Beyond the Family Ties

Part 21

The first week in London passed by quickly. After the initial shock of it all, with the meetings with the DEO agents, Jack, and dealing with jetlag and a child, Becky found herself getting into a routine. She'd called Freen as soon as it was possible to do so, doing it over the phone, rather than Facetiming, because she knew she was tired enough to get a little bit teary, missing her roommate more than she cared to admit, and she'd felt instantly better, if only a little more homesick, once hanging up. After a proper night's sleep in the unfamiliar bed, Laurel curled up beside her while the radiator creaked occasionally, flooding the room with warmth, a decent shopping trip to Tesco, stocking up the cupboards with real food, and a sense of purpose after dropping into the office when the promised car came to pick her, Becky felt as if she'd somewhat found her footing without Freen.

Still, she missed her terribly, but the ache became bearable after the first week. After that, she got on with things, getting used to the drab March weather, with no sign of spring ready to burst forth with blue skies and spots of colour in the grey city. It wasn't until after the first week that Jack got in touch with her again, deeming her settled enough to get to work on their shared case, and it was with much surprise that she answered the door to find him stood there on Wednesday morning. Looking disheveled in a fluffy dressing gown she'd purchased from Next, a silver handled cooking knife hidden behind her back, she threw the door open to reveal the ruffled form of her new partner and felt the air flee from her lungs.

Clutching a hand to her chest, Becky drew in a sharp breath, giving him a disgruntled look as she took in the rain dotted grey overcoat, the navy and scarlet scarf, two coffees in a cardboard drink tray and a paper bag from Costa. "What the hell are you doing here?" she breathlessly asked, "how do you know where I live?"

He smiled at her and let himself in, looking around with interest as he walked down the short hallway and into the apartment. "I got it from Agent Haley when I was arranging a place for you to meet me. Thought it'd be easier if we worked here so you don't have to find someone to look after your little one. God, it's a cold one today."

"Right," she mumbled, following after him with a flicker of unease rising within.

She rarely let people she didn't know well into her apartment in Albany City, let alone on the other side of the world, where she knew even less about the said person. Even if they were going to be working together, there was a part of Becky that didn't trust Jack, based on nothing more than years of self-preservation. It would be a trifling thing for her brother to buy off an overseas government agent and then manipulate the game to isolate Becky in a foreign country, away from people she knew would protect her and her family. Yet as she watched him set down his armful on the counters, shedding his coat and scarf and draping them over a bar stool, his suit jacket quick to follow, she couldn't help but feel like he had good intentions.

Walking over to the wooden knife holder, she let the knife slide into place with an audible slither and thud, and Jack looked up to watch, seemingly unbothered by the fact that she'd had a knife hidden behind her back, with the intention to use it if the need had arisen. Picking up the paper bags, he held one out to her, and slid a paper coffee cup across the counter with a small smile.

"Croissant and a cappuccino. I wasn't sure what kind of coffee you liked."

Warily approaching the counter, she wrapped her dressing gown tighter around herself, before reaching out to take hold of the coffee, although she didn't drink any as she blatantly stared at him for a moment. When he looked up, meeting her flat stare, he raised his eyebrows slightly, the corners creasing with amusement, and Becky cleared her throat.

"Thank you."

"So where do you want to begin?"

Shrugging indifferently, she grabbed the paper bag and took her coffee over to the sofa, settling down on it and peering into the bag. It was a plain butter croissant, the pastry a golden brown and flaky on top. Jack took a seat at the far end of the sofa, giving her some space, and pulled a manila folder out of his leather satchel, setting it down on the coffee table beside his coffee and opening it up. Becky caught a glimpse of photos and a police record.