A/N: So, I don't know about the rest of you, but after I saw episode 7x04, Child's Play, I enjoyed it, but couldn't help thinking how much more interesting it would've been if it were Beckett in the classroom instead of Castle. On that note, this idea for a two-shot came to mind, with that very premise. This, then, is an AU version of that episode that takes the same set-up, but puts more focus on the crazy classroom antics and pranks, and it's told over the course of six short "vignettes", combined to form a two-shot.

A special thanks and shout-out goes to CalPal052699, who Beta'd this story and helped me brainstorm and also assured me that, yes, little kids CAN get as crazy, wild and mischievous as they do here. :)

Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this!


CHILD'S PLAY

SUNDAY

"I'm sorry, Beckett, I'm really sick. You'll just have to handle this one," Castle tells Beckett from their bed.

It had finally happened. Beckett's worst fears all weekend had been realized, as if Fate decided to pull some cruel joke on her, but as was the case with all cruel jokes, this wasn't funny in the least.

Three days ago, she'd been at ease with the whole situation, or at least, as at ease as the circumstances allowed. The situation in question was that a piece of evidence in her current murder investigation indicated that a young child had possibly been present at the time of the crime, and therefore could point Beckett and her team in the direction of the killer. They'd narrowed it down to someone in the class of Ms. Ruiz, a second grade teacher. The only problem was, they weren't sure who it was they needed to talk to. From there, the only logical conclusion was to have Castle, the self-proclaimed "Kid Whisperer," go into the class and try to weed out the child in question, using his honed kid skills the following Monday, since the decision hadn't been made until half an hour before the end of the school day on Friday.

The following weekend, however, clearly had other plans in mind. It started around midday on Saturday, when Castle started complaining about a slight headache, then on Sunday, that headache eventually escalated to him feeling slightly dizzy before finally late Sunday afternoon, Beckett had heard the sound of him chucking up his stomach's contents in their bathroom. Kid Whisperer or not, Castle wasn't immune to a bad stomach virus.

So here he now laid, sheets pulled up around his body, a cool washcloth across his burning forehead and looking paler and so much less lively than usual. Briefly, an image of him in that hospital bed after his sudden reappearance from being missing for two months flashes through Beckett's mind, but she forces those emotions down. She's sitting on his left, stroking the area between his thumb and index finger with her own thumb.

She groans. "I know, I know. I'd just as much rather either Ryan or Espo or even Lanie fill in, but I need them working the case from the outside," she finally lets out.

"Yeah," he tells her. "I know you're not looking forward to this, but for what it's worth, I have complete faith in you." His voice is weak. "Besides," he continues, even managing a slight grin, "think of it as more practice for ... eventually."

She cracks a slight smile, unable to keep feelings of happiness away concerning the idea of little Castle's and Beckett's running around the loft.

"Also," he says, "I'll keep my phone on, just in case you need any advice from The Kid Whisperer." There was a look on his face, as if he had been about to say something else, maybe something like, "because kids are at their worst when they're second grade-age," but he kept silent. Maybe it had just been him fighting down a new wave of sick.

"Thanks, babe," she replies, kissing his forehead.

"Don't mention it."

"You just get some rest," she tells her husband. "If you need anything, I'll be right in the other room, okay? Get better." Beckett strokes his arm tenderly before leaving the bedroom to go join Martha and Alexis in the living room, but Castle manages to get out one last sentence in his hazy voice.

"For what it's worth, you make a great nurse."

She throws him a departing look of amusement, even if he can't see it.

She knows in herself, though: tomorrow isn't going to be the best of days, nor all the days after where she'll be working with small children. The agreement they had worked out with the school's principal would allow someone representing the NYPD to be in Mrs. Ruiz's class for a full week as they attempted to find the witness and glean any necessary information. A potential time limit of a day or two had been deemed not ideal by Castle, because he pointed out that sometimes, kids needed coaxing to come out of metaphorical shells, they needed to feel comfortable, and being rushed by only having a single day wouldn't do Beckett's team any favors.

