A Different Kind of Hump Day
When he makes a quip to her in the morning, telling her he's staying in bed. He'll work for a while then call later, see if she's free for lunch, telling her it is after all 'Hump day' and she just smiles, kissing him goodbye before slipping from the bed, headed to work. She calls not even half an hour after he hears her leave the apartment.
She'd quipped to him, her voice echoing through the phone, like she's got it on speaker phone as she says it doesn't look like they'll be so lucky. She gives him the option to stay home and work, he immediately refuses, telling her he'll catch a cab to the scene, meet her there so she didn't have to double back. She informs him she is almost there, three sets of lights and she will be downstairs, he has five minutes, not to bother with coffee, she's got it covered.
They'd studied the scene, canvassed the surrounding apartments, tag-teaming with Esposito and Ryan as they worked their way through the neighbours, scoping out the life of their victim, piecing together what they could from inattentive New York neighbours. Hopefully the boyfriend who was becoming the only common thread to these interviews could shed some light, once of course they tracked him down.
Then just as they had their leads, the right path to take, ready to head back to the precinct and dredge through the victim's life and put it all together, they got another call from dispatch. Another body had dropped, apparently along with several others, stretching resources thin. Esposito and Ryan were being called off to run their own investigation, the Captain assuring Beckett if she needs the help she herself has some time, the implication clear that Castle still isn't considered a serious investigator, but how much time will the Captain actually offer? A significant amount is doubtful, the woman has her own responsibilities, a whole department of detectives to manage. A twinge of anger seeps through Kate, how long he will have to prove himself to this Captain, it has been long enough already she thought they'd gotten somewhere, apparently not. She passed on the information to Castle, saw the wicked grin cross his face, the last time this had happened they had placed a bet. She just shook her head at him, she didn't need to speak, and she knows he will know her meaning. No bets. Not this time.
The lack of skilled hands to make phone calls, people to fetch files from the records room, pull information up on the computer and consult with the tech team means everything is falling on Kate. She doesn't resent Castle for it, but the fact he isn't a cop, that Gates hasn't and can't give him the authority to pull files from records and type warrants out frustrates her. He has been here longer than the Captain herself, with Montgomery the others knew if Castle came down with a note from her it would not be held against them, with Gates it would be like tying the noose around their own neck. The fact he can't even make phone calls, make enquires and check alibis or corroborate witness statements due to his 'consultant' title sounded redundant and false without the support of her Detective's shield and holster placed squarely on her hip. He is limited to reading the information that is continually being dumped on her desk, the pile in front of him forming a definite barrier between them, but at least he can be useful. She just feels like a manager, like she has these ideas about where to look, but is so busy orchestrating the process that she never gets time to help him actually look. She doesn't doubt that he won't miss something, but she would still feel better doing it herself.
Their process is much slower, even though she has uniforms fumbling under her feet, answering her every beck and call, they just aren't the same, they aren't her team. With them she has to take the time to explain exactly what she needs them to find, where to find it and how to do it. She is also having to continually sprout the name of the victim, the date of her death, the approximate time, the specific details that should have become second nature to the team. But she doesn't have a team this time, just her partner, although, at the moment he is proving to be a one-man force. She is too distracted to thank him, she'll do it later, when they're alone, right now she has several tasks she has to attend to, and several fresh faces are approaching her, eager to help.
Castle senses the frustration, it is basically seeping out of her so he couldn't miss it if he tried, so he keeps her coffee mug full in front of her. probably not the best idea in terms of stimulating her already wired body, keeping her on alert and tense won't change her outward attitude, but it does mentally reassure her, focus her and show her he has noticed. That he is here, trying to help, paying attention.
When Castle returns with the cup of coffee just after what should be lunch, he notes she is engaged with a particularly fresh looking uniform who is asks her to explain, for what is apparently the third time, how to get to a particular storage room so he can fetch a piece of information which will likely end up being useless, just like all the other things they've looked at this morning. So he steps in, takes over before she says something in frustration she will regret later. He explains to the young man where the room is, and Kate touches his hand once the young officer has hurried off, lingering as she takes the coffee from him. Castle appreciates the small thanks, and notes that he gets the sense from the uniform that the consultant knows where it is, so he damn well should too. It makes her smile as she gulps down the hot beverage, but she doesn't say anything, just skims over a report.
He takes her lead, picking up a small stack of papers and placing them in front of him, settling forward to read, his weight pressed against the table. His back always protests when he reclines in the rickety chair too long, but he won't complain, not today.
She brushes her knuckles against her forearm while he leans on the desk, arms folded studying her now she's broken his focus. He watches as she sighs, runs a hand over her face, then back through her hair, tangling it between her fingers, forcing past the knots he can see form. A sure sign she is stressed, frustrated with their lack of direction. Then her phone rings, Lanie has an update for them.
