A/N: Thank you to the wonderful HeatxWave10 for the beta. I also feel like I should add a disclaimer saying that I don't own these characters, but I think everybody knows that already.
The Evolution of Kate Beckett's Hair
In the age of digital cameras and Facebook, photo albums were becoming obsolete. Why waste paper and ink and precious time when you could just upload pictures onto the internet?
Because there is nothing like having a shoebox of memories stashed under the bed. Especially when the power was out and there is nothing better to do.
Much like Beckett's situation right now. Armed with her trusty flashlight, she sits down on the middle of her bed with her precious box and crosses her legs. She turns the box upside down and pictures come gushing out onto a pile at her feet.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
She used to have the shortest hair. It rested just below her ear lobe, with side swept bangs. She had sported the cut since becoming a rookie cop. She had chopped off her long, dark locks in a fit of rage after being harassed all by her male colleagues. With her long hair, she was just another fine piece of ass. With her short cut, everybody knew not to mess with her. That she was all business, no pleasure.
She really did like having short hair. Easy maintenance was the key in her profession. Towel dry, and go. That was it. Instead of spending those twenty minutes fighting with it, she could savor those few extra minutes in the comfort of her bed.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
She smiles nostalgically as she places the picture back into the box. Then another picture catches her eye.
Oh God.
It was one of the few remnants of her goth phase. Madison had made sure to give it to her after their run in a few years ago.
She turns the photo over in her hand to see 1996 scrawled haphazardly across the back.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
In 1996, she was sixteen. It was the year when she had that grunge rock boyfriend and when Madison had gotten that camera and started taking pictures of everything.
In the picture, she stood leaning against her locker. Her black, stringy hair matched her black clothes and makeup. She was kind of smiling in the picture. "Kind of" being the key words. It was more of a hybrid between a smirk and a scowl. Something that was very characteristic of her at the time.
Sixteen was a turbulent year for her. She didn't know who she was, with what crowd she fit. And at home, she struggled with her newfound need for independence. She was old enough to stay home alone for the weekend, but she apparently couldn't decide who she wanted to date.
Even if the grunge rocker ended up being a complete jerk. But that was beside the point. The point was that her parents didn't trust her enough to make her own choices.
And this all ended up culminated with the beginnings of her rebellious phase and the existence of her black, stringy, goth hair.
She soon grew tired of the stringy hair, but the dark colour stuck with her for years.
Her next major hair colouring experimentation came almost fifteen years later, when she still had her short 'do.
As much as she loved her short hair, it got pretty boring pretty fast. There's only so much that can be done with it. Long hair is much more flexible, much more versatile, much more willing to accept change.
When she had dyed it, her emotions were all over the place. Castle had meddled into her mother's case when she had specifically told him not too, and the trust that she had finally given to him, was completely destroyed. The worst part it all was that he actually might've found something.
Her new auburnish highlights weren't as drastic as the black goth look she rocked in high school. But it was enough of a change from the dark locks she had favoured. At a time in her life where everything was changing (i.e. her work situation, her changing view of her mother's case and the reality of her favourite author), it was as much change as she could handle.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Kate picks up the next picture in the pile. A smile graces her features as she remembers the struggle she had when growing out her hair. The back had grown so much faster than the front and it kind of reminded her of a pseudo-mullet. Her bangs refused to stay put, and it didn't help that she could never get that kink out; it was awful. It did this weird curl thing right around her shoulder and no matter how hot she set her straighter, it refused to cooperate.
And that was when she longed for short hair. By December, she had gotten fed up and chopped the bottom part off, and then immediately regretted scrapping all the progress she had made.
Short was safe. Short was easy. Short had also become quite blahh.
2009 was a year of monumental importance in Kate Beckett's life. It marked the start of a new era. Not only was it the year Nikki Heat was born, it was also the year when she was finally able to start putting pieces of her mother's case together, the year when she developed her permanent shadow. It was also the first time in years that hair had grown past the awkward phase and was actually… fun.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Her thoughts are broken by the insistent pounding of her door. Her eyebrows burrow in confusion as she wonders who would be coming around when the rain is playing havoc on the streets of Manhattan.
When she opens her front door, she finds a very wet Castle staring down at her.
"Hey," he says as he tries to whip his soaked bangs from his face.
She doesn't bother to ask why the hell he decided to come knocking on her door, and instead ushers him into her apartment. "Come in before you catch something."
