#Alexis Montgomery | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pollylynn · 1 year ago

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Title: Misdeem WC: 950

“I don’t see it going anywhere.” —Richard Castle, Food to Die For (2 x 22)

There are times when he’d like to be a liar. This probably does not exactly set him apart from the masses. Who is out there walking around, drawing breath and sighing it back out again who hasn’t wished they’d been a liar at one time or another? Who hasn’t had a friend solicit reactions a truly hideous new outfit and desperately tried to sell a sincere It’s fantastic! only to have their own stupid, truth-telling face nuke the little white lie from orbit? Doesn’t he—day in and day out—sit across the table from self-tattling morons who’d like nothing more than to lie their way right out of the interrogation room? He might be—he clearly is—in bad company, but he would very much like to be a liar right now.

Beckett didn’t seem to mind.

His mother thinks he’s lying. His daughter probably would think he was lying if she had any attention to spare. And it’s not even that he wants to be lying. It should be a lie. That’s the agony of it.

She should mind. That’s the way of things. This whole Richard Castle: Moral Support for Hire gambit should be one in a long line of his fool-proof plans to get her goat—to make her mind.

But she doesn’t mind. It’s not a problem. He’s telling the truth, and he’s not even getting credit for it. Not from his mother, who is pursing her lips and shaking her head as she sourly reminds him that he should be getting ready for his date.

He doesn’t want credit, though, not in this instance, and certainly not for this truth. He wants to be the rogue his mother thinks he is—the one his daughter would think he is, if she weren’t, herself, so torn between duty and desire. He wants to be the Hamptons, the seductive allure of fun in the sun that makes Beckett forget all about the microscope-requiring AP exam that is Tom Demming. But he’s not the Hamptons. Or Beckett is not tempted by the beach. Or something.

It’s a cavalcade of lousy metaphors, so he doffs his gloves and goggles. He extracts a spare watch from somewhere and he picks out a shirt in a color that she likes on him. Or a week ago he’d have said it was a color she liked on him, but apparently he’s no judge at all of what Kate Beckett likes or doesn’t like. That is the only explanation for the fact that she’ll be toting her microscope and slides all over town tonight, completely unperturbed by the thought that he will be out on the town, raconteuring his way through the celebrity chef world with one of her high school gang.

There’s a moment when she bursts on the five-star dinner scene that he thinks she’s come to make a liar out of him. He very nearly chokes on whatever it is he’s eating at the moment and weakly, hopefully demands to know: Beckett, what are you doing here?

He has the answer. He’d happily write it for her. He’d set her up with anything from cue cards to index cards to a state-of-the-art teleprompter, if she’d only read the lines with conviction: I’m here for you. I’m here because I couldn’t stand the thought of this. I’m here because it is a problem, and I do mind.

But that isn’t the answer, of course. She is not interested in cue cards, index cards, or his writing services in any medium. She is not there for him or because she minds or it’s a problem. She’s there for case-related purposes, because the only struggle for her is the one between duty and more duty.

He tries to work himself up to play the part everyone expects—the one she expects. He makes a respectable showing of it. He whines at length about the food of which she has cruelly deprived him and her good friend Madison. He accuses her of being uncivilized. He has another nanosecond’s worth of a thrill when she bans him from the interrogation. He parses the words giggling over the risotto with our suspect up, down, and sideways, searching for vindication—for the indisputable evidence that he’s been a liar after all, but it isn’t there.

She’s hissing, red-faced, and thoroughly embarrassed by Madison’s Castle baby fantasy, but it’s . . . generic embarrassment. Or worse, it’s embarrassment for his sake—that he’d play a role in such an outlandish fantasy, or maybe that he’ll get the wrong idea? She’s avoidant when he tries to get her goat with a reprise of the Castle baby fantasy, but it’s . . . impersonal. She wants to get on with the case and back to her date with duty. There isn’t a shred of evidence that she hopped in the Fun Police Wagon and drove it down to Rocco DiSpirito’s place because she’s bothered by the fact that he was out with Madison.

