Ghost on the Canvas
by Sandiane Carter and chezchuckles
She glances at the alarm clock again but it's only seven-twenty now and that's still not long enough. This is Saturday, and she's been kicked off this case (which she honestly won't be able to abide for long), and she doesn't want to let Castle think he got to her.
He did though. Of course he did. But still.
She'll sleep until 8:30 at least and then get up and start breakfast.
Kate Beckett rolls onto her right side and tries to get comfortable. She chews on her bottom lip, closes her eyes, tries to relax. She wants to make Castle a little nuts with waiting.
He is going to wait, isn't he?
He better wait.
She wants to make him omelettes; she sort of feels like she has something to prove after last night's dinner conversation. Kate's the one who sat at a bar stool in the kitchen while her mom made them Sunday brunch, she's the sister who learned her mother's secrets.
She just doesn't usually have time.
But Castle made her breakfast. It's her turn. And hopefully they'll get a chance to linger over breakfast, wake up with good coffee, share a meal without a body dropping in their laps. She won't let her brain carry that fantasy any further, though. Just this unresolved thing, a kiss in the dark, a kiss in the light, has too many unknowns.
She chews on her bottom lip and winces at the sting. Feels like she's chewed it raw. Kate sighs and turns over in bed again, still weary, still worn out, but her mind buzzing. All because of Castle.
She could kill that man, sneaking in here and waking her up with that creepy staring. If she wasn't the target of a crazy killer, that might not have woken her in the past. She was awakened, and she tried to be fierce, but Castle can't leave things alone.
He kissed her. (Again! some part of her mind supplies.) Chaste, simple, sweet really. Sweet?
Kate groans and sits up, drawing her knees to her chest and burying her head in her hands. Ridiculous. She is being so completely ridiculous.
She gets up and heads into the bathroom, runs the water to splash her face, but a sense of deja vu washes over her instead. Castle drives her to this, sleepless nights and fruitless daydreams.
She stands before the mirror, again looking at her own face, judging the lines, the dark circles under her eyes. She's in control of this; she needs to be in control of this. It will ruin everything if she isn't in control. A truly deranged serial killer has focused his sights on her, Kate Beckett, and if she lets a little something like the flutter in her chest distract her, it could be the end of things. Not just this. . .thing with Castle, but everything. Her life. His life.
She can't afford it. Not right now.
Kate closes her eyes and listens to her body, willing her neck to relax, her shoulders to ease, her stomach to settle down. She breathes in and slowly breathes out, counting to herself. After a moment, the weariness hits her so hard she sways on her feet, her head swimming.
Now that she's listening, she knows she's been run ragged for the last two days. She needs sleep before she needs to be flittering around like a Castle fan-girl with a crush.
Kate turns off the bathroom light and crawls back into bed; she's asleep before she can give it another thought.
The moment he hears Kate in the kitchen, he sits up, his heart pounding. He wants to run out of his room and watch, but she gave him explicit instructions to steer clear. She's making breakfast; he can hear her opening cupboards and getting stuff out of the fridge.
If she makes him breakfast, is she also going to serve it to him in bed? Because that would be excellent. At the same time, he might not live through an encounter like that.
He can't stay in bed while she's out there, just listening to her crack eggs. Yeah, those were eggs against the side of the pan. And then. . .hm, he's not sure. A little bit of silence and then one of his spoons stirring the bottom of the pan. Scrambled eggs? He wonders what she puts in them, salt and milk and butter and pepper? Or something exotic. Bell peppers?
He's working himself into a fit like this, sitting in bed with his ears perked up like an anxious guard dog. Castle slides softly out of bed and stands up, holding his breath as he listens.
Kate doesn't have to know, right? He can be back in bed before she comes in-
If she comes in. She might not. Well, she would *have* to come in and wake him up for breakfast, wouldn't she? And oh, that's exciting. That's terribly exciting. Castle's writer's mind comes up with scenario after scenario of just how exciting that wake-up can be.
He runs a hand through his hair and pads softly to the door, the frantic pulse at his throat practically choking him. He needs to get a handle on this, he really does, because he can't possibly be doing himself any favors getting worked up over breakfast, and at the same time, Kate is sure to take one look at his eagerness and change her mind.
Calm down, Rick.
He's learned the art of patience in these last few years with Beckett, studied it like an apprentice longing to be a master craftsman. He presses his forehead against his bedroom door and closes his eyes, listens to the rush of blood in his head.
