Author's Note: I wrote these with the intent to start a Castle Noun series (as I did with Bones), but once I typed up the few written nouns, I realized that the scenes, if placed out of alphabetical order, illustrate an evolution of the Castle/Beckett relationship. Thus, this is an evolution told through words. The styles used may seem untraditional, but I did that intentionally. Hopefully any Literature/Writing majors out there will understand.
Thank you for taking the time to check out my experiment.
Evolution Told Through Words
Books and Badges
They'd always meant so much to her, his books.
She'd always meant so much to him.
They wrapped around her to comfort her in a time of need, carried her on their spines away from her world of pain and hurt.
She waltzed into his life and, without knowing it, demanded control, gave a command for everything to change, for him to change.
His books breathed fresh air, brought color back to her sheet-white cheeks, the vivacity and life back to her lackluster irises.
She oozed spunk and intrigue, keeping him on his feet and following her.
His books led her to her badge.
Her badge led him to more of his books.
They changed her.
She changed him. He changed for her.
He didn't need money or tips—he was a writer who had made it to the top of the esteemed mountain named "New York Times Best Sellers List," so money was not a problem. Instead, he brought her coffee to see her smile. Her eyes glean and brighten, her shoulders relax, and her lips tug at the seams. She's radiant.
Coffee is his product, her grin the price, and the chance to brush his fingertips with hers the loose change in the tip jar. He pays so little and gets so much back in return.
Hands reached. Bodies met. Life suspended.
Lungs inhaled, hearts paused.
Lips lavished. Tongues traveled. Noses knocked.
Lungs exhaled, hearts rebooted; rapid breaths, erratic beats.
Eyes locked. Breath stopped. Adrenaline rushed.
Lips, hips, hands met.
The moment she spotted her desk through the everyday fray of the precinct, he eyes caught bright post-its adorning her computer monitor. A stack of yellow covered the screen, causing her to partially groan at the tediousness of removing all the post-its, and part grin at the kind image of Castle taking the time to annoy her. (Even if his aim was to annoy her, the implication was definitely somewhat touching).
As she draped her trench coat over the back of her chair and loosened the wool scarf from around the pale skin of her neck, she noticed the peeks of orange from underneath the layer of yellow.
Now she was definitely groaning (and maybe smirking, too).
The yellow notes were random—"Hi!", "Beckett!", or various stick figures, one of which he labeled "Me" with a caption of "The Most Ruggedly Handsome Writer and Man You Know."
The orange notes held a little more meaning. One told her she was beautiful.
Attached to the bottom of that note was a note that said she was hot.
Some notes were filled with adjectives—strong, fierce, intelligent, independent, witty—and hot. That one was definitely listed a few times. Others were riddled with moments they shared, whether personal and special or professional (and admittedly still special).
As she saw no other colors lurking behind the orange post-it notes, she thought she could finally start her work day once they were removed. Then she saw the three perfectly placed purple post-its.
These talked about how he missed her and how he deeply wishes he could be there with her, experiencing the curve of her smile along the lid of the coffee cup he normally christens her morning with. "I've grown so accustomed to falling asleep and waking by your side," he wrote, "that I am certain all sleep will evade me on my trip without you. I'll come back to you the moment I am released from the perils of publishers and publicists."
Slowly she tore those from the monitor to reveal one last note. Bright pink and directly in the middle, the note read, "I love you - RC."
She sighed, smiled, and moved that note to the rim of the screen as a constant reminder so she would never forget.
How could she?