What would Space Cowboy do? Space Cowboy would sweep the damsel off her feet and fly off into the sunset with her on a cool spaceship. He imagined her one of those sexy Indian-style saris that left the flat skin of her midriff bare just begging to be touched, her hair artfully pinned up so tendrils draped enticingly along the long column of her neck (he really loved her neck). He'd slide his hand up the back of her neck to cup her head to bring her face closer to his…so close that he feel the intensity of the heat between them, simmering. (His internal narrative took on the cadences he sometimes employed for the steamy scenes in his books.) He let his mind wander freely, letting his very vivid imagination go….

Why did his fantasies always get cut off by irate female voices? This time it was Gina's sharp, "Richard!", that jerked him out of his reverie. She had nothing on Beckett's voice though.

There was this one time Castle was dreaming one of his favorites, where Kate was playing billiards with him, in a skin tight, lipstick red dress that hugged every curve and ended at mid-thigh and her long, sexy legs were showcased in red leather heels (and he really loved her legs - thought about them ever since the night she'd rescued him from Russians in Chinatown's illegal high stakes poker games). In his dreams, she'd slide her hands down that cue stick in a way that made his hands (and other parts of him) involuntarily clench, and then she'd reach out and tug him closer…

The last time he'd been roused from that fantasy, his back was stiff from falling asleep in "his" chair beside her desk in the bullpen. His elbow had slipped off the edge of her desk and he'd rapped his cheekbone on the hard wood surface, earning a howl of laughter from Ryan. Esposito had a great shot on his camera phone of Castle drooling, and Beckett was standing over him, "Castle!" still ringing in his ears. Actually, his favorite part of that memory was her turning away from him laughing, that full, rich laugh that crinkled the corner of her eyes and the beautiful smile on her face that he tried so hard to continuously evoke. He still swore that the look she sent him over her shoulder was sultry, as she walked away with that subtle, enticing swing to her hips. He spent a lot of time watching her walk - it was one of the best perks of following her around.

He missed the sound of her laughter. He missed the banter and innuendos. He missed that she brought out the best in him (and occasionally the worst).

He thought about Space Cowboy again. Beckett would likely have a problem if he threw her over his shoulder and tried to board a ship with her. Castle gauged his chances of surviving that encounter with his limbs intact as pretty much next to nothing. He considered himself optimistic, not stupid.

Stumped and scowling four hours later, he decided to play Halo. It was either that, or drink, and at least he got to shoot things in Halo. As a bonus, the noise irritated Gina. (Win!)


Gina swore beneath her breath, trying to send out a flurry of late-night emails on her laptop, but Rick was playing Halo again and it irritated the hell out of her. She liked to work hard and play hard, and "control-freak" was one of the characteristics she actually shared with a certain NYPD detective. To her dismay, her primary cash cow (or white whale) was playing games again, instead of writing about Nikki Heat.

She wouldn't have believed him capable of writing an entire novel, much less a series, about a woman he wasn't sleeping with. Sometimes she felt a pang of jealousy, though she was pretty clear when they got divorced that the life she thought she'd have with him wasn't what she was getting. He'd wined and dined her, proposed to her under freakishly cold conditions on a hot air balloon ride, and she thought they'd lead the jet setting life and he was her Prince Charming. While he could be charming, the playboy she'd fallen in love with wanted a mother for Alexis and more kids, and Gina was pretty clear that motherhood wasn't in her future plans. (After raising two half-siblings, she wanted to get away from that life, not settle into it.)

Richard surprised Gina more than once over the summer. She'd harbored some hopes of at least having some steamy sex (that wasn't one of the areas they had a problem with), especially after their late night phone call, but she pragmatically put them aside in favor of nagging him (wifely privileges without a ring, and all the benefits of alimony) until he finished his book. They'd tried the sex the night they arrived– but he was too distant, and she was too pissed about feeling like a substitute before it got much beyond third base. She woke up the next morning fully prepared to make his Hamptons beach house feel like hell had frozen over, and to her shock, he apologized - no excuses, just owning up to it and straight up saying, "I'm sorry." When the hell did he learn to do that?!

People change. Gina wondered if Richard had any clue how much he had. The Richard who loved signing the breasts of girls it'd be illegal for him to have sex with wasn't so much in evidence. (The Richard who played Halo 'til two in the morning at an irritatingly loud volume was, alas.) Thank goodness for Jake – and who would've guessed she'd meet him through Rick?


In the end, it was bizarrely Gina who helped him figure a couple of things out during was possibly the most honest conversation they'd ever had. They stayed up late the last night in the Hamptons that summer, the kind of night that might've once been romantic, with the full moon on the water and a bottle of tequila on the dock after he'd handed her the last pages of his latest book.

"How're things going with Jake?", he asked casually.

A small smile played on Gina's face as she took a sip of tequila. "Well enough. We'll see how it goes." She turned her face towards him, rather than regarding the seascape. "I've learned a little bit of caution." She said it almost matter-of-factly without too much of an edge in her voice, the blame over the spiraling end of their marriage blunted by time, a book written, a summer in the Hamptons, and a new man in her life.

"You," she continued, eying him, the alcohol loosening her tongue a bit. "I've watched you chase women – God knows, I've watched you chase women." She paused for a moment, before adding softly, "To your credit, you were faithful." The corner of her mouth quirked up a little with her next words, "So explain this one - the one woman I've ever seen you seem to have real feelings for – enough to think of her sometimes before you think of yourself – you're not even trying to sleep with. WHY?"

Castle let out a compressed breath of air between pursed lips and trotted out words he'd said to himself a million times, "She's with someone else who's a good guy and she deserves to be happy." (That sounded straight out of a soap opera, even to him, so he followed his words with a full swig of tequila.)

Gina almost snorted her tequila. "Oh, please. One, I saw her face when we were leaving the precinct, and it didn't look like the face of a woman in love with someone else. Two, this drivel is worse than your third book, and the only list that book made it to was the recyclables. Three, are we talking your character Shlemming? If he's anything like the book character, she's playing it safe because Jameson is a flake. " She leaned forward towards him, "You've never actually fought for a woman, Richard. You let Kyra walk – and I know you sure as hell didn't fight very hard for me - with me, yes, but not for me."

Rick finally met her eyes, his steadfast blue eyes curiously open. "I'm sorry, Gina." Silence fell between them in the wake of a deeper apology. She nodded her head and looked away over the water for a moment before turning back to him. "I know you, and I think I know a little about her. You'll do what you've always done – over the top, probably annoying, extravagantly larger than life. There's a time and place for that. That won't work on her. Our whole relationship was built on air – even the way you proposed to me." The expression on her face was a cross between a grimace and grin in memory of that particular hot air balloon ride. "It won't work with someone like Kate Beckett. Not that she won't appreciate it once in awhile, but if you're actually going to grow a pair of balls and be a man about this, I think you need to meet her wherever she is, and see her enough to do that. It has to be about her…and not some drivel about how she's better off without you because I know you well enough to know you don't actually believe that."

He stared at her for a long moment and then said in a hushed tone, "Thank you" with the ring of sincerity, followed rapidly by an unflatteringly awed, "How in the world did you get to sound so smart?"

Loaded up on tequila, he knew exactly what Space Cowboy would send Kate. He loved his idea – it was brilliant! (If he did say so himself – and he did.) It was even better than a pony! Good thing the Black AmEx folks were used to eccentric requests.