OOM: Night Before the Allpocalypse

[trigger_man]

 It's quieter in the upstairs hallway, and there's less evidence of impending disaster up here. It's almost enough to allow you to forget what's going on downstairs, or to write it off.

Almost. Not quite.

Jack turns to Beckett as they reach his room.  "You want to come in for one more drink?"

He doesn't want to say it out loud, but there's a part of him that doesn't want to be alone just yet.

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[trigger_man]

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.

[fanofthegenre]

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.

[trigger_man]

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."

[fanofthegenre]

"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.

[trigger_man]

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.

[fanofthegenre]

"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.

[trigger_man]

"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.

[fanofthegenre]

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?"

[trigger_man]

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."

[fanofthegenre]

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?"

[trigger_man]

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."

[fanofthegenre]

"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."

[trigger_man]

"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."

[fanofthegenre]

"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."

[trigger_man]

"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."

[fanofthegenre]

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.

[trigger_man]

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...

[fanofthegenre]

"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.

[trigger_man]

"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."

[fanofthegenre]

"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.

[trigger_man]

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

[fanofthegenre]

"Between the waiting and everything else - "

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

[trigger_man]

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

[fanofthegenre]

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.

[trigger_man]

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