Disclaimer: Why did no one ever tell me that I own Castle and Bones? Oh, right... they didn't because I don't.
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A/N: Thematically speaking, Angela and Lanie have much more in common than Cam and Lanie. Both Angela and Lanie are a main female character's best friend, both are part of a Beta Couple, both are outspoken advocates of the Alpha Couple hooking up, etc. Nonetheless, I felt as though it was much more plausible for Cam and Lanie to know one another than Angela and Lanie. So… yeah. I did my best to puzzle out a timeline for Cam and Lanie's shared history; if that timeline seems terribly off to you, however, feel free to let me know!
Also, as most of you are probably aware, there hasn't been a 12th Precinct in New York since 1916 [which, oddly enough, would explain why it's used on fictional shows so often ;-)]. The 12th used to be based at 205 Mulberry Street, however, which is why I set my fictional coffee shop on that street.
I'm not so sure how I feel about portions of Cam's rant on B/B in here. I had to include a lot of details (so that Lanie could understand how truly messed-up B/B are), but it felt strange putting all of that in Cam's mouth. On one hand, she strikes me as someone who uses a fair amount of discretion when it comes to talking about her friends. On the other, however, even she needs to vent sometimes, and who better to rant to than someone who's in a similar situation?
Final note: I realize that there are important differences between an M.E. and a coroner. From what I can tell, however, there are many similarities between an M.E. (Lanie) and a Forensic Pathologist (Cam), as M.E.s usually hold degrees in Forensic Pathology. Therefore, I don't feel that the title of this fic is entirely erroneous.
This fic is set mid-Season 6 of Bones, and mid-Season 3 of Castle.
It's a three-day weekend, and for the first time in God knows how long, Cam is taking some time for herself.
Michelle is safely ensconced at a friend's, the house is locked up tight, and Cam has warned Booth that nothing short of the apocalypse should merit a phone call for her early return to the lab; she thinks that she may even have sufficiently frightened him to get through the weekend uninterrupted.
Friday evening, she travels up to Manhattan, and spends the night in an old friend's apartment. Saturday is full of visiting old haunts, shopping, wining and dining, and catching a musical on Broadway.
Sunday, she sleeps in late, then heads down to her favorite coffee shop on Mulberry St.
A piping hot coffee by one hand, and a newspaper in the other, Cam settles down to relax and enjoy the afternoon. She's just getting into an article about the Rangers, when a vaguely familiar voice makes her look up in shock.
"And I was tellin' her that, but…" the woman says into her phone as she steps up to the counter. "Yes, I know. I know, Javier; look, I have to go, I'm at the front of the line. Yes, I'll call you back later, you silly man!"
With a click, she shuts her phone and proceeds to order her drink ("A large nonfat caramel Frappuccino, heavy on the ice, please") and pay for it.
Perfectly aware that she may be about to make a fool of herself, Cam calls, "Lanie? Lanie Parish?"
The woman's head jerks in her direction, and her expression is pure surprise and pleasure.
"Well, as I live and breathe, it can't be Camille Saroyan?" she says, grinning.
"I thought it was you," Cam says, clearing the spare chair at the table for Lanie. "You haven't changed a bit."
"That's sweet," Lanie says, taking the proffered seat.
"No one else can sound so bossy just over the phone," Cam continues impishly.
With a sniff, Lanie replies, "It's a gift. Ya either have it or ya don't."
"Do you have time to catch up?" Cam asks. "We haven't talked since… God, I don't know when."
"Girl, if I don't have time, I'll make it," Lanie says. "It's been years."
And it has been years.
Back when Cam had been the New York Coroner and Lanie had just finished grad school, they'd met at a conference on tissue staining techniques and struck up a friendship. As the two women's lives took them in different directions, however, they'd lost contact.
"Good," Cam says, a dimple emerging in her cheek. "So where do you work these days?"
"The NYPD's 12th Precinct, just a few blocks from here, actually," Lanie says. "You?"
"The Jeffersonian Medico-Legal Lab in D.C."
"Ni-ce," Lanie whistles. "Pretty fancy equipment there."
"It's very nice," Cam admits. "And we work on fascinating projects. As the Head of Forensics, I feel like a babysitter half the time, though."