Their day hasn't improved. Hours spent digging, interviewing potential suspects, everyone having an alibi and the right answers to their questions. She's been staring at the board for an hour, tossing theories over her shoulder at him. But when she starts pacing after fifteen minutes of silence, tapping the marker to her chin, an arm wrapped around her waist, hugging herself in an attempt to maintain composure, navigating her way through the empty bullpen, twisting her way past desks and chairs, all abandoned haphazardly in an attempt to get home a little sooner, he realises it is time to shuttle her home. A glance at the clock confirms it, lucky his daughter doesn't mind late dinners. She has assured him on more than one occasion it gives her a chance to settle in and complete most of her school-work before they arrive.
He doesn't give Kate the option today, slipping his jacket on as she paces, marker pressed to her chin. It is only when he touches her shoulder, arms outstretched, extending her jacket to her in silent command that she stops, lets him slip the heavy thing over her shoulders. Wordlessly, she locks the files away in her drawer, turns off her computer and grabs her keys, stuffing them deep into her pocket before she grabs his hand, twisting his fingers through hers as she tugs him toward the elevator. She moves a little quicker once she takes a hesitant glance at the clock, offering him an apologetic smile at the late hour.
When he ushers her though the door, taking her coat and gesturing she kick off her boots, he kisses her gently tells her to shower and he'll cook them dinner. He had called ahead, asked Alexis to start the process, take the lasagne from the fridge and preheat the oven, to make it easier on all of them. Lucky he'd been preparing to cook it anyway, otherwise it would be frozen solid. If they hadn't been eating nine out of ten meals as take-out recently he probably would have just picked something up, but this is just as simple, just as quick and makes him feel like he isn't neglecting to take care of them.
Alexis and her dad work silently side-by-side cutting vegetables and grating some cheese until she breaks the silence. "What are you guys working on that held you so late? Some dirt-bag who wouldn't crack so Kate made him sit on it and fester before she went in and tore him a new one?" she asks playfully, adding the teasing tone to ease her father's worry. She is sure Kate would do something like that and has no doubt it will have occurred on more than one occasion in the past. One day she might ask to come and see for herself, sure she's read the books, read how her father describes it. but that is his perspective, always clouded by his feelings. Alexis could probably learn a thing or two on how to handle men by watching an interrogation, she has certainly watched Kate manipulate her dad on several occasions, make him admit something, trapping him in lies.
"Just a woman found murdered, no one can offer us anything much. She doesn't seem to have had many friends, her boyfriend is overseas backpacking, virtually unreachable, her family live across the country so we had to call to break the news. It is just a slow case, but we'll catch the guy. Someone had to see something, right?" He brushes over the details, the vague idea of things.
The questions she proceeds to ask are as intent and insightful as they usually are. He isn't sure where she learnt to think the way she does, especially about murder. Maybe she has been reading his own books from too young an age.
Her questions and his answers sadly do not spark something in him, do not trigger a connection between two seemingly non-crucial pieces of evidence. It would be much simpler if it had. Now he has to ensure his partner sleeps, switches off and relaxes for a few hours, giving her brain and body a break. He knows she would write the murder board across the walls of his loft if he were to let her, especially seeing as they have spent so long digging and found so little of use.
Alexis' phone rings, and he waves her away, content to finish the last of the salad and consider the case for a few minutes before Kate returns and needs distracting. Before she goes he suggests softly for her to go easy on Kate tonight, give her some space if she wants it.
Alexis nods, gives him half a smile before dashing off to answer her phone.
He finishes the salad within a minute of her departure, rinses the chopping board and the knife and slots them into the dishwasher before turning his attention to the oven. He watches as the cheese bubbles on the edges of the dish, not long to go now. He's thankful, his stomach is flipping, demanding to be filled, so he leans over the island, silencing the offending organ with the pressure, resting his head on his fist, his elbows on the counter as he considers the bubbles.
Two small hands touch his hips, sliding up around his waist before meeting over his ribs, her weight pressed against his legs and his back, her nose skitting over the material between his shoulder blades, a shiver sliding down his spine, completely involuntary, as the material grazes his skin with the faintest touch. He gives her a minute to press against him before he slides his arms along her forearms, loosening her grip so he can turn in her arms.
When he spins, he brings her forward so her knees are wedged between his own as he reclines against the counter, their height almost even due to his angled hips so he can kiss her, slide his arms around her and enjoy the feeling of her pressed against his chest. Hair still damp from the shower, the scent of the shampoo filling the room, assaulting his sense just like her still warm body, the heat of her shower still radiating from her skin. A shower does her wonders, not that she was even remotely grimy, filthy or in any way dirty before it, but it has given her a new shine, a fresh glow, a new mindset. That or maybe she has had a realisation about the case, he can only hope, they need someone to go. Though that would mean forgoing the evening with his daughter to head back to the precinct to chase it down, persue this fresh line of inquiry, their only current –
"Watching it won't make it cook faster?" she says softly, a soft chuckle stemming from the back of her throat as she refers to his previous position perched against the counter his focus solely on the contents of the oven, or so it seemed.
