Author's Note: Fair warning that this is a really (really) long chapter so if you need to take the entire weekend to read it all, that's fine. My only defense is that Castle and Beckett started talking and they really did have a lot to talk about. This chapter is also quite fluffy so hopefully that will make it a fun read, even if it is very long.

Feels Like Home

Chapter 28

Kate surfaced from the drugging effects of Castle's kiss more slowly than she cared to admit. The only saving grace for her pride was that, judging from the way his eyes had gone hazy and he had to blink a few times, he was no better off than she was.

She rested her forehead against his as she waited to get her breath back and her thoughts once more organized.

"Mm, wow," he mumbled rather breathlessly.

"Wow," she agreed, her mind still too fuzzy to do much more than echo the word.

It was a rather lame word, considering that she still felt a little woolly-headed and had no clear sense of how much time had passed since they had started kissing. It could have been five minutes or five hours or five days, for all she really knew or for all she'd cared once they'd started kissing. God. She'd never in her life so completely lost track of time or her surroundings the way she'd found herself doing so often with Castle this evening and she wasn't sure she liked it. No, scratch that, she didn't really like it; she didn't tend to deal well with being out of control, didn't like how easily and how completely she was swept up by Castle, lost in Castle. But then he kissed her and touched her—or just looked at her sometimes—and she couldn't seem to help herself, couldn't resist him or the magnetic pull he appeared to have on her.

It was, now she thought about it, probably this very sense that Castle would make her lose control, the strength of the attraction he had always had for her, even against her will (at least when they'd first met) that had made her fight this thing between them since the day she'd dragged him out of his book launch party.

With anyone else, in any other situation that threatened the loss of control, she knew herself well enough to know that she would have run long before now, run so fast that she would have been a speck on the horizon before the other person could so much as say her full name. So she had resisted Castle, had tried to keep her distance from him (only to find that he was, irritatingly, persistent and quite impervious to the prickly demeanor that had generally worked in the past at keeping people at a distance).

And then her apartment had exploded and she'd been forced, by necessity, to stay in the loft—and what little chance she had of resisting Castle for much longer had eroded, with his constant presence, the warm family atmosphere of the loft, the way he behaved when he was at home, steadily chipping away at her defenses.

Even now, she wasn't entirely comfortable with this feeling of not being in control. The difference—and this was the most important thing, the reason she wasn't running—was that she trusted Castle. Trusted him more than anyone else in her life.

She trusted him and with him, here in the privacy and safety of his home, she could forget about her surroundings, let down her guard, and, yes, give up control. And she thought, with some time, she would become more comfortable with the feeling of not being in control, more comfortable with the sheer depth and magnitude of what she felt for him, although she didn't think she would ever be entirely comfortable with being so vulnerable.

"Dollar for your thoughts? You're suddenly looking very serious."

She raised her eyebrows a little. "A dollar? How extravagant," she teased.

"You're evading, Beckett." He adopted a wheedling expression and tone. "C'mon. Tell me what you were thinking about."

She hesitated but knew, even as she did so, that she was going to tell him. Not because his look and tone worked on her (they sort of did—drat him) but because this was exactly the sort of thing she'd promised herself—and him—she would improve at. "I was thinking that I don't know how good I'm going to be at this."

One of his eyebrows quirked upwards, a smirk tugging at his lips. "I don't know how you can say that because I think you're very good at this."

She huffed a soft laugh. "I'm not talking about kissing. I was talking about this… being in a real relationship thing."

His eyes softened, his expression sobering. "Because of your wall?"

"It's just… this evening, with you and Martha and Alexis, this… isn't like me. I don't… act like this; I don't forget that other people are around. This… with you… I've never been like this with anyone else. I don't… let people in and I'm not… good at relationships." And she was so afraid that she would screw things up with her defenses, that he would realize that he could be with anyone, be with someone who wasn't damaged, who was open-hearted and fun and whose life didn't revolve around death.

Damn it. She hated feeling so vulnerable, hated that the very strength of her feelings for him seemed to make her insecurities and fears commensurately stronger too. This was what she'd been hiding from. She'd never felt this way around Will—that was a large part of what had made him so safe, what she'd liked about him. Will was a good, decent man and she'd cared about him, even loved him in a way, but she'd never been in love with him, never would have been in love with him, and even if she'd never consciously thought it, she had known that, hadn't she? It was what had made Will so safe; he would never have been able to break her heart.

Castle could. He could break her heart. Could absolutely destroy her.

She trusted him, trusted that he would never intentionally hurt her, but her dislike of being vulnerable was ingrained in her by now, and it was going to take a lot of time before she could train herself out of it, if she ever really could.

He ran a hand lightly up and down her back in a soothing gesture and she gave in to the urge to curve her spine into the caress. It occurred to her for the first time in her life that she entirely understood why cats purred.

"It's okay, Kate, and it's not just you. Do you think I'm not just as scared about us? I haven't exactly had a good track record with relationships. I'm the one with two divorces behind me, remember? Sometimes, I—well, I've wondered if maybe I'm just one of those people not cut out for a lasting relationship."

