teadis

There's A Penguin In My Kitchen 1/1

2012-04-24T10:00:37Z

Title: There's A Penguin In My Kitchen
Author: dave7
Rating: G
Characters/Pairing: Castle/Beckett
Fandom: Castle
Spoilers: None

Notes: For PenguinOfTroy and her fluffy mood. Fluff. One-shot.

Summary: He stops abruptly, brain finally catching up with his eyes, and turns back towards the kitchen. Why is there a penguin on his counter top? And why does Kate look so pleased?

There's A Penguin In My Kitchen

He stops abruptly, brain finally catching up with his eyes, and turns back towards the kitchen. Why is there a penguin on his counter top? And why does Kate look so pleased?

"What is that?" he asks, motioning towards the toy.

Kate rolls her eyes at him, but her lips don't lose the little twist lifting them into a smile. "It's a penguin, genius."

"I can see that." He's still confused, but his lips slide into a grin that mirrors her own. All this time and he can't help it, her happy is infectious. "Is that the bird from Happy Feet?"

Kate's nod draws him closer.

"Why is it in the kitchen?"

"I have to wrap it," Kate says. And then, "I can't figure out how."

Rick laughs, and it's just a little one, barely a chuckle, but it still gets him a dishtowel tossed in his face.

"Think you can do better?"

Never, he thinks. "Of course," is what he says.

"Be my guest," Kate says, waving a hand over the pink paper and the stuffed toy spread out in front of her.

"Okay," he says, standing next to her at the counter. "How are we going to do this?"

"You wrap, I watch?"

He leans over to steal a kiss from her laughing lips.

"Where did you find this, anyway?" he asks as he begins to wrap each wing – no point hiding the Penguiness of the gift, anyway, right? "They must have stopped making these years ago."

"They did." Kate pats the top of the toy's head gently.

"C'mon, Kate, spill."

She shakes her head. "I have to protect my sources."

And he can see what she's thinking – how many vintage toys he'd rack up if given half the chance – but that's not it. Well, not all of it. "Claire will love this."

She laughs then, that throaty, sexy laugh, and there's a pleased, happy twinkle in her eyes. He has to kiss her again.

Kate pulls away after a moment and presses a second, quick kiss against his lips in apology. "Wrap, Rick. We don't want to be late."

Rick's nodding his head, but – "What if we were just a little late?"

She's already scooting around him, her palm brushing over his back as she moves. "You should know better than to keep Claire waiting."

Rick's thoughts skip to the little girl, her big grin, her dimpled cheeks, the happy little skip that's sometimes in her step when she catches sight of him. And the way her smiling face can sometimes hide the fact that she inherited Kate's temperament a little too well.

No, it definitely wouldn't do to keep their granddaughter waiting.

End

the gasp and stutter of a heart 11/11

2012-04-22T07:15:37Z

Title: the gasp and stutter of a heart 11/11
Author: dave7
Rating: M
Characters/Pairings: Richard Castle/Kate Beckett
Fandom: Castle
Spoilers: Season Three.

Summary: He doesn’t know what to do with all the left over emotion. Anger and relief. Sheer joy and terrible, aching fear.

--

the gasp and stutter of a heart 11/11

––

They let him see Kate first.

After so long spent teetering on the edge of the knife’s blade, of waiting for the fall, wishing for it and dreading it both, now that he’s here, now that he can see her, he’s not sure how he feels.

He doesn’t know what to do with all the left over emotion. Anger and relief. Sheer joy and terrible, aching fear. He feels all of it, all at once. It’s heavy, a thick knot between his shoulder blades, twisting and spinning until it bubbles over, steals into his breath on a sigh.

“Oh, Kate.”

She’s not awake, not yet, but it’s just a matter of time, and he knows that, tries to remember that, even as he takes in the delicate gossamer white of her face.

Rick sits on the edge of her bed, careful not to disturb her as his eyes trace the lines around her eyes, the veins that are dark beneath her skin. His fingers itch to do the same, to soothe away the crease in her forehead, but he holds himself back. His hand pauses, hovers in the air above her skin, a whisper from her cheek. She looks so fragile, so terribly and utterly close to broken, that he can’t. He just can’t. Can’t risk that she’ll fall apart beneath his fingertips.

He needs to touch her, though, the desire like an ache in his chest and so he settles for taking her hand, then, careful and gentle as he threads their fingers together. Her skin is cold, her hand limp in his, and he sits in silence, watching her face, listening for her breath.

“Wake up,” he tells her. And then, “Please.”

But she doesn’t stir, he didn’t expect she would, and he doesn’t leave. He can’t leave, even when the nurse tells him he can see his son, because – how can he? And so he just sits, his thumb stroking the inside of her wrist, his warmth bleeding into her skin.

The minutes bleed into each other, the seconds tick into hours and still. Still. He doesn’t leave.

– –

He senses her stir, feels the shift towards consciousness, even before her fingers tighten around his own. He readies his face, forces a smile past the crack in his lips as her eyes flutter open.

“Hey there,” he says, voice cracked from lack of use.

She starts to smile, a soft whisper of a thing, but she shifts in the bed, tries to sit up and her expression twists into a wince. Her face wrinkles in confusion. “Castle?”

“Lay still,” he instructs, a gentle hand against her shoulder, pushing her down onto the mattress. “Try not to move.”

“What happened?”

“You were shot.”

Her eyes cloud over and then, “I remember.”

And he wants to go for help, to call for a nurse, but he sees the moment when she realises, watches as her hands ghost over her flat stomach. Her face twists in pain, a different, harsher kind, and then he can’t leave. He can’t leave her.

Not now. Never. But especially not now.

“He’s okay,” he tells her.

Kate’s eyes lock with his, hazy and unclear and desperately hopeful. “The baby?”

“He’s okay, Kate.” His hands move to her jaw, cradle her cheek, slip around to tangle in her hair. She faces him. He makes her. Eye to eye. And, “We’re okay.”

“He’s okay,” she echoes, and there’s no question in her voice. Just relief. Relief and hope and a little bit of awe.

“He’s beautiful,” Rick says, and he feels a trickle of guilt down his spine because they’re his mother’s words, not his.

She sinks back into the mattress, eyes heavy with sleep and relief, and she takes him with her, draws him down.

He presses a kiss to her forehead, starts to pull away. A nurse. He needs to find a nurse. But her words, her question, cuts him short.

“You’ve seen him?”

Rick shakes his head. “Not yet.”

And Kate tries to catch his hand, fumbles for his wrist, squeezes with an urgency she shouldn’t possess. “Make sure.”

“I will.”

“Promise.”

“I promise.”

The hand around his wrist relaxes, the tense lines on her face fading. “Love you,” she says. “Love you both.”

The words stick in his throat. “I know.”

Her eyes are drifting closed as he presses his lips to her temple, his silent, you too.

– –

Touch, they tell him. His son will respond to his touch, will learn it, will live for it.

Touch him.

And so he does.

He gives what he can, all he can. A shaking fingertip against the boy’s cheek. A nervous hand to his skin.

The boy is swallowed by the breadth of his palm, small and delicate and breakable, and he feels the whole of him, his entirety, all at once. A stuttering, gasping heart beating beneath his hand.

Rick can feel just how fragile the boy’s hold on life is, how strongly he clings to it, and it still hurts somewhere deep and elemental inside of him, watching the boy struggle to cling to life, but with each rise and fall of his small chest, each hard earned breath, hope starts to curl in his own. He doesn’t want to, doesn’t want the hope to build him up, but can’t help it. Because this is him, reflected back at him. His son. His and Kate’s.

Blue, the card at the bottom of the bed reads. Blue eyes. Not her hazel ones. But the boy’s ears, those are Kate’s. And his hands, the long, thin fingers, yeah, those are hers too.

“Hey there, kid,” he says. He bends over, his thumb brushing across the shell of the boy’s ear, and he feels awkward, talking through the plastic. “I’m your dad.”

The boy’s face wrinkles, a frown, and Rick feels it bubble inside his chest, the urge to laugh. He almost lets it out, the laughter, the nervous sense of relief he feels, because yeah, this is Kate Beckett’s kid, alright.

“Your mum says hello,” he says, moving his face closer. “She wishes she could see you.”

The boy calms beneath his hand and settles deeper into sleep as Rick keeps up the monologue, the low hum in his voice. “She’s sorry you had a rough ride, but she wants you to know she loves you. I do too.”

And with every stuttering breath, with each beat of the boy’s heart, the pain in Rick’s own chest starts to dull. The fear bleeds out of his shoulders. Hope and chance and maybe, just maybe, settles in its place.

The shattered pieces of his heart start to rebuild, to glue back together, and it’s not the same shape, it’s not like being whole, but it’s close. Close enough. He starts to dream again, to imagine. A future. He can picture a life beyond this day, one with his daughter and his son and Kate, all of them, together.

“Welcome to the world,” he says, breath fogging against the clear sides of the crib. “Just hang in there, son. I promise it gets better.”

– –

The End.

– –

Notes: Thanks are in order. Firstly, to my Bro, without whom this wouldn’t be half the story it was. Literally. Egg farts aside, thanks, dude. To PenguinOfTroy for the endless encouragement.

To everyone who has reviewed or commented or messaged me, thank you. This is the first multi-chapter story I’ve completed in seven years. It’s all to you, really.

And, as always, I’d love to hear your thoughts.

the gasp and stutter of a heart 10/11

2012-04-19T22:23:06Z

Title: the gasp and stutter of a heart 10/11
Author: dave7
Rating: M
Characters/Pairings: Richard Castle/Kate Beckett
Fandom: Castle
Spoilers: Season Three.
Notes: I know, I'm sorry. But it insisted there be another chapter. I'll fix formatting issues after work today, promise.

Summary: He scrubbed until he was raw, but the blood wouldn’t shift, wouldn’t wash away, the guilt stained, a reminder tattooed on his skin.

the gasp and stutter of a heart 10/11

– –

Too late.

He was too damn late.

A second faster, just one, and they would have – no.

Not laughed it off.

They wouldn’t have laughed it off, but they could have. And now. Now. One damn second and he’s covered in blood.

Hers.

He’s covered in her blood, thick and hot and wet, once, now crusted and dry on his hands, caked beneath his fingernails. He scrubbed until his skin was raw, but the blood wouldn’t shift, wouldn’t wash away, the guilt stained, a reminder tattooed on his skin.

Rick feels the prickle of eyes watching him and he knows that they are. Her father, her friends, her family, his. But when he looks up their gazes are averted, downcast. Not even Ryan will meet his eyes across the room.

They blame him, he knows, all of them, and it’s the hardest thing to swallow – the fact that they’re right – because they should blame him. This is his doing, his own damn fault.

You didn’t pull the trigger, his mother’s voice, but he’s the one who put her in those crosshairs.

Too stupid and too proud and he couldn’t leave things well enough alone, could he?

No.

No, he had to prove he could be something for her, all those years ago, had to dig where he wasn’t wanted, to stir up the past.

And now.

Now his world is shattering around him and he just feels broken, feels less than whole, under the too-bright lights in the dull hospital waiting room.

The minutes drag as they sit, all of them, in hiccupping silence. His daughter is tucked under one of his arms and he doesn’t know how to break through the numb feeling to reach out to her. He doesn’t know what to say, can’t find the words to fix this. He doesn’t know they exist, even, and so he just holds her to him. He presses one hand flat against her back, holds her to his chest, and hopes his warmth can soothe her trembling.

“Will Kate be okay?” The question is a whisper against his skin, the little-girl voice he hasn’t heard in so very many years, and he doesn’t know, but he can’t tell her that.

“Kate’s strong,” he says, and it’s not a lie, but it’s not an answer either.

He wants to know, wants to think, but all he can concentrate on are those minutes in the grass. All he can think about are those fragile moments in the ambulance where Kate clutched at his hand and he tethered her to life with his pleas. A fraction too slow and all he can think about is how much of her blood poured out into his hands.

“What about-” His daughter chokes on the words, the rest of her question lost, strangled by the emotion he can hear in her voice, but he fills in the end of it for her –

The baby. My brother. Our family.

– And all he can do is press a kiss against the flame of her hair because he doesn’t know. He just. He doesn’t know.

He’s saved from answering at the arrival of a doctor but it’s nothing like relief, this thing that he feels. Terror, maybe. Anger. Desperate, aching fear.

It takes a push, a prompt from his daughter, before he remembers to stand next to Jim Beckett when they call for Kate’s family.

The woman introduces herself with a sad smile and a name he’s already forgotten. His face drains of blood and it spills over into his gut, thick hot acid and bile and twisting, terrible fate and all he can think is – Oh, God. No. – because it’s too soon. It’s much too soon to be anything like good news and he’s lost them.

He’s lost them both, hasn’t he?

The doctor looks to Kate’s father. He’s still listed as her next of kin because Rick was too slow – too slow with a ring, too slow in front of a bullet – and the senior Beckett’s face blanches.

Rick thinks the other man might collapse because – his daughter or his grandson. His daughter or his grandson. Pick, choose, that’s what they’re asking of him.

He watches as the older man buckles under the weight of it and –

“I’m the baby’s father,” Rick says.

– And, just like that, he shoulders Jim’s burden.

The doctor turns kind eyes on him, directs a gentle smile in his direction and all he can think is that she looks so young. Far too young to be carrying his everything in her hands. “Mr Beckett?”

“Castle,” he corrects. And then, “Rick.” No. “Richard.”

Every pair of eyes in the room are on him, he knows. Their gazes don’t waiver as he flicks his about, but there’s no courage to be found in the faces around him, just their own brand of fear compounding his own.

The young doctor tries to explain the situation to him, but it’s lost in a mess of words and all he hears is Kate or their child. She wants him to choose.

His heart or his blood.

Too much.

It’s too much.

It’s too much of a strain on her system. She’s lost too much blood. She’s too weak.

Kate might not survive the surgery if she’s still carrying the baby and they make it sound like a burden, a parasite, this child they already love.

It should be an easy decision, right? The baby can’t survive if she doesn’t. But. It’s too soon. Twenty-five weeks and he’ll still fit in the palm of his hand and it’s too goddamn soon.

It’s too much. Too much to ask of him.

His heart over his flesh. His flesh over his heart.

And he knows what Kate would want him to do, but he’s not that strong, is he?

No.

No, because he can’t live without her. But he can’t pick her over their son, either.

“Both of them.” The only answer he can give. “Please, save both of them.”

“Their best chance is apart,” she tells him and he nods his head, can’t find his voice, but she’s hesitating, waiting for him still.

“Do it.”

There’s a breath, a moment, a shared exhale around the room. Relief, maybe, that he’s made a decision, even if it’s not the right one. But he doesn’t share it, can’t breathe through the ache in his chest.

The doctor leads him to a smaller room, leaves him to sign away his son’s life and his hand hesitates. His scrawled signature is shaky, and he hates it, hates himself for it, but he tried and he failed and he can’t ignore the feeling that he’s going to lose them both.

– –

TBC…

– –

Unpolished Sneak Peek.

2012-04-17T22:09:55Z

Exactly what it says on the tin. I lost a bet. Paid in full. Unpolished so please excuse any mistakes.

--

They blame him, he knows, all of them, and it’s the hardest thing to swallow, the fact that they’re right.

They should blame him. This is his doing, his own damn fault.

He’s the one who put her in those crosshairs. Too stupid and too proud and he couldn’t leave things well enough alone, could he? No. No, he had to prove he could be something for her, all those years ago, had to dig where he wasn’t wanted, to stir up the past.

And now. Now his world is shattering around him and he just feels broken, feels less than whole, under the too-bright lights in the dull hospital waiting room.

He sits in hiccupping silence, his daughter tucked under one of his arms, and he doesn’t know how to break through the numb feeling to reach out to her. He doesn’t know what to say, can’t find the words to fix this, doesn’t know they exist, even, and so he just holds her to him. He presses one hand flat against her back, holds her to his chest, and hopes his warmth can soothe her trembling.

“Will Kate be okay?” The question is a whisper against his skin, the little-girl voice he hasn’t heard in so very many years, and he doesn’t know, but he can’t tell her that.

