“I wonder,” John mused as The Five formed a lopsided star in the snow and lay back to observe the cloudless heavens.  They had determined that, after missing the lunar eclipse in April, they would get prime seats for the one on the fourth of October.

It was a decision that had been in no small part influenced by Doctor Edward Moreau, the man declaring himself Helen’s rival, who had spent much of the spring months regaling anyone who would listen, and even those who would not, about how absolutely marvellous the April eclipse was.  For her part, Helen was quick to deride the barbaric doctor; despite her own experiments, which often pressed the boundaries of ethical science, she abhorred her colleague’s techniques.  Vivisection on abnormals, Helen had heatedly argued on many occasions, was an unnecessarily cruel procedure.

Disdain for his research practices notwithstanding, Helen had been galled by the man’s boasting and so she had turned to John with the devil in her eyes and requested that they get the best possible view of the latest lunar eclipse.  John was happy to oblige and, after a bit of scouting, deposited the group in the middle of a field somewhere in the United Kingdom with a perfect view of a clear, starry sky.

At least Helen assumed that it was the UK – there were no signs of civilisation, and thus no light pollution, or noticeable landmarks in sight.  She suspected that James had deduced where they were, but she didn’t mind being left in the dark.  Her trust in John was absolute.

Vindictively, she hoped for a thick cloud cover over London.  Doctor Moreau would just have to content himself with a lovely view of the clock tower housing Big Ben.

“I wonder if I could make it to the moon,” John finished his sentence after a long, contemplative pause.

“John!” Helen’s voice had an edge of shock, but her wide blue eyes glinted with curiosity as they met his across the snow.

“I have teleported clear across the world with no ill effects,” John shrugged, the devil-may-care grin on his face giving rise to a flutter in Helen’s stomach.

“The distance to the moon is thirty times greater than that of the diameter of the Earth, John,” James pointed out mildly from the other side of Helen.

“Not to mention that the air gets awful thin when one leaves the planet’s surface.  I doubt that one can breathe in naught but aether.”  Nigel added, watching his own breath condense in the crisp air.

“Oh, I could remedy that,” Nikola drawled.  “I could build one of those suits used to explore the ocean floor.  But better, of course.  Much better.”

“Of course,” John drawled right back, his tone faintly mocking.  “And if I cannot make it in one jump, I could just take the journey in a series of smaller hops.”

The conversation lulled as the five friends contemplated the idea.  Helen, as per usual, was the first to give voice to their hesitant thoughts.

“We could be the first people to set foot on the moon.” She was almost breathless with wonder and her lips turned up in a determined smirk as she refocused her gaze on the faint sliver of a moon above her.  The four men exchanged long glances, complete with matching grins, before turning back to the moon as well.

To an outside observer, the five friends painted a picture of serenity as they watched the last crescent sliver wink out and the moon flare to life again; its new colouring reflected back onto the snow and painted it copper.  But The Five knew that that their shared thoughts were far from serene – rarely did they have an idea that they were content to let remain as an intellectual curiosity and they knew that, one day, their lunar observations will be not be bounded by the atmosphere.

James, long used to their squabbling, simply blocked it out.  In two decades he had not heard a new argument from either party and, after unsuccessfully attempting to join in the first time he caught them bickering, he just sighed and carried on.  Clearly it was just one of their things and the detective was not one to begrudge Barney for staking that claim on Helen; he and her had an intimidating amount of shared history and quirks as it was.  From day one, it had been difficult, if not impossible, for outsiders to squirm their way into The Five’s circle and James was impressed at how deeply Barney had integrated himself into their lives.  Especially since it started with something as mundane, and loathed, as coffee.

So the time James and Barney caught Helen in the kitchen with a coffee mug at her lips came as a great surprise to all parties.

“This isn’t what it looks like!” Helen exclaimed, heavily shadowed blue eyes wide over the steaming mug of coffee.  James just tiredly leaned back against the doorframe with an amused smile stretching his face as Barney stepped into Helen’s personal space.  This, James mused, was going to make for a great show.

“Really?” Barney said gleefully as he nudged his boss with his shoulder.  “To me, it looks like you’re drinking coffee.”

“I’ve had one sip!  One!” Helen could feel a blush forming and ruthlessly tamped down on her embarrassment.

“And how many cups?” Barney crowed.  “Are you the reason why my pot is depleting faster than usual?”

“Hardly!” Helen scoffed.  “This is my first cup of coffee.  Ever.  Which I only poured because I’ve completely ran out of tea and I am in desperate need of caffeine.”

Barney looked at her suspiciously and then nodded in acceptance of Helen’s claim.  “So, what do you think?”  His shit-eating grin got wider.  Helen just looked at him flatly.

“It tastes like swill,” she said succinctly.  “Burnt swill, in fact.”  Barney looked horrified until he turned to the twin coffee makers and his expression relaxed as he took in two pots, one full and one empty.

“Of course it tastes burnt,” Barney said. “You took last cup of coffee out of an hours old pot.  Here, let me fix you a new cup – it’ll be marvellous and you will love it!”

James winced as Helen’s jaw clenched and her eyes hardened minutely.  Never a good sign.  He was amused to notice that Barney hadn’t picked up on that particular tell.  Either that or was blissfully unaware of Helen’s state of mind in his over-caffeinated exhaustion.

Barney chatted enthusiastically as he poured a new cup of coffee from his second coffee machine, oblivious to Helen deliberately pouring the burned coffee down the sink with narrowed eyes.  He didn’t look up until Helen slapped the ceramic mug down in front of him.

“That,” she said, “will not be necessary.  I am going back to work.”  She swept an imperious gaze over the two men.  “And we shall never speak of this again.”

With that, Helen stalked out of the room, her back ramrod straight and her head high.  Barney looked at James and slumped sheepishly with his eyes pleading mercy.  James laughed.

“I see some things never change,” James said between chuckles.  “Helen would always get a bit moody in Oxford when things didn’t go quite her way, especially when she began forsaking sleep for science.”

Barney laughed.  “I bet she never went as far as to drink coffee back then.”

“Well, no.” James admitted as he swung an arm around Barney’s neck and led him out of the kitchen.  “But there was that time where I convinced her to try cocaine.  Now that, my friend, is quite the tale.  I’ll tell it to you sometime, perhaps after we catch Helen’s latest prize.  For now, we’ve got work to do.”

Now, well over a decade later, they were still a source of fascination and had even inspired the respect and awe they had so coveted in the past.  They basked in it, pleased beyond measure that they were the centre of attention, even if it was only supposition on how they had managed to not age a day since they last set foot in Oxford.

