A/N: Sorry about making you guys wait that long for an update. That chapter didn't want to cooperate fully with me. It's your fault, too, a little bit - with all those amazing reviews, I don't feel like disappointing you and delivering something I'm not satisfied with ;-). But hopefully the length will somehow make up for the wait. Also, chapter 9 now has an extra ending to it (you can thank Trapped in a Matchbox, who convinced me it should be in there :), so those of you who haven't read it might want to do that before they read this one. Not an absolute necessity, though.
There will be one more chapter after this one, which should be the last, I think. Since I only have a vague idea of what it's gonna be like, I thought I'd take ideas and suggestions - if there's anything special you wanna see in there, let me know ;-) ! Thanks for sticking with me, and enjoy the chapter!
Disclaimer: Castle and its characters don't belong to me.
It was still dark when Richard Castle half-opened his eyes to the silent bedroom. A timid ray of light had found its way through the curtains and seemed to suggest that daybreak wasn't too far away; but it was still much too early for the writer to be awake without a good reason.
Castle didn't have regular sleeping habits. His bouts of inspiration had never seemed to follow any sort of rule or pattern; which meant he sometimes spent whole nights writing, but also that he could get up insanely early if an idea had gotten a hold of him.
It wasn't the case now, however, and he tried to clear his sleepy brain, wondering what had woken him. His left arm was numb, having been supporting the weight of his body for most of the night, it seemed, and Rick shifted slightly, trying to make his position more comfortable.
The way he moved brought his right hand in contact with a warm, incredibly soft surface, and he froze, suddenly remembering why he had been sleeping on his left side in the first place. His eyes shot open, for good this time, quickly focusing on the face that was half-buried in the pillow, at a much too close distance to be safe. Kate. He felt an overwhelming (and possibly absurd) surge of joy when he realized she hadn't moved away from him in her sleep, but quickly sobered and returned to the issue at hand.
Literally. Because his right hand was now resting on what felt like Kate's upper, very naked thigh (damn T-shirt she wore had likely rolled up during the night) and it seemed to have no desire to move whatsoever.
Castle tried. Really tried. But his body must have gone on strike, because there was no response to the signals sent by his poor, confused brain. So he kept still for a minute, waiting for Beckett to wake up and inflict bodily harm on him.
Only, she didn't, and of their own accord, his fingers started tracing light curves and circles across the smooth expanse of skin. A remote part of him was aware that she would kill him if she woke up to find his hand doing… Whatever it was doing, but it all felt like a dream – being in bed with Kate Beckett, close enough to be able to touch her – and all ideas of stopping definitely left his brain (along with pretty much everything else) when she made a soft sound that sounded like approval, and inched closer.
So his fingers just kept moving slowly, trailing over her skin (he kept respectfully to a small area, not quite trusting himself with the rest of her). He didn't notice a change in her breathing pattern, didn't see her eyelids so much as flicker (she really was a good actress) until her eyes opened at once, large and intense and awake –
Rick barely had time to register the desire shining in there; already Beckett's slim, pliant body was pressed against his, and she was kissing him.
He let out a moan, somewhere between surprise and delight, and Kate took the opportunity to dart her tongue past his lips, effectively bringing whatever thought process he might have had left to a halt. His body took over, and the writer responded eagerly to her advances, nesting a hand in her silky mane and running the other along the delicate curves of her wiry frame.
They were still facing each other, resting on their sides; and despite his desire to roll her onto her back and cover her body with his (or, alternatively, to let her get on top of him) Castle fought to keep things somewhat measured. Or at least he was trying to when Kate slid a hand under his t-shirt, her mouth abandoning his to suck gently on his pulse point after leaving a trail of fire across his neck.
His whole being writhed in pleasure at what she was doing to him, and his brain came back to life, screaming a warning so loud that he had to listen. He panted, trying to gather enough oxygen to actually form words.
"Kate. Kate, stop."
He might as well have said nothing. His words went unheeded; oblivious to anything that wasn't the burning desire he had sparked deep inside her, Kate found his mouth again, and her teeth grazed at his bottom lip, drawing a low, agonizing growl out of him.
Rick felt a jolt of realization as his fingers dug against his will into the soft, warm skin of her waist. If he didn't stop this now, he was lost.
And it took him every ounce of his willpower to get his body to obey and physically push her away, but he did. It probably hurt him more than it did her.
Kate landed on her back, her breath short, her eyes wide with shock. Awareness dawned on her – this was real, not just another dream; this was real and she had thrown herself at Castle, had stuck her tongue down his throat, had pressed her body against his like… Oh, shit. And he had pushed her away.
Her mind, still hazy with remnants of sleep and desire, was in no condition to deal with the conflicting emotions that the situation evoked, the mixture of incomprehension and indignation and fear and self-doubt that made her head spin. Since she couldn't be rational, Beckett did what she did best: retreat. With a tremendous effort, she curbed her rebellious feelings and controlled her breathing until she was sure she could trust her voice.
She didn't so much as glance at the writer. That she was not ready for.
"I'm sorry, Castle," she finally managed, and the husky quality of her voice made her close her eyes in dismay. "This was… A bad idea. My fault. Let's just… Forget it happened, okay?"
Richard, who was having a struggle of his own trying to convince himself that he had done the right thing and not screwed everything up, turned a sharp gaze to his partner.
Not that in the half-light, he could see as much as he usually did when looking into her eyes – and she wouldn't look back at him, which didn't make it easier – but something in her tone alerted him, caused his chest to tighten painfully.
