Voila! Chapter Two
Continuation of my story for Kate's birthday, which was, YES, IN NOVEMBER, inspired by the tweets of WriteRCastle_ (affectionately known as "Fake WriteRCastle") on November 17th. If you are not following him/her/them, go find the account on Twitter. Go back and read part one, so that this will make sense. Part two of three.
# * # * # * #
The immediate and drastic shift in his expression was worth every ounce of embarrassment from her father. His eyes went wide, brows rose to a ridiculous height, jaw dropped and nostrils flared.
"Forget that one tiny detail, did you?"
When he was still frozen in fear a generous minute or so later, Kate decided a further prompt was in order.
"Castle?"
Still no movement, except for the working of his jaw opening and closing with no sound escaping.
"Are you having a stroke or something?" She whacked him on the shoulder as she stepped around him to shut the front door.
"Ouch! That hurt, Beckett!"
At least his pain sensing neurons were firing.
"It's gonna hurt a lot more when you have to explain this-" she waved the phone displaying the photo of the lingerie bag six inches from his nose "-to my dad." Her lips scrunched in disgust. "Where is it, anyway?"
Turning to follow her progress into the botanical garden that had taken over her living room, he seemed confused at her question.
"Where is what?"
Abruptly halting and rounding on Castle, she imagined actual billows of steam emanating from her ears. His quick eyebrow raise and near stumble in an effort to not plow over her did not deter her from her mission.
"My stupid bag of-" she thought better of her bellowing, slightly screechy tone and dropped to an emphatic stage whisper "-naughty lingerie!" Idiot. She left that part to her inside voice.
A tiny spark of the real Castle finally glimmered through as one corner of his mouth curled upward.
"That is for me to know, and you to find out, Detective."
Letting out a disgruntled huff, she challenged back, affecting what she hoped was disinterest.
"It looks like it's on the bed in your guestroom at the loft."
"Ah, that's where it was an hour ago when I took the photo, but that's not where it is now."
"Castle, is this why you had me wear flats and pants and a leather jacket? Are you taking me on some kind of scavenger hunt for this lingerie?"
"No, but wow, I'm totally using that for next year. Or maybe Nikki's birthday, because she can't murder me in my sleep..."
The statement and the devilish grin that went with it warranted an eyeroll, if nothing else to cover up the fact that she had, in fact, contemplated murder just moments earlier.
Though her original plan for the night hadn't included broaching the subject of ridiculous presents, she began to think that it might be best if she made her wishes clear right from the start.
Trying her best not to sound harsh, she met his eyes and schooled her features.
"Listen, Castle, I don't want you to think I'm ungrateful. Breakfast this morning was really sweet. It was perfect, really. But thirty-three dozen long-stemmed red roses left in my apartment?" She ran her hands over the lapels of her new jacket. "This coat? The lingerie? And now whatever you have planned for the rest of the night?" Treading lightly with her tone of voice, she expected his face to fall, but oddly, he remained neutral, a ghost of a smile still lighting his eyes. "This is too much. You don't need to sweep me off my feet with presents and grand gestures. You don't need to try to win me. You already have me."
Not shying away, eyes bright and wide, not looking crestfallen in the least, he took a step into her personal space, nudged the phone down out of his direct line of sight where she had been holding it nearly since he entered.
"You're right. I don't need to win you. For whatever reason, you picked me. But what I do need is to be able to love you. People love in different ways, Kate. For some people it's making coffee, or holding a hand or giving a hug, or smiling from across a crowded room. For me, it's all of that, but it's also sometimes big, and loud, and ridiculous, and over-the-top."
Taking her hands in his, he faced her square on, lowered his brow, let the corners of his mouth barely tip upward.
"Do you remember when you were eight years old? When, if someone wanted to take you out for ice cream, you didn't calculate how many miles you'd have to run to make up for the calories? And if someone gave you a present for no reason, you did just what your parents had taught you, and said 'Thank you,' and ripped off the paper?"
Her eyes narrowed, wondering just where he was going with his little speech, but also caught up in remembering, finding herself back at her eighth birthday party at Rollercade, tearing paper off of packages to find so many surprises, never thinking about her friends' motivation, or ulterior motives, for the gifts. Now she tended to slip a finger under the edge, loosen the tape, fold up the paper to use for another present another day.
"Kate, I trust you with my life, with my family, with my heart. For the next few hours, I just need you to trust me with your sense of wonder."
There was just something about a sincere, unguarded Castle that made her want to give in, made her want to be or do or see whatever he asked. And so, despite all her reservations, she closed her eyes, took a breath, and jumped.
