So I originally accidentally attached this to the wrong fic... *le blush*
I blame the fact that I was still flailing over 6x15. (Weak, I know... Go with it)
It's in the right place now.
Thanks to those who pointed out my error.
EPISODE 4 - "FOOL ME ONCE"
She adds a final detail to her case report, glad that this one is finally put to bed, when her phone rings. Picking it up off her desk, she presses the receiver to her ear. "Beckett."
As she listens to dispatch list the details of the latest murder, she snaps her fingers, grabbing the attention of the boys. They immediately grab their coats off the backs of their chairs as she hangs up. "We got one. Miller Preparatory School."
Ryan's head jolts suddenly, his voice cracking. "Kids?"
"No…" She quickly explains how their victim was killed while video streaming a call from the Arctic.
Esposito smirks as they make their way to the elevator. "Oooh, Castle's gonna love this one."
Beckett suppresses a sly grin as she dial's Castle's cell. She feels her stomach flip a little at the sound of his voice on the other end. "Castle."
"On our way to a scene," she states flatly into the speaker, trying to control the fluttering in her core. "Miller Preparatory. Midtown."
"Got it."
She quickly ends the call before the writer has a chance to say anything else. As she and the boys step into the elevator, she exhales slowly, releasing whatever is causing her stomach to flutter.
Why the hell her body does that when she talks to Castle, she has no idea.
It's not like she's attracted to him.
Pemmican.
A guy was murdered in front of a bunch of six-year-olds and the man is thinking about beef and grease. What the hell is wrong with him?
She chances a side glance at the writer as they head to Steven Fletcher's apartment. She's caught off guard as she's met by a smoldering grin and cobalt blue eyes staring back at her. She stomach starts to flip again. What the hell?!
"What?" she snaps defensively.
"Nothing…" he muses with a playful smirk.
Her eyes narrow as she turns her attention back to the road. "Castle."
"Just wondering what you've been up to lately," he grins. "Do anything fun this weekend?"
She raises an eyebrow inquisitively as she turns off Amsterdam on to 79th. "We're investigating a murder and you want to engage in small talk?"
He shoots her a heated smirk. "Why?... Do you have other ideas that might give us something to do with our mouths?"
She simply rolls her eyes as she shuts off the motor and exits her cruiser. This guy is incorrigible.
As she and Castle follow Ryan and Esposito into the building, she wonders if she's coming down with something because the uncomfortable fluttering in her stomach does not seem to be going away.
On the car ride back to the precinct, Beckett verbalizes some questions about the case, Fletcher, the whole Arctic set up in his living room. And in typical Castle-esque fashion, the writer throws out a couple of wildly entertaining theories.
"Former KGB agent who was infiltrating the American school system to brainwash kids in their cognitive years with the ultimate goal of raising an army of super soldiers in the future… the Soviet Union returning to their former glory by conquering countries from within! Oooh! That's good..." he exclaims with childlike zeal. "I'm writing that one down!"
She rolls her eyes with scorn, an unimpressed look glazing over her face as he pulls a notepad out of his jacket pocket and begins to write furiously.
She'd laugh if she didn't find it so endearing… seeing her favourite author's imagination at work… imagining his brain whirring as he spins an intricate tale for the enjoyment of his readers… thinking about his strong fingers as they fly across his computer keyboard… how they would feel tangled in her hair… touching her skin… stroking along her… WHOA! Stop! Those thoughts have no business in her head! No business at all!
"You okay?" His deep voice pulls her attention back to the car… the road… driving.
"Fine," she retorts with a bit more bite than intended.
"You sure? Your face was getting a bit red," he observes.
"Must be coming down with something," she counters flatly, eyes locked on the road in front of her.
"Mmhmm…" she hears him hum quietly as he continues to write on his notepad.
Good god, she blushed… and he saw it.
Fuck.
As soon as they exit on to the Homicide floor, she bolts towards the bullpen as quickly as possible without looking like she's running. Her stomach felt like it was doing somersaults while they rode up in the elevator, and the only thing she can do is ignore it. Keep working. Hope it will go away.
