Chapter 38: It's a war

When Beckett wakes in the morning, they're still curled up together. She doesn't want to unwrap herself, or leave, but she needs a shower and clean clothes and whilst one is possible at the loft the other is not. She hasn't thought that far about this thing they have, yet, but maybe she should, if she's going to be that exhausted. She smiles. She wouldn't want to play like that every – or even most – times, but as an occasional event it definitely had its place. Though next time, she might reverse the roles. Pursuing which thought is not going to get her home in good time to go to the precinct. She pokes Castle in the ribs until he wakes up, grumbling, evades his attempts to kiss her (she won't get in on time if he starts to kiss her now) and explains that she has to go home and change and she'll ring if a body drops. When his face falls a little that she doesn't want him with her she points out that it's another paperwork day, he hates paperwork, he'll only be bored – and the clinching argument: if he stops complaining then dinner is at her apartment. Of course, all that is subject to no new homicide. She promises to call him as soon as there is one.

Left alone, Castle dozes gently for a short time. He's never naturally been a morning person and he doesn't really see the need to become one now. Besides, in his dozing he can dream about Beckett, which has only got better now that they're together. But he wouldn't want to repeat last night very often. He likes Kate Beckett in all her incarnations, and mostly he likes her in full ass-kicking mode: snap, snark, sparkle and rolled eyes. Still. Vices and virtues definitely have their place.

He's barely out the shower and shaved when Beckett calls about a new body. He speeds through dressing and a late breakfast with his mother, who's regarding him with a slightly odd expression. He doesn't have time to wonder what that's about. No doubt she'll tell him soon enough.

Beckett, the boys and Lanie are all gathered round a body that's been stabbed many times. Seems it was only discovered when blood dripped through the ceiling and altered the decorators' clean white paint to a violent shade of red. Castle doesn't think that it'll catch on as an interior decoration technique, but has just enough sense not to say that. It's Ryan who tells them it's one Jack Coonan, enforcer for the Westies gang, into some seriously nasty stuff. Strange thing is, he's carrying enough firepower to stop a Kodiak bear, so how the hell did someone get close enough to stab him?

The only other thing of any interest at all – and it's not much – in the apartment is several copies of a DVD by self-made business guru Johnny Vong: I came off the boat with nothing, now I'm a multimillionaire, you can do it too. Castle, who certainly doesn't need any more tips on how to make money because he's got more than he can count already, and Esposito, who's no particular need for more because despite the dating sites he's still single, are both making fun of it. They're recalled to duty in short order, though Ryan, who's probably wondering how he's going to pay for Jenny's birthday present, is still looking rather speculatively at the DVDs.

Coonan turns out to have a saintly younger brother, funding schools in Afghanistan. Quite a contrast to the dead man. He's got nothing much to tell Beckett she didn't already know: Coonan senior was a bad, bad man. Looks like she and Castle will have to go and beard the Westies in their local bar.

Castle's not saying much on the way to the bar. The knife wounds on Coonan are nagging at him. He's sure he's seen something like it before, but the memory just won't come to the surface. He settles for ignoring it in the hope that it won't like that and will pop out. In the interim, he can always pat Beckett's knee. Approximately. And get growled at, it seems. That's not fair. They're not in public now. He whines a little, but it doesn't get his pout kissed better.

The Irish bar, and the Westie leader, are a complete washout. Even when they find some rival gang member being knocked around in the back, haul him into interrogation, nothing pops. The only good bit of the whole thing, in Castle's opinion, was Beckett readying her service weapon. That's going into Nikki Heat. And quite possibly Castle's hotter dreams.

When Esposito traces the car the rival ganger used, and there's a knife behind the sun visor, it's all starting to look good, and Beckett thinks happily that maybe there will actually be a chance for the dinner at hers that she promised Castle this morning.

Of course, nothing's ever that easy. Lanie takes one look at the knife and rejects it out of hand as the murder weapon. Not only is it the wrong knife, but the ganger they hauled in is far too short to have made the wounds at that angle. So much for dinner, Beckett thinks, disappointedly. They'll be pushing on with the investigation till late into the night, if this is how each lead is going to fail.

As Beckett's about to leave, Lanie hauls her back and gives her a glare worthy of Beckett herself, at her most belligerent.

"And just when did you intend to tell me that you and Writer-Boy had patched it up, huh?" Beckett looks guiltily at her. "How come I have to find out from Ryan and Esposito rather than my best friend, huh?" Beckett cringes. Lanie in full flow is rather equivalent to being run over by a rhino.

"Lanie, we've got a case here," she tries.

