DISCLAIMER: Neither of these characters are owned by me. No profit made, no infringement intended.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Set between seasons 2 and 3 of Castle, Kate Beckett is *not* sulking.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
FEEDBACK: To Racethewind10[at]gmail.com

Whiskey and Wanting
By racethewind10


Kate Beckett, Detective, NYPD is absolutely, positively, not sulking. She isn't. She can't be. Because if she is sulking that means that she's gone and broken her cardinal rule and let Richard Castle get to her. And while Kate isn't nearly as buttoned down as Castle has accused her of being on many an occasion, she tries hard not to break her own rules. Still, if she's being honest with herself, Beckett has a sneaking suspicion that she is, indeed, sulking. Which is why she is sitting alone, at the far end of a well scarred and much polished bar, in a slightly-dingier-than-you'd-expect dive, sipping her second whiskey on the rocks and not out with her boys or Lanie. She knows they mean well, but one of them would slip up and mention Castle, and then the feelings that the redhead is trying so damned hard to pretend she does not have would sneak up and ambush her and Kate just doesn't want to deal with that right now.

So instead she sits in the neon shadows, in the kind of quiet only found at the expense of music just loud enough to send the bass thrumming through her bones, not sulking and works on getting slowly drunk. And since Kate Beckett is goal oriented and good at doing whatever she sets her mind to she is working her way steadily passed buzzed and toward fuzzy.

Indeed, it takes her a moment to understand the significance of the shot of – she sniffs – tequila that appears as if by magic in front of her. Slightly unfocused green eyes flicker to the bartender, a perfectly charming specimen of the young, gay gym going species, who flashes her a brilliant smile and gestures with his handsomely square jaw to a long figure a few seats down. Through the press of bodies, Kate gets an impression of lean darkness, and then a slender hand with elegant fingers reaches out to wrap around the stem of a beer bottle and Beckett's benefactor turns toward her.

Kate's breath actually catches for just a moment as depthless eyes find hers and she is overwhelmed by an impression of porcelain skin framed by midnight hair and sensuous lips. The woman quirks those lips – 'kissable' is the adjective that comes to Beckett's alcohol fueled brain – and raises her beer in silent salute. It's been a long time since the detective's been down this road with another woman, but she doesn't fight the answering smile that comes to her own mouth and salutes the dark haired patron with the shot before she slams it.

The tequila is good, top shelf, and it doesn't hit Kate's stomach so much as slide gracefully down, leaving a silken trail of molten fire in its wake. She licks her lips, savoring the sweet sting and when she opens them her benefactor is leaning against the bar next to her, somehow finding the perfect distance that says 'interested' without crowding the Kate's space. Grinning openly now, Beckett lets her eyes take in the tall brunette. Her first impressions are confirmed as her gaze travels up legs that seem to go on forever. When green eyes finally make it back to deep brown shaded black in the murky bar lighting, Kate arches an eyebrow.

"What, no pickup line?" She asks playfully, putting just enough volume into her voice to be heard over the music.

Her new friend quirks her lips and shakes her head, sending a fall of black hair over her shoulder. Kate resists the urge to run her fingers through it. "You've heard them all a million times and besides, you made up your mind the moment you saw me."

Beckett feels a fission of something run down her spine and land in the pit of her stomach, making her heart pick up a few more notches.

"That could be considered arrogant."

The woman smiles wider. "I never said it had anything to do with me. You just know what you want."

"And what is that?" Beckett challenges, leaning forward slightly.

The dark haired woman shifts closer herself, and eyes that sparkled with challenge and flirtation go soft. "To forget whatever brought you here tonight. To feel something, anything other than what you're feeling now. And maybe to remember what it feels like to be just a little bit wild." The last is said low and daring and Kate feels her pulse leap. She closes her eyes and licks her lips, feeling in that moment of sightlessness the brunette's gaze on her, hungry and familiar.

"My place isn't far," she says, opening her eyes and staring at the woman in front of her, seeking and finding an understanding and a similar need.

