Castle/In Plain Sight Ficlet
Title: To Thine Own Self Be True
Fandoms: Castle/In Plain Sight
Rating: PG, gen
Word Count: 600
Written for: castleland's "Fandoms Collide" challenge. Team Esposito!
When the meeting started, she was crisp, professional. Now she sprawls loose-limbed, taking up as much space as possible. Her face is closed off into a scowl, pinched tight.
“Marshal Mann, did anyone ever tell you that your partner is quite the lady?” Castle asks the man seated at the end of the table.
“Ms. Shannon is a breath of fresh air, isn’t she?” Mann casually responds, hooking his arm over the back of his chair.
“That’s Marshal Shannon to you, pea brain, and this is Albuqurque,” Shannon says. “There is no fresh air.”
“So,” Castle says, sliding a three-ring binder to one side and leaning over the table with anticipation, “tell me how this all works. How long do I have to stay here? Do I get to keep my name? When can I turn this all into a book?”
“Well, your local PD seems to think that the heat will die down once the trial is over,” Mann explains, “so it could only be a matter of months.” He pauses. “On the other hand, it could be years.”
A hysterical little tickle starts to rise at the back of Castle’s throat, but he quashes the feeling immediately. Beckett will fix it. Beckett will fix it, he will go home, and he’ll have the material for about eight more best sellers.
“Normally, with a common name like Richard, you’d keep that, and change only your surname,” Mann continues. “But given your unique history with the media, it would be for the best to change your name entirely -- to ensure that no one connects the name with the face.”
“But don’t worry,” Shannon cuts in, smirking. “You’ll always be a Dick to us.”
Mann raises an eyebrow at her and flicks a glance toward Alexis, who is sitting at the opposite end of the table, paging through the WITSEC manual with a look of intense concentration. Shannon rolls her eyes, but clamps her mouth shut.
A silence falls on the room, and Castle has a realization. “You didn’t answer my last question.” When can I turn this all into a book?
Mann and Shannon look at each other.
“The short answer? You can’t,” Shannon says. “Anything that connects you with your past life has to be scrubbed away. We won’t take any unnecessary risks.”
“Unnecessary?!” Castle hears the slight whine in his voice, and has to tell himself not to cringe. “You have no idea --”
“Dad,” Alexis says quietly. “Let her do her job.” He meets her eyes, takes a deep breath.
“So, if I can’t write, what am I supposed to do?” Castle asks.
“Well, you know what they say,” Shannon says, smiling brightly -- too brightly -- and Castle can hear the warning bells go off in his head even before the low warning Mann sends to Shannon.
“Maaary,” Mann says, drawing out the a sound.
“Those who can’t do, teach,” Shannon finishes.
“Teach?” Castle blinks. “I’m going to be a professor.”
Mann picks at a bit of nonexistent lint on the cuff of his sleeve. “Not exactly. That position would be too high-profile for someone with your history.”
“Then what?” Castle demands, but Mann won’t meet his eyes, and Shannon is biting her lip, as if to keep from laughing. He feels the horror start to dawn over him. “Please, god, no, not high school!”
Shannon must have won her struggle with self-control, because she looks him right in the face as she says with perfect sincerity, “Come on, it’ll be great! I have it on good authority that the sophomores are reading Hamlet this year. Now there’s a good old-fashioned murder mystery.”
Castle finds himself utterly unable to respond. Sophomores.
Fandoms: Castle/In Plain Sight
Rating: PG, gen
Word Count: 600
Written for: castleland's "Fandoms Collide" challenge. Team Esposito!
When the meeting started, she was crisp, professional. Now she sprawls loose-limbed, taking up as much space as possible. Her face is closed off into a scowl, pinched tight.
“Marshal Mann, did anyone ever tell you that your partner is quite the lady?” Castle asks the man seated at the end of the table.
“Ms. Shannon is a breath of fresh air, isn’t she?” Mann casually responds, hooking his arm over the back of his chair.
“That’s Marshal Shannon to you, pea brain, and this is Albuqurque,” Shannon says. “There is no fresh air.”
“So,” Castle says, sliding a three-ring binder to one side and leaning over the table with anticipation, “tell me how this all works. How long do I have to stay here? Do I get to keep my name? When can I turn this all into a book?”
“Well, your local PD seems to think that the heat will die down once the trial is over,” Mann explains, “so it could only be a matter of months.” He pauses. “On the other hand, it could be years.”
A hysterical little tickle starts to rise at the back of Castle’s throat, but he quashes the feeling immediately. Beckett will fix it. Beckett will fix it, he will go home, and he’ll have the material for about eight more best sellers.
“Normally, with a common name like Richard, you’d keep that, and change only your surname,” Mann continues. “But given your unique history with the media, it would be for the best to change your name entirely -- to ensure that no one connects the name with the face.”
“But don’t worry,” Shannon cuts in, smirking. “You’ll always be a Dick to us.”
Mann raises an eyebrow at her and flicks a glance toward Alexis, who is sitting at the opposite end of the table, paging through the WITSEC manual with a look of intense concentration. Shannon rolls her eyes, but clamps her mouth shut.
A silence falls on the room, and Castle has a realization. “You didn’t answer my last question.” When can I turn this all into a book?
Mann and Shannon look at each other.
“The short answer? You can’t,” Shannon says. “Anything that connects you with your past life has to be scrubbed away. We won’t take any unnecessary risks.”
“Unnecessary?!” Castle hears the slight whine in his voice, and has to tell himself not to cringe. “You have no idea --”
“Dad,” Alexis says quietly. “Let her do her job.” He meets her eyes, takes a deep breath.
“So, if I can’t write, what am I supposed to do?” Castle asks.
“Well, you know what they say,” Shannon says, smiling brightly -- too brightly -- and Castle can hear the warning bells go off in his head even before the low warning Mann sends to Shannon.
“Maaary,” Mann says, drawing out the a sound.
“Those who can’t do, teach,” Shannon finishes.
“Teach?” Castle blinks. “I’m going to be a professor.”
Mann picks at a bit of nonexistent lint on the cuff of his sleeve. “Not exactly. That position would be too high-profile for someone with your history.”
“Then what?” Castle demands, but Mann won’t meet his eyes, and Shannon is biting her lip, as if to keep from laughing. He feels the horror start to dawn over him. “Please, god, no, not high school!”
Shannon must have won her struggle with self-control, because she looks him right in the face as she says with perfect sincerity, “Come on, it’ll be great! I have it on good authority that the sophomores are reading Hamlet this year. Now there’s a good old-fashioned murder mystery.”
Castle finds himself utterly unable to respond. Sophomores.