And suddenly you know: It's time to start something new and trust the magic of beginnings.
― Meister Eckhart
"I got him! I got him!"
"Castle, no!" Beckett groans in frustration when he ignores her, rushing after Harrison Tisdale, right into the alley where the killer had fled. She follows, gun raised, ready to fire if needed, when Tisdale appears, Castle in front of him, gun at his shoulder.
"Let him go, Tisdale!" She takes cover behind a truck, peeking around the corner, keeping him in sight while staying protected.
Tisdale shoves the gun into the flesh of Castle's arm. "Don't come any closer or I'll shoot!"
Beckett sees his thumb cock the hammer, and she takes a step forward, takes her finger off the trigger, hands up in a peaceful gesture. "Okay, okay, that doesn't have to happen. Just give me the gun, and we can talk. We can all go home."
"Don't lie to me," Tisdale snaps, his grip on Castle tightening.
"You know what I don't get?"
"Shut up Castle!" Beckett snaps at the writer's question. "Not helping!"
Castle turns his head as much as he can to look at Tisdale. "If you needed the money, why didn't you just ask your father?"
"Castle!"
"You know what I think?" he continues, ignoring her. "I think you did, and I think he said no. He probably thought you were weak for asking."
"He was the weak one," Tisdale argues, and Beckett sees his grip on the gun loosen, sees him relax just a little.
She tightens her grip on her gun.
"All he cared about was her," Tisdale continues. "I was trying to make something of my life and he only cared about her!"
"So you took away the one thing he loved," Castle finishes. "You killed your sister because you were jealous of her."
"Put the gun down, Harrison, it's over," Beckett interrupts, her gun pointed at him again. She doesn't want to shoot, but if she sees his finger tighten…
Tisdale jams his gun into Castle's shoulder again. "It's not over! Drop the gun, or I swear to God I'll-"
It happens so fast.
One second Beckett has her gun trained on Tisdale. And then Castle elbows Tisdale in the nose, and grabs for the gun.
There's a struggle.
The gun goes off.
"No!"
She rushes forward, gun raised, trained on Tisdale. His gun has fallen, and he lunges for it, but she gets to it first, kicks it away.
"Don't move."
She sees Castle from the corner of her eye, unconscious, and as soon as she's joined by Ryan and Esposito she holsters her gun and goes to the writer.
The immature, jackass of a writer, who's done nothing but annoy the hell out of her for two days.
And whose words saved her life ten years ago.
"Castle, are you okay?" She drops to her knees in front of him, and trails her fingers along his arm, through the hair that's flopped over his forehead. He doesn't have any visible head injury, but she gasps when she notices the small pool of blood seeping out from beneath his back. "Oh God."
"Beckett!"
"Ryan, I need your coat," she gasps when he drops next to her, and with his help she finds the source of the blood. He got grazed on the shoulder, nothing serious, and as she takes Ryan's jacket and presses against the wound, Castle starts to stir.
"What the f-" Castle groans, and when his eyes open and meet Beckett's, they widen before he winces. "Ow! What the hell, Beckett?"
Beckett can't help giving his ear a little twist. "You were shot, you idiot. I'm trying to stop the bleeding until the paramedics get here."
Despite the obvious pain on his face, Castle grins. "I was shot? Awesome! You think I'll have a scar?"
Beckett just rolls her eyes and lets Ryan take over the pressure. Castle's going to be just fine.
She finds him in the back of an ambulance, a paramedic insisting he lie down so he can go to the hospital.
"I don't need a hospital," Castle insists, and when he sees Beckett his eyes light up. "Beckett will take me, but I'm not riding in the ambulance."
The paramedic gives her a pleading look, and she nods. "I'll take it from here, thanks." Beckett crosses her arms and lifts a brow in Castle's direction. "I called your mother. She and Alexis will meet you at Bellevue."
"Why do I even need to go?"
"You need stitches, Castle, and they want to make sure you don't have a concussion." She holds out her hand when he moves to get out of the ambulance, and he takes it, allows her to help him down. She ignores the shiver that his touch sends down her spine.
