LIFTOFF
PART TWO


She's still debating between a couple swimsuits when she hears the knock on her door, and she groans, leaves her open duffel bag on her bed as she goes to let her partner in.

"You're early," she says by way of greeting when she opens the door, closing it behind Castle as he takes in her new apartment. She's been here for almost six weeks, but he's yet to see it, and he lets out a low whistle as he looks around.

Castle goes immediately to her bookcase. "Nice selection," he teases, tapping a finger against the spine of one of his own books. "And this is a nice place, Beckett."

"Thanks." She heads back towards her bedroom. "I'll be right out, just have a few more things to pack."

"Take your time, I'll just be out here snooping."

Kate rolls her eyes at what she hopes is a quip. She stares at the swimsuits again, arms crossed, before she just gives up and shoves them both in her bag. One, the one she'll probably end up wearing, is a modest blue one-piece, perfectly respectable for a weekend trip with a friend. The other is a slightly more racy bikini, perfect for sunbathing, or for turning a suave, attractive writer into a sputtering mess.

But she'll only wear that one if it feels like their relationship is evolving.

A glance at the clock has her zipping her bag and slipping on a pair of flats. She'd left work early, thanks to an agreement to cover extra shifts for Karpowski, but her indecision had wasted most of their extra time, and traffic will be even worse.

"Sorry," she breathes as she grabs her purse and phone. "Ready?"

Castle smiles and opens the door for her. "Absolutely."


Castle glances at the passenger seat when he finally pulls into the driveway. Traffic had been awful, the typical 90-minute drive taking almost three hours, and Kate had dozed off a couple hours in.

He doesn't mind; she works hard, and if he can offer her a break from her chaotic life, no matter how brief, he's happy. Well, he'd be happier if she was accompanying him as a romantic partner rather than a friend, but he'll take what he can.

"Beckett," he whispers, curling a hand at her elbow. She doesn't move, and he resists the urge to brush back her hair, settles for squeezing her shoulder. "Kate. Wake up."

She stirs, her head turning to him, and as her eyes flutter open and meet his, she gives him a lazy smile. "Sorry, I fell asleep."

He can't help but smile back. "Don't worry about it. We're here, finally."

Kate is out of the car before he can open the door for her, so he opens the trunk instead, busies himself with getting their bags so he doesn't stare at the strip of skin at her lower back that's exposed when she stretches. When he closes the trunk, bags under an arm, he notices her staring at his house, awe written all over her face.

"You okay?" he calls out, grinning when she jumps then turns to him, a sheepish look on her face.

She takes her bag, rakes her other hand through her hair. "Yeah, I'm just-" She sighs and glances back at the house. "This place is huge, Castle."

"It's actually a small house for this area." Castle unlocks the front door and steps inside, switches on the lights to illuminate the entryway. His housekeeper had come by to air out the house and refresh the sheets on the beds, but as that had been the previous day, he'd instructed her not to turn on any lights.

Kate just smiles at him. "Don't tell me that," she teases, following him inside. "It's incredible."

"C'mon, I'll give you a tour." He pauses when she tries, but fails, to cover a large yawn. "Unless you just want to retire for the night, see the rest of the house tomorrow?"

"No, I'm fine." She drops her bag and toes off her flats. "Show me around, Castle."


Kate wakes to the smell of coffee, bacon, and something else she can't quite place, and she turns to her back, stares up at the ceiling with a smile. True to his promise, Castle had been a perfect gentleman the previous evening, showing her the house and grounds before having pizza delivered and bidding her goodnight when her eyes had begun to droop.

Much like the rest of the house, as well as his loft in Manhattan, the guest room she'd claimed is tastefully decorated, with calming blues and tans reminiscent of the beach outside. The bed itself is exquisite, had allowed for a restful sleep, the first uninterrupted night in weeks.

She sits up quickly when she sees the time, but before she can slide out of bed there's a quiet knock on the door. She doesn't see a robe, so instead she pulls the sheet up to her camisole-covered torso. "Come in," she calls out after clearing her voice.

The door clicks open and she sees a head poke through, eyes scrunched shut. "I brought coffee, if you're decent?" Castle asks, a hand holding a steaming mug sneaking through the opening. "I'll leave it out here if you're not."

Kate draws her bottom lip between her teeth, amused - and flattered - at his concern for her modesty. He needn't worry, though; she has no intention of hiding out, and she's pretty sure that both swimsuits she brought will make an appearance. He's bound to see more than her bare shoulders at some point this weekend.

"You're fine, Castle," she assures him, tightening her grip on the sheet nonetheless. She mirrors his smile when he steps inside, accepts the mug with a grateful thanks. She closes her eyes at the first sip. "Oh my God, it's perfect. Thank you."

