Chapter 13

"Detective Beckett," Gates intones forbiddingly, early on Monday morning. "My office, please."

Beckett cringes at the thought. She'd been hoping, fruitlessly, that Gates had forgotten any idea of talking to her about Saturday's display. She hasn't had enough coffee for this discussion. Possibly there is not enough coffee in the world for this discussion. It's not fair. Beckett is a mature woman, a parent, and a top-class detective with stats to die for (and many victims have). Gates should not be able to reduce her to a cowering child with one syllable.

"I have been considering your future," Gates begins, which is not reassuring. "We have not at any stage discussed your wishes regarding the future. I think that we should." This is also not at all reassuring.

"Sir," she replies, which is safely non-committal.

"Let us recap your position. You are currently a detective second-grade. Your clearance rate, with your team, is extremely high. The best in the city, in fact." Beckett gapes. She hadn't known that. Suspected, yes. But to hear it confirmed – by Gates, who never praises – is jaw-dropping. "In addition, you have acted as my assistant for three years, when required. Of course, you have had much to learn in that role, and there are always matters you could handle better." That's more like the Gates she knows and fears. "You must continue to strive to improve." Gates regards Beckett with her normal cold, disapproving stare. Paradoxically, that relieves Beckett's mind.

"Why have you never sought promotion?" Gates enquires sharply.

Beckett boggles.

"You have an excellent record, you have far more experience than the minimum required, and you have all the necessary qualities. Why have you not taken the sergeant's exam already? Indeed, why did you not take it some years ago?"

Gates's tone is more accusatory than enquiring.

"I'm a detective," Beckett says, more sharply than she would normally dare. "That's what I do. I don't want to drive a desk. I want to investigate homicides."

Gates is clearly taken aback by the force of her detective's speech.

"I see," she replies slowly. "So it was a deliberate choice not to seek the supervisory ranks."

"Yes."

"I see," she says again. There is an ominous pause. "How unfortunate. I had hoped that you would wish to join them. I was intending to recommend to you that you took the Sergeants' exam – as an opening step – at the first opportunity, and that you then moved to take the Lieutenants' exam as soon as you had the necessary two years as a Sergeant. It seems that is not your desire."

Beckett emits a strangulated gurgle. Gates does not appreciate this.

"The NYPD could use people of your ability, Detective."

Beckett, despite her terror of Gates, dislikes even a minor hint of guilt-tripping.

"The NYPD is using my ability. Solving murders. Getting justice for the victims and their families. Are you saying that's a waste of my time?" For once, in front of her intimidating Captain, Beckett has thrown caution to the winds and is speaking her mind freely. "Because I don't think that's a waste of my time or anyone else's. That's what I'm best at. Lots of people can be Sergeants or even Lieutenants – or Captains," she adds with an acid bite, "but the whole reason my team hasn't been altered in eight years is because no-one else in the city can do it as well as we do. I don't want to change that. I don't need the extra pay, if you were planning to try that line – and not just because of Castle. I never needed his money and I don't need it now. We're the best in the business at solving the weirdest murders and if you don't think that has value you're out of your mind crazy."

Gates raises a highly groomed eyebrow. Beckett stops, realises what she's just said, and gulps. That was probably a very career-limiting move.

"A very passionate statement," Gates says, in tones which imply that passionate statements should be avoided. Beckett's heart sinks, and is probably leaking out from her toes. She resists the temptation to look. "I applaud your convictions." Beckett waits for the but to arrive. It doesn't.

Gates pauses. Beckett quivers in the dead silence, and says nothing at all.

"I wish you to consider carefully the possibility of a supervisory role." Beckett opens her mouth. "Do not say anything." She shuts it, quickly. She's pushed her luck so far already that it's halfway to Seattle. "Go home tonight and discuss it with Mr Castle." Gates's lips acquire their normal twist of distaste when contemplating Castle. "We shall discuss this again tomorrow."

