milliways_bar | (no subject)

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When Jack walks in tonight, he doesn't immediately see where he is; he's too busy trying to wipe water out of his face. It started pouring outside just before he came in, and while his nylon jacket has saved his clothes from being soaked, there's water streaming out of his (somewhat longer than usual) hair and down his face.

He wipes the rain out of his eyes and blinks. That's weird. There's a stable door back at the room he's renting, so why did the door appear at the front door of his rooming house?

He shakes his head, mutters "Milliways," and heads toward the bar. A hot cup of coffee sounds good, and bar can probably provide him with a towel.

[ooc: *tentatively sticks head in* I...think the summer craziness is gone? Open indefinitely anyway, though might be a bit slow tomorrow (Friday) night.]

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She's riding high off a successful bust - relatively successful, at least. It hadn't been all that easy to pin down their suspect in question when Castle was proving to be more than a distraction squirming on the dance floor. She's about to head back to the precinct to change when the door to Milliways shows up instead, and - it's been a long time, Beckett thinks, she at least owes the place a drink, even if she has to risk running into anyone dressed like this.

She squares her shoulders and manages to march over to the bar in her impressive high heels without stumbling, remembering to cross her legs and adjusting the skirt of her mini-dress before she inadvertently flashes anyone.

"Just a beer, please," she requests, before her eyes scan the room and finally come to rest on a familiar profile.

There's a cup of coffee and a hand towel on the bar as soon as he approaches, and it's hard to say which he's more grateful for.

He's just run the towel over his head, his damp hair sticking up in all directions, when he spots Beckett a little way down the bar.

Or at least he thinks that's Beckett. His brain isn't exactly working well enough to figure out if there are any small differences that would point to her being just a lookalike as his full attention is grabbed by...other things.

She swivels in her seat without leaving the stool, fingers briefly brushing against the bottle as it comes to her but not moving to pick it up completely as her lips purse into a slow, amused smile.

"It's been a while," she finally says, giving into the full brunt of how happy she is to see him - and for a second, she doesn't even think about how she's dressed.

He realizes he's staring and blinks, a small, somewhat self0deprecating smile curving the corners of his mouth.

"Yeah, it has. You look..." He can't quite get the words great, beautiful off the tip of his tongue, and so what comes out is, "...dressed up."

This is a pretty inconvenient time to start feeling the whispers of some emotions he thought he couldn't feel anymore. At least not without the bar's help.

She notices the stare, after a moment, but doesn't shy away from it; instead, she clears her throat, trying to mask her blush, and reaches for that beer.

"Had to be in a club tonight," she explains. "They would've pegged me as a cop right away if I hadn't dressed to blend in."

Jack takes a sip of his coffee, giving himself a second to get over that first little whiff of attraction. It's not something he can--or necessarily wants to--indulge in at the moment. Besides, this is Beckett. She's a friend, whatever the crazy spell-of-the-week might have made them do in the past.

"Well you sure look like you'd have no problem being undercover. I take it you were going after a suspect?"

"You've got it," Beckett replies, taking a small sip from the bottle. It's still in her hand as she finally makes her way over to him, taking the seat next to his.

She pauses, looks at the state of his clothing. "I'm guessing you didn't just jump into a swimming pool."

Jack gives her a quick wry smile as he pulls off his jacket and towels the back of his neck.

"I'd think that was a pretty safe guess. Just came in from a thunderstorm back in my world." At least the jacket had kept his torso dry. His jeans are pretty damp from the knees down, though. "Probably a good thing this place turned up. I didn't even have to make my own coffee."

"There is that," she agrees, with a brief lift of her bottle. Beckett takes one last sip, puts the bottle down, her fingernails picking slightly at one edge of the label.

"So how've you been?" she asks, swiveling slightly to face him. "It's - been a long time, since - "

Since we kissed, she wants to add, but doesn't.

Since that bout of temporary insanity?

"Yeah, it has. Not much has been happening with me. I was working at the San Antonio rodeo grounds for a while. How've you been?" he asks.