He doesn't want to risk getting water all over the place, so he stands awkwardly near the door as she heads toward the closet to grab him a towel. She tosses it over to him, which she soon follows by giving him a small flashlight.
"I also might have some shirts that'll fit you. Not so sure about pants though…"
"I can go pants-less if it's absolutely necessary."
She starts heading back to her room and says, "Fine by me."
She smirks as she sees that he has no witty retort. But she refuses to look back.
"Whoa," he says as he comes through the door. With his flashlight, he surveys the mess on her bed. "So when were you going to tell me that Hurricane Katrina ripped through here?"
"Oh yeah… I've been meaning to organize these photos…"
"Awwww… look at you and your goth hair…" he gushes as he picks up the photo. "You were so cute…trying to be all rebellious."
She can feel her face turning red, so she turns away from him and begins rummaging through her drawers.
"Thank God Alexis skipped that phase," he adds.
She pulls out an oversized NYPD t-shirt, and hands it to him.
"Yeah, well there's still time," she smirks. "You never know, she might be a late bloomer."
"Oh God," sheer panic crosses his face. "Beckett, don't say things like that!"
"Then stop getting my stuff wet!" she counters.
"That's what she said."
"That barely makes any sense!"
"Do I get points for trying?"
She grabs a pillow from her bed and chucks it at him just as he claims refuge in the bathroom.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
She remembers the first time she had ever attended a book launch party. The flashing lights of everybody trying to get a glimpse of Richard Castle's infamous muse has forever been imprinted in her mind as one of the Top Five most uncomfortable moments of her life.
She had thought that it would be her last book launch party. While she was ecstatic that her life would be going back to normal, when she held the book in her hands and read the dedication she realized that maybe she didn't want him completely out of her life after all.
To the extraordinary KB…
The rest of the dedication was irrelevant to her. Those first four words caused her breath to catch and her heart to start palpitating. Of course, he had to choose that moment to have some sort of epiphany about the case. She also had an epiphany that day. Somebody, either her or Castle, was going to have to make a move. Somebody was going to have to make decision.
And she wasn't ready.
Thankfully, she didn't have to decide that day. Things outside of her control decided for her, and feelings were buried even deeper.
Maybe the universe made a good call. Maybe that three book deal was for the better. And while she was slightly ticked that everything had been decided for her, she was relieved that she wouldn't have to face him.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
He comes out changed and sees her on her bed. He comes over and glances at the picture she is holding.
"I remember that day."
"How could one ever forget the day one was offered a 'certain British spy?'"
He laughs, "I remember it for different reasons."
She feels her heart accelerate a tad. She feels like she should say something, but she can't form the words. A bit of an awkward pause ensues, but he soon breaks it.
"So what ended up to that Hervé Léger dress? Do you still have it?"
"It got blown up."
"Oh…"
She can't help but notice the disappointment dripping in his voice.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
By the beginning of 2010, her hair had undergone many changes. Her natural, lighter hair colour had made a reappearance, and she finally managed to tame her hair into being consistently sleek.
She had yet to tame Castle. He had somehow managed to weasel his way into every aspect of her life. Nothing was sacred to him. Six months ago, she would couldn't stand having him around. She would have done anything to be rid of him. Now, she couldn't help but feel like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Natural was good. Natural was real.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
The lights flicker, suddenly lighting up the entire room and Beckett is suddenly aware of their position. At some point, she had started using him as a cushion. He was leaning against her headboard, arm wrapped around her waist, a picture in one hand, flashlight in the other. She briefly wondered when she had become his teddy bear.
They had barely spoken since his question about her dress. She's content curled up on his side and she's really not in a talking mood, and neither is he. He has glimpses of her life in his hands, and she's sure that whatever his hyperactive imagination comes up with is probably a million times more interesting than the real story.
"Well I guess there's no need for these," Castle says as he turns off the flashlight. "And I guess that means that I'll actually be able to see your ever-changing hair without having to squint."
"Very funny." She doesn't really need to be at his side anymore, considering that she can actually see now, but she still doesn't move.
"You know, curls suit you. Does it do that naturally?"
"Kinda…" She can feel his confused gaze boring into her. "Well, I mean, if I use that curling mousse stuff, it'll curl. If I don't, it's somewhat wavy."
"Alexis would kill to have your hair. She always complains that it flattens out two minutes after she curls it," he chuckles. "It's funny, women with curly hair straighten it, and women with straight hair curl it."
