Prompt: mistressofsmite asked: I love your Castle fluff fics, and think you can do justice to a scenario I've always wanted to see. Castle and Beckett have to solve a murder at a Renaissance Faire. Of course, they must go undercover in full Ren Faire garb. Bonus points if a) Ryan and Espo also have to dress up, b) one or more team members end up back at the precinct all dressed up, and c) Gates or another unlikely person (Perlmutter?) reveals him/herself to be a Ren Faire fan.

Medieval Times

"Oh. My. God. Beckett!"

If looks could kill, he'd be at least eighteen feet under.

"I hate you."

She doesn't. He knows she really doesn't, no matter what she says as she stands before him in what he'll just call his contribution to the investigation.

And what a contribution it is. Rich colors, delicate ruffles in just the right places, her waist made even tinier than normal, and oh, the cleavage on display.

So he'd sprung for an authentic Renaissance Faire costume for her. He'd bought one for himself, too. Albeit his is a lot less clingy than hers and it also has pants, but they're going to fit in perfectly on their undercover op.

"Castle, I look ridiculous."

She doesn't. She looks hot. Indescribably hot.

"No you don't! You look great, really great."

Oh, another death glare. Okay, taking it down a notch.

"Where am I supposed to put my gun, Castle? My cuffs? My badge? Why couldn't you get me something with pants, too?"

"Well, for one that wouldn't be very authentic," he pauses, giving her a moment to huff, only to grin in her direction and continue, "and since we're trying to gather information about our victim without drawing attention to ourselves, authenticity is key."

"You know people do attend these things in normal clothes, right?" One eyebrow arches, her arms coming up to cross her chest. He won't tell her that all it does is, well, enhance an already enjoyable picture. He likes his life, and his various body parts.

"Yes, well, there's no fun in that. This will be more fun."

"For whom?" she snaps, shifting her weight.

"I would say us, but apparently it's just me. And it is still so hot when you do that."

Beckett heaves another sigh.

"Fine, but I am only wearing this getup for one day. If the investigation requires more time, I'm wearing normal clothes."

Smothering a smile, he nods. "Absolutely, Detective."

"Uh huh." Her eyes narrow. "Now I'm going to change and go to bed. You can put your eyes back in their sockets and wipe the drool from your chin, Castle."

His hand comes up, swiping at his face only to find it dry. "Hey!"

His partner smirks over her shoulder, already ascending the stairs to the second floor of his home, her long skirt gathered between her fists.

"Night, Castle," she singsongs.

"Night," he echoes, giving in to the quiet rush of relief that comes from knowing she's safe, and here, andalive.

Looking around the loft, he kills some of the lights before gathering the garment bags from their costumes off the back of the couch. One is still heavier than the other, but he'll give her the final piece of her outfit – a small leather satchel for her to store her badge, gun, and everything else – tomorrow before they leave. Their plan is to head out early to beat most of the traffic and the crowds.

For now, he casts one more look upstairs and heads to bed.

She still hates the costume in the morning, but at least she only threatens to dismember him once over breakfast. It's a start.

Of course, she makes sure to voice her displeasure once more as they climb into the car and she has to deal with the volume of her skirt around her ankles. Being a – mostly – wise man, he keeps his mouth shut, instead offering her the coffee he'd poured into the travel mug she seems to favor. She stops to sip, releasing a contented exhale and quiet thanks, and he mentally pats himself on the back.

"By the way, the purse is lovely," she adds once they're clear of the city and crossing into Jersey. "Thank you."

Delight licks at the center of his chest; she likes it, she really does. So much so that he's pretty sure she'll keep the bag even after they wrap this case.

"I'm glad it works. It's not ideal, I know, but –"

"But it's good," she interrupts, looking over for the briefest of moments before her eyes return to the road. "Now, is it authentic?"

"I am offended that you would even ask me that, Beckett. Offended," he gasps, covering his chest in mock outrage.

Beckett's eyes flick to his a mere second before she dissolves into laughter. He chuckles in return. Yeah, this will be fun.

They settle into an easy silence a little while later, sipping coffee and watching the landscape go by.

"So what's the plan for when we get there?" he asks when they're just a few miles out. They'll still have to find parking and walk to the entrance, but it's probably better to hash things out before they're around others.

"Well, Mr. Chambers was a member of the cast, correct?"