Beckett really had no substantial one-on-one experience with young kids to speak of, not counting Sarah Grace or Cosmo. And the thought of her spending a full week with not one, but at least ten of them, was enough to make her more nervous than going up against a serial killer alone. But, she told herself, at least she'll have Ms. Ruiz there in the class with her so things wouldn't get too stressful for her.


MONDAY

Beckett wakes up the next day, briefly forgetting that she was the one who would have to go in to the classroom and look after the kids instead of Castle. Good thing the teacher will be there, she thought to herself. The thought brings no comfort, though, as she still lets a groan escape her throat.

She gets ready as she would any other day, just with a feeling of nervousness that begins as the equivalent of a bean in the pit of her stomach but becomes the size of a cantaloupe by the time she finishes the various adjustments to her wardrobe and general appearance in front of the bedroom mirror. But in all that time, she still hasn't gotten a better idea of how to even begin to relate to a classroom full of children.

"Try this," suggests Castle from his position on their bed, his head only slightly raised on his pillow. "Since you can't outright interrogate these kids, not if you want to get them to trust you, you have to be more subtle about it."

"I'm open to suggestions," Beckett says plainly, sitting beside Castle on the bed.

After a thoughtful silence, Castle gives his reply. "You need to consider things kids like. For instance, drawing. If one of these kids did indeed witness the murder, it'll obviously have affected them deeply. So, why not find a way to indirectly bring those feelings out?" He pauses, presses his hand lightly to his lips as if trying to hold something back, swallows, shudders and presses on. "Maybe you can get them to draw pictures of some kind of significant event in their lives, and there'll be one who draws ... well, a murder. It'd be their way of calling out for help."

"You really think that'll work?"

"Repressed memories have funny ways of coming back to us."

The double meaning of his words hangs awkwardly in the air until Beckett finally breaks the silence. "Okay. It's ... worth a shot. But what about the rest of the time? How do I treat them? Relate to them?"

"Well, for one, they hate being condescended. Just treat them like anyone else. Not to scare you, but they can smell fear. Level with them, help them, play with them. They're not some weird alien race." Castle could spot the uncertainty in Beckett's eyes. "And remember that I'm just a phone call away."

"I know." Beckett kisses the top of his head, through his hair, and gets up. "Feel better, okay?"

"I will." Castle squeezes her hand. "Good luck, Miss Beckett."

She gives him one last loving smile and then leaves the loft, Martha giving assurances that he's in good hands on her way out. She arrives at the school twenty minutes later. Good thing there wasn't much traffic, she thinks once again, otherwise she would have been late for school. She rolls her eyes at herself because she hasn't thought that for years now.

She walks into the school, finding the front office with little trouble. She asks the receptionist which class she is to be in and with a grunt, the receptionist looks up.

She is an old lady with a round angry face, her eyes slightly magnified by horn-rimmed glasses, and frown lines everywhere. "Excuse me?" the lady huffs.

"I was just wondering which class I'm to be in?" she says, wondering why this lady is so angry and whether the school would want visitors to be greeted by such a disgruntled attitude.

"And who are you?" she sneers.

"I'm Detective Beckett, I-" The old woman cuts her off.

"Oh, the NYPD chick. Yeah, here is your school Visitors' Pass and go to class 34B." she tells Beckett almost robotically, handing her a laminated rectangular pass.

"Okay, uh, thanks," Beckett says to the strangely-behaved woman, affixing the Visitors' Pass to the waistline of her pants so that it hangs in front of her left hip, wondering if she should say something about her attitude or being called a 'chick'. Next, she picks up a school map off a pile on the front desk. Without saying another word, she goes on a trek to find the class. Beckett thinks it odd on the way that Mrs. Ruiz wasn't there in the office to greet her personally, but shrugs it off as her most likely preparing the class for Beckett's arrival.