What was "it"? This morning? Last night? Both? Castle didn't want to forget, didn't think he could even if he tried. "No, no," he wanted to say – to plead, to argue, to fight – but the sounds wouldn't get past the barrier of his throat.
Beckett seemed to take his silence for acquiescence, and turned to face the wall, putting some distance between them.
"It's fine, Rick," she said – but the cool, detached, airy way she spoke the words belied them. "Go back to sleep. I get it. We work together. We're friends. It's a bad idea."
There was absolutely no way that she was going to sleep now, but she could fake it. At least she'd have some quiet time to regroup, both emotionally and physically. Her skin still tingled from Castle's touch, the little traitor.
The writer was paralyzed. She didn't mean that. Surely she didn't. He couldn't let her draw back now. If he did – damn, he didn't know if he'd ever get another chance. She'd find another Tom or a Josh, and he would be a little less stupid than the previous ones, a little more intent on fighting for her, and things would be over before they even had a chance to start. No.
This time the word resounded loud and clear in the dark bedroom, and he was the first surprised.
"No, Beckett –" he winced at his mistake, fought not to scream in frustration, tried to make up for it. "Kate."
The way he said her name, soft and meaningful, almost did her in. But she gritted her teeth, struggling fiercely with – with what, exactly? Her eyes fell on the bright digits of the alarm clock. It was only six in the morning. No wonder she couldn't think straight. She felt a surge of anger at Castle, for waking her up at such hours with his ridiculously arousing hand on her thigh, and then acting like he had changed his mind all of a sudden.
"Kate," he said again, and it was worse than the first time, because now he was pleading, and he sounded so…vulnerable. She didn't want to listen, but she couldn't not to.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to –"
She heard him sigh, an exasperated sigh intended at himself it seemed, and something in her chest fluttered.
"I'm an idiot. That's nothing new."
He sounded convinced, almost enthusiastic, as if he had stumbled upon a gold mine and intended to start digging. Oh, Lord. Beckett braced herself for whatever was coming next.
"You can't possibly believe that I don't want this as much as you do."
And what was it he thought she wanted, exactly?
"Because trust me, Kate. I want this. I want this so bad."
The deep, breathy quality to his voice sent a shiver running down her spine, convincing her much more effectively than the words. Damn him.
"And kissing you could never, ever be a mistake."
He ploughed ahead, steady and focused, refusing to stop to take her silence into account.
"But this – this whole trip – it's about you, about your family. You are the only one who matters right now. And everything you've told me, everything you've shared with me…"
It means so much more than sex. He didn't say the words; he thought she understood. He hoped she did.
"I don't want to make it possible for you to doubt my motivations. I don't want you to look back at this moment and wonder if I took advantage of your… emotional vulnerability, or whatever you want to call it. I don't want to make this about me. I can wait. I will wait."
Kate took a moment to absorb the words. She didn't move; she liked not being able to see him. Her head was clearer that way.
"So," she said at last, "you're basically saying that you're rejecting me because you're choosing now of all times to act noble?"
She wanted to sound mad, she wanted to yell at him for assuming he knew better than her what she needed, but she couldn't find it in her heart. He wasn't wrong, not completely at least. She was raw and emotional and vulnerable, or whatever he said.
She sensed his hesitation before he spoke.
"I could never reject you," he answered in so quiet a voice that she almost missed it. He wanted to argue over her choice of words? Fine. She could do that too.
"Oh, could? So it's a pity thing?"
That sounded more like her, like them, with the ironic ring to it and the playful tone. But Castle, refusing to engage, said firmly – fervently – "I would never reject you."
Warmth erupted in her belly, in her toes, in her chest, everywhere. It really was nonsense, the things he could do to her using only his words. Kate rolled over before she lost the will to do so, and made eye contact.
Earnest. That was the appropriate description for the way he looked right then. Earnest, and so sincere. She closed her eyes for an instant, suddenly wishing she could go back in time and change the conversation they'd just had – re-write her own reaction.
He was trying to act as he saw fit, trying to give her whatever he thought she deserved. Sure, they would need to talk about that; she wanted him to ask instead of just assuming, but… Never before had Beckett been so aware that they were their own obstacles. Sure, his fame and her job played a part in their holding back as well, but really, fear was at the centre of it. Fear of so many things – her not being enough, his short attention span, the baggage they both came with – that the detective felt that the list would take days to complete.
And fear was still there, hidden in the depths of her being, as Kate looked into her partner's blue orbs. She acknowledged it, but didn't let it override the newfound confidence that she felt. This was it. They didn't need to waste any more time.
It wasn't her to put words on what she felt, though, so she tried to express it in other ways, her eyes dark and intent on carrying those emotions to him. The connection that existed between them worked mysteriously sometimes, but not then – and Rick, reacting to what he read on her face, leaned in and touched her mouth with his.
Yesterday had been about his desire to make her feel better, to boost her confidence (and maybe, admittedly, about his inability to help himself). Today was different. Today was about telling her he loved her without actually using the words; a challenge that Castle found himself eager to take up.
He kissed her, deep and slow, relishing her responsive shiver, bringing a hand up to caress her soft cheek. Kate half-opened her mouth, but he ignored the invitation, choosing to focus on her moist lips instead, showering them with light kisses before he bit gently at the bottom one and traced its contours with his tongue. When he drew a moan from her (part of him revelled in the sound) he stopped, waiting for her to open her eyes and look at him.
