a/n: This is a sort of survey of Castle and Beckett, starting with season 1. Many thanks to PollyLynn for editing, and for a particular scene idea she came up with.
The song quotations come from "I Love You Softly," by Barnaby Bright.
Trying to balance the depths of my love
with the way that you'd like me to feel;
maybe someday I can master the way
you pretend what we have isn't real.
Richard Castle has discovered a new talent, and a new favorite pastime: making Kate Beckett blush.
He spent his twenties sweeping women off their feet; using anything from his rapier wit to the plethora of cool things he could buy. And for the bevy of scantily-clad honeys he used to spend time with, that worked.
But he doesn't know how to make it work on Kate Beckett. She's different. He doesn't know how to proceed.
Around her, he's just - clumsy.
Coffee, maybe?
Rick thinks it's adorable, the way she lives on nothing but coffee. He assumes that's an easy route to her affections.
He buys a fantastic cappuccino machine, the nicest one he can find; he even specifically looks for one that's designed to take plenty of use, since he knows the entire floor mainlines caffeine. She'll appreciate his looking out for everyone, right? She'll understand he's a good guy, and immediately jump at the chance to go to dinners and movies and galas and Caribbean beaches with him. Game, set, match.
Except it doesn't work. When he shows her the machine, she gets an odd look on her face and walks away.
Bringing her favorite coffee order to an early crime scene is easy. Maybe that's better. Maybe it's more about the personal touch. Kate Beckett is a private person, after all. Maybe the big gesture isn't what she wants.
He gives her coffee - perfectly ordered, of course, because he's nothing if not detail-oriented when it comes to women - and even brings her a bear claw because he remembers seeing her eat one, once, at some point.
But when he casually suggests that she might enjoy joining him in a weekend extravaganza of fun, playful getting-to-know-you sex, she crams the bear claw into his mouth.
Hmm. Maybe not.
But, much to my dismay, I see the look upon your face
As all of my love, clumsy and loud,
swallows you up, watches you drown.
And then there's the day he accidentally spills coffee on her and expects swift death. But she surprises him; she actually says thank you before stalking out to change her shirt.
What did he do right?
And I know that you're hoping I'd sing all my songs just a bit more sweetly,
and I know you'd prefer that I give you my heart a bit more discreetly.
The story about her watching Temptation Lane with her mother makes his heart twist in ways it never has before.
He'd been so proud of himself, getting this photo, begging his mother to hunt down all the actors for autographs. It took some doing, since several of the actors have since moved on to other projects, and when Mother finally handed him the complete collection of signatures, he'd been elated. This was it. The perfect gift.
But this story she tells him, this soft, warm little anecdote about little Katie Beckett and her mother curled up on the couch, is about a hundred times more than any gift he could ever give her. She's smiling, that soft, shy, sweet smile that sets her eyes alight and turns her from beautiful to stunning, and he wonders if maybe he can finally tell her -
Her phone rings and it's the boyfriend he keeps forgetting she has, the man who is the single reason Rick should really find a way to stop letting all this love spill silently over his defenses.
He walks away, trying to hold onto the sweet warmth of her smile, but even her thanks, floating after him down the hallway, can't quite salvage it.
I wish I knew how people calmly announce
over casual coffee,
but no one ever taught me how to say
'I love you' softly.
She wishes she knew how to say it.
This mincing, delicate language they have, the language of metaphor and coffee and lingering glances, isn't suited to this, to her floundering attempts to tell Castle that she cares about him, and that his feelings - the love she remembers him whispering, but since he'd never really succeeded in hiding it before then, what does it matter? - are shared, matched, even overcome by the swirling mess of affection, deep in her chest.
But every time she tries, something happens, someone else walks in, and as quickly as that, she takes two steps backwards.
She feels clumsy.
This isn't like her. Kate Beckett doesn't do clumsy. But now she's hunting for words and not finding them. Looking for non-verbal ways to say nice things and coming up empty, outside of things Castle has done for her.