Once she reaches the class after a few turns, she knocks politely on the door. No one answers, so she knocks again. She can hear a lady's stressed voice and children screaming and laughing. She wonders if anyone will answer or if she should just walk in of her own accord.

After five minutes and multiple knocks, she opens the door to what can only be described as chaos. Children are running and screaming around the most pale green room Beckett can remember seeing in her life, with various colorful posters and decorations such as large butterflies adorning the walls. Glittery and various other colored substances coat the kids' hands and parts of their bodies. A fit-looking woman in her early thirties looks like she is going to turn grey as she tries desperately to chase after them.

Come on, Kate, she tells herself. Castle's right, they're only kids. You can take whatever they throw at you.

Just as she steps over the threshold, a stray eraser from the whiteboard flies her way from out of nowhere and conks her dead-center on her forehead, making her stop in her tracks.

Except if it's an eraser.

"Hey!" Beckett shouts, and all the small heads turn to look at her, silence immediately falling over the room.

"Who are you?" one boy asks curiously.

"I'm Detect - Miss Beckett. I'm from the NYPD," she answers calmly.

All the children then seem to calm down and look a touch frightened at the new information.

"Now, I would like everyone to find their seats and sit down, while I talk to your teacher," Beckett instructs and they do as they are told. It's at that moment, as Beckett walks over to the relieved other woman, that she registers it's not Miss Ruiz.

"Hi," Beckett says kindly to the harried teacher. "I'm Detective Kate Beckett. I'm supposed to be helping run the class this week. Where is Miss Ruiz?"

"Hey, um, funny story. Miss Ruiz phoned in sick this morning, and said she didn't know how long she'd be out. She also said she trusted you'd be capable of handling the kids on your own, with you being a Detective and everything. She said she's sorry for the inconvenience, but she cleared it with the principal, and I have another class and I was just told to wait until you arrived so I could go back to them," she explains.

"Oh, so ... I'm looking after them all by myself?" Beckett asks, that fact being the only one that registered from the sub's mini-spiel.

"Yeah, sorry about that," the sub says sympathetically. "They are a handful, as you can probably tell, but you seem to have a handle on authority. I'm better with older kids myself," she tells her.

"And for how long will I be alone with them?" Beckett asks.

"Until either Miss Ruiz gets better, or the school can get a proper sub in for them, and that could take anywhere between a day to a week since there seems to be a bug going around and most subs are already out of commission," the woman answers Beckett.

"Okay," Beckett says uncertainly. Son of a …

"Good luck," the woman offers before slipping gracefully out of the classroom. Beckett notices that she has a "Kick Me!" note on her back, but is too slow to warn her about it.

Ah, kids…Beckett thinks to herself in a not-too-positive way.

She turns back to the class now, when one girl puts her hand up.

"Can you arrest us?" she asks gingerly.

"No, don't worry. I can't just arrest you guys," Beckett replies to her.

"Where's your badge?" another girl asks.

"Where's your uniform?" this from a boy.

"Do you have your gun with you?" queries one more boy.

"I don't have a uniform since I'm a Detective," Beckett replies. "And I left my badge and gun at home." An audible, collective groan rises up as she glances down at the teacher's desk to spot an attendance sheet. "Okay, why don't we take Roll?" she says after picking up the paper.

Everybody on the attendance sheet was there in the class.

"Alright," she announces once that's done, "I thought we'd start today by doing something fun!"

"Are we going to play a game?" a black-haired boy named Zack asks excitedly.

"No," Beckett replies. "It's more like an exercise."

"Kind of like running around?" asks the sandy-haired Daniel.

"Not quite."

"It already sounds stupid!" declares the boy named Jason, who looks like he's the "leader of the pack." The kids around him chuckle.

