Secrets Revealed - - Chapter One
"Castle, what are you doing here?" Detective Kate Beckett shifted uneasily from one foot to another, wondering if he would just go away if she asked him to. A small part of her wanted him to stay, but she knew that getting him involved would change things, set everything off balance. So she stood at her door, holding it open, but standing in it's entrance.
"I don't know really. It seemed like maybe you wanted to talk earlier? Things were pretty hectic." The writer part of Richard Castle's brain, the part that had honed in on her baseline behavior, perceived that something was off. He noticed that she was unusually subdued. It wasn't like her. Normally she would have made it known that his presence was not requested, or wanted, and she wouldn't hesitate throwing in a threat involving her gun. "So, I brought take-out . . . Chinese. I wouldn't want to break tradition."
She just looked at him blankly. "Tradition?"
"Yeah, we finished a case. We always have food when we finish one. I invited the guys, but they were busy." He held up the box nose-level so she could smell it.
"Castle, I'm really not hungry right now. It's been a long day. I just want to go to bed." She reprimanded herself for the lie. She knew she would not be going to bed any time soon. Sleep would not come easy tonight. More than likely she would stay up with a book to keep her company all night, reading and rereading the same pages over and over again until she could focus her attention on the words.
"It's only nine o'clock . . . and I have food. You have to eat, right?" He looked her over once, and decided it was time for intervention. He would not take no for an answer.
She bit her lip, trying to decide if spending the evening dodging questions, and steering the conversation into safe territory, would be better than spending it alone.
"Come on, you're not really going to send me away are you, after I come all this way bearing dinner and conversation?" He tried to entice her with one of his charming, little boy smiles, but didn't realize it was not necessary.
She was aware that she would not be able to send him away. He was just what she needed. . . a distraction, and if Richard Castle was anything at all, he was definitely a distraction. She took a small step to the side, which gave him all the invitation he needed to brush past her, and make his way to her kitchen.
Kate did not say anything as she moved about her kitchen, pulling out plates and forks, and holding up an offering of beer or water. He was unbagging food and arranging it on there plates. He nodded toward the beer. He didn't know why, but he had an uneasy feeling that he was going to need something stronger than water to get him through this night.
They had their plates and drinks spread across the small table in the living room, and the television was droning monotinously in the distance. Neither of them were eating or watching the television. He kept one eye on her after he finished his dinner. She put on a show of being interested in what he brought, but she picked at it mostly, and consumed little.
"You've been watching me for the past twenty minutes. Is there something you want to say?" She put down her fork, and glared at him.
"OK, I'm going to be straight with you. I'm worried about you. You've seemed off all day. And by off, I mean . . . sad, jumpy, pissed off. . . all at once. I don't know what to make of it. Everybody else noticed too, but nobody's saying anything. So, to me, that means everybody knows what's goin' on but me. I don't like it."
"You feel left out. That's terrible for you." Her tone was sarcastic, and detached at the same time. She had already traded her bottle of water for a bottle of wine, and was back in the kitchen looking through drawers for her corkscrew.
"If you didn't want me here, you never would have let me in. You would have told me to get the hell out."
"You can be very pushy. I'm too tired to argue with you tonight. Sometimes it's just easier to let you have your way. You'll get bored eventually, and move on to . . . whatever is next on your list."
"Ouch. That is very condescending, and completely untrue. I can't really see me getting bored in your company."
"Seriously? You don't have anything better to do on a Friday night?" She found the corkscrew, and poured two glasses.
He watched her carefully as she made her way back to the living room, and slid a glass of wine in front of him, next to his half full bottle of beer. "So then . . . you're not going to kick me out?" He wondered how hard he should push her. She didn't disagree with him, so he went on. "Sure, I would like to know what's going on, but if you don't want to tell me, that's fine too. We can just . . . watch TV, or . . . play Monopoly . . . or . . . "
"You're right. I don't want you to go. There, I said it. Are you happy?" This caught me off guard. First, because she actually admitted to needing me for something, and second, because, yes, it actually does make me a little happy to hear her say so. I just can't help but worry what the circumstances are that would make her ask me to stay. Before I could put any of my thoughts into words, she rushed ahead with her full confession. "I'm tired of staying up all night, or laying in bed with my gun and a book that I have to keep reading over and over because I can't concentrate on the words." She ran her hands through her hair, and looked up at me with those eyes that I could never say no to. Only now they were wide, glassy, and a little pleading. "It has only been three days, but I just need to sleep. I am really, really tired."
