AU post-ep for 3x11 Nikki Heat - Not that it hasn't been done before, or better, but I said I'd publish something tonight and this is the only thing that was anywhere close to a conclusion. I wrote it like a year ago when I was new to the series and as of yet have no beta because I'm terrified of finding one, so please be gentle... unless you're one of the jealous cowards going around being nasty to great authors, in that case, bring it.
For the purposes of this story there is no Josh, no Gina – we're saying they broke up a few episodes ago.
Beckett sighs heavily as the elevator doors close, obscuring her partner and the actress, still locked in an embrace, from her view. That image is going to haunt her for a long time... the image not just of Castle kissing another woman, but the image of him kissing another woman that looks just like her. A woman who is pretending to be her. But Natalie isn't her, she isn't even really Nikki, she's...
...just Castle's type.
Beckett's shoulders slouch as she realizes it. She thought there had been signs... little signs... that something about him was changing. For that matter, that something about her was changing. Neither of them have managed to stay in a committed relationship for long since their partnership began. She doesn't take for granted his thoughtful gesture of bringing her coffee - just the way she likes it - every morning. The playful, almost flirty banter between them makes even the hardest days bearable. And when they get drinks after a tough case, or stay up late working on a file, sometimes she thinks she catches a glint of something in his eye... something she doesn't recognize, but something intense... and directed at her.
No, she'd been imagining it. Wishful thinking.
Wait, what? Wishful thin- when did he become wishful thinking? Beckett mentally slaps herself. 'He's your partner' she repeats in her head. 'He's your partner and your friend and that's all.'
There's no use hoping for something that will never happen anyways. She's not some flighty blonde content to be another notch on his bedpost, and he obviously isn't interested in anything else.
Why else would he be making out with a carbon copy of her - only one without all the messy baggage and details?
Beckett sinks down in her chair and closes her eyes for a moment. It's going to be a long night... and a hard fight to keep from imagining what he's doing while she sits alone in her apartment. She's going to need wine... lots of wine.
Having resigned herself to a night of wine and Netflix, Beckett is lounging on her couch in nothing but an oversized T-shirt, one of her favorites to sleep in. She's trying to keep her focus on the characters on the screen in front of her, but her thoughts keep wandering... to another place... another version of herself. One that is apparently more attractive to Richard Castle. Easy. Uncomplicated.
What are they doing now? Did he wine her and dine her first, or did they go straight back to her place for some 'research'? Have they already-
'Stop it, Detective Beckett,' she tells herself. 'This is NOT helping and you are supposed to be watching a movie right now, you don't even know what happened in the last scene.'
But she can't stop her thoughts from drifting to Richard Castle.
The knock on her door makes her jump. She's not expecting anyone, and it's - what, 8:00 at night? Who would be calling on her at this hour? It's not like she often gets many social calls. Tiptoeing into the hallway, she glances through the peep hole before opening the door.
No. It can't be.
No. He's busy.
She looks again.
It can't be him. But it is.
Him. Standing on her doorstep, one hand ruffled through his hair as though he's nervous, and she can't help but noticing, wearing the same clothes he'd been wearing at the precinct earlier that day. Maybe... they hadn't...?
Beckett opens the door to face her partner, unable to keep the edge of hurt and anger out of her voice as she asks "What do you want, Castle?"
"Beckett," he starts, placing his hand on the doorframe. "Can I just... come in? Please?"
At his "please" and the boyish look on his face, she already knows she can't say no, but she's not going to let him off easy.
"Well I was kind of busy, Castle, and it seemed like you were too," she shoots back.
He looks past her into her apartment. Sees the glass of wine on the coffee table, the paused characters on the TV screen. "Yeah, looks like you were real busy," he retorts.
"Well, not as busy as you." Her anger is bubbling to the surface now, just barely surpressed. How dare he come here and demand to come in, after...
...after what? 'What has he done?' she asks herself. 'You're not dating, he's not yours, he can kiss whomever he wants.' The voice of reason doesn't soothe away the hurt.
"That's what I think we need to talk about," he ventures bravely. "Please, Kate. Let me come in?"
