LOG : Open to fanofthegenre

[bestsellingego]

The shooting range was not at all how Castle had pictured it. In his mind, hardened beat cops with bristle mustaches stood around in pairs, comparing their pieces with one another while watching other members of their tribe blast the crap out of tin cans on a fence. He had a whole scene hashed out in his head before he even got to the range: Nikki

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[fanofthegenre]

There was an overwhelming part of Kate that was severely doubting her decision to even tell Castle about the shooting range, much less invite him to join her there. Not only that, she'd nearly broadcasted her fondness for making an appearance there on the weekends, which meant it was likely she could expected to see his smirking face greeting her there come Saturday. He'd quiz her about her childhood as she loaded her gun, or ask her about her repressed feelings as she lined up her targets. There was a reason why she wasn't a fan of the department's psychiatrist: she didn't like answering questions about her past. It was a sensitive subject that, somehow, Castle had managed to get a grip on within the first few days (hours, even) of knowing her.

She'd insisted on them driving separately this time, especially after what had ended up occurring with him being handcuffed to the squad car. And if worst came to worst, she could manage a quick getaway - but judging by the car that was currently approaching her, it was possible her vehicle had met its match in the speed department. She placed a hand over her eyes to serve as a makeshift visor as she watched him get out and walk down from the lot's cresting hill.

"It was enough of a challenge to convince them to let you come with me," Kate informed him, even though she was certain a speed-dialed call between Castle and the mayor would get rid of any potential bumps and snags in letting the writer tag along. "I'm not adding explosives to the mix."

Fixing him with a short look, she spun on her heel and started heading towards the front doors without waiting for him to follow - though she knew he would.

[bestsellingego]

"The Inimitable Detective Beckett strikes another blow against people wanting to have fun. Tell me, were you one of those kids in kindergarten who tattled to the teacher about the other kids eating paste? No one is a stickler for the rules that much." He had to job to keep up with her. What she lacked in height compared to him, Kate Beckett more than made up for in speed.

He took his sunglasses off inside the building. It was as gray as the outside and had all of the charm of a psych ward. Someone had gotten clever with colour psychology and painted the walls Institutional Taupe, as if the colour was going to really make a difference to those people who came here specifically to get their rocks off, ballistics style. The front desk was braced by a wall of plexi glass and behind it, a matronly woman with forearms as thick as Christmas baked hams sat thumbing through a variety magazine. Castle would let Beckett do the introductions. He took a steno pad from the inside of his jacket and wrote down a couple of quick observations:

Potted plant in the corner needs watering. Surprised there aren't copies of Highlights For Children in the waiting area. Madame Winchester behind the glass looks like she could take your head off as soon as check your gun license.

This was exactly the kind of environment that Beckett tried to establish herself into. It was heavily male, controlled, and the type of place she would feel comfortable in elbowing with her male cop counterparts. He watched her as she signed them both in, then followed when they were admitted past the plexi bubble to the range itself.

"So what kind of guns are we shooting?" he asked, coming abreast of her in the narrow hallway. Their shoulders occasionally bumped when they walked. He threw the tails of his scarf around his throat, the fringe slapping her upper arm. "Tell me you've got a Mac 10 stashed somewhere on your person." He raised both eyebrows, entreating her to let him conduct his own search.

[fanofthegenre]

"No, but I have a feeling you were a little too liberal in your disobedience of said rules," she said, barely hiding a smirk as he hustled in order to keep up. There was a part of her that enjoyed being a match for him in that category. She kept him on his toes, but she knew he enjoyed that part too, much to her chagrin.

Their surroundings were Spartan at best, but they weren't exactly there to sit and talk decor and furnishings. The woman behind the counter - Debbie, as Kate knew her - smiled in an almost painful manner as the detective flashed her badge, but when she read the second of the two names on the sign-in sheets, she actually shifted in her creaking seat for a better look at the author. It took everything Kate had for her not to roll her eyes at the sight of yet another fan. She knew Castle was successful, but she was starting to get a little tired of running into the tangible proof everywhere they went. (Even if she had to admit that his books were somewhat engaging.)

She was tempted to yank him down the hallway by said scarf as it brushed against her arm, but resisted the urge, focusing her gaze straight ahead until they paused at a stand to pick up some ear muffs and glasses. The last thing she needed to deal with was him managing to shoot his own eye out - or hers.

