The Elephant's Confession: A Castle Fanfiction
Potterfanxp123 (William F.)
Disclaimer: I don't own 'Castle', any and all likeness to the characters within are owned by ABC Studios, and were created by Andrew Marlowe, and Terri Miller
Chapter One:
As he sat, munching on some popcorn left in the break room, Richard Castle smugly studied the chaos around him. Johns and pros, bangers, and felons alike, were engaged in an all-out battle with Uniforms and Detectives, brought about by the successful bust of a prostitution ring by the Vice Squad three floors up.
Across the bullpen, he could see Javier Esposito, a retired member of the Special Forces, swiftly taking down an arrogant near seven-footer while his partner Kevin Ryan took on a two-bit street-corner procurer that tried to liberate his gun.
To his left, sat ignoring the festivities as she focused on her own case file, a cold case on the murder of a seventy-five year old nun, Detective Kate Beckett rolled her eyes. To his never-ending amusement, the woman was unperturbed by the ruckus around them, absently turning another page, as reinforcements in the form of unis ran up the stairs.
He suppressed the urge to chuckle as L.T., a large uni with a friendly disposition, absentmindedly manhandled a cocky repeat offender, throwing a left hook and connecting with the man's jawline, causing the gangbanger to fall onto Ryan's desk and sending his reports, cold case files, and computer monitor falling to the cement floor, where the glass shattered and sparks flew sending greyish white smoke into the air.
In the next few moments, a whole multitude of events occurred.
First, Beckett's phone chimed with the notification of an incoming text, amusing his muse as she showed him that it was from Lanie, before she told him that she was just going to the stairs to call the Medical Examiner.
Second, Roselyn Karpowski, in a heated fight with a well-endowed courtesan, flew shoulder first into Beckett's newly abandoned desk, knocking it askew and making his muses lamp wobble and causing a ceramic herd of elephants, which the Detective had told him days before once belonged to her mother, to become perched precariously on the desk's edge.
Third, that same courtesan jumped towards the oblique desk, onto Karpowski's back, flipping both the Detective and the courtesan over said desk and to the floor.
Which, fourth, caused the small, ceramic herd of elephants to fall off of the desk as the writer, in an attempt to catch them and save his partner more emotional pain, instinctively jumped forward out of his seat, and towards the statuette.
Leading to his friend and muse reentering the bullpen just as the elephants reached the floor, shattering with a loud crash, a stifled whimper the only indicator of her turbulent emotional state.
Rick winced, landing knee first in the shards; his palms becoming a series of small scrapes and abrasions. The writer didn't dare to turn to where he could feel Beckett's penetrating gaze, couldn't bring himself to look at the shattered look on her face, or the unwanted feeling of overwhelming depression that suddenly consumed the Detective. Suddenly, the fight around him no longer seemed entertaining, becoming all too real as a tangible link to her mother tore apart before him.
Behind him, a door slammed.
As he gingerly looked around, he no longer saw the atmosphere of entropy, in its place a sea of tranquility as police and criminals alike took in the situation. It didn't last long, as within seconds, the blue bloods had returned their attention to the matter at hand and ended the fight as quickly as possible.
Rick sighed, studying the ceramic herd of elephants shattered form, knowing instinctively that the tiny pieces were too small to successfully repair his muses, his friends, broken heart.
He did the only thing he could do. Pushing against the floor, Rick winced as he stood up, and lifted his foot to get it underneath him. Ignoring the concerned looks of the police around him, Rick walked to the supply closet around the corner from the break room, and grabbed a broom and dustpan, before silently walking back to the desk.
Beckett hadn't returned, not that he expected that she would.
Absentmindedly, Rick started to clean the broken remnants of Johanna's herd off of the floor, ignoring the low ache of physical pain that shot through his hands as he swept the bristles along the floor.
To his shock, as he swept underneath Beckett's desk a small, red, white, and black cassette tape, which had become trapped in the broom's bristles, came to a rest in the pile at his feet. Keeping his head bowed, he shifted his gaze and noticed that no one had yet to notice the tape, everyone too stunned to move in the last few moments, an unsettling feeling settled over them.
He bent down, sweeping the pile into the dustbin, covering the cassette with the shattered remnants of a herd of elephants, as he walked through the bullpen and to the break room, coming to a stop in front of the trashcan there. Absently he pocketed the cassette and dumped the refuse, before returning the supplies to the closet.
Then, once that was finished, he exited the bullpen with a surge of adrenaline consuming him, clearing the pain from his scraped hands relieving the ache in his knees, allowing him to take the stairs two at a time in an effort to catch his distraught muse before she got too far away.
