WRITER'S BLOC
John Flaherty, the desk sergeant for the 12th Precinct, looked up at the sound of whistling. Not many people whistled when walking into a police station. Especially a police station in New York.
Castle.
He should have known. Secretly, Flaherty envied Castle. Okay, maybe not so secretly. I mean, come on. The guy was rich, successful, good looking, and (if rumor could be believed) banging the best looking detective in all of New York. Although Flaherty wasn't sure he believed the rumor mill on this one. He'd seen Beckett and Castle together enough to think that, while there was definitely something there, Beckett was keeping the prettyboy at arm's length. Not that he wouldn't want to spend some time an arm's length away from Beckett.
He shook his head. Best not to even think thoughts like that. Beckett had ways. And if she even suspected that the guys were thinking about her like that…
"Hey! Johnny Boy!" Rick Castle said, waving to Flaherty.
"Castle. How's it hanging?"
"Long and strong, my man. How was the Knicks game?"
"Great. Thanks again for the tickets. Bonnie was real impressed. Problem is, she's gonna expect me to spring for tickets like that again one of these days."
Castle waved a hand dismissively. "Hey, whenever I'm not using them, I'll keep you in mind."
"Thanks, Castle. You're good people."
Castle whapped a hand on the desk as he strode by. "Don't spread it around, Flaherty. You'll ruin my reputation."
"You got it."
Castle started toward the elevator, and then paused. Ever since that vice raid last Wednesday, the elevator smelled like stale beer and puke. He headed toward the stairs, taking them two at a time. Thank goodness for Ingrid, the personal trainer he had hired after he started trailing Beckett (and finding himself out of breath much too often trying to keep up with her).
Beckett wasn't at her desk. Ryan and Esposito weren't at theirs, either. He frowned. Were they working a case without him? He pulled out his phone and checked for voicemails or texts, just in case.
No Beckett. Just another text from his publisher about when she could see the next chapter of Naked Heat, his latest Nikki Heat novel. (Oh, was he going to catch hell from Beckett about that title.)
He looked over at the espresso machine and screwed up his face in his "should I or shouldn't I" face before deciding against. He was still a little wired from that Red Bull he had for breakfast (much to Alexis's chagrin).
He shrugged and flopped down in Beckett's chair, spinning around a half-dozen times to raise it up before remembering what Beckett had threatened to do to him the next time he adjusted her chair. Standing up (and wobbling a little from the spinning), he carefully spun the chair back down to Beckett height and then flopped back into it.
He craned his neck to look at the stairs. Still no Beckett, Ryan or Esposito. He turned and looked over at the Captain's office. The door was closed and the blinds were drawn, meaning that either someone was getting reamed out or the Captain was taking a nap on his couch.
Castle drummed a little In-a-Gadda-Da-Vida in Beckett's desk while looking around to see if any of his other new friends at the station were there. Where was everyone?
He picked up a legal pad off of Beckett's desk, tore off a blank sheet, wadded it up, and tossed it at the trash over by Ryan's desk. It hit the rim and bounced off.
"Damn," he muttered and tore off another piece.
This shot banked off the side of Ryan's desk and fell in.
"Aaaaahhhhhh!" Castle throat-whispered, making fake crowd noises and pumping his fists in the air. "Castle sinks the three and the Knicks win!" he cried in mock whisper.
He tore off another sheet. And another.
Soon the floor was littered with misses and the pad was empty.
He frowned. The Nicks were trailing by four and he needed to finish the game.
He spun back around to Beckett's desk and looked around the surface. No more legal pads – and he couldn't start wadding up one of her case files.
With a shrug, he opened the right hand drawer. Beckett wouldn't mind if he borrowed some paper. He'd get her some new legal pads. Besides… it was for a good cause. The Knicks needed him.
Finding no pads in the top drawer, he pulled open the lower right-hand drawer. Something immediately caught his eye. It's not like Castle couldn't recognize a draft manuscript when he saw one.
He picked up the top sheet.
FORTRESS OF HONOR
By
Kate Beckett
Intrigued, Castle picked up the next sheet and started reading.
Castle's smiled.
Then his smile grew wider.
He picked up the next sheet.
He sat back and propped his feet up on Beckett's desk.
He picked up another sheet.
"Castle!"
Castle dropped the several pages he was holding, sending them flying all around the desk while at the same time trying to scramble to his feet.
He backed toward Esposito's desk. There was murder in Kate Beckett's eyes.
"What the hell did you think you were doing, Castle?" Beckett demanded.
"I… Um… That is…" Castle stammered.
"Putting your feet up on my desk?" Beckett asked.
"Oh. That," Castle said. "Sorry. Got carried away," he said. "Won't happen again."
He dove to the floor and started grabbing at the scattered pages.
"What were you reading, anyway? That one of your manuscripts?"
"Manuscript," Castle said. "Yeah, uh, manuscript. That's it."
Beckett looked down and saw the open desk drawer.
"You didn't!" she cried.
"I can explain…" Castle said quickly, scrambling to his feet.
"You didn't!" Beckett cried, louder.
"You know, it's really not bad," Castle said, trying to straighten the pages while circling around behind Esposito's desk.
"How dare you," Beckett hissed. "Of all the…" She stopped and blinked. "Not bad?" she asked. "Really?"
"For a first effort," Castle said. "I could help you with some editing, maybe."
"Well I…" Beckett blinked again. "No!" she cried, lunging forward to snatch the pages from his hand.
Castle danced out of reach.
"But I have to say, I'm flattered," he said, darting around behind Ryan's chair. "A writer named Randall 'Randy' Fort who solves crimes on the side?"
"Castle! Give me that!" Beckett demanded, lunging for him again.
"I haven't gotten that far. Is he helped by a sexy police detective?"
"Castle!" Beckett cried, lunging again.
"What's up?" came the familiar voice of Ryan from over by the stairway.
"Mom and Dad having another fight?" asked Esposito, coming up behind him.
Castle looked up, distracted just enough to allow Beckett to rip the pages from his hand and whip them behind her back.
"Not a word, Castle," she threatened in a voice too low for Ryan and Esposito to hear, but full of menace none-the-less. "Castle's digging in case files," Beckett said to her detectives. She shoved the papers in the desk drawer and kicked it closed.
Just then, the Captain's door opened. "Beckett. Got a call from some uniforms over on 29th. Found a body in the dumpster behind the theater."
Beckett breathed a sigh of relief and grabbed her coat. "Let's go," she said, motioning Ryan and Esposito toward the stairs.
The two spun and headed back down. Beckett strode off quickly to follow them. Castle trotted quickly to catch up with her.
"I know some agents who are looking for new talent," he offered.
"Shut it, Castle," she said.
"Just tell me, is there a sex scene?" Castle asked.
"Castle," Beckett said, her voice rising.
Castle smiled broadly, but shut his mouth. This wasn't over. Not by a long shot.
Author's Note: So I posted this originally on my own, without running it past my normal Beta reader, Poa. And, of course, she read it and caught my mistakes. Someday I'll learn. Okay, Poa, I fixed it.
Oh, and it's spelled 'Writer's Bloc' for a reason. Think about it...