Author's Note: A somewhat shorter chapter in which Castle and Beckett talk some more. Enjoy!

Nothing Lost

Chapter 27

Castle returned in just a few minutes and Kate, recognizing the sound of his steps, opened her eyes to greet him with a small smile.

"Your dad said to tell you to get some sleep and he'll be back around 9 tomorrow morning."

Which was, Kate knew, her dad's tacit apology for interrupting them that morning and giving them both a little heads up so it wouldn't happen again tomorrow and, judging from his expression, Castle knew it too.

"Don't look like that, Castle. You know my dad likes you."

Castle widened his eyes at her in exaggerated innocence. "I'm not looking like anything. That's just my ruggedly handsome face."

She rolled her eyes, sternly hiding a smile. "I guarantee that my dad has never once thought you were ruggedly handsome," she returned dryly.

He made a face at her and she smirked.

"That aside," she added, taking some pity on him, "my dad was certainly impressed by Alexis."

He huffed in mock offense. "Alexis has my charm and my brains and your dad's not blind so of course he would be impressed."

"Uh huh, sure," she drawled before continuing more carefully, "I didn't realize that you'd told Alexis about us."

Us—the one word seemed to make Castle's entire expression illuminate and her heart pinched a little. He was so happy and she was reminded, again, of how much power she had over him, how vulnerable he was where she was concerned. It was a frightening, humbling, overwhelming thing. Kate was too conscious of her own vulnerability where Castle was concerned not to be fully aware of the enormity of knowing that Castle trusted her so much, trusted her with his heart. And she could only promise herself and him that she would keep that trust.

"I didn't, really, not in so many words," Castle responded after a moment. "I didn't really have time since I saw her only in passing this morning before she left for school but I guess Alexis must have noticed I was happy and, well, she knows me well enough to put two and two together."

Which meant that Alexis knew how Castle felt about her.

"What did Alexis say to you?"

"She said she was happy for us and that you missed me."

"Ah. Alexis has been tattle-telling, I see," Castle murmured, briefly glancing away and then back at her. "Well, Alexis is right, as usual. I did miss you."

A smile curved her lips. "Really?"

"It's like I told you before, you're a hard person to miss, Beckett. It's like you got under my skin or in my veins. And what made it worse was that I knew it was my own fault for prying."

"Castle, no, you apologized and I forgave you. We don't have to talk about this again." She hadn't meant to bring up all these old wounds.

He gave her a wry half-smile. "I think we've had enough not-talking to each other and should talk to each other more."

He had a point. All their not-talking had gotten them into trouble before. But it was her turn to grimace. "I'm not good at talking." Inane thing to say but she knew Castle would understand.

"You'll get better. I know you will. For now, you can just listen."

He sounded so sure, so confident in her ability to improve. And something in his expression told her what he was about to say mattered to him. "Okay."

"I shouldn't have looked into your mom's case without your permission. Your mom's case is understandably personal for you and it wasn't my place to meddle."

She couldn't quite stay silent at that. "Castle, we did talk about this. I understand and it's all right. And what you did, what you found, led us to Dick Coonan. You managed what I couldn't do with all the time I spent looking into the case."

"It doesn't make what I did right. And I don't think I've told you what it means to me that you forgave me," he paused and added with a faint quirk of his lips, "and what it means to me that you kicked me out in the first place."

She blinked. That was unexpected. "What?"

His lips twitched before he sobered, reaching out to grasp one of her hands, his thumb tracing idle circles over her skin, as he went on. "As you might have heard, I'm really rich and moderately famous."

She managed a faint smile. "Yes, I think I've heard that."

"Which is nice but it's also the reason I was able to get away with being a jackass for so long. You can get away with a lot when you're rich and famous because people don't call you out for behaving like a jerk." He paused and then added, lifting his free hand to touch her cheek for a moment, "Until you, Kate Beckett."

She leaned into the caress. She understood now. He had alluded to it before when talking about people taking advantage of him but it wasn't only that. It was about honesty, or the lack thereof, since what he meant was that people were not often honest with him.

"You didn't let me get away with my own bad behavior. And that means a lot." His lips twisted wryly. "I'll admit it took me a little time after you kicked me out to realize it but I got there eventually. It did me good, made me realize I wanted to be better, someone who could earn your forgiveness, someone you would like."

