Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional.
A/N: Remember back in chapters three and four, when everything seemed so dour and gloomy? This chapter might be the payoff.
Week Thirteen (part two)
"Good morning," Castle says with a smile as Beckett stretches slowly after awakening atop of him.
"It's not really morning, is it?" Beckett asks curiously though without the alarm that might be expected from oversleeping. Stretching languidly from her perch, she can't help but grin in satisfaction as her muscles ripple and stretch. Her smile stretches even wider as she feels corresponding movements beneath her.
"No," Castle laughs. "You've only been out for a few minutes. I thought I was the one who was supposed to roll over and fall asleep?"
"What in the hell did you do to me?" she murmurs in wonder, letting her eyes fall closed again as she nuzzles into his neck, reveling in the smell and the ability to cuddle in so brazenly. "And laugh again, please. That felt wonderful."
His chuckle satisfies the second request before he turns to her question. "What did I do to you? Not even a tiny fraction of the things I've imagined for us," he promises, voice dropping as it sends a delicious curl of pleasure chasing down her still-sensitized nerves, which he accentuates with a hand that traces the dips and whorls of her back and bottom.
"Oh, God," Beckett groans. "You're going to kill me." Then, after a wiggle and a chuckle of her own, she adds, "I'm looking forward to it."
"We just need some rest," he replies reasonably, trying desperately to keep his dream of sexual adventures and Beckett's ongoing and vigorous participation alive. "You seem to have started already."
"Not my fault you're so comfortable, Castle," Beckett replies as she shifts to the side, half sliding off of him so that there's room for her hand to stroke and play with his chest. "Besides, as unbelievable as we've been in bed, I like actually sleeping with you, too," she admits with a sweet kiss to his cheek that means more because of the juxtaposition with the passionate, deep kisses they shared before her nap.
"I don't know, Beckett – seems like your sneaky naps at the loft have conditioned you to fall asleep when you're in a bed with me," he teases. "Not sure that's how I want you reacting in bed."
"You wanna talk about conditioning?" she asks, trying to get sassy but still lacking enough energy to really give him trouble. "Lanie's always been the one with the fireman fetish, but now if I see anything – firetruck, firehouse, hell, even a fire hydrant and I get a thrill as I think of you," she says, drawing her fingernails lightly across his chest.
"You associate me with fire hydrants?" Castle laughs. "Woof, woof."
Rewarding his joke (and getting a kick out of the image of him lifting his leg, especially now) with a playful swat to the chest, she continues on with her confession. "I see a hospital scene on TV and I remember you barefooted and bare chested, standing there in jeans that are barely holding on," she purrs, letting her hand drift further down to cover the territory that would usually covered by those jeans. "You should know now what that does to me. And you wanna know what really gets me going?" she whispers into his ear as she nibbles it.
"Absolutely," Castle manages to reply, somehow.
"Earthquakes," she replies, thinking back to Castle's befuddled reaction on their LA trip.
"That's it, we're moving," Castle declares resolutely. "Where's the nearest fault line?"
"It doesn't have to be an actual quake," Beckett laughs, her hands shifting to start drawing patterns on his body. "After all, it wasn't a quake the first time," she smirks, getting a huff from Castle in reply. "Basically, anything that rumbles makes me think about you sweeping me off my feet and giving me a glorious view of your ass."
"I knew you checked me out," Castle brags, chest puffing up in pride as if this compliment somehow exceeds the performance that left Beckett collapsed on top of him.
"Turnabout, Castle," she replies with a grin, still using her hands to draw patterns on his skin. "You can't tell me that you don't have similar recollections."
"This is going to surprise you," he replies with a smile of his own, "but it's not my sneak peek from your tub or the pool scene from LA that tease me when I think of you, even though those were magnificent," he prefaces with a sinful voice and a piercing look that tells her he's being serious. "It's your dresses," he whispers. "You don't know how many times you've devastated me with your dresses. The dance our first year together," he replies quickly, eyes bright. "I can still picture you in that dress – you were exquisite," he says in awe.
Ridiculously, despite engaging in wildly acrobatic and profoundly satisfying lovemaking and despite lying on him while completely nude, it's the reverence in his tone makes her blush.
"Oh, the dresses," he continues, growling in her ear. "My book launch. Driving the Ferrari. Coming down the stairs for Tommy and Shannon's wedding. All different aspects of perfection."
"I still have those dresses. I'd like to wear them again," she admits, looking into Castle's eyes. "Maybe we can recreate some of those memories," she proposes, letting her hands wander again. "Maybe change the ending a bit?"
"You make me greedy, Beckett," Castle muses, his trailing fingers reinforcing his point. "If all those steps led us here," he lifts a hand and makes a circular gesture taking in Beckett's bedroom before letting his hand fall back to the tousled bedding, "how can I ask for more? And yet, the thought of reenacting those scenes with the promise of doing it together... that's irresistible," he marvels. "That's the substance of my fantasies," he confesses.
"Well," Beckett offers after a few moments during which her lips were otherwise engaged, "if we're talking about clothes, do you think you could keep your work pants? You know, the kind with the suspenders?" she asks with a lilt in her voice.
"Not the coat?" Castle asks, wondering if she'd like the whole ensemble.
"Why on earth would I want you to cover your chest?" she asks, scratching her fingers lightly across the body part in question. "But you can grab the helmet, too," she adds with a greedy chuckle.
"Halloween is going to be so much fun this year," Castle imagines with glee.
Lifting her head, Beckett gives him an incredulous look. "You want to wait until Halloween?"
"I don't want to wait until tomorrow," he answers in a low rumble, letting his hands wander with purpose.
