WHEN THERE'S LOVE TO BE HAD
Hold me tight as I tell myself that you might make sense
And make good what has been just so bad
Let's see this through
Bad Idea - Sara Bareilles
CHAPTER ONE
FALL 2002
He's drawn to her from the first day at the Academy. She can tell by the way he just sidles up to her at roll call, sticks out his hand, and doesn't move until she takes it.
"Rick Rodgers," he introduces himself, ignoring the scowl she gives him.
After a few seconds, she sighs and drops his hand. "Kate Beckett."
He gives her a crooked smile. "Nice to meet you, Kate Beckett." When the instructor enters the room and snaps at the group for attention, he jumps and stands at her side. "Good luck," he murmurs.
She clasps her hands behind her back. "You too," she murmurs back.
She buries herself in the training, spends every waking moment in the gym or studying, and although she tries to push him away, Rick stays by her side every step of the way. He manages to worm his way into her life with sparring and coffee. He makes her smile when she's being too serious, but he's also a safe space, someone she goes to on bad days, when the January memories overwhelm her.
He's her partner, her best friend.
And, the night they graduate, he becomes her lover.
They don't tell anyone, of course; it's against regulation, and if they're discovered, they could be fired immediately. They've both worked too hard to get to where they are, so when they part in the morning, they vow that it can never happen again.
They fail.
They end up at different precincts, often on opposite shifts, so while they text often and meet for coffee on their rare common off days, they don't spend nearly as much time together as they did in the Academy.
She assumes their relationship will start to fade. She's not good at friendships anyway, not since her mom died and she started her quest to find the killer. But Rick joined the Academy just a year after his mother and young daughter perished in the World Trade Center, so they understand each other's motivations more than others might.
Their friendship doesn't fade; instead, it grows stronger.
SPRING 2003
He shows up at her door early one Thursday morning around dawn, just a few hours after she collapsed on the couch after a grueling double shift. When she opens the door she doesn't even have time to greet him before his mouth is on hers. He tastes stale, like old coffee and gum, but when he grips her thighs and lifts her into his arms she realizes that she doesn't care.
It's fast and frantic, a way to release pent up stress and tension, but he stays, pulls her into his arms after using her shower.
"What's wrong?" Kate asks when he's back in bed, fighting the fatigue that threatens to pull her under. She tugs herself from his embrace and props her head on her hand so she can look down at him.
Rick shifts his gaze to her, and she can see the turmoil swirling through his eyes. "Nothing," he lies. When he starts to turn away from her, she grabs his shoulder and forces him to face her.
"Bullshit." She presses her hand to his cheek, her fingers playing with the hair at his temple. "Not that I'm not glad you're here," she continues, "but what's going on? Did something happen?"
He sighs and scrubs a hand over his tired face. 'Yeah. I'm surprised you don't know already, since word travels so fast."
"I fell asleep as soon as I got home," she explains. She pokes his broad chest. "Quit stalling, Rodgers. Spill."
Her jaw drops as he tells her, explains the missing homicide detective out of his precinct, the 54th, whose blood-soaked, gunshot-riddled car was found. Rick had been one of the responding officers, and he's more than shaken up about it. Being at the scene of a violent crime is hard enough, and Kate can't begin to imagine the victim being one of their own.
"Jesus, Rick," she mutters. "I'm sorry."
"Thanks. I just needed to see you after that. I should've called, I'm sorry," he adds. "Or at least stopped at home to clean up first."
"Hey." Kate levels her gaze at him. "Nothing to apologize for. We're friends, first and foremost, and that means being there for each other. Even directly after a double shift," she adds with a smirk.
That earns her a small smile, and she trails her fingers along the stubble of his jaw, the shell of his ear, the fine hairs at his temple. She has to be on shift in just a few hours, and really should sleep. But she still cups the back of his head and lowers her mouth to his.
"We shouldn't be doing this," she gasps a month later as they stumble through his apartment, their hands roaming, clothes falling to the floor. By some small miracle, he'd been transferred not only to the same precinct as her but also given the same shift. So after a day spent with her, sharing longing glances, she'd followed him home, knocked on his door mere minutes after he'd walked through it.
He grunts when her hand slips inside his briefs, her skilled fingers curling around him. "You're - fuck - probably right." He bucks into her hand, feels her grin against his mouth. She shoves his briefs down his legs and he kicks them aside, chases her mouth with his when she starts to step away.
Her touch is intoxicating, addicting, and God this is such a terrible idea, but he can't help himself. He grunts when she pushes him against the wall, but his need to touch and taste her overwhelms him, and he turns, traps her against the wall with his body.