To the other attendees, the surprise of the night was that Montague John Druitt was alive.  They had all read that he had been found drowned in the Thames and some had even attended his funeral.  To his friends, the fact that he had survived Helen’s bullet didn’t come with that much of a shock – while there was a copious amount of blood on the scene, James had determined that none of the blood splatter possessed the right trajectory to have come from John.  Helen, being a physician, had privately double checked James’ conclusions by analysing the blood for the manufactured genetic abnormality that The Five shared.  It had come up clean – there were no traces of John’s blood mixed in with Molly’s.

If anything, Helen was mostly surprised by the long scar on John’s right cheek.  The scar and the way her heart soared and shoulders lifted, unburdened from a previously unnoticed weight, were her greatest surprises when John had walked into that room.

Helen had cursed her heart fervently.  How dare it, that traitorous muscle, keen so strongly for a murderer?  And not just any murderer, but the elusive Jack the Ripper, the man who once topped Scotland Yard’s most wanted list?  How could she love a monster?  And, dear God, did she ever love him.  Though tainted now, the fire that had consumed them both during their days in Oxford and their passion-filled engagement still burned and she knew that both John and James saw it in her eyes.

When John stepped into the corner claimed by his small circle of friends, James yielded his position nearest to Helen, as he always had, to John without a comment and barely a sideways glance.  For his part, John had taken James’ place without a missing a beat and had preened in his position of honour.  Nikola, damn that Serb, simply smirked behind his glass of wine and Helen couldn’t help but suspect that the absent Nigel was lurking about, naked and invisible, and laughing at his friends.  He had always preferred to observe the group before making his presence felt, and his invisibility only made him more prone to lurk in the shadows.

It was no matter that her heart still beat for John; Helen had finally consoled herself late that evening, cold and alone in her overly large bed. It just meant that the organ was not a fickle one and the passage of time was not yet great enough for it to move on.  It was the next day that she began her hunt – she had tasked herself to find the bastard and then… well… Helen tried not to think about that part.

She never did have to find out what to do with her ex-fiancé – whenever she wasn’t sabotaging her own hunt, James was.  He had barely pulled her out of a deep depression when John had come strolling into that reunion and he had neither the desire to give Helen up to the other man nor to watch her suffer in silence again.

Years had passed, nearly a decade, before the next time they truly saw each other, again in a lavishly decorated room, much smaller this time, with the other three members of their circle.  The Five had been given a task by His Majesty, King Edward the VII, himself. Hunt down their erstwhile classmate Adam Worth and deal with him however they deemed necessary.

Despite the gravity of the situation, Helen had found herself expending considerable energy on just paying attention to the Prime Minister’s words. At every glance and sly touch from John, her chest constricted distractingly and she found herself at her sanity’s end.

James, the traitor, had made himself scarce whenever John was around. He had flashed that infuriating smirk at her when she had demanded an explanation for his abandonment – was he not her paramour now, not John?  His answer, so entirely James, that he was fine with John’s position as first in her heart since he was the one she turned to now, did little to assuage her annoyance and guilt.

His later, drowsy statement, after Adam had died (from her bullet, regardless of that fall, oh God, she had truly killed a man in cold blood this time. She was a killer – a murderer – now.  No different from John) and John had disappeared, was that it was fine to still love John, despite his misdeeds, because she was Helen.  Loyal, unwavering Helen and, with her expected lifespan, it had been but a blink of an eye since they were engaged.  James’ kind words were enough to sooth her worries for the night and Helen had rolled over and laid her head on his chest with a sigh.  James, surprised at Helen’s uncharacteristic desire to be held, traced absent patterns along her sweat dampened spine.

For eighty years after that, Helen didn’t speak with John.  She knew that he and James would share an occasional drink every few decades and that, on the times their paths crossed, he and Tesla would exchange blows.  And she saw him, on occasion – just glimpses in the night that sent her blood rushing through her body.  But never once did John ever stay long enough in Helen’s vicinity to exchange words.  His presence was always noted, though – Helen grew to be quite observant.

She wrote off the increased tempo of her pulse at those times as simple shock –nothing more.

When she saw him for the first time with Ashley – her daughter, his daughter, their child – my God, they shared a child and she had never told him, Helen was struck by how much she still loved him. Eighty years without speaking and a part of her still yearned for him.  Eighty years and now that bastard was holding her daughter – their daughter – hostage and the part of her that wasn’t clamouring in fear for her daughter was aching to step forward into his arms.

It was so wrong.  And Helen desperately – so very desperately and so very futilely – didn’t want to be in love with him any longer.

But Helen suspected that, even with another hundred and fifty-seven years and thousands of atrocities committed by the both of them, she would still love him. She, with all of her education, knowledge and supposed wisdom garnered for a long (oh so very long) life, would continue to be in love with the man known Jack the Ripper.

“Hmm?” Rachel replied.  The blonde was focused on the car in front of her going fifty-five on the bloody highway and really wasn’t paying too much attention to man her passenger’s seat.  She pressed down on the accelerator, inching closer to the old Cavalier and silently cursed the car alongside her blocking the passing lane.  While Rachel by no means had a lead foot, she preferred to be going a few miles over the limit, not a couple under.

“Could you take the next right?”

“What?  Hood, why?” Rachel groaned, “If you need another pit stop, you can hold it.  We’re half an hour from D.C. and I told you not to buy an extra large coffee.”

“It’s that turn right there,” Hood ignored Rachel to point out a dirt road that didn’t even warrant a deceleration lane.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Rachel sighed, but, nevertheless, she flicked up her turn signal and took her foot off the gas pedal, “Where are we going, Hood?”

“I saw a sign for a diner a little ways back,” Hood explained.

“A diner.  Hood, I told you to grab some breakfast from the hotel,” Rachel rolled her eyes.  Men.  They never listen to good advice.

“None of it was particularly appetizing.  The muffins were clearly stale,” Hood pointed out.  Rachel couldn’t argue with that – her own breakfast was abandoned halfway through.  “Besides, I wanted pancakes.”

“Oh c’mon Hood.  We’re almost home; couldn’t you have just made your own?”  Rachel turned onto the grid road, wincing as the SUV bounced as it left the smooth highway.  She eyed the suspiciously level surface with trepidation – no heavy tire tracks.

“Not exactly.  All my groceries expired last week and I haven’t had the time to go shopping,” Hood admitted with a small grin.

“Living off of takeout?” Rachel looked over at Hood and smiled back.

“Don’t tell me that you’re not!”  Hood shot back.  Rachel shrugged and smiled.  She turned back to navigating the twisting road and Hood unashamedly turned his gaze towards Rachel.  The late morning sun lit her hair in a blaze of platinum blonde glory and Hood was briefly captivated by the play of light.  As the SUV slowed to a stop, Hood redirected his gaze out the window and his eyes widened in surprise.

