Disclaimer: I don't own Castle and am only doing this to keep from going nuts in my retirement. this is my first attempt at writing and any criticism is welcome.

With aplogies to Amanda and the cast and writers of Castle.

Final Heat by Oldest Man

Chapter 1

Castle is writing in his study and has finally decided exactly how to end the story. Coming to the Hamptons was a great idea he'd had and the words had flowed from his fingertips as easily and the whiskey flowed down his throat. He'd finally broken his writer's block. Or actually, Beckett had done it for him. Or to him. He wasn't sure which was the more appropriate.

Nikki held her shirt tightly against the wound but she knew it was hopeless. She couldn't stop the bleeding by herself and the ambulance was still minutes away.

"Rookie, please, hold on for me, baby. Don't leave me, okay? You're the only clean thing in my dirty life and I need you like air, do you hear me? I need you! Damn it, Rook, I love you, okay? I love you…"

Whatever Rook was trying to say was lost as blood spewed from his mouth. His eyes were wild and full of – something she'd never seen in those eyes she'd stared into so many times before - fear.

"Don't go, Rook! Don't leave me alone. What'll I do without you? Who'll be my Falstaff, my Sancho Panza, my best friend and so much more? Please hold on. I hear the ambulance – just hold on tight to me. Hold on, damn you!"

He reached out and tenderly caressed her cheek, his fingertips leaving bloody trails and then he sighed and was gone. Nikki was startled by the scream of an animal in incredible pain. Some small part of her brain was not consumed with guilt and anguish and recognized the sound as her own voice screaming Rook's name over and over until strong arms dragged her away from the only man she'd ever loved enough to let see the real Nicole Heat and who loved her anyway.

Castle's finger hovered over the Enter key. He was, figuratively, holding on to what little remained of his literary alter ego, James Rook, whom he'd crafted to resemble himself sufficiently to be recognizable to those who knew him and his real life shadowing of the men and women of the 12th Precinct.

Okay, he was fooling himself. He was shadowing one woman, Detective Katherine Beckett, even though he had enough 'research' for ten novels. The rest of the precinct had become minor characters, good friends to be sure, but still minor characters. He was there only for her and her alone and now…that was over, too.

He'd changed the title of the last installment in the Nikki Heat series. Final Heat was a play on words. The race was over and he'd lost. He'd called his ex-wife and explained the change but not why.

"Ricky, I like it. It's more than a play on words. It's a surprisingly elegant play on words. Going out there was the right move after all. Want some company?"

"Oh, um, no. I'm on a roll and I will have this finished and emailed to you before the day is done. Have you finalized the tour arrangements?"

"Yeah and I think this will be a publicity bonanza for your book. Everyone will be kicking their asses for not thinking of it first. You've really surprised me with all this sudden creativity but it's long overdue. Now, don't worry about the tour – finish the damned book!"

He re-read what he'd written recognizing immediately that Beckett would never be so open and honest about her feelings. He had an obligation to be true to the character and to his readers and Nikki Heat would never say those things to Rook. Nor would his muse.

He sighed and took a sip from his whiskey glass, surprised that it was empty again. He reached across himself with his left hand and poured the remainder of the whiskey into his glass, surprised again that the bottle was empty.

Reaching a decision, he moved his finger from the Enter key and hit Delete instead. Sipping his liquor, he let his mind free associate.

Heat and Rook were hot on the trail of Joseph Gleason who had killed three store clerks at a family grocery execution-style and robbed the cash registers of a paltry $230.00 and two cartons of Marlboros. He was arrogant and had even taken off his ball cap and waved at the security camera before leaving.

Esposito had run the images from the security tape through facial recognition database and got a hit within the hour. Their murderer was Joseph Gleason, a small time hood who had moved up from muggings and assaults to robbing convenience stores. This was the first time he'd killed anyone and he was obviously escalating.

His parole officer had provided a 'current' address four months old and from there they'd followed his trail finally catching a break when an off-duty patrolman noticed him casing another convenience store and followed him back to a cheap hotel not far from the scene of the first robbery.

