The Late Shaft

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Have you lost all sense of human decency and self-respect?

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They were so cute on television together, leaning in, swapping stories. Practically swapping breath. Rick Castle and Ellie Monroe. Close enough to smile into each other's eyes, all star-crossed lovers. Weren't they so cute?

Beckett clenches her jaw. Pushes past the sarcasm.

She won't think about that stupid interview again. She's home finally - home - her own place, her apartment, and it's the refuge she hoped for. She can breathe here, she can forget the rest of them, she can close her eyes and ignore the questions about her mother's murder that still haunt her.

Besides, Rick Castle and Ellie Monroe? One is a rising star and the other is a bestselling novelist. Not exactly moving in the same social spheres, not quite the same world-

Well.

They were both on Late Night, weren't they?

Beckett angrily shoves herself off the couch, heading for her kitchen. Her new kitchen, with its industrial finishes, its clean porcelain sink, the lovely touches she's added over the last few weeks.

She's home.

The rest will come together.

There's no reason to feel like this. It's all hers.

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She realizes it now.

She was just beginning to lean in.

No, not falling for him. Just - leaning in.

She's been leaning in for a few months now, (for a year), doing some kind of dance with him, and now this?

And here he comes. He's trying very hard to appear subdued, that he didn't just get laid. That's fine. It's fine. She can be a big girl.

Beckett folds her hands in her lap and rethinks that posture, instead opens a file and studies the blank lines of the form. Rick Castle.

There is nothing she cannot overcome. This is only temporary. This isn't the rest of her life.

He sits down in the chair beside her desk and she gives him a studying glance.

He looks happy.

Well that's kind of devastating.

She swallows and smooths her fingers over the page in front of her, still saying nothing.

He looks happier than she's seen him since her apartment blew up.

Maybe he needed... something that wasn't about police work.

Something that wasn't her.

Dragging him down.

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Alexis.

He's going home to Alexis. That's all.

Beckett flushes, cheeks pink, looks away from him.

He's gathering to leave. She wants to say something, wants to take back her righteous indignation of only thirty seconds ago. Self-respect. Her own keeps her mouth shut.

But as he goes, she realizes she's not leaning after him any longer.

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