"Hold on, hold on," Beckett laughs while swatting his hand. "I'm not quite ready yet. Still can't really feel my legs," she admits with a sinful smile.
"I guess jumping on the bikes is out, then," Castle laughs, not looking at all upset.
"We've got time, Castle," she replies sweetly. "Plenty of time."
Castle replies with a sweet, lingering kiss that almost has her reconsidering her decision, but she can feel the moment inspiration strikes him. "How would your legs feel about a long, hot bath?"
"You mentioned the substance of fantasies?" she asks as her answer.
"Stay right here," Castle requests with a kiss, sliding out from beneath her to head for the bathroom. She might be wonderfully exhausted, but she'd have to be dead before she'd lack the energy to watch that ass as he moves into her bathroom and bends low to start the bath.
It takes her longer to realize than she'd admit, but it dawns on her as Castle fusses with the bath that he's teasing her. It's not a striptease, since he's been gloriously nude from the start, but it's no less stimulating. No, she thinks, that's not quite the right word. Revitalizing. That's it. The low buzz as her nerves pop and flare in confirmation brings a sultry smile to her face as she watches Castle turn to return to the bed.
Noticing her regard, Castle surprises her. Rather than throw her 'creepy staring' reference back at her, he jogs the last two steps, lifting his knees high. Beckett recognizes the prompt and obliges with a quote. "'I love quick-time harch.'"
"People might disagree," Castle says as he reaches the side of her bed, happily caressing her body with his eyes, "but they'd be wrong. Quoting a Mel Brooks movie makes you impossibly hotter."
Speaking of hotter, Beckett takes a moment to appreciate the scene. There's Castle beside her bed, wearing not a stitch. It's like their glorious hospital scene all over again, except: a) Lanie's not here (thank goodness), b) he's not wearing pants, c) he's totally and completely focused on her, and d) he's just drawn them a bath. Sometimes, life is very, very good.
"Did you feel that?" Castle asks, seriously enough to almost shift her attention up his body to his eyes. She's hardly murmured a confused sound when bolts into action. "Earthquake," he promises as he once again lifts Beckett, this time cradling her against his chest in a bridal carry rather than tossing her over his shoulder. It might not be a complete reenactment and she can't see his ass from here, but it promises more direct contact. She'll allow it, she decides magnanimously.
Beckett asks to be lowered at the door the bathroom. There's an immediate practicality to which she needs to attend, but it's also probably a good idea to slide down Castle's front here rather than in the slippery tub. Today is a victory, a celebration. Probably best to ensure it doesn't include a trip to the emergency room.
Mere moments later they're in the tub, Beckett leaning back into the breadth of Castle's chest. With her head on his shoulder, she turns to offer a kiss while raising a hand to grip one of his biceps. "I could do without the whole 'charging into burning buildings' thing," she says gently, "but your job has some fantastic benefits."
"Glad you like it," he hums in response. "Will you go to the gym with me to help me stay in shape?"
Hmmm, sweaty Castle in basketball shorts and a tank-top. And her in yoga pants and a clingy sports bra. Sounds fun.
"You working through' all my fantasies here, Rick?" she asks, letting her hands draw lines from his knees up this thighs in answer. His happy hum vibrates through her, warming her as much as the bath water.
"I really am glad things worked out for you at the firehouse," she says, growing more serious. "When I think of what else could've happened back after you left…, well, it helps me remember how lucky we are," she confesses with another kiss. "Was it successful? For your writing, I mean."
"I think so," Castle answers seriously. "I've got a character in mind, based on someone there."
"Carla?" she asks, trying not to sound jealous about the kind woman who redirected Beckett to the Hamptons when she could've simply ignored her.
Castle strokes her arms before banding his around her, offering a reverent hug. "No," he answers in a low, confident voice. "I've already got a muse," he assures her. "And I don't need a villain, so Matt's out. I'm actually thinking about modeling a character after Ben."
"Costa?" Beckett replies in surprise, before leaning into Castle to think about this. "Monica will be thrilled. Not sure he will be," she laughs.
"No, I don't think he will be," Castle chuckles as he loosens his arms and lets his hands wander. "Maybe I'll ask Monica about it. I'm making a guest appearance at her next book club meeting. Join me? It sounds like she enjoyed meeting Nikki Heat's inspiration, so I bet her friends would get a kick out of it, too."
"I'm not really comfortable with that," Beckett says in a low voice as her head lolls against his shoulder, her body very comfortable with his current attentions. "But she was so sweet. As long as we're not on a case, I'll join you."
"It'll be after we're back from the beach," he whispers in her ear, letting visions of sun and sand supplement the activities of his hands. "Work's a mess this week, then we're off to enjoy the holiday weekend."
"Mess?" Beckett murmurs in reply, impressed that she could manage a monosyllabic response given that she's starting to have difficulty focusing and breathing.
"Irregular shifts," Castle teases, using his hands to briefly adopt an arrhythmic pattern to accentuate his comment. A mewling growl gets them back in time and restores Beckett's blissful, closed-eye smile. "I've got some PR work to do since it's my last week. And a piano session. And one more night shift – Ben's got me slated for Thursday night, so I can sleep during the day and be ready for the going away party at the Haunt on Friday night."
Panting lightly, Beckett pulls herself out of her daze long enough to string together a few words. "PR? Wanna explain, Mr. April?"
"Who told you… Fred," he answers his own question. "Had to be. Yeah," he admits, chuckling as he pauses his speech (but not the motions of his hands) to lavish some attention on Beckett's neck. "Upcoming shoot for that. Sorry, but I'm not supposed to shave between now and then."
"Hmmmm," she replies, as if she's just taken a bite of something delicious. Then, shocking Castle, she pulls away to sit forward and pull out the stopper to drain the tub.