“Kate’s strong,” he says, and it’s not a lie, but it’s not an answer either. All he can think about is those minutes in the grass, those fragile moments in the ambulance where Kate clutched at his hand and he tethered her to life with his pleas.

All he can think about is how much of her blood poured out into his hands.

“What about-”

His daughter chokes on the words, cuts her question short, but his mind finishes it for her-

The baby. My brother. Our family.

-And he presses a kiss against the flame of her hair because he doesn’t know. He just. He doesn’t know.

He’s saved from answering at the arrival of a nurse but it’s nothing like relief, this thing that he feels. Terror, maybe. Anger. Desperate, aching fear.

It takes a push, a prompt from his daughter, before he remembers to stand next to Jim Beckett when they call for Kate’s family.

The nurse introduces herself with a sad smile and a name he’s already forgotten. His face drains of blood, spills over into his gut, thick hot acid and bile and twisting, terrible fate and all he can think is – Oh, God. No. – because it’s too soon. It’s much too soon to be anything like good news and he’s lost them. He’s lost them both, hasn’t he?

Three Little Words

2012-04-15T03:38:11Z

Title: Three Little Words
Author: dave7
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Castle
Characters/Pairing: Castle/Beckett
Spoilers: None
Notes: Finally getting around to posting this here. Let's... just call this an experiment.

If you’re not of age, don’t read. If you’re uncomfortable with PWP, shoo.

Disclaimer: Castle belongs to a genius greater than mine. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made.

Summary: He lifts his head, brushing his lips over her – feather light, barely there – until she lets out a groan.

-

Three Little Words

-

Kate’s nails scratch against his scalp before her hand fists in his hair.

“Don’t stop.”

He lifts his head, brushing his lips over her – feather light, barely there – until she lets out a groan.

“Rick.” Her voice is breathy, impatient.

Rick grins against her and he wonders if she can feel it before the hand in his hair tugs, impatient, but he’s a master at this game. He flicks his tongue out once – twice – before he presses the flat of it against her. She writhes beneath him as he drags it up, wraps his lips around her and sucks. He growls in his throat as she bucks her hips and he keeps the pressure against her constant.

When her breath hitches in that familiar way he can tell that she’s close.

Perfect.

Rick draws away and sits back on his knees. Her face is flushed, eyes hooded, and he grins.

“Castle…”

The frustration in her voice makes his grin widen as he crawls up the bed to lie next to her.

“You taste good on my lips,” he tells her, running his tongue across his teeth.

A hand around his neck pulls him in for a searing kiss. “I swear to God, if you don’t finish what you started, I’ll kill you myself.”

Rick brushes his hand down her front and lets his palm rest lightly over her. “You catch more flies with honey, Detective.”

“Really, Rick? You can do better than that.”

He draws a fingertip over her and Kate draws her bottom lip into her mouth.

“Yes, I can.”

Kate lifts her hips, trying to increase the pressure, but he lets his hand rise with her, keeps his touch light.

He forces a casual lightness into his voice. “So, Kate…”

Her eyes flash dangerously. “You wouldn’t dare.”

He grins and lets his eyes flick up to meet hers. “Tell me.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

He presses his lips against the side of her neck. “Nope. C’mon, Kate, tell me.”

“C’mon, Rick,” Kate says, mimicking his tone. “Fuck me.”

Rick’s breath rushes out and his hips move of their own accord, pressing his hardness against her side.

“I love it when you talk dirty,” he says once he’s regained his control.

“Not as m-” Her words are lost as he slips a finger inside her.

“Three little words,” he growls against her ear as he presses his palm against her and lets her grind her hips against him.

“You’re a bastard.”

“Nope, try again.”

Kate sighs. “No way, Rick.”

Rick withdraws his hand and flops backwards onto the bed. “Okay then.”

“Are you serious?”

He looks at her out of the corner of his eye.

She looks frustrated and he can’t hold back his smirk. “You know what I want to hear, Kate.”

“This is blackmail.”

“Think of it more like bribery.”

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

Rick settles back into the mattress as he waits for her response. He knows she wont be able to resist him for long – of course she can’t – and all he has to do is wait her out.

Kate’s moan breaks through the silence and Rick’s head whips around.

His eyes widen.

Her eyes are on him, her lip caught between her teeth, and she’s-

Her hand is-

Rick’s fingers twitch as his eyes dart back and forth between her face and her hand.

“Something you wanted, Castle?”

She moves her hips, lifting them to arch off the mattress and Rick’s mouth goes dry.

“That’s cheating,” he says, when he finally finds his voice.

Kate’s chuckle morphs into a moan and her eyelids flutter shut.

He’s on her in an instant, then, lips and teeth and tongues clashing.

Her arms wrap around his neck as he settles himself between her legs. When she rocks her hips against his he can’t remember why he’d stopped touching her in the first place.

One of her legs slides up to wrap around his hips as he sinks inside her and she’s hot and wet and – oh fuck – she squeezes around him.

He thrusts into her, deep and hard, and her teeth close around his ear.

“Faster,” she urges, breath hot against his neck and his hips jerk, his movements becoming erratic.

He’s close, but she is too, and her fingernails scratch down his back as she comes apart beneath him.

It drives him over the edge, drives him crazy, and then he’s collapsed on top of her, spent.

He knows he’s too heavy but her arms tighten around him as he moves to shift away.

Her teeth are on his neck and he yelps as she nips at his skin. “If you know what’s good for you, you won’t ever leave me hanging again.”

Rick chuckles against her temple. “Yes ma’am.”

Kate’s hand is on his shoulder, pushing, and he lets her roll him, knowing she’ll follow. He wraps his arms around her as she settles against his chest.

His heart rate slows and he listens as her breathing starts to even out.

He thinks she’s asleep when she speaks. “Oh, and Castle?”

“Yeah?”

“You were right.”

He grins.

the gasp and stutter of a heart 9/10

2012-04-14T14:00:56Z

Title: the gasp and stutter of a heart 9/10
Author: dave7
Rating: M
Characters/Pairings: Richard Castle/Kate Beckett
Fandom: Castle
Spoilers: All of Season Three is fair game.

Summary: “A reason to make a stand,” Kate says, a hand settling on top of her swollen belly, a thumb stroking gently. And then, “Someone to make it with you.”

She means him, he knows. Means she forgives him. Means she loves him. Means so damn much.

--

the gasp and stutter of a heart 9/10

– –

Kate turns her back to him, moves away. She only makes it a few feet before her path is blocked by a stack of boxes and so she turns around, paces back.

When he catches sight of her face she looks angry, torn, and good, he thinks. Let her be. Because her belly is thick with his child and they’re supposed to be starting something together. A life. A family. All of it.

“If you’ve got something to say, please say it.”

“Kate, everyone associated with this case is dead. Everyone. First your mum and her colleagues. Then Raglan and McAlister.”

She shoots him a look that bruises him, that makes him drop his gaze from her eyes like a coward. But they asked him to save her, her father, her Captain. They came to him and asked him to try and save her, as if he would do anything but. And so he continues. As much as the thought bites at him, he tells her, “You know they’re coming for you next.”

She shrugs, like it doesn’t matter, like she doesn’t care but there are dark circles under her eyes. She can’t hide them from him – can’t hide from him – not when he knows she hasn’t been sleeping well.

“Captain Montgomery has got a protective detail on me. Wasn’t that hard to spot.”

And it makes him furious, the way she can pretend to not care. The way she says it like it doesn’t matter. “It’s not enough! Damn it, Kate, it’s not enough.”

She recoils from him, shocked by his outburst and he is too, a little bit, because that won’t work, he knows that won’t work. He can’t force her to give this one up. She has to want to do it herself.

Rick takes a second to calm himself before he follows her. Just a moment. Just long enough to ignore the fact that they’re standing in her half-packed apartment, to pretend they might not be halfway through the beginning of the end.

“Think about what they’re up against,” he says. “Professional Killers?”

But she doesn’t look convinced.

“I’ve been working with you for three years,” he continues. He approaches her slowly, gentles his tone, relaxes his face. Let’s the truth of his emotions bleed into his features. “We’ve been friends for a lot of that time. We’ve been more than that for a while now. You know me, Kate, I’m the guy who says we can, but sweetheart, I don’t think we’re going to win this.”

Kate doesn’t shrug off the hands he places on her shoulders, doesn’t pull away when they glide down her sides, circle around her waist. She lets him guide her towards him, lets him wrap his arms around her, pull her into his chest and she folds into him. Her forehead is cool against the side of his neck, her breath hot on his skin, and he holds her close, doesn’t want to afford her the chance to move away. She doesn’t try.

“Rick,” she says, “they killed my mother.” And there’s so much emotion in her voice, it’s so raw and so thick, that he aches along with her.

“I know.”

“What can I do? What choice do I have?”

He senses that she isn’t done and he waits, holds her in silence.

And then, “I can’t walk away.”

“It’s not worth it, Kate.” She stiffens in his arms, tenses against his chest. “It’s not worth your life. It’s not worth our son’s.”

“It’s my mother,” a whisper against his chest, weaker, defeated, and it breaks him just a little because he promised her, didn’t he? They’d do this together.

But it’s not worth it.

It’s not.

Just.

No.

“I won’t trade you for the sake of justice, Kate. Your mother wouldn’t either.”

“You don’t know that,” she says, and she’s feels fragile against him. She sounds uncertain, as if she believes she could be anything less than the world, be anything less his everything.

And that’s not right.

He’d tell her, but it’s more than just that, isn’t it?

Because he knows. And he knows her. And she doesn’t know how to be without it, how to exist apart from it. Her mother’s case. She’s hidden inside it for so long, let it become so much a part of her that when she speaks it’s as if it’s the only legacy she might have to offer, the only destiny she could fulfil, but she’s already more than that.

“Of course I do,” he says. And he does. He knows. He knows more than anyone what it is to want her in the world. “I’m the father of your child. I’m the man who loves you. When I look to the future I see you in it, Kate, all I see is you in it, and I don’t want to lose that. I can’t lose that. I know because I’m the man who’ll lose everything if you die.”

“No.” She’s shaking her head against him, and he thinks she might pull away, but her arms tighten around his waist and she presses into him, presses against him.

“You’d move on,” she says, and it’s not an accusation. It’s not. It sounds almost like a compliment. Almost like a command. “You’d pick yourself up and you’d carry on, Rick. You have to.”

A beat. A silent acknowledgement.

Yes, he would, is what he thinks she must hear, but No, he couldn’t is what he means.

He’s had to do it before, hasn’t he?

He’s raised a mother-less child.

He doesn’t want to do it again. Is not sure he’d survive the second time. Not sure he’d survive this kind of heartbreak.

“Don’t make me.”

She’s silent and then, “Okay.”

Rick pulls back, cups her face between his palms, levels her with his gaze. “Okay?”

“I’ll stop.”

And it’s a relief. A sweet, glorious sense of relief. Is. Would be. But for the look on her face. Regret, heavy like tears in her eyes and she knows. She knows it’s too late.

And he does too.

Because she’s already in the crosshairs.

– –

“A reason to make a stand,” Kate says, a hand settling on top of her swollen belly, a thumb stroking gently. And then, “Someone to make it with you.”

She looks over at him as she speaks, a sad almost-smile on her face. She means him, he knows. Means she forgives him. Means she loves him. Means so damn much.

Rick takes the hand she reaches out to him, lets the gentle tug sway him to her side. Their fingers link, her gloved ones thick between his, but he turns his head away, doesn’t want her to witness his tears.

And that’s when he sees it.

There’s a flash of light in the distance, a reflection that shouldn’t be there, and it tickles at his senses. The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as he tries to focus, to squint past the burn in his eyes, and then he catches it again. He sees it once and then twice, a twisted kind of Morse code, and he can feel the hesitation, can taste the way the air is thick with inevitability.

And no.

No, no, no.

No.

Because her Captain died for her. Severed the last of her leads. Ended it. For her. For him.

And she chose to live. For him. With him.

And no. God, no.

Him or her and he’ll always, always pick her.

But it’s too late.

He’s too late.

He hears the shot, even as he’s moving, even as he’s colliding with her.

He feels it as it rips through the air around them, rips a hole in his world, and then it’s all over.

Everything.

His everything.

It’s all over.

– –

TBC…

– –

Notes: Yes, I know. And I’m sorry. This was harder to write than I imagined. Hopefully I can have the last chapter up in a few days, it’s mostly writing itself.

As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts. (Even if they are, as I’m assured they will be, death threats.)

Previous Chapters:

One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight

the gasp and stutter of a heart 8/?

2012-04-10T11:25:53Z

Title: the gasp and stutter of a heart 8/?
Author: dave7
Rating: M
Characters/Pairings: Richard Castle/Kate Beckett
Fandom: Castle
Spoilers: Season Three.
Notes: Sorry for the delay in getting this up. As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Summary: It’s like she believes the world has lost some of it’s magic, but that’s crazy because awe is exactly what she inspired in him. That first day, yeah, and every one since.

the gasp and stutter of a heart 8/?

--

There’s something about the way she says it, something about the way she sounds that slices just that little bit. It’s like she believes the world has lost some of it’s magic, but that’s crazy because awe is exactly what she inspired in him. That first day, yeah, and every one since.

Magic is exactly what he feels and he decides that he needs to tell her, she needs to know.

“You know what I thought when I first met you?”

She shakes her head but the sad little smile morphs until there’s a smirk dancing across her face. “I might have an idea.”

“Other than that,” he says, eyes dipping to trace the curve in her lips.

“What did you think?” she asks, and she’s forcing a teasing note into her voice but he can hear the trace of melancholy too, the touch of need, and it makes him think that maybe he should continue, maybe it could be the right thing to do.

“A mystery I’ll never solve,” he tells her, and it’s the truth, even now, maybe especially now. “Even now, I’m still amazed. At the depths of your strength.”

The depths of her strength and the colour of her heart, and it’s true, but it’s more than that, more than a replay of the thoughts that danced through his mind when he met her. It’s how he feels, how he loves her, and the way she looks at him, the nakedness in her eyes, tells him that the moment is too deep, too heavy, and so he adds, “And your hotness.”

Kate rewards him with a laugh, upturned lips that press against the side of his neck, delicious and warm and nearly a kiss and he can forget, for a moment, that they’re chasing ghosts.

Her mentor, her friend, the first man she loved, maybe, gets himself killed in an alley, and Kate can’t let it go, can’t let it be and so Rick follows her, carries her, clear across the country. It’s a little bit like she’s letting him love her, a little bit like she’s letting herself need him, and so of course he does, because she’ll love him too, but she won’t marry him – not yet – and so he’ll give whatever she’ll take, take whatever she’ll give, in the mean time.

He needed an excuse to visit the movie set, he’d told her, but no, he’d just needed to not let her do it alone.

Kate leans into him completely then, forehead against the line of his neck, nose finding the hollow at the base of his throat and it’s an emotion he doesn’t remember feeling before this, a desperate kind of excitement, when her swollen belly is pressed against his hip.

“It’s getting late,” he says, because it is and if they were in bed, at least, he knows it’ll be less painful for her back, but she shakes her head.

“I’m good, Castle,” she says. And she’s not, but she is, will be, for a little bit longer, at least.

And so he lets himself just hold her, just exist with her in that breath, and finds he wants to suspend the moment as long as he can because it’s nice, having her in the cocoon of his arms. It’s nice forgetting that there’s a great big world banging down their door.

The words are spoken against the top of her head, a quiet proclamation into her hair. “I love you.”

He feels her shift against him, tensing and unfurling and melting against him and then a breath against the side of his neck and, “I love you too.”

And his heart skips in its beat because it never gets old, never loses it’s magic. It just is. Just is something extraordinary, each time.

“Lets go to bed,” she says eventually, and he nods. She leads the way, one hand wrapped around his, fingers threading together as she tugs him through the somewhat tacky hotel room towards the master room.

He lets her lead, always does, and then they’re standing at the foot of the King sized bed and he doesn’t think they’ll need that much space, not with the way he wants her close. Not with how he can’t let her go.

And so he follows her to her side of the bed, climbs in after her, revels in her laugh.