Beckett instantly starts to hope for a lovely messy murder. In fact, Gates's lovely messy murder. She wonders if Castle might know a guy who could arrange it – untraceably, of course. So untraceably that even she and her team couldn't solve it.

"I am very conscious of my personal safety," Gates advises. Beckett jumps. Now Gates reads thoughts? This is not fair. "I advise you to improve your control of your expression. Dismissed."

Beckett staggers out. Her poker face is exceptionally good, which is why the boys never win and she and Castle are fifty/fifty. Of course, she and Castle confine their – er – more competitive games to the privacy of their loft, after the twins are asleep. Others are definitely not invited to those games. How can Gates read her like a book?

The day does not produce any nice messy murders to distract Beckett from her worries. She really doesn't want to stop being a detective to do management or supervisory roles. She loves detecting. She does not love paperwork, or employee matters, or disciplinary processes, or bureaucracy. She goes home with a light headache and a feeling of vague unhappiness with the day.

"What's up, sweetheart?" Castle says, as she trudges in the door.

"Mama!" the twins yell, and dash over to her, grabbing a leg each when she fails to reach their level quickly enough. She wobbles.

"Let me sit down, and then you get hugs," she says to the limpets, who delimpet just enough for her to move her legs. She flops on to a large floor cushion, and is bounced on by both twins, demanding cuddles and bestowing kisses. She smiles happily and reciprocates, feeling better already. "What did you do today?"

"Playground!" they screech. "Dada go too." Well, yes. Two-year olds can hardly take themselves to the playground. She raises a querying eyebrow at Castle, and receives a smilingly satisfied nod in return. Maybe Saturday has sunk in properly. David seems to be as bouncy as usual, which is good – he'd still been a little passive on Sunday – and Petra is her normal assertive self.

"Mama come too," Petra commands. She looks at Castle, who raises his own eyebrows.

"Dinner time," she distracts. Maybe while the twins are practising the technicalities of using a spoon tidily she and Castle can sort that out. Maybe a feline trip to a playground will clear her thinking.

The children are supplied with another disguised healthy meal, spoons, admonitions to stay children, and further admonitions to eat with the spoon in their mouth. In between admonishment, Beckett and Castle conduct a coded discussion of the post-dinner activities and eventually agree that a trip to the playground as cats is a good plan.

"So what was up when you got home?" Castle asks, after the terrible twosome have been played into exhaustion and bed.

"Gates hauled me in first thing."

"Oh, dear," Castle sympathises, and snuggles her into him on the couch. "Was that about Saturday?"

"No."

He looks surprised. "No? What did she want?"

"To lecture me about not trying for promotion," Beckett replies crossly. "Told me off for not doing it years ago, and then when I said I liked being a detective told me to think very carefully and talk to you."

"Mm," Castle hums comfortably. "If you were a lieutenant, or a captain, you could make sure the twins weren't discovered." He grins.

Beckett makes a very unhappy noise.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't want to be a lieutenant or a captain. I don't even want to be a sergeant, and I'd have to do that for two years minimum. I like solving homicides. I'm good at that. I hate paperwork and bureaucracy."

Castle looks at Beckett very carefully. "Really? I thought you liked it when Gates made you her assistant."

"Only because I wasn't allowed out of the precinct and it was the only way I could do anything even faintly interesting. As soon as I could go back to solving murders I did, even if she made me stay assisting too." Her face twists. "But maybe I should do it to protect the twins."

"No," he says firmly. "Definitely not. What do you want, love?" His fingers pet at her shoulder and arm, gently. She snuggles closer.

"I just want to keep on solving murders. I don't want to stop doing that."

"So don't, then. It's not like you need to be promoted. But if you were a sergeant, would you still be able to do homicide?"

"I don't know. But I'd not be out in the field nearly as much. I don't want that," she says again, her face miserable.

"Why don't you just be Onyx and not think about it," Castle suggests. "Maybe it'll be clearer tomorrow."

