Piles of letters covered the small table that Kate Beckett sat at. It had been almost an hour that she's been sifting through Richard Castle's fan mail. A rustling sound notified Beckett that Mr. Castle was indeed moving onto another letter. Kate let out a silent breath as she too selected a new letter.
Dear Mr. Castle,
I know you probably hear this all the time but I would just like to take this time to say that you are truly a wonderful author. Your books have been my life line for the past ten years. Ten years ago a tragedy happened and at the time I didn't think that there was any way I could get through it but then I found your books.
Kate Beckett's brow furrowed in confusion. She knew this letter. Heck she wrote it. Kate Beckett didn't bother reading the rest of the letter. She knew it would go on to ask the author about his talent, whether he believed in the things he wrote. She skipped to the bottom and found her signature neatly signed. That's when she felt them. The eyes that were starring at her from across the table.
"What?" She asked trying to sound annoyed hoping it would stop him from starring.
"Nothing. No it's just the way your brow froze when you're thinking. It's cute," Castle mused. "I mean not if you were playing poker. Then it'd be deadly."
Kate Beckett dropped her letter and attempted to slip it under her notepad. Suddenly she knew that the man in front of her was nothing like she thought him to be. "Can I ask you a question?"
"Shoot."
"Why are you here? You don't care about the victims, so you aren't here for justice. You don't care that the guy's aping your books, so you aren't here because you're outraged. So what is it, Rick? Are you here to annoy me?" Kate Beckett spat out.
"I'm here for the story."
"The story?" Kate repeated.
"Why those people? Why those murders?" Castle stated as if it were that simple.
Kate leaned on the table resting her weight on her elbow. "Sometimes there is no story. Sometimes the guy is just a psychopath."
"There's always a story," Castle said with a sigh. "There's always a chain of events that makes everything make sense. Take you for example. Under normal circumstances, you should not be here. Law-smart good-looking women become lawyers, not cops, and yet, here you are. Why?"
Kate Beckett laughed to herself leaning back in her chair as a smug smile spread across her face. "I don't know Rick. You're the novelist. You tell me."
Castle quickly dropped the letter he was reading and focused on Detective Beckett. "Well you're not bridge and tunnel. No trace of boroughs when you talk so that means Manhattan, that means money."
Kate couldn't help but roll her eyes at his assumption.
"You went to college. Probably a pretty good one. You had options. Yeah you had lots of options. Better options. More socially acceptably options. And you still choose this."
Kate's grin grew slightly and she nodded her head in a small gesture.
"That tells me something happened." Castle paused for a second to catch his breath. "Not to you. You're wounded but not that wounded."
Kate Beckett could feel her smile faltering as she froze her actions.
"It was someone you cared about," Castle continued. "It was someone you loved."
'How does he know that?' Kate thought to herself as a lump formed in her throat making it harder to swallow.
"And you're probably going to live with the fact that the person responsible was never caught."
Kate Beckett was astonished that he was able to read all of that just from looking at her. She could feel the tears building up behind her eyes and had to bit on the inside of her lip to keep them from falling. Whatever happened, Kate Beckett was determined not to cry in front of this man no matter how right he was.
"And that Detective Beckett is why you're here," Castle concluded breaking their eye contact.
Kate took a moment to find her voice waiting until she knew it wouldn't waver. "Cute trick," Kate Beckett managed to say over the lump in her throat. "But don't think you know me."