Richard Castle, Watcher: London, July 1990
Richard Castle, Watcher
Author: Starfox5
Rating: FR18
Crossover: “Castle”
Written for: TtH August Fic A Day Challenge
Disclaimer: BtVS/AtS characters belong to Joss Whedon/Mutant Enemy. Castle Characters belong to Beacon PIctures and ABC Studio. Please do not copy or take this story without my permission.
Summary: Some things you cannot run from, nor can you shoot or stake them.
London, July 1990
“Another rejection?” Mary asked, looking up from the book on Polgara Demons’ life cycles. Richard Rodgers knew she had been taking her work home for quite some time. That was nothing unusual if the work consisted in researching information found in books. But she had started to take her work to his home too. That was a good sign. It showed she had grown comfortable around him. Enough to ignore him for the evening in favor of working. In his home. They might skip the wedding part of their relationship and go straight to estranged couple. maybe it wasn’t that good a sign as he had thought.
He didn’t answer her, just crumpled up the letter and threw it in the wastepaper bin. Well, towards it - it fell short a bit, denying him even that success. Richard had kept his first rejection letter, planning to keep it as a motivation. And a future conversation starter for when he was rich and famous. But that letter had just been the first of a series, a wave of such rejections. There was only one explanation for that: Those publishing houses needed employes with a better eye for literary quality!
“How many rejections does that make?” Mary asked, in that tone that made it impossible to tell if she was being sympathetic, or teasing, or both.
”I don’t keep count.” It was the twenty-first.
“Mh.” She went back to reading her book.
“The next one will accept my manuscript and prove everyone else wrong.” He raised his chin slightly. Not that she’d pay attention. Impossible woman.
“Of course.” She was humoring him in order to mock him. If someone else, say one of the fossils on the Council, would have been the target, he’d have loved it.
“What did you find out about the disappearances in Birmingham?” He wasn’t abandoning the discussion. He was just delaying it a bit. Say, until he got an offer from a publisher.
“It’s not vampires. One victim disappeared at noon, and from a spot unreachable without being exposed to sunlight.” Mary answered.
“Or what you English try to pass off as sunlight.” Richard grumbled.
“At least our winters do not include blizzards, and we don’t die in the streets from heat stroke in summer,” Mary shot back.
“I’ll have you know that you can live a year in New York without suffering un-airconditioned air.” He sniffed indignantly.
“So you say. Am I supposed to take this on faith value, like your claims about the viability of paintball guns for vampire hunting?” Mary smirked at him.
“It would work, if we could get a decent reloading setup.” He had it all worked out. Theoretically.
“Or a priest willing to bless paint?” She chuckled, just a bit. It had been a decent idea. Once he was rich from his books, he’d hire someone to put it all together. No, to teach him how to do it without wrecking the thing.
“One day you’ll see my genius at work.” He sighed.
“And one day you’ll show me the paradise you call home?” Her hints had become a bit stronger lately. He’d love to show her New York, if not for a little complication.
“Yes, I’ll show you New York, the best, brightest city of the world, and all it’s wonders. But we couldn’t leave while people disappear in Birmingham, could we?”
The doorbell interrupted her answer. Who would arrive at such a late hour? For a moment he imagined one publisher being so excited after reading his story that they sent a courier with a contract offer to make sure no one else beat them to the punch. Then he discarded that fantasy like all the others he’d have over the years about the start of his career as a bestselling author. Fantasy author now.
“Are we expecting someone?” Mary stashed the book in her bag and moved toward the chest where Richards crossbow was stashed.
“No, we aren’t.” He caught the stake she threw to him then walked to the door, waiting until she had the crossbow ready. The doorbell kept ringing. Whoever was waiting was impatient. If it was a mormon... did they get mormons in England? Richard peered through the spyhole and paled. The stake almost slipped from his grasp. When he turned to Mary she tensed up as soon as she saw his desperate face.
“It’s my mother!”
*****
“Really, Richard, what did you expect? You never write, you rarely call, you don’t tell me anything about this new job of yours… any mother would come to check up on her only child in this situation!” Martha Rodgers declared with all the drama an actress with decades of experience was capable of while she deftly avoided spilling any of the wine in her glass. Wine he had bought for himself and Mary. But telling his mother to get herself a drink from the kitchen had been the only way to get her out of the living room so Mary could move the crossbow from where she had dropped it behind the couch to the chest.
