trigger_man | OOM: Night Before the Allpocalypse

"You can just stay here, if you want. I'm not going to kick you out."

"No? That's nice of you."

She curls in on herself a little more.

"Maybe I'll just relax right here."

Jack puts his glass down on the coffee table and leans against the back of the couch.

"Sounds like a good idea. Certainly a comfortable place to do it."

It is comfortable, the quiet of the room around them, having Beckett nearby. It's an almost peaceful way to wait for the world's end. It's probably closer to the ideal way than he could have ever expected to get.

She lifts her head after a few moments, blinking her eyes open to look over at him.

"You're not going to stay out here with me all night, are you? It's not all that comfortable."

Jack doesn't answer for a moment, hesitant to tell her that he doesn't want to be alone. He's not afraid of what's coming; he's been too close to death too many times for that, and ever since the day he came in here, he's been waiting for the day that something would take him out.

But that doesn't mean he wants to sit here or lie in his bed and watch the hours of the night pass, all alone.

Then again, if there's any time he should be able to be honest and vulnerable with Beckett, it's now.

"I want to stay out here, with you."

Her heart feels heavy in her chest, but only in the way that makes her swallow thickly, overcome by the sudden swell she experiences at the sound of his admission.

She reaches out to him instead of answering right away, her hand closing over his.

"Come on." Her voice is soft, thick with the alcohol. "Bed it is, then."

He's about to ask if she's sure, as she seems pretty comfortable there, but doesn't. She's obviously sleepy, and better she sleep in a bed than on the couch. Besides, he can't imagine actually getting any sleep if he's lying there alone.

"Okay. You sure you don't want to go grab something to sleep in?" he says. He squeezes her hand, then stands, still holding her hand so he can help her to her feet.

"I've slept in my clothes before," she insists. Ironically, this is one of those times where she's not sure she's going to be able to get much sleep, even after she sobers up.

She uses his grip to help herself to her feet, swaying a little before she steadies.

He knows she can probably steady herself on her own, but reflexes kick in as she wobbles and he places his other hand on her hip to help steady her.

"You okay?" he says in the split second before realizing how close they're standing.

Her smile is sleepy, worn, and her other hand lingers on his shoulder.

"Tired," she murmurs, by way of explanation, her palm shifting up to rest along the side of his neck, feeling his pulse under the heel of her hand.

He leans slightly into her touch, comforted by it. It's not what he was expecting; no one's touched him like this in years, and he would have thought that someone touching his throat would have brought on flashbacks of a similar movement that was less gentle.

Instead, he has the feeling that he doesn't want to pull away.

"Then we should probably get you to bed," he says, though he doesn't start moving in that direction.

She searches his face for a moment, her own expression clouded under a furrowing brow, but when she finally does move, her hand slips away, her arm falling back down to her side as she nods once, decisively.

"Good plan," she says, more decisively, and heads in that direction, even as she tries to blame the heat in her face solely on the drinks.

Jack follows her, turning on a lamp next to the bed before turning toward the closet.

"Go ahead and get comfortable; I'm going to change."

"Okay."

She only goes as far as sitting on the edge of the bed to tug off her boots, unclipping her badge from her hip, and then settles in, drawing her knees up to her chest, one arm sliding beneath the pillow to prop it up slightly.

Jack walks out of the bathroom a minute later, dressed in pajama pants and a long-sleeved t-shirt. Conventional wisdom would say that he should stay dressed, just in case, but with the way things are going he doesn't think it'll matter that much if he has to take ten seconds to toss on a pair of jeans later.

"Comfortable?" he asks, climbing into bed beside her.

"Not as much as you, apparently," Beckett replies, glancing down at his attire of choice with a small smile. She reaches out to pluck at the sleeve of his shirt, pinching the fabric between her fingertips.

When she curls in, it's against his side, her cheek nestled on his shoulder.

"I figured if this place explodes while I'm asleep I might as well be comfortable."

He's a little surprised when she curls up against him, but after a moment he drapes an arm across her waist.

She smiles, her cheeks shifting into the expression that he can no doubt feel against his shoulder as it happens, but she doesn't say anything for a few moments.

Beat.

"Jack? Do you - really think it's going to happen?"

There's a beat on his end as well, as he tries to judge just what to say.

"I don't know. From the look of the bar, it looks like it very well might. I'm not really in a position to do anything to fix it, so I don't know if it can be fixed."

She sighs, a soft ghosting breath, her hand coming to rest against his chest as she feels the beat of his heart beneath her fingertips, the rise and fall of his breathing.

"One second we could be here, and the next - " She lifts her head slowly, looking up at him.

" - you've done this more times than me, though. What do you do to, you know, deal?"

He strokes his hand upa nd down her back as he tries to formulate an answer.

"It's something you just get to accept, working at CTU. At some point you accept that your life is forfeit if it means other people will survive. And you find comfort in the fact that you do everything you possibly can, that hopefully you're dying for something."

The only reason I stayed alive in China was because I didn't want to die for nothing.

"I'm not sure that's really any help."

"I can't even imagine it, really," Beckett confesses, and when she sighs again, there's less of a tremor in it, the sensation of his hand against her back more soothing than not.

"I mean, there was that one time, with the bomb, but - I don't know if I could ever get used to the thought that my life would be like that, day in and day out."

"Well it's not quite like that every day. There are lots of days you just go into work, do paperwork, deal with bureaucrats and go home. It's a lot like everyone else really; no one ever has any guarantees that they won't get into a car accident or something. You don't think about it all the time and it's not always at the forefront of your mind, but you're more aware of it than most people. Or maybe you just have less denial."

He angles his head so he can at least see the top of hers. "I'm sure you have a small idea of what it's like, working in law enforcement."

"Well, when you put it that way - "

She hunches her shoulders a little, tucking her head in.

"I guess there's always that same chance every day on the job, but - I don't think about walking out the front door and getting shot when I'm behind the desk filing paperwork. I don't know what that says, that I - I'm aware of it, but not enough to make it a daily worry."

"Yeah. You don't really think of that working at CTU either, but when we start getting hints that there's something coming...you know that there's always a chance. Sort of like when you go into a building after a suspect. You just trust that your training will be enough to let you walk away."

There's another pause before he says, "I guess it's not really a case of being okay with it, just more...acceptance. And for me...I've died a couple times. Kind of hard to be afraid of it now."

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