"You know," Castle says as he folds his bloodstained jacket over his arm, "I might need you to take me home, too. I almost died. I feel like I need to reaffirm life."
Beckett rolls her eyes at his exaggerated wink. "You did not 'almost die.' It was a graze and you'll be fine. And I'm not going to be just another one of your 'conquests.'"
He shrugs. "I don't know Beckett, maybe I'd be one of yours."
His smirk is infuriating and charming and sexy all at once, and she bites the inside of her cheek to stop herself from smiling. He's obviously attracted to her, and she can't deny her own attraction to him. "I'm not sleeping with you because you got injured, Castle."
"I didn't say that," he argues. "Did I say that?"
"But," she continues, ignoring him, "I'll take you to dinner when I'm off in a couple days. You know, for your hardship."
His smirk morphs into a grin that lights up his whole face. "I accept."
He acts like a perfect gentleman, and she couldn't be more surprised.
She'd expected to see the playboy persona that the papers show, to be ignored as he flirted with blonder, bustier women. Instead, he's...nice. Polite. He opens doors for her, compliments her on her cocktail dress, doesn't leer like she'd assumed he'd do.
She doesn't feel like Beckett around him, not tonight. For the first time in a long time, she feels like Kate.
He'd insisted on picking the restaurant, and instead of a fancy, glitzy place like she'd initially assumed, he'd assured her that there was no dress code where they were going. And as they step out of his town car - again, his insistence - he leads her to a small, nondescript door, a restaurant she didn't even know existed.
"The owner is a friend of mine," he explains as they're led to their seat, a table in the back, far from prying eyes. "And you don't strike me as the type of woman who wants champagne and caviar on a first date."
Kate quirks her brow as he pulls her seat out for her. "And here I thought you were better at reading people," she teases.
Castle freezes halfway into his chair, his mouth open in surprise, and she laughs.
"I'm not," she assures him, taking too much pleasure in how nervous he'd looked. "The second date, however…" She hopes the quirk of her lip is enough to make him see that she's teasing.
Castle grins. "If you let me take you on a second date, Detective Beckett, I'll take you wherever you'd like."
She feels her breath catch at the honesty in his voice, the slight tremor, as if he's scared she'd say no to another date. She's about to do something stupid, like reach out for his hand, when the waiter approaches with menus and wine selection.
She lets Castle choose a bottle of red wine; it's nice, smooth against her tongue, and she closes her eyes as she swallows her first sip, darts her tongue out to taste the remnants from her lips. Her eyes open to find Castle staring at her, his gaze on her mouth, eyes dark in the low light. "Nice choice," she says, her voice huskier than she'd expected.
Castle swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Thanks. It's one of my favorites."
"It's really good." The waiter approaches again, and after they order, she asks the question that's been bothering her for four days, since she'd crashed his book party and heard about what happens in Storm Fall. "Can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"Why, uh-" She clears her throat. "Why'd you kill off Storm?"
He stares at her for a moment, then chuckles. "That seems to be the question everyone wants an answer to," he admits, glancing down at the table. "Truth is, I was starting to get bored. Every book was the same, you know? I just need something new. Different."
"What if that's what people like, though?" she counters, leaning forward, her hands clasped in front of her. "What if readers find comfort in that consistency, that repetition?" She's speaking from experience, his books having changed her life after her mother's murder, showed her that justice could be found against impossible odds.
Castle leans back, a smirk on his face, and crosses his arms. "Why, Detective," he says after a few long moments of silence, "I was right. You are a fan."
Kate feels her face flush, hopes that in the low light of the restaurant he can't tell. "I told you, I'm a fan of the genre," she insists, but it's weak, and judging by the way his smile widens, he sees right through her.
"Uh huh."
Their food arrives a few moments later and they eat in silence, make minimal conversation while they enjoy dinner. She finishes first, pushing aside the last few bites of the best carbonara she's ever had, and Castle finishes his lasagna just a few moments later.
