Kate Beckett and Richard Castle go to the Hamptons circa 2x22. (Quasi-AU - takes place in the universe set up by prior story "A Glimpse")
A/N:While it is not absolutely necessary, I *HIGHLY* recommend you read "A Glimpse" before reading this, because otherwise you might be a little confused as to how Kate & Castle saw their future. There will be 3 or 4 parts to this piece of the story taking place in what is being called the "Henry Universe"
Enjoy!
One
"Here we are: home sweet Hamptons."
Kate Beckett fought to keep her jaw from crashing into her lap when the writer pulled into the driveway of the largest house on the street—which, given that they were in Southampton, New York, said something. "Oh, Castle." She exhaled as he pulled his silver Mercedes S-Class around the circular driveway, stopping just in front of the home's welcoming wrap-around porch. In a word, it was breathtaking.
At one point during their three hour trek Castle had rattled off the home's details, so she knew the basics: built in the early 2000's, nine thousand square feet, six bedrooms, seven bathrooms, and one swimming pool. Despite these impressive stats, the writer had not accurately described the exterior as being out of a fairytale. Nor did Kate have any prior concept of just how large nine thousand square feet appeared when it was sprawled out in front of her.
Her jaw hanging with no small amount of amazement, Kate took in the wooden shingles, white trimmed windows, and cozy looking porch furniture. When Castle opened the car door for her, she stepped out, her eyes still grazing over every inch. She had, of course, seen photos or clips on the news of sprawling mansions in the Hamptons, but in her mind she always pictured those as owned by the ultra-rich. Somehow, in her little more than a year with Castle, she'd forgotten just how wealthy he was.
She could sense heat prickling the back of her neck as her never-satisfied mind wondered briefly why out of everyone he could have chosen, she was the one accompanying him that weekend. In a poor attempt to diffuse her feelings, she glanced over at him and a nervous laugh escaped her lips. "It's like you're rich or something."
He merely shrugged as he retrieved their bags from the trunk. "I do all right. C'mon inside; I'll give you a tour." He nodded for her to follow along as he walked up the front porch steps, unlocked the door, and led the way inside. Kate stepped into the beautiful foyer with cherry wood floors and white painted and trimmed walls and merely shook her head with astonishment. "So where would you like to start? Upstairs, downstairs, or in the back yard?"
Kate skimmed her hands across her forearms nervously. "Actually, um, would you mind if I took a few minutes to freshen up first?"
"Not in the least. C'mon; I'll show you the guest room."
Without missing a beat, he made his way up the stairs with the detective trailing a few steps behind. At the second floor landing, he paused and gave his bag a toss down the hall, informing her over his shoulder the direction of the master suite. He then preceded the opposite direction where a long hall divided the home in half. Midway down it, he stopped and smiled back at her.
"This is your room: the Seashell Room, or so my decorator called it. Sorry Alexis and mother have the only rooms with bathrooms attached, but this is the next best thing: bathroom's right there." He pointed across the hall to a door just a few feet away. "I hope that's okay."
"I think I'll manage," she said with notable sarcasm. Then, she held out her hand for her bag, which he passed over. "I'll be down in a few minutes."
"Take your time—no rush at all." With one more smile, he walked back towards the stairs leaving her with a few moments of peace.
Kate stepped inside the Seashell Room and felt her jaw descend once more; it was beautiful. The walls were painted a soft coral hue, which Kate would have never even considered painting one surface let alone four, but an interior decorator she was not. The white wood queen-sized canopy bed was the central figure in the room, draped in white linens with coral accent pillows. Taking another step into the room she realized where its namesake came from. Each of the three large wall decorations in the room involves seashells in some shape or form, but none were to excess; each was very tastefully done.
She dropped her bag by the foot of the bed and walked over to one of the two windows in the room, pulling back the opaque curtains. The view looked out onto the driveway and from there not much else could be seen due to the large shrubbery blocking the home from the street's view. Still, even the stone inlayed driveway was a sight to be seen. Shaking her head, Kate snagged her bottom lip between her teeth and leaned against the window frame.
