April 2009
Ordinary had to be enough.
Kate Parker raised her eyes heavenward as she tried to wrestle back control of the conversation.
"I'm just normal," she told Richard Castle. "Sorry to disappoint you. I'm hardly a superhero working toward some goal of world peace or social justice."
"I'm-" he started, but she cut him off.
"I can't bring my mom back, and I can't make it right. Some random guy happened across her in an alley one evening, and there's nothing more to it. Wrong time. Wrong place. Washington Heights can be a dangerous place."
She shrugged, pouring the last of the tea into her cup and staring across the cafe in stony silence. A line had formed at the counter while they'd been sitting and talking; twenty-somethings and college students looking for the reprieve of a mid-afternoon caffeine hit before they rushed headlong back into life in the city. At the front of the line a tall brunette - all of eighteen or nineteen - leaned into her boyfriend, her hand in his back pocket as he made their order.
Was that what it was to be free?
At nineteen, Kate had had the world at her feet, too. She'd had college, dreams, and a long line of unsuitable boyfriends, eligible only for their ability to mess with her parents. None of them had been keepers; the half dozen boys she'd dated from the age of sixteen had been nothing more than brief amusement on her way to the top, and young Katie Beckett was going to stop at nothing.
First female Chief Justice.
Why the hell not?
She'd believed she could do it, and what's more, her parents had believed in her too.
"Are you still in your wild-child phase, Katie?" her mom would ask her during their phone calls in her freshman year at Stanford, and Kate would shrug impatiently.
"It's not a phase," she'd insist, and her mom would laugh.
"One of these days you'll be past it and I'm going to tell you I told you so." The scolding tone was feigned, and Kate would grin as she ended the call.
But her mom never had the chance to tell her so, because before Kate was willing to admit that she was outgrowing her wild child phase, her mom had died, and everything had changed.
May 1999
"I'm still not going back to Stanford." Kate sighed as she stared across the table at her father. He was smaller, somehow, seated at the end in his usual place but without his wife beside him.
Deciding to leave California had been easy. Or, if not easy, per se, it certainly hadn't presented itself as a choice. It had been more like a foregone conclusion.
A semester off had seemed like the best way to ease back into life; she'd pulled out of Stanford in the good faith that she'd be returning there next fall. A semester abroad and summer school would be enough to make up her credits and she would graduate at the end of her college degree, enroll in Law School, and continue her education until she was a lawyer, just like her parents.
Leaving California had been easy, but returning to New York had been hell.
"You're not still holding onto that crazy idea of yours are you?"
Her mother's colleagues had dropped off all of her paperwork and Kate had thumbed through page after page of files. Until January, she'd assumed her mother's work was noble; fighting injustice. But it had sickened her to realize that the very people her mother had defended were the kind of people who had sliced into her in that alley way; gang members and mafia, common criminals and petty thieves.
"No." Kate dropped her eyes, her finger tracing the patterns in the familiar hardwood as she grasped at straws. "No. There's no point."
Becoming a cop? It had seemed like the right idea when Johanna's killer was still out there, but now it seemed like a hasty reaction borne of uncertainty and emotion.
"Good." Jim nodded, but his eyes were clouded, unfocused, and he stared at the wall behind her head rather than directly at her. "It's too dangerous. Just go to college, get your law degree. Do what you were going to do, and put this all behind you. Forget about it, and get on with your life."
"Forget about her?" Kate's eyes narrowed as she glared at her father.
"No, Katie. Not about her. But about the way it all ended."
"Can you forget?" she asked, and he shook his head, his hand wrapping around his glass of scotch and bringing it to his lips.
"No. But the worst is behind us," he promised her, his voice thin, and she shrugged.
"It doesn't feel like it."
"You heard the detective yesterday. They got a confession. It's done, Kate." He stood up, his movement unstable as he pushed the chair back. She watched as he made his way through the open door, grabbing at the frame to steady himself as he walked into the living room, and she frowned at the scotch bottle still open on the table.
Done.
It was done.
Why be a cop? Why fight? Kate stood too, her gait sluggish as she trudged back to her girlhood bedroom. The purple walls mocked her with their optimism as she shuffled through the papers on her desk. Her withdrawal from Stanford was complete, and her application for NYU was all set to go. She'd send it in tomorrow, and classes would start in the fall.
