Enjoy the Silence

A/N: Meg, thank you. You know why. And then some. Thank you.

Chapter 25

"So, that hot detective. Beckett. Is she seeing anyone?" Kirk throws out to Ryan matter-of-factly, eyeing Beckett's profile through the pane of glass separating Captain Gates's office from the rest of the floor.

"Some detective you are," scoffs his partner, Benson, before taking a sip of his freshly-made espresso. "Haven't you seen that giant rock on her finger? Could sink a mob hit with that thing."

"So what?" shrugs Kirk, apparently unfazed by her relationship status. "I'm not looking for a commitment, just a good time. And you know what, Bens? Maybe she is too."

Ryan and Esposito exchange surprised looks, but Benson simply shakes his head. Obviously, this is something he has to deal with on a daily basis. Espo lets out a booming laugh, clearly amused by the mere thought.

"Knock yourself out, bro," he offers good-naturedly, shooting his empty paper cup straight into the trash can at the far end wall to the cheers of a couple of officers standing nearby. "But let me warn you in advance, Beckett is as solid as they come." He catches Ryan's knowing look and lets out another loud laugh.

"That's what they all say," Kirk shrugs, a lewd grin stretching across his face that has Benson giving the boys a rather apologetic look.

"Ain't she a little-" Ryan's brow furrows as he struggles to find the right word, "mature, for you, pal?"

"Whoa! Are you saying she's old? That's rude, man. Better hope that doesn't get back to her," he says, shooting a pointed look at the circle of cops standing around, listening but not being an active party in their exchange.

"No," replies Ryan. "Not what I meant. What I'm saying is that Beckett is a woman of experience and of certain…standards. While you…aren't you a little-?"

"Kid?" supplies Esposito helpfully. "What are you, boy…twenty-six, twenty-seven?"

"Twenty-eight!" Kirk protests, suddenly irritated and drawing to his fullest height, oblivious of the oh-boy-here-we-go-again eye roll his partner is giving the other officers from behind Kirk's back. "The youngest to make detective back home."

"Back home," Espo repeats contemplatively.

"And that would be…?" inquires Ryan.

"Orlando, Florida," Benson says with a proud finality that suggests he believes that alone is enough of an answer.

"Transferred two month ago," Kirk continues, "Partnered over at the Twenty-Three's organized crime unit with Benson here, but I worked Homicide back home."

"Aaah," Ryan says noncommittally.

"Aaah, what?" comes Beckett's voice, ringing out from behind Ryan. Her face curves into a grin upon noticing how her stealthiness made him jump.

"Aaah, nothing," Espo deadpans. "Only our new colleague here, Kirk, mentioned that he transferred from Orlando a couple of months ago."

With everything going on at the precinct during the last couple of days, Beckett hasn't had the pleasure of personally acquainting herself with any of the new detectives yet. She extends a hand towards Kirk, introducing herself warmly, even as Esposito and Ryan exchange loaded looks.

"Nice to meet you Kirk. Enjoying the New York weather so far?"

Unbeknownst to her, her polite attempt at small talk is exactly what spurs Kirk into action. Probably wanting to prove a point to his new colleagues, Kirk makes a purposeful step towards Beckett, right into her line of vision, playing what he must think is his charm card.

Twenty-eight years of age with a promising career, a muscled and athletic build, sandy blonde hair and natural tan gained in the Florida sun, he surely must have been on the radar of many a lady in the south. But this isn't Florida, and Beckett is no helpless damsel waiting to be picked up at a bar.

She slowly blinks in surprise and takes a step back from him, thrown off by his blatant invasion of her personal space. She's still smiling politely, but the wide stretch of her lips is false, and the wear of the past couple of days is already starting to manifest itself in the tightness around her eyes.

Ryan and Esposito almost feel sorry for the cocky kid who obviously doesn't know any better. They instinctively take a step back when Kirk makes another step forward, ignoring Beckett's obvious body language, talking like he already owns the place. "So, Detective. Your boys here tell me you were the youngest female to make detective in the NYPD. Just so happens I was the youngest down in Florida. Aren't we just the perfect match?"

Corny line aside, there's a collective inhale as all eyes in the group – and some from members of the other groups chatting in their proximity – are directed at Beckett, holding their breaths as they eagerly await her reaction.

