"I know, I know," she starts, already prepared to come to her own defense, but there's nothing she can say that would really do anything other than dig herself an even deeper hole.

"Not happening," Beckett adds, attempting to fix him with a stare that would break the shell of any hardened criminal, but it loses some of its power under the buzz she's currently riding from the whiskey, loosening her tongue and bringing a unique pinkness to her cheeks and chest. She clears her throat, then scrunches up her nose, bothered by the angle of the clip in her hair that feels like it's digging into her scalp. 'More of a hindrance than a help, and at this point, she could care less about what her hair looks like, so she reaches up to remove it, setting it to one side and combing fingers through the brown strands to relieve the itch.