Ever since Castle's invitation three weeks earlier, she had almost backed out a million times. That was one of the reasons why she'd said yes almost right away: to commit herself. In the time since, she'd suppressed the urge to find an excuse—any excuse—not to accompany him, which, at times, had been a great struggle. Each time he reminded her about their impending vacation, her gut clench and half a dozen excuses filtered into her mouth. Fortunately, none of them escaped. She'd thought about it, though. In a brief moment of weakness she'd even searched through the on-call logs to see who she could trade shifts with for the holiday weekend, but stopped herself before going any further.
The truth of the matter was: she wanted to be there with him and that fact left her almost paralyzed with fear. Wanting to spend time with someone, wanting a—god help her—relationship. She had never been good at those and when it came to Castle, a man with whom she had a rocky start, it terrified her even more.
She knew without any doubt the only reason she'd been able to conquer her fears was because of their glimpse five years into the future. In the weeks since she saw herself and Castle living as a married couple with a child, she had yet to be able to rationally explain how any of that was possible. Despite this, she had accepted it as fact, which was a testament to just how much the writer and his wild theories had influenced her during their partnership.
Rubbing her hands across her face, Kate crossed the room, stepped out into the hall, and walked to the bathroom. Though she had expected something palatial it was relatively basic, at least compared to everything else. True, the countertop was probably granite, and the tiles lining the floor were probably a bit higher quality than those found at the average Home Depot, but it did not contain anything fancier than the sink, toilet, and a tub shower. For that, she was grateful.
After using the facilities, Kate splashed some cold water on her face and patted it dry with one of the mint green hand towels. She skimmed an index finger under each eye, making sure the liner wasn't too smudged, before resting her hands just outside the sink basin, preparing herself to rejoin the writer for a house tour.
She could do this. She could absolutely totally do this. She could be a normal person with Castle. They could be two normal people—no coworkers, not a writer and his muse, but normal people. They'd done it before. Even more frequently as of late, with their shared meals occurring almost once a day instead of once or twice a week. And, true, this was just the two of them for the next two nights until Martha and Alexis arrived, but that was totally fine.
Maybe if she repeated those sentiments to herself at least a dozen more times she might actually start believing them.
In Richard Castle's opinion, his four day weekend was starting off spectacularly. Given it was the Friday morning before Memorial Day, their drive to one of New York's most sought after destinations wasn't all that bad. After they'd settled in and he'd played tour guide, he managed to talk Kate into wandering around Main Street and looking into shops before their dinner reservation at his favorite Italian place, Sant Ambroeus.
Of course he always knew they would be good together, but what amazed him even more was how she seemed to genuinely be having a good time. True, she'd been a little stiff at first, but after stopping in the first adorable shop her demeanor brightened and continued to progress through the afternoon—particularly after her first glass of wine with dinner. After their meal, Castle had even managed to snag hold of her hand as they walked back to his car. Hand-holding was a move he was certain would have resulted in his death by bullet not a few months earlier, but she said nothing and accepted his hand without protest.
Now, standing just inside the glass door leading to the back deck, a wine goblet in each hand, Castle observed the gorgeous detective as she leaned against the railing, staring out at the waves lazily lapping at the edge of the bay. The sun had disappeared over the horizon as they drove back from the restaurant and now, forty minutes later, white specks of stars were beginning to kiss the sky. A slow, easy smile crossed his face as he gazed at her, never more amazed that they'd made it as far as they had.
When she accepted his invitation he was surprised, though pleasantly so. Despite their glimpse into the future, he had anticipated her needing a bit more cajoling to agree, yet she had agreed easily—too easily. So easily that he actually anticipated her backing out, particularly after he informed her that due to a schoolmate's party she absolutely could not miss neither Alexis nor his mother would be joining them at the beachfront estate until Sunday.
Though he'd given her ample opportunities to rearrange their plans—change their departure to Saturday instead of Friday to limit their alone time—she seemed unfazed by sticking with the original plan. Despite her insistence, Castle could not help but wonder if this was merely her impeccable poker face coming through. If perhaps she was a bit nervous on the inside. He hoped that she was owing to the fact that he was as well.
