Chapter Text
Beckett did not often take a day off, but unfortunately he was uniquely vulnerable to bullying.
Anatole had hidden his tape recorder somewhere, and had allegedly used his future sight to pick the place that Beckett was least likely to look. Lucita had let him stay with her for the evening, and had coincidentally also been hosting Sandoza, who had allegedly been promised that she would be allowed to show him some very long teenage vampire romance films and would pout in a way most unbecoming of a grand inquisitor whenever he would even briefly mention work. Parr, Sterling and Vykos had seemingly been enlisted to ensure that none of his Camarilla or Sabbat contacts would bother him, and Cesare had been informally forbidden from driving him anywhere.
At around midnight, once they had reached the climax of the second of four films, Beckett slipped his hand into Anatole’s jacket pocket and pulled out his tape recorder. Anatole raised an eyebrow at him, and seemingly braced himself to snatch the device back, but relaxed slightly when he realised that Beckett was simply recording Sandoza’s explanation of the plot.
“So,” he said, leaning forwards, “Why is it so important that Edward is risking himself like this for Bella?”
As Sandoza began to explain the concept of romance to him in rapid Spanish, Beckett decided that he would have Cesare transcribe this tape. He would need something to remind him that a night like this was possible.