His blood is singing KateKateKate.
But he can do this. He can keep it together. He's done it before.
Rick straightens up, takes another deep breath, but that's not helping. It only gives more oxygen to his stupidly singing blood, provides his brain with an almost white noise of need, swirling and murmuring around in his head.
He feels, slightly, like a man being driven insane. This won't do.
Rick drops to his floor and starts doing push-ups, channels all that super-charged blood into a worthwhile activity. He counts as his shoulders flex, as his palms press against the floor, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, a steady climb upwards into sanity.
At twenty, he still feels like he just started, like the skittering feet of arousal are still dancing in his guts. At thirty, his brain starts to notice the bunching of muscle across his back, the hard edge of his abdominals as they lock his spine tightly into place, wondering how her hands would feel there. At forty, he has the beginnings of sweat opening his pores, the trickle at the small of his back, and the sense, vague and highly erotic, of Kate just beyond the door.
At fifty push-ups, he is studying the pattern of the area rug for imperfections, assaulted by the impressions of skin and warmth from last night. At sixty, his body asserts itself viciously, the joints of his elbows seem to splinter, the rotator cuff injury from high school football sends out pings of awakening awareness, and the cords of muscle in his back quiver.
Seventy push-ups is a gasping number past his lips and the promise that Kate deserves more than a meager, low-scoring bout of physical exertion. Eighty push-ups finds his arms trembling, his back flinching in protest, and his toes digging painfully into the floor to keep him up.
He shoots for one hundred because he needs Kate, and push-ups will just have to suffice.
Somewhere in the pitiful, last-gasp dregs of the nineties, when he isn't sure whether he's on 96 or 97, when his shoulders have scraped bone instead of cartilage, he hears the front door open and close.
He falls onto his face, panting, trying to gather his wits as he listens.
Drat. His mother.
Castle hops up, runs a shaking hand down his face. He heads into his bathroom, glances at his reflection just to make sure, and starts for the door. His chest aches, physical not mental, and his hands are damp with sweat.
When he reaches the living room, his mother is standing in front of the kitchen island, watching Kate. And damn, Kate looks good in his kitchen.
Is that sexist?
". . .dropping by unannounced," Martha finishes up.
It smells heavenly. Breakfast cooking, one he has had no part in, and Kate standing in his kitchen. The only thing to mar the feeling swelling in his chest is that frayed, white gauze around her forearm. A reminder of what they're in the middle of.
"I just woke up," he insists when her eyes meet his. "And literally smelled the coffee, ooh, and the bacon-" He stops at the counter, taking in Kate's messy hair, still-sleepy eyes.
He turns to his mother. "Dropping by to return your key?"
"Very funny, very funny. No, I am looking for my aqua gloves because these clash."
Castle chuckles and leans in to kiss his mother as she presents her cheek, then uses the opportunity to dive for a piece of bacon. He reaches across the counter, only to have Kate slap his hand with the spatula. Their eyes meet, and he's not alone in this, not at all. She's got her lower lip between her teeth and that look in her eye. It burns between them, hot and steady. And in front of his mother.
"Well, she cooks," his mother says, giving him the thumbs-up seal of approval.
Okay, so even his mother has noticed this between him and Kate.
He glances back to the woman who does cook, and looks so good doing it, and he can see the near-blush on her cheeks. His mother's comment hit a mark.
"Actually my mom was an amazing cook." Kate dishes up strawberries and sets them on the breakfast counter, along with omelettes that smell so good, it gives his stomach fits. Then toast. The plates are set, the juice glasses out. "She used to make us Sunday brunch. And I would get the choice between pancakes, omelettes, waffles. . ."
For a second, there's the flicker of sorrow across her eyes, and he doesn't want that, not today, on their morning.
"Wow, that's funny," he starts. "Every Sunday my mom would have me make her an ice pack and a Bloody Mary." He grins at Kate, wriggling his eyebrows, and Kate's eyes warm, her lips curling into a disbelieving smile.
He glances back to his mother with that same wide smile, pleased with himself. Martha narrows her eyes at him, slaps his shoulder with her gloves. "Mm, don't listen to him." She turns as Castle hears footsteps on the stairs. "That only happened. . .twice. Tops!"
"Gram!"
"That's my girl!" Martha opens her arms to Alexis at the bottom of the stairs. "I missed you."
