[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.
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.
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He has to admit to feeling a little nervous as he places his hands on her shoulders, starting to work slow circles over her upper spine and shoulder blades with his thumbs.
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She draws in a breath, then releases it again, shoulders gradually yielding under his hands.
"Good," Beckett finally finishes. "It's good."
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There's a moment of silence in which he debates whether he wants to mention what he's thinking about. Then again, with everything he's opened up about already he might as well go for broke.
"I got pretty good at this, as my wife worked in graphic design and she'd be hunched over a drawing table or a computer all day."
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"You were married," Beckett murmurs, and it's less of a question so much as it is just a restating of the truth he's just told her.
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Ten years in three months from now, he realizes. It feels longer.
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She turns her head again, to speak.
"I'm sorry."
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"It's okay; it's been a long time. You know what it's like."
He still misses Teri, still wishes it could have been him instead of her. But it doesn't hurt as much; partly because he learned to cope with it and found love again. Partly because a hundred other hurts have come in between him and losing Teri.
Not that he's ever entirely stopped thinking that it's his fault Teri died. The first name in a long list of people that got hurt or killed because of him.
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Unconsciously, she reaches for the ring dangling on the chain around her neck, partly hidden beneath her shirt, fingers toying with the band.
"It gets easier, after a while. It hurts less."
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"I know how you feel."
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"Don't I know it. If anything, we totally deserve the access to this bar, just to ensure time stops for us every now and then."
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Sarcasm much?
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She might be biased, seeing as how she's on the receiving end, but details.
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She leans forward, back arching, stretching until she can hear the slight crack, and then rolls her shoulders back again.
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She's not even thinking about it when she adds: "Want to switch?"
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Besides, he knows he could probably use it, and there's no fucking way he's letting a stranger--no matter how professional--get into his personal space.
"Would it be easier if I sat down?" Jack asks, taking a rather large sip of his drink to try and settle his nerves.
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"I might be rusty, too, all things considered. Keep an open mind."
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"Don't worry, I will."
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She squares up behind him, flexing her fingers, and then settles her hands on him - gently, at first, not applying too much pressure so she doesn't overwhelm him, and then slowly, gradually starts to knead firmer on his shoulders.
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"That feels better than I remembered," Jack says after a minute or two.
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