Disclaimer: Still not mine.
Author's Note: Thank you, everyone, for reading and for reviewing! I am beyond thrilled to have broken the 100 review mark for this fic. A long chapter and the second one dealing with "The Late Shaft."
Feels Like Home
Chapter 9
A little while later, after the boys had returned from their visit to the Comic Factory and updated her on their conversation with Angel Santana, Kate made her way back to the loft after stopping off at the comfort food truck. Because she just felt like it, not because she needed comfort.
Her steps slowed a little, automatically, as she approached the door to the loft, automatically listening—would he have—he wouldn't have brought Ellie Monroe back to the loft, would he, knowing she would be coming back later? If he had…
Kate pushed open the door to the loft slowly but then relaxed as it became immediately clear that the loft was empty.
Wherever Castle was and whomever he was with, he wasn't at the loft.
Kate had dinner in solitary splendor in the loft, trying to reread one of Agatha Christie's short story collections. She forced herself to eat, ignoring the fact that her throat felt a little tight and the food seemed strangely tasteless, as she tried to pretend she wasn't picturing Castle with Ellie Monroe.
She didn't care. It didn't matter to her what he did in his personal life.
He'd left the precinct more than three hours ago. Any other errand would surely have allowed him to come home before now, right? It had to be a rendezvous. See, she'd been right about Castle and Ellie Monroe.
Kate gave up on trying to eat any more. Instead, she curled up on the couch with the Christie book and attempted to lose herself in it.
She stiffened when she heard the door open and schooled her expression into blankness before she turned to look at him.
He smiled when he saw her and he was—she blinked a little—carrying a box in one arm.
"Oh good, you're home. I wasn't sure if you'd still be at the precinct or not."
He looked… happy, excited in that quintessential Castle way.
A post-coital buzz?, a part of Kate's mind thought sourly and she inwardly flinched.
He put the box down on the coffee table. "Just wait here for a minute. I have something for you." With that, he disappeared into his office, leaving Kate more confused by the second.
He—she'd thought—he had something for her? He'd bought her a gift? But what on earth had taken him so long since he'd left the precinct in such a rush? And yet, Kate couldn't imagine that Castle would have slept with Ellie Monroe and then on his way back to the loft, thought to pick up a gift for another woman. He wasn't that type of man.
Maybe he hadn't met up with Ellie Monroe after all. Maybe Kate had been wrong…
The flood of relief she felt, the sudden easing of the tightness in her throat and in her chest, told her everything she needed to know about just how much she had come to care. She didn't know how to define their relationship but she knew that it wasn't only friendship on her part anymore. She was past that. She'd thought that she might be getting closer to exploring this thing with Castle, seeing where it might take them. But even without her consciously realizing it, her emotions had outstripped her mind. Her heart was in this, at least to some extent, even if her brain still wasn't quite.
And she realized too just how vulnerable she was to being hurt now.
If he wasn't in this, if he didn't want a real relationship, if…
And she was terrified.
Because Castle could hurt her terribly, could break her heart. Maybe even worse than Will ever had and she'd thought, for at least a while, that she might marry Will.
And she didn't know what to do about that, because every cautious instinct in her told her to hold back, to run from too much vulnerability. Castle was dangerous. He was risky. She'd always thought so and it was even more true now that she knew just how deeply her feelings for him—and she wasn't ready to define those feelings—went, how much she'd come to care.
(She didn't want to have feelings for Castle. But then her apartment had exploded and he'd saved her life and he'd welcomed her into his home and his family and he'd let her see the way he was with his mother and daughter and he'd made her realize that, as much as he annoyed her at times, she also liked spending time with him, enjoyed his company, and… And—damn him anyway—he'd made it so easy to start to actually care about him.)
His reappearance had Kate pushing aside her thoughts.
He was carrying another box this time, a package that Kate recognized as one that had been delivered about a week ago. He had taken one look at it and proclaimed that he knew what it was and that it was for him and he'd taken it with him into his office and she'd never seen it again.
He sat down beside her on the couch, smiling but with something like trepidation edging into his smile now. "I… uh… got you something," he began.
