there should be stars (23/X)
Title: there should be stars (23/X)
Characters/Pairings: Castle/Beckett
Summary: Four years can make a world of difference. AU.
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Up to Season Four finale.
They take a break when they’re halfway through her things. Most of the stuff is still in boxes, packed from the beginning of November when she moved what things she could save from her old apartment to this tiny studio, but they’ve been going through each box and repacking the items inside. Everything smells faintly of smoke. Some of it has been burned too much, making its way to the trash as they sift for things that can still be salvaged. She winced as she had to toss a few of his books among other novels but he promised something about replacing the lost ones.
She ordered Chinese half an hour ago and now they’re sitting on the narrow couch she got from her dad’s cabin upstate until she could find a new one of her own, cartons of noodles and rice and beef on the floor. He’s got a small cardboard box next to him and he’s pawing through the things inside instead of eating.
“Stop looking through my stuff,” she hisses, hitting him lightly with the end of her chopstick.
“Aw, but you were adorable,” he says, holding up a photo of her as she laces up a pair of white ice skates. “Did your dad take these?” he asks, flipping to another picture of Beckett and her mother at the Rockefeller Center rink, both of them holding cups of hot chocolate as they sit on a bench along the edge of the ice. From behind, the only distinguishing feature is their hair length; teenage Beckett with long, wavy hair next to her mother’s shoulder length cut.
Beckett smiles, ducking her head to take a bite of the soy sauce drenched vegetables from her carton. “Yeah, about three weeks before Mom died. I think she took a few of them, actually.” She reaches over, pulling out a few from the middle of the stack. They’re of her decorating the Christmas tree, holding oversized ornaments up to her ears. The next of her on a small step stool, leaning over the evergreen to put the star on the top. “She took those. Laughed the entire time in between dancing to the verses of Christmas songs so I’m still surprised the pictures came out clear.”
He spreads them out on the rug, bent over in half so that she needs to catch the container of noodles before it falls out of his hand and onto the floor. “I don’t get to see you in action?”
“You know I suck at ice skating,” she sighs. “It wasn’t any prettier back then.”
“But now I have to see it!” He’s digging into the wooden box he had found the pictures in, retrieving the envelope of negatives. There isn’t a lot of light coming through the windows as he holds the strips of negatives up so he shifts on the couch, squinting at the tiny images. Then he’s glancing down at the pictures, brow furrowing. “Beckett, there are twenty-four exposures on this roll but there are only twenty pictures.”
She puts her take-out container on the floor, twisting to face the window, and crowding her head into the same space. It’s the last four frames that differ from the rest. No Christmas tree or skating rink or pictures of Johanna baking cookies in the kitchen. Instead, it’s an empty street, trashcans against the grimy brick.
“What is it?” he asks, tilting his head to get a different angle on the negatives.
“Not sure. Let’s put it into the computer,” she says, taking the envelope from him.
The desktop is crammed into a corner of the room, balanced on top of a pile of boxes they had already sorted out. He finds her hand as she scans the negatives, giving her fingers a tight squeeze.
“It could be nothing,” she whispers, unsure if she’s saying it to reassure him or her own mind.
But as the four mystery photos pop up on her screen as they download, she knows it isn’t ‘nothing.’ Seeing the alley in color, the rusted fire escape, the back door of the club brings everything back. The chill of January, the smell of the garbage and blood, the taste of panic in the air.
It’s not ‘nothing.’
“Castle, this is where my mom was murdered,” she breathes out, closing her eyes to block out the image of that night. Of her father crumpling on the living room floor as the detective informed them of where it had happened and when they could come to the morgue to identify the body and that they were doing everything in their ability to find out who had done this.
He tugs her into his side, his arm strong around her shoulders, his lips barely skimming her hair. “Oh, Kate.”
“No, but I don’t understand,” she continues, pushing through the fog of the memories to the present, clicking through the pictures on the screen. “These were developed a week before she was killed.”
“And why would she be taking photos of that alley?” he adds, helping to keep her in the realm of theory and out of reality.
“I don’t know… I mean, we always thought it was just a convenient place for the killer to attack. It was dark, secluded.”
“What if there was more to it than that?” She glances at him and he shrugs. “What if she was looking into something that happened in that alley when they killed her?”
