(no subject)

[mmkaternater]

The NYPD doesn't have an official gym. Not anymore, anyway. Not since the basement in the bottom of the 12th had been found to contain "unusually high levels of asbestos" and not since everybody agreed that it was probably not a good idea for New York's Finest to run on treadmills located underneath five hundred pounds of the stuff. For the last five years, the District Attorney and the mayor had been trying to talk their constituents into springing for a new facility, but response was as sluggish as the blood flow through a diabetic's arteries. In the interim, the New York City branch of the FBI has offered use of their gym to any officer who wants to come in and burn off a few blue calories.

And that's where Castle is today.

Or, would be, more accurately, if he could get past the security cartel in the lobby. Despite the fact that Beckett had finally gotten around to getting him his own sent of presentable credentials, the G at the security desk isn't buying the whole "authorial ride-along" shtick, and Castle has had to sweat through three inter-departmental phone calls, a background check, and a number of pissed-off-looking agents who have filed in behind him, already looking like they just need an excuse to knock a guy's block off.

"I'm with Detective Kate Beckett," he tries again, hoisting his gym bag along his shoulder. "B-E-C-K-E-T-T. Badge number...hell, I don't know her badge number. Page her. She's expecting me."

The badge behind the desk cups his large hand over the mouthpiece of his phone. He looks like the kind of guy who uproots tree stumps in his spare time. "I don't have a record of you on the books, Mr. Castle. You're certain she was meeting you today?"

"Yeah, today. She's got to get re-certified in hand-to-hand combat next week. We were going to practice a few moves."

Stony silence. Castle hears a couple of Gs chuckle in line behind him.

"What?"

"No offense, Mr. Castle, but unless you're gonna' take dictation during her re-certification, she's probably gonna' do better on her own."

Castle casts a glance down to his top-of-the-line sneakers and never-been-sweated-in NYU t-shirt. "You think I don't have what it takes? I'll have you know, I can be pretty intimidating when I want to be. I made a waiter cry once."

The badge chuckles into his collar and returns to his phone call. Castle scans the lobby, touching his stomach with the tips of his fingers, looking dejected. A few seconds later the guy hangs up, gives Castle a tight smirk, and says, "All right, man. She's on her way down to collect you. 'Careful you don't knock her in the head with those forearms of yours."

"Watch it. I can take a maître d' out in two seconds flat."

Comments

[fanofthegenre]

"Well, I'm right, aren't I?"

She dabs pizza grease off her fingers with the paper towel.

"Maybe it's the fact that you've got a ton of confidence in your abilities."

[bestsellingego.livejournal.com]

"And that makes me a little more Grace than Jimmy?"

He rolls his head toward her.

"I guess I see it. Not so sure my abilities are gonna' get me a title like 'Her Serene Highness' anytime soon, but I've been to Monaco. I could start a life there." The image of himself in cabana shorts and a loud Hawaiian shirt brings a smile to his lips.

"You and Jimmy, I can see that too. The sense of honour. Dedication to service. 'Kind of reassuring constancy."

[fanofthegenre]

"You fall just a little more on the Grace side of things," she answers, nodding slowly.

"I'm guessing this life you're envisioning for yourself is coming on the heels of several more six-figure series until you've simply tired of the New York police force."

Her beer's starting to sweat on the coffee table; she rescues it for a quick sip, fingertips sliding along the condensation on the glass.

[bestsellingego.livejournal.com]

Castle hefts an eyebrow at that. It's a heavy question, even if she doesn't mean it to be. Is she suggesting that his habit of living in the moment means he's going to exhaust his interest in the force? The life? In her? He studies the condensation ring left on the coffee table. Strange, weighty feeling in his fingers.

"You think I'll run out of stories to tell?"

[fanofthegenre]

"I - "

His follow-up brings her towards her realization of the gravity of her own question, and Beckett falters for a second. It's a slip Freud would be proud to recognize, and she shakes her head, turning away from the movie.

"I don't know. Where do you see yourself later on down the road?"

Even with all the sequels his publisher's demanding, it never occurred to her to think that he'd stick around after he closes the book on Nikki Heat, so to speak.

[bestsellingego.livejournal.com]

Castle's smile is fragmented. He leans forward and grabs a paper towel off the roll, scrubbing the tips of his fingers clean of pizza grease. "They asked the kids at Alexis's school that question, too. 'Where do you see yourself in ten years?'"

A moment, then he shakes his head and drops back against the couch. "I never had an answer. 'Always thought it was kind of short-sighted to have an answer. 'Pigeon-hole yourself into a thing like that." It occurs to him that he's avoiding her question. Maybe he doesn't know how to answer. Not even after all this time.

He leans his head against the back of the couch and feeds her a fond smile.

"But if I had to answer? 'Sitting under a pretty pink parasol along the Circuit de Monaco, watching the race cars go by as I eat cucumber sandwiches prepared for me by my Genoese manservant." The corner of his mouth edges higher.

"What about you?"

[fanofthegenre]

Beckett shifts her weight on the couch, drawing her knees up, her feet propped on the end of the coffee table while she leans back, mirroring his position. A pause, during which she smiles to herself at his admission, half-teasing though it may be, and then gives his question some consideration.

"Mmm. Ten years? It's likely I'll probably still be at the precinct, though by that point I don't think I'll be going out on cases all that often. We cops tend to have an expiration date in the field. Nothing as fancy as hand-prepared cucumber sandwiches, that's for sure."

