milliways_bar | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

Beckett is running.

To work out, mostly, but also to clear her head.

(There's a lot in there that needs clearing.)

She's outside, dressed just enough to stay warm and trying to make her way back to the bar before it gets too dark and she's forced to dodge demon bunnies or whatever else lurks out in the shadows. By the time she returns, she's made good time, and stops to do a few finishing stretches, hoisting her foot up onto the railing and trying to touch her nose to her leg.

She's got headphones in, so she may not hear you if you approach quietly. And we don't advise sneaking up on her, either.

[ tiny tag: rick castle ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"It happens when the door keeps showing up," she counters.

Beckett can't tell what he's thinking by the tone in his voice, but she eventually concedes over her own misgivings with a small sigh.

"I was going to head over there, maybe go for a swim. Want to come?"

"I don't have my trunks." Not that that's ever stopped him before. He has fond memories of a certain party on the rooftop of Rockefeller Center (honestly, that's the last time he ever rents a hot tub).

Beckett lifts an eyebrow.

"Well, if you're really set on not ruining that Armani, you could always ask Bar for a pair."

Castle hadn't been aware that Bar could produce anything more meaningful than sandwiches. He has a lot of catching up to do.

"Swim trunks and floaties," he says, swinging up onto the stoop in front of Bar's door. "You want anything while I'm in there? Beach ball? Lifeguard uniform?"

"None of the above," Beckett answers, fingers toying with the zipper on her warm-up jacket.

Her plan is just to peel out of the warmer layers and rinse off the hour's worth of sweat.

"Hurry up. We're pulling out in five."

"Ten-four, detective."

Inside, Bar is abuzz with midday activity. 'Place is very much like Castle remembers it, and Bar seems to remember him, too, because there's a pair of navy swim trunks and a towel waiting for him when he gets there. "Thanks." He takes the trunks and starts toward the bathroom, 'doubles back on his heel and leans forward toward Bar. "If I'd asked for a Speedo, would I have gotten a Speedo?"

Bar remains mute.

Castle changes quickly and steps outside to meet Beckett.

"Should I be worried that Bar knew my inseam?" he asks, slinging the towel over his shoulder.

"Maybe not. She knows how to size people up. Shall we?"

It's not a long walk to the inlet, but Beckett sticks close to the main path just the same, keeping an eye out for any small creatures that may or may not want to jump out at them. Walking with purpose: it's the same concept she'd attribute to cutting down a dark alleyway late at night.

Soon, the cold ground gives way to warm sand beneath their feet, and the scent of salt water carries over on the wind. It's early evening here, the sunset beginning to start just as they reach the shoreline. Beckett toes off her shoes and peels off her socks, sticking them inside, and then sheds her jacket, shucking off her mesh workout pants.

"Water's not getting any warmer, Castle," she declares, and wades in up to her waist before submerging.

Patent leather shoes don't do well on sandy surfaces so Castle stops at the treeline, balancing on one foot while he removes his footwear. Beckett's already in the water by the time he de-clothes and catches up with her. He's comically skittish about wading in. 'Gives her a wary look before the small whitecaps overwhelm his ankles.

"I hope this doesn't detract from your manly image of me --" he jumps when a rogue wave rises up to smack him in the chest, letting out a whoop that certainly doesn't sound very masculine.

She's out just deep enough to be able to stand if she stretches her legs out fully, but she's enjoying treading water in the meantime, blinking water out of her eyes as it laps over her shoulders from time to time.

"I hate to be the one to break this to you, but it's a little too late for you to start worrying about any ruined masculinity."

"You know, the water carries the sound of your sarcasm really well."

He screws his courage to the sticking place and goes under, blowing out a stream of bubbles. Shock gives way to a feeling of refreshment as he bobs to the surface. 'Shakes the water out of his eyes and looks around for her.

She's in the process of pulling out the tie that holds her hair back from her face, sliding it around her wrist before she tilts her head back to let the water soak in.

"Look at that. The city boy can swim after all."

He's not graceful, but he's not floundering. It's been a while since Castle has gone swimming -- at least outside of an isolated fountain incident. He spits a mouthful of briny water in her direction for the city boy comment.

"You've got the advantage on me. 'Flat feet help displace a lot more water."

She barely gets a hand up in front of her face to block the spit of water, turning away to protest with a soft sound.

"Just stay in the shallows. I'm a little rusty on my CPR," Beckett teases.

Castle upends in response, feet kicking up a mini typhoon of wavewash. He spins underwater like a great, lazy seal, skimming the sandy bottom. 'Comes up with a whoosh of air, closer to her than before.

"Whew! This place is the real deal. I haven't been on a night swim since performing arts camp." A beat. "Like, twenty-five years ago. And I only went because my mother made me."

"It's nice, isn't it? Peaceful."

Apart from the occasional wave, the water's mostly still - and quiet, too, aside from their conversation. They're the only ones out here at the moment. She drifts, arms occasionally skimming over the water's surface, keeping her relatively steady as she glances over at him with a grin.

"You snuck out, didn't you?"

"Cheerleading camp was across the lake."

The bottom is even and he can plant his feet when he feels the current start to pull him off-course. For now, he's happy to drift, legs kicking just hard enough to keep him afloat.

"Did you make it across to wow them with your literary insight?"

She waves her arms back and forth across the water, half-expecting another spit of retaliation.

He shoots her a salty look. "No. But I learned a couple of things about human pyramids."

She cups a handful of water in her palm and promptly deposits it over his head.

"I think you need to learn a couple of things about cooling off."

"C'mon, Beckett. Don't tell me you never had a summer fling." He scrubs at his face, succeeding in screwing more salt into his eyes. 'Has to dunk his head to clear them.

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

The details of any summer romances she may or may not have had are not going to be shared so easily.

"I would, actually." Getting personal stories out of Beckett is like trying to get blood from a stone. Castle has discovered that she is only slightly more opaque than everybody else he knows. He pulls water toward his chest with his arms, righting his balance.

"Although, there are times when I'm willing to believe that you were born with a badge and a gun."

"I'm sure anything you could come up with for Nikki Heat would be much more scandalous than any stories I'd have to offer."

She lets the movement of the water carry her towards him in a slow sway before fanning her arms out when she gets too close.

"Probably," he admits, tilting his head back to catch the last rays of the sun as they slide lazily toward the waterline. "Right now I'm considering the possibility that Nikki Heat spent some time in the Far East, learning martial arts from a rickety old Chinese guy named Dong Long." That wide, line-feeding grin. He shakes his head.

"Come on. Truth is stranger than fiction anyway. And this is strictly off the record. I'm not in writer mode, I promise."

"You really think anyone would buy that?" she asks, tilting her head with a following laugh and then leaning back, letting her upper half float on the ocean's surface.

"There may have been one or two purely innocent kisses shared behind cabins. Nothing too scandalous."