May 2010
Just one more month, Beckett reminded herself as she poured a coffee into her travel mug and clipped her shield to her pants. It had already been a couple of weeks since their trip to Prague, and that was a couple of weeks too long. Since that weekend they'd practically doubled their time spent together online and over the phone, but - the awkward goodbye at the airport well behind them - it wasn't close to enough.
She slid into her shoes, pulling a light jacket over her shirt and unlocked the apartment door, making her way onto the street and into the hustle and bustle of the city.
She took a sip of the coffee as she waited at the stoplight, yawning as the light flicked to green and she walked, following the swell of the crowd across the street and down into the subway station. She stifled another yawn as she pushed her metro card into the slot letting her onto the platform.
She leaned her head back as the carriage trundled its way through Manhattan's underground, closing her eyes in an attempt to shut out the cacophony of the morning commute.
She really needed more than three hours sleep.
Beckett chuckled to herself, taking another sip of her coffee.
What she really needed wasn't so much extra sleep but - more to the point - to live in the same time zone as Richard Castle again. She shook her head. If someone had told her a year ago that the infuriating man who'd burst into her life would become her life blood and her best friend, she would have laughed in their face.
Had someone suggested she'd fall in love with the arrogant jackass-
Well. She hummed quietly to herself, and stood as the train reached her station, alighting with the other passengers.
He wasn't a jackass anymore, and she knew better than to believe in the arrogance that he tried to force the world to see. No, he was an amazing man; a great father, a wonderful boyfriend and-
And he lived on the other side of the Atlantic.
She ran her fingers through her hair as she jogged up the steps to the street, widening her stride as she made her way to the precinct.
"Get a grip, Beckett," she muttered to herself as she walked through the doors of the 12th, making a beeline for the elevator and tapping her fingers against her thigh as it ascended, pinging on the third floor to let one of the robbery detectives off before it lurched upwards again, arriving at last on the fourth floor.
"Yo, Beckett, you're late," Esposito greeted her as she slid into her desk chair and flicked her computer on.
She shot him a look as she slammed her empty coffee cup down in front of her with a little more force than she'd intended.
"Yeah, Beckett, late night?" Ryan followed Javi's lead, the innocence in his eyes completely unconvincing. She rolled her eyes. It was clear the boys knew she was seeing someone, but she thought - hoped - Lanie had been as good as her word and not revealed the fact she was in a relationship with Castle.
"Haven't we got a murder to solve?" she retorted, avoiding their eyes as she logged into her PC and pulled up her email.
"Nope." Ryan beamed at her and she rolled her eyes as she searched for a response, coming up empty.
Three hours sleep. She leaned her head into her hands before standing and stalking into the break room. Another coffee would help.
Right?
Castle rubbed at his eyes, half-squinting as he glared at the sunshine streaming through the crack in the curtains. How was it so bright already?
He groaned, knowing the truth to that question. He and Beckett had been on Skype all night, only ending the call well after the sky had begun to lighten, meaning that Beckett only had, oh - he glanced at the his watch to try and work it out - three hours? Four, at the most?
Oops.
He had to stop doing that, making her stay up so late. But the trouble was, once they started talking it was so hard to stop. Last night, even, Alexis had woken in the wee hours, wandering bleary-eyed out into the kitchen to get a glass of water and stopping to say hello to Beckett
He rubbed his eyes, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. From the bedside table his laptop light blinked at him, a tell-tale sign that when he'd relocated into his bedroom toward the end of their conversation he'd neglected to charge it.
He stretched again, glaring at the hapless machine before connecting it to the power source. He had to write today; faking another day of research - which usually ended in a game or two of X-Box - wasn't going to cut it. No, if he wanted to get back to writing Nikki Heat any time soon, he needed to complete this Bond book.
Coffee would help, he told himself, making his way into the kitchen and dumping more than the usual amount of coffee grounds into the machine before switching it on. He watched blankly as the precious liquid filtered down into the pot, pulling the milk from the fridge and pouring some into his mug before filling it the rest of the way with coffee and taking a sip.
Perfect.
By now it would be mid-morning in New York, and he reached for his phone - lying on the counter and also nearly flat - and messaged Beckett a quick hello before attaching it to its charger and turning back to his bedroom, coffee in hand.
He had to write.
His email, however, had other ideas, his inbox filling and distracting him as he opened it. The usual marketing emails, a request from an old school friend to join LinkedIn - he declined that, was there a more boring social network out there? - and a forwarded email from Paula.
He opened that one, curious. Paula wasn't big on email. Typically a talker, she was more the type to show up at his front door unannounced, or talk his ear off over the phone. He smirked. Maybe the time difference had thrown her. That, and the fact she could no longer pound on his door in the pre-dawn hours as long as he was in London.
The smirk fell from his face as he scanned the email. FYI, Paula had written above the body of text. Perfect event. Let me know if you want me to book you in for it. Late notice, but would be good for your profile. Below her short message was an invitation to the opening of an exhibition, on that weekend.
His eyes widened.
A James Bond exhibition? He nodded. Very cool. So what if his heart wasn't racing with passion for Bond? The British spy was still the reason he'd become a writer, and he still loved the 'verse.
Besides that - and at this his heart skipped a beat, even as he hit the reply button to tell Paula to book him for the event - the exhibition was in New York City.