Okay, so Stana herself has given me the inspiration to write this piece. It's based on one of her tweets urging for a mime episode, which she probably has all planned out already. I will be writing this like a real episode with chapter breaks as the 'commercial break' of sorts and so this should be done within five or six episodes and it might take a week or two but it will be quick and it won't get in the way of my other fics. I really hope you enjoy this and I want to hear your thoughts and once this is complete, I would like your help getting Stana's attention on it. Just tweet it and see if she likes it or wants to read it. Don't tweet it more than once (meaning YOU just tweet it once; don't worry about other people). Anyway, enjoy!
A World without Words
Chapter One
Crickets chirping. Owls hooting. The distant sounds of car horns. New York City at night.
Central Park is empty, for the most part, but there are lamps lighting a path on which three teenage boys stumble, their arms around each other, holding each other up. They are high as a kite; a joint is held in one of their hands.
Two of the boys are older than the third. They're both dressed in leather coats and band shirts; one is Rancid and the other is Green Day. They're both wearing ripped jeans and black combat boots. Their hair is bleached blond and spiky, but not exactly punk. The youngest of the three is also shorter and more conservatively dressed. He wears a denim jacket over a Beatles shirt and a pair of black skinny jeans. He wears plain red converse and his hair is short and brown. He is obviously new to the group.
They continue down the path, weaving slightly and snorting laughter every now and then, smiles etched on their faces.
"Man!" the kid with the Rancid shirt shouts. "This is some good sh—hey, what's that?" He points, with the joint, at a figure in the grass, far out of the reach of one of the streetlamps that shines over the path.
"Looks like…I dunno, man; I can't see," the Beatles kid replies. "Can I have another hit?" Rancid hand Beatles the joint and begins to stagger onto the grass, towards the figure. He squints down at the heap in the grass.
"Dude?" he says, stopping a safe distance away, just in case it's a trick. "Dude, are you okay?"
No answer.
Rancid turns back to his friends. "It's a guy!" he informs them. "But he's not saying anything or moving! I can't see him, though; do either of you potheads have a flashlight or a lighter or something?"
"I have a lighter!" Green Day says, pulling it out of his pocket. "Catch!" He throws it to Rancid and Rancid flinches. The lighter falls two feet in front of him.
"Nice throw, Buttface," Rancid calls, laughingly. He picks up the lighter and opens it, turning to the man on the ground and flicking it on, placing it over the figure, revealing a strip of black-and-white striped fabric; the man's shirt. He shines the lighter over the body until he reaches the face. The second that he sees the bulging, cloudy eyes and the puffy face of the man, whose face is pure white with black lipstick and black makeup around his eyes, he screams.
CUT TO
Kate Beckett sits up in her bed, sweating and panting. She looks all around her. The room is silent and dark, completely empty but for the bedroom furniture and the man sleeping next to her. Castle has his face pressed into the pillow; he shifts slightly, letting out a snore before settling and going still again.
Trying not to disturb him, Kate slides out of the bed, shaking her trembling hands before heading to the ensuite.
She closes the bathroom door before she turns on the light, surveying herself in the mirror. There are bags under her eyes and tear-streaks on her cheeks. She turns on the taps and fills her palms with water, ducking her head to wash her face. When she comes back up for air, she grabs a hand towel and dries herself, dabbing at the sweat on her forehead and chest.
She catches a glimpse of the engagement ring on her finger and pauses, gazing at it before looking towards the door, thinking longingly of the man on the other side. She wants nothing more than to open the door, stride across the room, and crawl into his arms.
But that would be incredibly selfish, she thinks. Unloading all of her baggage on him, all at once; sharing these horrible nightmares with him about…that day. About him taking that bullet for her and having to watch as the life drained from his eyes as she cried over him, telling him that she loved him, begging him to stay with her. Only to have the scene shift to her mother's murder, seeing her in that alleyway, bleeding out in a pile of trash, alone, calling out her name.
Kate shut her eyes tight against the onslaught of images; flashes of her most recent nightmare. She takes a deep breath before she opens them again, staring herself down in the mirror. She attempts to get a handle on herself—calm herself down—before shutting off the light and heading back into the bedroom—their bedroom now; she'd moved in four months ago, in February. She can't believe that they've come this far in just five short years. It scares her and excites her at the same time.
She tiptoes across the room, as if her feet would make such a loud ruckus on the carpeted ground otherwise, and slips back under the covers, thankful that Castle doesn't even so much as grunt. She relaxes back into the mattress, turning onto her side and throwing one arm over his waist, intertwining her legs with him; spooning him. In his sleep, Castle reacts, one of his hands resting over hers. Kate smiles and presses a kiss to his shirt-covered back, before closing her eyes.
Before she can drift off, however, a shrill ringing jolts her up in the bed, pulling her away from Castle, who groans.
Kate sighs and turns to her bedside table, where the clock flashes 3:47 AM. She groans, as well, and grabs her phone, not even bothering to read the caller ID; she knows who it is.
"Beckett," she yawns, grinning slightly as Castle turns over and snuggles into her side, his face burying into her hair. She listens to the dispatcher's staticky voice as she runs her fingers through Castle's hair. She sighs. "Okay," she says, "I'll be there in twenty." She hangs up and Castle moans.
"Nooooo," he whines, wrapping his arm around her waist tightly. "Too early." Kate smiles and kisses his forehead before removing herself from his embrace.
"You stay here, then," she tells him, "and I'll just go. I'll see you later at the Precinct."
"No," Castle denies, petulantly. "You're not going out this late without me. Just give me ten minutes and coffee in an IV and I'll be set."
"How about five minutes and coffee in a mug?" Kate wagers.
"Deal," Castle mumbles, getting up and padding to the bathroom. Kate rolls her eyes and heads into the kitchen.
CUT TO
They arrive at the crime scene and waste no time in ducking under the yellow tape. Castle is still yawning and dragging his feet, but he tries to act upbeat as they approach Lanie, where she crouches next to the body.
"Hey, Lanie," Kate greets, "what have you got for us?"
"A wedgie and a bad mood," Lanie replies, "Why do people gotta kill people in the middle of the night? Why can't they just wait til sunrise like most people?"
"Inconsiderate bastards," Castle comments, dryly.
"You got that right," Lanie replies, sighing. "The vic is between thirty-five to forty years old and based on the way his eyes are poppin' outta his head right now, I'd say he was suffocated. And I think he was killed here, too, cuz there's no signs of dragging on the body or the grass leading here. There is some bruising on his hips though so I think the killer must have been straddling him when they finished him off."
"Good work," Kate says, surveying the victim, "Do we know why he's dressed like this?"
"Mime," a voice says behind them. Kate, Castle, and Lanie all turn to see Esposito and Ryan standing there, looking just as tired and grumpy as Lanie. Esposito holds up a plastic bag with a wallet in it. "Belongs to the vic. Had all his credit cards, cash, and ID's . Dude's name was Gene Faulker; age 38. He has a New Jersey Driver's License, three credit cards, and a membership card for the MAA."
"The what?" Kate asks.
"The Mime Association of America," Esposito replies. "And he was a recent addition, according to the initiation date on the card; joined less than six months ago."
"A mime?" Kate asks, groaning internally. Here it comes…
"That is awesome!" Castle exclaimed. "This is going to be the best case ever!"
There is a collective groan among the group as Castle practically bounces with excitement, smiling like a little boy on Christmas morning; suddenly very awake.
COMMERCIAL! Lol. Reviews would be very helpful, thank you.