milliways_bar | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

After everything Beckett's been through in the last week (government conspiracies, reports of alien life, Castle whistling an all-too familiar theme to a certain television show), it's no wonder that she has extraterrestrial - whatever on the brain.

(Not to mention that she's pretty sure she actually did see the fictional agents walking around the bar at one point - before she decided to order something stronger than coffee, at least.)

Today, however, she has the morning off, and she plans to spend it wisely - namely, making her own list of what to get friends and family for Christmas (but not necessarily checking it twice).

The closer it gets to the holidays, the less time she'll have to do her shopping, so she's anticipating the stress and attempting to nip it in the bud here and now.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Jack is more of the last minute "oh shit, it's Christmas Eve and I need to buy presents" persuasion, though that's because he's been out of practice for the last few years, and before that gift buying tended to fall by the wayside when faced with holiday stresses at work.

Needless to say, when he comes into the bar from his world--only a few days until Christmas there, so he really has no excuse for not noticing the time of year--gift lists are far from his mind when he sees Beckett bent over a pen and paper.

"Hey, Beckett. How're you?" he asks, tugging off his gloves and unzipping his coat. He has a bit of Eau de Motor Oil hovering around him, as he's spent the last couple hours coaxing his truck back to life.

Beckett looks up, simultaneously folding the list in half and tucking it into her pocket, her other hand idly clicking the end of the pen with her thumb.

The scent of motor oil reaches her nose, and she smiles, looking at his pink cheeks and automatically signaling to a waitrat to bring her a small pot of coffee to refresh her cup - and a second cup for Jack.

"Good," she says, and genuinely means it. This week hasn't been nearly as stressful as some of the ones preceding it.

"You look like you've been spending some time out in the cold."

"Thanks," he says, nodding at the waitrat. "Just came in from Arizona; I've been in and out bit the last few weeks. My truck was giving me trouble and I couldn't get it back to the garage before fixing it."

He dumps his coat and gloves on a chair, then takes a seat. "Am I interrupting some work?"

"You get it running again?" Beckett asks, before shaking her head. "What am I saying? Of course you did."

She discreetly tucks the list into the back pocket of her jeans.

"Nothing important."

"Don't sound so confident. I managed to get it running enough to limp back to the garage, but I still need to do some tinkering. Decided I needed to warm up first, though, and when I headed up to my apartment, this place appeared," Jack says, gratefully accepting the mug and pot of coffee from the waitrat. "Hopefully I won't have to take it to a mechanic."

She nods, reaching for the pot to pour a fresh cup of coffee into both mugs, both hands moving to encircle hers.

"Hopefully," she echoes. "And then have them try to rip you off on top of things."

"They can try; doesn't mean they'll succeed." Jack's pretty good at projecting a sense of "don't screw with me" when he wants to, not surprisingly.

"What have you been up to?"

Something tells Beckett that Jack is not as easily scammed as the rest of the general population.

"Oh, you know. Investigating government conspiracies, getting in way over my head."

Jack raises an eyebrow, not sure if she's making light of something serious, or exaggerating. After what Logan did, he's not sure he'd be surprised if it was the former.

"Government conspiracies?"

"In the sense that pretty much everything I tried to find out was under top-secret lock and key," Beckett admits, with a small sigh.

"I'm still not sure I ever got a completely straight answer from Agent Westfield. If that was even his real name."

Jack's face reflects even more confusion and suspicion than before. "Did you even find out what agency he was from? What kind of case was this, anyway?"

"A woman murdered who apparently had proof of alien life," Beckett replies, curling her hands around her coffee mug.

"But it turns out it wasn't anything that outrageous."

"Compared to that, a lot of things would seem pretty normal," Jack says with a snort. "What was it?"

"Just a satellite," Beckett explains.

"Though most of the details were kept under wraps - or, you know, away from Castle."

"Which is probably about the same thing," Jack says with a wry smile. "I guess he was like a kid in a candy store with that case."

"Oh, it took me at least a week to get the theme from X-Files out of my head," Beckett adds, rolling her eyes.

"Let me guess: because Castle was humming it for the entire week?" Jack asks.

"Whistling, more accurately, but yeah, that's about the reason."

She grins after a moment.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only