The formalities took more than two hours, and already exhausted Castle only nodded in agreement with the tone of the lawyer, and he himself was already dreaming not so much of a bubble bath, but just a horizontal position: so much headache and unpleasant, acrid nausea. And Rick wasn't even looking at Beckett anymore, and she wasn't looking at him, so it was hard to understand what Kate was thinking. However, the detective didn't look good either - most likely, fatigue was taking its toll, and how Kate spent her free time, he, Castle, would find out someday...
Sleep was strong, but it left his whole body sore. He had to take some of his medication in the morning, and it was good that mom and Alexis didn't bother his son and father, who had gotten into criminal trouble. And while the bacon fried, Ric kept watch with a spatula in his hand while he methodically went over the events of the last two days in his head: the mysteriously lost letter, the body frozen by the fire, the insidious kick in the butt, the sweet taste of vomit in his mouth, the inhospitable encounter with the cops, and the final, no-holds-barred agreement about his presence at the station. It's understandable that the police met the outsider in a huff, but the officers aren't yet aware of the writer's extraordinary intelligence, and consistency, and integrity in everything, and even less of his ability to work as a team. Now, after bacon and coffee, he will appear in the station for the first time and in a new status, and this event will remain with him forever. Because a new, atypical social circle - it is indescribable and just damn great. But not only that.
...a little hiccup at the entrance, near the duty officer, and he's already inside the 12th. On the way to the detectives' office, Montgomery looked around eagerly, inquisitively, getting a sense of the place. Oh, where but in the police station, can be emphasized plot ideas for their works, and on how much he, Castle, organically fit into this harsh environment, depended a lot. In fact, his artistic future and the material wealth of his family and, of course - the weight of the position in the writing community. But that would be later, and now it was necessary, with the joint efforts of the cops, to find the one who, wanting to set him up, set them a difficult task ...
The elevator doors slid open with a slight hiss, and he didn't need a guide to find her desk. Which, by the way, was now empty. And when Castle leisurely defiled in the passage between the plastic partitions, no one paid much attention to him. Except for the officers who had questioned him along with Beckett and now turned their heads toward him. Ryan and Esposito, it seemed.
When Rick said a polite hello, he was courtesy itself, but they greeted him rather coolly and formally. And that's where the hard part was getting started.
And Castle began, with a distracted student topic, and in the eyes of his potential partners saw a lively, meaningful interest. And they, one by one supporting, were drawn into the conversation, and laughed at his jokes, and not strained and artificial, but openly and directly, from which Castle concluded that the calculation was correct. And if only these guys knew how much preferential treatment they could get from a mutually beneficial partnership, m-m-m...
... Ryan cut the phrase short, Esposito's face turned sour, and Castle involuntarily followed their gazes: on the threshold of a room, with a mug in his hand, stood Beckett. She glanced at the ex-suspect without much interest, and gracefully sauntered to her seat. And Castle, tenaciously and greedily, tracked her every movement: the way she set her foot, the way she stood, the way she clasped the mug with both hands, and the way she frowned as she sipped sip after sip.
And Kate was so cold in her divine beauty, so stern and dispassionate, that Castle was blown away from the detective table.
And now he was at her workplace: a prehistoric computer with worn buttons, stacks of papers and folders on either side of Kate, an office chair with a screw leg and frayed upholstery. A pottery mug smokes with steam, a desk lamp blinks slightly, a pen squeaks in musical fingers, sketching a text, and friendly glossy elephants on a common base keep loyalty to their mistress. And now he, Castle, enters all this familiar environment to change something, and who knows if he will be allowed to do all this ...
- Hello, Detective, - the chair to Beckett's left was vacant, and Castle confidently sank into it. - So, what do we got?
Thin hand froze on the unfinished phrase, Beckett slowly raised her head, shifting her attention to the intrusive type: on the cheekbones appeared vivid pink dimples, trembled well-defined eyebrows, in the eyes flashed a funny sparkle. But it lasted only a fraction of a second, and Beckett's face immediately regained its usual impassivity.
- Yourse? What are you talking about now, Mr. Castle? Who's "we"?
