A/N: Me: Jessie, which episode of Castle is your favorite?
Jessie: Cops and Robbers.
Me: MWAHAHAHAH!
Happy Birthday my lovely friend, I hope your day is full of joy, happiness and love, exactly as you deserve. Massive koala hugs!
She sits on the couch, the wine glass nearly empty and her feet tucked up underneath her. He feels like he's been staring for a while, maybe a little more than is usually acceptable, but the sight before him is mesmerizing.
Loose curls spill around her face and laughter bubbles up at something his daughter says, a hand pressing at her lips to trap the sound away, as if she's not sure she should. Not sure if Alexis is joking or not. Then Beckett pouts and reaches for Alexis' hand, pats the flat of her palm across his daughters knuckles before sitting back with a firm nod.
He thinks she might be comforting? Cajoling, maybe even teasing her about the break up. Whatever it is that is transpiring in his living room it feels like a miracle, a gift of sorts to be able to stand here and witness, to be alive and - he rubs his forehead - he might be a little overly emotional.
It's just this time felt too close to the mark, too real. Not that they haven't faced down more scary things before, more catastrophic events have marred their lives. Bombs, serial killers, being held hostage and Beckett being shot. But there is something about this that makes him shiver.
Maybe it was his Mother sitting next to him on the cold bank floor, it could be the knowledge that his daughter was waiting outside the entire time.
Somehow he thinks it's more to do with the woman curled up on his couch like she belongs there, chatting with his kid like she's done it for years and waving her wine glass at him like he should know better than to let it run dry.
It was the look on her face when she walked into the bank, squeezed his hand and swore to get him out. Their barely sub-textual conversation and her gentle voice still echo around his mind, the quiver and raw ache of desperation thuds at the insides of his skull like a constant reminder.
If he closed his eyes right now all he would see is her smile. When he slips into bed tonight and lets himself be consumed by darkness, her face will be plastered across the obsidian blur.
Her eyes and that...that smile.
A projection of beauty, shining down from above as he stares up, the vividity of the images she will evoke keeping him up until the wee hours. Maybe even more so than normal.
But she's still waving her glass, watching him with such curiosity that he clambers off the stool and - catching the roll of her eyes when he reaches for the bottle - misses the neck. His fingertips knock it backwards instead and he just manages to catch it and stop it falling.
He crosses the room slowly, knowing her eyes are on him the whole way. Her head tilts and the corner of her lip lifts. If she bites down on it he's going to drop the bottle.
Beckett uncrosses her leg,s raising to meet him halfway, and Castle shakes his head, wouldn't move her for the world, and instead he catches at the raised glass she offers him. Their fingertips meet, wrapping around to touch lightly and her thumb remains on the stem as she holds it steady.
He blinks at her, staring down as she looks up, and all he can see is the smile on her face, he can almost feel her hands on his shirt again.
Unable to resist, he holds her hand and his thumb drifts along the edge of her own, he caresses her hand tentatively, keeping her still as he refills her glass - even though he feels like he might be the one shaking - and smiling when she mouths 'Thank you.'
He watches the crimson rush of alcohol spill between their fingers and paint color on their skin. Stained Glass flecks of red against her palm that sticks his tongue to the roof of his mouth, making the saliva run dry at the thought of licking that stain from her fingers.
Her eyes dart back to kitchen. Oh...oh she's talking to his kid and she wants -they want?- privacy. He gives up her hand reluctantly, watches as she settles the glass in her lap and her own fingers trace across the skin he was just touching.
He tips his head in gentlemanly salute and electric tingles zip lightning fast under skin when it earns him another smile. He wants to keep this woman here, this softer version of his partner, this light as air Beckett who smiles and puts the sun to shame.
He drifts back to the kitchen, finds his seat and picks up right where he left off, staring. He stares and doesn't care if it could be considered creepy, he's not really sure it could be when the thing you stare at is the most beautiful sight imaginable.
"All good things, my boy."
He starts, almost jumping out of his skin and just catches the wine glass before it flies off the counter.
They look up from the couch and smile at him before diving straight back into conversation.
Castle turns to face his mother with a look of annoyance for shattering his facade of nonchalant staring, for breaking his cover, but confronted by the soft and tender gaze, turned not on himself but on the woman soothing his daughters dented heart, he finds he can do nothing but smile.
"Worth the wait." He replies quietly, almost to himself, "Worth the hope."
"Oh, more than hope." Martha moves around him, tipping her glass towards the living room, "That is a woman in love."