“Oh,” Hood said.

“Wow,” Rachel agreed.

Scottie’s Diner was a complete and utter dive.  The paint was both fading and peeling, the windows were smeared with dirt and there was only one car in the patchy grass that apparently served as a parking lot.  An equally dilapidated building was partially blocked from view by a handful of overgrown bushes and a beat up old pickup was parked beside it, its bed filled with an assortment of junk and, Hood squinted, was that a broken chair?

“Um… isn’t there an IHOP on the way to the Hoover Building?” Hood asked.

“Yes, yes there is,” Rachel lied and shifted the SUV into reverse just as the front door of the diner banged open and a large woman with flaming red hair tumbled out.

“Customers, Scottie!  Customers!”  The woman, with a speed unexpected from her size, rushed over to the Tahoe and tapped on Hood’s window.

“So what’ll you two be havin’?” The woman had pressed her face way too close to the window and Hood and Rachel took in the makeup caked face, the hair so red that it was a faded crimson and the wide, nicotine-stained smile in mute disbelief.  Rachel reached over to the window commands and the glass slowly slid down.  The older woman casually rested her arms along the now open window.

“My, you are a cute one,” the bottle redhead eyed Hood.  Hood’s eyes were very wide and very green as he subtly shifted towards Rachel, still mute but now with shock.  “M’name’s Lizzie.  Y’folks from ‘round here?”

Rachel had to resist rolling her eyes as Hood stared dumbly at Lizzie.  For a genius, the man sure wasn’t good at thinking on his feet.  Rachel leaned forward and cleared her throat, “No, we’re just passing through.  Actually, we need directions.  Could you tell us how to get to Piscatawny Creek?” Rachel was sure she had passed a sign for the place recently.

Lizzie’s watery blue eyes narrowed craftily as she replied, “Well, I’m not entirely sure of the route, but I know Scottie can tell you.  Come in, come in!  I’ll get you some coffee!”

Rachel eyed Lizzie’s death grip on the Tahoe and realised that there was no escape.  She sighed, shoved the car into park and turned off the engine.  “I suppose we could stop for coffee.”  Lizzie smiled gleefully, eyed Hood again and let go of the window.  Hood quickly hit the command to roll up the glass and the two got out of the car, Rachel locking it as they walked towards the diner.  Hood and Rachel purposefully slowed their steps and let Lizzie get ahead of them.

“I don’t think they get very many customers, Rachel,” Hood leaned down to speak quietly in Rachel’s ear.

“I don’t think so either – the road didn’t have deep enough tire tracks,” Rachel murmured back, “I figured that that wasn’t a good sign.”

Lizzie looked back and eyed her two unwitting customers slow pace, close stance and quiet conversation critically, “You two been involved long?”

“What?  No, we–” Hood cut himself off as Rachel’s hand slid into his.  Automatically, Hood shifted his hand and laced their fingers together.  Rachel suppressed a territorial smirk and tightened her grip on Hood.

“We’re just married,” Rachel said then squeezed her eyes shut.  That was so not what she meant to say.  Married?  Really?  What was she thinking saying that they were married?  Rachel flushed slightly, resolutely avoiding Hood’s gaze.  She didn’t particularly want to know what Hood was thinking, especially since she was encouraging him to move things forward with his dog sitter a month or so ago.

Lizzie’s eyes focused on their clasped hands and made an interesting discovery – “No rings?” Rachel’s blush deepened, her embarrassment countering her usual quick wits.  Surprisingly, Hood rescued them.

“We wanted to get married as soon as possible,” Hood smiled down at Rachel, who finally met his gaze.  She was surprised to see a smile on his face and a warm look in his eyes.  Rachel’s blush showed no signs of abating as she broke eye contact with Hood.

Lizzie stared at them for a few moments more before clapping her hands together and exclaiming, “So, whatcha waitin’ for?  C’mon in!”

Hood and Rachel stepped into the diner and shared a quick look.  The inside was just as bad as the outside – a light layer of dust covered most of the surfaces and the floor was grey with grime and sticky in places from long-ago spilled pop.

Rachel stretched up to whisper in Hood’s ear.  “It’s no wonder that they don’t have many customers.”  Hood grinned and huffed out a small laugh.

“Just take a seat there, I’ll bring you your coffee in just a sec,” Lizzie gestured to a booth by the windows.  Hood and Rachel approached cautiously and quickly noticed that one of the benches had a long rip in the vinyl.  By silent mutual agreement, they both slid into the side without the rip.  After settling in, Rachel discretely ran a finger over the tabletop, grimacing when her finger came off with a bit of a grey coating.  Hood leaned over, curious, and she showed him her finger.

“With so few customers, how is this place so dirty?  What else could you do all day but clean?” Hood asked quietly.

“Sudoku,” Rachel nodded at the open book near the old-fashioned cash register, “And probably soaps.”  Hood eyed the small tv placed at a perfect viewing angle from the till.

“Have a favourite soap, Rachel?”

“Are you kidding me?  I don’t even have enough time to regularly watch primetime shows!” Rachel rolled her eyes.

“I dunno, Rachel, you do tend to disappear for an hour in the afternoon every now and then,” Hood teased.

“Ah, yes, you’ve caught me – I need my weekly Days fix,” Rachel grinned at Hood.

”You watch Days too?  It’s pretty good, but General Hospital is better, if you ask me,” Lizzie plopped down two small cups of coffee in front of Hood and Rachel, then sat across from them, “Cream or sugar?”

“No thanks,” Hood said, pulling the small cup towards him.

“Both please,” Rachel waited until she got her sugar fix before taking a sip… and then promptly tried to hide a gag. “Maybe a bit more sugar.”

Curious, Hood took an experiment sip from his cup and nearly choked.  The brew was quite potent and far more bitter than even Hood preferred.  To add insult to injury, it also tasted faintly burnt.  “On second thought, could I perhaps have some sugar as well?”

“Of course,” Lizzie said, laying a hand overtop of Hood’s.  Rachel narrowed her eyes at that display and scooted closer to Hood, who, had also shifted closer to Rachel while carefully removing his hand from under Lizzie’s.  The two were pressed together close enough to be uncomfortable so Hood slung his arm over the back of the bench.

After a few moments of uncomfortable silence in which Lizzie continued to eye Hood, Rachel, impatient to leave, spoke.  “So… about those directions?”

“Ah, I had Scottie whip you two up a late breakfast.  You’re both so skinny – you need meat on your bones,” Lizzie grinned, “It’s difficult to cook and write at the same time, y’see?”  Hood and Rachel exchanged horrified looks.  If the coffee was that bad, how terrifying would breakfast be?