He wonders how it’s come to this. He wonders when, because he could have sworn that she minded when he had his ten-second fling with Ellie Monroe, when he was on the radar of Bachelorette Number 3. He would have laid money on it being a problem when Rina scrawled her digits across his palm, when Lee Waxman wanted to trade favors, and when Meredith and the Crazy-Sex Train blew through town. He’s positive that she has minded virtually every woman who has so much as given him a second glance over the last year or so.

But Madison? She doesn’t mind. It’s not a problem, because she, herself, has ‘Something’.

That’s the truth and he’d so much rather be a liar.

A/N: Oof. This was ornery; and I didn't think this was the lie that would drive the story. Blegh.

images via homeofthenutty

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bravevulnerability · 1 year ago

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would you be open to writing more? whatever you want, if so!

A/N: I'm actually doing a rewatch of Castle with a friend right now. We're on season two and just watched 2x11 (The Fifth Bullet) last night, so...

Set during 2x13 (Sucker Punch).

“I’m scared. I mean, what if it doesn't work out? What if it does?”

“That's the cost of living.”

“I just don't want to ruin this.”

“This is dead. You are not. Time to start making some new memories."

- Martha Rodgers & Richard Castle, 2x11.

She hears the crack of his skull the second before the fire of her gun, the crackle of her bullet, echoes through the air.

Castle staggers to the precinct floor, cradling the back of his head. Beckett is rooted to the spot, her shoulders tight, hands steady, heart pounding. But then he is falling, her sidekick - no, partner - collapsing beside Coonan's bloodied body, and she forces the grief back down her throat.

For a split second, she hesitates. Maybe... maybe she could keep focus her attention on keeping Coonan alive. But deep down, she knows. She knows her shot was dead center, she knows he's gone. And Castle is down.

"Castle!" she calls, holstering her gun and racing to his side, stepping over Coonan's dead body.

He's slumped against the wall, eyes closed, out cold. Her hands brace at his shoulders, steadying him as his body drifts sideways against the wall.

"Hey, Castle," she murmurs softer, an ice cold trickle of fear slivering down her back. Did he really hit Coonan that hard? Hard enough to knock himself out? "I need a bus!"

"Already on the way, Beckett."

Esposito and Ryan are at her side, Montgomery with two fingers to Coonan's neck. She doesn't let herself look long enough to see what she already knows, to watch the shake of her captain's head.

She sits at his bedside in the hospital. The doctor is betting on a concussion, but isn't able to make any firm conclusions until Castle is conscious again.

His mother and daughter met her at the hospital, fluttering in and out of the room like anxious birds. She abused her badge to gain access for the three of them to his room, to stay long past visiting hours. Alexis sleeps on the couch on the other side of the room now, his mother already having returned to the loft to retrieve a fresh pair of clothes for Castle.

"Are you okay, kiddo?" Martha had asked her, her voice quiet so not to wake Alexis.

"Yeah, Martha. I'm fine," she assured the other woman, forcing a smile to cross her lips.

Martha only frowned at her in return. "He's going to be okay, Katherine. I know my boy," she promised Kate with so much conviction, she wanted to believe her. "And when he sees you sitting there, he'll be even better than."

Martha had left the room with a wink, but Beckett couldn't adopt such hope. Her guilt was too busy dragging her heart down into the pit of her stomach.

It's late when his eyes flutter open, a flash of blue in the still darkness. She sits forward immediately, resisting the strange urge to grab his hand, cradle his palm in hers.

"Hey there, Chuck Norris, "she murmurs, earning the shift of his attention, the slight dip of his brow. "How's your head feeling?"

"Hurts," he rasps, wincing.

"I'm sorry," she sighs, reaching for the water beside his hospital bed. She positions the straw at his lips, watching him sip gratefully.

"Thank you," he hums, relaxing back into the pillow, but his eyes remain intense on her. "Where are we?"

"Hospital. The doctor's going to examine you again now that you're awake, but he thinks it's likely just a concussion that should heal without much issue."

