A/N: See disclaimer in Chapter 1. Beta'd.
Chapter 9: Bank
Rick has just dropped his daughter off at her school, and thankfully, she had been very well behaved all morning. Having just arrived home, he closes the door to his office, seating himself at his desk. The outline of his Derek Storm novel is on his desk, and he feels a little bit of guilt for not paying it more attention. He dismisses the thought; he's quickly identified since Meredith left that family is more important to him than his work.
He hears a knock. "Come in, Mother."
"Richard," his mother's head peers around the door. "I just wanted to let you know I'll be out late with Jim and Jerry and his wife tonight." She grins. "We're going to see the opera!"
Rick nods, a faint smile gracing his own face. "Have fun, Mother. Alexis and I won't wait up."
"Ta-ta!" He hears his front door close with a dramatic flair. He shakes his head, more out of humour at his mother's antics than irritation.
He opens his desk drawer, and fingers the business card he had been given several nights back. He picks up the cordless phone from his desk, and silently debates whether or not to call the number, thinking of all the firsthand research he could obtain from an actual CIA agent.
He decides to go for it.
The phone rings several times, before, finally, being picked up. A groggy voice greets Rick. "…Hello?"
"Hi, I'm looking for a Jimmy Oliver?"
"Speaking," comes the reply, this time more tentative and cautious than the initial greeting. "Who is this?"
"I met you the other night at the bar," Rick says, his free hand tapping against his desk excitedly. "You mentioned something about the Farm?"
An unintelligible noise comes from the other side of the phone, a curse word Rick would not care to repeat in private company. "L-l-look, forget I told you about that." Jimmy's voice is shaky, scared. "Forget you've ever met me."
"I can't do that, Jimmy," replies Rick genially. "Why don't I meet you at The Old Haunt again tonight, and we'll have a little chat. 11pm, let's say?"
"F-f-fine." Jimmy huffs out nervously.
Rick hangs up the phone, and gets up to dance a little jig – excited at the prospect of legitimately being able to scoop CIA details, but also in part due to the amazement he has at being able to still summon happy feelings despite all of the pain and sorrow in his life.
The evening can't come fast enough.
He spends the rest of the morning pacing around his office and his loft, before deciding the space is too small for him. Pulling on his coat, he heads off to the nearest coffee shop, with his handy notebook in his jacket pocket.
It's a fine spring morning. Already he notices the extra bounce in pedestrians' steps and brighter colours in the streets, a far cry from the trudging and drudgery of previous weeks. His mood lifts, and his posture straightens; it's as if a large burden has been lifted off of his shoulders.
He pauses, trying to remember the distance from where he stands to his favourite coffee shop. Making a quick left, and then a right –
– there it is. He quickly enters.
He hasn't been here in a long time - something he notices all too well, with the extra renovations that they've done since he's been here last.
The ambience is nice and warm, a welcome reprieve from the cold spring air outside. Well lit, he can see the steaming cups of coffee - and smell their alluring scent - on every occupied
table, and the low murmurs of ongoing conversations.
A jostling behind him makes him turn.
"Sir, it's your turn –"
It's Jim Beckett's daughter.
He doesn't acknowledge that he's heard – or her, really – placing his order instead.
The awkward tension between the two of them as they wait for their coffees is palpable.
She speaks first. "Mr. Castle... I never did thank you for..." she chokes, but recovers, far quicker than Rick thought possible. "For your family, and how you've helped my father...through all of this."
It's clear that she's still grieving, though Rick can't see any evidence of said grief on her face.
He clears his throat. "He's a friend." This is what friends do.
"Still..."
She's interrupted by the barista, who informs them that their beverages are ready. Yet they
still stand in front of the counter awkwardly though they've picked up their drinks, each hoping the other will make the next move.
Finally, Rick sighs. "Let's grab a table." For a moment, he thinks he sees an almost animalistic urge to flee in her eyes, but dismisses the thought when she acquiesces.
They head to the back, to a quiet corner. Rick notices how easily and quickly she navigates the tight space; it's obvious that she has been here before, and regularly, by how other established patrons in the shop greet her.
They sit in awkward silence. She has her hands wrapped around her cup; he, with one hand on his cup, the other on the table, his fingers tapping an indiscriminate pattern.
She breaks first, exhaling nervously, "How are Alexis and Martha doing?"
He laughs shortly, and even he can hear the cynicism he feels at the posed question. She winces, and ducks her head down. At this, he suddenly remembers how young she actually is. He pushes that stab of sympathy to the back of his mind. "They're fine," he says curtly. "I would've thought that
you'd see my mother more than me - she and Jim have become the best of friends, it seems."
"I... I wouldn't know." Her eyes remain downcast. "I... haven't been home much in the last while."
His mother had mentioned it once or twice, now that he thinks about it.
"I'm sorry. This was a mistake. I should get going." She reaches for her purse, and gets up to leave.
