there should be stars (26/30)
Title: there should be stars (26/30)
Characters/Pairings: Castle/Beckett
Summary: Four years can make a world of difference. AU.
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Up to Season Four finale.
The break doesn’t last long.
Esposito knocks on the window of the break room, pointing toward the interrogation room. She nods, swinging her legs off of his lap, holding a hand down to help him up. Once he’s on his feet, he pulls her against him, arms banding around her lower back to keep her there, her head tucked into the curve of his shoulder.
“You can do this,” he murmurs directly into her ear.
She turns to smooth her lips over his throat. “I know.” Her breath feathers over his skin as she exhales slowly. “Let’s go do this.”
They pass by her desk, letting her grab the short stack of files from the corner. Her eyes drift to the murder board, coasting over the photos and names. It settles her, refocuses her from whatever that was with Castle a moment ago, as she goes straight back to the interrogation room.
Vulcan Simmons is stock still at the table, hands clasped in front of him. “You’ve redecorated since the last time I was here. You’d have been about sixteen, wrestling some boy in the back of his daddy’s car, wondering if you were gonna give it to him or not,” he mocks as she sits down across from him.
“Hey,” snaps Castle. “That’s enough.”
Simmons chuckles. “He’s sweet on you. Makes him brave.”
She tries to ignore the shiver that runs along her spine. “What was your association with Detective John Raglan?” she asks, making Simmons’s eyes cut back to her.
“Raglan… Raglan, Raglan,” the man muses. “Thirsty cop, right? Guy who couldn’t pick a winner to save his life? Well, Detective. Our association, as you put it, exceeded the statute of limitation many moons ago.”
“There is no statute of limitations on murder, Mr. Simmons.”
Simmons turns to Castle again. “And here begins what is known as the initial confrontation,” he says with a sly grin. “During this phase of the interrogation, the interrogator may invade the suspect’s personal space in order to increase his discomfort. Do you want to invade my personal space?”
Beckett has to put a hand on Castle’s knee under the table, squeezing it quickly. “Look at me,” she practically growls. As soon as Simmons returns his gaze to her, she sits up. “Twelve years ago, Johanna Beckett led a big Take Back the Neighborhood campaign in Washington Heights. That must have pissed you off.”
“And this would be theme development,” Simmons continues calmly, fingers interlocked on the tabletop. “Presenting the crime through the eyes of the suspect.”
“Johanna Beckett was murdered along with two of her colleagues,” Castle starts in, ignoring Beckett’s glare. “They were professional hits carried out on your orders and you had your pet homicide detective John Raglan bury them.”
She takes one of the photos from the file, doesn’t look at it as she slides it over the table. “Look at her face and tell me you don’t recognize her.”
“You know, Detective Beckett,” Simmons says, leaning forward. “I think I do remember her. Bled out in an alley like the trash she was.”
Castle’s hand drifts over to her hip, giving the fabric of her shirt a tug even as she mirrors Simmons’s movement. “You better watch it,” she says, her voice dangerously quiet.
“Rich bitch from uptown on safari in the Heights. Somebody should have warned her not to feed or tease the animals. If they had,” he continues, getting up and tugging on his cuffs. “She might not have gotten eaten. From what I hear though, she was pretty tasty,” he chuckles.
She’s up before Castle can stop her. His voice is a low buzz in the back of her head as she grabs the lapels of Simmons’s jacket, swinging the man around until his back hits the reflective mirror. The glass shatters, splintering under the drug dealer’s weight.
“Beckett, let -”
“Back off, Castle!” she shouts, up on her toes so that she’s at eye level with Simmons. “You remember your old life, Simmons. Savor it,” she hisses into the man’s grinning face. “Because I am going to take it all away from you.”
The door bangs open, nearly clipping her elbow before it hits the wall.
“Beckett, stand down,” commands Esposito as Ryan pulls her back from Simmons.
She stumbles back into Castle, barely feels his hands on her hips steadying her as she presses shaking fists to her thighs before she leaves the interrogation room. She doesn’t have time to sit at her desk before Montgomery has his head out of his office, calling her in.
“What the hell was that stunt?” he asks as soon as the door is closed behind her.
“Sir, I -”
“No,” he cuts her off, stepping around his desk. “I have to kick that son of a bitch loose now, you realize that?”
Beckett moves forward, her fingers steepled on the wood of his desk. “Captain, you heard him. He as much as confessed to the murder.” Her voice is all barely repressed rage, speaking through clenched teeth as her hands tremble.
“Come on, Beckett. He was playing you and you let him get under your skin, acting like a damn rookie. We’ve got nothing to tie him to Raglan’s murder or your mother’s. Beckett, you’re off this case.”
