trigger_man | (no subject)

(no subject)

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.

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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.

It's for times like these--as well as the day-to-day aches and pains he wakes up with that aren't caused by overconsumption of alcohol--that he keeps a bottle of over the counter painkillers in his nightstand drawer.

Unfortunately for Jack he's not exactly the most coordinated at the moment. While he manages to get the drawer open and the bottle out of the drawer, he fumbles it trying to close the drawer again and it falls to the floor, rolling away with a protracted rattle.

Jack's croaking a curse probably doesn't help Beckett drop back into sleep either.

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."

Jack's head snaps up at the sound of the door opening; a move her instantly regrets.

Once the tidal wave of pain has passed, he squints up at her. "Beckett. What're you doing here?"

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.

"Not sure how that can be a 'sort of'," he says, holding his hand out for the bottle.

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.

Jack fights with the childproof cap for a moment before shaking a couple tablets into his hand.

"Thanks," he says, as he sits up a little and reaches for the glass of water.

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."

Jack takes a tiny sip of the water to wash the tablets down, then leans back against the headboard, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand.

"Feels like someone's used my head as a punching bag. I'm guessing you were thinking something along those lines."

"Something like that."

She casts another glance toward the bottle.

"Bet those'll help, though."

"Yeah, once they kick in. You didn't have to stay, you know," he says before he can realize how ungrateful that sounds.

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

"And somehow I never actually managed to convince myself."

Jack looks over at her curiously. "Why's that?"

She chuckles, shoulders rolling forward slightly.

When she looks up: "Do you even need to ask?"

Now it's Jack's turn to give her a look. "I've been way more drunk than that before, Beckett. Not recently," he adds quickly, before she starts to worry even more.

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

"You've stuck around for me before."

"You know I'm not gonna keep score," he says with a grumble, but even as he says it, he knows that's not why she stayed.

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

Everything else - well, it goes without saying.

"Did you sleep on the couch?" he asks. His not remembering her sleeping next to him isn't really much evidence to go on. Nor is her coming in from the other room when he woke up; she could have gotten up earlier.

But then somehow he has the feeling that Beckett wouldn't sleep in the same bed as him without checking that he's okay with it first. His memory of everything they discussed the night before is a little hazy in some places, but he's pretty sure sleeping arrangements wasn't one of the topics they covered.

"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."

"Probably safer for you, too. I don't usually get so drunk that I puke, but there's a first time for everything."

Attractive, Jack. Really attractive.

"Besides, it makes waking up less awkward."

Less of that oh-shit-what-did-we-do-last-night panic.

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?"

"Hard to say what I'd think that split second after waking up, but I could do without the heart attack." Especially with the way his head's pounding.

"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.