I rubbed my hands together, relieved that she has finally given me a course of action. I took both of the glasses of wine she poured, and walked them back to the kitchen, pouring the contents down the drain. "OK, now you've given me something I can work with. You want a good night's sleep, right? That's what you'll get. Just leave it up to me." I rolled my sleeves up, and started opening cabinet doors and drawers.
She stood watching me from the other side of the counter top like I had gone crazy. She didn't say anything, but her expression spoke for itself. She was clearly wondering what I was up to.
"What? You haven't tried hot cocoa?"
"Hot cocoa? No. I am more of a coffee or tea kind of girl."
"It's a good thing I'm here then. No wonder you're not sleeping." I continued searching through her pantry and cabinets for the illusive ingredients.
She just rolled her eyes at me, and shook her head. "You're not going to find any hot chocolate in there."
"You're a woman. Surely you have some form of chocolate around here."
"There might be some chocolate chips in the refrigerator, and some baking chocolate in one of the cupboards." I was getting the impression she was only humoring me now, and didn't expect any form of hot beverage to materialize anytime soon. She must have forgotten that I am the father of a hormonal teenager, who frequently requires hot cocoa to neutralize her problems. If only grown up problems were that easily solved.
"Sit. Feel free to take notes." I glanced at her casually, as I found the chocolate, milk, vanilla, nutmeg and other ingredients. Instead of sitting, she hovered near the counter as I stirred the items together in the saucepan. I could feel her watching, although I had my back turned to her. "Do you have any marshmallows?"
"Are you kidding me?"
I didn't think she would, but I had to ask. "Brandy?"
"Maybe . . . it would be in the liquor cabinet, to your right."
"Ahhh, even better than marshmallows." I turned back to her, sitting the mugs, spoons, and liquor on the counter, she was watching me very seriously. "What? You've never had anyone make you hot cocoa before bed?"
"Actually, no, or at least not in the last twenty or so years, but that's not what I was thinking." She looked down at her hands, which were busy toying nervously on a piece of napkin. "Thank you, for staying, and for not asking questions."
"Tonight, you get some sleep. If you feel like it, we can talk tomorrow." She probably thought I didn't see, or at least hoped I didn't see, her try to blink back a tear before it gave her away, and spilled down her cheek. I turned back to the saucepan. "This has to simmer a while. Where is your bathroom?"
Kate pointed the way, and I started working on part two of my plan, while she was left in charge of stirring the chocolate. I closed the bathroom door behind me, and started gathering what I needed. I figured, if she was a bath person, like I suspected she was, I would be able to get this ready quickly and easily. I was right. I found a candle, matches, some scented bath oils, and some fluffy towels all in one cabinet. I ran the bath hot, and poured in some bubble bath -- which I chose because the smell was familiar. I placed the towel on the edge of the tile, along with a washcloth and her shampoo, which I found in the shower, and couldn't help but smelling to find out whether it smelled the same in the bottle as it did in her hair. It was the same, but different. I turned off the water, lit the candle, and turned out the lights.
I found her still in the kitchen stirring the cocoa, and seemingly in another world. She jumped when she heard me behind her, and snapped her attention back to the pan. "Is this OK to leave? It's not going to burn, or stick, or whatever, is it?" She seemed confused. "Did you take a shower?"
"It will be fine for a minute." I put my hands on her shoulders, and turned her toward the hallway, giving her a little push. "I'll take care of it while you are in the bath."