Pre-law. It had been enough for her in California.
It would be enough for her in New York.
April 2009
"I never meant to insinuate that there was some... particular way you should be."
Rick frowned. This was all wrong. He'd come here to interview her, to get his head around the tragedy she'd gone through. Pouring over case files in the workroom at the Twelfth had seemed so noble, and it had been an awesome excuse to avoid answering Gina's calls.
He'd obviously made a mistake.
"Why are you here, Rick?" Her voice was heavy, world-weary, and he shook his head.
"I'm sorry. I really- I just wanted to ask you a few questions about… your life. And about your mother. I just wanted… ideas."
"Ideas? That's what my life is for you?" Kate's eyes flashed with annoyance, and he sat up straighter at the first sign of real passion she'd displayed since he'd walked into the cafe. "A macabre tour of tragedy, a brave young woman rising above the ashes? Is that what you really wanted? Or were you just bored?"
March 2009
"You're a hard man to find, Mr. Castle."
Rick raised his eyebrows at the detectives opposite him. "I am?"
"We went to your apartment and your mother couldn't tell us where you were."
"Well-"
"Is that right?" Detective Esposito smirked at the fairer man beside him. "World famous author lives with his mom?"
"Hey! I'll have you know she lives with me! And my daughter!"
It hadn't been his fault he wasn't home when they stopped by. No. If it had been up to him he would have been home all morning, and all afternoon. It was only after Alexis had threatened to cancel their standing laser tag date if he didn't go out and get some fresh air - in her words "stop moping around just because Derrick Storm is dead" - and a little perspective. The two detectives exchanged another glance, and Rick had the uncomfortable feeling they were messing with him.
"So. You've got quite a rap sheet for a best-selling author. Disorderly conduct, resisting arrest." Detective Ryan chuckled, throwing the file back onto the table before leaning back in his chair.
"Yeah. Yeah, I do. But-"
"Bro! You stole a police horse?"
Rick blinked. If anything, Esposito looked mildly impressed, and he shrugged.
"Borrowed."
"Says here he was nude at the time," Ryan pointed out, and a look of disgust rolled across Esposito's features.
"What, exactly, am I here for?" Rick interjected before they could pass any further comment on his springtime activities, and the men exchanged a look, leaning in, the smiles gone from their faces.
Ryan pushed a photograph across the table.
"Alison Tisdale," Esposito informed him. "Daughter of real estate mogul, Jonathan Tisdale."
"She's cute."
"And dead." Ryan shrugged.
"And you-" Rick frowned. "What do you want with me?"
"This-" Esposito tossed another picture his way, "is how she was found."
Rick's eyes widened. "Flowers For Your Grave."
"Mm-hmm." Ryan nodded. "It took us a while to work it all out. Not too many cops like to read crime novels in their spare time. So we didn't pick up the connection until yesterday."
"How long's she been dead?"
"About two weeks." Ryan shrugged, sliding the photograph back into the envelope. "Relax. We know you were at your book launch party the night it happened, we've already had several people vouch for you."
"Yeah, your mother and your ex-wife were both happy to do so."
"Gina was happy to…" Rick trailed off. Okay then. If Gina had been happy to vouch for him he supposed he shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. Then again, it was in her interests that he not be accused of murder. He shrugged. At least they wouldn't be able to badger him about writer's block if he was behind bars, but it might put a dampener on playing laser tag with his daughter.
"So… what do you want with me if I'm not a suspect?"
"You're still a person of interest," Ryan informed him. "And, as such, we'd like your input."
"On that, and these," Esposito clarified, laying two more crime scene photographs onto the table.
Rick's jaw dropped open. "Hell Hath No Fury, and Death of a Prom Queen."
"Apparently."
"Do I-" he looked up at the two men in awe. "Do I have a fan?"
"A messed up fan, yeah."
"Huh." Rick nodded, taking the picture and looking at it closely. Yeah. Okay. He could work with this. "The dress is meant to be blue, you know."
"What?"
"The picture- the dress. It's the wrong color. It's meant to be blue. Either this fan of mine is seriously color blind, or it's all a set-up. So what's our next move?"
"Our next move?" Esposito raised an eyebrow, and Rick shrugged.
