What if the "offsides" conversation between Castle and Demming in "Den of Thieves" goes differently?
A co-authored story by mysterymuse and MyrenTheNostalgic
*Set in break room instead of conference room
"Castle, can I ask you something? You and Beckett—is there, uh, something going on?"
The writer blanches. He hadn't been expecting that.
"Me and Beckett?"
"Yeah."
"Uh."
Demming puts a hand up. "Look, man, if I'm offsides—"
"No, it's just…I, um, I don't know where I stand with her, but—"
"You're crazy for her," Demming asserts.
(Geez, was everyone aware of his feelings?)
"Oh, I…uh, well—" Castle fumbles and then sighs, resigned, and buries his knuckles to his brow. "She's the most frustrating person I've ever met."
"Is that why you haven't told her?"
"Are you kidding?" he squeaks in a high-pitched voice. "She'd shoot me on the spot."
The robbery detective chuckles at that.
"From what I've observed, I'd say the feeling might be more mutual than you think."
Castle scoffs, "Yeah, right."
Demming shrugs. "I know you don't want to believe it, but I'm actually a pretty good detective and I know how to read people. I think she finds you equally frustrating."
Castle puffs out a half-hearted chuckle. "I'll take your word for it."
"So if I asked her out, you wouldn't mind?" Demming prods.
"Mind? Of course I mind," the writer admits, his heart wrenching, "But it's not my place to stop you. It's ultimately up to her, isn't it?"
"Yeah, I suppose it is," Demming says with a sly smile. Then he heads toward the door to exit. "Detective Beckett," he greets with a nod as he hurriedly leaves the break room.
Castle snaps up straight in his seat, turning, his eyes widening in surprise.
"Beckett," he chokes out. "How long—? How much—?"
"Um, I—" she says, a little shell-shocked. "I need to go…over there." She throws a thumb aimlessly behind her, but she doesn't move, staying rooted to the spot; stuck in the doorway.
A hot-lead rush of disappointment blazes a destructive, scorching path through his heart. He hadn't wanted her to find out like this.
"Kate," he beseeches.
"Castle," she breathes, her eyes pleading, "Give me a minute? Please."
He nods, silent, averting his gaze, unable to bear how exposed he feels; how utterly useless she renders him.
He hears the clink of her mug hitting the sink, the rush of water pouring out of the faucet, and then...silence—an oppressive, cloying silence that squeezes him like a vise.
He's just about to say something, anything, when she breaks the detente first.
"Why now? Why do you care now?" Her tone's quiet, almost venomous.
"What do you mean?"
"C'mon, Castle. You slept with Ellie Munroe just last week. Three nights in a row, might I add—and you didn't exactly hide it."
Oh.
Oh, God.
He's such an idiot.
"That was…that didn't mean anything. It's just, it's been a while and – and she was interested. Insistent, really, and I – I didn't think. I never imagined you –"
"Stop. Talking," she orders, but it comes out hoarse, and he can tell she's hurt. Oh, fuck. She's hurt. He hurt her. She's jealous.
He had no idea.
"I'm sorry," he says. "I'm so sorry, Kate."
She ducks her head, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
"Look, Castle…" she says wearily, but before she can finish her sentence, he takes an instinctive step toward her.
"Do you like him? Demming?" His heart pounds in his chest as he wonders whether he really wants to know the answer to that question. But he meant what he said before. It's ultimately her choice.
Him or Demming.
Kate pauses, mouth slightly ajar, and glances over her shoulder as if to seek out the robbery detective. Then she faces him again, her mouth in a hard line.
"I don't see how that's any of your business."
Her hurt seems to have evolved into an indignant sort of anger.
He nods. "It isn't. But—"
"We—you and I—aren't together. We're not a 'thing.' And if you want to be with other people, I can too."
She leaves the break room empty-handed, turning on her heel. The whiplash hits Castle hard, and he struggles to find the words, to even breathe, before chasing after her into the back hallway.
He doesn't want to be with other people. That's the point.
"Beckett, wait."
But she doesn't.
"Kate!"
