Fic--This Part is for Her
For the sake of brevity, I skipped some of the lines from the books.
Title: This Part is for Her
Author: foreverwriting9
Characters/Pairings: Castle/Beckett, Nikki Heat, and Rook
Spoilers: For Heat Wave, Naked Heat, and Heat Rises
Rating: PG for mention of strip Proust (because how could I not put that part in this fic?)
Word Count: 1,110
Summary: The circumstances surrounding different parts of Castle’s books.
-
It was always the same for her when she arrived to meet the body.
Castle smiles as he scribbles the words down, gaze flicking over to Beckett.
“Castle, are you staring at me while I’m driving?”
He tries not to grin at her, because her tone is dangerous, and he knows that she probably hates him just a little bit right now.
(He can’t help himself.)
“I’m writing a scene for my book,” he says. “You know, the one about you?”
“It’s not about me,” she mutters as she turns sharply and almost sends Castle flying out of his seat.
“Fine. The story for which you are a muse.”
He loves the look on her face when he says it, and he is suddenly so glad to be here, roasting in the passenger seat of a cop car with a detective who doesn’t want him.
(She’s a puzzle he can’t wait to figure out.)
“I’m banning that word from your dictionary. Right now.” She parks the car and frowns at him before her eyes dart over to the crowd of people that are hovering just outside the circle of crime scene tape. She stops, and Castle fumbles to find his pen because he doesn’t want to forget this moment.
What she always did was pause. Not long. Just the length of a slow deep breath.
“You’re seriously writing this part down?” she asks, voice hard and incredulous.
Castle nods and scrawls a second line across the page.
Another body waited.
“I am going to hate this so much.” Her fingers brush against her gun, and she narrows her eyes at him.
“Relax, Beckett. Years from now, after I’ve written like three more of these books, you’ll thank me, and we’ll practically be best friends.”
She rolls her eyes at him and slides out of the car. “I can’t wait,” she says dryly, and then slams the door shut. Castle smiles to himself, pen flying across the page.
Detective Nikki Heat was ready. She opened the car door and went to work.
“What would you say if I told you we could work this case together?”
“No, no, no.” Beckett gives Castle a look that might have scared him once. “Open your mouth and say CIA one more time and I’ll get my gun out.”
Castle waggles his eyebrows at her but shuts his mouth. He’s learned when not to push her buttons, and generally when she begins threatening him with her gun he knows to stop. (Mainly because he’s still not sure she’s joking when she says things like that.)
“It’s better than win-win. It’s me-you. Just like old times.”
Castle watches Beckett’s eyes narrow as she stares at the murder board, and in this moment he is struck by how beautiful she is, perched on her desk in the dim half light of the precinct, chasing murderers.
“Well,” he says, a smile tugging at his lips, “if it’s not that particular agency then there’s only one other-”
Beckett swings around to face him. “If the words ‘alien abduction’ come out of your mouth...”
Castle holds up a hand. “All right, all right.”
He doesn’t miss the smile she tries to hide as she turns away from him, so he reaches for his pen.
In spite of herself, Nikki felt a tug on a level she didn’t control. But then she thought, maybe she couldn’t control the feeling, but she could control herself.
“It’s strip Proust!”
Castle tries to imagine Beckett’s face when she realizes that his seemingly random questions (and her responses to those questions) make up this part of his book. It’s a priceless picture in his head, and he desperately wants to be there to see it become reality.
He types out his first question, and then flips through his notebook, searching for Beckett’s answer.
“Who is your favorite author or authors?”
Beckett had frowned at him for a split second when he’d asked her this question, trying to figure out how he’d jumped from macabre homicide to favorite authors.
“Playing for your blouse. No pressure.”
She’d smiled bright and fast at him once she came up with her answer, and Castle’s pulse had rabbit thumped against his wrist.
“Jane Austen and Harper Lee.”
Castle had nodded at her answer, and then moved toward the break room to get some coffee, but Beckett had stopped him.
“What about you? Who does the great Richard Castle like to read?”
“I’ll say a certain Charles Dickens and toss in Dr. Hunter S. Thompson.”
Castle smiles as he types out his answer. With each passing scene the already thin line between his world and Rook’s world is blurring, and Nikki Heat is beginning to sound more and more like Beckett.
He doesn’t think she’ll notice.
(She does.)
The question on the next page of his notebook catches his eye, and wipes the smile from his face.
“How do you want to die?”
She’d almost hit the car in front of them when he’d asked her that.
Honestly, he hadn’t even wanted to ask her the question at all, because he knew it was probably a bad idea. But riding in the car with her, surrounded by sunlight and the smell of her perfume had made Castle forget, and the question slipped out.
She’d stared at him, mouth open just a touch, and there’d been something in her eyes that he couldn’t identify.
Her phone had rung then, mercifully.
They both looked at each other. Then Nikki took off her blouse. He had similar sentiments and took off his sweater.
“I told you I may not want to answer some of these.”
Castle taps his chin thoughtfully and stares at the black lettering in front of him.
It sounds right. It sounds like Beckett.
“What musician has impacted your life the most?”
He laughs when he finds her answer.
“Chumbawamba.”
He’s pretty sure she was joking when she’d said it, but that’s not really going to stop him from putting it in the book.
“What is your ideal dream of earthly happiness?”
Castle types his last question slowly, watching the words appear on the screen. (This is the one question he didn’t actually ask Beckett, and it’s the one he most wants her to answer.)
He pauses, rolling the question around in his mouth, thinking.
His phone rings loudly then, making him jump, and he picks it up with a smile he’s sure she can hear on the other end of the line.
“Good evening, Beckett. Did you miss the sound of my voice?”
(As the words fall from his mouth, Castle suddenly has the answer to his final question.
