Tell Me You Need Me (Castle/Beckett)
Title: Tell Me You Need Me
Author: wrldpossibility
Fandom: Castle
Characters: Castle/Beckett
Word Count: 1400
Rating: PG
Spoilers: For 4.07, Cops and Robbers
Summary: In Kate's line of work, job stress tended to find its release any way it could, and tonight, it was going to empty itself out under the fluorescent glare of the fourth floor Ladies’.
Author's Note: Inspired by 4.07, Cops and Robbers, this is an added scene between Beckett asking Castle for a drink and the two of them showing up at his loft. You'll need to have seen that ep before reading.
"Tell me you need me," he'd said, and after only the briefest moment of hesitation, she'd followed standard Kate Beckett protocol: guard up, deflect, and quip. Store it away, and stew about it later.
It was later.
She stood in front of the bank of sinks in the center of women’s restroom of the 12th, running her hands under the hot tap water in a vain attempt to scrub away the sweat and soot of the day. Also? Trying to decide whether social graces dictated she stop by her apartment for a change of clothes before attending a Martha-hosted thank-god-you're-alive family dinner. Cognizant of the fact that Castle was holding a cab downstairs, she decided what she was wearing would have to do: she saw no point in dressing up, and supposed casual was out of the question as well; she'd left casual back in the bank vault, adopting anything but as she'd laid eyes on Rick, sitting there amid the debris of the bomb, breathing and unscathed and smiling and did she mention breathing? as she smiled back at him like he was the only hostage in the room.
Tell me you need me.
Running meter or not, she wasn’t ready to go. And she wasn't ready for company; she was fairly certain she was the last person on the homicide floor, but on impulse, Kate crossed to the restroom door handle and locked it. Upon further impulse, she tugged her hair out of its knot and pinned it back to fall around her face. She surveyed the result in the mirror, satisfied that it said 'woman' more than 'cop'. She had every intention of burying that one to analyze later too, but instead, it claimed immediate purchase somewhere in the vicinity of her chest and held her--rooted---in place, and she stared like a deer in headlights at her reflection in the mirror. Before she had time to evade the sudden lump swelling in her throat, her eyes brimmed and then her shoulders began to shake and to her horror, she found herself fighting back the first hard sob.
Tell me you need me.
In Kate's line of work, job stress tended to find its release any way it could, and tonight, it was going to empty itself out under the fluorescent glare of the fourth floor Ladies’. She leaned her elbows against the counter of the sink, giving in to the tears, then excused her legs from their duties altogether, sliding her back down the adjacent wall until she was sitting, knees bent to her chest, head in her hands. She cried until her abdominal muscles ached, and then she cried some more. At one point, her phone buzzed against her thigh where it lay buried in the pocket of her pants, and she knew it was Castle waiting at street level, wondering what was taking her so long. With a pang of guilt, she let it go to voicemail, and after the ping of the beep, his muffled voice emitted through the fabric of her jeans.
"Hey, it's me. Everything alright?" A pause. "Ok, well, I'm giving you five, then coming back up. In case it’s slipped your mind, my mother isn’t a woman to be kept waiting.”
She took a deep, shuddering breath, but didn't rise from the floor. Instead she brought her hands up to her temples and rubbed, concentrating on inhaling and exhaling, as her therapist had shown her. In. Out. In. Out.
Tell me you need me.
She tried to clear her mind, think only of each rise and fall of her chest, empty her head of anything but white noise and a blank screen, just as she'd been taught, but instead, it played back the events of the day at double-time. (Note to self: this never worked.) She saw the bank doors, the yellow police tape, the interior of the hostage negotiation command unit, remembering how it smelled like stale coffee and sweat and the plastic of Kevlar. She heard Castle's voice in her ear, then Trapper John's, and she relived the weight of every word out of her mouth and the pressure that had threated to crush her as she took command of a job she hadn’t trained for and wasn't prepared for, but was expected to perform like her life depended upon it.
Because it did.
The reality of how close she'd come to...how it would have been her fault if...settled over her like a blanket, the unfairness of it all impossible to shake. The tears returned on a slide of confusion and sorrow and, yes, self-pity, and she couldn't have said how long she sat there, but apparently, it was longer than five minutes. There was a knock on the restroom door just as her phone buzzed again. Like last time, it went straight to voicemail before she could fish it out of her pocket, and Castle sounded less accommodating as his voice broadcasted through both the door and the phone simultaneously. "Kate? You in there? Is this locked?"
She sat up straight, brushing a hand hastily across her wet face.
Tell me you need me.
"I'm at the door, and you've left me with no choice: I'm going to have to break it down."
"Wait! Castle!" She was on her feet in an instant, finally managing to free her phone, but before she had made it halfway across the bathroom, she heard the unmistakable heavy THUMP against the door that told her he hadn't listened.
The sound was followed by a deep groan chased by a "Son of a bitch that hurts!" and the laugh was out of her mouth before she could check it, echoing off the institutional tile. She turned the lock and swung open the door in time to dodge Castle's second attempt at throwing himself through it, and he stumbled past her, his momentum carrying him into the wall of a stall. He caught himself, and stood there, panting, as he eyed her. "What are you doing?"
"What am I--what are you doing?!"
He righted himself, rubbing his arm as he turned to her. "I think I dislocated my shoulder. Tell me there's a technique for--" His words did a 180 as he looked her over for the first time since making his entrance. "What's wrong?"
His sober concern drained her of her momentary mirth, and instantly, the full weight of the day was back. "I..." She lifted a hand to her face, self-consciously assessing the damage of her crying jag, then stared at him as wordlessly and helplessly as she had over the gurney of the supposedly seizure-racked Sal. He stared back, just as he had then, and when he cleared his throat to speak, she had meant to blow it off, like she blows off so many of their moments that fly too close to the sun. It was on the tip of her tongue to say, “I’m sorry, I’m ready to go,” but what came out instead was, “Can I just…?” and then she was wrapping her arms around his torso and pulling him to her hard enough to elicit another soft groan.
He folded his arms around her in return, pressing her face to the lapel of his coat, encircling her in solid Castle warmth and strength and (she was guessing here) Clive Christain for Men, and for the first time all day, she could breathe. She tightened her hold on him, uncaring about the hour or the door standing ajar or even what he’d make of this, later, when her squeeze on his diaphragm permitted speech. They remained locked in their embrace, Kate’s entire body humming, until he made another low sound reticent of a purr, and she breathed a laugh into the crook of his neck.
She pulled back, gave her eyes another quick swipe, and gestured to him to lead the way back downstairs. To his credit, he didn’t ask any pointed questions or feign ignorant surprise. He didn’t press her or comfort her. He just settled his arm over her shoulder and drew her closer as they walked toward the elevator, and when they reached the doors, he turned her to look at him. “Thank you,” he said.
Tell me you need me.
Her face broke out in that smile again, the one she knew displayed so much transparent want, then she busied herself pressing the down button. “Yeah, well, Castle, I needed that.”
Author: wrldpossibility
Fandom: Castle
Characters: Castle/Beckett
Word Count: 1400
Rating: PG
Spoilers: For 4.07, Cops and Robbers
Summary: In Kate's line of work, job stress tended to find its release any way it could, and tonight, it was going to empty itself out under the fluorescent glare of the fourth floor Ladies’.
Author's Note: Inspired by 4.07, Cops and Robbers, this is an added scene between Beckett asking Castle for a drink and the two of them showing up at his loft. You'll need to have seen that ep before reading.
"Tell me you need me," he'd said, and after only the briefest moment of hesitation, she'd followed standard Kate Beckett protocol: guard up, deflect, and quip. Store it away, and stew about it later.
It was later.
She stood in front of the bank of sinks in the center of women’s restroom of the 12th, running her hands under the hot tap water in a vain attempt to scrub away the sweat and soot of the day. Also? Trying to decide whether social graces dictated she stop by her apartment for a change of clothes before attending a Martha-hosted thank-god-you're-alive family dinner. Cognizant of the fact that Castle was holding a cab downstairs, she decided what she was wearing would have to do: she saw no point in dressing up, and supposed casual was out of the question as well; she'd left casual back in the bank vault, adopting anything but as she'd laid eyes on Rick, sitting there amid the debris of the bomb, breathing and unscathed and smiling and did she mention breathing? as she smiled back at him like he was the only hostage in the room.
Tell me you need me.
Running meter or not, she wasn’t ready to go. And she wasn't ready for company; she was fairly certain she was the last person on the homicide floor, but on impulse, Kate crossed to the restroom door handle and locked it. Upon further impulse, she tugged her hair out of its knot and pinned it back to fall around her face. She surveyed the result in the mirror, satisfied that it said 'woman' more than 'cop'. She had every intention of burying that one to analyze later too, but instead, it claimed immediate purchase somewhere in the vicinity of her chest and held her--rooted---in place, and she stared like a deer in headlights at her reflection in the mirror. Before she had time to evade the sudden lump swelling in her throat, her eyes brimmed and then her shoulders began to shake and to her horror, she found herself fighting back the first hard sob.
Tell me you need me.
