Ewoks, Creavers, and Muppets, Oh My
Kate digs her toes into the top of his thigh, rocks her heels back, then her toes, a strange rhythm as they sit on his couch and watch her ridiculous sci-fi show. Castle finally gets fed up with it and loops his arm over her ankles, clamps down.
Kate startles, popcorn halfway to her mouth, and gives him a wide-eyed look. "What?"
"You're kneading my leg, Beckett. What's up with you? First a Creaver and now a cat?"
"Cat's better, don't you think?" she recovers, arching an eyebrow. "And hush, you're missing the best part."
"You know, when I made this deal, I didn't know you'd be quoting it."
Kate twists on the couch, removing her feet from his thigh and settling her side against his, shoulder to shoulder, an arm through his. "Yeah, but I compromised, so hush."
Is she still grinning about that? Not funny, Beckett. She makes him wait for ages, and then she comes out like that?
Compromised. Hmph. He hid in the bathroom with his Mandalorian bounty hunter until she cajoled him out with the promise that they'd watch one for one - one of her Nebula Nine episodes and then an episode of a sci-fi show of his choice.
He picked Farscape.
It's been a battleground all weekend. She snorts whenever the muppets come on screen, rolls her eyes when a live actor cries over a dead alien puppet. It sucks because he promised not to make fun, but he is dying to make fun. N9 is as campy as it gets, and that Captain Max Reynard is such a ridiculous-
"Stop," she growls, hooking her finger in his and twisting.
"Ow," he yelps. "What was that for? I didn't say a word."
"I can see it on your face, Castle. Trying to-"
"Hey, come on. You can't police my thoughts, Beckett. No fair."
She narrows her eyes but goes back to her show. He's got another seven minutes of keeping his mouth shut and then he gets to switch to Farscape - which at least is an epic love story even if it does have muppets. Really. The muppets are-
"It's like Fraggle Rock meets Star Trek, Castle. You can't tell me that-"
He presses his fingers over her mouth and she stutters to a stop, that narrow-eyed oh no you didn't look falling over her face. She doesn't scare him.
She does scare him.
Little bit.
He drops his fingers hastily, pulling them out of the reach of her teeth, preemptively defends his ears. "You can't diss Farscape when it's not even on, Beckett."
"Castle. The rules are that when it's on is exactly the time I can't trashtalk. Which leaves me only now-"
"You're breaking the spirit of the law."
"Come on," she growls, sarcasm heavily lacing her voice. "You want me to take your pick for a science-fiction show seriously? Don't show me muppets."
"Forget the muppets. It's a love story, Beckett."
"I want a story about space and aliens and social commentary and-"
"It's got that. I swear. Give it a shot."
Nebula Nine's closing credits suddenly pop onscreen, the swell of melodramatic music and the final parting of the last ship of humanity fading into the starfield.
"Fine," she grumbles. "Bring on the muppets. But please - skip ahead to a good one."
He rolls his eyes and gets up to change the DVD.
His arm is around her shoulder and she plays with his fingers, turns her head to brush her lips across his forearm, rests her cheek at the crook of his elbow. She's restless, he can tell, but if that means he's on the receiving end of all this pent-up stir-crazy energy, then they will keep watching Farscape till the cows come home.
Forever.
Always.
Never stop.
Oh jeez, her tongue. Why is she doing that? Is she trying-
Oh. Oh, she isssss. Little minx. She's trying to seduce him away from his show. How devious.
He's tempted. He really is. He should-
She giggles and he jerks his head to her, narrows his eyes.
She waves her hand towards him in dismissal; onscreen, his favorite couple are doing their usual dance - they love each other, but they just won't say. So frustrating. Everyone else can see it.
"What are you laughing about?" he grumbles.
"Nothing. Sorry, no. Not your show. Look, it's real people, not even muppets. And actually, whew, John Crichton is hot. So-"
"Yeah, he looks like me. I see the resemblance-"
She twists in his loose embrace, lifts an eyebrow, and actually studies him. Like-
"Not a bit," she says finally, shakes her head. "But I was just thinking - picturing - a tiny Princess Leia and your ominous Darth Vader strolling through SuperNovaCon-"
"It was awesome," he grins.
"I bet your costume was perfect."
"Of course it was. I even learned how to braid Alexis's hair for that."
"Are you kidding me?" she laughs, sitting up a little to look at him. "No, no, you're not. I can see you doing that. Down to the last detail, even for your kid's costume."
"Too easy to just buy those braided ear muff things. Gotta put some real effort into it."
"Of course. Totally," she grins, shaking her head. "Good thing you didn't need any protection, Castle. Hate for you to lose out on years of SuperNovaCon costumes."
"Who needs kids for that?" he tosses off, then pauses, slides a glance at her, studying her face. "Was that. . .that's twice in the past few days. You saying something, Beckett?"
"Am I - no. What?"
He narrows his eyes at her, she narrows hers back.
"So this is not a conversation about having kids." He lifts both eyebrows at her, and her face flushes.
"No."
But see, he's a writer, and his imagination takes the tiniest seed of an idea and it roots in his brain like his grey mater is miracle-gro, and it just runs wild, blooming like crazy, and now-
Now he's seeing a pint-sized Luke Skywalker nearly knocked over by his double-bladed lightsaber, with maybe a baby Chewy snuggled up - or oh, cute, an Ewok, that black button nose, and yes, he'd totally recycle the Leia costume, or even just go a whole different route - Queen Amidala, a fierce baby girl like her-
"Castle," Kate warns, her fingers squeezing his.
"No?" he answers, too much question in it.
"Castle."
"Right. No. Of course not."
Her eyes are wide on his, but not as frantic as he might have guessed. Not as convinced either.
She's not convinced.
He's not either.
"You like the Ewoks?" he murmurs.
She sucks in a breath. "Cute."
"Yeah," he sighs. "Adorable."
"Oh, shit."
"Yeah."
She presses the back of her hand to her mouth, turns her face to the television again.
Yes. Farscape. Right.
"I just. . .wanted to have the option," he says finally.
Her fingers twitch in his.
It's silent for a long moment, too silent, both of them breathing, keeping it in control. This is not a conversation, this isn't even a question.
It's just a stupid phaser that made his hands green. Nothing more.
"I'm glad you still have the option," she says suddenly.
Ewok. Definitely.