Understanding and Support

A Season 2 AU

"After all, that's what he and Beckett do frequently now, whether it's sitting in a booth at Remy's or in his living room after a hard case. Nothing sexual about it, just two people enjoying each other's company.

Right?"

He's still mulling over Bobby Mann's final hours, wondering what had been weighing so heavily on the man to make him reach out to his ex the way he had, when his phone rings.

"Hello? Ellie? Hi," he greets, allowing his eyes to flit from the murder board to where Beckett stands, arms folded across her chest. He watches as her jaw shifts, sees how she's careful to keep her gaze straight ahead, even as he lowers his voice just for her, "It's Ellie Monroe, from the show. Bobby's show."

Beckett gives a bland nod of acknowledgement, but the tick of her eyebrow is enough to show him she's not as unflapped as her unflappable exterior would indicate. She'd been at work when he got home from taping Bobby Mann's show the other day, and the next morning over coffee she'd just drawled a taunt about using his fake law enforcement credentials to pick up more women and that had been the end of her feelings on the subject.

But apparently not.

He can't help the way his lips lift and twist into a smirk; Beckett's trying so hard to pretend she's not looking, all she's doing is looking more conspicuous.

Engrossed as he is in cataloging Beckett's reaction, the fact that Ellie's still talking in his ear takes a second to register. "Yeah. No, I know. I understand," he says, sympathetic. She's really broken up about Bobby, shaken by how quickly it had ended for the late show host.

"Do you think," Ellie adds a moment later, sounding tentative, "maybe we could get together, just to talk about it some more? Unless you – you're probably busy with–"

"No," he interrupts. "No, I think that's a-a great idea."

"Really?"

"Yeah," he says, noting the way Beckett has shifted toward him, no longer hiding her interest. "Okay, I'll meet you there," he adds, agreeing to Ellie's suggested venue. "Bye."

He hangs up to see Beckett watching him, arms crossed.

"Ellie Monroe, huh?" she asks, sounding neutral.

He lifts a shoulder, echoing her nonchalance. "Yeah, she's pretty upset about this whole Bobby Mann thing, that we were his last guests. She thinks it would be comforting if we were to be together."

Something flashes in her eyes, but it's gone before he has the chance to call her on it or consider too thoroughly what it could mean. Instead Beckett snorts.

"'Comforting?' Is that what the cool kids call it these days?"

"Wow. You are so cynical," he says, stepping closer. "You know, sometimes after a tragedy, two human beings just need to-to be with each other just for no other reason than to show each other some understanding and support."

After all, that's what he and Beckett do frequently now, whether it's sitting in a booth at Remy's or in his living room after a hard case. Nothing sexual about it, just two people enjoying each other's company.

Right?

Her lips twist into a wry smile. "Yeah, well, I won't wait up for you, Castle."

True to her word, she doesn't stay up waiting for him. Instead when he opens his door and steps inside on silent feet, he finds her curled on her side on his couch, knees pulled to her chest, fingers tucked under her chin, dead to the world asleep. A smile touches his lips; she makes him soft, makes him both careful and so very, very reckless. She makes him want things, makes him want to be someone better than who he is, makes him want her.

Only her.

A year ago, hell maybe even six months ago, he would've jumped at Ellie's advances, given in to her come hither eyes and cheerful laughter, but not now. The moment she'd tapped her fingertip against the back of his hand and suggested going somewhere else for a nightcap, his thoughts had turned to Beckett. To what she'd been doing, if she'd made it back to the loft from the precinct yet, if she'd eaten the leftovers from their meal the night before or if she'd grabbed something with the boys.

Dinner with Ellie had been nice. Interesting conversation about LA and what the acting scene is like on the left coast right now. Fun and flirty, just the way it had been the other night on Bobby Mann's show. But that was it for him. And now that he's home and allowing his eyes to drift over Beckett's sleeping form, he isn't disappointed to have made an excuse to walk Ellie to a cab and go their separate ways.

He is, however, starving again.

Beckett jolts up as he's in the process of flipping his third pancake, her head swiveling around the room with a surprising amount of precision for someone so bleary-eyed. He has no doubt if she hadn't left her gun in the safe in his office, she would've grabbed it, too.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty," he greets, checking the edges of his snack. "Want some pancakes?"

Her brow furrows at the question, but he refrains from teasing her about it just yet; she did just wake up, after all.

"You're home," she says instead of answering. He watches her eyes sweep the room once more, paying careful attention in the direction of his bedroom. "Alone."

Her words sting far more than she probably realizes. He knew she had expected him to fall into bed with Ellie, but had she really thought he would bring the woman here when he knew that Kate herself would probably be around to witness it?

"I am," he answers, careful to keep the hurt from his voice. The truth, the honest to god truth, springs to his tongue, that he'd never had intentions of sleeping with Ellie, that an evening like this – with her – is more where his interest lies, but the words die on his lips. "You know, I figured we have an early day tomorrow, tracking down leads…" he trails off at Beckett's scoff. "Anyway, you're stuck with me tonight. So, pancakes? Did you eat the stuff from the other night?"

