Chapter 10

When the Ryans have gone, Beckett and Castle survey the mess with less distress than usual.

"Okay," Castle says, "let's all tidy up. Petra, you play slide the blocks to Daddy." She meeps happily and toddles off to start. "David, you play catch the blocks before I can and throw them in the box." He squeaks, equally happily. This is the only time that throwing blocks is allowed.

"I'll clear up the coffee cups," Beckett says, and does.

Castle does a bit of cushion straightening and bean bag retrieval, while putting other toys back in the box. Remarkably quickly, there is order.

"Petra, David," Castle says with an intonation and smile which they already know means that there will be a delightful surprise (which might range from a little ice cream to a trip out to somewhere interesting), "come here." They scamper up and dispose themselves on his knee, one knee each. Castle cuddles them in. Beckett looks on fondly. "After dinner, we're going on an adventure."

"'Venture?"

"Yes, an adventure. We're going to go out in the car, and go to a special place." He regards them very seriously. "Now, you have to do exactly what Mommy and I say, or we can't go again."

Two sets of wide eyes look impressed by his tone. "Yes, Dada," they both say. They sound as if they really do mean it. Time will tell if this is accurate.

"Dinner time first," Beckett says, rapidly assembling a nutritionally balanced meal with a presentation which wholly conceals the presence of all sorts of healthy vegetables. Whatever works. Dinner, as had lunch, involves constant repetition of the two mantras: children eat, cats don't and in your mouth. However, no doubt out of sheer self-interest at the treat to come, the twins are relatively receptive. Or possibly they are hungrier than usual.

Twins mopped up and relatively presentable in tough clothes and little sneakers, instructions are issued.

"Okay. We're going to the car. Petra, you hold my hand. David, you hold Daddy's. You hold our hands until we say let go."

Both twins nod.

"If you let go, we don't go out, we go straight back home and you go to bed," Beckett adds in a completely this is not negotiable voice. They nod again, much more sincerely.

Astonishingly, the car and insertion into child seats is achieved without a single protest or difficulty, although the volume of enthusiasm is ear-shattering until Beckett says, "Quiet," in her best threatening-suspects tone and even Castle automatically shuts up.

He drives. It's his car. Beckett grumbles under her breath. Castle cheerfully ignores her, as she had him every time it was her car, especially as she had never let him play with the lights and sirens.

They park as close as humanly (or felinely) possible to the playground, and Castle switches off the engine. The twins start to babble demands to get out.

"Shush. Listen to Mommy," Beckett says. "You do exactly what we say, or you go home. If one of you disobeys, both of you go home. No do-overs. Straight home, first time."

The twins look at each other, horrified, and babble in their own private language. Petra sounds very like she's issuing orders. Beckett hopes they work better on David than stay in the car ever did on Castle.

"We be good," Petra says, and pokes David.

"Yes, Mama."

"Good. Okay, listen up." Two sets of ears prick up, two pairs of bright little eyes regard her. "When I tell you, you change to kittens. Okay?"

"Yes."

"Mommy and Daddy will change to cats. Then you come with us."

"Yes."

"Okay. Now, we'll get out of the car. Stay children till I tell you."

Amazingly, both children do precisely what they are told. It appears that, rather serendipitously, Beckett has stumbled on a threat that works – spoiling the other twin's fun. Collective punishment might be unfair, but it certainly seems like it might be effective. Once again, whatever works is what they will do.

The four of them wander casually up to the gates of the park. Luckily, no-one is around, and Beckett had made sure that they are not going to be in an area covered by street cameras.

"Castle, you change first." He does. The Maine Coon stretches alongside the railings. "Now Petra and David." They do. "Follow Daddy," Beckett says, and becomes her elegant Siamese. The four of them slip through the railings as cats. Castle and Beckett stop, and the kittens stare around in awe.

Beckett switches back for a moment. "You can play as cats or panthers," she says briskly. "Not children today. If you're good, we'll come back. If not, we won't." She is abruptly Siamese again. The kittens tumble around, trying to look at everything at once. Castle pads up to one of the frames, jumps, and slithers down the slide in a bundle of fur, legs and tail. Beckett makes herself comfortable where she can watch, and waits. The kittens race around the equipment, mewing happily. Castle prowls alongside wherever they are, ready if needed but otherwise letting them be.

As the twilight gathers, the park becomes sufficiently gloomy that no-one is around to notice. The streets are quiet. Beckett shifts back to human.

