there should be stars (18/X)
Title: there should be stars (18/X)
Characters/Pairings: Castle/Beckett
Summary: Four years can make a world of difference. AU.
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Up to Season Four finale.
They’re in the observation room. The lights are off, the only illumination coming from the mirror into the interrogation room and the soft glow of the electronics surrounding them. She keeps pushing her hair behind her ear with trembling fingers, watching the man at the table examine his manicure. Goosebumps have shivered up and down her arms, ignored until he steps closer into her back, his hands rubbing along her upper arms.
“Are you okay?” he asks quietly.
Beckett lets herself relax into him, sighing. “It’s been ten years since we came home and found that detective waiting for us. Ten years since we crossed that yellow tape and went into that alley and every time I cross the tape at a crime scene, I think of that night.”
He presses a kiss to her temple. “That’s what makes you such a good cop.”
“What if I let her down?” she chokes out, turning her body into his. Not in a hug - they’re in the precinct and while Ryan and Esposito know about them, about their history, she doesn’t need anyone walking in on something - but she does let her fingers wrap around his wrist.
“You won’t.” She tries to pull away but he loops an arm around her shoulders, bringing her forehead to his chin. “You can’t, Kate.” He tips her face up, brushes a quick kiss over her lips. “Now go in there and do your job.”
She nods, taking a deep breath, clearing the doubt with the clean scent of his laundry detergent and the soap they both smell like. And then she grabs the file off the low shelf below the mirror and swings out of the room knowing that Castle will stay behind; he knows she needs to do this alone.
“Mr. Coonan, we have forensic accountants digging through your organization,” she says, sitting at table across from the man. She’s not sure how she keeps her hands from shaking as she opens the file. “If there’s evidence of heroin trafficking, they will find it. But that’s not your biggest problem right now.”
He blinks calmly, face betraying nothing.
She wants to punch him. Her fingers twitch once as she plays with the corner of one of the papers. No. Build the case. Let the bastard rot in jail. “Hiring an assassin like Rathborne shows premeditation and that makes this a special circumstance case, which qualifies you for the needle. Now, I am willing to take the special circumstance allegations off the table if you give me Rathborne.”
“The only special circumstance here, Detective, is your complete lack of evidence against me,” Coonan replies smoothly.
“We have Johnny Vong.”
Coonan laughs. “The guy with the phony accent and the real estate scam? That’s the best you can do?”
Beckett wishes she had Castle next to her. She knows he’s right there, at her back behind the glass, but she could really use him at her side. Still, she schools her voice, pushing the wavering out. “Are you really willing to bet your life that Vong can’t hold his mud, Mr. Coonan? Give me the killer and I’ll put the D.A. in the mood for a second-degree plea.”
He sits forward, forearms resting on the table as he links his fingers. “When we first met, you told me you’d been on the other side of this. Remember? Now, could that be why you seem so eager to get your hands on this mysterious assassin? Because if I had to guess, I’d say that someone close to you was murdered and that you think Rathborne had something to do with it. But I don’t have to guess, do I? Because it is all over your face.”
She grits her teeth, narrows her eyes. “That still doesn’t change the fact that you’re guilty of murder.”
“Maybe not,” Coonan says as he sits back in the chair. “But, for the low, low price of transactional immunity, I can give you the closure you’ve been seeking. You get Rathborne and I walk. And that, Detective, is my final offer.”
“I’ll need to talk to the district attorney,” she says swiftly, gathering up the folder. “Stay put.”
As soon as the door to interrogation is closed behind her, she lets out the breath she has been holding, her back connecting with the wall between the two rooms. It takes three deep breathes before she can push off the wall and head toward Montgomery’s office. Castle is already there, sitting in the captain’s leather couch. He moves to get up when she comes in but she waves her fingers at him to stay seated.
And then she fills Montgomery in on Coonan’s proposed plan, feeling a strange combination of nausea and almost a dizzying sense of relief.
Because it might be over. This whole nightmare just might be over.
It’s not over.
She’s hiding in the break room, cup of still-hot coffee cradled against her collarbone. He’s there too, at her side with his own cup of espresso, his shoulder inadvertently holding her up as she lists to the side.
“I let her down,” she whispers into the air. She doesn’t realize she’s spoken the words out loud until he shakes his head.
“No, you didn’t.”
“Rathborne’s in the wind,” Beckett says, turning her head to the side. “Dick Coonan’s about to walk. I missed something.”