She couldn't help but smile. "Did I forget that it was my birthday or something?"
He laughed a little. "Can't a friend get another friend a random gift?"
"I suppose," she drew out the word with pretend reluctance before she let her smile widen, holding out her hand. "So, give me my gift." She wouldn't normally be quite so openly happy—eager—over a gift but something about his bright, sparkling eyes and clear anticipation over her seeing what he'd gotten her was infectious. And with the warmth lingering in her chest from the knowledge that he hadn't after all been with Ellie Monroe but had instead been preparing this surprise for her…
He returned her grin and handed her first the box he'd been holding when he came in. "This first."
She took the box, a little surprised at the solid weight of it. It was about the size of a shoe box, only not quite as deep, and she shook it a little but couldn't hear anything. She slipped the top cover off the box slowly, drawing out the moment in a way she normally didn't but Castle's knee was bouncing with impatience and she couldn't resist the impulse to tease him. Equally slowly, she drew back the layers of tissue paper and then gasped a little, her smile fading as sudden tears started in her eyes.
The familiar faces of her parents smiled up at her, the picture one she vaguely remembered seeing before, only now the image had been beautifully copied onto a tile and inlaid in the cover of a jewelry box. She drew the box out slowly, noting the detail carved into the corners of the wood, and then opened the box to see the plain velvet lining the interior. And nestled on top of the velvet was the original photograph. Her throat was tight as she closed the jewelry box again, her fingers lightly tracing her mom's smiling face.
She had to swallow hard before she managed to look up at Castle. "How did you—I don't—where did—I had a keepsake box with my parents' picture in a frame on the cover. I… kept my dad's watch and my mom's ring in it but it was destroyed. How did you know?"
His excited smile had softened into one of the faint, warm smiles that mostly just brightened his eyes and only barely curved his lips, one of the smiles she usually saw when he was looking at Alexis. "I didn't know," he answered quietly. "But I guessed, knowing you, knowing what your dad's watch and your mom's ring mean to you, that you would have a special place to keep them."
He did know her and what he didn't know, he guessed, and she was finding that his guesses were more accurate than she would have expected.
"I know a guy," he continued on. "He makes custom jewelry boxes and some other things. I had him design an extra-large one especially for my mother a few years ago for her to keep all her necklaces and bracelets in," he added in an aside. "He does good work and if you give him a picture, he can have the picture copied, as you see."
"But how did you get the picture?"
"Your dad gave it to me."
She blinked and gaped at him. "You met with my dad?" She was momentarily distracted as she realized that she had missed seeing this first meeting between her dad and the man who… who had somehow, strangely, amazingly, become one of the best friends she had. What had her dad thought of Castle? What had Castle thought of her dad?
His smile deepened slightly. "Yeah. Ryan gave me his number when I asked for it and I called him, explained what I was planning, and met with him last week to get the picture."
"That was your mysterious lunch appointment?" she guessed. Castle had claimed that he was meeting a friend for lunch one day last week and hadn't returned to the precinct until close to the end of the workday. And when she'd asked him what kind of lunch appointment took almost 5 hours, he had only shrugged and started rambling on about errands and throwing in theories about worm holes and alien abductions until she'd lost all patience and rather sternly ordered him to shut up. He'd been deflecting to avoid having to answer her question and then annoyed her so she entirely forgot her curiosity, she realized now.
He nodded. "Yeah. I got the picture from your dad and then drove to Dobbs Ferry to drop it off with my guy. He called earlier today to tell me that the box was ready so that was where I went."
"You drove all the way up to Dobbs Ferry and back just to pick this up?" she asked. He would have gotten stuck in the rush hour traffic on the way up to Dobbs Ferry and it was at least an hour's drive even without traffic. It was no wonder he'd been gone for nearly 4 hours.
He shrugged. "Well, the guy doesn't exactly FedEx the boxes he makes."
