Until the Sun Rises
Chapter 1:
Castle chugs down another vodka martini as he rolls his shoulders back. The tight material of his blazer restricts his movements and he grunts. The figures of people dolled up in evening attire mingle around him; elegant cocktail dresses in a dizzying array of colours, matching ties, and a collection of heels that could rival those in Beckett's closet.
Beckett.
He slams back the rest of his glass, careful to make sure he still looks at least somewhat dignified as he suffers through this party. He's waiting it out by the bar and trying to erase all trace of the detective who's been preoccupying his mind for the last couple of months. Instead, he scans the crowd of socialites as he searches for any sign of the deep purple dress, with the plunging neckline he very much appreciates, that Gina's wearing.
His ex-wife slash publisher slash girlfriend practically had to drag him to the annual bash of some other author on Black Pawn's payroll, and how he 'simply couldn't pass up the publicity of showing up at such a high profile party.' So, here he is lingering by the bar as he fakes his usual cheery public persona, when he'd really much rather be having a catch-up FaceTime call with his daughter.
He cares about Gina, he really does, and he's glad that he can share the company of someone who he was once very much in love with. It's just that he can't help but wish he could be spending his time out in the Hamptons this summer with a certain someone else.
Beckett doesn't feel that way about him, that much was made clear when Demming came along and snagged all opportunity for Castle to prove how extraordinary he and Beckett could be as more than just partners.
He mentally shakes himself, rids his brain of the cloud of Beckett polluting his mind, trying to clear the air and remind himself of the wonderful woman, one who actually cares about him, who he brought here on his arm tonight.
Speaking of Gina, the familiar fair head of hair on the other side of the room catches his attention. She spent hours in front of the mirror labouring over her glassy up do, and he admires her elegance again as she talks to some of her colleagues over by the large glass windows. The arches tower high over the banquet hall towards the ceiling, casting the entire room in speckled shadows of the night, and he'd been completely mesmerised by the sight of so many stars out here away from the city when they'd first arrived. Gina had resorted to pinching him to get his focus again.
Subconsciously moving to rub at the nail marks still decorating his forearm, he listens to the steady croon of music. It's a soothing tune that has couples migrating towards the centre of the floor to dance. The song lulls him into a strange trance, and he finds himself following the sound towards the far end of the hall, eager to people-watch and maybe get lucky enough to be struck with a character idea for his novel in the midst of his mind-fogged haze. At least it'll make him feel as though he's been somewhat productive today.
Taking up watch at the end of the buffet table - always a good place to observe individual habits - he slowly sips at the remaining liquid sloshing inside his glass and leans against the starch white of the table cloth, giving his eyes permission to roam the hall freely.
There are mostly older people here, rich weekenders visiting their multi-million dollar houses. Not unlike him to be fair, but he does know that none of them are involved in the publishing business. He would recognise them, after all. They're most likely some large business cats eager to flash their gold at whatever high end parties come their way.
He quickly grows bored of attempting to create interesting backstories for the mostly uninteresting people he's surrounded by and shifts from his position leaning against the wall to move elsewhere, scuffing his shoes against the floor in boredom. A flash of long leg stilting out from a tight skirt catches his eye and he spins around to follow the creamy silk of skin. He's surprisingly disappointed when he sees nothing but a crowd of people meshing together on the main floor.
He could have sworn he recognised those endless legs.
Rubbing a hand against his temple, he releases a heavy sigh as his shoulders sag. He needs to get a grip. This is getting ridiculous. Kate Beckett's presence just keeps following him wherever he goes, clinging onto him stubbornly so that he can't shake it off.
Someone calls his name, trying to grab his attention from behind a group of people lining up by the buffet table, but he is so not in the mood for feigning interest right now.
He shuffles backwards, ducking behind the people moving around him, rushing to talk to friends or get to the food buffet, and he snaps out of his wallowing to clumsily dodge the reaching arms and striding legs so he can scuffle over to the windows, needing some air.
