Kate Beckett (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fanofthegenre) wrote2010-02-16 01:24 am
fanofthegenre) wrote2010-02-16 01:24 am
Entry tags:
[ case closed ]
"The ex-wife in the office with the fire ants," Beckett murmurs, juggling the ring of keys in her palm until she singles out the one she's looking for and slides it into the lock on her apartment's front door.
The case had wrapped all too easily after she and Castle had made it back to the city. Anne Gordon had confessed only after a little pressing in the interrogation room, and a secondary search of Cavendish's home had even turned up several crispy exoskeletons in the fireplace ashes from where she'd attempted to burn the evidence of the shopping bags. All in all, things had ended rather nicely - Castle had even fulfilled his urge and gotten to play with the squad car's siren and lights, and now she was going to put up her feet for the evening - probably literally - with Castle in tow.
She lets them both into the apartment, flicking on a few lights and shedding her coat and scarf before making her way towards the kitchen. Clearly, there are several options awaiting her in the relaxation department, but she's aiming for just one right off the bat.
"I'm gonna grab a beer. You want?"
The case had wrapped all too easily after she and Castle had made it back to the city. Anne Gordon had confessed only after a little pressing in the interrogation room, and a secondary search of Cavendish's home had even turned up several crispy exoskeletons in the fireplace ashes from where she'd attempted to burn the evidence of the shopping bags. All in all, things had ended rather nicely - Castle had even fulfilled his urge and gotten to play with the squad car's siren and lights, and now she was going to put up her feet for the evening - probably literally - with Castle in tow.
She lets them both into the apartment, flicking on a few lights and shedding her coat and scarf before making her way towards the kitchen. Clearly, there are several options awaiting her in the relaxation department, but she's aiming for just one right off the bat.
"I'm gonna grab a beer. You want?"
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He nods, the movement coaxing her thumb into the cuff of his collar. "You're also auditory," he tells her. "Sounds, words, music. What you hear turns you on, as opposed to what you see, which is the way it is with men. You're functioning on a whole other, much more developed level. Vision is largely a superficial process. Sound, on the other hand," he passes the tips of his fingers between her shoulder blades, "well, that's internal. It's inside you. It has resonance and depth."
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"So that's how you can bring a group of women to tears at one of your readings. It's not just the words on the page, it's the way you read them: slow, deliberate, kind of like this verbal caress. Of course, you probably could've provoked them to a different kind of emotion if you hadn't been reading Derek Storm's death scene at the time, but details." Unconsciously, she finds herself arching back into the touch of his hand.
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"Though you don't seem to turn away from the prospect of a little romance, either."
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Even if she does feel a little ridiculous, essentially dressed for bed while she's slow-dancing with Castle in her living room.
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SCOOBY DOOBY DOO, WHERE ARE YOU?
WE'VE GOT SOME WORK TO DO NOW.
Castle cringes as his cell phone bleats out noise from his jacket pocket.
"That's Alexis. Hold on, I have to take this."
He slides his hands away from her body and fumbles for his coat, shaking the cell phone into his palm just before the song doubles over into another round of the chorus.
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It suddenly occurs to her that while Castle is as intelligent as he is playful, his daughter possesses nearly three times the amount of know-how. Two evenings spent together in as many weeks is definitely enough for her to connect the dots.
Instead of saying anything, she merely observes the one-sided conversation, her forehead developing a small wrinkle.
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Other than Beckett, Alexis Castle is the only other woman on earth who can read him as well -- or better than -- one of his pulp fictions. The girl has a preternatural ability to sniff out details, something which Castle has always been proud of, once referring to her as "a bloodhound with a Banana Republic charge card."
Castle's face remains deceptively collected while his daughter briefs him on the status of the homefront ("Gram's having another one of her theater parties; I think they're setting up a ladder so they can swing from the chandelier") before asking after his whereabouts.
"I'm with Detective Beckett. We wrapped a case today. Yeah, the one with the ants, she --" he pauses, eyes sliding toward Beckett "-- the ex-wife. Yeah, I know. I told her, it's always the ex-wives. Sorry, did I just hear somebody say they wanted to move the piano onto the balcony?"
Panic. Castle holds his hand over the cell phone's mouthpiece.
"DEFCON One back at my place," he says. "This might have to be a short evening."
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Even through the phone's tiny speaker, she can hear the tinny sounds of something resembling one of Martha Castle's parties - singing voices, laughter, and ice clinking in glasses all in the background of Alexis' calmly explaining yet seemingly panicked tone.
"Need any help breaking up the party?" she asks, her mind already jumping ahead to how that scenario would go down.
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Castle brings the phone back to his ear. "All right, I'm on my way. Don't let her move the furniture and if things start to get rough, find a doorway or move to a central, windowless room." Disaster preparedness is something that the Castles got used to, especially when Hurricane Martha made a stormy appearance. "Be there in a jiff."
He flashes Beckett a tight, apologetic look. "I'm sorry, but if I don't go, Alexis is probably gonna' get inducted into some kind of theatrical society and we were really hoping that she'd get into an Ivy League at some point, so." He works his arms through the sleeves of his coat. 'Looks at her with an absolutely mournful expression.
"Until tomorrow?"
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He makes his apology, but she's already there to reassure him, putting her beer down to adjust the collar of his coat and then stepping back, smoothing her hands down the length of his arms and giving his hands a small squeeze.
"It's fine. At any rate, it's probably better you try to spare the place from looking like a tornado ripped through it sooner rather than later. And I'll call you the minute I find out about another case, okay?" Beckett squeezes his hands again, then releases them completely.
"Go."
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"Hey --" as he's reaching for the door "-- how about dinner tomorrow night? I've got a couple of meetings downtown, but I should be able to swing back your way after seven." He reaches for her elbow and slides his fingers down the length of her arm, squeezing the flesh of her palm. "Barring the appearance of any mutilated corpses, of course."
He crosses both sets of fingers.
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Sharing a meal together is nothing new, but this feels different than Thai take-out and early morning trips to Java Loft before they reach the scene of a crime. Given everything that's happened recently, the invitation now almost sort of feels like a--
"Dinner," Beckett says, interrupting her mind's thought process, "would be great."
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He holds up a hand, begging for leave and understanding. 'Starts to back out of her apartment.
"You'll get back to me about that case thing, right? Creepier the better, and you know I'm all in?"
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"I'll see you tomorrow, creepy case and all."