"Are we done?" he asks, ceding control to his partner.
"Oh, no," she says as she spins in the tub and pins him with a wild, dark-eyed stare. "You and I, we're just getting started."
Trying to play it cool, Castle tries not to react. His voice remains admirably smooth, though another part of his body betrays his interest in this situation. "Legs back in action? Time for the bikes?"
"Not the ride I'm looking for," she promises as she crawls on top of him. "I want to do something wild and reckless," she promises. "Right here. Then, we'll talk about something else wild and reckless. Then, we'll see how things go."
The last coherent thought Castle can manage before his mind melts is to wonder if her wild and reckless thoughts for the evening include any of those dresses.
Looking over at his partner in her most fierce and austere set of detective's clothes, Castle can't help but wonder how he got talked into this. Wild and reckless indeed.
Noticing his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel of the borrowed undercover car, Beckett forces down her own discomfort to try to ease him. "I'll be fine, Rick," she promises. "One quick visit, then we're gone. Back to the precinct to collect my cruiser. And my suitcases," she reminds him, drawing attention to what they can look forward to later this evening.
The suitcases were part of his condition – no, not condition, she thinks to herself, looking for the right word. The suitcases were part of his hope, his suggestion on how to best manage the potential consequences of her admittedly foolhardy plan. His place behind the wheel, hidden behind tinted windows, was a nod to their safety. "I've always wanted to be a wheel-man, Beckett," he'd tried to joke, though he was okay with the darkened windows rather than a ski mask. A get-away driver and luggage – safety and hope.
"I still can't believe we're doing this," he mumbles, mostly to himself.
"Shoe's on the other foot, eh?" she tries to joke, reminding them that it's usually Castle who comes up with the risky ideas. When it's apparent that her crack didn't lift his mood, she tries logic instead. "Your friend at the Ledger said they're running the story tomorrow, right?" she asks rhetorically. "Now's the right time for this. Now's the only time for this."
"I know," he confesses in a low voice, hands flexing on the wheel. "Just be safe," he says as he pulls to the curb so she can make the final approach on foot.
"I will be, I promise," she vows, reaching for his hand. "You've given me a reason to come back," she admits before reeling him in for a fierce departing kiss. "And speaking of back, remember that I'll use a back door when I leave, just to make sure no one gets a look at you."
"I remember," he replies. Taking a pass on joking on his role as a chauffeur is a clear sign of his tension, so Beckett pulls him close. "Love you," she whispers in his ear before reaching for the door handle and forcing herself out of the car.
Beckett uses the short walk to clear her mind and focus on the looming conversation. By the time she's walking up to rap on the door of the brownstone, she's at her professional best, Detective Kate Beckett here to kick ass and tilt into the wind.
"Senator Bracken isn't receiving guests," drones the drab-faced underling who answers the door. His eyes take in the badge she's holding out without any glimmer of recognition or reaction, "regardless of their employer."
"He'll want to see me," she replies confidently, offering a business card with her other hand. The door closes on her face, but Beckett waits patiently, knowing that her appearance here will provoke a response.
This time, it's a short, sharp-faced attorney with slick hair and a slicker suit who opens the door. "Unless you have a warrant," he complains fussily, "you're trespassing. The Senator isn't answering any questions or receiving any guests."
"I don't have any questions," Beckett replies confidently. "I have a piece of information for the Senator."
"I'll relay it to him," Slick replies, still blocking the door.
"You're wasting my time," Beckett growls, treating this jackass like she'd treat any other contemptible defense attorney. "You're here because Bracken wants to hear what I have to say. Open the damn door because we both know I'm not talking to anyone but him."
Scowling, Slick grudgingly opens the door, admitting her into a beautiful foyer. A tasteful chandelier illuminates the walnut furniture and bannister, while the checkerboard marble floor is just worn enough to be both formal and comfortable. And someone must've hijacked a florists van, as lovely bouquets adorn every flat surface. Just like a funeral, Beckett lets herself think, wearing grim smile.
"No weapons," Slick says, stepping toward her.
"You try to touch me or my weapon and you'll wish I'd used it on you," she promises, standing her ground and staring at Slick. When he locks up in the face of this threat, she rolls her eyes in disdain while tapping her foot. "Wasting more time?"
Relenting again and realizing exactly how much credibility he has after capitulating in another standoff, Slick doesn't even grumble as he spins in place, washing his hands of this whole visit. Beckett follows him through a receiving room that looks like it was taken straight out of a manual for DC power decorating – overstuffed leather sofas, a plush, vintage Axminster rug, brass fixtures, and more flowers.
They walk through the receiving room and into a kitchen, where Bracken sits at the head of the kitchen table while surrounded by suited men. Crows, Beckett thinks as she looks at them with their dark, beady eyes and dark, shiny suits. Here to feast on carrion. And what do you call a group of crows? A murder. How appropriate.
Slick rounds the table and bends between Bracken and his right-hand advisor, each of them listening to his whispered explanation. He straightens after his brief explanation, stepping back and standing at attention near the wall. Not even important enough to warrant a seat at the table, Beckett thinks as she smirks at him, knowing her observation is understood as Slick flushes and looks at his feet.
"Well?" Bracken's right-hand man prompts. "You had an important message for the Senator?"
Now that she's here, Beckett's shocked to find that she's enjoying this confrontation far more than she should. Word about the Ledger's pending story on Bracken's financing must've leaked already. Because she's standing in the control room in Chernobyl, the bridge of the Exxon Valdez. The smell of panic and desperation chokes the room. The advisors look like they've crossed the tipping point, worried more about saving themselves than their liege. Behold your crumbling empire, she thinks savagely, grinning again. Bracken's advisor narrows his eyes in reaction to her smile, and he prompts her again. But she'll stand here and enjoy the scene until Bracken speaks.
