"Nikki!" he calls from the kitchen on a Saturday morning. "NIKKI!"
Scurrying through his apartment half-dressed, hopping on one foot while struggling to get her other sneaker on, Detective Heat scrambled to the scene, the possibilities of what this man could possibly have done now running through her head at lightning speed.
As she rounds the corner, she sees no immediate injuries, hears no alarms indicating fire, and nothing seems to be an imminent threat. Instead, he gestures to the television and rewinds the DVR for several moments, hitting 'play' at the beginning and watching her closely for a reaction.
He called her away from their Saturday day-off run for this? Some TV show?
Okay, so there's a dead body. A miserable-looking but pleasantly savvy detective and her sassy M.E. (Romance is dead, indeed.) An unusually-staged murder. Some rich trouser stain with a cute kid throwing a party on a roof, inconsiderate of his neighbors, undoubtedly.
Nothing special.
'Where would you like it?'
"What a jackass," Rook mutters, shutting up instantly when Nikki shoots him an incredulous look.
Right.
The woman with awkwardly short-cropped hair interrogates an ill-shaven man on the screen. The set doesn't look much different from her own interrogation room at work, and the power suit the lady cop wears gives it away if nothing else. This is their lead.
'Ah. And you were…nude… at the time?' the lady cop says, one eyebrow raised in both disdain and interest.
"I'd like to know that story," Heat mutters as she stares at the blue-eyed suspect. "Better yet, I'd like to see the arrest photos."
"Just watch," Rook pipes up peevishly. Really, Rook? Jealousy over a TV character?
"Fine," she snaps, needing the last word. He grants it to her as he usually does. She wonders what that says about the both of them.
Perching at the counter, invigorating run forgotten, they watch several episodes as they eat Froot Loops without milk for breakfast, picking out of the same bowl like nine year olds watching Saturday morning cartoons.
"This is getting creepy," Nikki remarks as Detective Beckett and Mr. Castle bicker, the scenes growing progressively stranger.
"It's been creepy since the first moment," Rook agrees, picking a piece of cereal off her shirt and popping it in his mouth.
"This is Truman-Show-level shit."
It's just a TV show, but she feels somehow violated. Even the cases bear a certain similarity to the ones they've worked. And as fictional Detective Beckett reveals the truth about her mother's murder, Heat feels vaguely nauseous. Apologetically, Jamie twines his fingers with hers.
The smarmy writer and the grumpy lady cop bicker, banter and even form theories.
"Betcha anything that Bizarro Nikki is going to crash this reading," her boyfriend muses, as Bizarro Rook reads a melodramatic passage from his latest book… and he's right. Of course.
'Roxanne. Stone?' the TV-detective hisses, clearly irritated about her literary alter-ego's name. 'What kind of name is Roxanne Stone?'
'A cop name,' the TV-writer answers glibly.
'It's a stripper name!'
"It is kind of a stripper name," she agrees with her maybe-bodysnatcher (and oh god did she just think that? She's starting to think like him; the disease must be progressing quicker than she estimated) in the ugly pink dress.
Rook's incredulous look makes her want to hit him.
"What?" she whines defensively.
"Nothing, nothing. I just don't think someone called Nikki Heat ought to be talking about stripper names."
"Shut up."
He does, but not without that stupid grin still plastered on his stupid face. What does he know. His name is Rook and Rook is a stupid name. At least in Bizarro World, his alter-ego has a real author's name. Castle.
The fifth episode comes to a close ("told you it was the husband," Rook gloats insufferably) and they don't bother playing another one. It's noon and he's not even dressed and she's wasted half her precious day off eating kid cereal and storing up enough nightmare fuel for several months.
"So, how long do you think they'll last?"
"What do you mean?" she asks.
"Well, obviously they're hot for each other."
"Duh."
"How long do you think the show will keep this up? I mean, on a scale of Burn Notice to The X-Files, how long are they gonna drag the unresolved sexual tension out?"
Nikki considers, thinking about how the reporter weaseled his way into her life, her bed and eventually, her heart.
"I give 'em to the end of the season."
Category: Reasons Kato Needs To Get More Sleep and Stop Drinking At Boring Suburbanite Barbecues for $400, Alex.