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'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."

"Or in other words, 'go find something else to do already, Jack'," he says, with a weak smile.

"No, I - I didn't mean that."

She rises to sit up, then reaches for the glass of orange juice.

"It's just - I'd understand if you didn't feel like baby-sitting."

Jack shifts in his chair. Surprisingly, he wants to be here. He likes talking with Beckett; it doesn't feel like a chore to sit in here, though he's not exactly sure how far it goes, or whether he wants to even try and describe it.

So instead, what comes out is an awkward, "It's not...I don't see it as 'baby-sitting'. And I don't really have anything more important to do in here."

She glances up at him. Maybe it wasn't the word she'd meant to use, exactly, because as soon as she'd said it, she'd regretted it.

"Okay," she murmurs, and her smile turns grateful.

"I mean, it's nice - having someone to talk to here. Ever since Kate and Bill left for France, I haven't really... you know?"

Jack's just glad he hasn't pissed her off with the way he'd phrased his reply.

"Friends of yours, I take it? Do you only know them from in here, or are they from your world, too?"

"I met them both here, actually. But due to a recent incident, they decided to take a leave of absence here for a while."

Her expression turns cloudy.

"It was safer for them, in the long run."

Doesn't mean she's any happier about it.

"Safer? They were in some kind of danger here?" Jack asks, suddenly a little more attentive than before.

Even though he has no authority here and doesn't want anything to do with law enforcement here or outside, it's hard to turn that instinct off.

It was hard for Beckett, too.

"Apparently they'd run into trouble with another patron here. I'm pretty sure Bar's security team wound up handling things, but they decided to take a break from this place, which was probably the best thing to do for a while."