mmkaternater | (no subject)

[ Set in the days following this. ]

"I just don't know what to do with these earrings."

Martha Castle descends the stairs in a cyclone of teal and gold silk, her red hair teased high and as bright as a match head. She slams a pair of gold filigree earrings down on the counter where Castle is busy arranging an edible tour of the Orient, courtesy of the Mandarin Garden take-out place down the street. He gives the earrings a sideways glance. Grins. Watching his mother get wound up before a night out on the town is more entertaining than most spectator sports. He shovels a mound of fragrant white rice into a container.

"Judging from the size and shape, I bet they'd probably be pretty good airfoils for short-term flight."

Martha gives her son a sour look and plants her hand over the earrings, holding them up as evidence. "I'll have you know that these were given to me by a Broadway producer whose version of Annie Get Your Gun was delivered from the jaws of tragedy by me --" she fans a hand against the brocade at her throat "-- in a knockout performance." She begins affixing the earrings at her lobes. "He was very grateful."

"Yeah, to be rid of the curse of the displaced maharaja who used to own the things."

"That's the Hope Diamond. And someone should adopt you."

"Speaking of good parenting, where's Alexis?"

Martha drops a tube of lipstick and her cell phone into an ornate clutch purse. "At a group study session for her astronomy class."

"On a Friday night?"

The Castle family matriarch shakes her head ruefully. "I keep telling her that the only stars she really needs to care about are between Hollywood and Vine, but," she waves a dismissive hand, "you know how young people are."

Castle arches an eyebrow. "Educated?" He starts to start geometric take-out boxes on top of each other. "What am I gonna' do with all this food? I ordered extra because I thought you and Alexis were staying in tonight. I'm up to my eyeballs in udon."

Martha checks her reflection in a compact and shrugs. "Call detective Beckett. Aren't the two of you working on a case? Something about murder, mystery and macabre intrigue?"

"Just about."

Martha leans in and presses her lips against her son's cheek. "Do something with yourself, will you? You've been moping around here for three days. We're too pretty to have real problems."

Castle squeezes his mother's hand and sees her out the door. Suddenly, the apartment is much too quiet. He flicks the stereo system to life and cues up the Shuffle function on his iPod. 'Gives the entire thing up to the Fates and gets Aerosmith's "Love In An Elevator" right out of the gate.

Terrific.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

fanofthegenre

"So I wait for the inevitable moment when all my relationships are bound to fail. Is that what you're saying?"

From:

bestsellingego.livejournal.com

"I think," he says, very evenly, "that you know who you are and what you want. And I don't think you let yourself get stuck on others' expectations of you, or what you think you should be. And if you want my opinion, I think it takes real balls to be able to do that."

His smile is cracked at one corner. "But all the same, it's awfully lonely."

From:

fanofthegenre

"Well, it's worked to get me where I am. If I need to make a few sacrifices along the way, I think it's worth it," she responds, just as evenly.

Suddenly she's wishing she hadn't consented to just one beer. Her fingers absently toy with her sweater's sleeve.

From:

bestsellingego.livejournal.com

"I think you're great, just the way you are."

From:

fanofthegenre

There's a steadying warmth in his gaze, his words, and Beckett feels a flush rise to her cheeks before she can stop it from happening.

"It wouldn't be good for book sales if I was lousy," she murmurs, trying to lighten the mood.

From:

bestsellingego.livejournal.com

"If you were lousy I wouldn't be writing about you." He hikes an eyebrow, smashing his lower lip forward in brief consideration. "Not about you. About someone sort of similar to you who works in a precinct, gets partnered with an egomaniac, and may or may not have a background in pole dancing."

From:

fanofthegenre

"What was that you were saying about artistic liberty before?"

Beckett bites her lip, pretending to think back to that earlier part of the conversation.

From:

bestsellingego.livejournal.com

"She has a very strong core," he defends, bracing two palms against his own stomach. "Where do you think that comes from?"

From:

fanofthegenre

"Relentless hours of ab crunches," Beckett counters.

"Putting Nikki Heat on a stripper pole is the closest you're ever going to get to the real thing, I'm telling you now."

From:

bestsellingego.livejournal.com

"She'll be undercover," he says. "Integrity totally, totally intact."

From:

fanofthegenre

"Let me guess. A rash of murdered strippers will somehow culminate in the climax, where Nikki Heat takes down a suspect right in the middle of her on-stage routine to Cherry Pie."

Beckett chuckles, then exhales softly, fingers rising to absently toy with a strand of hair falling along the side of her neck.

From:

bestsellingego.livejournal.com

Castle laughs.

"Actually, I think they're called a 'gaggle' when they're together. Or a pack. A 'pack of strippers'. That sounds right. Also, props for using the words 'rash', 'stripper', and 'climax' all in the same sentence." He affords her some light, brief applause. "I think I'm finally rubbing off on you."

From:

fanofthegenre

"You should hear me use the really big words sometime," Beckett murmurs.

"And I just think you like the mental image that sentence allows. I'm pretty sure my vocabulary was extensive long before you started shadowing me."

From:

bestsellingego.livejournal.com

"But not nearly as racy." It's a guess, but a fair one.

From:

fanofthegenre

"Oh, you don't know the half of it." His guess is accurate, but he doesn't need to know that.

From:

bestsellingego.livejournal.com

If he's rubbed off on Beckett, it's only fair to say that Beckett's rubbed off on him, too. A man does a lot of thinking while he's riding in the back of a speeding cop car on the way to a crime scene and it's fair to say that, as a result of his work with her, his writing's gotten a lot sharper. He's also grateful for the fact that she takes him seriously.

Well, when it matters, anyway.

"I promise," he says, holding up his hand in the Boy Scout swear, "no pole dancing detectives in the next book."

From:

fanofthegenre

"I'll hold you to it, Castle," she replies, sliding down against the couch where she can lean her head back against the cushions, relaxing and lacing her fingers together across her stomach.

Though a part of her is convinced he'll somehow manage to toss in the next best thing as far as Nikki Heat's undercover work is concerned.

From:

bestsellingego.livejournal.com

He smiles, letting his attention wander to the middle distance. It's comfortable being here with Beckett. 'Always is. Even when he's usually squirming to get loose and cause trouble, he's never had a problem with appreciating a moment --

"A harem," he says out of nowhere, "Nikki Heat infiltrates a harem. That's in the next book."

-- Or with punching it up, apparently.

From:

fanofthegenre

"I knew it," Beckett groans, reaching for the closest thing - a throw pillow, dark brown and perfectly matched to the other decor - and tosses it overhand directly at Castle's chest.

"I so knew it."

From:

bestsellingego.livejournal.com

"Ow! Hey!" although more out of surprise than actual pain, indicated by the low, rumbling laugh that immediately follows. "Knew what?" He drags the pillow off his chest and rubs tenderly at his sternum. "That my literary genius knows no bounds?"