“Scoot over,” he asks, and she does, makes space for him in the too-big bed and he falls asleep with her beside him, wrapped up in him, and it’s kind of like magic, except that it’s not.

It’s normal. It’s what normal people do.

--

When he wakes it’s to find the rest of the bed empty.

The sheets are cold when he reaches across to touch them and it’s unusual to find them that way, recently at least, because she’s gotten better at the staying with him. At the sharing with him. She’s gotten better at the being together part of it all.

A quick flick of his eyes around the room reveals a crack of light creeping through the bottom of the door and when he drags himself out of bed he finds her on the couch.

“Kate?”

Her head snaps up and she hesitates, the indecision clear on her face, and she doesn’t know if she should hide from him, he thinks, but then she smiles, tentative, and holds out her hand.

“What are you doing up?” he asks as he spots the package in front of her. The plain brown paper is crumpled, creases so well worn it’s obvious the box has been unwrapped and re-wrapped multiple times.

Kate doesn’t answer, she just tucks into his side when he settles next to her.

He tilts his head back against the cushions, lets his eyes close. “Bit early to carry that with us, don’t you think?”

“You didn’t buy this, did you?”

“Of course I did.” He cracks open an eye to look at the small, white garment still clutched in her hand.

“Not recently,” she counters.

“No,” he admits, “not recently.” There’s no hiding the fact that it’s too soft, that it’s worn from washing, and he knows the feel of it, knows the smell of it off by heart. And then he asks, “Is that okay?” Because he’s not sure if it is. “We can get something else if you prefer, something new.”

“No,” she finally says, a shadow of emotion creeping into her voice. “This is more than okay.”

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he gave her the gift. He knows it’s not exactly what someone would expect from Richard Castle and it’s not extravagant or expensive, the recycled suit he brought his daughter home in, but he thought… well, he’s not sure what he thought, really, except –

History.

– There was history woven into the fabric.

“Alexis doesn’t mind?” She asks and he hears the question behind the one she asked.

“No,” he answers. “It was her idea.”

And it was. His daughter was happy. Excited. And Kate… Kate cared.

And it’s almost like his world is complete. His daughter, his partner, their child. Safe, happy, even halfway across the country. If the world stopped spinning, if it slowed down, if he could just live in this moment forever, he’d be more than happy.

--

TBC...

Previous Chapters:

One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven

the gasp and stutter of a heart 7/?

2012-04-02T12:45:00Z

Title: the gasp and stutter of a heart 7/?
Author: dave7
Rating: M
Characters/Pairings: Richard Castle/Kate Beckett
Fandom: Castle
Spoilers: All of Season Three is fair game.

Summary: And it’s almost funny how this? Her ideals? Her sense of selflessness? Was one of the things he loved most about her yesterday.

the gasp and stutter of a heart 7/?

Lucky the doctor calls them.

Hours of waiting in the hard plastic chair next to Kate’s bed, hours of non-cancerous health effects echoing in his head, and the doctor calls them blessed.

He mentions something about biological equivalent doses and effective depths. Technical jargon that flies over Rick’s head. Absorbed doses and maximum depths and exposure times and a chance is what he hears. Everything is up to chance, but theirs are good.

And they’re lucky. Lucky it was Cobalt. Lucky the exposure was so brief. Lucky their baby is so far along.

It doesn’t feel much like luck.

But then –

A boy, the doctor says, a son.

He hears the baby’s heart beat, fast and strong, hears it with his own ears, and he watches as it moves on the screen, small hands and tiny feet twitching, jerking with life.

And it’s real, isn’t it? Oh so very real in a way that it wasn’t before because pregnant and yours are one thing, but that, there, on the screen – living, growing, being – is real in a way that makes everything else seem small.

– And then yeah, he almost feels lucky.

But.

“We’ll need to keep you for observation,” the doctor explains to Kate but she’s shaking her head, no.

He almost feels lucky. Until he remembers.

“No,” Rick says, and he hates himself for it, but, “we need to get back to the precinct.”

Kate looks at him, gratitude in her eyes. She’s happy he made the call. He hates that he can.

He offers her a smile but it’s weak because all he wants to do is bundle her up, keep her safe, her and their child. He wants to run, wants to take her somewhere apart from this, from the chaos, and keep her there, like his mother, like his daughter, but she won’t leave, he knows, can’t leave, and so he won’t ask her to.

And it’s almost funny how this? Her ideals? Her sense of selflessness? Was one of the things he loved most about her yesterday.

– –

They’re flying through the streets, getting closer and closer, soaring towards the bomb and the end and certainty and he hopes that he’s wrong but no, he’s not because then they can see it.

The black van pulls out in front of them and all he wants is to ask her to turn around but she’s pulling along side, pulling in front, and stopping the car to fly into danger.

She’s talking to Nazihah, the baby girl’s mother, when he finds it and they have minutes then, just two, and they’re already ticking down.

“Beckett!”

Kate’s with him then, next to him, a hand clutching his coat sleeve.

Over. God. It’s all over, isn’t it?

Her eyes skitter towards him as she rattles off the where and the what to dispatch and three minutes? They don’t have three minutes.

“That’s two minutes too late.”

Her eyes fill with regret, with sadness and sorrow and pain and he can see it’s aimed at him, for him, and why? Honestly, did she expect he’d want to be anywhere but with her – right next to her – if his world was about the end?

A minute and a half. Ninety seconds. Less.

Nothing left to lose.

Except.

Everything.

Everything to lose.

It’s a little insane, because she hasn’t told him she loves him and he hasn’t told her more than that one time, but everything and nothing and he does. He does. He loves her.

And he thinks she does too, loves him too, and somewhere they’re living another life, another reality, where they’re having a baby and they live long enough to see it born.

Rick takes her hand, seconds ticking down in his head, and he asks, “Marry me?”

Kate stares at him, silent, a thousand thoughts dancing across her face and time, precious as it is, slips past them while he waits for her reaction.

It’s tense and awkward and he thinks, maybe, he’s ruined it, their last moments together, but then it breaks. Her face cracks, a smile, and she ducks her head, tries to hide it from him.

Sixty seconds.

“Kate?”

“Ask me tomorrow, Rick.”

And it’s not an answer, but the hope in her eyes, the wish, that says everything he needs to hear. If he could ask her again she might say yes.

A hand against her cheek, thumb stroking the corner of her eye. “Okay.”

“I do love you.”

And he wants to say it back, but there’s too much. Too many words choking up his throat and she deserves to hear it again, deserves to know, but he can’t speak and so he says it without the words.

Thirty seconds.

He presses a kiss to her forehead, to each of her eyelids, one on both of her cheeks.

Twenty.

When his lips find hers their kiss is desperate, hot, and she’s pouring herself into him, love and pain and goodbye and no.

No.

Because they didn’t die, frozen in a freezer, their little family of three, and he’s not going to let them die now. No. He’s not.

Ten seconds.

Less.

Their foreheads press together, their breaths mix in front of them.

He can’t. No. He can’t let this be the end.

Rick reaches out blindly, wraps his hand around what he finds and everything he has, every hope, every dream, every wish for the future, he takes into his own hands. Fate be damned, his life and hers, and he rips them back from the precipice.

--

TBC...

the gasp and stutter of a heart 6/?

2012-03-27T23:43:57Z

Title: the gasp and stutter of a heart 6/?
Author: dave7
Rating: M
Characters/Pairings: Richard Castle/Kate Beckett
Fandom: Castle
Spoilers: Season Three.

Summary: A kiss to her forehead and then she pulls away, offers him a watery smile, and his chest contracts. His to love or not, he already might.

– –

the gasp and stutter of a heart 6/?

– –

Rick makes a quick phone call – to his mother rather than his daughter – and arranges for them to be gone, her and Alexis both, before he’ll get back to the loft and then they’re in the back of a taxi, he and Kate, on the way to the nearest hospital.

They speed through the city and he tries to shift his focus to the people they pass in the streets, living their lives, oblivious, and he’s very carefully not thinking.

Not about the woman sitting next to him. Not about the women he’s sending away.

And especially not about the idea that he could have already lived through the last time he’ll see his daughter. He thinks he’s doing an admirable job until they pass a young girl, red hair and he swears she’s wearing the same backpack Alexis had when she was five, and then he’s wondering what the last thing he told her was.

God, but he can’t remember.

Something about school, he thinks, or homework, maybe? And it’s not how he wants his child to remember him, but if he rings now she’ll know something is wrong, she’ll refuse to leave, and he needs her gone.

He needs her safe.

Her, at least.

“You okay, Castle?”

No. Not even close.

Kate’s right hand is clutching his, their fingers laced, and when his eyes flick back in her direction, he finds her left hand still curled around her abdomen.

And yeah, he feels like an idiot when he thinks about how long it’s taken him to realise because she wouldn’t ask him to take her to the hospital, would she?

No, not his Kate, not when there are lives at stake.

Not for herself, anyway.

And how has he not noticed? When half his waking time is spent focusing on her, how could he not have realised?

“How long have you known?”

“What?”

He motions towards her abdomen and she’s not showing, not really, except that she is. It’s small but with her hand pressing he can make out a bump and, really, he should have noticed before. “That you’re pregnant. How long have you known?”

Her face twists, the last of her resolve crumbling until all that’s left is fear and guilt and a terrible kind of agony that he can feel an echo of in his chest.

Rick expects her to pull away but no, instead, her fingers tighten around his until it’s almost painful.

He hears her, “Not long,” and then he doesn’t hear much else because not long could be a few days. Or it could be a week. It could be exactly as long as she’s been avoiding him, and that’s not a good sign, is it?

No.

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” she admits and he nods his head, offers her a weak smile, because tell him what, exactly?

That she was pregnant? That she’s carrying another man’s child? That she can’t do this with him? Doesn’t want to?

“It’s okay,” he says. A lie, and he expects her to accept it, but she shakes head.

Her eyes close against her pain, shield him from it, and, “I didn’t want you to find out like this.”

He pulls her into his arms, lets her hide her face against his chest, because no, neither did he.

He doesn’t know anything about radiation and pregnant women except that it’s not good and maybe it won’t matter, maybe they’re all doomed anyway, but that doesn’t make a difference. Not to her, he knows, and not to him.

“You’re going to be fine. Both of you.” It’s another lie but this time it’s one they both need because she wants this baby, he can tell, and yeah, he wants it for her too.

They’re only a few weeks into this thing, barely a month, and they’ve skipped all the steps, done it all backwards, and no, it can’t be his. Even if there was a chance, if he thought there was a chance, but no. Not with the way she’s been pushing him away, not with the way she’s been avoiding him.

Josh’s then. Josh’s child.

And Rick would love her anyway, her and her child, his to love or not. He just doesn’t know that she’d give him the chance.

A kiss to her forehead and then she pulls away, offers him a watery smile, and his chest contracts. His to love or not, he already might.

He lifts their joined hands, cradles hers between his own, his two to her one, and hopes with her, prays for her, even as his mind starts to spin without his permission.

He doesn’t want to do it, doesn’t want to think it, but she’s been pushing him away, hasn’t she? And so one by one, one scene at a time, he’s writing himself out of her life, creating a future for Kate and the child she carries, one that doesn’t include him in it.

A sign outside the window catches his eye, they’re nearly there, and what hurts the most is that he’s wishing for it. Hoping she’ll have the chance to live that life, even if she won’t include him in it.

“Do you want me to call Josh?” Rick asks, though he wants to do anything but that.

“What?” She’s suddenly tense beside him. “No. No, last I heard he’s in Haiti.”

Rick tries to swallow it but the question spills forth heedless. “Does he know?”

“It’s not-” She pauses. Tries again. “He’s not-”

Rick lets her hand go, wraps an arm around her shoulders, and she leans into him. The press of her nose against his throat, the emotion it stirs, is so achingly painful that he has to swallow past a lump.

“I haven’t told anyone yet,” she says. A confession against his collar. And then, “I’m sorry, I should have told you sooner.”

“How far along are you?”

“Thirteen weeks,” she says, and he can feel the way she bites her lip. Thirteen weeks, as if it should mean something to him.

It doesn’t.

Until it does.

Because thirteen weeks? That was when? Right about the time they were investigating Tyson, wasn’t it? Right about the time they first slept together. Except that no. No. Because she doesn’t mean–

Him. You. Yours.

–And he’s not. Not thinking she does.

The cab slows, turns into the drive.

“We’re almost there,” he says and she nods against the side of his neck.

Softly, “I wanted to tell you first.”

And Rick doesn’t ask why, but she tells him anyway and his heart expands, even as it contracts – his heart, his whole world – and it’s as painful as it is not when she says, “It’s yours.”

– –

TBC…

the gasp and stutter of a heart 5/?

2012-03-24T22:24:23Z

Title: the gasp and stutter of a heart 5/?
Author: dave7
Rating: M
Characters/Pairings: Richard Castle/Kate Beckett
Fandom: Castle
Spoilers: Season Three.
Notes: Thanks Bro, for the phone call. And thank you, so much, to everyone who took the time to review. It’s great to hear what’s working for people.

Summary: They’re going to go up in a great big mushroom-shaped puff of smoke, any minute now and he won’t see his daughter again. Or his mother. He won’t drink that scotch he’s been saving. Or get the chance to tell Kate that he doesn’t regret any damn thing.

--

the gasp and stutter of a heart 5/?

--

It’s the look on her face that finally shatters Rick’s fragile hold on his own reaction. She’s terrified and the panic he’s been trying to swallow bubbles forth.

This is bad.

He didn’t even know she carried a radiation detector; it’s never gone off before. And now there are faceless men in HAZMAT suits, nobody will answer his questions and he’s forced to do nothing but watch as Kate shreds the corner of her coat with her fingers.

This is the bad kind of bad.

He doesn’t want to go there – it’s too cliché and it’s been done too many times, but he can’t stop himself from thinking the word terrorist.

“It’s a bomb.” It’s the only thing that makes sense. “A nuclear bomb.”

They’re going to go up in a great big mushroom-shaped puff of smoke, any minute now and he won’t see his daughter again. Or his mother. He won’t drink that scotch he’s been saving. Or get the chance to tell Kate that he doesn’t regret any damn thing.

Time of his life. Wouldn’t change a thing. All that.

He’s about to speak, because he can do that last thing, at least, but she’s clutching her midriff then, nearly doubled in half, and she won’t want to hear it from him now anyway. With some effort, Rick forces his thoughts to silence themselves.

He sits opposite her, apologises, and accepts the grimace she offers him for the grin he thinks it means to be.

It’s quiet then, because, for once, Rick’s not sure how to open a conversation and Kate’s distracted, there but not, adrift somewhere inside her own head.

He settles eventually for, “Read any good books lately?” Because, yeah, okay, maybe he’s a little scared and maybe he needs her with him.

Kate snorts. “Really? You’re going from Nuclear Holocaust to what I’ve picked up at the library?”

He shrugs because what he really wants to say is I love you and possibly why have you been avoiding me? but he remains silent because they’re together, yeah, but they’re not exactly together like that and it’s still fresh, this thing between them. They’ve had just a few short weeks of being a them instead of a him and a her and they’re still feeling things out, finding their new boundaries, testing their new limits.

“Sorry my conversation skills aren’t up to your high standards, Detective. It’s been a while since I’ve had to make small talk under the banner of a nuclear threat.”

Kate reaches out, her right hand catching his left, the one he has pressed against his knee. Rick flips his hand beneath hers, lets their fingers twine, and then she’s tugging, bridging the space between them with her gentle grip.

He settles next to her, close enough their shoulders are rubbing, his thigh pressed to hers, and she leans in to him, lends him some of her weight. And then it doesn’t hurt so much, even as she says, “This is why you’d make a terrible spy.”

He holds a hand to his chest, nudges his arm against hers. “You wound me.”

She smiles softly and he adds, “Cruel woman.” But her mood has shifted and it’s what he was hoping for.

Before the silence has a chance to settle, become comfortable, he squeezes the fingers still trapped between his. “How are you doing, really?”

The smile drops off her face as easily as it appeared and she draws her bottom lip between her teeth – she’s nervous – but she’s still solid against his side, doesn’t pull away, and that’s something, at least.