She doesn't have time to get sick… if that's what this is.
Castle, however, doesn't follow her. She stops in her tracks while in the hallway, looking around briefly at her desk area, but is distracted as one of the uniforms hands her the passports that are now in evidence bags.
"A couple of US passports…" she mutters to herself as the female cop heads off in a different direction. "See ya."
She shuffles through the various items clutched in her hands, momentarily engrossed in the case, before she hears his familiar voice just behind her.
"Oh, oh, oh…"
She glances to her right just in time to see a coffee mug being placed in her hand. Coffee. He made her a coffee. How the hell this guy can be so annoying and yet so thoughtful at the same time is an enigma. She's momentarily taken aback as she wraps her hand around the warm mug, but doesn't allow her voice to waiver at all.
"Oh... thank you."
"So, have you read it?" he prods.
She's a bit confused by this left turn in the conversation. "Read what?"
"The book," he insists.
Ahhh… so that's why he was asking about what she'd been up to. Wants to have the upper hand. But she's better at this game.
"What book?" she retorts.
Castle shoots her an indignant look and she knows immediately that she's got him hooked.
"Oh! Your book," she relents with an exaggerated tone. "Heat. Wave."
She gives him nothing more and knows that the suspense will eat at him. He breaks first. "Well?"
"I haven't gotten to it yet," she lies, watching the spark in his eyes dim, his bright facial expression flatten slightly.
Stringing him along… Yeah. This is going to be fun.
Beckett didn't think anyone had more of an overactive imagination than Castle.
Until she met Patty Schultz.
Sitting across from the woman in Interrogation One - listening her talk about killing Steven Fletcher in her mind using a belt sander and her concern for Mr. Muffins' high cholesterol - the detective is sure Castle has met his match.
…and that this whole interview is a waste of time. "Okay… thank you. We're done."
But motioning to rise from her chair, Castle halts her movements, palm of his hand gently brushing her shoulder. "How did- how did Mr. Fletcher con you?"
She doesn't quite catch the next bit of the conversation - something about cats and cryogenics - because chills rush along her spine and that damn fluttering returns in her stomach.
She kind of tunes out during the back and forth between Castle and the crazy cat lady, trying to stay engaged, but the woman is nuts and her stomach is doing acrobatics that she'd like to control.
So when Schultz asks to see Fletcher's body, not only does she need to get out of that room - fast - but she also wonders if there might be something stiff she can add to her coffee this morning.
Of course, Writer Monkey is having a field day. "You know, I can't help but be a little impressed with our boy Fletcher," he remarks after shutting the door behind him.
"Please tell me you're kidding," she retorts, voice laced with cynicism.
Yep. It's going to be one of those days.
"Steven wasn't like that," Elise Finnigan insists, tears welling in her eyes. "He loved me for me."
Castle looks across at Beckett, observing her purse her lips together, withholding some counter-argument that the detective really wants to express. But instead, all she says is, "I'm sorry," her voice genuine in its tone.
He remains quiet as they shake the hands of both Elise's mother and friend, accepting the kindly nod from her father - his arms wrapped around his distraught daughter - as they head to the door.
As much as Castle is impressed by Fletcher's abilities as a con-man, he continues to be more and more impressed with Beckett's empathy as not only a cop, but as a human being. How she deals with the frustration and anger from the friends and family of the victims as she tries to bring them closure.
If he can manage to capture even an iota of her depth while developing Nikki Heat in any subsequent novels that he might get to write, he'd be amazed.
"I can't believe how naive she's being," the detective grits as they exit onto the sidewalk, waking him from his momentary meditation. "Even with overwhelming evidence that her fiancé was a con-man, she still believes he loved her."
"People see what they want to see..." he begins, various thoughts racing through his mind. He just hopes and prays he gets the chance to write more Nikki Heat books… because he really wants the opportunity to help others see what he sees... in her.
Because she's extraordinary.
Returning to the precinct, they find Ryan and Esposito still poring over files and digging through Fletcher's life.
"Any luck?" Beckett asks as she drapes her coat across the back of her chair.
