promises in pencil

There's an endless bounce to his step after that evening.

He dreams of her lips and her soft skin and her smile and then he wakes up in the morning with hope that maybe this had been the right decision all along.

His mother watches him in amusement that next day, as she sits at the kitchen counter, nursing a coffee after her own evening out. For once he doesn't care – let her see, let them all see. This is what Kate Beckett does to him. It's not all sadness and murder and drowning his sorrows in alcohol.

Castle whistles as he pulls ingredients from the fridge, piling them beside the pan as he prepares to make his infamous smorelette.

"Oh, darling," Martha winces, placing a hand to her head. "That incessant whistling is driving me to an early grave."

He laughs, taking her now cold coffee from her hands and dumps it in the sink, preparing to make her a new one.

"You still don't know your drink limits, mother?"

She glares at him. "You know I do, Richard."

The coffee machine splutters to life and he raises his eyebrows at her. "Right."

Martha sighs exasperatedly at his teasing, to which he only laughs delightedly. Once he's finished making her a fresh, warm coffee, he places it in front of her, thinking about the coffee shop he visits with Kate, the warm liquid she clings to that has brought them here, that has led to his whistling and his delight and the memory of her lips sliding over his, replaying again and again in his memory.

"So," Martha says, hands curling around her coffee. "Your date went well, I assume."

He grins, switching the hob on. "Great. Better than I could have expected, actually, mother."

"And you're sure she's still what you want?"

A defensive retort dies on his lips when she slides her hand on top of his, smiling supportively. Oh. His mother. How she's never judged. Has only wanted the best for him. He's lucky – so lucky – to have his family, he knows that, remembers what happens to those like Kate who become too lost and grow too alone when there's no-one around to save her.

"Yes, mother," he answers simply, "she's always what I'll want. Just her."

Martha smiles, draws her hand away from his and sips on her coffee.

"So," she smiles around the rim of the cup, "when do I get to meet her?"

Castle splutters, slipping in surprise and burning himself on the pan. As he yelps in a mixture of surprise and pain, his mother laughs beside him, leaning over to turn to the tap on for him. He immediately sticks his finger under the cold water, sighing in relief even as he attempts to glare at her.

"You," he says, "are not going to meet her. Not yet."

"Oh, that's not fair. You know her father."

"That's different." He argues.

"Is it?" Martha asks, raising her eyebrows. "He's still her parent."

"Become an alcoholic, let me be locked up in a psychiatric ward and you and Kate can bond then."

Martha tuts at him, then switches the tap off. "Stop being such a baby," she says, waving her hands at the red welt on his finger. "Come on, kiddo, I'm curious about her. I was there at her trial for you, surely I can meet her now that you two are – dating?"

"No, absolutely not," he argues. "You'll scare her off."

Martha scoffs. "Richard, honestly. You're being dramatic."

"Me? You are – "

Martha cuts him off, laughing. "Relax, kiddo. If it means that much to you, I won't push."

Castle grows quiet, looking away from his mother and her kind eyes and down at the ebbing red welt on his finger. His heart aches to introduce Kate to his family, the way he would if they were in any other situation. He envisions meals with the four of them, bonding with his daughter and joking with his mother. He imagines the warm ambience there would've been, the wine that passed between them and made her smiles dopey, her affection for him undisguised. But that's another life, and they don't live there. He doesn't know if Alexis would even be willing to meet Kate. If Kate would be too afraid to meet his mother.

He sighs, looking back up at his mother. "You'd love her, you know."

"Would I?"

"Yeah, she's – funny, and beautiful, and smart. Outwits me half the time and doesn't mind knocking my ego down a few notches," he tells her.

Smiling, his mother replies, "She sounds wonderful, Richard."

"Yeah, she is," he echoes softly. "One day, mother. If it all works out – I'll invite her round for dinner. I want you to meet her. I do."

Martha takes his hand again, squeezes it. "I'd love to meet her too, Richard."

"Do you think I've made a mistake?"

Her therapist, Doctor Alex Corday, remains completely indifferent in expression when Kate first speaks in their session together that week. Kate has no idea how Corday always manages to act so neutral, so free of emotion, when it is emotion that ravages through Kate every day and every night, that clouds her decisions as well as clarifies them completely.

