Alexis popped her head around the walk-in closet door to survey the carnage. "Hi Dad, need help?"
There were a slew of discarded ties haphazardly on his dresser and rejected shirts were carcasses on the field of the dressing room, with none victorious in sight. Castle managed the choice of dark slacks, but stood in front of his closet with an air of disbelief. "Not only am I not an eligible Bachelor anymore, I can't believe I'm going to sound like Mother and declare I have nothing to wear."
His daughter let herself in, leaning down to pick up one of the shirts at her feet, and looked around for suitable alternatives. "Somehow I'm okay with your not adding additional therapy fodder this year by being on the silly list again. How did Kate take it?"
He met Alexis' gaze in the mirror and grinned at the memory. "Not well. She thought I was pranking her." Pointing at one of the multitude of shirts, he said, "Ooh, hand me that one. That might work."
She shook her head. "Too loud." Instead, she choose another in a shade of slate blue-gray. "This one looks good with your eyes." He held it up to himself and then approved. "Good call."
She watched him for a moment longer as he changed into it, fumbling a little with the mother-of-pearl buttons. "My dad. Nervous for a date? And this time you can't say it's for an undercover op."
"I'm not..." He started to deny it and then stopped. "It just seems different. I know Kate. We work together. I don't know how this is going to go." He pivoted halfway toward her, concern suddenly in his eyes. "You do approve though, right?"
Alexis crossed over to him to give him a hug, and he squeezed back, aware that every time he did this, she seemed a little taller and she's a far cry from the infant he held not long ago. "Yeah, Dad, I do. I really like her. She gives really great advice and is easy to talk to - different than you and Grams. Just make sure you don't do anything to hurt..."
He groaned. "You, Mother, and the entire police station have already talked to me about that. Has anyone considered that she might hurt me?"
She stepped back and considered her dad for a long moment, then reaching out for a matching tie and helping him with it."We all thought she'd physically hurt you a long time ago. I've considered it. I don't want you to get hurt either. Or dumped or divorced again. She's different from your other women. Like, real."
"How would you know?"
His daughter gave him a long suffering look, as she crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head reprovingly. "Oh, please. You don't bring them around, but it's not like I don't hear about them. I watched you mack on Ellie Monroe on television." He winced a little at that. "Anyway, I'm not saying she wouldn't hurt you...I just don't think fear should get in the way of having someone incredible in your life, and nothing's guaranteed anyway."
"Huh...wise words," he commented, reaching out to ruffle her hair. "When'd you get so wise?"
"I learned that when I was talking to Kate."*
That made him smile. He finished getting ready, running his hand through his hair one last time and checking hims elf out. "Presentable?" he asked and Alexis nodded in confirmation, reaching out to straighten his tie. "Ok, pumpkin. I'm ready."
"Love you dad. Break a leg. But not literally, and I hope it's not by Kate." Alexis grinned at him, before adding airily, "Oh! Carter's coming over tonight to watch a movie." She waggled her fingers at him as she slipped out of his dressing room, enjoying his open-mouth, chagrined expression as she headed back to her room.
*Author's Footnote: Refers to a scene from other story "Inevitable"
Bathing was a soothing ritual, and on an early winter Saturday afternoon after a grueling week in New York, it was the perfect thing to warm the bones. The light scent of cherries filled the air from the bath oil liberally flavored, and Kate Beckett immersed herself peacefully in the steaming tub, absorbing the serenity of it.
An hour later, with her digits still resembling prunes, she stood in front of the mirror in her bathrobe and put on her makeup with care – dark eyeliner and mascara to emphasize the width of her eyes, lipstick. She's done this daily since her mother first taught her how. The memory still makes her smile. She looked at herself long and hard in the mirror, not seeing the glowing beauty reflected back at her, more focused on the stray strand of hair that won't behave, fixing the smear of lipstick from the nervous nibbling on her bottom lip.
There was something so completely familiar about anticipating seeing a man who'd been following her around for the better part of nearly two years, and yet something wholly new about the territory they're entering that made things seem different – and the reason she had butterflies in her stomach. It's never been boring, but there's something more. Her thoughts spun as she continued to get ready.