He can see the tension in her shoulders, squared tightly up to her neck. He doesn't want to end their conversation like this. This isn't how he imagined any of this going, at all.
And he had imagined it. Many times.
When he reaches out, blindly grasping for her arm, his fingers close around her small wrist. She's warm and familiar and he doesn't think twice before tugging her roughly into him.
"What are you—?"
He tilts her jaw back and swallows the rest of her sentence with the touch of his mouth. He doesn't have words, but he does still have his instincts.
Fire erupts in his bloodstream.
She squirms in his embrace and for a moment, he's afraid she's pushing him away, that he read the situation all wrong, but then he realizes that she's trying to pull him closer, that she's clawing at his back and moaning into him.
Oh, fuck.
Kate Beckett just moaned. Her tongue was in his mouth and she just moaned.
He's going to combust.
He's thought of this moment for so long. He fantasized and daydreamed of how her lips would feel against his, but nothing in his head doesn't even come close to reality. Her scent, her scrambling, desperate hands, her hot breath mingling with his own…he's never had a kiss like this before; never felt like he was going to melt onto the floor like hot molten lava, or that his knees would fail to support him in such a critical moment.
She burns him in the best possible way.
And she makes him entirely breathless.
When at last the need for oxygen drives a wedge between them, he opens his unfocused eyes and her hazel gaze shines back up at him, confused and delirious, their chests heaving in sync.
"So goddamn frustrating," she rasps, wiping the edge of her bottom lip with her thumb.
"So you heard—?"
"Everything. I heard everything," she says softly.
She heard. She knew how he felt. And she let him kiss her. Not only that, she kissed him back.
She kissed him back.
"Hey."
A familiar voice causes Castle's heart to buck in his chest. He turns around and finds Ryan with a folder in hand, staring at them both, eyebrows skyrocketed into his forehead. Kate straightens and steps back from him so quickly he feels the suction of air between their bodies.
Ryan's head tilts, curious. Castle's hand sweeps absent-mindedly over his tousled hair, trying his very best to look nonplussed.
"Sorry. Am I interrupting something?" the Irish detective asks, eyes twinkling with knowledge.
"Yes," they both chime, and Castle has to refrain from gasping in delight. He thought for certain she'd say 'No.'
Ryan grins conspiratorially.
"Oh. Okay. I'll just—" He points over his shoulder from where he'd arrived, then walks backward until he's gone.
They move, glancing over to the bullpen just as Espo jumps up and whoops, "Show me the money!"
She shakes her head, frowning. "Well, that didn't last long."
Castle angles toward her, trying to gauge her emotional temperature. She hangs her head, almost in shame, but then she's shaking her head and pursing her lips to avoid smiling.
"It was just a kiss," he offers, and her eyes snap up. "It can mean whatever you want it to mean. This isn't about them."
He wants to touch her. He wants to sweep her back up into his arms, shove her back against the wall, and give the bullpen a real show.
But he understands the tenuous reserve in her eyes. He knows the implication of them being together, and knows how difficult it might be for her to have it all so publicly on display.
So, he takes her hand, loosely, and pulls her further down the hallway, away from any ogling eyes.
He searches her face for any indication of what to do next, how to do this right, but he only sees doe-eyed fear, albeit hazy with lust, curiously looking back up at him.
"Do you wanna grab dinner sometime?" he asks, and it sounds so normal. So… natural. (He wishes he'd done this sooner. Wishes he'd been brave enough to kiss her after their night at Remy's.)
She laughs, and it sounds almost nervous. He's never seen Kate Beckett shy before, but now, her indomitable, fierce, no-nonsense persona is suddenly replaced by a timid high-schooler being asked to the prom. The loveliest shade of blush creeps into her cheeks, her whole face glowing, and Castle decides he loves this. He loves seeing her bashful.
She runs a hand through her hair.
"Castle. I - I can't think straight right now. And truthfully…I'm at a weird point in my life. I just moved into my new apartment, I still have boxes everywhere, and I need to go shopping for new stuff…there's furniture to buy and a life to rebuild. And it's not like I get a lot of time outside the precinct as it is and—"
"I can help you unpack," he interrupts and surprise flits across her features. "And I know my mother and Alexis would love to assist you with shopping. You can even use my card. Oh, and I'll totally loan you my interior designer. She has the best layout plans."
