EPISODE 3 - "INVENTING THE GIRL"

He looks down, studying the body of the deceased woman. So young. So frail. Not that much older than Alexis. His stomach churns slightly at the notion, so he buries it away and covers his discomfort with bravado.

Castle cants his head slightly, only partially attentive to the detective and the medical examiner, as he speculates aloud. "Well, she's tall, she's gorgeous, ten pounds underweight. Her hair is fried, she's wearing too much eye makeup... She's a model."

Beckett shoots him a look as he continues. "Which means she was probably at a club last night. It is, after all, Fashion Week, when all the hottest women in the world descend upon the hippest nightspots like locusts." After a brief pause, he buries his own unease. "Only, locusts eat."

His theory is quite plausible, and she's inclined to agree with him… not that she would ever admit that out loud.

"Can you tell me who killed her?" Beckett quips, voice dry and indignant.

The writer shakes his head as the detective silences him quickly. "Then pipe down."

She continues to discuss the preliminary details with Lanie, but soon enough, her mind begins to race in a different direction as she and Castle leave the crime scene. He makes some kind of smart-ass remark about clothes being to die for and she smirks slightly in response, but his voice quickly becomes white-noise as thoughts of Matilda King permeate her mind. Albeit for only a brief period during her late teens, she had once been on a similar path as her victim. The clothing, the hair, the makeup… the sheer glamour of it all. And to get a call from Matilda King at the age of nineteen… January 1999…

Her life could have evolved very differently.

But her mother's murder changed everything. Redefined everything.

Castle glances at the quiet detective as the two approach her cruiser; she's evidently deep in thought… much more so than usual. There's something in her eyes that worries him. She looks haunted - and it's got him both curious and slightly concerned.

"You okay?" he whispers as he opens the passenger side door, a sincere gentleness in his voice.

Waking from her reverie, she looks up across the roof of the car, her eyes meeting his for a very brief moment before she looks down again quickly. "I'm fine," she mutters insistently as she climbs behind the wheel.

He remains standing beside the vehicle for a brief moment before sitting down on the seat. He watches her steel herself before she engages the engine.

She doesn't look at him.

She won't look at him.

He doesn't believe her… and she knows it.

Beckett flashes her badge at the guard as they approach the stage door. He buzzes them in without a word.

Castle follows his muse through the door - as per usual - and is immediately blinded by a sudden, bright flash of light.

Cameras… mirrors… loud music… glitter… sheer fabric… people yelling, rushing, bustling about.

Beckett targets a man who is fixing the hair of one of the under-fed models. She flashes her shield, catching his attention. "I'm looking for Teddy Farrow?"

The hair stylist doesn't even pause nor look up as he uses one hand to shove a bobby pin into the wild mess of hair - the model cursing as he carelessly stabs it into the back of her neck - the other hand curling into a fist, index finger pointing across his body at a blonde man on the other side of the room.

The detective nods her head, more thankful than ever that she didn't follow a career path as a glorified Barbie doll.

Taking a step in the direction of the designer, Beckett stops in her tracks, quickly looking around for her shadow. She shakes her head and rolls her eyes simultaneously - unable to suppress the smirk forming on her lips - as she spots the writer, eyes wide and mouth gaping as he gawks at the deluge of half-naked, under-weight, overly-made-up women parading around him. She's kind of surprised he's not drooling.

She bites her tongue to keep from laughing, wiping her amusement from her face as she calls him. "You coming, Castle?"

Quickly waking from his hypnotic daze to meet her embittered glare, one of her eyebrows raised, he stutters, "Y- Yeah.."

Convincing his legs to move from their frozen stance, he hustles to catch up to the detective as she approaches a gentleman in a bluish-grey suit who is chastising one of the models about the position of her belt as it rests on her hips.

"Mr. Farrow?" Beckett voices sternly, extremely happy she is not that model.

The man pivots sharply. "Who are you?" Farrow snaps, his accent harsh.

"Detective Kate Beckett, NYPD," she identifies herself, holding up a photo of her victim. "Do you know this girl?"

The designer's face pales as he stares at the photo, tentatively lifting it from Beckett's grip. He stares at it for a few seconds, shocked, before he finds his voice. "That's Jenna. Jenna McBoyd. She was supposed to walk for me today. My God, what happened?"

Family, friends, boss. It didn't matter who she had to tell first... it never got any easier.

"She was stabbed sometime this morning."

She slows to a stop at the red light, shooting a quick glance at him out of the corner of her eye.

