Title: Pick Me Up At the Lost and Found
Pairing: Caskett
Category: AU in an AU for 7x06
Notes: For becketts-areola on tumblr! I was her Castle Secret Santa this year and while I was late, I wanted to make sure I gifted her with this.
"Please don't go. Stay with me."
Each morning for the last week, she's woken with tears in her eyes and those words on her lips. Each morning for the last week, she's stared at her hands in the pre-dawn haze, seeing his blood in every crease, every nook and cranny even though her skin is clean.
She can't stop dreaming about watching Richard Castle die.
It's absurd, too, because apart from a few words spoken at a book signing almost a decade ago, she's never even met the man. She read his last book, an unsatisfying and completely boggling foray away from the genre that made him famous. She's seen his name in the papers when he does stupid things. But she doesn't know him. Why she's dreaming about his death – as a result of him jumping into one of her investigations, no less – she has no idea.
But each morning she wakes in a sweat, his voice echoing in her ears.
"Because I love you, Kate."
"I love you, Kate."
"Love you, Kate."
Her subconscious has one hell of a sense of humor.
It's all so clear, too. He'd known her in her dreams. His bright eyes had stolen her breath and stripped her bare each time he looked at her. He'd driven her crazy, even as she slept. He'd excited part of her she'd thought long-dormant. They'd shared two days of interactions, of conversations that are so clear she can't possibly have made them up.
But she did.
No matter what her mind wants her to think, he's a stranger. He's not a consultant at her precinct. In fact, she has no idea where to find him even if she wanted to, short of scouring the booking records for other precincts to see if he's in their lockup. He's bound to get himself into trouble again sooner or later.
Or she could abuse her power a little and look him up that way.
Is she really considering doing that? Finding the man because of a dream she's been having?
Her pleading words follow her through her empty bedroom, stopping her short.
Well, damn, she might be.
"Stay with me, Castle."
Ryan and Esposito are already at their desks when she lets herself into her office. They don't say anything, but she sees their brows crease at her late entrance. It's not often that they beat her into the precinct and they've done it every day for the last week.
Castle's book – the final Derrick Storm novel – is heavy in her bag, the top corner peeking out as she sets it on her desk. She didn't mean to bring the novel to work with her, but she'd been turning it over in her hands as she drank her coffee, and it just hadn't left her hands as she'd rushed out the door.
"Morning, boss," Esposito greets her, tapping the door lightly. "Just heard back from Markway's admin. We got our warrant."
"Good, bring him in." She nods in confirmation.
Her hands flatten against her desk when Esposito doesn't leave.
"Something I can help you with, Detective?"
"You okay, boss?"
"Fine. Just paperwork piling up."
Once upon a time she might've answered differently, but she doesn't now. She keeps her distance from the boys these days, or they keep their distance from her.
"You sure?" He's persistent today.
"Yeah, let me know when you're set up for questioning."
Her detective nods. "Will do."
She watches him leave with Ryan and three of her uniforms before turning back to her desk. The book in her bag beckons to her, but she ignores it in favor of signing into her computer. There's work to do; she can't spend the rest of the day pining over a dream.
All preoccupation with Richard Castle gets pushed aside as her email downloads and new crises are loaded onto her plate. Becoming Captain at her age is an honor, but some days it feels more like a punishment in triplicate. Especially when 1PP tells her the squad's closure numbers are still down, but they're going to cut personnel instead of adding to their ranks if she doesn't get their closure rates up.
She can't ask her guys to work longer hours than she already does. Asking that of them already cost Ryan a relationship with probably the nicest girl on the planet, and Javi's still not over whatever it was that happened with Lanie. Neither of them deserve to sacrifice more of their lives.
No, she'll have to take on some of the load herself. And she should.
The interrogation goes well; she watches from observation as the boys grill their main suspect until he trips up, says something stupid, and then lawyers up a second later when he realizes his misstep. She brings the ADA up to speed while their guy's attorney is en route. The three of them are still hashing out plea deals and whatnot while her people prepare the paperwork and move onto their next case. It's not always this fast, but if they can get a few more cases like these, maybe they'll be okay.
Castle's voice comes back to her as she's sipping an acrid cup of coffee. It's her third of the day, not counting the one she made at home, but it helps. Even if it is awful.
He said they worked together every day, he said they solved things together. They had solved the case, even in her dream world. He'd pushed her to find the people who were really responsible, instead of accepting the first good answer she could get.
Her eyes slip shut, wincing around another bitter sip.
They'd solved the case in her dream. Not in real life. She's insane for even entertaining the idea that they could do the same in this reality. It's a liability to bring in a civilian for any reason. Even if it weren't, the last thing she needs is the rest of her dream – him jumping in front of a bullet for her, or for anyone – to become a reality, too.