To Benson's obvious relief – and Ryan and Espo's great disappointment – Beckett is saved from answering when a sudden burst of loud cheers erupts from the front of the bullpen. A group of officers and administrative aids are quickly grouping around a stack of big multi-colored cardboard that just exited the elevator. The boxes begin to precariously move into the bullpen to the general excitement of all nearby personnel, quickly unloading from the person holding them, distributing throughout the bullpen to shouts of thanks as nearly all the employees on the floor start to extract various kinds of pastries and sweets from them.

Finally, from behind the pile of boxes emerges Castle's smiling face. Just as he encourages a slightly flustered LT to take the next to last box with a wink and a knowing grin, his eyes fall on the group of socializing detectives hanging out at the back of the bullpen. Upon catching Esposito's eyes, Castle raises the last box in his hands like a holy grail, tapping a finger against the cardboard and then pointing it at their group, but before he can move in their direction, he's sidelined when a couple of uniforms approach him, smiling warmly and wrapping him up in an animated chat. Many of them had worked their crime scenes or stood guard for the team, and they're especially fond of Castle because he never forgot to bring a few extra to-go cups of coffee for the freezing officers on duty.

Castle lays the box on the desk nearest to him, raising a finger to halt the incoming questions while he signs to the group of detectives standing across the bullpen that it will probably take a minute or two for him to battle his way through the cheery hoard. Then he offers his full attention to a rapidly-speaking Karpowski, talking to him at the same time as she stuffs her face with a jelly donut that came from one of his boxes.

He listens to her intently for a moment before smiling and nodding at something she says. At first he begins to sign in reply but upon seeing her puzzled look, he quickly remembers that she can't understand ASL, so he makes a show of taking his tablet out and typing something for her, that upon reading makes her snort and cough up a piece of donut.

"And who the hell is that clown?" asks Kirk with undisguised contempt, his voice loud and carrying a note of arrogant amusement.

His careless, backhanded comment hits the whole group like an icy slap. Espo and Ryan quickly cut their eyes to Beckett, whose mouth falls open in shock, but before anyone can react and diffuse the situation, Kirk has turned back to his partner from his amazed observation of Castle, adding a condescending chuckle.

"Hey Bens, did you know the 12th was doing charity for the local impaired club?" He's still oblivious to the sudden surge of nervous energy in the group, which consists of personnel from precincts all across Manhattan, all of whom are more or less familiar with the story of the most famous civilian consultant to the NYPD and his partnership with the star detective of the Twelfth Precinct. But of course Kirk is still an outsider, obviously not aware of the uproar the pair had caused over the years at One PP as well as throughout New York society in general, and he turns to address Beckett and the boys directly.

"That's actually really nice of you, guys. Is he like a mascot around here, or something? You know what I mean?" He presses on in spite of the oppressive silence. "That neighborhood hobo clown every precinct seems to have these days? Only this one's a little fancier, maybe. Like, we had Stinking Joe as our precinct's unofficial mascot, but as far as I know, the only thing he ever brought to the precinct were a bunch of pet mice that fled his coat and took us two days to catch," he says, laughing heartily at his own joke.

Kirk's comments aren't necessarily ill-meant by nature – he may even think it to be an ice-breaker topic, something to bond over with the group of detectives, but his reckless words cut deeply, not only for the detectives from the Twelfth that are part of the group, but the other officers standing close enough to hear him as well.

Failing to notice the growing attention combined with spreading silence around him, Kirk's eyes come back to Castle, watching as he finally, albeit slowly, battles his way towards them.

"Oh, jeez, here he comes. This better be good."

She feels like she hasn't seen Castle in days. And it appears like it's only bound to get worse.

Being groomed as the precinct's protégé, possibly the future Captain even, Beckett's role in this particular series of administrative meetings to "enhance the interdepartmental and inter-precinct relationships" requires a lot of time and responsibility that neither of her boys or any other detectives from the 12th needs to sacrifice themselves. Captain Gates delegates a lot of tasks to her top detective, politically as well as organizationally speaking, and despite Beckett finding it utterly senseless – especially since her newest murder has been assigned to another team so she can spend her energy on this – there's just no way to escape it.