Leaning against the large frame, he inhales a breath and closes his eyes, taking just a moment to collect himself and shake off the aching remains of what could have been. He just wants to get tonight over with so he can have a fresh, Beckett-free, start tomorrow morning.
He opens his eyes again, adjusting to the dim glow of lights from the chandeliers above him, feeling the final pieces of his façade slot into place like a jigsaw to prepare him for the onslaught of fake smiles he's about to flash.
As he turns to his left, planning to quietly slink back over to Gina and just let her do the talking tonight, he abruptly stops in his tracks.
A woman is standing a few windows down from him, alone, resting back against the velvety red material of the curtains weighing down from the ceiling to brush the floor. One arm is wrapped around her waist, while the other hand brushes back a wave of brunette curls that have fallen to shield her face.
He finds himself inching forwards, drawn towards this mysterious woman by a magnetic force that he can't comprehend. He wants to know her. He wants to know the story explaining why a gorgeous young woman is standing alone on the side-lines at a high profile party. He wants to know why she seems to be observing the room as intently as he is. He wants to know how on earth someone could have legs that look so perfect and long in the tight, electric blue dress she's wearing.
Wait.
He knows that dress.
He's seen that dress.
Her head suddenly lifts up, shaking the stubborn curls off her shoulders as she turns to look directly at him with striking green eyes that make his heart feel like it's falling out of his chest.
Holy shit.
"Beckett?"
The universe hates her.
The universe must absolutely hate her for something awful she's done in a past life. It's the only thing that can explain the utterly terrible luck she's experienced over the past couple of weeks.
At first she'd been inaptly relieved that they'd caught a big case earlier this month, an investigation into the serial murders of upper-class escorts, all part of the same organisation. As much as she hated herself for it, Beckett couldn't help but welcome the murder investigation as a distraction from the pains of her own life by allowing her to honour the death of someone else's.
That had all been fine to start with, maybe a little more stressful than usual, but she was still enjoying the opportunity to dive into something else and ignore the constant yelling in her brain that's been ever present recently.
And then things got a little more complicated.
Their prime suspect, the organisation pimp, had run off to the Hamptons in order to gain more business for the summer, a place unfortunately well out of the twelfth's jurisdiction.
That's when vice and the Hamptons PD had contacted her Captain, and he'd called her with a proposition: She could continue working the case if she and the boys went undercover.
After a heated argument with Montgomery, she had relented, agreeing to use her knowledge of the case and experience in vice and go undercover as a newbie to the prostitution ring, as much as she despises the whole idea.
Which brings her here; participating in her 'audition' as she lingers on the outskirts of a party that's extravagance rival's even Castle's book launch party,
So of course the man himself has shown up here too.
All she's been told over a secure email from the organisation leader is to show up at the given address, and prove that she's a worthwhile investment by finding a client. Of course, this guy doesn't know that the said 'client' will be Esposito, who's waiting around this huge hall somewhere for her signal to get into character.
She never imagined she'd run into the very writer she's been trying to run from.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," she mutters under her breath, dropping her head down so that her longer curls fall forward and hide her face from him again and smoothing a clammy palm down the fitted material of her Hervé Léger dress. It was a stupid idea to wear this, completely ridiculous that she'd thoughtlessly picked out an outfit that both Castle and all the people and reporters at his book launch party last year would have seen her in. But it's not exactly like she has a wide range of outfits that would be appropriate for a high-class prostitute.
She tries to merge into the crowd of people before her, wary of the watchful gaze of her murder suspect and 'employer' who is surely spying on her from somewhere else in the room, eager to assess her skills.
This must be some kind of Black Pawn shindig then, because she'd been sure there was no chance of running into Castle here, not when he'd seemed so enthusiastic about spending the summer shacking up with his ex-wife.
Right, not the time for that, Beckett.
A quick glance out the corner of her eye shows the author advancing towards her, a dazed mix of shock and glee shining from him now that he's spotted her here, and she backs away, head zipping from side to side as she looks desperately for some way to disappear. She cannot have him blowing her cover.