"Petra, David, five more minutes." Castle looks at her reproachfully. He wants to play for longer, but Beckett does not want to push their luck. It's all gone surprisingly well, and quitting while they're ahead is a good plan. She beckons Castle over, and when he arrives on silent feline feet, fondles his ears. His tail tickles over her. Right. That's him on board with going home.

"Time to go home," she says. "Stay cats, till I tell you." Castle leads off, the kittens follow, and Beckett slides back into cat form until everyone is safely out of the park and back almost to the car. She changes. "Everyone back to human," she requests, and shortly there are two tired children. She picks up one, Castle the other, and they are inserted into their child seats. They make it home just before they fall asleep. Hands and faces are wiped, the twins are put in their onesies and into the cot, and Castle is only four words into Scattercat when their eyes are closed.

"That worked really well," Beckett says when he comes quietly downstairs. "Great idea. Now all we need to do is find one which is away from any roads so that they can change as they please without anyone tattling to the papers."

"I'm full of great ideas," he smirks smugly. Beckett sticks her tongue out at him. "You'd tell the twins off if they did that."

"I've got a better idea than you," Beckett diverts. Castle wriggles his eyebrows. "You be panther, I'll be Onyx."

"I've got an even better idea than that. You be Onyx, and I'll brush you."

Beckett is instantly Onyx. Brushing is still the best foreplay ever. She leaps on to Castle's shoulder; he carries her to the couch and then brushes her until she's a lax sprawl of darkness. Then he carries her through to the bedroom, places her gently on the bed, and she changes back.

They don't get to sleep any earlier tonight than they have done any other night, despite going to bed rather earlier.

"I need a plan for Gates," Beckett grumps dismally over breakfast.

"'Ates come," Petra says, unhelpfully.

"Don't talk with your mouth full." Another million times a meal repetition.

"Captain Gates is not coming."

"Wan' 'Ates to play."

"Not today." Not ever. She can see Castle thinking the same thing. Petra glares, humphs, and subsides into a sulk. This is not news.

"I play," David points out. Petra huffs. David huffs back. Petra glares, David scowls. They bear a remarkable resemblance to their parents at moments of disagreement. Neither parent points this out.

"Eat your breakfast, or ask to leave the table."

"P'ease down," Petra says.

"Me too." Castle raises his eyebrows at David. "P'ease."

Both children are removed and put down.

Some hours of continually interrupted thought later, Beckett has caffeine overload and a headache, but not much of a plan. She glares at her paper, but it doesn't magically improve.

"Fixed?" Castle asks.

She jumps. "No."

"Stop messing with it and come and relax. Be Onyx, or if you want be the panther. We could both be panthers," he adds hopefully, and looks pathetically boyishly at her.

Panthers sounds good. "Okay." She pads out, ebony and lethal, arranges herself on a cushion and observes the chaos about her. The twins notice her.

"Mama big cat!" David shrieks.

"Inside voice," Castle corrects. "Mommy is a big cat."

"Pa'th'r," Petra attempts.

"Panther," Castle corrects, again. He does a lot of linguistic correction. "Say it again?"

"Panth'r."

"Good. Mommy's being a panther."

"Me panther" – pronounced correctly – "too." Petra pads over to her mother, and tucks herself tidily up next to her. Castle swiftly takes a photo. The matching outfits can be used to tease Beckett for some time, even if they are their skins.

"I'm a panther too."

Beckett-panther rolls her eyes. Petra-panther notices, and tries it too.

"Two of you?" Castle wails pathetically. David toddles over to cuddle him. "We need to stick together, Davy-boy. We're outnumbered."

David looks confused. "Two of them is definitely more than two of us," Castle explains. He receives another dual eye-roll.

"Two!" David squeaks happily, and points. "One, two!"

"Good boy." Castle ruffles his hair.

Beckett tucks her head tidily on to her paws and relaxes, as much as she ever does around the twins when they are awake. As a panther, her head doesn't hurt nearly as much. Petra pats at her, remarkably gently, and meows. Beckett gently pats her in return, and tickles her with her tail. Petra likes that, and tries to do the same.

It's unusual for her to try to copy either parent: normally Petra is independent to the point of insanity, though she very rarely takes life-threatening risks, or makes the same mistake twice. In any event, signs of civilised and gentle behaviour should be encouraged. There haven't been many, and while intimidation works for Beckett, she can (occasionally) do empathy and gentleness too. If she must. Petra is still stuck firmly on the intimidatory side of the dial, with no inclination to gentleness. Beckett therefore plays tail-tickling rather longer than she would normally wish to.

