Richard Castle woke up that morning with an idea brewing in his mind.
He let it simmer, didn't go anywhere near it, focusing instead on thoroughly teasing his daughter through breakfast - she'd gotten a green dress she loved so much that she'd been wearing it for three days in a row now, and he insisted that it must be a little smelly just to see Alexis's face scrunch up in defiance.
"It's not, Dad!" She finished chewing her mouthful before she said anything else - good girl, he'd raised her well - but she glared at him the whole time.
"Really?" he pushed, lips coming up into a smirk. "Cause I think I can see a stain, right under the collar..."
Alexis looked down, panic flashing in her eyes, and inspected the bright green fabric until she was certain he'd lied.
"That's not funny," she moaned, giving him a look, and he could hear a hint of actual disappointment in there.
Vaguely ashamed, but also greatly amused by his daughter's sensitivity over that dress - she didn't usually care so much about material things, except maybe her books - Castle skirted the table to give her a one-armed hug, press a loud kiss to her cheek.
"Sorry, pumpkin. But you know, if there truly was a stain, your dress could just go in the washing machine and the dryer, and be ready in a couple hours. You could survive a couple hours without wearing it, right?"
She huffed at him and then jumped off her chair, picking up her bowl and glass and spoon.
"Of course I could," she told him as she put her things in the dishwasher. "I just don't want to," she finished with a little glance at him, as if to say isn't that obvious?
Oh, his daughter cracked him up.
"Fair enough," he said, managing by some miracle to keep himself from laughing. "Is your stuff ready?"
"Yes, but I gotta brush my teeth before we leave."
"You can use my bathroom if you want."
Alexis grimaced at him. "Ew, no way. Your toothpaste tastes weird. I hate mint."
Right, he'd forgotten. "Fine, Miss Strawberry," he called to her as she hurried upstairs. "Whatever. You're no child of mine."
He got a light chuckle for his troubles, then turned away to do a quick tour of the kitchen, quickly rinsing the carafe of his coffee maker before he put it away to dry. There were things he didn't like to put in the dishwasher, because he felt like if he didn't rinse them right, and they spent all day drying dirty in the machine, then traces would remain even when the dishes were finally washed.
And once he started rinsing, he could never see the point of not washing that stuff completely.
Meredith had sometimes made fun of his little quirks, whenever she was actually paying attention - which wasn't often - and he found himself wondering with a light smile if Kate would call him obsessive over details like this.
Not that Kate was his new wife or anything. Jeez. Or that she would be living with them. Not - no.
Rick shook his head to get rid of those dangerous ideas, the way they bred like weeds, one sparking another, and was saved by the clear voice of his daughter as she flew down the stairs.
"Ready!"
Whew, yeah. He was ready too.
Maybe a little more than he'd thought.
When he got back from taking Alexis to school, he had that usual pause at the entrance of the loft, the silence impressing his heart, leaving him a little wistful.
It wasn't that his daughter was the loudest of children - she certainly wasn't - but she had such life to her, her presence so strong for her age. He would always remember that first day when he'd dropped her off at the school, her little hand waving at him, and the heavy mantle of solitude that had surrounded him when he'd come home.
Of course, he knew he'd get her back at three fifteen; he knew it wasn't forever.
But some day it would be, and that was what this little moment of self-commiseration was about - knowing that one day, he would get back to the loft without the certainty of his daughter's presence at dinner.
Anyway. He forced himself past it, getting his coat off as he walked towards his office; he had things to do. He'd been thinking about his idea for the whole subway ride back, and he was more and more convinced that it was a great one.
Kate had said last night that she would be working with Homicide again today, which meant she would likely be busy, and stay late because she had to show she was committed. He was fine with that - he would probably have stayed late too, had he been in her stead - but that wouldn't leave her with much time to find a dress, would it?
The Mayor's Charity Ball was tomorrow night, on Saturday. Admittedly, he didn't know what Kate's plans for tomorrow were, but if he had to bet - she'd probably be at the precinct again.