"Dessert?" he asks, chuckling when she groans. They share a piece of tiramisu anyway, and she tells a few tales from her days on patrol, while he just listens, his eyes on her, attention never wavering.
Kate grabs the check when it comes, and she just laughs at the affronted look on his face. "I said I'd take you to dinner, Castle," she reminds him. "Maybe you can get the next one."
She feels her face flush at the way his eyes light up.
When she tells him her apartment is just a few blocks away and she's fine walking, he insists on walking with her.
"To protect you from the bad guys," he teases when they leave the restaurant, holding the door open for her.
Kate glances back at him and smirks. "If you say so."
They stroll in silence for the first block, and she may not know Castle very well, but she can tell that he has something on his mind. He inhales a few times, like he wants to say something, but each time he remains quiet. Finally, as they come to a stop at a crosswalk, she turns to him. "Is something wrong?"
Castle blushes. "No, I'm just curious about something but I don't know if I should ask," he admits.
Kate raises an eyebrow in encouragement. "Shoot."
"Why did you become a cop?"
She freezes, the world around her disappearing until it's just her at the crosswalk, other pedestrians going around her, until Castle touches her arm and she's back in the present.
It's not a question she answers. Not to just anyone, certainly not on a first date.
Her coworkers know, of course. Her fellow detectives, the uniforms who have been there any length of time. But the few guys she'd told had either slowly stopped returning her calls, or had started treating her with gloves. Like she'd been fragile, had needed pity, and pity is the one thing she cannot handle.
So if anyone asks about her mom she just says she passed away, and leaves it at that.
She knows the writer in Castle just wants to know her story. Sure, he's acted like a gentleman, like he truly cares about what she says, but she's far from ready to share her story with him. Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
"You're right," she finally gets out, croaks around the lump in her throat. "You shouldn't ask that. It's none of your business." She turns from him and crosses the street with long strides, waits for him to catch up to her before elaborating.
"I'm sorry-"
"Everyone has their reasons for joining the force," she elaborates. "Just like you have a reason for writing mysteries. Most cops I know joined the force to bring justice to those who are wronged, to do their part in keeping the streets safe."
Castle sets his hand on her shoulder, guides her to the side of the walkway. "And you? Are you 'most cops?'"
Kate doesn't hesitate. "Yes."
"I thought-"
"Look," she interrupts, "at the end of the day, I want to bring closure to families. That's why I do what I do."
Castle just stares at her, but despite the small smile on his lips and softness in his eyes, she sees the curiosity, the determination that she'd seen during the Tisdale case. After a few long moments, he nods. "I think that's very admirable," he says, his voice hardly more than a whisper.
"Thanks, Castle." She looks up at the building they're in front of and smirks. "Well, this is me."
"Seriously?"
Kate chuckles. "Yeah, it is."
Castle glances up and nods, then brings his gaze back down to her. "Looks nice," he says. He gazes at her for a few moments before taking a small step back. "Normally I'd offer to walk you up, but to be honest, that's usually code for something else, and I don't want to seem too forward."
Kate reaches out and wraps her fingers around his forearm to stop him from going any farther. "I appreciate that." She hesitates, then lifts to her toes and brushes a kiss to his cheek. "Maybe next time," she husks into his ear, and when his breath stutters she chuckles and steps away from him. "Good night, Castle."
As good a time as she'd had on their date—pseudo-date, she kept repeating to herself—she's surprised, and a little annoyed, that he shows up at the precinct the next day with the announcement that she'll have a shadow for the foreseeable future.
"What the hell are you doing?" she hisses after she's been dismissed by Captain Montgomery, pulling Castle to a side hallway.
Castle just shrugs. "You heard him. I want my book to be authentic."
"Not about that. What the hell was that about basing a character on me?"
"Were you even listening?" he teases, tilting his head. "Because I'm pretty sure Roy explained that as well."
"I don't believe this."