"You know... your father isn't the only person who's been hurt by your disappearing act," he says quietly.
She turns, as if stricken. "I-I-I'm sorry." She flees, nearly knocking down several cups of coffee in the process.
His own coffee turns sour in his mouth. Sighing, he grabs his coat and chases after her.
"Kate!" He can't catch up; she's obviously fit, and he's…not. She doesn't turn around, though Rick imagines for a moment that there was just a tiny stutter in her steps, a hesitation. He pants on the sidewalk, debating for a moment whether or not he should continue the chase.
But before he can decide, he feels a sudden jab in his neck, and his world swirls around him.
What the…
xxxxxxxxx
He awakens to a black hood over his face, his hands cuffed behind the back of the hard wooden chair he's sitting on. He kicks his legs experimentally – and nearly topples in the process; his legs are tied to the legs as well.
Don't panic…
Don't panic…
He's panicking.
His mind runs the things his kidnappers could possible want from him.
Money? He's hit his first million already a year or two ago, but if they wanted someone rich, they had the wrong person. He's still paying off the mortgage on his loft.
A rich laugh greets his ears – a woman?
"Gentlemen…if we could get the restraints off of Mr. Castle…"
His hood comes off, and then the cuffs. He rubs his wrists gingerly, trying to get the feeling back into them, while scanning the room around him.
A gorgeous brunette stands at the front of the room, her arms crossed, and two men in front of him, unlocking the manacles around his feet. These must be her lackeys, he decides.
He stands unsteadily to his feet, and promptly falls back into the chair. "Whaaa…" he slurs. He notices she's unarmed, but not much luck there when he can't even stand properly.
She dismisses her goons – he's called them – and seats herself on the other chair in the room.
"I apologize for all of this. My agents do get a little…enthusiastic." She smiles. "Would you like a drink?"
He regards her with suspicion.
She laughs. "Don't worry, it won't be drugged. We've put enough of that poison into your system." She nods towards him – but not at him, he realizes; at the security camera behind him.
To his surprise, Jimmy Oliver comes barrelling through the door, with a mug in his hand. "Ma'am, I've brought your coffee."
His astonishment can't stop his mouth from blurting out, "You're CIA?!"
She nods, her eyes twinkling. "That's right, Mr. Castle."
"That is so awesome!"
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"Now, I understand you're writing a new novel," Sophia – her name, he's come to know – says, casually sipping from her own mug.
"Yes, Derek Storm." He smiles back at her, at ease instantly. She's different. "CIA operative, and I'm looking to do a little research – which, I thought Jimmy-boy here could help me out with."
"You made him panic and come running to me," she replies, looking over at Jimmy, who flushes. "He thought you were a person of interest. Thankfully, all of that was cleared up easily."
"Me?" Rick pretends to be hurt. "Little old innocent me?" They laugh, and Rick hasn't felt this way since Kyra, his college flame. "So, is there any chance I can tag along and do some research? I just need to get a feel for the agency, lend some authenticity to my work. No classified things, I promise."
"Of course you won't be able to put classified information in your novels, Rick," she says with a straight face. "Or else we'd have to kill you."
Rick makes a face.
"All jokes aside, we've already started the paperwork," Sophia continues, amused at his antics. "And I've taken the liberty of providing you with my direct line. We'll be able to show you the basics – everything else, your imagination will have to do the trick, though I'm sure that's no problem, given how successful your writing has been already."
She glances down at her watch. "Now…don't you have to go pick up your daughter? We'll continue this on a later date." She nods towards Jimmy. "Could you walk Mr. Castle out?"
xxxxxxxx
The rest of the day is a blur. All he can think of is his trip into CIA territory. Even Alexis notices how distracted he is.
"Papa," she whines. "Don't you want to know about my day?"
"Pumpkin, of course I want to know!" Rick's attention snaps back to his daughter. "Did you enjoy school?"
"Mrs. Bennett taught us about plants today! And we even got to plant our own beans." She holds up her little clear pot proudly. "Look! I'm going to call him Mr. Bean. Like that TV show! Except he'll be better looking."
Rick laughs, but before he can reply, his phone rings. He picks it up after the fourth ring, after lumbering across his couch. "Hello, Rick speaking."
"Richard." It's his mother, and he can hear anxiety and fright in her voice. He shushes Alexis, who looks back at him wonderingly. Upon hearing what she has to say, he falls back on his couch, stunned: "I need you to come down to the police station. Jim and I've been arrested."
A/N: Hope you enjoyed the latest chapter, and I apologize for the cliff-hanger. As you can see, we're slowly moving into the drama part of the story...and Sophia Turner won't be staying for long. Promise. Also, it looks like this story is going to be at 30 chapters long, which more than intimidates me a little bit. Let me know how you feel about this chapter (I'm mostly afraid I jammed in too many things!). Oh, and all mistakes are mine - my beta is the greatest! - I just choose to fiddle with things after he's done. Until next time, Ce'Nelenia
