[ case closed ]

[fanofthegenre]

"The ex-wife in the office with the fire ants," Beckett murmurs, juggling the ring of keys in her palm until she singles out the one she's looking for and slides it into the lock on her apartment's front door

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[bestsellingego]

"And you even got to expense the mileage," he adds, following her into the apartment.

It certainly wasn't one of the simplest cases they'd ever worked together (or that Castle has ever cooked up over a glass of Scotch and a MacBook Pro), but when it came down to it, the reason for all crimes could be reduced to three motives: greed, jealousy, and deranged ex-wives. Once you broke through the clutter, the heart of crime really wasn't that complicated. Aside from the shopping bags, Anne Gordon's second biggest mistake had been leaving an IP trail behind her when she ordered the ants over the Internet. From there, the ant hill of damning evidence had built up into a mountain.

Castle's pretty pleased with himself, and understandably so.

He takes half a second to consider her offer -- "Why not?" -- and threads his scarf through his collar. "I've got to figure out a way to work this into a book. Truth is stranger than fiction." He runs his hands over his arms, chasing down a thousand invisible insects. It's been a habit with this case

[fanofthegenre]

"Not to mention free Starbucks out of the deal."

It certainly hadn't been the lightest paper trail they'd ever had to deal with, but it was definitely going to rise in the ranks on the list of the "freaky cases", as Esposito liked to call them. At any rate, Beckett's just glad to have another case tucked away in the closed column and maybe a full night of some actual sleeping. She whistles softly as she pulls two beers out of the fridge and then uses the bottle opener magnet to tug off the caps. Castle's is handed to him while Beckett takes a swig from hers, plopping down onto her couch and prying her feet out of her boots.

"I'm going to be scratching at invisible ants for at least another week, I just know it," she murmurs, reaching behind herself and between her shoulderblades to scratch before she realizes what she's doing and forces herself to stop.

[bestsellingego]

Castle plops onto the cushion beside her and, without thinking, scratches the fabled 'Unreachable Spot' between Beckett's shoulder blades. "Perils of the job," he says. "When I was writing Unholy Storm, all that voodoo? I habitually checked Alexis' stuffed animal collection to make sure that nobody had put any bad mojo on me. Sometimes the work goes home with you."

He drops his hand back to his beer and plugs his mouth with the neck of the bottle. 'Wipes the foam off his upper lip and stretches his legs out beneath the coffee table.

Sometimes it follows you home, he thinks.

[fanofthegenre]

"Because clearly, the way to get to you would be a tiny little Castle doll they could stick with sewing pins. Did you find yourself feeling hot for no reason, too?" Her sip disguises a smile while she leans back, extending her own legs to let her feet rest on top of the coffee table.

"What's the weirdest thing you've ever received through your fanmail?" Beckett asks.

Even during their first case together, when they'd sorted through letters and drawings, she remembers seeing some pretty odd tokens of affection. But she's also sure that nothing can compare to years of what Castle and his agent have had to filter through.