“Most would stick to using the phone themselves instead of making the trip across the Atlantic for a surprise visit!” Richard was doing his best to match his mother glass for glass. That bottle had been rather expensive, and he wanted his share.
“Pish posh!” His mother finished her glass, then grabbed the bottle for a refill. “You’d never have told me about your new girlfriend over the phone. That would have meant admitting that I was right about Kyra.” She turned to Mary, who was watching her with a mixture of amusement - at Richard’s expense! - and the kind of slight shock Martha often caused to people who met her for the first time. “I told him she was breaking up with him, but was too cowardly to say so. ‘Going to London to get some space’ - what woman would say that and mean it?” Martha didn’t give Mary any chance to answer before she continued. “He didn’t believe me when I told him she would not stick with him against the wishes of her parents. A mother knows.”
“You told me that a week after you had met her. That was over three years ago!” He would have prefered to tell Mary himself of one - one! - of the reasons he had moved to London. At a moment of his own choice too. Say, a few months or years after their wedding. But Hurricane Martha had never cared much about his wishes, and wouldn’t start caring now.
“And I was right.” Martha smiled at him with that impossibly smug expression he was so familiar with, then looked at Mary. “He never listened to me as a child, and never grew out of that phase.”
“I’d say he still has yet to grow up.” Mary was smiling while his mother agreed with her! The traitor! Richard glared at both of them, but that just made them chuckle and giggle together. He decided to save the shreds of his dignity and not descend to their level, and instead filled his own glass again.
“So, tell me about yourself, Mary. How did you two meet?” Martha asked with a predatory air her innocent tone couldn’t really hide.
Both of them froze for a second. “We met in a bar,” Mary answered, glancing at him.
“Yes. She saved me from a very pushy woman.” He smiled at her while her glance turned into a glare. Didn’t she know that one had to stick as close to the truth as possible when lying?
“What possessed you to do such a thing, dear?” Martha Rodgers asked Mary, making a show out of staring at the woman’s rather conservative clothes. “I cannot imagine you frequenting the kind of bars my son would visit in New York.”
“To tell the truth, I had developed a strong dislike of the woman he was with when I met him. I would have interceded for just about every man caught in her clutches.” Mary said conspiratorially.
Richard gaped at her behind his mother’s back while Martha laughed.
His girlfriend smiled sweetly. “He later tracked me down at the university to thank me, and we ended up as co-workers by chance.”
“That must have been a real shrew of a girl for him to thank anyone of driving her off. He wasn’t drunk, was he?” His mother proceeded in her attempts to assassinate his character in front of his girlfriend.
“I’ll have you know, I was not drunk at all, mother!” A beer or two didn’t count.
“I’m sure you weren’t, dear.” Martha Rodgers dismissed him with a wave of her hand and that patronizing attitude he was so familiar with. He really hoped Mary wasn’t taking notes.
“Speaking of work… what is it exactly that you do? My son was quite proud of having found, finally, gainful employment. Of course he had to leave the country to achieve that. But he was rather unwilling to provide details about his work during his very rare phone calls. I had feared the worst, to be honest, given his past explits.” The actress sighed theatrically.
“We’re working at a private library, mother. A very private, very distinguished, very British library.” Richard managed to get out between grinding his teeth.
“Indeed, Mrs Rodgers.” Mary nodded.
“Miss Rodgers.” Martha corrected her.
“The library belongs to a private society involved in archeology and history, with a long tradition of financing private expeditions. Their archives go back centuries, and require quite a lot of work to be maintained.” Mary went on in that prim, proper English upper class accent of hers.
Martha looked duly impressed, and surprised. “I am glad to see my son is finally making something out of his life. Did you know he was planning to become an author for most of his teenage years? That was one of the reasons Kyra’s parents were so opposed to their relationship, you know.”
“Oh, I am very aware of his literary ambitions, Miss Rodgers,” Mary smiled.
“Oh, dear! Did he force you to read his manuscripts? It was cute when he was twelve, and they weren’t that long, but later…” His mother shuddered dramatically.
“When did you say your flight back was scheduled for again, mother?”
“Richard!” Both his mother and his girlfriend were looking at him reproachfully. Dear Lord, they were bonding. Hell, he was starting to curse like a native even in his own head!
He went to the kitchen to get the next bottle. He wouldn’t survive the evening without more alcohol.
