and then crawls into bed, falling asleep before her hair has time to dry completely.