"Uh huh," he answers, knowing the question was largely rhetorical. "Though the management can't or won't tell us where exactly he was working, the marks on his hands suggest that he worked with the blacksmith."

"So let's start there. See if anything is out of the ordinary; ask whatever questions we can without raising suspicion. Maybe we'll get lucky and that'll be our crime scene."

Maybe. With all the foot traffic the Renaissance Faire gets, the chances of finding an uncontaminated crime scene are slim, but they can hope.

"And if it's not?"

One of her shoulders lifts. "We look around. That's why we're there, right?"

"Good plan. Plus, there's plenty of eating, drinking, entertainment, and shopping to be done. You'll never be bored."

Beckett rolls her eyes. "We're not there to play."

"No, but it doesn't mean we can't. Besides, if we look too serious and there is a killer in our midst, wouldn't that give us away as cops?"

"Us?" she prompts, one corner of her lips lifting in amusement.

He sighs, taking great care to sound as put upon as possible. "You know what I mean."

"Uh huh, but I like hearing you try to bullshit your way into getting a turkey leg and watching a joust." She grins, nudging his arm with her elbow.

"Don't pretend like you don't want to do those things, too," he scolds, matching her grin with one of his own.

They make it all of fifteen feet inside the gate before he buys himself a sword. Beckett's eyes roll so hard, he worries she might strain something, but she simply reminds him that he cannot expense souvenir purchases to the department.

That's okay; this one's on him. It's a really nice sword.

Plus, he and Beckett look pretty badass together; an undercover writer and his muse – who's also undercover, of course – strolling the streets of the kingdom.

Souvenirs aside, the actual investigation is much slower to start. Nothing seems out of order at the blacksmith's shop, and the staff claims to be the same as always. There are no flickers of recognition when Beckett taps her fingertip against her lips and asks him, "Honey, what was your friend's name? The one who told us he'd be here?"

He inhales, soaking up the chance to pretend to be her honey. His tongue-tied announcement of the victim's name yields the same blank look from the young apprentice working the coals.

Overall, the blacksmith is a bust, and they leave at the end of the demonstration, not wanting to attract any other attention.

"So… honey… where to now?"

Beckett purses her lips at the name, checking her watch. "Let's just walk, I guess. We need to figure out where he worked if not the blacksmith."

He gestures ahead of him. "Lead the way… honey."

"Castle."

"Sorry." He's not sorry.

They walk somewhat aimlessly, keeping careful eyes on the booths and the people they pass. Not that he expects their killer to happen to wander by, but it never hurts to be vigilant.

And really, he would never see the best thing in the world if they weren't sweeping the area like this.

Beckett sighs in annoyance when he digs his heels into the packed mud and hay calling itself the walkway and brings them both to a halt.

"What, Castle?"

He tugs her to one side, holding up a hand when she begins to protest. "Wait, just… just wait."

Her chin lifts, eyes flashing in defiance, and – oh, not defiance. She shakes off the touch, but she's not nearly as bothered by the touch as she wants to pretend to be.

"Listen," he murmurs, steadying them both.

She waits a beat, eyebrows lifted in expectation.

"For what?"

"Just wait… there!"

He knows the second she hears it. The second she recognizes the voice giving the candle-making demonstration. Her jaw lowers in astonishment, eyes widening with glee.

"Is that –?"

"Think so."

"Oh my God."

He nods. "Uh huh."

Her lip snags between her teeth, but that doesn't stop the devious grin from spreading across her face.

"We should really find out," she murmurs. "After all, he could be helpful for our case."

They crowd into a corner at the back of the demonstration, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. Unable to skirt around him, Beckett stays at his back. He tries not to jump out of his skin when her hand lands on his hip and her chin comes to rest on his shoulder.

Yeah, not distracting at all.

"Holy – it is him," she breathes against his neck, and Rick has to summon every ounce of control he has.

"Uh huh."

"Never would've guessed that. Does he strike you as someone who does these things?"

"You mean speak to people like he can stand them? Nah uh. Now hush, maybe we'll learn something about candles."

She harrumphs in his ear, but he knows she's grinning. Ignoring the way she continues to use his hip for balance, he turns his attention back to Sidney Perlmutter, New York City Medical Examiner, and – apparently – candle-making aficionado.

The demonstration was already half over when they arrived, so they don't have to wait long for the smattering of applause at the end. By an unspoken agreement, he and Beckett stay where they are, watching their colleague clean up his station and mutter to himself after the crowd disperses.

