Author's Note: In which we see a little more of Lanie.
Accidentally in Love
Chapter 14
He could have kissed her.
He hadn't, of course. Or well, not of course; he hoped it wasn't 'of course' because he definitely wanted to kiss her but that would be later, he hoped, and he was babbling to himself so he should shut up.
But he could have kissed her. Not because he wanted to—okay, not only because he wanted to (of course he wanted to; he was pretty sure a man would have to be dead to not want to kiss Kate Beckett) but because she'd given him the inspiration he'd been looking for and hadn't found.
He had it now, the plot for the next Derrick Storm, but more importantly than that, he felt the old excitement again, the urge to write, that twitch in his fingers that came from the flood of words in his brain. He hadn't felt so… eager to write in a long time. But now, it was back. The words were back—the fire was back.
And it was because of her. Because of her intensity and her passion and, yes, her words.
He wasn't quite sure how it happened, maybe it was just part of the constant workings of his mind, but in one of those moments of alchemy, her words had been the spark to the tinder and he'd suddenly found a plot falling into place.
Professionally suspicious. And then the quip that it was an occupational hazard.
And somehow that had started it. Because cops weren't the only people who were professionally suspicious; spies also were. Spies like Storm. And somehow things had fallen into place and he'd had it, the germ of an idea that he could really run with. He'd been toying with an assassination attempt but now he knew that wasn't what the story would be about. It was going to be a successful assassination, one that everyone else believed was a natural death due to something (he made a mental note to call Dr. Clark Murray to find some kind of nearly-undetectable poison to stop the heart and make death seem natural) but not Storm. Storm would be convinced that it was murder—professionally suspicious. He would be suspicious and he wouldn't let it rest because the victim's death would be too convenient for certain people—perhaps the militant branch of a hostile foreign power—who'd been jockeying for influence with a more peaceable group led by the victim but then with the victim out of the way, the path would be clear for the militant group. And Derrick Storm would be the one to see it, to suspect foul play.
And Storm would act accordingly. It would provide another source of conflict because it would set Storm against the CIA and the other foreign policy establishment—possibly even pit Storm against Clara Strike at first—and then things would go from there with Storm going rogue because he needed to and having to work not just against the actual conspirators but against his own well-meaning but unconvinced bosses, at least until the end.
Oh yes, he had it. More importantly, he had the beginning which was always the hardest part. He had the emotional core of the story. Because the story would start with a funeral, a grieving adult child of the victim. Perhaps an estranged son who would not now have the chance to make peace with his father? He would have to work that out, Castle made another note in his story outline.
Castle found himself smiling at his laptop screen as his fingers danced over the keyboard. Smiling! God, he couldn't remember when he'd last felt this sort of excitement over writing but it had been years. He might not have been blocked before but a lot of the excitement had been lost for a while now. Writing had become more of a chore just as Storm had begun to be more of a struggle to write about.
But now, he thought about what Kate had said, albeit ostensibly about Trevor Valentin and not Derrick Storm, but the message held. He'd been getting fed up with Storm, with fighting the character and with feeling bored of it, feeling like he was getting stuck in a rut and writing the same thing over again. But somehow, listening to Kate, he'd felt that feeling fade, the knowledge sinking into him: Kate liked Storm as a character. He knew it. Oh, Kate hadn't said it in so many words but he knew she was a fan. She'd read Hell Hath No Fury and even he didn't think that book was worth reading. Kate liked Storm—and ridiculously, he'd abruptly found himself deciding that even if this next one ended up being the last Derrick Storm book, he wouldn't kill Storm off.
He did still think this would be his last Storm. In spite of everything, he was ready to move on from Storm, move on from the character and his world. Thrillers were all well and good but he thought it might be time to move back to the bread and butter of mysteries, what he'd cut his teeth on, as it were, the traditional murder mystery. More than that, he thought he wanted to try his hand at a police procedural.
He would write one last Storm to fulfill the contract and then he would move on. To another character, one with more depth. The vague outline of one was already coming into focus—a cop driven by the murder of a loved one. Someone who had been wounded but who had survived, who let their loss fuel their determination to get justice for others. Someone… like Kate. Oh yes, he wanted to write a character like that.
But first, he needed to write one last Storm. Surprisingly, he found he didn't mind the idea. Kate liked Storm as a character and he could do that—give Storm a send-off worthy of him, for his fans.
