Dedicated to Polly Lynn, who has
assured me many times that she hates me.
A
She's adamant when Markaway denies her request for a warrant. "Your Honor -"
"Save your breath, Detective. I respect your work, but even you have to admit you've got no concrete evidence."
"But Sir -"
"Come back when you have sufficient grounds, Detective."
Markaway disappears down the hallway, leaving Beckett fuming and Castle staring. In the few months he's been following her around, he's never seen anyone flat-out ignore the Beckett glare. He wasn't even aware that was an option.
"I need that warrant," she grumbles. Her nose is wrinkled, and it's adorable but he's pretty sure it's better not to say that right now, while she's actively looking to break something.
"I thought you should have it," he offers instead.
She runs her hands through her hair, takes a deep breath, and stands up straighter. "Come on," she says, her voice clear. "Let's go catch this bastard."
That's the Beckett he knows.
B
Their witness is a ballet teacher, so they find themselves at Miss Julie's School Of Dance. A crowd of little girls stand at attention, small feet carefully pointed. It's a flurry of cuteness, and as they make their way from first position, to second, to third, Castle catches a soft look in Beckett's eyes. A hint of nostalgia in her smile.
Did Tiny Kate Beckett take ballet?
He can picture a little girl with hazel-green eyes, frowning in concentration, scowling at the mirror when her arms don't go just so. Pirouetting through the house, bumping into furniture. Begging her parents for pointe shoes and a sparkly tutu.
He wonders if she still likes to dance.
C
The murderer is pointing a gun at Kate Beckett's heart, and Castle can't breathe.
He's frozen in the corner, helpless. But she doesn't flinch. She stares down the killer, and in a single breath, knocks the gun away with a fluid move and throws the man to the ground.
She plants her knee in his back, clipping handcuffs on his wrist, and Castle stares at her, his heart hammering against his ribcage.
She's the definition of courage, but he knows he could never write anything that would do her real justice.
D
The first time the guys invite Castle to go out with them after closing a case, he's elated. Finally. Finally, they're letting him in.
The club is dim, thumping with music, alive but not uncomfortably crowded. Esposito catches his eye first, waving him over to the table where he and Ryan hand him a beer. "Hey, man." Esposito claps him on the shoulder. "Glad you could come."
"Yeah." He looks around. "Beckett here?"
He doesn't miss the smug look the guys exchange, but Ryan just points. "Yeah, she is."
Castle follows his gaze to the dance floor, and his mind goes blank. Because Beckett - Kate - is dancing.
He can't look away.
He's never seen her move like this. The long, slim line of her body is mesmerizing as she sways, careless, free, everything he'd thought she wasn't. In a flimsy little black tank top and tight, tight jeans. She's stunning, her face flushed, her eyes dark.
It's a side of Kate Beckett he never thought he'd get to see, the kind of woman he wants to know better. A lot better. He wants to slide his hands over her hips. He wants her to back him up into a dark corner and slide her hands under his clothes.
He wants to let her work out every frustration on his body, slow and deliberate, until he's sweaty and spent.
His whole body is swamped with desire, hot and tight and thrumming.
E
Castle pauses in the door of the breakroom, stirring Beckett's coffee. It's a slow day. No open cases. He'd really thought working in homicide would stay faster-paced than this.
She's sitting at her desk, typing slowly, though what she's typing, he has no idea. She looks bored.
It doesn't quite track. Kate Beckett is a study in intensity. She does nothing halfway. And now she looks like she's typing a TPS report. She belongs in the world, using that quick, clever mind of hers. The glaze of disinterest over her face doesn't belong. Ennui looks deeply wrong on her.
He has to do something.
Returning to his chair beside her, he sets down her coffee and watches her face; she's carefully wiped her face clean of visible boredom. Interesting. She doesn't want him to know she's bored.
"Can I ask a favor of you?" he asks seriously.
"I don't know, can you?" she murmurs, flashing him an exasperated look. She thinks he's going to go home. She thinks he's bored.
"Would you do me the honor," he produces a deck of cards from his jacket, "of Go Fishing with me?"
She can't quite hide the sparkle in her eyes, or the hint of a smile that crosses her lips. "Bored, Castle?"
"Never."
She snags the cards and starts shuffling, shaking her head, trying and failing not to smile. Her whole body is more relaxed, her shoulders less tense. And for the first time, he realizes: she actually likes having him around.
(If there's one thing Rick Castle's good at, it's banishing ennui.)
F
She finds him in the break room, stirring her coffee several hundred times more than necessary, next to the bouquet of flowers she'd promptly moved in here after they'd appeared on her desk.
"You're sulking."