"So…" she hums, an impish grin teasing her lips. "Rina…"

He looks up from the Cosmo article, a smugly satisfied smirk tugging at his lips. "Jealous, Beckett?"

"Excuse me?!" she retorts with an indignant laugh.

"You are jealous," he chides, making a show of placing the magazine on his lap.

"Jealous of what?!" she scoffs. "That you were hit on by an anorexic teenager?"

"Oooh! That reminds me," he pulls his cell from his pocket, "I should put her number in my phone."

Beckett accelerates a moment after the light turns green, pursing her lips together as her stomach flips. Is she jealous? Of what? Why the hell would she be jealous? She shoots him a quick glance again, not moving her head at all.

That damn Cosmo magazine stares back at her from his lap. Stupid article.

She spies a ridiculous grin adorning his face as he plays with his phone. Stupid man.

But the flittering of her stomach won't subside. She exhales a long, belaboured breath. She's not jealous. She's not jealous. She's not jealous.

"So…" she presses her tongue into the side of her cheek. "How do you know her, anyhow?"

"Uh, like I said… we met at a party," he stammers, quickly burying his face in the magazine once again.

"You don't remember her at all, do you?" she remarks dryly.

"Nope…" he admits sheepishly, placing special emphasis on the 'p'. "Not at all."

She quells her impending laughter as she presses her lips together tightly. Strangely enough, the inexplicable fluttering in her stomach dissipates instantaneously as well.

Castle sits quietly as he watches the young man fall apart with grief. His wife has been murdered. Jenna McBoyd was someone's wife. Someone's lover. Someone's everything.

And she was being stalked too.

"And you filed a report?" Beckett clarifies.

"Yeah. A dozen of them," Travis insists, his voice cracking as he becomes more irritable, "and every time you people said the same damn thing! That this is New York and you got more important things to do than to track down some annoying fan!"

The distraught husband has every right to be angry. His wife was being stalked and nothing was done. The police who took the call just wrote it off… the way they'd written off Johanna Beckett's murder as random gang violence.

The thought of it makes Castle queasy.

Beckett's face remains stoic. She is hiding it well, but he's observed her enough to know her tells. The slight twitch of her lip. The glassy look behind her eyes. She's enraged.

"And now she's dead," the husband chokes. "My wife is dead."

Castle's thoughts begin to wander. He finds himself pondering how he would feel if someone he loved more than life itself was taken from him. His mother… Alexis…

No wife.

Observing the intense anguish on Travis McBoyd's face... he wonders what it must be like to love someone like that. A passion so deep, so profound. Someone you chose. Someone you fell in love with.

Because he's never felt like that…

His eyes shift of their own volition to peer at Beckett for a brief moment before she looks back at him - blue and hazel eyes locked for a split second before she clears her throat, returning her attention to the grieving husband.

He's never felt that for Meredith… nor Gina…

But Beckett?…

He chances another glance at her - her perfect profile filling his sightline. Her silky, porcelain skin glowing in a way that demands to be touched. Her pink, luscious lips… the sexy little freckle under her eye... both crying to be kissed. Her long, swan-like neck….

WHOA! What the heck was that about?!

He quickly shakes the notion from his head. Beckett is super hot, he's not denying that… but marry the woman? Hell no! No way!

Castle swallows sharply as Beckett ushers Travis out of the break room. He watches them make their way towards the elevator before he rushes to sink, quickly splashing cold water on his face.

He prides himself on his vivid imagination… But Kate Beckett? His wife?!

He wipes his face dry with a dish towel as he scoffs at the preposterous idea. Wanting to have sex with the woman doesn't mean he wants to marry her! It's ridiculous!

Ridiculous.

She tosses her coat across the armrest and flops down on her couch. Eyes closed tight as she exhales heavily, she pinches the bridge of her nose with her finger tips. The Universe must really hate her.

First she's haunted by her past.

Then she's haunted by that damn magazine article.

Now she's got to deal with a murder that might never have occurred in the first place if some freaking cops hadn't been so fucking lazy!

She leans back against the plush cushions, burying her face in her hands as her head falls back, accompanied by a belaboured sigh. This day needs to end. Now.

And the notion of a hot bath and a good book is sounding very appealing at the moment.

After turning on the faucets in her ensuite bathroom and adding some bubble bath soap to the warm, soothing liquid, she returns to her bedroom to peel out of her clothing… as if she's stripping off the weight of the day. Carelessly tossing her clothes on the floor, she rounds her bed to grab a book off her bookshelf… however, she freezes in her tracks as she spies his blue eyes staring back at her - as if they're studying her naked form.