And, to be honest, she doesn't think she can handle being around him anymore. Not without the flaring rage of mortification and grief she feels every time she's reminded of the day he left her standing like a fool in the precinct, cursing her own stupidity for ever thinking they could work as more than just friends.
It doesn't mean that she can deny missing him though.
He's moving closer to her, his steps speeding up to a slow jog as she stumbles to a stop, frozen like a deer in the headlights as she realises that she has no way of avoiding this, not if she wants to keep up her cover.
Castle reaches out to her when he gets close enough, hand out in an attempted wave, but she shoots her arm forward, grabbing his wrist and pulling it down so forcefully that he almost staggers into her.
The heat of him surrounds her as he grips her waist to keep his balance, his touch burning through the flimsy material of her dress to set fire to her skin. She's dizzy with it. The familiar smell of him that she hadn't realised she'd missed these past few months makes her head spin.
Jeez, Beckett. Get a hold of yourself.
Character. Stay in character, and everything will be fine.
She stops struggling against him, taking a second to roll her shoulders back, before tugging him forward. The unexpected momentum must throw him off, and he trips after her, his feet fumbling as she drags him towards the mesh of people on the main floor.
The shield of long skirts and dancing bodies keep prying eyes away from them as they're crowded in, and he startles when she spins around to face him head on.
She takes a fistful of the expensive dress shirt he's wearing, the material cool to the touch as it bunches in her hands, hard edges of buttons nudging her skin. Jerking his body closer, she has to take a moment to collect herself, indulge in the sweet sin of having his body against hers, before snapping her carefully crafted persona back into place.
Castle releases a stuttering gasp as he lifts both hands to catch himself against the curve of her waist, and the contact sets her heart thumping, bursting to escape from the cage of her ribs.
"Beckett," he gasps, so close that the rush of breath airs past her cheek, and her skin tingles with the contact. "What are you doing here?"
She ignores him, lifting up slightly, although her heels put her almost eye to eye with him anyway, and leans in close to whisper in his ear.
"Shut up and go with it."
Gaping at her, he nods dumbly as his arms retract from around her waist, as if he's suddenly realised that he's touching her, and he doesn't touch her. Instead he holds his palms out in innocence, backing away. Beckett swallows down her temporary grief at the loss of contact, the fiery embers cooling to coal as he retreats further from her, and she reaches out to snag his upturned hands and pull him against her again in a vice like grip.
"Dance."
Gritted out from between the clench of her teeth, she slips back into character with that single demand, positioning Castle's arms around her before winding her own around his neck.
The assault to her nerve endings is almost overwhelming, every point of contact fanning the fire of arousal shooting through her veins. She shoves it down with the simple reminder of how he left her that day, left her to come out here with his ex-wife, who is more than likely around somewhere.
"Dance?" he asks, head shaking in confusion when she starts to lead him, pushing forward with the weight of her body to get him moving. "Wh-What's going on, Beckett? Why are you here?"
"Not Beckett," she glares at him, voice hissing through her teeth as she tries to keep the scowl she can feel itching to form off her face. "Houghton."
"Hough-" he starts, looking completely bewildered, his arms dangling limply from her body, as if afraid to touch her. "What are you talking about?"
Okay, enough of this.
She tries to release the tension keeping her limbs taut, letting the persona of 'Houghton' wash over her head and drown the hesitance and frustration currently thrumming through Kate Beckett. Allowing herself to melt into him, she presses her body up against his, her arms going slack around him as she tangles her fingers in the soft hairs at the nape of his neck.
Castle splutters, obviously shocked by the unexpected contact, and she barely resists rolling her eyes at his reaction to a simple touch from her. Tilting her head so that her nose brushes the skin of his cheek, the slight stubble scratches at her in a way that sends shivers of want down her spine, and her voice drips with it as she whispers low in his ear.
"Are you looking to buy some…extra, company tonight?"
She feels the way he staggers further into her, his hips crashing against hers as he misses a step, and she finds herself biting her lip, trying to keep the unwanted threads of desire at bay.
