Close Encounters 4
Beckett somehow walked faster than him, and she didn't know if he was doing it on purpose, slowing down, or if she truly was faster, but she pushed them to nearly a ten minute mile that first one, and then slacked off when the terrain got harsh. By the time she took the pill at the fifth mile, their average had been twelve for all five, but she was still furious.
More than furious, she was heartbroken and it was all his damn fault. Keeping her in the dark the whole way, giving her bits and pieces of knowledge, making it almost impossible for her to help or assist him or actually be a member of his team. She was a fucking sidekick, a buddy along for the free hotels and the European vacation, and that was not what she'd signed up for.
Gone was that sweet and tender feeling towards the man who'd put a ring on her finger. In its place was this seething resentment for the way he'd minimalized her abilities and her training, relegating her to a place she could never accept.
They didn't work if they were unequal. They were bad for each other like this. He was overbearing and insufferable and he was often wrong, and she didn't know how to make him understand that just because she fell apart when it came to her mother's case, she wasn't that woman at everything else.
She was better than that; she thought she'd proven herself.
Maybe he'd never see her clearly. Maybe his vision of her would forever be stained by her obsession and her brokenness. Maybe the woman who'd been unable to wash her own damn hair, the woman who'd cried every time she woke in the night in pain those first few days - maybe that was the Kate he saw when he looked at her.
Maybe all he wanted was someone to fix.
But that couldn't be her.
She was too quiet. He was afraid.
She got into these loops, these jacked-up circles of thought that fed off each other until she'd reached some crazy conclusion and nothing he could do or say would break her from it. He had to break the chain now, before she was set, or he'd lose her to whatever bad messages were going around in her head right now.
"I should've told you," he started. "But I was trying to be romantic."
She said nothing.
"I was - I wanted you to feel like it was all a big mystery, a special thing for you alone to figure out. Each leg of the trip, expose you to some new piece of the work I do. Of me. I'm sorry. It didn't go exactly like I planned."
She let out a long breath.
"I know you miss the 12th. I know this isn't what you wanted to be doing." He cleared his throat and decided to let it all out. "I saw your face when our contact in Versailles was murdered. You want to be doing that. Not this."
She sighed.
He kept going, couldn't stop now. "I know. But everything I do is part of a wider plan; it's all chess moves on a board too large for me to even see. Kate, the work of a spy is largely a mystery, and I'll never know what my actions have caused - who I've saved, who I might have condemned."
"Doesn't that make you crazy?"
"It didn't use to."
She huffed a breath. "It does now?"
"Because I see it differently. I see it the way you see it, because of you. But I can still let go of that irritation with not knowing why, not having the answers. My training, the years I've been doing this. It wasn't that I was trying to keep you in the dark because I think you can't handle it-"
"Coulda fooled me."
"I was doing it to prove a point. To show you what it's like out here. And to maybe let you know me. Know. . .everything."
"And changing plans mid-trip to keep us from making our flight on the cargo plane was. . ."
"Not the smartest move, in hindsight. I didn't want you to be in pain."
"Life is pain, Castle."
"I used to think that too," he sighed. "And then there was you."
She stumbled to a stop beside him, her hand coming to his forearm in a grip that he could already tell was looser than she'd intended. The pain pill was kicking in.
"Castle."
He shrugged it off. "It's the truth. And I guess I was just trying to give you some of that. Make it - fun. Memorable. Make up for not being where you really want to be."
"Here," she croaked out, shaking her head at him. Her eyes were glistening but she wasn't crying. "I want to be here. Doing this. I miss it, the homicides and the investigation and my team. I do. I won't say I don't. But this is where I want to be right now. With you. Doing this."
And he believed her. He did. Even if a small part of him wondered if she only wanted to be here because she knew that for every mission they did overseas, it meant they were allowed another clean-up project in New York, another step closer to taking down Bracken.
If he finally murdered the man, would she let it go?
Would she let him have her?
On the cargo flight to Switzerland, he couldn't help reaching across and tucking a stray strand of her hair behind her ear, cupping the back of her head and holding on.
For dear life.
She was asleep, she wouldn't wake up for another hour at least, and he felt like they'd never been further apart.
He loved her. He ached with love for her.
But they were so tangled up in all this crooked mess, both of them damaged. He didn't know how to fight past it, didn't know what form the beast might take the next time.
She'd kissed him when they'd ducked inside the plane; she had cradled his face and whispered I loved my wedding and then she'd kissed him slowly, loosely, her eyes already drooping shut.
He wanted it to be enough. He wanted it to be real.
She wasn't the cover; she was the only true thing.
Castle joked with the ticketing agent in Bern that Beckett always needed dramamine on these long flights, even as Kate listed into him and struggled to keep herself upright. She felt sick to her stomach at the interrupted sleep; it always did that to her, but at least she could still move. At least her back wasn't knotted in pain.