"Nah," Esposito replies, pivoting in his chair to face her. "Just one dead end after another."
"Yeah," Ryan adds, not looking up from his file. "This guy's aliases had aliases!"
Castle raises his eyebrows at the thought, even more impressed with the con-artist. Beckett releases a heavy exhale, eyes wide as she spies the mound of new files spread across the surface of her desk.
"Okay," she sighs decisively. "How'bout we order in… looks like this might take a while."
Castle's already got his cell out while she's speaking. "What do you like on your pizza?" he inquires, lifting the phone to his ear as he looks over at Beckett.
But Esposito beats her to the punch. "Anything, Bro… just so long as you're payin'."
"No anchovies, though," Ryan insists, gathering his files.
"Definitely no anchovies," the Latino echoes.
"And no hot peppers..." Ryan adds.
Esposito nods in agreement. "Maybe some sautéed onions…"
"Ooooh… bacon strips..."
Espo offers his fist for Ryan to pound as Castle interrupts their banter. "How about I just get a Combo and a Meatlover's?"
Esposito just shrugs, picking up the last of his files. "Whatever you want, Bro. Your money."
Castle just shakes his head as he places the order, and Beckett suppresses an amused smirk, biting her tongue as she sits down at her desk, the boys dragging their chairs over to join her.
About forty minutes later, Ryan makes room for the pizza boxes as the four hunker down around Beckett's desk, sifting through everything they were able to dig up on Steven Fletcher.
The enticing aroma of fresh pizza draws the Captain out of his office. "What'cha got?"
"Trying to find a clue to the con that killed Fletcher," Beckett replies, looking up from her file to address her boss, "but it looks like our guy was a criminal over-achiever."
But that only makes the testosterone in the room more potent as the boys vocalize how impressed they are with Fletcher's ability to con people out of their money.
"Don't be so impressed," Beckett remarks, taking a piece of bacon from atop the pizza. "The guy was a criminal."
"I don't know. There's something about a- a well-played con that just makes you want to tip your hat, though," Castle retorts, Ryan nodding in agreement. "And they have such great names. The Spanish Prisoner... Pig-in-a-Poke… The Pigeon Drop."
Montgomery's face teems with excitement. "Oh, I love a good con movie. House of Games, Catch Me If You Can."
Beckett releases a thick sigh, returning her focus to the files on her desk as the boys proceed to do their worst Steve Martin impressions.
"How about you, Beckett?" Ryan asks. "What's your favourite?"
Oh, he is not dragging her into this macho-fest.
"I hate con movies," she replies flatly, a statement that is met with a chorus of shocked "What"s from the men.
"How can you hate The Sting?" Castle whines. "It like... what, took 20 Oscars?"
Yeah… pushing his buttons seems to be working just great. But whatever faults she points out about Fletcher, the boys continue to be impressed with the extent to which the con-man went to pull off his scam - even Montgomery.
"Now who's the sucker?" she mutters, her brain lagging slightly behind her mouth as she realizes who she's addressing. A stark silence falls over the five individuals as Montgomery gives her a loaded look, Esposito and Castle deliberately looking away. "Sir," she adds sheepishly.
Montgomery lets it go there, bringing the focus back to the case. "Sucker or no sucker, clearly there's more to this guy than meets the eye."
The Latino yanks on Beckett's chain as their Captain leaves, ducking quickly as Beckett flings her pencil across the desk at him. "Shut up, Esposito."
She pushes back from her desk as the boys refocus their attention on the papers in front of them. "Alright, I'm gonna leave you guys to it."
"Where are you going?" Castle asks as he shuffles his papers. "It's early."
They like con movies… and she's pulling off the best con of them all. And the writer doesn't have a clue. "I've got plans."
She has a date… with a certain smart, savvy, kinda-slutty fictional female NYPD detective… not that he's ever going to find out.
As she steps into the elevator, she overhears Castle mutter, "The woman hates con movies."
'Oh, Castle,' she muses to herself as the doors begin to close, '…you have no idea.'