"No, I'm not." He's not even convincing himself.
"Castle." He turns to find her watching him with amusement, her arms folded. "They're lovely."
"You don't want them."
He's embarrassed, because hasn't she made it clear, a thousand times, that she doesn't want things? But he had to go and get excited (he finally tricked Ryan into spilling her birthday), and he spent so long picking out the perfect flowers, and she barely even looked at them before carrying them in here where she can't even -
"That's not true." She rolls her eyes. "For crying out loud, Castle."
"Then why -"
"They're too big for my desk," she tells him, though the tone of her voice adds, idiot. "I can't even use my computer. You know I'm going to take them home, right? They really are beautiful."
"Oh."
He feels a little sheepish.
She surprises him; she sets a hand on his arm, squeezing gently. "It was really sweet of you, Castle. Thank you."
She disappears back into the bullpen, leaving Castle staring into the coffee he forgot to give her.
Of course. It's not about show with her. It's about substance. He needs to regroup.
He's always been one for flagrant displays.
G
"Castle?"
Mmmm.
"Castle?"
Mmmmm, yeah.
"Castle!"
He starts to find Beckett fully clothed and glaring at him across her desk.
"If you're going to fall asleep, go home."
He apologizes profusely, avoiding her eyes, hoping he doesn't have the word guilty stamped on his forehead.
He needs to stop fantasizing about her at work.
H
He's mesmerized by her hands.
Her hands are slender, graceful, just like the rest of her. She manages to make cleaning her gun look sexy. Her nails are short, he notices. Not too short, but practical. Short enough for her to work. Impeccably well-kept.
Her hands are elegant, expressive in the rare occasion she uses them to talk. He's caught her staring at the murder board, absent-minded, fingers splayed over the surface of the desk.
The hundredth time he hands her coffee, when her fingers brush against his, he has to stop himself from shivering at the sudden flush that runs through him at the gentle contact.
She bites her lip, and he thinks maybe he's not the only one who feels the heat.
I
Castle is not entirely certain what's happening.
What he does know is that it's his fault.
In fairness, all he did was point out to Beckett that he thought he saw their suspect walk into a pet store. And he really thought he did. Of course she raced in, and of course he followed, and it all happened very fast, but he's pretty sure he fell and knocked over a pen and there was a lot of noise, and right now they're both on the floor, surrounded by dozens of squirming, excited golden retriever puppies.
Beckett manages to right herself, brushing dust and dog hair off her pants, confirming with the clerk that no, their suspect did not come in here to hide among the birdcages and kitty litter. Castle struggles to stand, brushing off puppy after excitable puppy (who have just met him and love him). He's pretty sure Beckett won't let him steal any of them. Or all of them.
"Castle?"
"Yep. I'm coming."
He hears Beckett grumble idiot under her breath.
It's not till they're back outside, though, that he smiles. Because as stupid as it was, she actually listened to him. She ran into the pet shop because of what he said.
Maybe idiot was for herself, too.
But at least she listens to him.
J
Castle stares, dumbfounded, as Beckett brushes her soft, short dark hair back, smiling at the bar owner. She's chatting him up with a voice he's never heard her use before - low, breathy. Teasing.
It's insanely hot.
He's overwhelmed with the stupid urge to barge over and stand next to her, puffing out his chest, offering a show of manly manliness so this idiot will stop leering at a woman who has no time for him.
Castle is about four seconds from interfering (because she said Just stand still and don't talk but surely she didn't anticipate she'd need help fending off a creep like this, right?) when she saunters back over, holding a scrap of paper. "Got the number. Come on. Let's go."
She strolls past him, looking for all the world like she just finished grocery shopping.
He's learned something today. Beckett knows how men look at her. She knows how to take advantage of it.
He tells himself it's irritation he's feeling.
(It's definitely not jealousy.)
K
He thinks fairly often about kissing her.
On the one hand, Rick knows, it's at least moderately irresponsible to let himself get quite this invested in a relationship that Beckett has told him, in no uncertain terms, is never going to happen.
On the other hand, he's writing a book, and it's actually his job to think about things like that. Visions of her crowd his mind, invade his subconscious.
One morning, he wakes up late, after a particularly frustrating dream. He gets coffee and toothpaste on his shirt, drops his phone in the sink, and finds a button missing on his coat.
He finally gets to the precinct late, so very late, and Ryan and Esposito glare at him.
"Couldn't get out of bed, bro?" Esposito grumbles. "Too early to play detective?"
Ryan folds his arms. "Maid not wake you up?"
He winces, shoving his hands in his pockets, ready to apologize profusely. Beckett's going to -
"Hey." Her voice is calm, even. Not what he expected at all.