The importance of their weekend trip was not lost on the writer, not in the least. Unlike many of the women from his past, this detective was not one to be wooed by opulence and status. While he was certain she appreciated them to some degree, he also knew of her high standards; she was not one who would decide upon a future mate simply by the square footage of his mansion.
During their drive east, Castle considered the many potential outcomes to their weekend and he ultimately decided that whether they ended the weekend as friends, romantic partners or somewhere in between was not up to him. In this instance, he needed to let Kate take the lead. She was, after all, the more hesitant of the two. He only hope that the more time they spent together during those four days, the better he would understand what was going on behind her mysterious hazel eyes.
Stepping out onto the porch, he nudged the door closed behind him and walked up behind his lovely companion. He held out her wine glass and when she did not take it right away, he studied her face more closely. Though she gazed out at the waves, her brow remained wrinkled as though she were deep in contemplation. Nudging her shoulder with his arm, he said softly, "Penny for your thoughts?"
She jumped, startled by his sudden presence. He'd stepped inside fifteen minutes earlier to give his daughter a quick call and grab them a nightcap. Though she normally would have considered the two glasses of wine she had at dinner more than enough, she'd hoped a third would even out her nerves for spending the evening alone with Castle.
She thanked him for the wine and then shrugged off his question. "It's nothing, really."
"Which means it's something." He enticed her with a smile and she gazed out nervously towards the lapping water once more.
With the wine glass cradled between both hands, she skimmed her thumb over the smooth lip before taking a sip. Turning back to him, she prepared to disclose what was on her mind—the same topic that had made an appearance in her mind's eye at least once a day for the prior three weeks. "Do you ever think about it?"
"What?"
"What we saw in VanDanger's machine. The future."
Castle hummed as his eyes skimmed over the sand and seagrass leading out to the black undulating surface of the water. He'd wondered if their little glimpse a half decade forward would be revisited that weekend and it seemed it would be. Truthfully, he had only thought about it once or twice on his own; several more times when wondering how much of a catalyst those depictions had been for Kate agreeing to their weekend away. "Sure. Every once in a while."
"I think about it. I think about a lot. I think about him a lot—Henry." When Castle didn't react to the name, she took a half step away, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment. Never more thankful for the mostly dim light on the porch, she turned away from him and rested her glass against the railing of the porch. "I know it's stupid because it wasn't real, but it felt so real. That makes me sound crazy, right? I feel crazy."
She knew it was wrong—that dwelling only made it harder, more difficult to forget—but she couldn't help it. At least once a day she came across something that reminded her of the blue-eyed little boy. She'd run across a pregnant woman on the street and wonder about her own future pregnancy: had it been smooth sailing or was she a hormonal, food-craving, feet-swelling mess? She'd see children walking home from school and wonder what he would be: a cop, a writer, an astronaut, or something completely different.
And then there was the other "him" from her future: Castle. Each time he brought her coffee she thought about it. Was this their future? Did he make the coffee every morning or did they take turns? When he smiled at her she thought about what it would be like to wake up and open her eyes to see nothing but his face wearing that exact same grin. She lay awake at night wondering how such a future was even possible when the thought of giving up her independence and allowing herself to need someone still paralyzed her with fear.
Castle stepped up beside her as she brushed an errant tear from her cheek bone, hoping he hadn't seen. "You're not crazy, not at all." When she shot him a skeptical side-eye he continued. "There's nothing wrong with thinking about the future, Kate. We all do it. You and I just happen to have a more detailed picture than most."
"Sometimes I just want to get there, be there, but I also don't, because I don't want to miss everything leading up to it. I—sorry," she cut herself off, shaking her head. Yep, now she definitely sounded like a crazy person. "I'm not usually this much of a mess; must be your fault."