Finally finding her first five minutes since this morning to do something as mundane as visit the bathroom, her eyes narrow upon exiting, an envious glare breaking across her face as her eyes catch Ryan and Esposito having a comfy chat and – by the sound of Javier's booming laughter – a very good time with a bunch of fellow detectives and officers from other precincts at the back of the bullpen. All the while, she is expected to get her ass back to Captain Gates's office only to engage in a round of utterly boring discussions concerning crime figures and officer stats in each respective precinct.

Looking at Ryan and Espo now, a petulant side of her wishes she could simply drop everything and join her boys for a cup of coffee (oh, how she needs a cup) and have one of the somewhat stale sandwiches catered to the precinct the day before. Just make small talk with colleagues from nearby Manhattan precincts while listening to cop jokes that were already old by the time she went to the academy.

Anything, really, is preferable to the uptight, boring and strangely competitive atmosphere ruling in the Captain's office right now.

Beckett takes a moment, filling her lungs with a slow breath. She can do this. This is the last day, she reminds herself; she only has to endure this last afternoon of meetings and a social work dinner at One PP, and then she's free to go home to her fiancé, a glass of red wine and a relaxing bubble bath, in no particular order and preferably all combined into one.

Catching Espo's laugh again, she can't resist and makes a quick detour towards the crowd at the back of the bullpen, desperate to hear some real talk from people who actually work the streets rather than generate statistics about them.

She can't suppress her grin upon making Ryan jump at her sudden appearance, and then quickly introduces herself to the new detective that Espo says recently transferred from Orlando.

He looks an honest enough kid and she's just trying to be nice, but when the guy makes a bold step and blatantly invades her personal space – complete with a shady grin he probably thought was boyish charm playing across his features – she immediately takes a step back, the heavy load of the past few days crashing down with a sickening force. She's weary of all the fake friendliness and forced camaraderie she's been forced into this week; it's exhausting, just so exhausting, and she's just over it.

Not much longer, Beckett bargains with herself, forcing a friendly smile back onto her face. One more afternoon and then you'll drive home and spend a well-deserved weekend letting Castle spoil and pamper you like you know he will.

Her smile almost grows genuine upon the thought of Castle's threat to 'indulge the crap out of her' once she finally gets off this tiring assignment, but before she can think on it further, Kirk is once again talking over her and jeez, is this guy seriously hitting on her, this blatantly, right in front of her whole squad after her engagement ring just pressed an impressive dent into his skin? Really?

She silently counts to ten to calm herself before she says or does anything rash, because today is the last – the very last, she reminds herself again – day to play her part in these annoying interdepartmental politics, and she just really, really wants to go home instead of getting a tongue-lashing from captain Gates for losing her temper with someone, even if that someone is a poorly behaved rookie.

But before she even has the time to scrape together a polite but resolute answer, a roar of applause and cheering explodes throughout the bullpen, making her turn her head to locate the source of the uproar.

And sure enough, from behind a sky-high stack of brightly colored pastry boxes appears Castle's dark mane of hair, followed by his trademark boyish grin as he starts to hand out the boxes to anyone within his reach.

Her heart shoots into her throat, her chest constricting with barely-suppressed excitement and a sudden, desperate pang of longing.

And it isn't even the sight of him that has her pulse racing (although he certainly is a sight for sore eyes). No, the bottom line is that this is the very first time since his abduction that Castle has visited at the precinct.

And of all the times he could have chosen, he comes today, the day she misses and needs him the most. They didn't even talk about it, about him returning to the precinct with her, not even to merely visit, to say hi. That is, not anymore after he told her a couple of weeks ago he didn't feel quite confident enough yet to talk and interact with the people who have become his work family over years.

So she didn't press. She didn't expect, didn't assume. It was easier that way. And yet she had missed him, here at her side, terribly.

And of all the times he could have picked-

But of course he did. This is Castle, after all, and he knows her better than she knows herself sometimes.

Swallowing her heart, she observes him across the bullpen, her insides filling with warmth as she sees him being swamped with the attention of all the nearby personnel and the way he seems to give it right back, engaging with them with a big smile dancing over his face.