The remains of the afternoon pass in soft panther-play with the two mischievously pouncing cubs, who are thereby sufficiently tired out to be bathed and put to bed without too much complaint.

"What's your plan?"

Beckett makes a horrible face at Castle. "Underdeveloped," she says bitterly. "Why does Gates have to see a plan?"

"So we get the twins to age five without them being taken away by mad scientists from Area 52," he replies, with less humour than normal.

She droops. "I know. But I don't have much." She stares at the floor. "I got nothing, really. Just keep taking them to playgrounds and hammer home the message about staying in the same form."

There is a pause.

"I just can't get past the idea that Gates squashes any reports and 'loses' any difficult footage."

"It's a start. What if we told her which playgrounds we were planning to use, and she helped us…um…keep any street cams switched off?"

"Can she do that?"

"I don't know."

Both of them droop. Fortunately, they droop into each other.

"Change, Beckett. I'll pet you. Then you can pet me."

"I've got a better idea. Let's go and pet each other, without any changing."

Castle's eyes darken. Beckett's spark with gold.

"Sounds just perfect," he says, and pulls her to standing, where he kisses her deeply. They reach the bedroom with some haste and, rapidly, far fewer clothes. Shortly there are no clothes at all, except on the floor. A while after that, there is an aura of contentment over their sleeping forms, snuggled together as close as can be. Beckett wakes briefly in the night, takes a moment, then turns into Onyx and snuggles into Castle's neck, right where she always has, even before he knew about her.

"Detective Beckett," Gates says ominously, mid-afternoon on Monday. Beckett obeys her imperious gesture to follow her into Gates's office, and shuts the door.

"Your plan, if you please."

Beckett winces.

"Surely you have a plan?"

More winces.

"Explain." It's sharply frigid.

"I got nothing," Beckett admits. "There's no plan that can deal with this. All we can do is take them to playgrounds when most kids have gone home, and keep telling them that they have to be human not cats." Her mouth twists. "Toddlers are disobedient enough when they're human. Ours have a whole new level of causing trouble. All it would take is one change when they're cross or mischievous or just forget and we'll all be in a lab somewhere."

Gates regards her coldly. "And yet they exist. Are you planning to confine them for the rest of their lives?"

"No! I'm trying to make sure they're not kept prisoner. But right now we can't put them in daycare and we can't take them to playgrounds without serious planning. We don't have so many people we can trust that have children, and anyway even good friends sometimes… aren't."

"Mm. I must admit that I did not expect you to have a plan. I, too, see no easy way to handle your situation."

Beckett boggles at Gates. "Sit down, Detective. Let's think about this together. I do not want to see your excellent work record destroyed, nor do I wish you to have to resign to manage the position. There will be a way to deal with this." Gates's cool eyes blink slowly. "We merely have to find it."

Beckett practically falls into the hard chair behind her.

"Now, describe to me again what you have already done."

"We've told Lanie – Dr Parrish, and Esposito and Ryan." Gates nods, judicially. "Castle is booking out the indoor play centre, now we know it has no camera coverage, and everyone will come. Ryan's daughter came to play on Saturday, and it went okay."

"Mm." Gates ponders for a moment. "Detective, I understand that Mr Castle donates quite heavily to charity."

Beckett stares at her. "How do you know that? He never talks about it. They're not allowed to talk about it."

"I have my sources. Just as you have yours." Gates glares, coldly. "That is not the point. My point is that you might find it rewarding to take a, shall we say, more directly involved attitude to certain forms of charitable donation."

Beckett regards Gates with complete incomprehension. Gates sighs. "Perhaps you should increase your caffeine consumption, Detective."

"Yes, sir. Would you like one too?"

"So you can pick up a hint. Yes, I would. While you are making them, you might consider the nature of children's charities."

Beckett goes to make coffee for both of them. Hers is considerably stronger than usual or indeed healthy. Halfway back to Gates's office, it finally dawns on her what Gates had meant. She rushes in, deposits the coffees and shuts the door.

"You're suggesting we should take the twins to children's homes to play with the toddlers there. And if we gave a false identity" – Gates smiles, coldly – "you'd back it up with a reference." Beckett stares at Gates's almost-approving face. "And you know some of these places," she says, "don't you? You volunteer. Or something." She stops. Gates's expression is locked down hard.