Beckett stares at him for a long moment before nodding. "Um, yeah. To both, actually. Make me a couple; the leftovers didn't go as far as I thought they might."

"Done," he says. "Come get these."

She protests even as she gets to her feet. "I don't want to take yours."

Rick shakes his head. "I'd rather they get eaten while they're still hot than save them and eat cold pancakes."

Her head bobs in concession. "Okay. Get you a drink while you're finishing up?"

"Please. Whatever you're having," he adds before she can ask, trying not to let her see how much he enjoys her level of comfort and familiarity in his home.

Beckett hums an okay, giving the bowl of pancake batter a quick look before ducking over to the wine rack.

They work in silence, moving around one another with a practiced ease that sends his heart stumbling. They could be good at this. Yeah, they might want to kill each other at times, but they could be something great if they try. If she wants to try.

"Watch a movie?" he asks, swallowing past the lump of terror forming in his throat.

Beckett eyes him, a tiny smile lifting her lips. "Thought you came home because we have an early day tomorrow."

Sliding the last of his pancakes onto a plate, Castle shrugs. "We'll make sure it's a short one. And I'll wear my jammies too, so all we have to do is go to bed after it's over."

Her eye roll comes on cue, but she doesn't argue with his logic. "Better get changed then, Castle," she says, grabbing the can of whipped cream and holding it beyond his reach. "I'll take care of toppings."

"I accept," he agrees, making it halfway out of the kitchen before rounding back and opening his mouth. "One for the road."

Beckett stares at him. "You're kidding."

"Uh uh," he denies, opening wider.

"How old are you?" she huffs.

Rick just grins, standing there until she gives in and sprays entirely too much whipped cream into his open mouth before tapping his jaw shut. Beckett smirks at his puffed cheeks, steering him toward his bedroom and giving his shoulders a little shove.

"Change," she orders, exasperated, but there's amusement in there somewhere too, maybe even affection if he digs deep to find it.

Of course, he has to grin as he reaches his bedroom door and turn around to spy Kate spraying whipped cream into her own mouth. Yeah, he's not so immature now, is he?

Beckett has everything set up and waiting for them on the coffee table when he emerges from his bedroom in more comfortable clothing. He watches her eyes sweep from his head to his toes – definitely checking him out – before her gaze returns to his face.

"Does it look like I got everything?" she asks, ignoring his smirk in favor of distributing cutlery while he rounds the furniture to join her.

"More than enough," he says, dropping beside her. "Hey look, we match." He gestures to their clothing, their nearly identical maroon t-shirts and slate gray pants, grinning at her rolling eyes.

"Adorable," she drawls, but the nudge of her knee against his tells him she doesn't mind so much. "Now eat your pancakes, Castle."

Rick chuckles, reaching for his fork and doing just that while she starts the movie.

To say he's surprised when her head lands on his shoulder is an understatement. He doesn't dare move for fear of disturbing her, for fear of her thinking he doesn't want her right where she is (he does, he absolutely does). Instead he controls his breathing, attempts to keep his heartbeat steady as Beckett's body sinks closer to his.

He has almost convinced himself that she's dozed off again, that it's the only way she would be this cuddly, allow herself to get this close to him, when she chuckles at something on-screen.

Rick smiles to himself. She has a great laugh; low and melodious, sweet even when she's being snarky. He considers himself lucky to witness it.

"So any regrets?" Beckett asks a little while later, breaking the easy silence that's fallen between them.

"Regrets?"

"Cutting your evening short. Passing on a night of 'comfort' with an actress."

Lowering his chin, he manages to get her eyes. With her lips parted, she manages to look as defiant as she does shy, but that only makes him more convinced that he's doing the right thing. "Who said I cut it short?" he asks. "I'm where I want to be."

The drag of her tongue over her lower lip is all the warning he gets before she rises onto her knees and touches her mouth to his, stealing his breath.

"Then I guess I better make sure it doesn't end too soon," she husks against his lips, straddling his hips and slipping her fingers into his hair as she comes back for more.

He walks into the precinct the next day with a spring in his step, the memory of Kate Beckett's nimble fingers on his body, and the taste of her on his lips. She had slipped from his room early, citing her desire to be at the precinct to make progress on Bobby Mann's case, but it hadn't felt like she was making an excuse to escape. Not with the way she'd kissed him before throwing the covers aside and scooting out of bed.

Beckett's at her desk when the elevator doors open on the fourth floor, and he shifts his grip on the coffee cup he'd prepared for her – he'd opted for homemade instead of buying it today, a decision which hopefully won't come back to haunt him – making his way to her. She looks good, put together and composed, but there's a looseness to her shoulders that isn't usually there.

"Good morning, Detective," he greets, allowing his smile to deepen as she lifts her head.

Her eyes sweep across his face, bright with a newfound familiarity, but instead of echoing the greeting, she hisses, "Really?"

His arm hangs between them, the coffee waiting for her acceptance. "What?"

"Castle, lose the 'I just got laid' voice, all right?" she says.

"What are you talking about?"

