[ where it begins ]

[fanofthegenre]

She needs to change. She keeps a spare set of clothes at the 12th - but they're meant for the shifts where she pulls an all-nighter and doesn't have time to go home.

They're not for this, for the red that stains the white of her sweater - someone else's (I'm fine, Castle, it's not my blood). She was just supposed to have a conversation. She'd hoped it was one that would bring her a little closer to the truth.

Instead, she's got one more murder on her hands, and more questions than answers.

She's not expecting the door to the Bar when she walks in, but a part of her is almost relieved. She needs a place to decompress, to think about her options and to consider her next move before she heads back out into her world, into the place where all of it becomes real again and everyone's counting on her to step up, relying on her to tell them where to go from here.

Because, right now, Beckett's not even sure she knows what to do.

Comments

[fanofthegenre]

"I'm not going to get invested," she insists, thinking back to the conversation she'd had with Montgomery earlier.

"But they need me to work the case. If anyone can figure out what he was going to tell me, the truth of what he knew that got him killed, I can. I can't just walk away, Jack."

[trigger_man]

"I know you aren't just going to walk away," he says a little more tersely than he'd intended. "I just want you to be careful."

There's a short pause before he adds, "And I want to go out there with you this time."

[fanofthegenre]

"Of course. I always am."

Now, more than ever, she has to watch her step, especially because someone's trying to keep her from the truth.

"But I can't let you do that," she quickly adds, the tone of her voice losing its initial waver.

[trigger_man]

"I don't recall phrasing it as a question," Jack says with a steely stare.

He's had to sit in the bar and wait for her to come back in and say everything was all right once before; he's not doing it again. Not when the likelihood of someone going after her is pretty high, at least in his opinion.

[fanofthegenre]

"Jack - "

She sighs, under the stare, but doesn't turn away. If anything, she takes a step in, re-asserting.

"I've got too much to worry about without the added possibility that you could be in serious danger by associating yourself with me in the middle of this whole thing."

[trigger_man]

"Yeah, I've told people that before and they tend not to listen," he says. Of course there's the one exception who told it to him, but he buries that thought and pushes on. "I'm starting to see why. I've been in someone's sights before, Beckett; the idea of being a secondary target doesn't bother me."

[fanofthegenre]

"But it bothers me," she insists - if that wasn't obvious already, and in more ways than just the obvious, too.

"The less number of people I have who are involved in this, the better. I understand what you're trying to do, but - it's better this way."

It has to be.

[trigger_man]

"And it bothers me sitting in here and not doing anything when you're in danger," Jack snaps. "I have a hard time believing that that's better."

[fanofthegenre]

"If I let you come," she starts, making a point to emphasize the letting part, "that'll open up a whole new slew of questions that I can't afford to spend the time answering.

"The danger - that's just part of the job description. I knew the risks when I chose to do what I do."

[trigger_man]

"You've already had one nameless agent from an unspecified government agency on one of your cases; another one wouldn't raise as many eyebrows," Jack says, flatly. "Trust me, I know the risks too. And it doesn't matter if you sign up to take them or not, you end up just as dead.

"When I saw you come in wearing that," nodding at her sweater, "the only thing I could think of was that my wife had the same bloodstain on her shirt, after she'd been shot in the chest by someone I trusted."

He'd started out angry, but his voice had gone hoarse all of a sudden as the mental image of Teri slumped in the chair hit him again.

"She died because I wasn't there, and so have other friends of mine. I'm not losing another friend for the same reason."

[fanofthegenre]

"I understand, okay?"

Her voice is still firm, but it doesn't quite match up with the look in her eyes the longer she watches him, watching the anger give way to worry and the sadness of remembering the past.

"I've lost people. People I've - cared about, very deeply. But if I'm going to have any chance at all at finding out the truth about who ordered my mother's murder - "

She draws in a breath, slowly letting it out, but none of the tension disappears from her stance.

"I can't afford to be distracted."

[trigger_man]

"I do have some experience with investigations, Beckett. My being there doesn't automatically mean I'll be a distraction," he says, tersely, but his anger and frustration is starting to cool for the moment.

[fanofthegenre]

"I know that, it's just - "

She pauses, sighs. It's getting harder for her to keep up a front as more time passes.

"Jack, if anything happened to you - "

[trigger_man]

"Yeah, and if anything happened to you..." he says, leaving the same pause, as he's pretty sure she's leaving out the same words he is.

[fanofthegenre]

"And that's exactly why you're not going out there," she hisses, insistent, palm braced against the bartop even as she inclines in his direction.

[trigger_man]

Jack's jaw hardens. He's tempted to argue that that's exactly why he is going out there with her, but then that would send the argument in the same circles as before.

"Fine," he says tersely. "You need to get changed."

Not that he's entirely done with the argument.

[fanofthegenre]

She opens her mouth, fully prepared to counter the anticipated response - and then stops, frowning, brow furrowed as she just stares at him, and finally shuts up and nods.

"Yeah," she murmurs, looking down at her sweater. "Yeah, I've got - clothes. Upstairs."

[trigger_man]

"Go ahead," he says, jerking his chin toward the stairs. "I'll get you a coffee."

[fanofthegenre]

"Alright."

She's got at least one fresh change of clothes in her room, and she takes the stairs quickly. There's no sense in trying to wash the bloodied sweater at home, but maybe, somehow, through the magic of Bar, it'll be good as new.

She can hope for that much right now, at least.

By the time she comes back downstairs, she's changed out the sweater and jacket for a blue blouse, hair brushed out long over her shoulders, and she scans the bar for him.

[trigger_man]

Jack's moved to a table, a glass of whiskey in front of him and a coffee in front of an empty chair for her.

His mood hasn't really improved mush, either.

[fanofthegenre]

She doesn't need to be a mind-reader to sense that part isn't about to change any time soon, at least.

Taking the seat across from him, both hands move to encircle the coffee mug, and she lifts it to her lips, sipping, then exhaling softly.

"Thanks."

[trigger_man]

"You're gonna need it."

Jack takes a long sip of his drink. "Any idea where you're going to start?"

[fanofthegenre]

"Well, the shot came from the building across the street - fourth floor," she explains, her hands encircling the mug a little tighter.

"But whoever murdered Raglan must've been following him, so I sent one of my guys to talk to his neighbors, see if they'd noticed anyone hanging around."

[trigger_man]

"If he's a sniper, chances are he followed Raglan without anyone even noticing him. He didn't leave any evidence at the shooting site either, I'm assuming."

[fanofthegenre]

"No," she sighs, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"I haven't gotten confirmation on that yet, but it wouldn't surprise me."