“I hope you’re hungry for pancakes!” Lizzie slapped her hands on the table and then slowly pushed herself up, “how about I bring you folks a fruit platter?”

“Well,” said Hood after Lizzie left, “at least she got the order right.”

“I just hope the contents of their kitchen are at least fresher than either of ours,” Rachel sighed.

Hood grinned and nudged Rachel gently, “So you have been living off of takeout!”

Rachel grinned back, “Well, if your exploits didn’t generate so much paperwork….”

“My exploits!” Hood exclaimed, “Who was the one to shoot at another car yesterday?”

“Riiiight.  And your little demonstration in that borrowed lab was nothing,” Rachel laughed.

“It was only a little explosion!” Hood protested.

“An explosion?” Lizzie asked, clomping towards Hood and Rachel.

“He’s a scientist,” Rachel said as if that explained everything.

“Who explodes stuff,” Lizzie said flatly.

“It wasn’t me, it was the undergrad!” Hood declared.

“We were the only ones in the lab, Hood,” Rachel pointed out.

“Rachel, Rachel, Rachel… Undergrads exist to blame things on.  I didn’t get a PhD just to be blamed for a minor lab accident,” Hood explained.

“Caused a few ‘accidents’ back in your wild and crazy college days, Hood?” Rachel grinned.

“Of course not!  I just didn’t prevent a few of them,” Hood grinned back, unrepentant.  “I think your college days were far more interesting than mine, Rachel.  I tended to spend my spring breaks in either in the library or the lab.”

“What?  No trips to Tijuana?  Just a trip to the stacks?” Rachel teased.

“Hmm, it’s not like a trip to the stacks was… boring,” Hood smirked.

“You didn’t!” Rachel exclaimed.  Hood just kept his smirk and Rachel leaned forward, “You did!  Did you ever get caught?”

“There were a few close calls, but, no, I was never caught in flagrante delicto,” Hood turned to face Rachel fully, his smirk turning into a full toothed grin.  Lizzie cleaned in closer, her eyes wide in fascination.  Unfortunately, her perusal of the agent and the scientist was cut short by frantic motions from the kitchen – Scottie was demanding her attention.  With a heaving, melodramatic sigh, she pushed herself up from the booth and slowly made her way over to her business partner.

“What?” She hissed at Scottie.  “Can’t you not see that ah’m busy?”

“Lizzie, please.  Stop crowdin’ the customers or they’ll ne’er come back.”  Scottie rolled his eyes.  “Here, take this here fruit and come straight back to the kitchen, y’hear me?”

Lizzie rolled her eyes right back and snatched the fruit platter from Scottie’s unresisting hands.  She floofed off back to her precious customers.

For their part, Hood and Rachel hadn’t even noticed Lizzie’s departure.

“Ha!” Rachel had exclaimed.  “What would they have done if they caught you in the act?”

“Honestly?  I have no idea,” Hood shrugged.  “Probably banned me from the library.”

“And then what would have you done?  Failed all of your classes?” Rachel teased, eyes bright with amusement.

Hood let out a small huff of laughter.  “Unlikely.  If necessary, I would have bribed my friends to get me the materials that I needed.”

“Friends that require bribery?” Rachel arched an eyebrow.

“I had the best fake ID on campus – everything was a reason for bribery back then.”  Hood said gravely.

The tray clattered against the table as Lizzie set down the fruit.  “Here you are, loves.”  She moved to sit down across from them but froze when a throat was cleared quite loudly from the kitchen.  “Ah’ll be back in a few with yer pancakes.  Eat up!”

Hood and Rachel eyed the fruit dubiously.  All of the, thankfully meagre, pieces seemed strangely off colour.  Hood reached out a tentative finger and pushed the fruit around in a haphazard inspection.  “Doesn’t seem to have any mould,” he murmured to Rachel.

“Well,” she said in reply as she picked up a piece of watermelon.  “Bottom’s up, I guess.”  She chewed briefly and hastily swallowed.

“How was it?” Hood asked.

“Overripe,” Rachel replied.  “You try the next one.”

Hood carefully selected a strawberry and hesitantly popped it into his mouth.  Frowning, he chewed and swallowed thoughtfully.  Rachel eyed him impatiently.

“Well?” Rachel asked.

“Underripe.”  Hood stated solemnly.  Rachel groaned.  “You next.”

Rachel didn’t bother to carefully inspect the next piece of fruit – ignorance was bliss, she figured.  As it turned out, that particular adage didn’t hold true.  “Bruised.”

The two managed to clear the entire platter in that manner – one would eat a piece of fruit and comment on it and the other would follow suit.  Whilst Rachel’s complaints stayed well within a normal range, Hood’s had grown more and more esoteric with each bite.  He had finished the platter with a hastily cut off “prunus necrotic ringspot virus” when Lizzie stepped forward with two heaping plates of pancakes.  She plunked them down in front of the two investigators and grinned.

“Eat up, dearies!  And ah better not be seeing no leftovers!” Lizzie’s inane grin grew wider as Scottie placed syrup and butter onto the table before dragging the redhead off again.

“Oh god.” Rachel said, eyeing the six inch stack in front of her with trepidation.  “How many miles do you think I’ll have to run to wear off these calories?”

“I can’t eat all of this,” Hood said.  “You have less than me – take some of my pancakes.”

Rachel glared at him and her voice came out in a low, dangerous growl.  “You’re the one who got us into this mess – eat your damned pancakes.”

On the counter by the till, Lizzie leaned over, resting her chin on her fists.  “Aren’t they not an adorable couple, Scottie?  A bit odd, to be sure, but cute.”

Scottie just nodded the nod of a browbeaten man.

“Yes Rachel?”

“I won’t be coming in to work today.”

“Me neither – there must have been something in those pancakes we ate yesterday.”

“I hate you, you know that?”

“On the bright side, if your symptoms are the same as mine, you won’t need to run those extra miles.”

“I really hate you, you know that?”

“…I’ll call Frank.”

In fact, Kate had nearly nodded off entirely when she heard Alexis’ voice.  It sounded suspiciously like a cheerful ‘Hi Kate!’ but that couldn’t be right – it was two in the afternoon.  Alexis still had class and, barring a family emergency, Alexis would never skip class.

Kate’s eyes snapped open in realisation and her body tensed, ready to act, and she pinned Alexis with a serious stare.  “What’s wrong, Alexis?”

Alexis flinched back and adjusted the strap on her book bag.  “No-nothing?”

“Why aren’t you in class?” Kate asked, her stare softening a fraction.

“Because class is finished for the day?” Alexis said as if she were talking to her dad on one of his more thick-headed days.  Kate frowned – she didn’t like being on the receiving end of Alexis’ ‘are you dense?’ tone and she would be embarrassed to admit how many times she had had it levelled at her.