The boys finally call it a night around 8:00pm as they still haven't been able to find anything about Fletcher that might help narrow down who might have killed him.
Not that Castle really cares, because his mind has been elsewhere since Beckett left a few hours ago.
A date.
She had a date. Has a date.
With some guy. Some guy who has no business spending time with his muse. She's probably dressed up in some form fitting dress that is hugging her perfect curves. One that ends just below her knees, showcasing her long, silky legs. Something with thin straps, revealing the supple skin of her shoulders.
She's probably at some fancy restaurant right now… giggling over the rich chocolate mousse that he's just scooped into his spoon, holding it out as an offering of something more tantalizing. More promising. He's probably eyeing her luscious mouth right now as she wraps her velvety lips around the edge of the spoon, humming with sensual lust as the rich dessert explodes against her taste buds, the pleasant effects of the now empty bottle of red wine buzzing through her veins.
And she'll kiss him. She'll kiss him goodnight… maybe even invite him up to her place, and…
He shakes his head, trying desperately to erase the visual of her date from his head. But his writer's imagination is running wild, racing, filing his brain with the taunting reality that Beckett is probably in the company of someone right now. Someone who is conning her... filling her mind with lies and selling himself as someone good enough for her.
Someone who is not him.
The notion makes his stomach churn… but not because he is jealous in a romantic way. No. No way.
It's because she is his muse. His muse. That's all.
He doesn't even remember going home, but his mind is brought back to reality as he hears the semi-melodic tones of violin music coming from up stairs. Alexis. Violin lessons. Model-wanna-be Dylan… probably filling his precious daughter's head with lies.
He should have Dylan checked out… he knows a guy at Juilliard. And people in law enforcement.
But after Dylan leaves, bringing this up with Alexis backfires. He watches helplessly as his daughter storms off, slamming her bedroom door.
Utterly flustered, Castle looks at his mother for answers. "What's going on with her?"
"Besides your unreasonableness? Hormones," Martha points out flatly. "What's your excuse?"
What's his excuse indeed.
If he could stop thinking about the women in his life being led astray by men who aren't good enough for them, things would be much better.
She'd managed to read most of the first six chapters of Heat Wave last night before sleep overtook her, dreams of Nikki and Rook floating through her subconscious.
Well… the dreams started out as Nikki and Rook, but Rook began to look an awful lot like Castle as the dreams progressed, and Nikki morphed to look an awful lot like herself. And the sexual tension between the two permeated her mind, the scenes so vivid she could almost feel his breath on her skin as the journalist invaded the detective's personal bubble time and time again.
Her heart began to race as Castle's heavenly blue eyes locked on hers as the two stood at the balustrade of Matthew Starr's apartment. She leaned in, only to have the scene change. She was now in her tub, thinking about the writer. The words from one of the last pages she read flashed through her head: "What would it be like? How would he feel and taste and move?"
And then the image of Castle is all she sees… feels… moving in… large hands splaying widely on her hips… sliding up along her torso… his mouth next to her ear… his heavy breath sending electricity jolting to her core. His hand brushes a loose tendril of hair off her cheek, gently tucking it behind her ear as he leans in… she can almost taste him… and...
Beckett's eyes flash open. What the fuck was that? She quickly takes in her surroundings. Her bedside lamp is still on, Heat Wave laying open but face down on her comforter. It wasn't real. It was the book.
It was just the book.
She lays in bed, wide-eyed, for a few more minutes - torn about whether or not to close her eyes. Because if she closes her eyes, that dream might resume. And she doesn't want it to.
She doesn't.
Really.
She looks over at her alarm clock, the hands indicating it's not yet 6:00am. But she chooses to get up anyway. Perhaps a rigorous sparring session will clear him from her mind.
After spending about an hour taking her frustrations out on the heavy bag and then going a few rounds against one of the uniforms from Vice, Beckett's cell begins to chime.
"Beckett," she answers, exhaling heavily into the speaker.
"Uhhhh… did I… did I interrupt… something?" Castle's voice is hesitant, worried even.
"I'm working out, Castle," she retorts. "Whad'ya want?"
