A man on a mission, a man trained not to hide under a table when fireworks are shot off into the air with a loud bang and a man with a mask to keep on his face. The mask of a charming smile, a fake life and a reputation that makes him want to spill his guts in the nearest bush. He pushed through the crowd, trying to find the target he was supposed to get closer to, learn their behavior, learn their intentions and find out what they know.
The board he had at home was impossible to follow anymore, there were so many strings coming from the mystery woman. Red ones were the ones that were factual, with evidence and proof. The blue ones were for things that can be proven with more digging and the white ones were assumptions, connections made like a sudoku being filled in blindly.
Whenever he looked at the board, he felt hate for the color blue and white claw their way up his throat, the only thing it did was prove his unworthiness of being an agent chosen to cover as a celebrity. In some way it was also a punishment. It also made him think of the LA Dodgers, good thing he was a football fan and not a baseball fan.
Before he could reach his target of the night, he turned around to grab a champagne off of a tray from a waiter behind him. Alcohol makes anyone's tongue loose, even those who are suspected of endangering the national safety of America. A hand tapped his shoulder and he really wanted to shrug it off, making them leave him alone so that he can continue the mission.
But his role wasn't to be an agent, desperate to be in his normal life that consisted of not wearing makeup, not flirting with anything that has a heartbeat and doesn't have anything to do with parties. For as normal as a life of an agent can be, Richard's has to be far from it, but still the ache of having a cabin in the woods, with rain hitting the roof and the feeling of paper under his fingertips all compelled him to disappear from the map. No-one truly disappears from the map with as many enemies he made, Agent Rodger made.
But he couldn't do that to his little girl. "I'm sorry, where do I need to sign?" His mask was back on and he had to act as if he wants to fuck anything that can breathe. He blinked as all he could see was the color red on her lips. The lipstick looked like it stained her lips and he had to push away the urge to reach out and wipe it, just to see her lips under the cosmetics.
Then she held up the piece of metal that just reflected the crest of the police, her badge number '41319' and the word 'detective' in a fine print. "Detective Kate Beckett, NYPD." His smile wanted to falter but not even New York finest would make him break his role. "We need to ask you a few questions about a murder that took place earlier tonight."
He was surprised. "I suppose that I don't need to sign anything," He said with a charming smile on his face. "Unless," He raised his eyebrows at her, suggestively. "You want me to sign somewhere in private." Flirty.
Her face drops into a forced smile, he could tell by the way her eyes don't have that moment when it lights up. Hazel eyes have always been a favorite eye color of his. "How about we go down to the station?" She suggested but with the amount of authority in her voice, the agent knew he had no choice but to abandon his target and follow the pretty detective.
"I need to make a phone call first, if you don't mind?" The agent said with a hand already feeling around for his phone. "My daughter needs a nanny." Fatherly. He then turned around and waved over at his daughter, nearly knocking a waiter's plate onto the ground. Clumsy.
"Make it short." She said after contemplating and cringing slightly. The FBI agent noted that she wasn't a fan of him, good. The detective won't think of him after this one-time encounter. His pretend daughter perked up from behind her laptop and waved back at her pretend father.
He smiled at the detective before walking into an empty staff room. He dailed his handler's number and held it up to his ear. The ringing never seemed to end until it finally did. 'Thanks for calling New York Nanny's, leave a message after the beep.' The automated voice said.
"Rick Castle calling for a nanny." He said and hung up the phone. Observing the room he noted that only two phones were laid out on the table, but he assumed that they were empty and from the staff. Nothing that would record.
After exactly twenty seconds his phone rings and a voice sounds over the speaker. "Middle name?" It was a code, something only he, his mother and trusted fake daughter would know.
"Alexis, yes, named after Alexander the Great, yeah." The agent hummed, nobody but his makeshift family knew of his middle name. The operator clicked a button and he was patched through to another phone.
"What is it, Agent Rodgers?" The voice behind the phone demanded. He had interrupted his handler's night.
"I'm in need of a babysitter, I've been called into the precinct in connection to a murder." He answered, informing his boss of the different direction his night had taken. "Badge 41319 asked for me to come down to the station."
