Disclaimer: The only part of Castle that I own is the TV on which I watch the show.
He's as lonely as an armadillo in a snowstorm. Like a rusted beer can rolling across two-lane blacktop. As frustrated as an online shopper without a password. WTF? He's so uninspired, so muse-less, that he can't even come up with an unembarrassing simile for how he feels.
Gina had lasted less than a week, and spent large stretches of it screaming at him. Why had he even asked her to come? Had he been so desperate to have a woman on his arm, and elsewhere, that he'd invited her? Apparently yes, which doesn't say anything good about him.
The summer sucks. He's dragged his sorry ass into August, and he's way overdue on the rest of his book. Simple declarative sentences elude him. Imagination has abandoned him. He's rattling around alone in the house, and tormented by visions—nightmares—of Beckett with Demming. If he could just see her for a minute, hear her voice, it might give him the jolt he needs. Where had Shlemming said their beach house was? Asbury, meaning Asbury Park. The Jersey Shore. Maybe he should take a ride down there on Sunday afternoon, see if he can run into Beckett, except if he runs into Beckett, he'll also run into her boyfriend.
Still, he knows a guy who knows Bruce Springsteen, the man who put Asbury Park on the map. Springsteen lives in Rumson, about twelve miles up the coast from Asbury Park. How cool would it be if he could persuade the Boss to take a ride with him in his Ferrari? It would take them six minutes. Okay, longer, but surely the cops would give their local hero a pass. When they hit town they'd slow down, just happen to drive by Beckett and Shlemming. He'd pull over, ask them if they'd like to have a drink. Shlemming could ogle the car while he ogles—talks to—Beckett.
Who's he kidding? Bruce Springsteen probably has his own Ferrari. Another fantasy destroyed.
He grabs a beer and his laptop, and goes out to sit under an umbrella by the pool. He's been fighting an urge for something for weeks, and his resistance is shot. He's a desperate man. Gina and Paula and his lawyer have impressed on him that under no circumstances should he read Nikki Heat fan fiction, that there would be liability issues if he writes something that in any way resembles something on that site. Oh, please, like that's gonna happen. In truth, he'd checked it out a couple of times in the winter, for fun and to satisfy his curiosity. There were some decent stories there, even promising, but nothing anywhere near his league. It's astonishing how many people participate, though. There's a huge fan base and it probably feeds his book sales, so he's not going to pass judgment. At least not much—especially now, when he's running on empty. There, another cliche. He's scraping the bottom of—. He censors himself before he completes another one.
When he logs on he sees screens upon screens of stories, and reads the brief descriptions of about 100 before he starts marking some choices. Vast numbers of follows and reviews are not necessarily indicative of quality, and anything with a K or K+ rating won't suit his mood. His final list has a dozen stories, and it's the ninth, "Bad Good Night," that captures him. By the end of the first chapter, he's sure that the writer, SoNotNikki79, is a woman. She has provided no bio, but there's a US flag on her page, so presumably she's American. It's her only story to date. She'd posted the first chapter on June 3, shortly after Memorial Day. In ten weeks since, she's added four more. That's a slow pace, but she probably has a full-time job. A family, maybe. Whoever she is, she has talent. He reads three chapters before taking a breather. Her style is nothing like his: pared down to the bone, but gripping. It's an entirely AU story, though the characters are true to his. Almost hyper true, because she has insights into them that make him begin to reassess his own versions.
At the beginning of "Bad Good Night," Rook is seriously injured on a stakeout. It's his own fault, since he'd been grandstanding and done exactly what Nikki had told him not to, but she takes it very hard. Although he recovers, their relationship is fraying and eventually the two of them have a searing argument about responsibility and risk-taking and trust. He decides to take a break and accepts a four-month assignment in a remote part of Tajikistan. That's at the end of chapter three, and from that point on the story is virtually all in Nikki's voice, with Rook unable, and probably also unwilling, to stay in touch.
As Nikki's anger begins to dissipate, loneliness and isolation move in. The portrayal of the detective's heartbreak, which was as surprising to her as it was devastating, is beautifully written and painful to read. It's clear that she's trying to distance herself from Rook because she believes that he's not coming back. Or that he if he does come back, that his emotional connection to her is irreparably severed.
When he finishes chapter five he's hungry for more, but there isn't any. He's been so immersed in the story that he's forgotten about his beer, which is now undrinkably warm. Peeling himself off the chaise longue, he walks back into the house for another bottle and a bag of pretzels. This story is really getting to him, which surprises him for a lot of reasons, the most important being that he's not pissed off. This woman has messed around with his romance, for God's sake. How dare she? Free expression, yeah, yeah. Yet he's not even mildly annoyed that she split up his couple, banished Rook to one of the -istans, and shattered Nikki's heart. Well, that's a first.