"Castle, I… thank you." She gave him a smile, hoping that he would be able to see just how much it meant to her because she couldn't think of the words. He was the one with the words. She could only feel the warmth in her chest, the tightness in her throat, and think that she couldn't remember the last time anyone had ever done anything that meant more. It was probably the most thoughtful gift she had ever received. It stunned her and humbled her and rather scared her too, thinking about the thought and time and money and effort he had put into having this made for her.
"You're welcome," he said quietly.
Their eyes met and held for a long minute and Kate found herself thinking for about the millionth time in the last couple weeks that in her entire life, she didn't think she'd ever met anyone with eyes as deeply blue as his were. Her breath tangled in her throat, the familiar flock of butterflies again appearing in her stomach. She felt the now-familiar tug of attraction deep inside her, the force of this thing between them as inexorable and undeniable as gravity, made even stronger because it wasn't wholly physical but was mingled in with all her muddled feelings for him.
But then he blinked and looked away, straightening up a little, and she suddenly felt like she'd been doused in cold water.
He cleared his throat a little. "I got you something else too."
He handed over the package he'd retrieved from his office and Kate took a steadying breath before she opened up the box.
Kate had to laugh. He had bought her a box set of Temptation Lane DVD's.
She looked up at him with a smile. "Thanks, Castle."
He returned her smile with a small smile of his own but his eyes and his voice were sober, thoughtful, as he explained, "I thought about what you said about how watching Temptation Lane made you feel like home. You've joked a couple times about being homeless and I just thought this might help. I know it's not the same as having your own place, your own space, but a home isn't about the things inside it so much as it's about a feeling, a feeling of being comfortable and safe and serene. And I wanted you to be able to recapture that feeling of being home whenever you want to, whenever you need to."
He lifted his shoulders in a small, self-deprecating shrug as if to indicate that it had been a silly thing to do.
Oh Castle. For the billionth time or so, she marveled that the same man who could be such an irritating hyper-active child, always ready with a quip or a joke, could also be so understanding, so… sweet. This man, who had opened up his own home to her in an instant. And now he'd bought her a DVD set of a silly TV show just because she'd said it made her feel like home.
It was such a Castle-like thing to do. A generous, thoughtful gesture with a little bit of silliness and a lot of symbolic significance.
"Thanks," she said again. "Really. The jewelry box and then this, I don't… I really appreciate it." She inwardly cringed a little at how lame the words sounded. She found herself wishing, for the second time in as many minutes, that she had even a little of Castle's gift for words. Castle could, no doubt, come up with a speech that somehow managed to express all she felt, how much his thoughtfulness meant to her. Castle would probably even have managed to come up with words to explain her own muddled feelings. But Kate wasn't like that.
She looked at him and the question of why he would do so much for her caught in her throat. She wanted to know and she didn't want to know, terrified that whatever his motivation, it wasn't personal, about her specifically, as she wanted it to be. She knew him and she knew he was a generous man; he liked to help people, take care of them, liked to give people things. The espresso machine for the precinct, the way he'd started bringing her coffee every day, the way he brought in food of some sort enough to feed the entire Homicide division on a regular basis, the way he freely offered tickets to sporting events to the boys and, when the boys asked about a specific event, didn't bat an eye before offering to call up his ticketing agent. For Valentine's Day, he'd helped Ryan get reservations at a fancy, exclusive restaurant to take Jenny out on a date and because the owner of the restaurant was a personal friend, ensured that Ryan would get a discount, and then lent Ryan his Ferrari for the evening. It was just the sort of man he was.
She knew he cared about her but what if it really was just as a friend, a good friend even, and as a partner? She was suddenly swamped with doubts, newly, terrifyingly conscious of just how vulnerable she was to being hurt. (This was why she didn't like to let people in.)
He was Richard Castle, multimillionaire, best-selling author. He was consistently named one of the New York Ledger's Most Eligible Bachelors. He had beautiful movie stars like Ellie Monroe throwing themselves at him. And he was funny and charming and kind; he could have any woman he wanted. Even assuming he wanted a real relationship—and she had no idea if he did—why would he want one with her, a regular cop and one who came with a host of emotional scars and baggage, one who was defensive and closed-off and had issues with trusting people? He might want her physically, she didn't doubt that he did, but how long would that last?
