A/N This is my first attempt at a fic. I'd love to do more but really lack the time so this is just something quickly thrown together. The first chapter is my take on the 47secs episode with a few extra thoughts in there in order to set up the future chapters. The following chapters are more my work - honest - so if you can stick out the first chapter long enough to make it to the others, thanks! Please let me know what you think.
A
It was the first time in all the years he'd been working at the 12th that he hadn't been in the Interrogation room with Kate…well, except for that time she banned him because she thought he was 'thinking with the wrong body part', and the few other rare occasions she'd declared him 'compromised'. Castle felt like kicking himself for missing out on this latest battle of wits, especially since it was such a high profile case. He reminded himself that he was a father first and foremost and a writer/cop wannabe second and third respectively. Alexis was his priority and always would be. His little girl – ok not so little, but still his baby – had needed him and he'd have kicked himself even harder if he hadn't been there for her. Now that she was at home, safe and settled, he had returned to the Precinct to continue his 'research' and work the case of the bombing in Boylan Plaza.
He hadn't thought of it this way before – probably since every time he had been demoted to Observation he'd been all fired up and maybe even a little angry at Kate – but being behind the glass gave him a very different experience of an interrogation. In some ways, a better experience. From here, all alone in this small, dimly lit room equipped with video monitors, a desk and the odd filing cabinet, Castle had the best seat in the house. From here, he could watch Kate's every move, listen to every word, read her luscious lips. From here, he could admire her work and check her out all at the same time…and not be reprimanded for it like he would anywhere else in the Precinct…like he would anywhere else at all come to think of it. With this realisation fresh in his mind, Castle found himself a spot on the desk and made himself comfortable – these things could go on for a while after all. The cheeky grin that spread across his face morphed into a pint-sized chuckle that rebounded from the walls surrounding him but it didn't even occur to him to suppress it – the fun was only just beginning.
Through the glass that separated them, Castle watched as Kate was no longer Kate. Her gorgeous mahogany locks still tumbled over her shoulders, the shadowy sense of mystery was still in her eyes but she was no longer Kate. She was "Detective Beckett", a complete flip-switch to the Kate he knew and loved yet still her at the same time. Beckett sat down, opened the files spread in front of her.
"Robert Lopez" she began in her best Detective voice. She paused for just a brief second after the man's name – "makes 'em sweat" she'd told him once. Ah, the infamous dramatic pause. Not that he'd admit it, but Castle knew there was an element of his diva mother, Martha, in Beckett. It was all about giving an inspiring and convincing performance. His mother may have chosen to showcase her talent on stage and screen, but Beckett's finest performances came in the Interrogation room or working undercover. The realisation stunned Castle a little, men really do go after women that resemble their mother's. Then he shuddered at the thought and pushed it to the back of his mind.
"Eventually I'll find out, so why not just tell me?" Beckett's interrogation continued as Castle returned from his spontaneous analysis and back to the present moment. Her words struck a chord on his heartstrings. "Eventually I'll find out… just tell me." The truth that rang within them echoed through his being. He knew he had to work up the courage to tell her how he felt but it was just finding the right time, that perfect moment so as not to upset the balance of their relationship, to want more than she could give, to expect more than he was worthy of... "Darn it", Castle scolded himself for letting his wonderings get away with him again. "I will not let myself think about Beckett, I will not let myself think about Beckett" he repeated to himself over and over in a desperate hope that it would work.
"Would you like me to refresh your memory?" Once again, Beckett's words filled Castle's ears. He admired her persistence with her suspects, always maintaining the upper hand and control. She wasn't sitting anymore, instead standing over Bobby Lopez making her presence felt – a theatrical show of her dominance. Castle continued to look on through the glass, enjoying the play-by-play of the interrogation without having to control his glances. Let's face it, with her back to him, Castle's eyes only had one place to wander and he thanked his lucky stars that she (nor the guys) could see him visually caressing the curve of her muscular – yet still feminine – figure, her pert buttocks and womanly hips. "I will not think of Beckett", Castle repeated to himself once more.
"No, no that's not what I meant" protested Bobby.
"Did you or didn't you have it, it's a simple question?" Beckett knew her rebuttal had her suspect questioning his own lies and the story he was trying to spin.
"I don't know!"