“Could have been me. Rathborne could have checked the routing number and realized the money was coming from my account, not Dick’s. Offering it up was stupid, arrogant.”
She sets the mug of coffee on the counter behind her, reaching over to brush her fingers along the inside of his wrist, just beyond the cuff of his shirt. “It wasn’t arrogant, Castle. It was sweet. And I’ll pay you back as soon as I -”
“Negative, ghostwriter,” he returns, tangling his fingers with hers. His palm is warm. It makes her want to be home, to let him gather her up on the couch and wrap a blanket around their shoulders and just be. “It’s a small price to pay for a shot at your mother’s killer.”
“Wait. He said it was one hundred grand to catch her killer. I never said it was my mother who was murdered,” she says, already freeing her hand and jogging to the holding cells. The snap of her heels echoes in the hallway, the quieter but still frantic clip of his shoes behind her.
The officer on duty is signing Coonan out, taking the clipboard of paperwork from the man.
“It was you,” she hisses. “There was no Rathborne. It was just a cover.”
Coonan smirks, nodding as he glances between Beckett and Castle. “Clever girls, you Becketts.”
And then he punches the uniform, grabbing the man’s sidearm in the same movement. As Castle moves to help the uniform, Coonan catches Castle’s arm and yanks it up along his back, jamming the gun into his side. Beckett has her hand on her gun before Coonan can settle into the situation.
“Ah ah ah,” says Coonan, stepping backwards once. “Now here’s what’s gonna happen. We’re just gonna stroll on over to the elevator together. Nice and easy.”
“That’ll never happen,” she says, forcing the calm into her voice, ignoring Castle as he grimaces. If she looks, sees his face, she’ll crumble.
“You make a sound? You attempt to signal? You so much as clear your throat and I’ll put a round in this man’s liver. And he will die slowly and in considerable pain.”
She winces when Castle grunts. Her hand slips from the gun, arms held out to her sides to prove that she’s not going for her weapon. Coonan steps in next to her and she can feel Castle’s arm against hers as they start toward the elevator.
“What? No pithy remarks from the peanut gallery?” Coonan taunts as they walk around the break room. “Not so funny facing your own death, is it?”
“I don’t know, Dick. You tell me,” says Castle. “Last time I checked, this was a police station.”
Beckett wants to tell him to shut up. But the fact that he’s still talking, still trying to pull the pieces together for himself means he’s still alive. So she’ll take it. “You knew before I arrested you, didn’t you?” she asks, refusing to turn her head to speak directly at Coonan. “You knew my mom was your victim.”
“It wasn’t personal, okay? She was just another job.”
“She was my mother,” she says, failing to keep the venom, the hurt from leaking out. “Who hired you to kill her?”
The man scoffs, shaking his head. “Forget it. You’ll never touch them.”
She’s about to push when Montgomery rounds the corner, blocking the elevator, gun raised.
“No! No, sir! I need him alive!” she shouts, stepping into his path.
“That’s right,” Coonan says with a grin. “You do need me. Now, back him off or Castle dies.”
“Sir,” she says, turning to face the captain. “Please. Back off.”
Montgomery stays in place, weapon aimed at Coonan over her shoulder. “You know I can’t do that.”
“Hey! You wanna learn who ordered the hit on your mom, you had better make sure I make it out of here,” warns Coonan, jamming the barrel of the gun into Castle’s side again.
Beckett catches Castle’s eye, sees him shake his head.
“Roy. Please.” The gun lowers and she breathes a tiny sigh of relief.
“That’s right, Roy. Nice and easy. Nice and ea -”
Coonan’s words turn into a grunt as Castle’s head connects with his nose. The man stumbles backwards until his shoulders connect with the barricade.
For one heart-stopping moment, all she sees is Coonan and the gun he has leveled at Castle’s back.
Then she reacts without thinking. She has her gun from the holster, finger pulling the trigger at Coonan before the other man can do the same. Dick Coonan crumples to the ground. She’s careful to make sure that Castle is okay, still upright against the row of chairs, before falling to her knees, gun skittering off against Castle’s shoes.
Her hands press against Coonan’s chest, desperately trying to keep the life in him long enough to just give her a name. She just needs a name and it can be over. Done.
But the blood keeps bubbling up through her fingers and out of his mouth and then she sees his eyes glass over, light draining out of them, taking with them any hope for answers.
Castle’s hand pulls her back as she wipes the back of her hand over her forehead, pushing her hair out of her eyes and smearing blood over her skin. She lets her head fall back against his knee, shuddering out one long breath.