His eyes finally seek out their group, first falling on Espo, and as they do, he raises the very last pink box in the air, showing them that it's reserved just for them before signing that, of course, they need to be patient, since it would take him time to shake off the ever growing group of friends and acquaintances welcoming him back.

The tremulous smile that lights her face is genuine this time and she has to take a deep breath to calm her trashing heart, rooting her feet to the spot and telling herself to be patient. He will come.

"And who the hell is that clown?" rings Kirk's amused voice from her side, his words bringing Kate back to the present with a sobering slap.

Her mouth falls open with shock as her eyes cut back to Kirk, unable to hold in her surprise at his tactless comment, but her heart sinks even further when she watches him - so oblivious in his handsome carelessness - turn to his partner and say, "Hey Bens, did you know the 12th was doing charity for the local impaired club?"

She immediately notices the awkward silence that falls across the group of detectives upon hearing Kirk's words, and somehow it makes it even worse. Color rushes to her cheeks, not out of embarrassment but of righteous anger. Who the fuck does this kid think he's talking about?

But Kirk isn't finished. "That's actually really nice of you, guys. Is he like a mascot around here, or something? You know what I mean? That neighborhood hobo clown every precinct seems to have these days? Only this one's a little fancier, maybe. Like, we had Stinking Joe as our precinct's unofficial mascot, but as far as I know, the only thing he ever brought to the precinct were a bunch of pet mice that fled his coat and took us two days to catch." He laughs at his own joke, throwing his blonde head back, obviously having a good time at Castle's expense.

Her fingers draw into fists, shaking. She notices the tremble run up her arms and shoulders and God, that is bad, that is really, really bad. Her eyes fill with barely-suppressed tears of anger and impotence, because Kirk's hurtful words catch her so off-guard, and she has a hard time formulating a fitting response, of finding a way to show this brat exactly where he belongs: anywhere but her precinct.

Out of all days Castle could choose to make this leap of faith and visit the precinct, it has to be a day where there's that one dumb ass present to spoil the joy for her. She looks back to the bullpen and sees Castle finally battle his way towards them, his huge smile nearly making her own contort into something that looks more like a grimace of pain.

"Oh, jeez, here he comes. This better be good."

Castle finally catches her eye and something must register, because his grin slackens a little, one of his eyebrows rising in question to her expression that must no doubt be sending out an array of mixed feelings. And just for that, just for that one look of hesitation on his face, and because he doesn't deserve it, fuck Kirk and everybody else involved. This is a huge moment for both of them, and she won't let it be spoiled by a stupid, cocky rookie who knows absolutely nothing.

So she forces Kirk's voice to the back of her head, pushes his hurtful words out of her mind and concentrates solely on the pocket of light currently making his way towards her.

Just before reaching them, Castle stops at a nearby desk, resting the box on it to open it and extract a coffee cup out of it, a knowing smile playing on his lips as he presents it to her with a flourish, making her heart soar at the gesture.

She couldn't care less about office politics or PDA or anything at that moment, rushing forward to meet him halfway and enveloping him in a tight hug, burying her face in the crook of his neck and pressing a secretive kiss against the side of his throat.

"Thank God you're here," she murmurs against his ear, never letting go, relishing his warmth, shuddering from the sudden release of pent up energy and suppressed feelings for the first time in days. "Perfect timing, too," she husks, letting go only to cradle one side of his face with a thankful smile, her other curling around the coffee cup, gently stroking his fingers in a silent gesture of gratitude. "I might have kicked some ass otherwise. And not in the figurative sense either." She grins, suddenly feeling light, unbothered by anything or anyone, her vision tunneling solely on Castle. Damn, he really has that effect on her. And then, in a display not unheard of yet definitely not common for her in the bullpen, Kate Beckett kisses her fiancé, fast and deep, boosting the applause and catcalls of the whole floor.

Pulling away, she throws around a bashful smile which Castle complements with his own sly grin, making a little theatrical bow that earns him a round of chuckles and a shove away from Beckett.

The pastries are delicious. He brings her a strawberry cronut and she looks like she could kiss him again just for that, but she holds back, leaning against a nearby desk as she watches him offering the contents of the box around the group. Espo and Ryan immediately dig in, each coming out with a pastry and donut in either hand, chatting to Castle and each other animatedly as he makes the rounds around the group.

