"Please," Beckett protests, resting her hands on her hips and watching his skills of observancy at work. He takes everything in with a note of appreciation, probably something to refer back to later on when he's strapped for words in front of his laptop.

A quick glance at the clock confirms her fears about the late hour, and she realizes she can't watch him watch everything else for too much longer. The massage from earlier has already put her in a place for relaxation; now she just has to make good use of the time she has left.

"I'm going to change," she murmurs, and doesn't look back behind her before she heads in the direction of her bedroom. There's a pause; her hand lingers on the knob as she flicks the dim bedside lights on within, then slides to her closet to exchange one set of layers for another.

She doesn't close the door behind her.