The haze had settled over Lower Manhattan slowly, oozing down through the thick clouds. A hot July sun blazed overhead, muffled by surreal, cottony cover over it. People in the cities had retreated indoors to offices and cool apartments, where air conditioners whirred like motors. Cars slogged through the narrow streets, spewing hot, acrid exhaust into the sky. Those stuck there were wishing they'd gotten off work, or ditched their cars in a pit far, far away.
Kate Beckett and Richard Castle were two of those people.
Several blocks away from the precinct, they had run into a sheer wall of cars. Honking, steaming, hot cars. And now here they were, stuck in the very eye of the storm, sweating and muttering with the rest of the masses. It had been an hour, Beckett thought. Felt like two, or four. Forever, perhaps.
Castle busied himself with fooling with the radio stations. Long ago, the detective had given up on stopping him from being so moronic in such close quarters. Instead, she leaned out the window, drawing a hand across her chiselled jaw and collarbone to catch the beads of sweat that fell there. The novelist tried rather vainly to ignore this, the flush in his cheeks not merely heated by the sun. He leaned back, resigned to the radiant beauty of the woman inches from him.
"Hey, Beckett," Rick quipped. "Are we there yet?"
The cop turned her chin towards him, expression incredulous. "What do you think, kitten?" She said, rolling her eyes. The last place she wanted to be with Castle was in the close confines of a hot car, locked bumper-to-bumper with several hundred other drivers.
"I don't know, my lovely muse," He spat back, smarting from the use of the title Deep-Fried Twinkie had bestowed upon him. "All I know is that it's hot as hell in this car, and I have an unquenchable craving for ice cream." The writer undid the top two buttons of his collar.
Beckett glared across the seat at him. "You would." They swapped positions as Castle rolled down his window to take some air. She watched him for a moment, looking just inside the man's collar. His features were oddly rugged, as only she'd expected. His five o'clock shadow fit him oddly nicely, the detective realized. She found herself feeling almost jealous of Meredith. The Deep-Fried Twinkie.
As this point, Kate wasn't quite sure Castle's first wife was as deep-fried as the two of them in the car were. "All right, fine, Castle," she murmured, pulling her light out of the glove compartment from across the writer's lap. "You want ice cream? Now I do too." She slammed the flashing, squalling light on the top of the car.
Almost suddenly, the blockage seemed to loosen itself with ease. The cars around them swerved to the sides, pulling into auxiliary parking spots and dangerously close to the sidewalks. Castle grinned at the sudden intensity the cop had displayed. As they passed through the the remaining jam, he asked, "So, where we headed, Kate?"
She slowed down as the colors of the city changed from industrial granite and glass to warm redbrick and wrought-iron fences. Trees cast green shadows over the car as they passed beneath them. "A small place my mom used to take me when I was a kid. It's a little chunk of heaven, hiding right here in a little old neighborhood." The detective pulled to the side of the street, ignoring Castle's lack of reply at the mention of her mother. It had been a couple of months since she'd come up; not since the humiliating Solomon shoot at the precinct.
They walked down the warm sidewalk together, far apart but closer than usual.
"So, what are we going to do about the case now?" Rick said, glancing up from the concrete at Kate.
She smirked, shrugging a bit with her shoulders. "We escaped from a traffic jam that would have had us for hours. But I did the bad thing and used my lights," Beckett murmured. She bit her lip. Castle found that irresistible. "The scene of the crime is only a few blocks away."
"Beckett," gasped the novelist sarcastically. "Lying on the jo-"
She grabbed him roughly by the ear, turning his head on its side. "You wanted ice cream," she whispered into the shell of his ear. Her grip released, and Rick staggered upright.
"I still can't get over how strong you are," he said quietly, nursing his reddened ear. Kate obliged him by opening a door suddenly, holding it open for him. There was a tiny grin pulling cheekily at the edge of her mouth.
