Fic: Love Your Work (Castle/Various, PG-13)
Title: Love Your Work.
Author: Prochytes.
Fandom: Castle/NCIS/Bones/Rumpole of the Bailey/Sherlock /Lord Peter Wimsey.
Rating: PG-13.
Characters/Pairing: Richard Castle/Kate Beckett (UST), Javier Esposito/Lanie Parish, Kevin Ryan, Martha Rodgers, Alexis Castle (Castle); Tony DiNozzo, Tim McGee, Ziva David (NCIS); Harriet Vane (Lord Peter Wimsey).
Disclaimer: Not mine at all, any of it.
Summary: Castle is not the only author ever to have written from what he knows.
Word Count: 1479.
A/N: No significant spoilers.
1. Deep Heat.
Rick Castle was a little bit aroused, and rather terrified. He was no stranger to that particular combo, which had pretty much defined his second marriage. But it had been a while, and he was out of practice.
The arousal was down to the fact that he was watching Beckett slug it out in a warehouse with another hot brunette. The terror was down to the fact that he was still watching Beckett slug it out in a warehouse with another hot brunette. Rick Castle’s model of the Universe held that it was unevenly divided into three classes of entity: (a) Detective Kate Beckett; (b) things to which Detective Kate Beckett could hand their ass inside the space of five heartbeats; and (c) God. Four minutes in, and this babe she was fighting had only just broken a sweat. Rick could not help but find that kind of worrying.
“Do you think that we should... you know... help?” he asked Ryan, who was standing beside him. Beckett’s opponent ducked a kick, and threw a punch into the slice of air that Beckett had just vacated.
“I prize the integrity of my rib-cage, Castle. And if we chip in, they will as well.”
“Your friend’s right.” One of the two guys that had accompanied the anonymous ninjette piped up. Rick thought that he looked like the kind of handsome lech whose essential decency is usually confirmed in the antepenultimate chapter. “Also, we have guns.”
“So does he,” Rick pointed out on Ryan’s behalf.
“And we all have a gas-leak in this warehouse,” said the other guy. Good-looking too, and kind of nerdy. Rick would have handed him a lot of exposition. “So let’s just cool it, OK?”
“Uh-huh,” said the first guy. “Anyway, Ziva’s got this.”
“You will soon have reason to eat those few ill-chosen words, my foolish friend.”
(“Does he ever stop talking?” Beckett’s adversary whispered as the taller woman struggled to establish a grip on her throat.
“Two years and not a pause in sight. Yours?”
“The same. Nice lock.”
“Nice counter.”
“Thanks.”)
“You guys would save yourselves a lot of trouble,” Ryan scratched his head, “if you just accepted that our credentials are legit. I mean: do we look like gun-runners? ”
Handsome Lech furrowed his handsome brow. “Man raises a valid point, McParanoid. These people aren’t exactly Nick Cage in Lord of War.”
“Or Eddie Albert in The Gun Runners,” Rick offered.
“Exactly.”
“Precisely.” Rick frowned. “Why did you think we were phoney?”
“Ran into some fake cops on the way here.”
“So did we! That’s why we thought you were phoney! Do you realize what this is?” Rick nudged Ryan in delight. “We are totally having a Misunderstanding Fight. How cool is that?”
“This isn’t one of your books, Castle,” Ryan hissed.
“Not one of mine, true enough. Extended combats are a pain to write. I always end up using them as a backdrop for the dialogue instead.” Beckett answered a (blocked) hook with a (dodged) knee slam, as Rick continued: “But think about it. The suave movie buff; the hot ninja; the corpse with dog-tags... This has to be a Deep Six. Thom E. Gemcity?” The nerdy one blushed. “I knew it! Rick Castle - big fan.”
“The Richard Castle? Derrick Storm? Nikki Heat?”
“The same.”
“Wow. Uh... Ziva...”
“I understand, McGee.” The woman called Ziva sighed, and lowered her guard. “Much though it irks me to leave a bout this interesting unfinished. Later?” she asked Beckett.
“Count on it,” said Beckett. Her chest was still heaving in a way that Rick tried not to find too obviously engrossing. He smiled and clapped his hands together.
“Great! Let’s all go catch some killers. One question for you, Thom. Do you play poker?”
2. Body Heat.
“Is that the latest Brennan?” Esposito asked.