Cosmopolitan magazine. His cover. Sitting there on her bedside table. Taunting her.

Tempting her.

She motions to reach for it, stilling her movements for a brief moment before quickly grabbing the magazine before she can change her mind.

It's there. She needs something to read. Might as well just read it…

But only for professional curiosity, she tells herself.

Nothing more.

Castle furrows his brow slightly as he shoots a quick glance at Beckett. She was pretty aloof when he met her at the morgue, and when she switched her phone to her left ear when he tried to eavesdrop on her conversation with Esposito - yeah, she's pissed at him about something.

He opens his mouth momentarily to speak, but his words die in his throat as he sees a deep, steeled focus in her eyes.

He watches her bite her lip slightly, right hand gripping the steering wheel just a bit tighter as she keeps her eyes locked on the road in front of her.

He nods his head once, ever-so-slightly, before finding his voice. "You okay?"

"Fine…" she replies, her voice stern.

"You sure?"

Her eyes narrow as she pulls into her parking spot in front of the precinct. "Mmhmm…" she mumbles.

Apparently he's done something to piss her off… again. But he usually knows what he's done. This time he's at a complete loss. He raises his eyebrows as he releases a deep sigh, shaking his head in confusion as he follows her into the elevator.

"You're positive everything's o-"

"Castle!" The warning laced with the tone of her voice is enough to shut him up as the elevator doors close.

They ride up to Homicide in silence, Castle unsure of how to progress. He settles for leaning against the back wall as she focuses her attention on her cellphone's screen. He's not entirely sure if she's actually reading anything - but he has a sneaking suspicion she's trying very hard to look busy so that he doesn't attempt to talk to her.

He exhales a heavy yet silent breath as the back of his head presses against the NYPD crest on the wall. Doesn't matter with this infuriating, mysterious, intriguing woman... he just can't win.

She doesn't speak to him again until they exit the elevator… but, of course, she's all about the job.

"Do you find it odd Jenna had a stalker?"

Not the conversation he'd been hoping for, but it's an opening… and he'll take what he can get at this point. "No, not really. Why?"

"Well, she wasn't Heidi Klum. She hadn't even had a national campaign."

Their brief discussion about their unfortunate victim is cut short as he spots his glorious magazine article sitting open on her desk. He's so proud of it… and picks it up to read it again, a satisfied smile lining his face.

But she doesn't seem to share his sentiment.

Her voice is sober, her face betraying her discomfort. "It's fine."

Is this why she's mad at him? The article? That doesn't make sense. Everything that was written was extremely positive… and flattering.

He leans in, confused. "Then why are you upset?"

"I'm not upset."

"You look upset."

"Well, I'm not," she insists.

"But if you were upset, you would tell me, right?"

"I'm not."

"But if you were," he repeats.

Her voice is dry, but she can't quite mask her frustration. "It doesn't matter because I'm not upset."

But he doesn't have a chance to dig any deeper since the boys interrupt their moment… but it doesn't matter. She's mad because of something that was written in the article.

And he's going to find out what eventually.

Esposito slaps his cuffs on Will James and steers him out of the ratty apartment, Ryan on his heels as they step out of the aged building.

Shoving James into the back of their cruiser, Esposito slams the door, then turns to look at his partner, a confused look adorning his face.

"Know what's still buggin' me, Bro?"

Ryan doesn't reply with words - simply gives his partner an inquisitive glance.

"How Beckett knew about that comp card."

Ryan nods in agreement, his response playful. "It is an interesting mystery."

Esposito rounds the back of the car, grasping the driver's side door handle. "And what kind of detectives would we be if we didn't investigate?"

"What kind of detectives, indeed?" the Irishman confirms with a smirk.

"Call her dad when we get back?"

Ryan nods enthusiastically with a sly grin, opening the passenger door. "On it."

Castle remains uncharacteristically silent, elbow resting on the passenger side window ledge of her Crown Victoria, lips resting on a loosely curled fist.

His silence is welcome, yet slightly disconcerting considering she was subjected to an interrogation about that damn article less than an hour ago.

She throws a quick glance at him out of the corner of her eye. "You okay?"

"Yeah…" he mumbles into his fingers.

"You sure?"

He sighs heavily, like he wants to say more, but he settles on repeating himself on a loaded breath. "Yeah…"

"You gonna be okay to go in with me to talk to Will James?"

He continues to look out the side window. "Yeah," he mutters.

For a man who makes his living with words, he sure seems to have an issue with variety at the moment.

"This about the case?"

"Yeah…" he sighs, then follows up with, "...no."