She did so reluctantly, it seemed, as if she was still unwilling to let him see how much he affected her. Rick smiled, pure happiness shining in his eyes, and Kate relaxed completely. Emotion was threatening to overwhelm her, tears stinging at the corner of her eyes, and she willed them back.
He was wrapping his love around her as if it was a mantle, a magic cloak to protect her from the harshness of the outside world – and if the detective knew how impossible such a thing was, it sure didn't keep her from appreciating the intention. She threw her arms around Castle's neck, drawing him into a tight embrace. There were no words.
No words could express how she cherished she felt, how wonderfully cared for. No words could express how grateful she was for the man in her arms.
She could feel his lips tremble against her skin, and she suddenly realized he was holding back. Kate didn't want him to – she wanted to hear what he had to say, even if it was words she didn't think she was ready for. She owed him that much. And "wasn't ready for"? Scratch that; she needed those words said as much as he did.
"Say it, Rick," she murmured before she could change her mind.
His breathing hitched, and she could feel his hesitation. She tightened her hold on him in response to his wordless inquiry. The writer took a shaky inspiration that tickled the sensitive skin of her neck, and he said with devastating certainty, delivering each word like it was a gem of its own, "I love you, Kate."
She felt giddy, light-headed, as he repeated his confession again, and again, with such force and such tenderness that it was impossible not to believe him.
Beckett didn't make any attempt at a vocal answer, but she didn't pull away; she didn't let go of him, not a single bit. And to Richard Castle, this was all the response he was ever going to need.
The alarm set by Castle rang three hours later – or rather, sang about a beautiful day and not letting it get away – and the writer's hand reached blindly for his phone until he managed to turn the damn thing off. Yawning and rubbing his eyes, he rolled over to find Kate had buried her face into her pillow. She let out a sound startlingly akin to a growl.
"Mmh," she moaned. "I don't want to go."
Rick watched her with undisguised amusement. This was a side of Beckett he had never been privy to – had never even known to be there – and he was enjoying the unexpected find. Enjoying it too openly, maybe, since he got swatted on the arm for his cheerfulness.
"It's not funny," she hissed, but there was the hint of a smile on the quarter of face that he had a visual on.
"Oh, I think it's pretty funny," he disagreed cheerfully. "So, are you saying you want to spend all day in bed with me? Because I could probably talk myself into such a change of plans."
"Really? Wouldn't that go against your "not taking advantage of me" policy?"
She made no attempt at hiding the sarcasm in her voice, and Castle cursed her for being so sharp when he was getting distracted by the way her brown curls shone in the morning light.
"Hey, I just mentioned the bed. Whatever activities your guttered mind immediately jumped to, that's none of my doing."
"Yeah, right," she sniggered.
"I'll pretend not to know what you mean by that. And since I'm feeling generous today, beautiful detective of mine, I have an offer for you. I'll use the bathroom and get ready first, and you can laze in bed a little while longer."
Beautiful detective of his, uh? Was it bad that she liked the sound of it?
"That's really nice of you, writer of mine, but I have to pack my bag anyway," she said, holding back the smile that she felt. She sat up, swinging her legs out of bed while he made a show of looking at the tidy pile of her clothes.
"Pack…what, exactly?" He ventured to ask.
"Castle," she warned gently. "Go get your shower, and then we can go down and have breakfast in the restaurant."
"Oh, are you buying?"
Kate rolled her eyes. He could really be annoying when he wanted to.
"Maybe. Now, would it be too much to ask for some privacy?"
The writer didn't answer, just hovered around her until she raised her eyebrows at him, silently asking what the hell was wrong with him. He squirmed a little before he gave up.
"I didn't get a good morning kiss."
And there was the whiny nine-year-old again. Although, when Beckett looked closer, she thought she could see a hint of nervousness in his eyes. He didn't want to damage this fragile thing they had anymore than she did. He didn't know if it was okay to ask for a good morning kiss. Oh, Jesus.
Kate stepped closer and pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth, lingering long enough to breathe in that sleepy smell of his. She rather liked it.
"Happy?" She asked a little briskly, moving away so he wouldn't be able to read her emotion.
He grinned widely in response, and Beckett fought the urge to roll her eyes again. Or to kiss him. What was it about Richard Castle that always evoked such diametrically opposed reactions from her?
With a sigh, she turned her back to him, and bent over her bag to pick some clothes.
"Stop checking out my legs, Castle," she said absentmindedly as she folded the dress from the day before. She heard him chuckle unabashedly, and seconds later the sound of the bathroom door closing told her that she was alone at last.
Beckett eyed critically the contents of her bag. She had not been planning on seeing her mother's family outside the funeral, which meant the black dress she had worn the day before was the only dressy thing she had brought. Oh well, jeans would have to do, she thought as she put them on with decided hands. She was Detective Kate Beckett, for crying out loud. She didn't have to pretend to be someone else.
Then she picked a dark green blouse that complemented her eyes, and let the tangle of her curls free to cascade on her shoulders. Examining herself in the mirror, Kate was pleased to find that she looked fresh and rested (funny how two nights away from the precinct, getting somewhat decent sleep, could help with that). So she went easy on the make-up, only putting on some blush, and her usual combination of eyeliner and eye shadow.
Taking a step back, she studied her appearance, allowing a small smile to curl her lips. She didn't think Castle would complain.