Pulling away, he stares at her, long and hard. She fights not to shy away from the intensity of his gaze, the way his eyes bore into her as he searches her face, and just flutters her lashes at him, pursing her lips slightly as she sends him a dark smirk.
She knows the exact moment he catches on, when the light flashes in his eyes and his entire face pulls back and transforms in to an expression of unadulterated excitement.
He moves his arms up from where they'd been hanging lifelessly at her sides, gripping onto her forearms as he leans into her.
"Are you undercover?" he asks, face beaming, and she immediately whacks his arms away from her.
"Not if you blow my cover, you idiot," she growls at him, lowering her hands and squeezing his shoulders in warning.
He opens his lips, maybe not to say anything damaging, but she can't take that chance, so she slaps a palm over his mouth. Ignoring his muffled protests, she drags him down by his collar, hissing to him in a rushed whisper.
"If you screw this up for me, I will not hesitate to rip off your limbs and feed them to you," she feels him gulp under the press of her palm, but she doesn't let up. "So, just go with it."
Removing her hand, she gives the surrounding area a once over, checking to make sure they're still mostly covered by the other couples dancing around them.
Castle is watching her, blue eyes huge and staring down with a strange mixture of confusion and awe. It gives her a strange butterfly sensation in the pits of her stomach, but she shoves the emotion down, refusing to even acknowledge any lingering feelings for him she may have once had, but has since realised were mistakes.
She doesn't care anymore. She's over whatever delusions she'd once been captive to.
Letting that thought spur her on, sink into the pores of her being, she bites on the plump bottom of her lip, sticky with lipstick, and blinks up at him, making sure to give her lashes an extra flutter.
Her eyes follow the contraction of his throat as it works in response to her flirting, and she lets the confidence that he still feels the electric pulse between them spur her on to allow her fingers to play a rhythm against his chest. The dance over the smooth cotton of his dress shirt makes him inhale sharply, and she tries to keep her breathing even as she feels the stutter of his chest beneath her exploring palm.
Oh this is a bad idea. Such a bad idea.
She's about to retract her hand, tell him to forget it and meld back into the crowd with an excuse ready as to why she can't take this particular client, when two strong arms wrap around her, hauling her into contact with the very chest she wants to run from.
He's so warm, so firm beneath her, around her, that she can't help but meld against him and let her palms smooth flat against the span of his chest so she's startlingly aware of his heart pumping rhythmically in time with her own. Gazing up at him, she curses herself for feeling so shy and surely betraying any true emotions with the stain of red she knows is blushing her cheeks.
The intensity of his stare certainly doesn't help matters, and when his lips brush her ear, she curses herself for allowing her eyes to flitter closed.
"So," the dark rumble of his chest vibrates against hers, and she has to catch herself to stop the gasp of air from escaping her lips. "Houghton, was it?"
She swallows thickly, silently cursing herself for her body's innate reaction to him. "Yes."
Castle backs away from her and reveals the satisfied smirk he's gracing her with, reaching up with one hand to gently brush away the curl of hair that has escaped her fancy 'half-up do', tucking it behind her ear. Her lips part, mouth dropping open, at the contact, and she stares up at him, suddenly overwhelmed with having so much of him after being left partner-less for the past few weeks.
His gaze flicks down to the pink of her lips, before travelling the length of her body, seemingly drinking in the sight of her in a way that makes her want to squirm, before glancing back up at her lazily, his mouth still fixed in a smirk that does things to her heart rate.
He leans in close again, and her mind suddenly blanks, short circuiting from the onslaught on sensations she's feeling all at once from his proximity. Her mouth parts again, and as her tongue flicks out to wet her lips, she watches his eyes darken as he gets closer and closer to-
"Isn't Houghton your middle name?"
She blinks, backing away from him. The bubble bursts and she immediately sees clarity again, everything coming back into focus around her.
"You're such a jerk," she snaps at him, whacking away the hand he's using to stroke the slightly bunched material at the curve of her waist, stalking away from him without another word.