"Turn around," he orders, and she meets his eyes for one long moment, then smirks and presses her palms against the wall.
She moans when his hand slips inside her panties from behind, his fingers slicking through her, finding her wet and willing. Her ass grinds against his hardened length and he groans, stills for a moment before dropping to his knees and sliding her underwear off.
When his lips touch the back of her thigh she jerks, a loud gasp falling from her lips. He takes his time with her, ghosting his mouth across the curve of her ass, her hips, resists the siren call of her center until she's practically begging him.
"Fuck, Rick," she moans, bending at the waist, her body seeking his. "Quit teasing me."
He chuckles and nudges her feet farther apart, then finally, with his hands curling around her hips, swipes his tongue through her folds. She cries out, her hips jerking forward, and he tightens his grip while he ravages her.
He laves and suckles at her like a man possessed, like he can't get enough of her, and as she rolls against his mouth and comes with a cry, he squeezes her ass, tries to hold her still as he catches her release with his tongue.
Even as she continues to tremble he stands, brushes a kiss to her spine before he takes her hand and leads her to his room.
They should stop.
They both know it, know they can't keep up this way, the sideways glances and brushes of fingers as they pass in the hallway. As much as he loves being in the same precinct as her, sometimes even the same shift, they can't do this forever. They're breaking several strict regulations, and deep down he knows that something will happen. They'll be discovered, or one of them will get hurt, or they'll get sick of each other until they can't work together anymore.
Well, she might get sick of him. He'll never get sick of her. He knows that like he knows the streets.
He catches her in the records room one day late in the spring, and he shouldn't be surprised. She'd disappeared at the end of her shift, and he went down to put away a case file, his last task before he can go home. She's bent over a table in the corner, a flashlight in one hand, and as he gets closer, he sees a picture of her mother staring up at him.
He knows about her mom's murder, that it's the reason Kate became a cop. So it's no wonder that she's already started looking into it, just months into her career.
He doesn't say anything as he approaches, assuming she'd hear him with her almost superhuman senses. But when he touches her shoulder she jumps so hard she drops her flashlight, and her face is flush with embarrassment when she retrieves it.
"Aren't you going home?" he asks, keeping his voice low.
She shakes her head. "No, I just started."
"Kate-"
"Good night, Rick," she interrupts, glaring at him for a moment before turning her attention back to the papers in front of her.
Rick sighs and squeezes her shoulder. He's spent enough time with her to know her tone. This isn't a battle to pick. "Okay. See you later."
He tries not to be disappointed when she doesn't show up at his apartment that night.
They're enlisted to help with a homicide the next week, and soon they learn that they're hunting a potential serial killer. That night, with the murderboard and case file swirling through his head, he writes down an idea for a story.
He'd enjoyed writing when he was younger, and majored in English in college, even taught for a couple years, but had joined the Academy after 9/11 turned his life upside down. But it's always been in the back of his mind, the desire to write, to entertain through the written word. To create a mystery that people might pay to read. And this case might provide him with that inspiration.
The serial killer case stalls after a week and eventually goes into the closed case files, but she can't bring herself to care. Not when she finally found her mom's file, not when she spends every moment possible in the dark, cold basement, reading every word over and over until she can create her own murder board from memory.
She hides it from Rick; the look of pity she saw when he found her haunts her, and she doesn't want to see it again. So she keeps it hidden from him. From everyone, until the night she runs into her captain as she leaves the records room.
"Officer Beckett," Captain Montgomery greets her, his voice laced with warning. "Can I help you with something?"
Kate snaps to attention as soon as she hears his voice, her back rimrod straight, her hands clasped behind her. "No, Sir, I was just leaving," she claims, her face hot with embarrassment.
Montgomery raises his brows. "At ease, Officer." When she relaxes - slightly - he continues. "You're not supposed to be down here, Beckett."
"Yes, Sir. Which is why I'm leaving." She winces as soon as the words come out of her mouth, wishes she could take them back. She likes the homicide captain; his no-bullshit approach is something she can respect. But she's just six months removed from the Academy. Sarcasm isn't even remotely appropriate, especially not towards her boss.
Montgomery just looks at her, an unreadable expression on his face, and after a long minute, steps aside. "See you tomorrow, Officer Beckett."
"Good night, Sir."
The encounter shakes her, so after changing and leaving the precinct she decides to wander for a bit, work out the adrenaline coursing through her veins. She has an early shift the next day, so she should go right home and get some rest. But instead she finds herself in Chinatown, staring up at his window, wondering if he's home, if he'd even want to see her.
Which is stupid, she tells herself. They're not just co-workers who sleep together. They were friends first, and he's her best friend, would be even without the sex. He'd want her to call him, or stop by, to hang out, have a couple beers to wind down after a rough day.