"Oh?" Lanie's eyebrow quirks in inquiry.
"The Jeffersonian hires very intelligent scientists," Cam stresses. "Intelligent, however, doesn't necessarily mean socially ept or possessed of common sense."
"Mmm, I know what you mean," Lanie says feelingly. "Granted, the folks I work with are plenty "ept" in most areas, but when it comes to matters of the heart… pfft."
Cam snorts. "By all means, enlighten me as to your co-workers' love problems."
"Well, since you asked so nicely," Lanie teases, then launches into her rant. "Really, it's just my best friend. Detective Kate Beckett. Smart, funny, kind, drop-dead gorgeous, and scared shitless of finding the real thing."
Lanie takes a gulp of coffee, then continues, "Three years ago now, she arrested this writer, Richard Castle."
"I've heard of him," Cam says. "He writes pulp detective novels, right?"
"That's the one," Lanie agrees. "Anyway, turns out he's innocent, and they go on to solve a crime together. Sparks are flying between the two of them, and that's when normal people sleep together. Kate and Castle, on the other hand…"
She sighs.
"He's been shadowing her for the past three years, and there's been nary a kiss between them that I've heard tell of. They're playin' chicken, and it's driving me up the wall! They're all bickering and heated gazes, and it's clear as day that they'd be willing to do almost anything for each other. Hell, Castle's even written books about them. But they're idiots, and keep messing up what could be a beautiful thing."
Lanie lets out a gust of air in frustration. "You ever want to kill anyone at your work? 'Cause those two tempt me to homicide."
Cam smirks. "Your friend and her writer sound a lot like my friend and his writer."
Lanie cocks her head to the side and waits for the forthcoming tale.
"I met Seeley Booth when we were both stupid teenagers with raging hormones," Cam begins.
Now it's Lanie's turn to smirk. "Sounds like there's a story there…"
"We had a short-lived relationship," Cam says, lost in remembrance, "But above all else we were friends. Now fast forward to seven years ago. Seeley was an agent at the F.B.I., and I recommended him to contact Dr. Temperance Brennan of the Jeffersonian Institute for help on one of his cases. They met, clashed, and she refused to speak – or work – with him ever again. A year later, they teamed up again, solved a case, and have been partners ever since. And when I say partners, I mean partners in the sense of a married couple that isn't having sex. Which reminds me: they actually have couples' counseling with a psychologist."
"Temperance Brennan… now why does that name sound familiar?" Lanie mutters.
"Besides the fact that she's a genius and a world-famous forensic anthropologist?" Cam asks wryly. (That's exactly what Dr. Brennan would say, after all. The woman's got many talents, but she isn't famous for her modesty.) "She's written a series of crime thrillers centered around Kathy Reichs and Andy Lister, thinly-veiled versions of herself and Seeley."
"Ooh," Lanie says. "Good books. Those are based off of your friends?"
Cam nods.
"Wait…" Lanie suddenly says, "You're –"
"Don't say it," Cam groans. "I bet you're in that Castle's books."
"Of course I am," Lanie huffs. "But that means that you and real-life Andy –"
"I didn't realize what I was getting myself into at the time," Cam says in explanation.
"Hey, you don't need to explain yourself to me, girl," Lanie says. "If this friend of yours is half as delicious that as Andy –"
"Trust me, he is," Cam mutters.
"And the sex scenes!" Lanie fans herself. "Castle's pretty good at those, but page one-hundred and eighty seven…" Her tone is almost reverent.
Cam takes a deep breath, then continues, "The bickering and heated glances that you mentioned? Well, they've been building for seven years between those two, Lanie. Seven years. I don't just think that they'd do anything for each other... I know they would. Example #1: Seeley arrested Dr. Brennan's father, but in the end, it only brought the two of them closer together; Seeley helped to raise reasonable doubt in the jury as to the man's guilt, which resulted in him being freed. Example #2: When Seeley was kidnapped by a serial killer, Dr. Brennan blackmailed Seeley's brother into helping her steal a body from the Navy that contained evidence that would help her locate her him. Example #3: Seeley agreed to give Dr. Brennan his sperm for artificial insemination; they didn't end up going through with it, but those two were going to have a child together. A child. As in, a small human permanently connecting them.
