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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"Maybe shouldn't be surprising considering where we are. I've slept pretty well on that couch more than once." Pretty well for him, at least.

"Then again if I'm remembering last night correctly you had a drink or two, which probably helped too."

"A little."

She'll admit that much, even as she looks up from her lap.

"Then again, if I'm remembering last night correctly, I wasn't the one Bar cut off."

"Yeah. Think I remember that part," Jack says, rubbing his forehead. "I don't think Bar usually lets me have any more than I did last night."

"Good," she says, keeping her voice quiet.

"Someone's got to look out for you when I - "

Beckett pauses, clearing her throat.

"When I'm busy."

"When you can't, basically."

Oh yeah, that's a Look pointed in her direction.

"I don't need a babysitter, Beckett."

"I know you can take care of yourself. It's not a question of that, it's - "

She's trying not to backtrack, and somehow it's already happening.

"I didn't mean that the way it came out."

"Then what did you mean?" Jack asks. In all honesty he'd intended it to come out sharper than it does; instead he just sounds tired.

"I mean that I've got your back."

She looks at him. Looks over the tired eyes, the relaxed slump of shoulders, the hair rumpled from sleep.

"That's it."

He knows it's not just that; that she worries about him. But better to let it go, and not start that whole discussion again.

"I know. And I've got yours." There's a short pause before he adds, "I trust you, Beckett."

"I trust you, too."

Coming from him, she knows it means a lot more than it would from most. She shifts, breaking the mood and the shared gaze.

"Want me to send down for something? Coffee, at least?"

"God, yes. I think I'm gonna need it. I don't know about food, though."

Just thinking about eating something is making him feel a little nauseous, though that might also be because he hadn't eaten for a while before he started drinking the night before.

"Just take it a little step at a time."

Coffee's the most important thing, first. Beckett leaves the room to place the order, and then, on second thought, requests for two covered plates of eggs and toast in case he does feel like eating.

Before breakfast arrives, she takes a moment to glance over her appearance in the bathroom mirror, combing fingers through her hair and stealing a swig of mouthwash until she looks at least somewhat presentable to answer the door and tip the waitrat.

The food she leaves on the tray, covered in case the smell overwhelms him, but the coffee she starts to serve up in the kitchen, pouring from one of the old-fashioned silver pots into two identical white mugs.

While she's out of the room, Jack drags himself out of bed to take a quick shower. Once he's done, he brushing his teeth as well to try and get rid of the feeling that he's had old gym socks stuffed in his mouth all night.

By the time breakfast arrives, he's changed into new clothes and sitting at the small table with his head propped in one hand. He doesn't look entirely presentable--his hair's sticking up in odd places and he could still use a shave--but it'll go. Beckett's seen him in worse shape after all.

She sets a brimming cup down in front of him, holding off on passing over the breakfast just yet, and picks up her own mug, sitting down on the other side of the table.

It's one thing to have seen him a little worn around the edges - that part she's familiar with, ever since their somewhat unconventional first meeting - but this is something else.

Beckett hides a smile behind the rim of her mug, silently sipping.

Jack takes a sip of his coffee, feeling a little better as he feels the heat of it going down.

Glancing at Beckett, he says, wryly, "You can stop looking like you're enjoying this."

There's just enough gentleness in his tone to let her know that he's joking.

"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

Her expression is the picture of innocence.

Sort of.

"Yeah, right."

He takes another sip of his coffee, trying to remember exactly what they'd talked about they night before. Or more importantly, whether he'd said anything embarrassing.

"I didn't say anything really stupid last night, did I?"

"Not that I can remember," she admits, shrugging briefly.

"I'd had a couple myself by that point. Recalling the finer points of conversation is a little harder to manage once that happens."

He's not sure how much of a straight answer she'd give him if she did remember all of their conversation the night before, but decides to take her at her word. It's at least the easier version to live with.

"Yeah, it's one of the benefits, as long as everyone around you is just as tipsy as you are."

Does she want to remember? If she thinks back hard enough, she probably can. But given the expression in his eyes, the look of - what, exactly? Fear, that she'll come back to it herself?

Maybe she doesn't want to.

"I think you were doing circles around me by the end."

"I think the room was probably doing circles around me by the time we came up here." At least that's what the hangover certainly makes it feel like.

He's about to take another sip of coffee when his stomach rumbles loudly.

Loudly enough for Beckett to overhear, too, while she's mid-sip.

"Hungry now?"

"I guess so," Jack says a little warily, as he's not sure his stomach won't change its mind once he actually smells food. "I take it from that other covered plate, you brought breakfast up for me, too."

"Nope," Beckett says, completely straight-faced, even as she walks over to pick up the plates. They're still warm, and she sets down one in front of him, heading back to the counter for the silverware.

"I was just really hungry."

"Don't tell me you're eating for two," Jack says, his tone wry.