Oh, Castle. She was a little amazed at the way he had not only acknowledged her insecurities but then reflected them back to admit his own. Amazed and a little humbled because she knew him well enough to know that he didn't like speaking about his insecurities any more than she did—but he had now, for her sake. He was opening up to her—just as she needed to open up to him.

He went on thoughtfully. "We both have baggage and it's not going to be easy or perfect. Relationships are always hard; they always take a lot of work. I, of all people, know that. But I also think we can do this. I think we'll keep on being amazing together."

In spite of herself, she couldn't quite smother her smile at his hyperbolic words. (Or not so hyperbolic, an errant voice in her head spoke up. Amazing was a rather accurate description of their first night together. Shut up, not helping.) "Amazing, huh? How can you be so sure?"

He met her eyes, his expression suddenly entirely sober. "Because I know I'm willing to do anything I can to try and make this relationship work and because you're the most determined, dedicated person I've ever met. Do you remember what I told you once, about why you're extraordinary?"

"I remember," she murmured, her cheeks flushing at the thought of his words. Oh, she remembered, didn't think she'd ever forget. Her heart still fluttered a little at the memory. No one, with the exception of her parents, had ever said anything like that to her, and the sincerity, the admiration, in his eyes and his voice had made it mean all the more. You pushed for it, not because it's your job, but because you care. Most people come up against a wall, they give up. Not you. You don't let go. You don't back down. That's what makes you extraordinary.

"You're willing to try too, Kate, you said so and I know you. I don't expect it's always going to be easy but I know you and I believe in you. I believe in us."

"You also believe in magic, aliens, and Bigfoot," she pointed out, hoping her voice didn't betray how she felt like her heart, to say nothing of her knees, had melted at his words. "You're like the White Queen in Alice in Wonderland."

He laughed. "Because you think I make a practice of believing in impossible things?"

She smiled. "'One can't believe impossible things,'" she quoted.

"'I daresay you haven't had much practice,'" he quoted right back at her immediately, his eyes lighting up in that way he had when he was telling a story or, as he was now, catching and responding to a literary reference. Such a writer. "'Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.'"* He paused and then went on in a more normal tone, "Besides, impossibility is in the eye of the beholder, Beckett. Two hundred years ago, people would have sworn it was impossible to have horseless carriages or for mankind to fly. And I seem to remember a certain detective swearing that she and a certain ruggedly handsome writer would never get together and yet, here we are."

She blinked and frowned slightly. "When did I say that?"

"Last year, during the home invasion case," he answered promptly. "The woman in charge of the MADT fundraiser asked if we were together. I said, not yet, and you said, with very unflattering emphasis, no, never."

She made a small face at him. She didn't doubt the story—it sounded like her and at the time, she'd have meant it—but while she remembered the woman, she didn't remember the words. "Castle, that was a 30-second irrelevant exchange in the middle of a case that happened a year ago. Do you have instant recall of every word you've ever heard me say?"

He looked smug. "Probably. I have a very good memory when it comes to things I'm interested in."

"'In such cases as these, a good memory is unpardonable,'" she told him.

"Jane Austen," he identified immediately, and added with a small smirk, "And I didn't even have to show you my country estate in the Hamptons to make you change your mind about me, although I will."**

She couldn't help her smile. As much as he loved it that she read, she loved it too, loved the way he could meet and match her in banter and, yes, in literary allusions. She loved that his mind could challenge hers.

He raised his eyebrows at her, looking annoyingly self-satisfied. "To quote some immortal lyrics by Oscar Hammerstein, 'Impossible things are happening every day.'*** Case in point, you being here with me now when you said it would never happen."

She grimaced, narrowing her eyes at him. "You are going to tease me about my saying that for the rest of our lives, aren't you?"

He only grinned delightedly, his eyes lighting up as if someone had just awarded him a Pulitzer.

What? She mentally replayed her words and then inwardly groaned. Drat him. Teasing or baiting her to get an unwitting admission was not fair. That was one of her tricks. He wasn't allowed to use one of her tricks against her. (And now she was being ridiculous.)

He laughed aloud, as if his delight had overflowed into irrepressible laughter.

She blushed and tried to glare at him, although judging from his expression, her "glare" was ending up somewhere around indulgent affection. "It's a commonly-used phrase. It just slipped out." She paused. "Shut up."

It was a commonly-used phrase and she hadn't thought anything of it but she had meant it, did mean it, she realized. She did hope—believe—that they would be together for—oh god—the rest of their lives. She suddenly thought of something else she had said to Castle more than a year ago—that she was a one-and-done type. Castle was her one and this relationship with Castle was it, her best chance at the sort of relationship she wanted, the sort of relationship her parents had had. And if she didn't manage to make this relationship work, that would be it for her. One and done. The phrase suddenly struck her as terrifying in its very finality. She couldn't mess this up.

But he believed in her, believed in them. And she believed in him.

His eyes danced. "It's an admission against interest and entirely admissible for its truth. You believe we'll be great together too."

Annoying, smug, adorable man. "I don't know why I put up with you," she huffed with mock exasperation.

"I bring you coffee," he answered immediately. "And I make things more fun."