Author: Starfox5
Rating: FR18
Crossover: “Castle”
Written for: TtH August Fic A Day Challenge
Disclaimer: BtVS/AtS characters belong to Joss Whedon/Mutant Enemy. Castle Characters belong to Beacon PIctures and ABC Studio. Please do not copy or take this story without my permission.
Summary: Some things you cannot run from, nor can you shoot or stake them.
London, July 1990
“Another rejection?” Mary asked, looking up from the book on Polgara Demons’ life cycles. Richard Rodgers knew she had been taking her work home for quite some time. That was nothing unusual if the work consisted in researching information found in books. But she had started to take her work to his home too. That was a good sign. It showed she had grown comfortable around him. Enough to ignore him for the evening in favor of working. In his home. They might skip the wedding part of their relationship and go straight to estranged couple. maybe it wasn’t that good a sign as he had thought.
He didn’t answer her, just crumpled up the letter and threw it in the wastepaper bin. Well, towards it - it fell short a bit, denying him even that success. Richard had kept his first rejection letter, planning to keep it as a motivation. And a future conversation starter for when he was rich and famous. But that letter had just been the first of a series, a wave of such rejections. There was only one explanation for that: Those publishing houses needed employes with a better eye for literary quality!
“How many rejections does that make?” Mary asked, in that tone that made it impossible to tell if she was being sympathetic, or teasing, or both.
”I don’t keep count.” It was the twenty-first.
“Mh.” She went back to reading her book.
“The next one will accept my manuscript and prove everyone else wrong.” He raised his chin slightly. Not that she’d pay attention. Impossible woman.
“Of course.” She was humoring him in order to mock him. If someone else, say one of the fossils on the Council, would have been the target, he’d have loved it.
“What did you find out about the disappearances in Birmingham?” He wasn’t abandoning the discussion. He was just delaying it a bit. Say, until he got an offer from a publisher.
“It’s not vampires. One victim disappeared at noon, and from a spot unreachable without being exposed to sunlight.” Mary answered.
“Or what you English try to pass off as sunlight.” Richard grumbled.
“At least our winters do not include blizzards, and we don’t die in the streets from heat stroke in summer,” Mary shot back.
“I’ll have you know that you can live a year in New York without suffering un-airconditioned air.” He sniffed indignantly.
“So you say. Am I supposed to take this on faith value, like your claims about the viability of paintball guns for vampire hunting?” Mary smirked at him.
“It would work, if we could get a decent reloading setup.” He had it all worked out. Theoretically.
“Or a priest willing to bless paint?” She chuckled, just a bit. It had been a decent idea. Once he was rich from his books, he’d hire someone to put it all together. No, to teach him how to do it without wrecking the thing.
“One day you’ll see my genius at work.” He sighed.
“And one day you’ll show me the paradise you call home?” Her hints had become a bit stronger lately. He’d love to show her New York, if not for a little complication.
“Yes, I’ll show you New York, the best, brightest city of the world, and all it’s wonders. But we couldn’t leave while people disappear in Birmingham, could we?”
The doorbell interrupted her answer. Who would arrive at such a late hour? For a moment he imagined one publisher being so excited after reading his story that they sent a courier with a contract offer to make sure no one else beat them to the punch. Then he discarded that fantasy like all the others he’d have over the years about the start of his career as a bestselling author. Fantasy author now.
“Are we expecting someone?” Mary stashed the book in her bag and moved toward the chest where Richards crossbow was stashed.
“No, we aren’t.” He caught the stake she threw to him then walked to the door, waiting until she had the crossbow ready. The doorbell kept ringing. Whoever was waiting was impatient. If it was a mormon... did they get mormons in England? Richard peered through the spyhole and paled. The stake almost slipped from his grasp. When he turned to Mary she tensed up as soon as she saw his desperate face.
“It’s my mother!”
*****
“Really, Richard, what did you expect? You never write, you rarely call, you don’t tell me anything about this new job of yours… any mother would come to check up on her only child in this situation!” Martha Rodgers declared with all the drama an actress with decades of experience was capable of while she deftly avoided spilling any of the wine in her glass. Wine he had bought for himself and Mary. But telling his mother to get herself a drink from the kitchen had been the only way to get her out of the living room so Mary could move the crossbow from where she had dropped it behind the couch to the chest.