"Who put you up to this, Bobby, who gave you that backpack?"
"I don't know, I don't remember!" She knew he was flustered, all she had to do was keep picking at that loose thread and the whole story would unravel before her eyes. Perched on the edge of the desk, inches from Lopez' face her incessant questioning continued.
"You don't remember? How do you not remember?"
"I was in shock, it must be one of those traumatic amnesia things"
"You don't get to use that excuse! You wanna know trauma? I was shot in the chest and I remember every second of it." As she sat on the table in the Interrogation room – staring into the face of her suspect, her eyes locked tight to his – Kate Beckett's confession cut through the one-way mirror to the Observation room and plunged into Richard Castle's heart like a dagger. All this time, you remembered…
But it wasn't the pain of her confession he felt – it was the months of lying and deceit that reeked of betrayal. Betrayal, the force of which weighs so heavily on his once broad and sturdy shoulders forces him to his knees, now too weak from the burden of a love too strong for him to carry. The burden of her unknowing confession had Castle rooted to the spot, frozen in limbo with his gaze lingering on her soft lips – the lips that with such confidence, just uttered the words that changed everything.
Everything around him slowed down as Castle was suspended in time. He'd dreamt of this moment. The moment Kate Beckett acknowledged he loved her, that she loved him in return. But this was different. So, so different. This wasn't acknowledgement at all. It was denial. She'd known for months and she'd done everything in her power to bury it, to hide it away from the world. Something inside him clicked.
"What was I thinking?" he chided himself under muttered breath. He'd been kidding himself. Richard Castle – award winning novelist, father and now grade A fool. She did not and would not, ever feel the same way as he did. The truth of it sliced at his insides a little more, continuing the destruction of the initial blow the same way a fragmented bullet tears through its victim and rips them to shreds from the inside out. Castle was finding it hard to breathe – knowing she knew, that she had lied to him for all this time – it was crushing. All the air was forced from his body and there was nothing he could do to stop it. The runaway train of Kate's confession was at full speed, and all he could do was sit there and watch it charge off down the tracks before derailing into the mangled mess of metal that had become his heart.
On the other side of the glass, Beckett was rounding up her interview, knowing full well she had obtained as much information as she possibly could at this point. She needed to leave Bobby alone for a while to let him think things over, but more importantly, to take the opportunity to regroup, compose herself and get her emotions in check. How could she have let her own problems come crashing down around her in an interrogation? If there was one thing that Kate Beckett prized herself on, it was the ability to become a blank book – for her cover to show no hint of the tale that lay between its covers; to become anonymous. She always told herself it was a job requirement – keep all things personal close to the chest she couldn't be played, so she would have the upper hand, always the holder of the Ace of Spades. She wasn't sure exactly when, but this protection, this self preservation – whatever this was – extended way beyond her duty to the NYPD. Beckett's entire life was hidden beneath a poker face. Castle had played her once or twice before – he knew first hand just how good of a guard that face could be.
It took every ounce of his strength to tear his eyes from her once beautiful face; beauty that was now distorted by the truth that had seeped through the cracks of her previously solid poker face. He turned from her in a mixture of disbelief and disgust, realising his hands were shaking ever so slightly – the result of what he had just heard. Oh no, she was beginning to gather up her files – a sure sign she was about to leave the suspect and walk right on out of Interrogation. He had to get out of there, and quick. Castle forced his legs into action, hastily making his way to the door of Observation. He had formulated a quick plan in his head, the same way he did when he was drafting the escape of one of his characters from a Columbian drug lord on a boat rigged with explosives. Castle thought about that for a second…at this moment, he'd rather be Jameson Rook in that very situation than risk failing his own escape right now and facing the very real inspiration for Nikki Heat in the wake of her recent revelation.
Castle reached for the brass door knob of the Observation room and pulled the door open, stepped through it and shut it to at his back. He rested his head against its wooden frame and closed his eyes, a mass of information running through his brain as he tried to make some coherent sense out of what he had just witnessed and all the possible ramifications that could result from it. Not two feet away another door opened and the clip-clop of heeled footsteps barely registered amongst the scattered debris of Castle's mind. The familiar clunk of the door trickled through to his subconscious and suddenly Rick Castle was back in the room –but he wasn't alone; so was Kate Beckett.