"Concussion?" he echoes, confusion tugging at the corners of his mouth. "How?"

"I... you don't remember?" she asks gently. "Coonan, the precinct, the-"

"I don't remember," he interrupts with a deep frown. "I don't remember anything."

"Retrograde amnesia," the doctor announces. "The bump to his head, paired with the trauma of the situation... it's rare, but it happens."

Kate sits solemnly beside his mother and daughter, her hands knotted tightly together in her lap. Castle is dressed and perched on the edge of his hospital bed, his foot tapping nervously. He keeps looking at her, as if he's seeking her out.

She keeps her gaze on her knees.

"But it's not permanent, right?" Alexis inquires. "He can get his memory back?"

"It's a complex condition," the older man delivers gently. "He may have all of his memories back by tomorrow, he may never remember anything of his past ever again, or he may fall anywhere in between. It's impossible to tell. I'm so sorry."

Martha utters a soft cry of concern, Alexis grips her father's hand, murmuring reassurances at his side.

Kate stands from the plastic chair. "What can we do to make this as smooth on him as possible?"

"Not too much too soon, but it's okay to nudge reminders his way. Having his family here is a good first step," the doctor nods.

"My family," Castle speaks up, earning the attention of the room. "I know you're my mother and daughter." He nods to Martha and then Alexis, and then his eyes are settling on her once more. "And you... are my wife?"

Kate blinks before abruptly shaking her head. "No, no, we - we work together."

"What do we do?" he inquires, tilting his head in curiosity.

"Well, I'm a homicide detective-"

"I'm a cop?"

"No, you're a writer," she corrects with a twitch of her lips, but this only confuses him further.

"Then what am I doing with a cop?"

"Dad, it's kind of a long story," Alexis chimes in, shooting Beckett a nervous smile.

"But - but you and me?" He rises from the hospital bed, approaching Beckett slowly. "We're together?"

"Work together," she says carefully, but his face scrunches.

"No way," he murmurs, almost to himself, as if he's trying to work out the equation on his own. "If we're not together, we want to be?"

Her throat spasms with panic. C'mon Castle, no. Not in front of his mom and his kid.

"No, we're - we're just friends, Castle."

"Castle?" he repeats, testing the surname in his mouth. "Richard Castle? Weird name."

"No, not weird," she sighs, risking a step towards him. "It's the name of a best-selling author, who is a great asset to a homicide department of the NYPD."

The first true glimpse of him - the smile, the ripple of bright blue in his eyes - flickers before her.

"Why don't you go back to the loft with your mother, with Alexis, and see if anything sparks," she suggests, catching his daughter's eye over his shoulder.

Alexis nods eagerly. "Yeah, Dad. I think it's a great place to start. We can take a literal walk down memory lane."

Her heart eases ever so slightly when he glances to his daughter with the warmest of smiles. Somehow she knows that the large part of his brain dedicated to Alexis will return, unfurling like muscle memory through his mind.

Alexis loops her arm through his, guiding him out of the hospital room while the doctor hands Martha a stack of papers summarizing Castle's visit. They all exit the building together, prepared to go separate ways on the sidewalk, when Castle makes a sound of protest.

"Hey - I didn't get your name," he calls to her.

Something in her chest stings.

"Beckett. Kate," she adds, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Kate," he murmurs, affection, familiarity, and heat infused into the single syllable of her name. "I'll see you soon?"

"It would probably be good for him to see the Twelfth sometime," Martha quips, the smirk on his mother's lips subtle but there. "He practically spends half his time there."

"Twelfth?"

"The precinct. That's where you work with Detective Beckett, Dad," Alexis fills in, her arm still twined protectively through his.

"Oh." Castle's eyes flick back to Kate. "Until tomorrow?"

Her heart stumbles stupidly, just like it did the first time he said those words to her, the useless muscle tripping on hope.

"Yeah, Castle." She offers him the smallest hint of a smile. "See you tomorrow."