"Last year, though, something big went down. No one besides the two of them – and maybe Sweets, their psychologist – knows what happened, but suddenly they went to opposite sides of the world, and when Seeley came back, he had a serious girlfriend. Neither of them has had a serious significant other in years. Everything feels wrong now, forced. In conclusion, they're currently farther away from a relationship than they were when they first met."
Letting the rest of her breath out in a whoosh, Cam adds, "God, you have no idea how good it feels to tell someone all of this."
Lanie sits in silence for a minute, then says, "OK, you win most screwed-up workplace romance."
"Damn straight, I do," Cam says, but the memory of what her two friends used to have only depresses her. Shaking it off, she asks, "So, what about yourself? Are you seeing anyone?"
Suddenly, a mischievous smile appears on Lanie's face.
"Another detective at the 12th," she says. "Javier Esposito. Sweet, funny, the biggest puppy dog eyes you'll ever see, and an amazing ass. We're keeping it quiet at the moment, though."
"Nice," Cam says appreciatively.
"You?" Lanie asks.
"A gynecologist named Paul," Cam says, smiling. "It's nothing serious – we're both busy adults, after all – but I really like him."
"Not your gynecologist, I hope?" Lanie says. "'cause not to rain on your parade or anything, but if this affair goes south, you don't want to be outta a good doctor."
"Oh," Cam says, surprised despite herself. "No. No, nothing like that. He was Michelle's – my daughter's – doctor."
"Wait… you have a daughter who's old enough to see a gynecologist?" Lanie says. "When did this happen?"
"She's Andrew Welton's daughter. Remember, that guy I lived with for two years way back when?"
Lanie strains her brain.
"Cheater, cheater, the pumpkin-eater?" she asks finally.
"Yes, well, he was found dead, and after his murder was solved, I took in Michelle. It took some time, but we're a real family again," Cam says.
"Good for you," Lanie says. "That's right, I think I remember her. She was what, four or so, then?"
"Six," Cam says quietly. "She was six when I left."
"So that'd make her… what, sixteen-ish now?"
"Eighteen," Cam says proudly. "Next autumn, she'll be at Central Main State University."
"Never heard of it," Lainie says with an apologetic shrug.
"Neither had I," Cam says, "but apparently it has a good General Studies program."
Cam's about to ask Lanie for more information about her job when her phone rings.
"Just a second," she says ruefully. Flipping it open, she responds, "Saroyan."
"Hey, Cam," Seeley's voice says apologetically.
Cam sighs, then says, "What is it?"
"There's been a murder, and it looks like it's one of the D.C. Sniper's."
His voice is tight with anxiety and anger.
"I'm on my way," Cam says.
"Sorry about your weekend," he says.
"Me too," she mutters resignedly to her dialtone. Seeley's already hung up.
But this really is important, and if there's one thing Cam's good at, it's prioritizing.
"I'm sorry," she tells Lanie, "but there's been a –"
A phone rings.
Lanie's hand jumps to her hip and pulls her cellphone out.
"What?" Lanie exclaims to the person on the other end of the line. "And on the Lord's Day, too. How rude." Pause. "Mmhm. I'll be right there." Pause. "I'm ten minutes away from the Precinct, that's not necessary. We're trying to keep this on the down-low, remember?" Pause. "If I can get away from the morgue by then, I'm up for it." Pause. "Chinese? You definitely know the way to this woman's heart." Pause. "OK, see you then."
"Your boyfriend?" Cam asks in amusement.
"However did you guess?" Lanie says dryly.
"I was a cop once," Cam reminds her, deadpan.
"Look, it was nice catching up," Lanie says. "We should do this again sometime."
"We should," Cam agrees, and the two of them exchange phone numbers.
Lanie sighs, then reaches over to give Cam a hug.
Once they've pulled apart, Lanie pronounces, "Well, I've gotta get going. Crime waits on no woman and all that."
"Justice, on the other hand," Cam points out, "does wait on us."
And with that, both women pick up their purses and coffees, and stride out of the coffee shop, heels clicking purposefully against the sidewalk.
It's a Sunday afternoon, and there's work to be done.