She’s already shaking her head when she turns back to Montgomery. “No, sir. You can’t do this, not now.”
“I just did.”
“No.”
“I just did,” he says more firmly. “Now go home. And take Castle with you. I don’t need him playing Nancy Drew on this while you’re gone.”
She doesn’t look back as she goes to her desk, picking up her jacket, bag, and weapon. “Come on, Castle. We’re going home.” And she doesn’t wait for him to catch up, only holding her hand against the elevator door until he ducks in after her.
“We’re going home?” he asks as she hits the button for the bottom floor.
“Hell no.”
Once the elevator reaches the floor, she steps off, going straight to the back toward Records. She signs the clipboard with the uniform posted outside of the room, moving down the aisles until she gets to one that seems random.
“It’s going to take some digging,” she’s muttering to herself, scanning the dates on the banker’s boxes. “He said nineteen years ago but we might have to go through all the cases to find a connection from Raglan to my mother’s case.”
“Beckett…”
“It’s got to be here somewhere. There has got to be something.”
“Kate,” he says, grabbing her elbow.
“What?” she snaps. She can’t see all of his face in the dim lighting, his cheeks and jaw set in shadows. “Because we need to find that connection before Montgomery realizes that we haven’t left the precinct. We need to get started.”
His fingers trail along her arm, brushing over the back of her hand. “Let Ryan and Esposito work the case,” he pleads.
“They don’t know about the alley,” she insists, turning back to the shelves to find the right section.
“Then tell them.”
“Castle, I can’t.”
“You can and you will.” He stops her protest with a tight grip on her wrists. “Tell them about the alley, about everything, and then we’re going home. You’re in too deep.”
She pulls back, her back hitting one of the shelves. “I’m fine.”
“You slammed a suspect against the mirror!” he hisses, following her. “You got kicked out of the station. Beckett, you are not fine.”
Her eyes close, swallowing hard. “Are you making me step back?”
“Yes.”
She nods, fast, jerky movements of her head to force back a hot rush of tears and the feeling of betrayal as she walks around him. “Okay. Then let’s go home.” She tries to hide the hitch in her voice as she talks, already making the complete one-eighty with the obsession. “We can e-mail everything to Ryan and Esposito and then -”
Her breath huffs out when he gives her a shove back against the metal shelves. His mouth is soft over hers, his hands framing her face. She cannot hold back the quiet moan as his teeth nip at her lower lip.
“Home,” he murmurs into the corner of her mouth.
She lets him twine his fingers with hers as he tugs her toward the end of the aisle. The uniform gives them a look as she signs out not two minutes after they got in. Castle has to keep pulling her back to his side as she speeds toward the front door. His hand is heavy on her knee as she drives back to the loft, fingers smoothing over her kneecap.
“Stop,” she hisses, swatting at his hand. “I know what you’re doing.” She turns to face him as they sit at a red light. “You’re trying to distract me. I don’t need you to. I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not,” he says, catching her hand. “But I’ll stop.”
And he does, at least until they get into the loft. As soon as her bag is dropped just inside the bedroom door, he’s crowding in at her back, nudging her toward the bathroom. He turns the shower on before he returns to her. She’s leaning against the countertop, arms crossed over her chest as she watches him carefully.
“Take a shower,” he says, voice warm as steam starts to curl around them. “I’ll make an early dinner. You can e-mail Ryan and Esposito with the information. We can eat on the couch while watching a movie. And then we’ll go to bed. Okay?”
It takes a moment for her to relax, to give him a tiny smile and a short nod. “Can we just have sandwiches? I think there’s some turkey in the deli drawer.”
He takes a step closer to her, touches his lips lightly to her cheek. “Whatever you want. Go wash the day away.”
When she catches him by the belt and tugs him back against her, his mouth meets hers a little roughly. “Help me get undressed?” she breathes into his mouth.
His hands are gentle as they unbutton her jeans, working the dark denim over her hips until she steps out of them, using his shoulders as balance. He undoes the buttons of the shirt from the bottom up until she feels him hesitate. She looks down, finds him staring at the blood-spotted bra.
“Castle, I’m okay,” she tells him, wiggling the sleeves down so that the shirt falls on top of her jeans.
But his lips press against the top swell of her breast, right over her heart. “I love you,” he whispers as he peppers kisses up along her throat to her jaw. “Go shower.”
She wants to pull him into the shower with her, let him try to wipe the memories of the day from her mind with his mouth and teeth and the sharp drive of his hips against hers. But he’s already gone, shutting the door until it is only open a crack. Her fingers curl against the cool stone of the counter for a moment before she steps into the heated stream of the shower.