"You told me you didn't regret going on a date with him, Kate," Corday says lightly.

"I didn't. Don't," she grits out. "But for him, I mean. Do you think I'm ruining him by doing this?"

Doctor Corday sets her pen down on Kate's file that sits in her lap. Kate can't help the way she observes her – kind of hates her sometimes, how impassive she can be. Burke had been warm and understanding and she had felt safe, and trusted him when he'd been her therapist. Corday is a complete contrast; her office, too, stark black and white colours as though the world is that easy, when Burke's had been warm brown and cream and open windows. Corday's office is too claustrophobic and plain, suffocates her as words spill from her.

Yeah, she misses Burke as her therapist. But he was that hospital's therapist, not hers, so she'd been referred to Corday – it'd been part of the agreement when they'd freed her once Burke had appealed her case for her. Once a week sessions with a therapist to monitor her progress. She hadn't argued with it, too afraid they would lock her up again.

"Well, does it seem like you're ruining him?"

Kate sets her jaw, counts down from ten in her head.

"He seems happy."

"Then," Corday says, "does that mean it was a mistake?"

Kate sighs, rests her cheeks on her knees as she draws her legs up on the leather couch she sits on. The couch is a little too hard – too new and unused – to be comfortable, but she attempts to make the best of it anyway.

"No. Never."

Corday smiles, and Kate tries not to let the shock show, because she's been out for one year and four months and not once has she ever seen Corday smile – at least, not at her. She'd always had the impression that Corday didn't even like her.

The woman pushes one of her blonde curls behind her ear, that smile still on her face.

"You're making great progress, Kate," she tells her warmly, and it's the first shred of emotion Kate's ever heard from her. "Really great progress."

Kate blushes. "Thank you."

"So," Corday says, and the neutrality is back in her voice, "how do you feel about this situation with Castle? Before, you've expressed some guilt over the matter."

Kate purses her lips, picks at a loose thread on her jeans. "Happy," she mumbles. "I mean, there's always gonna be some sense of guilt. I know that. I can't help that. But I'm – happy. He makes me happy."

"The guilt you feel, what is over? Feeling happy or being with Castle?"

Kate smirks. "That a trick question?"

"Sorry, allow me to rephrase that," Corday says, red nails tapping against Kate's file. "What do you feel is the main source of your guilt?"

"I used to think it was over both of those things. Feeling happy – especially around Castle. I don't think it's that anymore. I feel guilty that I get this life; there are so many that don't. Those I murdered don't have a life at all. There are so many kids out there that don't want a life, so many starving and so many suffering," Kate laments, mind drifting to her past. "When I was a cop, I saw so many people do bad things and justify it with bullshit, just like I did. It's hard not give up on humanity, you know? But then I did give up on humanity, and I did do bad things, and I've done my time and I'm still suffering but… but I have Castle, and I'm happy sometimes – What did I do to deserve that? What did I do that others didn't?"

Corday nods when Kate finishes her rant, face flushed and slightly breathless.

"Kate," Corday says neutrally, "it's natural to feel this way. Much as we like to pretend there is, equality does not exist. Just because someone is a good person, it does not mean that they'll receive good things; likewise, a bad person may not be treated badly through their lives. But we must accept what we have, and enjoy it as much as we can."

"I know," Kate sighs, running a hand through her hair. "It's just – hard. All the time."

Corday nods again. "That's why I'm here. To try and make it easier."

Crap. He is way too deep. She has him hook, line and sinker.

Not that he would ever have it any other way.

The midday sun spills through the windows and sets her aglow in their coffee shop, cheeks rosy and eyes bright as she laughs after ribbing him. Her hair is curly today, loose and natural, and they bounce with every shake of her shoulders, capture the sunlight that she doesn't know she contains.

He is way too in love with Katherine Beckett. And he's never going to wish he wasn't ever again.

Kate takes a sip of her coffee once her laughter ebbs away, and then their fingers brush when they both reach to break off a piece of the muffin they're sharing. She bites her lower lip shyly – so adorable – and then curls her hand around his, unhesitant in her movements. Shit. Yeah. He's absolutely in love with her, and he is not ashamed.

It's been four days since their date and he couldn't wait another day to see her. He would've seen her again the next day, but he had been afraid that he'd scare her away with how attached he was to her, so he let it go.