"We're shooting the standard police-issue Glock 20," Kate told him, lips pursing together. "If - and by that I mean a very unlikely if - you somehow weasle your way into handling a gun, you need to know what you're dealing with. And these have a bit of a bite to them."

From there, it was only a few steps into the next room, where a few off-duty cops were already firing on the stationary targets. Kate motioned for Castle to put on the ear muffs, doing the same before they went in. One advantage of those: she'd have a good excuse to tune him out.

[bestsellingego]

The earmuffs were the worst. Castle handled his like they carried a communicable disease. He gave Beckett a look -- seriously? -- but was rebuked by the glacial silence he got in response. Up went the earmuffs, fitted around his ears like a Mouseketeer's ears. They turned out the din pretty well. The shots of the present police officers popped like dull dynamite around him. He watched Beckett take up her earmuffs and eyewear like pieces out of a knight's armor: she had a very particular way of brushing her hair back from her ears before she fitted either piece over her head. This was a ritual for her, Castle realized. She was as schooled at putting on her armor as she was putting up her defenses against invasive novel writers asking questions about her personal life.

He peeled the scarf and coat from his body and dumped them into a chair in the corner of the room. Some of the other off-duty cops gave him cautious looks; Castle had heard that they could smell their own and he was certainly not carrying blue pheromones. They seemed a lot more tolerable of the pretty female detective, though, and Castle saw one or two exploratory glances between squeeze-offs.

"I'm not opposed to a little biting," he said, linking his hands behind his back while he watched her unholster an impressive handgun. Like most men with adequacy issues, Castle was struck dumb by the pretty silver hardware. He'd never considered himself to be a gun nut (he'd had to do some research for his books, of course, but that had been pretty much point-and-material) and, if polled in the next election, he would have said he was totally for gun legislation. But there was something about a pretty woman holding a controlled weapon that just, well, made a guy's heart do a somersault.

-- Or his lower stomach.

[fanofthegenre]

It was either the earmuffs or a very irritable humming in one's ears for the better part of a week, and Kate didn't want to have to deal with Castle complaining about the buzz only he could hear while they were reading files - or, even worse, in pursuit of a suspect. A near-blissful silence followed when she put her own muffs on, followed by the eyewear, its yellow lenses giving her eyes a different kind of tint. After a moment, she discarded her own jacket, leaving her in the traditional buttoned-up shirt she normally wore on most work days, and as they made their way to their own lane, she pushed the sleeves up to her elbows to give her a little more freedom with which to fire her weapon.

The sounds were muffled, but she managed to catch the tail end of Castle's comment - enough of it to provoke her into fixing him with another pointed stare. It was the kind he seemed to be on the receiving end of more often than not these days, and she was more than ready to continue doling them out as she saw fit.

"I'm sure," she muttered, and as she turned to set up the first target, hanging the paper from its hook, the badge at her hip reflected the semi-harsh lighting above their hands. She hit the button to send the target moving backward, back to a far enough point where she felt confident making a shot. Taking her gun out of her holster, she bent down to unstrap another, smaller model from her ankle, placing both on the countertop in front of them.

"Watch me first," she instructed. "These things have a backlash, and you can slice your hand open if you're not careful."

[bestsellingego]

Be prepared, he thought, watching as she bent to retrieve the second gun from the ankle holster. It seemed a little like overkill; if you were going in with the tank, why bring a peashooter? The grip of the other gun was well-worn and faded platinum. It had obviously been handled quite a bit. Maybe it was Beckett's personal piece. Any woman living in New York City eventually got wise and got more than one gun. And knowing the women of the NYPD, one gun was never enough to rank them among the big boys on the team.

He watched the target go skittering to the end of the row and shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers, leaning forward on the balls of his feet. Even if he didn't get a chance to shoot today he'd get something for his novel. There was a very intimate, personal way someone handled a gun that bespoke volumes about their personality. Some cops strangled the grip and kept their finger on the trigger from the get-go; others, like Beckett, he assumed, never wasted a shot until their were sure they could hit the target.