She turned back to me, giving me that look, again, the one that hinted that I was losing my sanity. "What? No. I'm just going to . . . "
" . . . take a bath. A hot, bubbly, relaxing bath is just on the other side of those doors. Everything's ready to go. I'm not a girl, so if I forgot something . . . I apologize in advance."
Moments later, Kate found herself chin deep in hot, sudsy bath water. She wondered fleetingly why she was letting Rick Castle in. Not only in to her space at work, but now at home, in her kitchen, her bath, her private retreat away from all the demands and aggravations at work. More puzzling to her, was how quickly she was letting him in to her heart. He was definitely growing on her. When he wasn't being a childish, petulant playboy, he could be very charming. He also had a caring side that would have completely taken her by surprise if she hadn't gained the insight through a few glimpses of his relationship with his family.
She just hoped she wasn't making a mistake in letting him in on her most carefully guarded secret. She was very careful to keep her private life and her work life separate. Ryan and Esposito were like brothers to her, but even they knew there were some things they needn't bother questioning her about.
When the bubbles started disappearing, and the water cooled to considerably less than the boiling point, she sighed, and hoisted herself out. Looking around for something to dress in, she cursed to herself, and wrapped herself in the towel.
I was taking in the photos and rows of books on her bookshelves, when Kate stuck her head out of the bathroom door, and called my name. I went to the hallway, and asked her what I forgot.
"Um, I need something to put on. I think my bathrobe is on my bed."
"I looked. It's not there. Here, take this." I did not do this on purpose. It was a complete oversight. I really did look for her bathrobe, but when opportunity knocks, who am I to turn opportunity away? She stuck her hand out, and I hooked the shirt over her hand. I counted to three, waiting for her reaction to what I gave her. I didn't make it to two.
"Uh, Castle. This is your shirt."
"Yeah. Comfy, right?"
"Castle, I'm not wearing your shirt."
"Alexis is always stealing my shirts to sleep in. She actually found a boutique that only sells pajamas that are designed from actual men's shirts. But if you think it's weird, I will just go rummage through your dresser drawers and go through your night things until I find something suitable." There was a long pause, in which I am assuming she was weighing the lesser of the two evils.
"Fine. I'll wear the shirt, but I'm calling Alexis to ask her about that boutique."
She came out a few minutes later, scrubbed free of makeup, with her damp hair curling softly around her face. I refused to acknowledge the fact that she was standing in front of me, wearing my shirt, and little, if anything, else. I did slip up once, and glance quickly down her legs, her very long legs, which were bare from mid-thigh down to her bare toes, which were manicured with Pale Pink Pearl polish. My first thought was . . . Pink? My second was . . . Should I be concerned that I recognize shades of nail polish?
She was looking at me curiously, and I took a deep breath, refocusing my thoughts and my breathing. "The cocoa is ready."
She yawned. "This is all very extravagant, and I appreciate everything you are trying to do, but when do I actually get to go to bed?"
She really was breathtaking. I didn't factor this into my spontaneous outline of the evening. I wiped my sweaty palms on the front of my plain white t-shirt, and made a promise to both of us. "No more surprises. I promise. It's cocoa, and then off to bed." Without makeup, I could see how tired she really was. She had dark smudges under her eyes, and her skin was paler than usual.
I put a shot of brandy in both of our mugs, and poured the warm cocoa over it. I handed her a mug, which she wrapped her hands around, letting the warmth seep into her fingers. She took a drink, then closed her eyes in appreciation. "Wow, this really is good. What is it with you and hot drinks? Before you, I was plenty happy with plain old coffee at work, and a glass of wine before bed."
I tapped my mug against hers. "Here's to raising our standards."
.
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I know. . . I've yet to delve into The Problem, but I felt this was a good place to end this chapter. Well, that, and I can't really decide what the problem should be yet. I have one scenario completed, but a couple others in mind that I also like. I can't decide if I should go disturbing, fluffy, or slightly out of character. Hmmm, now that I think about it, the chapter I have written is kind of all three. . . . maybe I'll just work on that one.