So, really, if he went dress shopping for her... that'd be doing her a favor, right? Helping her out.
Which would be nice of him. Wouldn't it?
He huffed in annoyance at his own hesitation; he wasn't usually so insecure about bestowing expensive gifts on beautiful women. But Kate - everything was different with her, and he couldn't be certain she'd welcome it.
Her birthday was November 17th (yeah, okay, so he'd peeked at her stuff while she was in the shower), which was some ten months away; he'd never get away with that.
Would she be okay with getting a present without a reason? He had this sudden image of her adamantly declaring that she would pay him back, and her voice echoed so realistically in his mind that he winced, flopped into his desk chair.
That wouldn't do at all.
If he was reasonable, though - if the dress was under, say, five hundred dollars? - maybe he could make it fly. And she needed it, too. If everything happened like he thought it might, if she got swamped in work and found herself with nothing to wear, she wouldn't be able to say no.
Okay, he thought, a sneaky smile playing on his lips. He could do that. He could work on a budget.
Castle was trying to determine if there was anyway a Chanel dress could be considered as keeping within his budget when his phone rang in his pocket. He fished it out, mentally putting a lie together in case it was Kate calling, but it wasn't.
Black Pawn, the screen flashed at him.
Oh, shit. Was there a meeting today he was supposed to be at? He remembered getting a phone call from Gina a couple nights ago, and distractedly agreeing to whatever she'd been saying - there'd been something about a meeting, for sure, but when-
He answered, wincing.
"Richard, where are you?" Gina's voice came, that sharp, controlled anger to her tone that made him want to recoil. "We've been waiting for the past fifteen minutes - I told you ten thirty, and you agreed to it-"
Uh-oh. He was in trouble.
"I'm on my way," he lied easily, turning away from the Chanel boutique and hailing the first cab that came into view. "I'm sorry I didn't call to say I was late - I swear, I was going to, but I was writing and forgot the time."
He got into the car that had stopped in front of him, covered his phone with his hand as he gave the driver the address of the Black Pawn offices. Thank god, they weren't far, but traffic looked horrendous.
"I'll pay double if you can get me there in the next ten minutes," he told the guy, and then had to wrap his fingers around the door handle as the cabbie extricated them from the crowded line, a risky maneuver that could probably have cost them both their lives.
When he put the phone to his ear again, Gina had hung up.
He couldn't manage to be sorry for it.
Honestly, he wasn't sure why his presence mattered so much. He hardly ever got to say a word in these meetings; it was generally all lawyer-y talk, subtle plays on words and technicalities that he had no interest in, punctuated by interventions of Gina - who, of course, had to pretend like she was in control.
He waited patiently until it was over, couldn't help but notice it went rather smoothly this time. Black Pawn had resigned themselves to the loss of Derrick Storm, seemed like - he couldn't see another reason why Gina wouldn't insist more on him waiting until the fourth book was done to kill his main character.
She must find Nikki Heat more promising than she'd let show in her emails.
He grinned to himself, proud of his creation, felt that familiar itch that could only be soothed with a keyboard and a blank page staring at him.
"Are we done here?" he stage-whispered to his lawyer, Spencer, a young guy with awful taste in glasses but an incredible ability to find loopholes in pretty much every legal document.
Three pairs of eyes turned to him, none of them very friendly, and Castle heaved a deep sigh, sank back into his chair.
Guess not.
"Richard," Gina called as he was heading towards the elevator, and freedom.
He closed his eyes briefly, found a smile - however fake it was - before he turned back to her.
"Yes?"
"I got a phone call from Paula, saying she couldn't get in touch with you. You remember her? Paula Haas. Your agent."
Gina gave her that knowing, I know you've been avoiding her look, and he pretended he had no idea what on earth she meant. The usual.
"Oh, really? I guess I must have missed her call-"
"I said I'd have you call her," his publisher said, crossing her arms, a shrewd little smile curling her mouth.
