OOM: Beckett's Room

[trigger_man]

 [After this.]

Jack makes a quick pit stop in his room to change into dry clothes, already feeling the burn on his skin as it warms up again.

Heading back out into the hall, he hesitates for a second outside Beckett's door.  After the awkwardness of him falling on top of her--and neither of them moving for a moment--this might not be the best idea.  But then he'd told her he'd be there in a moment, as as much as part of him has misgivings about it, there's part of him that wants to show that whatever that moment outside had been, it was just an aberration; nothing to see here, move along.

Taking a breath, he raps decisively on her door.

Comments

[fanofthegenre]

"Here, I've got it."

She reaches out to take it with the intention of rinsing it clean, fingers dropping down across his hand.

[trigger_man]

Jack glances at her hand as it touches his, something tightening in his stomach, something he can't quite define.

"Uh, thanks."

[fanofthegenre]

She swallows, nodding quickly, and pulls the mug free from his grasp, stepping past into the kitchen.

"No problem."

She's standing over the sink a few moments later, sticking the dirty mug in under the spray and scrubbing it hard with a sponge, her earlier words coming back to haunt her in a way that's more irritating than anything else.

"What are you doing, Kate?" she mutters.

[trigger_man]

Jack's too busy asking himself the same question to realize what she's said, but the sound of her muttering something brings him back to earth.

"Sorry?"

[fanofthegenre]

She nearly jumps, mug slipping from her soapy grip into the sink with a loud sound.

"I didn't know you were there," Beckett says, without turning around.

[trigger_man]

Jack startles slightly at the noise, even though he sees it slip from her hand. "Not like I left the room in the last thirty seconds."

[fanofthegenre]

"Obviously," Beckett says, but there's only a smile on her lips when she looks over her shoulder at him.

"You sufficiently warmed up yet?"

[trigger_man]

"Yeah, I think I'm warmed up. Is it normal not to be able to feel my toes?" Jack says, his voice heavily laced with sarcasm.

[fanofthegenre]

"I'm not a doctor, but I think something might be wrong there," she replies, feigning ignorance, and crosses the room to him.

"That's what you get for playing dirty."

[trigger_man]

"It was a sacrifice worth making, then."

[fanofthegenre]

"You're a worthy opponent."

She offers him her hand, nodding decisively.

"Any time you want a re-match, just say the word."

[trigger_man]

"You're on," he says, taking her hand and shaking it.

[fanofthegenre]

"Good."

She squeezes his hand - once, not too hard.

"Small disclaimer: next time I may not play by the rules, either."

[trigger_man]

"I don't think I'll be losing sleep over that one," he says, giving her hand a gentle squeeze in return.

[fanofthegenre]

She considers that for a moment, then nods.

"Yeah, I can see how you wouldn't. I'm not really all that intimidating compared to what you've dealt with, am I?"

[trigger_man]

He's still holding her hand and somehow it's almost comforting as he replies.

"No, you're not," he says bluntly.

[fanofthegenre]

"Not exactly quick to disagree, are you?" she teases, gently nudging his arm with the back of her free hand.

[trigger_man]

"No real point in disagreeing," he says with a slight shrug.

[fanofthegenre]

"Maybe not."

Her gaze falls to their hands, her thumb sweeping over his knuckles.

"I can live with it," she quietly adds.

[trigger_man]

"There are worse options, really."

[fanofthegenre]

"Much, much worse," she agrees.

"This okay?"

[trigger_man]

He looks down at their hands. For a moment he has a flash of memory of the last time he held someone's hand, but just as quickly he tries to push it away.

"I want you to live. Don't just survive."

"Yeah, I think so. Okay with you?"

[fanofthegenre]

She turns his hand over, her eyes still looking down on them the same way his are.

"Fine," Beckett murmurs.

Her fingertips trace the scar on the outside, barely a light brush.

[trigger_man]

Watching her fingertips dance around the edge of his hand, skirting the scar that covers the back of it, he's starting to feel a little of that familiar tension, deep down. It's the unsettled feeling he gets when people get too close or someone he doesn't know touches him. Just a little though; like a few bubbles forming on the bottom of a pot, nowhere near a boil just yet.

"You can touch the scar, you know," he says softly, after a moment. "I won't be able to feel it."

[fanofthegenre]

She doesn't have to be a mind-reader to know she's treading a very thin line - not just for him, but for them both. And still, there's an odd kind of fascinating as she maps out the shape of his hand under her fingers, looking up at him through the few strands of hair that fall in front of her eyes.

"Not at all?" Beckett asks, genuinely curious.