Author's Note: This story is my attempt at Castle fanfiction in the AU. I've been obsessing over this for days because there are so many ways Castle and Beckett's story could have started. This is just one. It may have been done before. I haven't read enough fanfiction to rule that out, but I'll take my chances and hope my take on it is unique. I would love to hear your thoughts on whether this is a go/no-go.
Disclaimer: I don't own them. Suing me will yield no financial benefits, I promise.
And just this one time, because it's the first chapter...
Summary: After her mother's brutal murder, Kate Beckett went back to law school with renewed purpose. She was going to walk in Johanna Beckett's footsteps until justice was served. Now, a fifth-year associate at Cooley Rose, one of New York's best law firms, the realities of paying the bills have shackled her with Richard Castle's divorce case. Castle wheedles his way into her life as her past with the NYPD's 12th precinct resurfaces, throwing Kate back into the depths of her mother's case where danger lurks, waiting to rob her of everything she had long worked to protect: her career, her family, her heart, her life.
The Rainiest Day of Summer
1. Something Good Coming
"Hello, hello, remember me?
I'm everything you can't control."
(What You Want – Evanescence)
The cursor blinked tauntingly, a thin black strip against stark, merciless white. Kate Beckett stared at it hard until her office blurred into shapeless gentle pastels.
Blink. Blink. Blink.
She released a long, steady breath, set her fingertips against the black keys and began to type.
Resolution of conflicts: In the event of any conflict between the terms, covenants and restrictions…
No, that wasn't right. She paused and hit the delete button a few times.
... between the terms, covenants and conditions contained in this contract…
That wasn't right either. With a heavy sigh, she sat back in her plush leather chair, feeling the tension curl in the muscles around her spine. The early afternoon Manhattan sunshine spilled peacefully through the open blinds, washing across her Honduran mahogany desk until the rich wood glinted golden brown, a shade oddly reminiscent of Detective Esposito's clever eyes. This color was warmer, not quite as hardened by the years served in the lines of defense and law enforcement. Not that she needed colors to be reminded of their run-in at the courthouse yesterday. She had thought of little else since. The nighttime had found her wide-awake, staring at her bedroom ceiling for hours in darkness, snippets of his words swirling in her mind like a whispered taunt. She hadn't been able to string them together because it wasn't the words that made her feel ill in the pit of her belly. It was the painfully sharp memory of the last time she had seen him. Seven years ago. August 9th. At twenty-two, she had been young – too young – and idealistic, and she had believed that if only she would be given the chance to look, there would be answers.
"You need to let this go, Beckett. There's nothing there. I never should have…" he sighed, a long-suffering sound. "Move on. I can't help you."
And she had moved on in every sense of the word except the one that mattered.
A short knock drew her gaze away from the empty corner of her desk. She glanced up to find Lisa Hove in her doorframe, eyeing her in tacit concern.
"Samantha wants to see you now if you're not busy," she said with a small, sympathetic smile.
Kate nodded and came to her feet in a pair of black Jimmy Choo pumps. "I'll be right there. Thanks, Lisa." Stepping around the desk, she straightened the slim lapels of her beige suit jacket and rolled her shoulders back. She allowed herself one final thought on Detective Esposito and that fateful summer, and then she put it all aside and started towards Samantha's office. She had walked away from that day, from that summer, for a reason. When she reached the wide double-glass doors, she raised her hand and gently rapped her knuckles against the spotless glass just below the bold black letters.
Samantha Rose. Managing Partner.
"Come in," Samantha called out, dropping the memo she'd been perusing in favor of waving her in impatiently.
Kate stepped into the spacious, tastefully decorated office, her eyes wandering for a moment to the floor-to-ceiling windows that captured the stunning New York City skyline. "You asked to see me," she said as Samantha's sharp dark eyes watched her closely over the rims of her reading glasses.
"Yes," she confirmed. "Close the door and have a seat, Kate." She tipped her narrow chin in the direction of the chairs on the other side of her desk.
