Disclaimer: Not owning Castle.
a/n: Bonus chapter this week! I read through this one and realized it's more of a filler and I'm not making you guys wait two weeks to read a filler...so enjoy the extra chapter. I'm also maybe just posting this in my excitement for tomorrow being tattoo day with my friend.
For the ever lovely jam821 since I kill you with gifs.
He woke abruptly. It wasn't a calm floating feeling that had him slowly realizing he needed to open his eyes. No. It was a small squirmy body on his chest and tiny fingers prying them open. He didn't have a choice. His little redheaded wake up call was smiling at him, with tangled hair in her face and mischief in her eyes.
"Mornin' Daddy!"
"Good morning, Alexis." He gave her a minute, just one and then he grabbed her, lifted her up like he was about to play airplane but he wasn't. He dropped her heavily on the empty side of the bed and she giggled as she bounced.
He was up before her laughing subsided, stretching with a yawn.
"Come on, Alexis, we can't spend all day in bed. Get up, lazy bones." He watched her struggle to walk across the mattress without falling. Didn't even bother to tell her not to do it, she would anyway and when she was on the very edge, he steadied her.
She was already reaching, her fingers stretched and he knew what she wanted, obliged silently by turning his back and gripping her legs when she landed against him. He hoisted her up, smiling the whole time as she wrapped her arms around his neck and exclaimed in his ear: "To the park!"
"In our pajamas?"
"No, silly." He carried her to the living room, dropped her on the couch just to hear the giggles again. He lived for her smiles and laugh. Even after four years, he wasn't used to seeing her every day, always felt like it was some dream that he'd wake up from.
How could a perfect little girl like her exist? How had he become a father? Okay, well he knew how but it still stunned him motionless when she smiled at him. He was definitely wrapped around her finger and he wouldn't have it any other way.
"Is your fwiend coming over?
"Friend. What friend?"
"Grams says you have a fwiend." He didn't know what to say, he didn't want to lie but he'd been keeping Alexis away because he didn't want to deal with questions. He didn't want his daughter to be around someone he hadn't really known.
He knew more now. He didn't know her name, didn't know where she came from or where she lived but he knew she was smart. Her intelligence had shined blindingly only a day ago. They'd spent it stocking bookshelves.
She had a wide variety of book knowledge, poets, authors and they'd ended up discussing Hamlet for an hour. William Blake for a bit after that and then she'd rambled on rather openly about a class she'd taken in college. So he knew she'd been in school at one point but the hurt that flashed immediately after she'd mentioned it had told him that she no longer attended.
He knew she had a father that she took care of, even though he didn't know what that meant. But it helped with her story. Perhaps that was why she stripped. She'd been more open, ever since she'd shown up at his door in the middle of the night looking scared and lost.
He wanted that story too but he'd wait till she offered. So he had no clue what to tell the curious blue eyes looking up at him with so much trust.
"Uh...more of an employee and no, it's just you and me."
"What's a empwowee."
"An. It's 'what's an employee' and it means I pay this person money to come over and do things. Like unpack all of our junk and dispose of the boxes."
"Oh." Alexis sighed and shrugged a shoulder. A move he was sure she'd picked up from him. "Can I pway with them?"
"Maybe soon." He shouldn't have said that. He knew as soon as it slipped out because her eyes lit up and she beamed as if he'd just given her the best news ever.
He should not have said anything. He didn't even know if his employee liked kids or if she'd even want anything to do with his. He'd started thinking of her as 'his' instead of as a stripper. She was just his. His employee. His friend. It wasn't about possession, he didn't own her. It was about her slowly fitting into his life in more ways than he'd originally intended.
In an odd way, she really was his friend. She listened when he spoke, her eyes didn't glaze with disinterest. It was as if she genuinely wanted to know what he had to say. Even when it was completely over the top and ridiculous.
He was always happy to see her and failed to ignore the way his chest squeezed when she smiled. He was already addicted to that smile, tried his best to make it appear as often as possible. And he told himself he only cared because she needed it. She needed someone to show her that life didn't have to be lived in the dirty underbelly, that she could come topside and be successful.
But he was lying to himself. He liked her. He actually liked her. He wanted to be the only one to make her smile like that – the bright bold beautiful smile that had her eyes softening – and he wanted to take her somewhere. Somewhere she wouldn't have to deal with whatever put shadows beneath her eyes, whatever had made her show up at his door in tears.
He wanted to take her away from all of it. He wanted to keep her safe. Oh, he was so fucked. He needed her name.
Kate didn't know why she kept dreaming about it. She wasn't sure but she'd woke sweaty and terrified every morning. She blocked it, tried not to remember the push of greedy fingers. And most of the time she succeeded. Until she slept.