"Well, it's not stupid," Beckett promises. "I want you guys to close your eyes," all the kids follow her instructions, "and I want you to think about something that's happened to you or something you saw happen recently. It can be something good or something bad. And then when I tell you to open your eyes, I will have handed out paper and you can start drawing what you were thinking about, okay?"

"What's the point?" Jason challenges, his eyes still closed.

Beckett, quick on her feet, already had an answer. "To help you work on visualizing. And to teach you how sometimes, some details can matter and other times, they don't or they can change. When you get older, it's an important skill to have."

She finds paper on a supply table underneath the window and once all the kids have a piece, she tells them to open their eyes. The kids draw for a little until Beckett feels it's been long enough and tells everyone to hand in their pieces of paper.

The rest of the morning passes without incident and according to Miss Ruiz's schedule. The kids all comply with Beckett's requests, but she still can't help but pick up on some slight iciness on the children's part, as if they don't want her in their class. During recess after lunch, she finally has time to go through the kids' drawings and sees one she is quite concerned about, depicting what looks to be someone getting shot. She checks the kid's name - Jack - and goes outside to talk with him.

She leaves the classroom and comes out onto the playground, finding little Jack playing by himself underneath a tree, enraptured with a collection of small toy soldiers.

"Hey, Jack!" she calls out to him once she's close enough.

"Hi, Miss Beckett," he says back to her.

"Can we talk about your, uh, lovely drawing?" Beckett asks him.

"Sure, Miss." He comes closer to her. "Am I in trouble?"

"No, not at all! I just want to talk."

She sits cross-legged on the grass and pats the spot beside her. He sits and they start chatting away. Soon enough, Beckett realizes the drawing was just a recreation of a movie scene Jack watched, so she stands and he follows suit. She's struck, however, by how easy it was to talk with him. Maybe this week won't be so bad after all, Beckett thinks.

But at some point on her way back to the classroom, some kids playing a chasing game abruptly dart right in front of her, making her fall backwards. She knows from the feeling beneath her that she landed in something unfortunate, and as a result, a sour looks crosses upon her face.

She stands gracefully, slowly, looking cautiously around and hoping not so many people will notice, using the mentality of, It's not that bad, I don't care what these little kids think, anyway. But then after she's back on her feet, she hears click, flash! and ensuing laughter.

Beckett turns, a composed look struggling to stay upon her face as she looks around at the little boy behind her, Jason. Of course it was him. He has an old-fashioned camera and a picture clutched triumphantly in his hand. He is laughing like a maniac at the photo. Just then, more kids begin to crowd around and point and laugh at Beckett.

"What's so funny?" she asks in the sweetest voice she can muster up from the depths of her stomach, but she was ultimately unable to mask the dread and uncertainty that was there as well.

"The mud that looks like poop on your butt!" Jason says in a voice that makes it clear that he and the others think it's absolutely hysterical and from their vantage point, it most definitely is.

"What?!" Beckett exclaims in horror.

"The mud looks like you pooped your pants!" he giggles. "Look." He holds the photo up so she can see.

As the instant photo clearly shows, the seat of Beckett's jeans are indeed slathered with a rather thick layer of the brown substance. "God da-ndilions." she corrects herself, smiling her best sweet smile at him, as if she wasn't currently embarrassed beyond relief, but even a child could tell it was extremely forced.

"My Mommy said never to use the Lord's name in vain," Jason recites cheekily.

"Your Mommy is right, I apologize," she says through gritted teeth and then turns and walks to the bathroom to clean herself up. Beckett briefly considers going back for the humiliating photo, but prefers not to prolong her mockery if possible.

She cleans her bottom off as best she can in the bathroom, but a considerable brown stain is still left behind, seeped well into the fabric. With a heavy, calming sigh, she makes her way back to the classroom to find her class being ushered inside by one of the other teachers, whom Beckett gratefully thanks.

The rest of the day goes by fine, save for the occasional joke made about the back of her pants from a few of the kids, but she gets through it. She still has to come back in tomorrow, though, and she groans internally at the thought.