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

“You want to elope?” he asks, and he’s only half joking when he says it. At her look – raised eyebrow, slight panic – he’s reminded of his impromptu confession of I love you and the way she’s never said it back, the way they don’t talk about it, and so he quickly adds, “Or we could run away and join the circus.”

She shakes her head, not a hint of a smile on her face, and he knows it’s going to be bad when she starts with, “Rick-”

The unzipping of the tent interrupts her words and they jump apart as a man, his top half hanging out of an orange Hazmat suit, steps through the opening.

“You’re free to go.”

Rick almost wants to plead for more time because come on. He’s going to spend days on that one word alone.

“What about the radiation?”

“We found residual traces of Cobalt 60 in the storage unit. Not enough to cause any health problems.”

Message delivered, the man turns to leave and that, Rick surmises, is their cue to be relieved, but when his eyes dart across to her Kate isn’t smiling. There’s a frown etched across her face and her hand is pressed, once more, against her stomach.

Rick thinks, maybe, she’s going to be sick.

“Kate?”

She doesn’t acknowledge him, instead she raises her voice before the other man can escape. “What about-”

The guy pauses, one foot outside. “What, Detective?”

Kate’s eyes slide towards Rick. “Nothing.”

“Right,” the man says, and then he’s gone, replaced by Montgomery and the mission and fuck, he knew it. A bomb.

“Come on, I can fill you in on the way,” the Captain says.

Rick nods and he’s right behind the man, his mind already whirring when Kate speaks.

“Actually, Sir,” and there’s a quality to her voice he’s only rarely heard. “Can I meet you there?”

“You all right, Beckett?”

She’s nodding her head but avoiding her Captain’s eyes. “Fine, Sir. I just need to take care of something first.”

“All right,” Montgomery says, and though his eyes are narrowed, Rick catches a hint of genuine concern in his voice. “Do what you need to, but try not to dawdle, Detective. We could use you on this.”

“Of course.”

The Captain turns then, walks out of the room with purpose, and Rick’s not sure if he’s supposed to follow him, but Kate catches him by the sleeve, holding him back with the lightest of grips. “Rick?”

He thinks, maybe, she’s going to continue their aborted conversation and maybe it’s not the best time for it, but hadn’t he just been wishing for more time for them, just moments ago?

Yes.

He’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, not even now – maybe especially not now – and so he waits for Roy to leave before he turns back to face her. “Kate?”

“I need you to take me to the hospital.”

Oh is his first thought. And then, Shit, because he damn well knew something was wrong. It’d be too easy for them to just walk away from this, wouldn’t it?

Shit.

He’s invading her personal space as his eyes search her face but she doesn’t recoil from his proximity, she leans towards him, sinks into him, and that only makes his panic grow. He’s still new at this, still feeling out the changing dynamics in their relationship, but he knows this isn’t right. Letting him – letting anyone – see how weak she is, see her need for something. She doesn’t do this, not his Kate.

Is she sick, then? Really sick?

He can’t tell.

He isn’t sure what he’s looking for – what does radiation poisoning look like?

“Is something wrong? Are you okay? They said we should be fine. They said-”

Kate shakes her head and he’s close enough that her hair brushes against his cheek. “Tell me what’s wrong, Kate.”

“Just.” Her voice breaks off and she’s tense, her body rigid against his. He wraps his arms around her shoulders and pulls her tighter into his chest. She’s cold and maybe, he thinks, he can lend her some of his warmth.

He feels her swallow and then, “Please.”

“Of course, Kate. Of course I’ll take you.”

– –

TBC…

the gasp and stutter of a heart 4/?

2012-03-22T09:02:00Z

Title: the gasp and stutter of a heart 4/?
Author: dave7
Rating: M
Characters/Pairings: Richard Castle/Kate Beckett
Fandom: Castle
Spoilers: Season Three.
Notes: Sorry this took so long to get up. Work exploded all over my spare time and I’ve been running full pelt all week. I’m on call this weekend, though, so I need to stay home and stay sober and so I should have the next chapter up shortly. I also want to take the chance to thank everyone who left a review for the last chapter, absolutely made my day to hear people are enjoying this. :)

Summary: There’s a weight on his chest, warm, soft curves heavy against his side, and she smells of sleep and sex and midnight and it’s the first thought when he wakes, that he must still be dreaming.

--

the gasp and stutter of a heart 4/?

--

There’s no fog to struggle through, no echoing taste of alcohol in his mouth and it’s a gradual sense of awareness that brings him out of slumber.

There’s a weight on his chest, warm, soft curves heavy against his side, and she smells of sleep and sex and midnight and it’s the first thought when he wakes, that he must still be dreaming.

But no, there’s a throbbing ache in his fist and he can feel the press of her knee against his thigh, the tickle of her hair beneath his chin and his dreams are never so complete in their detail.

He’s awake, then.

And he’s in her bed.

She’s sprawled on top of him, boneless and naked and content, and her fingers are moving in patterns along his shoulder and so she must be awake too –

And she’s still with him.

– And that realisation is enough to jolt him into full consciousness.

His eyes remain closed, but he must still or shift or shiver, he isn’t sure, because she knows he’s awake suddenly and her fingers pause in their dance against his skin.

Kate lifts her head from his chest and he can feel her muscles coil as her body tenses and stretches. She shifts against him, skin on skin, delicious and warm and comfortable. Confident. And it’s so fantastically different than the last time they’d woken together, so much more of what he’d hoped for, that when her palm presses flat against his skin, when her hand slides upwards to the trace the curve of his jaw, he wonders if it isn’t just an incredibly vivid dream after all.

“Morning,” he says and then her nose is pressed beneath his jaw.

Her lips find his neck and her tongue is hot against his skin. “Not time to get up yet,” she says, and sure enough it’s still dark when he finally manages to open his eyes.

“No,” he agrees, “not going anywhere yet.”

Kate slides her knee up to his hip, shifts so she’s pressed closer to him, her body melting into his as their lips meet and he wonders if it’s just the night before bleeding into the morning after. He wonders if, when the sun is fully up, she’ll regret this just as much.

But no, this is different; the feel of it is different. This is them. And it’s not desperate or angry or urgent. Her kiss is slow and hot and a little bit tender and it doesn't feel wrong.

“Sleep,” she tells him, nails scratching lightly through his hair.

Rick slides his hands down her back and his fingers twitch against her skin like a stutter when she moans, breath hot and heavy against his skin on the exhale.

Her hips move against his side in a slow roll, a seductive dance, but she doesn’t need to seduce him, he’s already hers.

He told her as much last night.

“Sleep,” he echoes, but he’s rolling, on top of her and there’s laughter in her eyes. And so he adds, “Later.” Or Never, but he doesn’t say that, he just works at drawing her bottom lip from between her teeth.

“Later,” she agrees, and it feels like a promise, whispered against his lips.

––

“Coffee?”

Rick nods his head. “Thanks.”

He leans against the kitchen counter, half naked because she’s wearing his shirt from the night before, her small frame swamped by fabric that comes down to her thighs.

And it’s awkward, how easy it all seems, watching her move about the kitchen. He’s more confused than not because she isn’t pushing him out the door, because she’s smiling at him, meeting his eyes with a twinkle in her own. There’s no panic or guilt or accusation, it’s just him and her and it’s strange how comfortable it seems.

It feels like a continuation of something that never really had a beginning.

Kate hands him a mug of coffee and when their fingers brush she smiles at him, a small, secret little twist of her lips.

His heart stutters with hope, but it’s not right, is it? Because she’s still taken, still attached to another man, and the beginning of his question is out of his lips before he has a chance to stop it.

“What about-” Josh? Tomorrow? Forever?

But he can’t finish the thought out loud because she smells of him and he smells of her and he doesn’t want to burst this bubble they’ve created, to let the reality of their situations steal in and destroy the peace.

But it must show on his face and so she answers him anyway. “Gone,” she says.

Gone?

“When will he get back?” Rick asks, thinking she just means away, like she has in the past. He wonders if he’s just the substitute, then. If he’s the understudy for her boyfriend’s absence, her second choice, and he hates himself for thinking of it that way – for thinking of it at all.

“He won’t.” There’s an edge to her voice, a defensive note in her tone. Her arms fold across her chest and her eyes grow distant.

She’s nervous, suddenly, he can tell, and she's looking at him as if he’d want to undo the last few hours and –

Oh.

No.

He wants to ask how long the other man has been gone, how long they’ve been over. More than that, he wants to ask why she didn’t tell him, why she kept it a secret. But he doesn’t, because she’s withdrawing, pulling in on herself and he’s not going to make it easy for her, this retreat.

She’s still wearing his shirt, hair still a tangle from his fingers, lips still swollen from his kiss, and no, he’s not going to let her pull away.

Because now she’s his. Could be. Might be. Maybe. If she’ll let him claim her. If she’ll have him back.

The mug finds a place on the counter, forgotten, and then he’s stepping forward to pull her into his arms. She’s stiff against him, but his grip is light and she doesn’t pull away.

He presses a kiss to her temple, has to bend to do it, but he wants her to feel the smile against her skin. “Good,” he says, and then, “Great.”

Kate relaxes against him then, unfolds, and her arms find their way around his waist. She squeezes him once, tight, and then pulls back to look up at him.

He thinks, the way her head is tilted might be an invitation, and so he presses a kiss against her lips, gentle and a little hesitant. When he pulls away she’s smiling and yeah, maybe it’s still a little awkward, but it’s something, this whatever they are.

“Come over tonight,” she tells him, and it’s not a request so much as a demand but he nods his head because yes, he will, of course he will.

– –

TBC…

teadis @ 2012-03-17T11:36:00

2012-03-17T00:37:39Z

Title: With A Slip Of The Tongue
Author: dave7
Rating: G
Characters/Pairing: Richard Castle/Kate Beckett
Fandom: Castle
Spoilers: None, really.
Notes: This is set, in my mind, somewhere in season two, but could easily be anywhere, really. One shot for now, but I had fun with this and could decide to continue.

Disclaimer: Castle still belongs to dudes who own Castle, obviously. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made.

Summary: She seems to realise her mistake the moment the words leave her lips.

--

With A Slip Of The Tongue

--

She seems to realise her mistake the moment the words leave her lips and Rick nearly gives himself whiplash as he spins around to face her.

Did she just-?

Kate’s cheeks are pink – a blush? – and her eyes flick towards him before skittering quickly away.

She did.

Huh.

Well damn.

Rick can’t help the grin that spreads across his face.

Kate’s mouth opens and she looks like she’s going to say something, but then she snaps it shut, turns sharply on her heel and marches out of the store.

“What’s her problem, man?”

The young man’s voice startles him – honestly, he’d forgotten the other man was even there – and Rick considers him with a raised eyebrow.

The guy looks confused, rightly so, and it just serves to make Rick’s grin widen. The idea flits across his mind to continue the line of questioning without her – she wouldn’t actually leave him there, would she? – but he knows that it would just make her angry in the end if he did.

Rick hears the distant sound of a car door and, you know, the guy is way too obvious to be their perp anyway, he decides.

“We’ll be in touch,” he offers over his shoulder as he races to follow her.

No, no, he’s absolutely certain there’s no way she’d leave without him.

But it’s better to be safe than sorry, right?

--

“Shut up, Castle.”

“What?” Rick turns innocent eyes on her. “It’s a viable theory. The killer could be a cyborg, Beckett.”

Kate rolls her eyes as he continues. “Just think about it. The amount of force-”

“Could be steroids.” She cuts him off. “Or adrenaline. Back in the ‘80s there was that lady who lifted a car off her kid when he was trapped under it.”

Rick raises an eyebrow and pretends to consider. “So, we should look out for a body-building cyborg with kids?”

Kate’s snort of laughter echoes around the empty bullpen and he lets the corner of his lips lift into a grin.

Ah, sweet victory.

He hasn’t said anything, of course, about the events of the morning. It was a difficult concession, being a man of words as he is, but even he has to admit that sometimes actions can speak louder.

His, he hopes, have been saying something to the tune of look at how nothing needs to change and we’re still good and now they’ve survived the day, he’s let her escape it unscathed, and so he’s aiming for something along the lines of by the way, me too.

“Come on,” he says, lifting his coat off the back of his chair as he stand. “It’s late and I’m buying you dinner.”

An eyebrow shoots up as she regards him. “What makes you think I don’t have plans?”

“Do you?”

Kate pauses before she answers. “No.”

“Dinner, then,” he concludes, holding out a hand in invitation.

She ignores it but stands after a moment to re-shuffle the case files on her desk and grab her things.

“Remy’s?” she asks as she slides her coat on.

Rick knows he’s pushing his luck when he slides his palm down her sleeve, brushing imaginary lint off her coat. She doesn’t shake him off, though, and so he catches her hand. It feels small and delicate, wrapped in his larger one. “I had something a little bit different in mind.”

Kate sighs. “You’ve been waiting for this all afternoon, haven’t you?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

The quirk of his lips gives him away, and she starts to pull her hand from his grasp, but he tightens his fingers around hers and she stops.

“Castle, I didn’t mean anything-”

He cuts her off. “Dinner, Detective.”

Her shoulders drop and she looks almost resigned. “Fine.”

It’s not ideal, but he’ll take it.

Rick grins, wide, and a small smile settles on her lips, even as she shakes her head.

A tug on her hand and yes, she actually lets him lead her out of the precinct.

“You know, Beckett, if you let yourself, you just might enjoy it.”

He’s not speaking about dinner, of course.

Rick keeps a hold of her hand even after they’ve reached the street. He’s half afraid she’s going to run the moment he lets go but then, just like that, any doubts he might have had earlier are gone because she leans into his side and that’s not the same as trying to shake him off at all.

If he keeps grinning like this she’s going to notice, he thinks, but he can’t quite tamp it down.

Sure enough, when he chances a glance at her, she’s frowning in his direction.

“Quit it.”

“Quit what?”

“It’s not Christmas, Castle. You’re not five. Quit looking like all your birthdays have come at once.”

She snort when he says, “I’m just happy you’re finally giving my cyborg theory the credence it deserves.” Because, yeah, maybe he’s smiling around each word still.

He manages to school his features, makes a point of showing her, and she laughs as he waves a hand for a taxi.

“It’s just dinner.” But her frown doesn’t reappear and her shoulder bumps against his.

Her eye roll meets his, “For now,” but she still lets him open the door for her when a driver stops.

“You’re going to be insufferable, aren’t you?”

“There’s a very good chance of that.”

And it’s not going to be easy, he knows.

She’s going to fight him, every step of the way, and that might have been enough to have him back peddling and second guessing once, only now he’s not going to give up because, whether she meant to or not, she’s given him hope.

The grin spreads across his face, unbidden once more, as he follows her into the back of the yellow cab.

More than hope, she’s given him permission because, when the guy asked if they were a couple, Kate had been the one to blurt out a ‘Not yet’.

teadis @ 2012-03-16T21:55:00

2012-03-16T10:56:51Z

Title: the gasp and stutter of a heart 3/?
Author: dave7
Rating: M
Characters/Pairings: Richard Castle/Kate Beckett
Fandom: Castle
Spoilers: Season Three.
Notes: I have to apologise for the time leap. I tried, I really did, to write something between this chapter and the last, and I got about a thousand words of something set during Nikki Heat, but nothing fit and everything felt like it was just filler, so I decided to stop fighting it and roll with the punches.

Summary: “That was amazing,” he tells her. And then, “the way you knocked him out.” But he means the kiss, the them, and she knows.

--

the gasp and stutter of a heart 3/?

--

Rick’s cheating. He knows it’s a bad idea, even as he’s grabbing her by the arm and stealing her shock away with a kiss. He’s not cheating on her, or with her, though her boyfriend means that’s technically true, too, but he’s borrowing a piece of a fantasy, toying with a taste of their future.

He’s taking liberties he doesn’t deserve but her taste is familiar and foreign, all at once, and she isn’t fighting him. Instead, she follows him when he pulls away and then it’s biting and hot and electric and he nearly forgets about the armed man ambling towards them, nearly forgets about the two detectives that are somewhere behind that door.

He’s going to want to talk about it this time, and she’s going to want to ignore it again and that makes it almost painful when she spins away to knock out the guard. He’s not sure he can live through another month of sorry in every glance.