Resisting the urge to lift a questioning eyebrow, Kate did as she was told and settled into one of the high-backed chairs across from the older woman. "Is something wrong?" she asked cautiously because patience had never been one of Kate Beckett's virtues.
"Well yes, Kate. Something is wrong," she replied, the words slow and measured. It was her courtroom voice – the one that swayed juries aplenty and broke witnesses on the stand. "You're distracted."
"I'm…"
"You're distracted," she cut her off, more firmly this time, and pulled her glasses off the bridge of her nose, allowing them to dangle around her neck. Her coffee-brown eyes pinned Kate to her seat. "You have the lowest billables of all the fifth-year associates. Did you know that?" she challenged.
She didn't, but she wasn't about to admit that. "I've been doing a lot of pro bono work," she admitted quietly, her chin set in a stubborn, unmoving line.
"I know. Pro bono work is important, but you're letting it interfere with your performance and your numbers. I'm afraid you can't afford to do that anymore." Her tone had gentled into something kinder, more nurturing, and Kate felt her heart squeeze like a dry sponge.
She swallowed her pride tightly, shrinking into her seat. "Okay, I'll work on changing my caseload today," she conceded.
"I already have a case for you," Samantha told her, reaching for one of at least a dozen folders lying before her. She slid it across the desk. "Ben Epstein needs an experienced associate on this case."
"Ben…" Kate trailed off as she fastened her fingers around the folder and lifted her indignant gaze to Samantha's unsmiling face. One of the first equity partners at Cooley Rose, Ben Epstein was the head of family law and New York's most notorious divorce lawyer. "I don't want a divorce case."
"I'm not asking," she said, the steel creeping back into her voice. "I want you on this case. It's a straightforward divorce with a high-profile client. I need everything to be kept on the down low. I want it to be clean, and I want our client to be happy."
"Put me as second chair on Clay's case or any one of Tom's cases," she pleaded.
"This is nonnegotiable," Samantha snapped, her narrow, stenciled eyebrows knitting in an irritated frown. "You know the rules, Kate. Family law pays the bills, and you need to pay the bills of all the pro bono work you've been doing."
"If this case is so important, why won't Ben handle it himself?"
Samantha's warning glance told her the woman's patience was beginning to wear thin. "I asked him to hand it over to you. I brought this case to you, because as much as you hate to admit it, you need these hours," she reminded her, punctuating every syllable with a pause. "And you're one of my best lawyers. You know that. I trust you to do a good job on this."
Tamping down the rising urge to drop the folder and walk out, Kate tucked the contentious document in the crease of her elbow, holding it against her chest, and stood up. "Okay," she breathed finally, closing her eyes against the anger welling inside her. Samantha was right. She needed to do this. It certainly didn't mean she had to like it. "Thank you," she managed to mutter.
A gentle smile curved the line of Samantha Rose's lips, deepening the telltales of age on her regal face. She had been a stunning woman once, but now she was merely beautiful. "You're welcome," came the gracious response.
With a nod, Kate turned around and started for the door. As her hand closed around the knob, the other woman's voice stilled her.
"I still miss her too, Katie."
(-)(-)(-)(-)
"A divorce case?"
Kate groaned as she brought the Styrofoam cup to her lips and sipped at the steaming, too-sweet vanilla latte. "I know," she mumbled miserably.
With a hearty chuckle, Clayton Hart downed his double espresso in a single, unforgiving swig. "It could be worse," he reasoned, lifting his left shoulder in a noncommittal shrug as he dodged a harried woman in a suit rushing towards the subway station. They were both wrapped up in their warmest winter coats, hands tucked into fine leather gloves, crowded around the slipping heat of their coffees. Despite the deceptively clear skies and sunshine, the early February cold was brutal, but it felt good to be outside of the office for a few minutes.