I need to find this witness, and fast.


TUESDAY

When Beckett first got home that afternoon, she tried her best to make a beeline for her dresser without Martha, Alexis or Castle, especially, seeing the state of the seat of her jeans. But she had no such luck, as Martha and Alexis had been waiting in the living room when she got home and had spotted the stain when Beckett turned to close the door behind her. Naturally, they inquired about it, leading to a hurried explanation that Beckett muttered, red-faced, but that was nothing compared to when Castle saw it. Even though he had remained as sympathetic as possible after hearing about her accident, she could still detect notes of amusement in his voice.

She told him about how his drawing idea had yielded no results, which he responded to by suggesting she not try to force it so much. "Use your cop training," Castle suggested. "Search for those telltale signs that something's troubling one of them."

It was as good a plan as any.

Tuesday morning, Castle isn't feeling any better. But today, Beckett makes sure to take her duffel bag normally reserved for her gym visits and to place a spare change of clothes in there, just in case any other potential mishaps leave her with dirty clothing again.

She arrives at school earlier today, and walks into class a few minutes before the children, which allows her to stow the duffel bag away underneath her desk. She thinks she will follow Castle's advice and find a time during the day, apart from recess, to let them do their own thing and see how they behave; maybe she'll be able to spot the witness, like her husband surmised. A full day had already gone by and neither she nor Ryan and Espo were any farther along in solving the case than they had been before; a quick phone call with her partners last night informed Beckett of that.

The class walks in as the bell rings and some come a little after. As each child enters, they take a seat, all the while talking up a storm with each other. Once everyone is seated, Beckett gets all the kids attention.

"Hey, everybody!" she screams over the loud, high octave voices, keeping her voice pleasant.

The whole class goes dead silent. Beckett uses the opportunity to get the attendance out of the way and consults Miss Ruiz's notes for the day.

"Um, okay, so it looks like we're going to start today by doing some Group Reading," she informs them. "So, could everybody please go get the copies of Fun Fairy Tales that are stacked by the cubbies and take them back to your seats? One per person, though."

The kids surprise her by giving a chorus of, "Yes, Miss Beckett!" right before they comply with her request. By all appearances, the slightly standoff-ish demeanor that she'd picked up on yesterday now seems to be gone, and it makes Beckett breathe a small sigh of relief. Her own copy of the designated book lays on the desk, complete with a sticky-note jutting out from the top, marking the place where they were to begin. According to the notes, she's to start reading herself, then pick random students to continue on until the story is complete. She opens to the marked page to see that the story they're reading is Rumplestiltskin. She recalls the tale from her own youth, the one of the deceitful man who turns straw to gold.

By the time Beckett looks back up, she notices that all of the students have gotten back in their seats, each of their books open on top of their desks. She takes that as her cue, momentarily wondering whether or not to read too much into their suddenly agreeable behavior, but shrugs it off as her reading too much into it. She's just grateful they're being so calm.

"So," she begins, standing up and walking around to lean against the desk, "how many of you have read or heard of Rumplestiltskin before?"

Nearly all of the class raises their hands, making Beckett nod.

"Good." Her eyes fall on Jack, who's one of the ones sitting in the front row. "Jack, when I point at you sometime after I start reading, would you like to pick up where I leave off?"

"Sure, Miss Beckett."

After flashing him a warm smile, Beckett launches into the tale of Rumplestiltskin, making it past the first two quick, illustrated pages before gesturing to Jack, and he immediately picks up where she left off. Jack continues for about half a minute, then he looks back up at her.

"You can pick the next person to read, if you like," she says with a wink.

Jack smiles broadly, looks from left to right and finally settles on Daniel, who appears reluctant at first, but moves forward with the story anyway. Daniel only reads a few lines before passing it on to a red-haired girl named Lily, who reads the most out of all the kids so far, but eventually picks Zack to read after her.

