It was times like these that Beckett was glad she didn't have a pet. When she arrived at her place, she didn't need to check on a dog, or a cat or even feed a fish. She didn't need to worry about who was going to take care of it while she was staying over at Castle's that night, or the night before, and she didn't have to worry about not spending enough time with it. Which was the reason she'd elected not to get a pet in the first place. She never had a lot of time for herself, much less a dog.

She did stop to water her plants, though, before she grabbed up a change of clothes for the next day and put them into a bag. Beyond that, there wasn't much that she needed since she'd brought over most of the basic staples the evening before. She did, however, open her freezer and pull out a quart of mint chocolate chip ice cream. She didn't know what Castle liked, but that was her favorite and this way she didn't need to stop anywhere else.

All things considered, by the time she returned to Castle's she was in a pretty good mood and ready for whatever the evening might bring. Even if it was just a cut-throat game of Scrabble. When she knocked on the door and let herself in without waiting for a reply, though, she was a little surprised to see him slouched on the couch instead of as cheerful as he'd been when she'd left him only an hour or so before.

He looked up as she walked over and set her bag down on the coffee table, and she frowned, putting her hand on his forehead.

"Are you feeling all right?"

He looked surprised, either by the touch or the concern, she wasn't sure.

"I'm okay. I just… had a visitor after you left."

She pulled her hand from his forehead, knowing from the way he said it that it wasn't the next-door neighbor asking to borrow a cup of sugar.

"Who?"

"Theo Martin."

"Really? Are you okay?"

Castle smiled, wryly.

"He knocked this time. And brought Joel to say good-bye."

"Good-bye?"

"Yeah…" he stood up, restless, and walked into the kitchen to check dinner. Beckett followed him with the ice cream and set it on the island, but her attention was completely on him. "He's sending him to live with his uncle in Seattle."

"Really? Why would…" she trailed off, figuring it out on her own even as she was asking. "Oh, that's really sad…"

He nodded.

"I was thinking how hard it had to be, to make a choice like that. I couldn't even imagine having to do it if I were in his place. How do you choose between seeing your child every day and knowing they're safe if you send them away and never see them?"

Beckett rubbed his back lightly.

"You won't need to ever make that choice, Castle," she reminded him.

"I know…"

"But you're still depressed…"

He sighed and nodded.

"Yes. I mean, I know he's a mobster, and dangerous, but he's also a dad, you know…?"

"Yeah, I know." She put her arm through his good one, and turned him around, facing him back toward the living room. "Come on, Castle, let's go sit down for a while."

He let her walk him back to the couch and when she sat down he eased down next to her, reaching for her hand almost absently. She took it and leaned back into the cushions behind her.

"I'm depressing you, aren't I?" he asked her after a minute.

She smiled, and squeezed his hand.

"It's the medication you're taking," she told him. "It's going to throw everything out of whack for you for a while. Depression can be a side effect – or at least the fact that things can make you moody very quickly is. It's one of the reasons you needed to have an adult watching you and not Alexis. As mature as she is, it's not something she should have to deal with."

He frowned.

"I'm hormonal?"

She chuckled.

"No. You're just taking some really good painkillers. Relax; in a few days you can cut back a bit. Tell me what else Martin wanted."

Castle told her about the short visit, including the compliment Martin had given her when he told him that he was glad Beckett was homicide and not vice, but before she could comment on much more than that particular statement, the timer went off in the kitchen, letting them know that dinner was ready. She let go of his hand and stood up, then helped him to his feet.

"Hungry?"

He smiled, clearly in better spirits than he had been when she returned.

"Yeah."

They went into the kitchen and since there was absolutely no way she was going to let him try pulling a hot casserole dish out of the oven with one hand, she shooed him over to get plates and silverware while she did the honors.

"Here or the table?" he asked, dubiously.

"Whatever you want."

He opted for the island, and set two places while she turned the oven off.

"Tell me this isn't my ice cream…?" he asked, drawing her attention to a bag he was holding. A bag that was dripping green liquid that smelled just a tad minty.

"Damn it." She'd forgotten to put it in the freezer in her quest to cheer him up. "Yeah, it was mint chocolate chip."

"It still is," he told her with a grin as he threw the bag away, melted ice cream and all. "We'll have to think of something else for dessert."

Beckett wiped up the mess (after all, it was her fault) and Castle brought out some wine and glasses.

"No alcohol, Castle."

Not with his meds.

"It's wine, that's not really-"

"Milk, juice, water, anything but wine or beer."

He scowled, and she smiled as he put the wine away and reached for a pitcher of iced tea.

"Do you need me to cut your food for you?" she asked, washing her hands.

His scowl faded, and his expression turned smug.

"No. That's why I made casserole. It's already in little pieces." He looked at the steaming hot dish, and then at his one available hand. "You might need to dish it up for me, though…"

"I can do that."

OOOOOOOOOO

They took their time eating. There really wasn't any reason to hurry through the meal, after all, and like Castle had told her, it was pretty good, so Beckett took the time to savor it, and Castle tried to perfect the one-armed – wrong hand – eating method without making too much of a mess. It didn't work very well. More casserole fell off his fork to land on the floor, on the counter and in his lap than he actually managed to get into his mouth. Each failed attempt at a bite brought a muttered curse (and some not so muttered) and a wider grin from Beckett.

He frowned over at her after the seventh or eighth time.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

She shrugged, trying to look innocent and failing.

"Yeah. A little. I'm thinking you might have been better off with something that needed cutting. It might have stayed on the fork better – and certainly would be easier to clean out of your pants."

"Cute."

She smirked.

"You realize you're going to have to help me get cleaned up?" he asked her with a smug look of his own. "I can't do it one-handed."

She lost her smirk immediately.