Fandom: Castle/Lie to Me crossover.
Characters/Pairings: Alexis Castle/Emily Lightman, Cal Lightman, Richard Castle.
A/N: Yes, I know it's an hour till New Year. And yes, I'm posting it from a party. So what? :D
Some friendships are forged in fire, some come out from the similarity of interests, and some others creep on slowly, from the lack of better alternatives. When Emily Lightman meets Alexis Castle it’s an instant friendship brought on by shared parental embarrassment. It’s something you get used to.
“Don’t get arrested. Don’t go to the frat parties, I know what goes on there. Don’t drink. Don’t take drugs. If you drink or take drugs, don’t drive. If you drink and drive, don’t even try calling me when you get arrested. Call your mother, she’d love being woken up in the middle of the night for this. No, wait, don’t call your mother. Call me.”
Emily sighs and tries to glue the poster to the wall. She’s beginning to consider nailing it down. Her deposit would be shot to hell, but frankly, it beats driving nails through her skull to drown out Dad’s nagging. She concentrates on the voices in the hall.
“Try to at least catch a party or two, alright? College is not all about studying, there’s also beer pong.”
The readhead in the doorway looks like she wouldn’t mind driving some nails through her own skull. Emily offers half a smile, raising her glue gun in salute.
“Hi there,” the man behind her says. Emily has a faint recollection of his face, she’s pretty sure she had seen him somewhere before. “I’m Richard Castle, and this lovely young lady is my daughter Alexis,” he adds with about seven different layers of charm and sprinkles, and Emily is rolling her eyes even before his voice fades.
“Rick Castle?” Dad says, clipped vowels sounding more like ‘Rick Asshole’. “I remember you, from that fucked NY case two years ago.”
Emily leans against the cupboard, ignoring the lengthy argument that follows. “So, what are you majoring in?” she asks Alexis, who shrugs, flipping her hair over her shoulders as she pointedly ignores the quarrel, which is slowly reaching nuclear proportions.
“Psychology. I figure that’s where everyone with issues ends up.”
Emily starts considering taking psych 101. At least she could name all the disorders her father is bound to be giving her.
“I can’t believe you’re pledging a sorority,” Emily says, stealing some of Alexis’ fries.
“I’m a legacy, or whatever. Mom was in delta pi, and also, Grandmother says that it’s useful to have a houseful of girls who can lend you a pair of Jimmy Choos no matter the day or hour.”
“I thought we weren’t taking your grandmother’s life advice.”
“That’s not life, that’s shoes,” Alexis corrects with all seriousness before cracking up, red hair falling all over her face as she laughs. “Come on, not like I’m really going to join, but all the rush parties are fun.”
“Yes, especially the part where all the girls are trying to somehow inauspiciously get your father’s phone number,” Emily offers, just to see Alexis grimace. “Maybe not that fun, eh?”
Alexis points at her with her fry. “Hey, we had a deal. Friends don’t read friends’ microexpressions.”
“It’s not really a microexpression if it’s all over your face, but I get your point. Gillian says I should learn to turn it off but, well, you’ve met my father.”
And what a fun hour that was, Alexis thinks. “Who’s Gillian, again? The pretty sidekick about to eclipse her master, or the old friend your father harbors secret desire for?”
“You need to stop reading Nikki Heat novels,” Emily mutters, leaning slightly forward, as if she was about to bang her head onto the table but rethought it halfway.
“I tried, believe me. I mean, ever since I know for sure about half of the smut is my father’s sex life…”
Emily nods sagely. She had read the infamous page 105 in Heat Wave. She also had read pages 5 to 8 and 197 of Heat Stroke and was both impressed and really freaked out. She’s not entirely sure if page 197 is physically possible, but is definitely not going to ask either Alexis or her father about it because, god, no.
Well, maybe after the delta pi mixer, if Alexis is determined to attend, once Emily had downed a few tequila shots, maybe then she’ll ask Alexis.
Emily is nothing if not observant, honestly, you have to be, raised in that family and that particular circle of people. She knows when you lie, no kidding, and she knows lots of other things you don’t want her to know. Maybe that’s why she doesn’t date. It’s probably her father’s grand plan working, but hey.
Of course, with all that perceptiveness and the not dating, she doesn’t even notice that yes, she might be.
Every Friday it’s Crime Night at Casa Di Castle&Lightman, as Alexis started to call their dormroom. And by Crime Night they mean lots of chocolate and mocking of the newest crime shows and procedural dramas. It’s not even the ‘hey, my dad done that first’ thing as much as it is bemoaning at how formulaic the genre had become and, for Alexis, criticizing the cliché-ridden plots, and they’re always cliché-ridden, even when they are actually good.
It’s one of those evenings, after a long day, when they curl up on the couch and Alexis’ head rests comfortably on Emily’s shoulder as they sit wrapped in their respective blankets-with-sleeves (Alexis’ father idea, and one of his actually good ones), it’s only then when Emily thinks: ‘hey, this is nice’ in a totally different way than before.
“Hey, this is nice,” she says and reading microexpressions isn’t a necessary skill to decipher what Alexis is thinking.
She’s thinking: ‘yes, you moron’ and ‘finally’, and it’s only good and proper to kiss her then. She tastes faintly of hot chocolate, but mostly, she tastes of promise.
Some friendships don’t end, but just change and shift and reach out, and this is it.