"It's hard to imagine a case worse than a divorce between a hotshot author and his publisher," she countered, walking along Liberty Street to the brick ledge that served as home to the manicured shrubs of Zuccotti Park and their spot for private coffee breaks. One Liberty Plaza, the office complex where Cooley Rose had been resident for the past eighteen years, towered high before them, blocking the glare of sunlight. "Talk about ego and money," she puffed and leaned against the smooth ledge when it ran low enough to sit on.
Clay followed suit, sitting fully, his longer legs leaving his feet solidly planted on the sidewalk. "Kids?" he asked, looking at her sideways.
Kate shook her head. "Nope. He has a daughter from his first marriage, but there are no issues there. He has full custody," she explained. She'd gone through the file in painstaking detail last night, determined to prove to Samantha that she could nail this case and hopefully use it as leverage to avoid family law altogether. "He has an interesting history of arrests and dabbles with the law. If he's the responsible parent, I shudder to think of that poor child's mother," she mused.
His breathy laughter sent a puff of steam from his lips. "Ouch, snappy judgments there," he commented, his smile begrudgingly amused. "Just because he's a dad doesn't mean he can't have fun."
She hid her guilty, acquiescent smile behind her coffee cup. "I just hate working with Ben. I hate family law, and I especially hate the melodramatics of divorce," she grumbled.
"Samantha's just looking out for you because she cares," he told her, gently like a colt testing the frailty of its new legs.
She swallowed another sip of coffee and could almost feel her mood physically improving with every whiff of caffeine that entered her system. "I know."
"Teacher's pet," he teased, knocking the elbow of her free hand with his lightly.
Kate rolled her eyes over a self-assured grin. As her thoughts inevitably circled back to the courthouse and Detective Esposito, her wandering gaze landed on a cheap ad plastered over the side of a phone booth, the perfect distraction. "Lose weight and look great naked… naturally," she read out loud, voice dripping with sarcasm, her giggle barely held in check.
Clay's smile was sweeping and bright against his short, scruffy beard. It turned his serious face into something warm and welcoming. "A problem Kate Beckett does not have," he said finally, confidently, because he knew, and his brown eyes smoldered like black unsweetened chocolate as they bore into hers. "Only mere mortals," he added softly.
"Clay," she breathed in quiet admonishment.
"I'd like to see you this weekend, Kate." The words he left unspoken hung heavily between them, and she could hear them just as loudly. It's been a while.
It had – hadn't it? She couldn't remember the last time, not that she should. It had always been casual, and it had no effect on their easy friendship. It had never been more, but that's what she did remember about the last time – Clay's breathy whispers against her bare skin. Let's be something, together, Kate. At the time, she'd brushed them off as spoken in the heat of the moment, but whether consciously or not she hadn't asked him to come over since. "Let's…"
"Talk about this later," he finished for her, a slight frown marring his brow. "I know."
She diverted his knowing gaze. "We…"
"Should head back up," he cut in again, and she hated the accuracy with which he predicted her words. "I know that one, too," he joked, a small smile breaking onto his face. It wasn't particularly happy, just resigned.
Kate leveled an annoyed glare at his handsome profile before stepping away from the ledge, the heels of her boots clicking decisively against the sidewalk. He followed, wordlessly.
(-)(-)(-)(-)
"Richard Castle is in your office."
The meaning of Lisa's words halted Kate mid-brisk-stride. She stopped by her assistant's compulsively organized desk and gaped at her in open confusion. "In my office?" she repeated, dumbfounded. "Now?"
Lisa nodded, a suspicious blush rising high up her neck to bloom onto her full cheeks. "He insisted. Samantha said to let him in," she confessed.
"Great," she mumbled under her breath. "Thanks for the heads up." Downing the remnants of her coffee, she tossed the empty cup in Lisa's trash bin and walked the last stretch to her office at a more relaxed pace, taking the time to plaster on her best client-face and tuck her gloves into the pocket of her gray coat.
