#ic . // ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ɪ'ᴍ ᴡᴇᴀʀɪɴɢ ᴀ ɢᴜɴ

[baeckett-a]

          She’s over it. Her teeth chewing along her inner lip as the eye roll comes natural. The captain keeps going on about adding to the team. Bringing in new blood and perspective. Kate can’t help how bitter the idea was becoming, especially with the target she feels still scathing her skin. She thinks of all the truths they hid to save Roy Montgomery’s name as he laid in his grave. To keep his name as a good man. Kate knows he never fell short of that. Forgives him.

          It’s absent minded as her hand presses to the spot on her chest the more she dwells. A habit when she reflects.

          She can’t do anything beyond playing nice. Slinging her jacket across the back of her chair, exchanging far and few looks shared between the twinning detectives on her team, she busies herself while waiting. Pouring over the beginnings of a case instead, expecting some new, out-of-the-academy hot shot to show up, waiting to ‘school’ them with his book smarts.  

          The surprise is hardly hidden when that’s not what she gets at all. Brown eyes only flickering up to see a much older man than she’s expecting. Her eyes waver through the glass to the captain. There’s a tale end of reprimand as her boss offers a coarse nod and pointed look to make nice. It’s a battle, Kate decides, she doesn’t feel like having with Captain Victoria Gates. At least, not the first few weeks back.  

                                                 This is who they traded Castle for? 

          “Hi,” she starts, pushing herself to stand. Extending a hand, she does her best to offer a faux smile. “You must be John River.” 

sᴇᴍɪ-ᴘʟᴏᴛᴛᴇᴅ sᴛᴀʀᴛᴇʀ . / . @silverf0xes​ / John River

[baeckett-a]

@tragicblood​ ASKED :  “ so , do you come here often or … ? “

          Her hands fold in front of her, arms resting against the stainless steal of the table. Her lips roll together as she nods her head. “Do I come here often?” she echoes. It’s not the first time someone said that to her. She doubts it’s the last. “That’s really all you got? A woman’s dead,” she presses, fingers tips sliding the photos across the tables. She points for emphasis. “Your name’s all over it.” Her lips purse together as she leans forward, waiting out some answer. “I’d start talking.”

[baeckett-a]

@thexcasey​ ASKED : [text] Microwave minutes are longer than normal minutes

[ TEXT to J. CASEY ] : It’s 2am what are you using the microwave for?

[TEXT to J. CASEY ] : Pretty sure sixty seconds is still sixty seconds. you’re just impatient.

[baeckett-a]

@prodgl​ ASKED :  ❝ we’re gonna have to keep ice on that. ❞ - from leslie shay

          The only noise she makes is a low grunt. Lungs aching from where her vest caught the bullet, burying itself between the Kevlar and stopping centimetres before her flesh. She’s never felt so alive. Blood rushing in her ears from the excitement, she almost misses the words as her finger tips graze the area, admiring the already forming bruises. 

          “Thanks,” she gets out, slow to rise with a straining grimace. The next few days would prove to be a riot of fun. Adrenaline sparing itself already, it feels like a freight train ran through her body       flattening her ribs with the utmost care. Her left side plays favor to a blunt of the trauma. Each muscle twitches in memory of the initial shock, body staggering back until she hit the ground and wound up there. 

          She buttons her blouse, popping each one in dread huffs as she works them up. Her arms protest the higher she goes. “Kate Beckett,” she offers then. Opts on the intent to make a friend while the FBI keeps her in Chicago. She’s sure they’ll see each other again. 

[baeckett-a]

@herheroics​ ASKED : “I really want pizza right now, think it’s open?” ( Erin, late night stakeout ?)

          The look on her face says it all. The slow turn of her head, casting a side ways glance. Her lips quirk into something that verges on the sarcasm her voice is twinged with. “Yeah, it’s open. So, is their bathroom where you’d spend the rest of your shift.” It’s an offense to New Yorkers everywhere she’d even consider the Slice & Go. Marking the page of her book, stakeouts��half the excitement movie make them to be, she reaches for her phone. “If you really want a good slice of pizza, Joe’s is the best place to get it from      and I have my own delivery service,” she adds. Afterall, Espo and Ryan boasted over playing Madden while the two drew a shorter straw. She’s kind of hungry too.