Castle grabs her arm when she tries to move past him, and she just stares at him, hopes that she's giving him her best glare. "This doesn't...we're still on for tonight, right?"
Kate sighs, and tries to ignore the longing in his eyes. He'd called her minutes after she'd bid him goodnight and entered her building alone, had claimed that he wanted to make sure she got inside safely without any perceived ulterior motive.
So she'd kept him on the line, narrated her movements as she swept her apartment at his insistence, and before she knew it she'd agreed to a second date the very next evening.
Do I need to dress for champagne and caviar? she'd teased, and his responding chuckle had been low and throaty, had sent sparks through her bloodstream.
Not unless you want to, had been his response.
He hadn't said a word about wanting to shadow her.
She pinches the bridge of her nose and lets out another sigh. "Yes, we're still on for tonight."
"Good." Castle trails his hand down her arm and squeezes her fingers before letting go. "So, what are we doing now?"
"Now?"
"Yeah. Do you have a case?"
Kate draws her bottom lip between her teeth, watches his eyes darken as his gaze follows. "I do," she admits after a long moment, "but you don't. You have paperwork. I'm sure the NYPD is anxious to have you sign liability forms, especially after what happened last time," she teases, motioning to his shoulder.
Castle lifts the injured shoulder in a shrug and gives her an exaggerated wink. "You saved me once. It's healing nicely, you're welcome to check it later."
"Mm-hmm." Kate's about to respond, to tease him further, when she hears her name from the bullpen.
"Yo, Beckett!" Esposito pokes his head around the corner. "We got a lead."
He arrives early.
She's just getting dressed when her phone rings; he'd had a meeting with Black Pawn that afternoon, and she'd had to stay at the precinct later than anticipated. So not only is she running late, but when she sees the time, she mutters a curse.
"Hey, Castle," she greets him, breathless from rushing to pick it up before it goes to voicemail.
He chuckles. "Uh, did I catch you in the middle of something?"
"No, I'm almost ready." She puts her phone on speaker and sets it on her bed as she pulls her blouse over her head. She doesn't have any other appropriate dresses and didn't have time to shop, so she's opted for skinny jeans that hug her ass, and a shirt she hasn't had a chance to wear to work. "Um, you can come on up. I'm 203."
She manages to finish her makeup before she hears his knock. "Hey, come on i-" Her breath catches in her throat when she opens the door, revealing Castle in a navy blue sweater that brings out his eyes, a bouquet of lilies in his hand.
"Wow," he breathes.
His eyes flick down her frame, darkening as they take her in, and she hopes that her makeup hides the flush creeping onto her cheeks. He'd looked at her the same way last night, and instead of giving into the sudden desire to press her mouth to his she just steps aside, opening the door further.
"I'm almost ready," she tells him, her voice stronger than it feels.
Castle clears his throat. "Oh, uh, these are for you." He holds the flowers towards her. "You look great, by the way."
Kate smiles and takes the bouquet. "Thanks, Castle. These are really beautiful." She hears something that sounds suspiciously like not as beautiful as you, but she just bites her bottom lip and continues into the kitchen in search of a vase.
Castle takes the vase from her hands when she emerges from under the counter, motions for her to give him the flowers. "Here, I got this, if you need to finish up," he offers, filling the vase with water.
She retreats to her bedroom, puts the finishing touches on her makeup and slips on a pair of sandals before grabbing her clutch and heading back out to the living room.
She finds him in front of her bookcase, and her stomach drops when she sees what he's looking at.
Oh...shit…
He turns when she approaches, a huge smirk on his face. "'Fan of the genre' my ass," he teases, tapping a finger along the spine of In a Hail of Bullets. "You have half of my books out here."
Kate feels her face flush. The original plan had been for her to meet Castle outside, so it hadn't crossed her mind that he would be seeing the inside of her apartment tonight. If it had, she probably would have moved some of his books.
The man's ego does not need any more padding.