"Oh! You're here already…" He sounds shocked… and somewhat relieved. "I've had a breakthrough about the case."
The detective simply rolls her eyes as she swallows a mouthful of water. "Fine… I'll be right down."
Moments later, clad only in her tight yoga pants and form-fitting tank top, she emerges from the front stairwell. "Okay, Castle," she exhales. "What was so important that you had to cut my sparring session short?"
"Just that I cracked this case wide open." He looks up from the brochure to eye Beckett - a sweat-glazed, heavy-breathing Beckett. God, she's sexy. "You know, the thought of you fighting in a ring with another woman...strangely arousing."
"Who says I was sparring with a woman?" she counters quickly.
"Oh, your mystery date."
Interesting… She opts to poke him a bit more. "Oh, do I detect some jealousy?"
"Me, jealous? Ha! Double ha," he cracks.
He's so hooked. So she goes in for the kill. She leans in close, lips inches away from each other. His sweet breath permeating her senses. His deep blue eyes reading the depths of hers.
"What if I told you that my date was with your book?" she teases, lingering in front of him.
"Really?" But the vivid memory of her dream re-enters her mind. And he's right in front of her… like the Universe is playing with her. Tempting her.
She quickly regains control of the situation. "No," she retorts, quickly pulling away.
But the lingering sensation of his body so close to hers remains… and that damn flutter in her stomach comes back.
She's usually better at the game than this.
She doesn't quite understand why she's not in control… because this is about teasing him.
Stringing him along.
Nothing else.
As they leave the Finnigan residence once again, Gerry Finnigan's pistol secured in an evidence bag, Beckett ends her call with Ryan. "Okay, the boys are going to track down Kurt Lopez and bring him in."
"You think the P.I. Finnigan hired will have found anything about Fletcher that we didn't?" Castle inquires.
She shrugs loosely, opening the driver's side door of her car. "Worth a shot."
During the drive back to the precinct, the writer and the detective discuss the case and nothing but… however Castle can't help feeling as if Beckett is uncomfortable about something.
There's nothing she's doing or saying to alert his senses - more like what she's not doing and not saying. She seems guarded. Careful. More so than usual.
The elevator ride up to Homicide is ridden in almost complete silence before Beckett breaches the intense quiet.
"It doesn't add up." Castle turns his head to look at her inquisitively before she continues, stepping out of the elevator. "Fletcher changing his ways so quickly? I don't buy it."
Castle follows down the hallway, curious about her thought process. "You think it's possible that Fletcher was telling Gerry the truth?"
"That he's suddenly a con-man with a heart of gold? No. That's just another con."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. You don't think people can change?"
She doesn't even flinch. "No." He's taken aback by her immediate and decisive response. Shocked even.
"I've seen too many repeat offenders to believe for one second that a guy who promises never to beat his wife again actually won't," she clarifies.
"That's a pretty bleak attitude," he points out.
"Not bleak," she insists. "Realistic."
She ends the conversation then and there, heading to her desk - but Castle remains in the hall, processing the immense weight of her words.
She doesn't think people can change.
Does she even see that her father changed after the death of her mother… how he turned to the bottle, but then gave it up for her. And what about how she changed? The case consumed her for years, and she had sought out therapeutic assistance to let it go. To become the woman she is now.
People can't change. He shakes his head at the thought. That can't be true… because he's changing. He's changing every day. In little ways. For her.
But she's not seeing it.
Or doesn't want to.
Beckett grips the steering wheel tightly as she presses down heavily on the gas pedal. Jim Wheeler. First grade teacher. Conning his own students.
How low can one person get?
She pulls up in front of the school, pounding her foot on the brake pad with unnecessary force.
Castle's body jerks against the seatbelt strap as the car comes to a stop. "You okay?"
"Fine," she grits through her teeth. "It's just… guys like Wheeler piss me off. Wearing masks. Pretending to be better people than they actually are."
Castle has no response as he shuts the passenger door, following her into the school.
Is he actually changing to become a better person… or is it all an act? Is he a fraud? Is he just conning her? Or worse, conning himself? He's not sure. All he knows is that, when it comes to Beckett, hiding behind a mask is not an option.