"Doubt it," Beckett mutters, but she turns into Onyx and pads into Castle's lap, arranging her head on her paws in a dignified posture and curling her tail neatly around herself. Castle's strong, clever hands pet and soothe and stroke, and she gradually relaxes and stops fretting, her dignified pose slipping into a dark laxity upon his lap, soft and sleepy, curling around herself, and eventually emitting a quiet, contented purr. Castle always knows just how best to soothe her.

She turns herself back into Beckett, sneaks her arms around his neck, and kisses him deeply. Castle is quick to respond to her unspoken gratitude, and it takes a little time before her mouth is free. "You always know," she murmurs. "Love you," and kisses him again, slipping his shirt open and her fingers inside. Castle's hands wander freely, until Beckett is purring again, and he's gently growling deep in his chest, and they mutually agree that this is best continued in the bedroom.

In the bedroom Castle most unfairly sneaks up behind Beckett, catches her, scoops her up and drops her on the bed, looming happily over her with a very predatory smile. She smiles back, equally predatory, and without much further ado they prey on each other, which leaves them both very satisfied indeed, and removes any possibility of fretfulness. Instead, they snuggle up together, and find peaceful sleep.

Tuesday morning, Beckett approaches the precinct with considerable trepidation. She knows that she's making the right decision for her, but that doesn't stop her worrying about it. She's barely sat down when Gates is on her, faster than a hungry shark and much more dangerous.

"My office, Detective." Beckett complies. "Now, what are your thoughts on the matters we discussed yesterday?"

"I don't want to be a sergeant, or lieutenant, or a captain," Beckett states flatly, concealing her trembling knees by careful placement of her limbs vis-à-vis Gates's desk. "I want to solve murders."

"I see," Gates says coldly. "And if I were to say that I were deeply disappointed in your lack of ambition, and that you have dropped substantially in my estimation?"

"That doesn't matter," Beckett bites, stung hard by the unfairness of the comment. "If you don't think that solving homicides is important, I do. And that's what I'm going to do. I'm not going to make myself unhappy just to make you happy."

There is a dead silence.

"Dismissed, Detective."

She trails out, utterly miserable, and buries herself in work, stopping occasionally to stare at the single photo of her family on her desk and wondering how she'll cope if she had to be a stay at home parent. Not well, is her answer to that. Not well at all. She'd told Gates the absolute truth and it's probably already resulting in her removal. No doubt Gates has been looking for an excuse ever since she'd admitted her genetic issue, and now she's managed to manoeuvre Beckett into providing one. She'd probably been hoping that the twins would have changed into cats at the children's home too, and then she could have thrown them all into some scientific lab for the rest of their lives.

Gloom descends around the Beckett desk, and nobody dares to break it. As the day passes, she becomes more and more miserable. Shift end approaches, and she's almost ready to resign by her own volition rather than wait for the inevitable execution.

"My office, Detective," Gates raps.

Well, here they go. She stiffens her spine and marches in.

"Shut the door."

Yes. Executions and sackings should be done in private. She preserves a cold, still face, and waits.

"Well done, Detective Beckett."

"Huh?" she gulps, inarticulately: as incapable of logical thought as Castle. Those were not the words which she had expected.

"Your commentary earlier was the last piece of evidence which I needed: the ability to stand against your superiors when you believe yourself to be in the right, and to justify your position."

"What?"

"You would, I agree, be unhappy if forced to the supervisory track without a genuine desire to take that route. I have, therefore, been considering a different solution for some time. It had occurred to me that your failure to take the sergeants' exam some time ago was not due to any lack of ability, but lack of desire. You have amply proven that thesis both by the standard of your work as my assistant and your complete lack of enquiry into the possibility, despite the fact that following the birth of your children it would have provided you with a slightly more family-friendly working schedule."

Beckett growls, very slightly, at the thought that she wasn't attending to her family. Gates regards her coolly.

"You need not growl. It is not possible to doubt your care for your family, nor your devotion to both them and your job. No criticism is implied." Beckett stands her annoyance down. "As I was saying, I have been considering a different solution, and I believe I have found one."

"What is it, sir?" Beckett asks, completely confused.

