there should be stars (29/30)
Title: there should be stars (29/30)
Characters/Pairings: Castle/Beckett
Summary: Four years can make a world of difference. AU.
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Up to Season Four finale.
The salt air washes over her. She can hear the waves crashing against the rocks down on the right side of his private beach. Her eyes are closed, drifting somewhere between awake and her constant desire lately for a nap. The sun is warm, almost too hot, on her bare legs. She can feel the thin sheen of sweat on her collarbones and shoulders.
But she doesn't want to move.
Every day since they've come out to his beach house, she's only ever gone from the bedroom out to the living room. That is, until he bought another couch and put it out on the porch. And now that's her resting place for the day. At first, it took her an hour to get from the bed to the couch, every step sending sharp pain along her left side. She had refused help even though he winced every time she stumbled into furniture or cried out. Now she can get to her couch in about ten minutes. It's an accomplishment.
He's been at her side since she woke up in the hospital. When she could say all of a single word in a minute. When every breath hurt and she couldn't move for the pain that shot through her body. He slept in the rickety chair at the side of her bed, his head pillowed on the mattress, his hand resting under hers. He hardly moved when Dr. Davidson, a handsome man with a charming smile, came to check on her over the course of the month she spent in the hospital.
Once they had the all-clear, Castle drove them out to the Hamptons.
She shifts her legs on the warmed cushions, pressing her toes up against the opposite arm of the couch. Her toenails flash bright purple, a color he picked out a few days ago when she mentioned wanting to paint her nails. It had taken him a good half an hour to get the hang of it, her foot balanced on his thigh as he swiped the brush over her toenails.
"Brought lunch." He's waving one of the reusable bags as he sits on one of the Adirondack chairs across from her. "How're you feeling?"
She smiles, reaching out to brush her fingertips along his knee. "Tired. What'd you bring me?"
He braces an arm on the couch, touching his lips lightly to hers. "You should sleep," he murmurs. "Doesn't the sun make you sleepy?"
"Kinda, yeah. But what's for lunch? I'm hungry too."
"Got some pulled chicken with this really tasty barbecue sauce. I think that if you take small bites, you might be okay with it. If not, there's always the milkshakes and the leftover ice cream from last time."
She takes the plastic to-go container from his lap and pops the top. The smell of the food, still warm from the restaurant, makes her mouth water. She groans, already picking up a bit of the shredded chicken and eating it. "Get me a fork," she demands with a grin.
He disappears back into the house once he takes the other container of food from the bag along with the two Styrofoam cups. When he returns, handing her over the fork as he sits down, he watches her carefully as she eats a bite of the chicken and barbecue sauce.
"This is good," she says. "Really good."
"I'm glad." But he hesitates as he raises his own fork to his mouth. It gives her pause, makes her narrow her eyes because he's been hovering since she woke up that morning until she sent him to get food.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing," he says quickly. "Nothing. Eat your lunch."
It's off, though. She eats slowly, savoring each bite and making sure that it won't stick in her throat. That happened last week and she had coughed so hard that she lost her voice for the day. Her calves stick to the seat as she shifts to put the empty box on the deck. She takes the lid off of the cup with the milkshake. "This one yours?" she asks, holding out the strange yellow-ish brown milkshake.
"Banana chocolate," he clarifies, taking it from her and trading her a spoon.
"Hope you stuck with just strawberry for me," she teases, dipping her spoon into the milkshake. The shake is cold, a nice contrast to the noontime sun. She lets her head tip onto the cushioned arm, the cup cradled against her chest. She could drop into sleep, fed and tired in the hot sun.
"You still with me?"
Her eyes slit open, find his outline against the brilliant blue over the ocean. All she can do is hum, contented and warm and happy, before closing her eyes again.
"Hey?"
This time she opens her eyes all of the way and nearly drops the strawberry shake.
There, sitting on his knee, is a ring box. The diamond catches the sunlight, sending bright rainbows onto the wood panels of the house.
"Castle…"
"You said years ago that if I was going to do this, it should be just the two of us. That it should be quiet despite the fact that you know I love loud and over-the-top. But I love you, not the spectacle. So," he says gently, shifting forward as he takes the ring out of the little box. "Beckett. Will you marry me?"
Her chest hurts. For the first time in over a month, it's not because of the still-healing bullet wound. When she looks up from the square diamond with its rounded corners in the shining platinum setting, he looks more nervous than she's ever seen him. There's a sweet, hesitating smile that falters every few seconds but behind that is love, pure and simple and honest.
She reaches out with her free hand and touches her fingertips to his jaw. Her own smile is sure and strong. She takes a deep breath, her palm against the stubble of his cheek, and answers with one word.