“I’d have to go into the old archives and reports.”
“So let’s go,” he says. “It’s only nine and people will still be at the precinct, right?”
Beckett pulls away, shaking her head as she drags her hand through her hair. “It’s not that simple,” she says, leaning against the doorframe to the bathroom. “You know what I was like back then. I can’t do that again, Castle.”
“You don’t have to. I’ll do it myse -”
“No.” Her response is sharp, cutting through the smoothness of his words. “No. We do this together or we don’t do it at all.”
He steps close, hands wide and warm against her cheeks as he tilts her head up to him. His kiss is gentle, softening her so that her body is a liquid line between him and the doorframe. “I won’t let you fall again, Beckett. You know that.”
“Castle no,” she whines into his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his button-down. “I can’t have that responsibility on your shoulders. I drown in that case and it’s not your job to keep my head above water. I’m saving the photos but we’re not pursuing this. Not again. Don’t make me… I can’t risk it. Not now.”
She feels him nod against the side of her head, his lips at her ear. “You want to finish dinner and get the last boxes sorted so we can get the rest of your stuff over tomorrow morning?”
“Sure. Yeah,” she says, pressing up on her toe tips to kiss him briefly. “Thank you. For dropping it.”
“Anything,” he murmurs into her hair before stepping back. “I’ll reheat the Chinese if you want to grab the next box to do.”
He picks up the cartons of food from the floor, transferring them onto plates before putting them into the microwave. She silently gathers up the photos he had spread out along the rug, tapping them into a neat square, her fingertips running over the smiling face of her mother before she tucks them into the wooden box. It goes back into the cardboard box of family photo albums and she folds the tops over, labeling the side with the Sharpie on the side table.
Next box. She smirks as she pulls out the box that once held a pair of tall boots, peeking under the lid to make sure it is the right one before she sets it on the ground in front of the couch. When he sits next to her, handing over her noodles and beef, she nudges the box closer with her bare foot. “Since you like digging through my things so much,” she says by way of explanation.
She can’t catch the carton of freshly heated rice and chicken when he drops it this time. “You kept all of this stuff?” he gapes, shoving the lid all of the way off, letting it clatter onto the floor. His fingers dive into the contents, pushing things around until he finds whatever he was looking for.
A set of custom made leather cuffs, the black leather buttery soft. The short chain between them jingles as he wiggles them in front of her face, grinning wildly. She snags them from his fingertip, running her thumb over the stitching. “Good memories in that box.”
Castle is up, taking the food from her hands, and running them to the kitchenette counter. Then he grabs her hand, dragging her off the couch as he takes the cuffs from her. “We’re going to make some more right now. The blindfold still in there too?”
Her laughter is light, a bright contrast to five minutes ago, as she flattens herself against his back, fingers dancing under his jeans to tease at the sensitive skin at his navel. “Mhm. And that red tie of yours that you used to -”
“I’m well aware of what I used it for, Beckett,” he growls, pulling her around in front of him, backing her up against the bed. “But not tonight.” She sits on the mattress with a huff, taking off the loose t-shirt she had been wearing all day. His hands take one of hers, sliding the leather cuff over her wrist. “Tonight,” he whispers, voice rough and quiet in her ear, making her breathing hitch, as he loops the cuffs through the bars of her headboard. “I want to make you scream. Just me. The tie can wait.” His nails scratch lightly over her chest, swirling patterns down the slope of her breast, teasing at her nipple but never quite touching.
She yanks on the cuffs when he finally does roll the pebbled nipple between his thumb and forefinger as he sneaks the other hand down the front of her leggings to thrust two fingers up into her, his name a ragged growl in her throat. Her head falls to the side, her mouth panting hotly against her own arm as the groan turns to nonsensical babbling as he keeps her right on the edge for what seems like an eternity, the push of his hips deep and slow.
When he uses the broad area of his forehead to tip her head back up, catching her hazy eyes as he arches her spine up and sets his mouth to her neck and uses his body to methodically break her apart so that she has to muffle the scream of his name in his shoulder.
They clean up in the bathroom, sharing the tiny space as he rubs lotion into her wrists and she touches dry lips to his upper arm where she bit into his skin. She flicks the sheets over their bodies when they crawl into bed, sighing into the warmth of the comforter and his chest against her back.