He follows Beckett into Wheeler's classroom, the teacher's back to them as he constructs his word wall. Looking at the man's back, Castle realizes one thing very quickly. This man does not impress him. Students are supposed to be able to trust their teachers - educators educate, they are not supposed to deceive.
The writer glares as Wheeler spins around. Stopping in front of him, Castle flashes the surveillance photo of the teacher conspiring with Fletcher. Castle steels his eyes.
"Um... Okay, I'm- I'm not gonna lie to you," the teacher stammers.
"Really?" Castle retorts, pointing at the image of Wheeler in the photo. "Cuz clearly, you're pretty good at it."
Nope. Not impressed at all.
How could Elise Finnigan be so gullible... believing Steven Fletcher was a CIA agent? Beckett just shakes her head in disbelief.
And the fact that Castle believes it too? Ughh.
At least she's going to get a dollar out of this. Well… she's pretty sure she'll win a dollar. Because there's no way Steven Fletcher is a secret agent. None.
That's just another con.
Driving back to the precinct, the shrill sound of Castle's cell interrupts the silence. He quickly answers the call. "Castle."
Beckett tries to eavesdrop, but she cannot catch the other half of the conversation. "Uh-huh… uh-huh… Steven Fletcher… the 12th Preci-" Suddenly, he removes the phone from his ear and stares at it momentarily.
"So?..." she demands after a brief moment, her tone betraying her impatience.
Castle puts his cell back in his pocket. "He'll get back to me."
"Your guy," she mocks, parking in front of the precinct.
"Agent Gray," he corrects, getting out of the cruiser.
"Does Agent Gray have a first name?" she smirks, stepping into the elevator.
"Not even sure Gray is his real last name," Castle shrugs.
No more is said, the silence cocooning around them. As the faint hypnotic hum of the elevator's motor fills the space, the delicious scent of his cologne infuses the air around her. Vanilla and cloves. She wets the edge of her bottom lip with the tip of her tongue, her teeth biting down, drawing her lip into her mouth ever-so-slightly.
A familiar warming sensation causes her stomach to flutter once more. She glances at him out of the corner of her eye and wonders what it would be like… to press her mouth to his skin. Would he taste like vanil- What?! No! This is not right! She's not thinking about that! This is Castle. Castle!
She quickly steps out of the elevator the moment the doors part, traipsing deliberately down the hall, the writer on her heels. She needs to clear her head. Think about something else. Now.
She crosses into the bullpen and heads for her desk. "So how do you know this guy, anyway, Castle?"
"I met Agent Gray when I was researching Storm Warning. Now, this guy was invaluable for the really hard-core secret agent stuff. This guy is a machine. I've interviewed serial killers, hit men... Agent Gray-"
"-mmhmm-" she mumbles, listening intently.
"-by far the deadliest man I've ever met." He lowers his voice to a whisper before continuing. "He once killed a North Korean agent with a melon-baller."
"It was an ice-cream scoop, Castle."
The writer spins around, surprised by the voice behind him, to see an unassuming, short man leaning on the desk. After a brief conversation, Gray soon confirms that Fletcher was not CIA, but that is not what is floating through Beckett's mind as she pads through the bullpen.
A sex scene. He wrote a sex scene. A racy sex scene! Between them!
She's already having issues getting him out of her head… and now this?!
Shit.
But she doesn't dwell on it long as she and Castle are literally cut off by a fiery, adolescent redhead.
"Dad! We need to talk."
The detective is stunned as Alexis grabs her father and drags him into Interrogation Room One. Standing frozen in the hallway, Beckett debates momentarily whether or not she should invade their privacy… but curiosity quickly wins out. After all, he's been poking around in her life for the past year. Karma's a bitch and turn-about's fair play.
She smirks to herself as she enters the observation room. Shutting the door behind her, she peers through the glass to see Castle sitting down at the table, looking small and defensive, Alexis leering at him, invading his space. He looks so small… so uncomfortable. She hesitates briefly, index finger hovering over the speaker button, before she presses down on the switch.
