Her day isn't all sunshine and rainbows like it would be in any soap opera; it's a normal day. Coffee, murder board, theories. She even gets to chase down a suspect, a guy who dealt drugs with Boyd back in the day, and has been seen with him quite a lot lately.
Looks like Castle might have been right.
So, yeah, a normal day.
Except, Kate would be lying if she said she didn't feel a little lighter, that her job wasn't a little easier. Even the interrogations, even the dead-ends they hit can't get that inner smile off her heart.
And every time she turns, she sees that smile reflected in his eyes.
It feels so incredibly good, seeing him struggle to contain his happiness, and not his misery. it's taken her so long, to realize exactly how much it means to her.
Richard Castle's happiness.
She's still trying to put a lid on her own emotions, of course, trap them inside before they can escape, the warm fuzziness and the swirling...love. She has to call it what it is, right? Love.
The word sounds a little strange in her head, like it's rusty from the lack of use. Love.
She can do this. She's not going to run. Yes, she is scared. Scared of mysterious shooters, scared that Castle will break her heart, scared that she can never give her mom –
Oh, that hurts.
But she can control those fears. She can accept them, deal with them, move away from their cold, disabling grip. Move forward.
She can; she will.
This thing with Castle is too good for her to ruin it now.
She's made her choice, whether she wanted it or not. She made her choice when she invited him up and then backed him up against the door, took his lips, took *everything*.
Too late to go back.
"Want some coffee?"
Her head swivels, and her thoughts fall to the side when she finds him standing in front of her, holding his empty cup along with hers.
Joy has a very different way from grief of squeezing her heart tight.
"Uh, sure."
He doesn't move, though. An amused grin emerges on his lips as he tilts his head at her, and she arches an eyebrow.
"What's that smile for?" He asks, his voice low, too gentle.
Smile? She's not smiling. Is she smiling?
"Just – get me the damn coffee, Castle."
She'll never understand how anyone can look so delighted at getting rebuffed.
"Yes, your majesty," he mock-bows, before turning his back to her. Her eyes fall on her father's watch; she has to do a double-check.
"Castle, wait."
Six thirty already, huh?
The writer comes trotting back, mumbling things about people who can't make up their minds. It's... sort of cute.
Oh, he has her, doesn't he?
"Don't you want to go home?" Kate asks, nodding at the clock on the wall. Clouds bank up in his blue eyes; she is familiar with the stubborn frown that comes with those.
What's wrong with him?
"I'm not going home until you do," he declares adamantly, and then he drops his voice to a merely audible level, intended just for her. Only Richard Castle can make a murmur sound both childish and determined. "Until you come home *with me*."
Ah, right. Her mistake. She lets her smile ripple on her face, lets him see her. All of her.
"Who said I wasn't coming?"
His eyebrows arch, jaw falling open. The desire to kiss him, to erase that brittle look from his face, shoots through her, almost irresistible. But this is the precinct.
It doesn't have to be, though.
The hesitant pleasure flickering at the back of of his eyes finishes convincing her. Kate stands up, pushes her chair back, stretching to ease her back muscles. Then she grabs his coat, flings it at him, and shrugs on her own.
"Come on, Castle. Let's call it a day."
The too-eager look on his face doesn't irritate her like it once did.
On the contrary. It makes her want to trap him between her and a wall, a bed, anything, and flick her tongue at his throat –
Yeah. Later.
And that very thought – later – is what has her ducking her head to hide a smile as she gets into the elevator.
When the cab pulls over in front of Castle's building, Rick gets out first, extends a hand for her. She takes it, and there's something about the gesture, something about the simple act of closing her fingers around his without so much as thinking about it, that sends a rush of pure warmth to her belly.
It's amazing, what small things can do to her.
What they've been doing to her all day.
She follows him into the elevator, and when the doors close, the writer turns his blue eyes to her, intense, searching. Searching for what? Uncertainty? An indication that she's changing her mind?
Kate stares back, holds her ground firmly. She's doing this. It may have taken her three months to get here, but she's not running now. She must look convincing enough, because a slow smile stretches Castle's lips, contentment flooding his eyes.
He hooks an arm around her neck, pulls her into him; she staggers a little at the unexpected move, puts an hand to his bicep to steady herself. His lips brush her forehead, her temple, the corner of her mouth.