So stupid to let herself get lost in the haze of him, in the fantasy she briefly believed they could share together if she were just brave enough to take the leap. But here he is, in the Hampton's with his ex-wife, blissfully happy without her, while she's working undercover as a freaking escort for the sleaziest guy out there.
She hears Castle stutter a shout behind her, as if he's just managed to hold off from calling out her name. Well at least he's not completely forgotten how undercover operations work…
Ignoring him, she weaves in and out of the people swaying around them, dancing in time to the lazy music crooning from the band on the other side of the hall. She eventually spots Ryan by the door, pretending to be a security guard, but instead secretly keeping tabs on her. Catching her eye, he subtly motions towards Esposito, who is over by the buffet table on his right.
Giving a slight tilt of her head in response, she makes her way over to Espo, adding an extra sway to her step as she tries to meld back into her given character, attempting to shake off the aftereffects of dealing with Castle.
A hand reaches out to grab her arm, spinning her back around with ease to face the very writer whom she wants to avoid. Her mouth opens to scold him, tell him to go back to his girlfriend and forget that he ever saw her here, but he beats her to it, his fingers sliding down her arm and leaving a trail of goose bumps before gently circling her wrist.
"I'm sorry," he says sincerely, his voice low and just for her as he searches her eyes. "Would you like to dance?"
She blinks at the request, the change of attitude suddenly giving her whiplash as she stares at him blankly, filtering through her brain to try and think of an acceptable response.
"Would I like to-" she stutters, gaping at him. "What?"
His expression doesn't shift, but still remains that soft, warm, look that makes the anger seep out of her for a moment. It reminds her of that day so long ago now, when she approached him during his farewell party, bubbling with under the surface eagerness to finally spill out all the feelings she'd been denying for so long.
But it had been a phase. She's over it now. Over him.
"I couldn't help but see you standing at the side lines, Houghton," he says, snapping her out of the bitter memories lying dormant in her mind. "I was wondering if you'd like to dance."
Is he playing along?
"No, that's okay," she stumbles the words out, trying to focus on the case, her cover, and the situation in front of her rather than the Castle-fumed fog currently clouding her brain and judgement. "Espo- I mean, I have a gentleman waiting for me over-"
"Nonsense," he interrupts her, tugging her arm as he leads her towards the outskirts of the herds of swaying couples on the dancefloor. "I'm sure he won't mind waiting a few more minutes."
She's helpless to resist when he tugs her closer to him, looping an arm around her waist as the other cradles her hand, his delicate touch contrasting with the sparks of awareness zipping down her nerve endings.
This has to stop. She can't hold up her cover if her body keeps betraying her like this.
"Castle," she whispers, careful to keep her voice hushed as she speaks directly into her ear. "You can't be doing this."
"Why not?" he asks, oblivious to the inner turmoil swirling around her chest, inching at her lungs. "We can both be undercover."
"No," she snaps, louder than she'd intended based on the numerous heads turning to look towards them before everyone goes back to admiring their partners. "No," she says, careful to be quieter this time. "You can't get involved in this, Castle."
"Involved in what?" he says, looking thoroughly confused as his grip on her hand tightens slightly. "What are you even doing out here? The Hamptons is way out of your jurisdiction."
Releasing a weighted sigh, her limbs sag slightly in surrender. Giving into the temporary want of being close to him after missing his presence for so long, she lets her fist bunch in the material of his suit jacket where her hand has found a perch on his shoulder.
"A case of serial murders, not that it's any of your business," she can't help the lace of bitterness entwining her words, turning her head from his as she scans the room, careful to keep her voice low. "High end escort girls, drugged and left with their throats slit out on the street. We know the guy in charge is responsible, we just couldn't find proof, so when he moved out here to collect more business for the summer, the Hamptons PD asked me to go undercover as one of the girls."