As Homicide was on the fourth floor of the seven-story building, if Kate was taking her time descending the stairs in an attempt to contain herself, a possibility given her emotional state, he thought he might have a chance to catch up to her in the lobby.
To his surprise, as he came upon the door to the second-floor entrance to the Bomb Disposal Unit, he saw his muse… his partner… Kate… squatting, palms digging into her eyes, in an attempt to stem the flow of tears as her cries echoed around her.
Hesitantly, he moved toward the hazel-eyed brunette, cupping the side of her face, and running his thumb over the downward streak of her tears, as he pulled out a handkerchief and offered it to her softly. She took it, and dabbed at her eyes, before her eyes fell to the cold, concrete floor and her arms started wracking with heart-wrenching sobs.
He curled his arms around her, his right hand stroking her soft, brunette hair in the same way he had stroked long, red curls hundreds of times before, as hot tears flowed down and over her cheeks and onto his overcoat. Here, and now, Kate Beckett, badass cop, was replaced, if only in his mind, with Katie (or even Katherine) Beckett, devastated nineteen year old daughter.
"Kate," he said softly, "I'm so sorry."
She froze, and attempted to push away, though the attempt was feeble given the lack of strength behind the small, automatic gesture. In return, he merely tightened his grip, bringing about a newer, fresher set of tears.
He softly shushed her, stroking down her face as she again pushed him away, her face pulling with the motion. Immediately releasing the woman, again after hundreds of hours of experience, he met her eyes and softly said, "Do you want me to take you home?"
She merely nodded.
Rick stood, feeling the cassette thump against his side as he pulled his partner up, and said, "We'll call the guys from the car, let them know you're taking the rest of the day off."
"Thanks Castle," she said almost too softly. If it weren't for the fact that he was expecting it, the writer doubted he would have heard it. He led her down and into the parking garage, and over to her Crown Victoria, moving to the passenger side, and opening her door. Kate sat down, automatically buckling her seatbelt, as she dabbed at her eyes again.
He made his way to the driver's seat, holding out his hand for her keys, shocked when she merely handed them to him in a broken, emotionless movement. He cringed as he started the engine, and pulled out, before handing her his phone and said, "Espo is number six on my speed dial."
She cleared her throat, and swiped the screen, absently inputting his code, 931008, and dialing his phone. After a quick discussion, Kate sat his phone in the console and said, "I must look a mess."
"Don't be silly, Detective, you look beautiful."
As he pulled into traffic, Rick contemplated turning the gumball on, just to get a glare from the pessimistic woman beside him, anything to get her out of her reflective mood. Even now, the urge to pop the cassette into the player was overwhelming, just to give his partner peace of mind when she needed it most.
"Is it repairable, Castle?" she asked a few, eternal moments later.
"No," the writer whispered softly, "There weren't any large enough pieces left, Beckett. I wish more than anything that it were."
The detective sniffled, and she cleared her throat before saying, "Thanks Castle."
"No problem," the writer softly whispered. "I wish I could do more, Beckett."
"You know they were my moms," she said after a terse three minutes. Rick smiled, having expected her to fill the intentional silence when he didn't speak. "Before they were on my desk, she used to keep them on hers. She used to joke about how they were a family, just like us… me, my mom… my dad. They were a family. But more than that," she took a breath, "more than that they were a tangible link to her, Castle. And now they're gone and I have no idea what to do."
"You honor her legacy," Rick said softly. "You wake up in the morning prepared to right one more wrong, put to bed one more case, free one more innocent. You remember your mother in the best way you know how, Kate, by honoring the victim."
She smiled, the first one in what seemed like hours. "Thank you Rick."
"You're welcome," the writer said as he pulled up to her apartment, pulled into the underground parking lot, removed the key from the ignition, and stepped out of the too confining space. As he moved his legs from the floorboard the pain he'd been suppressing in his desire to console his partner reared its head and he groaned. Beckett looked at him, and for the first time noticed the blood on his hands, and the patches of blood on his pant legs, before she said, "Castle, you're hurt!"
He looked at her in pained amusement, and said, "I'm fine, Kate."
"What happened?" the distraught woman asked, her eyes meeting his gaze. Rick studied her gaze and said, "I dove out of my chair trying to catch the elephants."
Her eyes widened and a soft, almost reverent gaze filled her as she said, "Come upstairs, I'll tend to your wounds."
He studied her, and said, "Really Detective Beckett, I'll be alright. Alexis is expecting me home soon anyway."
She studied him, before she shook her head, "I'll call Alexis and tell her that I invited you in, but I am going to help you Castle."
The writer studied his muse, before he nodded softly in acquiescence, which drew an eye roll. Gingerly, the adrenaline having worn off, Richard Castle made his way to her apartment's elevator, his mind, like the bullpen an hour ago, entropic.