Alexis' strident voice reverberates off the walls. "No, no, quiet. Am I a trouble-maker, Dad? Do I get drunk, disobey authority, steal police horses…"
"That-" Castle begins only to be cut off.
"...naked? No. That'd be you. I seem to be the only person in this family blessed with good judgment, and yet, you don't trust me."
Wow. So this is how it is in the Castle family. The daughter raising her father.
Beckett's thoughts suddenly flash to her own father - how she had to rescue Jim from himself not that long ago. She wasn't that much older than Alexis is now...
A daughter saving her father.
Her hand unconsciously caresses the watch band around her left wrist as she continues to watch the teen tear a strip off her father. As uncomfortable as it is to behold, Beckett can't help but be slightly impressed by the girl's moxie… but her stomach also clenches when she notices the anguish behind Castle's eyes.
She's never seen this side of him - and it's slightly disconcerting.
"I love you, Daddy, but I'm not a little girl anymore. You can't protect me from everything."
Alexis' final words feel like a punch in the gut. Similar words fell from her lips at one time - when she thought she knew everything. Words she'd uttered before her life was turned upside down. Words she now wishes she hadn't said, but can't take back. She releases a slow breath - reading the shame that is painted across Castle's face - before leaving the observation room.
"She's good," she teases, entering the open doorway, attempting to lighten the mood. "She took you apart like a pro."
"You saw that?" he mumbles half-heartedly.
"Mmm-hmm…" she acknowledges with a light hum. "Through the glass." She pauses for a second, reading the pain on his face, realizing bravado is not helping. "It was actually kind of difficult to watch," she adds sympathetically.
He doesn't even look up, eyes glazed over. "Even harder to experience."
She never thought she'd see him this despondent. It's strange. She wants to poke him the way he has poked her forever, but she can't seem to bring herself to kick him when he's down. Like his armour has been stripped away, leaving him exposed and raw.
"So…" she mumbles, "do you need a minute, or can we get back to work?" Perhaps he needs a distraction. Burying herself in her job has always worked for her. But Castle just looks up, nothing but melancholy and despair in his eyes.
"I'll give you a minute," she acquiesces, leaving the room.
Apparently, her coping mechanisms for dealing with personal issues don't work for everyone.
This case is getting frustrating. Really frustrating. They stand around the slab, staring down at the faceless corpse.
"This body could or could not be a man whose alias is Steven Fletcher," Lanie states. She's got nothing else.
"But we saw him die," Beckett insists.
"Or did we?" the writer suggests.
Beckett shoots him a quick glance before looking down at the body once again, grinding her teeth. "I hate this case."
She walks off in a huff as Castle smiles gleefully. "I know… Isn't it great?"
Cons. Scams. Frauds. When the hell is this story going to make sense?
They both come to the same conclusion at the same time. "The con is still on!"
Elise had gone to the bank. Sue Vaughn is going to get away if they don't move quickly. They thank Mrs. Finnigan and run out of the house, Beckett pressing her phone to her ear.
"Espo? Call National Bank and Trust, 84th and Lex… yeah… Sue is Fletcher's partner."
She quickly climbs into her cruiser as Castle flops down on the seat beside her.
"Where're we headed?" he asks as the car roars to life. "Grand Central? JFK?"
"The bank," she says flatly, lighting up the gumball.
He grips the safety handle above the door as she turns the corner sharply. "You think we'll get there in time?"
"I've got a plan," she mutters, pressing her foot to the floorboard. "Sue Vaughn isn't the only person who can pull off a con."
She grips her phone, hits redial, and then hands the phone to Castle so she can keep both hands on the steering wheel.
"Yo..." the Latino's voice echoes from the speaker.
"Espo… patch me through to the bank. I need to talk to the manager. I've got an idea."
Castle just looks from the phone in his hand to her, and inquisitive expression written all over his face.
"You think you'll be able to con a con artist?" the writer asks.
"It's worth a try," Beckett replies, weaving around a taxi.