Which Bracken knows. She can see it on his face as he looks up at her, this demon. For several moments they simply stare at each other. Bracken finally looks away, glancing down at some of the papers before him. "Yes, Detective?" he asks, gesturing to the paperwork to emphasize that he has matters waiting for his attention.
Only two words, but they're enough. It's not like she has more than a handful herself. "I know what you did," she declares, voice clear and head high. "I know. So, as your walls crumble around you, as your friends scurry for cover," she says as she looks around the room in disdain at those who are probably billing Bracken thousands of dollars per hour for their advice, "as your 'business associates' decide whether they'd be better off without you, I want you to think about that. We both know where this started and we both know where it will end."
"Now, wait just a minute…," one of the men around the table objects as he tries to rise from his seat, but he's cut off.
"You don't know anything," Bracken growls, making a flitting gesture with the back of his hand to show how little he thinks of Beckett's words. "You don't know anything and you can't prove anything."
Suddenly appreciating Montgomery's decision more than she thought possible, Beckett reveals another smile. "I don't need to prove anything. I'm not here to arrest you, Bracken. I'm here to enjoy the show, to sit back and watch while more and more information leaks to the press. I wonder what topic'll be next," she ponders in delight.
Pretending as if she was hoping someone would make a suggestion, she looks around the room before continuing. "But that's just me," she says as she pivots to square her body to the one attorney who looks like he's thinking about rising to his feet, just in case he decides to do something stupid. "I enjoy reading about this kind of scandal. I admit," she says with a casual shrug, "not everyone likes this kind of story. In fact," she promises, voice growing low and dangerous, "some people will avoid stories like yours. Some people will go to incredible lengths to stop them altogether."
"Get out," Bracken growls, struggling to his feet. "Get out!"
One of the advisors makes the remarkably poor decision to reach for Beckett's arm to escort her from the premises. Knowing that physical violence would lead to reports she'd rather avoid, she has her weapon in hand before he can blink. She leaves it at her side, but her message is received clearly as no one escorts her to the door.
She's on the first step when her ride pulls up to the curb, doors unlocking with an audible click. Opening the rear door, she looks back at the brownstone to see several faces looking out the window at her, including the one of them who matters most. Shocked at how fervently she wants to take a bow or do something else as a parting shot, Beckett controls herself and slips into the back seat, drawing the door closed behind her.
"Once around the park, mum?" Castle asks in a horrible British accent, reaching for levity even though his own stress is apparent in his posture.
"Let's get out of here, Castle," she replies instead, finally exhaling and letting her head fall back against the headrest.
The ride to the precinct is largely quiet, as is their transition back to Beckett's cruiser. It's not until they're back on the road to the loft that she reaches out and grabs his hand.
"Thank you," she whispers, voice still cracking. "I know it was dangerous, but I needed to do that. After spending so many years hunting for him, I needed him to know that he didn't get away with it."
"I understand," Castle replies seriously, though his lips quirk afterward as he remembers their previous use of the word. "Was it enough?"
"Yes," she answers, squeezing his hand before breaking their clasp to have both hands on the wheel. "If he goes now, I can live with it. Might be easiest if he does, especially for dad," she confesses, thinking of her father and hoping that he's enjoying his time up at the cabin.
"We'll be there for him, either way," Castle promises. His sweet offer brings tears to her eyes as she reaches out for him again, unable to avoid touching him in the face of his steadfast support.
It's not until they're parked in Castle's spot, vacant after he put the Mercedes in a long-term lot to clear a place for her, that they can indulge in a long, stress-relieving hug. Beckett's not sure how long they stand there together, embracing each other in a drab parking garage next to her car, but she doesn't care. Today's been marked by such emotional highs that she unabashedly takes some time to just relax and connect with her partner.
Finally, Castle spurs them to movement, collecting her luggage from the trunk of the cruiser. It takes only a raised eyebrow for him to hand one of the bags to her. That leaves each of them with a free hand to link with the other.
Eduardo's delight at seeing her luggage is unmistakable. All she can do is offer a blushing smile in return. It's Castle, surprisingly, who takes a more serious approach. Informing the doorman about a heightened security concern, he recommends more vigilance and possibly additional staff. They discuss protocols briefly, until Castle agrees to call the security company for further discussions.
"Rick," Beckett says quietly as they await the elevator, but he tries to anticipate her distress.
"Sorry, Kate," he says contritely. "I hope his happiness at seeing you here isn't embarrassing."
"I'm not embarrassed," she says, reaching out to hold his hand again right in view of the security desk. Pulling him into the elevator, she releases the handle of her suitcase and wraps him in a hug instead. Only aiming for a quick embrace, she's surprised when they reach his floor and she hasn't explained herself yet. Although, this might present a nice opportunity.
As they exit the elevator and walk toward his door, she returns to her earlier comment. "When we were downstairs, I was just going to say that I don't want Martha or Alexis to hear me sneaking through your home to get to your bedroom."
Bless his heart, he hides his disappointment well. "There's no rush, Beckett," he assures her as he unlocks the door and holds it wide for her, "I understand."
Stopping next to him on her way through the door, she pauses to rub his cheek and offer a sweet kiss. "No, I don't think you do," she disagrees before walking through the door and carrying her suitcase towards his bedroom.
Martha, who'd been waiting for their arrival, quickly reaches out and touches Alexis' arm, urging the young woman to not interrupt the scene unfolding before them, unnoticed in their seats at the kitchen island.
With both eyebrows perched high, Castle trails after Beckett, pulling her other suitcase along with him. "Kate?" he asks, wary of drawing the wrong conclusion.