"Curls are definitely more high maintenance."
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
The picture in his hand was taken just a few days before he left for the Hamptons the first summer they were together. (Working together, of course.) Her hair had finally reached shoulder length, and she could finally use something other than a straightner. While she preferred the sleek look at work, when she was out, she either curl it or let it flow naturally. That particular night, Lanie had dragged her out to some hot new club.
"Please, Beckett?" Lanie whined, "I need somebody to help me ward of the creeps."
"Just tell them you work with dead people," Beckett replied.
"That doesn't always work! Some of them are into that sorta thing," Lanie grimaced. "Besides, because I work with dead people all day, my social skills are crap. You gotta come!"
"Fine," she sighed and gave in.
Lanie brought her new camera along, and kept snapping pictures of just about everything and kept trying to get one of Beckett.
"Come on, girl!" she said. "I need a new Facebook profile pic. And who better to have the honour of appearing in it?"
Beckett rolled her eyes, and allowed Lanie to stretch her arm and snap the photo.
She would never tell Lanie, but she actually had quite a bit of fun that night.
Before the summer of 2010, Beckett had taken a liking for curly hair. After the summer of '09, it was pin straight.
The thing about curls is that they're wild, unpredictable. (Much like her feelings for Castle.)
He got under her skin, and she never knew if she should smack him upside the head, or hug him. And whenever he stepped over the line and she wanted to shoot him, he'd just smile innocently and her resolve would break. And she couldn't help but think that he was actually kind of adorable.
He had asked her to go to the Hamptons with him.
Men don't ask women who are dating other men to go to the Hamptons with them.
And she would have gone. She even dumped Tom Demming, saying that "it wasn't what she was looking for."
She took a risk. She let a perfectly nice man walk away from her. But it was okay, because she was going to the Hamptons with Richard Castle. The man who thought she was extraordinary.
What she never understood was how she could have misinterpreted everything.
She was going to take a risk.
Then Gina walked in.
And she watched as a perfectly nice man walked away from her.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
"So straight hair is low maintenance then?"
"Pretty much."
"Is that why you straightened your curls?"
"It was easier."
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
When Castle came back from the Hamptons that summer, he was a murder suspect.
And she was pissed.
She was pissed at him for leaving her hanging. She was pissed at him for not calling and for interfering in her murder investigation. But most of all, she was pissed at herself for caring so much.
She'd be lying if she said she didn't miss him. But she would never admit to anybody that she did.
After that summer, their relationship was a tad strained for quite some time. She couldn't let herself fall back to that place she was at before the summer. She couldn't risk losing herself to her emotions again.
Besides, at the time, she was with Josh.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
The wave of emotions the memories still evoked in her was overwhelming. It didn't help that his close proximity amplified this wave. She tries changing subjects.
"So why did you stop by?" she asks.
"I was just a few blocks down, looking for a graduation present for Alexis."
"And you didn't heed the storm warning because?"
"My weather app lied to me."
"Did you at least find something?"
He shifts uncomfortably. "Can we talk about something else? Like the fact that there seems to be a serious lack of College-Beckett around here?"
"It's in another box. This one is restricted to the past couple of years."
He pulls goth-Beckett from the pile. "Then what is this doing here?"
"Maddie just gave it to me. I just never got around to putting it where it belongs."
"So what was happened between this," he motions to the picture, "and the super cop that I met?"
"Drowned rat look."
Realization dawns on his face. "Oh… I'm sorry… I didn't mean to-"
"It's okay," she interrupts. "It was a long time ago."
"It doesn't make it any less painful."
"But I'm better at dealing with it," she snuggles up closer to him and pauses. "She used to braid my hair all the time when I was little. French braids, corn rows, you name it. My corn rows suck, but whenever I try, I think of her."
He runs his fingers through her hair. Maybe he's imagining the tiny braids she sported eons ago.
"I wish I could've met her," he murmurs.
"She would've loved you."
The shrill ring of her phone interrupts the moment and scares the crap out of both her and Castle. She jumps out of bed and grabs the phone sitting on her dresser. "Hello?...Oh hey, Alexis…"
Alarm bells are ringing in Castle's mind. "What's wrong?" he mouths. She simply shakes her head.
"Don't worry Alexis. He's here. His phone is just water logged. I'll pass it over to him… bye."
