there should be stars
She doesn't want to do this. There are ways to close this case without having to dress up for the evening and spend time with the one man she needs distance from. She could spend the night staring down the murder board, waiting for the piece of evidence she needs to show itself.
"What about this one?" she asks, turning around with a flashy green dress on the hanger.
Lanie is sprawled out on Beckett's bed, head resting on her arms and bare feet in the air. "No way." Before Beckett has a chance to ask about the bright pink one, she's shaking her head. "Throw it away. Now."
Beckett pulls out the next two dresses from her closet. She holds the black sequined dress up to her front, covering up the towel wrapped around her torso. "Too Showgirls?"
"Seriously, girl. We need to go shopping and get you some real dresses." She shoves the rejected dresses onto the floor. "You know, so when you and Castle get back together, you won't look like something from Dreamgirls."
"We're not going to get back together," Beckett bites out.
"Keep telling yourself that."
The doorbell rings, echoing in the apartment.
"You want to get that for me?" she asks, hitching the towel up further.
Lanie slides off the bed, pointing a finger at her friend as she heads out of the bedroom. "You better not be in your prom dress when I get back."
Beckett groans, resting her forehead against the closet door. This is impossible. No one can find something to wear to a black tie event in two hours. It's too late to call him and tell him to forget this, that they'll just work the case like normal and not go pretend to care about the Metropolitan American Dance Theater fundraiser. The man is trying to humiliate her. Though it would probably be more humiliating to him if she showed up on his arm wearing one of her numerous unacceptable dresses. Still…
"Who was it?" she asks when Lanie reappears in the doorway.
The woman holds up a box. "Delivery."
"From who?" She grabs at the box, taking the top off. A little cream card flutters to the bedspread.
Lanie snags the card, brow furrowing as she reads the note. "Bibbity-boppity-boo?"
"It's from him," she growls, pushing aside the tissue paper. "The bastard can't just leave me alone…" she trails off.
Her fingers touch the soft fabric of the dress, running over the beading.
"Let's see it," says Lanie, tugging the gown from the box. She shakes it out, letting the chiffon brush over her toes. "You think he's trying to send you a message?"
"I'm not wearing it."
"So you're going naked? Because that trumps his message, I think," Lanie teases, holding the dress out to Beckett. "Just put it on for tonight."
Beckett takes the dress, narrowing her eyes. "I'm doing this under protest," she mutters as she goes back into the bathroom and shuts the door. She can hear Lanie in the bedroom, probably rummaging through the shoes at the bottom of her closet to find something to match the dress. Before she can back out of this whole ridiculous idea, she tosses the towel over the hook on the back of the door and steps into the dress. It's long, deep v-neck plunging down to the beaded belt. The straps are beaded, crossing over her shoulderblades to chiffon bands attached to the sides of the dress making it impossible to wear a bra. The rest of her back is bare, showing slightly tanned skin.
Lanie has a pair of heels, a set of earrings dangling from her fingertips. "Here. He picking you up?"
"Yeah. And if he brings a limo, I'm not going," she says as she threads the earrings into her ears.
"Hell you aren't." Lanie gives her friend a shove toward the door. "Come on. We can meet him down in the lobby instead of up here."
Beckett hesitates in the doorway. "My hair look okay?"
Lanie laughs, hooking her arm through Beckett's. "Your hair looks good. You look good. He was a fool to leave and you're gonna prove it tonight."
There is a limo outside but Lanie's hand on her elbow stops her from turning back. Castle is leaning against the back door in a tuxedo, polished shoes crossed in front of him before he pushes up onto the curb.
"Ladies," he says with a wink in Lanie's direction. And then he looks at Beckett, eyes coasting down her body then back up. "You look beautiful, Detective."
She can feel the blush warm her cheeks but she resists the urge to shift away from him. "Really?"
"Really," he insists, holding a hand out for her. "You clean up nice."
He opens the door of the limo for her, handing her into the backseat and missing Lanie's wave at her friend as she heads toward the subway entrance. And when he slides in next to her, he sits just a tad too close, his thigh pressing against hers.
"So," he starts, fingers already inching toward her leg. "You got your badge somewhere under this dress?"
She doesn't answer, eyes facing forward, hands clenched in her lap.
"Beckett, you can't not talk to me."
She pulls her lower lip between her teeth. But then his hand skims up to her waist, his warmth sinking through the fabric. She shivers. "Castle…"
"See?"
"We're working, okay?" she says, not turning to look at him. "No touching."