"It this okay?" she asks with a lovely blush as she pauses at the door to the office antechamber to his bedroom.
"Wild and reckless?" he asks with a smile, drawing close enough to her to offer another kiss. "Come on in," he invites. "I'll give you the tour," he offers with an eyebrow waggle that prompts a tension-breaking huff. Within moments, the only sound is that of Castle's bedroom door closing.
"Come, darling," Martha says in a stage whisper while she stands and offers an elbow to her granddaughter. "Let's reconsider our dinner plans to afford your father and Katherine some privacy."
"A housewarming present for Kate?" Alexis suggests while smiling wide.
"Precisely," Martha agrees, patting her hand. "Finally!"
"You're not going in to the precinct today?" Castle asks, finally breaking. It's been a fantastic morning, starting with an aerobic awakening and following with a leisurely breakfast with Alexis before she left for school. Since then, Beckett's showed no signs of leaving the loft. Castle kept catching her wearing a mischievous or smug look, but she'd demurred every time he asked about it. Now, with his own deadline looming, he finally understands what's going on. "So, Kate, would you care to accompany me this morning?"
"Oh, you have an appointment?" she asks with a raised brow and a smirk. "Let me check my calendar," she emphasizes with a perfectly straight face.
He might play the fool, but Castle's smart enough to limit the damage. Throwing his hands up, he capitulates. "I surrender. Will you please accompany me to the photo shoot? I would've asked, but it sounded like Montgomery's replacement can't do anything without you around to hold his hand." Noticing that she's not quite buying it, he offers up everything. "I was hoping to surprise you."
"That's sweet," she answers as she approaches his seat at the table and rubs his check. Until she changes the motion and delivers a few light taps. "As long as you weren't trying to ditch me to hang out with some models." Pinning his denial behind his lips with a finger, she smiles to let him know that she's just teasing.
"Acting-Captain Murray's doing fine," Beckett continues, a smile revealing her pleasure at his assertion of her place at the precinct. "He's not expecting me this morning. It's easy to skip class when you have a note from the mayor," she chuckles, her laugh drawing out at Castle's look of surprise.
"Bob's behind this?" he asks, running a hand through his hair.
"We've got to get you back where you belong," Beckett answers smugly. "Now, don't you need to get cleaned up for your big session? You're looking a little slow on the uptake this morning, Castle. I'd better lend you a hand," she offers, removing his coffee from his hand, helping him stand, then leading him into the bathroom.
"I might need more help," he pushes his luck as she walks towards the door of the master bathroom.
"Of course you do," she replies, closing the door while remaining on this side of it. "Time to remind you that your days of chasing after models are long behind you." Her casual disrobing couldn't really be called a striptease, except that she totally stripped and even more totally teased, Castle thinks, to the extent that he can think. Locked in place and watching Beckett enter the shower, he can only manage a gulping swallow when she looks over her shoulder and whispers, "You coming, Castle?"
More than an hour later (and a little bit late, thanks to a longer-than-expected shower), they're walking into the modeling agency, hands at their sides but twitching occasionally as if desperate to connect of their own volition. They're barely through the door before the busty receptionist is fawning over Castle and escorting him back to the warehouse studio. She ignores Beckett's presence, even though Castle had reached out for her hand as if a drowning man grasping for a life preserver even before the SS Chesty approached.
"Ricky!" they hear in stereo just as the receptionist reluctantly takes her leave (but not before stroking Castle's bicep, Beckett's quick to notice). Heaving a sigh, Castle slowly turns in place and releases a low groan that has Beckett smiling again as he recognizes the two women approaching them. Of all the rotten luck and coincidences, he thinks. Who'd have thought that the FDNY would contract out to the same agency that Fred's company uses?
"Hello, ladies," Castle greets warmly (though not genuinely, as only Beckett notices) as the women arrive, turning his head to receive their greeting kisses on the cheek while still holding tight to Beckett's hand, "it's nice to see you again. Let me introduce my friend," he suggests smoothly. "Skye with an 'e' and Raine with an 'e,'" he says while nodding to each of the women he met at the Aegis party weeks ago, "please meet Kate, also with an 'e.'"
Beckett manages to maintain her poker face again, though her grip on Castle's hand conveys her amusement.
"Huh," says Raine, after a confused look at Skye. "I thought Kate had an 'a.'"
Skye looks equally confused, until her expression lightens with an epiphany. "It must be 'Keet,'" she deduces, following her friend's logic. "Cool name!"
Blessedly, Castle and Beckett are spared the need to respond when someone calls his name from across the room. Apologizing for the need to depart, Castle maneuvers them away from the models, both of them stifling themselves in the name of politeness. Their short walk brings them to the woman who called them over, who has her back turned to them as she works with her camera lenses on the worktable. Based on her stylish bohemian clothes, lithe figure, and asymmetric haircut, she's probably someone who started as a model before moving behind the camera. As she turns to face them, Castle notes her beauty, but that's not what confirms his suspicion.
This time, it's Beckett who releases the low groan as the photographer turns to her rather than Castle.
"Well, well, well," the photographer releases with a smile. "If it isn't Katie Beckett, the one who got away. Are you here with this strapping lad, or are you looking to get back in the business?"
Blushing furiously, Beckett risks a sidelong glance at Castle, which is a big mistake. He glows with the knowledge that fate has conspired deliver him a fond wish and serious dirt on his partner, all wrapped up with a bow.
"Hello, Becca," she manages to emit, bracing herself to address this situation and limit the amount of fodder with which Castle can later tease her. "Rick Castle, best-selling author, current member of the FDNY and soon to return to the NYPD, please meet Rebecca Luna. I knew Becca as a model, though it looks like she might've expanded her horizons."