“That was amazing,” he tells her. And then, “the way you knocked him out.” But he means the kiss, the them, and she knows.

He’s already proven that nothing between them has to change. They had a taste of what they could be, a stolen moment where what-if was what-is and when it passed they didn’t let things change. And maybe that’s a bad thing, but they’re still good together, and nothing has to change except that they could be great together.

“Lets go.”

She’s slipping towards the doorway then, diving headfirst, gun drawn, into whatever the next moment holds.

“Stay behind me.” Her voice is a whisper and she motions him back and they’re not wearing vests, they’re not expecting backup. She didn’t hand him her extra piece – he doesn’t know if she still caries one – but he’s all she has to watch her back and so he decides, for once, that he’s going to do as she asks.

She presses her back against the wall at the top of the stairs and he’s there, next to her, when she leans around to try and scope out the room but, in the end, they hear them before they can see them.

“Shoot out one of his kneecaps.”

Someone screams in protest and then Kate springs forward, into action, fierce and deadly, and she takes the first one down before she’s even properly around the corner.

He’d be turned on if he weren’t so damn terrified.

There are more shots, one and then two and he thinks maybe he hears the zing of one as it flies above his head, but still Rick hangs back, waits for his chance, and moves in the opposite direction.

They can flank them this way and it’d be a brilliant plan if only he wasn’t so useless and without a gun.

He spies Esposito, watches the other man shrink in on himself, trying to make himself a smaller target while the bullets fly around him. Ryan’s on the floor, on his back, and Rick panics for a moment, thinking the worst, until the younger man rolls.

Alive then.

Good. That’s good. He can keep going with that.

Rick sticks to the edges of the room. He stays in the shadows, stays low, hidden behind crates and hulking pieces of metal as he circles around. He knows he’ll be no good to any of them if he winds up shot.

And yes. There. Kate’s taken out the second guy before Rick sees the third weaving through the warehouse towards her.

There’s nothing nervous about the way the guy handles his weapon, mid-shoot out and there’s nothing but steel in the set of his shoulders, and this is him, Rick realises, this is their guy. Lockwood.

He’s getting closer to Rick’s position and the writer pauses. If he moves, he’ll give himself away and windup with a shiny new bullet hole. Or worse. But he’s close enough to see the assassin’s shoulders lock, watch him steady the rifle.

Lockwood aims, finger at the ready, and whatever it is that overtakes him, it’s white and hot and surges through his veins so fast that Rick forgets where he is. He forgets about the gunfire and the warehouse and the danger because –

Kate.

– Him or her and he’ll always pick her.

Instinct, raw and animal drives him and then he’s on top of the guy and he doesn’t stop until he feels something break, until he hears the crack of bone, and he’s not sure if it’s his hand or the man’s face, but the sniper’s stopped struggling beneath him and that’s good enough.

There’s blood on his fist, red and hot, and he lets Lockwood’s weight drop to the cement floor.

“You okay?”

“Huh?”

Kate’s looking at him, concern on her face, and he realises that he’s still breathing heavily, still on top of the unconscious man. He relaxes the fist that’s still clenched, drawn back, at the ready.

“Never better,” he says and they both know it’s a lie.

“Help me untie the guys,” Kate says, pausing next to him to place a hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah.”

“See if he’s got a knife,” she says when he hauls himself off the guy.

She’s all business then, checking the guys, securing the scene, and it’s not until much later, when her hands turn gentle around his and her expression becomes tender, that he can think about how close he came to losing her to a bullet. Again. Fuck.

If he thought three years of nearly could make him immune to it, the way his heart still squeezes his chest in fear tells him otherwise.

He could have lost her tonight.

Before he told her.

How he feels. What she means. What they are to him. Why he comes back.

Still, he finds a laugh for her, a smile when she jokes, because that’s who they are and it’s what they do. She thanks him, for having her back, and he promises her always and when she leans over and kisses him lightly he thinks, maybe, their forever might not be that far away after all.

--

Her apartment is dark when they enter and he fumbles for the light switch because he ended his relationship with Gina and she dived into hers with Josh. He was done pretending and maybe she wasn’t, and he can’t stand the reminder. Not tonight.

He’s kept his distance since that night, the one they don’t speak of, and he doesn’t know what he expected, but he’s surprised that nothing has really changed.

He’d been there earlier, of course, but it’s only now, without the threat hanging over their heads, without the sense of the immediate, that he allows himself to look. He lets his eyes roam and he finds them drawn to her couch. He knows she’s giving him an odd look as he stares, but he can’t stop. He’s looking for some sign of them, her and him, or them, her and Josh, but he finds neither and he doesn’t know if he’s okay with that because, at least, if she’s passing up a chance with him, he’d like to know it’s for something worth it.

“You okay, Castle?”

“Not really.” At her raised eyebrow he adds, “My hand is killing me.”

“Lets get some more ice on it.” She lifts it between her own gingerly and the tenderness he’d seen on her face earlier stretches to encompass them.

Rick lets her lead them to the kitchen, and he’s careful in the way he ignores the way it mirrors that night. Their night. It’s almost the same. Almost, except that, this time, he’s the one who’d nearly lost her.

Fuck. He nearly lost her, didn’t he?

She lets go of him to open the freezer and he doesn’t mean to crowd her, but his heart is still tapping out a wild pattern in his chest and he finds himself standing so close that he can feel the cold gust of air over her shoulder.

They’d given their statements at the scene, his from the back of an ambulance, hers while hovering outside.

Kate saved the lives of two officers and apprehended the suspect in their murder case, but IA had still taken her gun and her badge. It was procedure, they’d assured her, nothing more.

Rick had insisted on escorting her home. Partners. They were partners. Partners looking out for each other. Nothing more.

She hadn’t fought him.

Now, he’s not sure if it was the wisest idea. He can still taste her on his tongue from earlier in the evening and he remembers the feel of her around him from earlier in the year and he’d seen the press of the other man’s lips, the grim determination in his eyes. He’d nearly lost her and heaven help him but needs her – needs her like he’s needed nothing else.

Her hand on his chest snaps his attention back to her and he blinks. She presses until he steps backwards and she pushes far enough that he has to lean against the counter.

Kate follows his forced retreat, keeping the space between them minimal and when she twists around him to reach for a dishtowel her hair tickles his cheek.

It’s too much to try and not breathe her in, so he settles, instead, for hoping she won’t catch him.

The hand settled on his chest moves with her, long fingers stroking against the fabric of his shirt and it’s meant to soothe, he thinks, but it doesn’t.

“Your heart is racing, Castle.”

“Must be the adrenaline.”

It’s thin and there must still be traces of it on his face – fear, anger – but Kate says nothing as she lifts his hand between them and begins to unwrap the bandage.

“Do you think this could be it?” He isn’t sure why he’s asking except that he hasn’t the courage to bring up the kiss or the couch or the great big them in his mind but he doesn’t want to leave and he doesn’t know what else he can say.

It’s familiar territory for them, theorizing on a case. It’s their thing and he expects her to fall into it with him, expects to find their feet somewhere comfortable, but Kate pauses and when her eyes flick up to meet his, he can’t read the expression in them. “I don’t know, Castle.”

“If we can get Lockwood to roll over on who hired him, we can find out who ordered the hit on your mother.”

“Yeah.”

Kate reaches around him again to grab the ice and Rick winces when she presses it against his bruised fist.

“Do you think he’ll talk?” he prompts when she remains silent. “Kate?”

“I don’t know,” she admits.

She sounds so defeated that Rick lets it drop and they stand in silence as the ice slowly melts between them. His hand is numb by the time she finally steps away and drops the ice in the sink.

He thinks she’s going to ask him to leave, but then Kate steps closer, closing the distance between them and her face finds the crook of his shoulder and wriggles it’s way across until her nose is pressed in the space where his throat meets his chest.

She takes deep breaths, in through her nose, out through her mouth, and he knows because he can feel them against his skin.

She feels fragile pressed against his chest, too thin, and she’s lost some weight, he thinks. She isn’t eating well, he knows, hasn’t been sleeping well either. He’s been sneaking real sugar into her coffee for at least the last few weeks but it hasn’t made much of a difference. She must know, because she’s been leaving it more often than drinking it, but she’s never called him on it and yeah, he’s worried about her.

Rick tightens his arms around her when he feels her body start to tremble.

Adrenaline, he thinks, leaving her system, but then he feels something wet and hot against his neck and realises they’re tears. She’s crying silently, face hidden against his neck, but she’s in his arms and that means something, so he pulls her tighter against his chest and lets his lips drop to rest on the top of her head.

He whispers to her, keeping his voice soft and his promises simple as he runs his palm along her back in slow circles.

Eventually, the trembling stops and then she tries to pull away with a soft, “Sorry.”

Rick tightens his arms around her. “Don’t be.”

She turns her head and he thinks he feels the press of a kiss against his neck.

He pulls away then, tries to glimpse her face, but she drops her head. “Kate?”

“I killed two men today, Castle.”

Oh.

Oh.

“You saved two men today.”

She shakes her head, presses her face back against his neck and he wraps his arms around her once more, lets her find comfort in him. Hopes she does, in any case.

He hasn’t seen this side of her, this weight she carries, and he wants to tell her that she’s being ridiculous, except that she’s not, not really. She saved two men today, yes, but there are two men who are dead too. Her fault? No. But by her hand, yes, and he can see how that would hurt her all the same.

“It was self-defence,” he says against the top of her head. And then, “You did what you had to.”

When she doesn’t respond he keeps speaking, doesn’t know what else to do. “I could have killed Lockwood, I think. When I saw the gun trained on you I snapped. Didn’t know what I was doing.”

She tenses in his arms then. “You wouldn’t have killed him, Castle.”

“I might have.”

“You didn’t.”

“No. But I would have, if I’d been too late-” He can’t finish the thought.

She tries to pull away then, tries to look at him, but he locks his arms around her, buries his face in her hair.

“How can you have so much faith in me?” It’s broken, her question, muffled into the collar of his shirt and his heart breaks a little because he can’t tell her, can he?

They slept together once, a moment of life and affirmation and surrender to the need, the pull between them, and it was more than a month before the silences between them stopped being awkward, before they found their equilibrium again.

“You’re easy to believe in,” he tells her instead, because it’s the truth, even if it’s only half of it.

They were finally someplace comfortable, somewhere between the touches that are a little too frequent and the tense moments that are a little too revealing, and he’s not willing to give it up. He’s not. Except-

Why do you keep coming back?

“Castle-”

Why?

“I love you.” And then he drops his arms, and it’s almost funny how it makes him recoil from her as fast as it makes her from him. Except that it’s not because he didn’t mean to say it, didn’t ever mean for her to hear it, even if he thinks she must have known it by now.

“I can’t-”

It’s a sentence he’s finished enough times in his own head to know where she’s going with it.

He cuts her off with, “I’m sorry.” And steps around her, tries not to meet her eyes.

“Thanks for the ice.” And then, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Beckett.” Because he’s her partner, her friend, and not her lover. It’s a box he checked himself.

Partner, then.

And he’s nearly there, nearly out of the kitchen, when her hand catches his arm.

He opens his mouth – to apologise again? He’s not sure. But she’s spun him around and she’s pulling him towards her and her lips are bruising against his.

She tastes like tears and metal and it’s not an I love you too, it’s more an I need this but she’s not kicking him out and that’s more than he expects. He had his chance earlier, when she’d asked him why he keeps coming back and he’d told her what she’d needed to hear instead.

Partner. Not Lover. Partner because he was sure that’s all she wanted from him, except that she’s kissing him now and it’s hard and rough and a little bit desperate.

Kate’s tongue pushes past his lips, demanding, and it’s intense in a way that none of their previous kisses have been. She tugs on his lips, pulling them between her teeth and biting and hot and he meets her need with his own.

Rick lets his hands slide down her back to her waist. He pulls her against him and he can ignore the pain that shoots through his hand when her lips leave his to travel across his jaw and down his neck.

Two small hands fist in his shirt and buttons fly as she’s pulling him closer and pulling the shirt apart at the same time.

Rick slides his hands to her bottom, lifting and spinning to settle her on the counter. She pulls him between her legs and his teeth nip at her neck.

A hand finds him through their clothes and he groans, dropping his forehead to press against her neck as his hips move of their own accord.

He’s near his breaking point.

But he won’t be able to ignore this tomorrow, he knows, and so he pleads, “Tell me to stop, Kate.”

“Don’t,” she says. She flicks open the button on his pants. “Don’t stop.”

--

TBC…

teadis @ 2012-03-13T18:11:00

2012-03-13T07:11:28Z

Title: the gasp and stutter of a heart 2/?
Author: dave7
Rating: M
Characters/Pairings: Richard Castle/Kate Beckett
Fandom: Castle
Spoilers: All of Season Three is fair game.

Summary: Honestly, he wasn’t planning on doing something stupid when he accepted her invitation but, with enough alcohol burning in his veins, he knows there’s a very good chance he’s going to.

--

the gasp and stutter of a heart 2/?

--

Her apartment is dark, the only light filtering in from the street lamps outside, and Rick can’t see enough to navigate the unfamiliar terrain.

He considers turning on a light because he’s sick of darkness, metaphorical and otherwise, but he doesn’t make the effort when he feels her fingers thread through his own.

Kate guides him to the kitchen and he thinks he might feel her thumb brush the inside of his wrist before they reach the counter and she lets go of him. “You should have let the EMTs check you out.”

“I’m fine,” he insists, even though his wrists burn and his shoulders ache.

He hears her sigh and he can’t quite make it out but he can imagine the frown that accompanies it. She doesn’t say anything more, though, and he’s grateful.

She moves around him in the dim light, brushing past him once and then again, to produce two glasses and a bottle.

“Tequila?” The corners of his lips quirk upward.

“In your dreams,” she quips, and he feels almost normal for the first time in hours.

“Are you planning on getting me drunk, Detective?” he asks as she pushes a glass into his hand.

“Just shut up and drink, Castle.”

And so he does.

The taste bites against his tongue. Whiskey. Not to his usual standard, no, but it’s decent and more than good enough as it burns a path downwards to settle in the pit of his stomach, hard and hot.

Kate refills his glass, fingers brushing his as she holds it steady, and then he’s throwing it back, relishing the burn, before he can think about how much he shouldn’t and how bad an idea it is, really.

Honestly, he wasn’t planning on doing something stupid when he accepted her invitation but, with enough alcohol burning in his veins, he knows there’s a very good chance he’s going to.

Kate’s still standing close, too close in the dark, and he can barely see her, but he can smell her and feel her and hear the slow exhale of her breath.

She brushes against him as she throws her head back, swallowing her own drink, and he wonders if they’re really going to get drunk in her kitchen.

“Beckett?”

“Just-” She sighs. “Just have a drink with me, Castle.”

He thinks about her father and considers asking her if they’re really going to do this, if she often does, but he ignores the urge because no, he knows her.

“Okay.”

And then she’s refilling his glass again and it’s hard enough to hold back the I think I’m halfway in love with you when he doesn’t need her so damn much and he knows he’s going to ruin their everything if they don’t slow down.

He swirls the liquid in his glass and tries to distract himself by imagining how deep the amber might be. Words like honey-coloured and autumn start to pop into his head as he falls back into the habit of breaking his world down into words. It’s dangerous, he knows, to let his mind start down that path because, if he were writing the scene, he knows how he would end it.

Still, he doesn’t make a move to leave and he lets the hand that appears on his shoulder steer him towards her couch.

“Sit,” she commands, and he does.

She moves to step away and he snatches her hand. “Stay,” he counters. And then, “Please.” Because he does know better.

“Relax, Castle. I’m just going to turn on the lights.”

“Okay.” But he doesn’t relinquish his hold, too afraid, suddenly, that she’s the calm in his storm and if she leaves he’s going to lose it. After a moment and a sigh, she drops down next to him.

He lets go of her hand and then they’re not quite touching, because it’s different in the dark of her apartment, less comforting and more electric, but she understands, truly, and that makes it still okay somehow.

Neither one of them is drunk, but there must be enough alcohol in her system to make her brave, because she turns to him in the dim light and states, “I think you should quit.”

