Rick leaned back against the counter for a moment and surveyed the coffee house. It was Sunday evening, and the place had lost the hustle and bustle of its regular weekday clientele, leaving the place with a much different atmosphere. He had dimmed the overhead lighting after sunset, and had placed candles at each table, bathing the place in a warm, golden glow. It was a much more cozy and romantic setting, much more conducive to small, intimate, weekend get-togethers. Rick was always thinking about setting.
Men and women in business suits were replaced by young couples on first dates, and old college friends catching up on life's happenings. Occasionally someone would curl up in an armchair with a book in one hand - often a Patterson, much to his eternal jealousy - and a warm beverage in another. Usually, he liked to let his eyes drift between patrons, trying to guess each one's story. He couldn't do it on the weekdays - things were much too busy, and Rob, the manager, always seemed to be peering over his shoulder - but on Sundays he could relax and do something that truly brought him pleasure. Was the couple at table four on a first date? Were they carrying on a secret affair? Were they high school sweethearts or did they meet online?
Today, though, he found his thoughts drifting to Detective Kate Beckett-Homicide and what she might be doing this evening. Was she out on a date? At home, watching television? Holed up in the precinct like so many other nights? He didn't know. He really didn't know anything about her, other than the fact that she liked to stay late at the precinct...but he wanted to know everything.
Kate rearranged the pictures on the murder board again.
"Oh come on, Beckett. The game starts in fifteen minutes. Can't we call it a night?" Esposito whined. Beckett hushed him.
"We're getting closer. Let's go over what we have on the brother again. We know that the victim placed a call to him shortly before her death. Do we have anything that ties him to the scene of the crime yet?"
"Beckett, forensics results won't even be in until tomorrow. Come on, we've been at this all weekend. Don't you have somewhere else you want to be right now?" Ryan turned on the puppy dog stare. Kate knew that he was eager to get home to spend some time with Jenny. Home was the last place Kate wanted to be right now, alone, with thoughts of the crime scene buzzing around her head.
"Alright," she relented, "you two take off for the evening. I'm just going to stay here a little while longer and go over the traffic cam footage one more time." She caught the quiet look exchanged between Ryan and Esposito. They were torn between freedom, and convincing her that she needed to leave as well. "It'll just be another ten minutes, and then I'm out of here too." That seemed to set them at ease, and they pulled on jackets, heading for the elevators.
An hour later, and even Beckett had to admit that there was nothing that could be done until the forensics came in the next day. Sighing and tidying up her desk, she grabbed her jacket and headed out into the night. Still, she wasn't ready to go home. It was a clear night, with a pleasant chill in the air, and she decided to walk home, killing a little time. Maybe she would head by the Angelica and see if there was a late night double feature.
She had only wandered a couple of blocks when her eyes caught on the soft golden lighting coming from a certain coffee shop. Somewhere, in the back of her head, a half formed memory of "Tuesdays, Thursdays, Fridays and Sundays" snuck its way to the surface. Crossing the street, she peered in the window, and there Castle was, casually leaning against the counter, lost in thought. He was wearing a dark brown apron with the coffee shop logo on the front, and a light blue button-up shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, exposing muscular forearms. His hair was lightly tousled, a little fluffy from the steam, and it gave him a slightly boyish look. Her lips curved into a little half smile. Entering the coffee shop, she quietly took a seat at the counter, just off to the side, and stared intently at him, but didn't want to pull him out of his thoughts just yet.
After a couple minutes, she became impatient and cleared her throat. He startled, but recovered.
"I was under the impression, Detective, that staring was creepy," he said with mock-indignance, before grinning.
"Only when you do it, Castle." she shot back, matching his grin.
"Can I get you something? Maybe a grande skim latte with two pumps of sugar free vanilla syrup?"
"You remembered!" Beckett's eyebrows shot up, impressed. Rick beamed proudly for a moment, but shrugged non-chalantly.
"I always make it a point to remember the beverage orders of my armed customers as a self-preservation instinct," he quipped, earning a scoff. A minute later, he placed a steaming hot beverage in front of her, this time with a milk smiley face. She sipped appreciatively and let her face mimic the milk.
"So, two jobs, huh? Sounds like you work almost as much as I do. Saving up for a Ferrari Castle?" she teased.
"Ahh, yes. And with tips like tonight, I should have that Ferrari in about, oh, three hundred years time," he mused. "No, I have a daughter," his eyes softened, and he pulled out his phone, scrolling through a few pictures, before displaying one of a pretty, teenaged red head. "Her name's Alexis. She's the best thing that ever happened to me: beautiful, sweet, whip smart. Even when she was little, she was something special. She got a partial scholarship to one of those fancy private schools, but...well, even with the scholarship, they're not exactly cheap. And there are violin lessons, and extra-curriculars. I knew right from the beginning it would mean hard work, but I can't say it hasn't been worth it." he smiled proudly.
Beckett was taken aback a little. She didn't expect him to have a child, especially a teenager. She mentally re-estimated Castle's age.
"Right after college, in case you were wondering," he said, reading her mind. "I get that reaction a lot."
"And her mother?" Beckett mentally chided herself after she asked. It was none of her business, but she hadn't seen him wearing a wedding ring and...wait...when had she looked to see if he was wearing a wedding ring?