When Castle arrives at the precinct the next morning, it's with Alexis in tow. Everyone greets him like a hero, but he looks around clueless, a helpless attempt at a smile on his lips while his daughter guides him through the crowd of uniforms.

When he sees her across the bullpen, his eyes light up.

Her stomach turns. She doesn't know how to do this, to... to have him looking at her like that, all unguarded and vulnerable.

"Alexis walked me through my usual morning," he explains once he reaches her desk. His daughter is a few steps behind, talking with Ryan and Esposito, her red hair in a tight braid that sways as she nods along to whatever the boys are saying.

"That's good, Castle. Is it helping?"

"Not yet, but I'm hopeful," he shrugs, shoving hands into his pockets. "Do you ever call me by my first name?"

Beckett glances up from the paperwork scattered on her desk, the files she's failed to focus on since she arrived at five this morning.

"Sometimes," she muses. "It's nothing personal, just cop talk to use surnames."

"Beckett," he says. Testing it out, she realizes. "So do I only call you Kate at home?"

She forces her expression to remain neutral.

Home?

"Castle, we don't really see each other outside the precinct very often," she delivers carefully, watching his face fall.

"Ever?"

"I can't imagine how confusing this must be," she murmurs, shifting from her chair to move around her desk, move a little closer to him. Solely for the sake of keeping their conversation private. "But you and I... we're friends, partners, but not - not more."

His hand scrapes through his finely combed hair, the corners of his eyes settling into troubled lines.

"I just - I swore when I woke up this morning, you were supposed to be next to me."

Her lips part, surprise blooming on her tongue along with something else, something sweet.

"Dad?" Alexis saves her from having to answer. "I've got to get to class, but I'll be back for lunch."

"Don't worry, Pumpkin. I'll be-"

Alexis grabs his arm, her blue eyes wide. "What'd you just call me?"

Castle looks absolutely panicked. "P-pumpkin? I'm sorry, it just... came out."

"That's fantastic!" Alexis squeals, throwing her arms around his neck. "That means your memory must still be in there."

Castle hugs his daughter back, firm and relieved, his gaze flickering back to Kate with delight. So proud of himself.

"Must be," he grins.

His first day consists of nothing more than sitting in the chair beside Kate Beckett's desk, stealing longing glances at the woman he's convinced must have been his wife in another life. He obviously isn't sure of much right now, but for some reason, he feels certain of this.

He asks her questions about their time together, about their first meeting, the cases they've worked on together.

His brow furrows when she says they took a break over the last summer, but she bristles when he asks her why.

"I want to help, Castle, but I don't want to give you a biased history lesson," she explains. "The doctor said it's best if the memories are able to come back on their own."

He huffs at the response, but doesn't argue.

The days that follow are a lot of the same - he wakes up, has breakfast with his mother and daughter, walks with Alexis to school and then he makes his way to the Twelfth precinct to be with Kate.

It isn't until the third day that he has his first burst of memory. A burst that leads to an explosion.

Alexis.

She comes back so fast and strong, from the moment she came into his life until the day of the accident. She nearly cries when he tells her that morning, arms latched around his neck as he spins her around in the kitchen.

Bits and pieces of his mother come back next, patchy memories of his childhood, his teen years, his dream come true of becoming a bestselling author. It's all trickling back in like a stream to the river of his mind.

Everything, except for her.

It's been nearly a week and he still can't remember Kate.

"What's your memory of the day, Castle?" she asks him when he finds her in the break room that morning, fiddling with an expensive looking espresso machine.

"A book tour in Europe," he muses, approaching her with an eyebrow raised. Beckett scowls at the frother that hisses at her in return. "You're cute when you're angry."

She pierces him with a glare.

"But not with me," he mutters, coming up beside her and shooing her out of the way. "Here."

Without thinking, he prepares a latte for her, adding the two pumps of vanilla, just how she...

Glimpses of mornings spent with her - on sidewalks, parks, apartments all over the city - squeeze into his brain, pushing through the blank spaces like dripping water through cracks.