"And did you have a case yesterday? Or the day before? Or should it be the day before that? I don't think so, girlfriend."

"I didn't say anything to Ryan or Espo."

"You didn't have to. You think they wouldn't spot the difference in atmosphere? Or Writer-Boy stroking your hand every time he brought you coffee and staring at you like you're the last woman on earth? Well, even more than he used to, anyway. Or just that he was there at all? What sort of detectives do you think they are, Kate? Of course they noticed." Beckett's staring at Lanie. Well, hell. So much for discretion.

"Okay, so we made up." Lanie gives her a triumphant look.

"Told you you should be together, right at the beginning."

"I told you so is not an attractive thing to say, Lanie."

"Maybe not, but I was right." Lanie's smirk is a mile wide.

"Nor is that."

"You go do your case. But, soon as it's over, you and me are going out and you are going to spill. No arguments." There will be arguments. But there isn't time to have those arguments now. If Beckett's really lucky, Lanie will have cooled down before she next sees her.

Beckett thankfully escapes the monster that is Lanie in interrogation mode and the morgue. Castle's waiting at the entrance, staring out over the wintry street, lost in thought. "Ready to go, Castle?" He jumps, and she sniggers. "Did I scare you?" He snaps into focus. That trace memory is still not surfacing, and worrying at it isn't helping.

"Detective, you terrify me." But here, where there's no-one to spot them and so he's not likely to get too permanently maimed, he slings an arm around her for a moment and then whisks out the way just as she's reaching for his ear. She mutters darkly to herself. "See?" he says. "I'm terrified." He looks at her inquisitively. "What did Lanie want?"

"Details," Beckett says disgustedly.

"Details?"

"Details about you and me. Us. Being together." She doesn't sound particularly enthused about it. He hopes that's the details, not the together part.

"So? You don't have to hide me. I'm a bit big to hide behind you, anyway."

Here we go again, thinks Beckett dispiritedly. Another thing they need to talk about. They can do it on the way back to the precinct. She gets in the car, turns on the engine, makes a production of checking mirrors and that it's safe to move off. Castle, she can tell, is perfectly aware that she's delaying.

"It's not that I'm hiding you. Us. This. Whatever. But it's private." The emphasis on the last word speaks volumes. Beckett's not about the sharing, absolutely not. Castle dimly realises that this, like so many other facets of Beckett's character, has very little to do with him and a whole lot to do with the last ten years. She likes to compartmentalise, to have each area of her life in a neat, tidy little box, to move from one to the next without cross-contamination. And now here he is in her life, a virulent bacteria infecting her work and spreading to her private life. Ugh, what a horrible metaphor that one was. Surely you can find something a bit less disgusting, Rick? And she doesn't know how to deal with it in any way other than separation of the two states, her very own Berlin Wall between work and play. "I don't want it talked about and gossiped over."

"So don't." He shrugs. He doesn't really see the problem.

"Have you seen Lanie in full flow? It's like stopping an avalanche." Maybe he does see the problem. But this is Beckett, who is quite capable of not talking until the world ends. So he still doesn't see why she's so bothered.

"What's the real problem here, Kate?" There's something behind this. "It's not just talking to Lanie, is it? She's your friend, and she's just doing what most friends do, taking an interest in your life. So what is it?" Her hands are white on the steering wheel. They're only a few minutes from the precinct.

"Bullpen gossip." She bites that off and stops. He exudes a tell-me-more sympathetic silence, waiting. "Ever since you showed up, forced your way into following me around, the whole precinct's been watching and waiting and speculating. Will she, won't she? When? Probably how, too. There's even a pool on it." He knows that. He is abruptly deeply, deeply relieved that he hadn't put any money in when Esposito asked him, way back when he'd been an arrogant ass convinced that it would only take him a few weeks, at the very outside, to charm her into his bed. Then, he'd brushed Espo off with the comment that it was hardly fair for him to bet when he'd be sure to win. He'd have lost, though. Even if he'd won then, he'd have lost, because they'd never have got to this. Focus, Rick.

"Whatever you want to say is okay with me, Kate. But we talked about publicity last night, and it's going to be difficult to say nothing if the press do publish something." He's taking this seriously, concern in his eyes.

"It's private," she says again, miserably. They're almost at the precinct, she's starting to look round for a parking space. "I don't want people intruding. Thinking they've got a right to know. They don't." Ah, there's the nub. Beckett's intense privacy, forged in the pain of her mother's death. He remembers, briefly, painfully, her reaction to him prying into the case, months ago and that dreadful night more recently. From what she's saying about the instant problem, and more specifically not saying about the much bigger one, which they haven't talked about at all, they aren't yet on wholly solid ground together. She's found a space and is starting to reverse in. They'll have to finish this later.

