Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.
A/N: Turns out I was kidding about posting this tomorrow. Worked the kinks out a little ahead of schedule.
"Nicely done, detective," Castle compliments as Beckett exits the interrogation room.
"Thanks, Castle," she replies, making an effort to accept his praise and ensure that her frustration doesn't spill over to him. "But breaking a severely hungover murderer who had a rough night in Holding wasn't the greatest challenge. I know you like the weird cases, but thanks for sticking around on this one."
Beckett knits her brow at his look of surprise at her gratitude, and notices that he looks just a little wary as they walk back to her desk. He seems to be as on-edge about their recent conversations as she's feeling, but at least he came in this morning. It would've been very easy for him to skip out on the Stenson interrogation and catch up later had they needed to find another suspect or had Stenson not confessed.
"And now, your reward for closing a case in less than 24 hours," Castle says as he tries to lighten the mood. "A full afternoon of paperwork."
"You're probably right," Beckett sighs as she sinks into her chair, pausing before scooting into her desk to address the forms. "We're back at the bottom of the rotation, so it's unlikely we'll pull another active case today. You gonna stick around?"
Watching carefully, Beckett can see the exact moment he changes his mind about how to reply. He'd looked happy, like he was going to tease, but his eyes shifted just before he started speaking. "I'll get lunch," he compromises, using an arm to gesture to the boys as well as Beckett, "then I should probably head over to the Haunt. I'm still learning how to keep that running and I've got some changes in mind."
"Having some poles installed?" she asks, trying to tease him into a happier mood, but also testing to see where Castle's redrawn the line on risqué topics.
"Beckett," he answers in exasperation, blowing out a breath that has his bangs ruffling, "the Haunt was a place of refuge, a retreat to commune with the creative spirits that helped me launch my career. If I install poles, the spirits will be too busy ogling the dancers to provide inspiration. That's why…," he starts to say, before blushing and looking away toward Ryan and Esposito.
"That's why you have an office?" Beckett guesses when he doesn't finish his statement. With a head tilt and a shrug that makes him look incredibly like a mischievous young boy, Castle opts to remain quiet.
That's what's really bothering her, she realizes. Castle's not built to be quiet. Even when – sometimes especially when – he's supposed to be still. It creates a bit of a paradox: in the silence, Beckett can hear a ticking clock, a timer running down. He won't be quiet for long. So, the question is when and how will he start talking again? Will his new resolve fade, letting them drift back to normal? Will it end by turning into something new, some toned-down and repressed version of his usual self? Or will he grow too uncomfortable at stifling himself and find a new place at which to be his usual, voluble self?
"I'm gonna go get lunch," Castle says as he stands, speaking loudly enough for Esposito and Ryan to hear. As the boys start peppering him with thanks and suggestions, Beckett scolds herself for being so obvious in her introspections. He recognized what she was thinking about, of course. He's gotten very good at reading her moods and sometimes even her intentions. So, he created an opportunity to slip away, the lure of a free if early lunch more than enough to draw cover from the boys.
Castle departs a few moments later, on his way to a favored deli many blocks away since they've got some time before they'd usually break for lunch. After waiting five minutes to ensure that he's on his way, Beckett ambles over to where Esposito and Ryan are playing paper football to distribute the workload for their paperwork assignments.
"Guys," she interjects after Esposito's wing-flapping at a successful field goal subsides, "can I ask a favor?"
"Not if it involves more paperwork," Ryan grouses after shanking his own scoring attempt. "Looks like I'll already have more than my share."
"Something's up with Castle," she offers as a preface. The boys keep their eyes on the game, but they don't interrupt, so she assumes they're still listening. "I'd like to try to get to the bottom of it during lunch. Will you two make yourselves scarce? Casually?"
"Sure," Esposito replies, smiling again at another errant shot by Ryan. "We're good at being casually scarce, right Ryan?"
"I tend to be a little more formal about it," Ryan grumps in response, "but I can manage."
