(no subject)
It was hard to force herself to enjoy another beer at the precinct as the night wore on, as the guys sat around the table in the break room and shot the breeze with Lanie and Captain Montgomery - and meanwhile, Beckett couldn't get the replaying image of Castle and Gina leaving the precinct, their arms wrapped around each other, out of her mind. More than that, she couldn't believe she'd just stood back and let them walk away without revealing the truth.
She'd broken things off with Demming. For Castle. And now he was leaving to spend the summer with his publisher-slash-ex-wife and she was going to immerse herself in work to try and distract herself from thinking about what they were going to be doing.
That knowledge soured any lingering hope Beckett had of enjoying the remainder of her evening, and so, after assuring the others she was fully capable of at least hitching a cab ride back to her new apartment, she reached for the red leather jacket hanging on the back of her desk chair and walked down the long aisle towards the same elevator Castle had stepped onto only moments before.
The elevator doors finally, begrudgingly slid open with a ding and she stepped into the tiny space. It was an old elevator, too; there were several things in the precinct that need repairing - like the now-retired coffeemaker that, up until recently, had been providing the detectives with good old-fashioned sludge until Castle had gone and purchased the cappuccino machine for the break room. Despite her frustration with the writer-cum-murder-solver - as well as the feelings that were currently running through her brain like an all-too emotional roller-coaster - that one token of generosity brought a smile to Beckett's face even now.
That smile quickly disappeared as the doors opened to reveal a sight completely unfamiliar to her. It wasn't the lobby of the precinct, that was for damn sure, and when she stepped out, her boots made contact with yielding sand instead of hard marble. Instinctively, her hand went for the gun at her hip, and when she turned around in the direction of the elevator, a line of trees greeted her instead. All Beckett could do was stand, dumbly, looking out at the crashing waves, her fingertips idly resting on her Glock like an odd sort of security blanket.
It took her a couple seconds to remember about her phone, but when she held it up, two words created a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.
'NO SIGNAL.'
"Damn it," the stranded homicide detective muttered, squinting as she glanced in either direction down the shoreline, looking for anyone in the near vicinity.
She'd broken things off with Demming. For Castle. And now he was leaving to spend the summer with his publisher-slash-ex-wife and she was going to immerse herself in work to try and distract herself from thinking about what they were going to be doing.
That knowledge soured any lingering hope Beckett had of enjoying the remainder of her evening, and so, after assuring the others she was fully capable of at least hitching a cab ride back to her new apartment, she reached for the red leather jacket hanging on the back of her desk chair and walked down the long aisle towards the same elevator Castle had stepped onto only moments before.
The elevator doors finally, begrudgingly slid open with a ding and she stepped into the tiny space. It was an old elevator, too; there were several things in the precinct that need repairing - like the now-retired coffeemaker that, up until recently, had been providing the detectives with good old-fashioned sludge until Castle had gone and purchased the cappuccino machine for the break room. Despite her frustration with the writer-cum-murder-solver - as well as the feelings that were currently running through her brain like an all-too emotional roller-coaster - that one token of generosity brought a smile to Beckett's face even now.
That smile quickly disappeared as the doors opened to reveal a sight completely unfamiliar to her. It wasn't the lobby of the precinct, that was for damn sure, and when she stepped out, her boots made contact with yielding sand instead of hard marble. Instinctively, her hand went for the gun at her hip, and when she turned around in the direction of the elevator, a line of trees greeted her instead. All Beckett could do was stand, dumbly, looking out at the crashing waves, her fingertips idly resting on her Glock like an odd sort of security blanket.
It took her a couple seconds to remember about her phone, but when she held it up, two words created a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.
'NO SIGNAL.'
"Damn it," the stranded homicide detective muttered, squinting as she glanced in either direction down the shoreline, looking for anyone in the near vicinity.