"There is no need for you to demonstrate that you have learned some unappealing traits from Mr Castle. You do not have to express any further thoughts of that nature. Discretion is a virtue."

"Sorry, sir."

"You may make amends by arranging a further evening at your home." Beckett's jaw drops. "As I have said" – the tone implies that she shouldn't have to say it again – "I like cats. I also like your twins." Beckett hears and I can put up with Mr Castle if I absolutely must.

"Yes sir." There really isn't anything else to say.

"I will provide you with some appropriate places to contact. I suggest" – Gates looks down her nose at Beckett in a way suggesting that Beckett is less than fully intelligent – "that you use different identities at each, and spread your visits widely. Very widely. Unless you wish the charities to discuss the occasions."

"No. Absolutely not," Beckett agrees, very quickly. "Yes sir. Thank you, sir."

She leaves extremely hurriedly, and thus misses Gates's amused glance at her.

"Castle! Babe, I'm home," she calls as she rushes through the door. She is greeted by a twin hurricane screeching "Mama" at full stereo volume, and drops to her knees just in time to withstand the landfall.

"Hey," Castle rumbles happily, and plops down to hug her and the twins. "Just in time for dinner. Their dinner."

Beckett smiles, a little weakly. "Yeah, um, about that…"

"You caught a case and you've got to go to Philadelphia?"

"No, no. We can have dinner just as usual."

"Dinner!" squeaks David. "Dada, dinner!"

"Dinner!" Petra adds. It sounds more like an order than a request. Beckett turns her round to meet her eyes and raises a brow. "P'ease."

"That's right. Please."

"What dinner?" David wants to know.

"Chicken."

"Yum."

Chicken, or indeed any form of meat, is always popular with their carnivorous twins. When they're bigger, and can be safely taken to restaurants which do not cater exclusively for families with small children, they will undoubtedly enjoy such delights as rare steaks. Beckett merely hopes that they will remember to enjoy them with human teeth.

"Come on then. Let's fix you dinner."

Castle scoops up both twins, one in each arm, and conveys them to the kitchen. Beckett efficiently assembles dinner and puts it out, watched with interest by both twins and mischievous admiration by Castle.

"Why Dada not cook?"

"Mommy can cook too," Castle says.

There is a thoughtful silence. Then, "Dada cook. Mama work."

"Daddy works too," Beckett says into the stunned silence. "Daddy writes books."

It's instantly clear that this has passed their pair by. "Dada work?" Petra asks, in her best imitation of Beckett's disbelieving tones as used on lying suspects.

"Yep," Beckett says matter-of-factly. "Daddy works. That's why you're not allowed in his office."

The twins regard each other, and then Castle, who hasn't yet managed to find words.

"Book?" Petra queries.

"Books. Grown up books."

That was a mistake.

"Dada write me a book," Petra says firmly. Castle opens his mouth. Beckett glares fiercely at him, and he shuts it again. Their twins do not need to know that Castle wrote books about her. Especially not p105. They'll likely need enough therapy as they're growing up. She goes for distraction.

"Dinner's ready."

The twins start to clamour. Beckett puts their bowls and spoons down, and takes Petra to be strapped into her high chair as Castle deals with David.

Dinner, surprisingly, passes off with a much lower quotient of in your mouth not your hair and/or children eat, cats don't than a few days earlier. Beckett meets Castle's eyes and their thoughts align around how long will this last?

"Playtime, then bath time," Castle says happily to the well-fed and wiped up twins, as they scamper round the floor. Petra turns herself back into a toddler, and wanders over to sit on his knee, favouring him with a doe-eyed look of which Beckett is instantly suspicious.

"Book," she says.

"What do you say?"

"P'ease book."

"Sure, honey. Which book? Zachary Quack? Very Bad Day?"

Petra shakes her head. "My book."

"Go get it, then."

"Dada write it."

Oh, God. Petra has developed memory which lasts longer than a mayfly's. That's all they need.

"I'll tell you a story," Castle says, slightly wide-eyed and flustered. "That's the same as a book."

Petra looks dubiously at him, which sits oddly on her toddler face, and then capitulates. "Kitty story," she says hopefully, and snuggles into her father as he begins. Beckett leaves them to it and plays block building and tower demolition with David until bath time.

Thank you to all readers and reviewers.

Happy New Year to one and all, and I hope you had a great holiday season.