all the very of best of us
string ourselves up for love
She's not wearing the ring.
He frowns as he makes his way into the bullpen, eyes immediately going to the empty finger on Beckett's left hand. He spent the entire night before mesmerized by the sparkle - the chill of the band against his cheeks as she repeatedly kissed him by the swings, the weight against his palm as they walked hand-in-hand to the Old Haunt, the way it flashed in the dim lights of the bar as she accepted congratulatory hugs from their friends and family, and the bite of it into his bare skin in the dark of his bedroom later that night.
He sets her cup of coffee down on her desk as she looks up, a smile lighting up her whole face at the sight of him.
"Thank you," she reaches for the cup and cradles it up to her face with both hands, closing her eyes and savoring the familiar smell before taking a sip.
"How did the meeting with Gates go?"
"Good, actually," she says, setting the cup down. "She was very happy for me. I have my last two weeks at the Twelfth starting today, and then I pack up and go to DC the next Monday."
He nods, watching her pick up her pen and go back to the paper in front of her.
"Did I miss anything else this morning?" He prods, hoping for some kind of response about her other big news.
"Just those two clowns," she gestures towards Ryan and Esposito's desks. "Throwing torn up paper at me every time I walk by and humming 'Here Comes the Bride'."
He laughs, some of the weight lifting off of his chest to know that she's not keeping it a secret, but his eyes can't help but travel to her ring finger. His next sip of coffee tastes bitter.
By the time they get back to the loft that night, it's torturing him.
He heads to the kitchen to open the bottle of wine she requested on the drive home as she kicks off her heels and flops on the couch, the sound of her groan and the pop of her tired bones echoing in the near-empty loft.
She's thinking out loud about a case - mostly to herself - and he watches his pours carefully, concentrating on the flow of red into the two glasses instead of the ring-less Beckett lounging on the couch. It should be enough that she agreed to marry him, he knows, and it's not a territorial thing - he'd wear the ring if that's what she wanted - but he wants to make sure they've fixed this, that last night wasn't just a fluke of happiness in the past couple weeks of caginess and worry.
He walks around the couch and hands her a glass as she sits up, murmuring a thank you as he settles next to her.
"Beckett?"
"Hmm?" She says through a sip of wine.
"Why aren't you wearing the ring?" He blurts out, much less smooth than the speech he had been intending to produce. "It's not that I-" he turns to face her on the couch now, stammering. "If you don't want anyone else to know, I'll be perfectly happy but I just don't want you to- and if you don't like it-"
"Castle, whoa," she puts a hand to his chest, setting her wine glass on the table with the other. She starts to undo the first few buttons of her shirt and he opens his mouth to protest, wants her to know she can't distract him that way this time-
His mouth immediately closes and then opens against when the bottom of the chain she wears around her neck comes into view.
Two rings rest in the place over her heart now, the sparkle of the new against the long-loved wear of the old, and he reaches out to cup them both in his palm. An involuntary shiver passes through her at his touch over her scar, and he looks up to see her looking apologetic.
"I thought you saw me do it this morning when I was getting ready." One of her hands snake around his over her chest. "I'm sorry, I just don't want to wear it at the precinct, because god knows what could happen to it, or who could see it and find out I have a... fiance, and use that in some way that could harm either of us." She pauses. "Is this okay?"
He lacks the words to express just how okay it is to see his ring alongside her mother's, her driving force next to the symbol of the new life she's chosen for herself, so he leans in to kiss her instead, pouring his relief into her open mouth.
"And Castle," she pulls back, "I don't care who knows. If you want to take out an ad in the Ledger and tell the world, go ahead."
He grins, hoisting her into his lap. "So can I put up a flyer down in Robbery with Detective Demming's name in bold at the top?"
She swats at his head. "Don't be an ass."
"You're right. Maybe I'll start with a sensible billboard in Times Square. Best-selling author Richard Castle's newest project... marriage."
"Hardly a new project for best-selling author Richard Castle," she rolls her eyes, pushing herself up off the couch and grabbing her glass of wine. "Now come on, I was promised dinner."
He cooks as she sits at the kitchen island and peruses DC real estate on his laptop, making him look at the places she's favorited and bouncing neighborhood pros and cons off of him. He catches a newly familiar glint out of the corner of his eye when she gets up to refill his wine glass, and his heart almost manages not to skip a beat at the sight of the ring on her finger once again.
(Almost.)