Kate gave in to her smile because she just couldn't help it anymore and leaned in to brush her lips against his. "Yeah, Castle, you make things better," she said softly. And he really did. He had teased her right out of her sudden, terrifying consciousness of her own vulnerability, the return of her lingering fears. He'd distracted her and made her smile—made her happy so that at that moment, she could barely remember why she'd ever been afraid in the first place. This was Castle and he could, somehow, always, make her smile in a way no one else ever had.

She let her head rest against his for a long, quiet moment as he settled his arm a little more snugly around her.

"I'm not too heavy, am I?" she murmured, breaking the silence.

He scoffed. "There's no need to insult me."

She huffed a soft laugh—silly man—but then she stirred, kissing his forehead, before she pushed herself to her feet. "We should finish cleaning up dinner," she said mildly.

He made a face of exaggerated reluctance but stood up as well as they cleared off the table and put away the leftovers.

That done, she settled on the couch, bringing her still half-full glass of wine with her, and he followed with his own glass. He put his glass down on the coffee table before dropping down next to her and tugging her snugly into the circle of his arm so she ended up leaning against him.

She suppressed a smile as she relaxed against him, amazed at how easy, how natural, it felt—and how comfortable the position was. She wasn't at all surprised to discover that Castle was so fond of snuggling; he was a tactile person, touched things, as she'd told Agent Shaw. And he had apparently decided that touching her was his new favorite pastime. (But then again, she thought touching him had become her new favorite pastime too.)

The surprising thing was just how much she liked it. Will had not been much of a snuggler, had not been given to affectionate touches or caresses that weren't sexual. She had always thought she liked him for it; it had meant she didn't need to worry about trying to reciprocate. And she had never been the clingy type or the type to seek out the comfort or pleasure of another person's touch.

She would have thought that being so closely wrapped in someone's arm would make her feel restricted, confined, in a way that would grate. But somehow, at least with Castle at that moment, it didn't. Maybe it was as simple as this—being able to touch him, being touched by him—all being so new still and they were both finally giving in to the suppressed attraction of more than a year. Maybe it was because she knew perfectly well that if she stirred or made any indication of discomfort, he would release her immediately. He would give her space if she wanted it. But for now at least, she didn't want space from him. She would need some space eventually, she expected, but for now, she could just enjoy this togetherness.

Besides, he was big and broad and comfortable, his shoulder made a very nice headrest, and he was wonderfully warm and smelled great too so she really wasn't inclined to cut off her nose to spite her face and not let him hold her like this just for the sake of her own pride.

She couldn't quite admit it out loud but at that moment, she couldn't think of anywhere else she would rather be.

She lifted her head to brush a kiss to the underside of his chin, all she could reach without having to move more than she wanted to, and then settled in to nestle her head against his shoulder.

"Kate?"

"Hmm?"

"What did you and Alexis talk about?"

Kate shifted, turning to face him, although she stayed tucked inside the circle of his arm. This wasn't a conversation to have not being able to see his face. "She wanted to make sure I really cared about you."

His expression softened even as his chest puffed up with pride as it so often did when he spoke about Alexis. "My little girl looking out for her old man."

She gave him a soft smile. "She worries about you." Not just about something hurting Castle physically but Alexis worried about Castle's happiness too. That had been clear enough. And it occurred to Kate that anyone who hurt Castle would have Alexis to answer to—and Kate wouldn't discount the ferocity of Alexis's response.

"I know she does," he murmured. He was silent for a moment, his eyes distant as he thought about his daughter, but then he blinked and met her eyes. "But Alexis knows she has no reason to worry where you're concerned."

Oh, Castle. He believed in her so much, it was a little frightening and a lot humbling because she couldn't imagine how she deserved it and she was so afraid that she would end up letting him down, disappointing him and hurting him.

"Alexis will worry about you anyway because she loves you."

"She's my little girl," he said quietly.

"Not so little anymore."

He made a face. "Don't be mean, Beckett. I'm trying not to think about that."

She gave him an apologetic smile. "Sorry."

He nodded with mock gravity.

Kate hesitated, not quite sure how to mention the rest of their conversation, but finally just admitted, "Alexis wanted to know if I really cared about her for her own sake and not just because of you."

He blinked and then frowned a little. "What—why would she—you do. She should know that by now."

"Castle, it's okay. It's entirely understandable that Alexis might doubt it, given everything she's seen as the child of a single father."

Now he looked dismayed, his eyes clouding over. "I tried so hard to protect Alexis from all that. It's always just been her and me, pretty much, and I've tried to be everything she needed and she's never said anything to me about—"

She quieted him by touching her finger to his lips, suddenly wishing she'd never said anything to him but Alexis was his daughter and while Kate was not—could not be—Alexis's mother, she wanted to be family. And if she was really going to be a part of the family, she and Castle would need to be able to have these sorts of conversations about Alexis and anything that affected her. "No, Castle, it's not your fault. You're a good dad, Castle, and you've done great raising Alexis, you know that."

He sighed. "I suppose. I just… I know Alexis gets upset over the way Meredith has never stuck around for her but I've tried to make Alexis understand that it's just the way Meredith is, has nothing to do with her. And I thought I'd succeeded so it wouldn't affect Alexis's relationship with anyone else, let alone you. I guess I just… haven't."

"Castle, don't blame yourself for this. I know Alexis doesn't. She told me that you've always been everything she needed."

