Chapter 1

Just as a sunflower oriented to the sun… he thought fancifully.

Sometime after they'd reached an accommodation – that was to say, Beckett was not threatening to shoot him every minute of every case, and she'd actually begun to call him without Montgomery's minatory eye upon her to ensure that she did – Castle began to notice something which he found extraordinarily interesting.

For a further while, he wasn't sure that he'd really noticed it. It was subtle, unobtrusive – and undoubtedly it was totally unconscious. But gradually it also became more and more apparent. Very slightly – very slightly, indeed barely there to the uneducated eye – her movements and alignment were adjusting to his. More interestingly still, she was aware of him: an instinctive sense of his position, of where to look to find him, of where his body was or of the next words from his mouth.

Just like a sunflower, she was orienting to him. Unlike a sunflower, she was still closed, the petals of her personality still tightly furled and hidden. Castle didn't like her being hidden. Castle wanted her to come out of her infinite reserve and open to him. Having observed her unconscious alignment, he was extremely keen on finding some conscious alignment between them: to convince her to open up to him: mind, body and soul.

His chance came when she was sent not just out of Manhattan but right out of state. All the way to New Orleans, in fact. Surely in the city of magic, voodoo, music and food he could find a way to open her up?

"I don't wanna go," Beckett sulked. "I hate being out of state. It's all politeness and 'Hi, li'l lady' without any respect at all."

"Instead of 'Hands up, scumbag'?" Espo grinned. "Maybe you'll come back with some good ol' ladylike manners." He ducked as a pen whistled past the space his head had occupied a second previously.

"I'd love to see that," Ryan snickered from a very safe distance. Another pen became a missile.

"New Orleans is great," Castle interjected happily. "I can't wait."

"Who said you were going?" Beckett snapped. "We're not here to provide you with vacations."

"You chase criminals. I shadow you," he said with an irritatingly saintly expression. "It's not a vacation, it's a research trip."

Beckett made a noise which resembled an infuriated bobcat and turned to her papers with a huff. The three men smirked at each other, and collectively decided that the break room was a much better place to be than experiencing the toxic smoke cloud of Beckett's very bad mood.

Beckett, left alone to, well, sulk, glared viciously at her papers. She didn't like following the money trail at the best of times, and she didn't like going outside Manhattan much either. For work purposes, that was. She was pretty keen on going outside Manhattan and indeed the USA for vacations. For work, however, it meant being nice to other police forces and not having any authority without their permission and generally dealing with cops who didn't know her, far too many of whom judged on appearances.

She had, in the past, contemplated carrying the modern equivalent of a letter of introduction or recommendation setting out that she was a fully qualified Detective Second Grade with her shooting scores (second only to Espo, who had an unfair advantage, being an ex-sniper) and her professional record. Only the knowledge that prejudice was never countered by facts had stopped her. Well, that and sheer embarrassment. And anyway, cutting idiots off at the knees could be rather amusing, especially when the queries about her ability/competence/experience got back to Montgomery, who tended to deal with the questioner…um…sharply. That was always satisfying.

Still, she didn't want to go. Humph. She especially didn't want to go because she was quite certain that Castle would go too – legitimately or otherwise. The man was richer than Croesus and if she didn't let him follow her officially he would go along anyway just to spite her. He never left her in peace. He'd want to do things. Sociable things (she was not sociable). Tourist things (she hated tourism. And tourists). Together things. As if him shadowing her all the freaking time wasn't enough together for anyone.

Going on a trip with Castle was a bad idea.

She absolutely did not think that it was a bad idea because she was hyper-aware of him all the time. She also didn't think that it was a bad idea because she loved – no, absolutely not, that was a bad word choice – the way his dumb idiot totally insanely crazy theories challenged her thinking and made her think better. And she certainly didn't think it was a bad idea because he was interesting. All those things were definitely not her thoughts. Absolutely not.

It was a bad idea because he was a pest. Purely and simply that.

So it was quite utterly and totally ridiculous that when Montgomery smirked his way out of his Captain's office to her desk, she didn't protest at all.

"So, Beckett, you and Castle will be going down to New Orleans. I've spoken to the Captain there – Lavelle – and there shouldn't be any trouble at all. You got two days with them, though if you don't need all of it that's okay."

"But sir, what about my other cases" –

"Oh, no need to worry. I've already reassigned them. Enjoy your trip, Beckett."

He slithered off. Then he turned back.

