Future Looks Good

A Season 2 AU, set post-Food to Die For

"Beckett loves you with a passion that could melt the paint off the walls. You don't have to measure pheromones to sense that."

Of all the things he had expected to hear as he dropped their witness off at the end of a case, this isn't it.

Beckett loves him? Beckett doesn't love him. Beckett may be attracted to him – as Mia had insisted at the beginning of the case – but she doesn't love him. She can't.

"I, Mia, I don't… she doesn't love me."

Mia gives him a look that says he's an even bigger idiot than she had originally believed. "Look, I'm telling you this because you've spent the last two days over-sharing about her, and I'm feeling almost sorry for you since you're not totally offensive to be around. Detective Beckett loves you. She has the hots for you, yeah, but anyone with eyes and a brain can see the rest of it, too."

He has a hard time believing that, considering Beckett's with Demming, not with him. Considering she had packed her bags after one night with him, leaving an impersonal goodbye note on the pillow her head had occupied and they had gone on these last few weeks as if it had never happened. As if she hadn't tiptoed into his room from the guest room upstairs and crawled her way up from the foot of his bed until she'd been close enough for them to touch. As if she hadn't devastated him with her kiss, with the roll of her body and the choked, passionate groan of his name.

No, as far as she's concerned, it hadn't happened. It had been his mind – addled by the trauma of seeing her apartment go up in flames – playing tricks on him; nothing more than one hell of a dream.

There's no way she's in love with him.

Right?

"You're forgetting something," he says, swallowing down the acrid taste of disappointment. "We're not together. Not even close."

Mia shakes her head. "Doesn't matter. She still wants you. The same way you want her."

"So there's… a chance. That's what you're telling me." Something like hope blooms in his chest, fluttering against his ribs, but he won't give into it, not yet. Mia doesn't know about Demming, or what happened with Beckett weeks ago; her amazing track record or no, she could be totally off-base.

"Provided you don't blow it, I guess that's what I'm saying."

So much for not getting his hopes up too soon, but oh, he wants it to be somewhere close to the truth. "So… what should I do?"

"Well first of all, you should go take a shower. Preferably using soap and shampoo, no shaving cream instead of hair product." Mia's nose wrinkles. "Because that is so not a turn on, just f-y-i."

"Yeah, thanks for the tip."

The blonde scowls. "Do you want my help or not? Because I can go inside and–"

"Right, yes. Sorry, please continue."

"Uh huh, so shower. No cologne or aftershave, either. Second, you should actually talk to her."

Well, that would require her to stay in the same room with him long enough to talk to him, but he's listening.

"Third, bring her flowers. Lilies. They're visually appealing and they won't make her house smell disgusting in a few days."

"Okay. Good advice." Castle grins, reaching out to smack a kiss on Mia's cheek, even as she groans at the affection. "You are so cool. I'll come by soon to tell you how it goes."

"Please don't. Two days with you was more than enough."

He knows she doesn't really mean that – they had fun these last couple of days – but maybe it's best not to press his luck too hard. After all, that industrial decontamination blower thing was far less fun than movies make it out to be.

He leaves Mia's apartment building with a spring in his step.

Beckett looks stunned when she pulls open the door to her sublet to find him on the other side, clutching the bouquet of lilies in one hand and a bag of what he knows to be her favorite dessert in the city in the other.

"Castle?" Her surprise fades into suspicion, her eyes narrowing. "How'd you find out where I live?"

"Followed you home, hid in the bushes and waited a while," he quips. "The usual way."

She huffs, but he sees the smile flirt at the edges of her lips anyway.

"I asked around," he admits, lifting a shoulder. "Said I needed to give you something case-related. Which is the truth, minus the case part. So, surprise? Delivery dessert." He holds up the bag for emphasis.

"Castle," she sighs, his name heavy between them, but she doesn't close the door on him, doesn't tell him to get away from her and go home. He takes that as a good sign.

Licking his lips, he squares his shoulders. "Kate, can I come in? Maybe we can talk? Unless you're busy with… unless you're busy."

Beckett regards him without a word, leaving him to squirm in her doorway, his fingers flexing around the bouquet of lilies until she makes her decision.

She steps aside, allowing him entry into her private space. Okay, this is progress. An agreement to talk; he can totally work with–

"We broke up," she says, her voice bland.

Rick stops short, his head snapping to watch her close and lock the door behind them. Wait, what?

"Oh. These, ah, these are for you," he murmurs when she doesn't elaborate, offering her the flowers instead of stumbling his way through a question about what happened, why she and Detective America broke up. Her chin lowers, but she doesn't reach for his gift. Instead she lifts an eyebrow.

"Flowers and dessert. Wow. You sure you didn't get lost on your way to a date? Or are no actresses or old friends of mine available tonight?"

That stings, but maybe he deserves it, at least a little bit. She ran away, and he'd lashed out, jumping into bed with Ellie Monroe at the first sign of the woman's – mostly feigned, he now knows – interest. Beckett had started making goo-goo eyes at Demming after that, so in return, he'd done the same with her old high school friend.