Shaking her head and rolling her eyes, Beckett returns to her desk and sets about processing Stenson's confession and the related forms required for the DA's office. She's so focused on plowing through her work that she's surprised when Esposito knocks on her desktop and points to the break room, where Castle's already setting out the items he foraged for them. Saving her work quickly, she's still several steps behind her colleagues when she enters the break room, which means she gets last pick of the free food. Rookie mistake, she chastises herself.
"Thanks, Castle," Ryan says as he pointedly ignores Beckett's covetous stare at his sandwich. "Sorry to run, but we've got a consult downstairs."
Though the line was delivered well, Castle still knits his brow, aware that something's amiss. "Anything interesting?" he asks in a voice that could be genuine interest or very good acting if he's looking to avoid a private lunch with his partner.
"Dunno," Espo replies with a shrug that almost dislodges one of his extra bags of chips. "Knowing those guys in Burglary, it's probably something simple."
Crap, Beckett thinks to herself. She doesn't need to see his sour look to know Castle's reaction. Mentioning Burglary is a good way to dissuade Castle from tagging along, but it didn't exactly prepare him to be any more willing to talk with her either.
"Have fun," Castle says with a wave, watching Ryan and Esposito head for the stairs. "And then there were two," he says as he turns toward Beckett.
"And then there were two," she agrees and she steps up to the counter to see what food options survived the onslaught of the rest of her team, who apparently felt entitled to ravage the lunch spread in return for agreeing to her requested favor.
"Here," Castle says, extending a bag that he'd hidden from their predation. "The guys looked famished, so I held your lunch in reserve," he offers with a smirk.
"Thanks, Castle!" Beckett replies cheerfully, touched by his thoughtfulness and ecstatic that she's not reduced to the sad ham or tuna salad sandwiches that remain. "But what about you?"
"There're two sandwiches in there," he says, pointing to the bag. "I'll take whichever one you don't want."
"What about those?" she asks, nodding toward the leftovers.
"Decoys," he answers with a laugh. "Otherwise the guys would know I was holding out on them. Besides, it's free food. Someone'll come by to claim it."
Beckett huffs in reply, nodding. The only real surprise is that someone hasn't already laid claim the extras. Thinking about that, and the parade of colleagues who are likely to traipse through the room for their own lunches, helps prompt her to make a suggestion.
"Since we're already packed, how about lunch outside?" she asks, enjoying the thought of some fresh air.
"Lead the way, detective," Castle replies gamely, grabbing some bottles of water for them.
It's a short walk to a bench around the corner and down the block from the precinct. Their timing is perfect – a beleaguered father has just managed to strap his infant into a stroller and corral his toddler as they approach, so they get access to a bench that others had avoided. Beckett's just moving to sit down before Castle catches her arm and holds her in place. Setting the water bottles on the ground, he pulls out a handkerchief and wipes the bench, mopping up bits of pureed carrots and rapidly-setting graham cracker/saliva concrete. With a flourish, he sweeps an arm toward the bench to indicate its readiness.
"Thanks, Castle," Beckett says with a wrinkled nose, looking at the soiled hanky and imagining what that would've looked like on her clothes instead.
"Old habits," he says with a laugh, balling up the handkerchief before placing it at his feet as he takes a seat and accepts a sandwich from Beckett.
His comment makes her think of a young Alexis, which in turn makes her recall yesterday's comment about why he loves his little girl so fiercely.
"So, Castle…"
"I don't want to talk about Meredith," he interrupts as he unwraps his meal.
"What?" she asks, surprised by his opening salvo. "I don't want to talk about Meredith, either, but why would you think I would?"
"You've said 'thanks' three times already today," he answers while cutting her an indulgent look. "You want something."
"That's a terrible thing to say," she replies, offended, hurt, and maybe a little embarrassed. "I was genuinely thankful each time."
"Perhaps," Castle answers with a light shrug, peeling back the top of his sandwich to investigate what lies beneath. "I didn't mean to offend. You're just usually more economical with your gratitude."
"Unless I want something, apparently," she grouses in reply, still pricked by his observation.