Characters/Pairings: Castle/Beckett
Summary: Four years can make a world of difference. AU.
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Up to Season Four finale.
They take a break when they’re halfway through her things. Most of the stuff is still in boxes, packed from the beginning of November when she moved what things she could save from her old apartment to this tiny studio, but they’ve been going through each box and repacking the items inside. Everything smells faintly of smoke. Some of it has been burned too much, making its way to the trash as they sift for things that can still be salvaged. She winced as she had to toss a few of his books among other novels but he promised something about replacing the lost ones.
She ordered Chinese half an hour ago and now they’re sitting on the narrow couch she got from her dad’s cabin upstate until she could find a new one of her own, cartons of noodles and rice and beef on the floor. He’s got a small cardboard box next to him and he’s pawing through the things inside instead of eating.
“Stop looking through my stuff,” she hisses, hitting him lightly with the end of her chopstick.
“Aw, but you were adorable,” he says, holding up a photo of her as she laces up a pair of white ice skates. “Did your dad take these?” he asks, flipping to another picture of Beckett and her mother at the Rockefeller Center rink, both of them holding cups of hot chocolate as they sit on a bench along the edge of the ice. From behind, the only distinguishing feature is their hair length; teenage Beckett with long, wavy hair next to her mother’s shoulder length cut.
Beckett smiles, ducking her head to take a bite of the soy sauce drenched vegetables from her carton. “Yeah, about three weeks before Mom died. I think she took a few of them, actually.” She reaches over, pulling out a few from the middle of the stack. They’re of her decorating the Christmas tree, holding oversized ornaments up to her ears. The next of her on a small step stool, leaning over the evergreen to put the star on the top. “She took those. Laughed the entire time in between dancing to the verses of Christmas songs so I’m still surprised the pictures came out clear.”
He spreads them out on the rug, bent over in half so that she needs to catch the container of noodles before it falls out of his hand and onto the floor. “I don’t get to see you in action?”
“You know I suck at ice skating,” she sighs. “It wasn’t any prettier back then.”
“But now I have to see it!” He’s digging into the wooden box he had found the pictures in, retrieving the envelope of negatives. There isn’t a lot of light coming through the windows as he holds the strips of negatives up so he shifts on the couch, squinting at the tiny images. Then he’s glancing down at the pictures, brow furrowing. “Beckett, there are twenty-four exposures on this roll but there are only twenty pictures.”
She puts her take-out container on the floor, twisting to face the window, and crowding her head into the same space. It’s the last four frames that differ from the rest. No Christmas tree or skating rink or pictures of Johanna baking cookies in the kitchen. Instead, it’s an empty street, trashcans against the grimy brick.
“What is it?” he asks, tilting his head to get a different angle on the negatives.
“Not sure. Let’s put it into the computer,” she says, taking the envelope from him.
The desktop is crammed into a corner of the room, balanced on top of a pile of boxes they had already sorted out. He finds her hand as she scans the negatives, giving her fingers a tight squeeze.
“It could be nothing,” she whispers, unsure if she’s saying it to reassure him or her own mind.
But as the four mystery photos pop up on her screen as they download, she knows it isn’t ‘nothing.’ Seeing the alley in color, the rusted fire escape, the back door of the club brings everything back. The chill of January, the smell of the garbage and blood, the taste of panic in the air.
It’s not ‘nothing.’
“Castle, this is where my mom was murdered,” she breathes out, closing her eyes to block out the image of that night. Of her father crumpling on the living room floor as the detective informed them of where it had happened and when they could come to the morgue to identify the body and that they were doing everything in their ability to find out who had done this.
He tugs her into his side, his arm strong around her shoulders, his lips barely skimming her hair. “Oh, Kate.”
“No, but I don’t understand,” she continues, pushing through the fog of the memories to the present, clicking through the pictures on the screen. “These were developed a week before she was killed.”
“And why would she be taking photos of that alley?” he adds, helping to keep her in the realm of theory and out of reality.
“I don’t know… I mean, we always thought it was just a convenient place for the killer to attack. It was dark, secluded.”
“What if there was more to it than that?” She glances at him and he shrugs. “What if she was looking into something that happened in that alley when they killed her?”
“I’d have to go into the old archives and reports.”
