Beckett takes her time shutting down her computer, using the bathroom, fixing her hair and makeup. Finally she has to admit that it's just pure blatant procrastination at this point, so she grabs her jacket and purse, calls goodnight to Esposito and Ryan, and steps into the elevator.
Castle has already hailed a cab and is standing in its open door, watching for her. When she comes over, he smiles tentatively and ushers her inside before hurrying around to get in the other door. The cabbie shifts into gear and starts driving as soon as they're both in.
"I'm glad I caught you before you went home," Castle offers diffidently. She gives him a little smile.
"I'm surprised you managed to escape the clutches of your family."
"Oh, well." He ducks his head, sheepish. "I managed to get rid of Meredith, so it's back to business as usual at the loft."
"'Get rid of'? That sounds ominous," Beckett teases lightly. "What, did you call up your guy in the mafia and have her bumped off?"
"That is such a stereotype," he huffs, pretending to be offended. "They don't say 'bump off' any more, Beckett, geez. It's whack, or burn."
"My bad," she laughs. "So, you had your ex-wife whacked?"
"I did nothing of the sort." He gives an innocent look. "I simply pulled a few strings and got her a juicy role in an indie movie. Filming in Hollywood, starting immediately."
"Oh." Beckett raises her eyebrows. "Well, that's ... effective. How did Alexis take it?"
"Honestly, she's relieved. Meredith is best taken in small doses." He looks at her seriously. "I would never intentionally prevent Alexis from spending time with her mother, you know. I know that bond is...is..."
She looks down. "Castle, it's okay. You don't have to walk on eggshells whenever the subject of a mother comes up."
"Well, I wouldn't want to, um..." he mumbles.
"I'm sorry that Alexis doesn't have the kind of relationship with her mother that ... Well, she's lucky to have you."
"I'm lucky to have her," he corrects, smiling softly to himself. She can't help smiling back a little.
"Here ya go," the cabbie announces, pulling over to the curb outside a small Italian restaurant. Castle is immediately in motion, throwing some cash at the driver, hurrying around to open Beckett's door and usher her out. She steps onto the sidewalk, feels him put a courteous hand on her elbow, looks up at the restaurant's awning, and feels her stomach clench, hard, with a mixture of emotions - excitement, trepidation, amazement. They're really doing this.
She's on a date with Rick Castle.
Castle is the perfect gentleman, ushering Beckett into the restaurant, helping her off with her coat, holding her chair for her. The place is small, but not too intimate; there are families with children here, as well as couples, and groups of elderly ladies gossiping over spaghetti. The lighting and decor are just slightly more friendly than romantic. Beckett suspects that Castle chose very carefully.
"Would you like some wine?" he asks, and offers her the wine menu, but she defers and lets him choose. After he has done that, and they've ordered appetizers, he clears his throat and regards her with a little smile.
"What?" she asks, self-conscious.
"You were pretty awesome today," he says avidly, "the way you kept your cool when Baylor was shooting at us. You hardly looked ruffled at all."
"You handled yourself pretty well too," she deflects, but he shakes his head.
"Nah, I was just following your lead, Beckett. If you'd shown the slightest hint of nerves, I would have been a gibbering mess." He leans forward a little. "Do they teach that stuff at the police academy?"
"Oh, well, there are exercises designed to work on those skills. Staying calm in a crisis, situation assessment, and so forth." She pauses to taste the wine. Not surprisingly, his selection is just perfect. "But to some extent it's not really the kind of thing that can be taught. You just have to have it, or develop it with real-world experience."
Castle is nodding along in agreement. "That's what I thought. But you make it look easy."
She ducks her head, not quite sure how to handle this praise. "Thanks."
"Oh," he exclaims, "but I wasn't going to talk about work, sorry."
She smiles a little. "That's okay. So what should we talk about, then?"
"Mm ... movies? There's a new Star Trek movie coming out next month. It's getting good advance press."
Beckett makes a face. "Yeah, but with a whole new cast? I mean, how can you have Kirk and Spock without Shatner and Nimoy?"
Castle's face lights up. "I know! It feels so wrong. We should go just to heckle." He's so excited to discover that Beckett knows Star Trek, he doesn't even seem to realize that he has asked her out to the movies ... sort of. "Have you heard my Shatner impersonation? 'Scotty! Damn it, man, I need ... more ... power to the forward engines!'"
Beckett bursts out laughing, covering her mouth with one hand. "That's impressive, Castle. You are your mother's son."