Oh god, she hated feeling so vulnerable. Hated feeling so… uncertain.
"Beckett, now that I've given you your gifts, is there any food to eat?" he asked plaintively. "I skipped dinner to drive up to Dobbs Ferry and I'm starving."
She managed a small laugh at his pitiful expression and stood up and, on an unthinking impulse, grasped his hand to pull him up with her. "I promised Alexis I'd look after you while she's gone so I can hardly let you starve now, can I?"
"Alexis would be very upset to come home and find that I'd become a skeleton," he agreed gravely.
She released his hand once he was standing, wondering why she could swear she still felt the lingering imprint of his hand on hers, the lingering warmth of it, and automatically shoved the hand into her pocket as she accompanied him to the kitchen.
"I stopped off at the comfort food truck on my way home. There are leftovers in the fridge," she told him and caught the flicker of something in his eyes and belatedly realized that she'd referred to the loft as home. She never had before, had always been careful, obsessively so, to avoid referring to the loft as her home in these past weeks. She'd caught herself from letting the word slip a few times before but it had come out now.
He looked as if he were about to say something but then he clearly thought better of it, opening the fridge instead.
"Ooh, comfort food," he enthused. "The perfect meal."
She shook her head when he made a gesture asking if she wanted to have any and busied herself with making herself some tea while he re-heated the food.
He slid onto one of the stools at the kitchen island with his food with a small sigh of satisfaction.
She couldn't entirely hide her small smile as she watched him eat, unable to deny the warmth curling through her. Funny, ridiculous man. This man, who had just given her two of the most thoughtful gifts she'd ever received in her life.
"You met my dad?" she asked after a minute, her mind returning to that distracting thought, as she sipped her tea.
"Don't worry, Beckett. I promise I was on my very best behavior."
She gave him a sideways teasing look. "Coming from you, I'm not sure how much that's worth."
He feigned dismay. "Beckett, I'm hurt! I can be good when I need to be."
She was expecting him to slide into an innuendo, his voice lowering as he made some suggestive comment, maybe something about proving just how good he could be, but he didn't. She blinked and inwardly frowned a little, confusion flickering through her. It wasn't the first time he hadn't come up with a suggestive comment or made some innuendo in the last few days, she realized. She hadn't thought much of it but it was becoming a little noticeable, at least to her, who was always the object of the suggestive remark, the one to whom he directed his low, husky, seductive voice. There'd been chances that had been almost tailor-made for one of his little leers and teasing innuendos but he hadn't made them.
She still caught him giving her the occasional look, his eyes automatically dropping to her lips or her chest or her hips or her legs. But in his words, it sometimes seemed as if he was holding back, a filter in place against the usual suggestiveness of his immature man-child mind.
She told herself she was imagining it, making a mountain out of a mole hill, but a little niggle of confusion remained.
"I talked to my dad just this weekend and he never mentioned meeting you."
Castle sent her a teasing smile. "Well, you know, Beckett, I did tell him that this was meant to be a surprise which sort of means that you couldn't know about it."
She pretended disgruntlement. "Enlisting my own father to lie to me is your idea of being on your best behavior, Castle?"
"Hey, I only told your dad I wanted to surprise you; everything else must have been your dad deciding he was okay with playing along so you would be surprised."
She couldn't keep up her pretense of annoyance any longer, gave in to her smile. "It was a nice surprise."
He smiled, his eyes bright. "I'm glad."
There was another pause before he asked, changing the subject, "So what did the boys find out at the Comic Factory? Was Bobby Mann actually there the night he died?"
She filled him in on what the boys had found out, what Angel Santana had told them.
He got a familiar abstracted look in his eyes as he thought about the story, his writer's mind playing with it, coming up with explanations.
She gave him a teasing look. "So, the boys and I were wondering, as our resident somewhat-famous person, does it make sense to you that Bobby Mann would vandalize Angel Santana's bike just because she refused to go on his show?"
