fanofthegenre | OOM: France and the morning after.

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OOM: France and the morning after.

[ late nights have early mornings ]

Beckett's an early riser by nature. Years of surviving on little to no sleep have equipped her for this kind of thing.

It's the reason why she's the first to wake up, blinking sleep from her eyes before she even realizes where she is or what's going on. The hangover hits next - a headache that starts to pound in her head, and she rolls over onto her back with a groan, reaching up to pinch the bridge of her nose with one hand.

Her other is pinned, for some reason, and she pries it out from underneath - Bill?

She blinks a few more times, and slowly, the events of last night come back in a rush - of sweat, skin, sex. It still hangs in the air, on her body, around the three of them, and she mouths a quiet oh, my God before she staggers off to the bathroom to splash some water on her face.

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"That could be it," Bill admits.

Picking up his coffee mug he takes a drink and flashes a grin at Beckett, and gestures towards Kate.

"Ain't she great?"

Kate pulls a quick face at Beckett's teasing tone, and her cheeks heat when Bill speaks.

"Guys, god, stop," she says, laughing a little.

"She is," Beckett quietly agrees, and if there's any warmth on her cheeks, she blames it from the proximity of her coffee mug.

"Okay, okay."

Bill goes quiet then, still smiling, but he's learned that if he teases too much it eventually comes back on him.

Him catching the way Beckett's face heats a little may have something to do with it, as well.

Finishing his waffles he helps himself to a bit of fruit before sitting back in his chair with a satisfied sigh.

"You two aren't so bad, either, you know."

She manages to eat most of her waffle, and settles back in her chair with what's left of her coffee.

After a pause, she glances between them, the apples of her cheeks still tinged with pink.

"We -- "

A breath.

"We're okay, right?"

Beckett's knee-jerk answer is yes, of course we are, but she knows things are a little more complicated than that now.

"Sure," she replies, though she doesn't have her coffee to turn to now, as her mug is distressingly empty.

Bill works his throat slowly, glancing at Beckett, then looking at Kate.

"Yeah, I, I think so."

He hopes so.

"Okay."

She nods, once, relief easing some of the tension from her shoulders.

Standing, she retrieves the coffee pot to refill their empty mugs.

"And Kate, we don't -- it's not like Bill and I -- "

She can't bring herself to say swing.

"Not that I'm judging couples who -- who make a habit of it, it's their -- "

A pause, a breath, and a tiny, apologetic smile.

"You're such a great friend, I just hope I haven't -- or we haven't -- made you uncomfortable."

Beckett exhales, and then quickly shakes her head.

(What's making her most uncomfortable, really, is talking about it, owning up to feelings or lack thereof.)

"No," she insists, one hand gripping her mug tight. "No, you didn't do anything wrong."

Bill's eyes widen to what Kate's saying, and not saying, and he shakes his head, stammering along with her.

"Yeah, I ain't-- we ain't-- it's not somethin'-- "

He stops himself and waits for Beckett's response, feeling some relief when he hears it.

"I blame the wine," he says, trying for a light smile, but there's apology and nerves behind it.

"Good," she says gently, relief replacing the concern in her eyes. "I'd hate to ruin anything here."

Seeing the grip Beckett has on her cup, her expression softens further.

"I -- we," she corrects herself, eyes flicking to Bill and offering him a faint, encouraging smile, "care about you a lot. It's good to have you here, taking a break."

She chortles when Bill mentions the wine, and doesn't let herself glance at the empty bottles near the sink that she gathered and rinsed earlier.

"All that," she says with a nod, "in the house of a fertility goddess."

No wonder they wound up playing strip poker.

"I blame the magic," Beckett pipes up. It's easier, that way.

She sets down her mug and returns to polishing off her food, and for a second, she glances between the two of them, her gaze hopeful.

It's a slow reaction, but after Kate mentions fertility goddess Bill has a mild flash of panic, trying to remember if they used a condom or not.

It passes and he does his best to hide that it happened, returning Beckett's smile and feeling anxiety lessen as things seem like they'll be okay.

"Y'been a good friend to us, Kate, an' we wouldn't wanna mess that up."

"Magic," Kate echoes, more than willing to roll with that explanation, especially combined with the wine and the poker game.

Cheeks still heated, she shoots Beckett a quick smile that mirrors Bill's, and turns her attention to her mug.

Thank god for coffee.

Beckett's having a hard time staying still at this point, and her plate's clean, so she stands up to take it over to the sink, as well as a few other dirtied dishes.

It's easier for her to focus on something menial. Simpler.

Bill is about to get up and take his own plate to the sink, to have something to do, when Beckett rises.

Since she has that form of distraction, Bill busies himself with clearing the table, taking things back to fridge and wherever else they belong.

Cleaning up is easier than more talking.

Kate stands and, for lack of anything else to do, runs a hand to her nape to make sure her hair is secure in its haphazard knot.

"I think I'll go grab a shower," she says, delivering her empty cup to the sink.

Her free hand brushes the back of Beckett's elbow.

"You don't have to worry with those, Kate -- I can take care of them in a little while."

Beckett leans over and away from the sink, dripping dish in hand.

"No, it's alright," she insists, reaching around Kate's side to grab a dry kitchen towel. "Gives me something to do."

"You made breakfast, Kate, we can get the cleanup," Bill says while closing the fridge.

She looks from Beckett to Bill, then back to Beckett.

"I'll never win this one, so thank you both."

Beckett's elbow gets a brief, affectionate squeeze before she steps toward Bill and presses a kiss to his shoulder through the soft cotton of his T-shirt.

"I promise to leave you at least a little hot water," she says, and she's mostly teasing.

Exiting the kitchen and heading for the stairs, she feels a metric ton better -- physically and emotionally -- about the night before.

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OOM: France and the morning after.

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