As she approached, she observed him through the glass. With his back turned to her, Richard Castle was seated on the chair to the left side of her desk, toying distractedly with the smallest of her marching elephants. She studied his clothes, trying to pick up clues, but found little fault with his navy blazer and washed jeans. He also had some sort of blue, striped scarf wrapped snugly around his neck. When her heels connected with the parquet floor of her office, he lifted his head and his hands quickly returned the elephant to its original position.
"Ms. Beckett," he greeted, rising to his feet as he turned around, overemphasizing the z before his eyes dropped to her ring finger only to find it unadorned. He was tall, and his eyes were luminescent as they trailed over her in barely disguised appreciation. His snowy white shirt was perfectly pressed, the collar open to sit his fine, cashmere scarf. His dark brown hair was thick and styled to look like an afterthought, but a rampant lock fell rakishly across his brow, flirting with the inflection of his eyebrow. "Miss," he corrected, overweighting the s this time on a quiet hiss.
Obnoxious, she mused. Wonderful. "Hello, Mister Castle," she intoned evenly, pushing the door closed as she walked up to him and held out her hand.
His larger, warmer hand enclosed her cold digits for the full length of four seconds. Apparently, he had never gotten around to learning the shake part of a handshake. He held her hand, suspended in mid-air like a staggered sentence. It was borderline inappropriate, and Kate made it a point to clear her throat as she retrieved her hand. "Call me Rick, please," he said silkily as she made her way around the desk to her chair.
Her short nod was politely dismissive. Sliding her coat off her shoulders, she draped it over the back of her chair and gracefully sank into the supple leather. There, that was much better. Staring at him across her desk was empowering. She was about to make his problems go away. Kate heaved in a great breath and began, "So, Mister Castle, your wife…"
"… soon-to-be-ex-wife," he intervened from his reoccupied chair.
"Your soon-to-be-ex-wife," she echoed with exaggerated patience, her smile saccharine. "She filed for divorce on January 12th, twenty-nine days ago, citing irreconcilable differences," she recited from memory, reaching into her top drawer for the file. Richard Castle nodded in silent acknowledgment. "We need to respond to the petition by tomorrow at the latest."
"Then I'm just in time!" he enthused.
Kate narrowed her eyes at him and flipped through the pages in search of a document. "What would you like to respond with, Mister Castle?"
"I agree. Differences cannot be reconciled," he said calmly. "Look at that, we agree on something," he muttered more to himself than to her, and it made him smile, something small and bitter, and Kate felt a pang of empathy.
"Good. I'll get that out today then," she said and jotted a quick reminder on her yellow notepad. "I'm going to reach out to Ms. Cowell's attorney to potentially set up a meeting in the next couple of days where we can begin to negotiate the division of assets," she explained. "I trust you know how the proceedings work?"
"Ah, yes, not my first divorce. Thank you for being so gracious as to point that out, Miss Beckett." There was no accusation in his voice, just tired realization. He sounded bored.
Kate flushed in embarrassment. It was an admittedly rookie mistake, and far from tactful. Damn him. "I'm sorry…"
"No, don't be," he said quickly and gave his dark head a hard shake. "You didn't imply anything that wasn't true. I do know exactly how this works. Over the next few days, potentially weeks, depending on how agreeable we're both feeling, Gina and I will be sharing a boardroom with you and her attorney as we try to haggle each other for everything we're worth. Well, as she tries to haggle me for everything I'm worth, given that Gina essentially works for me," he narrated in the manner of someone describing the weather. "If we can't reach an agreement, we'll both build our cases and let a judge make a decision on the fate of our marital assets," he continued, lips curling in a sardonic smile. "In God we trust."
Biting back a smile, Kate sat back in her chair, her manicured nails absently scratching against the surface of her desk. "So, Mister Castle, how long were you and Ms. Cowell married?"
"Two years give or take a couple of months."
"How long have you been separated?"
"Thirty days."
"Did you acquire any significant assets during your marriage that would be considered marital property?"