She smiles sadly. "I'm not letting you do any of that."
"You have to. It's my fault everything blew up in the first place."
"We've gone over this. That wasn't your fault," she enforces, her head shaking in annoyance.
"Please, Kate. Let me do this."
"Castle—"
"I'm coming over. Tonight." His stomach tenses as he waits to see whether he's gotten through. He's certain he's never been more desperate to break through her walls than right now; she could run from this, whatever this was, or she could let him in. The choice would always be hers, but he wants her to choose him.
She bristles, and looks around the room as if the answer to her problems were written on the precinct walls.
Her eyebrow arches. "What makes you so sure I'll let you in?"
"We've established this. I'm going to help you unpack."
She narrows her eyes in suspicion and Castle holds his breath as he waits. Time seems to slow. She's considering it and that means he's close. His heart thumps erratically, and the noise of the bullpen quiets to a distant thrum.
And then her face changes. Her arched eyebrows soften. Her jaw relaxes.
"You'd really do that?" she asks warily, and Castle's arm tightens as he prevents himself from making a closed-fist "success" gesture in front of her.
"I'll even bring the pizza."
He waits three whole heartbeats before she finally nods, relenting.
Unthinking, he leans forward and presses his lips to hers once more. Just a peck, a promise of what's to come, before pulling away, grinning from ear to ear; butterflies of hope swarming in his stomach.
"I have some calls to make."
He wiggles his phone for emphasis, face alight, and leaves her standing in the hallway, open-mouthed and adorably ruffled.
If he's not careful, he might just fall for her.
(He thinks he already has.)
Espo and Ryan come back from interviewing Carol, Ike Thornton's wife, at around 7 p.m. They inform her Carol knew her husband had risen from the dead like Lazarus, but she won't talk, so Kate calls it a night. She can tell her team is exhausted and chasing new leads can wait until morning. Then, they can review surveillance tapes from the bank heist with fresh eyes.
When she gets in the elevator, she looks down at her phone. Castle texted her, asking for her to let him know when she leaves the precinct. She feels like ants are crawling on her neck as she texts him back, saying she's on her way out while also sending her new address.
Come over at 8?
His response is immediate.
With bells on.
Her heart flutters and oh, God, she just asked Castle to come over. And she's…nervous. This is unfamiliar territory and she's been feeling out of her skin since their kiss earlier that day.
He was coming over. To her apartment. Where they'd be… Kate swallows audibly. Alone.
It's been hard enough trying not to stare at his lips whenever he leans too close or says things like you smell like cherries. (He smells like cinnamon apple pie.) Hard enough to ignore the way her skin crackles with want when he's near, how her heart races and her breath quickens.
Only, now it's worse than ever.
And she's still deciding how she feels about it — this… change. It wasn't as if she'd planned on eavesdropping on his conversation with Demming. It had just… happened. And then the hallway, well…he'd been the one to corner her.
When she gets to her apartment, she drops her belongings on the floor beside the front door. She changes into a pair of sweats and an old Stanford t-shirt, and reluctantly responds to a flurry of excited texts from Lanie, who's demanding more details regarding a supposed hot and steamy kiss with a certain Writer Boy.
Tell me everything.
In the morning, kay? Promise.
(If she talks about it now, she's gonna start overthinking things and end up calling the whole evening off).
I'm holding you to that, Katherine Beckett.
Then, she silences her phone and bites her lip as she scans the room.
She's not sure how to make it look presentable for him. His place is so nice, and this apartment has potential, but it's clearly a work in progress.
She decides to tidy as best as she can.
She hides the take-out menus in an empty drawer. She makes her bed, on the off-chance he sees her bedroom sometime tonight. She wonders if she should try to do something about the floors but thinks better of it. They're undoubtedly going to make a mess.
She can't clean or cook or busy herself in any other way while she waits, so she pours herself a glass of water instead, sipping it and staring blankly at the front door.
God, it's so quiet.
As if summoned, there's a cheery triple knock at her door.