His eyes cleared a little, even though a frown lingered between his brows.

"I told Alexis that I would never try to come between you two," Kate told him quietly.

"Of course you wouldn't and Alexis already knew that."

She couldn't help but smile slightly at his unquestioning confidence. "Alexis knowing no one would succeed at coming between you two is different from knowing that I wouldn't try so I wanted to reassure her."

Castle lifted one shoulder in a gesture of acknowledgement.

Kate hesitated and then ventured, "Castle, can I ask, what was Gina's relationship with Alexis like?" She had heard Alexis's side and while she didn't doubt Alexis's story, Kate also knew that there were always at least two sides to every story and she wondered, too, what Castle would have noticed about Gina's relationship with Alexis. Knowing how Castle protected Alexis, she couldn't imagine that Castle wouldn't have been watchful, even vigilant, when it came to Gina and Alexis. (And in a rather more unworthy motive, she couldn't deny the niggle of curiosity about what Castle might reveal about his own relationship with Gina, about why their marriage had failed.)

His expression became oddly blank for a moment and then he blinked, a faint frown forming between his eyes as he sighed. "Gina… she's a nice person," he began slowly. "But she's not… uh, the most kid-friendly person either. She tried to be good to Alexis but I don't think… Gina and Alexis never really bonded. Although," he made a small face, "that was probably at least half my own fault. I… didn't really give Gina… space… to get close to Alexis. Gina said I built a wall around Alexis—we fought about it."

She frowned a little. That seemed… odd. "Hmm."

"What?"

She hesitated but then blurted out, "You didn't do that with me." He hadn't; Castle had never shown the slightest inclination to keep her from becoming close to Alexis. And Kate could hardly claim to be a very kid-friendly person herself; she knew next to nothing about kids and didn't feel comfortable around them. It was lucky for her that Alexis wasn't that much of a kid anymore.

He gave her a look that suggested she had just said something insane. "You're different," he said simply.

Oh, Castle. Not for the first time, Kate almost lost her breath at how much Castle trusted her, how much he believed in her. And it suddenly occurred to her that Castle had trusted her where Alexis was concerned for a long time, since long before she'd been staying at the loft. She remembered the time months ago when Alexis had called her to ask about studying abroad. Even then, Castle's concern had only been about the nature of Alexis's secret. Had he always trusted her so much? She hadn't thought about it at the time but then she hadn't really known just how protective of Alexis Castle could be, had rarely considered what Castle was like as a father until she'd moved into the loft. Now, she knew—and she was amazed. He'd shielded Alexis from Gina and he'd married her, must have thought he loved her. And yet, he hadn't really trusted Gina with Alexis. Not like he had always trusted Kate.

As if he'd read her thoughts, he repeated his earlier words, "I trust you." He paused and then went on, making a rather rueful face, "Although in fairness, I should say that part of my problem, maybe even the biggest part of it, was that at the time when I married Gina, I really didn't know how to share Alexis yet. It had just been Alexis and me for her entire life until that point and since she was still so young, I was with her pretty much all the time. I've gotten better since then because Alexis is older now; she's almost grown up and is a lot more independent now." He grimaced at the words as if the thought of how grown-up Alexis was pained him, which it likely did. "And of course, once my mother moved in, I had to get used to not having Alexis all to myself."

Yes, that was true too. Kate found herself wondering for a moment how it would have been different if she had met Castle years ago—would Castle have so easily trusted her with Alexis?

His lips twisted into a rueful expression. "I could have—should have—done better but I… sort of encouraged Alexis to keep on coming to me for just about everything or, I suppose, I didn't encourage Alexis to go to Gina for, well, anything. Gina did try, especially at first, but then she… gave up…" He grimaced. "And really, by the six months or so before Gina and I separated… we were basically fighting over everything so I don't think Gina was really in the mood to be nice to anyone related to me so she didn't pay much attention to Alexis at all."

Kate tried not to wince, fought to keep her expression as neutral as she could, even as her heart pinched. The break-up of his second marriage bothered Castle more than he'd ever let on; she could see it in the way his eyes had clouded over, in the tense lines bracketing his mouth, hear it in his voice. She couldn't quite tell how much of it was due to a dislike of failure or to personal hurt but his upset was clear.

And as for Alexis, it was no wonder Alexis would believe that a woman would only be nice to Alexis as long as the woman was involved with Castle. Of course Alexis would have noticed that Gina had only made an effort to be nice to her as long as Castle and Gina got along. Gina might not have meant it like that but the effect was the same—and just as hurtful to Alexis. It was hard to think charitably of Gina for that but Kate wondered, in an attempt to be fair-minded, how much of it might have been that Gina had not been given much of a chance to forge a relationship with Alexis as her own person.

She met Castle's eyes, lifting a hand to touch his cheek lightly to underscore her words. "Castle. Rick," she corrected herself, not quite smoothly—the first time she'd called him by his name for any reason other than irritation or deliberate provocation. She saw the surprise and something softer flare in his eyes at her use of his first name and it occurred to her that he liked the sound of his first name on her lips maybe even as much as she liked it when he called her by hers. "I don't know much about kids," she said slowly, a little hesitantly, "but I promise that I won't, ever, take it out on Alexis when you and I fight. I'll be there for Alexis no matter what happens between us."

