DR: Jack and Beckett, Post-"Knockout"

It always starts out as an ordinary day.

Jack's got his bag slung over his shoulder, ready to head out to his world for a while.  Only when he opens the door, it's not the tiny apartment he's rented in Lexington that he sees.  Instead, it's sidewalk and tall apartment buildings.  Turning his head, he sees yellow cabs and New York licence plates, behind him apparently an ordinary phone booth.

Something cold settles in his stomach; there are only a few reasons for the bar to have dropped him off somewhere other than the place where he'd walked in, and none of them are good.

Following a hunch, he covers the sidewalk between him and the nearest apartment building in a couple strides, eyes searching the nameplates by the door, until he finds the one he's looking for.

K. Beckett.

The bar dropped him off at her home, not the precinct, not a hospital.

(not a morgue, a church or a cemetery)

Telling himself that it can't be that bad if he's been kicked out of the bar at her apartment building, he presses the button to buzz her apartment.

If only the butterflies in his stomach were listening.