When he offers the box to Kirk, the newbie shakes his head and quietly thanks him, but Castle - being his usual generous self - prompts him for so long that Kirk finally takes one and Castle proceeds further down the line.

Kirk shoots a covert look at Beckett and upon seeing her looking directly at him, he visibly squirms, but she merely raises her cup to him in sour salute and turns her attention back to Castle without sparing another look or thought for Kirk.

"Look Beckett, I was way out of line back there," Kirk offers in opening.

He seeks her out (corners her, really) in the empty break room later that afternoon as she's taking a five from the long and tedious stats panel in the conference room.

"Yes, you were," she grinds out without so much as raising her head from an old report she's studying while munching on an apple Castle silently slipped into her bag that morning.

Despite her better judgment, she's still so very pissed at Kirk, not only at the man himself but also at everything he represents. And for the past couple of hours, as she was forced to sit through another exceptionally boring meeting, those feelings only took root and began to fester.

"Look, Kirk," she says in a tight, clipped voice, "I don't know or particularly care how things were for you back in Florida, but here in New York, you have to earn the respect you receive from your colleagues on more than just your good looks and some ill-bred attempt at humor." He doesn't even acknowledge her mention of his appearance, which Beckett can't help but think is somewhat positive. Still, she won't let him off the hook. He wants to talk? Wants to clear his conscience? Well, fine, then they'll talk. But she won't make it easy on him.

"I think I got that," Kirk supplies quickly, his voice and posture broadcasting humbleness and submission. Beckett doesn't buy it.

"Really?" she asks, finally raising her eyes to his, offering only doubt and disbelief in return. "Because I don't think you did, Kirk."

She allows his awkward silence to spill through the air before continuing. "Did you see how the whole floor was clapping and cheering when Castle came in? That wasn't because he brought them donuts, or because he's the class clown around here. It's because he's earned their friendship and their respect. He's been working with this department and helping to solve murders since you still had to use a fake driver's license to buy beer. That man – " She pauses then, her finger pointing unnecessarily out the glass partition, toward the spot Castle was entertaining the floor only a couple of hours ago.

She wants to continue but falls silent, feeling the need to take a few calming breaths before her control slips away. "That man delivers brilliant work and has one of the strongest work ethics I've ever seen. He's been spending time at this precinct to help bring justice to the victims of violent crimes, and he's done it pro bono. He doesn't do it for glory or fame. He doesn't need to bother with any of this, you know? And yet, he knows every officer, every civilian aide, every single cleaning lady or plumber that works in this department by name, because he cares. That cheering he got out there? He got it not out of pity, or for being 'impaired'," she spits the word at him, "They did that for him because he's one of them, because he's earned his place here. He's become a member of this family in his own right. It doesn't matter whether he's an academy-trained officer, or a civil consultant. He's family. That's how we roll around here and that's why he got that reception, all of that applause and friendliness and respect. And yet you come here, fresh off a transfer to an environment you know nothing about, and you dare to open your mouth to trash a valuable member of our team, someone who's been here solving cases since long before you even entered the academy."

"Look, if I had known he was your fiancé-" Kirk tries, but she won't have any of it. If anything, his flimsy excuses only enrage her further, so she cuts him off sharply.

"No, Kirk. That's so not the point. The point is that you knew nothing about him and yet you immediately jumped to conclusions and judged – even mocked – him. A person you just met. And that's something I absolutely don't tolerate on my homicide squad and I sure as hell hope your commanding officer doesn't either, because that's how sloppy work is done, and that's how cases get lost." She stresses her point by jabbing a finger into the tabletop. "Prejudice and box-like thinking. That's a disease in this job. You wanna be a good cop? You'd better work on that."

Disgusted, she rises from her spot at the table, the juicy flavor of the apple she's been enjoying turning sour in her mouth. She throws the rest of it into the trash bin on her way out and doesn't bother to offer a very flustered Kirk a single backward glance as she closes the door behind her with a slam.

You okay? Rick signs.

"Yeah, sure," she replies with a shrug, but her eyes quickly return to her task of cutting the carrots.

He can't figure her out.

Ever since returning home, she's been lost in thought, a closed book. There's something on her mind but he can't put his finger on what it is.