“What?”

“Following me around, Castle. I think you should stop.”

He knows that it’s because she’s scared for him, knows that it’s because she cares – she wouldn’t have let him follow her home if it was for any other reason – but that doesn’t stop the way it bruises.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easy,” he says, trying to deflect with humour.

“I’m serious, Rick.” Her hand finds his cheek and she turns his face towards her. “You didn’t sign up for this.”

He keeps his eyes closed because he can see her better in his mind in any case. “Neither did you. Nobody signs up for a serial killer.”

“I wasn’t almost killed today.”

And there it is again.

“C’mon, Beckett, we’ve had closer calls than this.” It’s the wrong thing to say, he realises, as she pulls away from him.

“Exactly my point.”

He catches the hand that drops from his cheek. “What would you do without me?”

She snorts and he corrects himself, “What would I do without you?”

“Live to an old age?”

She’s serious, he can tell, and so he pulls her towards him, wraps his arms around her before he can convince himself it’s a bad idea. “Not because of this,” he says into the top of head. “I’ll leave if you want me to. I’ll leave if it will keep you safe, but not because of this, Kate.”

“Then you’re an idiot,” she says into the side of his neck but her arms wind around his waist and he’s sure he’d be hurt, if not for the way she sinks into his embrace.

The smell of her fills his lungs, her warmth wrapped around him, and it’s just to ease the ache inside his chest, he reasons, and not the alcohol that fuels his confession. “It crossed my mind that he might kill us. And maybe, for a moment, my life might have flashed before my eyes, but you have to know, Kate. This? What we do? It isn’t something I could regret, not even if it meant going out that way.”

She presses her lips to his cheek. A brief kiss, he thinks, but she lets herself linger and he can feel the cold press of her nose against his cheekbone, the warmth of her breath against his skin, and then he can’t not turn his head.

Rick moves slowly but she doesn’t pull away and it’s an awkward press of his lips against hers and it’s not great, as far as first kisses go, but it kicks his heart into overdrive all the same.

He moves his lips against hers, moves his hands to cradle her jaw, and she’s soft and warm and it takes him a moment to realise that Kate doesn’t respond. But she isn’t pushing him away, either, and he’s confused until the thought springs in his head, taking hold and spreading like a weed until it’s twisted in everything he feels.

Pity.

She’s letting him kiss her and it’s everything he’s wanted for a long time, she must know, but it’s out of pity, and that’s not how he wanted it, and the how’s important.

The need manifests as an ache in his chest because being her partner wasn’t one of his regrets, but this? This thing between them that he’s never had? That is.

The cold air is a slap to the face when he pulls away and he knew before he kissed her that he shouldn’t. They both have a someone else who should make them feel alive and he isn’t that guy.

He’s not serious about his ex-wife, no, but he doesn’t cheat as a general rule. He’s maybe more than halfway in love with Kate, yeah, but he won’t fall into bed with his partner because she pities him enough.

Kate’s eyes are wide, he can see the glint of them in the dim light, and he drops his hands from her face. It’s an effort but he slides away from her, moving along the length of the couch, because his place is not with her, in her arms or against her lips.

Not yet and maybe not ever but certainly not now.

“Kate.” The apology is on the tip of his tongue – I’m sorry. Moment of weakness. Won’t happen again. I promise. One day. – but then Kate wraps a hand around the back of his neck and pulls him back to her.

Rick’s hand finds her waist, for balance, first, but she’s deepening the kiss, tugging at his lips and his fingers twist fabric until they find skin as she pushes her tongue into his mouth. Her kiss is full of hunger and heat and it’s not pity that he tastes, but need.

Fuck.

He can’t tell her to stop. He won’t.

He’s already ruined for his someone else, isn’t he? And maybe she needs this and maybe he does too. Maybe he needs it more than he needs to not be that guy and so he lets her swallow his protest.

She rises to her knees, a shadow above him, and he tilts his head as her nails scratch through his hair. She catches his bottom lip, pulls it between her teeth, and it’s electricity and danger and the taste of whiskey.

The light is gone then, blocked by her figure, so he keeps his eyes closed, smells her perfume. He feels her move and imagines her face.

When she leans backwards she doesn’t need to use the arm around his neck to keep him with her. He follows her, willing, like he always has, until she’s underneath him, pinned by his weight and then she shifts, wraps a leg around his hip, and he’s pinned to her too.

He rocks against her, instinct and need, and a gasp of breath pulls her lips from his.

The fingers twisted in his hair don’t let him retreat and she turns her head, gives him access to her neck. Happy to oblige, he drops open-mouthed kisses down the column of her throat.

She smells like soap, tastes like salt and sweat and something dark, and she doesn’t push him away when his lips crash back to hers.

She pulls him tighter against her as she tries to forget the marks on his wrists that should have been around his neck and he tries to forget it all.

--

TBC…

the gasp and stutter of a heart 1/?

2012-03-12T02:57:16Z

Title: the gasp and stutter of a heart 1/?
Author: dave7
Rating: M
Characters/Pairings: Richard Castle/Kate Beckett
Fandom: Castle
Spoilers: All of Season Three is fair game.
Notes: This is something I’ve been thinking about since I first saw season three. It’s not exactly AU, but rather a bit of a re-working. I had decided to sit on it until a lot of it was done, but I figure some accountability might help push me into finishing it. Thanks to – well, my brother, actually, for looking this over for me. Cheers, bro. And Wendy, for her help, even if she’ll never read this. *g*

Disclaimer: Castle is owned by the dudes who own Castle, obviously. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made.

Summary: He’s reshuffling the cards, re-writing the story for a glimpse of their not yet because it’s always been her, hasn’t it?

--

the gasp and stutter of a heart 1/?

--

Rick sucks in a deep breath and ignores the heavy sting of chlorine that burns against the back of his throat.

The flashes of blue and red reflect off the surface of the pool and it’s easier than he thought it could be to ignore the chaos of the scene playing out behind him.

The guys are hanging around somewhere, he knows. Ryan was being tended to by the paramedics last he saw, and Esposito’s bound to be hovering nearby. Kate – well, he’d lost track of her early on, and that was a good thing, wasn’t it?

The way she’d been looking at him – grateful, relieved, like he could be the only thing that mattered – he hadn’t been able to handle it because – This? It’s his fault at the end of the day, isn’t it?

If he’d just figured it out sooner. If he hadn’t been so cocky, so sure, to just blurt out his theory in front of the man. But no, he had to play his hand because oh, he was so clever, wasn’t he?

His own damn fault, all of it.

And the next girl? Blonde hair and innocent, unseeing eyes? That’s all on him.

Rick looks up at the sound of footsteps. It’s Kate, of course, but she’s not looking at him that way – not looking at him at all actually – and maybe she’s realised he’s to blame.

He’s sure that he deserves her scorn, but she just settles next to him in silence.

She sits close enough that their knees brush, and then she slides closer still, until she’s pressing against him, thigh to thigh, calf to calf, and he feels some of the tension in his shoulders ease.

“Here you go.”

Rick takes the cup she offers but he doesn’t drink from it. “Thanks.”

Kate hums in her throat. “Tell me something, Castle. Why did he let you live?”

It’s obvious, isn’t it?

“To punish me. To make me pay for ruining his plan. Now he’s going to kill again, all because I couldn’t stop him. And I feel so…”

Impotent. Stupid. Angry. Worthless.

All of that and more.

He doesn’t have the words for it, can’t think of a way to summarise the bubble of anger and worry and acid churning in his gut, and that makes it worse, of course, because he’s a wordsmith and it’s supposed to be what he does best.

A hand settles on his knee, understanding and warm. “I know the feeling.”

It’s my fault, he wants to say. I did this, but when he looks at her there’s no accusation in her eyes, no heat or fire or anger. She doesn’t blame him and he doesn’t understand why not, exactly, but Rick wraps his own hand around hers, squeezes tight, and lets her simple truth anchor him. “I know you do.”

Kate’s face twists into a frown, unnatural in the blue light reflected off the pool. The shadows highlight the angle of her cheekbones, the depth of her eyes, and her face is strange and familiar to him all at once.

He leans towards her, feels the puff of her breath against his cheek, and lets her draw him back from his own thoughts.

She’s looking at their hands, he realises, when his eyes follow hers. They’re still clasped together, but his sleeve has rolled up, and there are angry marks burnt red on his wrists.

“He could have killed you, Castle.”

“But he didn’t.”

“I thought I was going to find a body.”

“I’m fine, Beckett.”

Kate bumps her shoulder against his arm and turns her face back to the pool. “I’m glad,” she says.

It’s the second time she’s said as much and he squeezes her hand because he doesn’t know how else to respond.

They sit together then, silent, until well after the cup in his hand has lost its warmth. He concentrates on the shoulder pressed against his side, the fingers trapped between his own and, eventually, the tension bleeds out of him until he can breathe without the twist of guilt at the base of his spine.

“Come on,” she says, and she pulls him to stand. “No point hanging around here all night.”

He misses the warmth as soon as she’s moved away and so he follows her as she makes her way back through the parking lot. He’s surprised when he finds only a few uniforms left milling about the motel.

“Boys gone already?”

Kate nods. “Yeah, the paramedics dragged Ryan to the hospital and Espo only stayed long enough to secure the scene.”

“Leads?” He tries not to wince at how hopeful his voice sounds.

“A few,” she hedges. “C’mon.”

Rick pauses as they reach her car. “Back to the precinct?”

“No.” There’s a sigh waiting to escape her throat. “We’ll catch him, Castle. We will. But not tonight.”

Rick can only nod in response because no, they won’t, he knows, not before he kills again, and maybe not even then.

“Home?” she asks when he slides into the passenger seat.

Rick knows what he should say – yes, home and thanks for the rescue, Beckett followed possibly by an I’ll see you tomorrow – because he has a mother and a daughter and a girlfriend who are, mostly likely, waiting for him. He should want to see them – and he does – he just can’t find the energy for their questions and their worry.

He’s used to being the centre of attention and if he’s honest, he enjoys it, mostly, but he needs to find the eye of the storm first. His head is still in a dark place and he needs a bit more calm, a fraction more of this brand of quiet understanding before he can smile at his kid and lie about being in any danger.

“I’d rather not just yet,” he says, and he doesn’t miss the way his partner’s face changes. It’s subtle, but the wrinkle in her brow eases, just a little, and she’s maybe a little bit relieved, he thinks.

“Okay.” Kate rests her hand over his arm. Her fingers graze the marks on his wrist. “My place, then.”

--

Note: I decided to stop this chapter here because it was getting a little long. The next bit is written, though, and will be up in a few days.

breath, life, all the same

2012-03-10T00:45:48Z

Title: breath, life, all the same
Author: dave7
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Richard Castle/Kate Beckett
Fandom: Castle
Notes: Just something I wanted to work through in my head. Apologies if there are any errors.

Disclaimer: Castle belongs to the ABC.

Summary: Kate twitches, her limbs jerking, and Rick’s gaze shoots up to search her face but he’s met with unseeing eyes, and she’s not awake yet, he realises, but stuck somewhere between still.

One-shot. Missing scene. Spoilers for Rise.

--

breath, life, all the same

--

He’s staring at her chest.

If she was awake, she’d kill him, but she’s not, and that’s the entire problem, isn’t it?

Her chest rises and falls beneath his gaze and he tries to concentrate on that, because she’s still breathing. They’re deep, even breaths, in a too-steady rhythm set by the respirator but breath, life, all the same.

He knows he should pull his eyes away, but Rick doesn’t know where else to look.

He watched her heart monitor for a while, but he kept trying to decipher the trace, to make sense of each dip and rise and twitch in the green line. He didn’t understand what the readings meant. It bothered him, in the end, more than it comforted him, and he hated that he couldn’t decipher the code, couldn’t read the life or death of her in the twisted language hidden in the numbers at the bottom of each screen.

There wasn’t an alarm – he’d been there for one of those – and that was good, but the pattern kept changing, the rhythm unsteady, and he didn’t know if that was good or bad and he found his hope dying with each uneven beat of her heart.

He’d like to be able to look at her face, but the sight of the tube down her throat – the one breathing for her – breaks something inside of him. He’d stared for a while, hoping to find her watching him back, but whenever she does open her eyes, they’re a glassy green, unfocused, and not at all the clear, crisp gaze of the woman he knows.

Rick strokes the pad of his thumb along the back of her forearm, careful of the needles in the back of her hand, the leads attached to her skin.

She feels feverish, but they tell him not to worry; her system is working off the drugs. She’s healing. It’s natural.

The nurse tells him that she has to wake up on her own. That it’s a process.

That it’s normal.

But they’ve just dug a round out of her chest, just patched her up as best they could, and there’s nothing natural about the situation.

Kate twitches, her limbs jerking, and Rick’s gaze shoots up to search her face but he’s met with unseeing eyes, and she’s not awake yet, he realises, but stuck somewhere between still.

“It’s okay, Beckett,” he says, moving closer to her.

He keeps his voice low, soothing. “It’s okay, I’m right here. You’re fine. You’re safe.”

He doesn’t know what she’s remembering, what horrors are flashing through her mind, but he can see the panic etched across her face. She starts to choke, then, and he has to reach across her body to grab her free hand as her heart rate spikes in his ears.

He’s holding her down with his torso, feeling her thrash against him, but they’ll restrain her if she tries to rip the breathing tube out again and this is better, surely.

There are tears gathering in her eyes as she struggles to breathe and Rick’s heart breaks right along beside hers.

“Don’t fight the machine, Beckett. It’s helping you.”

Her gaze settles on him, then, and it’s still unfocused, but less so.

Keep talking, he thinks, and so he does. “I’ve got your back, remember? Trust me, Kate. I won’t let anything happen to you.” He doesn’t know how to continue, though, and in the end, he tells her, “You’re fine.”

“I’m here.”

And, “Just breathe.”

And it’s not the most eloquent he’s been, but it seems to work, and he repeats the phrases, over and over, mixes them together with a voice steady and calm and soothing, until the arms in his grip relax and the tears in her eyes fade. She’s blinking at him slowly, relaxing back into the mattress. She’s fading again but she’s stopped fighting and she’s breathing and that’s good.

That’s all he can ask for.

“Get better, Kate,” he says, easing his body away from hers once her eyes are fully closed. And then, “Please,” because she died in his arms once already.

“Mr. Castle?”

Rick’s head snaps around and he jerks back towards the uncomfortable chair beside Kate’s bed, but it’s only the nurse. The one who’d let him in.

“She was fidgeting again,” he says though she asks him for no explanation.

The nurse – Kathy, he notes – smiles at him gently. “I’m sorry, Mr. Castle, but the doctors will be doing their rounds soon. You’ll have to leave, I’m afraid.”

Rick nods reluctantly. “Of course, thank you.”

He doesn’t want to leave. He’d spent the afternoon at the precinct, chasing dead leads, and he’d only arrived after visiting hours. He was lucky he’d been let in at all.

“You should go home and rest,” the nurse says, laying a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll be no good to her if you’re a mess.”

“You’re right,” Rick says, as he stands, because it’s what he’s supposed to say even though he knows he’s no good to her either way.

“You have my number? In case her father can’t be reached?”

“Right here.” Kathy waves a file at him. “She’s recovering well, Mr. Castle. If she keeps going at this rate she’ll be awake the next time you visit.”

Rick hovers by Kate’s bedside, his hand floating a hairs breadth from her skin in case she reacts to his absence. She doesn’t and then he’s just stalling. They both know it.

“She doesn’t like the breathing tube.”

“Nobody does.”

The nurse is still kind, even as she ushers him out of Kate’s room, and Rick wonders at how much patience she must have to be able to do this each day.

“When will you take it out?”

“It’s up to her doctor.”

Rick casts a look back towards his detective’s room. “You’ll call me?”

“If anything happens, yes. Now go home.”

“She’s going to be all right?”

“Honestly?” The nurse pauses. “We’d let you stay if she wasn’t.”

“So I’m supposed to be grateful I’m being kicked out?”

A hand on his back guides him into the corridor. “That’s the general idea.”

“You’ll-”

“We’ll call.”

“Thank you.”

“Go home.”