She grabs the book from his hands when he pulls In a Hail of Bullets off the shelf and starts to open the cover. He'd signed it once, when she was fresh off losing her mother and trying to find sense in the world.
Reading about criminals being caught and families having closure had drawn her to mysteries, and Castle's had been the first one that had been able to keep her attention. So she's stood in line for over an hour, and he'd signed it, a message she's sure was generic to him but meant everything to her.
Castle lifts his eyebrows at her quick reflexes. "There a reason you don't want me to see my own book, Beckett?"
Kate just puts the book back on the shelf. "No reason," she claims, taking his arm when he glances back up at it. "Come on, Castle, I'm hungry and you promised dinner."
The Thai restaurant he takes her to is wonderful; it's an authentic, family-owned restaurant whose owners greet him with a familiarity he seems to have with more people than she knows. She's known Castle barely a week, but already he's taken her to two restaurants she's never heard of, despite how often she orders take out.
He's the perfect gentleman again, only tonight she allows herself to extend her hand, curl her fingers around his on top of the table. And when they get a dessert that he claims is to die for—it is—she doesn't protest when he moves to her side of the table.
She doesn't want to go home, doesn't want the night to end, so after he pays she suggests a walk. They stroll for some time, through the streets of Hell's Kitchen, Castle sharing how he'd accompany his mom on Broadway tours, Kate humoring him with a few tales of crazy arrests from her patrol days. He listens to her with rapt attention, letting her talk for the most part, and Kate has a feeling he's filing her stories away for reference in his book.
That he's writing. About her.
"Hey, Castle?" she asks, breaking a comfortable silence they've had for a few blocks.
"Hmm?"
"Why me?" It's been on her mind since she'd found out about it, the nagging curiosity all day, the question of why. She's nothing special; the youngest woman to make NYPD homicide detective, highest closure rate in the precinct, sure, but she's just doing her job.
Castle glances at her, and after a moment's hesitation takes her hand and pulls her next to a building. "Because you're tall," he says with a shrug, and when Kate just gives him a look, he squeezes her hand. "I like you, Beckett. You're smart and strong, not just physically."
"You barely even know me."
"I don't have to," he argues. "I can tell by the way you carry yourself." He takes her other hand and tugs lightly, and she takes a step closer. "There's something about you," he admits in a low voice, "and I like you. I like you a lot."
Kate considers, searching his eyes for any hint of dishonesty, that he's just saying what she'd want to hear. But all she sees is kindness, openness, and her breath catches when she tries to draw it in.
As annoying as he was those first couple of days, when he was just a glorified consultant and not her shadow—whatever that's going to mean—she's starting to realize that his public persona, the playboy bachelor she'd seen glimpses of, isn't the real him.
"I'm not that guy you see on Page Six," he'd said during dessert, when she'd made a flippant comment about how he was sidling up to her for the press. "I don't even like it. But it sells books and keeps the fans happy, so I do it."
She'd smirked. "Yeah, because having beautiful women fawn all over you is such a sacrifice." She'd tried to kid, but his eyes had narrowed.
"I'd drop it in a heartbeat if I found a woman who was worth it."
She narrows her eyes now, but when he abandons her hands to cup her cheeks, her eyes flutter shut. "I like you too," she admits on a whisper. She covers her hands with his, grips his wrists and uses them as leverage to lift herself to her toes, brushes her lips against his.
He inhales sharply through his nose at the touch, but after a moment cups a hand around the back of her neck, tugs her closer to him, his fingers playing with the short hair at her nape.
She loops her arms around his neck and lists into him, nudges his lips open with her tongue, smiles against his mouth when he groans into hers. "Castle?" she murmurs when they part.
His eyes open, lids heavy, and he nudges her nose with his. "Hmm?"
"Take me home."
Prompt from Lou: basically, "what if Castle gets shot in FFYG." She brainstormed it as angsty. I couldn't do that.
For my dear friend Lou, who kills me frequently with angsty prompts. Happy very belated birthday, I heart you and also your cat. And look, I filled a prompt of yours!