"Oh yes. I've looked at your overtime. You're taking an extra two days down there, as vacation. You need it. I don't want to see you back for at least four days."

He slithered away very quickly. Even his freaking back was smirking at her. Beckett chomped down on an innocent pencil and contemplated the attractions of drawing and quartering, which would have the added benefit of clearing the promotion path. Not that she wanted promoted. Paperwork – ugh! The pencil suffered another vicious chomp.

"They don't taste good, you know. No nutritional value either." Aaargh. Go away! "It's going to be really fun going to New Orleans." No, it isn't. "So many interesting things and places. The French Quarter is fabulous."

"We'll be staying in a cheap hotel outside the city limits," she snipped.

"Oh, no. I couldn't let New York's Finest suffer like that. We're in the Royal Sonesta. It's not five star" –

"Oh, how will you cope?" she bit acidly –

"But it's quirky and original and it's on Bourbon Street" –

"So I'll get no sleep at all?"

"Can be arranged," he purrs. "I could keep you up all night."

Her glare should have sizzled a four-inch diameter hole through his sternum, and it was entirely unfair that it didn't.

"And I've already booked it until your leave runs out."

"You what?"

"I am" –

"I booked adjacent rooms," he said smoothly, "but I could change that to a suite if you like."

"You… you" –

"It's all booked. You'd better go pack."

"What?"

"I've made some reservations at nice restaurants, too. You'll love them. Better bring some nice clothes. Don't forget a swimsuit. There's a pool."

Beckett was quite sure she could live very happily without spending her precious vacation days in Castle's company. She was also quite sure that Montgomery, who was a sneaky matchmaking interfering meddling menace, was listening and sniggering. The boys were not sniggering. The boys were outright laughing. At least, they were till they caught her eye. Laughter was abruptly replaced by trembling terror.

"I don't" –

"Don't have suitable clothes? Of course you do. That pretty blue dress is very suitable. Or maybe a sundress." His eyes went dreamy. "I can just picture you" –

"Shut up, Castle."

He pouted. "Anyway. It's all booked and we fly out tomorrow. I'll collect you about six a.m. Flight's at 8.30 from JFK. We'll be there by lunchtime."

He wandered off. That was possibly fortunate, since Beckett was contemplating torture, murder, and incineration, in any order that would inflict maximum pain. As soon as he was out of her sight, he bounced happily on his toes and dreamed a little dream of the infinite possibilities of the coming days. He was quite sure that some… um…proximity could be utilised in the most interesting ways. He had a very pleasant vision of Beckett in a sundress, covered in brilliant golden sunflowers which picked up those lovely golden flecks in her eyes, and dawdled home (because staying in the precinct would surely find him shot) to pack his own bag.

Beckett stomped home, some considerable time later, in a foul temper made even worse by the knowledge that she had to pack and worse, since she had no intention of looking like a panhandler in any restaurant to which Castle was likely to go, pack appropriate wear. Two varieties. She would be working the other two days. And evenings. And she was absolutely not taking the blue dress. While she packed, she amused herself by reviewing all the myriad ways in which she could commit untraceable murder, firstly of Castle and secondly of Montgomery. She'd reached fifty different methods (Fifty Ways To Kill Your Captain? she wondered) before she'd even finished packing her underwear. It didn't make her feel much better.

She humphed and harrumphed her way through the remainder of the evening and into bed, and wished that she could 'forget' to set her alarm. If it hadn't been for the case, she would have.

Waking up early was painful, despite the fact that she woke around that time most mornings. If she'd been going to the precinct, she'd have jumped out of bed. Since she wasn't, she muttered and grumbled and didn't exactly feel like hurrying. Consequently Castle was rapping on the door only a second after she'd zipped her bag shut.

"Ready to go?" he asked sunnily. She growled. "Ah, you haven't had your coffee yet. How fortunate that your usual order is waiting in the car for you."

He picked up her bag. "Let's go."

She followed him, grumbling all the way down, which made not a whit of a dent in Castle's relentless and annoying cheerfulness. Mornings were not for being cheerful, in Beckett's extremely jaundiced opinion. Mornings were for scowling into her coffee until she'd had enough caffeine to make her neurons fire. Cheerfulness before nine a.m. should be grounds for capital punishment.

In the cup holder in front of her was a large go-cup containing her usual order. "Thank you," she emitted, and buried her nose in it.

"Seatbelt."

"Coffee."

"Seatbelt or I'll take it away."

