Disclaimer: Still not my characters, still not making any money off of this.
Written as a gift for ignacio2012, whose brilliant prompts spurred me to write faster than I ever have before. (Too bad I can't seem to channel that same energy into Fallout, eh?)
From Wikipedia: Counting coup refers to the winning of prestige in battle by the Plains Indians of North America. Warriors won prestige by acts of bravery in the face of the enemy, and these acts could be recorded in various ways and retold as stories. Any blow struck against the enemy counted as a coup, but the most prestigious acts included touching an enemy warrior, with the hand or with a coup stick, then escaping unharmed.
Counting Coup
Never mind that it's November and there's already a distinct chill in the air—there's no doubt in Kate Beckett's mind that she's in hell.
A long day spent working on a frustrating case followed by a full thirty minutes' worth of sitting in the dark (with Castle chattering nonstop while using her flashlight to make shadow puppets on the wall) has pushed her patience to its limits. If she didn't already know damn well that ConEd was working as hard as they could to try to get the power back on, she'd be making some phone calls and making some enemies, in that order, because she's not sure how much more of this she can take.
As if on cue, the Captain walks into the bullpen. "Listen up, people. The word right now is that we're going to be without power for the next few hours."
A collective groan runs through the room.
"I know," Montgomery says, "we've been here before. All non-essential personnel should leave now and try to get some rest, because you know we're going to have a stack of fresh cases come morning. Get home however you can, and try to be safe."
The room empties rapidly around them as everyone makes for the door. Beckett takes advantage of Castle's focus on the captain to snatch the flashlight back from him. She still has a six-inch stack of files to go through before her meeting with the assistant D.A. tomorrow. "You heard the man, Castle," she says. "Go home."
"Forget it." He shakes his head vigorously. "I've read enough Stephen King to know that you don't leave someone alone in a dark place at night. Ever. Even if the holding cells look empty, you never really know what might come out of the drains, you know?" He shudders dramatically.
"You've been watching 'IT' again, haven't you?"
His mouth twists into a little smirk. "Alexis asked me the same thing the other day after I screamed when I saw a clown in Central Park. Now how can I help?"
She tries to figure out the best way to distract him and keep him out of her hair until she's done with her work. "I'm starving. Think you can find me something to eat?"
"Sure." He bounces to his feet. "No problem. I'll just go down to the vending machines aaannd...there's no electricity so the vending machines won't work."
"You got it," she says. "Time to formulate Plan B."
"I think Plan B is going to involve rummaging around in Esposito's desk." He pauses thoughtfully. "If I could just borrow that flashlight—"
"You mean the one I'm using to actually do my job instead of committing petty theft?"
"You have a point," he admits. "Oh, wait." He pulls his phone out of his pocket and pushes a couple of buttons. The screen glows with a steady white light. "Flashlight app. Okay. I'll be back when I find something."
She's able to actually get through an entire file before he comes back with his ill-gotten gains: an open package of CornNuts and a single peanut butter cracker wrapped in a Kleenex.
"I think you can do better than that," she suggests. "Connelly used to keep a box of granola bars in her desk."
She points him in the right direction and manages to get through another file before he comes back empty-handed.
"I found them, all right." He looks grim. "Organic soy-fig compound with dried pimiento shavings. I think we might do better if we work as a team."
She closes her file and leans back in her chair before aiming her flashlight at the ceiling. "And just what did you have in mind?" she asks.
"Something way scarier than a Stephen King novel," he says in a spooky voice, "but possibly much more rewarding—the break room refrigerator. I won't go in without backup, though."
What the hell. She really is getting hungry, and she wouldn't mind stretching her legs for a few minutes. She follows him into the break room and shines the flashlight into the refrigerator. It's filled with various cans, bottles, takeout containers, and God only knows what else.
He scoops up something that looks like it was once a salad and eyes it carefully. "Wow. Who knew that so many colors of mold could exist in one colony?" He tosses it into the trash. "I think I just committed genocide. Maybe we should try the freezer instead. I'm pretty sure I saw Ryan hide some Chunky Monkey way in the back the other day..." He closes his hand on something deep in the back of the freezer and pulls it into the light. "Oh my God," he says reverently. "I don't believe it."
"What is it?" she asks.
"Fla-Vor-Ice." He's holding a handful of long, slim, stickless popsicles encased in plastic sleeves. "I haven't had these since I was a kid."
"You grew up and neglected to tell me about it?" she says sardonically.
Castle, still totally enthralled with his discovery, ignores the remark. "The green ones are the best." He examines them carefully in the light from his phone before holding one triumphantly aloft.
"Looks like antifreeze," she observes.
He points it at her accusingly. "If enjoying something that looks, and tastes, by the way, like antifreeze is wrong, then I don't want to be right. Here." He hands her one of the popsicles before putting the rest back into the freezer. "Blue Raspberry. I think. Could be Berry Punch instead."
She examines the tube, which is indeed a bright blue and is tightly sealed on both ends. "How do you open it?"
"You mean you never had these as a kid? Seriously?"
"I was more of a Creamsicle kind of a girl."
"We need a pair of scissors." He pulls some from a drawer and snips the top end of his popsicle open. She holds her popsicle out to him and he opens hers as well.
She takes a tentative lick. It tastes...blue. And sweet. Nauseatingly so. She makes a face. "Is it supposed to taste like this? Maybe it's gone over."