Rick. She didn't think Rick would complain. The detective bit her lip gently, wondering if it all could be that simple.
She knew better than to answer that question with a positive, but there was no need to agonize over this, she reasoned. Just…go with the flow, right? Her belly was fluttering happily; and though she could have pinned it on her empty stomach, she found that she didn't really want to.
Packing didn't take long, and neither did breakfast. Or maybe it was just the light dancing in Castle's blue eyes as he watched her and joked with her that altered Kate's perception of time.
They kept to light topics, Kate because her stomach was tied in knots at the prospect of a family lunch, and Castle because he couldn't find a manly/funny/nonchalant way to ask if it was okay to tell people they were together. (Because they were together, right? Every time he started to doubt the reality of it – which happened just about every ten seconds – he would remember the feel of her slender body in his arms, her soft breath on his neck, and then have to remind himself to stop grinning like the biggest fool she'd ever seen. It was a little exhausting. Not that he was complaining or anything.)
Once they had turned in their key, and safely tucked their bags in the car's trunk, Beckett weighed their options. Mark's café wasn't far from the Whitesboro Inn, but walking there would have meant having to walk back to the car afterwards. Might as well take it with them now; at least they'd have it close at hand.
What she hadn't thought about was the very few parking spots actually available around the bar; and after touring the surrounding streets to no avail, Beckett let out a frustrated sigh, glancing at her watch. They had come to a halt at the same red light for the third time.
Castle put a light hand on her thigh to call for her attention and she looked at him, her brow furrowing. She was not in the mood for games. He saw that, and quickly said, "Let's change seats. I'll park the car; you go ahead and see Mark, and I'll join you as soon as I can."
Kate hesitated.
Rick smiled his roguish smile and wiggled his eyebrow.
"Come on. You know you want to."
Trust the man to try and make into a sexual allusion something that had nothing to do with it. She shook her head, and opened her door after checking that no cars were queuing behind them.
"Okay. Thanks," Beckett said as he walked past her to get in the driver seat.
"Don't mention it," he replied with a warm smile. He pushed the seat back – not much, because she was tall – and waved good-humouredly before driving away. Kate watched for a second, amused. She didn't know how he did it. Where he found the energy for the constant spring in his step, for the bright look he levelled on the world.
But she sure was grateful for it.
The door to the bar was closed, but Kate knew by experience that Mark would be inside, busy with the finances, or ordering new wine or foreign beers. Chances were he was in his office, and out of hearing range, so she turned into the next street. There was a side door there, that Mark often left ajar because few people knew of its existence. Today was no exception, and Beckett stepped inside, careful to push back the door behind her.
"Mark?" she asked, not wanting to scare him.
She heard the squeaks of a chair being moved, and moments later a door opened on her right. He had kept his office in the same room, she thought with a smile.
"Kate?"
The tall, dark-haired man wrapped her in a half-embrace, kissed her cheek. He had always done that with Johanna, and somehow the habit had been passed on to Kate. She didn't mind.
"Hey. Are you busy?"
"Not so busy that I can't make time for you," he winked. "Let's go and sit at the bar. How did the family meeting go? Did everybody make it out alive?"
"Surprisingly, yeah," Kate chuckled, perching herself on a stool. "The Dragon was in a good mood. She even – she made me a photo album, Mark. With pictures of Mom."
A pleased smile played on the man's tanned face.
"So she finally had the good sense to make her peace with you, uh? Good for her."
"I guess you could put it that way. And speaking of photos… I want you to have this one," Beckett said, reaching to her back pocket for the picture she had put in there earlier.
It showed a sixteen-year-old Johanna riding on Mark's back, her long hair all over her face and shoulders, her eyes twinkling. Both of them were laughing freely, their skin glowing in what looked like the light of a warm summer evening.
They looked young. And they looked happy.
Mark studied it with a ghost of a smile, but his eyes remained dry as he levelled a grateful look on Kate.
"Thank you," he said simply.
"Do you know who took it?" the detective asked, curious. From her mom's relaxed attitude, she could have sworn it wasn't Victoria.
"Must have been Lily," the bar's owner answered, his voice rough with emotion. "She was the only one who liked me, aside from your mother."
Kate nodded, not exactly surprised.
"Do you know," Mark went on after a pause, "that Lily came here sometimes?"
"When she was younger?"
"No, in those last few years. She came in one day, all shy and hesitant – you should have seen how my patrons looked at her, with her pearls and her matching outfit… But as it turned out, she only wanted to talk."
"Talk? With you? About what?"
Beckett realized the disbelief in her voice was maybe a bit hurtful, but she couldn't help it. Thankfully, Mark wasn't easily vexed.
"What do you think?" he replied. "About your mom. When you think about it, Lily had no one else to turn to; Johanna's name was never as much as breathed in your grandmother's house, and you know how encouraging Rose is. Never mind Emily or Sheila. Abby was the daughter Lily was the closest with, but Abby was only thirteen when your mom died. She didn't have that many memories of her."
Kate was stunned. She didn't even know why. The idea of Mark and Lily sitting together, talking about her mother… She realized that what she felt was mild jealousy, and shock subsided into understanding and amusement. She couldn't exactly blame them for seeking comfort with one another, not when she hadn't come back to Whitesboro for such a long time.
"Good thing she found you, then," she said eventually, with a soft smile.
The older man looked relieved, and he smiled back. "I guess so."