He does.

But he doesn’t stay there long. They won’t let him sneak back in to see her again, at least, not until the roster has switched to the day shift and there’s a new face he can charm.

The guys will still be at the precinct, he knows, and so he heads there because they may have caught a new lead in the time he was away.

He needs to solve this for her. And for him. He needs to end it because it’s not just her crusade anymore, it’s her life and, so, it’s his too.

He’ll go back to the hospital when she’s awake and they’ll talk, or they won’t.

Either way, he’ll be there, because she’s still breathing, still alive, and that’s all he could ask for in those last precious moments when she lay bleeding in his arms.

She’ll love him back, or she won’t.

He can live with either truth as long as she does.

teadis @ 2012-03-08T20:21:00

2012-03-08T09:21:05Z

Title: Blind Spot
Author: dave7
Rating: PG
Characters: John Watson, Sherlock Holmes
Fandom: Sherlock
Notes: For wendymr, with thanks. (And since I manned up and posted this first, you should know I expect reciprocation. *g* I even went as far as posting on AO3.)

Summary: And that’s not right, is it? He shouldn’t be Sherlock’s blind spot.

Double drabble based on the last scene in The Great Game. 200 words exactly.

--

Blind Spot

--

His heart pounds against the certain death strapped to his chest, but John’s a good little soldier and his voice doesn’t waver as he delivers the lines.

He’s being toyed with, they both are, but that’s okay. This big reveal, this villain’s speech, it’s keeping them alive a little longer, buying them a little more time and Sherlock, John knows, will figure it out.

He’ll do what he does and see through it, through him, as he’s always been able to.

Except.

No.

“John? What the hell-”

There it is.

Belief.

Or, rather, disbelief.

And that’s not right, is it? He shouldn’t be Sherlock’s blind spot.

Seems he is, though.

John pulls the corners of his coat apart, moving with the strings as they’re being plucked, and it’s subtle, very much so, but Sherlock seems relieved at the sight of the bomb and the – Christ – red sight aimed at his heart.

Shit.

It’s up to him, then, isn’t it? He’s probably going to die then, but that’s okay.

They’d warned him that Sherlock was dangerous, didn’t they? But then he’d known that already, hadn’t he?

What nobody seemed able to realise was that it was okay.

Dangerous was worth it.

Castle Icon Dump

2012-01-28T07:11:37Z

Wow, it's been a long time and a few fandoms ago since I've done an icon dump. Please be patient with me if anything looks wrong, I'm coding from memory...

As always feel free to take anything you'd like. Credit is appreciated by not mandatory. Ditto with comments.

[52] Castle icons

Be warned icons contain images from future episodes. I wouldn't say spoilers, exactly, but if you're avoiding the stills don't click on the cut...

Castle Icons

1. 2. 3. 4.

5. 6. 7. 8.

9. 10. 11. 12.

13. 14. 15. 16.

17. 18. 19. 20.

21. 22. 23. 24.

25. 26. 27. 28.

29. 30. 31. 32.

33. 34. 35. 36.

37. 38. 39. 40.

41. 42. 43. 44.

45. 46. 47. 48.

49. 50. 51. 52.

Text from icons #13-15 are song lyrics from 'Just Breathe' by Pearl Jam. The text from #18 is lyrics stolen from 'You Won't Feel A Thing' by The Script.

Alt!Ten/Rose, G

2011-03-03T12:50:02Z

Title: A Luckier Man's Life
Author: dave7
Rating: G
Characters/Pairings: Alt!Ten/Rose
Spoilers: Season Four.
Author's notes: Thanks to Wendy for the Beta.

Summary: Rose is already in the kitchen when you wander in. She’s dressed for the day and you suddenly feel awkward in your dressing gown and slippers.

Still, you saved the day in a dressing gown, once, you can certainly manage a breakfast.

--

Rose is already in the kitchen when you wander in. She’s dressed for the day and you suddenly feel awkward in your dressing gown and slippers.

Still, you saved the day in a dressing gown, once, you can certainly manage a breakfast.

Rose graces you with a smile and you find it in you to give her one in return. There, you think, that’s a good start.

“Sleep well?” Rose asks, handing you a mug.

You nod and, eyes closed, sip your tea. Perfect.

“Toast?”

It’s not really a question, as she slips two pieces of bread into the toaster before you have a chance to reply, but you feel the need to anyway. “Yes, thanks.”

A few more sips of tea and, slipping on your glasses, you slide into your seat at the kitchen table, ready to tackle the morning paper.

Rose takes her seat next to you as you divide it into two piles – yours and hers – and your shoulders brush as you push her half of the paper across the space between you.

You smile, and so does she.

You turn your attention to the morning headlines, but there’s nothing that catches your immediate attention so, instead, you let your mind wander as you spread marmalade over your slice of toast.

You find yourself yawning - jaw cracking, uncontrollable, end of the world yawning – and look up to find Rose grinning at you.

“Still tired, huh?”

You choose not to answer, instead taking a large bite of your toast, and, smiling, Rose returns her attention the paper.

A few years and a regeneration ago and there was no chance Rose would have been awake before you.

Oh, you think, how the mighty have fallen.

You’re still unused to this body’s need for so much rest, as though nine hundred years’ worth is trying to needle its way in to your remaining time - however much that may be.

You’re reminded that you still need to settle on an age - perhaps, even, a birthday – to suit your new body. For reasons inexplicable, you’ve been leaning heavily towards the mid-thirties. Thirty-four, perhaps?

“Rose?”

“Mmm?”

“How old do you think I am?”

She answers without hesitation. “Nine hundred.”

You shake your head, amused. No chance you’ll be able to get away with that on a passport. “No, I mean, how old do you think I look?”

“Oh.” She chews on her lip as she looks you up and down and her eyes gleam in a way that reminds you of the girl you first met. “I’d say… about forty?”

The disdain must be evident on your face because she snorts and, trying to hold back her laugh, offers, “A young forty?”

“Really?” You’d noticed a grey hair yesterday, that’s true, but forty? Surely not. You decide to compromise. “I thought, maybe, thirty-six?”

“Don’t worry, Doctor, you’re still a little bit foxy for a bloke in his forties.”

You shake your head – she’s openly mocking you now.

“Rose Tyler, I would-” You’re interrupted by a message on her phone.

She sighs. “Go on, they can wait.”

“No, it’s okay, see what they want.”

You’ve decided it’s probably best if Rose doesn’t have a great deal of input into the age matter anyway, and you happily finish your piece of toast as she retrieves her message.

Her frown says enough, but you prompt her anyway. “Well?”

“They need me to come in early, there’s a few fires from last night that need to be put out.”

“Okay.”

Rose’s smile is strained, but your smile is genuine. You’re still so very proud of her, your Rose.

“I’ll see you at the office?”

“Of course.” You don’t work for Torchwood, exactly, but you do tend to lend your expertise. Even – and especially – when they don’t ask for it.

Standing, you help her clear the dishes and, too soon, she’s ready to go.

You follow her out of the kitchen, across the too large house, and, when she leaves, she brushes a kiss across your cheek.

It’s a chilly morning, but you stand in the doorway, watching the drive long after she’s gone. You don’t have a name yet – not officially, in any case – but you’re already developing habits, you and Rose. Breakfast together, in a kitchen, with a table and a chair that belongs to you, lunch at the office, dinner at home. You’re creating your own routine, together, the two of you.

You’re not sure how it happened, but you feel like you’ve borrowed a luckier man’s life.

Ten/Rose, rated G

2009-09-13T05:01:01Z

Bet you're surprised to see a post in this here fic!journal, eh? The last post was, in fact, in January!

We have here a drabble. This is being posted by imaginary_iby, but, obviously, the story is written by the very talented dave7. He's just lazy.

Title: A Little Hiccup
Author: dave7
Rating: G
Characters/Pairings: Ten/Rose
Spoilers: None at all.
Author's notes: Just a little something that he was talked into.

Summary Everybody has their own cure for hiccups, but the Doctor's is definitely the best of them all.

He starts with her hand, running the tip of his tongue along the lines of her palm. Rose laughs and squirms, pulling away.

“Hold still,” he says, brushing his thumb along the inside of her wrist. “You’re going to make them worse.”

She relaxes into the mattress. “Sorry, s’ticklish is all.”

“Are you-” she pauses as he licks the inside of her elbow. “Oh. Are you sure this’ll work?”

“Absolutely,” he says, and kisses her shoulder. “Only cure for Altrainian hiccups.”

When he licks the side of her neck she decides, even if it doesn’t work, she’ll stop arguing anyway.

The Wondiferous Return of the One Word Meme!

2009-01-20T02:46:37Z

Since it was Wendy who requested it... *g*

Give me one word - just one - and I'll write one sentence based on that word that sums up something about any character or relationship in (New) Doctor Who.

Ten/Rose, Ten2/Rose, Rated G

2008-12-30T06:17:36Z

Title: Fairytales
Author: dave7
Rating: G
Characters/Pairings: Ten/Rose, Ten2/Rose
Spoilers: Journey's End
Author's notes: For wendymr, with thanks. :)

Summary: Imagine having to live with yourself? Impossible.

--

Fairytales

--

There’s no choice to be made.

The TARDIS - the universe, really - isn’t big enough for two Doctors. You and he both know he can’t stay. He damn well can’t be left alone, though, he’s shown that - too much human in him, that one - and she’ll... She’ll stay with him. She’ll have her family, her friends, her job... she’ll have him.

You can’t help but imagine, for a moment, what it’d be like keeping them around. The two of you - three of you - in the TARDIS. You wonder what it’d be like watching yourself grow old with somebody. With her.

Impossible.

Imagine having to live with yourself?

It’s the only thing that makes sense - the other you, the more human you, can give her a life and you both know it. You all know it, except, of course, for her. You won’t give her a choice because you know who she’ll choose and you’re not sure you can bear that.

Still, they all leave you in the end, and who better for her to leave you with? Maybe they’ll have kids, the two of them. Maybe they’ll even be a little bit like you. Probably not, you think. You hope not, in any case - wouldn’t wish yourself on anybody.

“There’s time for one last trip.”

They look good together, you think, but then, you’ve always known that.

- Fin -

teadis @ 2008-12-05T14:39:00

2008-12-05T03:45:34Z

Title: Just Photographs
Author: dave7
Rating: G
Characters/Pairing: Ten/Rose
Spoilers: The Girl in the Fireplace
Author's notes: This was originally written for the second challenge of the doctor_rose_las which, unfortunately, seems to have died. Many thanks to wendymr for BRing. :)

Summary: He doesn’t bother asking how she knew where to find him. She doesn’t ask how he knew she was there. Unspoken, that’s them.

--

Just Photographs

--

The Doctor reaches for the journal - cracked brown leather, more than a little worn - and slips Reinette’s letter between the pages. It’s brimming with notes and scrap bits of paper - two letters that went unsent, a napkin covered in poetry - and the memories of things long past. It’s a funny place to keep things, he knows, but he’s sure the pages will treat it well.

He’s almost tempted to flick through the journal but he places it back on the bookshelf - third down, fourth from the right - when he thinks he can feel Rose watching him from the doorway.

She doesn’t make a move into the room and he doesn’t turn to acknowledge her, he just runs a fingertip along the spine of one of Susan’s school books, waiting for her to speak.

She doesn’t.

When his finger comes away covered in dust he wrinkles his nose, a little bit ashamed of himself, and wipes his hand on his trouser leg.

“You can come in, you know,” he says, turning to grin at her. He suspects it might be a little tired, but thinks it’ll have to do.

He doesn’t bother asking how she knew where to find him and she doesn’t ask how he knew she was there. Unspoken, that’s them.

“Thought you might like a cuppa.” She smiles - a touch awkwardly - at him as she steps into the room.

“Ah, now that sounds lovely,” he admits. “Have I told you how I saved the day with nothing but a cup of tea and a sword?”

Her eyes flick downwards but she manages a grin. “I was there.”

“Yes,” he admits, “you were, but it’s quite a story and I tell it so well. A swordfight in nothing but borrowed jim jams - super-heated tannins, Rose, that’s the key. And the sword, obviously. I was altogether magnificent with the sword.”

“Magnificently lucky, more like.” Her eyes dart around the room. “What is this place, Doctor?”

His eyes flick across the room, wondering what his odd collection might look like to her - books, piled and shelved and scattered, clothes and bottles - perfumes and trinkets - a purple hat, a red and black kilt, an old dagger, an army uniform. He’s never been one for photographs, but every time he thinks he might run out of room, he manages to find more.

“Doctor?”

She shifts uncomfortably and he reaches up to scratch the back of his neck. “It’s just a room, Rose.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Where’s Mr. Mickey, then?”he asks, hoping to distract her. “Can’t miss tea, now can he? Maybe he’ll want to hear about my swordfight.”

“He was there too, remember?” She grins - an honest one, this time. “Found him a room to bunk down in, time and space’s a little much for him.”

“First time is always the worse,” the Doctor says, grinning back and ushering her towards the door. “And that’s a thought that’s almost enough to make me stop taking on new companions.”

The smile drops from her face and her eyes dart away from him again.

He frowns, mentally kicking himself, and doesn’t realise she’s stopped walking until he bumps into her. Confused, he looks down at her - her face is pale, her eyes glued on something halfway across the room.

“Rose?” He follows her line of sight. “Oh.”

“Was that Jack’s?” she asks, pointing at a dark navy coat.

“Yes.”

“All this stuff...”

“Yes.”

“What were you doing in here?”

“Rose-”

She frowns. “Doctor?”

He doesn’t answer, taking two steps back and running a hand through his hair.

“Were you filing her away?” She waits a beat. “Just like Jack.”

“It’s not like that,” he snaps.

He’s tired and frustrated, but when she looks away and chews on her lip, he’s sorry for snapping. “I just... need a place,” he admits. “Somewhere to come and remember. I’ve travelled with a lot of people and you’re all so ridiculously fragile.”

He can almost read the thoughts playing out across her face. “Is Sarah Jane in here?”

“Yes,” he admits, his mind flicking back to the leather bound journal.

When she speaks again her voice is low. “Am I in here?”

The idea that he’ll need to hold on to a piece of something she’s left behind... his chest aches at the thought. “No.”

“Not yet, you mean.”

The words are out before he can stop them. “Not ever, Rose. I won’t-”

“I’m not going to leave,” she says, “not even... No matter what happens. Five and a half hours, yeah? I’ll always wait.”

She believes what she’s saying and he doesn’t have it in him to correct her. He wants to believe too.

“Come on,” he says, offering his hand. “Would you like to look around?”

She shakes her head but still takes his hand. “I promised you tea, remember?”

“You did.”

She grins at him and he lets her lead him towards the kitchen. “And you owe me a story.”

A grin breaks out across his face, effortless this time. “I do. Did I ever tell you about the time I saved the Earth with nothing but tea and some frankly magnificent swordsmanship?”

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, but you can tell me again.”

-- End --

teadis @ 2008-11-17T14:41:00

2008-11-17T03:47:57Z

Title: Building Bridges
Author: dave7
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Ten, Jack, Rose
Spoilers: Post-Doomsday
Author’s notes: For wendymr and transcendancing who won me on the Support Stacie Author Auction. I apologise profusely for the delay and I hope this meets your expectations. Like, really hope. *g* I also need to thank dark_aegis for BRing, and the brilliant wendymr for BRing her co-won fic. *g* I’d also like to point out the fact that there’s currently a second, Holiday-themed Author Auction currently running. I’m not up for bid, but do check it out! :)

Summary: “I need your help.”

“Yeah,” Jack says. “I’d figured as much. Why the hell shouldn’t I tell you to keep walking?”

--

Building Bridges

--

A little more to the right, he thinks, easing off the regulators ever so gently... No!

No, no, no, no, no!

The ache starts to fade in to a tickle and he slams his hand against the console, thrusting his ship into reverse. Back, back, back and a little to the left. He engages the dampeners - forwards, backwards, around and up and down and the landing - the timing - is crucial, absolutely crucial. He needs to be there three days before Canary Wharf... Before Torchwood. He can't afford to twist the time lines any more than necessary and if he can’t do it this time, he knows he won’t be able to.