It should have been ridiculous—what author really decided to write another book simply because one fan liked the character?—and yet, somehow, it wasn't. In listening to Kate, he felt as if he'd found again what had once appealed to him about Storm, remembered why he'd created Storm in the first place.
And more importantly, he thought about the intensity in her voice, the suppressed emotion. How much she'd obviously cared about these books, these characters. And in her passion, he'd rediscovered his own. He thought about what she'd said, about people wanting to believe in a world where the good are rewarded and the wicked are punished—and he'd remembered, too, that it hadn't happened for her. That her mother's killer had never been caught and she'd become a cop to try to give other people the closure, the justice, that she had never gotten.
Maybe he couldn't give Kate justice for her mother—although he still wanted to try. But he could at least give her a glimpse into a world where there was justice.
It wasn't anything much, not compared to what she did every day. But it was what he could do. He could write justice for her. And Kate herself had admitted that it was important, that it—god, was it possible?—inspired her? He could hardly imagine that. He wasn't exactly Shakespeare. He wasn't even Ian Fleming or Agatha Christie or any of the other authors who had inspired him.
But somehow, in her voice, in her expression, he'd recognized her emotion, that somehow mysteries resonated with her, meant something to her.
And now he had a purpose—write a world in which people got justice.
And that was exactly what he would do.
He looked over his outline. He'd sat down at his desk the moment Kate had left and now, just over three hours later, he had the outline. It wasn't done yet; there were notes here and there he'd left to himself where he needed to flesh things out. But the essence of the story was there.
And he still had three more days until the outline was due.
He opened a new document that he saved for now as the new Storm book. A title would come later but even though this was decidedly backward and not something he had ever done before, he obeyed the impulse. And typed across the center of the document what he already knew this book would be, however else it might change. For Kate.
The bare outline of the story had been inspired by her but it was more than that. She'd given him the soul of the story, what he would be writing for.
Funny the way life worked. Just a handful of days ago, he and Gina had broken up over this very lack of an outline but if he'd waited on that—or if he'd somehow managed to have this conversation about mysteries with Kate earlier—well, no, that wouldn't really have worked either because it had at least partly been the case Kate had solved today that had inspired him, what she'd said about being professionally suspicious.
And it wasn't the lack of an outline that had really broken him and Gina up. It had been the fact that Gina was his editor first, girlfriend second, and he didn't want that. He wanted someone who cared about him, not about his writing or his money or his fame or anything else.
He wanted… Kate.
His fingers froze on the keyboard at the thought, the way it settled into his mind with all the weight of truth. Oh god, he did want Kate, wanted to be with her. Not because she'd inspired his writing but simply because of her. Because she was amazing and he wanted to know more about her, wanted to see that smile that lit up her expression and her eyes, wanted to make her laugh. And he wanted to eradicate that odd note he sometimes caught in her laughter of something like surprise, as if she was surprised to be laughing. It was so… utterly wrong that someone like Kate, who spent her entire life trying to give justice to others, whose smile could illuminate a room, could be so wounded. She was fascinating in a way he wasn't sure he'd ever encountered before, so strong and yet so vulnerable, so driven and intense and yet so compassionate. She dealt with criminals every day but she could still smile and laugh with his daughter.
Oh, he had it bad, was falling fast and hard. Careful, Rick.
He might be falling for her—but he didn't know what she wanted. Kate was young, smart, gorgeous—she could be with any man she wanted. And unlike just about every woman he'd met recently, he sensed, knew, that she wasn't interested in his money or his fame or his connections. For the first time in a long while, it occurred to him that he didn't know if a woman—if Kate—would be interested in him.
They were friends, though. Real friends and that too was something different for him these days. A friend who didn't want anything from him. A friend who insisted on paying for their next dinner—and that was new too. No one offered to pay for anything when he was around anymore. And while he couldn't say he was thrilled at the idea of Kate paying for dinner since he knew she had to work so much harder than he did to make money, he couldn't deny that it was oddly refreshing just to have her offer. Kate was different; being friends with Kate was different. And he liked it, liked her. Liked talking to her and teasing her and being teased by her. (So few people really teased him anymore.) He could simply stay friends with her; he wanted to stay friends with her. And at least for now—but just for now—that would be enough.
Kate wasn't about to admit it but she might—just might—have been moping. A little. Maybe.