Hearing him say that somehow strengthened her conviction almost of the opposite, that he hadn't needed to change much at all. The kind of father and son he was, his generosity—even his looking into her mom's case had, at base, been motivated by wanting to help her—his character was established long before he'd met her. "You're a good man, you know. You didn't need me for that."

He didn't smirk or even smile at the compliment; he looked humble, the way he had when she'd told him he was a good dad. "Thank you, but I am better because of you."

A smile trembled on her lips. "I think I'm better because of you too," she managed unevenly. He made her want to be better, made her want to be… more like Nikki Heat, more like the amazing person he saw her as.

"Kate…" He surged forward to kiss her gently and all too briefly before he sat back down.

There was a pause and then he cleared his throat, blinking rather adorably (yes, fine, adorably) as if he needed to clear his thoughts.

"Anyway, what I started to say was, that was why I missed you, that you were honest with me. And I missed working with you, missed going into the precinct. I even missed the boys but don't tell them I said so."

She managed a teasing smile, although it wasn't what she felt. "Yeah, well, too bad for you but the boys are taken. Ryan's engaged and Espo's with Lanie."

"Really?" His eyes lit with interest and some glee, neatly distracted. "I thought I noticed some vibes between Espo and Lanie when we were all in the waiting room but I didn't know it was a confirmed fact! How long has that been going on?"

Of course, Castle the eternally curious would have to know more. "January at least, as far as I know. Lanie plays things close to the vest and she insisted for weeks it was totally casual."

"Friends with benefits?" Castle filled in with a little wriggle of his eyebrows.

"Something like that. Lanie hasn't said anything different to me lately but I know they've been spending more time together."

"Detecting, Detective?" he quipped.

"If you want to call it that. I had to call Espo to a crime scene really early one morning and I heard Lanie's voice in the background so I know they were together." She wrinkled her nose at the memory. There were some aspects of Espo's life she would have preferred to remain ignorant about.

"Well, well, Espo and Lanie. Espo and Lanie," he repeated absently and she recognized the abstraction in his expression that meant his distractible brain had been sidetracked, waiting for his mouth to catch up and spill. "Hey, we can call them 'Esplanie,' as their couple name," he all but bounced. "It's perfect because they both explain things to help solve cases. Now, more importantly, what should our couple name be?

She rolled her eyes, biting back a smile. Yup, definitely Castle. "Have I ever mentioned that I think portmanteau couple names are silly?" she commented.

Predictably enough, Castle was undeterred. "Beck-le," he suggested aloud and then made a face. "No, that's terrible. Kat-ick. Better but not quite right. Ooh, I have it! Cas-kett! Get it? Castle and Beckett and casket as in for dead people!"

There was probably something wrong about sounding so gleeful in saying the words 'dead people.' But she couldn't help but smile because he was so, well, cute when he got so excited. Especially over something so ridiculous. (Oh, she really did have it bad.)

"Ha, you smiled!" he announced, as triumphantly as if making her smile was an achievement on par with winning an Olympic gold medal. "Caskett! It's perfect; I knew you'd agree. Sometimes my brilliance surprises even me."

Now she had to snort. "I wasn't smiling at your so-called brilliance, Castle."

He faked shock. "You weren't?"

Some part of her couldn't quite believe she was going to tell him this but it appeared to be too late to hide things now. "If you must know, I was smiling because you got so excited and it's... cute."

"Re-eally?" he drew the word out with what was possibly one of the cockiest smirks ever to grace a human face. "Did Detective Kate Beckett admit she thinks I'm cute?"

Yeah, she was never going to live this down. She felt herself flush hotly, although (strangely) she couldn't seem to bring herself to regret having told him. "Anyway," she blurted out a little too loudly, "you were talking about how you missed going into the precinct."

"I did miss going into the precinct," he agreed, although he shot her a look that told her what she already knew, that she hadn't heard the last of her confession. He paused, collecting his thoughts again after the long digression, his expression sobering. "Working with you meant—means—a lot to me. Helping you solve cases, the work we did, it means a lot although it took me awhile to understand that. But—" his lips twisted a little, "as the saying goes, you don't know what you have until you lose it."

The words registered with a pang. Yes, it was true. She hadn't realized what she had until she'd lost it, lost him. Hadn't realized how much she'd come to enjoy working with him, how much his theories, as crazy as they were, had challenged her to think outside the box. She, who prided herself on always approaching every case and every crime scene with fresh eyes, never allowing a murder to become another statistic to her, had started to lose some of that before Castle came along. It happened with experience; there was a reason so many cops became jaded because they did tend to see a lot of the same sordid stories. Castle had pushed her to think more creatively and more than that, he had made her work more fun. And fun was in short supply in her life.