She'd peeled out of her shirt and got in the shower. And stayed under the brutally hot spray until her skin began to boil. She wasn't just a stripper anymore. He'd had no right to touch her and she hated that she remembered it so vividly. She wasn't someone's whore. She was a personal assistant for a bestselling author and that meant something. It had to. It had to mean something or she'd lose herself completely.
She ignored the more risque items in her drawer, in her closet and picked comfort. She didn't even glance at them, didn't think twice. A pair of worn jeans, a Nebula 9 shirt and her chucks. That's who she was. No heavy makeup, none at all and she left her hair in soft waves instead of the big barrel curls she used for the club.
It was only two days ago when she'd found herself at the loft. And just thinking about it helped. He helped whether she wanted him to or not. He had. He'd been a friend. He'd kept her mind busy, he'd let her clean up and then he'd altered his own schedule just to fit her in.
She was smiling at the memory of arguing with him, telling him to move the desk a little to the left because it wasn't centered and him trying to say that it was fine. She'd dropped her end. Left it right where he wanted. And then he'd changed his mind. Told her it needed to be moved a little to the left. All with that cheeky smile. He'd made her smile on a night when it shouldn't have been possible.
And just the thought had her feeling better.
Even as she found her father at the kitchen table with a plate of eggs and a mug that reeked as though it held more alcohol than coffee, she was still smiling. She joined him, she didn't have anywhere to be and she was ready to end the silent treatment she'd been giving. It was childish. It wasn't helping anything.
"Eggs look good." He looked up at her as he took a bite, just as stunned as she was that she'd actually spoken.
"Nothing like your mother's." If he hadn't taken a large gulp from the cup, she could have let that one go. She could have told herself that he was finally opening up but she watched his eyes, saw them close down. She was his daughter and she couldn't break through.
"Mom was a fantastic cook." She waited, hoped he'd take the bait. Instead he hummed at her and she broke. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "She wouldn't want this."
"Katie,"
"Dad, I don't know how to help."
"I don't need -"
"You do. We could try to -" The mug slammed down, startled her into silence as her eyes darted to his hand. He was squeezing it, his knuckles white. She'd never feared her father, knew he would never hurt her but she was scared for him. "Dad?"
"I'm fine, Katherine." He never used her full name. That was her mother's thing, not his. She was always Katie. Always. Even when he was upset, she was still Katie and that's what had her shaking her head, disagreeing once again.
"You're a drunk. You've surpassed dealing with grief and become a full blown alcoholic and you know it. You can't even look me in the eye because you know I'm right." And in less than five minutes, her mood was ruined. "I want my dad back."
She left him at the table. Ignored what sounded like a strangled sob and headed back to her room. She fought tears, wouldn't let them come and it hurt, physically hurt to swallow the lump in her throat but she did it. She'd wanted a day. One day with him to be normal. To just be Katie and he'd dashed every hope she'd had left.
She slammed her door, hated that she'd reverted back to her rebellious days when that was her way of showing anger. So many door slams and her mother had always waltzed right in, told her she was being childish and most of the time, she was right. But she'd been young. It was hard to believe it wasn't that long ago. Even in college, she partied, stayed out too late, dated the wrong boys. She still excelled, she was still smart enough to know when enough was enough.
But none of that mattered anymore. She reached for her bag, the dusty messenger style was still her favorite. Even if it had seen better days. There were still tread marks from when it'd fallen off her motorcycle and she'd accidentally ran it over. She was more careful with it now.
Inside were the things she found important. So she grabbed it, slung it over her shoulder and headed back out the door she'd just slammed. She couldn't stay. Not when he was simply going to spend the whole day drinking. She didn't need to watch as he roamed from room to room or as he headed out to a bar for the day.
She wouldn't do it. She was tired of it. Exhausted by the day to day of everything. She paused in the living room, next to the phone. She stared at it and cursed herself for even considering it but she reached before she could stop herself.
He wasn't the fixer of her problems and yet, she dialed Rick's number and listened to the ringing. He was becoming a real problem and she couldn't make herself let him go. He got too close, he poked at things until she shared and she didn't like it. But she did. He made her question everything.
When he answered, she could hear the smile in his voice and the distant tiny voice asking him who he was talking to.
"It's me."
"I know. To what do I owe this pleasure?" She bit back a smile, told herself she was being stupid for even doing this when he was clearly having a day with his daughter.
"Do you need me to do anything today? Maybe run to the post office or something?"
"Did you really call because you want to work? Today is Saturday."
"I was – I was going to be out anyway, I just thought I'd – nevermind." Fucking idiot.
"Excuse me?" Fuck. She'd said that out loud.