It’s a fast shower, just enough time to wash her hair and shave. She finds the pair of holey leggings in the top drawer and bypasses her collection of t-shirts to shrug on one of Castle’s dress shirts, that pale purple one that she should just take as her own, rolling the sleeves up to her elbows as she knots her hair on her head. She feels better, a little cleaner than she did after everything since her past shoved its way into her present.
Castle and his mother are sitting on the couch when she wanders into the living room. Their voices are hushed, Martha’s tone harsh and worried. They continue, quieter than before, as Beckett gets glasses down from the cupboard for drinks. There are plates of sandwiches set out on the counter with a bag of chips unopened next to them.
She jumps when his arms circle her waist, tickling at her stomach from between the buttons of the shirt. She sighs back into him, letting the warmth of his body seep into hers. “Seemed serious,” she says carefully.
“She’s just worried about us,” he replies into her damp hair. “She’ll be fine.”
Martha breezes over, her smile a little forced. “Kate, darling, I’m glad you’re okay,” she says, brushing a quick hand down Beckett’s arm.
“Thanks, Martha,” she says. “You staying the night?”
“Oh, I don’t think so. Edmund has tickets to a show tonight and then we might go dancing,” the older woman teases, hip-checking her son and snagging a chip from his plate not two seconds after he added the handful to the side of his sandwich. “You two don’t stay up.”
Beckett has both of their plates in his hands, bringing them over to the dining table so that Castle can bring his laptop in from the study. As she eats with one hand, she uses the other to type out details of her mother’s case in an e-mail to Ryan and Esposito. It hits her hard that she doesn’t need to consult any files, none of the handwritten notes from years ago when she was drowning without a lifevest. Her fingers hesitate on the keyboard before she hits send.
“Done?” he asks, crunching on a chip that he had stuffed between the layers of his sandwich.
She pushes the laptop away, snapping the lid down. Closing it and the case away. Her eyes flutter shut as her head spins. It’s not until his hand settles over hers that she feels herself steady. Her tiny smile flits over her face, faltering as she looks over at him. “It’s just that I’ve never trusted someone else with this, you know?” she admits. “I feel… empty.”
“Want a distraction?”
The laughter that bubbles up when he wiggles his eyebrows is unexpected. “Yeah. Do your worst.”
Characters/Pairings: Castle/Beckett
Summary: Four years can make a world of difference. AU.
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Up to Season Four finale.
The break doesn’t last long.
Esposito knocks on the window of the break room, pointing toward the interrogation room. She nods, swinging her legs off of his lap, holding a hand down to help him up. Once he’s on his feet, he pulls her against him, arms banding around her lower back to keep her there, her head tucked into the curve of his shoulder.
“You can do this,” he murmurs directly into her ear.
She turns to smooth her lips over his throat. “I know.” Her breath feathers over his skin as she exhales slowly. “Let’s go do this.”
They pass by her desk, letting her grab the short stack of files from the corner. Her eyes drift to the murder board, coasting over the photos and names. It settles her, refocuses her from whatever that was with Castle a moment ago, as she goes straight back to the interrogation room.
Vulcan Simmons is stock still at the table, hands clasped in front of him. “You’ve redecorated since the last time I was here. You’d have been about sixteen, wrestling some boy in the back of his daddy’s car, wondering if you were gonna give it to him or not,” he mocks as she sits down across from him.
“Hey,” snaps Castle. “That’s enough.”
Simmons chuckles. “He’s sweet on you. Makes him brave.”
She tries to ignore the shiver that runs along her spine. “What was your association with Detective John Raglan?” she asks, making Simmons’s eyes cut back to her.
“Raglan… Raglan, Raglan,” the man muses. “Thirsty cop, right? Guy who couldn’t pick a winner to save his life? Well, Detective. Our association, as you put it, exceeded the statute of limitation many moons ago.”
“There is no statute of limitations on murder, Mr. Simmons.”
Simmons turns to Castle again. “And here begins what is known as the initial confrontation,” he says with a sly grin. “During this phase of the interrogation, the interrogator may invade the suspect’s personal space in order to increase his discomfort. Do you want to invade my personal space?”
Beckett has to put a hand on Castle’s knee under the table, squeezing it quickly. “Look at me,” she practically growls. As soon as Simmons returns his gaze to her, she sits up. “Twelve years ago, Johanna Beckett led a big Take Back the Neighborhood campaign in Washington Heights. That must have pissed you off.”
“And this would be theme development,” Simmons continues calmly, fingers interlocked on the tabletop. “Presenting the crime through the eyes of the suspect.”