But he had helped six years ago when McNulty brought him in. Yeah, it'd been because he'd had a sort-of copycat, but his insight had kept them from putting an innocent man in jail because it was the obvious, easy choice.
She looks him up as soon as she settles in her chair again, ignoring the harsh red exclamation point of another "important" email in favor of doing a search for the semi-retired author. She'd learned quickly that every email the assistant assistant assistant to the commissioner sends is vital and important, not to mention easily ignorable until it actually needs to be read.
Hastily, she scribbles Richard Castle's contact information onto a post-it and shoves it into her jacket pocket. Maybe she'll duck out during her lunch break – provided she gets one – and track him down. It's not exactly something she can talk about in a phone call. Not that she knows what she'd say.
In charge or not, Kate Beckett really has no idea what she's doing right now.
Her lunch break turns into a meeting downtown over a slimy, wilted turkey sandwich (maybe she should have looked at Gary's email a little sooner), but as soon as she's free she remembers the crumpled yellow note in her pocket.
His address is on her way back to the precinct. She could make a quick stop, introduce herself, and see if her subconscious is as ridiculous as she feels like it is.
She'll do that. She'll see this man her brain has somehow become infatuated with lately and that will be it. She's not going to invite him into her precinct for anything, definitely not to help her solve her open cases. Something tells her "Hi, I see you die in my dreams every night, glad you're still kicking. And oh, want to help me solve crimes?" isn't the best opening line anyway.
But then again, the guy used to write about murder. Who knows what he'd like.
"Please don't go. Stay with me."
His lack of recognition shouldn't hurt her as much as it does, but when he opens his front door and blinks in confusion, her heart sinks. Maybe some part of her had been hoping he would see her and instantly be the intriguing, infuriating lunatic she'd met in her dream.
"Um, hi. Can I help you?" His paw of a hand combs through his hair, taming the sleep-mussed strands.
The Richard Castle her sleepy brain conjured had seemed so vibrant, so hopeful, so eager to see her and be near her. This one seems worn in ways sleepiness can't account for; even more foreign to her than he already is. The lines around his eyes were probably once laugh lines, but he's not laughing now.
"Miss?" he prompts again, rubbing his forehead. "I'm sorry, if we've met… I don't mean to be rude, but I'm not up to company right now."
"Because I love you, Kate."
"No," she murmurs almost reluctantly. "No, we haven't met. My name is Kate Beckett. I'm with the NYPD."
That wakes him up. "Am I in trouble? Look, I know things got crazy the other night bu –"
"No, Mr. Castle, you're not in trouble. Whatever you did the other night isn't my concern," she interrupts, her voice clipped. The last time she'd heard him (no, not him) stuttering like this, he'd been talking about being with her. And maybe it's crazy to feel a flash of jealousy, but she does.
"I – then… if you don't mind me asking, Offic –Detective?" He fumbles as she shakes her head.
Her head wobbles again. "Captain."
Castle's eyes widen. "Captain? That's so hot," it spews out before he's able to stop it. "Erm, I'm sorry. But…"
"What do I want with you?"
Tugging her lip between her teeth, she looks him over. He looks like he stripped to his undershirt and boxers before falling into bed. His ankles still have imprints from socks, no less.
Looking up from his wiggling toes, she finds him studying her, too. His mouth lifts in amusement and she sees him, the dream Castle, for the first time. Jesus, she's really going to ask him to come to the precinct, isn't she?
"Yeah, that."
"Why don't you change clothes and make some coffee and then I'll explain?"
She watches him think for a moment, weighing his options with his tired, hungover brain, before he steps back and allows her to come into his home.
"In that case, Captain, how do you like your java?"
She steps inside.
"Stay with me, Castle."
Six weeks later, a battered, ugly brown chair has found its way beside her desk at work and a pair of size 11 shoes have started joining hers just inside her front door at home. As insane as it is, her squad's case closure rate has jumped. Work suddenly feels less like work. Her cheeks almost ache from the way he makes her smile, and the lines around his eyes have grown joyous once more.
He's also writing again. Writing about her just the way the dream version of him said he was. Some days he rides with Ryan and Espo for more in-depth looks at what goes on in the field (and he doesn't follow instructions then either, funny how her subconscious got that right), but for the most part, he's by her side. According to him, his hands can barely keep up with the words in his head.
They're building each other up. They're filling in each other's cracks. Finding each other piece by piece.
The dreams cease the first night she falls asleep with her head on his chest, ear resting on the spot the bullets entered. But there are no bullets, there's no blood; there's just skin. Warm, soft skin with a gentle dusting of light-brown hair and a steadily beating heart under her ear. This time when she hears the words, they're whispered but not choked. There's no pain in his voice, just contentment, joy.
This time, the words are real.
"I love you, Kate."