He almost--almost--succeeds in making the question sound perfectly casual. In reality, he's been...maybe not worried, per se, but concerned about not seeing her, not knowing how things have been going. Whether she's had any tough, or worse, dangerous cases lately.

"Not bad. Could be worse," she admits, after another brief sip from her beer and a pause to let that liquid courage seep in a little.

It's not that she's nervous around him - far from it. But after the last time they'd seen each other had taken something of an interesting turn, she just isn't sure what to expect, and that's something that equal parts intrigues and frustrates her.

"I'm sure there's worse places you could be going undercover, that's for sure," he says, with another quick glance at her outfit.

"There are places where I'd be more clothed, for a start," she responds, and her eyes don't follow his downward, but she knows full well where his gaze is pointed.

"Such as, say, the penguin exhibit at the Central Park Zoo?" he says, deadpan.

"Why, Jack, I didn't know you were such an animal lover," Beckett teases, chuckling softly, and takes another sip of her beer, lips pursed in evident amusement around the bottle.

"I have a special affinity for the ones that go well with mashed potatoes," he says, not looking at her as he takes a sip of his coffee.

"You and me both, Bauer," Beckett confesses, shrugging her shoulders forward as she chuckles and lets her fingertips spindle around the beer bottle, tapping absently.

"So, what's working on a rodeo like? You getting any riding in?" She only just realizes the potential innuendo in her statement and clears her throat, blushing warmly.

He lets out a small snort of a laugh. "No. I was the guy mucking out the stalls and stuff like that. Half the time when I needed to move one of the horses they wouldn't listen to me anyway. There was no way I was getting on one."

"They wouldn't listen to you? Really?" Beckett replies, her tone adopting a touch of incredulity as she leans over to him, her brows knitting together in a frown of curiosity. "And you seem like you're a very persuasive individual."

"Yeah, strangely enough they don't respond to interrogation techniques," Jack says, his tone dry.

He's also really trying to not look at her chest as she leans toward him, and he's a little uncomfortable that there's a small part of him that wants to.

Her smile comes easily this time, brought on by the inclusion of the beer and the familiar assurance of company, and Beckett chuckles, briefly noticing the discomfort in his gaze but not sure what to attribute it to, exactly.

"I'm guessing you wouldn't have had to use much of those anyway," she replies, a little more softly.

"Yeah. Not so much interrogation as much as...the ability to influence people. Or horses in this case. Not that it always worked."

"Doesn't sound like it," she replies, giving him a brief sideways glance before returning to her drink with a small sigh.

"It's good to see this place again."

"You missed its little surprises?" Jack asks, his tone wry.

"And the people in it," she softly answers, giving him a sincere smile.

"Besides, after all the work I've been doing, I could use a little break for myself."

"You've been busy?" he asks, a little more than regular curiosity shining through his expression. Busy for her isn't necessarily a good thing, for her or anyone else.

"Mmm. No busier than usual," she admits, "but just busy enough to make me really appreciate my door showing up, if you catch my drift."

"Yeah, I think I do. You staying in here for a while?" he asks. It doesn't sound like it's been as long for him as for her, but he's still missed her.

"I wasn't planning on going anywhere," Beckett softly replies, and then chances a look at the state of their drinks.

"At least not before I buy you another round."

"Trying to get me drunk again, Detective Beckett?"

"Only if you're up for it, Mr. Bauer," Beckett responds, her expression straight as the amusement continues to thread through the tone of her voice.

"I am, if you're willing to donate your liver when mine craps out on me."

"You'll get first dibs," Beckett promises, eyeing his coffee mug.

"Although you won't need a new one if you're going to be sticking to that."

"Might be a good idea if at least one of us stays sober," Jack says.

Especially if they want to avoid the same craziness that went on last time. Of course he knows they had a little help, but still.

"Well, I never said I was planning on getting drunk, either," Beckett replies, just as innocently.

She does order another drink for herself, though. After last time, she knows her limits.

"Well then at least this time we'll both remember what we say," Jack says with a slight smile.

He drains his coffee mug and asks Bar a beer this time.

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