When they were settled in their seats, Kate finally turned into him and closed her eyes, certain that he'd keep watch until she could recover. His large palm came to her ear, fingers stroking in her hair, and then she was out.
"You missed the stop in Paris to refuel," he murmured.
She rubbed her eyes and stretched in the seat; she caught him looking and gave him a narrow-eyed glare for it. But her heart wasn't in it, and he grinned back.
The back of his fingers came to her cheek, a swift stroke, and then he was unbuckling his seat belt as well and standing up as the plane door was opened.
She sat there a moment, watching him reach in the overhead compartment for their bags, the breadth of his shoulders beneath his coat, the solid bulk of him in the aisle. He took up so much room, filled up so much space. A domination of maleness, pushed into her vision and her breath and her existence, a force. When he was here, she couldn't not notice him, have him, exist with him.
He demanded her attention, unconsciously and without any pretense or self-regard. He just was.
"Beckett. Come on."
She shook her head clear of him, stood up to move into the aisle. He had her shoulder bag in one hand, holding it out for her, and she took it, slung it over her head. He was smiling at her, the soft one that came rather without his noticing it. Like he didn't mean to smile so much, but he couldn't help himself.
It was her smile, the one for her. And he couldn't control it.
How did she even know that? Had they been so long together, in such close proximity and in such tight quarters, than now she knew his smiles?
How ridiculous. To know someone like this. To not be able to move without that awareness of him. If he wasn't here, if she was alone on this flight, she'd live. She'd be fine. But she didn't want to just be fine.
She wanted his crowding into her back as they moved down the aisle and out the door; she wanted the nudge of his knee between hers when he came up behind her at the sink. She wanted the fingers gripping the back of her neck when he drew her in, the look in his eyes when he caught her smiling at him, the near-constant invasion of her personal space.
She would learn to live with the other parts - the bullying and witholding. Or she'd break him of those. Might be more fun that way.
"What're you looking so smug about?" he muttered, nudging her shoulder as he came up at her side.
She turned her eyes to his, let him see her knowing smile. "Wishing I'd brought handcuffs. Teach you a lesson, Castle."
He forgot how to walk. She had to actually come back for him, hook her arm through his, and tug him down the concourse.
"Keep up, baby," she murmured, and she slipped her fingers down against his inside wrist, fluttering against his skin until he swallowed hard.
"You're gonna kill me, Beckett."
"Come on. Badass super spy like yourself? You won't even break a sweat."
"Agent Castle, thank you for agreeing to help," the man said, shaking hands with both of them as they entered his office. "I'm Colin Hunt."
"Inspector Hunt," Castle said formally. Scotland Yard's modern headquarters in Victoria, London, weren't usually on his tour, but he was surprised by the degree of clutter and confusion within its halls. "This is Detective Beckett of the NYPD."
"Yes, you'd mentioned you were bringing a colleague. I appreciate having international help." Hunt gave Beckett a long look with a spark in his eye that Castle didn't like. "Especially from New York's finest."
The way he said finest left no doubt he was referring to more than Beckett's professional assets. Castle cleared his throat and resisted the urge to step closer to her; she'd flay him alive for it. And after their fight on the road in Italy, he wasn't up for another round of desolation when she looked at him like he was a beast.
"Inspector Hunt," Beckett said, offering her hand to shake and the winsome beauty of her eyes. Castle grit his teeth and locked his knees in an effort to remind himself to be still.
"Hunt, what do you have for us?"
"It's a state dinner here in London between the prime minister and the visiting dignitary from Dubai. MI-5 has security, of course, but local police is in charge of a few extra matters."
"Extra matters," Castle restated, not liking the sound of this. He'd purposefully chosen this jaunt to London because a goodwill trip to Scotland Yard kept the wheels greased and the lines of communication open. But extra matters sounded like an issue MI-5 hadn't deemed a threat.
"I've got a London street gang resurfacing suddenly in the past six months. They haven't been around since before World War II and yet their resurgence has been so dramatic that we're having trouble keeping up."
"And what does a street gang have to do with a state dinner?" Beckett asked. Castle gave her a side glance and saw the active interest in her eyes, that flame of mystery and investigation.
She missed being a cop. He'd known it, he'd planned for it - thus their goodwill mission to London's Scotland Yard - but maybe he'd underestimated her need for it. To put a close under her belt once more, to lock up a bastard where he belonged.
"Here's the thing. This old time gang - Elephant and Castle Mob-"
"What?" she gasped, and Beckett's eyes shot to Castle's in a rush of startled awareness.
"Elephant and Castle gang - led by the McDonald brothers from 1910 until roughly 1930. The McDonald brothers are back, or at least their monikers are. And just like before, they've dominated the race courses and taken over the West End. And same as before, they've got a enforcement squad of all women called the Forty Elephants."