"Pleased to meet you," Becca says as she gives Castle a welcome hug and kiss, "and good to see you again," she says as she gives Beckett the same attention. "I'm mostly behind the camera these days," Becca says lightly. "You remember how predatory the men were," she prefaces while Beckett reaches out to stroke Castle's forearm and erase the tension that had already appeared. "Well, I finally did something about it. It's been a long fight and there are still more pigs than professionals, but it's a start."
"Thank you," Beckett says genuinely, offering her old colleague another hug and shocking Castle in the process. "I imagine you don't hear that often enough, but you should." Noticing Becca's look, she nods. "That was a big part of why I left. Not all of it, but a lot of it."
Becca nods and looks wistful for a moment, before returning her attention to Castle. "What are you doing here?" she asks, laughing at his look of surprise. "Sue!" she calls out, getting a raised hand from someone across the room. "Go see Sue, she'll talk makeup and hair. Then, dressing room two has some clothes. Get changed and hit the weight bench outside the changing rooms. We need you sweaty and puffed up. Work the upper body, mostly pecs and arms. About 80 to 90 percent of your max, slow reps. We don't want you hurt, just pumped up."
"Mind if I catch up, Castle?" Beckett asks, getting a nod in reply. He leans forward to plant a quick kiss on her cheek, but she turns her head to meet him full on. Then, with a push, she starts him on his way to Sue. After watching him make his way over, she turns back to her friend.
"So, you and Rick Castle," Becca states, not asking for or awaiting confirmation. "Nice catch."
"Becca, it's not like that…"
"Oh, stop," Becca replies quickly, turning back to her workbench. "He's supposed to get puffed up, not you. I know you're not like that. If you were, you wouldn't have left. Just accept the compliment. It looks like he makes you happy."
"Very," she confirms.
"Good idea to accompany him," Becca continues, nodding toward some of the models. "You remember what it can be like around here. And he's cute."
"I don't have to worry about you, too, do I?" Beckett asks with a raised brow, mostly joking but still willing to test whether her friend's explanation about becoming a photographer was true or whether she's just balancing the harassment and exploitation.
"I can appreciate the human body without forcing myself on it," Becca replies without humor, turning back to her array of camera gear. "Besides, not everything has changed since we last worked together – I'm still just as likely to hit on you as him," she offers as she looks over her shoulder and gives a wink. "Of course, if you're together I could just…"
"No, thanks," Beckett says quickly, surprising herself with a laugh. "He's already got a friend who generates all kinds of offers like that," she replies, thinking back to her first meeting with Fred and what information she suspects was withheld. "We're fine as a pair."
"Your loss," Becca says with a shrug, finishing the process of lining up her cameras and lenses on the table.
Time for a new topic, Beckett thinks, as she walks beside Becca on her check around the warehouse studio. As frequently happens, the initial thrill of meeting someone she knew earlier in her life has started to fade as the reasons they weren't closer friends start to come back to her. Plus, she knew Becca before college and left modeling shortly thereafter, before her mother was killed. The last thing she wants is Becca straying onto family matters while struggling for a discussion topic.
"Is anyone else from the old crowd still around?" she asks, hoping to divert Becca.
"The old crowd?" she laughs. "You were only part of that crowd for a few months."
"Which is like half a decade in modeling time," Beckett ripostes, getting a chuckle.
"True. Which is why pretty much everyone else is gone," Becca admits. "This is a young person's game."
"You're doing well," Beckett compliments, waving around the studio through which they're walking. "I've seen your work," she embellishes, recalling how delighted models were to talk and hear about themselves. "I'm a little surprised you're working a city contract for the FDNY calendar."
"Are you kidding?" Becca asks, turning to scrutinize Beckett. "This is a perk – I ask for the contract. Pisses off the young ones something fierce. But I do it for nothing and take the sweet tax write-off. Plus," she says, leaning in closer to Beckett to afford some small amount of privacy, "Just because I'm a vegetarian, it doesn't mean I'm opposed to some beefcake." She punctuates her statement by nodding at Castle, who's unbuttoning his shirt as Sue hovers around him, prepping him for his shoot. And while Sue's perusal looks professional, Beckett's still glad that Becca led them to this corner of the studio at the right time.
"Good lord, woman, get a manicure," Becca chides, startling Beckett from her vigilance.
"What?" she asks, looking at her nails before following Becca's line of sight back to Castle, who's turned to face Sue. Feeling a blush crawl up her neck, Beckett takes in the scratches that criss-cross his back. Thank God he's still wearing his pants, she thinks, recalling their shower activities. Because if his back looks like that, then his ass…
"Thank goodness for Photoshop," she manages to offer with a shrug, trying to regain her composure for this conversation.
"Why hide it? You've been gone too long," Becca replies, shaking her head but keeping her eyes on Castle. "That's hot."
It's another good warning, one that spurs Beckett into motion before others notice. Bidding goodbye the Becca, she rejoins Castle, who scores some serious boyfriend points with his obvious delight at having her back at his side even in the presence of distractions. And if that wasn't enough, getting to be his spotter while he followed Becca's directions and spent some time on the weight bench certainly revved her up a bit. By the time he's in front of Becca's camera (wearing nothing but his work pants, suspenders, and helmet), Beckett's happily daydreaming about calling in sick for the afternoon.
For all her other characteristics, Becca's a good photographer. She keeps Castle moving, running through different poses and scenes. Beckett's annoyed that a small crowd has formed, not all of whom (like Raine and Skye) need to be here. Happily, though, another two firefighters (one man and one woman) show up mid-shoot to prepare for their session, which draws off some of the observers.