"Which you do," he replies, bringing them back to her attempt to start a conversation, "but apparently not a conversation about Meredith. So, back to the flirting topic, then?"
Wondering if she should be annoyed that he knows her so well, Beckett decides to think about that later so she can pursue the conversation now. "Yes," she agrees with a nod. "I'm trying to figure out how we can move forward."
"It's no big deal, Beckett," he says too lightly, taking a bit of his sandwich to draw some cover from her regard. "You'll just be less annoyed from now on," he offers with a self-deprecating shrug.
"You don't feel like you anymore, Castle," she says, getting frustrated in trying to explain herself. "Flirting is a basic form of communication for you. You use it with everyone and now I feel left out," she admits, feeling petty but still glad she actually confessed. "It's changing how we interact and I don't like it."
Castle looks sad and frustrated, too, but he answers by shrugging again. "I'm sorry, Kate, but I've explained this. I'm not going to change my mind."
"You said it was about intent," she remembers, looking for a solution. "That's why you can flirt with Andrews, right?" she asks, pausing to watch his nod. "Why can't you do that with me?"
"There's a reason I'm a writer," he explains slowly after taking a moment to think, "despite the family business." When Beckett looks confused, he tries to be more clear. "I'm not that good an actor," he says quietly before looking down again at the sandwich in his lap.
Beckett, too, looks down at her lap, taking refuge behind the drape of her hair. She hadn't let herself dwell on his comments about intent, but now she can't help but wonder. There's been a tension between them from day one, based on attraction and lust. But it almost sounds like there's something else, something stronger or more permanent underlying his words. It's something she wondered about back when…
"Wait a minute," she says aloud, articulating her thoughts. "You never stopped flirting when I was with Demming."
"That's because you weren't really with Demming," Castle answers easily, unperturbed. "Not seriously."
"How would you know?" she asks, her words sounding too harsh even though her tone is curious.
"Demming was… a distraction," he says after some thought. "An antidote to spending too much time around me after your stay at the loft," he describes, smirking to himself. "Tom Demming – the kale detox drink for over-attached partners," Castle dubs, happy with the moniker.
Beckett's trying not to react, either to his bleak and maybe accurate view of Demming or to his farcical nickname, when a new thought clicks into place. "You didn't flirt with me then, either, when I stayed at the loft," Beckett recalls, thunderstruck as she makes a connection she hadn't realized.
"Not appropriate," Castle replies again, going back to his stock answer. "You had almost nothing, Beckett, because of me. So, what? I invite you into my home and hit on you when you've got nowhere else to go? That's coercion at best and really, really creepy. I just wanted you to be safe and comfortable."
"I thought it was an act," she answers in a low voice, thinking out loud. "The way you acted around me at the precinct, the way you pursued me. Because you were so different at home."
"I am different at home," Castle agrees. "Just not in the way you imagined."
With that simple declaration, Castle turns back to his lunch, finishing the last few bites. Beckett's sitting quietly, picking at her food as she reconsiders their time together with this new insight into her partner. She hadn't really appreciated how her time with Demming must've hurt him, following so quickly after her stay at the loft. His comments change her perception a bit, casts their disastrous parting last summer in a different light.
"I'm gonna go," Castle says quietly, balling up the wrapping from his sandwich and reaching down to reclaim his soiled handkerchief. "Call me if a body drops tomorrow?"
"Yeah, okay," Beckett asks, still lost in thought and a little slow to get back on track. "Here, I'll take your trash," she offers, holding the empty sandwich bag out before her.
Castle drops his wrapper in the bag, but holds back the handkerchief. Noticing her wrinkled nose, he shrugs and offers a smile. "It's not a lost cause, it's just ruffled and soiled by the hallmarks of a good life," he says, flapping the cloth so that he can fold it and carefully slip it into his pocket. "A little care and it'll be good as new," he adds with a small smile. Then, with a small bow, he departs for the Old Haunt.
Writers, she thinks, adding his parting words to those she already needs to ponder.