It was a vow and one she hadn't quite consciously realized she was going to make until she found herself speaking. It occurred to her, with a little shock, just how… committed she was to all of this, to her relationship with Castle, to this family she had become a part of. It didn't matter that she and Castle had only been together for… oh god, it had only been one day. How was that even possible? As new—and addicting—as all this physical closeness with Castle was, in a weird way it also felt as if she and Castle had been together for… weeks, months even. As if even while her head had been denying that there was anything at all beyond friendship between her and Castle, her heart had been going forward by leaps and bounds and in her heart at least, she and Castle had been together for much longer than only one day.

He let out a shaky breath. "Kate, I… thank you," he murmured after a moment, the stark simplicity of the words surprising her a little when compared to the depth of the emotion swirling in his eyes, stamped across his face. And she realized with a flicker of amazement and humility that she had, somehow, robbed the writer of his words.

Oh, Castle. As much as she loved his words, she loved this too, loved his utter sincerity in the rare times when he lost that skill with words that was so much a part of him.

She felt her heart flutter at the look in his eyes, one of those faint, tender smiles that barely curved his lips and mostly just existed in the warmth in his eyes, the smile she thought of as being one of his Alexis smiles because she generally saw it when he was looking at his daughter or talking about her. Now, though, the smile was for her. She suddenly found it hard to breathe as she drifted closer to him, inexorably drawn to him, and then she was kissing him before she'd consciously realized she was going to do so. Kissing him gently, tenderly. His hand came up to cup her jaw, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone, as he kissed her back, his mouth soft and pliant and giving against hers. The kiss felt almost… innocent, more like a first kiss than should have been possible given everything.

When the kiss ended, she didn't go far, barely moved at all, really, only rested her forehead against his, their noses brushing, their breaths mingling.

Mmm. Ridiculously and rather inappropriately, she felt a little bubble of amusement inside her, escaping in a small, silly smile that she attempted to hide against his cheek. He was a really good kisser. Unbidden, a memory from what felt like a lifetime ago returned to her, of whispering and giggling with Maddy after first telling Maddy that kissing boys could involve some tongue.

She composed her features before she drew back to meet his eyes. "Castle?"

"Hmm?"

"I wanted to warn you that you're going to be deserted on Sunday because Alexis and I and maybe Martha if she wants to join us, are going to be spending Mother's Day together and you are not invited."

His eyes brightened, lighting up with happiness, even as he pretended to pout. "That's not very nice, Beckett. Why won't you let me come? I promise to be on my best behavior."

"No. We're going to have a girl's day out so you're not qualified," she told him with mock sternness, controlling her expression with some effort.

He put on his best pitiful puppy expression. "Please?"

She bit her lip, hard, to keep herself from smiling. Ridiculous, adorable man. "No, Castle."

He heaved an exaggerated sigh of disappointment. "Oh fine. I'll just have to figure out a way to amuse myself. Maybe I'll have the boys come over and we can have a Madden day and play some poker."

"Or you could just write," she pointed out. "Don't you have a deadline coming up?"

He made a face at her. "The deadline's not for a couple weeks and I'm almost done, I swear!"

"Says the master procrastinator, who always waits until the last minute and then finishes a book in a mad rush when the deadline hits?" she teased.

"Okay, I've changed my mind. You and Alexis and my mother clearly cannot be allowed to spend time together since my mother and daughter have decided to spill all my secrets."

She laughed at him. "You think it was a secret that you procrastinate when you should be writing?"

"I write almost every day!"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "And does all the writing you do end up in a book?"

He opened his mouth and then closed it again and she allowed herself a smirk. She'd got him there. It was something Alexis had mentioned and that she had noticed herself, that Castle "wrote it out." He wrote about things that bothered him, wrote his own versions of the way he thought actual events or conversations should have gone, wrote random scenes or snippets of dialogue as they came to him whether or not they had any place in the book, or more straightforwardly, when he was annoyed or frustrated, he wrote a scene of Nikki (or Derrick Storm) beating up some thugs, not related to the plot of a book but just serving as therapy of a sort. He was such a writer. And it had been a little fascinating, she had to admit, to learn this sort of thing about her favorite author and his writing habits. (Oh god. Kate knew a fleeting second of amazement. Her life had gotten so surreal. She was dating her favorite author.)

"Clearly I need to have a talk with my mother and daughter about how much they tell you about me," he grumbled with mock disgruntlement.

She grinned. "You're forgetting that I'm a detective. What makes you think I wouldn't find out anyway?"

He pulled a face. "That's a frightening thought." He stopped, his expression undergoing one of those lightning-fast changes of expression that she had gotten accustomed to where he was concerned, the ones she usually saw when he had a sudden idea about a case or a story, except this wasn't quite like that. He looked entirely sober now, almost… worried. "That reminds me. There's… something we need to talk about."

Kate frowned a little. "What is it, Castle?"

"We need to talk about… telling people about our relationship," he said carefully.