He doesn't stop though, letting his hand coast up her side so that his thumb brushes the gentle curve of her breast, fingertips meeting bare skin at her back. Her muscles are tense as she fights to stay still. "You look stunning in white, you know."
"Castle, don't…" she begs, trying to stop him before he ruins things.
"I was going to ask you," he continues. Her eyes close, hoping that it'll keep his voice out, keep the confessions from pouring from his mouth. "Do the whole down on one knee thing after a romantic dinner."
She shudders in a breath. "No," she whispers, dipping her head toward him. "Quiet. Just us."
"Kate, I -"
Now she cuts him off, turning quickly to kiss him before she can think twice about it. "It's over. We need to start over or forget it, okay?"
The car stops. The driver is out of the front, door closing behind him.
Castle acts before the man opens their door, cupping the back of her head, careful of her hair, and bringing her lips up to his. "We're starting over. I'm not letting you go," he says softly.
Then the driver has the door open and Castle is sliding from the back, helping her out of the car behind him. The flashes of light from paparazzi cameras start up immediately, blinding her for a moment before Castle has her hand resting in the crook of his elbow, keeping her against him.
"You remember how to do this?" he murmurs.
She nods just once. "Yeah. Just keep your eyes open."
Ryan and Esposito are on the other side of the ropes, smirking at their co-worker with clipboards in hand as they check for possible suspects. She ignores them, can't focus on putting up her professional façade in front of them while playing this role as Castle's date. Because that's what it is: a role. Nothing more. Maybe if she says it to herself often enough, she'll believe it.
The ballroom is crowded but Castle tugs her toward the mayor despite her warning squeeze on his arm.
"Ricky! Why didn't you tell me you were coming to this shindig? We could have shared a cab," says the mayor, pulling Castle in for one of those man-hugs that Beckett still didn't understand. "And Kate," he says, turning to Beckett with a smile, holding a hand out. "How are you?"
"Good, sir," she says.
"Keeping this trouble-maker in line, I hope?" he teases, holding a finger up to another group in the room.
Beckett levels a glance at Castle. "Impossible. But I'm trying."
"It's all we can do. Rick's a handful. Listen, I'll see you two around." And then Weldon smiles cordially at the two of them before moving across the room.
"You want something to drink?" Castle asks, hand sliding down her arm to tangle with her fingers.
She reclaims her hand, rubbing her fingers against her skirt. "Vodka. Lots of vodka." She catches his double take as he moves toward the bar and manages to grab the tail of his tuxedo. "I'm on duty. Water."
He shakes his head, going to the bar as she paces over to the edge of the dance floor that takes up the middle of the room. People are dancing, lights glinting off of expensive cufflinks and jewels that drip from women's necks and ears. No one in sight looks like they're eyeing the jewelry.
So she touches the earbud hidden by her hair. "Esposito? No one matches our sketch. How're we doing on staff and vendors?"
"No red flags yet. Hey, what's it like in there? Buffet or passed hors d'oeuvres?"
"Both," she responds. "Let me know if -"
She nearly trips over her own feet when Castle pulls her onto the dance floor, wide hand at her back keeping her against his front.
"What the hell?" she hisses in his ear as he spins them slowly to the big band music coming from the group of musicians in the corner.
"This is the only way we can talk without being overheard," he says calmly, cheek pressed to hers. His pinky slips under the fabric just above the dip in her back, grinning when she gasps. "Their head of development seems to know a lot about me."
She rolls her eyes, trying to pull herself together as his fingers tickle at her skin. "She's in donor development. It's her job to know about you. Plus, she hardly strikes me as a criminal mastermind."
Castle turns his head just enough that his lips whisper over her ear and she barely suppresses the shudder. "Still, I think we should take another look. Dip in one, two…"
Before she can protest, he has her upside down, supported on his palm as he scans the room for the petite woman in the green dress. For a moment, she can't breathe; the dress is tight and being upside down isn't helping anything. She hears people nearby applaud for a second.
"Castle?" she manages, lifting her head to narrow her eyes at him. He's not paying attention, though, eyes locked on someone across the room. "Hey! A little help?"
It takes him a moment before he pulls her upright, hand at her waist clenching a little too tightly. "It's Powell."
"Your jewel thief?"
He's gone already, storming over to the elderly man whose head is bent to talk to Anne Greene, the director they had met earlier in the day. Beckett glances around the dance floor; most of the people had stopped dancing, eyes on her as Castle confronts Powell. It hits her that it looks like they had a fight, that he left to get away from her, not to go follow a lead. She pushes the feeling back, smoothing a hand over her dress as she picks up the skirt to go after Castle.