Inside, it was cool. The tiled linoleum floor whispered beneath each step, and an old-fashioned window air conditioner whirred on a window in the corner. A man was doing inventory beneath the glass that seperated his frozen treats from the world. The smell of malt powder and sugar was everywhere in the air. Castle felt something like a child again, and he didn't quite know why.
Kate's small hand tapped him softly on the shoulder. The touch lingered. "What do you want? I'm buying, y'know."
Castle flushed pink, then said, "Whatever you're having. You know this spot best, Kate." He stayed behind, looking up at the old signs advertising delicacies like Coca-Cola and Ovaltine. His gaze shifted over to the detective, who leaned on the counter like a regular. She returned in a moment with several small bowls of ice cream.
"Wha-"
He was led out of the shop and back down the block to a small section of parkland that appeared to materialize out of nothing. Greenery burst over the intricate fenceline, and quiet burst from every inch of space inside. The detective pulled him through it towards a secluded park bench in a grassy clearing otherwise hidden by foliage. He sat down next to her. "Beckett?"
"Open your mouth," she replied, and before he could respond, a spoon was shoved gently but unceremoniously into his mouth. "Rocky Road," Kate said. She repeated the cycle with Moose Track, vanilla, strawberry, and Blue Moon.
In the midst of a brain freeze, Castle asked, "What exactly are you doing, Detective? Do you take pleasure in force-feeding me?" He smirked up at her, rubbing his temples.
"I'm introducing you to the miracle that is Henry's," Kate said. She set down the spoon and looked up at the perfect blue patch of sky that filtered in through the treetops. "It's a conversion that takes place slowly, but afterward you'll never go to a Dairy Queen again."
The writer picked up the spoon and scooped up a palatable portion of Blue Moon. He offered it to the detective, who looked him over for a second. She leaned forward and accepted the ice cream, pink with satisfaction. "Why thank you, Castle," she murmured, smiling.
"Always glad to be of service," he replied, lifting another spoonful to the woman's slight, beautiful lips. It missed by inches, the sticky-sweet stuff falling instead within the collar of her blouse. Beckett turned bright red, scrabbling. Castle resisted the urge to burst out laughing, and instead reached over her lap for a napkin. He reached into the close space, unfaltering. The napkin found the frigid mass, and before his hand lifted away, the novelist felt his pinky brush the edge of something lacy.
They both blushed for moments after Rick pulled his hand out. Beckett faced him, eyes questioning and oddly vulnerable. There was a bit of ice cream trapped in the edge of his mouth, and wishing desperately to repay the writer for his dastardly, sudden actions, she leaned forward and licked the droplets out of the seam of his lips. She closed her mouth, savoring oddly the sweet, salty, human flavor of Richard Castle.
"Kate- I-"
She silenced him by leaning forward and stealing his lips ever so softly. The kiss was not passionate, not yet. It was tender, and affectionate. Her hands came to caress the stubble at his rough jaw, and his seated themselves at her hips as they spoke silently through a connection deeper than words.
Time passed slowly, and quickly, in that little space where the summer sun was blocked by lazily-waving trees and rose bushes. No cars passed by, and the skies seemed to be empty.
The union was interrupted when Beckett's cell vibrated loudly against the bench. She groaned, pulling away from him, to pick up her phone. It was Ryan.
"Where the hell are ya, Beckett?!"
She swallowed hard before responding. "The traffic is awful. Castle and I took a detour, we'll be there soon."
"A detour, uh-huh."
Beckett rolled her eyes and hung up, turning back to Castle. He kissed her, one last time, before picking up the remains of the ice cream from the bench.
On the way back to the car, they assumed the same interval as before. But something was different; they were more synthesized, connected. "You know, if you ever want to go back, I'd be glad to treat you," Kate murmured. "I found in the years after my mom died ice cream cures all ills. It's addictive." She smiled.
As he got into the car, Castle realized ice cream was not the only thing he'd become addicted to.