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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Kate's got it, and Bill sticks to his plan to keep quiet.

Reaching up, he runs his hand through his hair. Though he glances in each of their general directions, he never actually looks at them, and can't voice the question on his mind.

What do they do now?

After a long, awkward silence he clears his throat and asks quietly, "Anyone need an aspirin?"

Snapshots from last night flash into slow focus.

Kissing Beckett, touching her, the way she and Bill felt and tasted under Kate's hands and mouth, the way it felt to be sandwiched between them, how Bill and Beckett looked together --

She swallows hard and tugs up the sheet, rolling and slowly shifting into a sitting position.

Dark spots of color stain her cheeks, and she runs a hand that's not entirely steady through her impressive case of bedhead.

"I'd love a couple."

Even the few sips of water she's taken already have helped; she declines the offer of aspirin, and then realizes she's still crouched on the floor. She reaches down, then, to pick up what remains of her clothes out here - just now remembering that everything else is still downstairs - the poker game.

She clears her throat, too, and shakes her head.

"Yeah, um - I think I'm just going to take a shower, for now."

"All right, I'm gonna, uh... get some water from downstairs."

Because the bottled water in the fridge is better than tap, not because he's running away.

He's moving a half-pace quicker than usual, and gives Beckett a very wide berth, keeping his eyes directed away, when he passes on his way out of the room, but he's not running.

Right.

Kate's eyes follow Bill's retreating form, tracing the red parallel lines above one of his shoulder blades, and when she glances at Beckett again, she sees the telltale marks along Beckett's neck and shoulders and near her collarbone.

A dry swallow, and she offers a weak smile.

"Shower's good. I'll -- I'll make coffee."

"Coffee," Beckett echoes, and then nods slowly, encouragingly.

It's a good start, at the very least, and she heads down the hallway to the guest bathroom, prepared to stand under the spray for as long as she needs.

Twenty minutes later, after doing her best to cover up where she can (though there's still some obvious marks peppering along the side of her neck), she reappears in the kitchen, wet hair pulled up and away from her face, looking a little more awake and alert than she was upon first waking up.

Bill is sitting at the kitchen table, fully clothed now in jeans and a Colts T-shirt, with a cup of coffee.

He's put together what happened last night, from the wine and the poker game to the trip upstairs and everything that happened afterwards. Images pass through his mind of him and Kate and Beckett as he stares into his mug, and he keeps chasing them out as he tries to think and figure out what to do about this.

He's nervous, and embarrassed, and there's a guilt shaped knot in his gut.

When Beckett walks in he looks up and gives her a smile, trying hard to make it casual and normal.

"Hey."

Kate's at the counter, hair in a careless knot and sporting a camisole and a faded pair of plaid pajama pants beneath her robe. Her hands are curled around a steaming cup of coffee, and she's still waiting for the aspirin to kick in when Bill greets Beckett.

She turns and flashes another tiny, tentative smile before pouring a mug of coffee for Beckett.

"Here," she says, voice soft and empathetic.

"Hey."

She offers a tired grin, but a grin nonetheless, as well as a nod, idly reaching up with one hand to check and make sure that her hair is still staying in one piece. She's never been one for doing anything in the way of styling it, most days.

She accepts the coffee from Kate with a small, grateful smile.

"Thanks," she murmurs sincerely.

"Got sugar here if you want any," He offers, nudging the sugar bowl near his mug on the table.

He takes a drink and looks at the two of them, then cuts his eyes away back to the table, busying his hands with adding more sugar to his cup.

"No thanking -- we all need it."

She retrieves her cup from the counter and moves to take a seat at the table, her free hand giving Bill's shoulder a brief squeeze as she passes him.

Taking a sip of coffee, she swallows and glances between Bill and Beckett.

"How'd -- "

A pause, and a sudden sound rises in Kate's throat, something between a soft bark and a snort.

"Oh my god, I almost just asked how you slept."