In anyone else, she might have said they were pouting but she was a grown-up and a cop and she didn't pout so she certainly wasn't pouting. She simply wasn't in a good mood. Yeah, she'd just leave it at that. She wasn't in a good mood. But really, since she was working on a fresh homicide, what person would be in a good mood? Murder didn't tend to be a happy-making subject. So that was all.
That settled to her own satisfaction, she stalked into the morgue, giving Lanie a perfunctory greeting before clipping out, "Detective Hassan sent me to find out if you've managed to confirm COD and narrow down the time of death window."
"Actual COD is confirmed as asphyxiation but the original cause of it isn't clear. As for time of death, give it another half hour or so and I should be able to get it down to a 2-hour window."
"Well, hurry it up because we need a narrower time of death window."
"I can't control how long the lab tests take," Lanie retorted. "You know that."
"I wasn't blaming you. I was just saying we need it because the preliminary 6-hour window is so broad it's basically useless."
Lanie fixed Kate with a look. "Okay, what's up with you that's got your panties in a twist?"
"Nothing. I'm fine," Kate deflected automatically.
"Oh no, girlfriend, this is me, remember? You don't snap at me like that so that one isn't going to fly. What is it?"
From past experience, Kate knew Lanie wasn't the sort to give up but she tried again anyway. "I'm fine."
"No, you're not," Lanie flatly contradicted. "Okay, it couldn't be anything work-related because I haven't heard even a wisp of rumor about you lately."
Kate narrowed her eyes at Lanie. "You know I hate the precinct rumor mill."
"Hate it all you like, it isn't going anywhere. You're surrounded by nosy cops who gossip worse than teenage girls. So it's not work. What else is there—" she broke off, her expression and her tone altering, softening. "How's your dad? He's not sick or anything, is he?"
Kate inwardly winced. They both knew that Lanie was really asking if her dad was drinking again. Perpetuating the polite fiction of alcoholism that it was just like any other sickness, a passing thing like the common cold—and 'sick' was the euphemism for 'drunk.' "My dad's fine," she answered quickly, slightly too forcefully. "He's not sick at all." By which she meant that he was sober. Which he was. Still, for now.
He was still sober. Even now, after he'd been out of rehab for more than a month. He'd officially passed the (first) 30 days. She didn't really count the two months he had spent in rehab because that was different, a controlled environment, not entirely on him. But now, her dad had been sober more than 30 days, had gotten past The Anniversary.
She met with her dad once a week every weekend and called him at least once during the week. She had tentatively stopped expecting her dad to call her because he was drinking or worse to get a call from another precinct that they'd picked up her dad drunk. But her mom's birthday was coming up in just weeks and that was another painful day. So she was still only taking it one day at a time when it came to her dad.
Lanie's expression eased a little. "Okay, so it's not your dad. Then what else can it be, since you don't have a personal life worth speaking of, unless there's something you haven't been telling me?"
"Has anyone ever told you that you should try being a detective?" Kate grumbled.
"I'll stick with dead bodies, thanks," Lanie retorted. "Now, stop evading. What's eating you?"
"Nothing," Kate reiterated. "I'm fine. I'm focused on getting the time of death window for the victim and then solving this case and that's all."
"Uh huh, pull the other one," Lanie retorted skeptically. "Katherine Beckett, did you have a date tonight that you had to cancel because this case came up and that's why you're pissy right now? Because I did hear a little bird tell me that you've been smiling more and I also heard that just after the call came in about this case, you snuck off to make a phone call and returned with a face like a wet week."
Kate let out an annoyed huff. She supposed she shouldn't be surprised by now at the efficiency of the precinct's gossip mill or the fishbowl nature of the bullpen but she really hated it. The CIA had nothing on Lanie when it came to informants. "It was not a date," she gritted out.
Only to realize her mistake as Lanie let out a crow of triumph. "But you did have plans that you needed to cancel. So tell me, who was this not-a-date with?"
"My plans were with a friend. Her name is Alexis," Kate answered with carefully limited honesty.
Lanie drooped almost comically at the revelation that her dinner plans had been with a girl. But then—damn it—Lanie straightened up, a knowing look entering her face. Damn it, did Lanie have to be so smart? (Kate ignored the fact that if Lanie hadn't been so smart, they probably would never have become friends since Kate wasn't known for suffering fools gladly.) She had really been hoping that Lanie would have forgotten Alexis's name since Kate hadn't mentioned either Castle or Alexis to Lanie for more than a month, since Lanie had met Castle. "This friend of yours wouldn't happen to be Alexis Castle, would she?" Lanie asked with overblown casualness.