- You and me, Detective Beckett. We're partners now, so there's no denying the obvious- a new criminal alliance is being born in front of the honorable public on 12th.
- The obvious? A criminal alliance?
- Yes, of course! A tough and incorruptible female detective and a potential Pulitzer winner counseling her! And that's success, a new plot and increased box office! You might even say that the subject of the new novel itself came to me! And while our "left-wing" bastard is enjoying undeserved freedom for now, it's not forever, as they say!
- You're a grabber, - and Kate pursed her lips skeptically. - Or is it just from lack of admirers?
It really sounded like sarcasm, but Castle had been bumped too many times to cower today.
- I, frankly, do not count them, detective, - and Castle smirked enigmatically, - and the fact that the plot itself comes into my hands, I consider the finger of fate. Or at least a gift from the universe.
- Maybe the stars are helping you with that, too, - and Beckett relaxed in her chair, one hand resting on the armrest and the other resting on the tabletop, tapping with the tip of her pen. - I apologize for not being aware of your accomplishments. To be honest, I don't have time to read the tabloids, so it would be nice of you to spare me from praising your pseudo-achievements.
- They're not so "pseudo." I, by the way, choose the printers of my choice, because they choose me, - Castle interlocked his fingers above the kneecap and began to dabble cross-legged. - And this is not fantasy or jokes, but a classic relationship between a famous author and his publisher.
- It's a classic of the genre - and her eyes played upward in a characteristic way. - Or do you think I'm interested in all your background?
- It's just an introduction, a detective story, a precursor to our relationship.
- Relationship? - and Kate frowned inexpressibly but sweetly as she sat up straight and grabbed the mug instead of the pen she'd set aside, finishing it in rare sips. - What makes you think we're going to have any kind of relationship, even a working one? And what makes you think I'd enjoy having you around? And who told you I was gonna babysit you, huh? Remembering how you behaved at the interrogation, I conclude that your narcissism comes to the forefront, and that your adventurous nature can take you in the wrong direction. It's not that far from drama.
Yes, she was definitely disgusted with his community, but Castle only hummed, scratching his shaven cheek.
- But you haven't even tried it! What if I like it?
- Me?! Absolutely not! - and the empty mug dropped to the table, and Beckett crossed her arms over her chest as if closing herself off.
- Are you sure?! This could be someone else's chance!
- You stand your ground, mr. Castle, and your chances of getting out of here are multiplied!
- I promise not to do anything that would interfere with our mutual goals!
- Oh, so that's it?! Looks like you're not backing down!
- Not for millions of dollars! Oh, and by the way, let's switch to "you"!
- Okay, Castle, - sincerely wanting to give him a good kick, Beckett played with her eyes. - But the girl is already almost deaf from your irrepressible narcissism, and you, like a grouse on the stoke, pulling your throat and do not hear anything around.
- What am I not hearing? - he stared at her in amazement, but Beckett didn't dignify Castle with a response: before his unwelcome arrival, she'd thoughtfully guzzled down two cups of not-so-great coffee to keep her tone up. Now her head was starting to ache again, and her lower abdomen was churning, but no one in the world, including Mr. Castle, would have guessed that she wasn't feeling well. And the best thing to do now would be to go get another one.
A chair creaked, and Castle escorted the nonchalantly departing Kate with a slightly dazed look - apparently it wasn't often that they got out of dialog with him like that. Fans - well, they certainly wouldn't, but she wasn't one of them, and what Castle was thinking behind her back didn't bother Beckett much. Anyway, he's a temp, and when his poisoner is found and punished, she'll forget about Castle's presence like a bad dream...
The coffee machine was malfunctioning, and Kate was angry, but she didn't let it show - the concept of "budget" covered all aspects of their difficult life...
- Can I? - The strong, arousing citrus of his makeup caught up with her here, too. - А...
- What, Castle? - Beckett didn't even turn around, trying to unjam the jammed typewriter lever. - You're still here?
- Where else would I be? - he had the nerve to get smart. - Since I am now seconded to the station, I think it is possible...
- The mugs are over there!
She poured herself a cup of coffee, even though it burned, but she had reports to do, so she had no desire to indulge Mr. Castle in anything.