"Sugar, water, artificial flavor, and food coloring. These things will still be good when the cockroaches make their bid for global domination." He shoves the end of his popsicle into his mouth and grins delightedly. "Now that takes me back."
She plops onto the couch with the flashlight in her lap and does her best to ignore the stray spring that always seems to find a way to poke her in the back. Maybe someday Castle will feel motivated to buy a new one.
He sits beside her and they eat their popsicles in silence. It's not really that bad, she decides, once you get used to the taste. At least the sugar rush compensates for some of its other shortcomings.
She points to his phone. "So what other apps do you have?"
"See for yourself." He hands it to her.
She scans through the pages of icons. "Dog Whistle? Why? You don't even have a dog."
"I might have one someday," he protests. "Plus, it's fun to use when I see obnoxious dogs in the park."
"How about this one?" she asks. "Sword, whip, punch."
"Here." He takes the phone from her and presses the section of the screen with a picture of a whip on it. He shakes the phone in the air, and it emits a pretty damn realistic whip-cracking noise. He tries to press the picture of the sword, but she takes it back too quickly.
"I think I get it." She finds another app that is definitely on the weird side. "Shave Me?" She touches it and the screen fills with what looks like skin covered with short hairs.
"Stroke your finger across the screen lightly," he suggests.
She does, and the stubble magically begins to fall away.
"That's it. Try it again."
She strokes the screen one more time, and suddenly, tiny digital droplets of blood start flying.
"Ouch!" he laughs. "Razor burn. Try adding some of the shaving cream next time."
There won't be a next time. She shudders and keeps looking. "Tally. What does this app do?"
"It just keeps count." His voices loses some of its usual flippancy.
"Of what? Looks like you're up to 605. Do you have that many notches on your bedpost?"
"Hardly," he snorts.
"What is it, then?" She feels a perverse desire to know the answer. "Number of chapters you've written? Number of times you've annoyed me? No, wait, that would be much higher."
"Very funny." His mock pout is far cuter than it should be. "Keep guessing."
She's beginning to get a little desperate. "Comic books? Women who've had you sign their breasts?"
"No, and no. Stumped, aren't you?" he teases.
With a soft whirr and a surprisingly loud hum, the power comes back on and the station gradually flickers back to life around them.
Castle takes his phone back from her and turns it and the flashlight off before smothering a smile behind one of his hands. "You might want to, uh, put on a little lipstick or something before people start coming back in."
"What's wrong, Castle?" She's very nervous now.
"I just remembered why I never liked the raspberry ones," he confesses. "Your lips are blue. Like, Smurf blue."
"Castle—" She's sure he can hear the threat in her voice.
"Gotta go," he says quickly, easily outdistancing her as he makes a break for it and runs all the way to the elevator. The doors close in front of her face and she slaps the cold metal in a futile gesture as the elevator takes him to safety.
Kate returns to her desk to grab her purse and quickly applies a fresh coat of lipstick. Her eyes come to rest on her computer, and she suddenly gets an idea. She boots it up quickly, scans a few files, and does the math in her head. She knows what Castle's keeping track of now.
There's a soft ping from the elevator and she looks up just in time to see the doors open. A single hand gently waving a white handkerchief emerges from the car. "It's all right, Castle," she calls out. "I won't bite."
He makes his way hesitantly back to her desk. "Well, there goes that particular fantasy."
She rolls her eyes. It seems to have become something of a reflex whenever he's around.
"I'm sorry," he says as he holds a hand out to her. "Truce?"
"Let me guess," she replies. "It's a complete zoo out there, you couldn't catch a cab, and you need a ride home."
"Right on all counts," he admits, still holding his hand out hopefully, "but I really am sorry."
She pretends to think it over. "I suppose." She gets to her feet and takes his hand. He shakes it up and down and tries to let go, but she holds on tightly and pulls him gently toward her. "There's something I'm curious about, Castle," she says as she finally releases her grip, only to step even closer and twine both of her arms firmly around his neck. He's standing stock-still, but her body is pressed tightly against his now, and she feels a quiver run all the way through him.
"Kate—" he starts.
She cuts him off by kissing him soundly. He resists for the barest second before wrapping one arm tightly around her back and resting the other hand on her hip, and she realizes instantly that she's in trouble. She wanted to keep this kiss like the rest of their working relationship—light, fun, and flirtatious—but she didn't take into account the way his body would react to hers, or the way that hers would react to him. She thought she could touch him without any repercussions. She was wrong.
His mouth is firm and warm and he knows just how to use it. She finds her lips opening beneath his, deepening the kiss in spite of her better judgment. It seems to last forever, and yet it feels like much too soon when he finally breaks it off and she sighs at the loss of contact.
"And has your curiosity been satisfied?" he asks, obviously pleased with himself.
"Yes," she says, licking her lips lightly as she catches her breath. She forces a note of levity into her voice. "You were right. The green ones are better."
He laughs softly as he reluctantly lets her go.
She's not fooling either of them, but, by some miracle, he lets her get away with it without further comment. She picks up her files and starts toward the elevator. He follows, with his hand resting securely in the small of her back. She could get used to that.
As they ride down, Castle checks his watch. It's just after midnight. He takes his phone from his pocket.
"May I?" She holds her hand out.
"Sure." He hands it over to her.
She angles the screen toward him so that he can see what she's doing as she opens the "Tally" app, adds one to the counter, and hands it back.
Castle simply smiles and slides the phone back into his pocket.
They've known each other for 606 days.
And counting.