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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She leans forward, the prongs of her fork digging into her plate as she spins the other end between her fingers.

"Just a hunch."

"Not every hunch is a good one."

There's a slight headtilt, and she lets the fork drop with a quiet clatter.

"This one's got potential."

"Really." Jack doesn't sound too impressed. "I'd think a plan would be more important."

"Really."

She nudges her plate aside, away, and then rises with every intention of clearing her place - until he speaks again.

"There are a few potential plans at work."

"Feel like sharing any of them?" Jack asks, eating a little more of the eggs. His stomach's feeling a little more receptive now.

She drags her teeth over her lower lip, quickly musing.

"I'm considering it."

"Let me know when you make a decision," he says, giving her a lopsided smile as he takes a sip of his coffee.

She looks down at her plate, at the smattering of eggs and leftover toast crumbs, and debates heading to the sink with it, walking away from the table and effectively, if quietly, conceding defeat.

And then she looks to him - hair mussed slightly, eyes a little less tired around the edges, the soft exhale that follows the sip of coffee - and she can't place a finger on what compels her, only that something does, and she braces her hand against the edge of the table, leaning in and tilting down, closing the distance.

He doesn't immediately notice, until she starts leaning in close. He looks up, eyes widening to give him a slightly deer-in-the-headlights look.

"Uh...Beckett?"

"What, you don't want me to try?" she teases.

Or she attempts to, anyway, and that's how it comes out at first, but the dry chuckle turns into a lump in the back of her throat and her smile fades the longer she looks at him, right up until the second when her eyes close and her lips collide with his in a tentative brush.

At the touch of her lips on his, Jack freezes. Sitting down, with her leaning over him, it's a little difficult to retreat, but the thing is...there's a small part of him that doesn't want to. Underneath the discomfort at having someone in his space, there's a tiny spark of pleasure.

Hesitantly, he leans into the touch, brushing his lips against hers.

She's not sure what she was expecting, but she's fairly certain it wasn't this, not completely - but maybe it's all had to lead to somewhere, and this place is as good as any other she could have considered.

There's a small thrill in it, in the closeness and then in the response as he tilts his face up towards hers, the kiss deepening by default. His mouth is warm, reassuring, and she draws in a quick breath, her lips shifting slowly over his.

Edited 2011-01-25 05:46 (UTC)

There's one brief moment where the past disappears and he remembers what it's like to be able to get this close to someone, to feel this kind of touch again.

And then, just as quickly, something starts to squeeze his chest, warning bells going off in his head. He needs space, before his instincts take over and panic can take over.

He pulls back, trying not to do so too abruptly, though he also pushes his chair back a couple inches to get some breathing room.

Her eyes snap open when he pulls away, and she glances to the side, strands of hair falling forward over her shoulder and momentarily shielding her face from view.

She draws her lower lip into her mouth, waits a beat, then straightens up, tucking her hair back behind her ear, and reaches out for the plate again.

In the moment, the idea had seemed like a good one; now, she's not so certain.

Edited 2011-01-25 06:06 (UTC)

Jack notices, absentmindedly, that his hand is trembling slightly as he reaches for his coffee cup. He wraps his hands around it, as though desperate for something to hold on to. Maybe it's even true.

As she straightens up, there's a tiny impulse deep inside him to grab her arm and pull her back down to him; to really kiss her this time. He ignores it; the feeling of needing space tells him that probably wouldn't be a good idea, and even if his mind can picture it, he's not sure he can actually do it. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Not when the memory of the last time he'd kissed someone like that--and what happened to her--still haunts his dreams.

He should say something, though, something to diffuse the cloud of awkwardness around them. He seems to have forgotten how to say every word in the English language, though.

Of course as soon as he has that thought, the only response possible at the moment immediately come to mind.

"You win," he says, his voice a little rough.

She draws in a breath, picking up the plate, steeling herself for any potential reactions. Turning her gaze back to his face for another second or two, it's easy to see his expression is as unreadable as hers likely is. He's fighting to say something, that much is clear; meanwhile, she's struggling to not say something for fear she'll either downplay or make too much of what just happened.

His final answer surprises her - but the even bigger surprise is how she responds: a soft chuckle, an exhale that turns into a more audible laugh, and she tightens her grip on the plate to keep from dropping it while her shoulders shake and she ducks her head, lifting her free hand to rest against the side of her jaw.

She's relieved, ultimately, and her vision blurs as the laugh builds.

Jack lets out a long, slow breath, the tension in his shoulders dissipating as Beckett starts to laugh. He even smiles a little as he sips his coffee, though it's part due to her infectious laughter and partly relief that the awkwardness is gone, at least for a moment.

The laughing fades away eventually, and then she looks at him after wiping underneath her eyes, flashing him a quick grin, her nose wrinkling up slightly.

"I did kind of just win, didn't I?"

"Good thing we didn't decide on any kind of stakes."

"Is that your way of saying you want there to be some?"

She shoots him a look, then takes the plate to the sink to wash it.

"Kind of late now, isn't it?" Jack says, raising an eyebrow. "Unless you plan on this being a running competition."

She chuckles again, her back still turned.

"I'm not so sure you want it to turn into a one of those."

"No, I'm pretty sure I don't. I'm not sure I want to know how creative you'd get to keep winning," he says around the last of his toast.

"No comment."

She looks over her shoulder at him, shutting off the faucet with the back of her hand.

"Dare I even ask how your head feels right about now?"