He fit the eye protection over the bridge of his nose and scrubbed his index finger over one of the lenses. Scratchy. Just like the goggles at the ME's a couple of days before. You'd think that with a budget surplus, the city government could at least afford new glasses for the NYPD.

A nod when she said the gun could recoil. Well, obviously. He'd seen plenty of TV shows and movies where some green agent goes in ahead of a skittery column and discharges his weapon without warning -- what a surprise that was. Like a Marx Brothers caricature waiting to happen. He was antsy and eager; he kept turning his toes in toward one another as he waited for her to crack off the first round.

[fanofthegenre]

If Kate had been able to eavesdrop in on Castle's inner monologue (something she wasn't too keen on doing in the first place, anyway), she would've been the first to tell him that a good cop always carried a back-up gun. It could wind up lost or taken by a suspect or the gun itself could jam (which wouldn't happen if you knew how to take care of your weapon, and Kate did know). It had a little more wear and tear than its larger department-issued fraternal twin, but that was because it had never failed her - which was why she kept it around.

It was that gun that she went for now, and since it was a little smaller, she only needed one finger on the trigger as opposed to two on the bigger Glock. Maybe that was another reason why she favored this gun above the other - she was able to get a better grip on it. She'd always preferred having a bigger grip on things, from suspects to leads, and guns were no exception to the rule.

With the pad of one finger, she turned off the safety, lifting the gun out in front of her and squinting one eye in order to better focus on the target. There was a moment, an instant of anticipation where her finger barely squeezed the trigger and it almost felt as if the entire room went silent. All she could hear was the blood rushing in her ears, and her shoulders tensed slightly as she fired off the first round of bullets. Bang. Bang. Bang. With every shot, the gun barely snapped upward - she kept her hold firm on it until the first clip was empty.

Then she set the gun down and turned to face Castle. He'd notice there was a different kind of light in her eyes, a flush across her face. Her breath was coming a little quicker, and she bit her lip to disguise it as she motioned for him to pick up the other.

[bestsellingego]

She'd done it all without changing her expression. From the first bullet to the last, Beckett's face remained absolutely impassive, as if she was arranging flowers instead of firing a light weapon. His lungs recoiled at the crisp tang of gunsmoke. He pulled the glasses from his eyes and squinted down the track to the target; impossible to see all the shots, but he could make out a blossom of bullet holes near the center of the target. Castle's eyebrows went up. He was impressed.

Stepping up to the line beside her, Castle nudged one of the muffs off her ear so she could hear him. "Not bad. Gonna' have to rethink having you over for the Halo tournament with me and the kid."

There was a little mustache of smoke curling from the barrel of the smaller piece. He reached for the other gun, gingerly, but trying to make it look like he handled guns all the time; he and Heston had had lunch a couple of years ago. Heston had been a big fan of his books. Castle had told him that he was a big fan of his films (well, some of them). No shots fired that day, though. No buddy-buddy marksmanship. In fact, the only time that Castle had actually handled a gun before now had been in the alley while they were in pursuit of the suited perp who'd killed his own sister.

But hell if he was going to let Beckett know that.

He put his glasses back on and fixed his earmuffs over his ears, squaring his stance on the line. The gun was cold where he had his hand wrapped around the grip; it smelled oily. Castle raised his arms, one long finger nudged over the trigger, sighting the target along the barrel. He felt her smirk beside him. A pause. Off with the safety. A nod, a smile, thank you for noticing. This wasn't so bad. Not as intimidating as a launch party. It was all a matter of finding your focus, sizing up the target, and --

BANG!

Castle's shoulders whipped back with the force. He nearly dropped the gun. "God damn --" he said, aghast, quickly loosening his finger from around the trigger. "Where'd it go?" He looked at Beckett for assistance, then back down the chute to the paper target. There was Beckett's blossom, but no shots from Castle. "Seriously," he spun in a small circle, "where'd it go?"

"Right here." From the box beside him, a crewcut in a Marines t-shirt was pointing down the lane to his own target. There, right on the edge, was a smoking bullet hole. Castle beamed and turned to Beckett. "I'm a deadeye. Now if we're following a perp with a peripheral vision problem. we'll be all set." He held up the gun. "Can I go again?"

