Bored
As Kate Beckett wakes up her partner, lover and better (and much more childish) half is already sitting upright on his side of the bed staring at the opposite wall. He was smiling but his mind seemed far away. He hadn't even noticed that Kate was awake.
"Hey, good morning Rick. Everything okay?"
"Hmm… what? Oh, hey, good morning honey. Enjoyed your beauty sleep?"
"Yes I did. But what about you? Do you still feel ill? Could you find some sleep?"
"Ah… no and yes. I feel much better already and I haven't been up much longer than you."
"That sounds good. So… what got you smiling so bright? You seemed to think about something but it wasn't your 'Wow, I've got a great idea for my next book'-face."
"I have a face for that?"
"Oh yeah, you do. It's a bit like the face you make when you remember something good or funny. But a little more concentrated and with your mouth slightly open as if you would already try to find the right words."
"Really? I never noticed! How can you notice when not even I or my own mother do?"
"Maybe she does but never had a reason to tell you. And I'm around you seeing your face all the time and… maybe I like watching you … thinking or writing"
"Oh, do you?" he asked smiling.
"Maybe. And you still haven't answered my question: What were you thinking about?"
"Well, I remembered the day I started to write my first real story. I was about seven years old and ill and mother wouldn't let me go outside to play… Did I ever tell you about it?"
"No, but I can imagine Martha must have had a really hard job entertaining you if the seven year old Rick Castle was even half as annoying as the grown up one."
"So you finally say I'm grown up?", Rick grinned sheepishly. Like always he had just heard what he wanted to hear. But his grin faded with Beckett's next answer.
"Physically – yes. Mentally – well, I'm not sure there happened much since then."
"So do you want to hear the story or not?"
"Of course I want. And even if I didn't – how could anyone stop you from telling one of your stories. You wouldn't shut up if someone held a gun to your head."
"Oh I could think of some thinks you could do to stop me from talking at all…", Castle answered in a seducing voice.
"Sure you can", Beckett answered shortly. "Now start telling."
"Hey kiddo, what's up? Does your tummy still hurt?"
"Not as much as this morning. Can I go out and play now?", 7-year old Rick Castle answered his mother.
"No Richard. You will stay inside for the rest of the week just like doctor Green said. No running, no wild games and nothing exhausting."
"But mom, Im so bored. Can I at least watch TV?"
"No, you've watched enough for today. Why don't you read a book? Or you could play in your room."
"I don't have anything I haven't played with since I got ill. And I don't want to read. Reading is boring. And I know all my books."
"Okay, no reading. Shall we play Mau-Mau? I have a deck of cards there in the shelf."
"Playing cards is boring too. If you take me backstage to the theatre all that the guys there play is cards. They don't even have Gameboys."
"Hmm… so no cards too. And why don't you play with you're Gameboy. You just said it'd be less boring than playing cards."
"We don't have any more batteries."
"Really? Not even in the small box on the…"
"No, you took the last ones for your camera last week."
"Oh you're right I remember. I saw that beautiful red dress in this little new shop next to that hairdresser where they have this wonderful furniture. It's so much more comfortable than these awful ones in the mall. And the light is better too. Anyway, I wanted to make a picture but on the way back I met Edward, you know, this friend of Jack Louis who runs the coffee shop in the 32nd. And he told me that…"
"Mom!"
"Oh right, so what do you want to do now?"
"I don't know! I'm bored mom. Why do I have to stay inside?"
"You know why, Rick. Doctor's orders."
"But what shall I do?"
"Okay, one last idea: Why don't you write a story?"
"Writing? That sounds like school. Why should I write? And what?"
"Well that depends on you. But you said you don't want to be at home. So you could just use your fantasy to imagine a place you would rather be: maybe the ocean, or a spaceship, or a world full of wild dragons and brave knights. And then you write about what you would like to do there."
"Mhh. But I don't know what to write about."
"I know this little head of yours is full of ideas and fantasies. Just let them out! Let your creativity flow! That's how all the great writers do it. Writing is an art. There are no rules, no boundaries! All you need is a peace of paper, a pen and your imagination!"
"Okay, so… I can write about a Killer-Lego-Robot who fights against the aliens of the Haccutaccio-Galaxy?"
"Why not? As I said: Art knows no boundaries. Even if I have no idea what a cappuccino-Galaxy is."
"Haccutaccio-Galaxy, mum! It's a really big galaxy. But there live evil Haccutaccio aliens who fly around in big black rockets and kidnap aliens from other galaxies to do… ahm… evil things with them. And one day they arrive at the planet of the brave Lego-Robots. And they…"
"Hey, hey kiddo! Don't tell me! Go up in your room and write about whatever your robots did!"
"Okay, but you have to read it later!"
"Of course I will. Who knows, maybe you'll be the next Shakespeare?"
"She really said that last sentence?", Beckett asked after Castle had finished.
"Well I don't really remember the details. But if you asked her she most definitely would say yes. And she would say she was right."
"Well, Martha always was a bit overdramatic."
"I don't know if I should feel hurt by that or proud that you think it is only a bit overdramatic to refer of me as equal to the great William Shakespeare?"
"Don't overthink it Castle. But what about this story? Did you finish it? Do you still have it? Because I definitely would love to read it. Even if Killer-Lego-Robots aren't really my genre." Castle couldn't hold back a wide smile as he sees her honest excitement.
"Of course I still have it. And it is indeed finished. But I'm afraid it isn't longer than thousand words and the lexis and grammar are horrifying", he adds hesitating.
"So it's not worse than a story of any other seven year old. I still wanna read it. I mean, it's the proof of the story that tells to whom the great Richard Castle owns his career."
"Oh, is it? And who might that be?"
"Martha Rogers and your own boredom of course", Kate answered matter-of-factly.
"Yeah, maybe… but my greatest success I own to the most incredible muse a writer could find – you."