She half-expects a searing kiss – elevator fantasy and all that – but he surprises her by resting his check against her hair, his thumb drawing lazy circles on her forearm.
She shivers; it's a good thing that the elevator doors glide open at that moment, because she's not sure what she would have done next. And there are cameras everywhere in his building.
"What are you thinking about, detective?" He asks as he leads her along the corridor, a sly look in his eyes.
So he can read her mind. That's just *great*.
"You," she answers very naturally, priding herself on the way his eyes darken, linger on her.
He has his keys in hand, halfway to the keyhole, but he doesn't move to open the door. He just stares at her, devours her with his blue gaze, takes a step forward –
And then the door of the loft swings open.
"– and I'll be back in just – oh, hello, Richard," Martha goes on smoothly, not a hint of surprise showing on her face as she takes in the scene, her son, whom she almost ran into, standing frozen in front of the door, and Kate leaning against the wall, no more than three feet away.
"And Kate," the actress adds, a pleased note to her voice.
"Hi, Martha." Again. Beckett is grateful that the woman is the least judgmental person she's ever met; in any other circumstances, she might feel slightly uncomfortable.
"I was just going to buy sour cream, because Alexis is missing some for the pasta she wants to make. I'll be swift as an arrow," Martha says with a smile, and Kate can see where Castle got his taste for drama.
Martha disappears in a swirl of red hair and yellow dress, and then Castle is tugging Kate inside, his hand a little possessive around her wrist. He leaves her no time to second-guess herself.
"Alexis? I'm home," he calls, a happy smile playing on his face. "Kate's with me."
She wasn't nervous until now, but suddenly the detective can feel a ball of anxiety forming in her stomach. She hasn't seen Castle's daughter in... Yeah. A long time.
The teenager drops whatever she was doing in the kitchen to come and wrap her father in a fierce hug. Kate finds herself wondering if this is a statement, or if Alexis has simply missed her dad. If it's the latter... Guilt adds to the concern in her belly, weighs her down.
"Hello, Alexis," she finally says when the girl lets go of Castle.
The redhead smiles at her, but Kate can see the diffidence in her blue eyes, the wariness. I don't know if you're going to hurt my dad again. I don't know if I can trust you.
All of it she can understand; but it doesn't mean she is impervious to it.
"Hi, Kate."
At least it's Kate, not Detective. Alexis's clear gaze rests on her, lingers on her torso. What is she seeing? Blood? A dark police uniform?
"How's school?" Kate asks, exactly at the same time as the girl inquires, "Are you all right now?"
They share an awkward little laugh, while Castle himself disappears into his study with a flimsy excuse – something about calling his publisher.
"I'm fine," Beckett assures at last, opening her arms as if it could vouch for her good health.
Alexis nods, her young face too solemn. Kate hates to think of this, hates to think that the girl was there, watching her get shot. Watching her own father jump in front of Beckett, trying to save her life and risking his own. Damn it, Castle.
"School is...good. Busy."
The detective doesn't know what to say to that. She almost asks about Ashley and Stanford, but she's not sure she has a right to. Does her three-month silence allow her to ask this sort of question?
Alexis heads back to the kitchen, and Kate follows, albeit hesitantly.
"Do you...need help?" She asks, leaning on the countertop, watching the girl pull out a dish out of the oven. It looks like chicken, with some sort of...Indian sauce? It's red, and smells delicious.
"I'll be fine, thanks."
Beckett bites on her lower lip, tries not to feel rejected. Where's Castle where you need him? She flicks her eyes to his office door, still closed and silent.
Is he deliberately giving her some time alone with his daughter? Time to fix the mess she's made?
She sighs. Deliberate or not, she should probably take the chance she's offered.
"Alexis," she starts, weighing her words. The girl has her back to her, rinsing some spoon she's used, and it's almost easier this way. "I want to – I want to apologize."
A beat of silence.
"I'm not the one you should be apologizing to."
Oh. Okay. The sound of the water running stops, but Alexis doesn't turn away from the sink.
"I...I took care of that," Kate assures softly, wishing the teenager would face her now.
Her wish is granted, but the hard edge in the girl's blue eyes makes her stomach sink.
"Took care of, really? That's how you talk about my dad?"
