The Most Intrusive Cerebral Disruption Yet pt 1

Officially she was fine. Unofficially, Beckett was loosing her mind.

The folder on her desk confirmed it.

New case today, a not too cleverly disguised pop-and-drop. The folder, musty and brown stains curling the edges, surfaced as the victim's file from his younger days. According to online records Cecil Calwrinsky had a rap sheet that read like an America's Dumbest Criminals episode racked up within a three year period until, twenty-five years ago, most of those charges were dropped or dismissed. Cecil hadn't been booked since. Something in those records, from the life he once lived, dropped or not, had to speak for why he was found, three rounds in his chest and a day's old black eye.

She'd asked Ryan to find the folder forty minutes ago, but got called about a potential witness stepping up, so she sent he and Esposito, and buried herself in creating their fresh murder board. Capped the marker when she finished, turned to her desk and there was the folder. Waiting.

With a thumb and finger she flipped the folder open, found the cocky face of Cecil trying not to grin. Younger Cecil, but those eyebrows were his most recognizable feature, and apparently hadn't changed.

She called Ryan. He and Esposito were just pulling into the parking garage; she heard the car engine cut off, their doors open.

And Castle was still on lunch run, had texted her ten minutes ago about the traffic and never leaving right at noon ever again.

Okay.

Staring at the folder as she sat, Beckett wracked her brain as nonchalantly as possible, knowing for a fact she never left the bullpen and that she had completely lost it. Retirement wasn't even a speck on her horizon either.

She needed coffee. Now.

Her cell rang.

Leaping at the prospect of information—not to cover her startled twitch—she snatched the buzzing device up.

"Beckett."

"Hey, it's Ryan. I'm in the record's room, and I can't find our guy's file."

"Yeah, I have it." Cleared her throat. "I already got it," she said, quicker, firmer, falling back into the line of duty, the other mystery shoveled to the back of her mind. "How'd it go with our potential witness?"

Ryan puffed into the speaker. "We got nothin'. Turns out the woman was in the park around the same time as our victim, but she witnessed a mugging in the exact same spot. Our guy had his wallet and cash. But she ran to the convenience store down the street to have the owner call the cops, but when I showed her Calwrinsky's photo she didn't recognize him. Said it was a woman getting mugged by," he paused, probably to flip through his notepad, "by a 'scary-looking guy with a dark Mohawk and light sideburns'. It was dark and they were in the shadows, so she couldn't see the actual colors."

Beckett frowned, worried the inside corner of her bottom lip. "She could be confusing the victim and attacker."

"That's what we thought, so Esposito—"

There was a small scuffle, Ryan barked, "Dude!" and Esposito spoke next.

"I'll fill you in when we get there." He handed the phone back at Ryan's protest, and Beckett heard him tell his partner, "We're on the elevator. It'll take like two seconds—"

With a head shake, ignoring for now the open folder and Cecil's smirk, Beckett swiveled the chair to take a break room jaunt for some much needed caffeine when her hand, retracting from setting her phone down, knocked a warm mug of brown liquid to the floor.

Hot coffee splashed across the toes of her shoes, the bare tops of her feet. She yanked her legs back, hissing. "Shit!"

Heads turned as she danced lightly over the spreading spill, scooped up her mug—her freaking mug—from the floor. Someone shoved paper towels into her hand as she slid her chair around the widening mess.

"Okay there, detective?"

Jeb. Officer Jeb. Southern guy. From one of the Carolinas. Nice guy. He looked concerned.

"No, yeah." Beckett sat, swiped the towels over her feet first, the skin an angry pink. "Just forgot my coffee was there."

Officer Jeb's brow pinched, formed a lopsided 'V' on his forehead. Thinking she was overworking herself, no doubt. Not like everyone else in this precinct and any other didn't. Jeb said nothing, just lopped to the bathrooms again for more paper towels.

He returned while she toweled out the inside of her shoes, and she thanked him snippier than she intended, but he nodded, dropping the wad on the puddle.

Okay, this was just too weird. Weird didn't begin to cover it. Crazy. Impossible. Castle would have a better word for this.

Was Castle back yet? Disappointment overruled dread when she didn't find him at the elevators—the boys were walking up though, both frowning. Wonderful.

For a brief, powerful second, Beckett wished he was, could picture Castle right in front of her.

Someone gasped. From all across the room weapons, hers and Jeb's included, trained on the sudden appearance of—

"Castle?"

Castle rolled backwards, as if fallen after a chair was removed right before he sat, complete bewilderment frozen on his face.

"W—" He leapt to his feet like a terrified cat, hands out like he could ward off whatever just happened. "What the hell was that?" Wild eyes flicked over his new surroundings, fell on her. "Beckett?"

Out of pure amazement Beckett was the last to lower her gun, after Ryan tapped her forearm. Gaze locked on Castle, she holstered the weapon.

No one could fault Castle for sounding like a shrill teenaged girl.

None of this made sense.

~*~X

For Mogie.

This one got completely out of hand, so I'm splitting it into two parts.

I take suggestions and such for these, so fire away.