Sighing with resignation, she steps back, allowing him to cross the threshhold into her apartment. She closes the door behind him with a resounding click and returns to the couch, suddenly aware of just how little she's wearing. She pulls a throw off the back of the couch and wraps it around herself. He perches on the edge of the armchair opposite her and clasps his hands in his lap.
"Okay, Castle, what is it?" she askes, arms crossed.
"I didn't go home with her, Kate," he admits, eyes downcast.
She tries to hide the look of surprise that must cross her features. "What do I care if you did?" she replies, trying to act aloof.
"Well, come on Beckett, you have to admit, isn't it a little... eh, I don't know... I mean, pretending to be one of my own characters, to... research... with someone pretending to be a character that I wrote based on you? That is way too many alternate universes for me."
Her brow furrows as she glances up at him. "So, what, you came to my apartment at 8:00 at night to tell me about your journalistic integrity?"
"I just wanted you to know," he offers. "If the situation were reversed... if it were some guy who looked like me... well, I don't know, I'd be..."
Her eyes widen and a smile spreads across her face. "Jealous?!" she practically squeals. "Rick Castle, you're telling me that you would be jealous if I was kissing some guy who looked like you? Do you really wanna get me in bed that bad?"
His face falls at the last sentence and she curses herself. She's been doubting him. Maybe she was right all along. Maybe he has changed.
A dark look crosses his features and he stands, taking her hand and pulling her up with him to a standing position. "I want so much more than to get you in bed."
Her breath catches in her throat. This isn't happening. No, this can't be happening. She's dreaming. This isn't happening.
"Castle," she begins, but he cuts her off.
"Look, I'll understand if you don't feel the same way. You told me no before and I respect that. But over the past couple years... I don't know, Kate, it seems like things have changed. We have changed. I just... couldn't settle for some consolation prize. Not when what I want is the real thing."
Her heart is pounding in her chest, her mind rapidly trying to keep up with the words that flow from his lips. The real thing. The 'real' Nikki Heat. The one that is her.
"I'm not Nikki Heat," she warns, skirting around her emotions as though they're a hot iron.
"No," he agrees. "No, you're Kate Beckett. My Kate. And that is so much better... than Nikki, than Natalie, than... anyone." His last words are a whisper that she felt against the skin of her cheek as they stand now, impossibly close.
Her mind struggles to keep up with the events unfolding before her, events that have only been real in her dreams before now. She's overwhelmed by the desire to kiss him, to run her fingers through his hair... but she has to check, one more time.
"Castle, are you saying... you want... me?" Dammit. She didn't mean for her voice to sound so small and vulnerable.
"And no one else," he replies, cradling her face in his hand. She leans into his touch and smiles.
"And if I want you too?" she asks, lips still upturned.
That's all he needs. He brings his lips to hers sweetly, gently, lovingly, trying to convey in this action what even all the words he had ever written could not express. She meets him in stride, and for once they're finally in the same place at the same time. She winds her fingers through his hair, traces her other hand down the smooth, hard planes of his back and leans into him. Oh, she wants him. But there is one thing he has to make sure of first.
"Kate," he breathes, reluctantly parting his lips from hers. "This, though... you and me... this can't just be another... I want the real thing Kate. Not just one night. I want all of you."
"All of me?" The question escapes her lips before she can stop it.
"Just you, Kate," he assures. "Only you. Always you."
This time it's Beckett who presses her lips against his. Her. He wants her. She molds her body against his, pressing her soft curves into his muscular figure. A low moan escapes his lips as they come up for air. "Kate," he breathes. "Oh God, Kate". He repeats her name like a mantra, seemingly reminding himself that this is real, this is them.
"Castle," she answers, teeth nipping at the dip of his neck, fingers pulling at his shirt. "Yes. You. Only you." As she leads him back toward her bedroom, all that remains is what's real - the truth - them. Because really, there never could've been anyone else.
I just realized there is one thing I would like some honest feedback on... I've been working on reducing unnecessary dialogue tags, and since I wrote this a year ago I know it has a few of them, if anybody wants to contribute to how else I can structure things so as to avoid them, I would appreciate the input. It's something I've struggled with as we were taught to ALWAYS tag our dialogue (and with as many adverbs as possible) in school!
With that, I'll go run and hide in my scared-to-post-fic hole again...