Prompt: I’m Still Fact, She’s Fiction by Mads Langer (requested by unnormalgirl)
“I dream of dreaming dreams of her. In twilight she’s a constant blur. I seem to miss the missing part. She’s still my favorite work of art. The picture’s clear, I’m still fact, she’s fiction.”
(Inspired by a scene in 3x12 Poof! You’re Dead)
"What?" A puzzled frown creased her brows, the way he once pointed out was adorable.
Half-turning his face, he managed a small mumble, “Nothing.” When her concentration returned to the case, his returned to her.
Nikki, the half-thought formed in his mind, as he watched the person who inspired her. Nikki was no Beckett. Based on Beckett, yes, but limited, different, never enough and thus somewhat wrong. So many layers to the Beckett onion, however will he peel them all?
Yet, he preferred Nikki. He had spent afternoons working on Nikki, nights with her. Nikki came alive under his touch. He did not have to long for Nikki, to ache for her, the way he did for Beckett. Nikki was his to create, his to contemplate, his to regard, his to hold, his. His.