"Her mother is an actress. She lives in California. She's where the other half of the Ferrari money goes."
"Oh, so..."
"We're divorced," he confirmed. "It was a long time ago."
"Were you an actor then too?" she guessed, taking a leap. He frowned at her. "It's just that...your voice...is very theatrical sometimes. Good projection, and well...I had friends who were aspiring Broadway actors..."
"But who took odd jobs, like becoming baristas and janitors to pay the bills while they waited for a real job?" he finished her thought with a wry grin. She winced. She hadn't meant for it to come out that way.
"I'm sorry, it's none of my-"
"A writer," he stated, his voice becoming far away for a moment. "I wanted to become a writer."
"Oh, really? What kind of writer?" she inquired, curious.
"A novelist. A mystery novelist. Actually, when I was growing up, I wanted to write the next James Bond."
"Ian Fleming. I read every single, last one growing up."
"You did?"
"I was a big fan of the genre." she explained.
"Not anymore though?"
"Not a lot of time for reading nowadays. I guess I just fell out of it. Do you still write?" Rick thought momentarily about how lame it would seem to still write after almost two decades of rejection.
"Yeah," he blurted, before he could decide against it. "I still write novels. It's why I like working here. When it's quiet, like today, I can observe people, for inspiration. For example, take the man sitting in the corner over there by himself. He comes in every Sunday evening, stays for exactly an hour and a half, looks wistfully out the window the entire time, never says a word, and then leaves."
"So, maybe he's a creature of habit." Beckett tries.
"Or maybe he met a beautiful woman here, once, years ago, fell deeply in love, spent the whole evening talking to her, and at the end of the evening she slipped him her number, but when he got home, he dug through his pockets only to find that the napkin with her telephone number had slipped out of his pocket. And he never saw her again. But he comes here every week, silently hoping that she'll walk through the door again."
Beckett, without realizing it, had leaned in, transfixed by the story, and noticed, with a start, that her face was only inches from Castle's. She jumped back a bit, but Rick had caught on to the proximity and his eyes were raking over her face with interest, pleased with his newfound power over her.
"Want to try another one?" he asked eagerly, ignoring the slight flush that had crept into her cheeks. He motioned over to the couple in the corner. "What about them? What do you think their story is?"
Hours passed, and Rick was surprised to realize that the coffee shop had emptied and it was near closing time. Beckett had proven surprisingly good at sizing up people in his little game, with her detective skills, and they had traded partially made up stories about coffee patrons all night. She had adopted a relaxed posture, elbows propped up on the counter, her head resting in one of her hands, eyelids drooping slightly.
"I had a good time tonight, Castle," she murmured sleepily. "It got my mind off of things."
"Case things?" he guessed. She nodded silently. "You've been working all weekend?" She gave him another nod. "Well, I'm glad I could be of service. Listen, I just have to do a quick clean up back here. Can I walk you home? Not because - I mean, obviously you can take care of yourself. You're a police officer, but, you know, it's late, and I've kept you, and you're probably tired and I thought maybe you could use some company, to keep you awake." In his eagerness to seem casual about it, Rick had done the exact opposite. He really just wanted to continue talking to her.
"Yeah. I'd like that." she said, casually, and Rick wondered how she managed it.
The walk home was a little quieter, but companionable. Rick talked a little bit more about his family, his flamboyant mother, silly little stories that popped into his head. Finally, several blocks later, they arrived at Beckett's apartment, riding up in the elevator together.
"Home sweet home." Beckett murmured, jingling her keys as they reached her door. "You didn't have to walk me right to my door, you know."
"You never know when sleep will strike." He shrugged. "You could have fallen asleep in the elevator, and then what kind of walk-home service would I be?"
"Well thank you, Castle. That was sweet." she said, and felt herself lingering.
"Well, I should get going."
"Yeah. Goodnight?"
"Until tomorrow, detective." Rick turned to leave.
"Oh Castle?" Beckett called after him as he walked down the hallway. He turned to her with a curious look.
"Next time we run across each other, bring one of your books."
"One of my...you want to read my books?" he asked, stunned. She shrugged.
"Might be fun."
"Okay." He nodded vigorously, trying to hide the excitement that was coursing through his body. He took a few steps backward, towards the elevators, and walked into a plastic house plant decorating the hall. She stifled a smile.
"Goodnight, Castle." she repeated, slipping into her apartment. Once she was completely inside, he did a little dance in the hallway.She wanted to read his books!
Beckett slumped against the door, eyes closed, a slight smile curving the corners of her mouth. She sighed and steeled herself, before opening them to look around her apartment. It was sparsely furnished, except for the walls, which were covered, top to bottom, with papers, maps, and photos, tacked to every surface, and spread along every piece of furniture - tables, chairs, even in piles on the floor. There were pictures of weapons, and blood spatter, pale headshots of corpses, mugshots of criminals, and on the closest wall, a number of photos of a crime scene, a middle-aged woman with dark hair in a business suit, laid splayed in an alley, dead.
Trembling a little, she caressed the photo lightly as she passed, and sat down, cross-legged, on the floor in front of the wall.
"Hi, Mom," she whispered softly. "Sorry I'm late."
And then her focus was riveted to the wall, and she knew that there would be no sleep again tonight.