"Go, maintain your cover and follow the murder, just like Rick Castle would."
"Rick Castle." Agent Rodgers' back slumped into a pose that wasn't perfectly up straight, his serious face disappeared and turned into a smile and finally his tone shifted. "Millionaire, playboy and bestseller." He introduced himself, it was both a reassurance to him and his handler. If you remember your role, you don't get killed.
"Report back in half an hour, I'll know more." His handler told him and hung up. The tone of a phone being dismissed just as he was. Rick Castle took in a breath and walked out of the door and to the fine detective, he reckoned she was the same age as Agent Rodgers was.
"Nanny will be picking her up." He said and grabbed a flute of champagne. "Shall we go?" He said and held up his glass, daring her to do something about it, challenging.
"Lets." She nodded and as they started to move, she took his glass from his loose grip and put it on a tray as another waiter walked past them. He whined and pouted about his lost champagne. Immature.
It was a mental checklist of his for whenever he meets someone. He has to go down all his list of personality traits to ensure that he has his cover faked until perfection, act it out as if it was a video made of that person. He repeated his traits in his head once again, loose, fatherly, airheaded, eureka moments, immature, flirty and clumsy. So far he only needs to be more loose with the law, have an eureka moment and flirt some more. Even though he had already flirted, he decided to do some more, for personal reasons. "Are you going to handcuff me, detective?" He hummed with a grin, he then walked past his mother who was chatting up an old actor friend of hers. He wasn't the only one on a mission.
"Good night mother, I've been asked to join them at the precinct." He had his bad boy image to keep up. His mother just laughed and looked at her son, her body language didn't reveal anything and she knew that he didn't have anything to gauge her true reaction.
A retired spy is never really retired. "That is alright son, I'll bail you out later." The actor who she was with laughed out loud and she leaned closer to him. The hand around his arm urged him through the crowd and it was searing hot on his skin.
"No handcuffs." Detective Beckett said just over the music that played. "You would like that, wouldn't you?" Rick Castle's face turned into a big smile.
"Just so you know, my safe word is 'Apples'." He said suggestively and ducked his head to sit in the back of the police cruiser. "You don't have a partner?" He asked as he looked at the empty seat next to her. She started the car with a quiet hum, her eyes looked at him through the rear view mirror and he held eye contact.
"I don't need a partner." She said.
"You're not the one to share your victories, are you?" Rick had to get under her skin, and he was. Seeing her left hand tapping the wheel, she was getting impatient with him. He grinned at her in the rear mirror, "What murder happened today?" He asked, his serious side coming out. Somewhere in his heart he will always be an agent rather than an author. "And how could this be connected to me?"
"I'll answer those questions up in the bullpen," The detective said and stopped the car. She opened the door and then opened his, he stepped out and followed her inside the bullpen. He couldn't help but let his eyes wander down a bit. "Mr. Castle." She snapped at him.
"Detective Beckett." He hummed and the officer of the law stood behind him in the elevator, which made his skin crawl. The opportunities that he has given her to kill him were unlimited. The bell sounded and he let out a breath, his shoulder sagging.
"Scared of the elevator, Writer Boy?" The woman teased him with the nickname and led him to a door. The bullpen was bustling with movement and cameras that were all focused around the whole area.
"More than 17,000 people are seriously injured every year because of an elevator." Rick muttered as he walked through the door she opened for him and he looked at the double-sided mirror as if he hadn't seen it before. "Is this the famous mirror," He reached up and tapped on it, "Does this mirror change your appearance because I look even more ruggedly handsome than before." He said and ran a hand through his hair.
"Go sit down, Mr. Castle." Detective Beckett said as someone handed her a case file, she closed the door after the person and commanded the room. The Agent looked at her and grinned, she'd be a good agent as well. She had potential.
Rick Castle sat down on the chair and looked up at her, "What does the computer say about me?" He grinned.
"Nothing that the google searches won't show." Detective Beckett said as she stood reading his portfolio. "Disorderly conduct," She looked down at him and raised an eyebrow, "Resisting arrest."