"Kate," he exhales, turning to find matching wonder in her gaze. "I bring you coffee."

She pins her bottom lip between her teeth, hazel eyes sparkling near green for him.

"Usually when we meet at crime scenes, but... but I bought this." He glances back to the espresso steaming into the waiting mug. "So you could always have good coffee here."

"Yeah," she exhales, but she's smiling at him. "You did make it a habit over the past year."

"Because it makes you smile," he adds, softer now, because part of him knows that the old him never shared this with her. But he doesn't try to stop the words. "And I love your smile."

That smile he loves so much doesn't exactly leave her face, but it falters, waning across her lips.

"I'm going to remember you," he promises - her or himself, he isn't sure.

"I'm sure you will," she answers quietly, something like sorrow bleeding into her gaze. "And when you remember everything, Rick - when you remember how you ended up in this mess, maybe you'll wish you could forget."

Kate avoids him for the rest of the day and he lets her, lets her have her space. He's learned enough to know that pushing her doesn't usually work in his favor.

He follows around Ryan and Esposito instead, squeezing out information, gaining small glimpses of the boys he once knew. He remembers Ryan's favorite tie, the video game Esposito's been trying to find time to play for the last two weeks - random tidbits he's grateful for. They're like little seeds and he knows if he just keeps tending to them, they'll grow.

He's not as patient with his memories of Beckett.

Esposito spills first.

"I'm only telling you this because if you get some random burst of memory in front of Beckett, you're gonna bust us both," he mutters, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "Beckett's mom was murdered, it's why she became a cop. Long story short, I let you see the file, you put your nose where it didn't belong and got involved, tried to bring your money into it to solve the case. It's how you ended up with amnesia and she ended up with another dead end."

It was my mother, not my father.

This is for the life that I saved, and this is for the life that I lost.

The crumpled woman in the alley, the stab wounds in her abdomen, the expert showing him the patterns of wounds on a dead woman's body.

You don't back down. That's what makes you extraordinary.

What if I let her down?

I didn't think you were arrogant, Castle. I thought what you did was sweet.

"Hey, hey, Castle? Are you okay, bro?"

His head is pounding. His body is sinking.

"Rick."

His eyes snap open to find Kate Beckett kneeling before him. He's on the floor, knees pulled to his chest, head cradled between the hard press of his palms.

The touch of her fingers to his arm is so careful, so comforting. He wants to tug her into his arms, bury his face in her neck, let the fantasy that's been running wild in his head since he woke up and saw her be real.

"Let me take you home."

He remembers her mother's case. Not everything, but the bones of it.

"I need you to let this go for tonight," she tells him. They're sitting in her cruiser outside of his loft. Hearing the flashes of his memories, the ones that spread through his brain like a decimating wildfire at the precinct, has a terrible mixture of resentment and guilt swirling through her insides.

She wants to hate him all over again for unearthing this to begin with, but she can't. She can't, because she's always known this was inevitable. A year of therapy could only keep her away from her mom's case for so long.

"You're angry with me."

"No, I'm not," she sighs, but she can't look at him. "I'm angry with myself, with the guy who killed with my mom, with the whole situation."

"But Kate-"

"But your memory - it's delicate. No more ambushing people for information."

She tears her eyes away from the window, the darkening skyline. Storm clouds roam the horizon, merging with the cloak of night.

He looks so sad in the passenger seat, his eyes down, head low. So many of his memories have come back to him, and yet his heart still looks so broken.

"And, I'm only going to say this once, but I need you to know something."

That earns the reluctant lift of his gaze, his attention.

"I have a hard job, Castle, and having you around makes it a little more fun," she admits, some of the ache of earlier draining away at the twitch of his lips. "So I need you to focus on getting better, on remembering me because - I want my partner back."

The smile he gives her has her leaning her head back against the seat, smiling back at him like an idiot.

"Your secret's safe with me, Kate."

His hand is reaching across the space between them, stealing hers, and she lets him have it.

