Disclaimer: You know the drill; if it seems at all familiar, it's not mine!
For some inexplicable reason, Richard Castle adored the tranquility of the Old Haunt on a quiet Monday evening. There was something classically romantic about a deserted bar; the steady gazes of two lovers as eyes met from across the dark room, both engrossed in blissful oblivion. They would meet, and without any subconscious thought, heat would rise between them, circulating them in her musky way, enticing them into an affair neither could resist. It was inexplicable, yet inevitable. Then again, perhaps that was romance; an enthralling concoction of the inexplicable and the inevitable.
However tonight, those lovers were yet to meet their fate.
As the only man left in the bar, for he had dismissed the scrawny bartender about half an hour ago, Rick placed the last glass, imprinted with dark lips, on the mahogany bench. The satisfactory clink of glass colliding with wood rang echoed throughout the empty space like a bell finalizing the end of an evening. And with that, Richard Castle returned, just a little nostalgic, to his home in Tribeca.
As the sun rose, the complications of a new day did so too. Gone was the romance of the dark, shattered by a great reveal in the light. Rick had never liked mornings.
Kate Beckett, on the other hand, adored them. She despised the uncertainty of the night; the vulnerability which darkness wielded; the claustrophobia of a lightless world. The dim luminescence of dawn eased her troubles, lulled her into serenity, power, control. Mornings were a gift Kate Beckett had long since grown to hail.
Immersed in the mildly philosophical mood of the morning, Kate was slightly startled when her cellphone began to vibrate, indicating some poor soul in some poor predicament. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath; steadied herself to honor yet another victim of this world.
"Beckett."
"'Morning, Detective Beckett; there's been a body found." Of course.
As per ritual, Kate took a pen from her nearby bench top, and wrote down the address that was currently being relayed to her. All in block capitals, just like she always did; all important, just like they always were. As per ritual, Kate Beckett ended the call with a hastily muttered farewell, distracted. And as per usual, Kate speed dialed one eagerly awaiting writer.
The address was residential, and it seemed to Kate that her team was the first one on the scene. She didn't mind; it was easier to focus on the victim without observers. As she waited in her car for Ryan and Esposito to arrive, Kate quickly scanned the area. Judging by the absence of any human life in the street, Kate supposed that the crime hadn't been obtrusive; the building looked undisturbed, almost unnaturally so, and the neighbors were either oblivious or unconcerned.
Soon enough, the detective was joined by her two colleagues; Castle, on the other hand, was nowhere to be seen. A little disheartened, the team of three proceeded into the lobby of the apartment building of which Kate had been given the address. A lone young man sat at the centre desk, gazing wistfully towards the clearly more desirable door. His name tag, fastened upside down, read "Peter," and given Peter's lack of attention, Kate rapidly lost any hope of gaining a description of any assailant from the staff. Nevertheless, the walked towards the distracted Peter and announced herself.
"Hello Peter, I'm Detective Kate Beckett with the NYPD."
The young man – no, he was more of a boy – jumped up, spooked. "Oh, hi…"
"We are told that there has been a murder in apartment 12C. Do you know anything about it?"
"A murder?" Peter repeated, unbelieving.
"Yes," came Beckett's curt reply.
"You mean someone's gotten killed here?"
"That would seem to be the case," Beckett replied slowly, sensing Ryan and Esposito's badly concealed eye rolls behind her.
"Um, well, that's Mr. Listle's apartment… here, that should be the spare key," the young person stuttered.
"Thank you for your help, Peter," Kate smiled faintly. She pitied Peter, and the sudden, absent sort of forgetfulness was all too familiar to her.
When the team arrived at apartment 12C, Beckett signaled to Esposito to stand opposite her in the door frame, while Ryan held the rear position.
She knocked. Silence. "NYPD, please open the door!"
Still silence. Nodding at Esposito, Beckett cleared back as Esposito readied himself to kick down the door. Holding their weapons protectively in front of their bodies, the three detectives bounded into the apartment, investigating each room.
"Clear!"
"Clear!"
"Clear… but I think I've found the vic," came Ryan's reply.
A white, grey haired, male lay draped across a white bedspread. A glass of dark liquid sat on a glass bedside table. And a single raven hair, shaped into a split heart, adorned his pillowcase.
"Good morning, Detective Beckett," Richard Castle greeted the smiling detective with an equally bright smile and a steaming travel cup of coffee.
"Thanks, Castle," she replied, covering his fingers with hers and bringing the cup into her grip.
"I'm sorry that I'm late; Alexis and I were having a breakfast out, and, well, you know…"
Kate's inner smile extended immensely, only to be disrupted by her cellphone.
"Beckett."
It was Perlmutter, calling with the preliminary findings from the crime scene. "The liquid that you discovered is almost pure ethanol. Since I haven't conducted the autopsy yet, I can't confirm this but I suspect your vic was poisoned. However I can confirm that the man you found is indeed a Mr. Edward Listle." Perlmutter, true to tradition, sounded annoyed.
"Thanks, call me when you find anything else." She was fare-welled by the empty tone of an ended call, but that was Perlmutter for you. Fortunately, Beckett now had something with which she could work.
"Esposito and Ryan," she called across the bullpen to where the two men were huddled in front of their desks. As the advanced towards her, Beckett continued. "You two, dig up all you can on our victim, Edward Listle. I'm going to check his next of kin, then Castle and I will call in on them." The detectives nodded and walked away, as Beckett wrote down an address from her computer screen. "Come on Castle, field trip."
Listle's next of kin appeared to need updating; his ex-wife was not exactly pleased by their arrival. Nevertheless, Tina Crossman explained to Beckett and Castle how Listle had worked in a bank when she knew him, however after he cheated on her four years ago, any contact between the two ceased.
"I'm sorry Detective, but I don't really know what I can tell you," a distressed Tina concluded.
"Do you happen to know the name of the woman involved in his affair?" Beckett pressed further, a little dissatisfied with Tina's lack of knowledge.
Tina only shook her head, her dark tendrils scattering freely in the breeze of the air conditioning. "She might have worked with Edward; I don't know, he told me about the affair, but he never mentioned her name. We didn't exactly end on friendly terms."
Beckett regarded her sympathetically. "Thank you very much for your co-operation, Mrs. Crossman. If there is anything else you remember, please call," she added, slipping a card onto the coffee table at her knees. Tina nodded; the curtains had closed, and Beckett took that as a cue for her and Castle to depart.
Back in the car, Kate noticed skin becoming as knotted as an elderly tree trunk on Castle's forehead. "Spit it out, Castle."
An inkling of a smile danced in Castle's bright eyes. "I don't know whether to believe her," he began, and Kate nodded her affirmation. "But then I also empathize."
It would appear those wrinkles were contagious, for they now adorned Kate's forehead. "Empathize?"
A bitter taste blossomed in the air, emanating from Rick. "Meredith cheated on me; on us, Alexis and me. I can understand why Tina didn't want anything to do with Listle after he had an affair, put it that way." Kate had rarely seen Rick so cheerless; so weary.
"I'm sor-" she began, however she was silenced by Rick's gestured denial. Kate let her hand drift fractionally towards Rick's, moving in time with her erratic heartbeat. Their bare skin collided, and their eyes were drawn to each other by some inexplicable desire. Everything around them inevitably ceased to exist, if only for a matter of seconds.
But yet again, Beckett's cellphone went off.
"Beckett," she answered, wistfulness coloring her voice.
"It's Perlmutter. You know the victim from this morning, Edward Listle?"
"Yep."
"Well, your vic was never murdered."
Author's Note: This is my first case fic, so reviews would be brilliant :)