Chapter 23

Breakfast, Castle-style, wouldn't have disgraced Beckett's special-treat-only diner: laid out on the table were rashers of bacon, pancakes, syrup, fruit, orange juice and coffee.

"Dig in," Castle said. "I guess you didn't eat much yesterday?"

"No…" She thought back. "We were too busy to grab lunch, and then I didn't want dinner." She didn't mention the throwing up.

"You must be hungry." He passed her a plate, and watched beadily till she'd put what he evidently considered enough food on it, which was rather more than she'd ordinarily want. She began to eat, and found that she was ravenously hungry. The full plate became empty in short order.

"Better?" Castle asked.

"Yeah." She downed her coffee, and refilled her cup; thought for a second or two, and then took some more bacon. "Protein," she said to his unspoken question. "I'll have some fruit after."

"You said you didn't have to go in today?"

"I'm not to go in today. Pawlowitz – he's the lead detective – made it right with the Captain."

"What'll you do?"

Beckett munched on her bacon, and thought about it. Unfortunately, as soon as her brain started to work, the pervasive memory of yesterday's events returned. She shuddered, and stopped eating.

"Are you okay?"

"Just… yesterday."

"Mm."

"I think I need to do something. Run, maybe. Sweat it out."

Castle's eyes glinted naughtily. "I could" –

"No." She glared at him, but it was a poor effort. "That's not healthy. That's depending on you to fix me, and that's not how I'm going to roll."

"No rolling?"

"No. I can't start leaning on someone else to fix my problems. I have to get through this. Me. Otherwise it'll come back to bite me in the ass at the worst possible moment and you won't be there to pull me through."

Castle jammed his lips shut on I want to be there for you. All the time.

"You were just right last night. You'll be just right again" – she stopped, and blinked uncertainly – "if you want to be?"

"Yes."

"But that won't fix this. I need to move, and maybe that'll help me see my way through it. But I have to do it myself so that it is fixed." Her eyes pleaded with him to understand.

"I get it. I don't much like it – I don't like seeing you miserable, you know – but I get it. Only" – he looked as uncertain as she had a moment previously – "I'll be here, okay? I wasn't planning on walking away. So go run, but come back here after. Please?"

Beckett's jaw remained in place through sheer force of will. Sure, he'd pushed and pushed for her to agree that they were dating, but…that was a bit of a statement of intent, for a month's acquaintance and the early stages of a relationship. "Okay," she squeaked out, and without really noticing, munched the rest of her bacon to prevent having to open her mouth, then did the same with a healthy quantity of fruit. By the time she'd disposed of that, her brain was semi-functional again. "I'll need to go home, though. I need to get my running kit."

"And some more clothes," Castle added.

"Huh?"

"You're coming back here – you agreed. So you'll need clean clothes for tomorrow."

Her neurons now resembled refried beans. "Tomorrow?"

"Don't you want to stay over again?" he whined, entirely insincere. "I want you to."

"Uh…" Tomorrow? Again? More? (Sex, a little voice suggested, which was not helpful.)

"C'mon. You do want to, don't you?" He widened his big blue eyes at her, and did a ridiculously accurate imitation of a pleading puppy. "Don't you?"

"Yes, but" –

"Great. So pick up some clothes and anything else you need, have your run, and come back here after."

"Okay," she said weakly, completely unused to being looked after. "It'll be a long run, though. I might not be back till after lunchtime."

"That's okay, I have to write. My editor is screaming for the next chapters." He smiled. "You run, I'll write." He moved around the table as Beckett stood up to take her plate to the dishwasher, and hugged her. "That'll keep you warm till you get back."

She blinked. Then she turned around in his arms, stretched up, and kissed him in a leisurely fashion. "Now I'll be warm," she flirted, picked up her bag and left.

As soon as the loft door closed behind her, the events of the previous day returned. She forced them away, walked to the subway, boarded her train, got off at her stop and walked to her apartment, all with a squirming in her abdomen and the memory of the dead, blank eyes before her. She forced her stomach to stillness and peace, telling herself that it would be a terrible waste of an excellent breakfast. The flippancy didn't help in the slightest, but her stomach stayed put, which was one step better than the day before.

In her apartment, she dumped yesterday's clothes in the hamper, repacked her bag, including, in an effort to redirect her morbid memories, some flimsy nightwear and pretty underwear; and left it by the door ready to go back to Castle's loft later. Now that was a thought that calmed her stomach. She changed into running gear, put her running playlist on her iPod, and began to move.