She seemed happy to see him at the precinct. They hadn't discussed it beforehand, so it was a surprise visit, a spur of the moment on his part, to be honest. But she didn't seem to mind. In fact, she seemed so thrilled about it, she kissed him in the middle of the bullpen after whispering words of gratitude in his ear, so he's fairly certain they're good.

Then again, maybe he's reading her wrong. Maybe she just doesn't want to let him down. Maybe he just picked a very bad day to make his big return, and maybe she didn't like the additional attention on such a crucial day of her interdepartmental meetings.

The thought gnaws at him as he stands at the counter, scratching Buttercup behind her ears. Maybe Kate didn't like the notion of introducing her mute fiancé to her fellow detectives. Maybe it was too weird for her.

He dismisses the thought even as it jumps into his head, angry with himself for even entertaining it, because that isn't who Kate is, and he isn't doing her justice. Never once has she as much as implied that his muteness would be a source of discomfort or humiliation for her.

So yes, that was indeed a misguided thought. But something is bothering her, and it's eating at him too to not know what that is.

He analyzes the afternoon at the precinct, looking for clues as to what could have triggered her glum mood. The staff seemed happy enough to see him, and it was actually really nice to catch up with the people from the precinct. He thought it would be harder, facing his former colleagues without his voice, but in truth, it was like coming home. He didn't even mind the glob of donut that landed on his pant leg after Karpowski snorted out a laugh upon reading his reply to her question.

Everyone seemed to enjoy the pastry break, including the group of guest detectives standing at the back of the room. Ryan made any necessary introductions and most of the detectives seemed to recognize him by word of mouth, and likewise, none of them seemed surprised when he merely nodded his head upon shaking their hands before signing or turning to his tablet.

If anything, Kate was more handsy than usual during his visit, frequently and almost subconsciously touching him as she chatted with her colleagues, standing much closer than her usual work environment standards would allow. And yet, her thoughts had been miles away, even as she laughed and smiled.

Not long after, she'd had to excuse herself to return to her meeting, but before she went, she pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his lips, her fingers tracing his cheek when she thanked him for showing up, one of her thumbs stroking his chin affectionately as she said goodbye.

He stayed a while longer to talk with the boys, LT and Karpowski, officers Chuan and Geoffrey as well as Toby, the building's resident plumber who came to repair a leaking toilet only to find Castle there. He immediately chatted him up about his daughter finally giving birth to a baby girl, showering him with pictures of the cute newborn on his phone.

He returned home a couple of hours later, weary but pleasantly surprised at how easy it was, how little has changed. He took Buttercup for a walk and then started making dinner, which is when Kate returned home, informing him that she wasn't required to attend the dinner at One PP after all, and wanted to join him at home instead. She was smiling at him as she said it, and yet he could tell, she was already closed off.

He wondered if it was just the exhaustion of the past couple of days weighing upon her, so he tried to send her to take a bath while he prepped dinner, an offer she politely declined before slipping into one of the bar stools and helping him to cut up vegetables to accompany the pork chops.

And that's where they find themselves now, working in well-practiced silence that appears companionable but somehow feels wrong. That's when the doubts about his appearance at the precinct start to gnaw at Castle.

He's had enough experience from his sessions with Burke to know that it's best not to let a topic like this to fester, though. So, after they're seated with their food and Kate has poured them both a glass of wine, he doesn't let the silence stretch out any longer, broaching the topic by signing a simple, Something wrong?

She looks puzzled enough for him to raise his hands to repeat the question, but she waves him off, indicating that she understood the first time.

So instead, he asks, What happened?

She raises her own hands to sign only to close them in angry fists, her previously collected calm gone just like that as she lets out a frustrated little growl. Something is definitely up.

She looks frustrated enough for him to quickly add, You don't need to sign. Just talk to me. I'm listening.

She gives him a thankful look and he smiles at her encouragingly, his face open and bright, and it makes something in her break. Mist fills her eyes and his heart falls when she finally speaks, her voice choked up and filled with the angry tears she's been pushing back all afternoon.

"It's just…people. I'm frustrated with people. And work. And having to deal with it all," she blurts out and angrily stabs a carrot stick with her fork before dropping it entirely, letting it clang against the plate. "You know, like when you visited today."