The coordinates dance across the monitor and he ignores them, navigating by sense alone. A little further and it grows stronger, the cold finger down his spine, the ache in his teeth, a little more and he’s almost there, he’s sure of it.

More and more and that’s it! He can feel it.

With a jerk of his wrist the materialisation sequence starts.

--

The sound wakes him – he’s been listening for it for longer than he cares to admit – and he’s out of his bed and stumbling through the Hub before he’s fully awake.

He doesn’t truly believe it, of course, not until he watches the blue panels fade into existence with his own eyes and then, there it stands. The TARDIS. The sound of the engines - still the best sound he’s heard in the universe – cut out and he holds his breath.

He has a moment of pure elation – just one moment, caught between the beats of his heart – when he thinks that they’ve come to find him. Finally. It passes, of course, just as quickly as it came.

He’s lived long enough that nobody can dare call him naive.

All the same, he still feels a sense of home, even after so long. He’s a little disappointed with his reaction - he’d long imagined throwing the Doctor against the side of his frankly magnificent ship and demanding some answers. He’d played through a thousand scenarios in his head, and he’d never imagined the sense of longing-

The doors snap open and there’s a thin man wincing at him from beyond the threshold. “Hello, Jack.”

“Hey, Doctor.” He tries to keep his voice normal, but to say it’s not the man he’s been expecting would be an understatement.

It’s not just his face, either - Jack’s all but memorised Torchwood’s files. UNIT’s too. The idea of regeneration surprised him at first, but... well, he realised quite a while ago that there were a lot of things the Doctor failed to share. When he heard the reports that filtered through at Christmas he knew he’d probably never see his version of the Doctor again. No, it’s not the new face that surprises him, it’s the three-o’clock shadow and the circles under his eyes. It’s the hollowness in his cheeks. The reports from Christmas-

“Listen, Jack,” the Doctor starts, interrupting his thoughts.

Jack snaps back to the present. “I know. Regeneration, right?”

“What?” The Doctor looks confused for a moment before his face clears and he looks almost relieved. “Oh, yes. Glad we got that sorted. Always were clever, weren’t you, Jack?”

Jack shakes his head, glad, at least, that the urge to push the man up against the side of his ship is growing, even if it’s showing up a little late. “I like the brown,” he says, “it suits you. Not sure about the beard, though. ‘Hobo in a suit’ won’t come in to fashion for a while yet.”

The Doctor rubs his hand along his chin and grimaces.

He needs something, Jack realises. Wouldn’t be here otherwise, and, if his guess is right, it’ll have something to do with London and their bloody ghost shifts. It’s building to something big - he can feel it. Always said this was when it all changed...

Jack shifts his weight and tries not to fold his arms. “So-”

“I need your help,” the Doctor says, not bothering with any further niceties.

He knew - of course he knew - but over a century of disappointment still echoes through him. “Yeah,” Jack says. “I’d figured as much. Why the hell shouldn’t I tell you to keep walking?”

The Doctor’s face twists in pain. “It’s Rose,” he says. “I’ve lost her.”

Rose.

Her face flashes through Jack’s mind - brown eyes and warm smiles - the woman he remembers and the girl he watched grow up. Gone. Lost. A weight settles in his chest and for a moment he can more than understand the pain on the Doctor’s face.

Timelines be damned, he decides. He once straddled a bomb for this girl and, with a start, he realises - a century later and he’d do it again. “Just tell me what you need me to do.”

--

It only takes a moment for it all to come back and Jack realises the inside of the TARDIS hasn’t changed. At all. A century and a half and Jack thought... well... he’s not sure what he thought.

“Hold that down,” the Doctor instructs, pointing at the stabilisers on his right.

Jack does. He adjusts the gravitational thrusters without being told and a little thrill runs through him. It’s been a long time since he’s been in anything more advanced than an SUV. The smile never makes it to his face, though - it feels too much like the old days. “You still haven’t told me what you need me to do.”

The Doctor pauses mid-twist and the ship shudders around them. “I’ll explain when we get there,” he says.

“And where’s that?”

“Cardiff.” He says it like it’s the most natural thing - anywhere in the universe and of course it’d be Cardiff.

Jack shakes his head - how could he not know where they were? - and grabs the Doctor’s arm as he slips past. It’s tense beneath his grip. “Doctor, we were already in Cardiff.”

“Oh,” he says. “Good. That’s good.” He frowns as he flicks the quick reverse switch and Jack’s almost thrown to the floor.

“What do you need me to do?” He says each word slowly as if talking to a child and the Doctor scowls at him.

“Don’t patronise me, Jack.”

“Doctor?”

The Doctor doesn’t look at him as he speaks. “I need you to open the Eye of Harmony.”

Jack’s forehead wrinkles. Eye of Harmony? He’s never heard of it. “And that’ll bring Rose back?”

“Not exactly, no.”

Jack’s mind whirls with the possibilities. The Eye of Harmony - is that what they used to bring him back? “But it’ll let us manipulate the timelines, right?”

The Doctor’s head snaps up. “What?”

The other man looks at him, properly looks at him, for the first time, and a shudder runs through Jack. “To bring Rose back.”

“She isn’t dead,” he says, averting his eyes again. “I wouldn’t-”

Jack’s shoulders tense. “Wouldn’t you?”

He’s quiet as he answers, not nearly as much conviction in his voice. “No.”

Jack wishes he had some insight in to this new version of the Doctor, the one who comes to him for help and won’t even look at him.

“She came back, Jack. I sent her away, time and again, and she kept coming back.”

Jack’s silent, waiting for him to continue, but the Doctor shakes his head and nods towards the console. “We should get a move on. Plenty of codes to override.” A touch of familiarity creeps in to his voice.“Shouldn’t take ten minutes.”

Jack can almost hear the Northern burr and he blinks. “Why can’t you open the Eye yourself?” Jack asks, letting him change the subject.

“Oh,” he says, a touch of something lighter creeping in to his voice. “Needs to be a human.”

“Why?”

“I’ve made a few modifications since the last time it was opened.” His brow wrinkles. “Security measures, though I suppose they’re a bit redundant now. Still, needs to be a human. I’m, well... no, not half, but I was, for a little while.”

Jack mutters and folds his arms, aware that there’s more than one thing the Doctor isn’t telling him. He knows it’s hardly the first time the other man’s held something back.

He waits for the Doctor to call him on it, but the other man seems too preoccupied, staring at a display on the screen.

“Why me?”Jack asks eventually - the question he’s been waiting to ask, even if the context is all wrong.

The Doctor’s eyes snap up, finding his own and Jack realises before he even speaks-

“Because it’ll kill anyone else, Jack.”

Bastard. Jack’s gut twists. All this time he’s been searching, all the questions he’s ever had, and the Doctor knew. He knew and he left him alone all the same.

“I’m sorry.”

His shoulders tighten, his muscles tensing. He can barely keep from leaping out of his skin. “You knew?”

The Doctor straightens. “Yes.”

“For how long?”

“I’ve always known.” Something flashes across the screen and catches the Doctor’s attention. He starts flipping the dials near him and the ship starts its dematerialisation sequence. “This isn’t the time-”

“No,” Jack says, slapping his hand over the Doctor’s and halting his motions. “This is exactly the time.”

“We’ll have three days, Jack.” The Doctor pulls away and crosses his arms, mirroring his former pose. “There’ll be plenty of time for questions but this - right now? We don’t have time.”

“We’re in a time machine-”

“No, Jack, it has to happen now. I had to lock in the temporal coordinates, we have to open the Eye exactly three days before Pete- Before she falls in. Three days - it’s the only way we’ll have enough power to hop through and snatch her up. We don’t have the time.”

The thought stops him. Rose - falling? “Falls in where, Doctor?”

“We’ll only have one chance, Jack.”

Jack nods his head. He’s lived with this - or not lived with it, he supposes - for over a century. He can wait that little bit longer.

--

Jack’s chest starts to ache with need as his heart thuds back to life. His muscles tense - all of them, all at once - and with a shudder, his eyes snap open. He sucks in his next first breath.

Opening the Eye turned out to be easier than he expected. The Doctor counted down - three days to the second - and Jack looked into a light. If it’d been any more complicated than that he’s not sure - it had killed him.

When his eyes adjust, he realises he’s alone and, really, he’s not all that surprised. There’s a light brown coat balled up under his head, though, and that is a surprise.

The sound of the engines echo through the room and he stands - not shaky, but rejuvenated - and, snatching up the coat, he makes his way back down the winding corridor to the console room, sure that’s where he’ll find the Doctor.

He’s not disappointed.

“Jack!” The Doctor’s grinning, shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows as he spins wildly about the console. The TARDIS - for once - seems to be cooperating, humming under his ministrations like an instrument being played by a master. “I’d give you a thumbs up - both thumbs, if you’d like - but they’re a tad busy right now.”

There’s a visible difference in the Doctor - it’s almost like looking at a different man. He looks so much younger, so full of energy, bouncing from one side of the console to the other. “Doctor?”

“Jack-jack-jackity-jack! Oh, all right.” He pauses, turns and wiggles his thumbs. “Brilliant! Molto bene!”

Jack doesn’t fight the grin. “It worked, then?”

“Brilliantly!”

Jack drapes the Doctor’s coat over a strut and steps over to the console, taking over part of the controls and the Doctor shoots him a wide grin.

“Missed having someone around who could do that. Thanks, Jack.”

Jack blinks, surprised by the admission. “No problem.”

The other man’s grin widens. “She was learning, you know, but she hadn’t quite got the hang of it.” With an exaggerated flourish the Doctor flicks off the dampeners and the TARDIS settles in to a gentle flight.

Jack grins, more than a little encouraged by the Doctor’s words. He hadn’t even been able to talk about her earlier... The man’s enthusiasm is infectious. “So what, exactly, does the Eye of Harmony do?”

The Doctor flops on to the captain’s chair and Jack steps away from the controls, finding himself a strut to lean on. “Under controlled circumstances? It allows me to manipulate the properties of matter.”

“And we need to be in flight for that?”

“In the Rift we do.”

“We’re in the Rift?”

The Doctor grins. “Yep.”

“Why?”

“So we can prime the Rift.” He pats the nearest strut. “Build enough energy for this old girl to rip a hole in the Void. Well, a second hole, really. Takes more energy, that.”

Jack leans forward. “The Void? You want to tear a hole in the fabric between realities.”

“Yep.” As if he can no longer contain it, the Doctor jumps to his feet and strides over to the console in a sudden burst of motion. He adjusts a few dials, clearly fidgeting and, this time, Jack leaves him to it.

“That wasn’t a question.”

“I’m aware. It’s quite simple, really - all we have to do is slip through the Void and snatch her up as she’s passing through. She’ll have this little... Jump-thing. You could call it an inter-dimensional transport - if you stretched the definition a little. It looks a bit like a big yellow button - well, I suppose it is, being both yellow and a button - but it should be simple enough to lock on- Are you all right, Jack?”

The Doctor’s shooting him a quizzical look and Jack sucks in a breath, only just realising he had been holding his. One hell of a mouth on this version. “Yeah, I’m fine, sorry.”

“Good, good. We’re almost ready, actually,” the Doctor says, his motion stilling for a moment. “You were out for quite a while, Jack. Thought maybe... but I was wrong.” The Doctor grins and spins another dial. “Can’t have you missing the show.”

Jack folds his arms over his chest, unsure how to respond. Had the Doctor actually been worried about him? “Like I’d miss anything worth seeing. How long have we got?”

“Oh,” the Doctor says, making a show of looking at his wrist, “a few hours.”

Jack raises an eyebrow.

“Two. Two hours, seven minutes.” He grins. “Fifty-seven seconds.”

He’d lost two full days, then. He’s sure there’s been worse in the past - and, with his luck, that there’ll be worse in the future. “Not long at all, then.”

“Nope.” The Doctor grins, flicking a switch.

Jack takes a deep breath, aware of the air as it fills his lungs. He doesn’t have long, then. “Doctor?”

“Jack?”

“Can you fix me?”

The Doctor stiffens. “Are you ill?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yes, I know what you mean.” When the Doctor looks at him there’s no trace of his earlier grin. “No, Jack. I can’t fix you.”

“Right,” Jack says. “Okay.”

“I’m sor-”

“I know,” Jack interrupts. “So, once we get Rose back...”

“No,” the Doctor says. “I’m finished making choices for people. You all seem to come back anyway. I thought, maybe... Your room is still there - hasn’t been touched.”

Jack isn’t sure how to respond - he isn’t even sure what the Doctor’s suggesting, exactly, but... Well, it’s not an unattractive thought. If nothing else he’d have a better chance of finding answers, and it’d be... The three of them, back in the TARDIS. No, it’s not an unattractive thought at all.

“How long do we have?” he asks, ignoring the possibility for now.

The grin finds its way back to the Doctor’s face. “Oh, not long now. So, Jack, do you fancy driving or diving?”

--

The TARDIS hums beneath his fingers and he pushes her a little bit more - a little bit harder and a little bit faster than he’s ever done before - half a twist of his wrist, the tiniest flick of his finger and they’re on course.

“Found them!” Jack calls from the other side of the console.

He doesn’t waste time looking up - he doesn’t have the time to waste looking up - he just punches in the coordinates as Jack rattles them off.

Nearly - almost - and they’re cutting it thin, he can feel it in the back of his teeth, the fraction of the second as it passes and then- “Doctor!” - she’s there. Oh, she’s right there. She looks like she might fall if not for Jack’s arms - brilliant, brilliant man - but she’s...

She smiles at him and he slams the ship into reverse, pulling it out of the Void, through the Rift - back, back, back - and, as soon as it’s safe, she’s in his arms. Warm and safe and solid and she clings to him, just as tightly.

He’s aware of Jack grinning at them over her shoulder and this is good, he thinks. It’s right.

She pulls back and he lets go of her long enough for her to hug Jack and yes, he decides - this? This is just the way it should be.

Fin.

teadis @ 2008-09-15T10:03:00

2008-09-15T00:10:25Z

Title: Ageing Gracefully
Author: dave7
Rating: G
Characters/Pairing: Nine, Jack, Rose
Spoilers: None
Author's Notes: A tripple-drabble (300 words exactly) for wiggiemomsi, who outbid the dynamic duo. Hope you enjoy it, dear. :) With thanks to wendymr for BRing.

--

Ageing Gracefully

--

Rose leans against the console, her face flushed with laughter. “What, Doctor, were you born yesterday?”

She’s grinning at him, pink tongue caught between her teeth, and he really, really can’t help himself.

“Actually,” he says, pulling back his sleeve and making a show of looking at his watch, “not yesterday, no. I’d have been born sometime next week.”

Her grin widens. “It’s your birthday next week?”

Jack’s head pops out from the open grating. “Birthday?” He grins - his most charming one, the Doctor realises - and winks at them. “Can we have a party? I know this bar on the Fifty-seventh-”

“Don’t be silly, Jack,” Rose interrupts. “The Doctor’s way too old for a bar.”

“You’re never too old for a bar,” Jack corrects, his grin widening. “Although... what do you get a guy who’s nearly a thousand?”

“A cane?”

“Now that sounds-”

“What I meant -” The Doctor cuts in. “- was that a week from Thursday, relative time, I’ll be born.”

“Wait, like...”

“Yup.”

Rose’s brow knits. “But you’re - I mean, look at you.” She frowns. “When are we?”

“In your timeline? Twenty-third century.”

“Hang on.” Jack’s already wide grin widens further as he points at the Doctor. “Twenty-third.” He motions towards himself. “Fifty-first.” -and then turns towards Rose. “Twentieth. That officially makes you the oldest person here.”

“I’m not even close,” she says, “no matter how many face masks you use, Jack.”

“It’s a matter of temporal dynamics,” the Doctor says, holding back his grin.

“What does that mean?” Rose asks, folding her arms across her chest.

“One thing the beauty of time travel can’t help,” Jack says. “You can go as far back as you’d like, but your grandmother will always be older than you.”

Rose frowns.

“Come on, Grandma,” the Doctor says, “I’ll buy you a drink.”

--

Remember, bidding closes today - 11:59pm CST time - and drabbles are still on offer!