Jeez, what a mess they've made. The last few weeks have been nothing but them going around in circles to get back at each other. But maybe they can break the cycle, stop trying to get even, and fix it – Mia had been adamant that they can fix it.

"Ah, no. They're yours. Just for you."

Beckett bites her lip, crossing her arms over her chest, an almost shy smile spreading across her face. She schools it quickly, cocking her head.

"Did you bring two pieces of whatever's in that bag? Or are you going to mooch all of mine?"

"Well," he hedges, glancing down at the bag. "I brought two spoons?"

Kate rolls her eyes, reaching out to take the flowers from his hand. "Sit. And if you eat all my dessert before I get back, I'm going to hurt you."

"Duly noted," he says, quirking a grin.

He unpacks the bag on her coffee table, placing a spoon and a napkin on either side of the dessert before lowering his body to the couch. As he waits, he lets his eyes trail around the room, taking in the decor. It's not what he remembers of her style from her old apartment, but he won't insult her by commenting on it.

"Nice place," he calls, swiveling his head to find her returning from the kitchen with the lilies in a – is that a watering can?

Beckett snorts at his lifted eyebrow. "Most of my vases got broken in the blast. This was the first thing I could find in there. And the place is okay. Most of this stuff isn't mine; it came fully furnished. Which is okay, since a lot of my things are still being repaired or need to be replaced."

"Ah, makes sense," he says, watching her lips lift.

"You didn't think I'd suddenly embraced mid-nineties chic, did you?"

Rick chuckles. "Well, I didn't want to assume anything. Maybe you just really like pastels? They could be making a come back."

Her eyebrows jump toward her hairline. "Since when?"

"The pastels?" he asks, smothering a smile at her rolling eyes. "I'm sure it's in a magazine somewhere."

"You not making assumptions, Castle," she interrupts, offering him a pointed look.

"Touché," he agrees, gesturing to the coffee table. "Join me?"

After taking a moment to rearrange the flowers, Beckett does, sinking onto the cushion beside him, close enough for their thighs to brush. Closer than they've been since that night in his bed.

"So," she starts after a second, looking between him and the Styrofoam container. "What'd you bring me?"

"For your tasting pleasure, I've brought you a massive piece of the world's most heavenly cappuccino chocolate raspberry cake." He opens the box with a flourish, sitting back to give her room to take in what is arguably the greatest dessert in Manhattan.

He doesn't imagine the sideways glance she offers him as she drags her tongue over her lower lip.

"Good choice," she says, reaching for the utensil he's laid out for her.

"I thought so," Rick says, doing his best to sound nonchalant. He's not going to blow this opportunity by pushing too hard too fast; better to play it cool.

Beckett's hum upon taking her first bite is damn near obscene, but he doesn't say a word, licking his own lips and focusing on the cake on his fork. She's going to kill him if he's not careful, and then they'll never actually talk about any of this.

Although they eat in silence, both staring at the food in front of them, her eyes cut to him again once the cake is nearly gone.

"Castle, as much as I appreciate both dessert and the conversation about my decorating tastes, if you have something to say, just say it," she murmurs.

Well, it's now or never apparently. He'd been hoping for a few more minutes to think, hoping the easy silence would help convince her that this – they – could be so good.

"Mia told me something when I drove her home," he starts, wondering if context will really help matters. It's a toss-up, but he knows Beckett likes knowing why.

Beckett snorts, getting up from the couch and moving back to the kitchen. "I'm sure Mia told you lots of things," she calls, her voice dry. "Apparently, my breakfast choice nauseated her to the point that she wanted to conduct our interview behind glass."

He hears the fridge open and shut before she reappears with water in her hands. Offering him one of the bottles, she sinks back onto the couch with the other, her elbow knocking his.

"She did like you, apart from that," he offers. "More so than Ryan or Esposito anyway."

Kate releases a wry laugh, throwing back a swig of water. "What a ringing endorsement. But okay, I'll bite. What'd she say to you, Castle?"

"To stop being stupid," he says, boiling his conversation with Mia down to the simplest terms. Abandoning his water bottle, he swipes his palm on his pant leg before lifting his hand to cup her chin. To his surprise, she doesn't evade his touch or slap his fingers away. Instead, her mouth drops open, her breath stuttering, and he grows bolder. "About you."

"Cas–"

He cuts her off with the press of his lips. He's soft at first, giving her the opportunity to shove him back, slug him, and tell him to get lost. Only the blow doesn't come. He doesn't end up bleeding on the floor with her handcuffs tight around his wrists, he doesn't even find himself alone on the couch while she holds the door open and orders him out.

Instead Beckett rocks into him, devastating his mouth with hers as she wraps an arm around his shoulders and throws her leg over his. She sinks onto his lap, shushing his groan with another sharp kiss, the insistent slick of her tongue over his lip. He might have been the one to start this, but she's on the offensive now, taking charge, her hips rolling.

