So One Man
co-authored by cartographical, chezchuckles, and muppet_47
He throws back another mini bottle of Jack Daniels, doesn't even wince anymore at the rough burn of it in his throat. The puddle-jumper bounces onto the tarmac in La Guardia, and he slides the fifth empty bottle into the seatback in front of him.
Usually a shot's enough to take the edge off of a day in chambers, but not today. Not after his Energy and Environment bill stalled and then died in the senate, taking with it the certainty of the VP bid, the bid that ever since that car bomb had been gaining nothing but momentum.
He goes through the motions mechanically: dragging his carryon to the baggage area, meeting Caviato at the curb, shooting off emails on his Blackberry through the jerky stop and start of 278 as they lurch toward Manhattan.
They cross the bridge and Caviato starts to take them around the Park to get to the Upper West Side, but the thought of his apartment, cold and empty, is suddenly utterly undesirable. "Drop me off at Whiskey Road instead," he says. "Near Union Square."
"Right," Caviato says, nodding sharply.
Whiskey Road is dark enough and quiet enough that he can feel anonymous. The couple of glasses of Lagavulin at least wash the lingering taste of the Jack out of his mouth, but he leaves with a sense of helpless frustration still thrashing in his chest, making his teeth clench, his fingers tighten into fists.
His feet hit the sidewalk outside the wine bar and he can hear the car service following at a respectful distance, and not even the enjoyment he gets from how walking still keeps Caviato on the clock instead of home with his family makes him feel any less. . .diminished.
What happens to a dream deferred?, he muses silently, the thought overripe in the afternoon light.
And so he almost doesn't notices the Richard Castle standee as he strides by the Barnes & Noble.
It brings him up short. He hasn't seen either of them since that day in the 12th when he called in that favor for Garretson. He'd heard from her Captain two days later, after the woman called him up with a too-smug tone and announced that the case was closed. He'd been in DC, but he'd signed and sent up a Thank You card and a bottle of champagne, called Garretson to let him know the news, and that had been the end of it.
He glances at his watch, steps inside the bookstore. The signing's been going for a while, but the line inside is impressively long. Bracken meanders over to the end of it, eyeing an oversized display.
Naked Heat.
The nude silhouette of her draped over the letters, back arched, hand clutching a gun.
He picks up a copy and gets into line.
The back of his neck is tingling.
Castle glances up and freezes, paralyzed by a double punch of shock and adrenaline. Then his fight or fight harder instinct kicks in, and he can barely keep himself in his seat.
Fucking Bracken. Three people back in line, smiling his sick smile.
Castle clenches his pen so hard it twists and flies out of his fingers, leaving a smear of ink instead of his signature across the title page of Frozen Heat.
"I'm sorry," he forces out, dragging his eyes to the woman in front of him. He grabs a new book and signs it, gritting his teeth against the nauseous panic and fury that swells and beats against his skin.
So stupid. He's let himself pretend it's over. After they solved the prostitute's murder Kate insisted it was done, unwilling or unable to talk about it. Castle let it go but religiously met his trainer four mornings a week. Just in case.
And now Bracken is here. Not at the 12th under the guise of a favor, but here, on Castle's turf, and it turns his stomach. This shit isn't over, it's escalating.
Somehow Castle gets through the next two fans, smiling and signing on autopilot, all the while casting frantic glances toward the entrance. Kate's supposed to meet him here any minute.
Please let her be caught in traffic. Please let her be detained at work indefinitely, having caught a grisly triple murder at 4:55. Or maybe develop a sudden and oddly specific case of amnesia that causes her to forget only his book signings, anything, because if Kate shows up and Bracken fucking looks at her with his dirty eyes and his twisted mind, Castle is going to lose it and they are all going to be on the news. Brawl at Barnes & Noble. Story at eleven.
"Mr. Castle." Bracken rolls up to the table, all hale and hearty, only the slight smirk of his mouth indicting that he is aware that this is unusual; as if it's perfectly acceptable to stalk people like prey.
"Beckett's not here," Castle gets out, his voice like a growl.
Bracken seems taken aback for half a second before his face devolves back into his habitual sneer, his head cocked like he's confused. "I'm not here to see Detective Beckett."
"You're lying." Castle is done. He's not playing this game. "You're here because you hoped she'd be here."
"No." Bracken shakes his head slowly, like the idea has never occurred to him, like he isn't thinking God-knows-what about Kate right now. "Not that Detective Beckett isn't a lovely, intriguing, fascinating woman. But I'm sure you know that."
The senator smiles again, that slow, noxious smile spread across his face, and Castle knows Bracken can sense his helpless rage, can almost see the red haze that engulfs him.
"What are you doing here?" Castle carefully enunciates every word and tries to keep his voice low, to control himself. They're surrounded by press and fans, and getting arrested for punching Bracken in the face will not help Kate.