Her head lolls to one side, in his direction, her mouth quirking at the corners.

[bestsellingego.livejournal.com]

"Give it ten years and it'll be Captain Beckett," he says, stealing some of her casual smile for himself.

The warm, green-yellow glow from the street lamps outside slit in through the blinds and paint Beckett's lap and part of her shoulder with a zebra print. 'Lights up her green eyes like nothing he's ever seen.

"'Means I'll have to let you win a hand of cards every once in a while."

[fanofthegenre]

"Who knows? I'm certainly not going to rule it out," she says. It's a future she's envisioned, and one she'd be crazy not to consider, especially given the impact police work has had on her life.

She's content here, a different kind of happiness showing on her face, a different smile than the one she wears at work. Castle's comment earns a tiny scoff.

"Don't you dare. I don't want any special treatment where your poker game's concerned."

[bestsellingego.livejournal.com]

"Wouldn't dream of it."

He helps himself to the sweating glass in her hand and takes a swig. 'Replaces it and lets his fingertips stray over the back of her wrist for just a second longer than necessary, a fat droplet of water rolling around the side of her hand to splash the center of her palm. He rolls his lower lip between his teeth, popping a smirk to the forefront.

[fanofthegenre]

"Good. So long as that's clear."

She nods decisively, taking a punctuating sip from the bottle in her hand, and then sets it aside on the coffee table. Beckett resumes her lounging position against Castle's side, cheek pillowed on his shoulder as her gaze turns to the screen, where Stewart's character is now starting to believe his neighbor really has offed his wife.

[bestsellingego.livejournal.com]

The apartment is cozy, warm, and Beckett's cheek on his shoulder is sending out its own, unique heat signature. He likes her when she's on the job and kicking ass, but, to be honest, these quiet moments between them -- which neither of them will comment on, or even try to qualify -- are getting to be his favourites.

His hand comes up to rest on the curve of her kneecap. 'Just sitting, content to be.

[fanofthegenre]

There's no need to draw attention, or dwell - just simply be, and she resituates herself from time to time with a shifting or her cheek, but for the most part, she's comfortable exactly where she is.

"Don't have anywhere else to be tonight?" Beckett murmurs, fingertips absently stroking along the inside of his arm.

[bestsellingego.livejournal.com]

"Well, there's that party at the Plaza. The wine tasting at the Haydn Planetarium. 'Pretty sure it's Playgirls night at the China Club --" he draws a circle around the shallow dip of her kneecap "-- no. Nowhere else I can think I want to be."

[fanofthegenre]

She prods his side with her fingers, meant to be a tickling nudge.

"Far be it from me to keep you from your Playgirls," she counters.

[bestsellingego.livejournal.com]

He squirms like a worm, giving her knee a good squeeze. 'Buoyant mood in the room, now, like they've both had too much champagne. Maybe they're both tired -- from the work, the case, the constant not-knowing -- and maybe him showing up here was exactly what they both needed.

His thumb circles to the back of her knee where the flesh is soft and warm. "I'm good," he says.

[fanofthegenre]

Her face scrunches up, an obvious sign that the place where his fingers linger is more than somewhat ticklish, but she only slightly squirms away from his touch, a movement that sends her closer against Castle and his side by default.

"Castle," is her light scolding, but the giggle attached impacts its authority.

[bestsellingego.livejournal.com]

His reaction is to give the spot a little bit more attention -- feeling out the territory, fingers sweeping low on the curve of her thigh. He noses beneath the cloak of her hair, blowing a warm chuckle against her skin. "You ticklish, Detective?"

[fanofthegenre]

"No," she feigns, somewhat hopelessly - the signal has been sent; he's got that little tidbit of knowledge about her to potentially use for his own means, or to work into the upcoming sequel: Nikki Heat's enemy held her down and tickled the backs of her knees.

Clearly, a torturous act.

She bites her lip in her attempt to hide her grin, her cheek brushing over his shoulder.

[bestsellingego.livejournal.com]

Eager, sophomoric glee. Castle turns one knee against the side of the couch and marches his "assault" toward a higher proving ground: her ribs. He's got one hand on the other side of her hip to hold her in place, thumb tucked demurely against the shallow dip of her stomach.

"Oh man," he says, "you are so in for it."

[fanofthegenre]

Her eyes go wide. A flash of warning - then, she disguises her anticipation of his movement with thinly-veiled anger, holding out a hand to brace herself along his shoulder to push him away if it comes to that.

"Castle," she mutters again, her voice rising in volume as the tension ascends to a crackle of energy.

[bestsellingego.livejournal.com]

He strokes his fingers over her hip. "You could always ju-jitsu me over your shoulder," he says.

[fanofthegenre]

"From this position?"

It's a little easier said than done, but she tries not to let on that obviously.

[bestsellingego.livejournal.com]

His grip is firm, but not unbreakable. She's got ways and means of escape and there's some wild, thrilled part of Castle that hopes she tries. Her forearm brushes his ribcage and he gets a shock of feeling. His grin is wide and peaky.

"We never struggled with positions before," he notes.

[fanofthegenre]

It would be easy - all too easy - but should she give him that satisfaction? Beckett shifts, trying to allude to potential movement on her part, but can't get far without certain body parts lining up with certain others.

"Funny. I don't remember us deviating all that much," she teases.