The seatbelt clicked in, with an accompanying noise which, translated, might have been touch my coffee and you die right now. She returned to scowling at the coffee and ignoring the world around her. Castle, very sensibly, declined to talk to her, sipping his own coffee and watching the early morning pass by the car window.

At the airport, Beckett had had almost enough caffeine to get through to the departure gate without mishap. Castle, a careful two steps behind her, watched the sway of her hips with appreciation and didn't make the mistake of commenting. Blood on the airbridge would have been very disconcerting to the other passengers, and he was intending to get to New Orleans in one piece. He had plans for them. Lots of plans, which depended upon his being intact when they got there.

"What's this?"

Ah. She had finally looked at her boarding pass.

"That's what's technically known as a seat number," he said sweetly.

"The NYPD won't cover that!"

"No, I am."

"No you're not."

"Already did," he pointed out unanswerably. "I don't fit in the little seats."

"Try cutting down on the cheeseburgers," she sniped.

"Nasty. I am the perfect weight for my height. I'll be happy to trade gym stats with you any time." He grinned. "After all, we should have a couple of days." The grin mutated to wolfish. "I'll be happy to show you my press-ups." Beckett turned a very pleasing shade of scarlet. Interestingly, the little gold flecks in her eyes had appeared.

"Not necessary," she snipped.

"Your loss. Or are you scared that I'm fitter than you?"

"No!" she flashed back. "When you can run faster than me for longer, then I'll worry. I'll worry that my leg has fallen off."

Castle laughed. "I'll pick it up for you. Or pick you up." He thought for a second. "That was dirtier than I meant it to be. Though picking you up would be a really good plan however it sounds."

"You tried it. With lines that were older than the dinosaurs and it failed then too."

He shrugged. "That was then. Now you've had a chance to appreciate my charm, wit and ruggedly handsome personality, you're changing your mind."

"I am not," she spluttered.

"This is your seat. In you go."

He steered her in with a warm palm over her back, and ignored all black mutterings. She flumped down, and glared out of the window at an innocent 747 at the next gate. Much to Castle's amazement, it didn't explode or crumple, though he would have sworn that it cringed a little. He settled himself comfortably and happily opened up a game on his (flight safe mode enabled) phone. Beckett continued to glare out of the window, in which pursuit she occupied herself throughout taxiing and take off. Those over, and a cloud cover which prevented her watching the earth turn beneath the wings, she produced her phone, tapped her Kindle app, and resolutely ignored both Castle and the rest of the passengers. She did manage politeness to the cabin crew, which produced coffee.

Castle, strange to say, was entirely unbothered by Beckett's behaviour. Quite apart from anything else, he'd become rather good at Beckett-reading over the past months, and that sort of sulking only happened when he'd got to her. Usually that meant when she was fighting herself. Perfect. She couldn't fight herself for ever. Or, equally attractive, she'd fight herself to a standstill and he'd catch her as she collapsed.

Beckett stared out of the window and at her Kindle app, barely reading. Castle, even in a business class seat, was far too close for her peace of mind – and body. She could catch a faint whiff of aftershave every time he moved, and it went straight from her nostrils to her core. Even if it was totally unnecessary and showing off his quite inordinate riches, it was likely just as well they weren't stuffed into two economy seats, when they'd be rubbing shoulders, arms, and probably thighs as well.

That would be intolerable. (Intolerably erotic, a little brainworm insisted, and was ruthlessly ground into mush under the heel of Beckett's denial.) At least there was a reasonable space between them. She was very pleased about that. Really.

When he passed her coffee to her, with a blinding smile for the crew member, Beckett was sure that he deliberately flickered over her fingers as he released the cup. Of course the tiny tingle was sheer irritation. She turned back to her book, and read a whole ten pages through the three plus hours of the flight. Castle, she decided with what she told herself was irritation, was distracting her.

Disembarking the plane, she was equally irritated (definitely irritated. Not aroused. No) by Castle's broad handspan across her back through the airbridge. She was perfectly capable of steering herself through a narrow corridor. She didn't think about how she'd been in the perfect position to be touched just like that. She also didn't think about the odd sensation that something was missing when he dropped his hand from her. She was too busy being irritated that there was a car already waiting for them. What was wrong with getting a cab anyway? She stared out of the car window all the way to the city.

"Here we are," Castle announced. "Beckett! Earth to Beckett."

"Uh?"

"We're here. Royal Sonesta. Isn't it great?"