“It might be. Um.” Lanie seemed to have developed an absorbing interest in her test-tubes.
“Cool. Mind if I have a look?”
Lanie’s hand slammed down on the cover. “Uh-uh. I... um... haven’t finished it yet.”
Esposito’s eyes narrowed. “Lanie...”
“OK,” Lanie sighed. “You know that case of ours she consulted on?”
“Uh-huh. Most bizarre case I ever did see. Apart from the thing with the whale, of course.”
“Nothing touches the thing with the whale.”
“Are you trying to tell me she used some of that case for her book?”
“Kinda.... There’s... sort of this glamorous and sassy medical examiner in it.”
Esposito beamed. “That’s my girl.”
“Who sort of has this relationship with a detective that the two of them think is secret.”
“Huh? How the hell did she spot that? I thought you said she had the social awareness of an avocado.”
“She did. But I suspect that the big Fed who was following her around wasn’t as dumb as he was making out.”
“Great.” Esposito picked the tome up gingerly. “What should I be scared of?”
“We have a sex scene. If it makes you feel any better, hers are, surprisingly, almost as good as Castle’s. Page 234.”
“That doesn’t sound too bad.”
“... to 239.”
Esposito dropped the book.
3. Judicial Heat.
“How was London, mother?”
“Delightful, darling. Haunted Harrods. Took in a show.”
“Which one?”
“The Mousetrap.”
“Your every action is calculated to whittle away at my self-esteem.”
“It’s a dirty job, dear, but someone’s got to do it. Saw some sights: the Eye; the Dome; theuxbridgemagistratescourt.”
“The what?”
“The, er, Uxbridge Magistrates Court. There may have been a small misunderstanding with a bouncer.”
“Mother...”
“Relax, dear. A wonderful little man represented me. I’d say you should put him in one of your stories, but it turned out that he writes his own. I must read them; he was quite the wordsmith. ‘The Golden Thread that runs through British Justice’.”
“Nice. Wish I’d thought of that.”
“He said that I was by far the most charming actor he had ever met, as well. And you should have seen me on the stand. Marlene Dietrich in Witness for the Prosecution.”
“Who - correct me if I’m wrong - was aiming for the acquittal of someone who was as guilty as sin.”
“Don’t be such a sourpuss, dear. Did anything exciting happen while I was away?”
“Two words for you, ‘Whale’. And ‘neon’.”
4. The Heat in the Night-time.
(From the blog of John H. Watson.)
1 Comment
Hope you don’t mind some fan-mail from a long-time lurker. What you’ve done here is really impressive. I do hope that you post the Subdivided Crooner soon! It isn’t fair for you to tease us all with cryptic allusions to cases you haven’t written yet. Got to run - my dad (also a fan) is asking me how to spell “cetacean”.
Icapturethecastle 23 August 2010 19:24
5. A Presentiment of Heat.
For years afterwards, Rick kicked himself that he had not recognized her at once.
There was no reason why he should have done so, of course. One terribly proper old English lady was not that easy to tell from another, particularly for an American whose brain had already been fried by three straight hours signing copies of the newly-released Storm Song. All the same, poker with the big boys was fun, but to have met the last living link with the Golden Age, the woman who had written Death 'twixt Wind and Water, gone scrumping with Ariadne Oliver, and even (acme of coolness) solved some real-life crimes herself... well, that was something else.
“What did you think of the previous ones?” he had asked.
She had raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure that you want to know? I am afraid that I am always distressingly candid in my verdicts on an author’s work, even to his face.”
“Go ahead. Hit me.” He had grinned roguishly. “You don’t find Derrick too racy, do you?”
“Mr. Castle, if you knew the milieu I inhabited in the Thirties, you would understand why I find all such fin de siècle efforts a trifle tame. But no - I think that you are a good novelist. I just feel that you have it in you to be a better one.”
“Really?” He had leaned back in his chair. “How?”
“If you will forgive the impertinence, Mr. Castle, I suspect that you are one of the people cursed with both hearts and brains, and that you will not be truly happy as a writer or as a man until you find a way to work them both in tandem.”
“Sounds to me like you’re speaking from experience.” He had cocked his head on one side. “‘Hearts and brains’, you say? The only way I could manage that would be to fall in love with a detective. And I can’t say I find that plot very likely.”
“I suppose you’re right.” She had craned over the fly-leaf. “Would you make the inscription To Harriet and Peter?”