The banging on her door has her jerking awake and reaching for her gun, but then she hears the familiar yet urgent calling of her name.

"Beckett! Beckett! Please be awake!"

She growls and hurries out of her bed, to her front door, before he can wake all of her neighbors.

She yanks the door open to see his fist raised and ready for another series of knocks. He's dripping wet, hair drenched and clothes soaked.

She notices then that it's raining outside, storming if the sound of the downpour and the rumble of thunder is any indication. And he's in nothing more than a t-shirt, flannel pajama pants, and a coat that's flapping open.

"Castle, what the hell are you doing?" she hisses, dragging him inside by his raised arm.

"Kate, Kate, I'm so sorry," he breathes, his chest falling heavy and fast, his teeth chattering. "I've been going through my files, trying to jog more memories and I - I found the file, my notes, all of it. The one on your mother, the one with the guy who I knocked out, who you had to-"

"Castle," she quiets him, reaching for the panicked, rain stricken face before her. God, he's freezing. "Hey, look at me - breathe."

"No, Kate, it's all my fault," he rasps, holding to her wrists, thumbs pressing at the points of her pulse. "I started all of this. And now your lead is dead and it's because of me-"

"If it wasn't for you, I would have never found my mom's killer," she cuts him off, wiping some of the moisture from his cheeks with the swipe of her thumbs.

The heaving of his chest slows, the anguish in his eyes dimming, calming.

She's never been this close to him before, able to feel the exhale of his cool breath on her lips. She should take a step back, slip her hands from his grasp, create some much needed distance between them.

But the way this version of Castle looks at her, so open and needful, so unabashed in his desire to be near her... it has her body canting towards him, her carefully crafted resistance waning.

"Was I angry at you when you opened this? Yes. But I know why you did it, okay? I know you care, and I appreciate you for it."

"I'm still sorry," he whispers, staring down at her. Raindrops from his hair drip down the slope of his nose, fall to the inches of hardwood between their feet. "I'm sorry it hurt you. I'm so sorry-"

"Shh, no more," she says, gentle but firm. "No more being sorry."

Castle sighs, resting the weight of his cheek into one of her palms, the edge of his lips grazing her skin.

"Thank you."

She nods, touching one of her thumbs to the dip in his chin.

"Did you run all the way here to tell me this, Castle?"

"I couldn't sleep anyway," he shrugs, still holding to the slim bones of her wrists. "I'm up every night, trying to remember more. Remember you."

Her gaze flicks back to his, the blue in his eyes shifting, storming like the clouds outside.

"You remember enough," she tries to placate him. "You've remembered cases, my coffee, the first time we met-"

"The details," he murmurs. "I want every detail back. I read the first Nikki Heat book."

She swallows hard, lowers her eyes to the fabric of his t-shirt plastered to his chest.

"I want to remember what I was thinking when I wrote the dedication, those interrogation scenes, page 105-"

"Stop," she whispers, but her heart is stuttering unevenly in her chest, bumping against ribs and making her feel unsteady.

"I want to remember the moment I knew I wanted more with you," he breathes.

"More?" she echoes, letting his hands glide along her arms, cupping her elbows, trailing her triceps, cradling her shoulders.

"Kate." He leans in, forehead bumping against hers. "When I woke up, I saw you."

Her body sways into his without her permission.

"And I knew it would be okay."

She shakes her head, but he's nudging his nose against hers, lips glancing over hers with such tentativeness.

"Rick."

"When you're not around, everything feels wrong."

She barely has to arch onto her toes to kiss him, barely has to lean forward to finally seal her lips to his. Castle moans softly, as if in relief, as he kisses her back, his arms wrapping around her.

She shivers when the cold, wet front of his body presses against hers, but the chill fails to stop her from rising into him, from hooking her arms around his neck, fingers in his hair.

His mouth is a caress over hers, his tongue reverent as it slips past the seam of her lips.

She's always known he would be good at this, that they would combust from chemistry the moment she finally allowed it, but she didn't prepare for the trembling need in her bones, the rabbitting of her heart, the slam of the door at his back.