(He's fifteen minutes early.)
She jumps to open it and finds a smiling Castle holding a large pizza in one hand and a six-pack of beer in the other.
"I told you I'd bring proper unpacking food," he gloats, and she stands to the side to let him in. "Veggie, your favorite, and a nice, light Hefeweizen."
Her eyebrows raise in amusement. "I'm impressed."
He grins wickedly over his shoulder as he sets the feast on the counter. "Just you wait, Beckett." Her heart slams at the implication, but then Castle's face changes. He backtracks. "I've got mad unpacking skills."
"Food first?" she asks, and opens the pizza box. The tangy smell of garlic and tomatoes hits her and she lets out an involuntary groan. She isn't sure when she ate last, and suddenly she's ravenous.
He chuckles and she hears the distinct pop and fizz of two beers being opened.
Wordlessly, they work in tandem to lay out their dinner. Kate puts the pizza on the paper plates and Castle puts the already-sweating beers on napkins like coasters. They take residence on opposite sides of the counter top, and then dig in.
"Nng, God, 'is so good," Kate groans into her food, and she can feel her eyes roll into the back of her head.
"See? Not a bad idea, huh?"
She wipes a trickle of grease from the corner of her mouth, and their eyes meet.
No. Not a bad idea at all.
"You say that now. Just wait 'til you see how much needs done around here," she says, huffing a laugh.
Through dinner, she fills him in on what remains of their evening. She'd gotten some basic furniture items from her dad and a few others from IKEA. Her dad had also brought a number of old things from his place that he'd found, including the slightly-too-small t-shirt she's currently wearing, and some things of her mom's that he'd been too sentimental to part with. That, combined with what the dry cleaners could salvage of her own clothes, she has enough to get by on for now.
It isn't enough to fill her apartment, but it's something. It's a place to start.
After dinner, Kate puts the radio on a soft jazz station and they get to work. She organizes the boxes from her dad while Castle interprets the photos on the IKEA furniture manual. Despite the lack of words, he is able to put a small dresser together fairly quickly, and is able to move onto the next item before his second beer is even empty.
She realizes after a while that they truly do make a great team. Their light, easy banter wasn't just saved for solving cases–they have plenty of random things to talk about. And she doesn't mind having him here, like this, seeing her world and helping her process through it. (He's already sifted through the other parts of her life.) His jokes and easy-going nature put her at ease, and they're able to accomplish quite a bit.
It also dawns on her, in the same creeping, blossoming manner as the sunrise, that they could have this every day, if they wanted it. If she's willing to let him in, this playful ease could become their daily routine, their norm, without the need of a case to push them together.
When Kate returns from the bathroom later that evening, she decides to stack some novels on the new bookcase Castle just put together. She almost trips when she sees a whole row dedicated to hardbacks of each one of his best-sellers. Signed, too, no doubt. (When the hell had he snuck them in there?)
She didn't have to sniff them to know they hold that wonderful, new-book smell.
"Castle, you didn't—" she finds herself gasping, and lightly trails a finger along their hard spines.
"Couldn't have a complete bookshelf without your favorite author."
"But you didn't bring me any Patterson," she teases, just to see a flash of indignation in his blue eyes.
He rolls his eyes from where he sits cross-legged on her floor, a white instructional pamphlet spread out on his lap.
"Hardy har har, Beckett. C'mon. You can admit it. You're my number one fan."
She turns away so he won't see her grin. "I will shoot you if you don't shut up."
She hears rather than sees the pamphlet crinkle as it falls to the ground. Castle rises, the floorboards giving him away.
Her heart trips, and she turns back to see him leaning on the half-completed nightstand.
His face is serious. Calm. Controlled.
Her breath catches.
"There is another way you could shut me up, Detective."
Her cheeks flame, she knows they do. When she looks at him, his eyes are full of mischief. She supposed it was only a matter of time before it came to this; she's surprised their platonic alliance had lasted as long as it did.
"I bet there is," she breathes, unable to move, unable to even blink.
When he takes a step toward her, she matches him. They gravitate toward one another until there is little space between them, and then his fingers are trailing a delicate line down her cheek. She holds her breath, waiting to see what he will do next, and then the other hand is skating up her hip.