It’ll never be over.
She slips out of the precinct before he can find her again. Her hands are clean and she has changed out of the blood-stained shirt into the spare shirt she keeps in her locker. But she doesn’t go back to her desk to finish her paperwork.
She goes home. She goes home and drops her things in the front hallway and starts a pot of coffee. She’s holding off the tremors by sheer force of will, pacing the kitchen until she hears the knock on the front door.
Castle is standing there with a bag in either hand, a bottle of wine cradled in his elbow. “You left before I could bring us dinner,” he says, holding the bags up.
“I don’t want company,” she returns, nearly slamming the door in his face before he can wedge his foot in the way.
“Well you’re getting some tonight. I brought sushi, Italian, some Thai. There are even hot dogs in here.”
She moves back to the kitchen, taking down a clean mug. Her hand shakes as she picks up the pot until he presses against her back, taking the pot from her.
“I’ve got it,” he murmurs, mouth at her ear.
She turns into him, burying her nose into the collar of his shirt, feeling him tense in surprise under her forehead. “Everything’s going wrong, Castle.” Her breath feathers out over his neck on a sob, finally giving in. “Everything’s wrong and I don’t know what to do.”
He puts the pot back on the hotplate, switching it off before his hands smoothe down her sides until he reaches her thighs. Castle lifts her up and she muffles the squeak in his shoulder as he spins toward the bedroom. His lips skim over her cheeks, collecting the tears like gems before laying her down on her bed.
Her fingers curl around the lapels of his shirt, pulling him down over her. He shifts away, rolling to the side and attempting to pull her with him but she tugs him back so that his body presses into hers.
“Beckett…” he says, trying again to relieve her of his weight.
She wraps her arms around his shoulders, one hand diving into his hair, twisting into the short, soft strands. “Stay. Please,” she whispers. “Just… keep me together, okay?”
He nods, mouth at her ear. “At least change into your pajamas,” he murmurs.
He’s there, holding her up as she pulls on a t-shirt and he strips down to his boxers. And this time when they fall into the bed and he tugs the covers up over them, she is curled into his body, her forehead at his collarbone, her breathing uneven as it washes over his chest until she drops into sleep.
Characters/Pairings: Castle/Beckett
Summary: Four years can make a world of difference. AU.
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Up to Season Four finale.
They’re in the observation room. The lights are off, the only illumination coming from the mirror into the interrogation room and the soft glow of the electronics surrounding them. She keeps pushing her hair behind her ear with trembling fingers, watching the man at the table examine his manicure. Goosebumps have shivered up and down her arms, ignored until he steps closer into her back, his hands rubbing along her upper arms.
“Are you okay?” he asks quietly.
Beckett lets herself relax into him, sighing. “It’s been ten years since we came home and found that detective waiting for us. Ten years since we crossed that yellow tape and went into that alley and every time I cross the tape at a crime scene, I think of that night.”
He presses a kiss to her temple. “That’s what makes you such a good cop.”
“What if I let her down?” she chokes out, turning her body into his. Not in a hug - they’re in the precinct and while Ryan and Esposito know about them, about their history, she doesn’t need anyone walking in on something - but she does let her fingers wrap around his wrist.
“You won’t.” She tries to pull away but he loops an arm around her shoulders, bringing her forehead to his chin. “You can’t, Kate.” He tips her face up, brushes a quick kiss over her lips. “Now go in there and do your job.”
She nods, taking a deep breath, clearing the doubt with the clean scent of his laundry detergent and the soap they both smell like. And then she grabs the file off the low shelf below the mirror and swings out of the room knowing that Castle will stay behind; he knows she needs to do this alone.
“Mr. Coonan, we have forensic accountants digging through your organization,” she says, sitting at table across from the man. She’s not sure how she keeps her hands from shaking as she opens the file. “If there’s evidence of heroin trafficking, they will find it. But that’s not your biggest problem right now.”
He blinks calmly, face betraying nothing.
She wants to punch him. Her fingers twitch once as she plays with the corner of one of the papers. No. Build the case. Let the bastard rot in jail. “Hiring an assassin like Rathborne shows premeditation and that makes this a special circumstance case, which qualifies you for the needle. Now, I am willing to take the special circumstance allegations off the table if you give me Rathborne.”
“The only special circumstance here, Detective, is your complete lack of evidence against me,” Coonan replies smoothly.
