Title: One out of Five Stars (for the Scene in the Elevator)

Author: mindy35

Rating: K+, sexual themes

Disclaimer: Not mine, no money made.

Spoilers: Not really

Pairing: Castle/Beckett

Summary: Castle and Beckett are dismayed by the silver screen portrayal of their relationship.

-x-x-x-

They have been sitting in stunned silence since they took their seats in the hole-in-the-wall restaurant Castle directed their driver to. Before that, they were sitting in silence in the car he picked her up in before the premiere. Sitting through the much-hyped, much-anticipated Heat Wave movie proved to be the awkward experience to end all awkward experiences. For them both. They fled the after-party as soon as was politely possible, both relieved to be able to drop the phony smile they'd been sporting since the credits rolled.

The distant smash of a plate being dropped in the kitchen breaks the silence that's set in, causing Beckett to clear her throat and turn to him. "So. What'd you think?"

Castle raises a brow in her direction. "What did you think? Do tell."

"I asked first," she says.

"I asked," he stalls, ends uncertainly with: "nicer."

She shrugs a shoulder, the one bared by her gown. "Hey, it's your book, Castle."

He leans across the table, with its faded red and white checkered tablecloth and pathetic, dwindling candle. "Yes, but you have an outsider's perspective on it. Plus, you always read the film reviews in The Ledger so you probably have a more sophisticated opinion than I do."

Beckett sips her wine, re-crosses her legs. "I'd hardly say I'm an impartial critic when it comes to a movie based on your book about me."

He leans back again with a defeated huff. "That's true…"

They sit for another minute or so, the silence stretching between them. Castle stares glumly at the tabletop while Beckett absentmindedly sips her merlot. Neither touch their lukewarm, half-eaten meals. The lone waiter of the rather dingy establishment casts them a curious look as he passes by. Despite Castle insisting that their Spaghetti Puttanesca is the best in the city, they are the only people in the whole place and in their evening wear, they are hardly the type of clientele he is used to serving. The poor kid's jaw practically hit the floor when Beckett entered in her sleek, black dress, all classic elegance and easy sex appeal. Not that she or her date noticed his reaction, not in the post-premiere stupor they were in. Both remain utterly preoccupied by the on-screen disaster they've just been co-witness to.

Castle tugs at his bow-tie, letting it hang loosely round his neck. Then he undoes the buttons at his neck, musing with an unconvincing hopefulness in his tone, "Maybe…maybe we're too close to it, you know? I mean, everyone else in the cinema seemed to enjoy it."

His dinner companion gives a dismayed sigh. "They did, didn't they?"

He shrugs and goes on. "So what if we hated it? That doesn't necessarily mean it was crap. Right?"

Her eyes flick over to his. "I didn't say I hated it," she says after a beat.

He shoots her a dubious look. "Please. I was sitting right next to you the whole time."

"You know, you're not really a Jedi, Castle," she says, swirling her wine in her glass. "You can't actually read minds."

"Yours I can," he mumbles. "And you hated it."

"I didn't hate it."

"I could practically hear your skin crawling."

"Okay, so I didn't love it."

"You hated it. And so did I."

She studies him a moment, brows knit. "You did?"

"How could I not?" he splutters, his voice rising with exasperation. "I mean, how could they think that was anything like what I wrote? How could they get us so wrong?"

"I know, right?" she hisses, leaning forward suddenly and letting her own exasperation show. "I mean, they got Ryan and Esposito right."

"To a tee." He waves a hand at her. "But Nikki–!"

She waves one at him. "And Rook–!"

"Can I just say," he murmurs, pushing his plate to one side and placing his elbows on the rickety table, "you are so much smarter than they portrayed her."

"Well, that wouldn't be hard," she mutters, rolling her eyes.

Castle goes on, face twisting into a grimace. "And what was with that hair?"

"I know!" she exclaims, shaking her head in frustration. "I'm not a runway model, I'm a cop. Like a homicide detective could maintain that, being called out to crime scenes in the middle of the night. It's completely impractical."

