trigger_man | (no subject)

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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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"I'm sorry," she says.

For what, she's not sure. Maybe that he'd had to come to that realization in a way that appears to have been really difficult. Maybe that he'd had to come to that realization at all.

Jack shakes his head. "I'm not," he says, though he gets the feeling that she's not just talking about his being out of a job. He isn't sorry that he won't be working for CTU again, but he sure as hell wishes he could change what led to that. Especially if it meant certain people not dying in the process.

"CTU takes a lot from your life. I tried starting over, having a real life again once before, but like I said, I ended up back there during a crisis."

Again, it's hard for her to tell if there's relief in his voice when he's talking about CTU, but it seems like it's better for everyone involved if he's gotten out of everything that would keep him involved there.

"Here's your chance, then," she tells him. "To get your life back."

"Or start a new one," he says, trying to sound calm, though he's not sure he quite makes it. There isn't really much for him to get back.

It's optimism, however small, and she nods encouragingly, reaching for that thermos again.

"That's the spirit," she murmurs.

He's not sure it really counts as optimism. He still has to figure out why he should bother.

"This place doesn't seem like too bad a spot to start doing that. Barring the stranger flus that people get here."

"And I'm pretty sure that's not all too common," Beckett adds.

"At least there's enough to do here and outside."

"I haven't explored inside much; mostly outside." He's certainly planning to take advantage of the target range he'd found.

"I've been to the firing range a few times," Beckett confesses, setting down the thermos and laying back, propping a pillow against the couch's arm for her head.

"It's... therapeutic."

"Yeah. Punching bags are good for that too, I've found."

At the moment he's feeling like a punching bag might be better. It's a little more direct, a little more hands-on, imagining that the punching bag is someone he'd like to beat the hell out of.

"Trying to get tough cases out of your system?" he asks, with a slightly raised eyebrow.

"Mmm."

Beckett scrunches her nose at the option of a punching bag, then shakes her head.

"Tough writers," she adds, with a slow smirk.

"Yeah, I can see that. Has he behaved himself lately?"

"Suspiciously, yes. I'd question his motives but I think he'd actually enjoy the interrogation."

Which sort of defeats the whole purpose.

Jack gives her a grim smile. "That depends entirely on the interrogation."

"Why do I get the feeling your methods would be slightly different than mine?"

It's a lucky guess.

"Because I can't see you holding a gun to the head of an unarmed suspect for one, and you know I have."

And some of his interrogations have gone a lot further than that.

She clears her throat discreetly.

"You'd be surprised."

Granted, it's only after they've dropped their own weapon, but details.

"Making an arrest doesn't count."

If she's really feeling immature, she might stick her tongue out at him.

She settles for making another face.

"That's fascinating, Beckett, I never would have thought that," Jack says. Sarcasm? Noooo, certainly not.

She makes a small sound of protest.

"It does too count, by the way."

Jack doesn't comment. "How's your stomach feeling? Do you want me to bring up something more substantial than soup, later?"

Don't think she didn't notice that.

"Better," she admits. At least she didn't get the ickiest part of the flu and can actually keep things down.

"Maybe I'll try my hand at a sandwich, even."

Jack nods. "I can ask Bar at least. Though you never know with...her." Referring to the actual bar as "Bar" is one thing; he still can't quite get used to using a gendered pronoun in that context as well.

Beckett smiles, briefly.

"You know, you don't have to stick around with a sick person all day. It's kind of a downer. I think I'm even depressing myself."