"Will you do me a favor?" Becca asks, sidling up next to Beckett after sending Castle for a quick outfit change. "He's very good at this. I'd say he's a natural except he's probably got some experience from his writing promotions. But he's too in control," Becca huffs, frustrated with her attempt to describe what she wants.
"His eyes are smiling," Beckett offers. "He's in on the joke."
"Exactly," Becca snaps her fingers. "That's fine, it works for books. But I want him more engaged. Less cultured. Feral. I want him stalking the camera, not laughing at it. Which brings me back to the favor," she says as she nods at the camera, then at Beckett.
"What?!" Beckett squeaks. "I'm a cop, not a photographer."
"And I'm a model, yet I can take some pictures," Becca answers with a shrug. "Look, I've already got some good shots I can use for the calendar. But I think we could get something great. Well, not 'we,' but 'you.'" Beckett still looks wary, but her expression is softening, so Becca moves in to close the sale. "Just walk up to him, whisper something in his ear that unhinges him, then step back and snap away. If you don't get anything useful, no big deal."
Beckett hasn't answered, but Becca knows she's got her convinced. Reaching into a pocket, she pulls out a business card and hands it to her reluctant apprentice. "I'll clear the area. Just get him set, then I'll hand off the camera and shoo away the onlookers. Call my cell when you're done."
This last offer overcomes Beckett's reticence, even invigorates her a bit. "Deal," she says, reaching into her own pocket and pulling out a business card. Using a pen to strike out part of the card, she replaces her precinct email address with her personal one. Don't want this going on the NYPD servers, she thinks, before handing the edited card to Becca. "But I want copies. Just for personal use," she offers with a sly look. "Trust me, I won't do anything with them that'll undercut your sales."
"I should ask for his consent," Becca laughs with a nod, "but if you do this right he'll say 'yes' to anything a few minutes from now. So, you ready?"
Becca gets the next shot framed up but nods to Beckett before she takes any pictures. With a predatory grin, Beckett nods back before swaying up to a confused fireman who's started to suspect that something's amiss.
His eyebrows nearly launch off his head when Beckett doesn't halt her approach until she's prowled into his personal space, stopping herself by placing a hand against his chest and leaning in close to whisper in his ear. "Rick," she whispers breathily, while she runs her guilty fingernails lightly around his chest, careful not to leave any marks. "We've never talked about your tattoo," she confides, her fingers deftly skimming across his chest and up his arm to swirl around the topic of discussion, "other than when you told us it was an initiation ritual. When I was modeling," she leads in, pausing to let those words sink in while nipping at the rim of his ear, "there was an initiation that I avoided. But now that you're a model, too, I was thinking that we could share our rites of passage."
Well, Becca did say she wanted him sweaty. And unhinged. He's certainly there, as long as he doesn't pass out right here.
"As soon as we take a few more pictures, you're going to head back to changing room two," she says simply, pulling herself away from his ear to look directly into his eyes, which are so dilated they're nearly black. "Where I'll be waiting," she promises, turning to return to Becca but watching him over her shoulder to maintain eye contact as long as possible.
"Good Christ, I think you might've overdone it," Becca marvels as she practically shoves the camera at Beckett. "Hurry! Before he combusts!" With that parting shot, Becca's already clearing the area, though neither Beckett nor Castle pay her much attention. Despite the limited blood flow to his brain, Castle's realized that this is now a private session, with the object of his desire right there before him.
"Come on, Rick," Beckett growls, her own breathing shallow and eyes dilated. "Be my muse."
Ten minutes later, Becca's starting to reconsider her plan. Wondering if she can check in on Katie and Castle without learning something new and shocking even after her own long, sordid career, her cell phone rings.
"Camera's on the table," she hears someone (Katie?) mumble before the line goes dead.
Smirking about the likely shenanigans going on in some dark corner of the studio, Becca's seized by an unfamiliar spasm of compassion as she thinks about the young woman who modeled only long enough to buy her dream bike before showing the wisdom to get out. Instructing her staff to stay behind, she ventures back into the photo area to make sure the coast is clear.
The camera's on the table, but there's no one in sight when she returns. She's just about to recall her staff and get ready for the next shoot when she hears some crashing and stumbling from the direction of the changing rooms. Deciding that there are limits to her emotionalism (but not her curiosity), she drifts in that direction.
The low, throaty, feminine moan she hears is erotic enough to freeze her in her tracks and get her own pulse racing. A few more thumps and even a clanging (there goes the weight bench) provide auditory clues as to their progress through the back hall. Wiping her brow, Becca's not sure if she's relieved or disappointed that they must be about to reach the relative privacy of the changing rooms.
Deciding they must've reached their destination, Becca turns to retrieve her staff when her progress is again halted, this time by a loud, long tearing sound.
"Damn, Beckett," she hears Castle growl, apparently impressed and no longer encumbered by whatever article of clothing got in his partner's way.
"Off, off, off, Castle!" is the urgent reply. "Where's your back? I think I missed a spot."
"Alexis?" Beckett asks, returning her missed call after her meeting with Acting-Captain Murray. "You called?"
"I'm sorry to bother you at work," she starts to explain, but her tone's already seized Beckett's attention.
"Alexis, what's wrong?" she worries, looking at the clock and noticing that Ryan and Esposito are casting her curious looks. "Are you safe?" she asks, terrified that she might've provoked Bracken into a move against Castle's family.
"There's a fire," Alexis prefaces as a strange keening noise erupts from Beckett. The cold hand of fear that'd seized her heart when thinking about Bracken has spread throughout her chest, leaving her frozen and fearful. No! she screams in her mind. Not now! We've just started to figure it all out. I won't lose him…
"Kate!" Alexis nearly yells into the phone, drawing Beckett's attention back to the phone. As her attention refocuses, she notices Ryan standing beneath the bullpen's television set, flipping between news channels.