Cheeks flaming, she covers her mouth with one hand and averts her eyes from Beckett, desperate not to laugh.

Beckett's torn between laughter - and, well, there really isn't another option for her at the moment.

She hides what remains of her smile by blowing over the top of her coffee and then, after a while, taking a sip.

"Not terribly. All things considered."

Bill looks up and for a moment there's shock, then it breaks into amusement and he ducks his head and shakes it; smiling.

"What she said," He nods towards Beckett. "Slept all right."

Sipping carefully from her mug, Kate can feel the pressure pounding behind her eyes begin to lessen.

We're fine. Everything's fine. Just ask to make sure we're all okay.

Another slow swallow of coffee.

It's an easy question, we're all adults here.

"Anyone up for breakfast yet?"

"Mmm."

The coffee's just hot enough as she tests it with another sip, and with each one after that, the slight pinch in her forehead starts to subside.

"I hear that's a good remedy for the morning after. You know, hangovers."

She's quick to specify which part of the night.

"Yeah,I think I could go with somethin' to eat."

His eyes flick to Beckett and he nods quick when she says 'hangovers'. Too quick, because the sharp movement makes him wince a little.

This is crazy, but he's not ready to bring up last night, and Kate and Beckett don't look overeager, neither.

Breakfast is a low-key affair: Belgian waffles (Kate doesn't have the concentration and hand-to-eye coordination crepes require at the moment) and bacon, and another strong pot of coffee.

The plates are on the table -- along with syrup, powdered sugar, whipped cream, and a bowl of fresh fruit -- and she's about to slide into her seat when she goes to double-check the waffle iron.

Satisfied when she sees it's unplugged, after all, and she won't be burning down Demeter's house today, she takes a seat, wry half-smile firmly in place.

"God, now I remember why I hardly ever drink."

The food smells fantastic, and Beckett's stomach growls loudly, almost embarrassingly. A warm blush rises on her cheeks and she takes another sip of coffee, leaning back in her chair.

She eyes Kate over her mug when everything's finally set out, her agreement coming in the form of a soft chuckle.

"Tell me about it. I usually don't have any occasion - or the time - to drink."

Bill adds syrup and powdered sugar to his waffles. Glancing at the two he lets out a small chuckle that's a little embarrassed, because he drinks pretty frequently. Although, last night wasn't typical for him, either.

"Wine is one a those things that kinda sneaks up on you real quick," He comments, reaching for the whip cream.

"Yeah, it's ... "

She trails off and breathes a laugh; the diabetic coma on Bill's plate earns a second look before she nabs a few blueberries and strawberries for herself.

"Yeah."

Beckett, too, raises an eyebrow at Bill's cruising for diabetes. Her own waffle gets a liberal amount of whipped cream and strawberries, though, so she's not about to point fingers.

Upon the first bite, she nearly groans out loud.

"Kate, these are fantastic."

He's licking whipped cream off his thumb when his head lifts and he sees their looks.

"What?"

Hearing Beckett's praise he digs in to see for himself, smiling in agreement.

"Good -- and, thanks," she says, spearing a blueberry with her fork. "But these're way too easy to take credit for. Maybe by dinner, I'll do something impressive."

When she's actually firing on all cylinders.

Bill's all-too-innocent question gets another glance and a bemused head-shake.

"Nothing, sheriff."

She points the blueberried tines of her fork in his direction.

"I just wish I had your metabolism."

"Take credit," Beckett insists, "or somebody else will. I might, if you don't."

She's teasing, of course, and reaches for her coffee mug again, leaning back in her chair to digest some before she goes in for more.

"M'just lucky I guess," He replies to Kate, then nods to what Beckett says.

"She's right. I know I couldn't've put together nothin' this morning. We'd be havin' cereal if y'left it up to me."

Despite the way he was feeling when he woke up, the waffles have triggered Bill's appetite and he eats heartily.

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