The story is starting to wind down by the time a black-haired girl with glasses named Alex is reading, with Beckett thinking to herself how Castle would most likely get a kick out of this "Pass-It-On" reading style, when she notices that the job of reading isn't the only thing being passed around among the kids.

Back in the third row, Beckett can see the kids who are seated beside each other handing off what is clearly a piece of paper and giggling when they see what's on it. Whatever it is, it is clearly starting to distract from the activity, so Beckett walks between the desks towards Oliver, the dark-blonde haired boy who currently has the paper.

Oliver's face drops when he sees Beckett hold out her hand. By now, the reading has stopped. Silently, Oliver hands over what's in his own hand, and Beckett clutches it tightly.

"It's just a joke," Oliver says sheepishly after the fact.

Beckett finally looks down to see what it is, and her stomach drops. It's a photograph, but not just any photograph; a slightly enlarged version, as if printed out from a computer, of Jason's photograph from yesterday that showed her in the unfortunate position of looking like she hadn't gotten to the bathroom in time. Underneath the photo itself was a bar of white space, and there, written in crude brown letters, was a caption to go with the picture: "Miss Beckett Poops Her Pants!"

The kids all start laughing. Obviously, they'd all seen it by now. Beckett whirls around and faces Jason, deeming him to be the instigator, feeling both angry and embarrassed at the same time. His face remains neutral as she bears down on him, like he doesn't care if he gets punished or not. She stares him down for the longest time, but he keeps calm in the face of her anger, despite the situation. Beckett has to admit that she's impressed on some level by his cool demeanor. She's had murder suspects crack under less pressure.

"This," she holds up the enlarged photograph, addressing the whole group, "is not a way to spend time in class! Nor is it right to make fun of people!" She goes over and places the picture face-down on her desk. "Now, I'll let this one slide, but if I find something like that again, it'll mean big trouble for whomever I catch with it. Am I clear?"

"Yes, Miss Beckett," the kids say simultaneously.

Beckett rolls her eyes. "Okay, that's enough of Reading Time. Now we can move on to today's math lesson." There is a collective groan as Beckett retrieves a pile of worksheets from a folder on the desk. "Miss Ruiz says you can work on these in groups of no more than three," she instructs while distributing the papers by counting the numbers needed per row and giving each mini-stack to the first kid on each row. "You're allowed to use calculators, as long as you show your work, too. I can also answer any questions you may have." Beckett finishes passing out the worksheets. "Alright, break up into your groups, but keep the noise down while you work, please."

Beckett sits back down at her desk as the kids begin their allotted forty-five minutes for the assignment. During that time, a few of them come up to her with questions concerning adding or subtracting and she's able to point them in the right direction each time. She knows it's very rudimentary stuff, merely helping with math problems, but it still makes her feel more at ease. The kids also seem to have calmed down, and before Beckett knows it, it's time for the math session to be over.

"Alright, please pass up your sheets, and make sure your names are on them," she announces while she stands. "I'll come collect them."

Still not any closer to finding that witness, she tells herself as she gathers the worksheets.

It's now just a little past 10:30, and Beckett figures now would be a good time as any to try her next tactic.

"You know, since you guys worked so hard just now, I think you've earned some free time, okay?" she tells them. An uproar of cheers emanates from the class before they all get out of their seats and start moving around. Beckett goes behind the desk to observe, finally feeling useful.

Eventually, though, observing children talk or play starts to feel a bit like a boring stakeout, so she decides to briefly break the monotony by glancing through the math worksheets. Sighing, she flips through each sheet, only barely focusing on the lines of numbers that fill up each of them. About halfway through the stack, however, she comes across a particular piece of paper that catches her eye for longer than just a second.

Instead of a worksheet, it's a drawing, but not just any drawing. It's a crude crayon rendering of Beckett herself, which she can tell by the short sentence written across the top of the sheet. It's not, however, the most flattering portrait. In true second grade style, the image of Beckett is only slightly better than a stick figure, with her head being nice and round, but that wasn't the only part of her body that was represented as large. In the picture, she is turned sideways, which had allowed the illustrator the chance to draw Beckett's butt as "comedically" overlarge.