His heart drops. Was it a mistake for me to visit today? He quickly signs, interrupting her. He holds his breath as he watches her absorb his words, let them sink in.

"Wait…what?" She asks slowly at last, a look of genuine surprise playing over her face. His question has caught her off guard and something in his chest loosens at that. Still, he wants to be clear about this subject before they move on.

I'm sorry that I came to the station without warning you first, he continues, since opening with an apology is always being the safest option.

"What?" she repeats. "No!"

If anything, his apology seems to upset her even further. "No, Castle, you've got absolutely nothing to apologize for," she sighs, quietly fuming into her plate.

Okay, so it's not about him after all. That's a relief...of sort.

She must finally understand what his concerns are at that very moment, because she snaps her eyes up to him, her hand quickly grabbing his over the table, their meal completely forgotten and growing cold.

"No, babe," she says in a gentler tone, her eyes piercing his, as if she's seeing him clearly for the very first time that night. "This has nothing to do with you, okay?" she intones. "You've got nothing to apologize for. I am so glad you came today. You'll never know," she adds on a murmur, her eyes tender on him.

"Really, babe, you were the brightest part of my day." Her hand squeezes his, a somewhat sad smile gracing her features.

He lets go of her hand to sign, still curious about the reason behind her glum mood. What is it then?

She lets out a frustrated grunt, her eyes falling shut. He takes her hand again, waiting her out as he draws slow, circular patterns over her palm with his thumb in a notion he know she dislikes yet still can't withstand.

"You remember that new guy, the kid with the blonde hair?" she asks upon opening her eyes with her frown, her look steely, indicating that she's come to some sort of decision.

Castle searches his mind, thinking about the blond youngster who looked not much older than Alexis but who already had a detective's badge (which admittedly is pretty impressive), and who looked all flustered and refused to take a donut from him on his first offer. He had seemed like a decent enough kid. He gives her a slight nod, waiting her out.

She gives another frustrated sigh, their food completely abandoned now as she pushes her plate to the side with sudden distaste.

"He hit on me."

That is not what Castle had expected. His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but before he has a chance to comment on that revelation, Beckett is already plowing on.

"And just when I was about to let him know that I wasn't available - or even interested for that matter - you came in."

It still doesn't make much sense to him.

"And he didn't know." She says, her look filled with misery.

Oh.

OH!

Well…fuck. That makes a lot more sense now.

"And the cocky bastard started making comments. And when he saw you with your iPad…and signing…" her cheeks flush and she's unable to complete her sentence.

You felt embarrassed, Castle supplies with an understanding nod.

"Castle! No!" Kate says in a shocked, half-shout that makes Buttercup raise her head from the rug in alarm to look at her.

"No, I didn't feel embarrassed! I felt murderous. I felt like I could walk to him and punch that cocky, stupid grin off of his face and be done with it."

Oh.

"But I couldn't, because, well…for one, I was stunned. And two, it would look really bad on an incident report if it said the lead homicide detective at the Twelfth was at an event promoting interdepartmental cooperation while punching her fellow detectives senseless."

That image nearly makes him smile, but he manages to contain it when he sees the seriousness on her face.

Okay, so he was being- he searches his mind for the proper sign to use, easy enough for her to understand, but she beats him to it, supplying with words. "An ass. That's what he was. A complete and total jackass."

He shrugs. So what? We've dealt with asses before. He tries not to dwell on the hilarity of having the opportunity to finally sign the word ass.

"The problem is-" she takes a deep breath, her voice breaking over her next words. "I can't stand it, Castle."

The misery of her tone snaps him back to the present.

"I'm fed up with people judging us all the time."

His heart clenches at the sound of her angry despair.

"We go to the park, and people judge us. We go grocery shopping, and people judge us. We're at Starbucks ordering coffee, and people are still judging us. I am fed up with it. Why can't anyone mind their own damn business? Why do they have to look at us as if…as if…"

Her voice is trembling and there's something miserable in her expression that prompts him to grab for his iPad and quickly type, They don't understand how a woman like you could be with a guy like me?