"Beckett. Kate. We don't have to put it on display. It's okay. I don't need you draped over me like a coat" – he grins – "though obviously that's very nice, especially in my bedroom" – there's a growl, but he can hear an edge of sardonic amusement under it – "so there's no need to flaunt it. But if you should want to flaunt me, feel free at any time." It works; she's lightened up. Just in time, really. "We can talk about this later, if you want." He runs a very light, affectionate finger over the back of her hand before she exits the car. "It'll be okay."

Back in the bullpen, the dead man's calls have been traced. Now that's interesting, because he's been making a lot of calls to an FBI number. Enquiries about co-operation are initiated.

At the end of the day there's a reasonable amount achieved, but much to Castle's disappointment Beckett sends him home without her, saying she wants peace, quiet and no silly theories. Actually, she wants some space to think about the case, without being distracted by his closeness. She feels she needs a night apart, recovery time. It's all too intense again. She knows they're on a sounder footing, but it's still too easy simply to go to bed. They need time apart. Once the boys are out the way, she'll text and explain. And then go to the gym to work off steam. Or something like that.

Castle is honestly astonished that Beckett has bothered even to think about explaining why she sent him home. Let alone actually done it. Okay, the explanation is hardly effusive, but she's communicating. The world is certainly about to end. He drifts off to sleep as happy as he's able to be without her beside him. She's really trying not to shut him out. She's really, really trying.

Ryan isn't paying attention like he should be the next day, as he's too busy trying to get rich quick. Sadly, the Johnny Vong DVD should have been checked in as evidence and his efforts to become a millionaire in easy steps are halted. Espo spends quite a lot of the day taking revenge for the dating sites.

Astonishingly, the request to the FBI for co-operation has had a positive response. That's not normal, and Beckett's natural pessimism is amply justified when the agent tells them that they hadn't had anything formal in place – though the victim had reached out to them, offering up some drug dealer, as yet unidentified. Another suspect about whom they don't know the name, face, or any details. As evening rolls in, the only lead they've still got is the Westies' bar, so back they go. It's less than successful. They've interrupted a wake, strike one, they've insulted the head man by suggesting he's running drugs, strike two, and they've besmirched his man's name. Strike three. They're out. Specifically, they're told to get the hell out. But though they go without a sign, one of the women's been giving Beckett the look.

Castle's noticed the look, but when they get into the car to wait he can't help feeling that there must be a better way of passing the time than sitting. Or even talking. And he still hasn't been able to retrieve that memory. It's beginning to get annoying. Beckett's staring out into space, probably running through scenarios and suspects and sources and suspicions in her head while she's waiting. Valuable as all that is, he has a better idea. It's late, it's dark, and a dirty alley in the worst part of town is not where paparazzi like to play. He slides a hand over her knee, and when that doesn't achieve an immediate reaction moves it northward. That does, but it's not the one he'd hoped for. Beckett's entirely-too-sharp nails are digging into the back of his hand and she's not looking particularly receptive.

"Ow!"

"What are you doing, Castle? We're waiting for a witness, not parked in a make-out spot."

He leers, hopefully. "We have to pass the time somehow. Making out would be an improvement on any other view around here." Beckett rolls her eyes, but he thinks she looks a little more interested than a moment ago. Or at least she's stopped stabbing him with those needle-nails. He takes his hand off her leg and slides it up her arm to the nape of her neck, playing gently with her hair. She breathes out just a little unevenly, eyes still scanning the bar entrance and surrounding area. His fingers get a fraction bolder, dropping on to the soft skin below her ear and stroking round to cup her cheek. She doesn't stop looking for the girl, but she leans into his touch. He thinks it's an invitation. When he traces over her lips and she nips his fingertip, he's sure. And when she turns her shoulder – but not her head - a little into him and her hand comes around his face, he's absolutely certain that he's already at the party with the hottest cop in the room, so he does what he wants and kisses her, intending to be slow and thorough and kiss in a way that definitely indicates that later on there will be more. Murder investigation permitting, of course. But she doesn't close her eyes for one second when he kisses her, just keeps searching the street for their witness, and far too soon for his liking shoves him away.

Please review. This is another shameless plea for your thoughts. Thank you to all named and guest reviewers, especially those who consistently comment. I appreciate it very much.

I am aware that this is a little less close to the broadcast episode than I've managed for previous episodes, but (a) in case anyone had missed it this is AU, and (b) hopefully I haven't done noticeable damage. Let me know if you spot any real disasters.