“It is?  But it’s,” Kate flicked her gaze, and her mouse, to the monitor, “…oh.  Four o’clock.  Apparently.  Sorry Alexis, I thought it was a lot earlier.”

Alexis grinned.  “Dad does the same thing, except I usually catch him writing at six in the morning under the impression that it was just past midnight.”

Kate laughed.  “I guess there’s one thing cops and writers have in common – strange hours.  So what brings you here?  If you were looking for your dad, he’s off on a coffee run.”

“In this heat?  I’m impressed – how did you convince him to leave the Precinct?”

“We drew straws.  Castle picked the short one.”  Kate’s smirk was devious and wiggled a little in her seat.  Alexis raised her eyebrows.

“Let me guess, Dad went first and all the straws just happened to be short.”

Kate’s grin widened.  “Perhaps.  Pull up a seat – Castle shouldn’t be too much longer.”

Alexis dropped down into Castle’s usual chair and pulled her bag onto her lap.  “Actually, I’m not here to talk to Dad; I was wondering if I could talk to you sometime?”

“Of course.  Wanna go grab some coffee now?” Kate asked.  “Clearly I need some.   And, either way, I also clearly need a break.”

“No, that’s alright.  I’d rather not risk running into my dad,” Alexis shrugged.  “I’m just wondering about a summer job, that’s all.”

“Got any ideas on what you want to do?” Kate asked, and then laughed.  “Then again, you probably have prospective employers lined up or you wouldn’t be talking to me, would you?”

Alexis blushed and looked away.  “Yeah….”

Kate leaned forward and looked up at Alexis.  “Hey, hey!  That’s perfectly alright, Alexis.  I’m the same way – there’s no point talking about something—”

“—Unless you’re reasonably certain it won’t fall through,” Alexis finished and Kate grinned.

“Exactly.  So what’s the plan?”

“Well, I was out shopping with Rina on Wednesday and we ran into her boss.  He took one look at me and started gushing about how I was the perfect model for one of his dresses and he offered me a job.  Rina thinks I should take it, Gram says that models have no talent, but if I want to, I should do it and Paige thinks that models are brainless morons and that I don’t need a job anyway because my dad’s rich.” Alexis said in a rush.

Ryan and Esposito, already casually eavesdropping on the conversation, glanced at each other and synchronously rolled towards Beckett’s desk.

“So now I don’t know what to do and I was hoping that you could help.”

“Modelling, huh?”  Ryan said, smirking at Beckett.  Kate glared at the duo warningly.  Predictably, they ignored her.

“Well, you certainly came to the right person for advice, isn’t that right Beckett?”  Esposito had an identical shit eating grin on his face.  Alexis raised an eyebrow and silently prompted Esposito to continue.

“Freaky how she does that,” Ryan muttered as an aside.

“You see, Little Castle, Detective Beckett here was a model once,” Esposito’s grin widened as he ducked to avoid the pen his boss threw at his head.

“When I was seventeen! And what part of ‘don’t tell Castle’ didn’t you understand?”  Beckett hissed.

“Ohhhh!  You meant all of the Castles?” Ryan said.

“Could we tell Mrs R. then?” Esposito grinned and failed to duck this time and Kate’s pen hit in square in the forehead.  “Ow!”

“Scat, you two!  Don’t you have paperwork to file?”  Beckett made shooing motions with her hands and the boys rolled off, bickering.

“Hey bro, is there pen on my head?”

“I dunno man, hold still and I’ll see!”

“Well?”

“I think so—”

There was a smack and a slight yelp of pain.

“Get your hand out of my face, Honeymilk!”

“Are you ever going to stop calling me that?  It’s been years, man!”

Kate rested her cheek on one hand and smirked sideways at Alexis.  “One thing about this job is that it’s never boring.  As for the modelling… if you want to do it, go for it.  Despite it all, I’d really regret not having modelled; it’s a bit embarrassing in hindsight, yes, but better that than spent the rest of my life wondering what I missed.  At the very least, knowledge is knowledge, wherever it came from.”

Alexis smiled and her blue eyes sparkled decisively.  “And it would only be for the summer – it’s not like I want to make a career out of modelling like Rina.  Not that I could; Dad is getting pretty weird about possible careers lately.  He doesn’t want me in a field where someone got killed on one of your cases.”

Kate rolled her eyes.  “How did I miss those conversations?  How many jobs are you down to?”

Alexis rolled her eyes back.  “One – veterinarian.”

Kate winced.  “Sorry, that one’s a no go – the guy we just caught worked at a vet clinic as a vet tech or something.”

Alexis rolled her eyes again.  “Well, I suppose now that everything has been eliminated I can threaten to bum off of him forever like Grams.”

“What’s this?” Castle said, carefully depositing his full load of coffee and assorted pastries onto Kate’s desk.  “My two favourite ladies are waiting for me?”

Kate smiled up at him fondly.  “No, I’m waiting for grande skim latte with two pumps sugar free vanilla.”

“Alas, they were out of bear claws, so I brought you a donut instead.  I hope this is acceptable?”  Castle presented the chocolate raspberry jelly donut with a flourish as Kate dug out her coffee from the tray.

Kate made a show of inspecting the donut and daintily plucked it from Castle’s hand.  She took a bite and winced as the raspberry jelly squirted out onto her hand.  Castle, laughing, swiped a bit of the jelly before it could slide off Kate’s hand and onto her paperwork, and suggestively licked it off his finger.  Kate rolled her eyes.  “Yes, Castle, the donut is indeed acceptable.”

Castle dimpled at her before turning to his daughter.  “So Alexis, what brings you to this fine establishment?”

“Just wanted to ask Kate for some advice,” Alexis said with a shrug and a smile.

“So, did the detective give good advice?”  Castle asked.

Alexis smiled.  “Yes, in fact she did, Father.”

“Of course.  When has Kate steered either of us wrong?”  Castle said with a dopey smile.  “Well, I guess there was that time with the – oh no, that’s wildly inappropriate.  Or the–”

“Castle,” Kate interrupted, “You’ve already used this joke.  Twice.  In the past week.”

“Fine,” Castle sighed melodramatically, “So what were you asking Kate about?”

“Oh, just about a summer job,” Alexis said.

“At the Precinct?  We could carpool!  Or, well, share a cab.”  Castle grinned.

“Sorry Dad, I was thinking about modelling.”  Alexis grinned at her father’s flabbergasted look.

“Modelling?”

“Yes Dad, modelling.  Rina’s boss wants me to work for him this summer.”

“But…!”

“Rick,” Kate interrupted gently, “It would just be for the summer.”