Gates smiles. This is very uncommon, and quite terrifying. "I have recommended you for promotion to Detective First Grade. Your service record stands you in excellent stead. Of course, nothing is assured until the Commissioner has approved it, but I expect that it will be looked upon favourably."

Beckett simply stares at her Captain, being completely incapable of speech. Her mouth opens and closes a few times, without production of noise. Eventually she manages to close her lips for long enough to collect her thoughts.

"Thank you, sir," she almost-gasps.

"Dismissed." Gates waves her away. For the second time that day, Beckett staggers out of her office and back to her desk. The boys cast sympathetic looks at each other, assuming that Gates has been reprimanding her. It's Gates's normal behaviour, after all.

Beckett's drive home is attended by flusterment, only just enough attention to ensure she doesn't have an accident, and a complete failure to park properly until the fourth attempt. She can't concentrate on anything except Gates's quite astonishing words. Detective First Grade? She'd never thought – one has to be about ninety-five with fifteen medals to get that, she'd believed. It's… well… wow.

She stumbles in the door, to the family's amazement.

"Ma-mommy!" Petra yells. Beckett's so discombobulated she doesn't even notice that Petra's trying out Mommy for size again.

"Mama!" David attaches himself to her pants, and tugs. Beckett automatically ruffles his hair.

"Hey," Castle says, from a cushion on the floor. It looks rather like they've been out again, since the floor is largely devoid of toys. "We've only been back for half an hour. Another successful foray to the playground," he says proudly.

"Yeah," Beckett says distractedly. "That's great. Uh, can we talk?"

Castle instantly looks worried. "Sure," he says carefully. "Um, why?"

"Just… Gates is recommending me for promotion."

"But you said you didn't want to."

"Detective First Grade."

Castle's jaw drops. "That's awesome!" he blurts. "I thought you had to have like eighty years' service and the Congressional Medal of Honour to get that?"

Beckett just nods. Castle kisses her soundly. "That's awesome," he says again.

"Aw'sm," imitates Petra. "What happen?"

"Mommy got good news."

"Choc'late?"

"Just as good."

Petra regards him dubiously. In her toddler world, very little compares to the wonderfulness of chocolate. David bounces up.

"Choc'late?" he says hopefully, and bats his eyelashes.

"No, no chocolate. Mommy's happy."

Beckett gathers them in and hugs them very hard. Castle wraps her in and hugs too. Her eyes are a little damp, which is quite ridiculous. She can't believe Gates's action.

"Detective First Grade?" Castle says again, delightedly.

"But she made me wait all day. I thought she was going to fire me."

"Ugh," he sympathises, and cuddles her some more.

"Down, Mommy," Petra squeaks. Beckett drops a kiss on her head, and lets her go; does the same for David. Both of them bounce off, randomly changing form and chasing each other round the furniture. Beckett watches them, and then, full of happiness, changes herself into her panther and chases them too, stalking and pouncing in a way normally reserved for Castle. He follows her lead, and shortly there are four black panthers playing enthusiastically around the room.

Later that night, contentedly cuddled up to Castle in their extremely comfortable bed, the twin terrorists peacefully asleep, Beckett reflects that, all things considered, the last month has generally been very successful. Of course, her natural cynicism suggests that the twins will do something terrible very shortly, but that's a bridge to cross another day. Right now, they're co-operating. All her friends and family have adjusted to their, um, additional genetics, and she can rely on Gates to assist. In Gates's own inimitable way.

She wraps an arm round her Castle, and lays her head on his broad chest.

"You're thinking, love," he rumbles. "What're you thinking?"

"It's all going right," she says happily.

"Of course it is. We're all very cool, as cats."

Fin.

Thank you to all readers and reviewers who've come along for another sardonic ride in this crazy universe. I think we're done with the Caskett Cats, certainly for a while.

I am working on another story, which will appear when I've finished it (currently progressing nicely, but I make no promises on timing).

Hope to see you all there. Thank you.

Garrae.