FINIS
Author: Prochytes.
Fandom: Castle/NCIS/Bones/Rumpole of the Bailey/Sherlock /Lord Peter Wimsey.
Rating: PG-13.
Characters/Pairing: Richard Castle/Kate Beckett (UST), Javier Esposito/Lanie Parish, Kevin Ryan, Martha Rodgers, Alexis Castle (Castle); Tony DiNozzo, Tim McGee, Ziva David (NCIS); Harriet Vane (Lord Peter Wimsey).
Disclaimer: Not mine at all, any of it.
Summary: Castle is not the only author ever to have written from what he knows.
Word Count: 1479.
A/N: No significant spoilers.
1. Deep Heat.
Rick Castle was a little bit aroused, and rather terrified. He was no stranger to that particular combo, which had pretty much defined his second marriage. But it had been a while, and he was out of practice.
The arousal was down to the fact that he was watching Beckett slug it out in a warehouse with another hot brunette. The terror was down to the fact that he was still watching Beckett slug it out in a warehouse with another hot brunette. Rick Castle’s model of the Universe held that it was unevenly divided into three classes of entity: (a) Detective Kate Beckett; (b) things to which Detective Kate Beckett could hand their ass inside the space of five heartbeats; and (c) God. Four minutes in, and this babe she was fighting had only just broken a sweat. Rick could not help but find that kind of worrying.
“Do you think that we should... you know... help?” he asked Ryan, who was standing beside him. Beckett’s opponent ducked a kick, and threw a punch into the slice of air that Beckett had just vacated.
“I prize the integrity of my rib-cage, Castle. And if we chip in, they will as well.”
“Your friend’s right.” One of the two guys that had accompanied the anonymous ninjette piped up. Rick thought that he looked like the kind of handsome lech whose essential decency is usually confirmed in the antepenultimate chapter. “Also, we have guns.”
“So does he,” Rick pointed out on Ryan’s behalf.
“And we all have a gas-leak in this warehouse,” said the other guy. Good-looking too, and kind of nerdy. Rick would have handed him a lot of exposition. “So let’s just cool it, OK?”
“Uh-huh,” said the first guy. “Anyway, Ziva’s got this.”
“You will soon have reason to eat those few ill-chosen words, my foolish friend.”
(“Does he ever stop talking?” Beckett’s adversary whispered as the taller woman struggled to establish a grip on her throat.
“Two years and not a pause in sight. Yours?”
“The same. Nice lock.”
“Nice counter.”
“Thanks.”)
“You guys would save yourselves a lot of trouble,” Ryan scratched his head, “if you just accepted that our credentials are legit. I mean: do we look like gun-runners? ”
Handsome Lech furrowed his handsome brow. “Man raises a valid point, McParanoid. These people aren’t exactly Nick Cage in Lord of War.”
“Or Eddie Albert in The Gun Runners,” Rick offered.
“Exactly.”
“Precisely.” Rick frowned. “Why did you think we were phoney?”
“Ran into some fake cops on the way here.”
“So did we! That’s why we thought you were phoney! Do you realize what this is?” Rick nudged Ryan in delight. “We are totally having a Misunderstanding Fight. How cool is that?”
“This isn’t one of your books, Castle,” Ryan hissed.
“Not one of mine, true enough. Extended combats are a pain to write. I always end up using them as a backdrop for the dialogue instead.” Beckett answered a (blocked) hook with a (dodged) knee slam, as Rick continued: “But think about it. The suave movie buff; the hot ninja; the corpse with dog-tags... This has to be a Deep Six. Thom E. Gemcity?” The nerdy one blushed. “I knew it! Rick Castle - big fan.”
“The Richard Castle? Derrick Storm? Nikki Heat?”
“The same.”
“Wow. Uh... Ziva...”
“I understand, McGee.” The woman called Ziva sighed, and lowered her guard. “Much though it irks me to leave a bout this interesting unfinished. Later?” she asked Beckett.
“Count on it,” said Beckett. Her chest was still heaving in a way that Rick tried not to find too obviously engrossing. He smiled and clapped his hands together.
“Great! Let’s all go catch some killers. One question for you, Thom. Do you play poker?”
2. Body Heat.
“Is that the latest Brennan?” Esposito asked.
“It might be. Um.” Lanie seemed to have developed an absorbing interest in her test-tubes.