He cleared his throat before asking, "So, where's that writer of yours? I rather like the guy, to be honest."
Kate snorted. "That's Castle for you. Everybody likes him." Including Victoria Fields, who was famous for not liking anyone, ever.
"Including you?" Mark shot back smoothly, with a knowing glance.
Ugh. Was she that obvious?
"Well, I did bring him here. I guess it speaks for itself."
"And that was a masterful deflection if I ever knew one. Oh, is that a blush I see on the cheeks of my little Katie?" he asked laughingly.
"You're delusional. And Castle just offered to park the car. He should be here any minute now," she said, hoping he would get her meaning and drop the subject.
But he didn't.
"You know, Kate, love's not a crime. Neither is admitting to it," he said with a cautious smile.
"You mean, like you admitted it to Mom?"
It was a low blow, and she regretted the words as soon as they were out of her mouth. She really needed to work on her reactions to sensitive issues. To his credit, Mark didn't even look surprised or angry. He just paled.
"I never said anything to your mother."
"I… I guess I knew that. Why not?" she asked, her tone softer now.
The lines of his face sagged a little as he sighed, and Kate wondered if he was going to answer at all.
"I didn't think she felt the same way," he said eventually. "I didn't want to ruin what we had. It wasn't for any one reason, you know, there was a whole bunch of them. Then she left for college, and by the time I had figured out exactly how much she meant to me… She'd met your dad. And she was in love, Kate. You could spot it from a mile away."
"Oh," the detective breathed, understanding and sadness filling her at once. Was it strange to feel sorry that your parents had met? Jim Beckett was her dad, and she loved him fiercely. But she knew what position Mark had been in, and she knew how painful it could be.
Thank god, she thought suddenly, that Castle had not completely fallen for Gina again.
"I figured, what was the point?" Mark went on. "Make her miserable by asking her to choose? No, Kate."
"You were being a good friend," she commented in a low voice.
"I guess that's what I was trying to do, yeah. I loved her. I wanted her to be happy. Even if it wasn't with me."
He sounded sad, but not regretful, and Kate loved him all the more for it. Putting a gentle hand on his forearm, she said, "You're a good man, Mark. And she loved you very much."
His warm brown eyes looked up at her, and a slow smile broke over his face.
"Thank you, Katie."
There was a knock at the window, and they could see Castle's face squashed against it, peering and trying to see inside. Beckett laughed quietly – couldn't help it, really – and she went to let him in.
She pulled the door open, and Rick came forward eagerly, marking a hesitant pause in front of her. Kate's brow furrowed at his closeness – for a terrifying and yet thrilling second, she thought he was going to kiss her – before she realized he had brought his hand up, with the car keys hanging from his index as a sort of peace offering.
From the way his blue eyes lingered on her lips, however, her first guess hadn't been so far from the mark either. Beckett snatched the keys, annoyed at the way her body seemed to hum with pleasure at Rick's continued proximity, and closed the café's door before going back to her stool, at Mark's side.
Her old friend was looking at her with an open smirk; of course, he had missed nothing of their little awkward dance. Kate held back a frustrated groan. She didn't intend to make a secret of…whatever was going on between Castle and herself – but she wasn't the sort to brag about it, either. What was she supposed to say?
"Hey there, Rick," Mark greeted cordially, shaking the writer's hand.
"Nice to see you again, Mark," Castle answered with a smile.
"Likewise. So, are you enjoying Whitesboro and its beauties?" The man glanced sideways at Beckett, as if to make it clear what "beauties" he was really talking about. She scowled, but it was hard to maintain when Rick's face had this deer-in-the-headlights look about it.
Her partner's eyes darted from her to Mark as he visibly tried to determine how much he could safely say.
"It's been a… An interesting visit, for sure," he answered at length, managing to sound casual. "Whitesboro is – full of surprises. Pleasant surprises," he added quickly, when Kate arched an eyebrow.
She hid a smile as well as she could, but it was obvious from Mark's expression that he wasn't buying any of it.
"Want to share any of those "pleasant" surprises, Rick?" the older man inquired. He was enjoying himself, Beckett could tell. She had to admit that she was too, just a little bit. Watching Castle squirm had always been one of her favourite activities, and it wasn't like she wanted to keep Mark from finding out about their…relationship. There. She had said it.
"Well, the karaoke, for once," the writer answered with a valiant smile. "That was a lot of fun, actually. And then, meeting Kate's family was, uh, entertaining."
"Entertaining, uh?"
A wide grin split Mark's face in two, and he started laughing. Castle shifted nervously on his feet and stole a glance at Kate, wondering what that was about. She shrugged.
"Entertaining," the dark-haired man repeated once his hilarity had faded a bit. "Oh, Kate. Your family, entertaining. That has got to be the kindest thing anyone has ever said about them. He really is in love with you, isn't he?"
Both their reactions would have been worth a picture, had Mark had a camera close by. The slack-jawed, dumbfounded expression of the writer found its match in Beckett's resolutely downcast eyes (even if the blush that had spread over her cheeks and neck was not to be hidden). Adorable, the older man thought, his heart melting a little.
"Good for you, kids," he said, clapping a hand to Rick's shoulder and giving a tender smile to the woman he had known since she was a baby. "I'm glad to see you're not repeating my mistakes."
Castle, who had quickly mastered his surprise, shot a furtive look at his partner. She wouldn't meet his eyes, but there was a soft glow to her as she smiled back to Mark, saying something that was lost on the contemplative writer.