He says her name, and her breath comes out in a choke.
Castle needs no further confirmation.
She's ready.
His fingers slide into her hair, tangling into her loose ponytail. He pulls her body to his, slowly, reverently, so unlike their kiss earlier that day.
But Kate finds herself impatient. Finds the softness too much…they're already in too deep. She rakes her fingers through his hair and pulls him down harder, yearning for something rough and detached. She doesn't want to feel what she feels; she just wants him.
She leads him to the couch, pushing him down first before easily straddling his lap. It's like they've done this before, but she's certain they haven't. When he stayed over before her apartment blew up, she'd wanted to do this. She'd wanted to show him just how much that meant to her, and, selfishly, she wanted as much of him as he was willing to give her.
Truthfully, she's wanted him for so long, she can't remember when it even started. Probably since the day he crashed into her life and turned her world upside down. A nuisance. A thorn in her side. She'd told herself he wasn't worth her time, but why? Because of his reputation, or because of hers?
He cares about you, Kate. You may not see it. But he does.
He's all yours.
Her friends had known all along. Goddamn strangers knew. But she'd purposely put her blinders on because it was easier, less messy that way. And for what? To keep him away from her, from her mother's case?
He'd offered a hundred thousand dollars for information leading to her mom's murderer.
He'd rescued her from an inferno, with no regards to his own safety, or what his family would think.
He'd fixed her dad's watch, knowing how important it was to her, how ingrained it was in her own identity.
And even after all that, he let her stay at the loft when she had nowhere else to go. She had breakfast with his family, and it felt like home.
It took everything in her to force herself to leave. She told herself she wasn't one of them, and it was only a temporary solution. But it didn't change how, for the briefest time when everything else had literally burned to cinders around her, she'd felt warm and light and wonderful surrounded by everything that was inherently him.
He would do anything for her.
It's too big—the implication of his actions; the emotion in his eyes when he speaks to her—it's all more than she can handle.
Determined not to think about what it means, Kate focuses on what she can feel with her body. His heat, the taste of the beer on his breath, the strength in his hands as they travel under her shirt across her bare back. She shuts down her mind, and lets her body do what it does best as she grinds onto his lap and drags her lips away from his mouth to slide down his neck. His heavy breathing spurs her on, and she desperately grasps at the small buttons on his shirt, aiming to see his skin.
"Kate," he murmurs, and his hands come to rest on hers. She leans forward to nip at his bottom lip in protest (haven't they waited long enough for this?) and presses her body into his once more.
His body stills, and he says her name again.
She almost groans in frustration.
"We need to talk."
Her forehead drops to his shoulder. She exhales loudly, exasperated. "Castle—"
His hands grip her shoulders and he hauls her upright, forcing her to look at him.
"We need to be on the same page about this."
She flexes against his hold. She didn't expect to have this conversation right now, and she isn't ready.
"Can't we just—"
"What, Kate?"
She opens her mouth to argue like a stubborn child, but nothing comes out.
"You know how I feel," he says softly, and it sends a stab of panic through her chest.
You're crazy for her.
Maybe they shouldn't be doing this. She's always argued that she doesn't want to be another notch on his bedpost, but what if it's more than that? What if she's always known, on some level, that whatever they had was bigger than that? That once would never be enough?
And it scares the shit out of her.
So she blurts out, "I'm sure you said the same thing to all the other women you've paraded around over the years."
Castle's jaw hardens, even as his big hands move to cup her face.
"You're not just another conquest to me, Kate." She doesn't miss the inflection, how he's using her own word against her, even after all this time. "You are the woman who makes me want to be a better man. I hate that you think I haven't changed, that I'm still the guy from Page Six. But everything with Ellie just made me realize that I don't want that kind of life. I've never wanted it. People don't want me for me, and the only person who has ever made me feel like I'm worthy of more is you. You make me want to be extraordinary."
His words strike a tuning fork in her chest, and the ripples emanate throughout her whole body. She tingles, feeling dizzy and drunk and completely caught off guard.
