Beckett grins, glancing back and forth between younger and older Castle. For the most part, the smile is the exact same, the overall confidence, but there's a little more maturity in the expression of the one she knows, a little more wisdom acquired over years of writing and living.
"It's hard to believe, isn't it?"
She crosses the room to the shelf he's standing by, plucking up a photo in a simple silver frame, and hands it to him. It's her and her mother, years ago, both tanned and happy. A young Kate Beckett is all legs in this photo, hair cropped short, a smattering of freckles over the bridge of her nose, free of the weight of responsibility. It's a reminder of simpler times.
"I'd lend you something to wear, but it'd be about three sizes too small, and you'd look ridiculous," she jokes, watching his face as he glances over the picture.
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"It's hard to believe, isn't it?"
She crosses the room to the shelf he's standing by, plucking up a photo in a simple silver frame, and hands it to him. It's her and her mother, years ago, both tanned and happy. A young Kate Beckett is all legs in this photo, hair cropped short, a smattering of freckles over the bridge of her nose, free of the weight of responsibility. It's a reminder of simpler times.
"I'd lend you something to wear, but it'd be about three sizes too small, and you'd look ridiculous," she jokes, watching his face as he glances over the picture.