He knew how he would write it and he started tying, his fingers flying over the laptop keyboard, his eyes closed and his mouth a grim slash across his face.

'Rook, I'm going up to his room and see if I can surprise him. The desk clerk saw him come in with a hooker and a brown bag of liquor. You stay here, understand? For once, Rookie, do exactly what you're told. That cheap suit won't stop a bullet and I don't need the paperwork, understand?'

'Yeah, Nikki, stay here, wait for backup, don't do anything stupid. I know the drill. Just watch your ass up there, okay? I got a bad feeling about this.'

'Humph. You're probably just feeling those chilidogs you wolfed down. I'm telling you, Rookie, your eating habits are going to be the death of you. Now, when the guys get here, send them up. I'll tell you all about it when I bring Gleason down.'

She blew him an air kiss and chuckled at the look of hope and pleasure on his face.

'Not in your wildest dreams. Maybe a nightmare of mine but…' She laughed at the look on his face and then took the stairs two at a time giving Rook a free show of toned thighs under her short skirt.'

Rook sat down on a ratty leather couch and used a pen to move the magazines around on the coffee table covered in cigarette burns and beer can rings and the remnants of someone's lunch from a week ago. He knew from past experience that he'd find a roach or twelve when he moved the magazines and he was right.

A man came in and he glanced up and saw Joseph Gleason strolling through the lobby and heading up to his room. The clerk had either lied or been mistaken and Heat didn't have him there to check her six like before. He had to warn her.

He took out his cell and called her but knowing her, the consummate professional, she had it turned off.

Cursing her in three languages, he started up the stairs behind Gleason. He had no idea what he was going to do except that no one had her back and he had to do something – even something 'childishly stupid and immature'.

He reached the top of the stairs for the third floor and saw Gleason crouching down, a Glock pointed at Nikki's back as she leaned against his room door and listened for some sign Gleason was getting it on with the hooker and would be slow to react.

'Nikki! Behind you!' He shouted and was mortified that his voice was at least an octave higher than normal and then scared shitless when Gleason whirled and fired twice before turning back to shoot the woman cop who was at his door.

Everyone had heard of Nikki Heat and he was not about to become another notch in her belt.

Nikki already had her service pistol drawn and so she simply turned, pointed and fired twice, killing Gleason with each shot – one to the heart and one to the head – her standard maneuver.

She didn't see Rook lying at the bottom of the stairs, arms out to his sides and his head twisted and resting on the landing. His killer had the same targeting philosophy as Heat – one to the heart and the other to the head.

She was busy cuffing him per procedure even though he was dead twice over. She followed procedure when it served her purposes and a Shooting Board would note that and maybe cut her some slack. She was going through his pockets when she heard her backup finally making their way noisily up the stairs.

"It's about damned time, guys. You're a little late for the show. Send Rook up here, will ya?"

"Uh, Nikki, you better come down here…"

Castle typed a few more paragraphs to wrap things up neatly. The final chapter of the final Nikki Heat novel was finished. He saved the entry and then emailed it to Gina for editing and final thoughts. His only comment was that 'any changes require, I repeat, Gina, require my approval. It's in the contract.'

His ex-wife was sure to read between the lines and be on the phone within minutes of reading the conclusion. She wouldn't even comment that it was done well before the Black Pawn deadline. Such things were beneath her. All she'd probably respond with was 'Ok, what's next and when can I expect an outline?'

Tradition dictated that he write the dedication after finishing the novel and he loathed flaunting tradition so he looked at the blank screen for a few seconds and then wrote

For KB - an early wedding presentfor the bride-to-be.
I wish you both all the best life has to offer.

He saved the file and then sent another email to Black Pawn and attached the dedication and then closed out his word processor and slowly and deliberately closed his laptop and left to find another bottle of liquor.

Remember, this is my first attempt at anything like this. I used to write reports, manuals and plans but nothing as hard as this.