Because msmorg has been super good to me and I felt like she needed cheering up
It’s the mish-mash of colours rushing past, the electric beat of music drifting around the open space of the centre, the loud greetings in dialects and languages made up in some sci-fi genius’ mind, the excited bounce in everyone’s step, the tangible thrum of energy running through the place. Without fail it all gets him every time, brings a beaming and unrelenting smile out onto his face. Yep, there’s nothing better than being in the middle of a convention, even if Castle is stuck behind a table for most of it, signing books instead of going to gawk at the King of the North. At least he’s right in the middle of the Marvel exhibition though. He’s already ogled the Iron Man armour and snuck one of the little POP! Iron Man figures into his gift bag jammed full of nerdy goodies.
Were he at New York Comic Con instead of Supernova Con, he might have been in the company of Robert Downey Jr himself or, even better, Stan Lee. Instead his only company is a few life-size statues that actually turn kind of creepy when the section’s rush of visitors dwindles and they’re looming figures are his only company. If he didn’t think Beckett would shoot him for adding another figure to his bathroom, he’d be real tempted by the group of Avengers or at the very least Thor brandishing Mjolnir. Picturing Beckett’s face as she walks through the bathroom and finds the polished surface of the hammer in her face almost makes him make the purchase anyway.
The occasional fan seeking a signature for their copy of the Storm Season graphic novel stops him from speaking to the bored-looking statue-custodian. At least until his partner disrupts his work for a change. After the way she teased him with that line about signing her chest – she knows he doesn’t do that anymore – the idea of starting a life-size figurine collection in his bathroom is beginning to look even more appealing. As he follows Kate away from his desk though and out of the space allocated to Marvel, he notices the shiny, concave surface of the actual Captain America shield though not just the plastic and incredibly fake-looking one positioned with one of the early concept costumes in a display case near his signing table. This one looks perfect – it’s dark-tinted red and blue paint gleaming even through the glass protecting it.
Beckett’s case would have been a pretty good distraction if he hadn’t repeatedly seen little boys and girls running past in makeshift costumes, some of them carrying the sweetest little cardboard shields, messily coloured in red and blue concentric circles with felt-tip pens. Whoever thought that Optimus Prime made a better cosplay than Mr Stars and Stripes himself was an idiot, Castle muses as he wanders back to his deserted signing desk to collect his things since the morgue is apparently calling to them.
It’s almost four thirty. Everybody’s leaving – the Marvel team busy shifting those Avenger figures back through the Convention Centre, though where they’re going once they leave the building, he has no idea. Nobody would mind if he had a bit of a closer inspection at Cap’s shield, right? It’s just sitting there in the open – not even in the display case anymore. It’s basically begging to be looked at.
The metal is light in his hands as he flips it over and checks out the tan leather straps attached to the back. It’s definitely the real deal.
He can’t help running his hands over it for a while as he thinks over and over again that Chris fucking Evans used it. He wonders if the straps have been loosened at all or if they’re still done to fit the actor. An amazed chuckle splits his lips as he slides his arm through them and finds the fit perfect.
“So. Cool,” he mutters to himself, testing the weight of the shield against an imaginary opponent.
In no time at all, he’s recreating some of the best fight choreography from the films, spinning to block flying punches, making an uppercut with the shield of the rim to knock out invisible enemy number two out cold. Hydra commando number five takes the full brunt of the shield in the chest and falls back several feet as Castle puts all his weight behind his shoulder, only to draw back and dispatch the Nazi with a super-serum fuelled punch. Soon they’re all gone.
The shield is easily removed from his arm and twirled between his fingers. He can even carry it in one hand, keeping it straight as he holds it like a Frisbee-
“You about done?”
Her voice comes out of the blue – despite the fact that she’d been standing watching for a few minutes. Obviously he was too engrossed in his fight with Hydra that he didn’t notice her and he startles so much that he spins and somehow his neurones make his fingers loosen, sending the shield straight…towards his girlfriend.
While he’s frozen to the spot, watching the object spinning through the air towards her, Beckett is much more mobile, pushing away from the metal support beam she’d been leaning against and merely stretching out an arm to catch hold of the shield. “What was that?” she demands.
“Reflex?”
Beckett rolls her eyes at his squeaky pitch and slots her own arm through the straps and God-damn is it hot? Even with the exasperated sigh she breathes out at him and the impatient stare she levels at him, she looks like a million bucks, like his very own Peggy Carter. Just in five inch stilettos…
“You didn’t tell me you were an SSR agent, Beckett,” he says, voice rumbling with suggestion as he approaches and slides a finger over the shield caught between their bodies.
She huffs at him, pushing his body backwards with the shield. “There’s a lot you still don’t know about me, Castle, like the fact that I have been trained to use riot shields. Now put this back and pack your stuff up. We’re working, remember?” Beckett says, enunciating each syllable clearly and nodding towards his table, which she can see is still piled with copies of his graphic novel.
His hands come up to frame the shield, fingers curling at the edge, but he doesn’t pull it away from her.
“Does the shield have to go back? Or could it maybe come home with us?”
She gives him a confused look. “Castle, it’s a prop shield. What do you need a prop shield for-“
“-Ah, but it’s not just any prop shield,” he interrupts. “It’s Captain America’s prop shield. And I think that it could make a great addition to the bedroom.” His voice dips, leaving no mistake about exactly what kind of addition it would make to the bedroom. She knew he was into role play, but really? Capsicle? Seizing her moment of silence, he exclaims, “You paused. You’re considering it.” Her gaze remains flat, unrelenting. “How do you feel about 1940s suits? Is that a yes? No? A fuck yes let’s role play the First Avenger?” He gasps, excitement spilling out of him as he’s struck with an idea. “I’ll let you show me your trick with ice.”
She scoffs. “You’ll let me show you?” Spinning on her heels, Kate calls out, “If you want to be part of the ice trick, Castle, you’ll grab your stuff and be ready to go to the morgue in five minutes.”
“So is that a yes?” He gets no answer. Beckett simply continues to walk away from the Marvel exhibition and back towards the front of the centre where her car’s parked outside. He repeats her words in his head. His stuff? The shield could be his stuff, right?