CASTLE HIATUS FIC PROJECT by Irene and Ning
Castle as cop; Kate as writer | Requested by anonymous
It was nearing midnight when Detective Castle decided it was time to take a break from his paperwork. After all, shouldn’t he enjoy the special coffee machine he had just bought for the precinct after they captured a serial killer?
Entering the break room, he noticed a strange dim light emanating from under the door of the records room. Alert even without his caffeine fix, Castle felt for his holster, silently drawing his gun. This better not be Ryan and Esposito playing a belated April Fools’ joke on me, he mused, as he reached the records room and placed his ear against the door. He heard breathing. This perp is cornered, Castle thought, as he kicked the door open.
“Put your hands up!” He pointed his gun at the records room thief. It was a tall woman with long brown locks of hair. The file she had been poring over and the torch she used fell to the ground as she raised her hands in compliance, the wild panic in her sharp intake of breath unmistakable. Gun still firmly trained on her, Castle picked the torch up to shine in her face.
She squinted and ducked her head, but he recognised Kate Beckett, his favourite mystery novelist. (She was excellent with the details of death.)
The words spilled out of him before he could hold on to them, “You’re Kate Beckett.”
Her eyes widened. (They were olive.) “Yes,” she said slowly, “Can I put my hands down now?” Her gaze shifted almost imperceptibly to the file on the floor.
Castle gripped his gun harder, unsure what to make of the girl with the piercing gaze and wondering why his chest felt like it was going to burst its seams. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
Beckett spoke quickly, “Yes, I know, but please, something’s not right. That file is my mother’s—she was murdered and the police attributed it to random gang violence—but something doesn’t add up.” He stole a glance at the file in question and saw the name Johanna Beckett. It was a cold case; he recognised it.
Slowly, he lowered his gun, and Beckett seemed to breathe again. “Please, detective. You can help me. You’re a homicide detective, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I’m Detective Castle.”
They stood staring at each other for a moment, curious eyes meeting clouded ones, before Castle gestured toward the open door. “Want a coffee?”