“This...This...This...”)
Title: This Part is for Her
Author: foreverwriting9
Characters/Pairings: Castle/Beckett, Nikki Heat, and Rook
Spoilers: For Heat Wave, Naked Heat, and Heat Rises
Rating: PG for mention of strip Proust (because how could I not put that part in this fic?)
Word Count: 1,110
Summary: The circumstances surrounding different parts of Castle’s books.
-
It was always the same for her when she arrived to meet the body.
Castle smiles as he scribbles the words down, gaze flicking over to Beckett.
“Castle, are you staring at me while I’m driving?”
He tries not to grin at her, because her tone is dangerous, and he knows that she probably hates him just a little bit right now.
(He can’t help himself.)
“I’m writing a scene for my book,” he says. “You know, the one about you?”
“It’s not about me,” she mutters as she turns sharply and almost sends Castle flying out of his seat.
“Fine. The story for which you are a muse.”
He loves the look on her face when he says it, and he is suddenly so glad to be here, roasting in the passenger seat of a cop car with a detective who doesn’t want him.
(She’s a puzzle he can’t wait to figure out.)
“I’m banning that word from your dictionary. Right now.” She parks the car and frowns at him before her eyes dart over to the crowd of people that are hovering just outside the circle of crime scene tape. She stops, and Castle fumbles to find his pen because he doesn’t want to forget this moment.
What she always did was pause. Not long. Just the length of a slow deep breath.
“You’re seriously writing this part down?” she asks, voice hard and incredulous.
Castle nods and scrawls a second line across the page.
Another body waited.
“I am going to hate this so much.” Her fingers brush against her gun, and she narrows her eyes at him.
“Relax, Beckett. Years from now, after I’ve written like three more of these books, you’ll thank me, and we’ll practically be best friends.”
She rolls her eyes at him and slides out of the car. “I can’t wait,” she says dryly, and then slams the door shut. Castle smiles to himself, pen flying across the page.
Detective Nikki Heat was ready. She opened the car door and went to work.
“What would you say if I told you we could work this case together?”
“No, no, no.” Beckett gives Castle a look that might have scared him once. “Open your mouth and say CIA one more time and I’ll get my gun out.”
Castle waggles his eyebrows at her but shuts his mouth. He’s learned when not to push her buttons, and generally when she begins threatening him with her gun he knows to stop. (Mainly because he’s still not sure she’s joking when she says things like that.)
“It’s better than win-win. It’s me-you. Just like old times.”
Castle watches Beckett’s eyes narrow as she stares at the murder board, and in this moment he is struck by how beautiful she is, perched on her desk in the dim half light of the precinct, chasing murderers.
“Well,” he says, a smile tugging at his lips, “if it’s not that particular agency then there’s only one other-”
Beckett swings around to face him. “If the words ‘alien abduction’ come out of your mouth...”
Castle holds up a hand. “All right, all right.”
He doesn’t miss the smile she tries to hide as she turns away from him, so he reaches for his pen.
In spite of herself, Nikki felt a tug on a level she didn’t control. But then she thought, maybe she couldn’t control the feeling, but she could control herself.
“It’s strip Proust!”
Castle tries to imagine Beckett’s face when she realizes that his seemingly random questions (and her responses to those questions) make up this part of his book. It’s a priceless picture in his head, and he desperately wants to be there to see it become reality.
He types out his first question, and then flips through his notebook, searching for Beckett’s answer.
“Who is your favorite author or authors?”
Beckett had frowned at him for a split second when he’d asked her this question, trying to figure out how he’d jumped from macabre homicide to favorite authors.
“Playing for your blouse. No pressure.”
She’d smiled bright and fast at him once she came up with her answer, and Castle’s pulse had rabbit thumped against his wrist.
“Jane Austen and Harper Lee.”
Castle had nodded at her answer, and then moved toward the break room to get some coffee, but Beckett had stopped him.
“What about you? Who does the great Richard Castle like to read?”
“I’ll say a certain Charles Dickens and toss in Dr. Hunter S. Thompson.”
Castle smiles as he types out his answer. With each passing scene the already thin line between his world and Rook’s world is blurring, and Nikki Heat is beginning to sound more and more like Beckett.
He doesn’t think she’ll notice.
(She does.)
The question on the next page of his notebook catches his eye, and wipes the smile from his face.
“How do you want to die?”
She’d almost hit the car in front of them when he’d asked her that.
Honestly, he hadn’t even wanted to ask her the question at all, because he knew it was probably a bad idea. But riding in the car with her, surrounded by sunlight and the smell of her perfume had made Castle forget, and the question slipped out.
She’d stared at him, mouth open just a touch, and there’d been something in her eyes that he couldn’t identify.
Her phone had rung then, mercifully.
They both looked at each other. Then Nikki took off her blouse. He had similar sentiments and took off his sweater.
“I told you I may not want to answer some of these.”
Castle taps his chin thoughtfully and stares at the black lettering in front of him.
It sounds right. It sounds like Beckett.
“What musician has impacted your life the most?”
He laughs when he finds her answer.
“Chumbawamba.”
He’s pretty sure she was joking when she’d said it, but that’s not really going to stop him from putting it in the book.
“What is your ideal dream of earthly happiness?”
Castle types his last question slowly, watching the words appear on the screen. (This is the one question he didn’t actually ask Beckett, and it’s the one he most wants her to answer.)
He pauses, rolling the question around in his mouth, thinking.
His phone rings loudly then, making him jump, and he picks it up with a smile he’s sure she can hear on the other end of the line.
“Good evening, Beckett. Did you miss the sound of my voice?”
(As the words fall from his mouth, Castle suddenly has the answer to his final question.
“This...This...This...”)