AU after 2x24; what if Castle never stumbled over the case in 3x01 and never had the courage to call or come back with each passing day. And we have to pretend that season 3+4 also didn't happen because … uh, probably everybody would be dead if Castle and Beckett hadn't worked together in that season?! XD
Plot: Almost 2 years after 2x24, Castle never returned from his summer in the Hamptons, too scared to find Beckett overly happy with Demming and no place left for him at the precinct. His life took a nosedive after that, he's miserable, lonely and stopped writing. Old friends call him to meet with him in one of the most exclusive clubs of the city: an original 20s burlesque club and there she sees her … Kitten, a burlesque dancer, totally capturing his attention and reminding him so much of Beckett, that it hurts, and with her, he's being sucked into a dangerous adventure.
What might happen?
Keep reading, you won't regret it, I promise :) #caskettlovestory
It's official now, his life is officially over. Sighing, he tosses the letter on his desk. He knew it would come to this. He has known for months that his biggest fear would come true. His ellbows hit the mahogany wood of his desk hard, it should've hurt really bad but he doesn't even wince instead drops his head in his hands and closes his eyes. This is going to change everything. Going to change him. He can't go on like this.
Who is he going to be now? It feels like he lost everything in the last two years. He lost his muse, the woman he really loved, that much he knows now to be true. And with her the best friends he ever had, a family. People that liked him for who he was not what he was. Then he lost his girlfriend. Then his daughter. And his mother after that. One by one fell like dominos. And now, he is finally going to lose himself.
He huffs contemptiously. Now he's being overly dramatic, his mother would be proud. Slowly, he gets up, slightly swaying from the half bottle of scotch he already emptied, slightly weaving as he wanders through his empty loft. Damn, he's really losing it. But he has no idea what to do about it. He just feels so lost and confused. Has been for two years now and it's only getting worse.
Maybe he should eat something. When was the last time he ate? What day is today? Oh, god, it's really bad, isn't it? No wonder that nobody wants something to do with him. He's a mess. A full-grown forty-something mess. Shouldn't he be living his best life? According to the press, he does. Why doesn't it feel like it, then?
Somewhere nearby a phone rings, his phone. And he hates how, even after 660 days, his heart still starts to be excited, hopeful, that it might be her name on the caller ID but it never is.
Despite himself, he hurries to find it, finally pulls it out between the cushions of his couch, and of course, it's not her. Marty is calling. Marty? He hasn't heard from him in ages. He sighs before picking up, trying to get into his cheerful mask.
"Marty, old chap! How are you? Haven't heard from you in ages!", he laughs cheerily into the speaker, listening to the voice of an old college friend of his. "Oh, you're in town and meeting with the guys? Wow, that's amazing. No, I'm totally free this evening. Yeah, of course, I know that club. It's gorgeous. Yeah, I'll meet you there in … uh … I think I can make it in twenty?"
The moment he hangs up, with his phone his smile falls from his face. He likes Marty and the guys, hasn't seen them in ages but it's odd that they call him just because they met and thought of him and wondered if he'd come. To one of the most exclusive clubs in the city, too.
He sinks into the cushions, rubs his face. He's so tired of it. So tired of being used for his name or money. So tired of being him.
But he promised to come. Maybe he's wrong. Maybe they really called just for old times' sake. Maybe they really missed him. They did some cool stuff back then.
No time to wallow now, Ricky! He has to get ready to be there on time.
Quickly, he shoots his latest fling a short message, asking her to meet him at the club if she's up for it – and she definitely will be –, at least he'll not be alone when the guys only use him. Bimbo, that's what Beckett would've called her. God, how much he misses her. Even after two years. Maybe he never should've left. But he also couldn't watch how she fell in love with Demming, it was way too painful.
Club, yeah, right, he needs to get ready.
When his car service pulls up before the Club exactly twenty minutes later, like he promised Marty, the guys are already there, standing on the side next to the way-too-long line. His heart sinks. Yeah, he knows how this will go. It's all his life has to offer right now.