And then it hit him – happiness. That light at the back of her eyes… It was happiness. Something swelled inside Rick's chest, pure joy tinged with disbelief, and he was quite content to stand there in silence as the conversation went on without his participation. He wasn't sure he could have remembered how to form words even if his life had depended on it.
The weather wasn't sunny like it had been the day before, but the clouds that blocked the sun were a clear, unthreatening pearly grey. Kate couldn't help thinking that it would have befitted the funeral better; but there was something comforting in the way nature wouldn't bend to the human will, and would remain an independent, unmanageable entity of its own.
When she parked the car, Castle seemed lost in thought, and she couldn't help wondering what was going through that mind of his. The old Kate would have dismissed the question on the grounds that it was none of her business (and that it either involved the CIA or a bunch of naked women), but now – well, she wouldn't have minded knowing. Wasn't enough to make her ask, though.
They got out of the car and walked side by side to the mansion, their hands brushing every couple of steps. In the end, Castle took hold of hers, and when Kate glanced sideways at him, his profile showed an attractive resolve. Holding back a smile, she closed her fingers on his. Subtle he was not.
But she was starting to think that she actually didn't mind.
Beckett was about to ring the bell when they heard voices arguing inside. Taking a step back, she saw that the kitchen's window was wide open; that was where the sounds came from. Castle shot her an interrogative look; she shrugged and stepped closer to the window.
Emily's voice reached them, loud and clear in its own shrill way.
"I can't believe this! She hasn't been there in ten years, isn't even one of us anymore – if she ever was – and you ask her to lunch? What is this, the return of the prodigal granddaughter? Her place is not –"
"Don't you dare tell me where her place is, Emily," came the cold, steady alto of Victoria. "Last time I checked, this was my house."
"You'll have to admit, it's not exactly fair," a man's voice intervened – George, Kate thought.
"Fair or not, deal with it, both of you. She is my granddaughter, too. And don't think I don't know why you two stick around. If it weren't for your hope that you'll get this house when I drop dead, I wouldn't be seeing such much of either of you now, would I? Kate may not have been here for a while, but at least she's always been honest about the way she felt about me."
The sound of decided footsteps followed that declaration, and Beckett and Castle each took a step back, even though there was no chance that the kitchen's occupants had seen them. They exchanged a look, horrified for Kate, and shocked for Rick. He was quicker to recover his balance, though, and humour shone in his blue eyes as he whispered comically, "Which way do you want to run?"
She swatted his arm lightly, but not before he had fulfilled his goal – she had smiled, however briefly.
"Don't tempt me," the dark-haired detective replied under her breath as she rang the bell.
Contrary to Kate's expectations, everything went surprisingly well for a while. Victoria greeted them, ushering them into the living room along with the rest of the family; and the short time waiting for Abby and Sheila to get there was spent in light conversation. Apparently, no matter what Emily's private thoughts were, she had decided on being good enough company not to mention them.
It was a little strange, but Kate had been taught not to look a gift horse in the mouth. The food was heavenly, of course, coming out of her grandmother's magical hands; and everybody ate in religious silence, except for Castle who expressed his awe with enough superlatives for Victoria's cheeks to tinge with the lightest blush (a very rare occurrence).
The writer was sitting next to Kate, with Teddy and Allison on the opposite side of the table. Abby, Margaret and Paul separated the detective from Emily and her husband, and Sheila was seated at the further end of the table. It was a clever arrangement; one Beckett had mentally thanked her grandmother for when she sat down. She was still holding her breath, but she was starting to think that maybe this lunch thing would end without a drop of blood being shed.
Of course, she should have known better.
At least Emily had the good taste to wait until the main course had been thoroughly enjoyed to make her move, sliding into the seat that Allison had just vacated to go check on Lucy. Putting on her most polished smile, she turned her cold blue eyes to Castle, and, not minding one bit that he had been talking to Teddy, she said, "So, I hear you're a writer. And a pretty famous one. I'm sorry I didn't know who you were before. I don't read much, and when I do it's not fiction."
Rick was pretty sure there was an insult hidden somewhere in there, but he didn't let it affect his reaction. He smiled pleasantly, said something about it being okay, and asked jokingly if she wanted an autograph.
"Oh, it's sweet of you to offer. I don't really need one, but maybe you should ask Kate if she does."
"I'm sorry?"
There was something malignant about the look she gave him, and Castle felt a mounting uneasiness as he glanced at his partner, instantly knowing something was wrong. Kate's mouth was a thin, tight line, and all colour had drained from her cheeks.
"You see," Emily went on gleefully, "after my husband told me you wrote novels, I thought the name Richard Castle sounded vaguely familiar. I just couldn't figure out where from."
From the corner of his eye, Rick saw Kate's hand clench on the fork she was holding. This was bad, and he couldn't understand how. He had to rely on the harpy's next words, and he hated every second of it.
"And then I remembered. And when I got here this morning, I went straight to the bookshelves to check. A Rose For Everafter is one of your first novels, I believe? And how many times did you read that summer, Kate? The summer after your mother's death, I mean. Five, six times? Maybe more."
Beckett was stock-still, her gaze firmly fixed to the white tablecloth, in complete denial. This could not be happening. Castle was not going to find out just how much his books meant to her in the worst possible way.
And yet he was, because there was no shutting up Emily, not when her own throat felt tight and swollen, not when she couldn't even organize the words in her head. She was painfully aware of the silence that surrounded them, leaving only the joyful babble coming from the children's table – everyone around them was listening in.
