It's the pounding in his head that wakes him the following morning, and for a moment he has that stomach-roiling panic of where am I why does my head hurt--

That is, until he realizes the real reason his head feels like someone's tried to bash it in and it's not just panic making him feel close to puking.  If there's one thing Jack's pretty familiar with, it's a hangover.

Even just the light coming through his eyelids gives him the sensation of an ice pick being stabbed into his brain, and so he slowly rolls away from the window, curling into a ball with a moan and wishing the rest of the world would just go away already.
fanofthegenre: (bedhead.)

From: [personal profile] fanofthegenre


Beckett's still here.

She had every intention of leaving, originally. Leaving him to the inevitable hangover and the disorientation that comes the morning after a night of too much to drink, but something had stopped her before she could put a hand on the doorknob. And the couch had been comfier than at first glance, and after wrapping herself up on a blanket, she'd drifted off in no time at all.

She's still here, now, dozing lightly, fading in and out as morning light streams through the living room windows and starts coaxing her from sleep.
fanofthegenre: (fondness.)

From: [personal profile] fanofthegenre


Half-unconsciously, she turns toward the sound, stretching and groaning softly as the noise finally brings her all the way out of sleep and into waking.

She pushes the blanket off and sits up slowly, pushing messy hair away from her face, and stands, shuffling across the floor in socked feet and towards the bedroom door, still left slightly ajar from the night before.

It creaks quietly when she nudges it open, peeking in just in time to see the bottle come to a stop in the middle of the floor and Jack, lying across the bed in something resembling a helpless ball with the sheets tangled around him. In spite of herself, she cracks a slow smile.

"Morning."
fanofthegenre: (bedhead.)

From: [personal profile] fanofthegenre


She reaches down to pick up the bottle, only briefly glancing at the label.

"I sort of never left," she admits, sitting on the edge of the bed.
fanofthegenre: (nice try.)

From: [personal profile] fanofthegenre


She presses it into his palm, her other hand reaching out for the glass of water she'd left on the bedside table last night.

"Okay, so it's not," Beckett replies, eyes narrowing as she gives him a look.
fanofthegenre: (decompress.)

From: [personal profile] fanofthegenre


She watches him for a moment, hands resting in her lap.

"I probably don't need to ask how you're feeling right now, because I think I already know the answer."
fanofthegenre: (bedhead.)

From: [personal profile] fanofthegenre


"Something like that."

She casts another glance toward the bottle.

"Bet those'll help, though."
fanofthegenre: (away.)

From: [personal profile] fanofthegenre


"That's what I kept thinking last night," she confesses, looking down at her hands.

"And somehow I never actually managed to convince myself."
fanofthegenre: (conversation.)

From: [personal profile] fanofthegenre


She chuckles, shoulders rolling forward slightly.

When she looks up: "Do you even need to ask?"
fanofthegenre: (imploring.)

From: [personal profile] fanofthegenre


She lifts an eyebrow, but doesn't say anything on that subject.

"You've stuck around for me before."
fanofthegenre: (decompress.)

From: [personal profile] fanofthegenre


"Neither am I," she says, and there's nothing but honesty in the words.

Everything else - well, it goes without saying.
fanofthegenre: (decompress.)

From: [personal profile] fanofthegenre


"Yeah, I crashed there," she replies, stretching again - there's a brief cracking sound in her shoulders when she rolls them, but it's not due to the sleeping situation being uncomfortable in any way.

"Besides, I know how it is, morning after - it's nice to have a little space to breathe and wake up on your own, even if you feel like hell."
fanofthegenre: (contented.)

From: [personal profile] fanofthegenre


She fights off a grin at that, ducking her head to try and hide it, though it might slip out before she can turn.

"Would you be worried about something like that?"
fanofthegenre: (small smile.)

From: [personal profile] fanofthegenre


"Well, we'll try to avoid that at all costs," she murmurs.

Especially since she'd seen him in the grip of something similar before, struggling to breathe, fighting against the urge to panic -

It's not something she's eager to repeat, and she doesn't doubt he feels the same.

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