He pats the knee of this week's arm candy, Mandy – yup, that's rhyming –, a gorgeous blonde, all long legs, fake boobs, fake lashes, and way too much makeup. But she's kinda funny, smart, and successful herself, and he thinks she actually read and liked his books. Her dress is a bit too short, her neckline a bit too deep, but who is he to judge? It's all he has right now, and yes, that's damn depressing. But he has her attention and helps her out of the black leather seat like the gentleman he still is.
"Hey guys," Rick shouts in a fake cheery tone, pats the guys on the back, introduces them to Mandy, they share some laughs, some short stories but the conversation dies pretty quickly, so with a suppressed sigh Rick leads them to the VIP entrance and – of course –, they let them in instantly.
"Oh, wow, I'm so excited to be here!", Mandy exclaims and Rick softens by the sparkle in her eyes. At least she's going to have fun tonight. Slowly he takes in his surroundings. He hasn't been here in years, but it still looks pretty much the same, still the gorgeous and original 20s look so typical for establishments like that. A waiter in an original 20s uniform guides them through several round tables with velvet tablecloths and vintage table lamps until they reach one with a gorgeous view of the stage.
After they are seated, Rick engulfs them in a story about Burlesque and the Moulin Rouge, captivates their attention, relishes for a moment the fact that he can still hold the attention of his audience. But the moment is fleeting, not giving him as much as it used to do.
"A few decades ago, there were some incidents with the stars of the show. Some guys stalked them afterward, being turned on by their performance, their art of seduction and slow strip teasing, more teasing in that case, and demanding more, so they decided to hide their identities behind masks and the club boomed with the added mystery". Oddly reminds him of him. Isn't he doing the same to protect himself? Hiding behind a mask of someone he's not? It also helped his career.
"So, how's your little girl, Rick? What's her name again? Cassandra? Cassi? No, Alexandra?" Marty asks him, showing him exactly how much they care.
"Alexis. She's studying at Stanford", Rick says, a proud smile dancing on his lips even if his heart is aching for her. God, how he misses his little girl, they only talked this afternoon, but it's not enough compared to before.
"Alexis, of course! What, she's already studying? Holy crap, we're getting old man." Marty laughs and slaps Castle on the shoulder so hard that it hurts. Yeah, he is getting old. What is he doing here?
The light dims to indicate that the show is about to start and Castle is glad to not have to participate in any forced conversation anymore. Is this how he's going to spend his last days? Dying alone inside while feigning to have the best life he can imagine? He quickly orders some drinks, feeling like his buzz is already far too gone to endure being used this evening. He can at least enjoy it then, can't he?
Mandy is curling her arm around his, bedding her head on his shoulder. He kinda likes it that she's so cuddly, it gives him at least the feeling that he's more to her than a walking purse and door opener. But right now, it feels like it's suffocating him.
The show starts and his world stops turning. His gaze magically drawn to a tall blonde, dressed like the other girls in flimsy, glittery body suits, murderous high heels, and mesh stockings, dancing on the stage as if it were nothing. Way too quickly, his heart rate is picking up, troubling him to catch his breath.
He closes his eyes, tries to shake the feeling away. Damn, not again.
He calls them Beckett flashes. They always hit him with so much force, that it feels like a near panic attack. No matter where, no matter when, his subconscious picks up on something from someone in his immediate environment that reminds him of her. And instantly he gets this rush, heat flooding his body, his heart almost jumping out of his chest, big lump in his throat. He ran to so many women, calling her name, but it was never her. His mind was only playing tricks on him.
Like now, when he can't avert his gaze from the beautiful dancer. He can't even pinpoint what reminds him of her. It's definitely not the short, curly, blonde hair or the way she fluidly moves. Beckett was all brisk and confident strides, probably to make a stand against the male-dominated space in her line of work. But this woman is all feminine, soft and sexy, seducing, liquid sex.