"Mother." He shakes his head, hope is one thing but throwing out words like love when she's so near...it feels like a jinx? No, more than that, testing fate and poking at something he shouldn't be...something growing and new and unnameable just yet.
"Come now, Richard." Martha interrupts before he can begin again, "You saw the look on her face as clearly as I did." She pats his cheek, pulls the wine bottle from his fingers, "When she found you in the bank she positively shone with it."
He could gape, perhaps he should for dramatic effect, for his mother's benefit, just to see that spark of mischief in her eyes.
Yes, he saw the look, he bore witness to the smile that broke her face apart and made her eyes these great luminescent orbs of truth. His mother is not wrong, she did shine with it, head to toe it radiated from her, and he felt the tightening of Beckett's fingers in his jacket, the way she clung to him and asked him how he was. He heard the sheer relief in her voice, the tender and surprising tone.
And yes, he could gape in shock at the knowledge that his mother saw it too, saw it and interrupted anyway. He could, but he won't.
"Why?" He asks instead, swiveling in his seat to study her face.
Her eyes widen for a moment as if she's going to deliberately misunderstand, then she smiles. "I used to be a supple, nubile young thing." She ignores the way he gulps and presses a hand to his mouth, "Alas no more and time makes fools of us all. Sitting on a cold Bank floor with a my wrists tied is not the thrill I would have thought." She grins at him, "And really, you should be thanking me."
"For what?" Castle splutters.
"A hostage situation giving rise to a desperate declaration of feelings, a stolen moment," She leans closer, "Perhaps even a kiss?"
He nods, she groans.
"How cliche." Martha rolls her eyes and pats his hand again, the least comforting gesture given the look on her face. She throws up her hand and wiggles her fingers towards the living room, "But now look, she's here. And, if I'm not mistaken, she's looking to leave quite soon, unless you give her a reason to stay?"
Castle swings the chair back around wildly, his eyes darting across the room to the movement of his daughter as she stands, Beckett at her back slipping her shoes back on.
Martha chuckles, "Or perhaps you should give her a reason to come back. Offer to walk her out, drive her home? She has been drinking after all."
"So have I." He states quietly, regretfully.
"Then call the girl a cab." Martha gives him a little shove across the backside, making him slip from the stool and stumble forwards.
"Smooth Dad." Alexis groans as she lifts up and kisses his cheek, disappearing fast. He watches her meander up the stairs before he turns his attention back to Beckett.
She holds out her wine glass but turns on the spot before he can take it. "I, er...had a coat?" She grimaces and smiles at herself, half spins back the other way searching his home for her jacket.
"It's on the chair, you kinda threw it there when we were debating..."
"Which of us had saved the other more."
He smiles, snags the wine glass from her fingers and heads back towards the kitchen knowing she'll follow - to retrieve her coat if nothing else - and he can't resist calling over his shoulder. "Math doesn't lie."
"No, but writers do." She grins when he gasps, doesn't move towards the table but lingers across the counter watching him clean up.
"We do not."
"Remember who you're talking to, I have read Nikki. I know the truth and lies and the fudged inbetweens."
"That's not lying." Castle scoffs, pointing towards the coffee maker in hope and trying to hide his disappointment when she shakes her head. "That is artistic license."
"Is that the same artistic license that allows you to help-" she air quotes the word, "with paperwork, by running out for donuts every time?"
"Once, I did that once."
She raises one single, perfectly arched eyebrow in defiance of that statement.
"Second time was for Bear Claws." He grumbles. "Keeping the boys in sugar."
"Mmhmm, keep telling yourself that."
"I got coffee for you too."
She shakes her head, "Yes, to avoid paperwork."
"You will not let that go, will you?" His hands land on his hips and she smiles at him again. Wide open, like a gust of wind has blown away all of her defenses, maybe the bank exploding blew them to smithereens.
Castle finds himself fascinated by her tongue when it pokes through her teeth, by the wave of curls that fall forwards and spill over her shoulder, the silken tumble drawing his eyes from her face down, down to her hands where they sit clasped together. Mesmerized by her, fascinated by the everything of who she is.
"I already agreed you were the perfect partner, I can't let it go to your head." She laughs and pushes up from the counter, hands drumming quickly before she's turning again for her coat.
He steps forwards and hesitates, wondering if he can get away with holding it up for her so she can slip her arms through the sleeves, but she changes direction, loops it over her arm instead and pauses.
Like she's waiting for him?