He pretended offense. "Bobby Mann doesn't invite 'somewhat famous' people to appear on his show. All his guests are actual, real celebrities, including me."
She scoffed. "If you insist, Mr. Famous Person. So, what's your great insight into how famous people think?"
He gave a considering frown. "I'm not sure keying Angel Santana's bike fits with what we've heard about Bobby's mood lately. Maybe the being paranoid part but not with how he wanted his ex-wife to reassure him that he was a good person. Also, I don't see why he should take Santana's refusing to go on his show so personally and she said that she turned his show's offer down a few weeks ago. That seems like a long time to hold a grudge over something like that."
"Yeah, I'm not sure I see it either. But then, as Ryan put it, aren't all famous people narcissistic and crazy?"
He snorted. "Remind me to give Ryan a hard time for that tomorrow. Ooh, or better yet, you should send him dumpster diving on the next case!"
She smirked. "What, for stating the truth? Nope, can't do that. I believe in encouraging people to tell the truth."
"You think you're so funny, Beckett. Maybe you should try out at the Comic Factory," he riposted.
"No thanks. I'll stick with being a cop."
He heaved an exaggerated sigh of disappointment. "'For of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these: It might have been.'"
She knew that line from somewhere… "John Greenleaf Whittier," she identified after a moment.
He stared at her. "It is so hot that you read," he blurted out.
"And you writers are turned on by the strangest things," she parried with a small laugh, fighting a blush and trying not to focus on the delight that wriggled through her. (You are such a goner, Kate.) It wasn't as if he hadn't called her hot before and it wasn't as if she wasn't aware that she was attractive. But something about Castle's unfiltered admiration—and the fact that his admiration was for her brains more than her body at the moment—thrilled her.
She liked it, liked him. (Oh god, another minute and she'd be twirling her hair, giggling, and passing notes in class. Get it together, Kate.)
She blinked, straightening up in an attempt at regaining her composure. "Well, as interesting as Angel Santana's story is, it doesn't tell us why Mann was killed or where he went after the Comic Factory and we know he didn't eat or drink anything at the club."
"Cheer up, Beckett," he said expansively. "After all, I have no other plans tomorrow so I can focus entirely on the case."
She rolled her eyes. "And I suppose your crime-solving expertise will single-handedly ensure that all the leads just fall right into our hands and maybe the killer will decide to turn himself in?"
"I wasn't talking about me alone," he protested and paused significantly.
She suppressed a smile. They did make a pretty good team, she had to admit.
And then he finished, "Esposito and Ryan are good cops too."
Why, that…
She reached out and flicked his ear lobe, making him yelp and lean back, one hand covering his ear protectively, as he gave her an exaggeratedly hurt look.
She raised a challenging eyebrow at him. "Care to revise your statement, Mr. Castle?"
"Fishing for compliments, Detective Beckett?" he countered.
Damn it. He had her there. Not that she would admit it to him.
"Just making sure you remember that you aren't the only person who can solve murders."
"I know that." He smirked. "I hear Nikki Heat is pretty good at solving murders too."
She tossed a napkin in his face. "Oh, shut up, Castle. You're not as funny as you think."
He caught the napkin and proceeded to leave it draped over his head like a strange sort of head covering and she snorted a laugh. He really was adorable. Silly and ridiculous but also adorable.
(And really hot, an errant voice in her mind interjected. Kate tried to glare the internal voice into submission but—yeah, he was really hot. He'd rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, as he often did when he ate, and his forearms were… delicious. He stretched a little, wriggling his shoulders to loosen them, and damn it, the movement emphasized the breadth of his shoulders and the width of his chest in a way that did funny things to Kate's insides. And made her seriously wonder what he would do if she unbuttoned his shirt and asked him to wriggle his shoulders like that again and then proceeded to tell him how much she appreciated the width of his chest with her mouth. Only not in words.)
(No, no. Stop it, Kate!)
"You are such a child," she told him, as if saying so would somehow negate all the very, very adult things she wanted to do to him and with him—it didn't work—as she slid off her stool and moved around the island, collecting his plate and utensils as well as her mug.
