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Find You Anywhere

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Chapter One

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An AU Caskett meeting. Because regardless of time or distance, they will find each other. Three shot.

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Her eyes had captured him first.

They're a green that isn't a green; instead they possess a color that ripples and shifts depending on where she stands under the artificial spotlights he's slowly becoming accustomed to. They don't cross paths every day, but when they do he has to dance around the shadows, can never see enough of her in the narrow beams that stretch across her face in thin lines. The inconsistency of their synthetic illumination cuts diagonally until it falls onto the barren, red landscape and it changes the shade in her irises; fern, juniper, pear, pine.

Except that's not the case at all.

It had taken him six months of accidentally bumping into her, six months of flimsy excuses about why he was anywhere near her, before the truth smacked him hard in the stomach and he'd doubled over with his newfound knowledge.

Well, not really.

The isolation may be encouraging his already dramatic imagination into one that now forms slightly - considerably - exaggerated stories of his time here, narrated with a voice that sounds suspiciously like James Patterson's.

He'd actually stood straight before her, a wisecrack perched on the tip of his tongue. But then she'd turned, her eyes darkening, lashes descending and he'd deflated as the air was knocked from his chest - she'd left him without any breath to speak of.

Without any breath to speak.

The psychologists in their white offices at home would have a field day with that-

Wait, where was he?

Oh, her eyes. The way they transform. Not because of the bulbs that offer light when the sun's rays have descended too far from the surface, or when the moons zip across the sky, fireflies dancing ever on loop, yet too far from this planet to offer any romantic glow.

Her tint of green deepens in response to her emotions.

And tonight, they're alight, a bright emerald that hurls sparks through the glass of her helmet, hitting his suit, circular singe marks forming as they settle onto the dull grey, seeping into his skin and igniting a trail within his veins, all the way to his heart.

As she captures him completely.

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"I have no idea why, yet again, I'm forced to put up with you and your stalkerish behavior." Kate slams the pole into the hard, red dirt, swallowing the groan of annoyance as the metal bounces off a rock, refusing to penetrate the surface as it should. Worse yet, Castle reaches for the rod, slamming it into the ground on his first go - that's not creating salacious images - before turning to face her.

"You know that stalkerish isn't an actual word, right? Wasn't there an IQ test you had to pass to get a seat on the mission? Because mine was extensive; basic vocab and grammar a deal breaker."

Ass.

"You do know that your last sentence was actually a fragment, and you should probably consider revising it?" She lifts an eyebrow, stares down her nose as she waits for his volley back, but nothing comes, his shoulders drop, his shadow shrinking in length against the bleak Mars terrain.

Silence at last.

"I miss Word. Is it possible to miss a program?"

Her sarcastic reply evaporates at the stunned husk that coats his question, even if the temperature is steadily crashing toward freezing, and she traps the inside of her mouth with her molars as she sorts through all the empty platitudes she could offer him.

It's okay. We all miss different things. We'll be home soon.

"Actually don't answer that, Beckett. I miss googling for porn, so I guess it is."

"You're abhorrent. You know that, right?"

"That's hot. Say that again."

His teeth flash as he smiles wide, the blue in his eyes so similar to the lake south of her parents' cabin, a crystal-clear expansion that sparkled under the summer sun.

After six months on Mars she misses water.

"Go back to your own camp, Castle. You're not wanted or needed at this one."

It's harsh, she's being harsh, but his voice slides through the speaker in her helmet, curving through the fine strands of hair at the back of her nape, tracing a heated trail down her spine, and it's annoying, irritating...

Cutting straight through to her core and producing a warm glow that's unwanted - wanted.

"I'm hurt, Beckett, truly wounded by your insinuation." He lifts both hands, palms facing her as he takes a step back, his voice pitched high, his grin all flash and dazzle. "Want to kiss me better?"

For a second remorse laced her veins, and then he had to open his mouth. Again.

Ass.

He can't go home soon enough.

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"Isn't it your first anniversary today? A whole year of being here?" Rick flickers his gaze over the small portion of her profile he can see. As he waits for her answer, he takes ahold of the metal lid she's lifting while also trying to peer into the wires. Hopefully for her crew this is just a routine check on their sleeping station, nothing catastrophic, although they could always bunk in over at his camp...

But she doesn't reply, doesn't shift to acknowledge his presence and he tugs his lips up, stretches his smile, pushes his persona to be a little brighter. Although shouldn't they be past this by now? "We should do something to celebrate."

"Like what, Castle?" She twirls the screwdriver between her fingers, up and down in a dance he envies; to be that close to her, to be in rhythm with her. "Should we paint the town red? Drink until we can't stand straight? Or throw caution to the dust storm and screw like bunnies?"

"Uh..." All three sound great to him but saying so would likely end with the sharp end of that tool through his chest and him bleeding out on this god forsaken planet.