Kate gave in to the inevitable. "Yes, as a matter of fact, she is. Alexis and I have become friends and Alexis wanted to have dinner with me again and I didn't want to disappoint a 9-year-old girl."
"Of course you didn't," Lanie agreed innocently only to go on in a voice that dripped sarcasm, "And how terrible for you, that you have to endure dinner with a handsome, charming man because you don't want to disappoint his daughter."
"Lanie, it's not like that! It's not! Yes, I've had dinner with Castle and Alexis a couple times but we're just friends. They're… fun."
"Fun," Lanie repeated. "Okay, who are you and what have you done with Kate Beckett?"
"Lanie!" She wasn't that bad, was she?
"Do you know when the last time was that I heard you describing anything as being fun?"
Kate made a small face. "How am I supposed to remember something like that?"
"Well, I do. You said you went to watch a movie that was fun. More than three months ago."
Oh. Really? Ugh, that was pathetic. "Don't be like that, Lanie. You know I don't have a lot of spare time with work and everything."
"I know but stop using work as an excuse. I don't exactly work regular hours either and I still manage to have a life."
"You like going out more than I do," Kate pointed out. "You know what I'm like. I get so wrapped up in work and all I want to do when I'm done is go home where it's quiet." Quiet and organized and restful, no messes, no other people to worry about or deal with.
"Quiet can also be boring."
"Quiet is peaceful," Kate countered. "And anyway, I've gotten better. I've had dinner with Castle and Alexis a few times."
"A few times, huh? I thought you said you were probably only going to see them once."
She had rather expected that but she hadn't really known either Castle or Alexis then, hadn't known how, well, nice they were, how open and welcoming they were. "I thought it was going to be only once but then Alexis asked me to have dinner with them again and…" Kate shrugged, affecting more casualness than she felt. "I like seeing them. We've become friends."
"Friends," Lanie repeated. "You and Richard Castle are just friends."
Yes, they really were. "Yeah, we're friends." Good friends, even, she rather thought. Surprisingly. She wasn't someone who trusted easily or shared anything about her life readily but with Castle, it was different. She had talked to him not just about light, everyday things, but about her parents, about her job and why she did what she did, about his daughter. She… trusted him, somehow, so yes, she supposed they were good friends now. And how else could she explain the way she just enjoyed his company, looked forward to seeing him? Him and Alexis too, of course, she amended immediately. It wasn't just Castle. "He's easy to talk to and Alexis is fun too."
"Doesn't hurt that he's also really easy on the eyes," Lanie noted. "And don't even try to tell me you haven't noticed because if you haven't, you belong on this table more than Mr. Erskine here does," she finished, referring to the victim.
"I have eyes, Lanie," Kate defended—and yes, her eyes definitely appreciated Castle but so what? Besides, she'd already decided that her reaction to Castle was less about him specifically and more about the fact that it had simply been a long time since she'd been with anyone so of course, she was more inclined to notice Castle's attractiveness. It wasn't really about Castle. (Liar, a little voice in her mind spoke up. She ignored it.). "But he has a girlfriend, remember? And from the picture I saw in the paper the other day, they seem very happy together," she added. There had been one of those brief celebrity sighting mentions of Castle in Page Six just last weekend, showing a picture of him having a cozy, romantic dinner with a gorgeous blonde identified as his girlfriend and editor, Gina Cowell. Castle had been holding hands across the table with her; the caption of the picture noted that the two were gazing into each other's eyes and speculated that wedding bells might be in the future.
"I saw that picture too," Lanie agreed. "But you're still friends with Castle and arranging dinner dates with him and his daughter and then moping when you have to change plans? Kate…"
"I was not moping," Kate denied immediately. "I may have been a little disappointed but it's not the same thing and anyway, we were supposed to go to Remy's and I've been looking forward to one of their burgers all week."
"Sure and you always bite my head off because of a change in plans," Lanie noted dryly.
"Sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you. I'm just tired and I was looking forward to a burger tonight." Really, it had nothing to do with Castle at all. Or not much. And sure, seeing that picture of Castle in the paper might have made her stomach feel a little funny but that could have been exhaustion or indigestion, combined with the weirdness of seeing someone she knew in the papers, that was all.
"Uh huh. I did warn you to be careful with Castle since he does have a girlfriend."
