A/N: This short OS is something that's very different from what I usually write. I wasn't going to publish it but someone very persuasive convinced me otherwise, so... here it is.
The idea for this story came a few months back, towards the end of season 3 and it has been waiting on my computer ever since.
REPLACEMENT
I sit on my chair, completely dumbfounded, fascinated and a little sad.
The words are registering one at a time in my mind at an extraordinarily slow pace.
She stares at me with humid eyes, an eyebrow raised in question, as though asking me if I understand what she meant.
I do. I understand.
And as I stare back at her with admiration, love and compassion I remember the first time I met her.
In fact, I can still remember my first day as though it was yesterday.
My first day at the 12th.
I had heard all the stories about the now infamous precinct.
Back at the academy it was one of those precincts aspiring detectives didn't want to be assigned to. Some thought it was cursed, others just didn't want to work with these people. Personally, I didn't care either way. I wasn't much for stories anyway.
Maybe that's why they assigned me there.
I met the captain early in the morning and as she read through my files, I looked nervously around her office. There were various photographs of herself, of herself with what I assumed was her family, of the President, obviously and other people too, including another man, black, in his fifties, wearing his uniform. His picture was set aside from the others and for some reason, it stood out from the rest.
"Right. Well, welcome to the 12th Detective Travers."
Her voice had torn me away from the picture and back to her. After some vague talk about the precinct, the work we do and all that useless stuff, she announced the name of my first ever partner: Detective Katherine 'Kate' Beckett.
Now, as I've said, I wasn't much one for stories and I didn't care about working at the 12th but working with her... Just my luck.
The captain explained I needed a partner, being a newbie and all and Beckett was, at the time, the only non-paired up detective.
Begrudgingly, I accepted. Not that I had any choice.
To make matters worse, detective Beckett was, understandably none too pleased about having a new partner, especially a rookie. But she had no choice either.
I had, again, heard all the stories about the tragic events that had lead to the infamous July 4th shooting. But they were all stories, legends... Because in fact, nobody knew for sure what had happened that day.
Except Kate Beckett.
"I hear she was forced to shoot him. Fired two into his chest," said one.
"I was told he was caught in the cross-fire, took a stray bullet," corrected another.
"He had just proposed to her," added one romantic soul.
"They buried him discreetly to avoid the press."
"I know for a fact that he was arrested and sent to jail," explained one.
"We'd have heard of it!" countered another.
"They were so in love, you have no idea," clarified another romantic.
"Not if they were super discreet due to his reputation!"
"I read that he actually ran away, left the country for good," affirmed one.
"I'm sure she'd hiding him somewhere," disagreed another.
"His 'muse' he called her... Took him four years to finally declare his love and now... what a shame!" commented someone randomly.
In short, nobody knew anything about that day.
The only thing we were all sure of: the 12th precinct had a heavy past and Kate Beckett was a wounded woman.
The captain took me to her desk and introduced us. But without even acknowledging me the Detective asked to have a word with the captain; which they did. They talked for what seemed like an eternity in the captain's office.
When they came out, Beckett extended her hand to me with a contorted smile and gritted teeth.
As she stood in her full height before me, I truly saw her for the first time.
She appeared fierce and physically strong. She was tall, confident and looked me right in the eyes. Those very same eyes that betrayed her. They were empty, devoid of emotion, of a strikingly dark green. Those eyes told the story of her life.
There was a woman who had lost everything but was still standing and would not accept to fall.
The first few months working cases with her and her two subordinates, detectives Ryan and Esposito were particularly hard.
The detective and her two acolytes made it clear from the beginning that I wasn't welcome. They weren't particular mean to me, they just ignored me mostly, forgot to warn me about a new case and such.
Although part of me hated the situation, another part understood them. It had barely been a couple of months between the shooting and my arrival in the team. They obviously weren't ready to replace the writer.
Mind you, I wasn't trying to replace him. Who could? But I was clearly perceived as such.
So, these first months, I shut my mouth and endured it all. I focused on doing my job and doing it right. Case after case I tried to prove to them that I could be of help, that I could be an asset rather than a burden.
I watched them work silently - listening to their theories, learning from their methods. They were unorthodox to say the least – that part of the stories was true I realized – but they were efficient. And I spent a lot of time observing my partner, Kate Beckett.
Despite the hurt and the grief she was stronger than ever. She was a determined, strong woman who lived for her job.
She had obviously decided to drown herself in her work to forget about all of the drama in her life. Sometimes I would catch her staring at the chair by her desk, clearly lost in another world. Other times she blacked out in front of the coffee machine. She was always so discreet, hiding her feelings, her thoughts deep inside. But some days I could see it... I could see the tears she had shed all night long.
The winter came and went like that and with time I had managed to earn my place in the precinct. Detectives Ryan and Esposito had definitely accepted me into the fold and Beckett was less distant. Which, in my case, was a huge improvement.
I learned more in the year that I spent at the 12th than I did in the years I spent in the academy. Despite her tough exterior, Beckett turned out to be the best mentor one could hope to have.
By the time spring came, she was teaching me everything she knew: combat, interrogation, building a case, trusting one's instincts, not being afraid of the most absurd theories... She shared it all.
And during that year, not once did any of us mention the name Richard Castle, although it was clear his spirit had never left the precinct.
Not once did she talk about him and I never asked.
That's why I was surprised when she invited me out to dinner.
It was the night before the 4th of July 2014, the eve of the anniversary of his… Death? Disappearance? Arrest?
We went out to some restaurant near the precinct. Just the two of us.
And in the middle of dinner she had started telling her story.
I just sat there, my plate completely forgotten, transported by her words.
The Kate Beckett I had come to know, usually so quiet, so private was suddenly alive, and she talked and talked, and talked.
Her eyes, that were so unusually dark green and hollow, were regaining their fire as she spoke and became a lighter shade of green. Her voice was firm, confident, even when her eyes started to fill with unwanted tears, her voice didn't waver.
She had a story to tell. And she told it with the mastership of someone who had spent years working and then living with a novelist.
Her story came to an end and she watched me in silence.
Here we are now, in that same restaurant, hours later, looking at each other in silence.
She taught me everything she knew, she shared all of her experience with me. She trained me. But not as her partner.
Kate unbuckles her insignia and her gun and puts them both on the table in front of me.
No, she didn't train me as her partner. She trained me as her replacement.
She pushes both items on the table and I put my hands on top of hers as I accept them. We stay like that for a moment. She looks at me and smiles. And for the first time, her smile reaches her eyes. For the first time, she seems happy. I smile back and pull my hands back with her gun and insignia under them.
She takes out a few bank notes and drops them on the table before getting up.
She stands tall and proud.
And with one last look over her shoulder to me, she's gone.
There will be questions in the morning.
But they'll never know. They can never know.
What Kate did... What she did out of love, for him...
They will never know.
There will be new stories, new myths, new legends about Richard Castle and Kate Beckett.
"She killed herself to be with him again," some will say.
"She broke him out of prison and they fled," others will counter.
"She left the country and joined him wherever he is," some others will suppose.
They will all be right about one thing: the writer and his muse would be reunited at last.