[fanofthegenre]

She loved everything, from the scent of the smoke curling from the gun to the muffled sound of the gun going off (it was better out in the open, without the earmuffs). Kate narrowed her eyes in order to focus her gaze down towards the target. It was rare that one of her bullets would stray away from the center, and from where she was standing, that hadn't been the case today. A pleased grin appeared on her mouth and she hid it with the quiet clearing of her throat as Castle nudged one of her earmuffs away to compliment her.

She hid her amusement again when he actually picked up the gun, holding it as though it was made of delicate ceramic or fragile glass. Her mind travelled back to an earlier case they'd had where a suspect had, as it turned out, been murdered by a ceramic knife, which left a distinct marking and was just as sharp as one made of steel.

Kate snapped out of the memory when Castle raised the gun, and it was almost as if he sensed her about to offer the suggestion, because he paused and turned off the safety with an obvious smile. She took a step back, leaning against the barrier that separated them from the other shooters, and studied his frame. There was something not quite right about the way he was handling the gun, but she couldn't place her finger on it --

BANG.

-- and then he fired, and Kate nearly ducked as Castle's upper half shot back and he juggled the gun in his grip. Her gaze immediately went to the target to see if he had actually managed to hit something, and then realized that he had, in fact, hit something. At least it hadn't been someone. He turned toward her with the eagerness of a retriever, and she could've glared at him through the yellow lenses of her glasses.

"Okay, first off? There were about a million things wrong with that," she began, pushing away from the wall of their box and stepping behind him, glancing over his shoulder at the target down the lane. "You need to relax your shoulders but keep your grip firm." Speaking loud enough for him to hear her, her hands rose to press them down from where he'd hunched them before. Too tense and you could throw your back out from the kickback. She'd seen it happen, even with the smaller models.

[bestsellingego]

Castle was still jittery from his first shot. He took his hand off the grip and flexed his fingers, working some of the blood back into them. If he hadn't just about taken the neighboring target's head off, he would have congratulated himself. Well, at least he'd hit something. If his mother could see him now she'd be waving her perfumed scarf in the air and wailing about boys, their toys, and the fall of Western civilization. No, dear old mom had never been too keen on weapons that weren't gag props in her shows. She'd brought home a fake Spanish dueling sword once when he was eleven (she'd brought the Spanish duelist home, too) and Castle had nearly impaled himself on it, fake or not. Ever since, there had been a boycott on all things that poked, stabbed, shot or jabbed holes in the cushions of the living room sofa.

"I told you," he turned over his shoulder, "this is my first time. Take it easy with the criticism, huh? I'm a writer. I've got a very delicate ego." He flexed his fingers a couple more times and wound them under the butt of the gun while she positioned herself behind him. Her hands were small weights on his shoulders. Castle's interest went up like antennae. He did as she said, dropping his shoulders a couple of inches.

"Does this lesson have a happy ending?" he couldn't resist asking, turning one quarter of that rakish profile to get her reaction. She was tight-lipped and unamused and so Castle pulled his masculinity up from the bottom of his stomach and transferred it into the gun.

[fanofthegenre]

He'd hit something, of course, but he still hadn't assuaged Kate's concerns about giving him any kind of firearm. She took a look at his face then, watched the way his jaw tensed. At least he was taking it somewhat seriously now. She was still skeptical, but she took a step back, keeping her eyes locked on his posture and making corrections as needed.

"Your definition of a happy ending is very different than mine, Castle," she retorted, keeping her lips tight and unaffected and watched as he drew in a breath. "Mine? Will be this ending without anyone getting shot, wounded or maimed." Just to be safe, she took another step away from him, making sure to stay out of the line of fire should his firing hand go askew again.

[bestsellingego]

A thought had crawled into the back of Castle's head while she was talking. Well, not "crawled" so much as "slunk." He tapped his finger along the barrel of the gun, mouth quirking upright at one end. "What do you say we make it interesting?" He turned a half smile over his shoulder and was rewarded with that skeptical look she was famous for. God, she could go on coins what that kind of stoicism. Like a rock. That beat cop brow never moved. He had a sudden keen interest to see what could motivate Detective Kate Beckett to have an emotion.

He turned back to the target and squared his shoulders, drawing his aim on the target at the end of the chute. "If I make this shot, you go to the Governor's Ball with me. And you wear red."