Castle noticed that Beckett was too stunned to keep up, so he settled down against Hunt's desk and probed a little further.
"Still, race courses and mob bosses aren't the kind of thing the CIA-"
"I know. Let me finish my story. A few days ago, our esteemed dignitary from Dubai let us know that he had some dealings with a few loan sharks after he'd acquired gambling debts."
"You're kidding," Castle groaned. Gambling debts. Of course. "And so you've heard that the enforcement squad is going to gate crash your state dinner, come looking for him?"
Hunt gave a smirking shrug and shook his head. "Just about."
"And what are we supposed to do?"
"In the interests of national security, we can't allow for the man from Dubai to fall into the hands of the London mob."
"Guess not," Beckett supplied. He saw she was pressing her lips together in that way she had when she didn't think it was appropriate to smile. "You want us there for protection?"
"You provide a good cover - should anything happen. We can say that Downing Street was working hand in hand with our American allies to recover some international fugitives-"
"Wait. Are they international fugitives?" Castle interjected.
"They certainly should be," Hunt sighed. "ECM has branched out to illegal gambling in Los Angeles and Dubai. In fact, it's possible that this gang originated in either of those cities and adopted the old gang's style and name when they came overseas."
"So what you're asking. . ." Beckett said slowly, but she turned to Castle with those eyes, her interest and her sense of intrigue sharpened by the idea. "Is for Castle and I to attend a state dinner and keep a watchful eye over the man from Dubai?"
"Essentially," Hunt said, and even though Beckett missed it, Castle could see the dazzling smile he was offering her. "So that leaves us with one question."
Kate turned away from Castle too look at Hunt in question, and now she had to see the charm oozing from the inspector's pores. "Yes, Inspector Hunt?"
"May I have the first dance?"
Kate ran her fingers through the dresses on display even as Castle followed and made encouraging noises. She figured he probably thought he was being good, not dictating her wardrobe for this evening, but his grunts of approval or sighs of pleasure weren't exactly subtle.
For a spy, Rick Castle was awfully terrible at subtle.
At least when it came to her.
"You do know why that's so strange, right?" she said again, tugging him away from a too-tight, too-short red dress that she was never going to wear to a state dinner. Never.
"His asking you for the first dance? Yeah, it's-"
"Castle," she sighed, nudging him with her elbow. "Shut up about it, will you?"
"No. Clearly you and I are together, and still he blatantly-"
"If you don't let that go, I'm going to hurt you."
"But you're going to dance with him first and I think I deserve the chance to moan about it for as long as-"
She turned and gripped him by the lapels of his jacket, glared at him. "But I dance with you last, you big bully. So shut up."
A pleased little smile suffused his face and she saw he tried to hide it - he really did - but it kind of overwhelmed him.
"Besides that," she said, pushing him away from her with the flat of her hands against his chest. "We're still married on this trip. Or do you want your rings back, Castle?"
"Those stay on while Hunt is. . .hunting."
She snorted at the terrible pun and moved away from him to keep looking at dresses. She waited until she heard him follow - not long at all - and then she picked up the thread of her conversation again.
"Did you get why it was so weird - the name of the gang?"
He laughed and slipped his hand around hers, fingers meshing, and she could feel the cool silver of his wedding band against her warm skin. He hadn't taken his off either.
"Castle, yeah, I got it," he said. "Seemed-"
"More than that," she said, feeling again that same strange breathlessness. "It's like Bonnie and Clyde."
"How do you figure?"
"It's us, Castle."
"You're not an elephant," he blurted out, his hand squeezing almost painfully around hers. "You're - oh. Oh, I see. An elephant. Wow."
She hummed and glanced over her shoulder at him. "They're all over my bedroom. I couldn't imagine you'd missed them. And you've seen my desk at work-"
"You have a thing for elephants, yes. I remember that now. It didn't strike me while Hunt was briefing us."
She smirked and reached for a dress of deep jade, held it up. Castle tsked even as he blanked his face noncommittally. She inspected it closer and saw the unflattering ruching at the hips, realized it'd be okay on her - she looked good in most everything - but it wasn't perfect.
And it'd been so long since she felt strong and attractive - and not just to Castle, who found her dirty hair and weakened state infinitely appealing, the neanderthal - but really healthy and in control and able to use her looks and her appearance to bring them to their knees.
Anyone. Not because she wanted someone else, but just that sense of power. . .
So she put the jade dress back and kept looking.
"So. . .you gonna explain your thing for elephants, Beckett, or what?"
Kate laughed and looked back at him, poor Castle, trying to be so good and keep his opinions to himself, trying to help, but he always wanted her attention, always claimed her.
"I'll tell you the story about the elephants if you keep your opinions to yourself. Which means no clucking, no grumping, no frowning. Got it?"
