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Paper Hearts

Chapter 4

John Lennon said life was what happened while you made other plans.
— Richard Castle, Heat Rises

"Well, would you look at that. You were right. Beckett's on the detective list."

"Pay up, buddy. I told you she was one to watch, and not just for the legs."

Espo smiles to himself as the other uniform digs into his pocket for the money. He'd have known better than to bet against her.

"And man, Lieutenant Gates over at 1PP is gonna be pissed when she finds out her record just got beat."

"Oh?" asks the second uniform, the one who's just made himself $10 poorer. "Which one?"

"Youngest woman to make detective." The first uniform taps a notation on the newly posted list. "Gates had that record for nearly six years, and now she got beat by just six months. What I wouldn't give to be a fly on the wall when she reads this list."

"What I wouldn't give to see Gates and Beckett in a room together after that," comes the reply. "Can you imagine? Whoo-ee, cat fight!" He makes a meowing sound.

"Hey, and they're both lookers, too. If they started 'accidentally' tearing each others' clothes off —"

He's on his feet before he completely realizes it. "Knock it off."

"What's it to you, Esposito?"

"This isn't a locker room," he snaps back, "and those are cops you're talking about. Detectives. Give 'em some respect."

"Oh, I can respect 'em, all right, especially if they're both all neat and buttoned-up in those uniforms. Way they fill them out, kind of makes you wonder what's under —"

He steps out from around his desk, his own uniform shoes making an ominous clacking sound on the wood floor. "I said knock. It. Off."

"What's the big deal, man? It's just talk. Can't blame a guy for looking."

"You look all you want. But you keep your big mouth shut when it comes to talk about Beckett. She's one of ours." He taps the list. "And she's out of your league. Made detective long before you ever could. So act like it."

"Wait a minute," says the older one, the one who'd had enough sense not to bet against her. "Didn't you go through the Academy with her? You got a crush on her after that or something?"

"No." The words are almost a snarl. "Just thinking with the big brain, not the little one. Which is what we all ought to be doing in the squad room. So you'd best knock it off before I start thinking I need to do something about it."

He's been with the Fifty-Fourth long enough that the other officers know not to take a statement like that lightly, and they disperse. Disgusted, Espo sits down and tries to focus on the fives he's been finishing up. But it won't work. His thoughts are too scattered.

It's been a while since he's seen Beckett. He hadn't even known she was trying for detective yet, though he knew she meant to at some point. That was clear from the very beginning. But he's still surprised at the timing.

Not to mention, he finally admits to himself, his reaction. Would he have been so quick to defend another female detective, such as Gates?

Shaking his head, he makes himself refocus on the paperwork in front of him. When it's done, though, he looks at his phone, remembering that her number is still saved in it. A congratulatory text wouldn't be out of order, he decides. In fact, it's something he really ought to do. He's just as responsible as she is when it comes to the unplanned silence that has fallen between them.

They meet at their Italian place, and the first thing he notices is that she looks happier, even younger, brimming over with the news. "I hadn't really expected to make it on the first try, Javi. I definitely hadn't thought I'd get to stay with the Twelfth. Turns out Montgomery specifically requested that I be put on his squad."

He's impressed. "Montgomery's good people. You did really well, Kate."

She flushes slightly at the praise and looks down for a moment, twirling spaghetti around a fork. "What about you?"

"What about me? We're celebrating you tonight."

"I know. But you should try for detective too."

"Hadn't really thought about it," he admits. "Of course, I'm already on Homicide at the Fifty-Fourth."

"You should try," she tells him. "You've got the leadership down already. They're not kidding when they say the exam's tough, but it's nothing you can't handle. Then, if you get pulled over to the Twelfth or I transfer to the Fifty-Fourth, we could work together again."

"Oh come on, Beckett. Neither one of us wants to move house, and you know it." But it's an unexpectedly pleasant thought, albeit more than a little dangerous. Time to change the subject. "How's your Dad?"

Her smile turns nothing short of brilliant. "Got his bronze chip two weeks ago."

"Really? How long is that?"

"A year. A whole year, Javi!" Her voice becomes almost girlish as it rises. "He's taking a week up at his old fishing cabin to celebrate."

"That's good," he answers. "That's really good, Beckett."

She considers him for a second. "You know, you're not fooling me."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't give me that. Every time I've asked about you this evening, you've changed the subject. That isn't the Javier Esposito I know. So talk. What's going on?"

He shrugs. "Not much to tell, and like I said, tonight we're supposed to be celebrating you. Picked up a couple new games, been team lead on a couple of missions. I've actually been thinking about going for sergeant, not detective."

She shakes her head. "You've got too good of a brain not to try for detective."

"Some people say ground pounders don't have brains at all."

"Some people are wrong. Now quit your squirming and talk to me. It's been too long since we've caught up."

Giving in, he pulls out a few of the more amusing details of recent cases he's worked. He doesn't mention this morning's exchange with the younger uniforms. There's no way he's going to tell her anything about that. Not what was said, not his reaction, and especially not the direction his thoughts had gone afterward.

He's not even sure he wants to admit that last one to himself.

But Kate Beckett didn't just become the youngest female detective in the NYPD because she's oblivious or stupid. After dinner, while they're out on the sidewalk, she touches his hand. "You still haven't told me what's been bothering you all night."

"It's nothing. Just talk."

"Now I know something's wrong, because you know better than that. Words can hurt, Javi."

"I know," he says, "but not all words deserve that much attention." Giving in to an impulse, he catches her hand and pulls it up, brushing his lips lightly across her knuckles. "It's just a funk. Nothing serious. I'll snap out of it in a while, and it really isn't worth ruining your night."

"It hasn't. I'm glad we got the chance to catch up." She laughs softly. "Felt like old times there, just for a bit."

"Yeah," he agrees. "It did." That's hardly a surprise, though, given how well they'd known each other at the Academy and afterward, but he's still noticing all the time that came afterward. "I've missed it."

She looks away for a moment before taking a breath, turning back to him, and stepping closer, all the way into his personal space. "I've missed it too."

That she kisses him is also no surprise; she'd always been just as willing to initiate things as he was. But this one's different from the ones they've shared before. It's slower, gentler, carrying more emotion. Including, he understands, a bit of sadness, because if anything, tonight has also shown that they've grown in different directions. They're moving apart, and if there was ever a chance of them being any more than friends, it's gone now.

Still, when she tugs him in the direction of her apartment, he doesn't object. It's a comfort, and comfort is something friends can offer each other.