They pass a pleasant time talking about movies and their favorite childhood TV shows, which leads to childhood vacation memories and other topics. Food arrives and Beckett hardly notices what she's eating as the conversation flows easily.
Midway through the meal she gets up the courage to ask, "So, tell me about your second wife."
"Gina?" He looks up from refilling his wine glass. "Well, you met her at the book release party."
"Oh." She frowns a little, remembering the blonde who tried to prevent her from removing Castle from the party. "I thought she was your publisher."
"Yeah, she works for Black Pawn. That's how we met, when they assigned her as my editor and handler. I used to try to get out of going to events by saying I didn't have a date, so Gina would go with me. She mostly just did it to win brownie points with her bosses, show them that she could make me behave."
Beckett quirks a grin at that. "But she couldn't, really?"
"Well, I was pretty rude to her, I guess," he admits. "One night I got fed up and felt like being a jackass, so I just said 'hey, you've come to so many of these things with me but you never put out.' I figured she would punch me and then refuse to be my fake date any more." He shakes his head sheepishly. "Instead she dragged me straight back to her place and, uh, long story short, a few months later we were married."
"Romantic," Beckett comments into her wine glass. She isn't sure whether to be amused or horrified by this story.
"Well..." He looks down at his plate. "I guess neither of us was under any illusions of being madly in love or anything. We were just, sort of, convenient to each other. For a while."
"That ... doesn't really sound like your style," she says tentatively.
"Yeah, well, we all make mistakes." He looks up again and meets her eyes. "Speaking of which, I'm sorry that I upset you on the phone the other night."
Now it's her turn to look away. "It's okay."
"Is it?"
She looks over at him again and feels an odd mixture of affection and embarrassment. It's not his fault she reacted so badly when he was just trying to be honest and to understand. "Yeah. It is."
"What are you pretending to be tonight, Beckett?" he asks, carefully casual, his hands busy with knife and fork.
Oh. "Fearless?" she offers, trying for lighthearted, but it doesn't quite come out that way.
Castle nods slowly, as if it's what he expected. "Me too."
She contemplates that, studying him for a moment while she takes another bite of her gnocchi. Castle is certainly showing restraint tonight, a quieter version of himself that she hasn't seen much of so far. She wonders why.
"Doing a pretty good job of it," she says, successfully achieving a light tone this time. "Almost as good as your Shatner."
He takes the hint and moves the conversation back to safer topics.
When they've finished eating, Castle asks whether she wants dessert and coffee, and she accepts. Mostly she's stalling, because nervousness has begun to creep over her as the end of the meal approaches. What happens next?
The tiramisu is incredible, and she eats it in small bites, savoring it. Midway through her slice she looks up and catches Castle staring at her mouth as she's sliding the fork between her lips. His eyes are dark and she feels her pulse quicken. Slowly she runs her tongue around her lips, clearing the lingering bits of chocolate and cream, and watches him shift uneasily in his seat. It's more than a little exciting to see the effect she's having on him.
But abruptly she feels guilty for teasing, so she sips her coffee and finishes the dessert quickly. Castle doesn't comment, but buries himself in his own coffee.
Finally the moment comes when they can no longer pretend they're still eating. Beckett excuses herself and goes to the ladies' room, where she stares into the mirror and silently asks herself, What do you want? What are you afraid of?
When she comes out, Castle has taken care of the check and is waiting with her coat.
They emerge onto the sidewalk and, by mutual unspoken agreement, begin walking side-by-side. The evening air is pleasant, the lights of the city sparkling.
Beckett is tingling, twitchy with nerves, with not knowing what Castle's plan is next. Does he want ... more than dinner? Will he invite her to his home? Is he going to try to start something? Is she going to try to start something? What does she want? What does he want? Her breath comes more quickly as she tries to sort out all the questions.
"We can get you a cab down at the corner, and then I'll just walk home," he says, interrupting her busy thoughts. "It's not far, and it's a nice night." She blinks, looks sideways at him.
"Oh? You don't want to..." she trails off, not sure how bold she can be with the end of that sentence.
"You didn't want me to know your address," he explains calmly. In a flash of insight she understands it all. To convince her that I was interested in more than just sex, he said. Oh. So that's what this is.
She stops walking and turns to face him. "Castle..."
He stops also, turns and looks at her, and whatever he sees in her expression brings him surging forward, closing the short distance between them in a heartbeat. His hands cup her face and he kisses her softly, sweetly. He smells like aftershave and coffee, delicious. She melts into his mouth and then he's pulling back from her, putting up his arm to signal for a taxi.
