Work Text:
Detective Kate Beckett breezed into the bar, puffing a wisp of her short hair out of her eyes. Her blood had simmered all the way from the precinct, rankling at the captain for forcing her to partner with New York’s most eligible airhead.
“Sir, Richard Castle belongs at a keyboard behind a desk, not attached to my hip like a kid on career day!” she had protested, but Montgomery had been immovable.
“It’s out of my hands, Detective. Take it up with the mayor.” Then, as she’d stormed out of his office, he called after her, “Not literally, Detective!” With a scowl, Kate had dismissed the call with a wave of her hand and taken off for the evening, relieved at least that the aforementioned belligerent writer was nowhere to be found.
Kate scanned the Friday night crowd and quickly decided her sociable levels were more destined towards drinking than talking. She shoved her way through the sweaty post-work mob and reached the bar.
The bartender, a young woman barely old enough to drink herself, caught her eye as she cracked the lid off a beer. “What’ll it be?” she called over the noise, handing the beer to the stiffly seated brunette seated before her.
“Same.” Kate dipped her head towards the drink and slumped into the empty seat beside the woman now taking a long swig of the beer. In the glance she’d gotten before sitting down, Kate hadn’t missed the woman’s weapon concealed just beneath her suit jacket, nor the glint of the golden crest on her badge, clipped on the opposite hip. Her glum expression and glazed eyes made the back of Kate’s neck tingle.
“Which precinct are you with?” The words were out before Kate fully realised she had said them. Internally, she groaned. Hadn’t she come here to drink instead of talk?
Her words startled the petite woman out of her reverie. With widened eyes, she turned towards Kate. In the moment before she answered, Kate could see the woman scrutinising her in exactly the same fashion she just had, and so to avoid any confusion, Kate stuck out her hand. “Detective Kate Beckett, Homicide.”
“NYPD?” With the ghost of a smile, the woman shook her hand. “Agent Teresa Lisbon, CBI.”
Kate’s eyebrows rose. “California? You’re a long way from home.”
“Yeah.” Teresa sighed. She took another swig of her drink, returning to glare at her reflection in the mirrored backdrop of the bar. “Four day criminal justice conference. I drew the short straw.”
The edge of Kate’s mouth quirked; Ryan had attended for their team after Espo threatened to hand in his badge if he was made to go for the third year in a row. “Conference lectures not really your speed?”
Teresa snorted. “Oh, it’s not the conference. Actually, I enjoyed most of it. It’s who I was ordered to bring with me.” She glanced over her shoulder and Kate followed her gaze towards a blond-haired man across the room. He wore a waistcoat, had his white sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, and appeared to be performing a card trick to a small ring of people. Turning back, Kate caught Teresa’s eye roll as she returned to her drink. “It’s like babysitting. No, actually, it’s worse because no-one’s going to come back and take him off my hands.”
“Your partner?”
“He’s a consultant,” Teresa replied dully, “and a pain in my ass.”
Kate couldn’t help herself; she let out a mirthless chuckle. Teresa lifted one brow, questioning, and Kate shook her head as she swallowed another mouthful of beer. “No, nothing. It’s just good to know I’m not the only one who’s had an inexperienced man-child dumped on her under the guise of being a ‘consultant’.”
“Well, welcome to the club.” They clinked bottle necks, and after another sip, Teresa asked, “How long have you had yours?”
“A total of three days, and I’m already sick of him.”
Teresa laughed outright. “Try a year and then get back to me.”
The thought of Castle tailing her for a year made Kate’s stomach drop. Her face must have fallen too, for Teresa smirked again, nodding knowingly. “Yeah.”
“Well, what’s so special about him?” Kate asked her, stealing another glance at the man over her shoulder. His cavalier smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, but the small crowd of onlookers were rapt as he continued the trick. “You get a lot of card-related crime over on the West Coast?”
Teresa snorted. “I wish. Patrick Jane,” she said his name with a sigh, “is a reformed TV psychic and knows too much about an area of psychology called mentalism. He reads people.” She wrinkled her nose. “Too much and too closely, in my opinion.”
