A/N: okay, so i usually don't write anything just based on spoilers alone, but that picture that was just released seems to break all rules of physics. did anyone else want to scream when they saw it? i would've if my roommate wasn't asleep! geez, of all the times for her to be napping! lol. as much as i like all the stories i've read about it thus far, i don't think any of them are really plausible (unfortunately!), since it's probably too early to get Castle & Beckett together for real. so the following is a product of me not wanting to study for finals, and the extremely inspirational picture that is now the desktop on my computer. ;)
It was one of those nights. Almost unseasonably warm for this stage of winter, almost making you forget just how freezing it could be. It was clear and cool and absolutely beautiful, stars faintly dotting the sky, clouds of breath hanging in front of the few people that walked the street at this late an hour. There was something magical about nights like this, Kate Beckett had always thought. Something about them teased of promise, of the potential of anything to happen.
"Sandals or sneakers?"
She sighed and attempted to stretch her legs. It was always during never-ending stakeouts that she lamented being so tall; as much as she appreciated her Crown Vic, it was simply not built to accommodate a 5'9" frame. And four hours in, the current stakeout was going nowhere fast. The first hour had passed in a state of jittery anticipation, expecting to see the man who hired Dick Coonan to kill her mother exit his building at any moment. The second hour was spent coming down from the adrenaline rush, and boredom set in during the third. That was when Castle had asked, completely out of the blue, "paper or plastic?"
She gazed hopefully out at the street again, before turning her eyes once more to the man beside her and answering his question. "Sneakers." She paused, thinking of a question of her own. "Walking or running?"
He sat back in his seat and propped his feet up on the glove compartment, pondering his answer. With a wince, she realized he was 6'2" and could only be less comfortable than she was.
"Running," he finally decided. "That usually means something exciting is happening."
She rolled her eyes. "Question?"
"Yes, right." He thought for a moment. "Twilight or Harry Potter?"
She looked at him incredulously. "Are you serious? Harry Potter!"
"Whew!" he exclaimed, feigning wiping sweat from his brow. "Smart woman!"
"Coke or Pepsi?" she asked, fighting back a smile.
"Coke," he answered without hesitation.
"See, you probably don't mean that. Most people only think they like Coke more, because its brand is so strong."
"Really?" he asked.
"Mhm," she answered, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. "In blind taste tests, most people prefer Pepsi because it's sweeter, but with labels on them, most people prefer Coke—"
"Just because it's Coke," he finished. "That's pretty interesting. How'd you know that?"
"I took a marketing class in college. Your turn to ask again."
"Christmas or Halloween?"
"Christmas. Comedy or drama?"
"Comedy. Noise or silence?"
She smirked. "Silence. Boxers or briefs?"
He groaned. "That's lame, you already know that answer!"
She shrugged. "It's been awhile, I'm running out of questions. Boxers or briefs?"
"Boxers." He smiled, raising a devilish eyebrow. "Boxers or briefs?"
Oh, two can play that game, she thought wickedly. She gave him a sideways look, the hint of a smile playing across her lips. "Boxers."
She let him stew on that for a moment before continuing. "Morning or night?"
"Night," he answered, still looking at her like he'd never seen her before. "Couch or loveseat?"
"Depends."
"On?"
"On who I'm sharing it with. Mickey Rourke?" She shuddered. "Couch. But, say, George Clooney? I would not mind sharing a loveseat with him."
Rick shook his head. "Clooney, that lucky bastard."
She laughed. "Summer or winter?"
"Winter."
That caught her off guard. "Really? You seem like such a summer guy."
"Not at all!" he exclaimed. "I love the beach as much as the next guy, but that doesn't hold a candle to winter. Snow, the holiday spirit, a mug of hot cocoa in front of a fire, 'keeping warm' with someone you love…"
Kate had to stifle the urge to crack a window. Why was it suddenly uncomfortably warm in the car?
"Aquarium or zoo?" he asked.
"Aquarium. Rock or rap?"
"Rock. Phoebe, Rachel, or Monica?"
She laughed. "Ummm… Phoebe. Ross, Joey, or Chandler?"
He grinned. "Chandler. Pancakes or waffles?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me, sir? Wasn't it you that called me lame for asking a question I already knew the answer to?"
He shrugged as if to say 'just answer it!'
"Okay, fine. Pancakes."