Beckett glances back over her shoulder and then towards the door. He's not sure if it is supposed to be a silent request that he walk her out, but he takes it as one, trailing after her and meeting her at the table.
They cross the remaining distance together, both casting sly glances at the other, both aware of what the other is doing and he thinks he catches her smirk. They move in sync and something about that, the soft rhythmic shuffle of their feet in time, makes him smile and when they get to the door they both reach for the handle.
They even mirror each other in turning at the same moment, he wants to laugh, it's almost comical. But their fingers tangle and, though he expects her to pull away immediately, Beckett squeezes his hand and looks up at him, less severe heels setting her just that little bit lower than usual.
"I really am glad you're okay." She breathes, wine and candlelight flickering through her pupils, catching at the iris and tangling them together. He can see his own reflection in that beautiful twist of bottle green and hazelnut, and Castle squeezes back, the warmth of her fingers almost unknown within his own.
"Me too."
"Touch and go there for a while." She quivers, and if it wasn't for the tight grip on his hand he thinks he might have missed it. She holds herself so rigid that to the naked eye it's barely visible, but as he touches her skin he feels it again, the eerie ripple that shudders over her.
Castle shakes his head, "No way. I said from the first moment we sat down as hostages, you'd get me out. You'd get us all out."
She steps closer, inhales and looks up like she doesn't believe him, "Really?"
His thumb sweeps the back of her hand, "Mmhmm. Faith Beckett, total faith."
"You have a lot of that." She sounds unsteady, like maybe she's asking something else entirely, and the hand not holding his fists itself back in the material of his shirt, throwing them both back in time.
Back to the floor of the bank, back to "How are you?" and desperation and the smoking remnants of "It could be too late, please god don't let it be too late."
"In you? Always." He smiles, his voice pulling them both into the present and her fingers loosen. The palm of her hand smooths over his shirt instead of gripping it tight and Beckett lifts herself up onto her toes, bringing them closer, almost nose to nose and she meets his eyes.
Like the slow reveal of a Christmas present or the discovery of a revelation she opens herself up to him and for a few seconds he forgets to breathe, wondering if her lips will meet his own. She's close enough to just reach out and pull her into him. To hold her. To kiss her. But somehow he restrains himself; letting the thunder of his heart beat rage between them instead and waiting for her to make the next move.
She smiles slowly, "Thank you."
He shakes his head, at a loss for words until he remembers what she said when she handed him his wine earlier, and he throws the words back at her casually, watching her eyes light up when he does, "No need. We're partners."
"It's what we do." They finish together.
She sways, blinking slowly."Dinner was..."
"Mother's idea." Castle regrets the words immediately, seeing how her smile falls, "I mean, she thought inviting you to dinner was more fitting than me just bringing you back here to get drunk." He rushes through the words and before he can catch any of them, stop them leaving his mouth or even think about what he's just said she's laughing at him.
Her eyebrows are high and her eyes are wide, but she's laughing at him again, and Castle thinks he can take absolutely anything she throws at him if she just smiles like that more often.
"You wanted to bring me home and get me drunk, Castle?"
"I...er...you said 'Old Haunt' and ...well yeah."
She drops back down in front of him, her hand over his heart as she pats his chest and pushes away, "We did have one hell of a day." She concedes.
He nods quickly, grabbing her agreement and running with it. "That we did."
"And dinner was-"
"A sign of appreciation for saving our lives." Castle shrugs like it's nothing, knowing full well it's everything.
Her head dips, wavy strands of hair falling around her face and hiding her from him. He waits, but she remains silent and the longer she stands there, her head lowered and barely moving, the more he starts to worry he's said the wrong thing. Maybe not given enough magnitude to his appreciation, his awe at the things she does, the way she works, how tirelessly she seeks to bring everyone home safely.
Castle shifts awkwardly in front of her and is just about to reach out and touch her when she lifts her head. There is a new smile now, one of daring, one of fear, one he hasn't seen before but yet again it leaves him fascinated.
"That mean I owe you nine dinners, Castle?"
He opens his mouth, but she steps back, reaching for the door. "I..."
"How about we start with one? Tomorrow night, my place." She tugs at her coat in his arms and he's not sure when he wound up holding it, how or why he still has it now but Castle suddenly feels reluctant to let it go.
"You stealing it?" She grins, yanking it from his hand.
"No, I've had enough of playing Cops and Robbers for one day." Castle holds the door open for her, waiting for Beckett to step around him. Instead she leans in just a little bit closer and freezes him to the spot with her throaty whisper.
"You haven't played with me, yet."