She presses a cup of coffee into his hand, brushing past him on the way to the murderboard. Castle blinks. "Hey." Isn't she going to yell at him?
"You okay?"
"Yeah," he replies out of habit more than actual thought. Coffee? He stares down at the cup in his hand. She gave him coffee? That's not usually how this works.
"Come on." She settles on the edge of the desk, facing the board. "Let's find what we're missing."
She purposely left room beside her.
Castle sits, gingerly, his arm brushing hers. He hazards a sip of the coffee she gave him, and sure enough, it's from his cappuccino machine. The one that's hard to use. The one she never asked for.
"Thank you," he says quietly. He doesn't know why she's being so kind.
She looks away, her face flushed, a little smile playing over her lips.
It makes him want to kiss her even more.
L
She's lithe, lissome, graceful, even as she drives her fist into a punching bag.
It's taken forever for Beckett to let him watch one of her physical training sessions - he wants this new character to be more adept with hand-to-hand combat than Storm was, and he needs to take notes - and Castle's entranced. She's sweaty and flushed, her whole body contracted, fierce, like a tigress. He's getting all sorts of Black Widow analogies right now, and he likes it.
She makes lethal look positively lovely.
M
"RYAN!"
Esposito's bellow echoes across the entire floor, and every detective, uniform and consultant in the bullpen turn to find Ryan blinking, confused. "What?"
"The hell, bro?" Esposito storms in, glowering at him. "Are you twelve?"
"What are you -"
"Glue in the damn soap dispenser! Seriously? That's gross."
"I didn't -"
"You were the last one in there! Come on. Even for you, that's low."
Esposito's towering over his partner's desk, oblivious to the rest of Homicide chuckling at him. Castle grins from his chair. He'd start shooting rubber bands at them, but he wants to see who slaps whom first.
Seeing that Ryan's not going to crack, Espo just shoots a deathglare around him at everyone staring. "What the hell are you looking at?"
He stalks to his chair and sits down.
FRAAAAAP
The floor erupts in laughter as Esposito grabs the whoopee cushion and hurls it at Ryan. "ARE YOU -"
Montgomery pokes his head out, staring everyone into submission, as Castle looks back at Beckett, who's been strangely silent.
"They're adorable," Castle grins.
She doesn't say anything, her face unreadable, and for a second -
Castle stares at her in awe.
"It was you, wasn't it?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Beckett tells him archly.
She looks back at her computer screen, but her eyes are sparkling with mischief.
N
When he catches her asleep on the break room couch, Castle is surprised to find that even powerful, determined Kate Beckett takes naps.
She's curled up at the end of the couch, her hand pillowed under her cheek. One knee is drawn up under herself, and as adorable as she is, all soft and relaxed, he can't help but see the exhaustion in her face, the shadows under her eyes. She's tired. She's beyond tired.
He's always wondered if her body ever actually needs sleep. Apparently, it does.
He was going to offer her more coffee, but he decides to let her sleep a little longer, instead.
O
"So he's - oh, damn." Beckett frowns, scribbling on the murderboard, producing only a faint, unsteady line. "Another one out? These things last an hour." She tosses the offending marker into the trash.
Castle perks up. He can finally be helpful. "You need extra?"
"You know where the supply closet is?"
Oh. Maybe not. "No," he admits.
She walks him back past the break room, to a worn wooden door. He hasn't seen this one before. "Is this the storage closet?"
Beckett quirks an eyebrow at him. "Where do you think we keep staples and post-it notes?"
She opens the door and they discover a pair of uniformed officers, very obviously in the middle of making out.
Castle stares. The uniforms spring apart immediately, blushing. "Detective!" the guy manages. "Um -"
The woman is trying desperately to tuck her shirt back in, avoiding everyone's eyes. Castle has to hold in a ridiculous giggle.
Beckett folds her arms. "Carter. O'Neill."
"Sorry, ma'am." Officer Carter finally brings her eyes to meet Beckett's. "Didn't realize you and Mr. Castle needed the closet."
Wait.
"Excuse me?" Beckett sputters.
"Aren't you -" O'Neill mumbles. "I thought -"
"No. No." Beckett seems to feel the need to emphasize this. "No."
"Oh." Carter can't seem to stop giggling. "Okay. Sure."
She takes off down the hallway, leaving O'Neill looking at Beckett, then at Castle, then back to Beckett.
"Huh," he says.
"What?" Beckett snaps. Castle can't help but notice her face is redder than it should be.
"Just -" O'Neill shrugs. "You two. I mean. It's pretty obvious."
P
"Castle!"