"Missed you too."
As they hug on each other, Castle rolls his eyes and leans against the counter, watching Kate as she watches them. She's got a hand on her hip, her eyes are happy. It's been awhile since he's seen her this happy. The red shirt drapes appealingly from her shoulders. "You'd think it was months," he hisses. "It's been a day."
That smile stretches wider, her eyes just so beautiful, and then her phone rings. She turns and takes it out with an 'excuse me' on her lips. Castle touches the too-hot omelette, snags it with his fingers, and tilts his head back, the egg dangling from his fingers. Baby bird style.
He blows on it, drops it into his mouth. "Hot, hot, hot." His tongue is scalded; he fans his mouth and holds it open, trying to cool off his bite. Kate is turning around to look at him, the phone in her fist, her eyes-
Her eyes dark and still. He pauses, watching her, flickers back to awareness at the burn in his mouth.
Kate blinks, meets his eyes as if she's not seeing him. "That was Agent Avery."
He waits, barely registering the fire in his mouth as Kate stands there, looking cast adrift.
"Jordan never made it home last night."
He spits the eggs out into his hand and stares at her.
She doesn't even seem to notice. "We need to go."
"Go?" He glances over his shoulder, confused for a second, his mind still churning with the idea that Jordan Shaw has been-
something. Something bad. Jordan didn't make it home.
"Castle-" she starts, heading around the counter towards him. He's afraid that if she gets past that invisible line where the kitchen ends and real life begins, he'll lose her.
"Wait. Hold on. Did Avery let us back on the case?"
Jordan Shaw is *missing.*
Kate's jaw works, but she halts just inside the kitchen. "Dunn's taken her. Because he couldn't get to me."
"Or me," Rick adds, thoughtlessly, and happens to see the horror wash over Kate's face, to see the way it guts out her eyes.
"Or. . .or you," she whispers.
"I meant. No. Kate-"
"We need to go," she swallows, closing her eyes a moment. He's lost her. She's pushing past him into the living room, heading for the stairs his mother and daughter have disappeared up.
"Wait. Kate. And do what? What can we do?"
"Something. Anything," she says, twisting around to look at him. "I won't sit around and waste time arguing. Are you coming or not?"
"Is Avery going to. . .let you work on this?"
"He called, didn't he?"
Castle regards the determination in her eyes and sighs. Yeah. A lunatic is after her, fixated on her, but she's never going to back down, is she? She won't let it go; she'd never have taken this Saturday off and enjoyed a leisurely day with him. Breakfast in bed? He was certainly dreaming.
Castle nods. "I'll shower, get dressed. You need anything?"
When she looks at him now, when their eyes meet, he's at least encouraged by the wistfulness he sees there (again). Regret for their spoiled morning. (Again.) She takes a step back, closer to the stairs, as if she needs the distance.
"Coffee?" she says.
He glances over his shoulder into the kitchen. The pot is full; it smells like the good stuff. And he knows just how she likes it.
"Coffee," he agrees.
But he can't help watching her walk up the stairs and out of his kitchen.
Avery's call comes at the worst of times. It feels like such a cliché thing to say, but it's still true. Kate made breakfast, and she was letting herself enjoy this, the time off and the look in Castle's eyes when he found her in his kitchen (Martha *could* have timed her appearance a little better).
She was letting herself enjoy this and it's impossible not to feel like that call is the price to pay for her distraction.
It's impossible not to feel responsible for Jordan's disappearance.
Because there is absolutely no doubt that Dunn took Shaw, even though Kate can't even comprehend it, can't think of why and when and how. Jordan missing is not something Kate could have seen coming or even envisioned, because the woman is as clever as she is unflappable and irritating.
And Beckett hates, *hates* what Dunn is saying with this. He's scoffing at her, taunting her. "You expected me to go after you again? How predictable, Nikki."
Oh, she can't go there. If she starts playing his game, starts picturing his devious, twisted line of thought, he wins. This is what Jordan did, and look where it got her. She needs to take a step back, needs to stop panicking.
Dunn took Shaw because she was the one without protection. It's as simple as that. He's just a coward. It makes Kate's blood boil, rage eating at her insides. And god, Shaw's daughter.
They have to get him.
She is thankful that she's barely had time to eat anything, because her stomach's tied in knots as she quickly makes her way up the stairs. Her mind is going a million miles an hour, intent on coming up with a theory, some piece of insight, something.