"It was all wrong," he grumbles before adding quickly: "Not that your hair isn't…because it is."

"As is yours," she says, tipping her glass at him. "But that ultra-slicked-back look on Rook? All that greasy gel?"

"Slimy, right?"

"So slimy. You'd never wear your hair like that, no man with taste and self-respect would. And some of those double entendre of his…?"

"Double slimy."

"Augh, totally." She takes a sip of wine, mumbling into her glass, "I wasn't born yesterday, I'd never fall for that line of BS." She looks up suddenly, cheeks pink. "Not that I fell for— What I mean is…you might be a smartass. But you're not a letch."

"And you might be by-the-book," he adds, "but you're not a robot."

"Thankyou!" She plonks her wine down, gives an affronted little sniff. "I mean, I have a sense-of-humor."

"A fantastic sense-of-humor," he agrees eagerly, "a great laugh, a killer smile."

"And there's so much more to you than just innuendo and swagger." Her voice softens, her eyes lowering as she adds, "There's…depth, sweetness, generosity."

Castle gives a gratified nod. "I appreciate that."

Her voice drops further, face fixed in a frown. "It was all just…"

"Wrong," he finishes, eyes back on the tabletop.

"So wrong," she agrees, wagging her head at the little red and white squares. "And…obvious."

"And ordinary. There was no…"

"Heat. No…"

"Spark. No…"

They look up at the same time, saying at the same moment: "Chemistry."

"Exactly…" he muses after a second or three of silence. His eyes remain fixed on hers for a protracted moment before he gulps and looks away. "Speaking of which, that sex scene?"

"Augh!" she cries, taking up her glass again and downing the last of her merlot. "The worst. All that giggling and grunting…?"

"So not sexy. For the record, I do not grunt like that."

"And I don't giggle. Not like that."

"And if we ever did, you know…" he waves a hand, gulps again, "get it on – it would so not be like that."

"Never." She shakes her head, staring into the mid-distance. "It'd be…"

"Passionate."

"Intimate."

"Steamy."

"Profound."

"Profoundly good…"

Beckett gives a little hum, voice low as she adds, "There'd be some sense of…"

"Connection," he rasps dreamily.

"Connection," she repeats with a soft laugh. "That's just what I was about to say."

He smiles at her. "Yeah?

"Yeah." She leans a little closer, teeth tugging at her lower lip. "Because when you know someone…"

His head bobs in pre-emptive understanding. "When you know them inside out…"

"…and can predict everything they are going to do and say…"

"…it creates a synergy…"

"…an intimacy. Sex becomes more than just–"

"–moronic grunting and giggling–"

"–and the random ripping off of clothes."

Castle is silent a moment, gaze roaming over her face. Then he tips his head to one side, blue eyes twinkling. "Not that that can't be fun too, I'm not against a little fun in bedroom."

"'Course not." Beckett straightens in her seat, drawing back a little. "I can be fun when I wanna be."

His mouth curls up in one corner. "I'll bet you can."

"And sex is fun," she goes on, a slightly drunken lilt to her voice. "Especially if you're with someone you have a good rapport with. You know?"

Castle holds up both palms, stating frankly, "Hey, I am a big fan of fun and an even bigger fan of sex."

"Absolutely." She taps her chest with a finger and cuts the mozzarella scented air with it. "Lifelong fan, right here." Then she goes for the wine bottle, pouring herself another glass. "I mean, do they think that just because I have a tough job that I'm some tightly-wound, frigid buzz-kill? That just 'cause I spend most of my time hunting down bad guys that I'm just a gun-toting, asexual bully?" She peers down the neck of the bottle when all she gets from it is half a glass but shrugs and continues drinking. "Because that's not who I am at all."

"Absolutely not." Castle leans back in his chair, picks up his own wineglass but pauses with it halfway to his lips. "And, for what it's worth, I'd bet everything I've got plus the shirt on my back that you are spectacular in bed."