Scepticism made Kate scoff, but the CBI agent seemed serious, so she bit back her pessimistic retort. A moment before she turned back, Jane looked up and caught Kate staring, looking her dead in the eyes. His gaze was steady and intense, and Kate’s cheeks flushed as she returned to her drink.
“What does your consultant do?”
Kate rolled her eyes. “Richard Castle. He’s a mystery writer. My last case involved a fan taking too much inspiration from his fictional murders, and he…” She paused, not wanting to admit the truth.
“He helped you solve the case,” Teresa filled in.
Kate let out a snort. “ Helped might be putting it strongly. But sure, he had a few helpful moments. Unlucky me, now he’s decided the glamour and action of solving murders make for great writing inspiration, and the mayor tacked him onto my team.” She shook her head as Teresa held in a chuckle. “If it’s anything like the last three days, my partners are gonna be solving a homicide closer to home. His.”
“Is he at least nice to look at?” Teresa probed, draining the rest of her beer with a knowing smirk. Despite herself, the corners of Kate’s mouth rose, unbidden, into a smile. “So not a total loss, then.”
“Neither is yours,” Kate admitted, not daring to look over her shoulder another time, in case Jane’s intense eyes were on her again. “Where’d you pick him up?”
Teresa’s hazel eyes dimmed slightly, and she ordered another beer before answering. “We had a serial killer,” she said, her voice lowered. Kate leaned in. Despite the noisy and crowded atmosphere, she could already sense this was not typical bar conversation. “Red John. I say had - I really should’ve said have . We haven’t caught him yet. But he murdered Jane’s family because Jane mocked him on his show, on television. He came home from the live airing to find his wife and daughter dead, and Red John’s signature on the wall above their bodies.”
“Damn.” Kate sighed, wishing she was more disgusted by the grisly details. “So how’d he get in with your team?”
“It was a combination of right place and time.” Teresa shrugged. “He helped with a case and the boss saw an opportunity. Never mind that he’s too cocky and nosy for his own good.”
“I can’t imagine having a grieving and vengeful mentalist thrown into the middle of your team would’ve made things easier,” Kate replied with a sympathetic grimace.
“He’s actually not too bad with the team. I wish he’d just stop using the stupid mentalist crap to get into my space. The ‘tricks of the trade’, he calls them.”
“Hey, if I had some kind of mental psychology trick to get Castle out of my hair, I’d probably use it.”
“That’s my problem,” groaned Teresa, “he’s not using them to get out of my hair. He’s so close up in my hair he probably knows what shampoo I’m using!”
Both women snorted with laughter, and Kate found herself half-coughing as beer foam came frothing out her nose. Once she could breathe again, she said, “Well, I’d rather a mentalist than a writer. Castle’s technique is to just make up a story and hope the investigation yields the same result; at least your mentalist has his roots in science.”
“Oh, mentalism is not a science,” piped up a loud voice from behind Teresa. Kate leaned over as Teresa spun on the chair to reveal another woman about their age with tawny brown hair pulled back into a low ponytail taking a seat at the bench. The young bartender held up a finger, serving a group of men further down the bar, and the woman waved to show she had seen. “It’s a combination of careful observation, guesswork, and distraction employed by what is usually a very charismatic and charming individual, designed to throw off their subject.”
Kate and Teresa both stared, momentarily lost for words.
The woman continued. “Of course, you’ll be wondering if I am even qualified to speak on the subject at all. I can assure you, you needn’t worry; I’m a scientist. Dr. Temperance Brennan from the Jeffersonian Institute.”
Teresa was the first to recover. “And you know about mentalists because…?”
“Well, I heard that your partner is one, and I can only assume from your badge that you’re some kind of law enforcement.” Brennan’s brow furrowed in concern. “You should seriously reconsider his employment if that’s all he offers you.”
“Even if it helps solve cases?” Teresa asked mildly, shooting a sidelong glance at Kate.