But why would Dunn –
Martha and Alexis are speaking animatedly in Alexis's bedroom, and it catches Kate's attention, derails her train of thought. She stops, hesitates at the door. She's made breakfast; if she and Castle don't have time to eat it, maybe someone else can at least enjoy it. So she knocks.
"Come in," Alexis exclaims, a surprised tone to her voice. But she smiles as soon as she sees Kate, and the detective feels a flower of warmth blossom inside her in response. It's a strange sensation, mingled with the fury and the helplessness still swirling there.
"Oh, Detective Beckett. I'm sorry I didn't even say good morning –"
"That's fine, Alexis, really," Kate interrupts, managing a reassuring smile. "I just wanted to say, your dad and I have to go to the precinct, but there's breakfast downstairs. Waffles, and omelettes, and pancakes. Just… help yourself."
"You made us breakfast?"
Beckett cannot decipher the teen's expression; surprise is still part of it, yes, but there are subtler things at play there – concern, maybe? Or pleasure? Suddenly Kate becomes aware of Martha's acute gaze resting on her, and she shifts slightly, offering only three quarters of her face for the actress to study.
Oh, there's no time for this.
"Well, yeah," she answers, trying to sound as natural as she can. "You guys are letting me stay at your place, and had my sister over last night, so it's only fair that I –"
"You don't have to repay us," Alexis exclaims, sounding almost indignant, and very much like her dad. "We love having you here. And that's what friends do. Offer you a place to crash when you're in trouble."
Friends. Alexis considers her a friend?
No time.
"Well. Thank you," Kate says quickly, hoping to cover the sudden tightness in her throat. "But, uh, breakfast is made anyway, so. You two can eat as much as you want. I just – we have to run."
"Thank you, darling," Martha jumps in graciously, since her granddaughter is still staring at the detective with her eyebrows knit.
"It's no trouble," Kate answers with a strained smile, and she retreats to the door, anxious to get moving again.
"Yeah, thanks, Kate," Alexis hurries to add as Beckett walks out. And even in the middle of all this, in the middle of that white-hot anger pulsing through her veins, Kate cannot help but notice.
The girl used her first name.
It seems like a sin to only use Castle's luxurious guest shower so briefly, in and out in a handful of minutes. Kate wishes she had time to figure what the fancy buttons are all for; as it is, concern for Jordan crackles in her chest, makes it hard to even enjoy the deliciously warm water pounding on her shoulders.
When she's done, she grabs the towel that Castle provided her with, a thick, soft towel that dries entirely too well. The perks of being a successful mystery writer, right?
When they're at the precinct, it's easy to ignore the fact that her shadow's bank account is probably a hundred times the size of hers. A thousand? Beckett realizes suddenly that she has no idea exactly how rich he is – and she's not sure she wants to know.
It's not that money makes her uncomfortable; her mother's family was more than well-off, and Kate's used to fancy things. It's the excess that always throws her off-balance. Ridiculously large amounts are something she struggles to comprehend – like those stars who have ten different mansions in different countries when they can only use one at a time and never get to some, or the congressman who uses his campaign money to buy the yacht, with the Jacuzzi and the six king cabins and the high-tech equipment, for the mistress who's having his baby.
But that's not what she should be focusing on. Jordan is. Jordan and Dunn. Avery said close to nothing on the phone, and it bothers her. She's not like Castle – she can't build theory over nothing. She needs hard facts and evidence, and right now frustration is driving her crazy, because her ignorance makes for this rigid wall that all her kernels of thought and reasoning come crashing into.
She quickly throws on the first clothes she can find in Beth's bag, dark jeans and a black sweater. Good enough. Then she remembers – her spare make-up case is at the precinct. Damn. She doesn't want to go in, run into Avery and have to excuse herself to go to the lockers' room.
But she can't go like this either. Maybe…
She's knocking on Alexis's door before she can second-guess herself. Martha must have left; it's pretty silent in there. The door is ajar and Kate pushes it open when Castle's daughter invites her in.
"Alexis? Is there any chance I could borrow some make-up? Mine is at the precinct, and we probably won't have the time –"
"Oh, of course," the younger girl with a smile. She apparently just got dressed herself; she's no longer wearing the purple pullover from before. "Come here, it's all in my bathroom. See, on the upper shelves? I barely even touch most of it – but my mom keeps buying me really expensive make-up every time she's here. She says a woman has to take look her best, you know? Even though I doubt many sixteen-year-olds use Givenchy or Dior eyeliner."