A report flashes across the screen on her dash. Sue's car's been spotted at a public parking lot not far from the bank. They arrive a few minutes later, eyes locked on the vehicle, waiting.
Soon enough, Sue appears in the mouth of the alleyway, briefcase in hand.
"Now?" the writer asks.
"Not yet," Beckett mutters into her CB radio. "Wait for my signal."
She gets out of her car, Castle following her lead, approaching the black luxury sedan, waiting for the right moment to strike. Standing just beyond the neighbouring car, they watch as Sue sits down behind the wheel and frantically opens the briefcase. The detective simply raises her arm and flicks her hand forward as she and Castle move in to approach the driver's side of the car.
The detective and writer lean down and look into the window, Beckett tapping her badge on the glass.
Gotcha.
The troops quickly surround the black car, Esposito pulling Sue out of the sedan to cuff her.
"You know, Detective Beckett here didn't think we could con a con artist," Castle remarks smugly, "but I told her you just weren't that smart." He's still talking, but Beckett has stopped actively listening as she turns her head to glare at him, shaking her head. That's not exactly how she remembers it.
As Esposito accompanies Sue to one of the cruisers, the bank manager approaches to thank Beckett. However, Castle finds himself shocked as Beckett runs her finger across her nose à la The Sting. The bank manager gestures back and Beckett chuckles as he walks away.
"Whoa, whoa, hang on a second," Castle remarks. "I thought you said you hated con movies."
"Oh, Castle," she smirks. "You are such an easy mark, aren't you?"
Wow, she's good. It takes a lot to surprise him, but that is hands down the best con of this whole case.
Beckett and Castle listen to the edited recording of the faked phone call, Ryan pressing stop just before Elise Finnigan rushes over. The heartbroken woman reels again at the fact that her fiancé is, in fact, dead, but it's Beckett's final statement that catches the author's attention.
"Elise. You need to know that Steven loved you very much. He changed his ways because you made him want to be a better man."
The writer can't help but listen intently to her words. How the words are being said. This is not a platitude. This is truth. She believes it.
She believes people can change.
There's still hope.
He bids her goodnight, leaving her to her alleged paperwork. Flimsy excuse. Who does she think she's conning?
He quickly doubles back, spying around the corner, just in time to see her rush into the Ladies' room holding a black bag. He narrows his eyes as a sly, satisfied grin tugs on the corner of his lips.
Like a stealth ninja, he opens the locker room door, watching the top of her head sink down below the wall of the second stall. He quietly creeps over to the first stall, sliding between the door and the short wall, hoping the muffled sounds of her opening her bag will stifle any inadvertent noises he might make.
He listens carefully, crouching beside the adjoining divider. There's a slight shuffle followed by the unmistakable sound of pages flipping.
A smug smile lights up his face. It's so obvious. She's looking for the sex scene.
And like a ninja, he decides the element of surprise is the optimal attack. He quickly pops his head up, peering at her over the top of the dividing wall. "Aha!"
Her sudden gasp amuses him, but the way she clutches the book tightly against her chest amuses him even more. He rarely gets to see her flustered. This is fun.
"Castle!" she whispers defensively, curling in on herself. "What're you doing here?"
"I knew you were reading it," he smirks.
She can do nothing but stutter half words. "I...wa…"
"It's on page 105, by the way." He raises his eyebrows playfully.
"Wh- what?"
"That sex scene you're looking for," he smoulders, relishing the way her jaw drops. "And Agent Gray was right. It's steamy."
"I wasn't-" she begins to protest, but Castle cuts her off with a nonchalant, "See you tomorrow."
The writer hops down from his perch, whistling as he leaves her alone. Leaves her with his words. Words inspired by her - words he hopes she'll dream of later tonight.
Because she might be better at playing the game… but he just changed the rules.
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So the primary school in question was not given a name. Believe me… I looked, so I took the liberty to name it.
And since Alexis' high school was named after Andrew Marlowe, I opted to name this elementary school after Terri Miller. Seemed right. :)
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Sorry about the length. There were too many great moments for me to milk.
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Hope you liked it.
Judge away. )