He grinned in a self-satisfied sort of way. She rolled her eyes, half in exasperation, half in amusement, and ignored the funny little stutter of her heart. "Facebook or Twitter?"
"Twitter. Speaking of which…"
"Don't you dare," she growled as he reached for his phone. "Tweeting about stakeouts is not allowed."
He pouted for a moment before asking his next question. "Calling or texting?"
"Calling. Cake or ice cream?"
"Ice cream. Vanilla or chocolate?"
"Vanilla."
"Oooooh, wrong answer," he said, shaking his head sadly.
She made a face at him. "James Patterson or Michael Connolly?"
He gasped. "Oooh, that's mean! Pass!"
She grinned. "Fine, only because I was mean on purpose. Continue."
"Ummm…" he winced as he shifted positions in his seat. "Sitting or standing?"
She groaned and threw her door open; hiding be damned. "Standing."
He followed suit, all too eager to escape the less than roomy confines of the car. Not that a sketchy parking lot across the street from a murderer's apartment was much better, but at this point he'd take what he could get. He hurried around the car to catch up with Kate, who had already begun wandering around the lot to coax blood into flowing to her extremities again.
"Are stakeouts always this much fun?" he asked, matching her stride.
"They vary in their degrees of 'suck,'" she joked.
"Where does this one rank?"
"Well, I usually don't have you to keep me entertained, so in that respect this one is pretty good."
"I sense a 'but' coming."
She sighed. "But I just want this to end." She looked down, and scuffed her toe along the ground. "All of it," she whispered.
"It will," he said softly.
At that moment, something caught his eye from across the street. What he saw made his stomach contract. "Don't look now," he whispered, "but target at 3:00."
She shot him a horrified look. "Are you serious?" she whispered hysterically. "He would come outside when we're not in the car!"
"What do we do?"
"Make him think we're not here to spy on him," she whispered miserably. "Any ideas?"
He stopped walking. "I'm madly in love with you."
She stopped dead several steps in front of him, and spun around to face him, her blood suddenly feeling like lava flowing through her veins. "Excuse me?"
"And you're madly in love with me."
It was as if the wind had been knocked out of her. "I don't really think this is the time—"
"We're newlyweds," he continued, slowly stepping closer to her, "and we came here because this is where we first met."
Her world slowly righted itself as she caught on, though his proximity still left her fingers and toes feeling rather tingly. "And we didn't notice him come outside because…" she swallowed hard as he wrapped an arm around her, placing his hand at her back. "Because all we're paying attention to is each other."
"Exactly," he murmured, cupping her cheek with his free hand. "We're just too infatuated with each other to be paying attention to anything else."
"Exactly." It had started out as a coherent word, but then he'd started gently stroking her cheekbone with his thumb, and it ended up being more of a sigh than anything else. There was a split second in which she thought about being embarrassed, but then he was kissing her and nothing else mattered anymore.
His lips were warm and soft, a delicious contrast to the chill of the air, and his back was firm and solid beneath his coat. Hm, when had she wrapped her arms around him? She tried desperately to drag her mind back to reality and away from the slow dance their tongues were doing, but could only focus on one specific part of reality: Rick Castle was kissing her breathless.
And she liked it. A lot.
Their kisses eventually slowed, and then stopped. They stood there, foreheads touching, as they waited for their breathing to return to normal.
"Is he still there?" she whispered.
"Hold on," he breathed. He straightened up and placed a soft kiss on her forehead. She knew it was a ruse, just a cover under which he could safely look across the street, but she closed her eyes briefly at the contact anyway, and hated herself for wishing this was real.
"He's gone," he whispered against her skin.
"Good." She whispered back. Then reality hit her. "No, not good!" Reluctantly she stepped away from Rick, and shivered at the loss of contact; she didn't remember it being this cold.
"Not good?"
"We were supposed to follow him!" She put her face in her hands.
"Well, under the circumstances, I think we're just lucky he didn't pay too much attention to us."
She sighed. "That's true, but…"
"But what?"
She'd almost said 'but we waited here for four hours for nothing'… but had it really been for nothing? She swallowed hard.
"I don't know," she sighed. "But this is kind of a problem."
And she didn't know if she was talking about the man that was getting away, or the man that was standing in front of her.
A/N: holy anticipation, Batman! is it January yet? - reviews come with a guarantee of breaking up the hell that is finals week for a stressed college student! :)