He's sprinting at her heels, nearly even with her, when suddenly she stops, grabs his arm, and yanks.
"Ooof."
He stumbles into the closet with her, blinking as she shuts the door and the tiny room goes black around them. There's no space; there are shelves digging into his back, and Beckett's pressed up against his front.
He tries to catch his breath. "Why?"
"Didn't you see up there? Seven guys. No way we're taking them out without backup," she murmurs. "We just have to stay put for a few minutes. It'll be fine."
"Oh."
In the darkness, he's suddenly hyperaware of her body, pressed up against him. Her breath is warm on his neck, her hips tight against his, and as he takes in a long, slow breath, he can feel it. The quick, rapid flutter of her heartbeat.
Castle freezes, holding his breath. There's adrenaline coursing through his veins, but her heartbeat is pounding. It's not slowing down.
She takes in a sudden, sharp breath, and he swallows hard, because all he can think about is just how easy it would be. Just a few inches. Just tip his head and kiss her.
He doesn't move. Tries not to breathe. Just stands there, frozen, feeling the hectic flutter of her pulse.
Q
He still has hundreds of questions.
Rick wants to know so many things. He wants to ask about her childhood. What was little Katie Beckett's favorite subject in school? What books did she read? Did she ever want to be an astronaut?
It's a while before it occurs to him that most of the things he wants to know have nothing to do with the novels.
His flocks of questions aren't about the books. Not really.
He just wants to know about her.
R
Their most recent victim had a pet rabbit.
Uniforms swarm the apartment, bagging evidence, and while everyone else is focused on the actual crime scene in the living room, Castle tries to coax the little animal out from under the bed. "Come on, little guy. I promise I won't hurt you. Please. Please. Come on, my knees are starting to hurt."
"Castle?"
He looks up to find Beckett standing in the doorway, watching him with one eyebrow up.
"Oh. Hi."
"Looking for something?"
"The guy's rabbit. It's hiding under there."
He expects a scornful response, but she actually crouches down beside him, peering under the bed. "Oh. You weren't kidding."
"He won't come out."
She chuckles. "That's just because you're a scary person."
She leans down, reaching carefully under the bedframe, and Castle watches, amazed, as the little grey rabbit sniffs her thumb, sniffs her palm, and finally hops forward, until finally she picks the little guy up and holds him in her arms.
The rabbit is a little lop-eared grey fellow, nose twitching as he looks around curiously, but he seems perfectly content in Beckett's arms.
"See?" She smiles, scratching the rabbit's head. "You just have to be nice."
S
As he leans in and murmurs Never, ever call me Kitten, he wants to kiss her.
Her eyes flicker shut, her lips just barely parted, and it hits him so hard he can't breathe.
He wants to kiss her so badly he can't breathe..
The urge is powerful, thrumming through his veins, and it would be so easy. So simple. Just press her back against the wall, the long line of her body, and kiss her long and slow and lazy. Feel the catch in her breath, hear her moan, low and soft in her throat.
He wants to kiss her, and she wants to be kissed. So he has no explanation for why he doesn't.
He misses her mouth but it's close.
He walks away instead, leaving her behind, and his heart is pounding in his chest.
It's a swerve he doesn't understand.
T
There's a simple reason the absurdly-attractive-young-female-crimefighter character has become a trope. Castle's not stupid. Everyone likes a beautiful woman; even more so when she's smart and capable and tosses murderers in prison. This protagonist isn't just a pretty one. It's easy to cheer on this character.
He knows there's not much depth to the trope. The standard female character is black and white, clear-cut, too-perfect-to-be-real, save the token "blemish" she needs to have. Either a faint scar, or some childhood trauma that actually does nothing but make her better. She is a Barbie doll with bendable arms, sensible slacks and a gun.
Kate Beckett is living proof that the trope is incomplete. She's not self-consciously fashionable; she shoots death glares at stupid people; she doesn't even wear low-cut shirts that heave tantalizingly when she breathes hard. He doesn't think she bothers wearing lip gloss at work. And he's not entirely sure, but he has the sneaking suspicion that the secretly loves science fiction.
For the first time since he started writing books about absurdly attractive people fighting crimes, Rick Castle is bored with the trope.
U
Beckett finishes cuffing the murderer, who stupidly ran (they always run), and hands him over to Ryan and Esposito, turning back to Castle, brushing her hair out of her sweaty face "I don't know why he thinks making me tackle him is going to help him escape."
Oh. Yikes.
"Beckett?"
She blinks, confused. "What?"
"Your -" he gestures vaguely at her torso. "Your shirt. It's kind of - undone."
Beckett looks down to find several buttons missing, her shirt hanging open, displaying -
"Castle!" She covers her chest reflexively.