He winced and shrugged his shoulders up to his ears, then sighed. "Fine. But this story better be good - sexy even. 'Cause it'll take a lot to distract me. Some of these dresses are hideous."
"It's only a normal story," she said, poking his chest. "You'll just have to learn how to behave."
"Without handcuffs?" he remarked innocently, but his eyes were wicked.
"I'll let you in the changing room with me when I try them on," she conceded, raising an eyebrow.
His grin was wolfish, his body suddenly crowding close. "Deal, Detective."
Castle skimmed his fingers up the swell of her hip and touched her elbow. Standing before him in the dressing room mirror, Kate met his eyes and shivered.
He dragged his touch across the circumference of her arm and drifted up to her shoulder, light and electric. Her skin was cool and soft, and soon he had her erupting in goose bumps. She hummed when he got to her neck and he brushed his thumb at her spine, loving the baby fine hairs at her nape.
"You like this one," she murmured. He lifted his eyes to hers in the mirror and saw the dark arousal swimming there, a trapped and drowning thing. Hopeless, the way she wanted him. Hopeless, the way he felt for her.
"You said not to comment," he whispered back, nudging closer so that he could slide his arm around her waist.
"This is the only dress that's caused such a. . .stir," she said finally, arching an eyebrow like she was so calm, so in control. But he could see the quiver in her body and feel the mad thump of her pulse under his fingers.
"No words were audibly spoken. I can't help if my body language gives me away."
"Well, then you make for piss poor spy, Agent Castle."
He chuckled and nosed closer, let his mouth touch the exposed length of her spine, the vee in the back that made her look svelte and dangerous. A place to touch, a need to touch-
"Oh, yes, this is the one," she murmured and then he realized his knee had slipped between hers and she was nearly straddling his thigh. The heat of her burned him like a brand, like a claim of ownership, and he was glad for it.
"You like that," he said back, shifting his knee a little higher. The skirt tightened and restricted his movement, but he had just enough room. Just enough.
"You know I do," she muttered back, and then her whole body leaned back against his chest. His arm tightened at her waist and his mouth went to her neck, pressing a kiss to the skin he could find.
"When he dances with you-"
"Let it go-"
"He'll touch," he finished, the growl in his throat unable to be helped. "He'll touch skin but when I dance with you - last - I'll reclaim it all, Beckett. I'll make it all mine again."
She turned so suddenly than the skirt flared around her thighs and he felt the rustling of the material against him. And then she was pushing her mouth to his and taking a kiss from him, a deep and insistent intrusion of her tongue, drawing his out and doing some claiming of her own.
She bit on his bottom lip and suckled the wound; he could actually taste blood. "It's not yours to have. But see if you can't anyway."
He pushed her up against the wall and set about proving her wrong. She was his.
Straps and silk, the serene and cool strength of deep ocean blue, the dress tucked in low at her hips and left most of her back bare. The straps looked like silver cuffs studded with diamonds and sapphires as they clasped the front and back material in loose drapes.
Like it could fall off her body at any moment. Like the flare of her hips were the only things keeping it up.
Castle stepped into their hotel room at Astors Hotel in Victoria, London, and he stopped in the doorway, his eyes glued to her figure.
Kate pressed her lips together in a secret smile and turned to the mirror, smoothing her hands down the straight line of her stomach and brushing off her thighs. Before she could even twist to see her profile, Castle was at her back, his fingers slipping beneath the material at her lower spine and skimming the top of her ass.
"Castle," she murmured in warning.
"Gorgeous," he said. "Kate. Wow."
She bit her bottom lip at the gutted honesty in his voice - not just his arousal or his tenderness, but the actual stunned appreciation. His wordlessness. She felt the nudge of his knee between hers, and instead, she turned around to press her fingers to his tuxedo jacket. Silk lapels open over his white, starched shirt. His bowtie was hanging loose around his neck, a little askew, and she reached up to grasp either end.
He grinned a little at her and she tugged him down to meet her mouth, pressing her kiss deep into his, their noses crushed together as she took him in.
Hot fingers burned the bare skin at her back and she arched into his body, the flash of want pure and intense.
She realized she was still clutching the ends of his black silk tie when he pushed his fingers into her fists and dislodged her. She stumbled back on her heels and stared at him, couldn't knock the stunned need off her face even though he looked smug as hell.
She cleared her throat. "Looking pretty gorgeous yourself, Castle."
He grinned and hooked his arm around her waist, tugged her against his hips.
"What a pair we make," he murmured, and even though the tease was in his voice, there was a serious set to his eyes that made her stomach flip.
She wriggled her fingers against his shoulder and the ring caught the light. The stone was a deep blue that matched her dress, but even as she stared at it, the gem glinted and shone bright and sky like his eyes.
And she never wanted to give it back.