"So how did this happen, Kate? You got tired of the books and decided to go to the source itself, make sure you'd never run out of his words? Sent him a touching letter to explain how he had helped you, with a picture in case he was interested in a date?"
Kate couldn't determine which was worse; the sugary, laughing tone her cousin spoke in, or the actual meaning behind it.
"Or maybe it's just about the money? I'd get that, you know. No need to be shy about it."
The only reason why Castle had not yet interrupted the flow of poisonous words was the shock he felt. He had known for a while now that Beckett enjoyed his books, was "a fan" even, if you listened to Sorenson or to some of Lanie's veiled allusions. But this… This was about so much more than fandom. If it was true. Rick had absolutely no faith in the blue-eyed, sharp-tongued snake that sat in front of him.
"Kate?" he said quietly, wondering. Emily relished his uncertainty; she grasped eagerly at the power it gave her.
"Oh, she didn't tell you? I'm surprised. You made such a difference in her life…"
"Shut up."
It was Teddy, horror colliding with cold rage in his dark brown eyes. Kate pushed back her chair, stood up.
"Excuse me," she said in a toneless voice, completely unlike herself. And then she fled. There was no other name for it. She just fled. She couldn't picture another way out of this that wouldn't involve broken bones for Emily, and she didn't think her grandmother would enjoy that solution. Turning abruptly into the corridor, she heard the soft sounds of Lucy's baby talk, and went the opposite way. She needed to be alone.
Beckett went up the stairs, and without thinking, she rushed into the second room on her left. The bedroom she used to think of as hers.
It hadn't changed much; the single bed was still at the same place, the curtains still the same navy blue. The bookshelf was there, too. Kate immediately spotted the book Emily had found to confirm her theory.
Her original copy of A Rose For Everafter.
She reached for it with a shaking hand. That summer, when she had stormed out of her grandmother's house with no intention of ever coming back, she had left the book behind. She had been incredibly mad at herself when, once back in New York City, she had opened her bag and found it was missing (of course, she still had In A Hail Of Bullets and Death of A Prom Queen, but Castle's second book had always been one of her favourites).
Ultimately, she had just gone to the nearest bookstore and bought it back. That copy had gone off into flames the year before, along with most of her stuff; and it was a strangely pleasing sensation to know that the first Castle novel she had ever bought had been here in Whitesboro this whole time, safe.
Her hands ran over the hardback cover, and she pressed the book to her heart. Maybe having it back wasn't worth the whole drama downstairs, wasn't worth having almost every member of her family wondering if she was a crazy fan or just a gold-digger… But it made up for it a little.
Kate was level-headed enough to know Castle himself would never give credit to Emily's accusations. He knew her too well. He knew how adversary she had been to their partnership at first, knew how hard she had tried to keep him from learning exactly how big of a fan she was.
But she also knew that her cousin's assumptions were only the beginning. The press, Castle's fans – they would all think the same things. At least, they didn't know about the difference that the writer's novels had made in her life. Yet.
Beckett let herself sink to the floor and sighed. It just couldn't be simple, could it?
Richard Castle had never been quick to anger. When he was in high school, the only way he would ever get involved in a fight was because he talked too much; he had never been very good at holding that quick tongue of his.
But as he watched Kate storm out of the living room, her shoulders tense, her step quicker than usual, he felt an overwhelming need to get back at the woman who was responsible for his partner's reaction, a need to hurt, to cause pain, that surprised the hell out of him. He contained himself, of course, if only because he was surrounded by Kate's family and did not wish to cause any more of a crisis; and instead he smiled sweetly at Emily, a murderous glint in his eyes.
"Is that the best you've got?" He asked in a conversational tone. "'Cause I'm still convinced she's ten times the woman you are."
The woman's cheeks flushed crimson, and she opened her lips to make an angry answer. Castle was faster than she was.
"Oh, and last time I checked, wrath and envy were still deadly sins. Might want to work on that," he added cheerfully as he stood up to go after Beckett.
He met Victoria's eyes, and was surprised to catch a tiny smile playing on the woman's lips. She gave him an imperceptible nod that he took as permission to leave and answered with one of his own, and then he walked out.
Richard stepped into the corridor, and found himself at a loss where to go next. The line of closed doors offered a somewhat daunting prospect; and since the writer had been too busy to snoop, he only knew where two of them led – to the kitchen and the bathroom. His gaze rested on the staircase as he shifted from foot to foot, undecided.
It wasn't just about knowing where Kate had gone, if he was honest. Emily's words, malicious and untrue as they were, had hit a soft spot – a question he had no answer for. Why was Beckett with him at all?
She often made fun of his overinflated ego, but it wasn't that simple. As a writer, Rick was fairly confident in his own ability, even though the fear of a writer block such as the one he had been going through, when he had first set foot in the 12th, still lingered at the back of his mind. As a father, he'd had to learn everything from scratch, but his daughter regularly reminded him that he was doing okay, and he enjoyed every second of it. He knew he wasn't a bad son; and as a man Castle had never had any trouble getting people to like him – getting women to share their bed with him.
As a boyfriend, or as a husband… Ay, there was the rub. There lay the reason why he had stuck to one-night stands for a while after his second divorce, the reason why he was so reticent to let anyone outside his family circle see the "real" Richard Castle. He didn't seem to be much good at either of those things. And considering how big of a romantic he had always been (though he had gotten better at hiding it over the years), it was humiliating, at best.