"Shit, sorry! Not you. I just...okay, let's start over. I'm about to leave but I wanted to talk to you." She swallowed the nerves, spat it out in a rush and hoped he didn't read too much into it.
And then he sighed and she knew he had. She heard the small voice again, a soft "Daddy who is it? Can I say hi?" and she found herself smiling into the phone. Kate hadn't met his daughter but she seemed adorable. She only heard his mumbled reply, couldn't make it out and part of her almost wished he'd let her say hello.
And the other part of her was relieved that he didn't.
"What did you want to talk about?" She couldn't tell him the truth. She couldn't tell him she'd just had her heart stomped by her own alcoholic father.
"It's been about three weeks and you said you would only need me for a couple -"
"Are you quitting?"
"No, no! I just...I really like working for you." Her fingers gripped the phone tighter, afraid of what he'd say. She didn't really want to think about the day he told her he didn't need her services anymore. What would she do then?
"I like having you around. And uh – I'm still pretty behind and my publisher is still calling everyday to hound me so I might need you to stick around for a bit longer. If that's okay?"
"Yeah, that's okay. That's good." She held back, stopped herself from jumping up and down. Richard fucking Castle wanted her around. He didn't see her as a piece of meat, he treated her like a person and that felt pretty damn good.
"Good. I don't mean to cut this short but I have a little one demanding to be taken to the park."
"I understand." She'd only wanted to hear his voice and that made her stomach nervous. She didn't understand that.
"I'll see you soon."
"Wait, I wanted to say thank you." Kate didn't go into detail, simply bit her lip to keep from spilling her guts and hung up before he could say anything more.
But her gratitude covered many things from him not giving up on her, to him hiring her just because he knew she needed extra money, to the fact that he didn't shut the door in her face when she'd woke him up at one in the morning.
She felt a little better after talking to him. Her chest felt lighter. One day, she'd tell him everything. Maybe. She'd give him her name, soon. That much she could do. He'd been nothing but a gentleman, nothing but trustworthy. So she'd tell him soon. No, that wasn't good enough...she'd tell him the next time she saw him. It made her nervous to think about it, to imagine him calling her Kate. But it'd be better than his frustration. He hid it well but she saw it. He didn't understand why she didn't tell him when she knew so much about him. But she hadn't at first. Not really.
She'd known his name, his profession but she hadn't known him. She knew more now. She knew he was kind. She knew he was a father and that his little girl lit up his whole world. It was obvious in the way he talked about her, in the amount of photographs he had scattered around. He was a very proud dad and that made her like him even more.
Oh. Oh. She liked him. When did that happen?
She shook it off, told herself she was being ridiculous and continued out the front door. But not before she'd grabbed her helmet. She'd take her motorcycle for a long ride, try to clear her thoughts. Separate the issues with her father from the weirdness she felt for a man she'd only known for a short time.
But the moment she felt the purr of the engine between her thighs, she'd known exactly where she was going. And it wasn't far away, it was close. A place she'd used to frequent with her mother when she was younger.
That was how she ended up under an old oak, in a nearly abandoned park with his book in her lap and his words spread before her. She read instead of thinking. She soaked up page after page because it let her get away, it helped her drift from her own problems into someone else's issues. Maybe one day, she'd also tell him that his books helped.
They helped her calm down. They helped her clear her thoughts and made anything seem possible. Even with the macabre. She found herself in love with his writing, in love with the way he penned sentences together in humor and mystery. And she loved the justice.
She reveled in it, felt her heart pump faster when the killer was found. That's what she wanted. She wanted that for her mom. It didn't make any sense. Random gang violence didn't make a bit of sense. Not to her and she wasn't a cop. She wanted justice though, she wanted the son of a bitch that murdered her mother to pay.
She envisioned it with each page she read. She found herself playing detective, piecing together little clues she found hidden in paragraphs and trying to thumb the killer before the book revealed all the answers. It was almost fun, throwing herself into the story. Now she understood why her mother was reading one of his books, he was good at his job.
She needed to be more open with him since he was giving her an opportunity to stick around. It wasn't a two week deal anymore and being a stranger wouldn't be an option. She couldn't avoid every question. She couldn't hide everything. She just needed to find a place to start. To ease him into it.
Maybe she'd start with his books, tell him she enjoyed reading them. No, he'd get cocky. She'd figure it out, find a way to show him he could trust her too. She wondered briefly if giving his clothes back would be a sign, but she disregarded the thought when she recalled how soft the batman shirt felt against her skin.
Besides, he hadn't asked for it back. And she hadn't washed it. She didn't know how to do this. How do you explain how fucked up you are to someone? No, how do you explain it to someone that you just realized you don't want to lose?
That was what terrified her.