Yes, he's in a good mood, but nobody can tell that he's had sex – amazing sex – just by his voice. That'd be ridiculous.

Beckett looks around, using taking the coffee from his hand as an excuse to lean in. "Castle, nobody can know we're sleeping together. You need to act normal, and this?" She gestures to his face. "Isn't acting normal."

An argument is on the tip of his tongue, but he just settles in his chair and nods. "Okay, fine."

She blinks. "That's it? Just like that, you're going to behave?"

He glances behind him, checking for onlookers before tugging at his collar to show her the mark at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. "Well, they might find out because of this hickey you gave me, not my voice."

"I did not!" she says, clamping her teeth down on her lip before they can attract attention. More attention. They're always the subject of someone's observation in this place.

"Well it wasn't anyone else," he argues, watching the corners of her lips tic upwards at that. Kate Beckett doesn't like to share, he's learned.

"Fine. Just fix your shirt," Beckett orders, sitting back. "Nobody needs to see that."

"See what?" Esposito asks, stepping up to Beckett's desk. "You showing Beckett evidence of your hot date last night?"

Castle freezes. "Hot date?"

"Ellie Monroe," Esposito prompts, wiggling his eyebrows. "We all heard she called you. How'd it go?"

"I–"

"Any news on the car?" Beckett jumps in before he has to bend the truth about the night before to protect this new, amazing thing that's between them.

The other detective seems to get the message, tapping his partner for the answer even as he eyes Castle.

Rick does his best to keep his face neutral. Maybe Beckett was onto something after all, but at least for now it seems like Espo's totally convinced a night with an actress is to thank for his dopey look and the love marks that keep peeking out from beneath his collar.

Of course, that's a rumor that isn't dispelled when his buddy at the studio calls to follow up on the message he left him from the cab the night before, or when Ellie calls a few hours after that to invite him out for a drink again.

He agrees because it keeps up the appearance Beckett's asked him to maintain, but from the way his partner tackles him at the door when he gets home, he has an inkling that she's not nearly as fine with it as her bravado indicates.

"I still can't believe you recommended her for the part," Beckett murmurs into his chest two evenings later, once the case has wrapped and all is – mostly – right with the world once again, her breath warm across his skin.

His brow furrows. "Ellie?" he asks, trying to follow her train of thought. "Why wouldn't I?"

Beckett scoffs, lifting her head to meet his eyes. "Because she's not Nikki Heat?" she says, as if it's the most obvious answer in the world.

"She's not a bad actress. We watched one of her movies last week, remember? I think she could make it work."

Her head shakes. "She's fine as an actress, but not exactly cop material, if you ask me. It sells Nikki short. But if not for that reason, how 'bout because the whole 'let's get together to comfort one another' spiel that she tried twice was just her using you?"

He bristles. "You know, it's not entirely unheard of for someone to want to sleep with me because they're attracted to me, not just because I have connections."

Kate's palm flattens on his chest, covering the agitated thump of his heart. "I think it's obvious that I'm aware of that," she says, gesturing to their state of undress with her chin. "All I'm saying is don't you think she was buttering you up to get you to do exactly what you did, given that she was also sleeping with whatshisname from the network?"

Oh. Well, maybe she has a point there. Yes, he's sure he and Ellie would've had fun together in the bedroom – of that he has no doubt, actually – but if the recommendation for the part had been her end goal… yeah, Ellie very well could have been using him.

Kate's lips touch his chin, drawing him from his contemplation. He feels his breath leave his lungs, his body sinking deeper into the mattress.

"Well, it wouldn't be the first time," he says finally, trailing his fingertips down Kate's back. She presses closer, mimicking the gesture along his side. She doesn't ask him to elaborate on that statement, though he knows she wants to. "But it is so sexy the way you're defending my honor."

She snorts, dusting a kiss to his neck, smiling into his skin when he shivers. "One of us has to," she says, but there's a protective edge to her tone, not derision. "Might as well be me."

"Oh, I cede the job to you without reservations," Castle murmurs, lowering his chin to catch her mouth with his. "You're so very, very good at it."

Beckett hums against his lips, palming his cheek as she slips a leg across his hips and rises above him. "What time is Alexis supposed to get back from her trip?"

"I–" he stumbles, "you ask that now? When we're like this?"

Kate laughs, stroking her fingertips along his jaw. The touch works magic, calming him without being patronizing. "I just want to make sure we have time, buddy. You were planning that big dinner for her, remember?"

"Right." The one Beckett had tried to gracefully bow out of being present for in a sweet, but misguided attempt to give him time with his daughter.

She smiles in encouragement, waiting for him to reach a conclusion. "So?" she prompts a moment later, after he's left her hanging for far longer than necessary.

"Eightish, give or take a few minutes. So plenty of time, I'd say. Wouldn't you?" he asks, cupping her hips to keep her from moving too far away. Not that she seems to be eager to go anywhere. If anything, she allows her body to rock closer.

Kate nods in agreement, dipping her head and taking another kiss from his lips. "I agree. And in that case, allow me to show you something else I'm very good at."

Thank you so much for reading!