So this happened. I'd blame Mogie and Nikki for it, but this time it's entirely my own fault. Frastle, that is Fringe/Castle, is far too interesting a crossover to leave alone. Thanks are in order to Nikki and Mogie for the basis of this particular idea, and general insanity.
And, hey, we all succumb to peer pressure once in a while.
This will be a catchall, a testing ground for different ideas, seeing what will stick, what won't. I welcome any suggestions/requests too.
Twenty-nine hours. Twenty-nine hours without a body drop, eight of which Beckett actually spent sleeping, but even heavy snow couldn't keep someone from killing someone else.
Beckett trudged to her car through the snow, which had long since lost its pristine glitter, blackened here by the street, a stunning contrast in red back behind her. With numb fingers, she fumbled a bit with her keys, opened the door, and reached inside for the coffee she'd bought on her way to the crime scene. That'd been a couple hours ago though. The coffee was lukewarm.
Beckett pushed her scarf down to her neck and bit her lip. Lukewarm wouldn't do the trick, especially not before the sun was even up. She glanced around, ducked into her car but left the door open. She worried her lip again.
It was worth a shot. Walter Bishop might be a strange man, but his trend of being right tugged at the logical side of Beckett's brain. The side that knew she'd need to heat up her fingers before they froze through like Popsicles.
Okay, that was an exaggeration, but damn, it was really, really cold.
And she had the ability to do something about that. It was that something small she'd promised Bishop that last time they'd spoken.
Beckett scanned the area again, making certain her team was still taking inventory of the scene, that no bystanders were scoping out the incident, not that anyone in their right mind would be outside willingly in this weather.
Beckett glared at the paper coffee cup. Decided to tone it down a bit and softened her features. She didn't need to over compensate.
Her brow knit in concentration anyway, willing the dark liquid to reheat. Maybe she'd get it at just the right temperature. Hot enough to scald a bit, but not deaden her taste buds for the rest of the day.
A bubble! She got a bubble. At least that sounded like a bubble. She removed the lid, but no steam rose.
All right, a little longer then.
Tilting the cup away from her face just in case, she zeroed in on the sliver of coffee she could see, picturing the steam in her mind, hoping this was the right method to trigger whatever innate abilities those cortexiphan trials had enhanced. Maybe she needed a…
Someone fell into the open door, nearly shut it on her knees, and hissed loudly, "You're doing it again, aren't you?"
With a gulping burp, coffee exploded all over the steering wheel, dashboard, windshield. Splatter freckled her face.
"Castle!" she hissed right back, swiping her coat sleeve over the little dots of angrily hot coffee on her face.
"Oh," he said, rather dumbly, entranced as rivulets steamed down the windshield. "Sorry."
"How did you—? Castle!" Beckett threw the empty cup at him. It bounced off his forehead, but that got his attention. All the riveted attention he'd given the apparently utterly fascinating sight of her messy car interior. Now on her. "Castle, I'm behind the ambulance! You didn't even see me walk off! How did you even know I was here?"
Castle looked affronted. For all of two seconds. Then he reached across her, practically in her lap, for the glove compartment and snagged a handful of napkins.
"Beckett," he said, very seriously. Except that stupid smirk on his face ruined the tone. "You should know by now that I always know when you're in the middle of doing something cool. And hot." His eyebrows danced as he plopped the napkins in the coffee puddle. "It's like my own superpower, and I think it's a little bit cooler than yours."