"Has it - always been like this?" he gasps, the heat of his breath fanning across her lips.

"Like what?" she murmurs, feathering her fingers at the still healing bump at the base of his skull, tracing her other hand down his side, feeling the quick rise and fall of his ribcage.

"The wanting," he mumbles, sucking her bottom lip between his teeth. Kate hums, kissing him back and slipping a hand beneath the sopping fabric of his shirt. "I don't need to remember to know," he gets out, staining his lips to her jaw, searing along her bone. "I never wanted anyone like this."

He doesn't stop her from shoving the coat from his shoulders, the t-shirt over his head, letting it all hit the ground with a wet slap. He fists his hands in her oversized t-shirt, knuckles brushing the naked skin of her thighs, snagging in the lace at her hips.

Kate mewls against the nip of his teeth, dragging him from the door with her hands at his nape, walking backwards in the direction of her room.

"Me neither," she confesses into his mouth, finding that she believes it too. "It's always felt like this with us."

They stumble into her bedroom, but he's gentle as he lowers her onto the mattress, moves his body over hers, and kisses her like he wants to press every memory into her.

She gasps awake, her room still heavy with darkness, the storm still raging outside.

Her back is slick with sweat from that damn dream she's had every night since she shot Dick Coonan, since Castle lost his memories, since everything changed so brutally.

"Bad dream?"

Kate shifts in the sheets, finds him propped up on an elbow, watching her. Rain still spatters against the window across her room, painting splotches of moonlight and streaks of lightning across his skin. Rolling onto her back, she studies the bare expanse of his chest, the ruffled state of his hair, the clear sea of his eyes on her.

"Yeah," she murmurs, but her hand rises for his jaw, caressing the line of his throat with her fingers. "You?"

"No, just don't want to sleep."

Her fingers twine absentmindedly with the baby fine hairs at the base of his skull. "Why not? Afraid you might forget something?"

"Oh no," he grins, eyes sparking mischievously. "You were right, Kate. I had no idea."

Her lips part to make a remark when realization dawns on her.

"You remember that?"

"And a few other things," he teases, but he's smiling wide at her now, causing her heart to skip a few beats. "Not everything is there yet, still some blank spaces and pieces I can't unscramble yet, but... I'm pretty sure I remember the important parts."

She grins and snakes her arms around his neck, pulling herself up to meet him. His chest shakes with laughter against hers and then he's burying his face in her neck, kissing her shoulder.

"Even if I didn't-"

"We'd just make new ones, Castle," she promises him, drawing back and dragging him down with her when she lowers herself back to the mattress, his body draping warm and firm over hers. "I like our..."

"Story," he supplies for her, brushing stray strands of hair from her face.

"Our story," she chuckles. "But I could let go of a few pages if I can have this chapter."

"Ooh, Beckett," he grins, craning his neck to kiss her. "I didn't think you could get any hotter, but please keep using literary metaphors in bed."

She's laughing into his mouth, tangling her legs with his under the sheets.

"Wait," he gasps, tearing away from her. "I gotta ask-"

She arches an eyebrow impatiently.

"Remy's, tomorrow? I don't have a memory of us going on a first date."

Heat is radiating from his skin, his fingers twirling in her hair, and it scares the shit out of her, how much she likes him. How possible it could be to love him. She doesn't know if they would have ended up this way without the events of the last few days, but to resist it would be like fighting the tide. And she's rather enjoyed being swept up in him.

Maybe the fear is worth it, for the chance of loving him, letting him love her.

Her hands cradle his cheeks and she arches her neck to kiss him, slow and long and with desperation in the stroke of her tongue.

Castle moans and presses down, slotting into place against her.

"Yes," she breathes, stroking the bones of his cheek, letting her words caress his lips. "I'll make new memories with you, Rick."

#castle fanfiction #castle au #kate beckett #richard castle #2x11 #2x13 #castle #prompt #anon #mine

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