Like it or not, she'll always go after him.
Ryan and Esposito put Paul Reynolds in the interrogation room as she changes out of the white gown and into the spare clothes she has shoved into her locker. She loops the shoulder straps over the hanger, letting her fingers brush down the front of the still-warm chiffon.
The weight of what Castle had confessed in the backseat of that limo makes her sway into the locker door, forehead resting on the cool metal, dented from years of use. If only. If only he hadn't up and left for Boston to help his publishing house bring some credit to the new branch. They could be married, could have had a baby – oh god, what would they do with a baby? She would have said yes if he had asked back then. No hesitation or second-guessing. Because as annoying and childish as he was, Castle was it for her. Still might be it for her. She had known that from the first night he had let her fall asleep after crying herself into exhaustion on the anniversary of her mother's death. No questions asked as he spent hours holding her on the couch in his apartment.
Before she can let herself be crushed by the overwhelming strength of the possibilities, she tucks the hem of the dress into the locker and shuts the door.
Beckett channels the energy into the interrogation. Paul Reynolds isn't exactly the hardest guy she's gone up against but she still isn't letting this slip through her fingers by being soft on the man. Reynolds gives up the man from their sketch, giving addresses and names quickly, recounting the horrors of Karl Nadir did to him in Green Haven, the threats of repeating the acts on Rachel.
When they get to the building, Castle moves to get out with the rest of the team until she stops him with a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"Castle, as a friend, do not leave this car," she says, already checking her gun. "Your Hardy Boy act is -"
"Gonna get me killed," he finishes, sitting back in the worn cloth seat. "I know."
She shakes her head, halfway out of the car. "More like get one of them killed," she says, nodding toward Ryan and Esposito along with the other ESU members. "I can't have that on my conscience. Understood?"
"What if I have to pee?" he asks.
She knows he's trying to inject lightness into the situation so she plays along. There's an empty coffee cup on the floormats that she picks up, handing it over. Before he can speak, she gives him a quick smile. "I'll be safe," she says before closing her door and meeting the team by the front door.
They miss Nadir in his apartment after announcing themselves. Ryan touches the side of a coffee mug left on the counter, finds the ceramic still warm.
"Probably just missed him," he says.
Beckett sighs, heading back into the hallway. Nadir is at the end, grocery bags swinging from his hands. He bolts, dropping the bags and running for a set of doors a floor up. The sound of a lock clicks but she tries the handle anyway before ramming her shoulder against it. Her body nearly vibrates with the jolt of pain as the door stays shut.
"Ryan! Esposito!" she calls, pointing toward the hallway without looking back as she tries the door again.
It gives. After six tries that have her shoulder protesting, the door opens onto a rooftop. She can hear the squeak of the fire escape as she jogs over. Nadir is at the bottom but she starts down, swinging around the stairwells with one hand as she tries to keep aim on the man's body below her.
Then, for a sickening moment, her heart stops. Nadir jerks open the front door of her Crown Vic, gun aimed at Castle, and she freezes two stories up. The two roll across the pavement and she winces when Nadir punches Castle. Keep moving. So she gets momentum back up, jumping the few feet from the fire escape to the ground. Her ankles sing with the pressure but she pushes past it, finding Nadir and Castle. The man's gun is in front of her so she kicks it out of the way, putting the sole of her boot on Nadir's arm, holding him to the ground as she levels her gun at him.
"Go ahead," she says calmly. "I need the practice."
The man slumps under her as Ryan and Esposito appear from the doorway of the building. They grab Nadir's arms, reading off his Miranda rights as they handcuff him, leading him over to their car.
And she holsters her gun, pulling a hand through tangled hair as she helps Castle up with the other.
"I tried to stay in the car. I really did," he insists, wiping a thumb over his bleeding lip. When she only shakes her head, he frowns. "He hit me in the face, you know."
"I can see that." She jerks her head back toward the car, knowing he's behind her by the crunch of the gravel under his shoes.
He's back in the passenger seat, visor down as he examines his face in the mirror. "'Go ahead. I need the practice.' That's classic."
"I better not see that in this book of yours," Beckett warns, throwing the car into reverse.
"No. No way. I don't need to steal lines from you to make Nikki work," he insists, wincing as he touches the area around his eye. "Think this'll bruise? Shiners always look butch. Make the ladies swoon. Would you kiss my bruises, Beckett?" he asks, glancing at her.
The look she sends back at him as she edges out into traffic says no but as they merge into the lane between two cabs, she does kiss her fingertips and press them lightly under his left eye. "There. All better."