She turns away and walks the block to his favorite restaurant, where she orders enough food to feed them both for days, and carries it back to his building. Not for the first time she curses his third floor walk-up and wonders how he makes it home after a double shift spent primarily on his feet. They're both fit, in the best shape of their lives, but holy shit.
Her knock goes unanswered, and she can't help but feel disappointed. She should've called; at the very least, made sure he was home. The thought crosses her mind that he might be on a date, and she realizes that, not only does the idea remind her that they haven't had a friend-to-friend conversation in ages, she's jealous at the possibility that he might be interested in other women.
She mutters a curse and gathers the food in her arms, prepares to carry it to her apartment. But before she even reaches the stairs she hears footsteps and she pauses, her senses on high alert. It takes a few seconds, but she recognizes the sound of her partner's steps, and when he appears and notices her, despite her earlier annoyance, she smiles.
"Hi," she greets him, lifting the food. "I hope you're hungry."
His expression is unreadable, but he doesn't respond, just passes by her and unlocks his door. He leaves it ajar, so she follows him, shuts and locks it behind her. He goes straight into his kitchen and pulls out a couple of plates, dishes out food for both of them. He sits on the couch without a word, and Kate just narrows her eyes at him. They often spend time in a comfortable silence, but this is far from comfortable. He's acting surly, almost mad.
She sighs in resignation and joins him, their knees brushing against each other. He'll talk when he's ready. Probably.
They eat in silence, and when they're both done he takes the plates to the kitchen, quickly rinses them off, and just turns his blank gaze to her.
"Okay, what's up with you?" she finally snaps, breaking the silence.
He shoves his hands in his pockets. "Nothing. I'm fine."
She stands to face him. "I can tell when you're lying," she reminds him. "You're acting weird, and I can't help but feel like it's because of me."
Rick sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "I'm worried, Kate. About you," he clarifies. "How often do you sneak to the records room after shift?"
"Not that much," she claims. And she doesn't anymore; occasionally she has to, if she needs to remember or clarify a detail, but more often than not, she goes home to her own makeshift murder board.
"Okay, let me reword that. How often do you work your mom's case?" When she opens her mouth to answer, he barrels ahead, interrupting her. "I saw the board in your room, Kate. And I can tell you haven't been sleeping. Don't try to lie to me," he continues. "I know you too well. You're going to run yourself into the ground."
Kate shakes her head, feels her eyes prickle, and wills herself not to cry. He's right; almost every waking minute is spent pouring over the case, looking for patterns, for anything that had been missed the first time around.
"I'm fine, Rick," she insists. "I have a handle on it. I promise."
She doesn't stay; he claims he's too tired after a taxing few days, and she does have an early shift the next morning. But as she stares at her bedroom ceiling, unable to fall asleep, as she eventually gives in to the call of the board in the corner of her room, she wonders if he's right.
He isn't on shift the next day, but he wakes with such an intense feeling of guilt that he stops by the precinct to apologize. She isn't in the bullpen, although Karpowski confirms that she's there, so he parks himself in the break room to wait.
Kate appears in the doorway just a few minutes later, looking nervous, and Rick's guilt intensifies. "Hey," she greets him, leaning against the door frame.
Rick stands and swipes his palms on his pants. "Hi." His voice cracks on the word and he feels his face get hot. "What the hell was that?" he jokes, trying to cut through the tension. That earns him a subtle lift of her lips which he takes as a sign of encouragement, and he props himself against the table. "Look, Kate, I'm sorry. I was an ass last night."
Kate crosses her arms. "I didn't really deserve the silent treatment," she points out. "Or the interrogation."
"It wasn't an interrogation. But that's not the point," he continues at the lift of her brow. God, that look will serve her well when she inevitably becomes a detective. "You came over for a reason, and it was probably not for me to bark at you."
"You're right, it wasn't." Kate sighs and finally joins him in the room. "I'm sorry, too. I have been a bit preoccupied with the case. I got caught yesterday," she admits.
Rick turns to her in surprise. "Oh shit, really?"
"Yeah. Ran into Captain Montgomery when I was leaving. That's actually why I came over, to tell you about it. Don't apologize again," she adds when he starts to respond. "But he called me into his office this morning."
Rick stays silent when she pauses, expecting her to continue, but when she doesn't right away, he nudges her elbow with his. "And? Are you fired?"
"No. Actually, he said that he sees potential in me, wants me to start considering what path I want to take."
"Oh jeez," Rick exhales. "Thank goodness. Did you tell him you already know you want to work in homicide?"
"Yeah."
"Hey, Beckett?"
