Castle groans and blinks open his eyes, surprised to see it is after daybreak. A decent night of sleep all things considered. Decent is now defined as anything over four hours of sleep with fewer than three nightmares. He scrubs a hand over the facial hair and tries to shake off the vestiges of fatigue.
When the familiar edge of panic comes he tries to harness it for energy. Why didn't his alarm go off and what crisis awaits? He grabs his phone and tosses it aside for the anonymous device. He rechecks the list a few times before he dares believe that nothing urgent is before him. It's now a waiting game to gather intel on the dragon while the quarry is (hopefully) unaware of the traps in place.
Wow, an ordinary day. Or at least the day appears ordinary. Actually it is more accurate to describe it as a slow decent into heartbreaking stupor. If anyone told him weeks ago he would have a devastating fight with Beckett only to be kicked out of the precinct permanently by the captain, then to stand by as Montgomery was gunned down, he would have predicted he should be too broken to function. Instead, that drama was only the prelude to watch Beckett get... he stares at his hands still seeing the blood. Never mind. He can't get lost in the past because it is happening all over again. What's that saying? "Those who don't learn from the past are doomed to repeat it?" They are trying to hunt Kate down and kill her. Once again he decided to mess around in Beckett's past and poke at her deepest wound. What made him think he could take on an evil empire? Wasn't there some more folk wisdom about 'as a man thinks so he is?' If so, his years as the master of the macabre summoned the demons from hell to come out and play. Yeah, an ordinary day in his screwed up life.
Regardless, he forces himself to get up and get moving. He'll shower after the gym. He grabs sweats and a t-shirt and stops to stare. What kind of middle age man who wants to be taken seriously has a Green Lantern shirt on the top of his stack? He tosses it aside and pulls out a neatly folded gray one. It's the death star and he can't handle anymore death references. It gets tossed and he reaches for a random black shirt - at least it will match his mood. Batman. Must everything remind him of Beckett? She mentioned the bat cave the first time she graced his dwelling with her presence. He's pathetic with how much he misses her and, despite everything, still loves her. He pulls it on over his burgeoning muscles and goes to the gym and tries to beat his emotions into submission.
He's back in time to shower and greet Alexis when his daughter hurries down the stairs. "Hey pumpkin, do you want breakfast?"
"Are you going to eat?" They both know how the dialog will play out. Rick will eat only if Alexis does, and then only manage to consume a minimal amount of food.
He raises his mug of black tea with milk. "I'm just back from my workout. Right now I'm replacing fluids." He also pops aspirin.
"I can't take the time. I've got to get across town for practice, so we both need these." She digs in the box for protein bars - chocolate mint for her and marshmallow/graham cracker for him.
The doting father hates that he doesn't have a clue what she is talking about. He tries casually to reach for his phone to look up her schedule but she takes pity on him.
"The local fencing tournament is next week so we are getting in some last minute training. Don't worry, I'll let you know the day before it starts so you can come watch if you want. The important part is that coach thinks I can place high enough to go to regional games in Maryland next month." She's ready to grab her gear and dart out the door.
He gives her a hug, slowing her down, and takes a moment to give thanks for the one bright spot in his life. His little ninja is gone in a flash and he's left at a loss of what to do.
Ricky ignores the dark seduction of his bed enticing him to give into the lethargy of his body and mind. He wants to curl up in a fetal position under the covers and not come out until its over. Instead he gathers up the discarded t-shirts, then adds the rest of the science fiction collection to the pile. He can donate them to Father Nicholas next time he visits. Certainly the soup kitchen will get them to people who need them more than a multi-millionaire. Maybe he can take them now and find out how the priest's visit to Pulgotti went. The clergyman was taking a message to the prisoner asking for help on Beckett's behalf. He had the list of inmates who would love to insinuate themselves into the detective's good graces, and they can supply information no outsider could hope to gather. He needs a bolstering of his spirit so he resolves to go.
Instead the dark side reaches out to him, "Hello Gina." He simply waits for her to start in on him.
"Oh Rick, why didn't you listen? You never listen! I told you how important the gala was. I told you it was a business event but you ignored me. I tried fight on your behalf but there was only so much I could do being in the middle of a squabble between two stubborn men. Anyway, we have an editorial meeting today in the conference room at 1 p.m. Please give me your word you will be there?"
"Why can't you just send the edits to me like usual?"
