FIRST CHAPTERS WILL ALWAYS BE SMALL, IN CASE THERE ISN'T A GREAT RESPONSE - WILL BE DELETED.
QUICKLY TYPED UP, ALL SPELLING ERRORS ARE MY OWN.
Kate Beckett is a fiery, passion-driven detective.
That's what most people know her- have known her as for all these years.
She has a short temper and a sharp tongue for doltish criminals that escape justice.
'Not on my watch' flickers through her mind every. single. day.
Because if she doesn't try to pursue these matters to the full extent, she could end up the same as those that labelled her mother's murder as 'random gang violence', and she couldn't bear the thought of someone feeling the same she had all those years – lost, and without answers.
Although, unbeknownst to Kate; she had much more to discover about her mother than she ever knew and it has nothing to do with her murder. A secret that would tear this family apart once more.
After a long case, completely spent and exhausted, Kate had retreated to the comfort in between her fiancé's strong arms. Her head resting on his chest as she listened to the steady heartbeat lulling her into a familiar calm, her fingers gently tracing the hairs on his right arm as she curled further into him.
"That was a tough one…" Castle breathed, her hair rustling slightly from his warm breath.
A warm blush tinged Kate's cheeks and slowly spread down her neck in a sweep of light rosiness as she craned her neck closer to him, listening to the gravely sound of his voice. Breathing out a soft noise that resembled some sort of agreement, she nodded.
"It was."
With those simple words, no strong feelings connoted along them, Castle let it slide… like so many other thing's. Instead he ran his fingers through her dark honeyed tresses and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. She would talk to him when she was ready he knew that, he just wished she wouldn't let it eat her inside like this.
Reaching for the remote Kate turned the television up a few notches before worming her way back into the soft confines of his chest. For the next few hours they watched television before falling into a deep slumber.
Kate's dreams we're wrecked with flashes of her mother, the murder, her wedding and children laughing. A dream so contorted and terrifying that she bolted upright at the sudden touch of consciousness. Immediately wrapping her arms around her legs in an attempt to comfort herself, Kate attempted to unscramble the images and sounds that her brain was trying to tell her. After a few minutes she felt Castle's hand gently touch her shoulder and slide down to comfortable wrap his arm around her waist snugly.
"Babe mm-k?" he rasped, his voice still laden with sleep.
"Yeah yeah, I'm fine."She lied, her ears ringing as she turned to look at the wall clock that read 3:03am.
15 hours earlier.
Sitting down at her desk with a fresh mug of coffee and a stack of paperwork, Kate let out a deep sigh and clicked her pen. Today had been an extremely slow day but she dare not say that or anything correlating to it – hell, she shouldn't even be thinking it because she knew she'd regret it. But, to be perfectly honest a murder right about now would probably be a better time-consuming task than this mountain load of paperwork.
A few hours and 3 coffees later the stack that Kate had attacked was more than halved. Closing her eyes and rubbing her palms over her face, she leaned back and the chairs hinged backwards farther than usual – flinging her arms out and sending half a dozen papers to the floor as she grappled for the edge of her hardwood desk. Cursing Castle under her breath for touching her thing's, her chair, without her knowledge. She slowly stood up and bent down to pick up the loose documents and placed them on the top of the pile she had been sifting through.
Settling back in her chair with her back stock-straight, she grabbed the next piece of paperwork on the top of the pile and paused. Something wasn't right, it was just a piece of paper folded and sticky taped in half with her name written on the back: Detective Katherine Beckett. Scrunching her nose and blowing some hair out of her face she stared at the letter, trying to read it without having to open it. It wasn't professional, not really – apart from the use of her title it was relatively ordinary.
It was personal.