"Okay, Castle. Where are we going?"
When she opened her lids, he was beaming down at her from his three-inch advantage. He had probably told her not to wear heels just for this purpose. No... no. She was giving him the benefit of the doubt, going along, letting her inner child take over for a few hours.
"Wouldn't you like to know?"
She was regretting this already.
# * # * # * #
The town car was warm, leather seats buttery soft and inviting as they sat in Saturday night crosstown traffic on their way to who knew where.
A cursory inspection of the interior of the car gave her no hints as to where they were headed, and showed no sign of the little paper lingerie bag.
"How was your afternoon with Lanie? Did you dissect anything interesting?"
"You know, Lanie and I don't always do things related to work. Sometimes we actually do normal, girlie things, like get our nails done or go to a spa or go shopping."
"Ooo. Did you go to the spa? I know, you lounged naked in the steam bath and then got massages."
His eyes were glazing over as his gaze drifted slightly east of her shoulder, out the window; the images were almost visible as he conjured them in his mind. She could tell he was painting a picture of her in nothing but a tiny towel, laid out and flushed from being worked over by him, or maybe some busty blonde Swedish masseuse.
"Sorry to burst your bubble, but today was just the salon. We got pedicures, though, and that does involve a foot massage."
"You know, if you like massages, my guy keeps telling me about his special couple's massage deal."
Just asking for it... She patted him on his knee.
"That's sweet, Castle, but I don't think Lanie would enjoy a couple's massage. She gets a little possessive about her favorite masseuse, probably wouldn't want to share."
"I wasn't talking about Lanie..." he huffed in exasperation.
Running her hand up his chest and scooting in close, she dropped her voice to her best sexy whisper, careful to lisp coyly at all the right moments.
"Oh, so you mean you were thinking we could have a massage... together? You like the idea of us naked, on a table, getting rubbed down until we're both loose and limber and slick with all that warm, fragrant oil?"
His tiny, quick nod was his only response other than the half-strangled whimper, eyes having gone black with lust and lips slack and parted. Nearly in his lap and lips almost brushing his, she clamped down with a vise grip over his quad and barked out her punch line, volume ramped up to interrogation level.
"In your dreams, Writer-Boy. Now tell me where we're going."
The hazy softness in his eyes immediately vanished, replaced by raised brows and stunned, constricted pupils. Flinging himself backward, he ended up plastered against the door in an attempt to escape her. After a moment of frowning appraisal, he skittishly broke eye contact and peered out the window. His voice sounded a bit choked when he finally answered.
"I would, but we're already here, so you'll just have to see for yourself."
Nearly climbing over him to look out the window, she tried to make out the structure outside the window through the tinted glass.
"Oh, no. No. You didn't."
Instantly, he was transformed back into the suave, self-assured cruise director, complete with honeyed, mirthful tone and a light smack to her well-placed rear.
"You bet your sweet little bottom I did. I distinctly remember using the phrase 'over-the-top' not half an hour ago. And I also seem to remember your somewhat grudging assent to go along with said trip back to simpler, less curmudgeonly times."
Curmudgeonly? Was that even an actual word? Beside the point. And she did have one.
"Castle, that is a helicopter."
Shifting back into her seat, she gave him a wary glare, which he answered with all the glee of the person receiving the gift rather than the one giving it.
"That would be a correct assessment, Detective."
Well, at least the mystery of the long pants and flat shoes had been solved. There was no way she could have climbed aboard this ride in a sequined minidress and four-inch stilettos, at least not without flashing half the inhabitants of the buildings surrounding the West Side helipad.
Out of the car in under two seconds, his hand reached back to help her out of the seat.
"Your winged chariot awaits, Mademoiselle." His features scrunched slightly. "Bladed chariot?"
Her facial muscles were starting to feel the strain of nearly-continuous eye rolling.
As they exited the car, a lanky, tanned, attractively rough man, probably mid-thirties, stepped up to greet them, reached out a well-calloused hand.
"Mr. Castle. Detective Beckett. I'm Harvey, and I'll be doing your flying this evening."
His grip was just firm enough to inspire confidence in his flying skills, and his charm easy enough to make her think he would make a decent tour guide.
In no time they were strapped in, miked up, and debriefed, and Harvey was lifting off over the Hudson.
Kate had flown in helicopters before in the context of her job, but typically their flight plans had included scenic vistas of Newark or Poughkeepsie in daylight as they scanned for a suspect or trolled for missing vehicles. She had certainly never been flown around Manhattan at dusk just for the purpose of seeing the view.
