Part Twenty: Extraordinary

A strange sensation overcame her. Being curled into a ball made Nikki feel safe, certainly less openly vulnerable than she'd made Rook by cuffing his wrists to the headboard, but it wasn't long before she realized just how vulnerable she really was, how thoroughly he had limited her range of motion and her power.

Swaying side to side accomplished next to nothing, and she could do little else but let him shift her body by maneuvering her legs; little else but succumb to the temptation to enjoy herself, to enjoy Rook. To trust him.

She did.

I'll be damned, thought Kate. She trusts him.

It was quite possibly the only direction she did not expect this story to take.

She had no storyboard, no summary. She vaguely remembered imagining that Nikki would eventually fly solo; remembered how another story slowly emerged in her free-writes, the story of how Nikki and Rook reconciled and proved that they preferred to work—and play—as a team. But this?

It was clear now that, at least in Kate's world, Nikki trusted Rook whether or not she was solely in control—such trust was meant to work both ways—but Kate never would have given it much thought if Rook hadn't taken the decisive action he did, ever so carefully bending Nikki to his will. He didn't only respect her strength; he respected her boundaries. He didn't only keep her safe; he made her feel safe. No matter which role he took, he played it with her best interests at heart.

No, not at heart. In mind. Her best interests in mind. It wasn't like Nikki and Rook were bonding heart-to-heart. That was a trust that they did not share.

Or was it?

Nevertheless, it remained that there was plenty to the character of Nikki Heat, and Kate figured that uncovering a few surprises along the way was not unusual in writing, especially when one wasn't actively planning and plotting or even asking, "What would make a better story?" to decide where to go next.

Wasn't that what Vince Minaret had taught her months ago, right here in this café? That, once set free, a story could fly away in unexpected directions? And—

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

Kate had no sooner closed her notebook and glanced around the café when who should she see, sitting across the room in his own deep red armchair, but Vince Minaret.

Chewing her cheek and off-setting her jaw in thought, she rose and strode to him, her vanilla latte long forgotten on the table.

He never saw her coming.

"Hey," she said, startling him mid-sip. He dabbed his mouth with a napkin before turning to see his visitor.

"Oh! Hey." He offered her a modest smile and gestured for her to sit, but she remained standing.

He seemed not to be bothered, as though it were only natural that she wouldn't formally join him. Of course, she had no idea that he'd read that she and Castle were an item just in time to spot them at Remy's for a late night out; that her distance now communicated less psychological edge and more officially unavailable.

She said, "Usually I wouldn't even ask, but I need to know."

"About?"

"Your book. Grin."

Vince laughed at that. "Five hundred pages and you want to know more? Usually people tell me I could have written less."

She wanted to remind him that it was 499 pages, but why quibble over one page? Let Vince have his 500-page fantasy. She remembered Castle choking on his vanilla milkshake and smiled.

Vince noticed and, not knowing what she had in mind, smiled, too, as though enjoying an in-joke before he was let in on it. "What?"

"Why did you kill him?"

Clearly he needed a moment to process that. Accusations of murder can have that effect on people.

Kate mercifully elaborated: "Your main character."

"My main character?"

"Were you bored with him?" That's why Castle killed Derrick, wasn't it? Not that any of this had anything to do with Castle.

"No," he said, looking confused. "And there are two main characters."

She could see where he was going with that. "It's just—it's called Grin, right? It just surprised me that it became so much about Nina. Her grief and her half-hearted non-relationship with Victor and the years she spends trying to get her husband's work back in print—"

"Actually," Vince interjected, "once they're married, they're both named Grin."

That explanation didn't appease her, and no doubt he could tell.

"Let's put it this way," he said. "He spends his life telling her story through his writing. And she spends her life telling his—not just in sharing his work and his legacy, but through the way she lives. Because his impact is far more than what he writes. It's also how profoundly he's changed her. Changed her life."

"So you're saying he's never really gone," said Kate, her skepticism giving way to her underlying love of the story; an acceptance of possibility and new perspective. "He's a part of everything she is and does, even when he isn't there."

She thought of her conversations with her dad—the love he had for her mother, how deeply she had touched his heart, how difficult it was for him to forget her, how he finally came to accept that he didn't want to forget and that that was all right.

She wondered if she would ever know love like that beyond her family.

Vince nodded, sipping at his coffee. "He was extraordinary. His love, his loyalty, his dreams. She can't stop thinking about him."

Just then, a man at the counter caught her eye. She recognized him from the back—from head to toe and, yes, fine, everything in between. Her heart lurched into her throat. Her face grew warm, and her mind raced with thoughts of what she would say to him when their paths crossed.

Then the gentleman turned around and, though he was somewhat ruggedly handsome in his own way, it was most definitely not Richard Castle. Her heart slumped down again into her chest and took a moment to settle back into its proper rhythm.

"And even if she could," Vince added, "she can't stop living the way he's taught her to live."

"I like that," she admitted. "I guess I didn't see it that way before. Who knows? Maybe I'll read it again sometime. Fresh eyes."

"Wait a couple of years," he said with a smile. "Even fresher eyes, that way."

Castle dreaded telling Beckett about the latest development on the upcoming book. If their history was any indication, it wouldn't end well for him. He may not even live to see the book released.

If he failed to mention it, it was only with some hope of self-preservation and respect for Beckett's own dignity that he did so.

Fortunately, Paula had big news for him; a nice, juicy distraction. Heat Wave was up for film production, and Castle gladly closed the deal.

Of course, it was strange to be involved even marginally in the process of recreating Heat Wave, since he was already knee-deep in Naked Heat.

It made him think about how he and Beckett were off-kilter—how, as he worked through these next three books, he would always be one book ahead of her. He would always have the mentality of the next novel while she was still wading through his old words.

He would always see Nikki and Rook through a different lens than she would. He relished moments like their long road-trip to Connecticut, when he could tell her about the story he was working on and enjoy her feedback. But other than that, it occurred to him that she wouldn't really catch up until the end of the series.

To her, Nikki and Rook had bantered and fallen into bed, sure, but they didn't trust each other or care for each other or even appreciate each other the way he believed they eventually would throughout the next few books.

Of course, she did practically confess to reading Heat Wave multiple times. And if that didn't light a fire under him to keep writing, not much would.

But if she liked the story as it was, part of him was still hesitant to show her the next installment in its entirety. What if she didn't like where the story went? What if she saw Nikki and Rook differently than he did?

What if is invariably one of a writer's well-honed skills; it's no secret. It's practically a stereotype. He told himself it would make a better story if he could be a writer who didn't obsess over what ifs.

And anyway, he'd probably be healthier for it.

Heading into the bullpen as he ended his phone call with Paula, he decided once and for all that he would focus on the movie. He wouldn't worry about what Beckett might think of new content or developed relationship arcs. And he certainly wouldn't tell her yet that the next book was going to be called Naked Heat.

Yeah, he thought, Beckett would never go for that.

If only he knew.

Notes: There will be an epilogue, set a few years later, posted as the next chapter.

But in the meantime, there's more to the story!

Will Beckett come to terms with the fact that Castle gets her hot and bothered? Can she admit to Castle that she writes about Nikki and Rook? If he ever found out, what would he think?

The saga continues from here with "Packing Heat," set during 2x17, between the red wine and the infamous pancakes. Then there's "On the Back Burner" (2x21-3x01) and "Californication" (3x22).

Depending on ideas and interest, I may eventually write another installment, add epilogues to the old stories, and/or continue the alternate ending to this story, "Whatever You Want."

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

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