"Sorry! Sorry. I didn't look." She shoots him a glare that clearly says I absolutely do not believe you. "I mean, I tried not to look."
"Dammit," she sighs. "The one day I don't wear a jacket."
"Here." Castle pulls off his scarf. "You can use this."
She takes the scarf, her face softening as she runs her hands over the soft blue cashmere. "Thanks."
Beckett winds the scarf around her neck, and it's lovely, the blue perfect against her pale skin, her flushed cheeks. "It looks good on you," he says without thinking.
She looks back at him, startled, but doesn't say anything. Just smiles, biting her lip, as she turns to go back to her car.
That's unexpected.
V
Beckett walks into the party in a skintight black dress dress and scarlet lipstick and Castle almost falls out of his chair.
They're undercover, and as much as he liked her in that red gown at the benefit, this is a whole new side of her. He knows there are microphones and cameras hidden somewhere in that outfit, though he has no idea where.
She slides into a booth across from one of the suspect's connections, and Castle can't stop himself from staring. Her legs are so long, her body draped carelessly in the seat, a feral smile on her red lips.
She catches his eye across the room - it's freaky, how she can sense when he's looking somewhere he shouldn't - and he holds his breath for the glare he knows is coming.
But she surprises him.
Her eyes go dark, and she leans back in her seat, boldly holding his gaze as she licks her lower lip. Heat floods his body. Damn.
The word vixen comes to mind.
He likes it.
W
He's perfectly aware that he's the wrong man for her.
Beckett's a private person; Castle lives his life in the public eye. She likes order; he does nothing but make her job more complicated.
Will Sorenson is probably the right man. Handsome enough. Steady and square-jawed. He's like Beckett in so many ways. Brisk, efficient. Smart. By-the-book. Grumpy when under-caffeinated.
Will's a good guy.
Castle doesn't like him.
X
Alexis, go-getter that she is, has already taken it upon herself to study potential ACT and SAT vocabulary lists.
Castle scans through the list she gave him. "Germane."
"Pertinent to the subject at hand," Alexis answers promptly.
"Appositive."
"A noun or phrase that renames another noun."
"Jabberwocky."
"Dad." She glares at him, and damn, has she been spending time with Beckett? That glare is disturbingly effective.
"Sorry." He's not really sorry. But he goes back to the list. "Xenos."
"Ooh, this is a good one." She ticks off numbers on her fingers. "Originally, it's 'stranger.' Someone from a faraway land. But it also means guest-friend. Someone valued and loved in spite of their strangeness."
Xenos.
Castle wonders if Beckett knows her Greek.
Y
"Calling it a night?" Beckett asks, leaning back in her chair.
"Yeah." Castle pulls on his jacket, hoping he sounds casual. "You, ah - want to go grab a drink? Still pretty early."
She thinks for a moment, and he wonders what excuse she's got this t-
"Okay."
He blinks. "Really?"
She grins at him, grabbing her own coat. "Yeah."
He's asked her maybe a dozen times to go have a drink.
It's the first time she's said yes.
Z
The week starts off strong with a body at the zoo.
By the end of the first day, Beckett has already threatened, several times, to shoot Castle if he tries to walk out of the zoo with any stolen animals in his pockets.
"You know, I could probably fit an otter in my coat," he points out.
But he obediently refrains from animal-napping, following her around until they arrest the guilty zookeeper, and he even sits patiently while she types out her after-action reports.
She heads for Montgomery's office to hand in her paperwork, and Castle makes his move.
When she walks back in, he's sitting at his usual chair, doing his best to look innocent.
"Castle." Unsurprisingly, she looks suspicious. "What's that?"
"What's - oh, that?" He blinks at the gift bag which has mysteriously appeared on her desk, pretty, red-and-blue striped. "Open it."
"If you stole that lemur, Castle, so help me -"
"Just open it."
She shoots him a look - he's really come to love those - but she picks up the bag, looking it over carefully, before reaching inside to pull out a little stuffed panda bear.
"Castle." She's laughing now, looking over the fuzzy, palm-sized bear, straightening the little purple bow around his neck. "It's adorable."
"His name is Dave. He's here to protect you from paperwork."
She quirks an eyebrow up at him. "Protect me with what, a half-chewed stick of bamboo?"
"His rapier wit." Castle points at the little bear. "He may look soft and lovable, but he's fierce."
"I'll take your word for it." She sets Dave on her desk, tucked neatly between her pencil cup and the little train of elephants he still wants to know about. "Thank you, Castle. You know, you didn't have to."
He shrugs.
"I'm a zealous man, Beckett."