He sighed. "Too many I'm afraid."
Kate looked up from her notepad where she was jotting down his answers in shorthand. "Could you please elaborate?" she prodded, and she could tell the display of irritated impatience amused him by the hint of a smile that relaxed the set of his stubbly jaw.
"Of course," he responded pleasantly. "Where do I start? There is a mansion in Newport, Rhode Island, the house in the Hamptons, a Ferrari and a Porsche. There are also some expensive artworks and sculptures in my loft here in New York and in the other two houses, not to mention the furniture, electronics, china…" he trailed off. "You get the picture. I also published two books in that timeframe. I'm not sure how we'll handle that during the divorce. I'd like to have everything finalized before I publish my latest book."
She hummed thoughtfully. "Any particular reason for that?"
"I have a feeling Gina might be… less willing to cooperate if she knew what I had in store for…" he stopped himself and refocused his gaze on her as if he'd been a million miles away for a few seconds, dallying in a universe of his creations. "I'm sure you have no idea what I'm talking about. Gina is my publisher, so she cares about the fate of my characters, particularly my multimillion-dollar-grossing lead character, Derrick Storm. Let's just say, the latest book has a very special ending." His grin was wicked, and it lit up his striking blue eyes until they were almost identical to the stripes on his scarf. Kate didn't have an exact name for the shade. She was torn somewhere between azure and cobalt.
"I see," she murmured at last. "I'll do my best to wrap this up in due time," she promised. "Could we talk about which assets are important to you and which ones you are more willing to part with?"
His tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth in a tsking sound of regret. "I'm afraid I have to cut this short. I promised my daughter I would be home with her favorite Chinese takeout when she gets back from school today," he told her as he nudged his sleeve to peer at the bold face of his expensive silver watch. "Can we pick this up tomorrow?" he asked with a genial smile, all bad-boy charm and childish earnestness, a lethal combination at best.
"Of course, whatever is most convenient for you, Mister Castle," she answered with an understanding smile of her own. Samantha would be proud.
He lowered his head in what could pass for a grateful nod, but Kate had the distinct impression that she was being toyed with. Before he could come to his feet, he leaned across her desk suddenly, his gaze unerringly directed at hers. His eyes and his body were unwavering. Her large desk felt dwarfed, and he seemed much too close for comfort. "Do you know you have gorgeous eyes?" he posed rhetorically, his husky voice a few decibels lower. If not for the open admiration in his gaze, his tone could almost be described as clinical.
Breath stolen, she opened her mouth to say something, but for a full, mortifying second no sound came out. Kate pressed her lips together and swallowed past the parchedness in her throat. "I'll ask Lisa to schedule an appropriate time for our meeting tomorrow," she said finally, her voice steady and sure. Back to business.
He rose to his feet, an immediate towering presence that made her modestly sized office seem small. "Perfect. Thank you."
Kate mimicked his movements and was secretly glad for her five-inch heels. They helped alleviate his height advantage. Without them, she suspected the top of her head would reach his chin. "Thank you, Mister Castle, for choosing Cooley Rose to represent you," she said and reached out to shake his hand again.
This time he was cheekier in holding onto her hand. His grip was strong, smooth and dry – the handshake of a man who was confident and bold. If she had to venture a guess, she would say he was a man who was used to getting what he wanted. "Ben Epstein is the best," he replied easily. "And Ben says you're the best. I hope you live up to that standard, Miss Beckett."
He let her hand go then as if he'd been holding onto it to ensure he had her full attention – as if he believed she could look anywhere else. He dominated her space effortlessly. "You won't be disappointed," she pledged.
"I'm sure I won't." With that and a final nod, he took two steps to the door and pulled it open. "See you tomorrow."
"Tomorrow," she parroted.
TBC.
A/N: Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. I would love to hear your thoughts. Also just for reference, I picture Samantha Rose to be a Sally Field look-a-like and Clayton Hart is a Guillaume Canet type. Reviews are love. x