"Because we want extensive rewrites and need to discuss them. Please come. Don't make this harder than it already is."
"Gina, relax. I was on time with the first draft and I'm anxious to get the book released. I'll be there."
When he arrives he recalls the unusual mention of the conference room instead of Gina's office. Once he sees inside, a sense of dread has his gut in a knot. Why should today be any different than the embroiled days that preceded it? Gina is shoulder to shoulder with the legal council that represents Black Pawn. The attorney that represents his interests during contract negotiations is seated on the opposite side of the table. He nods at Theodore Milmar the third and sits beside him.
Gina stares at him, "Rick, are you ok? You look like hell." His hair was simply combed, not styled, and several days growth of beard masks his features. He is in blue jeans and a generic short sleeved shirt making him appear utterly ordinary. The dark circles and weight loss are more worrying signs if anyone wants to look deeper.
"This is what happens when you get up close and personal with death. Perhaps now you understand why I didn't attend your gala."
Their attorney speaks before Gina can respond. "For the record, are you claiming an infirmary making you unable to fulfill your contractual obligations?" The new boss man thinks Gina is being too soft on the arrogant writer, so his instructions are to show him who's in charge.
"No. Even though the first draft had to go through extensive rewrites because of actual events, I got it submitted in time, so obviously I'm not some decrepit invalid."
"Very well. As you know, your status as a premier author has produced a unique contract negotiated during the long and successful course of your association with this publishing house. We feel you are in violation of the marketing clauses since your public profile has slipped. Thus we are invoking our right to insist on editorial content that will have a broader appeal to a larger readership."
Castle is stunned. They've never played hard-ball before. Even when he was deep in writer's block before he met Beckett, the worst they threatened was to take back the advance money. His shocked silence gives Milmar a chance to take control.
"We do not accept the premise that the marketing clause has been breeched, but proceed with the explanation as to the remedy you seek to invoke." He wants them to lay out their case before he responds and give his client a chance to gather his wits.
"Our marketing research indicates that Mr. Castle's books rate highly for romance and mystery, they are adequate for action, but they rate much lower for drama. A focus group revealed that moral outrage would make the book appeal to a wider audience. The specific remedy being sought is having the protagonist be investigated for shooting an unarmed black man in the tunnel scene."
"Go to hell!" He is revolted at their tactics. It is a vulgar manipulation of readers that has no purpose in the story other than sensationalism for a pathetic attempt to sell more books. That's not even the worst part. "The protagonist is based on a real life person as you both know, and you can be damn sure I won't ever make Nikki Heat so completely inept that it will tarnish the good people behind the badge." He waves off their lawyer. "I know there are bad cops - I write about them. I don't paint some rosy picture of everyone with a badge is true blue and beyond reproach. This is morally repugnant."
"I'm disappointed in you especially." He points to Gina and notes her looking down rather than face him. "There is no chance in hell I'll do this."
She looks back up and tries to justify Black Pawn's position, "James Patterson is releasing a new series next year called NYPD Red. It's about a male/female duo that handles high profile cases. It's going to compete directly with the Heat series, and my sources tell me your books are going to be left on the shelves when readers have a choice. Rick, we really do have to get out in front of the competition."
This is another kick to the gut. Patterson betrayed the code. They had an unspoken agreement to be gentlemen and call dibs on stories. The poker nights were their forum for staking claims and not stepping on someone's turf, but Patterson just big-footed him. Why is he surprised? This is just another in a long line of betrayals: Meredith, Beckett, Montgomery, Black Pawn, and now Patterson. He wants to crawl away to the far reaches of the earth and never come out.
Instead Richard Rogers calls upon his mother's acting genes. He's had plenty of practice hiding what he really feels. Calmly he stands and draws the battle lines, "I dispute that you have any right to submit 'editorial content' into any story I write. If you want me to look at edits on the draft I have submitted, I am willing to do it so the printing schedule remains intact. Mr. Milmar will deal with my interest in this matter. Please do not contact me directly until this matter is resolved." He gives Gina the a final look of utter contempt. Then he nods at his attorney thankful they understand each other after so many years of negotiations.
What choice does he have? Castle forces himself to walk away. He doesn't know where to go or what to do but he has to get out of there. His life is being destroyed one piece at a time. His time with the NYPD is over, his writing is being challenged, and his emotional fortitude is in shreds thanks to Beckett. He's the one feeling like Humpty Dumpty.