"Thanks for joining me tonight, Beckett," he says, low-voiced, smooth. She blinks, takes a couple of quick breaths, and recovers her cool.
"This is how you write a story, Castle? End every chapter on a cliffhanger. Leave the audience wanting more."
His face lights up with a pleased grin. "You really do read my books!"
She laughs a little, but she can't take her eyes off his lips. She wants to kiss him again, and more.
A taxi glides up beside them and Castle opens the door for her.
"I'll see you at the precinct tomorrow."
She lets her shoulder brush his as she steps past him and into the cab. "Night, Castle."
"Until tomorrow, Beckett."
He closes the cab door and walks away.
Beckett floats home on a cloud of endorphins: the wine and the coffee are battling inside her, and her body is buzzing. She thinks about calling Lanie, but isn't ready yet for the full debriefing and the I-told-you-so's. Nor for Lanie saying And you're already home, this early, alone? What is wrong with you?
She draws a bath and lets the hot water envelop her while she thinks about the long, strange day.
How has she come so fast from hating Castle, being scared and furious about having him around her all day, to going out to dinner and flirting and kissing? Coming home giddy like a schoolgirl with a crush?
When she stops and thinks about it, she's still terrified of the feelings he expresses to her, the feelings he evokes in her. But in the moment, when she's around him, she doesn't feel as scared any more. She wonders what that means.
It comes into her mind that she could tell Castle he doesn't need to prove anything to her. He saved her life today, and then he took her to dinner, and behaved more like an adult than she has perhaps ever seen him. And besides, he has been following her around for weeks now, working on cases. He wouldn't be doing all of this if his only goal were to get into her pants, would he? Even the lure of the story doesn't explain the way he has been acting, the things he has said and revealed to her.
She remembers him saying I want to touch you over the phone the other day, and a delicious shiver runs through her in the heat of the bath. If she told him that he has nothing to prove ... she could let him touch her. She closes her eyes and allows herself a long moment of imagining his hands on her body, his kisses, that low husky voice he uses to turn her to liquid. Her hand slides under the water and she teases herself lightly.
But then she stops, thinking, what next? If she falls into bed with Castle, what then? Are they in a relationship? The mere thought makes her gut clench with apprehension.
She doesn't have time for a relationship. She doesn't want a relationship. Does she?
What do you want? What are you afraid of?
First thing the next morning Beckett is back at her desk, doing paperwork. Castle strolls in a while later with coffee, bear claw, and a copy of the Ledger. Their eyes are cool when they look at each other, betraying nothing to any outside observer.
"Morning," she says offhandedly.
"Good morning. Did you see we made the paper?"
Beckett sips her coffee while reading the article, which amounts to three paragraphs, buried on a back page, about a gun battle in which a police detective (unnamed) and civilian assistant (also unnamed) subdued a wanted crimelord.
"Not exactly what I had in mind for my fifteen minutes of fame," she comments, handing the paper back to Castle.
"Never fear, you'll get at least fourteen more minutes when Heat Wave comes out."
"That's your title?" asks Ryan, coming over to kibbitz. "Heat Wave, featuring Nikki Heat?" Beckett wonders whether there's any point in asking how Ryan knows the fictional detective's name.
"Well, the story takes place in the summer, in the middle of a period of unusually warm weather," Castle says, "so, yeah."
"Anyway, there's nothing going on here," Beckett tells him, "unless you'd like to write up your incident report on yesterday's events."
"I already gave my statement to the responding officer," he protests, and then proceeds to sit next to her desk playing Angry Birds on his phone for the next hour. Beckett focuses on her paperwork and tries to ignore the looming complication next to her.
Finally looking up from his game, Castle notices that Beckett has finished her coffee and pastry. Without a word, he goes to the break room and makes her another cup. He comes back to her desk, slides the coffee into reach, sits back down, and resumes his game. Absorbed in her work, she hardly even notices, and drinks half the coffee without pausing to wonder where it came from.
A little while later Castle straightens up, puts his phone away in his pocket, and asks, "So, still no murder?"
Beckett gives him a sour look. "You've been sitting right here. Have you heard my phone ring?"
"Okay, well," he gets quickly to his feet, "I'll be back in a little while. Try not to let anything really exciting happen."
"Where's he off to?" Esposito asks as Castle hurries out.
Beckett shrugs. "How should I know?"