"I'm between books right now." He grinned. This was perfect. If he was helping the police Gina would have to get off his back about the next book. There was no way she could chase him down here. And if this took a couple of days to solve, so much the better. Besides, who knew what inspiration would come his way if he spent enough time with homicide cops. "I can help you solve this!"
April 2009
"I thought I could help." Rick lifted a shoulder in resignation. "Not… you. Not specifically. I just- when the detectives at the Twelfth brought me in, I figured I could be part of something bigger."
"And just how did my mom's file end up on your desk?"
Rick leaned back, relaxing. She looked calmer now, her eyes no longer flashing with rage. "I had a copycat," he started, repressing his grin. Kate probably wouldn't be impressed by the details; she didn't need to know he'd stolen crime scene photos to share at his poker game. "And then I spent some time at the precinct, and they asked me to file a few things, so I was down in records with one of the detectives, and we got talking."
He chuckled to himself. She also didn't need to know that he'd pestered Ryan relentlessly for three days before he'd been allowed to even go down to the archives, and he'd bribed both Ryan and Esposito with Knicks tickets in order to get them to select some of the more interesting files for him to go through.
She nodded, sinking back into her chair and looking around. "Are you hungry?" he asked when he saw her gaze pause on the chalkboard menu above the barista and she nodded.
"I could eat," she admitted, and he beckoned to their waiter.
"What can I get you?"
"Uh- a chicken wrap, please,"
"Make that two," Rick added, and their waiter nodded, disappearing back behind the counter.
"So you worked with the NYPD?" She sounded curious in spite of her earlier animosity and Rick smiled. Maybe she was going to let him in after all. "What's that like?"
"It's kind of cool," he told her. "I mean some of it's so… old school. You know how on TV shows they have all this cutting edge technology? Well it's not really like that. They have white boards. And facial recognition for missing persons? It's just a book that you have to flip through yourself. And if you don't skip the line-" He grimaced. "Do you know how long you have to wait for prints to get processed?"
"So should I expect your next book to be a little more factual than your last one?"
"Well-"
"Or let me guess- you're turning to non-fiction?"
Huh. Beneath her icy exterior, Kate actually had a sense of humor. "Doesn't seem likely," he admitted, and she shot him a sideways look. Well. If he wasn't mistaken, she was actually beginning to enjoy herself a little.
"Here you go." Their waiter slammed their sandwiches in front of them before hurrying away, and Rick chuckled.
"Don't think I'll be tipping very much," he whispered, and Kate's lips curled up in the smallest of smiles as she leaned forward, cutting her wrap in half.
"No," she agreed. "But it's a nice place."
"Mmm, I like it," Rick said, looking around the room. The black and white prints contrasted with the rich color on the walls, and the worn wooden tables and benches gave the cafe a gravity.
"You've come here before?"
He shook his head. "They have another one in midtown that I go to sometimes."
"Do you write there?" Now she sounded genuinely curious, and Rick bit into his own wrap to hide his grin.
"Mostly I write at home, but I wrote in a bar before I had my daughter."
"Oh yeah?"
"Mmm. It was a cool bar, too. Maybe you know it- I mean you grew up in Manhattan, right?"
"And we're back to asking me questions." The wary edge was back in her voice, but Rick pushed on.
"Just wondering. I mean, you're not Bridge and Tunnel - no trace of the boroughs when you talk, so that means Manhattan. And you're a lawyer, which is exactly what I would have picked for you, and that usually means money."
He frowned, trying to work it out, and she shifted in her chair, her eyebrows drawing together suspiciously, the haunted look returning to her eyes.
"But- corporate law. Socially acceptable, sure. But it's still kind of surprising, to be honest. I would have expected someone like you to be a little more individual. Environmental? Or defense lawyer, maybe?"
"Defense lawyer? Really?" Kate put her sandwich down, the fire back in her eyes as she stood up, her chair scraping the floor with a sharp screech that had the group at the long table turn and look. "After what happened to my mom?"
"I-"
She threw him one more look - hurt and anger all rolled up in one - and snatched up her purse, pulling a few bills from it and placing them on the table before stalking out without another word.
"I'm… sorry?"
A/N: Thanks everyone for the kind words so far! And a big thank you to Kylie and Jamie, betas-extraordinaire. And best of luck to everyone else who is ficathon-ing this hiatus!