Her lips. She's biting her lip while dancing. Oh, god damn. All that because a beautiful dancer, roughly Beckett's build, bits her lips. But even knowing, he can't keep her eyes off of her, follows her every move, tries to catch her dark eyes … Just … Just in case.
He's pathetic. Completely pathetic. He can't keep doing this. His logical mind completely shut off, his aching, longing heart is in full control. And then her performance ends and she vanishes in the dark. He's still reeling, his heart still beating too fast. It's going to take a while to calm down again, he knows it, he's had moments like this way too often.
He quickly downs the third whiskey he ordered, relishing the dampening effect the alcohol has.
The hushed conversation between the performances happens without him, they're not even trying to include him and he's grateful for that. He's still kinda zoned out, on the verge of being seriously drunk just to get rid of the lingering feeling of missing his muse. If he'd only be triggered when he goes out he'd just lock himself up for the rest of his life, but it's the most random things that remind him of her. A scene in a movie, a song, a sentence in a book. She's everywhere and no matter how hard he tries, he can't get rid of her.
Mandy lies her hand on his when he wants to down another whiskey, softly shaking her head, causing anger bubbling up hot and searing in his veins. Who is she to forbid him his drink? But he quickly manages to suppress it again being not an angry man by nature and she might be right, everything is already starting to turn and he doesn't want to read an article the next day about how Richard Castle got wasted again. It only happened three times in the last two years and he's proud of that. He's not yet entitled as a drunk, just as someone who enjoys the company of beautiful women and is high on life. Hah, if they knew.
They better leave before he is too drunk to stand up and make a fool out of himself. He whispers his plan in Mandy's ear, seductively, making her blush and together they rise, not that the guys would care when he leaves, but still, they make a show of it. What? So early? Oh, come on, Ricky. Let's have some fun. Okay, well, see you soon. As if.
The minute he said goodbye and nudged Mandy to go, she is on the stage again, alone. In the spotlight. The light is catching in the diamonds sewed to her near-to-nothing dress, dazzling him.
And in his very drunken state, everything about her reminds him of Beckett this time. The way she walks on stage, sits right between the band, nods to them imperiously, and smiles. A soft smile, just like the one Beckett sometimes had for him. The first notes by the band of the song already tell him how well he knows that song. Etta James, of course. She is going to sing "I'd rather be blind."
He wants to leave right now, but he's frozen to his spot, unable to avert his gaze. This is going to end badly, he knows it. He's captured by the way she walks around on the stage, her long legs and fingers, her smooth skin, the ridiculous high heels, her whole demeanor so Beckett-esk.
The minute, she starts singing he can't breathe anymore. Her voice is so crystal clear it goes right through him. Her voice and the way she sings so rich of emotion, kills him, once and for all, he's sure of it.
The words of Etta James's song fly through the air, piercing his broken heart with their accuracy and the emotion in the singer's voice, sounding almost like Beyoncé in the film they made a few years back.
Her voice takes him back to Beckett, to all the moments they shared, to the feeling of having to watch her fall in love with another guy just because he wasn't able to admit to his feelings. Seeing her walk away with Demming before his mind's eye rips his heart right open again and again. As if the wound ever healed, as if he ever got over her.
The sadness and loneliness, the deep longing and pain in her voice strangles him, resonates with him so deeply he has no idea how he can ever leave now. He really is pathetic, fixating on some random woman and shared emotions.
"Oh, muffin, you're crying!" Mandy's voice sounds so piercing, so wrong, almost hurting his ears after he just listened to the most beautiful voice he's ever heard. "Oh, that's so sweet. I love it when men show emotions." He barely gets what she's saying, is too caught up in the woman on the stage taking several bows before she's gone again and the spell is broken. And he does what he has been doing for two years and runs away.
A/N: This is the version I'm referring to: watch?v=a3RlYomgAdA