“We have Johnny Vong.”
Coonan laughs. “The guy with the phony accent and the real estate scam? That’s the best you can do?”
Beckett wishes she had Castle next to her. She knows he’s right there, at her back behind the glass, but she could really use him at her side. Still, she schools her voice, pushing the wavering out. “Are you really willing to bet your life that Vong can’t hold his mud, Mr. Coonan? Give me the killer and I’ll put the D.A. in the mood for a second-degree plea.”
He sits forward, forearms resting on the table as he links his fingers. “When we first met, you told me you’d been on the other side of this. Remember? Now, could that be why you seem so eager to get your hands on this mysterious assassin? Because if I had to guess, I’d say that someone close to you was murdered and that you think Rathborne had something to do with it. But I don’t have to guess, do I? Because it is all over your face.”
She grits her teeth, narrows her eyes. “That still doesn’t change the fact that you’re guilty of murder.”
“Maybe not,” Coonan says as he sits back in the chair. “But, for the low, low price of transactional immunity, I can give you the closure you’ve been seeking. You get Rathborne and I walk. And that, Detective, is my final offer.”
“I’ll need to talk to the district attorney,” she says swiftly, gathering up the folder. “Stay put.”
As soon as the door to interrogation is closed behind her, she lets out the breath she has been holding, her back connecting with the wall between the two rooms. It takes three deep breathes before she can push off the wall and head toward Montgomery’s office. Castle is already there, sitting in the captain’s leather couch. He moves to get up when she comes in but she waves her fingers at him to stay seated.
And then she fills Montgomery in on Coonan’s proposed plan, feeling a strange combination of nausea and almost a dizzying sense of relief.
Because it might be over. This whole nightmare just might be over.
It’s not over.
She’s hiding in the break room, cup of still-hot coffee cradled against her collarbone. He’s there too, at her side with his own cup of espresso, his shoulder inadvertently holding her up as she lists to the side.
“I let her down,” she whispers into the air. She doesn’t realize she’s spoken the words out loud until he shakes his head.
“No, you didn’t.”
“Rathborne’s in the wind,” Beckett says, turning her head to the side. “Dick Coonan’s about to walk. I missed something.”
“Could have been me. Rathborne could have checked the routing number and realized the money was coming from my account, not Dick’s. Offering it up was stupid, arrogant.”
She sets the mug of coffee on the counter behind her, reaching over to brush her fingers along the inside of his wrist, just beyond the cuff of his shirt. “It wasn’t arrogant, Castle. It was sweet. And I’ll pay you back as soon as I -”
“Negative, ghostwriter,” he returns, tangling his fingers with hers. His palm is warm. It makes her want to be home, to let him gather her up on the couch and wrap a blanket around their shoulders and just be. “It’s a small price to pay for a shot at your mother’s killer.”
“Wait. He said it was one hundred grand to catch her killer. I never said it was my mother who was murdered,” she says, already freeing her hand and jogging to the holding cells. The snap of her heels echoes in the hallway, the quieter but still frantic clip of his shoes behind her.
The officer on duty is signing Coonan out, taking the clipboard of paperwork from the man.
“It was you,” she hisses. “There was no Rathborne. It was just a cover.”
Coonan smirks, nodding as he glances between Beckett and Castle. “Clever girls, you Becketts.”
And then he punches the uniform, grabbing the man’s sidearm in the same movement. As Castle moves to help the uniform, Coonan catches Castle’s arm and yanks it up along his back, jamming the gun into his side. Beckett has her hand on her gun before Coonan can settle into the situation.
“Ah ah ah,” says Coonan, stepping backwards once. “Now here’s what’s gonna happen. We’re just gonna stroll on over to the elevator together. Nice and easy.”
“That’ll never happen,” she says, forcing the calm into her voice, ignoring Castle as he grimaces. If she looks, sees his face, she’ll crumble.
“You make a sound? You attempt to signal? You so much as clear your throat and I’ll put a round in this man’s liver. And he will die slowly and in considerable pain.”
She winces when Castle grunts. Her hand slips from the gun, arms held out to her sides to prove that she’s not going for her weapon. Coonan steps in next to her and she can feel Castle’s arm against hers as they start toward the elevator.
“What? No pithy remarks from the peanut gallery?” Coonan taunts as they walk around the break room. “Not so funny facing your own death, is it?”
“I don’t know, Dick. You tell me,” says Castle. “Last time I checked, this was a police station.”
