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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Jack tries to hide a small smile, but can't quite manage it. "Yeah, I am. Don't look so worried, Beckett."

After all he hasn't even scratched the surface with all the stuff that could have killed him and didn't. Like the stuff that *did* kill him, technically. For a couple minutes.

If he thinks she looks worried now, he should try scratching that surface a little deeper.

"Frankly, I'm just amazed you're still all in one piece," she quips, tilting her head slightly.

"From what I can tell."

"Mostly; some parts might not line up like they used to. I'm not the Six Million Dollar Man or RoboCop or something, though."

"No, I don't think so."

The corners of her mouth start to twitch.

"I wouldn't have kissed RoboCop."

"I'd hope not. I'd hate to think of the static shock you'd get from him after walking across a carpet in the winter."

She looks over.

"A little coffee and somebody turns into funny man."

"Maybe stand-up's my new career," Jack says, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "'Hey, did you hear the one about the suitcase nuke?'"

Oh, this ought to be good. She leans back against the kitchen counter, folding her arms over her chest.

"Lay it on me."

"It was a hypothetical set-up. Surprisingly enough I don't actually have a punch line about nuclear weapons," he says, wry.

From what he remembers of the TV shows he'd seen after Valencia--usually droning in the background when he didn't want to sleep--neither had the professional comics, either.

"Oh, come on. All that build-up and no follow-through?"

She's still grinning as she says it, though, moving back over to the table.

"Way to leave a girl hanging."

"Sorry to disappoint, but better now than later."

"Oh, I think I'll survive."

She runs a hand through her hair, realizing only then that she could probably do with a run and a shower.

"Need anything else while I'm here?"

Jack holds back his initial response, as it contains the b-word: "babysitter".

"No, I'm good. You probably have stuff you want to do; go ahead."

"Well, nothing I really want to do," she starts, and then shrugs.

"See you around?"

"Yeah, I'll see you around," he says with a nod. "And...thanks, Beckett."

"Sure."

She's slipping her shoes back on, folding her coat over her forearm - and she pauses, looks to him, smiles.

"Any time."

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