Kate opens her mouth – to say what, she has no idea – but Alexis quickly backpedals, shakes her head in embarrassment, "I'm sorry, I just..."
"No, no. Alexis. You have a right to be mad."
Even though it hurts. More than Beckett would have imagined. A curtain of red hair shades the young Castle's eyes as she lowers her head, takes a deep breath.
"I know... I know you have your reasons?" She says, giving the detective a look that's almost apologetic. "And. I know you've been through a lot, and I can't imagine... But Dad – Dad's been through a lot, as well. I'll never forget it, Kate. I'll never forget his face, when we got to the hospital –"
Alexis stops suddenly, stares at her feet with a stubborn frown. Kate knows this for what it is, an attempt at pushing back tears. Kate can't help herself; she reaches for the girl, her hand brushing against Alexis's shoulder before she drops it again – she has no right – she can't –
But Castle's daughter intercepts her hand before it's back to her side, squeezes it into hers.
"I need to know. I need to be sure," she explains, pleads, her blue eyes transparent and honest as she raises them again.
Kate's breath catches in her throat.
She can see now why Castle always has so much trouble saying no to his little girl.
"And I *know* it's none of my business," Alexis starts again, running a nervous hand through her hair.
"I love him," Beckett interrupts, her voice raw, squeezed tight.
The girl looks up in wonder, in disbelief. The expression is so much like Castle's that Kate's heart thuds painfully, but Alexis is a little more eager to believe, a little more innocent than her father – on her face it quickly morphs into wild hope.
"You do?"
"I do."
The teenager nods slowly, a shy, relieved smile curving her lips. Her hand presses Kate's once more before it lets go.
"Okay," she says quietly.
"Are you sure?"
The last thing Beckett wants is to upset the life of this girl more she has already. But Alexis only grins wider, a hint of mischief making her blue eyes even more similar to her father's.
"You make him happy."
She what now? Kate's eyes turn once more to the study Castle has fled to, then focus again on his daughter's face. His daughter's sly, delighted face.
She doesn't know what to say.
"Does he..." Alexis hesitates. "Does *he* make you happy?"
Oh. The detective's heart flutters, torn between her growing emotion and the certainty that she doesn't deserve this. Any of this.
It's a struggle, to reach for words inside her, pull them out, past the knot in her stomach, past the desert of her throat.
"He does, Alexis. Your dad... I'm lucky, to have him in my life. I'm so very lucky."
If the girl's smile was sweet before, it's beautiful now, wide and infused with light. With this spontaneous, bright energy that she's always had, Alexis hugs Kate, a crushing hug, her arms tight on the detective's back.
"Good," she says, her voice muffled by Kate's shoulder.
But no. Good doesn't even begin to cover it.
Castle doesn't know what Kate said to his daughter, but he's vaguely jealous of the striking results. He doesn't remember seeing Alexis so cheerful lately, not since Ashley left, and maybe not since the beginning of the summer.
But she chats and jokes and laughs, his little girl, teaming with Martha to tell Kate the most embarrassing stories about him, and he's so stunned, so grateful, that he doesn't even think to protest.
After dinner, his mother sneaks off, saying she has to meet a potential investor – "suitor" is what Rick hears, what he reads in the cleverly camouflaged blush on Martha's cheeks. Alexis stays for a while longer, until Ashley calls, to be precise.
He watches his daughter's slim form vanish at the top of the stairs, tension bubbling inside him. He's been thinking about this all day, about that moment when he's finally alone with Kate, and there's... There's stuff she needs to know. He can't put it off any longer.
He's surprised when two arms – Kate's arms – circle his waist, and he feels her warm body at his back, her chin digging into his shoulder. Her lips ghosting his neck.
"She's amazing, Castle."
Amazing?
His daughter. She thinks his daughter is amazing.
He closes his eyes, willing this moment to last longer. To last forever.
But. She has to know.
"There's something you need to see," he says, regret blossoming in his chest as he detaches Kate's arms from him, turns to her. He wishes it was all fine, that he had done nothing wrong.
He wishes she could *think* that he had done nothing wrong –
"You're scaring me, Castle," she answers half-teasingly. But she must read the solemn look in his eyes because she grows serious, her smile slowly leaving her lips.
He's not going to say that she should be scared, but he *is* sort of thinking that.