Beckett regarded it critically, and made a non-committal sound. Castle regarded her critically, and then smirked. "You love it." She didn't say a word. "You so do. You just won't admit it."

"I guess it's quite pretty," Beckett forced out. Actually, she loved it: ironwork balconies on deep red brick, arched doorways. She wasn't admitting it to Castle, though.

Inside was also beautiful. Beckett stared round while Castle took care of check-in – she'd tried, but since the sneaky rat had put the reservations in his name she couldn't do anything about it – and was, despite herself, impressed by the cool, pale marble. She wandered a little, and spotted the pool. That would be just perfect for early morning exercise: a nice change from running. She hadn't had the impression that the French Quarter was really a good place in which to run – narrow sidewalks and too many people and stray street musicians. She might have been distracted by the music.

"Beckett," Castle said, from right behind her. She jumped. He was so close that she barely missed him. "Daydreaming, Detective? Awww. I hope you were dreaming about me."

"No," she flipped back. It wasn't entirely truthful, because she'd been wondering – nope, not wondering at all, absolutely not – what he might look like in swim trunks.

His eyebrows waggled in disbelief, but he didn't comment.

"Keycard," he offered. "Adjacent rooms, just like I said." He regarded her, eyes crinkling. "You don't look very happy. Did you want a suite instead? I can change it. I certainly wouldn't mind sharing."

"No, thanks," she said briskly. "You'd spend too much time in the bathroom in the morning." She picked up her own bag. It was instantly removed from her by a smart bellboy, who disappeared before she could say anything.

"Come on. You'll want to tidy up before we go to the NOPD."

"I am going to the NOPD. You are not. I don't have permission for you to go so you can't come."

Castle pouted, ineffectually. Well. It had no effect on the lack of permission for him to follow Beckett into the NOPD. It had a ridiculous effect on her brain, which slipped straight from its normal stop irritating me Castle mode into mmm his lips are really nice. She rammed it back into its common sense cage.

Castle wasn't actually that bothered about following Beckett to the NOPD, mainly because he knew that it was all about paperwork and the money trail, neither of which were interesting at all. What was interesting, though, were his other plans, all of which were now in full operation. He'd already made two dinner reservations, for the two vacation nights. However, that left breakfasts, music and that night. He also hadn't missed Beckett staring at the pool. She'd need to park that, though, since it wasn't open before seven and closed at sundown. Shame. He'd have loved a little late-night dipping. He carefully didn't think the word skinny in that sentence, but his body heard it all the same.

"Okay," he said amiably. "I'll just wander round until you're done. Dinner will be at seven, though, so you might wanna be back in time to get ready."

He stepped out the elevator in time to avoid the mutilation of his ear that was approaching and whipped into his room, noting with some pleasure the connecting door. He unlocked his side, very quietly. He didn't want there to be any reason that, in the presently unlikely event Beckett might want to visit him, she couldn't. Her door closed behind her.

Beckett unpacked, washed her hands and face, remembered her manners and tapped on the connecting door.

"Come through," Castle called.

"I'm off to NOPD. See you later," she informed him. Seconds later he appeared from his own bathroom, shirtless and rather damp around the edges of his hair. She frankly stared. She didn't mean to. She really hadn't meant to. But a topless, tousled Castle had gone straight to her loins. Her head had absolutely nothing to do with her reaction.

"Uhhh… see you later," she gasped, retreated in disorder and, totally flustered, decamped at speed for NOPD's headquarters. She was so discombobulated that she didn't even grab a coffee on the way.

Behind her, Castle regarded the shutting connecting door with considerable interest. That had been entirely unexpected… but not precisely unplanned. He hadn't expected Beckett to come through; he'd expected a text which he would have received once he'd washed up, but he'd certainly ensured that if she did come in he was in a position to… um… impress her with his muscular torso and broad shoulders.

Oh boy, had she been impressed. Stunned. Flaming cheeks, dilated eyes, bitten lower lip and all. If she hadn't had to hightail it out to the local cops, he doubted that she would have moved. He would have moved. Oh yes. Moved on her, for sure.

The evening had suddenly got a lot more interesting.

Thank you to all readers and reviewers.

This story arose from a prompt by Mobazan27.

It's a Pornado story, so the plot is, er, slim and the rating is justified. As this is the opening chapter, it's posted today in preparation for Pornado weekend, which is this weekend (4-6 May).

Posting will be on the usual Thu-Sun-Tue schedule. Thursday postings will be a little earlier than the usual 2pm EST.