He hums agreement. "If only it did," he says, throwing a longing gaze at the closed oven, the heat turned up the to uppermost setting the recipe recommended, in an attempt to speed the process, although now he has to keep watch, ensure it doesn't burn.
She kisses the side of his face, while he's not expecting, gets a squeeze against her hips in response as he draws her closer, holding her against him while he studied the browning of the cheese at the edges, not quite ready. But so close it is too much to watch.
"You're very happy this evening," he teases softly, but he is serious as he turns back to meet her eyes watching her smile and the gleam in her eyes. It is as though she walked through the door, stripped off the day along with her clothes, scrubbed herself clean in the shower and then found a whole new outlook when she redressed. It had been what he had hoped for, but it isn't always what happens, especially after a day like today. It is amazing how she does it, completely compartmentalises and leaves work at work. He knows it is on the back of her mind, when there is nothing to do or when they watch a movie it often shifts to the forefront, clouding her vision. But she doesn't let on like she used to, she doesn't often stop him to discuss it. At least until they are in the confines of his bedroom, away from Alexis, that she brings it up. Although even that has dwindled lately, their pillow talk has changed too. Everything has changed since this began, except work, which has remained untouched.
He sees her contemplate it, like she isn't even aware of this change in herself. He sees the moment she realises she probably hasn't thought of the case since they've been home, until he's bringing it up now. "I guess so," she says softly, shrugging. She kisses him again, stealing his attention again in a way only she can. When she pulls back she rests her cheek on his shoulder for a minute.
"Thank you," she mutters after a moment, when he's checking the oven again.
He flicks his head back to her, chin brushing her scalp as he redirects at the last second, preventing a head butt and resting it atop her head. "You do not have to thank me," he mutters. "I'm your partner it is my job to look out for you," he assures. "Even if today that was limited to preventing you terrorizing the uniforms."
She shudders against his chest, giving what he can only assume is an almost silent chuckle in response, because her chest is shifting too and she isn't letting him go, she's pulling herself tighter against him.
The shudders stop. "I know and I'm sorry. But thank you. I forget sometimes how much I rely on the guys, how they know what I'm thinking before I can even say it sometimes." She doesn't say it, he doesn't need her to. They both know how he had assumed the role of sifting through the reports, giving her what was important while she did her own share of the work. He isn't going to point out he does this most cases, she already knows that. But this time acknowledging him with a small thanks, he knows, is her way of saying she wouldn't have been able to do it without him.
He kisses her softly and doesn't say a word, just hopes she can see it on his face, his understanding.
Before either of them can say anything else they both hear Alexis coming downstairs. Obviously her phone call has wrapped up or she feels dinner should be ready.
"Hey," she greets his partner, still wrapped in his arms, except now moving away from him, headed to his daughter. "Almost done?" she asks them both, probably unsure who is even watching the food.
"Your dad is just about it get it out of the oven," she says gently, starting with her eyes fixed on Alexis answering the question, but the final portion of the sentence an instruction. Apparently she has been paying as much attention to their food as he has, if not more, always attentive and alert.
He's quiet through dinner, just watching as they smile and laugh as Alexis explains her day, tells them her friends keep trying to get her to go to some house party tomorrow. That snaps him back.
"You should go, have some fun. I'll come and get you about-" he stops short.
The curious look his partner is giving him as she glances between his horrified daughter and himself, makes him realise. "Okay then," he hedges, hesitant. "You're not allowed to go out on a school night?" he offers, almost hopeful. He knows she takes her self parenting serious, but it is a Thursday night and he had been about to suggest he would pick her up at ten. No later than if she had gone to a movie.
Kate watches the exchange, smirking again as Alexis gives a sigh of feigned resignation. "Thanks dad, though now I have to tell Paige."
He chuckles, he has overheard many of those conversations. He should worry that she doesn't rebel against him, press him for the chance to go out with her friends and do crazy things, create herself some inappropriate stories. But he's glad she is her own person, she sure isn't like him or her mother, or even his mother. He has given up wondering where her responsibility comes from.
"Tell her you need to get that essay done, that we have plans for the weekend," Kate offers, before continuing on with her dinner taking another mouthful.
Alexis looks thoughtful, considering. "You know that isn't such a bad idea. She'll still tell me to do it on Monday night, but she knows I'm not someone who does everything last minute." She smiles at Kate, her fork touched to her lips. "Thanks, it might actually work."
He watches them exchange another look, each unable to contain soft smiles before busying themselves with their dinner. He can't help but smile himself before moving to finish his own plate. Thankful to his partner and his daughter, he isn't exactly sure why. It has as much to do with them being there with him as it does involve anything they've done recently, except be themselves.