"Let's go to my office," he says, trying not to sound mournful. But he's already lost that battle.
He sees the curious look Kate gives him, then sees her surrender and follow him; he wishes the whole night could be this easy. Thing is, he has absolutely no idea how she will react to this. That's who she is. Unpredictable.
Usually he finds that attractive, but tonight it puts him on edge.
He closes the door after her, leans against it, gathers his courage.
"Castle, if you're being theatrical again –"
The unvoiced threat barely covers the anxiety in her voice.
"I'm not," he swears. "I just – I have no idea how to even say this."
"Words, Castle. Words are always a good start."
He chuckles in spite of himself, opens his eyes again. The light in his office is soft; Kate's beauty glows in the dimness. He details those fine lines, the curve of the cheek, the angle of the jaw, the striking darkness of her eyes contrasting with her pale skin.
How he loves her.
"Rick," she urges quietly, concern spilling from her.
He sighs. "Yes."
His heart is heavy when he switches his fancy storyboard on, waits for the familiar image to appear. He loves that picture of Kate; it's Ryan who took it, some time before Montgomery's death, one night when they were all gathered at the Old Haunt.
He needed it, after the shooting. Needed that picture of a smiling, healthy Kate to erase the one of her in that hospital room, her face drawn, her eyes brittle and bright.
"Castle, what's this?"
He looks at her now, recovered, alive Kate (very alive, if his memories of last night are anything to go by), and he wonders what the hell he's doing. Is he ready for her to go chasing after these people again?
But he can't lie to her either.
Not now, not with everything that has happened in the last three days.
"Touch the screen," he says.
She shoots him a reluctant glance, but she does step closer, and ultimately brushes her fingers against her own picture. She must know it's not Nikki Heat – he'd never use a picture of her for that. He's always kept the two separate.
He watches the murder board stretch out on the screen, tries to put himself in her shoes, see what she sees. He knows it all by heart now, dates, connections, alibis. From where he's standing, near the door, he only gets a quarter of her face. Enough to catch her mouth parting in surprise, the startled breath she sucks in.
"I..." He's not sure how to go about this, only knows he needs to fill the silence somehow. "This is what I've been working on, after Gates kicked me out? I haven't gotten really far, just –"
"And this is what you were so afraid to show me?" She turns back to him, incomprehension in her eyes.
He wishes.
"No," he admits. "There's more."
Kate shifts to face him fully. He'd rather she didn't; it's harder to focus when he's the center of her attention. Her entire, undivided attention.
"A few weeks ago –" he stops to count in his head; yeah, just three weeks ago – "I got this call. From – from a man who said he was a friend of Montgomery's."
Her shoulders tense a little, but other than that, she doesn't flinch.
"I don't even know his name," he continues, almost apologetic. "But apparently, the Captain sent him some files. Files that have to do with your mother's case, with the mob hits. That could hurt people."
He has to stop then, to gulp down some air, try to relax. Kate's eyes are still dark and intent on him.
"And?" Her voice is cutting, sharp-edged.
"He's been using those files to blackmail whoever's responsible, protect Montgomery's family. Protect *you*."
"Protect me."
"And the Montgomerys," he adds, trying to emphasize that it's not just her.
"In exchange for what?"
He looks at her; he doesn't think his face can express just how sorry he is.
"In exchange for *what*, Castle?"
"You had to stop digging," he confesses miserably.
In her silence, he realizes – the past tense was a mistake.
"Had to?" Comprehension – horror – strike her. Her arms fall to her sides. "This is why," she whispers in realization. "This is why you asked me to stop."
His heart clenches. "For now. Just for now."
But he can hear how paltry that is, how like an excuse it sounds.
"This is why. To. . .protect me."
He can't tell from her voice which one is winning, sorrow or anger. Maybe both. The sorrow scares him more than the anger. Anger he can take, anger means she's still with him. Sorrow is a closed door. "Well," he gulps. "Yes and no –"
"You should have told me," she interrupts, pale and cold like a statue. He wants to cup her cheek, breathe warmth back into her, feel her lean body arch into his.
"Kate..."
"You should have told me," she repeats, shaking her head, traces of betrayal on her beautiful face.
"I couldn't." He has nothing to offer her but the truth, the ugly, naked truth. "I'm selfish about you. I watched you die in that ambulance, Kate. I – I'm not exactly eager for it to happen again. And if I told you about this..."