She fussed around her apartment, casting a critical eye around to make sure everything's in place. The chime of the doorbell rang, and she called out "Coming", taking a moment to steady herself with a deep breath. Her internal self-critic mocked her for being nervous. It's just Castle!
It's never been just Castle, though. He's never been just anything.
She walked over to the door, unlocked the deadbolt, using those small actions to let him in. She doesn't have to put a smile on her face – it naturally bloomed when she thought about the last moments with him in the morning, the tease of feathery kisses, and the anticipation of his reaction to seeing her.
When he picked her up for their date, he first had to pick his jaw up off the floor when she opened her door. She wore red – a fluid red dress evocative of the Herve Leger dress she'd worn to the Heat Wave book launch. Actually, it bore an uncanny resemblance to this fantasy he has of her playing billiards…
The flowers he had in his hands were forgotten, and his necktie felt way too tight.
He's cognizant that is a side of her that she's never aimed fully at him before, as she stands in the doorway with her weight shifted, hip cocked out, hand on its curve to emphasize her waist. Glimpses of this side of her have kept him hooked for nearly two years, in addition to other elements of the Beckett onion. Tonight, she had her hair down and tousled in a way that made him want to sink his hands into them, and the light scent of cherries hit his nostrils, short circuiting his brain.
Her smile widened, a bright sparkle in her eyes and a mischievous cast to her face. The expression on his face made her spirits soar, a kind of high better than bubbling champagne. He can't take his eyes off her and she can't take her eyes from his.
"I'll just put that in water," she offered, reaching for the flowers from his numb fingers, and then opening the door wide enough to let him in. He'd watched her walk in front of him more times than he can count, but he swore this time, with those heels, it was definitely exaggerated.
She's teasing me on purpose. Two could play at this game - though it would help if he had blood in his brain to level the playing field. Yeah, that's not happening anytime soon.
He followed her in, a little like an obedient cocker spaniel. In the moment her back is turned, he squeezed his eyes tight briefly and shook his head to clear it.
She was definitely messing with him when she reached up to a high overhead shelf to get a vase, the hem of her dress riding upwards to tease him with a glimpse of thigh. She was plenty tall enough to not have to stand on tiptoes in high heels. Now he couldn't turn away. Someone turned up the dial on Beckett Sex Appeal. He's still disbelieving that this time, it's actually for him (not for an undercover benefit, not on a date with someone else). It's really almost a good thing this has never been aimed at him fully before now, because he can barely think.
He said the first thing that popped into his head. He blurted, "If you say something in a Russian accent, I may pass out."
She turns towards him, arching a brow – and it's different than the dubious brow-lift, or the "WTF did you just do" brow-lift. (Okay, there's a slight "WTF" nuance to her expression.) This arch of her brow is playful, suggestive, and oh-so-sexy paired with thoughtful little bite of her lower lip, considering.
And then she did it. She did the accent. She reached back through their memories. This time she wasn't saving his ass from a Russian mobster though. This time, she looked at him directly, lifted her chin in challenge, and layered on the thick Russian accent. "You are a man aren't you?…A very handsome man."
The kitchen counter is the main reason he's standing, because all he can do is bite his knuckle, and he's dead sure the real Beckett is going to yell, "Castle!" at any moment and wake him up.
She wasn't yelling - but she was trying very, very hard not to laugh because this was too much fun. "Castle, if I'd known pulling out my Russian accent was going to shut you up this fast, I'd have used it a lot more before now." She shook her head, then turned the water to fill the vase and set it on the counter to put the flowers in. "Thank you for these. They're beautiful."
He cleared his head while she was distracted and spotted her coat hanging on the back of the sofa, and the gentleman in him kicks in to retrieve it. He gathered it up, waiting for her to approach so he can help her into it. She just grinned at him, still amused by the effect of her adopted accent, before turning to let him.
He took full advantage of her back to him as she got her arms through her sleeves, the slight bend of her head as she adjusted the belt ties, to lean in and murmur softly into her ear, "You look beautiful…Kate."
She straightened, turning her face towards him so they were inches apart. "Thanks."
They never made it to the elevator.