The phrase written above the drawing read, "Miss Beckett Has A BIG Butt!" As she reads the caption a third time now, Beckett tries to decide whether to feel more angry than offended, or more offended than angry. Her eyes jump to the name seemingly mocking her in the upper right-hand corner, written in pink: Emily.

She scans the room for Emily, the reserved chestnut-haired girl she had initially labeled as one of the nicer kids, but this picture obviously proves otherwise. Emily is still seated at her desk not far from the door, doodling on a fresh piece of paper. Beckett calls out to tell her to come to the desk, and the little girl is there within seconds.

"Do you have something to say for yourself, Emily?" Beckett asks evenly, holding up the drawing.

Emily's eyes quickly go from wide to confused. "I...I didn't draw that, Miss Beckett!"

"Then why is your name on it?"

"I don't know! Maybe someone else drew it. It wasn't me!"

Beckett peers carefully at the second grader. "Do you have any proof you didn't? Because these colors look a lot like the crayons you have on your desk." She motions towards the assortment scattered on top of Emily's desk. "If you did it, then just tell me. Don't lie."

"I'm not lying!" Emily burst out. "This is stupid!"

By now, the classroom has gone silent and all eyes are focused on Beckett and Emily.

"Fine," Beckett says after a few seconds. "If that's the attitude you're going to show, then you can have a Time Out." She doesn't pay any mind to the shocked look Emily gives her as she gets up, takes the girl by the shoulder and guides her over to a swivel chair sitting in the far left corner of the room. Along the way, the kids all chant "Oooooooh!" Beckett seats Emily down in the chair. "Ten minutes, then you can come back," she says and turns the chair so that Emily, arms crossed and huffing noises escaping her lips, faces the wall intersection. She leaves her there.

She starts to walk around then, watching how each kid plays and chats, searching for if anyone is doing something strange or indicative. But after a few minutes of no such luck, she goes back towards the desk with the intention of calling up Castle for any more advice. However, she discovers her phone has disappeared from where she left it.

"Hey, Miss Beckett!" one boy calls out, making Beckett turn. It's Jason, who's holding up and waving her phone around. "Looking for this?"

"That's not a toy, Jason!" she declares while walking towards him. Two groups have formed on opposite sides of the windows, but Beckett is only focused on reclaiming her phone.

"It is now!" Jason retorts. The other kids start giggling.

"Okay, very funny, you stole my phone. Now give it back, please."

"You have to catch it!"

Before Beckett can react, Jason tosses her phone over to someone in the group on the other side. Beckett turns and goes to snatch it, but the phone has already sailed past her, back to the other side. By now, the kids are all laughing, and Beckett twists and turns while attempting to catch her phone, but the little brats are too fast for her. It's like a cruel game of Monkey in the Middle.

While her back is turned to Jason's group, Zack, who's a part of it, steps over to the table that has a large jar of marbles sitting on top of it, and scoops it up in his arms. He hurries forward while Beckett's back is still facing him and wastes no time in overturning the jar so that the marbles all plummet down onto the floor, rolling directly towards Beckett's feet.

She's too slow to realize it. The marbles converge tightly around her feet, surprising her and causing her to lose her balance. With a "Whooo!" she's lifted off the ground momentarily before landing back on it with a thud, splayed on her back, the impact knocking the wind out of her. It isn't the first time she's been hit hard like that, however, especially in her line of work. She's simply never been in such a position because of children before.

Beckett just lays there, catching her breath and pushing away the pain, as the kids just keep laughing at her. While she does, she finds it remarkable that the noise hasn't attracted the attention of any other teachers. Eventually, with a grunt, she slowly sits up, but the kids have dispersed, and she notices her phone is back on her desk. Beckett gingerly gets to her feet, noting Emily twisting back around to face the wall. She contemplates punishing the kids for the prank, but decides to do so once she gets some of her energy back and some of the pain dissipates.