"It's fine, Lanie. It's not like that with me and Castle."
"Okay, if you insist. But that does remind me, I wanted to mention, there's this new detective who just transferred into the 28th Precinct after cutting his teeth with the Philly PD. Aside from being hot, he also happened to mention that he'd like to get to know more of his fellow cops in the city, if you're interested."
Lanie's tone and her expression made it clear she wasn't talking about professional networking, even if Kate wouldn't have already guessed that just from knowing Lanie. Kate didn't bother to hide her rolling her eyes or hold back her little weary sigh. They had had this talk before but Lanie was persistent. Well-meaning and somehow falling on the right side of friendly encouragement but persistent. "I'm not looking for a relationship, you know that, Lanie."
"That's the funny thing about relationships. You might not be looking but sometimes they just find you."
"That's not going to happen," Kate vowed, sincerely believing it was true. Of course it was true. She had no interest in meeting this new detective, whoever he was, and Castle had a girlfriend and they were only friends anyway. "I mean, really, you know what my life is like. I work most of the time and with the way bodies drop at all hours, I can't control my own schedule and I'm going to sign up to take the detectives' exam when it's offered in a few weeks."
That distracted Lanie at least. "Going for detective already, Beckett? You don't waste time, do you?"
Kate bit her lip. Was she rushing things a little? "Well, I just figured I'd get the exam out of the way since after February, it won't be offered again until July and who knows, I might not even pass it the first time around. I'm not planning to submit my application until the summer though, was going to wait until I put in a full year in Homicide." The beginning of August would mark her one-year anniversary in Homicide so that was what she was aiming for when it came to submitting her application. She thought—well, she hoped—that Detectives Hassan and Scanlon would sign off on her application and she believed that Montgomery would too. But of course, One PP could also get involved with detective applications because while the current Chief of Detectives tended to be hands-off when it came to these things, that didn't mean the pattern would hold.
"You've got it all planned out, don't you, Beckett?"
"Planning ahead helps me keep things organized." It also helped because she didn't have much, if any, control over her shift schedule so planning ahead even to this extent made her feel somewhat better, more in control of her own life.
"Yeah, I know what you're like, Beckett," Lanie agreed. "Just do me a favor and at least try to plan in some fun too?"
Kate relaxed into a smile. "Yeah, I can probably do that. I still plan to keep meeting with Castle and Alexis, if you must know. I think seeing them, seeing Alexis's smile and listening to her talk, is good for me." She lifted her shoulders into a small shrug. "It makes me feel better somehow, happier. And they make me laugh."
Now Lanie smiled. "I'm glad, Kate, because if anyone needs to laugh more, it's you."
Kate smiled almost in spite of herself. "Yeah, well, both Castle and Alexis are pretty good at making me laugh."
"No wonder you were pouting at missing out on dinner with them. He's handsome and charming and funny and his kid is cute and funny, a deadly combination."
"Alexis is smart too. She's only 9 and she's reading books that I don't think I read until I was in 5th or 6th grade."
"Good for her." Lanie threw her an odd look and Kate belatedly wondered when—and why—she'd started to boast about Alexis as if Kate herself had anything at all to do with Alexis's cleverness. She found herself remembering the way Castle had asserted that he could boast about his favorite daughter—not that this was anything at all like that and in fact, she should stop thinking about irrelevant things. Friends were allowed to be proud of each other so that was all it was, that Kate was being Alexis's friend.
The computer in the corner made a small ping-ing noise and Lanie moved around to peer at the display. "And look at that, the lab results are back." She paused and then went on, "Cause of death was officially asphyxiation but it was brought on by nicotine poisoning. Based on that, I'm narrowing time of death to between 4 and 7 this morning."
"Thanks, Lanie. Back to work for me."
"And me," Lanie agreed, making a face. "Break's over. I'll talk to you later, Beckett."
"Yeah, see you around, Lanie." Kate left the morgue with a wave of her hand, her phone already in hand to text Detectives Hassan and Scanlon the updated time of death window. And tried very hard not to think about the fact that if she hadn't gotten called onto this case, she would probably have been settling into a booth at Remy's—and seeing Castle's and Alexis's smiles—at that very moment. She suppressed a sigh and then shoved all thoughts of writers and bright-eyed children out of her mind. Work, she had to focus on work.
~To be continued…~
A/N 2: As always, thank you to everyone who's read, reviewed, followed, or added this fic to their favorites. It is much appreciated.