Brennan shrugged, unbothered. “If you can’t solve the cases without some kind of consultancy, then I would at least recommend finding someone with a more advanced scientific background.” Her face brightened. “Like myself, for instance. My expertise in anthropology and kinesiology has been integral to solving several murder investigations alongside the FBI.”
“Oh, so you’re the consultant,” Kate said, hiding a smile.
Unconcerned, Brennan nodded. “Yes, for the FBI.”
“And what would you recommend to an NYPD homicide detective who’s just been saddled with a whiny and immature mystery writer as a consultant?”
Brennan, taking a sip of her newly-arrived beer, raised an eyebrow. “Well, unless the case is somehow associated with the writer’s publications, I don’t see any logical reason to employ them further.”
Kate smacked the bar in satisfaction. “There, thank you!” She gestured to Teresa, who was openly grinning now. “Was that so hard?”
Brennan appeared baffled. “No, no, it wasn’t,” she replied, sounding somewhat ruffled. “Are you saying that has actually happened to a detective here?”
With a snort, Kate replied, “Yeah. Me.” She held out a hand. “Kate Beckett, NYPD.”
Teresa followed suit. “Teresa Lisbon. CBI.”
While shaking her hand, Brennan’s brow furrowed once again. “CBI?”
“California Bureau of Investigation,” Teresa supplied. “I’m in town for the criminal justice conference.”
Understanding flooded the anthropologist’s sharp features. “Oh, of course. That’s why I’m also here, although I couldn’t quite believe the lack of lectures about the relationship of the remains to the investigations themselves.” Shaking her head, she sipped her beer, oblivious to the bemused glance between the other two women.
“Neither could I,” Teresa said a moment later, and Kate grinned.
“So, how did you get into working with the FBI?” Kate asked Brennan, interested. “Did they call you?”
At the question, Brennan let out an “Ugh,” and rolled her eyes. Eyes lighting with interest, Kate and Teresa shared a scandalised glance and simultaneously leaned in. “It started as a favour to a fellow colleague,” she explained, “but in order to continue working the cases, I’ve been partnered to an FBI agent. He can be… irritating to work with.” Her dark expression conveyed the truth of her words.
“Sounds like the FBI,” Kate joked, then quickly followed it up with, “No offence,” to Teresa, tongue in cheek.
Teresa held up her hands. “Hey, the feds like to swoop in from on high in California, too. Just because we share a couple of letters doesn’t mean we’re buddies.”
“It’s not the FBI as a whole,” Brennan continued. “Just my partner. Booth can be…”
“Cocky?” Teresa supplied.
“Annoying?” Kate added.
An amused grin grew on Brennan’s face. “Both, actually,” she admitted with a chuckle. “I presume you both have had similar problems with your counterparts?”
“Only every damn day for the past year,” Teresa replied with a dry chuckle.
Kate nodded. “Mine’s only just started. I’m three days in with no end in sight.”
Brennan shrugged. “Well, if a writer is all he is, I can’t imagine his expertise being helpful beyond the single case that involved him.”
“From your mouth to the captain’s ears,” Kate responded, and Teresa said, “Ditto.” The brunette suddenly spun around and examined the room. “And - damn it, Jane! Where’s he gone?” While Teresa stood up on the rung of her bar stool to get a better view of the room, Kate was distracted by her phone vibrating at her waist. She pulled it out to a text from Captain Montgomery.
Paperwork for Castle needs to be finished before tomorrow. Rescued it from your trash can - on your desk.
With a sigh, Kate stood up. Teresa was still frantically scanning the room for the tell-tale blond hair of her partner, while Brennan had opened her phone and was immersed in what looked to be an article.
“Well, that’s work. Good luck with the partners, ladies,” she said in farewell, shrugging on her jacket.
Brennan failed to even look up from her phone. Distractedly, Teresa responded, “Oh, yeah, good luck to you too, Detective. Damn it, Jane, when I find you…” She pulled out her own phone and moved away, muttering under her breath. With a smirk and a genuine hope that she wasn’t getting a glimpse into her own future, Kate departed.