“Yeah, I guess…” Castle said, distracted by Ryan’s furtive ‘get over here’ motions.  “One sec; it looks like Ryan needs me for a minute.”  He ambled off towards the other two detectives and the three began speaking in hushed tones.  Esposito pointed something on his monitor and Castle’s eyes widened as he leaned in closer to the screen.

“Alexis,” Kate said, drawing Alexis’ attention away from her father.  “About what Paige said about you not having to work because your dad is rich?  Work anyway.  My parents had money too and I never had to worry about college funds or anything, but I found that I just felt better if I was providing for myself.”

Alexis just looked at Kate for several beats before smiling slightly.  “Yeah.”  She said.  “I think I’m the same way.”

Castle’s low whistle echoed throughout the still bullpen and Kate and Alexis returned their attention to the men.  “That had got to be one uncomfortable position to stand in – and who holds a tennis racket like that?”

Kate’s eyes widened.  “You didn’t!”  Her green eyes narrowed as she pushed herself up from behind the desk.

“Uh oh,” Ryan said.

“Scatter!”  Esposito commanded and the three men shot off in different directions.  But Kate was only interested in hunting down one man.  The man holding the flash drive.  The man who was going to be sleeping on the couch for the next few days.

“Richard Nathaniel Castle GIVE ME THAT FLASH DRIVE!” Kate yelled as Castle jumped between the closing doors of the elevator.  Karpowski just looked at Castle.  He smiled back widely.

Kate, seeing that the elevator had already left, skidded around the corner and wrenched open the door to the stairs and barrelled down them.

After a few moments of stillness, Montgomery stepped out of his office as Ryan and Esposito slunk out of the men’s washroom.  The three men gathered around the youngest Castle and stared at the elevator in amusement.

“We’re not going to see them for another hour, are we?”  Alexis asked after a long moment.  A chorus of nopes, uh uhs and yeah rights echoed from the bullpen.  “Thought so.  I think I’ll just take the subway home.”

Written mostly because I have a huge soft spot for mom!Beckett fics and because I’m currently on a quest to see how many Castle/Beckett fics I can write without them ever actually kissing.  I’m up to three (by a technicality).  And a half, if you count the half-finished fic languishing on my hard drive.

As ever, thanks is owed, and given, to the lovely Sarah/ObsidianJade for telling me that I forgot important words like ‘not’ and one of Alexis’ lines.  Without her, my stories would be even more nonsensical.

Nikki Heat smirked inwardly as she swept, fashionably late, into Rook’s magazine’s cocktail party.  The formfitting wine red dress, accented in gold, drew looks and the lithe, athletic form it cased kept the gazes on Nikki.  Despite all of the admiring stares, Nikki felt Rook’s eyes on her and she turned to face him with a saucy smile.  Rook’s Adam’s apple bobbed and he absently set his champagne glass on a nearby table.  The air between the two smouldered and the other partygoers unconsciously cleared a direct route to Nikki for Rook.

They stood facing each other, standing just a bit closer than polite society demands, and the tension crackled in the slight space between them.

Rook gave Nikki an appreciative once over (lingering on her cleavage, Nikki noted.  Not that she minded – if she hadn’t wanted him to get a good look, she would have worn a dress with a higher neckline) with a slightly lecherous smirk.  “You clean up well, Detective.”

Nikki gave Rook a once over of her own.  “And you need to shave, Rook.”

Rook ran his hand across his jaw.  “You think, Detective?”  He took half a step closer and pulled Nikki into his arms.  “Shall we dance?”

Nikki stepped out of his arms with a slight shove to Rook’s chest.  “We’re in the entryway, Rook.  And nobody is dancing.”

Undaunted, Rook placed Nikki’s arm through his.  “Then shall we relocate to the dance floor?”

Nikki rolled her eyes, “We’re at a cocktail party.  I want a cocktail.”

“The bar it is!” Rook swept Nikki off without a pause.  At the open bar, Rook was able to cut through the crowd with a smile and handful of humorous quips.  There was something to be said about being on the arm of a man who won two Pulitzers.  “Bubblies for me, sir, and the lady will have…?”

“A tequila sunrise.”

The bartender smiled and his eyes lingered a tad too long on Nikki’s cleavage.  Both Nikki and Rook frowned in response and Rook edged possessively closer to the detective.  Nikki’s frown deepened as she realised that, while she had no problem with Rook getting an eyeful, she genuinely didn’t like the idea of the bartender getting a good look as well.  Odd; she never had felt that way before – even when she’d tell men to keep their eyes up she’d be inwardly preening.  And Rook’s possessiveness.  Normally a move like that would guarantee a stiletto digging in the unfortunate man’s foot but Nikki felt herself almost leaning into his warmth.

Odd.

Fortunately, the bartender was quick with their drinks and Nikki didn’t have to contemplate her unexpected personality change as Rook had swept her off again.  Nikki didn’t mind that so much as Rook was making a direct line towards Roach – precisely the same direction she would have gone.

Conversation was brief, though, as both Raley and Ochoa were clearly more interested in the women and all four were aware that there was a small chance of any approaching for them with Nikki and Rook around.  Nikki may have been the boss and she may have been standing too close to Rook, but she was a beautiful woman that shared an obvious bond with the other two detectives.  And Rook?  Rook, intentionally or not, always stole the spotlight.

So Rook and Nikki drifted from group to group, rarely straying more than an arm’s length from each other, but generally standing just slightly too close together.  Another flute of champagne and a tequila sunrise passed and the time spent making small talk decreased as the tension and lust rose between Heat and Rook – the other partygoers were quick to excuse themselves from the uncomfortably exclusive atmosphere Nikki and Rook generated.

In a quiet moment amongst the boisterous chaos of a slightly drunk crowd of writers, editors, publishers, various other hanger-ons and their dates, Rook plucked Nikki’s nearly empty glass from her hand and set it on a nearby ledge.

“May I now have a dance?” Rook smiled, slightly hazily.  Nikki gave a languid smile back and swiped her glass off the ledge.  She downed the fiery remnants of drink and stepped closer to Rook.

“You may now,” Nikki said with a slight purr in her voice, “But no one else is dancing.”

Rook gave her a huge, boyish grin.  “Does it matter?” He asked, leading Nikki to an open spot perfect for dancing.  He pulled her into his arms and Nikki relaxed into him with a smile.

“I suppose not,” she admitted as they began to move softly to the music.