She blinked, a smile beginning to tug on her lips. "Didn't we already have this talk this morning?" Anyway, pretty much everyone who needed to know already knew. She had made plans to have lunch with her dad on Saturday and would tell him then. She had told Lanie at lunch today—or not told Lanie so much as showed up at the morgue with sandwiches for both of them and then been informed by Lanie, "you had sex with Castle." It had not been a question and Kate had been left to blush and mutter confirmation of Lanie's statement. And had then spent the rest of lunch blushing hotly since Lanie had insisted that she needed details on Castle's, um, performance.

She paused. "Wait, do you mean telling people because of that bet going around the precinct about us?"

He blinked. "You know about that?"

She huffed. "I'm a detective. It was a bet about my personal life going on at my work place. Did you really think I wouldn't know about it?" She stopped and narrowed her eyes at him. "You didn't make a bet on the pool, did you?" If he had…

"No!" he denied immediately with convincing force, his eyes widening. He grimaced. "I know I can be a jackass sometimes but I don't kiss and tell, Beckett."

She softened, giving him a small smile. "Okay, good. Then what did you mean by telling people?"

He didn't smile, only let out a breath. "I meant that we need to talk about the press."

The press. Oh. Oh god. Kate froze and then she reared back, recoiling almost instinctively at the very thought of the press.

Castle winced a little, sitting up straight, and hurried on, "I'm sorry but I can't prevent it from happening. If we're in a relationship, the press is going to find out eventually."

Oh shit. She suddenly felt like an idiot because this part of being in a relationship with Castle had completely slipped her mind, somehow. She'd forgotten, or something, that he was a (relatively) famous person; he was just… Castle. And since she'd gotten to know the real man so well, seeing the way he was in the loft, it was even harder to think of him as a staple of the gossip columns.

But he was. She suddenly remembered all the mentions of him in Page Six she'd seen over the years, remembered the camera flashes at the Heat Wave launch party, remembered the attention she'd received just for accompanying him to the MADT fundraiser a year ago.

She surged to her feet, suddenly needing to move, too filled with nervous energy stemming from her inner turmoil to sit still anymore.

She had had to work so hard in her first couple years on the force to be taken seriously as a cop, had had to fight for every bit of respect and reputation she had because as a young female cop, to say nothing of her looks, respect had not been easily granted. She'd raged (to herself) when she'd been placed in Vice where all female cops ended up early on so they could be sent undercover as prostitutes, and then she had worked like a demon in order to get out of Vice as fast as she possibly could. Staying in Vice for a long stretch of time was a death knell to the career of any female cop who wanted to be taken seriously because everyone assumed that they were only there as convenient eye-candy while the male cops did all the real police work. (She suspected that Captain Montgomery had pulled some strings to get her transferred out of Vice after only six months but she'd never asked.) Even Esposito had not been inclined to take her seriously when they had first been paired up and she'd needed to prove she was every bit the cop that he was before he'd accepted her.

Being shadowed by some celebrity author had not exactly enhanced her professional reputation but then when it had come out that the character based on her was going to be named Nikki Heat and then with the release of Heat Wave, things had really blown up.

Oh god. She could imagine headlines with a thousand bad puns about Heat, speculation about how much of the sex scenes in Heat Wave were based on real life, insinuations that she was only with him for the money and the fame.

She was barely able to talk about her private life with Lanie, let alone anyone else, and the idea of having any part of her private life serving as fodder for the tabloids was absolutely horrifying.

"I don't want my private life to be splashed over the papers. And how am I supposed to do my job if I'm constantly tripping over reporters and paparazzi yelling questions at me and taking pictures? How am I even going to be taken seriously as a cop if I'm being written about in the gossip magazines like some gold-digger celebutante?"

"Kate, I'm sorry. I wish I could stop it from happening but I can't."

He sounded as dismayed as she felt and she paused in her pacing to look at him and felt a ripple of warmth breaking through her tension. He looked almost distraught and it was because of her, on her behalf, guilt and worry putting lines of strain around his mouth and eyes.

She forced herself to sit back down next to him, suddenly regretting how she'd leaped up. She generally needed to pace when she got upset but she could see that he had taken her standing up, the fact that she had physically put distance between them, as something like blame. Or even rejection. And she was suddenly reminded that their relationship was so new still, so uncertain in some ways. They were still learning their way forward as a couple.

She put her hand on his knee. "I know, Castle. I don't blame you for it."

He relaxed slightly, covering her hand with his. "I can't stop it," he said again, more calmly. "All we can do is try to control it."

"How can we control it?" she asked, softening still further at his use of the word "we." They were in this together.

"I'll talk to Paula and she'll help."

She shot him a skeptical look. "Will she really? Paula seems more interested in making you do more publicity than limiting it."

"Paula works for me," he stated flatly. He left unsaid the corollary that Paula would do what he told her to but it was clear from his tone that it was what he meant.

Kate blinked, surprised at this glimpse of Castle as a capable, to say nothing of authoritative, businessman. She knew he was more responsible and capable than he usually let on with his outwardly childish behavior; she'd guessed from what she knew about him and about his career that he must have negotiated his early contracts with Black Pawn himself, and judging from the results, had been competent enough at it to protect his own interests even in the competitive, not to say cut-throat, publishing industry.