Okay, something's on his mind… and it's about a lot more than that magazine article.

"Yo! Tech was able to recover some of the deleted photos from Will James' camera."

Ryan looks up from his computer at his partner who is approaching their desk area. "Anything interesting?"

"See for yourself, Bro." Esposito hands him the manilla envelope, an amused smirk on his face.

Ryan shuffles through the pictures quickly. "Just pictures of Jenna at home… nothing all that interesting."

"Still…" the Latino muses, "I think Beckett'll want to see these right away."

"She and Castle still at the Teddy Farrow fashion event?"

Esposito flashes his partner a wide, toothy smile as he raises his eyebrows devilishly. Free food and half-naked models? Ryan smiles mischievously in reply, grabbing the envelope and the car keys from his desk.

Espo quickly yanks the keys from his partner's grip, heading to the elevator. "I'm driving."

Ryan just rolls his eyes as he hastens his pace to catch up to this partner. The Latino presses the down button before turning to face Ryan as the doors open. "You call her dad yet, Bro?"

"Uh-huh," Ryan grins, pressing his tongue firmly into the side of his cheek as he steps into the elevator.

Esposito follows him inside, pressing the button for the ground floor. "And?..."

"And pictures are on their way," he smirks as the elevator doors shut.

Rina's information about Sierra Goodwyn was a great help… even though Beckett teased him a few times on the way back to the precinct about him having been hit on by Alexis' former babysitter. At least she figured out why he's been brooding.

But that's neither here nor there at the moment.

He can see that Beckett is holding it together… doing everything she can not to explode at Teddy Farrow as he rants about the embarrassment and spectacle she caused by arresting his top model. How his entire spring collection will now be tainted due to the controversy and scandal.

"A girl is dead, Mr. Farrow," she remarks sternly. "Does that mean anything to you?"

"It doesn't mean my business should suffer," the designer replies indignantly.

And Castle thought he was shallow at times. He's got nothing on Teddy Farrow.

Beckett attempts to calmly put things in perspective. "They're just clothes."

"Just clothes, Detective?" Farrow retorts. "Clothes are civilization. Clothes are what separate us from animals."

Castle ponders the man's impassioned speech, noticing how Beckett too is considering the weight of his words. He makes a valid argument.

"Not always," she counters, meeting the designer's eyes with a cold stare.

She quickly pivots on her heel and makes her way towards Interrogation One before Farrow has the opportunity to argue. Speechless, the designer watches the detective for a brief moment before he turns to glance at Castle, a stunned look adorning his face. The writer simply ignores the man and follows Beckett without a word.

She makes a valid argument too.

He could tell she was frustrated by the way her teeth dug into her bottom lip. This was not her playful, taunting lip bite. This was the bite that indicated she was keeping herself from throttling someone.

He'd ask if she was alright, but he knows she isn't… and he's not ready to take another verbal beating today. So he mirrors her position - he sits in silence in the passenger seat of her car, staring forward, observing the chaos of the hectic Manhattan traffic as they make their way to Wyatt Monroe's apartment.

"It just…" she starts, breaking the silence before catching herself and falling silent again.

Castle waits a few beats before slowing angling himself to face her. "What?" he prompts softly.

"Farrow… clothes… it just pisses me off!" She tightens her grip on the steering wheel, controlling her blatant frustration.

Castle says nothing, sitting silently, simply waiting for her to let it out. Let out what she really wants to say.

"I mean…" She pauses for a few seconds, shaking her head. "When did clothes become more important than human life?!" She grits her teeth, turning her head to meet his eyes for a brief moment.

Castle meets her intense gaze before he turns his head to refocus on the road. She does the same. The two sit in silence again.

He likes looking good and dressing well as much as she does.

But if clothes make the man… is the man worth anything on his own?

He inhales heavily through his nose… because he has no answer.

It made him sick to his stomach. Watching the young man sitting there across from Beckett, an emotional wreck as he admitted to killing his own wife.

Castle could hardly bear to look at Travis as he listened to the recording of his wife's voice, pleading to the photographer… crying out for her husband.

"Home," Beckett whispers at the distraught young man, stopping the voice recording. "She was trying to go home... to you."

There's nothing more to say.

Castle leans against the two-way mirror, staring blankly, as Beckett proceeds to read Travis McBoyd his Miranda rights. The writer continues to listen, but he simply cannot not bring himself to look at the two other people in the room. Beckett's voice fills the space amidst the sobs from the broken young man.

A man who murdered his wife to stop her from leaving him.