But Kate… She was different. She made him believe – believe that he could do this, that he could be good enough for her, if he tried hard. She brought his inner romantic self back to life (he could almost hear her voice wondering if that really was a good thing, and found himself smiling in response).
Victoria's light step roused him from his thoughts. He turned to find her looking at him with an undecipherable face, but in the end the corners of her mouth went up as she nodded slightly towards the second floor.
"I think she's up there," she said, not bothering to mention names. "Second door on your left."
"Oh. Thank you," Castle replied, and he started towards the stairs.
"Mr. Castle," Kate's grandmother spoke again softly, and he stilled for a moment. "You had better take good care of her."
Rick's eyes met the woman's, and they exchanged a long, knowing look.
"I'll do my best," he answered seriously, but then his face slowly lit up as he added, "As long as she lets me."
His answer drew a chuckle from Victoria's lips, and they parted ways, pleased with each other.
The second door on the left was ajar, and Castle's breathing picked up. He had no idea what he was going to say to her; asking something like "So, did you start reading my books after your mom's murder?" seemed out of the question.
Too much thinking, Rick, he chided himself. Just get in there.
He pushed the door open, stepped inside, feeling awkward. It was a child's room, even though everything was neat and tidy – there were delicate, old-looking dolls sitting on a chest of drawers, and a box with the picture of a toy train on it occupied the lower shelf of an otherwise packed book-case.
Kate was on the floor with her back to the bed, hugging her knees to her chest. She looked up at him, eyes green and guarded, but not trying to avoid him, and suddenly there was no room for doubt inside him anymore.
He sat down next to her, and noticed that she was holding a worn copy of A Rose For Everafter. Well, at least she had not thrown the thing out of the window. He took it as a good sign. Stretching his legs with a complacent sigh, Rick made himself comfortable, and he waited for Beckett. When she was ready, she would talk.
She came around faster than he had anticipated. Her attention was still on the book in her lap, but she said in a low voice, "Are you mad?"
His silence compelled her to look at him; an eyebrow was arched over the familiar blue eyes, in an unvoiced question.
"Are you mad that I didn't tell you?" Kate asked again. "Or upset, or disappointed?"
"What am I supposed to do, check the appropriate box?"
A shadow of a smile played on her lips, but he didn't waste time providing her with a real answer.
"None of the above," he said reassuringly.
It was Beckett's turn to give him a questioning look. Castle smiled, and chose his words carefully.
"It would have made no sense for you to have told me about this when we met, because you were trying to keep me at arm's length then – and I'm not saying you were wrong, mind you. And once we got to know each other… It's hard to picture a situation in which you'd have felt free to tell me – to tell me what, exactly?"
He sounded almost shy, but the detective was glad for the chance to replace Emily's words with her own. She had to play with the cards she was dealt, hadn't she?
"To tell you that your books saved me," she replied, and she was proud that her voice didn't waver.
Maybe it was a simplistic way to put it – corny, even – but it didn't keep it from being true.
She could have sworn her partner stopped breathing for a second after that; but his gaze remained locked with hers, carrying more emotion than any speech could have.
"Ah," he said after a moment, in a husky voice, "As I said, it's hard to picture a situation where you'd tell me something like that."
"You mean, like right now?"
Rick grinned, but there was still this look on his face. A humbled look. She couldn't think of a better way to put it, not when her heart was busy tightening in response. She tentatively reached for his hand, and the writer finally gave up to his own need for contact, cradling her in his arms even as his back protested against the awkward position.
"I have a message for you," he whispered, enjoying the way the soft tendrils on her neck moved with every word he spoke.
"What message?" Kate asked, suspicious already.
Oh, he loved her so much.
"It's a message from Derrick Storm, and all the other characters from my books."
She smiled against his shoulder.
"I thought Storm was dead?"
"Ah, yes. But he is, uh, sending this message from the next world."
"From the next world, in the world of fiction? Jeez, he really is good."
"Of course he's good; I created him," Castle answered, sounding slightly indignant. "Now, do you want to hear the message or not?"
"Sorry. Go ahead."
"They're telling me to tell you that they're…honoured, if they've been able to help you in any way. And they also want to thank you for your attention. They want you to know how proud they are to have such a good and faithful reader."
"How do they know I'm a good reader?" Beckett asked playfully.
"They haven't heard of anything you're not good at yet."
The detective could think of a couple things, but she would rather have bitten her tongue than spoiled the moment.
"Well, isn't that nice of them."
"You think so, too?"
"It's too bad, though. I'd give them a thank you kiss, if they weren't fictional characters."
Richard suddenly drew back to meet her eyes, looking as eager as she had ever seen him. Kate sunk her teeth into her lower lip to keep herself from laughing.
"You can give it to me. I'll make sure to pass it on. Them on. I mean, you'd want to give a kiss to each of them, right?"
She made a show of her uncertainty, chewing on her lip and relishing the way his eyes darkened as she did so.
"I don't know, I don't want the message to get lost or something."
"You can trust me," he assured, nodding so vigorously that Beckett feared he would hurt his neck. "I'm very reliable."
This time, she allowed a chuckle to break free.
"Well, in that case…"
His lips were on hers before she could say any more, and Kate poured her heart into the kiss – after all, it was very important for Derrick Storm and the rest of the characters to know just how much they meant to her.