The moment the question leaves Beckett's lips, she's not sure if it was the right thing to have said. The tone that shapes it isn't potentially offending, but it's something that's been on her mind since the door gave way under her kick and Castle's name seized up in her throat. He'd been fine, he'd insisted, but she recognized a look of a different nature in his gaze even in the shadows of the motel room. She knew it all too well.
In the brief period of silence that follows, she laces her fingers together and squeezes, a motion meant to settle her nerves and the lingering course of adrenaline still hanging back in her system. She meets his eyes when he finally answers her, the truth so real that it makes it impossible not to lose herself in her own memories. She glances away, back and out to the water, the blue mirror that forms a perfect reflection of their faces above
( ... )
"That's usually the way it goes down," Beckett admits. "But it's different now. Because this time, we know who we're looking for. We know his face. He's going to have a hard time disappearing unless he resorts to some serious cosmetic work."
The light in front of them, up ahead, begins the ascent from green into red, and Beckett gently nudges her foot against the brake.
Castle nods. 'Leans forward and taps the windshield in front of him. "There's a place in Gramercy --" drawing a line across the glass for a right-hand turn "-- next to an ice cream parlor, I think. We can burn out our sinuses with curry, then cool down with a cone. Double scoop, and I'm buying."
"I'm amazed that you can have any appetite after the kinds of life-threatening situations you've been in lately," Beckett points out.
Namely the one tonight, but also the one a couple weeks ago in which she'd nearly been convinced Castle was going to shoot her before he pulled the trigger on Kitty Canary behind her.
"Eat, drink, and be merry, detective. Hang a right here." He points, and leans against the doorframe as she pulls the car into a neat turn against several rows of squealing traffic. It's getting toasty in the car. Castle shoves his sleeves up around his wrists and glances in her direction.
"We have been through a lot lately, haven't we? Like, inordinately more than usual."
"Well, I guess compared to a carefree summer in the Hamptons, it's slightly more action," Beckett replies, as the unmarked settles into the steady trickle of mid-evening city traffic.
"Okay, maybe more than slightly. It's like they knew you were coming back or something."
"Come on, you've gotta' give me better than that. I get 'good' from the Times-Picayune." He swivels in his seat, bunching his shoulder up against the head rest, his face comically eager. "And they can go on for pages about it, believe me, but the review I really want --" he points to her side of the car "-- is from you."
She's already given him the satisfaction that she's read it, despite earlier attempts to deny that particular fact whenever he asked. Given the events of today, though, maybe he does need the ego boost.
" - it was hard for me to put it down, I can tell you that much."
As a writer, she's got to give him credit for skill, even in spite of the passages that had her experiencing some eerie deja vu.
Ego boost. Ha. Give Richard Castle's ego any more of a boost and it'll be shaking hands with Russian cosmonauts. Still, 'hard to put down' was a high compliment coming from Beckett. He'll take it.
"There were a couple of times, in the middle and toward the end, when I really had to push myself. It just didn't seem to gel like it usually does. I don't know why. But then I'd think about a conversation we'd had in the bullpen, or the way it always feels when you hit the lights and break the speed limit, and," he snaps his fingers, "I'd be off again."
Castle'd better enjoy the moment now. He's not likely to get a compliment that serious, without a snarky side comment, for a while. Beckett starts to recognize the street names and which particular Thai restaurant he's directing her toward. Long nights working means she's familiarized herself with most, if not all, of the places that deliver.
"Always happy to cure the writer's block, Castle," she mutters, looking for the first open parking space she can ease into.
Castle gives her a look that suggests he's not quite sure she means that, but he's quiet for the sake of argument -- and for the fact that they're approaching Gramercy and the promise of spicy Thai curry. Of all the places to love in New York City, Castle's always been particularly fond of Gramercy Park's Victorian charm. The old Greek Revival townhouses and ivy-steeped trellises are cozy, comforting, and a definite change from the steel-and-glass behemoths of Lower Manhattan. Castle's got a membership at the Players Club here, but he hasn't been to a gathering since he started the ride-along with Beckett
( ... )
Beckett has a look of her own for Castle, and it happens the minute he lets that little bit of information about someone slip out. She imagines he's had a few someones over the years, when she allows herself to imagine about them. Someones who never quite achieved Meredith or Gina status, but who had their moments just the same. The kind of someones who owned apartments like these and had access to this and that.
She doesn't like to imagine very often - a fact which, ironically enough, Castle has called her out on.
"I've just barely gotten used to my new place," she informs him, locking up the car and securing her scarf around her neck in the same movement. "I don't know. Maybe it'd be a nice place to retire to."
Which, in Beckett-speak, means it'll be a long time coming, if ever. And she knows he knows that.
In the brief period of silence that follows, she laces her fingers together and squeezes, a motion meant to settle her nerves and the lingering course of adrenaline still hanging back in her system. She meets his eyes when he finally answers her, the truth so real that it makes it impossible not to lose herself in her own memories. She glances away, back and out to the water, the blue mirror that forms a perfect reflection of their faces above ( ... )
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The light in front of them, up ahead, begins the ascent from green into red, and Beckett gently nudges her foot against the brake.
"What are you in the mood for?"
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The latter might have to be a little swifter than the former this time.
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Namely the one tonight, but also the one a couple weeks ago in which she'd nearly been convinced Castle was going to shoot her before he pulled the trigger on Kitty Canary behind her.
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"We have been through a lot lately, haven't we? Like, inordinately more than usual."
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"Okay, maybe more than slightly. It's like they knew you were coming back or something."
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"It was good. Better than the first, even - which totally destroys the stereotype about sequels, right?"
She abruptly clears her throat, focusing on the license plate of the car directly ahead.
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She's already given him the satisfaction that she's read it, despite earlier attempts to deny that particular fact whenever he asked. Given the events of today, though, maybe he does need the ego boost.
" - it was hard for me to put it down, I can tell you that much."
As a writer, she's got to give him credit for skill, even in spite of the passages that had her experiencing some eerie deja vu.
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"There were a couple of times, in the middle and toward the end, when I really had to push myself. It just didn't seem to gel like it usually does. I don't know why. But then I'd think about a conversation we'd had in the bullpen, or the way it always feels when you hit the lights and break the speed limit, and," he snaps his fingers, "I'd be off again."
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"Always happy to cure the writer's block, Castle," she mutters, looking for the first open parking space she can ease into.
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She doesn't like to imagine very often - a fact which, ironically enough, Castle has called her out on.
"I've just barely gotten used to my new place," she informs him, locking up the car and securing her scarf around her neck in the same movement. "I don't know. Maybe it'd be a nice place to retire to."
Which, in Beckett-speak, means it'll be a long time coming, if ever. And she knows he knows that.
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