Damn. "Ah, the thing is, I have plans for lunch, and I should really go if I don't want to be late..."
"Really? Who're you meeting?"
He opened his mouth, mind suddenly blank, frenetically searching for an answer that would-
"I'm - huh - just-" Arg, damn it. Gina's brown eyes were sharp on his, seeing right through him, and he gave up the charade.
"Fine," he sighed, reluctantly retrieving his phone from his pocket. "I'll call her."
He found Paula in his contacts, pressing the call button, then arched his eyebrow at his publisher who was still leaning against her office door, clearly not determined to move.
"Could I possibly have some privacy?"
"No," she answered mildly, as if he'd asked for a pen. "I have no trust in you, Rick Castle."
Fine. He turned his back on her, took a few steps so he could rest his shoulder to the wall.
"Ricky!" Paula's shrill voice greeted at the other end of the line, scolding or enthusiastic, he wasn't sure. "About time you call me back. I've got about a dozen invitations just sitting on my desk, waiting to be answered, and then there's this night show anchor who wants you as his guest, and this journalist was begging for an interview-"
"Whoa, Paula, slow down, okay?" He rubbed his fingers to his eyebrow, could feel the headache threatening already. "You know I told you I don't want to do all these parties anymore - I hate to leave Alexis with babysitters-"
"Rick, I hear you, but baby, you gotta give me something out here. How am I supposed to promote you if you won't cooperate? God didn't give you that pretty face so you could hide at home with your daughter-"
"Okay, okay," he cut her hurriedly, because there was something in the way Paula talked of Alexis that just - irritated the crap out of him. "Fine. I'll - I'll go to one of your events, one, and it better be something tame, something..."
"Two," Paula said, her voice harsher now that she was negotiating. "Two events, Rick, and you've got yourself a deal."
He made a face, ran his hand through his hair. "Fine, two. But not in the same week." He wanted to be home in case Kate was free, in case she wanted to come over for dinner. Oh, Kate-
"Hey, actually. You know that thing the mayor's holding tomorrow, that charity ball?"
"Yes?" his agent drawled. "You got an invite to that, but you declined, remember?"
Idiot seemed to be implied in her tone, but he didn't even care.
"Yeah, well. I want back in on that. Good for my reputation, right? Lots of public figures and big fortunes hanging out in one place."
And one officer who he really looked forward to seeing in an evening dress.
"Rick, that's tomorrow night - you can't expect me to weasel you back in-"
"Paula, I love you," he said, grinning into the phone. "I know you can do anything. That's what I pay you for."
And on that, he hung up, not interested in hearing her dramatic protests - they were all for show. He'd asked much worse of her before.
"Satisfied?" he said, turning back to Gina, who was still watching him.
She quirked a fine eyebrow at him. "Delighted."
"Good. I'll see you around, then."
"Rick," she called again when he was at the elevator, pressing the call button. He didn't turn back.
"What?"
"You need a date to that charity thing?"
Oh.
He was surprised she would even offer, seeing as she'd pretty much stormed out on him that time at the restaurant, but this was Gina - business always came first with her. And she probably thought it would be a good business move to go together.
Maybe so, but he couldn't be sure which way Kate would react if she saw him with another woman.
Better not risk it.
"No, thanks," he answered, glancing at her over his shoulder. "I think I'll fly solo this time."
She gave a brief little nod and retreated into her office as he stepped into the elevator, eager for some silence and fresh air.
Maybe he could buy Kate lunch and drop by the precinct.
"Delivery for an Officer Kate Beckett." The voice resounded loudly through the bullpen, and Kate's head swiveled - along with a dozen others. Great.
This was the first moment she'd had to breathe in the last two days - she hadn't even been able to see Castle yesterday because she'd been at a crime scene when he'd texted about lunch. Homicide was intense, more so than she'd expected, but Beckett had always liked a challenge.
Kate lifted herself from her chair in the conference room (one of the uniforms had bought Chinese food for everyone, and they were enjoying, or rather gobbling down, a late lunch) and made her way to the man who stood in the corridor.