He pulled the napkin off his head, sitting up. "Beckett, you don't need to…"
"It's fine, Castle," she cut him off. "I need to rinse my mug out too."
He closed his mouth, clearly deciding not to protest any further, and she hid a small smile. This had been an ongoing argument between them during the first week she'd been staying at the loft, with her trying to help out with the dishes and cleaning up after meals and him insisting that she was a guest and didn't need to do anything. He still tended to make token protests as he had just now but he had, for the most part, given up on arguing with her.
Her mug and his plate stowed in the dishwasher, she returned to the living room area, putting the Temptation Lane DVDs on the shelf alongside the rest of Castle's extensive movie collection and gathering up the jewelry box. "Good night, Castle."
"Night."
She paused, turning back at the bottom step of the stairs. "Hey, Castle?"
"Hmm, what?"
"Thank you for… everything," she finally finished. Her throat was suddenly tight with emotion, again, overwhelmed at how much he had done for her. "You've been… a really good friend."
His expression softened into a faint smile. "Always."
Something in his tone, in his eyes, made her flush, her heart fluttering, before she turned and went upstairs—(running away, you're still running, Kate)—not stopping until she was safely in the guest bedroom.
Kate put the jewelry box down on the dresser and then slowly, carefully, opened it up, taking out the picture and then replacing the picture with her father's watch and her mother's ring. And felt tears pricking at the back of her eyes at once again being able to perform her little ritual again, of having a special place to keep these most precious keepsakes of her life. She had tried not to think about it but it had stung a little every night when she'd come upstairs and had to leave her father's watch and her mother's ring just sitting out on the dresser, as if they had little more significance than the loose change and other detritus that tended to accumulate in people's pockets over the course of a day.
She knew it was irrational but it had meant something to her, to put her father's watch and her mother's ring away together in the keepsake box with her parents' picture on the cover, the small ritual grounding her, the tangible reminders of the life she'd lost and the life she had saved.
And when the keepsake box had been destroyed in the explosion, she had lost the comfort of that little ritual, as seemingly insignificant as it should have been, and it had hurt, had made her feel unsettled and not quite herself. Throwing her off-balance every night as she'd slipped off her father's watch and realized, yet again, that there was no box to put it in.
Now, thanks to Castle, she could perform her ritual again.
She picked up the picture of her parents and propped it up against the base of the lamp on the nightstand.
She was still mostly living out of the one suitcase borrowed from Lanie, still had a limited selection of clothes hanging in the closet. Her eyes went from the picture of her parents to the jewelry box as warmth settled in her chest.
She looked around the guest bedroom of the loft and for the first time in the three weeks since the explosion and her stay at the loft had begun, she thought the room looked… lived in. For the first time, she thought that if the room could speak, it would say, Kate Beckett lives here.
Over the course of the next couple days, evidence fell into place and, in one of those moments of insight that Castle occasionally (more often than Kate would ever admit to him) had, he figured out that Bobby's old friend and co-host, Hank McPhee had killed Bobby because Bobby had been planning to replace Hank with the rising star, Angel Santana.
Kate pulled the pictures off the murder board, neatly stacking them in the evidence box. She paused at the picture of Bobby Mann. "To be killed by your own best friend," she commented quietly. "The ultimate betrayal aside from being killed by a family member."
This part might be what she hated most about her job, that it showed her so often how easily—and how often—people could turn on the people they supposedly loved. Showed her how rare true loyalty and friendship and love really were. The thought made a flicker of unease, of doubt, go through her. No one, aside from true sociopaths, planned from the beginning to betray or hurt or leave those they professed to love. But things happened, people changed, and people's loyalties and affections were often weak things, like kites that flew only as long as the winds were favorable.
"Well, Bobby did betray Hank first and the first betrayal begot the second one," Castle responded.
Kate suppressed a slight smile. Begot, really? If she was ever in danger of forgetting that Castle was a writer, he opened his mouth and used a word like that. "It doesn't mean he deserved to die."