Castle merely chuckled at her attempt at deference. He lifted his hand and placed it softly on her shoulder. When she didn't react negatively or move away, he slid it closer to the center of her shoulder blades and began to move it in small, concentric circles. "I understand what you're saying, but I definitely don't feel the same. It's about the journey, not the destination."
He was right; she knew he was right. Truly, if she were to be given the opportunity to leap five years into the future (a feat seemingly more impossible than actually looking into the future, but, hey, that had happened…) she wouldn't take it. It would be tempting—very temping—but she wouldn't do it for she knew she would be doing so out of her own frustrations. Jumping forward in time would mean landing in a place where emotional intimacy didn't scare her and all the hard, stressful work to get her there would be in the past. Yet, the writer was correct in his assessment. It would be all that hard work that made the future worthwhile.
"And for the record," he continued after a moment's silence, "I don't think you're a mess. I actually find your sentiments rather endearing. I like seeing this side of you Beckett."
She let out a light laugh and shook her head, scooping up her wine glass and walking over to the wicker loveseat a few feet away. As she sat down and waited for the writer to join her, she couldn't help but think she liked to see this side of him too: kind, caring, not making a joke every ten seconds. It certainly made it easier for her to see a future with them together when she didn't want to shoot him every other minute.
After he joined her they sat in a companionable silence for the better part of ten minutes, sipping their wine and gazing out at a trio of boats crossing in front of the house. They sat a few inches apart, not touching at all, but neither of them minded. It was nice to just be there, together.
As more time passed, Castle began to review their conversation in his mind, and he decided to ask the thing he'd been wondering about for three weeks. "Beckett?"
"Hmm?"
"I was wondering: assuming I had invited you to the Hamptons for the weekend regardless of whether or not we had the VanDanger case would you have said yes? That is to say: was the look into our future the main catalyst for you agreeing to come out here with me?"
She swirled the remnants of wine in her glass before rotating her body forty-five degrees towards him. "I won't deny the fact that the future glimpse is what made me say yes, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't have said yes if that case never happened."
He sat up a bit straighter. "So you would have come with me?"
"I'm not sure," she answered truthfully.
"All right. Given that, may I be so bold as to assume that meant you had some feelings for me prior to the VanDanger case?" With every cell in his body he resisted the urge to cringe upon posing the question. They had a nearly perfect day together, the last thing he wanted to do was ruin it, but he also didn't want to waste an opportunity for some truthful conversation even if it was wine-fueled.
"Sure." She answered with alarming speed. She let a beat go by before she began ticking off a list with her fingers. "Annoyance. Irritation. Anger. Frustration. Those are all feelings."
Despite her blossoming smile, Castle shot her a perturbed expression. "I'm trying to be serious, Kate."
Her jaw dropped in indignation. "Oh, I'm sorry. Have you never made a joke in a situation when I was trying to be serious?"
"Touché."
Proud of herself for one-upping the jokester, Kate settled back against her seat sitting just a bit closer to him so that their thighs were almost touching. She set her now empty wine goblet aside and began picking at a hangnail on her left thumb. Even if revealing her true feelings for Castle had not been entirely terrifying, she still couldn't have answered his inquiry which much accuracy; she still wasn't sure how she felt about him.
He was a friend and a colleague, but he'd also become much more, especially in the past six months—ever since the Dick Coonan case had dropped into their laps. Saying she never thought about a physical relationship with him would have been a downright lie. She had, right from their first case together, but back then she wasn't interested in being just one notch of many on his bedpost. Now she knew should they cross that physical barrier it would be more than just that, but how much more she still remained uncertain.
Rather than leave his question answered only by a joke, she decided to answer it to the best of her ability. "I'm really not sure, Castle, but I'm glad you invited me here this weekend; I'm having a really good time."
Castle reached over and placed his right hand over her left. Though he considered himself a master of words, he also knew that sometimes they weren't needed. He didn't want to overshadow the importance of Kate's confession with similar sentiments of his own; it simply wasn't necessary. Instead, he was content to sit with her on his porch in the Hamptons and watch the stars shine bright overhead.
The next part will be posted Sunday.