[baeckett-a]

the starter we keep talking about but never do | @speedlimit​

          “CCPD, put your hands up.” It’s exasperated, pulling from her throat in a dry cough. She’s left stumbling to a blind draw. The smoke from a house fire still agitates her eyes. Hands shaking to a steady aim as she gains her footing. It’s not everyday she’s getting swept off her feet     much less by men in spandex hiding behind masks. It’s becoming more of an occupational hazard lately. The huff she lets out only frets the offending strands of her disheveled hair. When she can put a mask to the suit, she eases, slipping gun into holster. 

                                         “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

          She throws her arms out as she hisses the words. The thoughts of a judicial system catering to loose canon heroes is aggravating enough. The vigilantes jumping the wait on labs, putting officers behind. Criminals walking without evidence and due process. He keeps interfering with her job.

[baeckett-a]

          She can feel the migraine before it comes on. The pressure in her head nagging as she steadies her breath, wishing the case would have happened a street over. At the very least, falling into a different borough’s jurisdiction than her own. An inhale comes with her own clarity. A moment’s breath to dwell on why she does this. She’s not that kind of cop to push the case on someone else to find relief. 

                                                              even if it’d save her a conversation with Richard Castle. 

                                  Best selling author and an ex from years before. 

          She just prays he forgot her as she pries the door open and steps in. The file tucked neatly beneath her arm comes to rest against the table. She follows behind it, settling into the chair across from him. “Mr. Castle,” she decides on formalities, offering a faux smile. “You can either be the guy that makes my life easier or makes my life harder,” she presses, flipping the folder open and peering over the case.

          He’s hardly a suspect. Barely a blimp on their radar, but it’s his work of art that’s the inspiration. Books she’s poured over and knows inside and out brought to life. Of course he looks smug sitting there. Clasping her hands, she leans herself in. “      and trust me, you do not want to be the guy that makes my life harder,” she tells him simply.

plotted / @viividpurity​ - Richard Castle

[baeckett-a]

@silverf0xes​ ASKED :  ❝  here, sleep.  ❞ // from River

          These are the hardest cases. A woman left staggered in an alley. Stabbed. Discarded among the protest of trash that work as walls built by a boycott of a union strike. The stagnant smell of rot and filth leave the bile against the back of her throat, burning in ancient memory. She doesn’t let it go. Can’t give this one up on a lie she once believed       a murder of chance when it was plotted. Johanna Beckett’s face is the one she sees every time she enters the bullpen. 

          “I’m fine,” she shakes her head, hoping to clear her vision of the doubling mug in her hand. There’s a strong will to stop the shake of her fingers as she tips the pots towards her cup, filling it in what seems a stiffened motion. While the couch has provided more than enough comfort to aching limbs and tired eyes in the past, the rest seems like a waste to the time that’s already precious. She doesn’t quite bring herself to meet his eyes, tucking loose strands of hair behind her ear before  she cradles the mug.

          “Really,” she assures her partner.  “I just need a lead,” she sighs in a wintry mix. One half disappointment. The second half frustration. Her nails play loose with the patterned print on the cup. Draws her focus from the inevitable sting between her breasts, scar still fresh and tight. She’s not sure if it’s anger or anxiety. She shoves it down deeper, swallowing it when her lips meet the rim of her mug and scolds the tip of her tongue with hot coffee. She needs to be fine. 

[baeckett-a]

official starter | @wholeads​

          She’s heard enough about him. Some guy that lost his mind. Throws himself into cases of the unknown on a hunch     on the fly of unraveling reality. The conspirators are what make her job the hardest. Her fingers weaver through the loose strands pf hair in vision, pushing them back from her face. A case of simple abduction now a run around, linking back to some files he’s left scattered     cold cases. She flips through the loose leaf papers around while she waits. Turning over the files of strange phenomenon she’s sure have an explanation. “You           “ she’s trying to grasp the right words. A professional courtesy she tries to extend. “       have quite a collection.”  It’s unimpressed. Doubting the resources are put where they could be used. 

                                                 It’s still not the weirdest thing she’s ever seen.

[baeckett-a]

official starter | @spymade​​

          He’s just a shadow. A myth that Rita can barely give her. A trail that turns up cold          but she finds him anyway. A miracle that doesn’t end in her death, but the choices she makes weighing on the tip of a scale. She frets with the ring on her finger. Swallows back the emotions in her voice as she takes her stand, laying her marriage on the line. She’ll be damned if she does it for nothing. Damned if she lets this thing go       the case too personal. Kate knows she can’t fight this battle alone.                                              “We need to talk.” 

