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Paper Hearts
Chapter 3
You can never tell from the door what's behind a door.
— Richard Castle, Heat Wave
From the very beginning, Espo knows what this is. So does Beckett. Perhaps more importantly, though, they also both know what it isn't. This had been a topic for discussion in the Academy, but he suspects that both of them had had it come up before then: comfort and afterglow are real, but not a strong basis for a secure romantic relationship.
He doesn't date much anyway; cops tend to make lousy boyfriends, and he's not the kind to try and argue the point. From what he understands, Beckett doesn't date much either. Every now and then, he hears rumors linking her with someone, but they never last longer than a few months.
Since they're at different precincts, they don't see each other on a daily basis. But they still do sometimes, and both of them are tapped into the cops' gossip network. When something goes sideways, word tends to get around, and it's a safe bet that one of them will find the other one when their names come up.
The first time he had to take someone down, she showed up at his door unannounced. He glanced through the peephole, groaned inwardly, and even tried to turn away. In response, her knocking became pounding. "I know you're in there, Espo. Open up."
Not wanting the building super to get on his case, he cracked the door, but left the chain in place. "Okay, so you heard about what happened. But I'm fine."
"Denial," she shot at him.
"No," he corrected. "Rough day. But it's nothing I can't handle. Thanks for stopping by."
He tried to push the door closed, but she caught it and pushed back, throwing her weight into it. The chain stretched to the point where he thought it might snap, and his eyes fell to it. The super wouldn't be happy if that happened, either.
Her eyes followed his. "I'm not going anywhere. You might as well not have to fix that."
Giving in, he'd steeled himself for a night of talking, but to his surprise, that wasn't what she had in mind. After coming in, she'd quietly closed the door and reset the locks. He just stood there, neither inviting nor dismissing, with his hands hanging awkwardly by his sides. Until she turned around and stepped right up into his personal space, which was when he figured out exactly what to do with them.
Afterward, she didn't stay. The gentle touch of her lips against his forehead said everything that needed saying. He fell asleep after letting her back out, but it was a dreamless sleep that left him fully rested when it was time for him to face the post-incident debrief and counseling.
That's their pattern, and while he never keeps score, it goes both ways. Tonight it's his turn. He's asked around to find out where Royce's retirement party is, unsurprised when it turns out to be a bar. Cops are like that, of course, except for the occasional rarity such as Beckett.
But she's there anyway, drink in hand. He doubts it's her first.
He sidles up beside her and takes the glass. "Not your usual scene."
"Lay off." Her voice is low, and while she's making effort to hide it, he can hear the brittleness.
"No," he tells her, and she gives him a glare before stalking off to get another drink. He follows her, telling the bartender that he'll have one of whatever she's having. It's liquor, not beer, and not weak stuff either.
But while she's trying to act like she's part of the drunken gaiety, he knows better. It's just as well that he doesn't have duty in the morning, because the party doesn't wind down until close to dawn. He doesn't bother to ask whether her next duty shift is this morning; she won't be making it if it is.
The party-girl demeanor crumbles in seconds when she comes out of the bar and sees him standing in the alley outside. Her voice becomes an outright snarl. "What are you doing here? I told you to lay off."
"And I said no," he counters.
She launches herself at him, nails extended, but the alcohol in her system has left her clumsy and uncoordinated. It's no work at all to pin her arms against her sides, spinning her around so her back's against a convenient wall. "You're drunk."
"So what if I am?"
"It's time to go home."
"Where do you think I'm headed?"
"Not alone," he continues. "You don't get to go home just so you can drink some more."
"I wasn't going to do that!"
"Don't lie to me. It's exactly what you think you're going to do. Except you won't be."
That earns him a long litany of curses, but he holds her firm until she winds down. She's still breathing heavily. "Fine. I have to be on duty in twelve hours anyway. I'll go home and go to bed."
It's an effort not to shake her. "I told you, don't lie to me!"
"I didn't!"
"Bullshit!" He pushes her harder against the wall, trapping her with one arm while he uses the other one to tilt her chin up. She closes her eyes to avoid looking at him, and he's suddenly tired. Tired of having had to stand around for hours, nursing his own drink but otherwise doing nothing, before she decided it was time to leave. Tired of arguing the obvious. Tired of her attempts to pretend. Tired of the entire situation. So when she tries to speak again, he simply shuts her up with his mouth.
Beckett's response is immediate and overwhelming, and her struggles to free herself become a fight to get closer to him. He accepts it, sliding a leg between hers and slamming her hips harder into the wall before coming up for air. "Your place or mine?"
Hers is closer to where they've been tonight, but he barely gives the living room a glance. It's just a place to get through on the way to the bedroom. Both of them are unclothed by the time they get there, and they fall onto her bed in a tangled, writhing knot. It's fast and hard, just like he knew it would be, but he hasn't expected the tears that start leaking from her eyes afterward.
"Hey," he says. "It's all right. It's just me, Kate."
She swipes at her face. "I'm fine."
"You're still drunk." Flipping over onto his back, he pulls her down against him. "You're not fine. Royce isn't just releasing you from training. He's leaving the force altogether."
"People retire all the time."
"But not your training officer. Not after he tells everyone who listens that you were his last, best trainee." She stiffens, and he chuckles. "Oh, come on, don't pretend you don't know. Scuttlebutt says he's never talked about anyone the way he talks about you. Everyone knows you're more than just T.O. and rookie. You're friends, and now that he's leaving, that's all over."
"If I want to talk to a shrink, I know where to find one."
"I'm not a shrink." He catches a hand, brings it to his lips briefly. "Just a friend."
She scoffs, but it's belied by the fact that she stops fighting and settles down into his arms. It's not long before she's snoring softly, but he's wide awake, thinking. Is this all they are? Friends who throw in a few side benefits when one of them feels their own internal damage?
It wouldn't be the first time the thought of maybe pushing for something more crosses his mind. On paper, it makes sense. They're both cops. They both know the score when it comes to dating one. And their two broken halves may just be enough to make something resembling a whole.
But even as he sighs and lets himself follow her into sleep, some part of him insists it's not enough. And that he's too tired to think about what else it ever could be anyway.