“Cool. Mind if I have a look?”
Lanie’s hand slammed down on the cover. “Uh-uh. I... um... haven’t finished it yet.”
Esposito’s eyes narrowed. “Lanie...”
“OK,” Lanie sighed. “You know that case of ours she consulted on?”
“Uh-huh. Most bizarre case I ever did see. Apart from the thing with the whale, of course.”
“Nothing touches the thing with the whale.”
“Are you trying to tell me she used some of that case for her book?”
“Kinda.... There’s... sort of this glamorous and sassy medical examiner in it.”
Esposito beamed. “That’s my girl.”
“Who sort of has this relationship with a detective that the two of them think is secret.”
“Huh? How the hell did she spot that? I thought you said she had the social awareness of an avocado.”
“She did. But I suspect that the big Fed who was following her around wasn’t as dumb as he was making out.”
“Great.” Esposito picked the tome up gingerly. “What should I be scared of?”
“We have a sex scene. If it makes you feel any better, hers are, surprisingly, almost as good as Castle’s. Page 234.”
“That doesn’t sound too bad.”
“... to 239.”
Esposito dropped the book.
3. Judicial Heat.
“How was London, mother?”
“Delightful, darling. Haunted Harrods. Took in a show.”
“Which one?”
“The Mousetrap.”
“Your every action is calculated to whittle away at my self-esteem.”
“It’s a dirty job, dear, but someone’s got to do it. Saw some sights: the Eye; the Dome; theuxbridgemagistratescourt.”
“The what?”
“The, er, Uxbridge Magistrates Court. There may have been a small misunderstanding with a bouncer.”
“Mother...”
“Relax, dear. A wonderful little man represented me. I’d say you should put him in one of your stories, but it turned out that he writes his own. I must read them; he was quite the wordsmith. ‘The Golden Thread that runs through British Justice’.”
“Nice. Wish I’d thought of that.”
“He said that I was by far the most charming actor he had ever met, as well. And you should have seen me on the stand. Marlene Dietrich in Witness for the Prosecution.”
“Who - correct me if I’m wrong - was aiming for the acquittal of someone who was as guilty as sin.”
“Don’t be such a sourpuss, dear. Did anything exciting happen while I was away?”
“Two words for you, ‘Whale’. And ‘neon’.”
4. The Heat in the Night-time.
(From the blog of John H. Watson.)
1 Comment
Hope you don’t mind some fan-mail from a long-time lurker. What you’ve done here is really impressive. I do hope that you post the Subdivided Crooner soon! It isn’t fair for you to tease us all with cryptic allusions to cases you haven’t written yet. Got to run - my dad (also a fan) is asking me how to spell “cetacean”.
Icapturethecastle 23 August 2010 19:24
5. A Presentiment of Heat.
For years afterwards, Rick kicked himself that he had not recognized her at once.
There was no reason why he should have done so, of course. One terribly proper old English lady was not that easy to tell from another, particularly for an American whose brain had already been fried by three straight hours signing copies of the newly-released Storm Song. All the same, poker with the big boys was fun, but to have met the last living link with the Golden Age, the woman who had written Death 'twixt Wind and Water, gone scrumping with Ariadne Oliver, and even (acme of coolness) solved some real-life crimes herself... well, that was something else.
“What did you think of the previous ones?” he had asked.
She had raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure that you want to know? I am afraid that I am always distressingly candid in my verdicts on an author’s work, even to his face.”
“Go ahead. Hit me.” He had grinned roguishly. “You don’t find Derrick too racy, do you?”
“Mr. Castle, if you knew the milieu I inhabited in the Thirties, you would understand why I find all such fin de siècle efforts a trifle tame. But no - I think that you are a good novelist. I just feel that you have it in you to be a better one.”
“Really?” He had leaned back in his chair. “How?”
“If you will forgive the impertinence, Mr. Castle, I suspect that you are one of the people cursed with both hearts and brains, and that you will not be truly happy as a writer or as a man until you find a way to work them both in tandem.”
“Sounds to me like you’re speaking from experience.” He had cocked his head on one side. “‘Hearts and brains’, you say? The only way I could manage that would be to fall in love with a detective. And I can’t say I find that plot very likely.”
“I suppose you’re right.” She had craned over the fly-leaf. “Would you make the inscription To Harriet and Peter?”
FINIS