She shrugs proudly. "I've had no complaints."

"I'd believe it," he muses, suppressing a sly grin. He drinks then draws in a breath, noting thoughtfully, "No, as much as I hate to admit it, Natalie definitely did not do you justice in that area." Castle falters, his grin disappearing as he stammers, "I mean…as far as I can tell. Speaking strictly from an author's perspective…"

"Well…" Beckett shifts in her seat, hesitating before acknowledging, "I have no personal knowledge of you in that particular arena, Castle, but I'm pretty sure you'd do a better job of it than that moron on screen. I don't know what the hell he thought he was doing but I can guarantee no woman would be pleased by it."

He releases a sigh, chin tipping upwards. "Well, I'm relieved you think so."

"Hey, you at least have some imagination," she points out, eyes wide.

"Always important."

"Always."

"And you have that fiery temperament," he points out in return, "which I'm sure would make things pretty damn interesting between the sheets."

"And you think outside the box, you're not afraid to learn or try different things or be spontaneous."

"And you are freakishly focused. Which is so hot. I can't even tell you how hot that is in a work situation, let alone in a more intimate context…" Clearing his throat, Castle reins in his wandering thoughts before they stray too far. He waves a hand over the length of her, declaring emphatically, "I could go on too. There's a whole list of hot things about Kate Beckett I could name right here and now."

She bobs her head, losing herself in the rhythm of their conversation. "Ditto – for you!"

"But that's not the point," he says, his momentum dropping.

"No, it's not the point," she mutters, hers doing likewise.

"The point is…the point is…" He stalls, narrows his eyes, purses his lips. "What is our point?"

Beckett sighs, sets aside her drink. "The point is that they missed the point."

"By a mile. We are so not that dull."

"Or that cliché. We are nothing like what they made us out to be."

"Especially you." His eyes find her face, searching her features. "I mean, I hope you know I don't see you that way, I didn't write it like that."

She gives him a disappointed little smile. "I know, Castle. I have no clue why they would do that to your book 'cause I thought it was hot just the way it was and I'm not the only one. I guess…I guess we just have to hope that no one sees it and the movie tanks."

"Hmm…" Castle nods a few times then shoots her an objecting frown, "Well…hopefully it won't tank completely, I would prefer to make some money out of it."

"In which case, you're buying," she tells him, her tone dry. "And I will be ordering dessert. Consider it compensation for my humiliation."

"Hey, I got humiliated twice," he protests, expression turning indignant. "Once as an author, once as a lame-ass character with dicky hair."

"You're right." She gives his hand a sympathetic pat. "The only way we are going to get through this is together. And to do that, we are going to need every dessert they've got."

"And more wine."

"Definitely more wine."

Castle waves the waiter over and holds up the empty wine bottle. "Another of the same, please. And whatever you've got that's sweet and sinful."

The waiter scuttles away while his only two customers fall into a slightly less despondent silence. Beckett toes off her heels under the table and groans in satisfaction. Castle steals the last of her wine, tipping it into his mouth and garnering a displeased glare from his somewhat tipsy date. Their waiter returns with another botte just in time and, once both their glasses are refilled, Castle holds his aloft.

"To…let's see…" He breaks off, gazing across the table at his elegantly clad but droopy-eyed muse. "To real life complexity."

She clinks her glass with his. "And to getting so drunk that we forget the last few hours of our lives."

"I'll drink to that." And they do. After which, Castle can't help adding in a sheepish rush: "I did kinda like the part where they made out in the elevator."

Beckett licks her lips and nods. "Best part of the whole freaking film."

"Agreed," he humphs then spots their waiter approaching with two plates. "Ah, the tiramisu!"

And with that, the topic of their on-screen counterparts, their lack of accuracy and chemistry, is dropped. Until the following year when the sequel hits cinemas right across the country, disappointing them all over again.

END.