So Kate sat down in her seat, and a few minutes later Castle joined her, and he did not even taste a drop of coffee and did not enter her world with a single word. Why did Castle suddenly lose his cool?!
After a couple of sips, the mug was set aside, and Beckett again, with a pen in her hand, leaned over the report, and herself, through the overhanging bangs, imperceptibly squinted at the "bird" so strangely "flew" to them.
And Castle was really fooling around, there was no other way to say it: as if imitating a master barista, he brought the mug to himself, then removed it on an outstretched arm, and then brought it again, noisily sniffing out the tasty notes in the coffee park. And it must be said that the drink Castle for some reason was not delighted: after the first sip, Rick froze as a pillar of salt, wrinkling his face in an inexpressibly-martyr expression.
- Beckett... what's that? - his baritone, which had been soothing to his ears, had gone hoarse, reduced to the level of a storm-damaged docker. - Is that... what I... think?
He set the mug aside with such inexpressible disgust that Kate laughed inwardly.
- What's wrong with it?
- Is it... coffee?
- Yes, it's coffee! Don't you know the term "budget"?
- ...but I never... thought it would sound as sour... as sour... as it sounds... as this booze.
- It's not the best,- Kate sipped her mug deliberately slowly, and now it was her turn to tease him. - But it's good for a pep!
- It's... not coffee! - Castle coughed, spinning the index finger of one hand in the air and holding the tightly clenched fist of the other to his lips. - It's... an acid cocktail! It's... undiluted vinegar! No! It's just, uh... monkey piss!
The corners of Kate's lips indicated a smile- the beginning of a partnership so far without platitudes.
- There's no arguing about taste, Castle, it's not the most important thing right now-
- Yes, it is! - and Rick coughed loudly and emphatically. - And my actual tastes are way better. Isn't there something else we can do here without harming our health and aesthetic taste?
- Okay, Castle, let's go.
She easily and habitually rose from her seat, because everywhere you looked, you had to move on. And the sooner they solved both Briskin's death and Castle's poisoning, the sooner they could say goodbye.
- Oh, that's something! - Castle noisily leapt out of his chair, his whole demeanor showing readiness. - Oh, what's this?
She froze in front of a large rectangular white canvas, divided into three sectors: the central - under the timeline of events, and the outer - for photos of suspects and victims.
- This is our crime board, Castle. And if you use your imagination, it makes crime investigations a little more fun.
With fake disdain, hands in his pockets, the writer pursed his lips.
- Well, I thought there would be some kind of smart and interactive screen for investigations. Where it is necessary to enter only the initial data, and then there one - and ready!
Beckett just gave her eyes a knowing roll.
- I think someone's been watching too many soap operas. And here we have - just reality, and so the screen, Castle - this board, well, and smart - somewhere near.
- Uh, I'm not a woman, - even seeing her skeptically raised eyebrows, Castle was completely serious. - But still flattered.
Somewhere not far away and coherently chuckled the guys, and Kate, returning to her desk, also smiled discreetly and discreetly - the folder with Castle's case rested at the bottom of the highest pile, and Beckett carefully pulled it out into the light of day. Frankly, nothing much had been added to the file in a couple of days, even with Castle's "stolen" photographs, who now took the documents from her hands with indescribable reverence and care. And for some reason he didn't need to explain anything: deftly and dexterously, guided by the principle of priority and his own vision, Castle began to hang the pictures, commenting to himself. Occasionally his hand paused at the corner of a photo to poke another photo after a brief pause. And while Kate, folding her arms across her chest and touching the corner of her mouth with a finger, was pondering the situation, Castle settled down next to her, obviously for a business conversation. And his message was no longer humorous, but concerned only the essence ...
He spoke out verbosely and thoroughly, and Beckett, that at first was skeptical of his arguments, then, secretly, had to admit that his calculations are not without merit. And the fact that with the logic of Castle gets along perfectly, Kate realized since the first meeting.
True, she listened to him with a completely unperturbed look, so as not to build up the already overheated author's ego, and, taking a pause, Castle could not understand whether his arguments were useful or not very much. However, his aspirations were not in vain, and his heart almost jumped out of his chest at her key phrase:
- Okay, Castle! You're in!