He's used to waiting for her -- Beckett likes a whole, complete thought before she gives him her focus, something he suspects she learned processing guys much less reputable than himself -- and so he's pulled his scarf from the collar of his coat and read her desk calendar affirmation (twice) by the time she gets around to him.

"Someone's cranky." He leans forward, chair whining, to scan the paperwork. How Beckett manages to put up with the seemingly endless minutia of her job is beyond him; he can barely stay engaged with a ballgame if he's not at the park.