“So how shall we dance?  A waltz?”  Rook asked, leading them into a few steps of the waltz, “Or a foxtrot?”  He abruptly switched dances and Nikki moved with him fluidly.  “Or perhaps a tango?”  Rook spun Nikki out and reeled her back in with a flourish.  Nikki’s breath caught and her heart raced as Rook’s thigh slid between her own.  “I know!”  Rook exclaimed and drew back a bit from Nikki.  “The jitterbug!”  Rook switched perfectly into the dance and pulled a laughing Nikki along with him.  God it was fantastic – the band, noticing the dancing couple, also switched smoothly into a song perfect for the jitterbug – and Nikki had never laughed this hard whilst dancing and she had certainly never felt the room melt away to leave just her and her partner behind.  Dancing for fun and not a precursor to sex was something she hadn’t done for a long time.

A few brave couples ended up joining in on Nikki and Rook’s dance, including Ochoa and a lady he had skilfully charmed, and the band playing a more modern song next caused more people to join the impromptu dance floor.

“Well look at that,” Rook said with a smile as he pulled Nikki close to him, “We’re trendsetters.”  They started dancing again, too close together to fit a sheet of paper through, and Nikki knew that this dance was a precursor to sex.  But then Rook gave her a playful smile and a devilish wink and she realised that, with Rook, the jitterbug was as well.

The blood flowed headily throughout Nikki’s body as she swayed provocatively with Rook.  They lasted another dance, almost two, before Rook’s hand slid down to cup her nicely shaped (and firmly toned) ass and squeezed gently.  Nikki gasped and her back arched slightly, pushing her breasts into Rook’s chest and he smiled down at her, eyes dark with lust.  As Nikki smiled back up at him, she realised that she didn’t want to wait until they got to her apartment – she didn’t even want to wait until they got into a cab.  Her eyes took on a smoky darkness as she tugged Rook gently through the crowd.

They stumbled into a secluded corner and crashed together, lips moving fiercely and panting wetly between frantic kisses.  Rook’s hands were lifting up her dress and Nikki was making a mess out of his tie when she finally managed to pull back long enough to gasp a single word.

“Where?”  She asked, diving right back into their kiss.  Rook groaned and pulled back unwillingly.

“I know where a secondary coat closet is,” Rook mumbled between kisses.  “It won’t be in use – there aren’t enough people here tonight.”

“Great,” Nikki had finally managed to remove his tie and, at loss of where to put it, she shoved it in his jacket pocket, “Lead us there.”

Rook led Nikki stealthily, or as stealthily as they could manage (which wasn’t very – their disappearance and brief, dishevelled reappearance had attracted the attention of Raley, who wasn’t having as much luck with the ladies as either of his friends), and, laughing (Nikki refused to admit that she, quite possibly, was giggling), lurched into the fortunately unlocked, and unused, coat closet.

Unable to think of a way to keep the door closed, Rook pushed Nikki up against it and she pulled him forcibly down for another kiss.  Nikki’s hands made quick work of the buttons on his shirt, this time not daring to rip them off since they still had to leave the building with some semblance of normality, and she ran her hands appreciatively over Rook’s nicely defined chest.  Rook moaned and nipped sharply at Nikki’s neck as she brushed her thumb over one of his flat nipples.  Her hands trailed down his chest and her nails scratched at his stomach before undoing his fly and starting to push down his pants.

Rook gripped Nikki’s hips with both hands and hoisted her up against the door.  She swiftly wrapped her legs around Rook’s waist and gasped though when Rook pushed down her (thankfully braless) dress and closed a hot mouth over her nipple.

“God, Rook!” She gasped and she felt Rook’s mouth curve into a smug smile against her breast.  Nikki feverishly attempted to push his boxers down with her feet and, with little success, gripped the back of Rook’s jacket tightly.  Rook pushed Nikki’s dress up and his eyes widened when he unexpectedly didn’t come across something.

Nikki smirked slyly, “One can’t have panty lines in a dress like this.”

“Oh God,” Rook said and pulled her in for a searing kiss.

Nikki pulled back desperately, “Do you-”

“Jacket pocket.  The one without the tie.”  Despite their best efforts, and they did almost manage to at least remove his boxers, rolling the condom on was a task not suited for either of their current manual dexterity and Nikki was forced to drop to the floor as Rook hurriedly put it on.  Nikki was soon pushed up against the door with Rook pushing into her and both let out a sigh of sheer bliss.

Rook paused for a moment and smiled at Nikki, gently, almost chastely, kissing her.  After that kiss, it was fast and hot and explosive and everything that Nikki needed right then and it was a moment so close to perfect and she felt hot tears building in her eyes.  And Rook collapsed against her, burying his face between her shoulder and her neck and she heard her feet hit the floor but didn’t feel it, still too wrapped up in the man whose hair she was running through her fingers.

“Wow,” Rook finally said, mumbling into her shoulder.  He placed a gentle kiss there and pulled back to see Nikki’s face.

“Yeah,” Nikki agreed.  “Wow.”

“Do you want to go back to my apartment?” Rook asked after a long pause.

“Right now?” Nikki asked.

“Yeah,” Rook said.

“Okay,” Nikki agreed, pulling her dress reasonably into order.  She helped Rook do up the buttons on his shirt, stealing gentle kisses as she did up each one.  They both attempted to smooth down each other’s hair but chalking it up as an impossible task.

“We’ll just have to sneak out then,” Rook said, “And hope that nobody notices us.”  Nikki slowly opened the door and glanced into the hallway.

“Clear,” she murmured and Rook laughed.  “What?”

“Always a cop, aren’t you, Detective?”  Nikki swatted him playfully and Rook retaliated by pulling her flush to his side.  The two ambled along, Nikki cuddled up against his side, wrapped up in each other and forgetting to make a quick escape.  They rounded a corner and spotted a side door, and they smiled, thinking that they were home free.

No such luck.

“Well, well, well,” Raley’s voice drifted down the hall and the two whipped around to see him, and Ochoa (who had evidently decided that watching his boss sneak out of a party far more entertaining than the woman he was dancing with), walking their way towards Nikki and Rook.

“Leaving without saying goodbye,” Ochoa placed a hand melodramatically over his heart.  “I’m wounded, guys.”

“I’m sure you’ll get over it,” Nikki said, her sharp tone unwillingly softened by the blush staining her cheeks.

“And we are saying goodbye now,” Rook said, tightening his arm around Nikki’s waist and turning them around.

“You two have a good night,” Raley called to their backs.

“Don’t stay up too late – tomorrow’s a Wednesday!” Ochoa added.

“No, no, please do – I’d like to have a morning off,” Roach grinned as their boss, not turning around, flipped them the bird whilst exiting the building.

“C’mon,” Raley said to Ochoa, “Let’s get back to the party – now that Rook is gone, there’ll be more women out there for us.”

I was wrong.

Writing smutfic about a character who shares a name with you is way weirder.