Well-dressed, black pants and a white shirt with a grey, v-neck sweater on top. Couldn't be more than twenty-five.
"I'm Kate Beckett," she said, and he turned to her with a relieved look on his face.
"Man, you're a hard woman to find! The guy at the front door told me you were working in Vice, but when I asked around they said you were here instead-"
"Where do I sign?" Kate interrupted with a small smile, conscious that everybody's eyes were fixed on her. At least, every uniform's eyes.
"Um, here-" the young man fished a pen and paper out of his pocket, handed them to her, lowering the box he was holding so she could use it as table. "And on the back, as well."
She did as she was told, eyeing the rectangular box all the while. "Who is this from?" She hadn't ordered anything.
"I'm not allowed to tell," the delivery guy grinned, like this was the best news of her life. Beckett refrained from rolling her eyes. Darn. Had to be Castle.
"Well - there you go," he said, looking almost disappointed as he folded the paper again and gave her the box. As if he regretted that his mission had come to an end. "Have a good day, Miss Beckett!"
"Yeah, thanks," she muttered, her attention on the mysterious package as she turned. What the hell could it be?
"Got a present from your boyfriend, Beckett?" Officer Brown teased, his dark eyes laughing at her.
"It's from Santa," she shot back with an eyebrow raised. "Because I've been such a good girl. You wouldn't know, Brown - I'm sure Santa never stopped by your house."
He laughed good-humoredly, followed by a few others, but they all went silent when a detective poked his head at the door of the conference room. "Hey guys, sorry to interrupt, but we need a couple of you to go pick up a suspect at the corner of Madison and East 40th St."
Brown stood up, followed by Johnson, who'd finished eating. "We'll go."
"Great." The detective turned to Kate. "Oh, and Beckett. Cap said to tell you you have the afternoon off, and tomorrow as well. So you need to, I quote, get your ass out of here."
If she'd been less in control of herself, Beckett might have blushed - she hated to be exposed like that, to have messages given to her by a third party, and in front of people who had every reason to be jealous of her.
But she only nodded, and although Brown commented on her being lucky, there wasn't any malice in his voice, nor was there in the others' eyes.
She grabbed her coat and went to the elevator with the box cradled against her chest, her heart surprisingly light. She'd always said it didn't matter what others thought of her, and she meant that - but there was truth to John Donne's words as well.
No man is an island.
She waited until she was home to open the box. It taunted her through the whole subway ride, but she didn't want any one else to see what was in it - it was hers.
There was a card with it, though, and that she did look at.
She'd been right: it was from Castle. Save a dance for me, it read.
What did that mean? Was he coming to the Mayor's Charity Ball too? And if so - why hadn't he told her before? Or maybe he just meant for her to come and see him at the loft, when the party was over.
She smiled to herself. That had to be it - he just wanted to see her dressed in an evening gown-
Oh, shit. The dress.
Oh damn, she'd completely forgotten-
Her eyes fell on the box again, and narrowed. Surely he hadn't?
Thank god, this was her stop. She dashed towards the exit, jogged up the stairs, zigzagging between the people who were making their way out at a slower pace.
A few minutes later she was climbing the stairs to her apartment, breathlessly sliding her key into the lock. She slammed the door shut behind her, kicking off her work shoes, and then she sank into the couch with the box on her lap, her coat still on.
Her heart leapt in her throat.
Jeez, Castle.
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and yanked the lid off the white, elegant package.
Oh. He had.
The air rushed out of her lungs as she lifted a hesitant hand, skimmed her fingertips over the fabric. The top layer was sheer, a transparent black trimmed with velvet patterns, long leaves and flowers that felt so very soft to the touch; the base underneath was a deep grey, a perfect backdrop for the dark, shimmering velvet.
It was beautiful.
It was - elegant and gorgeous and not too much, something she'd actually be comfortable wearing at the event tonight. Kate traced the lovely v-neck with her index finger, then brusquely took her hand back.
