Dear Ms Beckett,

Thank you for your letter requesting an interview with our media team regarding the disappearance of your fiancé. As you may be aware, we prefer to focus on campus based content across out media outlets, but with the nature of the situation we are prepared to consider featuring your story on one or more of our platforms...

Beckett has reread her letter from the Columbia Media Centre multiple times. She's phoned them three times and now she's on her way to meet with students in the media to give interviews for their radio, TV and newspaper platforms, rejecting the offer of a magazine feature after perusing the last issue and finding it distinctly low brow.

She doesn't know why talking to a load of students about Castle is filling her with so much dread. She is confident about the careers talk she's giving them in return next week: despite all her stress over the disappearance she has strength in her ability to do her job and tell others about the value of a career in the police.

She wishes that was all she was at Columbia to do. Talking about her job is easy talking about the man who should be her husband is many times harder. She wakes up in her apartment every morning wishing it were his. Of course, Alexis and Martha are very accommodating about the idea of her staying with them in Rick's absence but she cannot bring herself to go there, not without him. It was hard enough collecting her clothes and she can barely look Martha in the eye knowing that she was part of the reason he disappeared.

Alexis is probably the only reason she really contacted Columbia. She doubted many students really listened to the radio or watched the TV station or even read the newspaper, but Alexis did and so did the more astute students like her. Not only is she demonstrating to her future step-daughter that she is very much determined to find Castle, she is also appealing to the high-functioning sociopaths who are determined to find something to investigate (and those who are less extreme).


Her nerves soar as she reaches the office. The desk staff were happy to let her sit in the media office and wait: she had arrived even before the interviewer. Observing the students at work, or more likely procrastinating, fascinated her. It was a different form of office politics than that of her and the rest of the precinct and she felt out of place. To them she might as well be invisible, although each person entering the office did exchange some form of pleasantries with her.

Watching them now she wishes she had got involved with this sort of thing at university. Everyone around her is smiling, joking with each other, sharing stories and ideas. It's refreshing. There's a lot of coffee around, which isn't surprising for students, and water bottles abound despite the sign prohibiting food and drink around the expensive equipment. She sips her lukewarm coffee from the machine downstairs nervously.

There is a banging at the door and Beckett looks over at the students at the computers, still laughing with each other. No one seems ready to move so she rises tentatively from her seat and reaches for the door release panel. There is a satisfying click and a grateful student stumbles over the threshold. He can't be more than 22 with headphones round his neck and a pile of books in his arms.

"Thank you," he gushes, "So sorry, don't think we've met, I'm Charlie, umm, Charlie Bookham." He places the books down precariously on top of a pile of magazines. "I manage the radio and dabble in a bit of everything, I'm actually late for a meeting..." He tails off. Beckett isn't sure how to respond. Charles Bookham is the contact she had been given, but this slightly disorganised, scruffy student wasn't what she had expected. Not that she has any problem with him, she just envisaged someone older, more experienced, less...well, less of the stereotypical student.

She clears her throat. "I'm Kate Beckett. I believe I'm the one you have the meeting with?"

"Miss Beckett!" he exclaims, flustered, "Oh, I mean Ms...umm, yes I am so sorry I'm late, I had a make up test and then I had to go and see the Dean, and then-"

"Don't worry," she says, flashing her winning smile, "I haven't been here that long." She is back into charm mode, using all the skills she does on difficult interviewees at work to make them talk. Relating to Bookham as one of her murderers is almost soothing, albeit a completely fictitious notion.

"I am so glad you are here," Charlie gushes, "It's such a privilege to meet you, genuinely you are a great inspiration for so many people, thank you so much for agreeing to that career talk and for agreeing to so many interviews and-"

"I'm here to talk about my future husband." Beckett says, tiring of Charlie's enthusiasm, "Now you're here, could we get started?"

"Of course, of course." Charlie exclaims, "Let me just sort these..." He shifts the pile of books and magazines to the side and reaches into the drawer below the desk, pulling out a crumpled, stained sheet of paper. "Now, I read your press release that was sent over so here are a few questions, I'll give you a few minutes to plan your answers as lots of people freeze on the radio and stuff, I'll just be over here, prepping mics and stuff." He passes her the paper and gestures towards the studio door, round the corner from where she was waiting.

"Sounds great," she replies, gritting her teeth. She had been on national news, interviewed by multiple newspapers, and spoken at more press conferences that she could count. A couple of interviews for the relatively tiny university media really shouldn't worry her.

Yet it does. The questions are simple yet she cannot fathom how she would answer them. The whole idea of being live on the radio makes her feel sick. The only person she wants right now is Castle and he's the only reason she is here. Because he is not, and to get him back she needs to use as many avenues as possible.

She jots down a few buzzwords then stands up, using the desk to steady herself. She dodges the array of random boxes strewn across the floor and climbs over a beanbag, which would not be so bad if there had not been a person sleeping on it. From the discarded coffee cup beside him and the dark circles below his eyes she figures it was probably the aftermath of an all nighter: he didn't look like the type to dodge the law at any of the frat parties.

She looks up from the sleeping figure to find Charlie smiling over at her from the studio. "Ready?" he asks, enthusiastically.

She would never be ready for this, but she nods and climbs back over the sleeping man towards another attempt to find Castle and fix her life back together.