Beckett wants to tell him to shut up. But the fact that he’s still talking, still trying to pull the pieces together for himself means he’s still alive. So she’ll take it. “You knew before I arrested you, didn’t you?” she asks, refusing to turn her head to speak directly at Coonan. “You knew my mom was your victim.”
“It wasn’t personal, okay? She was just another job.”
“She was my mother,” she says, failing to keep the venom, the hurt from leaking out. “Who hired you to kill her?”
The man scoffs, shaking his head. “Forget it. You’ll never touch them.”
She’s about to push when Montgomery rounds the corner, blocking the elevator, gun raised.
“No! No, sir! I need him alive!” she shouts, stepping into his path.
“That’s right,” Coonan says with a grin. “You do need me. Now, back him off or Castle dies.”
“Sir,” she says, turning to face the captain. “Please. Back off.”
Montgomery stays in place, weapon aimed at Coonan over her shoulder. “You know I can’t do that.”
“Hey! You wanna learn who ordered the hit on your mom, you had better make sure I make it out of here,” warns Coonan, jamming the barrel of the gun into Castle’s side again.
Beckett catches Castle’s eye, sees him shake his head.
“Roy. Please.” The gun lowers and she breathes a tiny sigh of relief.
“That’s right, Roy. Nice and easy. Nice and ea -”
Coonan’s words turn into a grunt as Castle’s head connects with his nose. The man stumbles backwards until his shoulders connect with the barricade.
For one heart-stopping moment, all she sees is Coonan and the gun he has leveled at Castle’s back.
Then she reacts without thinking. She has her gun from the holster, finger pulling the trigger at Coonan before the other man can do the same. Dick Coonan crumples to the ground. She’s careful to make sure that Castle is okay, still upright against the row of chairs, before falling to her knees, gun skittering off against Castle’s shoes.
Her hands press against Coonan’s chest, desperately trying to keep the life in him long enough to just give her a name. She just needs a name and it can be over. Done.
But the blood keeps bubbling up through her fingers and out of his mouth and then she sees his eyes glass over, light draining out of them, taking with them any hope for answers.
Castle’s hand pulls her back as she wipes the back of her hand over her forehead, pushing her hair out of her eyes and smearing blood over her skin. She lets her head fall back against his knee, shuddering out one long breath.
It’ll never be over.
She slips out of the precinct before he can find her again. Her hands are clean and she has changed out of the blood-stained shirt into the spare shirt she keeps in her locker. But she doesn’t go back to her desk to finish her paperwork.
She goes home. She goes home and drops her things in the front hallway and starts a pot of coffee. She’s holding off the tremors by sheer force of will, pacing the kitchen until she hears the knock on the front door.
Castle is standing there with a bag in either hand, a bottle of wine cradled in his elbow. “You left before I could bring us dinner,” he says, holding the bags up.
“I don’t want company,” she returns, nearly slamming the door in his face before he can wedge his foot in the way.
“Well you’re getting some tonight. I brought sushi, Italian, some Thai. There are even hot dogs in here.”
She moves back to the kitchen, taking down a clean mug. Her hand shakes as she picks up the pot until he presses against her back, taking the pot from her.
“I’ve got it,” he murmurs, mouth at her ear.
She turns into him, burying her nose into the collar of his shirt, feeling him tense in surprise under her forehead. “Everything’s going wrong, Castle.” Her breath feathers out over his neck on a sob, finally giving in. “Everything’s wrong and I don’t know what to do.”
He puts the pot back on the hotplate, switching it off before his hands smoothe down her sides until he reaches her thighs. Castle lifts her up and she muffles the squeak in his shoulder as he spins toward the bedroom. His lips skim over her cheeks, collecting the tears like gems before laying her down on her bed.
Her fingers curl around the lapels of his shirt, pulling him down over her. He shifts away, rolling to the side and attempting to pull her with him but she tugs him back so that his body presses into hers.
“Beckett…” he says, trying again to relieve her of his weight.
She wraps her arms around his shoulders, one hand diving into his hair, twisting into the short, soft strands. “Stay. Please,” she whispers. “Just… keep me together, okay?”
He nods, mouth at her ear. “At least change into your pajamas,” he murmurs.
He’s there, holding her up as she pulls on a t-shirt and he strips down to his boxers. And this time when they fall into the bed and he tugs the covers up over them, she is curled into his body, her forehead at his collarbone, her breathing uneven as it washes over his chest until she drops into sleep.