"Didn't expect you to take dating advice from our witness, Castle. This is what she said to do?" Beckett pants against his mouth, the challenge rough in her voice. Her fingers curl at the back of his neck, slipping into the short strands of his hair, her mouth over his again before he has the chance to respond.

Rick gentles the kiss, holding her close as his heartbeat thunders in his ears. "No, she suggested talking, but I like this better."

"Ah," she gasps as his lips slide along her jaw, moving to her neck, to the spot he'd discovered makes her weak. She arches into his hands, her nails flashing against his scalp. "Good use of your mouth."

He nips at the soft skin beneath his lips, feeling her shudder against him. She'll kill him if he leaves a mark, but he wants her to remember this; his touch, the soothing lave of his tongue.

"I've got an even better one," he rumbles as his hand slips underneath her shirt, teases up the plane of her belly to cup her breast through the fabric of her bra. "A far more hands-on approach, too."

Beckett rocks into him again, her knees tightening against his hips. Her fingers tug on his hair, dragging his head back to hers, brushing noses with him as she pushes into his hand, lets him touch her.

"Show me," she husks, dusting her mouth across his, stealing his breath with the gentle press of her lips. "Bedroom."

She doesn't need to tell him twice. He stands, his fingers flexing against her breast as she winds her legs around his waist, rocking her center against his belly.

"Shit, Kate," Rick groans. If she's not careful, they're not going to make it to her bed.

Beckett just grins, delighting in his suffering. His lips part under hers, the intended request for guidance lost with the slide of her tongue.

"It's a small apartment," she teases, tugging on his lip, stroking a finger down his cheek. "You can do it."

"Maybe so," he rumbles, flicking his tongue over her lip. He bands his arm around her tighter when she shivers, keeping her from sliding down his body. "But you keep that up and it'll take longer than I think either of us want it to."

"You got somewhere else to be?" she asks, arching into his hand, into the fingers teasing her nipple through the cotton of her bra.

"Do you?" he counters, recalling the way his stomach had plummeted the morning after her stay at the loft, when he'd opened his eyes to find her gone.

Beckett's eyes flash at the reminder of their night together, only it's not in anger. Regret? Shame? It disappears when she blinks, desire replacing the emotion before he has more time to analyze it, and she rolls her body against his, stealing his breath. "Not unless there's a murder between now and Sunday morning."

"Good," he says, taking another kiss from her mouth, accepting the unspoken apology. "That'll be good."

"Yeah," she breathes, gesturing behind her. "And just to help you out this time, my bedroom's that way."

Kate smirks against his lips, brushing her fingers through his hair as they close the remaining distance to the bedroom.

Instead of an empty pillow and cold sheets, he wakes in the morning to the gentle stroke of her fingertips along his back, the warm hazel of her eyes giving away far more than she probably intends to this soon. Her lips lift, acknowledging that she knows he's awake, but she doesn't snatch her hand back or retreat from his side. If anything, she scoots closer, brushing her foot over his calf, flattening her palm in the center of his back.

"Hey," he murmurs, his voice still husky with sleep. Kate echoes the greeting, leaning over his bent elbow to touch her mouth to his. With him on his stomach, half of his cheek mashed into the pillow, the angle isn't great, but they make it work, coming back for a second and third kiss when the first fails to quiet the rumble of want.

"You sleep okay?" Kate asks after they've parted, allowing her fingers to drift upward along his spine, brushing through his hair and skimming his temple.

Rick hums, pulling his hand from under the pillow and turning onto his back, delighting in the melody of her laugh as she settles against his chest. Their first coupling last night had been so intense they'd been overwhelmed and silent, but levity had returned for subsequent rounds; hearing her laugh now sends a jolt of pleasure down his spine.

"More than okay," he says, coasting his hand over her side. "And I woke up even better."

Beckett exhales, resting her chin on his chest, looking up at him from under her lashes. "Me too."

He nods, unable to bring himself to ask why this time is different, why she's still here, pressed against him without reserve, why she hasn't kicked him out and gone about her morning as normal.

She must see the questions in his eyes anyway. She shifts in his arms, dragging her teeth over her lip, her next words soft,

"Why don't I make some coffee and we can talk about that – about last time, and everything after..."

"I'd like that," he agrees, accepting the offer without reservation, cupping her cheek. "And then I need your help deciding what to send Mia as a thank you. Something odorless, if possible."

She chuckles, leaning into his hand. "One day you're gonna tell me what she really said."

She'd asked again during the night, not buying his simple answer, but he'd just repeated his initial statement before rolling her over and taking her mind off their unlikely matchmaker's words. This time, he can't help but dip his head, indulging in the warmth of Kate's smile against his.

"That is what she said," he reiterates, grinning at her scoff.

Maybe one day he will tell her everything Mia had said, but for right now he's content to let it remain a secret, and let the two of them – and their pheromones – determine where they end up.

A/N: I started this fic a ludicrously long time ago, wrote about 1000 words, and then it got buried in my drafts in favor of other projects. A few weeks ago, I found it and decided to go ahead and finish it. I know that there are a few other renditions of this prompt (8x05 in Season 2), so I hope you liked this one too!