trigger_man | OOM: Night Before the Allpocalypse

"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."

The thought of that happening makes her curl in a little closer out of unconscious response, fingertips tensing against his chest. She's dealt with body after body, and she has every piece of evidence of his life right here under her hands, and yet the idea has her reaching out for even more of it, every part she can hold onto.

"Good, then you can be calm for the both of us," she murmurs, propping herself up on one elbow to look down at him, her arm sliding across his chest as her hand rests against his ribs.

Jack takes a deep breath, forcing himself to try and relax as she moves her hand across his chest. This is about as intimate as he's been with anyone in years, and he finds that he really, really doesn't want anything to spoil it or make her stop.

"I think I can do that. Besides, I think when push comes to shove, you can cope in a crisis too. You were face-to-face with a nuclear bomb before."

Speaking of things that they don't like to think about...

"I just can't stand the waiting," she admits, shoulders sagging visibly as she glances off toward another spot in the room, her gaze drifting out of focus for a few seconds.

"Feeling like I could, like I should do something to help and instead just sitting here, waiting for what might be the end - it just drives me - " She's gritting her teeth, fingers squeezing in a tighter grip as she shakes her head.

"Yeah, the waiting is the hardest part," he says, running his hand up her spine to a point between her shoulder blades. "When you're in the middle of a crisis, you don't have time to think, you have to make decisions quickly and act."

"I guess I just can't decide what bothers me most," she murmurs, leaning back into the touch of his hands before her head resumes its resting place.

"That feels nice, though," she faintly adds, with a sigh.

"What do you mean, what bothers you most?" Jack asks.

"Between the waiting and everything else - "

She sighs again, her hand absently running over the breadth of his chest.

"Yeah. But if this helps," he says, giving the base of her neck a rub, "then at least that's something."

Beckett can't help it; she makes a rather undignified groan in the back of her throat.

"God, it more than helps," she murmurs, tipping her head back against his fingers.

"Good," he says softly, kneading the back of her neck. "I'd always do anything I can to help, Beckett."

She looks up at him then, willing her eyes to open despite the sensation of the massage already coaxing them into closing.

"You really would, wouldn't you?" she murmurs, propping herself on her elbow to look down at him.

His answer is simple; no caveats or deliberation needed.

"Yeah, I would."

She's his friend, and he would die to save her, if necessary.

She doesn't really know what compels her to do it, in the end. It might be everything they've gone through, or what they're about to face, or even the fact that she knows he'll have her back, no matter what.

He answers her without flinching, and she kisses him the same way, leaning down to gently brush her mouth over his, a few strands of hair slipping forward over her ear to grace his cheek.

It's not what he was expecting, but neither is it unwelcome, and it's not long before Jack lifts his chin and kisses her back.

He has a feeling he's heading somewhere dangerous, but for the moment, he doesn't care. He tried not to get close to other people and failed, and it looks like he won't have to worry about the consequences for much longer.

He's lived with pain for a long, long time; tonight of all nights, he should be able to let someone in and have a little kindness, to not be afraid of whether a ghost from the past is going to break in and spoil the moment. To think about right now, about the touch of her lips on his, the whisper of her hair against his cheek, and not about where it might go.

And probably the only person he could possibly let in like this is Beckett.

She breaks away slowly, albeit reluctantly, turning her head to avert her gaze as she clears her throat.

"I - I'm sorry, that wasn't - I probably shouldn't have done that, you don't need - I mean, we were just supposed to be sleeping, and - did I mention I was sorry? I think I did," she finishes, with a nervous chuckle.

"Hey," he says, lifting one hand to cup her cheek, "there's no ned to apologize. I wasn't exactly pulling away."

"That's true," she adds, grinning crookedly as she tilts her head into his touch, nuzzling against his calloused palm.

"So it wasn't too forward of me?"

"It was...surprising, but I wouldn't say 'forward'," he says with a slight smile.

"No?"

Her own grin is more challenging. Daring.

"Why not?"

"Because that makes it sound like a bad thing."

"So it's not a bad thing," she murmurs, leaning close to hover.

"So it might not be bad if I wanted to do it again?"

"No, I don't think it would be."

And to prove his point, he lifts his head toward hers.

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