But she never really thought of Castle as being a businessman of any sort, let alone a successful one, but of course, he was. Publishing was a business, like any other, and while she knew he now had people working for him to handle the business side of his career, the fact remained that he was ultimately in charge of his own career, by necessity, and good enough at it to be as rich and successful as he was. He might be easygoing and playful and silly a lot of the time but he was far from stupid and no naïf when it came to managing his own writing career, publicity and all.

"What do you think we should do to control the publicity?" she asked, feeling a little awkward just in asking—she was absolutely not used to asking anyone else for advice, was used to being the one to take the lead. But in this, when it came to PR and the press, she had to admit she was out of her depth. And she trusted him.

"It will probably be easiest to fold in any confirmation of our relationship to the ramp-up of publicity leading up to the publication of Naked Heat," he began.

She stiffened. "Wait. What did you just say?"

He froze, his eyes widening, and he suddenly looked (ridiculously) like a little kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "I—uh—I never told you what the title of this second Nikki Heat book is going to be, did I?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You know very well you didn't."

"Black Pawn suggested the title!" he said rather defensively.

"But you agreed to it."

He tried and failed not to wince a little. "Well, yes," he admitted. "It's a catchy title that will sell more books," he added rather lamely.

"So basically my private life is going to be splashed over the gossip pages right alongside an announcement that the next book about a heroine supposedly inspired by me will be called Naked Heat," she summarized. Ugh. She knew she should have shot him to make him change the name Nikki Heat. Too late now.

He winced again. "Sorry?"

Oh damn. He looked absurdly boyish with the sheepishly contrite expression on his face and she felt her irritation dissipating in spite of herself. He hadn't known when he approved the title that their friendship would become so much more and, yes, she had to admit that Naked Heat was certainly a title that would sell books.

Bother. She rolled her eyes and let him see her reluctant smile. "Don't look so scared, Castle. I'm not going to shoot you."

He heaved a sigh of relief that she suspected was only half-exaggerated. "Oh good."

She managed a small smirk. "If I'm going to be in the papers, I think I'd rather be in them as your girlfriend than as your shooter."

It was his turn to smirk, his eyes suddenly glinting with mischief and happiness. "You just called yourself my girlfriend."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Stop smirking, Castle. And you still need to explain how we're going to control the publicity."

He promptly rearranged his expression into sobriety. "The official announcement of the second Nikki Heat book is going to be next month and after that, I usually go on the party circuit for a little while to get my picture in the paper—for the captions to the picture that say something like 'Richard Castle, whose new book goes on sale in September.' So we can go to a few fancy parties, get our picture taken together, and that'll be as much of a confirmation of our relationship that the press will get. And at those parties, there won't be any need to actually talk to any reporters. Paula can contact people she knows, let it get out there that under no circumstances will either of us be talking to anyone when you're on duty. To make up for it, I'll probably need to do a round of interviews and when they ask about us, which they will, I'll pivot the conversation back to the book. Black Pawn suggested the idea of having another big launch party for the next book but I'll veto that because if we do, there won't be any way for you to avoid talking to the press and it'll really increase interest in our relationship."

Kate blinked, taken aback, although she supposed she shouldn't be, at how much thought he had clearly put into this already. "Okay. That doesn't sound too bad," she agreed cautiously. It didn't and she hadn't missed the fact that his plan was geared to minimize her public exposure and put the onus on him. "Will the press really agree not to bother us when I'm on duty?"

He shrugged a little. "There's no absolute guarantee but I think most of them will. Paula has a lot of contacts in the media and she can make it clear that anyone who bothers you will end up on my black list, so to speak, and well, I know people and if I wanted to, I can close a lot of doors to a reporter and no reporter wants that."

Oh. Oh wow. She really hadn't seen this side of Castle in a while, if ever. She suddenly remembered the Allison Tisdale case, the way Castle had called the Mayor, using his connections to pull some strings to get a rush on the fingerprints they were waiting for. He didn't do that sort of thing anymore. He'd used his in with the Mayor to shadow her in the first place but, she suddenly remembered, last summer when she'd kicked him out for having looked into her mother's case, he had not used the Mayor to get back in, had stayed away until the Heat Wave promotional campaign with that photo shoot and the interview for Cosmo. And after that John Allen drug-smuggling case, when he'd apologized, she remembered again what he'd said, if we're not going to see each other again, and she knew that if she had not let him come back, had not forgiven him, he would not have used the Mayor to force her to let him back in. He could have—she knew that and yet, it had never once occurred to her, when she'd been intent on shutting him out, that he would use his connection with the Mayor to override her wishes.

Even back then, he really hadn't been the spoiled, arrogant jackass she had thought he was. He had changed just in those first months of shadowing her, hadn't he?

And now, he was willing to use his influence, his power, not for himself but for her, to protect her. And she couldn't deny that it made her heart go soft and yielding in her chest. She would never have imagined that she would appreciate protection so much since she normally prided herself on being able to take care of herself. But when it came to dealing with the media, with publicity, she knew she was out of her depth, could not really protect herself—so Castle would.

She realized, too, that this was also what it meant to be with Castle, to have a partner, not just at work but in everything. She wasn't alone anymore. If and when she needed help, he would be there.