He grinned sheepishly, "Boys will be boys." A fake arrest reported by a freshly retired cop who will remember him if the man was asked. She paused and gave him a little smile, drawing him in, making him feel safe. Oh she's good.
"It says here that you stole a police horse."
He leaned back in his chair, "I'd rather say borrowed."
She then raised his eyebrows at him, "It also says that you were nude at the time."
"It was spring." He leant forward as she sat down. "The mayor is a fan." He grinned. "You can punish me anytime though." She took her time to take in a breath before leaning towards him.
"Mr. Castle, this whole 'bad boy charm' you've got going on might work for all the right people. Me though, I work finding out what is behind the mask for a living." So did he, "You either fit in two things, the one where the guy makes my life easier, or the guy who makes my life harder." He wondered if she practiced this in the mirror or if it just came as natural as it looked for her. "Trust me, you don't want to be the second guy."
"Heard." He said, deciding to stop the flirting and actually help the investigation. The faster they stop it the faster he can return to his actual job. She put a picture of a girl in front of him.
"Alison Tisdale." She said.
"Don't know her, never seen her before." Castle answered. Another picture was put in front of him.
"Marvin Fisk, small claims lawyer."
"My claims tend to be on the large side." He grinned, "If you must know."
"I didn't have to know that." She said and then rolled her eyes, "Fisk was found murdered in his office two weeks ago. I didn't put it together until we saw the Tisdale crime scene tonight." Another picture was put on his desk and Rick raised an eyebrow.
"Two weeks is a long dormant time for a killer." He said and looked at the picture. "Flowers For Your Grave." He said and felt his skin crawl. One of his very own creations, words on paper had been used to pose a kill.
"This is how we found Marvin Fisk, as if he came right out of Hell Hath No Fury." His breath caught itself in his chest and he looked up at her, playing it off.
"Looks like I have a fan."
"A really deranged one." She was quick to retort.
He smiled to himself, "You don't look deranged to me." He joked. "Hell Hath No Fury is the book that hard-core fans read, are you a hard-core fan of mine, Detective?" He flirted.
She looked tired of his antics already, "Do any of these hard-core fans, ever write you letters." He cringed, "Disturbing letters?" She suggested. Every mail had to be screened by his people to make sure none contained dangerous things, one fan even tried to send him cocaine, stating that the best authors were high out of their minds.
"All my fan mail is disturbing. It's an occupational hazard." She started to explain why she'd like to go through his fan mail, "-attempts to contact the subject of his obsession." She looked a bit taken aback. "I'm pretty well-versed in psychopathic methodologies." As an Agent he had to. "Do you know that you have gorgeous eyes, couldn't take mine off of you."
She took in a breath and took back the pictures, "So I take it that you won't have any objections to us going through your mail."
He grinned at her, "Better you than me." He hummed. "Knock yourself out." The detective looked glad that she didn't have to get a warrant to go through his mail. He stood up and looked at her, "Am I free to go?" He asked.
Detective Beckett nodded and held the door open for him. "You are."
Rick Castle took a step closer to her and fished out a business card, "My personal number is on there, detective. Call if you need my help." He said and winked at her before brushing past her, walking between the desks with a phone to his ear.
'Thanks for calling New York Nanny's, leave a message after the beep.' The same automated voice said and he waited for the beep, "Rick Castle calling for a nanny." He said and looked at the detective who watched him enter the elevator. If they knew he was going to call, he didn't have to hang up.
"Middle name?"
"Alexis, named after Alexander The Great." He grinned and waved at the detective before pressing the ground level elevator. The detective on the case looked curious as the doors slid close.
"How did your interview go, Agent?" His handler sounded quite amused.
"I think Detective Beckett might be a bit annoyed with me, or infatuated." He relayed his observation of the woman. "The case represents death scenes between the victims from my book and real life murders."
"I saw the pictures, Flowers For Your Grave and Hell Hath No Fury?" The handler said and let out a breath, "These are the ones you've actually written, either this is a coincidence or you have been made. You're staying on the case."
"Yes sir." He wanted to argue that it would be safer for someone to take it over, or even tell him to call in his team, they'd be a great help. Then it was silent for a second, then came the monotone sound of a phone being hung up.