Characters/Pairings: Castle/Beckett
Summary: Four years can make a world of difference. AU.
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Up to Season Four finale.
The salt air washes over her. She can hear the waves crashing against the rocks down on the right side of his private beach. Her eyes are closed, drifting somewhere between awake and her constant desire lately for a nap. The sun is warm, almost too hot, on her bare legs. She can feel the thin sheen of sweat on her collarbones and shoulders.
But she doesn't want to move.
Every day since they've come out to his beach house, she's only ever gone from the bedroom out to the living room. That is, until he bought another couch and put it out on the porch. And now that's her resting place for the day. At first, it took her an hour to get from the bed to the couch, every step sending sharp pain along her left side. She had refused help even though he winced every time she stumbled into furniture or cried out. Now she can get to her couch in about ten minutes. It's an accomplishment.
He's been at her side since she woke up in the hospital. When she could say all of a single word in a minute. When every breath hurt and she couldn't move for the pain that shot through her body. He slept in the rickety chair at the side of her bed, his head pillowed on the mattress, his hand resting under hers. He hardly moved when Dr. Davidson, a handsome man with a charming smile, came to check on her over the course of the month she spent in the hospital.
Once they had the all-clear, Castle drove them out to the Hamptons.
She shifts her legs on the warmed cushions, pressing her toes up against the opposite arm of the couch. Her toenails flash bright purple, a color he picked out a few days ago when she mentioned wanting to paint her nails. It had taken him a good half an hour to get the hang of it, her foot balanced on his thigh as he swiped the brush over her toenails.
"Brought lunch." He's waving one of the reusable bags as he sits on one of the Adirondack chairs across from her. "How're you feeling?"
She smiles, reaching out to brush her fingertips along his knee. "Tired. What'd you bring me?"
He braces an arm on the couch, touching his lips lightly to hers. "You should sleep," he murmurs. "Doesn't the sun make you sleepy?"
"Kinda, yeah. But what's for lunch? I'm hungry too."
"Got some pulled chicken with this really tasty barbecue sauce. I think that if you take small bites, you might be okay with it. If not, there's always the milkshakes and the leftover ice cream from last time."
She takes the plastic to-go container from his lap and pops the top. The smell of the food, still warm from the restaurant, makes her mouth water. She groans, already picking up a bit of the shredded chicken and eating it. "Get me a fork," she demands with a grin.
He disappears back into the house once he takes the other container of food from the bag along with the two Styrofoam cups. When he returns, handing her over the fork as he sits down, he watches her carefully as she eats a bite of the chicken and barbecue sauce.
"This is good," she says. "Really good."
"I'm glad." But he hesitates as he raises his own fork to his mouth. It gives her pause, makes her narrow her eyes because he's been hovering since she woke up that morning until she sent him to get food.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing," he says quickly. "Nothing. Eat your lunch."
It's off, though. She eats slowly, savoring each bite and making sure that it won't stick in her throat. That happened last week and she had coughed so hard that she lost her voice for the day. Her calves stick to the seat as she shifts to put the empty box on the deck. She takes the lid off of the cup with the milkshake. "This one yours?" she asks, holding out the strange yellow-ish brown milkshake.
"Banana chocolate," he clarifies, taking it from her and trading her a spoon.
"Hope you stuck with just strawberry for me," she teases, dipping her spoon into the milkshake. The shake is cold, a nice contrast to the noontime sun. She lets her head tip onto the cushioned arm, the cup cradled against her chest. She could drop into sleep, fed and tired in the hot sun.
"You still with me?"
Her eyes slit open, find his outline against the brilliant blue over the ocean. All she can do is hum, contented and warm and happy, before closing her eyes again.
"Hey?"
This time she opens her eyes all of the way and nearly drops the strawberry shake.
There, sitting on his knee, is a ring box. The diamond catches the sunlight, sending bright rainbows onto the wood panels of the house.
"Castle…"
"You said years ago that if I was going to do this, it should be just the two of us. That it should be quiet despite the fact that you know I love loud and over-the-top. But I love you, not the spectacle. So," he says gently, shifting forward as he takes the ring out of the little box. "Beckett. Will you marry me?"
Her chest hurts. For the first time in over a month, it's not because of the still-healing bullet wound. When she looks up from the square diamond with its rounded corners in the shining platinum setting, he looks more nervous than she's ever seen him. There's a sweet, hesitating smile that falters every few seconds but behind that is love, pure and simple and honest.
She reaches out with her free hand and touches her fingertips to his jaw. Her own smile is sure and strong. She takes a deep breath, her palm against the stubble of his cheek, and answers with one word.