Note: None of these characters are mine.
Universal Symbol
"What the hell are you doing, Castle?" There isn't any of the humor that usually laces her voice.
Castle stands a few feet from her, arms stretched out wide, as though he were playing at being the letter T.
"This, my dear Detective, is the universal symbol for a hug. It cannot be ignored." He states this matter-of-factly, as though it were written law.
Beckett turns from him without even so much as an eye roll. She goes back to her task of slamming photos onto the murder board.
She isn't in the mood for games today. Games are for happy days, frustrating days, maybe even sad days. But not for angry days. Maybe it's the 4am murder call, or the chill in the air, but something about today is different. Slightly more unbearable than usual. Today, that anger at the world she stowed away as a teen is refusing to stay buried away.
She's sick of this case. Sick of sick people doing sick things. Sick of every step forward turning out to be two steps backward. She sick of staring at the faces of dead women and poking around the lives of the shattered hearts they left behind. She's sick of the city's Christmas cheer that can't quite penetrate the military march of murder after brutal murder across her desk. She can't even remember the last time she caught a break.
She feels like she's stepped the wrong way onto an airport moving walkway, the ground trying desperately to slip from under her feet. Caution: the moving sidewalk is ending. Caution: the moving sidewalk is ending.
As she slaps the final picture onto the board with an ounce more force than necessary, two thick arms appear from behind, wrapping themselves around her waist.
The anger rushes up through her, and she growls his name, whipping her head around to glare at him. Using her momentum against her, he turns her to face him completely. He tightens his arms, pulling her flush against him and pinning her arms to her sides.
"Castle! Let me go!" She shouts and growls deep in her throat, but he just tightens his arms further. "Damn it, Castle!" She wriggles and squirms and kicks his shins, but he holds fast. She knows every sparring move in the book, but they never bother to teach you how to escape from a bear hug by a man twice your weight.
She thrashes, grinding her teeth, the pain of the first murder and every murder since that has made the first one fresh again wells up inside her. She stomps on his foot and bashes her head into his chest, and though his arms are impossibly tight already, they manage to hold her more tightly still.
She knows she looks like a child, or maybe a wild animal. But, truthfully, she feels a bit like both.
As she fights and kicks, he holds fast. He holds as she hits him and as she yells. He holds as she threatens and vibrates with anger. He holds as she shouts curses at him, curses at the world.
He holds firmly through the first sob, which catches her off guard. He holds through the second, which she stubbornly tries to stifle. And through the third, which fights its way through. He keeps her safely in the security of his arms as her shoulders begin to shake. He pulls her closer still as she presses her face into his chest and falls apart.
When she finally quiets and stills, he loosens his arms and steps back. Freed from his grasp, her arms slide up and find his waist, pulling him back to her.
Thanks for reading!