True to her word she passes the phone over to him. While he's reassuring his daughter (and getting told off) she starts putting all the old pictures back in the box.
After hanging up the phone, Castle says "I should probably be going before my mother and daughter both have aneurysms."
"More like, before they decide to kill you," she jokes.
"You'd miss me too much if they did."
She would.
"Oh! Before I forget," he pulls out his wallet, "I have another picture to add to your collection."
Her brows furrow in confusion as he hands it over to her. She glances at it, immediately smiling at what she sees. She pulls him into a hug. "Thank you."
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
It was taken just a few months ago. Around three years after they had started working together.
Her hair had grown so much in those three years. Hell, even a suspect- a sleazy criminal that she had the pleasure of arresting several times before-had noticed.
She wore it down that day. Loose waves cascaded down her back as she and her partner dodged incoming shoppers.
"Castle," she called, "I am never checking out sales with you. Ever. Again."
"But think of all the awesome things we can get Ryan and Jenny!" a pinball machine caught his eye. "Ooooo… what about this?"
"No."
"Please?"
"No."
"It's 70% off."
"Castle, we are not getting a pinball machine."
"But-"
"No," she links her arm with his and leads him out of the store. "How about we leave and go to a store that actually sells wedding things?"
"But stores that actually sell wedding things are so boring," he whines. "Don't you want Ryan and Jenny to have an awesome present?"
"I want to get them a present that they'll actually use."
"Ryan would use it," he mutters.
She cocks an eyebrow. "Jenny wouldn't let him."
"See, that is why I got divorced. Twice."
She rolls her eyes and smacks him lightly on the arm. "So did you manage to find yourself a date for the wedding yet?"
He shakes his head. "I'll be riding solo. How about you?"
"I'll be riding solo too."
A pause. "Wanna ride solo together?"
Her chest constricted at his words and her mind raced at a million miles per minute. What the hell did he mean by "riding solo together?"
Was that some sort of code for asking her out on a date? Or go as friends? Or did he want her to be his wingman?
She had no idea what he was asking of her. But before she could fully process that weight of his words, he had begun leading her to a picture booth.
"No. I'm not going in there!"
"Oh come one, Beckett…" he pouted.
And she couldn't help but melt a little at his pathetic puppy dog expression.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
She now held the strip of four pictures in her hands.
In the first one, she really did not look impressed. Her arms were crosses, eyebrow raised. Castle, meanwhile, was making a stupid face, trying to coax her into letting go.
The next picture, Castle was trying desperately to touch the tip of his nose with his tongue. She'd be heartless if she didn't crack a smile.
She finally gave in, and in the third picture, she crossed her eyes and reveled in the shocked look on Castle's face.
The last picture was semi-normal looking. They both had the goofiest grins plastered on their faces. He had his arm wrapped around her, and childishly she put two fingers up as bunny ears over his head.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
She hovers in her doorway as he turns to walk away from her. Again. And she doesn't like it.
"Castle," she calls, "You know how we're riding solo together for Ryan and Jenny's wedding next week?"
"Yeah?"
"What does that mean?"
"We both go dateless together." He says it like it's a well known fact and that she should've known it.
"I don't get it," she confesses and takes a step forward before continuing.
"Am I your wingman?" she asks, swallowing the fear rising in her throat, "Or just a friend? Or-"
She's starting to lose her nerve. They really shouldn't be having this conversation now. He had places to be, people to see. And here she was keeping him from putting his other foot out her door.
"Or what?" he asks.
She takes a deep breath. "Or more?"
He's silent for a moment, and she begins to doubt everything again. What if she had misread everything again?
"What do you want?" he finally says.
The ball is back in her court. She debates throwing it back; she doesn't want to answer. But she's so sick and tired of this endless game that they've been playing. So she says one word. One simple word. One word that could potentially change everything.
"More."
It's out in the open now. And she feels a slightly relieved, slightly terrified, slightly stupid and slightly embarrassed that this one little word has brought her to this.
Castle doesn't seem to notice. He's too busy beaming like a fool. Two words tumble out of his mouth, and all of her insecurities seem to be erased.
"Me too."
A/N: Inspired by the montage of the same name presented at the Creative Emmy Awards and an essay I read eons ago about Cuddy's hair and how it represents change in her relationship with House. I combined the two, and this happened. It was originally written Pre-Knockdown, then it was abandoned, and then a streak of really amazing episodes got me back to writing. Please let me know what you think.