He trails off and doesn't even know whether or not he should hope. Or what to hope for. His body leans towards her, wanting her to step closer, offer something-
"You knew I wouldn't stop," she answers softly.
She must be considering his words, mulling them over – he follows the thought process on her face, the delicate pulling of her lower lip between her teeth.
"Why are you telling me now?" She asks at last, head tilted, her gaze meeting his.
He shrugs, unsure how to explain. Except- "I can't keep it from you now," he offers in the end, trusting that she will hear everything he isn't saying.
She studies his face, her eyes unrelenting. He steels himself, straightens his spine, tries to put it all out there, the things left unsaid, all there in his open face.
"Did this. . .mystery man. . .did he say anything else?"
Castle shakes his head, watches her slowly absorb that information as well. He knows there should be more to say, something to make it better, but there's just not. He made an impossible choice; he will have to face the consequences.
She asks after a long pause: "Can't these. . .files. . .can't they expose these people?"
"I don't know," he's ashamed to answer.
She presses her lips together; her eyes dart away from his. "And you don't know his name?"
"No." Damn. Every question she's got, he doesn't have a good answer for.
"Phone number?"
"I tried that. A private number, untraceable, Ryan said." Oh, that might have been a mistake, mentioning Ryan. "Ryan didn't know what it was for. Just. A favor."
Kate closes her eyes, and he can see in the faint trembling of her mouth just how fragile, how breakable she is. The questions, the press of her lips, the lack of anger or emotion are just masks she uses to keep herself together, to keep from falling apart.
He can't resist any longer. He goes to her without thinking, pulls her into his embrace, his arms wrapping around her thin shoulders.
She lets him, but she doesn't hug back. "Castle."
"I'm sorry," he blurts out. "I'm sorry. I knew it was wrong to keep it from you, but –"
"You can't do this," she says, effectively undercutting his stammered apology.
"What?" Do what? He can't do what? Hold her?
She uses his surprise to disentangle herself from his arms; he doesn't let her stray far. Her eyes linger on the story-turned-murder board, come back to him.
"You can't be involved. This is. . .too dangerous. You're a father, Castle. You have people who-"
"I just said I was wrong to try and decide for you. And now you want to make that decision for me?" Flawed argument, Kate. No way. "I'm not going to just walk away from this." From you.
A glimmer of despair crosses her face. "You need to-"
"I need to be with you, Kate. I need to work with you, to help you through this. To help you find your mom's killer-"
"I never *asked* you to put your own family in jeopardy for me-"
"Of course you didn't. And who says my family is in jeopardy? You don't know that. The best way to keep my family safe is to catch the guy behind this. Find him and put him away so he can't hurt us anymore."
"Castle-" She shakes her head, tries to step back.
"And we will find him," he murmurs, promises, his hands gentle on her shoulders, trying to tug her back into him. "We will bring him to justice."
She shakes her head, her eyes turned away from him, her hair falling between them. "You can't promise that."
"I can promise to try." He wishes he could see her eyes.
"I don't *want* you to try." She's still struggling back, but she won't look at him, won't lift her head, and he's starting to fear what might be written on her face.
"Tough. I'm already here." Some of his frustration ripples the surface of his half-desperate entreaty. "I'm already in this. Mystery Guy called *me*, Kate. You couldn't get rid of me if you tried."
"Rick, I..." Finally, she lifts her chin to meet his eyes, leveling a shining gaze on him; she's not even trying to fight her tears anymore. It shakes him. "I *can't* - I can't have you get hurt, can't look at your dead body. That would shatter me - don't you get it?"
His mouth drops open, stunned.
"I can't. My mother, Roy, and then. . .if it were you?" She breaks off, bowing her head. "It would end me, Castle. God, I. No. Please, don't make me."
Her voice breaks.
Castle catches her up against him, his hands too rough, his touch not gentle enough, something in him crumbling and desperate to find her so undone.
"Shhh," he soothes, lulling her, rocking her, his eyes closed against the sudden choke of tears. He clears his throat and presses his mouth against the top of her head. "We'll be all right, Kate. We can do this. Together. We can do this."
He keeps murmuring those words, over and over, her hair so soft against his lips – and he doesn't stop until she believes him.