The aching doesn't go away until five minutes before lunchtime, at which point Zack approaches the desk shyly, hands behind his back.

"Yes?" Beckett asks.

"I made you a Sorry Sign," he says, holding out a piece of paper with the words "I'm Sorry," written in blue and green marker.

The gesture is cute enough to make Beckett smile and stand to bend across the desk to take the sign from Zack, but he steps back at the last minute, causing her to fall on the desk with an "Oomph!" She tries to get up now, but before she knows it, more of the kids spring up and hurriedly use four jump ropes, two on each side of her, to tie and secure her arms and legs to those of the desk. She struggles mightily, but can't move and then she hears fits of laughter.

That's when she starts to feel strange things going on at her backside. The kids group together behind Beckett and begin to put glitter and paint all over her butt. They gleefully smudge it everywhere with their grubby little hands, making for a very uncomfortable feeling, and slap her for good measure as she screams out threats of calling their parents.

"Now her butt is big AND pretty!" Jason crows over the howling laughter.

She hears click, flash, click, flash as the camera delivers some more photos intended to further humiliate her, and she has a good guess as to who the photographer is. Next, they stick feathers and other assorted goods to her like sequins before the bell for lunch rings. Mercifully, the little demons free her from the desk and laugh merrily on their way to the cafeteria before she has a chance to do anything.

I hate this case, Beckett thinks to herself as she observes the state of her "pretty" pants seat in a nearby mirror.

She grumbles and grabs her bag to change pants in the bathroom. Along the way, she keeps the duffel positioned in front of her bottom to hide it from anybody wandering the halls. A sense of familiarity briefly washes over her as she changes pants in a bathroom stall, but all the while, Beckett is thinking how Castle owes her big time.

She comes back from the bathroom and replaces the duffel, grabs her lunch, and heads to the cafeteria. She spots her class within seconds, and the instant she reaches the kids, she leans in close and mutters, "You're in BIG trouble when we get back!" Beckett eats her lunch at the end of their table, as far removed from the brats as possible, silently stewing in her anger. She's a police detective, what is she doing here, subjecting herself to such immature pranks? And to make matters worse, zero progress has been made in her efforts of finding the witness. The thought makes her sigh deeply.

Recess is a less interesting affair for Beckett today; she keeps to the sidelines, using the opportunity to once again look for any potential "suspects," but just like before, none pop out. She also makes sure to stay clear of any running kids or mud puddles. At the end of recess, she calls her class to line up, but in so doing, notices an oddity.

"Where are Jason and Zack?" she asks suspiciously of the first child in line, Jack, as her eyes scan the playground for any sign of them.

"I think they already went inside," Jack replies.

"What?"

Beckett looks toward the doors leading back into the school and sighs, rubbing her forehead in the process. "Alright, come on, everyone."

She leads them inside and through the hallways until they finally reach their room.

The door is slightly ajar, but by now, Beckett is too angry to give it a second thought. She pushes the door open more so she can enter and steps through, when a bucket of mud is poured all over her, the sloppy substance dripping down each of her body parts and weighing her down. Her temper instantly flares and the kids burst into laughter, but before she can even take another step or speak a single word, she is assaulted with glitter that sticks to the mud.

What a wonderful day…she thinks bitterly to herself as she retrieves her duffel bag yet again and exits the classroom without a word. Eyes closed, Beckett navigates by feel only back to the closest bathroom. Once there, she locates some paper towels and wipes her eyes before looking at her surroundings. She notices she is in the Men's room and soon makes an exit and goes to the Ladies'. Luckily, no one saw her.

She goes back to class after cleaning herself up as best she could, already dreading whatever the rest of the week held.

Just a few more damn days, Beckett thinks to herself.