He spent years being sweet to her, alternating with being ridiculous. How did he do it?
She wishes, more than once, she knew how to do what he excelled at: showing his feelings.
Kate brings him coffee one morning, on a rare occasion that she picks him up at his loft.
She almost decides not to; she knows he has the world's fanciest coffee maker at home, and it's really not early enough that he'll be a complete zombie. And it's not what she does. Coffee is his special thing. He hands it to her and she says Thanks.
But she stands up straighter and taps on his door, holding up his cup when he opens it.
His whole face brightens, and he takes the cup with a smile. "Thank you."
"You're welcome."
She tucks her hair behind her ears, looking away self-consciously, and feels silly for thinking this was a bad idea at all.
Kate's never particularly been a dog person, but she and Castle both love Royal, the friendliest golden retriever she's ever seen. Seeing Castle come through her front door with this boundless, happy dog, the two of them so perfectly matched to each other that she can't stop smiling, makes her think about crazy things, about home and domestic bliss and kissing Castle hello after a long day at work.
She can see the disappointment written on his face when the dog chooses neither of them. Kate knows the dog wouldn't have been practical for her, of course, but Castle has plenty of room, plenty of resources. If anyone could have kept Royal, Castle could.
She can't stop thinking about the look on his face, though he'd tried to hide it.
So that night, she finds herself at his door, feeling moderately foolish. Coffee at least made sense. This? - it's silly.
But she's trying. That has to count for something, right?
Martha answers the door, and Kate's face gets hot, because it's not really normal to be at a grown man's door, holding a stuffed animal.
"Well! Good evening, Kate. So nice to see you. I assume you're looking for Richard?"
"Um. Yes."
"Richard, darling! Kate's here."
Martha manages to simultaneously relieve Kate of her jacket and hand her a glass of wine, all before Kate can say I wasn't really planning to stay. Castle appears, looking relaxed in a t-shirt and jeans, and Kate bites her lip. He looks good.
"Beckett. So what brings you to the Castle house this evening?"
She still feels stupid, because Martha's right there and this isn't what she planned, handing him this dumb gift in front of his mother, but there's really no point in pretending.
"I got you something."
She hands him the little stuffed puppy, a fuzzy little toy golden retriever with a dopey grin and a pretty blue collar. She'd found it in a toy store near her apartment; it even looks like Royal.
Martha's chuckling, because she knows the two of them well enough to know that this is some kind of inside joke.
Castle, though - Castle takes the stuffed animal, his face bemused. He runs a hand over the little dog's ears, and when he looks up at Kate, she catches her breath.
He's beaming at her, his eyes bright, so full of warmth that it's completely, totally obvious.
But then, it's been obvious for a long time.
The night she finally lets everything else go and tells him I just want you, she realizes just how easy it is when she finally says the words she means.
The next morning, she slips out of bed, presses a light kiss to Castle's cheek, pulls on one of his shirts that she finds hanging on his closet door, and tiptoes to the kitchen to make coffee.
Her makeup was washed off in the rain, her hair dried wild and curly and unmanageable, and they had a long, sweaty night; she needs a shower. She's not her most put together. So she splashes some water on her face, trying for a few seconds to tame her untidy hair, before deciding it's good enough.
As she waits for the coffee to brew, enjoying the rich fragrance, she starts to wonder if this is a bad idea. Should she have stayed in bed? Should she have woken him up, maybe started the talk that they really, really need to have? Does he even want coffee?
She decides to go with it, and balances the two cups as she pads back into the bedroom.
He's sitting up in bed, and the moment his eyes meet hers, she lets out a breath.
Love is written all over his face, and as much as they both love coffee, she realizes, it's finally just coffee. She doesn't need it to carry the lines and lines of subtext anymore.
It's freeing.
So she simply tells him, "I made you coffee."