Outdoors again he's about to compose an anonymous Guest entreaty to the writer, pleading for the next chapter, when he notices that while he was in the kitchen she'd updated her story. "Jesus, she's a mind reader, too," he says out loud, startled by his own voice. He clicks on it as fast as any fangirl would, and sees an A/N at the top: "Please note a rating change, to M, for this chapter." Sex? There's going to be sex? It's that or high-level violence, which seems unlikely. But sex? Either Rook has come home, or Nikki has found someone else. If it's the latter he might throw his laptop into the pool.
But SoNotNikki79 surprises him again: it's neither. Instead, it's Nikki remembering the first time that she and Rook slept together. It's not as he imagined it, or as he wrote it. It's totally different than page 105, and yet it's right for this story.
He was unbuttoning my blouse when I told him that I wanted rough first, and tender second.
"You think we're doing this only twice?"
"No, that's just my initial request."
"Sounds like a command to me."
"I'm not a cop for nothing."
Castle chuckles at that, and continues to read. She may be something of a minimalist, but the scene that follows is hot. It's not easy to write well about sex, but she does. He'd tip his hat to her if he were wearing one. Sex-starved as he is at present, he's surprised again that what interests him most in the chapter is the aftermath: what she's thinking now, long after the fact. The elegiac tone of it.
Physically he almost split me in two. He pounded me harder than anyone has, and I kept asking for more. It was a distillation of his power, in me and for me. And us, for us. But after that, when we made love, truly made love, he split me metaphorically, too: I was myself, but I was also somewhere above us, some kind of spirit self. I always dismissed the idea of sex as sweet surrender as romance-novel fodder, but not after that. I surrendered to him and he to me.
And now we are no more.
That's the end of the chapter, and he feels as if someone has eviscerated him. He pulls off his shirt, dives into the pool, and begins to swim laps. Anything to get his mind off her Nikki and Rook and his Nikki and Rook.
It doesn't work. After taking a shower he makes himself some dinner, and as he eats he goes over and over Nikki's interior monologues in "Bad Good Night." The more he considers them, the more something nags at him, until at last he pins it down: she reminds him less of his Nikki and more of his—Beckett? Holy shit, she's Beckett. Is it possible? He remembers a case from a year ago when she commented on the cover art for Heat Wave, way before it was published, and he realized that she was a fan. He wondered then if she was writing fan fiction, but it never crossed his mind again.
If she's really writing this, he has to rethink everything, absolutely everything. About her, about him. If it's Beckett, why is she writing this now? It's as if she's exorcising demons, as if she's miserable. If only he could call Lanie and ask. "Is Kate all right? What's going on?" But he can't. SoNotNikki79 is a name she could well have chosen. She's always insisting that she's not Nikki, and she was born in 1979. He stares at nothing for a long time, and then does something else that he'd never expected to do: he logs in (feelingtheheat) and starts typing a review, making sure that he doesn't write in his usual style, which might be a giveaway even if it's not Beckett at all but a retired insurance salesman in Walla Walla. He'd rather do it as a Guest, but she wouldn't be able to reply to that. She probably won't anyway, but it's worth a shot.
It's Saturday night and Beckett is holed up in her apartment. It's too hot to do anything, so she's drinking iced coffee and watching a Yankee game. She'd updated her fan fiction story in the afternoon and it had taken everything out of her. It's cathartic, but she's not yet sure it's worth it. She has no intention of writing another, and wonders how much longer she'll take this. Maybe she can wrap it up in one more chapter? Have Rook come home, but he and Nikki make a clean break and that's it. The entire fandom would come down on her head, figuratively pummel her to death, but so what? Not that the entire fandom reads her, anyway, not even a tiny percent, but she has followers. She's picked up a few more with each chapter, too, which gives her a boost. She's slightly chagrined that she loves getting reviews, even if some of them are wildly off the mark. She responds to every one, even if all she says is thanks.
The Yankees win by a run in the eleventh inning, which improves her mood, and she takes her laptop from the night stand to see if anyone has reviewed her latest chapter. Eight so far, plus a couple of new followers and a favorite. She recognizes all the reviewers' screen names but one—feelingtheheat—so she starts with that. Wow. She reads it three times. It's long and meticulous and addresses the whole story, not just chapter six. It's really, really smart, and sometimes it feels as if the person is looking directly into her brain. Who the hell is feelingtheheat? She clicks on the screen name to find a profile, but there's nothing there. FTH hasn't written anything, although judging from the quality of this review, s/he should. Joined last February and has only one favorite story. Oh. It's hers. Wow again. She clicks back on her email and there they are, two alerts about feelingtheheat. FTH is also following her now.