Bracken frowns, feigning confusion. "Isn't it obvious why I'm here?" He holds up his book. "I'm a fan, Mr. Castle. A fan of…Nikki Heat."
"I bet you are." Wildly Castle wonders if Bracken wants to provoke him into violence, into getting himself arrested so that Kate will be temporarily alone. Except that's crazy. But all of this is crazy. "A fan of fiction, certainly. You're so good at making it up yourself."
"You know, I do have some ideas. I think you should kill Jameson Rook. It would be interesting to see what Nikki does. Who she might turn to in her grief."
Castle doesn't have time for this bullshit, refuses to pretend. "Are you threatening me, Senator?"
"Mr. Castle, what an outrageous accusation, one that would almost certainly result in legal action should you choose to repeat it." The smile never leaves Bracken's face. "Don't be ridiculous, we're discussing fictional characters. But I guess it's easy for you to get confused, when you base your characters so closely and on you and Detective Beckett. I can't wait to start reading. Get to know her better."
Holy shit, this cannot be happening. Castle's fingers tighten into fists so he won't reach out and grab the book back. He wants to vomit at the sick violation of Bracken reading about Nikki, about Nikki and Rook together in bed. Castle throws another desperate glance at the door.
Bracken holds up Naked Heat. "I know I'm judging a book by its cover but," he rubs his thumb under Nikki's silhouette and licks his lower lip. "I have a feeling I'm really going to enjoy this."
Castle grips the edge of the table, his knuckles turning white, his rage about to boil over. Bracken's not even bothering to pretend. He has to leave before Kate sees him. Before he sees Kate. "You think I don't know what you're doing, you bastard? Stay away from her."
People are starting to stare, whispers fluttering up from the crowd, but Bracken seems oblivious, his calm, deliberate demeanor still in place.
"It's intriguing that it's her mother's murder that shapes Nikki into who she is." Bracken is staring at the cover, his index finger tracing Nikki's outline again and again. "You can almost say that the man responsible for her mother's death is the man who molded her, turned her into the remarkable woman she is today." Bracken looks up and meets Castle's stare, something perverted in the back of his eyes. "But you wouldn't call her remarkable. You would say she is… what is it? Extraordinary."
That's it.
Castle leaps to his feet, no longer caring about the eyes on him and the shocked murmurs from his fans, the fact that this will probably be on the internet within the hour.
"It's time for you to leave. Right now."
Bracken merely raises his eyebrows, dripping satisfaction, and glances to the side. He stills for a second, like a predator, and then abruptly steps back. "I think you're right, Mr. Castle. Now is the perfect time to leave."
Bracken's lips twist once again as he turns and heads for the exit. Castle's eyes follow him and panic grips him as his stomach heaves. His leg jerks hard into the table in front of him in an instinctual urge to run across the store, to drag Bracken to the ground, to stop this.
Kate is standing in the doorway, oblivious.
She has to hide her smile into pressed lips and a ducking of her head, even as she's alone on the sidewalk outside the bookstore. There's a cardboard standee of Rick Castle in the window and she's trying so hard not to laugh.
He's adorable; he really is.
And it's been so long since she's felt so happy, and it's just him. The way he's relentlessly teased and wooed and joked and made love to her for months now, all in an effort to get them both back on solid ground.
It's worked.
She's there; she's stupidly beaming with it, and she felt the lack of him at the 12th precinct all day, and she wants to see him, wants to show up at his book signing and see the joy spread out in a smile on his face.
Kate bites her bottom lip and realizes she making love eyes at the cardboard cut-out of him. Jeez, get it together.
So she wraps her fingers around the metal handle of the door and pulls it open, walks inside.
She closes her eyes at the smell of paper and binding glue and leather, inhales a deep breath in the foyer to ward off the sensation of the packed crowd, the white noise of his fans, and the anticipation of seeing him.
She smiles, even with her eyes closed.
"How did I know you'd come?" the voice whispers sensuously, right in her ear.
Her body jerks back even as her eyes snap open and Senator Bracken is standing a breath away from her.
Her gaze races through the bookstore, skipping over strangers' faces until she finds her writer, hers, Castle.
His eyes are caught on hers, desperation and fear and white-hot anger pulsing through him. She stares back and feels her fists clenched, feels the chill seeping out at her from Bracken at her side, and then the two fingers at her elbow.
"You look simply stunning when you're angry."
She swallows and keeps her eyes trained on Castle a moment longer, layering herself in his ferocious and desperate love for her, letting him be her wall.
Bracken caught her off-guard and vulnerable, her smile on the surface of her eyes, but she finally can turn her head back to the man with every piece of armor intact and every defense shored up.
She lets him see nothing.
She lets him have absolutely nothing.
She leaves him there at the door and she walks steadfastly towards Castle.