He can see it on her face. How she wants to say no, but knows in her heart that the answer is yes. It nags at him too on occasion; he's not oblivious nor immune to those looks either. Like when they had gone to a coffee shop the other day and he caught these strange looks from a businessman who was checking out Beckett standing in line, only to shift his attention to check out the guy she was with, the one who had to use his hands to ask her what kind of cake she wanted with her order.

It's as though they need to find logic in it, looking for a reason why a woman like Kate would be with an older, mute guy like him. And the worst is when they seem satisfied only once they spot the pricey watch dangling from his wrist or the platinum Visa he uses to pay for their order, and ultimately spying the shine of the diamond adorning Kate's left hand. Only then do they look appeased, like the world makes sense again.

It embarrasses as well as angers him, the utterly untrue conclusion they draw about Beckett and the nature of their relationship. It's mostly on her behalf though, because Kate Beckett is a woman who can certainly hold her own, and doesn't need a sugar daddy to cover her coffee bill.

More rare, but perhaps even more hurtful are the looks from some women, throwing compassionate glances at Kate, who they must believe is caught in a commitment borne out of obligation or pity. Those are probably the worst and most embarrassing ones for him.

But he's never commented on it, never brought it up, because he never knew how many of those looks she intercepted herself. In retrospect, how very naïve of him to wonder; of course she notices them, probably more frequently than he does. She's the trained detective, after all.

Looking at her across the table, she looks so utterly miserable as she gazes at him, lost as to what to do with it all, with her feelings, with her frustrations.

He rises from the table, circling it to extend a hand towards Kate and beckoning her to take it. Leading her to the couch, he draws her body to his after plopping down, simply cradling her to him, allowing her to breathe through her frustration as he holds her, his hand running soothing circles over her back while he presses an occasional kiss against the top of her head.

Slowly, little by little, he feels the anger leave her, her limbs starting to relax in his embrace. He takes the iPad from the table then, angling it so both of them can see the words as he types.

I don't care what anybody thinks of us, so long as you and I stay truthful about how we feel about each other. If people think you're with me only out of obligation or pity, or for my money, fine. I don't care so long as it's not true. He lets the words sink in, adding as a cheeky afterthought, It's not true, is it?

She doesn't comment, but her open palm collides with his shoulder as she smacks him, luring a smile out of them both.

"It's just so frustrating," Kate utters quietly, her face still hidden in his chest, but a note of acceptance can finally be heard creeping into her voice. "It makes me so mad when people judge you on that one thing they can see and nothing else. Like, they can't see past the muteness, like that's all there is to you. Like it somehow negates the wonderful, amazing man you are."

He lets her words sink in before typing, Can I get that in writing, please?

She hits him again, but this time, it's accompanied by a low chuckle before she leans into his chest, more playful than pensive this time.

"I love you," she murmurs.

I love you too, he silently signs, turning towards his iPad again.

So how about we try to forget about all the stupid people out there, and instead try to enjoy ourselves in here? Try to prove how very wrong they are about us?

He lets the tablet rest on his thighs, still in her line of sight, while his hands start to roam, sliding under the hem of her shirt, shifting it upwards, his teasing fingers gliding over the supple, warm flesh underneath her breasts.

It's a risky move, given her mood as well as how tired he knows her to be, but she doesn't swat his hands away, which he takes as a small victory. And then, she erases any remaining doubts when she pushes into his touch, her head rising and nuzzling into the crook of his neck, her warm breath fanning across his skin, causing goose bumps to erupt over his flesh.

"You have anything particular in mind?" she purrs, her mouth at his ear now, playfully biting his lobe. "To prove them wrong, I mean."

He shrugs, feigning indifference as he reluctantly pulls one hand out from under her shirt in order to type into the tablet thrown at his side, I dunno. We could read. Or watch some TV. Maybe have something to eat…

She rewards him with a hearty chuckle for that, an echo of a conversation long past, before she takes the tablet from under his fingers and tosses it onto the coffee table with a loud thump, certainly making her point.

"No chance in hell, stud," she murmurs, throwing a leg over his groin, her arms locking behind his neck as she watches him groan silently while she grinds against him.

"Not a chance in hell," she whispers, as she lowers herself onto him, her mouth seeking his in a deep, searing kiss.

Still breathing, still writing, still committed to the story. I hope you are still too.