fanofthegenre | [ rough morning ]

Entry tags:

jack bauer,
oom

[ rough morning ]

[ after this ]

Beckett wakes to an empty side of the bed and a sledgehammer pounding on the inside of her skull.

Slowly, she eases to a sitting position, releasing a groan with the effort, and lifts a hand to her forehead while the other fishes around on the bedside table for that glass of water she clearly remembers being there.

Clumsy fingers unintentionally knock the cup over, the contents splashing onto the carpet as Beckett reels forward onto her feet with a wave of nausea and an "oh, God."

If anyone's looking for her, she'll be in the bathroom praying to the porcelain gods for the next couple minutes or so. After that, she looks in the mirror, sneering at her own reflection.

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"Bring it on," she murmurs, with a small shift of weight on the bed and an accompanying groan.

"You're not even prepared, Bauer."

"I might not look it, but trust me, I am." The one day he'd spent outside between getting back to the States and coming in here had proved that his reflexes hadn't dulled. "I wouldn't suggest you try and surprise me."

He means it, too. Considering how jumpy he is, and the flashbacks he's been having, he knows he'd likely hurt her before he even realize who it was, and the thought frightens him. Another reason not to let anyone get too close.

Her words lose their teasing, the smirk on her face disappearing as she rests her head against the pillows, turning to one side to look up at him.

"I know you are," she finally replies, softly, her gaze holding a little more weight to it. There's a reason, maybe, that she can still remember some of Stenger's memories. It reminds her not to underestimate him. In any sense of the word.

He can hear the change in her tone and kicks himself for being so obvious.

"You staying in here for a couple days, or were you planning to head back as soon as the hangover's gone?" he asks, turning away to fold the blanket he'd used.

"Probably going to head back pretty soon. I'll feel a lot better about everything if I can get right back into investigating what happened."

And maybe distract herself with other cases in the short term.

He nods in understanding. "I can see that. Like I said, if there's any way I can help..."

"Thank you," she says, picking up where his trailed-off sentence dangles unspoken.

"I really do appreciate it, Jack. And everything else you've done for me."

"You've done a lot for me too, Beckett," he says, pausing in his folding to look over at her.

"Eh."

Beckett waves a hand briefly, dismissively, her smile soft.

"It was nothin'."

"Uh huh," he says, going back to folding the blanket. Once he's done, he places the pillow neatly on top, then heads toward the closet to put them away.

Once he's done that, he turns back to her, his expression serious. "Have you talked to your Dad about what happened, yet?"

Beckett shifts, sitting up slightly at the mention of her father.

"I called him the night I found out, told him I had some news. I wanted to make sure I told him in person. I just haven't gotten over there yet."

It's up there, though, on her list for after she heads back through her door.

Jack nods. "Does he know about the shooting?"

Beckett squares her jaw, biting the inside of her cheek, and glances away.

"No."

It's enough to threaten the rise of memories that are all too recent, and she crosses her arms over her chest.

As soon as he sees her expression change, he realizes he probably shouldn't brought it up. Probably should have realized that before he opened his big mouth.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have mentioned it. I know you're probably not looking forward to that conversation."

"It's just - how do you tell someone that their wife was murdered on the orders of someone else?"

She has a feeling her dad is going to have about an easy a time taking the news as she did when she first heard it herself.

"I'm worried about him. After my mom died, he went to a really bad place for a while. I wasn't sure he would ever come out of it."

"I-- I don't know," he says, staring off into space for a moment. He certainly knows what it's like to hear it from someone else, though it hadn't been delivered with sympathy. His brother had been throwing his involvement in the deaths of Jack's friends in Jack's face at the time.

"How has he been, lately?" Jack asks. That falling apart is something he has experience with, too. Kim would probably be a better person to sympathize with Beckett in that regard, but then he doubts that Kim would want to talk about him to anyone.

"He's good. Better. A lot better, actually, which is why I'm so worried about breaking the news to him."

It took her father a long time to get sober again and stay sober. The fingers of one hand absently brush against his watch on her arm in thought, the other going to her mother's ring on the strand that dangles underneath her robe.

"It's going to be difficult, no matter what. But maybe this time he'll know how to handle it, if he's been able to work through things."

"Yeah," she says, twining the chain around her fingers.

"You're probably right."

"I guess...you just have to trust him, and be there for him if he doesn't deal with it well."

Not that he doesn't feel like a hypocrite telling her this, considering what he'd put Kim through after her mother died.

"Guess we'll just have to see what happens," she says, shifting her weight to her side.

"I'm glad you stayed."

Jack gives her a weak smile. "It was nothing," he says.

She smirks at the repetition of her earlier words, then slowly rises from the bed with every intention of showering. It'll make her feel a little better.

"Still."

"If you're that grateful, you can buy me breakfast."

That earns him a grin.

"Tell you what. I'll shower, and then you can order up as much gratitude out of me as you'd like."

He smiles back. "Sounds good to me."

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[ rough morning ]

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