“Johanna Beckett was murdered along with two of her colleagues,” Castle starts in, ignoring Beckett’s glare. “They were professional hits carried out on your orders and you had your pet homicide detective John Raglan bury them.”
She takes one of the photos from the file, doesn’t look at it as she slides it over the table. “Look at her face and tell me you don’t recognize her.”
“You know, Detective Beckett,” Simmons says, leaning forward. “I think I do remember her. Bled out in an alley like the trash she was.”
Castle’s hand drifts over to her hip, giving the fabric of her shirt a tug even as she mirrors Simmons’s movement. “You better watch it,” she says, her voice dangerously quiet.
“Rich bitch from uptown on safari in the Heights. Somebody should have warned her not to feed or tease the animals. If they had,” he continues, getting up and tugging on his cuffs. “She might not have gotten eaten. From what I hear though, she was pretty tasty,” he chuckles.
She’s up before Castle can stop her. His voice is a low buzz in the back of her head as she grabs the lapels of Simmons’s jacket, swinging the man around until his back hits the reflective mirror. The glass shatters, splintering under the drug dealer’s weight.
“Beckett, let -”
“Back off, Castle!” she shouts, up on her toes so that she’s at eye level with Simmons. “You remember your old life, Simmons. Savor it,” she hisses into the man’s grinning face. “Because I am going to take it all away from you.”
The door bangs open, nearly clipping her elbow before it hits the wall.
“Beckett, stand down,” commands Esposito as Ryan pulls her back from Simmons.
She stumbles back into Castle, barely feels his hands on her hips steadying her as she presses shaking fists to her thighs before she leaves the interrogation room. She doesn’t have time to sit at her desk before Montgomery has his head out of his office, calling her in.
“What the hell was that stunt?” he asks as soon as the door is closed behind her.
“Sir, I -”
“No,” he cuts her off, stepping around his desk. “I have to kick that son of a bitch loose now, you realize that?”
Beckett moves forward, her fingers steepled on the wood of his desk. “Captain, you heard him. He as much as confessed to the murder.” Her voice is all barely repressed rage, speaking through clenched teeth as her hands tremble.
“Come on, Beckett. He was playing you and you let him get under your skin, acting like a damn rookie. We’ve got nothing to tie him to Raglan’s murder or your mother’s. Beckett, you’re off this case.”
She’s already shaking her head when she turns back to Montgomery. “No, sir. You can’t do this, not now.”
“I just did.”
“No.”
“I just did,” he says more firmly. “Now go home. And take Castle with you. I don’t need him playing Nancy Drew on this while you’re gone.”
She doesn’t look back as she goes to her desk, picking up her jacket, bag, and weapon. “Come on, Castle. We’re going home.” And she doesn’t wait for him to catch up, only holding her hand against the elevator door until he ducks in after her.
“We’re going home?” he asks as she hits the button for the bottom floor.
“Hell no.”
Once the elevator reaches the floor, she steps off, going straight to the back toward Records. She signs the clipboard with the uniform posted outside of the room, moving down the aisles until she gets to one that seems random.
“It’s going to take some digging,” she’s muttering to herself, scanning the dates on the banker’s boxes. “He said nineteen years ago but we might have to go through all the cases to find a connection from Raglan to my mother’s case.”
“Beckett…”
“It’s got to be here somewhere. There has got to be something.”
“Kate,” he says, grabbing her elbow.
“What?” she snaps. She can’t see all of his face in the dim lighting, his cheeks and jaw set in shadows. “Because we need to find that connection before Montgomery realizes that we haven’t left the precinct. We need to get started.”
His fingers trail along her arm, brushing over the back of her hand. “Let Ryan and Esposito work the case,” he pleads.
“They don’t know about the alley,” she insists, turning back to the shelves to find the right section.
“Then tell them.”
“Castle, I can’t.”
“You can and you will.” He stops her protest with a tight grip on her wrists. “Tell them about the alley, about everything, and then we’re going home. You’re in too deep.”
She pulls back, her back hitting one of the shelves. “I’m fine.”
“You slammed a suspect against the mirror!” he hisses, following her. “You got kicked out of the station. Beckett, you are not fine.”
Her eyes close, swallowing hard. “Are you making me step back?”
“Yes.”
She nods, fast, jerky movements of her head to force back a hot rush of tears and the feeling of betrayal as she walks around him. “Okay. Then let’s go home.” She tries to hide the hitch in her voice as she talks, already making the complete one-eighty with the obsession. “We can e-mail everything to Ryan and Esposito and then -”
Her breath huffs out when he gives her a shove back against the metal shelves. His mouth is soft over hers, his hands framing her face. She cannot hold back the quiet moan as his teeth nip at her lower lip.