"Why you?" he asks her, the soft rumble of his voice in her ear, a sound she can't deny having missed hearing every day. It has her fisting his jacket tighter while she tries to resist the shudder itching at her spine. "Why not one of the other cops out here? This can't be safe for you."
She barely resists rolling her eyes at his misguided concern. "My knowledge of the case and previous experience in the vice unit made me a 'perfect candidate', at least according to the chief down here and Montgomery when he ordered me to come out and take on a cover."
"What if he finds out though?"
"I know what I'm doing, okay?" she shakes her head, pulling back to narrow her eyes at him, regretting the decision almost immediately when she notices the pinched concern written on his features. "Ryan and Espo are here to back me up. Actually, Espo was the one I was supposed to be with tonight, before you interrupted me."
"How was I supposed to resist when I see you standing there dressed like this?" he murmurs, eyes lighting up as he smirks at her. The boyish smile reminding her so painfully much of when they worked together. Before he left.
She feels him leading her into a semblance of a dance, gently swaying her body side to side with him while she's helpless to resist, letting her body soften against his in a fantastical image of what they could have been.
No. Haven't you learnt your lesson? He's didn't choose you, and it would never work out anyway.
Opening her mouth to respond, she's about to shake off his attempt of flirting, likely his way of restoring their old banter again despite the fact it will be tainted by his new relationship, when she spots a familiar figure approaching them as he weaves through the bodies on the dancefloor.
Tall and somewhat muscular, his form stands out vividly as he makes his way towards them, rat eyes narrowed to hungry slits as he watches her. His hair is slicked back, the wet black looking disturbingly like oil, in the fancy style that she's guessing is to help the glorified pimp fit in with his upper class buddies.
She pulls away from Castle abruptly, eyes fixed on her new 'boss' as he approaches, trying to slip into the character of Houghton in the five steps it will take him to reach them on the outskirts of the dancefloor. Shy and naïve, she's playing the part of a young woman who's trying to make her way in with the rich folk after her parent's disowned her and left her with nothing, now partaking in an 'audition' to see if she's worthy of hire.
Bruce, her manager and not-yet-proved-to-be murderer, strides over to her and a befuddled Castle, who's grappling at her hips to try and bring her back towards him, before coming to a stop just in front of them.
"Houghton," he starts, his voice a slimy kind of smooth that makes her skin prickle with suppressed shudders. "Who is this man you seem to be cozying up to?"
"Richard Castle," the writer himself interjects smoothly before she can so much as open her mouth to respond, plastering on a smile that screams of his faux persona to anyone who knows him well. "And…Houghton was just doing me the pleasure of sharing a dance."
"Was she now?" Bruce gives her a slow once over that makes her want to crawl inside her own skin. "Is that all?"
Crap, he's not supposed to think she's with Castle. Esposito is over the other end of the hall waiting patiently to play the part of 'client' and take her out of here so she and the boys can return to their safe house and start working on what they have so far.
"Actually," she starts, eager to end this little chit-chat before something jeopardises her cover. "Mr Castle and I were just talking before-"
"-Before she comes home with me," Castle interrupts her, and Beckett feels her face go slack with shock. "Houghton explained that she's…of service, tonight, is that correct?"
The shock of white teeth from Bruce's sinister grin is all it take to have a weight falling in Beckett's stomach, the bulk of dread making her feel ten times heavier as panic starts to take over her.
This isn't how it's supposed to go.
"That is very much correct, Mr Castle," Bruce says, reaching out to shake Castle's hand. "Houghton would be happy to accompany you home."
Castle turns to her, a shit-eating grin plastered across his mouth that automatically dulls when he notices the shocked fury most likely painting her face, the draining of colour that she can feel seeping out of her.
She is going to kill him.
"Yes," she says tightly between the clenched teeth of her forced smile. "Let's get out of here, Mr Castle."
A/N: Okay, new story! Once again this has been pre-written and is already complete, so hopefully there won't be much delay between chapter updates. Thank you so much to Bean, my personal cheerleader, for all of her help and for beta-ing this fic.
Thank you for reading and I'd love to know what you think!
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