"Dad's okay," Alexis assures her. "At least, I think he is. I haven't heard from him, which means he's involved. But the TV said there's no casualties, and he's not even supposed to be off-shift until 6:00."
"Oh. Okay," Beckett says, calming herself with effort as Ryan alights on a channel that shows the three-alarm blaze at an industrial complex near the East River. "Thanks for telling me, Alexis. I'd just come out of a meeting and had no idea."
"I wasn't just calling about that," Alexis confesses. "I was calling to see when you can come home. It'll be easier to wait with you here," she trails off shyly.
"I'm leaving now," Beckett answers immediately over Alexis' weak objections, already powering down her computer. Murray can handle things himself for the rest of the afternoon. And if not, someone else can help him.
Though she hasn't discussed it with them (Lanie probably has), the boys seem to know that something's going on between her and Castle. She hasn't even finished grabbing her bag when Ryan steps next to her chair while Esposito's calling the elevator for her.
"Go," Ryan urges. "We'll talk to Murray. Just go."
"Thank you, Kevin," she surprises him with a highly uncharacteristic kiss to the cheek as she blows out of her desk. The elevator door is opening as she approaches, so she doesn't break stride to thank Esposito, just returning his fist bump on the way into the car.
It's not until she's halfway to the loft that she realizes Alexis asked her when she could come "home." She didn't flinch, didn't evade, didn't run. Her only thought had been to protect the people she cares about.
She shocks Alexis by wrapping her in a hug as she enters the loft, holding tight and letting some tears leak out. "Any word?"
"Nothing specific," Castle's daughter says while pulling Beckett to the sofa in front of the television. The women collapse onto the sofa while still holding hands, though Beckett soon decides to put her arm around the young woman's shoulders instead.
"Does Martha know?" Beckett asks as they watch the images on TV.
"She's in class," Alexis replies, blushing. "I didn't even think about calling her until after I talked to you," she confesses, and Beckett feels her heart clench again at the thought that Alexis reached out to her for comfort, "and then I decided I didn't want to worry her. She might not even need to cancel her evening plans."
Humbled by this young woman, Beckett drops a kiss on her temple before turning back to the TV and letting their heads rest together. It's a strange vigil they hold, a requiem for an industrial complex. But as long as the crawl at the bottom of the screen continues to report no fatalities, they remain hopeful.
Many minutes later, they're both startled by buzzing cellphones, separating awkwardly to rifle through pockets to find the devices. Beckett manages first, unlocking the device to see a text from Castle.
I'm sorry if I worried you, but I'm safe. Will be a few hours late. Love you both.
"Both?" Alexis asks shyly, holding up her phone to show Beckett that they received the same message.
"Is that okay?" Beckett asks, looking into the eyes that look so much like her father's.
Alexis' reply is to wrap Beckett in a hug that's even more fierce than the one they shared when Beckett arrived.
"You know what Lanie pointed out to me recently, rather unkindly?" Beckett asks Alexis. "That I'm not especially gifted in the kitchen. Would you be interested in helping me? Maybe we could make something to welcome your father home?"
A few hours later, an exhausted Castle slots his key into the loft's door. Despite his fatigue, he enters quietly, hoping that the ladies of the loft are asleep, preparing for a day that's got to be better than today. After entering, the first thing he notices is the darkness, only a few dim lights providing illumination. But even as his eyes scan the loft, his nose draws him toward the kitchen. There's a tray of fresh cookies on the island, but the air smells of something savory. His stomach growls ferociously, reminding him that it's been a long, trying time since he's last eaten.
Oddly, the promise of delicious food actually pushes him out of the kitchen. As hungry as he may be, he's more desperate to see the people who made a meal for him than he is to eat. He's trying to decide which bedroom to check first when a faint sound draws his attention to the couch. Creeping to the lounge, he nearly stumbles when he sees the scene that awaits him. Beckett's sitting on the couch, head back and dozing lightly. Alexis is prone on the couch, napping with her head in Beckett's lap, the detective's arm draped across the young woman to protect and comfort even in sleep.
Suddenly invigorated, Castle quietly extracts his phone, silences it, then takes a few pictures before pocketing it again. Kneeling down in front of Beckett, he can't bring himself to disrupt the scene. He's entranced by the possibility that he might've actually found the person for whom he's been searching for so long, the woman who completes his family, completes his heart.
Despite his silence, Beckett seems to know that he's near. Her eyes open as she tilts her head forward, though she's careful not to jostle Alexis. Instead, she drinks him in, as happy to see him as he was to see her. They commune silently for several long moments, until Beckett reaches for him.
"Welcome home, Castle."
A/N: Big news! Castle Fic Stream Con starts later today and continues through tomorrow. In case you haven't seen this, writers are going to be available to discuss their stories and answer questions on a Twitch livestream (for more information, look for castleficstream on tumblr or at castleficstream on twitter). For those of you who, like me, are not the masters of all types of social media, send me a PM. There is a fantastic lineup of distinguished writers, and one of them is sneaking me in! GeekMom's been trying (generously and with success limited by her student's aptitude) to get me functional on social media. Her forbearance extended to the ficstream, so I'll be joining her session tomorrow (6:00 Eastern on Saturday)! Certainly check the schedule, there is a really good group of participating authors. My kids might have to fend for themselves this weekend so I can catch more sessions…
One last note, if you're still here. I came to Castle fanfic late and in many ways still have some classics to read. But there are amazing new authors, too. If you're not reading Secret by Father Vengeance, you're missing out. This is what happens when a true writer has some fun.
Late edit: it turns out FV isn't new to writing, just new to me. How great it is to still be discovering great writers. Go check out his story.