“Most would stick to using the phone themselves instead of making the trip across the Atlantic for a surprise visit!” Richard was doing his best to match his mother glass for glass. That bottle had been rather expensive, and he wanted his share.
“Pish posh!” His mother finished her glass, then grabbed the bottle for a refill. “You’d never have told me about your new girlfriend over the phone. That would have meant admitting that I was right about Kyra.” She turned to Mary, who was watching her with a mixture of amusement - at Richard’s expense! - and the kind of slight shock Martha often caused to people who met her for the first time. “I told him she was breaking up with him, but was too cowardly to say so. ‘Going to London to get some space’ - what woman would say that and mean it?” Martha didn’t give Mary any chance to answer before she continued. “He didn’t believe me when I told him she would not stick with him against the wishes of her parents. A mother knows.”
“You told me that a week after you had met her. That was over three years ago!” He would have prefered to tell Mary himself of one - one! - of the reasons he had moved to London. At a moment of his own choice too. Say, a few months or years after their wedding. But Hurricane Martha had never cared much about his wishes, and wouldn’t start caring now.
“And I was right.” Martha smiled at him with that impossibly smug expression he was so familiar with, then looked at Mary. “He never listened to me as a child, and never grew out of that phase.”
“I’d say he still has yet to grow up.” Mary was smiling while his mother agreed with her! The traitor! Richard glared at both of them, but that just made them chuckle and giggle together. He decided to save the shreds of his dignity and not descend to their level, and instead filled his own glass again.
“So, tell me about yourself, Mary. How did you two meet?” Martha asked with a predatory air her innocent tone couldn’t really hide.
Both of them froze for a second. “We met in a bar,” Mary answered, glancing at him.
“Yes. She saved me from a very pushy woman.” He smiled at her while her glance turned into a glare. Didn’t she know that one had to stick as close to the truth as possible when lying?
“What possessed you to do such a thing, dear?” Martha Rodgers asked Mary, making a show out of staring at the woman’s rather conservative clothes. “I cannot imagine you frequenting the kind of bars my son would visit in New York.”
“To tell the truth, I had developed a strong dislike of the woman he was with when I met him. I would have interceded for just about every man caught in her clutches.” Mary said conspiratorially.
Richard gaped at her behind his mother’s back while Martha laughed.
His girlfriend smiled sweetly. “He later tracked me down at the university to thank me, and we ended up as co-workers by chance.”
“That must have been a real shrew of a girl for him to thank anyone of driving her off. He wasn’t drunk, was he?” His mother proceeded in her attempts to assassinate his character in front of his girlfriend.
“I’ll have you know, I was not drunk at all, mother!” A beer or two didn’t count.
“I’m sure you weren’t, dear.” Martha Rodgers dismissed him with a wave of her hand and that patronizing attitude he was so familiar with. He really hoped Mary wasn’t taking notes.
“Speaking of work… what is it exactly that you do? My son was quite proud of having found, finally, gainful employment. Of course he had to leave the country to achieve that. But he was rather unwilling to provide details about his work during his very rare phone calls. I had feared the worst, to be honest, given his past explits.” The actress sighed theatrically.
“We’re working at a private library, mother. A very private, very distinguished, very British library.” Richard managed to get out between grinding his teeth.
“Indeed, Mrs Rodgers.” Mary nodded.
“Miss Rodgers.” Martha corrected her.
“The library belongs to a private society involved in archeology and history, with a long tradition of financing private expeditions. Their archives go back centuries, and require quite a lot of work to be maintained.” Mary went on in that prim, proper English upper class accent of hers.
Martha looked duly impressed, and surprised. “I am glad to see my son is finally making something out of his life. Did you know he was planning to become an author for most of his teenage years? That was one of the reasons Kyra’s parents were so opposed to their relationship, you know.”
“Oh, I am very aware of his literary ambitions, Miss Rodgers,” Mary smiled.
“Oh, dear! Did he force you to read his manuscripts? It was cute when he was twelve, and they weren’t that long, but later…” His mother shuddered dramatically.
“When did you say your flight back was scheduled for again, mother?”
“Richard!” Both his mother and his girlfriend were looking at him reproachfully. Dear Lord, they were bonding. Hell, he was starting to curse like a native even in his own head!
He went to the kitchen to get the next bottle. He wouldn’t survive the evening without more alcohol.