Castle's grin widens. "You're welcome. I cooked up some breakfast, too, when you want it. The bacon's just finishing up, and I just put the first waffle in." His nose wrinkles when the faint scent of something burning hits. "If you'll excuse me, I should check on it. Come down whenever you're ready." He turns to go, then stops himself, his head on the door frame. "I forgot, robes are in the closet," he tells her, pointing. "You're welcome to use any, or all, of them."

"Thanks. I'll be down in a few." True to her word, she brushes her teeth quickly, then slips on one of the robes before making her way downstairs. His back is to her when she enters the kitchen, hips swaying to the quiet jazz music playing, and she can't help but admire his backside while she can.

She misjudges the distance to the table, though, and runs into it, a quiet curse falling from her lips as she grabs at her bruised hip.

Castle spins around at the noise, spatula in his hand. "Oh jeez, are you okay?" He grabs a dish towel, mops up the coffee that had spilled onto the table. When he straightens he glances down at her hip, and sees his fingers clench. Instead of reaching for her, though, like he seems to want to do, he drapes the towel over his shoulder and takes her mug. "Let me get you a refill. You okay?"

She follows him to the counter, leans against it as he hands her the mug. "I'm fine. I promise," she insists when he gives her a look. "Save for my pride." He smirks, and she hopes he doesn't notice her cheeks flush at the look, the sparkle in his eye, the way his hair flops slightly over his forehead. "What can I help with?" she asks, mostly to distract herself.

"You can sit and let me serve you. You'll have a waffle in about two seconds, help yourself to the bacon and eggs."

She can't help but feel guilty at the spread. Castle must have been up for awhile; not only is there a plate heaping with bacon, but he sets a bowl of scrambled eggs next to her, and there's also an elaborate fruit platter. Despite his instructions, she scoops a generous serving of eggs on his plate, along with several pieces of bacon. She does doctor her waffle, only so the butter can melt onto it, but she doesn't take a bite until he's sitting across from her, his own waffle steaming.

"You were supposed to start without me."

She just pops a strawberry into her mouth with a smile.


Castle quickly realizes that as stubborn as Kate Beckett is at work, she's even more stubborn after breakfast, when she bans him from cleaning up. He'd cleaned a bit while preparing the meal, so there isn't much left for her to do anyway, but his protest falls on deaf ears.

She does, at least, let him put the dishes away.

Their conversation over breakfast had been minimal, but he'd enjoyed the easy silence. Months of shadowing had taught him that most people couldn't stay silent, that if Kate was quiet long enough in the box, a suspect would start talking and usually incriminate themselves.

But he hadn't felt the need to fill the space between them with words. He'd been perfectly content just sitting in her presence, enjoying her company.

And maybe staring at her when she wasn't looking.

He's grateful when she announces her intention to shower, gives him an excuse to retreat to the privacy of his own room for a few minutes. He grabs another cup of coffee on his way, the adrenaline from preparing breakfast fading. It had been a long morning, starting with him waking early and, unable to fall back asleep, preparing the meal.

He'd admittedly gone upstairs a few times and pressed his ear against Kate's door to see if he could hear movement. It wasn't creepy, he told himself, not when it was with the intention of greeting her with fresh coffee. He was being an attentive host.

His mind wanders as he makes his bed and finishes unpacking his suitcase. He'd been serious when inviting Kate to come as a friend. There's definitely an attraction, one that may be mutual if he's reading last week's conversation right. And she definitely flirts with him, their teasing becoming more natural with each passing day. He would definitely be interested in pursuing more than the partnership, even friendship, that they have now. But he won't push her.

Seeing her in his house, though, in one of the soft navy robes he'd personally selected, her warm laugh echoing through the dining room, makes him wish for things. It makes him get his hopes up, hope that this can be a second home for her, as it is for him.

A second home with him.

He shakes the thought from his mind when he hears the upstairs shower shut off. She'll likely be back downstairs in just a few minutes, and he's intent to be a good host, attentive yet invisible. He does need to write, would like to get something to Gina in the next week as he'd promised. But when he emerges from his room, he almost drops his laptop when he sees the vision in his living room.

Kate is wearing an orange sundress, the hem brushing her knees when she moves. He manages to tear his gaze from her legs only to land on her chest, where the low-cut v-neck provides cleavage he isn't used to seeing. He's seen her in dresses before, a handful of very memorable occasions. But seeing her today, her hair loose and wavy, a book tucked under her arm and moving to the back porch, reminds him just how damn lucky he is to have her in his life.

She doesn't seem to notice him, so he takes advantage, watches as she settles onto a lounge chair and opens the book. It isn't one of his, he notices, but it isn't Patterson's, either, so he can live with that. Besides, one of the things he loves about her is how well-read she is.

Wait. He pauses. Loves?