Plus she'd been so determined not to give in to the charm he had in abundance, determined never to be another notch on his bedpost, that she hadn't acknowledged any of the signs that he might be more than the jackass playboy and then his looking into her mom's case had been the impetus for her to get rid of the thorn in her side, as she'd persisted in thinking of him.

Only for her to realize too late that she might have just cut off her nose to spite her face.

She mentally shook off her regret, focusing on him. She had a second chance; Castle was back and—she was starting to believe—he wasn't going anywhere. "I missed working with you too," she admitted, not very smoothly. She felt a flare of panic at making such an admission and blurted out, "Well, not your crazy theories." The words were out before she'd thought and then she could have kicked herself. She'd done it again, deflecting. It was just instinctive, it seemed, after so many years of not letting people in. But she'd promised herself she'd do better. She inwardly steeled herself. "I missed you." Her eyes dropped away from his—saying the words was one thing but apparently meeting his eyes, letting him read her expression, was another.

"Well, you know what, Beckett," he began after a moment, his tone carefully light, "I think you're stuck with me. I'm like a bad penny you can't get rid of."

Oh, this man. He really had learned how and when not to push, let her recover after such an admission that didn't come easily for her.

"I guess I'll just have to get used to having you around," she managed.

"I guess you will." He paused and then went on, his tone becoming serious again, thoughtful. "I've had a lot of time to think about what I liked so much about working with you and it had nothing to do with Nikki Heat or even because I liked spending time with you. Although as you might have guessed, I do like spending time with you," he added with a brief glimmer of one of his flirtatious looks.

Her lips curved a little, almost in spite of herself. "I had a hunch."

"Being at the precinct, it felt like I was actually making a difference, doing some real good to help people for once. It was… a good feeling, I liked it. As you've pointed out to me, I make things up for a living."

She felt a stab of guilt. She had said something of that sort to him early on but she'd been needling him, hadn't meant it as a serious disparagement. "Castle, I didn't mean—"

"I know you didn't," he cut her off. "But you were right. I write fiction and yes, I like to think I'm pretty good at it and there is value to entertaining people but it's not exactly the same as what you do, getting justice for murder victims, saving people." A rueful smile appeared. "I liked feeling useful, like I helped."

What had he said, to that Cosmo reporter who'd interviewed her for that puff piece about Heat Wave just before she'd kicked him out for good? That he'd been instrumental in helping them solve some of their toughest cases? At the time, she'd been annoyed at what she'd viewed as his usual bragging but it occurred to her now that the boast revealed insecurity, reflecting wishful thinking of a sort. He'd said it because he'd wanted it to be true. He really did value the work they had done. She had assumed he viewed it as a game of sorts, playing cop, but not taking it seriously, but that wasn't true.

"You did help, but Castle, what you do, your writing, your books, they make a difference too. It might be entertainment but you know who else was in the business of entertaining people? Shakespeare. Dickens, the Bronte sisters, Virginia Woolf. And I don't think you can claim they didn't make a difference. For example, after Dickens published A Christmas Carol, charitable giving skyrocketed."

He gave a wry twist of his lips. "Even I wouldn't put my books on the same level as works of Shakespeare or Dickens."

"Maybe not but don't belittle the importance of entertaining people. I deal with reality every day, reality that's often ugly or painful or boring. Giving people something that will take their mind off of reality, distract them, matters and studies show that reading fiction fosters empathy, which is something I think we can both agree the world needs more of."

"Have you been talking to my mother? She delivers quite a speech when someone dares question the value of theatre."

She blew out a breath of some frustration. Stubborn man. This must have been festering inside him for a long time, since she had kicked him out probably. It wasn't as if she'd been very willing to admit that he had helped them. She'd spent most of their time mocking him and her teasing had never seemed to have much of an effect on him. She'd never even imagined that Richard Castle, the cocky celebrity, could feel insecure about what he did. Why hadn't it occurred to her that his cockiness might be a shield to hide his insecurities, much like she used her Detective Beckett persona to hide her own?

She could think of one subject that was guaranteed to make him listen, would convince him. If she could bring herself to talk about it.