Coincidently enough, this was written, primarily, between the hours of one and three am on Sunday night.

Thanks is owed, as always, to Sarah (ObsidianJade) who was quick to point out some rather… anatomically difficult tasks I had assigned Nikki and Rook as well as assuring me that I totally didn’t completely fail at my latest writing venture.  Sometimes even this arrogant scientist needs reassuring.

—

It was two am and Katherine Beckett could not sleep.  Not an uncommon occurrence – her all nighters spent staring at the murder board, followed by power naps in the break room, (and that time she broke into the Captain’s office and passed out on his much more comfortable couch) were a bit of a legend in the Twelfth Precinct.  But it wasn’t murder keeping Beckett awake that night.

No.

It was far more frustrating problem.  And it was all Castle’s fault.

The relaxing bubble bath with wine, scented candles and soft, ambient music, while perhaps a good idea for unwinding after a long day of paperwork with none of Castle’s antics, turned out to be not-so-relaxing when she hauled in her collection Richard Castle’s novels.  Even that, though, would not have been a problem if it wasn’t for the fact that the wine went straight to her head (or maybe a little farther south) and she started her own Castle smutathon.

And so, by the time the water cooled, Kate Beckett had spent over an hour in the bath reading in chronological order, of course, Castle’s twenty-six (seven, including Heat Wave) bestsellers (plus the ones that didn’t sell quite so well) purely for the sex scenes.

Yeah.

Bad idea.

Especially, Kate rolled over and groaned into her pillow, since I used to wear off this Castlelust by writing smutty Derrick Storm fic.

But, no, Kate Beckett was not going to lower herself to writing fanfiction for books written by a man she saw damn near every day.  It was bad enough knowing that she had written them in the past, and even posted them to the internet (on multiple sites, even!), but she was certainly not going to lower herself to writing them again.

Especially since, as soon as Castle started following her around, she had mass deleted all of the fanfiction she had ever written about his characters.  Sadly, her resolve had only lasted a week – she had caved to the online peer pressure and reposted all of the fics, mostly to prove that she wasn’t one of the fans who vowed to Never Read Richard Castle Again Since He Killed Off Derrick Storm.

End result?  She was still active in the Castle communities and had watched the explosion of fic that had followed the release of Heat Wave.  It was alarming.  People really liked the Nikki Heat character – there were, of course, the obligatory Nikki Heat bashfics (briiiiing Derrick Storm baaaack!), but overall, the authors seemed to revel in her literary alter ego.

Kate sighed and beat her fist into her pillow.  Clearly she wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight, and her friends had been clamouring for some Heat/Rook smut from her…  How hard could it be to write about Nikki Heat?  She knew as much, more even, about the character as Castle did.  And it wasn’t as if she couldn’t figure out Rook.

Oh, God.

She was not seriously considering writing for a ship that was, for all intents and purposes, her and Castle.

But Castle did, her traitorous mind pointed out.  He clearly has no problems with our alter egos getting it on.

Ultimately, that was what convinced Kate to boot up her laptop, pour herself another glass of wine and open Word.  She stared at the blank document, feeling more embarrassed than the first time she wrote a Castle smut fic – and that had been years upon years ago before there was even a hint of Derrick Storm on the horizon.  She took a large swallow of wine for fortification and, shuddering, she began to write.

Nikki Heat smirked inwardly as she swept, fashionably late, into Rook’s magazine’s cocktail party.  The formfitting wine red dress, accented in gold, drew looks and the lithe, athletic form it cased kept the gazes on Nikki.  Despite all of the admiring stares, Nikki felt Rook’s eyes on her and she turned to face him with a saucy smile.  Rook’s Adam’s apple bobbed and he absently set his champagne glass on a nearby table.  The air between the two smouldered and the other partygoers unconsciously cleared a direct route to Nikki for Rook….

–

“Good morning, Beckett!” Castle swivelled around in a chair – her chair – with a beatific grin on his face.  “Coffee?”

Kate growled faintly, accepted the coffee and glared, annoyed by Castle’s perpetual chair stealing.  Castle looked blankly up at her for a moment before the flash of understanding went across his face.  The man either never bothered to hide his emotions or had inherited more than his charm and flair from the dramatic from his mother.

Seemingly in response to her thoughts (perhaps he inherited the psychic powers as well?), Castle had leapt up and held out her chair in a gentlemanly manner.  With a small smile and a mostly feigned suspicious look, Beckett sank gracefully into her seat and Castle gallantly rolled her forward.  She raised an eyebrow at his antics and he just smiled and gave an extravagant bow.

“My, my Beckett, are those bags under your lovely eyes?  Were you up all night?  Was it murder?  I’m hurt – why didn’t you call me?” Castle’s shocked air turned lascivious and he leaned in, “Or was it a man?”

Beckett rolled her eyes.  “Hardly.”

Castle gasped, one hand flying to his heart.  “It was a woman!  Why didn’t you call me, Beckett?”

Beckett huffed, “Don’t flatter yourself, Castle.  What’s got you in such a good mood?”

“I woke up early this morning – really early – five am early – and I have finally managed to bypass Alexis’ parental controls on my–” Castle started.

“Ah!” Beckett held up a hand.  “I do not need to hear any more!”

“No, no,” Castle said, “You’ve got it all wrong – the parental controls weren’t for, uh, adult sites (why would I need those anyway?), they were for the Castle fansites.”

“The Castle fansites?” Beckett said blankly.

“Yes!  And in the year I’ve been away, there has been a veritable explosion of activity!  My favourite author–”

“Favourite author?”

“Of fanfiction.  It turns out that she had deleted all of her stories, but not because of the killing off Derrick Storm thing, and reposted it in the time I’ve been away.  She hadn’t written anything new, though, until just this morning (it was fate, I swear!) and, whew, let me tell you, that was one hot scene between Heat and Rook.”  Castle sighed happily.  “I really wish I could meet this woman.”

Kate Beckett just stared at him in horror.

—

A/N: My attempts at swearing off writing fanfiction never seem to succeed… which is insanely meta considering the subject matter of this fic.  So, yes, maybe Kate is a little too much like me but, hey, it’s crack!fic.

Unrelated, but awesome(ish) – this fic was the first fanfic posted publicly to Google Wave.  Go Castle fandom!

I blame my beta, Sarah (ObsidianJade), for this fic (even if it was an accidental self-prompt).  Somehow both of the fics I wrote in the past year are all her fault.

PS:  I now know how weird it is for people to write fic about characters who share their name.  I’m still not sure if I should be offended by Nikki Heat or not…

ObsidianJade adds:  I’ll happily take blame for this one, it’s hilarious.  I’d happily take blame for a multitude more of stories from Nikki, but she doesn’t co-operate!