Castle's earlier thoughts about loving someone so much that it would tear you up inside re-entered his mind. Meredith had cheated on him. They divorced. And he was not at all upset. Not in the way Travis is shattered.

He loved Meredith. He must have. They created Alexis.

But listening to the young man bawling, his head buried in his arms on the table, Castle starts to wonder. Maybe he never loved Meredith. Maybe he never even loved Kyra… after all, he didn't fight for her.

A thought starts to float through his mind… a notion he has never once considered to be plausible until now.

Maybe he's incapable of giving himself fully to someone. Of really loving someone.

Of giving away his heart.

He's suddenly snapped from his trance as he hears the familiar sound of someone clearing their throat. Spinning around, he's met with the sight of Beckett, holding the door open, summoning him with a slight nudge of her head.

"You comin'?"

He exhales slowly, nodding his head affirmatively, as he follows her out into the hall. Shutting the door behind him, he fights to find his voice. Find his composure.

"That was a risky bluff," he notes, finding safety in discussing the case. "Threatening to play a recording we didn't even have."

"It didn't seem like a risk to me," she explains nonchalantly. "He loved his wife very much. He wouldn't want to relive her death."

He's silent for a second, considering the profundity her words. He doesn't think he was ever that emotionally invested in either Meredith or Gina. What does that say about him?

Crossing through the bullpen, they sit down at her desk - Beckett in her chair, Castle in the one beside her desk. He smiles to himself, starting to feel like he belongs there.

That he fits… He's never had that feeling before.

And now she's even asking about Nikki Heat… what her alter-ego would do after a long day. Perhaps she's not so angry about the article after all.

"She'd go home," he muses, "pour a stiff drink, run a hot bath, read a good book."

Beckett ponders his suggestion, but dismisses it nonchalantly, scrunching her nose in a way he finds adorable. "Too bad I don't have a good book to read."

"Mmm…" he shrugs carelessly. "I'd let you have Heat Wave, but my publisher doesn't want any copies leaking out."

"Why'd you let that Cosmo reporter read it, then?"

"Well, that's for publicity purposes. You know, you want the press to have a little taste of…" he begins to justify before he clues in, noticing her sly glance. "Wait, whoa. Is... is that why you've been so upset? Because I let her read it before you?"

"I am the inspiration," she counters. "I should be reading it before a reporter does."

"Why didn't you just say so?"

"Why didn't you just give it to me?"

He's flabbergasted. "Why didn't you ask?"

"Why didn't it occur to you?"

Castle stops, words dying in his throat. Shaking his head slightly, he remarks, "You'll have it by tomorrow."

"Good."

"Good," he echoes.

Shaking off his initial consternation, Castle can't help but be a bit excited. She's a fan and she wants to read his book. He can't help but grin to himself as he heads towards the back stairs.

It's not a huge victory, but he'll take it.

Beckett sits at her desk, unable to suppress the smug smirk from forming on her face. A new novel, written by her favourite author, and she's the inspiration.

And she's going to be able to read it early.

It's not a huge victory, but she'll take it.

"Yo…" Esposito taps Ryan's shoulder as he watches the writer exit the bullpen, "Castle's leaving."

"Sending… now." Ryan clicks his mouse and immediately looks up at Beckett's desk.

Esposito slaps the side of Ryan's bicep with the back of his hand as the boys enjoy the show, watching as the satisfied grin on Beckett's face quickly vanishes the moment she looks at her computer screen.

"Touch down…" the Latino murmurs.

Ryan flashes a stupidly joyous grin at his partner before he returns his attention to his boss, watching her lean in closer to the monitor, her facial expression one of utter disbelief.

"Looking good, Detective Beckett," Esposito teases as he leans back in his chair.

Her head bolts up, head in a daze as she's met by the smirks of the two clowns.

"How did you guys...?"

"We're detectives," Ryan replies, as Esposito adds at almost the same moment, "Called your dad."

"Okay. Okay." She rushes over to their desks. "You guys have had your fun. I was seventeen and I thought that…" she lowers her voice to a whisper, gritting her teeth, "modeling… would be an easier way to make money than waitressing."

"Riiiiiiiiiight," Esposito mocks.

"It was one summer, no big deal," she counters, turning back towards her desk before she snaps her fingers and spins around, the threatening glare of impending death in her eyes. "And if you guys tell Castle about this, I will kill you."

Because she doesn't need him ogling and taunting her more than he already does… she really doesn't.

Really.

xxxxxx

So ends episode 3… only 21 to go.

Hope you liked it.

Judge away.