But her affectionate touches and glances have been greater in number than ever before, so he thinks she missed him a lot more than she'll admit.

"So," she says, thumb brushing over his knuckles, "how's writing going?"

"A couple chapters ahead of schedule, actually."

Kate raises her eyebrows. "Who are you and what have you done with Richard Castle?"

"Ha, funny," he says while glaring, to which she pokes her tongue out at him. "Actually, I've found that I'm rather… inspired, lately."

He sees the moment that it clicks in Kate's mind, because her eyes change from interested to teasing. Kate leans forward, curls brushing around her face as she looks up at him through her eyelashes, coy and so unfairly beautiful.

"Oh?" Her voice is rich and deep and sensual. He thinks he's going to explode. "Inspired, huh?"

Castle groans, and then she slips back into her chair laughing, delightful.

"That was mean," he complains.

Kate finally grabs a piece of the muffin and pops it into her mouth, shrugging casually. "I dunno, it was pretty funny from where I'm standing."

He shoots her a look to which she only smirks, and then rubs his sweaty hands on his jeans, throat suddenly dry.

"My mother wants to meet you," he blurts out.

The playful demeanour Kate had adopted drops, the smile disappearing with it too. Solemnity creeps its way onto her face as her hands drop down to the table, palms flat, shaking minutely. A crease forms between her eyebrows as she struggles not to frown, swallows heavily against the emotion clogging the throat.

"Not now," he says. "I'm not pressuring you. But, someday, she'd like it. And… and I'd like for you to meet her, too."

Kate looks up at him, shy. "And your daughter?"

Something settles in his chest that feels comfortable and warm.

"And Alexis."

Kate nods, taking a deep breath before she smiles. It's only a half-smile and it doesn't quite reach her eyes, but it's enough.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah. Someday."

This time, when he smiles at her, she smiles back for real.

Soon after they gather their things, exiting the coffee shop onto the busy sidewalk and he offers to walk with her to her apartment – which he now knows is only a few blocks from the place – but she tells him she's going to visit her dad. He squeezes her hand, goodbye on his tongue, when she rolls her eyes.

"What?"

She huffs, and then tugs on the lapel of his jacket, pulling him down to her at the same time she rises on her toes.

Oh. Right. Okay.

They're – He's allowed to do this? Wow. Okay. He's not complaining.

His hands settle on her waist as she rises higher, presses herself closer as both of her hands wind around his neck. Her kisses grow deeper as her hips bump against his, and he is so lost in her; lost in Kate Beckett and the wet heat of her mouth as she makes him melt in ways that are probably not appropriate for the busy Manhattan sidewalk

Kate chuckles as his fingers dig tightly in her waist, pulling away from him slightly to look up at him. She looks – blissful. Happy. She hasn't in a long time.

"See you tomorrow, Castle," she murmurs, and then quickly darts in for one final slide of her lips against his.

He groans into the kiss and she pulls away for the final time, stepping out of the circle of his arms, tongue caught between her teeth. God. She is so beautiful. He can't handle it.

"Tomorrow."

She turns, and the red flash of a car illuminated by the sun reminds him of blood, of death – but then he looks at her, and she's looking over her shoulder at him, and the rest fades to dust.

The next morning he's woken with ice cold water.

"Agh!"

He flies up, eyes wide and alert and misjudges the tangle of his sheets and ends up falling out of bed and onto the floor.

Somehow, he thinks he hears someone tut.

Groaning, he rolls onto his back to see his agent, Paula, standing over him, a newspaper in hand and a frown matching the angry purse of her lips. Crap. He has no idea what he's done, but it must be bad.

"Paula? How did you get in here?"

"Your mother opened the door, since you couldn't be bothered to get your lazy ass out of bed," she snaps, and he glances at his clock as he climbs up from his position on the floor to find that it's 10am. Great. He has an hour to get Paula out of this house and get ready for coffee with Kate.

He heaves a sigh, avoiding the wet patch of his bed when he sits back down. "And to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Paula glares at him and he shrinks. And then she's slapping a newspaper into his wet palms, pointing with one red fingernail at the photo on the front page.

"You can explain to me what the Hell this is."

The photo.

It's of him and Kate.

TBC