Harvey followed the river north, then veered right over Central Park. The lights already filling the dark spaces over most of the island were absent in the giant green space, making it appear as a rectangular void of inky blackness, crisscrossed by the curlicues of lighted walking paths and the starker bright streaks made by the few streets that traversed its width.
The amicable pilot was telling tales, anecdotes seamlessly interwoven with historical facts and architectural details, building height statistics. Despite his voice humming directly in her ear thanks to the headset, she found herself missing at least half his spiel in favor of her own quiet rememberings, a school field trip here, a date there, or sometimes a body. But none of that dampened her spirits, which despite her best efforts were rising with every hovering moment over the island.
Though she hated to admit it, Castle had done well.
Speaking of, Belvedere Castle stood out against the darkness of the Ramble as they neared the eastern border of the park at 5th Avenue. An event was being set up on the roof of the Met, fairy lights strung across with outdoor heaters already warming the venue and a band warming up on a small stage.
Swinging south, their bird took them by the iconic scallops topping the Chrysler Building. Brightly lit and entirely Art Deco, they made the structure stand out from its more modern near neighbors, full of wisdom and charisma that no recent structure could imitate. Like a grande dame of the theatre in a room full of Hollywood starlets, a classic beauty radiated from the skyscraper, setting it clearly apart.
It wasn't until Castle took her hand, laced his fingers with hers, that she realized she was staring goofily out at the skyline, cheeks frozen in a wide smile as she took in this new view of her city.
She was having fun.
And by the look on his beaming face, so pleased at the view, or maybe just her response to it, so was Castle.
Harvey's sunny voice broke in through their headsets, snapping her out of her momentary reverie.
"Empire State out the right window. I'm giving it a circle."
Now wait just a minute. The top of the Empire State Building looked decidedly purple. Had he-no. No way he'd arranged for her favorite color just for-well, he had said "over-the-top."
"Castle, you didn't-I mean the color changes every week for all sorts of things, but you wouldn't-"
"Wish I could say that I had, but no. Just got lucky that the current charity they are supporting shares your favorite color."
"Oh thank God. I was going to have to hurt you for that one. They publish the colors and the reasons for them on their website, and I was just imagining my name and Gates and ugh..."
Times Square was fully lit as they zig-zagged back over the theater district, and the Broadway marquees were all ablaze, beckoning the tourists and musical buffs for their evening performances.
The loft, the precinct, her apartment were all tiny dots in the darker depths below the tips of the skyscrapers. But the towers of the financial district shot up skyward like electrified lollipops in a life sized game of Candyland, the new World Trade Center structure dominating lower Manhattan as its predecessors had over a decade before.
Seeing the Statue of Liberty from above, from the same perspective as all the TV cameras and movie shots, should have seemed cliche, shouldn't have inspired the little knot of pride and warmth deep in her chest. But Kate found herself defenseless against the giddy onslaught of Americana. Maybe it was time to visit Liberty Island again, be a bit of a tourist in her own city more often.
Having rounded the southern tip of the island, she assumed they would be headed back to the West side to set down, but she was surprised when Harvey veered east and then south instead, headed out across the bay toward open ocean.
As if he sensed her question, Castle gave her hand a squeeze, pulled her focus.
"One more stop."
Huh. Okay. She narrowed her eyes at him and then slanted them out the window to see the bridges out of Manhattan.
"What?"
"Where exactly is this other stop?"
"East. It's not too far."
Glancing at her wrist, she saw it was a few minutes before eight.
Half an hour later, as she watched the darkened coastline whiz by beneath her window, a sinking feeling had taken root.
"How much further is 'not too far,' Castle?"
"Maybe 20 minutes, tops."
He wasn't meeting her eyes. That was not a good sign. Meant he either knew he was in trouble and was intentionally avoiding her reaction, or that he was entirely clueless that she was contemplating torture methods.
Because knowing roughly how fast a helicopter travels, and having seen more than half of Long Island already pass beneath them, she knew exactly where they were headed.
And it would likely involve buzzing his friendly neighborhood millionaire mobster, Vinnie "The Scar" Cardano.
# * # * # * #
Thanks again to Joy for the on-call beta read. If you don't get the Vinnie "The Scar" reference, let me know and I'll PM you.
Next installment: Kate finally gets her hands on the naughty lingerie bag, and M-rated fun ensues.
Twitter: Kate_Christie_
Tumblr: KathrynChristie dot tumblr dot com
Photo used as the cover art is from a Twitter post of WriteRCastle_ on November 17th. Thanks to him for the inspiration and permission to run with this little idea!