Wait. No.
She couldn't.
She grabbed the box and dumped it on the coffee table, stood up long enough to slip off her coat, retrieve her phone from its pocket. Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, she hit speed dial 3.
"He bought me a dress," she declared point-blank, the moment Lanie answered her cell.
"Well, hello to you too," her friend drawled, the lift of her eyebrow almost visible in her voice. "Who bought you a dress? Sex-god Richard Castle?"
Kate felt her cheeks heat up.
"Don't call him that," she hissed in the phone. "Yes, Castle. He and I are - we're - um, together. Dating. I guess."
There was a surprised silence on Lanie's side; her voice, when it came, was softer than before.
"Oh, honey. That's wonderful. I'm happy for you."
Beckett nervously twirled a lock of hair around her finger, couldn't help the smile that broke on her lips. "Yeah, it's been...good. Really good." She remembered the way he'd looked in her kitchen, smiling and relaxed and devouring her with his eyes; it made her breath catch.
"So what do I do about the dress?" she asked, shaking her head to dispel all the stupid romanticism.
"Right. Well. What sort of dress is it?"
Oh. Lanie didn't have any of the context.
"Um, it's... Okay, so Captain Montgomery asked me to be his date at this, event, tonight - the Mayor's Annual Charity Ball, whatever. It's only because his wife is sick. Anyway, I happened to tell Castle about it, and I complained that I didn't have anything to wear, which led to me trying on every dress I have so he could see-"
"Wait," her friend interrupted, delight sparking in her voice. "You're telling me you gave Richard Castle a little fashion show of your own? Oh girl, you have it bad."
Kate pressed her lips together, couldn't really disprove that.
"So what?" Lanie went on. "He saw that you didn't have anything appropriate, and he went to buy you a dress?"
Yeah. "That's...kind of it, yeah." Damn, and now she had this vision playing before her eyes, Castle hitting the stores and carefully picking a dress that he thought would look good on her-
"That's adorable!" The ME exclaimed in the phone. "What's the problem, then? Is the dress that bad?"
Beckett opened her mouth, struggled to find something to say. "I - no. No, it's...beautiful, actually." She knelt down by the coffee table, slid her free hand through the straps of the dress so she could hold it up. Even the length was right; the dress would probably stop just above her knees. "But Lanie, I can't take gifts from him," she objected, worrying her bottom lip. "We've only known each other what, a month? I just - I don't want him to think he has to buy me with presents..."
"Girlfriend, I swear. Sometimes you drive me crazy. Just take the dress, will you? Jeez, any other woman would complain about her boyfriend never getting her anything, and you're freaking out over the sweetest, most thoughtful gift I've ever heard of."
"But-"
"So what if it's Chanel or some expensive brand? The guy is loaded, Kate. Money probably doesn't mean anything to him-"
Kate gasped, her fingers eagerly feeling for a tag, couldn't believe she hadn't thought that.
"Oh," she sighed in relief when she found the name of the brand - no price, of course. "It's not Chanel. Not anything I know, actually, so that...has to be good, right?"
She could almost hear Lanie shaking her head on the other side.
"Look, honey, if you don't want to wear the dress, no one is going to make you. All I'm saying is, it's pretty sweet of the guy to have taken the time to shop for you. And he obviously knows you well enough to stay clear of couture designers, which in my book is another point for him. But again - your choice, Kate."
Beckett ran her hand over the soft material, wondering how the dress would look on her. Problem was, if she tried it on, she wasn't sure she'd be able to take it off again.
"Okay, I gotta go," her friend said after a few seconds. "Work calls. You have fun at that party, Kate Beckett, you hear me?"
Kate smiled. "Do my best," she promised. "I'll talk to you soon."
"You better," Lanie shot back. "I wanna hear all about this new boyfriend of yours."
And then she hung up, leaving Beckett to blush quietly in the privacy of her apartment.
Her boyfriend, huh?