She begins to type a reply but is suddenly bashful. Should she address every one of FTH's points, or just pick one or two? Whoever it is has a very analytical mind and seems to know the characters even better than she does, which is saying a lot since she's read Heat Wave half a dozen times and almost is Nikki, despite her disavowal of a screen name. She frets over it until 1:30 a.m., when she finally settles on something short and general, but she's afraid that if she really gets into what FTH discusses, she'll lose it and spill her guts. "I hope I don't sound like an idiot," she says as she hits send, then puts her laptop back on the night stand, and turns out the light.
He knows that it's not healthy to stay up this late, especially eating caffeine-laced m&m's, but what the hell? It's not as though he's adhering to some strict schedule, or any schedule at all. If he hits the hay at 2:00 he can get up at 10:00 and still have the recommended eight hours. Or more, because where is it written that he has to get out of bed at 10:00? He's held off looking at his fan-fic-only email account to see if SoNotNikki79 has responded to his review, but he's waited long enough. He pops a few more chocolates in his mouth and checks. Oh, yes. Yes yes yes yes! And only half an hour ago, so she's a night owl, too. Unless she really is that retired insurance salesman in Walla Walla, where it's only 11 p.m.
Is his heart racing? It feels like it. He holds two fingertips against his neck; his pulse seems rapid. Totally worth it if Beckett's answering, even if she doesn't know that feelingtheheat is, in fact, her partner. Former partner.
Hi, feelingtheheat. Thank you so much for your review, which is both the most intelligent and the longest that I've ever received. Not that I get hundreds, like a lot of people on this site, or even dozens, but still. I'm incredibly flattered that you asked if I'm a professional writer. No, not a chance. And am I a cop? You were probably kidding, because I'm the last person you'd think would become one. If I know a lot about police procedure I probably began picking it up as a kid, watching too many cop shows and reading too many mysteries under the covers with a flashlight.
You're right, my story is dark. I'm a serious person, and it's interesting for me to explore the serious side of Nikki and Rook, especially Nikki. Maybe because I'm female and feel that I understand her better. I agree that there's fault on both sides, but unlike you I think they're two complicated people who just don't know how to be together.
I'm sorry that I don't write faster, but with luck I'll be able to do another chapter before summer's over. Thanks again for your amazingly kind words.
By the time he finishes picking apart the 196 words and scrutinizing them as if he were microbiologist examining an unknown cell cluster—ooh, not a bad turn of phrase, if he does say so—it's after 4:00 a.m, but he's awake as he's ever been. Beckett is SoNotNikki79, he's certain. There's the non-denial denial to the are-you-a-cop question. Yes, she's someone that no one thought would become a cop, but she doesn't say outright that she isn't one. She also neatly dodged his question about how she knows so much about the workings of the NYPD. Then there's "amazingly kind," a phrase she has said to him a number of times. OK, it's not exactly original, but it's her. She admits to being a serious person, too.
What he also detects, but would bet the royalties from his next book that she doesn't, or thinks that she has hidden, is the underlying sadness of these three short paragraphs, especially the middle one. Especially the last sentence of the middle one. "I agree that there's fault on both sides, but unlike you I think they're two complicated people who just don't know how to be together." Is she talking about Nikki and Rook, at least the ones in her head, or is she talking about them, Beckett and Castle? Or is she talking about herself and Demming? Is there trouble in paradise? He hates to be rooting for it, but he is, God forgive him. And why hadn't the timing occurred to him earlier? She posted a chapter on a Saturday afternoon in summer, and responded to his review at 1:30 in the morning. Where the hell is that schmuck Demming?
He has an idea of the kind that in cartoons shows up as a light bulb over the person's head. Maybe if he weren't sex-and-sleep deprived he would't act on it, but he is. He writes a response:
Hi, SoNotNikki79, it was nice of you to be in touch. I meant every word I said. I hope you don't think this is too nosy of me, and I guess it is, but even if you're not writing from the experience of a cop, it seems as if you're writing from the experience of someone whose heart has been recently broken. I hope I'm wrong. And if I am, and you're happily married with a couple of kids and a dog, I have to say you convey heartbreak better than almost anyone I've ever read. And I read a lot.
He can't get it back, even if he hires someone this instant to break into her apartment—unless she's shacked up in an Asbury Park shack—find her laptop and delete his PM. It's done. What's she going to say? If she's miserable, so is he. And doesn't misery love company? He doesn't even wince, because that's a cliche he doesn't mind using right about now. No matter what, he wants her to be happy. That's all.
TBC