[baeckett-a]

@foxymuses | continued from ( x ) | Hodgins 

          "I’m not really sure our definition of fun is the same,” she muses with a small grimace as he removes his hand. It’s not the grotesque nature of what he’s rutting through that makes her stomach churn but the action itself. She doesn’t move away. “So, wanna shed some light on what you’ve found so far, Seabuscuit?” She teases lightly, snapping a pair of gloves on and crouching beside him. She’s used to be more involved with the field work. Never one to sit by and do nothing. 

[baeckett-a]

@roeseate​ ASKED : “Aliens are out there.” / reggie m.

          The look that crosses her face says it all. A silent plea that it’s a joke as she peers over the files. Hiding the eye roll is something she fails to do as she lifts her papers once more. “      and so are criminals, Mulder.” It’s more in jest than insult. Her eyes narrow in the direction of the two detectives that played the same idea with the struggling actress. 

          “It might make a good plot twist in some movie, but at the end of the day, this is someone with a family that’s missing them. In my line of work, what happened wasn’t because of the supernatural.” Pushing off of her desk, she waves the file. “No more ghost stories, alright?”

[baeckett-a]

@foxymuses​ ASKED : “I am large and in charge” (from ren naturally)

          She has to hold back the smirk that plays against her lips. Folder held neatly against her hip as she raises a brow in challenge and blatant amusement. “Right.” The comment itself holds all her wit and charm in the single syllable. An eye roll is the last thing she offers before stepping passed him to settling in the swivel chair at her desk. “Just take a seat before you actually hurt yourself, cowboy,” she orders, gesturing with the end of her pen towards an empty chair.

[baeckett-a]

@foxymuses​ ASKED : ❝ i need you to stay here, okay? i got this. ❞ (ren)

          Stay? She almost scoffs at the idea, fingers fisting in the sleeve of his shirt to halt him in his tracks. The scold doesn’t leave her lips. A bomb and armed men holding hostage two families and bank clerks. He doesn’t work��for the department. She has no say in what he does. Unclasping the thick of her vest, she works the straps to adjustment and shoves it into his chest abruptly. “Don’t make me regret this.” The words hold an entirely different meaning: I actually like having you around. “If it goes sideways       ” she adds. It’s useless knowing him. “      you come back here.”  It’s not that she doesn’t trust him. She trusts him a bit too much. It’s the masked men with their rifles that give her unease. 

[baeckett-a]

@foxymuses​ ASKED : ❝ you should have called me. ❞ (from castle)

          “      and told you what , Rick?” It’s one of the few times his first name passes her lips. The irate tone is the product of the everlasting hangover. Even after all this time, he’s still the person at the top of her EMERGENCY CONTACT list. A call she didn’t know they’d make, but the case too close to home. Too close to her shooting. It’s a shame she wears when it comes to ptsd and a shattered whiskey glass. The bandage on her arm covers where she slid over shards in a nightmare haze. Her fingers reach for her jacket. “I’m fine, Castle. Let’s go.” She doesn’t think he’s going to understand. Hasn’t been truthful about what she remembers. Looking him in the eyes is a feat she can’t overcome. 

[baeckett-a]

@roeseate​ ASKED : “there was nothing more you could have done.” / reggie m.

          It’s an unfortunate truth. A sorrow that racks the shallow breathes of her rib cage. Her hand shoots up to wave the barkeep for another shot of whiskey, drowning a failure by the burn of her throat. When she tips it back, grimacing as she polishes off the drops, she fiddles with the shot glass. Contemplates why the man didn’t listen and drew upon his weapon instead. The blood still cakes just beneath her nails. Grimes her hands in memory no matter how hard she scrubs them. 

          She knows there was nothing else she could have done. Nothing else the team could have done to stop him from firing at a civilian. Someone that wasn’t supposed to even be there. She thinks around it. Tip toes on what she could have done       it’s a dangerous game to play. Running through what she can’t change. The words stick like devastation in her throat, burning against her eyes. She turns her gaze towards the floor.

                      The day it became easier to see a dead body was the day she’d quit.          

                                             “Look, I get why you’re here, but I’m fine.”