And then she turns.

The corners of her mouth are pinched tight, and it tugs the normal curves of her face into planes, a harsh evenness to her cheekbones replacing her usually defined, arched ones. A vein lines her forehead, prominent on the stretch of skin he daydreams about kissing.

What would she taste like against his tongue? Salty? Sweet? And if he lowered his lips to her mouth? Firm? Soft?

"Stop staring, Castle, it's creepy." The razor snap to her admonishment brings him crashing back to reality and he brushes a gloved finger across her screen, presses the glass as if he were touching her features.

Takes one hell of a risk.

"Are you okay, Kate?"

She jerks back - because of their contact? Or his question? - pivoting on her toes, the stomp of her boots smacking the surface loud, although imagined, as she storms away from him.

Their communication devices are the only way to hear anything when they are suited up, and all that's coming through to him is static.

She's turned hers off.

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The oxygen level in her tank, while not low, has fallen significantly by the time she drags herself back to her station, her mood plunging further alongside its drop, and she moves to rake her hand through her hair, her fingertips slamming hard into her helmet as learned behavior wins against common sense and fact.

It's just another thing to be tired of.

A whole year of things to be tired of.

At least she had enough good judgment left to flick her radio back on, the familiar chat of her fellow adventurers growing stronger as she enters their home, and she ducks under the low beams which bracket the main door way; stands and waits in the small internal chamber for it to fill with oxygen.

"Hey, Beckett, where have you been? The party's started and it's going to be so loud they'll hear us back on Earth!" Jones slaps her shoulder as she steps out, his face alight with joy, or maybe just flushed with the pseudo alcohol they'd been saving for today, and she lifts her lips into a smile, even as her fingers curl into her gloved palms.

"I'm just going to take a shower, get this dust out of my joints. But I'll be there soon."

She won't.

It hardly seems to matter to Jones, he's already darting into the next chamber, their make-shift kitchen and dining area located in the opposite direction to their sleeping quarters, a right to the left that she's trudging toward.

Her helmet goes first, creating a thud as she tosses it with more force than she should, but it's in the designated spot - she's not a slob regardless of her mood - and that has to count for something.

Maybe...

Angling the mirror attached to her cupboard door, she carefully avoids looking at her own features, avoids her mother's eyes in the reflection. Instead she slips her fingers underneath her collar, grasping the chain and lifting the ring that weighs far too much today.

Of all the dates that management could have deemed as a go, choosing this one had an odd sense of irony.

As her mother had left earth one way, years later Kate had done the same, but in a significantly different manner.

Today was for mourning, grieving, not for celebrating, even if no one knew, if he had no idea, no knowledge why.

She does.

She knows the only thing today can mean to her.

Pivoting, she reaches behind her for the metal clasp that buckles at the top of her suit, shutting her lashes as the heaviness increases her exhaustion, but before her eyes close all the way, the sight of her bed floods her system with adrenaline.

It's not the bed itself but the lone item sitting proudly on top of her standard issued sleeping bag, which startles her alive. A coffee mug where no coffee mug should be, and she edges a little closer, trapping her bottom lip as she peers at the abnormality.

There are coffee grounds sitting snug within the porcelain. Not like the ones at home - she's not that naive - but they have a smell that she can pretend is real, a texture that she's sure will feel like coffee beans rather than dried powder, and as she lifts to cradle the cup between her palms, her heart stutters against her rib cage.

Scrawled across the blue side of the mug in black marker is his message,

A smile for every morning here.

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It's the cracks in his persona that capture her first.

He bustles around her camp as if it's his, sits beside her when she's attempting to work at the controls, helps himself to their minimal supplies as if they weren't on rations, and every action grates at her skin, straightens her spine with indignation, annoys the hell out of her.

But then the façade seems to slip and he'll do something… sweet. He'll make her a coffee that actually tastes decent, arms outstretched as if he's presenting her with an award. Or he'll hold the door for her - even though she is more than capable of doing it herself - and he'll smile, not just with his lips, but with his whole face as he looks at her, only her.

And she forgets.

Forgets that this is a mission that requires all her focus. That she has no time for jokes that aren't funny - okay, maybe he's a little funny. That she can't fall for this jackass - wiseass - infuriating - charming - child - man - from the other camp.

At night she lies in bed ignoring the gnawing in her stomach that begs for the full sensation that comes with stuffing her face with a cronut. She ignores the way her tongue scrapes across her teeth seeking out the lush flavors of her favorite glass of red, and she stares at the plain white ceiling of her room, trying to avoid the idea that she's already falling for him.

Falling for him and his mug full of coffee.

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Thank you to Jo and Jamie for the beta, and for making sure it got finished (even if it did take me months) xoxo

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Thank you for reading xoxo