It occurred to her that she had become strong and independent because she'd had no choice. It had been necessary for her to survive her mom's death and her dad's essential abandonment for years afterwards. And she had survived, had chosen her career and made a name for herself in it.

For so many years, she had thought that she could only be strong if she was alone, if she never let anyone see that she could ever be vulnerable or might need help. Now, finally, she was beginning to realize that it wasn't a form of weakness but rather a different kind of strength to know when to accept help, to be able to accept help. Now, she thought she could be strong enough not to have to be alone, strong enough to admit that she needed him.

She belatedly realized that she'd been silent for a somewhat awkwardly long space of time and that he was watching her with some uncertainty shading his eyes as he hurriedly added, "We also have two things going for us that should mean that any media interest in our relationship will fade pretty quickly."

"What two things?"

A touch of nervousness entered his tone as he answered, "First, the fact that the NY Ledger reported months ago that we might be… together," he finished a little awkwardly.

She let her lips curve. Funny, how that aggravating—and incorrect—little blurb about them in the NY Ledger had proven to be almost prophetic. She could laugh about it now. "'Rumored to be romantically involved'?"

"Yes, that," he agreed with some relief. "No one needs to know that we only just got together so I can play off any questions about us as asking about old news and Page Six and the other celebrity gossip pages hate to seem behind on the news so they'll be less likely to play up our relationship now."

"And what's the other thing?"

"The other thing is that we're happy together and frankly, the gossip pages like scandal. A happy couple is boring to write about so they should get bored with us fast once they see that this isn't some tawdry affair, nothing scandalous, just two people who are in—who really like each other," he finished rather hurriedly, looking a little uncomfortable.

Two people who are in love. That was what he'd started to say before he'd caught himself.

Her heart pinched as she realized how cautious he was being—Castle, impulsive and with very little filter most of the time, being cautious, watching his words for fear of pushing her, scaring her. Oh, Castle. She realized again how much she must have hurt him by panicking and running off after kissing him for the first time and he'd confessed that he was falling in love with her.

She wanted to tell him she loved him too—she did—but the words wouldn't come. Her throat closed up, her heart suddenly thrashing around like a wild thing in her chest. Oh. Oh god.

She hadn't said those words to anyone but her dad in years. She didn't have positive memories attached to those words, not anymore. She'd said them to her mom, in passing, just days before her mom had died, responding "Love you too" automatically when her mom had said "I love you, Katie-girl," after they'd just made up after a little spat over her mom insisting on her keeping a curfew even then, when she'd been home from Stanford and believed herself to be so grown-up. She inwardly flinched at how… careless she'd been, how… little she'd known about how quickly life could change and how she should never have taken those words so lightly.

Worse, she remembered saying the words to her dad after finding him drunk in his apartment. Remembered the way she'd cried, choking on her sobs as she told her dad that she loved him and begged him not to make her lose him too. Her dad had promised that he would stop drinking after that. But she remembered, too, with the twist in her gut that always accompanied the memory, finding her dad decidedly tipsy just over two weeks later, spilling whisky as he poured more with his shaking hand. She remembered the bleak guilt and devastation contorting her dad's face as he looked at her, remembered thinking with sharp, bitter anger and grief that her dad loved alcohol more than he loved her.

She blinked, shoving the memories back into the darkest corner of her mind where she tried to keep them. Her dad was sober now, himself again.

She'd held the words back, had never said them to Will, hadn't wanted to put herself out there like that, even if she'd believed that she loved him at the time.

Now… she knew she loved Castle, was in love with him, as she'd never loved anyone before—but she couldn't say the words.

Instead, she smirked at him. "Gee, Castle, are you saying we're boring?" And hated herself a little for, once again, using banter to deflect.

He smiled. "Only to the gossip rags but that's because they're idiots and only interested in scandal."

"Well, you know 'all happy families are alike,'" she said lightly.

"'Each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way,'"**** he completed the quote without missing a beat, adding "It is so sexy that you're so well-read."

She grinned, a giddy little thrill wiggling through her at his unfiltered compliment. She knew, of course, that Castle found her physically attractive but she loved—oh, how she loved—that he also found her brains to be sexy too. "I'm more than just a pretty mind, Castle," she quipped.

He laughed aloud and she smirked, inordinately pleased with herself for making him laugh.

But then she cut off his laughter with her lips, kissing him deep and thoroughly, her tongue sweeping into his mouth. She'd had some vague thought that if she couldn't say the words, she could at least reassure him of her feelings by kissing him—but the moment her tongue touched his, any chance that the kiss would be about love rather than sheer, unadulterated lust was gone, incinerated into nothing. His hands immediately tugged her in against him, finding their way beneath the hem of her shirt, as he kissed her back.

Mmm, yeah, she thought fuzzily, the talking part of the evening—to say nothing of the coherent thinking part—was definitely over.

And she let go, losing herself in him.

~To be continued…~


* From Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll (Incidentally, I'm convinced, although I couldn't think of a way to mention it in this fic, that Castle has the Jabberwocky poem memorized; it's exactly the sort of thing he would do.)

** From Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

*** From the musical "Cinderella," music by Richard Rodgers (Castle has a name-sake—and I'm seriously wondering if Martha named him Richard because of this name-sake) and lyrics by Oscar Hammerstein

**** From Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy