(A/N: Typical Caskett fluffitude. Hope you enjoy!)
Summary: Post "Under the Gun". An example of why Beckett can never get a good night's sleep.
Disclaimer: I'm running out of witty disclaimers. Let's just say that if I had even the slimmest and vaguest chance to kidnap Seamus Dever and stuff him in my closet (along with Karl Morgan and James Roday), it would have been done so already. Ergo, I do not own "Castle".
A Beckett/Castle Fanfic
by Jill Diamond
Kate Beckett lay on her couch one brisk evening, relaxing after cracking a very hard case. After being betrayed to by one of her most trusted friends. But, no, she was trying not to think about that, and just relax. She had changed from her usual ensemble to a large cotton t-shirt and leggings, and pulled her hair back into a loose ponytail. She was just slurping the last of her large Chinese take-out order from her chopsticks. She had already watched Iron Man, and was now getting into some old reruns of Moonlighting. She was getting annoyed with the sexual tension of Maddie and David and wishing they would just kiss and get it over with already, when she heard a prompt knocking on her door.
Beckett rolled her eyes silently, bit off the noodles that she already had in her mouth, and got up to answer the door. But not without making sure that her gun was in grabbing distance.
She turned the knob very slow, and then whipped the door open, one arm outstretched to her gun just in case. But the moment she opened the door, she wished she hadn't.
"You big tease, you!" he cried, obviously annoyed. Without a proper invitation (though, did he ever wait for one?), he gently pushed her aside and entered her apartment.
"Castle?" was all she could muster.
"Black leather, my ass," the novelist grumbled. He started to pull something out of his jacked pocket and flung it at Kate.
She quickly scooped it up before it fluttered to the floor and gaped at it. It was one of the pictures of her on her Harley. Just after she had painted it a hideous shade of bubblegum pink. And she wasn't in black leather, no. But a long white blouse and a very fluffy pink mini skirt. Her eyelids burrowed way back in her sockets as she stared at the photo, wishing with all her might that it would explode into flames then and there.
"Where the hell did you get this?" she demanded without even looking up at him.
"From you very cooperative father," Castle replied, in a more civilized but still tense voice.
"Dad!" she whispered harshly under her breath, slightly crumpling the picture in her fists. She loved that man, but like any father, he didn't respect her privacy much.
"You look more like a Pink Lady than a Charlie's Angel," Castle continued, pointing his finger generally at the much younger Kate Beckett. "And you teased me with all that 'black leather' and 'straddling' junk-you're practically riding sidesaddle!"
"But I will tell you one thing, Detective Beckett." He quieted his voice and drew closer to her. She regained the courage to look away from the previous her and into his eyes. "For some unknown reason, I feel even more attracted to you then when I thought you were a biker babe."
"What?" she answered, more gob smacked than anything. She dropped the almost ripped picture onto the floor as Castle wrapped his arms around her lower back. If this was any other man, she probably would have smacked them upside the head and held them at gunpoint until they apologized. But, there was something about Castle that, as much as she wanted to put her guard up, she just couldn't. She let him get close and she didn't know why. He wasn't a typical man. He was much, much worse. But wouldn't that be more reason to put her guard up? Just something about that man made her want to be...more relaxed, more lighthearted. But usually it just caused the opposite to happen, which only frustrated her more.
"You've been teasing me for so ridiculously long with your tough-chick-sex-kitten attitude, and now I just find out that you're also a goody-two shoes. This may sound incredibly writer-ish of me, but I think that gives you character; makes you round. And I like round characters.
"Are you calling me fat?"
Castle's eyes took their turn to widen, and squeaked defensively, "No!"
"You're calling me fat," Beckett echoed, more definite. She wiggled herself out of his embrace.
"I would never call you fat! You're as skinny as a rake!" He quickly added "That came out wrong" once he had seen the dagger eyes she was boring into him.
"Castle, OUT." She pulled open the door and stepped aside, gesturing widely with her arm to the exit.
As soon as Mr. Writer had left, Kate plunked down on the couch with a sigh, and rummaged through her collection of Styrofoam tins to read her fortune cookie-In the garden of your dreams many things will blossom soon. Watch your garden carefully, and care for the tender shoots of love.
(A/N: Pardon me for not making Beckett a bad-tush. I honestly don't know how I came up with this. It's kind of random on my part, but I think I captured the Castle-Beckett relationship in a bottle. Reviews make me fuzzy inside. BAI!)