In Kate's line of work, job stress tended to find its release any way it could, and tonight, it was going to empty itself out under the fluorescent glare of the fourth floor Ladies’. She leaned her elbows against the counter of the sink, giving in to the tears, then excused her legs from their duties altogether, sliding her back down the adjacent wall until she was sitting, knees bent to her chest, head in her hands. She cried until her abdominal muscles ached, and then she cried some more. At one point, her phone buzzed against her thigh where it lay buried in the pocket of her pants, and she knew it was Castle waiting at street level, wondering what was taking her so long. With a pang of guilt, she let it go to voicemail, and after the ping of the beep, his muffled voice emitted through the fabric of her jeans.
"Hey, it's me. Everything alright?" A pause. "Ok, well, I'm giving you five, then coming back up. In case it’s slipped your mind, my mother isn’t a woman to be kept waiting.”
She took a deep, shuddering breath, but didn't rise from the floor. Instead she brought her hands up to her temples and rubbed, concentrating on inhaling and exhaling, as her therapist had shown her. In. Out. In. Out.
Tell me you need me.
She tried to clear her mind, think only of each rise and fall of her chest, empty her head of anything but white noise and a blank screen, just as she'd been taught, but instead, it played back the events of the day at double-time. (Note to self: this never worked.) She saw the bank doors, the yellow police tape, the interior of the hostage negotiation command unit, remembering how it smelled like stale coffee and sweat and the plastic of Kevlar. She heard Castle's voice in her ear, then Trapper John's, and she relived the weight of every word out of her mouth and the pressure that had threated to crush her as she took command of a job she hadn’t trained for and wasn't prepared for, but was expected to perform like her life depended upon it.
Because it did.
The reality of how close she'd come to...how it would have been her fault if...settled over her like a blanket, the unfairness of it all impossible to shake. The tears returned on a slide of confusion and sorrow and, yes, self-pity, and she couldn't have said how long she sat there, but apparently, it was longer than five minutes. There was a knock on the restroom door just as her phone buzzed again. Like last time, it went straight to voicemail before she could fish it out of her pocket, and Castle sounded less accommodating as his voice broadcasted through both the door and the phone simultaneously. "Kate? You in there? Is this locked?"
She sat up straight, brushing a hand hastily across her wet face.
Tell me you need me.
"I'm at the door, and you've left me with no choice: I'm going to have to break it down."
"Wait! Castle!" She was on her feet in an instant, finally managing to free her phone, but before she had made it halfway across the bathroom, she heard the unmistakable heavy THUMP against the door that told her he hadn't listened.
The sound was followed by a deep groan chased by a "Son of a bitch that hurts!" and the laugh was out of her mouth before she could check it, echoing off the institutional tile. She turned the lock and swung open the door in time to dodge Castle's second attempt at throwing himself through it, and he stumbled past her, his momentum carrying him into the wall of a stall. He caught himself, and stood there, panting, as he eyed her. "What are you doing?"
"What am I--what are you doing?!"
He righted himself, rubbing his arm as he turned to her. "I think I dislocated my shoulder. Tell me there's a technique for--" His words did a 180 as he looked her over for the first time since making his entrance. "What's wrong?"
His sober concern drained her of her momentary mirth, and instantly, the full weight of the day was back. "I..." She lifted a hand to her face, self-consciously assessing the damage of her crying jag, then stared at him as wordlessly and helplessly as she had over the gurney of the supposedly seizure-racked Sal. He stared back, just as he had then, and when he cleared his throat to speak, she had meant to blow it off, like she blows off so many of their moments that fly too close to the sun. It was on the tip of her tongue to say, “I’m sorry, I’m ready to go,” but what came out instead was, “Can I just…?” and then she was wrapping her arms around his torso and pulling him to her hard enough to elicit another soft groan.
He folded his arms around her in return, pressing her face to the lapel of his coat, encircling her in solid Castle warmth and strength and (she was guessing here) Clive Christain for Men, and for the first time all day, she could breathe. She tightened her hold on him, uncaring about the hour or the door standing ajar or even what he’d make of this, later, when her squeeze on his diaphragm permitted speech. They remained locked in their embrace, Kate’s entire body humming, until he made another low sound reticent of a purr, and she breathed a laugh into the crook of his neck.
She pulled back, gave her eyes another quick swipe, and gestured to him to lead the way back downstairs. To his credit, he didn’t ask any pointed questions or feign ignorant surprise. He didn’t press her or comfort her. He just settled his arm over her shoulder and drew her closer as they walked toward the elevator, and when they reached the doors, he turned her to look at him. “Thank you,” he said.
Tell me you need me.
Her face broke out in that smile again, the one she knew displayed so much transparent want, then she busied herself pressing the down button. “Yeah, well, Castle, I needed that.”