“Home,” he murmurs into the corner of her mouth.
She lets him twine his fingers with hers as he tugs her toward the end of the aisle. The uniform gives them a look as she signs out not two minutes after they got in. Castle has to keep pulling her back to his side as she speeds toward the front door. His hand is heavy on her knee as she drives back to the loft, fingers smoothing over her kneecap.
“Stop,” she hisses, swatting at his hand. “I know what you’re doing.” She turns to face him as they sit at a red light. “You’re trying to distract me. I don’t need you to. I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not,” he says, catching her hand. “But I’ll stop.”
And he does, at least until they get into the loft. As soon as her bag is dropped just inside the bedroom door, he’s crowding in at her back, nudging her toward the bathroom. He turns the shower on before he returns to her. She’s leaning against the countertop, arms crossed over her chest as she watches him carefully.
“Take a shower,” he says, voice warm as steam starts to curl around them. “I’ll make an early dinner. You can e-mail Ryan and Esposito with the information. We can eat on the couch while watching a movie. And then we’ll go to bed. Okay?”
It takes a moment for her to relax, to give him a tiny smile and a short nod. “Can we just have sandwiches? I think there’s some turkey in the deli drawer.”
He takes a step closer to her, touches his lips lightly to her cheek. “Whatever you want. Go wash the day away.”
When she catches him by the belt and tugs him back against her, his mouth meets hers a little roughly. “Help me get undressed?” she breathes into his mouth.
His hands are gentle as they unbutton her jeans, working the dark denim over her hips until she steps out of them, using his shoulders as balance. He undoes the buttons of the shirt from the bottom up until she feels him hesitate. She looks down, finds him staring at the blood-spotted bra.
“Castle, I’m okay,” she tells him, wiggling the sleeves down so that the shirt falls on top of her jeans.
But his lips press against the top swell of her breast, right over her heart. “I love you,” he whispers as he peppers kisses up along her throat to her jaw. “Go shower.”
She wants to pull him into the shower with her, let him try to wipe the memories of the day from her mind with his mouth and teeth and the sharp drive of his hips against hers. But he’s already gone, shutting the door until it is only open a crack. Her fingers curl against the cool stone of the counter for a moment before she steps into the heated stream of the shower.
It’s a fast shower, just enough time to wash her hair and shave. She finds the pair of holey leggings in the top drawer and bypasses her collection of t-shirts to shrug on one of Castle’s dress shirts, that pale purple one that she should just take as her own, rolling the sleeves up to her elbows as she knots her hair on her head. She feels better, a little cleaner than she did after everything since her past shoved its way into her present.
Castle and his mother are sitting on the couch when she wanders into the living room. Their voices are hushed, Martha’s tone harsh and worried. They continue, quieter than before, as Beckett gets glasses down from the cupboard for drinks. There are plates of sandwiches set out on the counter with a bag of chips unopened next to them.
She jumps when his arms circle her waist, tickling at her stomach from between the buttons of the shirt. She sighs back into him, letting the warmth of his body seep into hers. “Seemed serious,” she says carefully.
“She’s just worried about us,” he replies into her damp hair. “She’ll be fine.”
Martha breezes over, her smile a little forced. “Kate, darling, I’m glad you’re okay,” she says, brushing a quick hand down Beckett’s arm.
“Thanks, Martha,” she says. “You staying the night?”
“Oh, I don’t think so. Edmund has tickets to a show tonight and then we might go dancing,” the older woman teases, hip-checking her son and snagging a chip from his plate not two seconds after he added the handful to the side of his sandwich. “You two don’t stay up.”
Beckett has both of their plates in his hands, bringing them over to the dining table so that Castle can bring his laptop in from the study. As she eats with one hand, she uses the other to type out details of her mother’s case in an e-mail to Ryan and Esposito. It hits her hard that she doesn’t need to consult any files, none of the handwritten notes from years ago when she was drowning without a lifevest. Her fingers hesitate on the keyboard before she hits send.
“Done?” he asks, crunching on a chip that he had stuffed between the layers of his sandwich.
She pushes the laptop away, snapping the lid down. Closing it and the case away. Her eyes flutter shut as her head spins. It’s not until his hand settles over hers that she feels herself steady. Her tiny smile flits over her face, faltering as she looks over at him. “It’s just that I’ve never trusted someone else with this, you know?” she admits. “I feel… empty.”
“Want a distraction?”
The laughter that bubbles up when he wiggles his eyebrows is unexpected. “Yeah. Do your worst.”