"No, of course not, but Hank did have a point. Bobby chose his career over a friendship of 35 years. From a business standpoint, I suppose I can understand the impulse, but a friendship that long-standing, no, I can't understand that. He and Hank had been best friends for so long and real, disinterested friendship is too… rare, too precious. Bobby should have realized that."
Kate glanced at him. "You sound like you're… taking it personally."
He shrugged a little but after a moment, answered, thoughtfully, his gaze abstracted, "I know how hard it is to find real, disinterested friends. And I keep coming back to what Bobby's first wife said, that she was the only woman who fell in love with him before all the fame and money… Hank and his first wife—the two people who cared about Bobby before he became rich and famous and Bobby betrayed both of them. No, when you're as rich and famous as Bobby Mann was and you have real, disinterested affection, you hold on to it."
"You don't believe that someone can find disinterested affection after they become rich and famous?" Kate asked, a little tentatively, her heart twisting a little.
He looked over at her. "That's not what I said. I just meant… it's a lot harder to find real friends when you're rich and famous so if—when—you find them, you shouldn't let them go."
Kate gave up on trying to pretend he wasn't talking about himself. "But Castle, you… have lots of friends. You always say you have a guy everywhere. And you can't think your poker buddies—Cannell and Patterson and Connelly—like you for your fame and money since they're even more famous and richer than you are," she added with a bit of teasing entering her voice.
She was rewarded for that little barb with a small smile. "No, you're right but they're not just friends, they're also work colleagues and my competitors in a sense, it's not quite the same."
"You know you have real friends here, right, Castle? Espo and Ryan and Lanie and LT and the Captain."
He shot her a sideways glance. "You're not including yourself in that list, Beckett?"
She gave him a teasing look. "No, my friendship isn't the least bit disinterested. I keep you around for the coffee."
He laughed aloud. "Feel free to use me for my coffee as long as you want."
She grinned at him, a teasing rejoinder on the tip of her tongue, when another thought occurred to her. "Oh, we should head back to the loft. Alexis is coming back tonight, isn't she?"
He straightened up, all abstraction vanishing from his manner. "Yes. What time is it?" He glanced at his watch. "Yeah, we should head home. I wanted to make a special dinner for her."
Kate quickly finished pulling all the pictures off the murder board and then dropped the lid over it. "Come on, Castle. I think we can worry about erasing the board tomorrow."
Back at the loft, they argued, briefly, over the issue of Kate helping out before Castle agreed that she could set the table, instructing her to go all out and use the cloth napkins as opposed to the paper ones that they normally used, while he took care of the cooking. Afterwards, Kate insisted and Castle, somewhat grudgingly, agreed to let her help with the cooking too so she busied herself making a salad and then slicing up bread, among the simplest tasks and therefore the only ones he would really allow her to do. She rolled her eyes at him but after a little while, they settled into working in (relatively) harmonious tandem in a way they hadn't before.
In the weeks since Kate had been staying at the loft, the only times she'd really been permitted to help with making dinner were when Alexis, sometimes with Martha and sometimes without, was in charge of cooking, both of them being more receptive to help—or were less pig-headed about it, as Kate told Castle tartly. When Castle was the one in charge, Kate had found that he could be quite as stubborn as she was and, unlike at the precinct where, when it really mattered, he usually gave way and let her win, at the loft, he flatly refused. Kate had threatened him at various times with shooting, maiming, and defenestration, among other things, especially at first, but he'd stood firm and after the first week, Kate had accepted that arguing wasn't going to get her anywhere and they'd reached the compromise that she was permitted to help with the clean-up, even if he still tended to make token protests.
She wasn't sure how much of Castle's newfound spirit of cooperation in the kitchen was due to his going all out in his elaborate three-course dinner plan to welcome Alexis home after her trip but she figured she would take it and hope that it marked a first step.
The sound of a key in the lock had Castle dropping everything, hastily rinsing his hands (but without stopping to dry them), and positively scurrying across the loft to greet Alexis as she came in. "Oh, my Sacagawea has returned!" he crowed delightedly, throwing his arms around Alexis, backpack and all, squeezing and then actually lifting Alexis off her feet for a minute. "Ooh, I missed you so much! Did you have fun? Tell me everything!"