“So let’s go,” he says. “It’s only nine and people will still be at the precinct, right?”
Beckett pulls away, shaking her head as she drags her hand through her hair. “It’s not that simple,” she says, leaning against the doorframe to the bathroom. “You know what I was like back then. I can’t do that again, Castle.”
“You don’t have to. I’ll do it myse -”
“No.” Her response is sharp, cutting through the smoothness of his words. “No. We do this together or we don’t do it at all.”
He steps close, hands wide and warm against her cheeks as he tilts her head up to him. His kiss is gentle, softening her so that her body is a liquid line between him and the doorframe. “I won’t let you fall again, Beckett. You know that.”
“Castle no,” she whines into his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his button-down. “I can’t have that responsibility on your shoulders. I drown in that case and it’s not your job to keep my head above water. I’m saving the photos but we’re not pursuing this. Not again. Don’t make me… I can’t risk it. Not now.”
She feels him nod against the side of her head, his lips at her ear. “You want to finish dinner and get the last boxes sorted so we can get the rest of your stuff over tomorrow morning?”
“Sure. Yeah,” she says, pressing up on her toe tips to kiss him briefly. “Thank you. For dropping it.”
“Anything,” he murmurs into her hair before stepping back. “I’ll reheat the Chinese if you want to grab the next box to do.”
He picks up the cartons of food from the floor, transferring them onto plates before putting them into the microwave. She silently gathers up the photos he had spread out along the rug, tapping them into a neat square, her fingertips running over the smiling face of her mother before she tucks them into the wooden box. It goes back into the cardboard box of family photo albums and she folds the tops over, labeling the side with the Sharpie on the side table.
Next box. She smirks as she pulls out the box that once held a pair of tall boots, peeking under the lid to make sure it is the right one before she sets it on the ground in front of the couch. When he sits next to her, handing over her noodles and beef, she nudges the box closer with her bare foot. “Since you like digging through my things so much,” she says by way of explanation.
She can’t catch the carton of freshly heated rice and chicken when he drops it this time. “You kept all of this stuff?” he gapes, shoving the lid all of the way off, letting it clatter onto the floor. His fingers dive into the contents, pushing things around until he finds whatever he was looking for.
A set of custom made leather cuffs, the black leather buttery soft. The short chain between them jingles as he wiggles them in front of her face, grinning wildly. She snags them from his fingertip, running her thumb over the stitching. “Good memories in that box.”
Castle is up, taking the food from her hands, and running them to the kitchenette counter. Then he grabs her hand, dragging her off the couch as he takes the cuffs from her. “We’re going to make some more right now. The blindfold still in there too?”
Her laughter is light, a bright contrast to five minutes ago, as she flattens herself against his back, fingers dancing under his jeans to tease at the sensitive skin at his navel. “Mhm. And that red tie of yours that you used to -”
“I’m well aware of what I used it for, Beckett,” he growls, pulling her around in front of him, backing her up against the bed. “But not tonight.” She sits on the mattress with a huff, taking off the loose t-shirt she had been wearing all day. His hands take one of hers, sliding the leather cuff over her wrist. “Tonight,” he whispers, voice rough and quiet in her ear, making her breathing hitch, as he loops the cuffs through the bars of her headboard. “I want to make you scream. Just me. The tie can wait.” His nails scratch lightly over her chest, swirling patterns down the slope of her breast, teasing at her nipple but never quite touching.
She yanks on the cuffs when he finally does roll the pebbled nipple between his thumb and forefinger as he sneaks the other hand down the front of her leggings to thrust two fingers up into her, his name a ragged growl in her throat. Her head falls to the side, her mouth panting hotly against her own arm as the groan turns to nonsensical babbling as he keeps her right on the edge for what seems like an eternity, the push of his hips deep and slow.
When he uses the broad area of his forehead to tip her head back up, catching her hazy eyes as he arches her spine up and sets his mouth to her neck and uses his body to methodically break her apart so that she has to muffle the scream of his name in his shoulder.
They clean up in the bathroom, sharing the tiny space as he rubs lotion into her wrists and she touches dry lips to his upper arm where she bit into his skin. She flicks the sheets over their bodies when they crawl into bed, sighing into the warmth of the comforter and his chest against her back.