Three miles later, her stomach was still in its place, and the stretch and burn of a long run was settling her mind. The memory was still sharp and jagged, but it was less immediate, and it wasn't in her mind every single instant. She completed her loop at her apartment, showered and changed into a button-down and flowing dark pants, picked up her bag, and took the subway back to Castle's.

"You're back!" Castle exclaimed when he opened the door. "I didn't" –

"Think I would be? I said I would." She stepped back, retreating. "But if you didn't expect me, I'll go home." She shouldered her bag, and took another step away from the door towards the elevator.

"Expect you this soon," Castle said, and firmly took her hand to pull her inside. "Stop running away. You've done enough running for one day with your thinking time run."

Beckett coloured. "Er…" she managed.

"Silly Beckett. You really need to stop thinking that I don't mean what I'm saying. I mean, okay my reputation is, um, colourful, but it doesn't mean it's all true and I certainly wouldn't lead you into thinking you could come back here if I didn't mean it."

"Daddy never invites anyone here," Alexis added from the stairs, to Castle's blatant horror. "You must be his girlfriend now." The two adults blushed fit to start a forest fire.

"Alexis," Castle managed in a strangulated tone, "what have I told you about interrupting adult conversations?"

The girl frowned. "Don't. But I didn't. I was" – she paused – "contri…contri…contributing!"

Beckett choked off a laugh.

"No, you were meddling. Don't do it, please. It's not nice." He smiled at his daughter. "Come and help choose dinner." All was, apparently, forgiven, though from the blush Alexis was displaying, the rebuke, mild as it had been, had hit its mark.

The three of them decided upon a baked chicken dish, with dessert simply being ice cream. Castle prepared it with brisk efficiency, declining any help: Alexis disappeared to her room, and Beckett sat at the counter and watched, fingers twitching to assist. He popped it into the oven (which resembled something out of Star Trek) and grinned. "Wine? I have a rather nice white here, which will go with dinner, but we could have some now."

Beckett thought, extremely briefly. "Yes, please."

Castle opened and poured. "Did you get your thinking done?"

"I guess," she said doubtfully. "It's not quite as sharp today. I think I just need time to" – she searched for a word – "um…assimilate emotionally. I know it was the right thing to do, but I don't feel it was the right thing yet." She sipped the wine, and then took a bigger mouthful. "It's such a huge thing."

"Yeah," Castle sympathised. "I guess there's not much bigger – maybe having a baby. Taking or giving life – it can't get bigger than that." He regarded her. "It's why being a homicide detective is important," he said slowly, working it out as he went. "Because someone's taken a life, wrongfully."

She stared at him. "I never thought – yes. That's the core of it." She smiled at him. "That really helps. If I think of it like that…that helps, somehow." A weight fell from her shoulders, and she straightened up. "Yeah."

After dinner, Castle dealt with Alexis's homework, reading, and general stuff, while Beckett contemplated her phone, the next day's work, and a book which she'd found on Castle's stuffed shelves. The book won, without making any effort. She sipped the remains of her wine, and read happily until Castle reappeared.

"Alexis is washing and so on," he said.

"Mm," Beckett hummed, not really listening. She liked her book.

"Are you okay till I've said goodnight?"

"Yes," she said absently. "No problem."

"Good." Castle departed, without Beckett really noticing. She was utterly lost in her book. When Castle returned, he managed to sit down next to her, put an arm around her, and peck a light kiss or two on her hair without any response at all except a getting-comfortable wriggle. He poked her in the ribs.

"Stoppit!" she screeched.

"You're ticklish." He smiled evilly. "Finally, a weakness that I can exploit."

"I'll make enough noise to wake Alexis."

"She's reading. You could put a bomb under her and she wouldn't notice – a bit like you a minute ago."

"I'm noticing now. I'm noticing that I'm trained in self-defence and how to neutralise a suspect in seconds. I'm noticing that you aren't trained. And I'm noticing that you, Richard Castle," she paused, "are also ticklish." She attacked on the word, and left him frantically wriggling and squirming, trying and failing to defend himself.

"Well, isn't this fun?"

"Mother?"

"Martha?"

Beckett tried to hide, blushing desperately.

"Oh, don't mind me, darlings. Young love – well, middle aged love in your case, Richard" –

"I'm thirty four not fifty four," he snipped.

" – is so sweet. I do love a good romance, and you two are just so adorable together. Alexis really could use a mother, though of course I shall do my best to fill the emotional void while your relationship develops."