Kate watched them with a smile. He was silly and ridiculous in his over-the-top excitement—so very Castle—but it was adorable and so endearing that he loved his daughter so much and so openly.
And Kate found herself suddenly thinking that if Richard Castle ever truly loved any woman even half as much as he loved his daughter, with all the depth and strength of his heart, that woman could trust him to be there for her, to be faithful to her in every sense of the word, to love her—to the gates of hell and even beyond that.
"I missed you too, Dad," Alexis was saying, returning Castle's hug. "Something smells good. I'm starving."
"Good. Dinner should be ready in about 5 minutes. Oh, and Gram said she'll be stopping by later, probably just in time for dessert, to welcome you home," Castle said, releasing Alexis.
Kate smiled and lifted a hand to wave at Alexis. "Hey, Alexis, welcome back. I think your dad might have missed you just a little," she added teasingly.
Alexis laughed. "Hi, Kate." Shrugging out of her backpack, she moved quickly towards the kitchen and then surprised Kate by proceeding to throw her arms around Kate.
Kate froze for a moment in utter surprise, too stunned to even hug Alexis back, before her brain belatedly kicked back into action and she closed her arms around the girl. Alexis had never hugged her before. Alexis was open and friendly and had been becoming more affectionate, occasionally touching Kate's arm or a couple times briefly squeezing Kate's hand, but she hadn't hugged Kate. Admittedly, Kate herself hadn't been particularly demonstrative either, not being accustomed to it. Her dad was the only person whom Kate hugged on a regular basis.
Now, Alexis was hugging her, greeting her with a hug as if it was something she did every day. Something warm and pleasant welled up in Kate's heart; it felt as if something that had been coiled up inside her chest for years had loosened a little.
Alexis released Kate almost before Kate had processed the wave of emotion. "Dinner looks good, Kate," she said, surveying the food. "Thanks for taking care of Dad while I was gone," she added after a cheeky glance at Castle. "I know he's a handful. I hope he didn't cause too much trouble."
"I'm standing right here," Castle complained. "I can hear you, you know."
Kate hid her smile, answering Alexis with exaggerated seriousness, as if Castle hadn't even spoken. "Oh, he behaved pretty well on the whole. No messes on the floor and he basically picked up after himself." She threw a smirk at Castle before turning back to Alexis. "You've trained him well."
Alexis smirked in turn as she turned to her dad. "Good Dad," she told him approvingly in the same tone as she would use to say, "good dog."
Castle huffed and narrowed his eyes at them both. "Just for that, I'm tempted to say that neither of you is getting any dinner tonight."
Kate gave him a look of feigned horror. "Withholding food from a weary traveller who's just returned home! I do believe that's a felony."
"Who says?" he shot back.
"I say and I am in law enforcement, you know."
Alexis laughed. "I'd listen to her, Dad. She has a gun and handcuffs and she's already arrested you once."
Castle shot her a look of mock disgruntlement. "I take it back. I didn't miss the way you two gang up on me at all."
At that moment, the oven timer went off, making them all jump and Castle let out a small yelp.
As the closest one to the oven, Kate was the one who slipped on the oven mitts and retrieved the pan with the sizzling roast while Castle, abruptly reverting to parental mode, instructed Alexis to wash her hands and sit down. He busied himself getting drinks for everyone and Kate stepped around him to put the salad bowl on the table.
And it was comfortable and familiar and so very domestic and for the first time, Kate didn't even try to deny the warmth inside her at the thought.
Her eyes went from Alexis to Castle, lingering on him for just a moment while he was busy and utterly oblivious.
This was what it felt like to be a part of a real family, this family, and for the first time, the thought wasn't quite so scary anymore.
~To be continued…~
A/N 2: The line Castle quotes is from the poem "Maud Muller" by John Greenleaf Whittier.
The keepsake box Kate mentions as having been destroyed in the explosion was the one we saw at the beginning and the end of 1x5 "A Chill Goes Through Her Veins."