It's overwhelming. And then everything she's been pushing down, repressing for over a year, surges through her. The jealousy, the longing, the stifled feelings that have been pushing through the cracks in her walls. She only just realizes how repressed her emotions had been, tucked behind fortresses of stone.
And the expulsion of those feelings sends her to new heights, and she propels herself into him with renewed vigor.
Her lips detach just long enough to swallow down a sigh.
"God, you've been driving me insane, Castle."
She licks the taste of him off her lips as he watches in wonderment.
"Demming, he - he never stood a chance, okay? He's not what I'm looking for."
Testing the waters, Castle softly utters, "What are you looking for, Kate?"
God, she loves it when he says her name.
"You, Castle. I just want you."
He groans as he leans forward, his body slamming against hers. His hands tangle in her hair, loosening the already loose hair tie until it falls to the floor. He gives in to her pace, and a wild hunger seeps through his skin.
She yelps when he flips her onto the couch, easing his body between her legs. As his mouth travels down her neck and tastes her skin, Kate looks up at the ceiling in a daze and smiles.
She isn't sure she's ever been happier.
"That was, if I do say so myself, an excellent first date," Castle teases lazily. He strokes her hair as she curls into his side with her head on his chest, then stretches his legs with an exaggerated groan.
"This wasn't a date, Castle."
"We had dinner. We talked. We…" he trailed off, fingertips skimming along her sensitive spine.
"Okay, okay, it was maybe a date. But you're still taking me out to a real dinner, right?"
"I'll do you one better," he grins. "How does a getaway to the Hamptons sound?"
"Oh."
She feels another stab of panic. A romantic trip, so soon? She realizes suddenly that her preferred pacing in a relationship might not mesh very well with his.
"My family always goes on Memorial weekend. It's kind of like a tradition, you know? Bonfires, roasting marshmallows, telling ghost stories, sleeping late. We've done it since Alexis was five."
"Sounds nice. Kind of magical, actually."
(She has no doubt it is. But was she ready to be a part of it? Would Alexis and Martha?)
"And it's right on the ocean. There's a secluded pool." He waggles his eyebrows. "You could lay out, work on your tan."
Kate snorts. "Wow, Castle, you're working really hard to see me in a swimsuit." She feels him glance down at her very naked body, and her cheeks burn.
"If you are not comfortable in a swimsuit, you can just skinny dip."
Castle's hand skims her hip, her side, fingertips toying with the side of her breast. She wiggles until he stops.
"Come on, Beckett. You deserve a vacation. A little break from death and destruction."
"Can I think about it? I'd need to check with Cap, and—" And figure out if a weekend away at the start of a relationship is a good idea.
"Yes, yes, of course. Take all the time you need. If you can't make it Memorial weekend, there's always the Fourth of July. Actually, that might be…"
She listens to him ramble about all the fun activities they could do — sailing, karaoke at the local bar, movie nights with the projector screen — a bright joy on his face as he makes plans for him and her. Her future, filled with the concept of them.
She decides she doesn't need to check with Cap. She has a boatload of vacation days saved up. Clearly, this means a lot to him, and if she lets it, it could mean a lot to her too.
She straddles him, interrupting his stream of consciousness. His words trail off as his eyes trail over her in admiration, his gaze full of wonderment and awe. She's certain no man has ever looked at her like that before and if she's not careful, she might just fall for him.
(She thinks she already has.)
She leans down to kiss him, murmuring against his lips,
"Yeah, Castle. I'll go to the Hamptons with you."
xxx
mysterymuse: It is a distinct pleasure to have MyrenTheNostalgic as a collab partner–she knows exactly how to help spin my chaotic ideas into gold. To borrow a phrase from Leslie Knope, she is a "poetic, noble land-mermaid" and I'm so grateful she's willing to share her amazing talent with me. I can't wait to get started on the next one!
MyrenTheNostalgic: It's been a long time since I've been this obsessed with an author's stories. I go through my day just waiting until I can pick up the next chapter of something she's written. She is incredibly mega-talented and has inspired me so much by her unending creativity. She is a total gem and I'm so grateful for the chance to collab!