Clothes are left like broken shadows in a tangled trail to Kate's bed and she is dimly aware of thinking she never cared much for that shirt anyway as it's ripped from her shoulders and then even that distant ability to process thought is swept away before the feeling of silken skin under her hands. Those lips that she guessed were kissable are so very much more and the detective moans as they trail soft heat down her body and lavish attention on her breasts. The elegant fingers that had saluted her wrapped around a beer bottle now create exquisite fire along her ribs, her hips, her thighs, and finally, after she's begged breathlessly, inside her until darkness explodes behind her eyes and the world fades for one perfect second.

In soft, slow kisses she tastes herself on the other woman's mouth and, heart still racing and body tingling, she allows herself to run her fingers through that tempting mahogany hair. It slithers like midnight silk between her fingers and for a moment Kate simply trails the strands through her fingers, lost in the sensation. It doesn't take long, however, for desire to overtake her and a gentle caress becomes a sharp grip, pulling a gasp and a hiss of encouragement from her lover. Then it's her turn to kiss and caress, to stroke and taste and revel in the sight of the dark haired woman coming undone in her arms, that long body bowing under her like a master's sculpture given momentary life.

Again and again they reach for each other, until finally, as the city's neon cloak is just being pulled back to reveal the warm light of day, the two women lie on the edge of sleep, tangled in Kate's sheets and each other. Beckett's head rests on the brunette's shoulder and her lover's hands hold her close, stroking along her spine slowly.

"I missed you, Kate Beckett," the soft words are husky and rich, velvet and satiety and they don't break the contented silence so much as become a part of it.

Slender arms tighten fractionally and a kiss is placed to her hair and Kate smiles gently, not bothering to open her eyes just yet. She knows exactly what she'll see when she does.

"I missed you too Emily Prentiss." She kisses the collar bone beneath her cheek and props herself on an elbow.

"How long has it been?" Emily asks lazily, smiling and tucking a strand of tangled hair behind Kate's ear.

"Hmm, five years?"

"God, time moves fast."

Kate merely snorts softly and lays her head back down, pressing closer to Emily. The agent's next words make her laugh though.

"Agent Jordan Shaw says to say hello."

Kate chuckles. "How is she?"

"As blunt as ever. She said something about making sure Castle was behaving himself?" Emily inquires gently.

Kate can't help the involuntary flinch.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Comes the soft question, spoken in the gentle, rich tones Kate is so familiar with, despite the fading press of time.

"Can we just….be…for a while?" She sighs.

Emily doesn't respond, just reaches down and tugs the blanket around Kate's shoulders and the detective is grateful again for her lover's profiler's instincts: instincts that have been a balm to her soul at rare and infrequent times throughout the detective's life. 

Kate had lovers in college - before her mother's murder - but even then she didn't trust easily and more than once, a relationship ended with her boyfriend (or girlfriend) glaring at her, hurt and angry and telling her 'you just never let anyone in Kate!'  And it was true. She didn't. Until Emily.  Kate never had to let Emily in, Emily just always knew her.  The dark haired upper-classman with a wild streak to outstrip Kate's own had understood Beckett's passion and her restlessness and eventually, her pain, in a way no one else ever had, even Castle. So even though their lives have kept them apart, and even though Beckett knows she's falling (or has fallen) in love with Rick, there will always be a part of her that loves Emily and cherishes their brief times together.

Outside Kate's curtains the sun is coming up and time is marching forward beside it. Soon she'll have to get up and shower and get to the station. Soon Emily will buckle her Glock and her federal ID badge back on her belt and the two of them will joke about who carries the bigger gun and who has the better badge flashing technique. Soon they will softly say goodbye and Emily will kiss Kate tenderly on the lips one last time. Soon Kate will tell her to be safe and the agent will say 'you too' and then Emily will walk out of Kate's door and probably her life for another unknown span of time. Soon Kate will go back to solving cases and bantering with Ryan and Espisoto and spending time with Lanie and trying hard not to be pissed at Richard Castle.

But that is soon, not now. Now Kate Beckett, Detective, NYPD, holds closer the woman she loved briefly in college before tragedy and their careers ripped them apart and lets herself just be; safe and content and not a little bit smug as she drifts gently from Emily's arms into those of Morpheus.

The End

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