She looked up at him, meeting his eyes. He was smiling slightly, the rather ironic way he often smiled when he spoke of Martha's dramatic excesses, but she could see that the amusement didn't reach his eyes. She made up her mind. This bothered him and making him feel better was more important than her own comfort.

"After my mom died," she began, her voice very low and not quite steady.

She felt him jerk, his hand tightening convulsively around hers, sensed his abruptly-focused gaze on her, but she could not meet his eyes right now.

"I was… it was a bad time for me," she managed in severe understatement about the worst weeks and months of her life. "My dad was… struggling. Detective Raglan had told us he was writing the case off as random gang violence so I knew… he wasn't even trying anymore."

"Kate…" he breathed, sounding shaken.

"Then I found these books and read them, every one I could find. And they helped. Because in these books, killers were caught, murder victims got justice. The sleuths never gave up, no matter how hard the case seemed. They never wrote off a case as a 'random wayward event,' because they were too lazy or didn't care enough to investigate. The books… gave me hope, inspired me. They showed that justice for victims was important."

Up until now, she'd carefully spoken about the books in general terms so he might know she was talking about mysteries—the genre that focused on identifying killers—but nothing specific. Now she released a shaky breath and made herself meet his eyes. Listening to her with that focused intensity that was so characteristic of him, as if at this moment she was the only thing in the world that mattered.

"And no matter how little evidence there seemed to be or how many years had gone by, the sleuths like Avery Mattheson, Cadmon Felse, or Derrick Storm never stopped trying to find out the truth."

The names of his characters made him give an odd sound, like a combination of a choke and a gasp, as he realized she was talking about his books. Characters she'd named deliberately—Avery Mattheson from At Dusk We Die who'd stumbled upon a dead body but when she'd returned from calling the police, found the body had disappeared and no one inclined to believe her story so first she'd needed to prove a murder had actually occurred at all; Cadmon Felse from A Skull in Springtime where the only evidence at first was finding a skull with no visible head injury and no other way to identify the victim of what had ended up being a decade-old crime; and of course Derrick Storm, solving a murder after finding the murder weapon in a casket but no body, among his other exploits.

"Rick, your books do make a difference. They comforted me, gave me a purpose. They… saved me."

He blinked at her for a long moment and then gave a shaky sigh. "Kate, I… I don't know what to say."

She managed a small smile. "And here I thought you were a writer, a word smith."

He huffed a laugh and then surged forward to kiss her with enough passion that her brain went immediately blank.

She leaned towards him, both her hands lifting to touch him—only for a sharp tug of pain on her side to surprise a gasp from her, breaking off the kiss and effectively shattering the atmosphere of intimacy that had settled over them. Ow, damn it! She hated this so much, hated not being able to make any incautious movements, hated that she couldn't even lift her arms up without pain.

"Kate! Are you okay? Can I do anything, call someone? I'm sorry, so sorry. I forgot and I—"

"It's okay," she cut off his frantic litany, mustering up a pale smile of reassurance. "It was my fault. Don't apologize. Besides," she added, trying to sound teasing, "it was worth it."

A sound that was almost the beginnings of a laugh escaped him and he cupped her cheek in his hand, leaning in to press his lips tenderly to her forehead. "You are amazing, you know that." He sat back down. "But I think that's a sign we should take a rain check on talking more."

She grimaced but couldn't exactly deny it. "You might be right. I am a little tired," she admitted. "You don't have to stay overnight though. I have it on good authority that I'm no longer in critical condition."

He shrugged. "I don't have anywhere else to be. Anyway, I was hoping you'd invite me into your bed again," he finished with a reasonable facsimile of one of his old leers.

She sternly controlled the twitch of her lips. "Now, why would I want to do that?" she drawled.

"Because I make a nice pillow?" he suggested.

She pretended to study him. "Well, you do put me to sleep."

He shot her a mock scowl and she smirked, letting the silence drag for a couple seconds before she agreed—as they'd both already known she would—with a show of reluctance. "If you insist, just because I'm nice and that chair looks uncomfortable."

This little comedy enacted, he did join her in the bed, squeezing in beside her as she nestled against him, her head finding the little hollow of his shoulder with as much ease as if they'd been sharing a bed for weeks and not just one night.

"Rest, Kate. I'll be here when you wake up."

"Mm, 'kay," she mumbled, letting her eyes close. And before too long, she did fall asleep on him, again.

~To be continued…~

A/N 2: Thank you to all readers and reviewers.