Finally, he can't help but announce their presence. "You're talented, Perlmutter."

The ME's head shoots up, the rag in his hand remaining poised over the work surface. The mostly-pleasant exterior falls and his face screws into a scowl.

"And my day just went from annoying to unbearable. Mr. Castle, how did you find me?"

Beckett snickers into his shoulder, stepping out from behind him.

"We're actually here about a murder."

"Oh thank goodness. You're not patrons, now I don't have to try to pretend to like your boyfriend. What do you need from me?"

Beckett asks the questions while he looks around the shop. Perlmutter snaps a few times for him not to touch anything, but otherwise ignores his existence.

Finally, Beckett nods, slipping her notebook and her phone back into the leather purse at her waist. "Thanks, Perlmutter. Come on, Castle."

"On my way," he hums, plucking one of the candles from a shelf and digging into his pocket for a twenty.

Perlmutter sputters, but Rick simply shrugs.

"You do excellent work. Call the change a tip."

He finds Beckett waiting outside, one palm resting over her mouth, the other hand clutching her belly. For a moment, he thinks she's in pain from the corset, but then she releases a chortle so hearty, he loses his composure, too.

"You're terrible," she pants, snatching the candle from his hand to inspect it.

"I'm supporting local artisans, Beckett."

She laughs again, swiping at her eyes. "He's never going to stop hating you when you do things like this to him."

"Ah, but it's a pretty nice candle."

She pushes another snicker down, dropping the aforementioned candle back into his hand and tugging him by the sleeve.

"Come on; he said those marks weren't from the blacksmith, they were from horse shoes."

"Oh – oh are we going to the stables? Can we stay for the joust? Please, Beckett. Just a few extra minutes."

With the possibility of an actual lead in their grasp, she's back in work mode. "You do remember we're here to solve a murder, right? Not to screw around and mess with Perlmutter."

"Yeah, but you have to admit, that was fun. And it ended up being helpful. Where would we be if we hadn't messed with Perlmutter a little bit?"

Beckett sighs. "Tell you what; if they direct us to any of the jousters, we'll stay and watch. Otherwise, we're moving on. Deal?"

His head bobs. "Deal."

Turns out, it's a bad deal for him, but a good one for Mr. Chambers. They've no sooner started looking around the stables, playing the part of dumb Ren Faire attendees who've wandered into a restricted area, when their guy bolts.

Only to land face first into the rather large pile of horse manure he'd been shoveling.

Needless to say, they burn the candle Castle bought on the way back to Manhattan; not even the bucket of soapy water and twenty towels can fully-eliminate the stink. Maybe he'll spring to have Beckett's cruiser washed and detailed inside and out.

He has to admit he's disappointed when she changes out of her costume to interrogate their errant stable boy, but maybe it's for the best. The boys have already had something to say, and really, the corset is far too distracting to be helpful. As it is, the guy breaks in almost record time under Beckett's questioning.

To his surprise, she doesn't try to hand the costume back when they head home at the end of the day. He'd expected her to shove it back at him and declare that she never wants to see it again. Instead, she lifts her duffle bag higher on her shoulder, announcing that she's going to shower before they order dinner.

He nods, shifting from foot to foot. He wouldn't mind hopping in the shower too. His costume is far less comfortable now than it was earlier, and he's sure he doesn't smell that great.

"Me too. Separately, of course. Unless you want to be good for the environment and save water by sharing?"

She rolls her eyes. "Hmm, pass for now. If you're done first, you know what to order for me."

"I do," he assures, trying not to read too much into the 'for now' part of her refusal.

"Kay."

He takes a step toward his bedroom.

"Oh, Castle?"

Turning back, he scrubs his hand through his hair. It comes away dusty, a few pieces of hay falling away as well.

"Yeah?"

Beckett bites her lip. "Take you back next weekend? To see your joust and get you that damn turkey leg you wanted?"

A grin splits his face. "Are you going to be in costume?"

She heaves a sigh, turning to climb the stairs. "Don't push it."

"Can we bug Perlmutter some more?" he calls to her back, leaning forward to watch her hips sway as she moves.

That makes her laugh. "I thought that was a given."

"Well in that case, it's a date."

Her steps slow, but don't stop. "Mmm, guess so. I'll be down in a few."

He watches her round the corner before he releases a breath.

It's a date. It is a date to the Renaissance Faire.

Suddenly, he can't wait for next weekend.