Alexis's voice is light, cheerful, but there are other feelings swimming under the surface. In different circumstances, Kate would dig for more (for Castle's sake), subtly question her without appearing to; but today she just thanks the girl and makes her way to the sink.
Oh. It really *is* expensive make-up. Beckett feels somewhat guilty about using it.
"And if you see anything you need," Castle's daughter adds, misreading Kate's pause, "feel free to keep it. I use the stuff in that basket on the counter. All of that is. . .extra."
"Alexis, I could never –"
"Please," the girl interrupts, her voice pressing and a little eager. "Just… Consider it my apology, for last night?"
Beckett stops obsessing over Shaw's disappearing act long enough to arch an eyebrow and send an interrogative glance towards Alexis.
"For…asking about your mom," the teen adds hurriedly, a blush spreading over her cheeks. "I mean, my dad's told me about it, just, just, you know, the main things, and I wasn't looking to upset you, but I just – I didn't think it through, and –"
"Alexis," Kate cuts her short, intrigued by her sudden resemblance to her father, all nervous energy and tripping words. "It's okay. Really. I'm fine. Don't worry."
"But I could see –" Alexis hesitates, chews on her lower lip in a way that makes Beckett feels like she's looking at her own reflection. That same feeling she had, watching Beth last night. Castle in her one minute, and now Kate herself mirrored in the girl.
Kate sighs, fully turns towards the red-haired teenager. She can do this – she can take two minutes to make things right with the girl. Castle is right: Avery would have told her if he knew more, would have called her if he had news by now. Right? Even though her whole body is buzzing with the need to be at the precinct, odds are she won't be able to do much more from there.
And it's not like she's going to spend an hour braiding Alexis's hair, anyway.
"Trust me, Alexis," she says gently. "You did nothing wrong. In fact, you did *good*. Last night…" Kate stops, considers what she wants to say, and how to say it best. "Last night I got to hear my mom discussed in a good way, a happy way, you know? Remembering those fun times, and getting to hear Beth's memories – I needed that. It's been a long time."
She pauses, surprised at how true this is. She didn't fully realize it, not until this moment. But it really felt…
"It felt right. And Beth would never have talked so freely if you hadn't asked her. I usually scare her off." Kate gives Alexis a lopsided smile. "So, you see? No harm done. On the contrary."
A tremulous smile forms on Alexis's lips, and her blue eyes light up with tentative happiness.
"Really?" She asks, beaming at Kate now.
"Really," Beckett confirms with a smile of her own, unable to resist the girl's contagious relief. If anything, she feels *she* should be the one apologizing to Alexis for all the over-the-top comments Beth made last night. Alexis is sixteen, clearly, and she knows about sex, but it's something completely different when those jokes involve your own dad –
As far as she can tell, however, Alexis doesn't seem traumatized. She's still looking at Kate, her delighted expression tinged with uncertainty. She looks… She looks exactly like Castle when he's about to do something that he's not sure Beckett will like.
And then Alexis throws her arms around Kate, and hugs her. Hard. Squeezing.
Before Kate has time, however, to do anything more than raise an awkward arm to pat the girl's shoulder, Alexis's phone chimes, making her jump away.
"That'll be Paige," she says, checking the message she just got. She's grinning, pleased, like Kate somehow contributed to that hug. Participated. "Yeah, it's her. We were supposed to meet for brunch, but since you made waffles and everything, I just told her to come over."
She types a quick answer, then looks up at Kate in concern. "If that's all right with you?"
The question seems ridiculous to the detective – this is Alexis's home, isn't it? She can do whatever she wants.
"Those waffles are yours," she assures, turning back to the mirror to apply mascara, her moves quick even if her hand is a little unsteady. Why? Because Alexis hugged her? "I need to get going, anyway."
"Okay," the teen answers, her voice warm. "Well, take anything in here you need. And thanks for breakfast, Kate."
There it is again. Kate. She wishes it wouldn't get to her, but it does.
Alexis leaves, probably going to open the door for Paige, and Beckett grabs the eyeliner, determined to focus, to do her job.
There's another daughter waiting for her mom, and Kate has every intention of sending Jordan Shaw back to that little girl, safe and sound.