Beckett freezes in that brief second of allowing his words to sink in - and then promptly smacks his shoulder, though it lands as more of a gentle swat as her hand barely glances off him.

"Some lookout you are," she murmurs, though like her earlier thought, there's a trace of affection in the words, and she fits herself in alongside him on the couch, sitting where there's a small space on the edge next to his hip.

"Unless you'd been planning on, I don't know, drooling on our guy."

There isn't any drool. Not really.