They both look up at the interruption to find Officer Esposito, a recent transfer from the 54th Precinct.
Kate stands and adjusts her uniform shirt. "Yeah, Espo, what's up?"
Esposito nods a greeting to Rick. "Royce needs you on a call. You up for some legwork?"
"Always." Kate turns back to Rick. "Gotta run. We'll talk later?"
Rick follows her out of the break room and heads towards the elevator. "Sure. Come by after shift." He gives her his patented crooked grin as the doors shut. "I'll have beer waiting."
"So," he pants later, as she crawls up his body, "how was your day?"
She chuckles and finds his hand, hooks her pinky through his. They don't do this often, show affection outside of sex and the occasional hug. But sometimes it feels right, like when he asks her a casual question after she basically devoured him with her mouth. Her body is singing, practically begging her for release, but she ignores it for the time being. She'll let her partner recover first.
"It was fine," she drawls, tugging his finger. "Pretty normal. Aside from my conversation with Montgomery, of course."
"Right." He rolls to his side and curls his arm under his pillow. "He asked you what you want to do with your career."
She mirrors his post, lets her gaze travel across his face. "The age old 'where do you see yourself in five years' question," she explains. "I told him I want to work homicide, of course. That I'm motivated by what happened to my mom."
"Did you tell him you joined the force to be able to look at her file?"
She shakes her head. "No. But I'm sure he put the pieces together after he saw me yesterday. He could've punished me, Rick. He probably should have. But instead, he made me an offer." She can't stop herself from smiling. "Basically, he'd pair me with Royce, and we'd exclusively work on homicides. It's an amazing opportunity to learn. Royce has been doing this forever, and I can learn a ton from him. And I can start thinking about taking the Detective's exam in a year or two."
She's almost trembling with excitement, and she slides her leg through his, tangling them together. "It's perfect. I can learn how to be a detective, which will help me with my mom's case, and-"
"Wait," Rick interrupts her, his eyes darkening at the mention of her mom. "You'd still work on it?"
Kate leans back, just enough that she can look at him straight on. "Of course."
"How would you even have time?"
"I'd make time, just like I do already."
"With the murder board in your bedroom?" He raises his brows when she starts to protest. "I know how determined you get, and I don't want you to get burned out."
"I won't," she insists. She smirks and trails her hand up his forearm and along his bicep until she can curl her fingers around the back of his neck. She nudges his nose with hers, smirking at his sharp inhale, his cock growing against her leg. "But in case I do, you can help me," she murmurs, rocking her hips into his. "You can help me relax."
His gaze drops to her mouth and he reaches between them, cups her center in his hand, prods her swollen folds with his fingers. "With pleasure," he growls, his mouth descending on hers, his tongue sweeping between her lips as he pushes two thick fingers inside her.
She arches, pushing herself against his hand, her mouth tearing from his as she gasps for air, as his fingers thrust and his thumb presses against her just right. She's already close, aroused from the pleasure she'd given him just a short time before, and the orgasm is quick, her thighs trembling even after she continues to roll her hips against his hand.
She doesn't even have the opportunity to catch her breath before he's hiking her leg over his, guiding his erection into her. There's desperation in the movement of his hips, the grip of his wet fingers on her thigh. They move as one, dancing to a familiar tune.
He rolls her to her back in a move so practiced he doesn't even slip out of her, and he presses his cheek to hers, his breaths quickening in her ear. She locks her arms around his back, her nails digging into his shoulders, arches when he lifts her leg higher on his hip, and he groans in pleasure as she clenches around him.
"There," she gasps, her hips lifting, matching him stroke by stroke. Her hands fall to his ass, and she squeezes the taught flesh, encouraging him to move harder, faster.
She's close, so close again, and she slides one hand between them to touch herself. Her knuckles brush against his cock as he withdraws and he tenses, buries himself deep as he pulses inside her with a loud groan. He lets go of her leg and it falls to the bed, but she can only gasp and arch her back when his hand joins hers at her sensitive bundle of nerves.
One press of his rough thumb against her and she's gasping for air, her hips lifting into their joined touch, as she lets the waves of her orgasm roll over her. By the time she stops trembling he's shifted to the side, his fingers lightly stroking, guiding her through the aftershocks. Eventually his touch becomes too much and she pushes his hand away, and out of the corner of her eye she sees him grin and collapse at her side.
As they drift off to sleep after cleaning up, his arm around her waist, her hips nestled perfectly between his, she thinks she hears him whisper something. Within moments his quiet, familiar snores fill the silence, but if she didn't know any better, she'd think she heard the word "love."
A/N: My just-under-the-wire entry for the Castle Ficathon Winter 2022. It will be six chapters and an epilogue.