Castle recovered his voice. "Mother, I can only assume that you've had a liquid afternoon. I think you should go and indulge in some beauty sleep, and stop jumping the gun."

"But Richard darling, you've brought her here. You've only ever brought your wife here. You haven't even brought that Gina person" –

"That Gina-person is my editor."

"That's what you think. She wants to be the second" –

"Mrs Tanqueray?" Castle gibed. "Isn't that your next role?"

"Mrs Richard Castle." Martha ignored the taunt with aplomb.

"Not happening."

"That's a relief. Katherine would be much better for you. Mixing business and pleasure never answers."

"Mother, much as I appreciate your advice, it's not necessary or wanted. Now, go sleep off your afternoon's indulgences – were you renewing old acquaintances or old feuds? – and I'll see you tomorrow."

"I understand," she said sympathetically. "Three would definitely be a crowd."

She swished off upstairs, leaving Castle open-mouthed and Beckett wondering whether she should just crawl into a hole and never, ever come out again.

"I…" Castle began, and failed to think of any good words whatsoever. He stood up, staggered to his study, poured two fingers of whiskey into a glass and knocked it back in one go. "Do you want one?" he belatedly asked.

"Not whiskey, thanks," she semi-stuttered. "Have you got vodka?"

"Sure," Castle replied, and poured. "Mixer?"

"Tonic, please."

"I'm having mine neat. Why did I let Mother come back and live here? She has no filter at all." He sighed. "Please tell me she hasn't scared you off?"

"I'm still here."

"You are. Why?"

"She's not you. Even if you are middle-aged," she added with a mischievous grin.

"I am not. But you're definitely mean." He pouted, then batted his eyelashes. "You shouldn't be mean to me. If you're mean to me… I…I…I won't make you coffee!"

"That could be fatal," Beckett said dryly, "for you."

"I don't think I'd like to be dead."

"You wouldn't know about it. You'd be dead."

"Nope."

Beckett blinked.

"No. I would know about it because I'd be a ghost. That would be seriously cool. I could hang around and find out all sorts of secrets and nobody would know I was there unless I haunted them" –

"Ghosts aren't real. There's no such thing as ghosts, just credulous, gullible people."

"You really are no fun. There are lots of things that might be real. Just because you can't touch them doesn't mean they aren't there."

"I believe in firm reality."

Castle's expression changed. "Do you? I could provide some firm reality, since you've finished your drink."

"Shouldn't I stay in the guest room?"

"Why?"

"I'm not sure I can stand any more of your mother's helpful comments."

"Oh, don't worry. She won't be up till past ten, and she'll need at least two prairie oysters to cure her headache." He smirked. "That'll be my revenge. You won't get to see it, because you'll be at work, but I will. I can't wait."

Beckett grinned. "Mean."

"Justified. And I put your bag in my room," Castle said firmly, and didn't add because I really don't need to have her meddling when I'm just about managing to date you and have you come here without you thinking about it. I want you to be thoroughly comfortable with me before I tell you about the other book. "Now, how about some firm reality, firmly in my bedroom?"

She peeped through her lashes flirtatiously, and smiled seductively. "Sounds like a plan." A second later she was on her feet and sashaying, with a wicked wiggle of her hips, through the study to the bedroom. Castle, eyes firmly fixed on her ass, followed, and only his knowledge of his own loft's layout prevented him hitting the doorposts, since he certainly wasn't paying any attention to his surroundings. He stopped at the door, leaning on the frame, gazing at Beckett, sitting on the end of his bed.

In his bedroom, Beckett was slowly undoing the top button of her shirt, peeking to make sure that Castle was watching. She wouldn't want him to miss anything, and she certainly wasn't doing this for her own entertainment. Happily, his eyes were right where she wanted them to be. She undid another button, revealing a sliver of lace bra-edge, and stopped there, fingers at the vee, flirting with the next fastening. Castle's intent eyes darkened to navy blue, and he took a step towards her.

"Just watch," she husked, and a pink tongue-tip laved her sensual lips. He moved back to the door frame, so that he didn't need to show her that he expected to be weak at the knees very shortly, and fixed his gaze upon her, heat building in the bedroom. Slowly, slowly, she slipped another button; then another. More lace appeared, but she didn't spread the shirt apart to show him more: the fragment he could see was teasingly erotic. Another button opened: her hands were moving downwards to her waist.

She stopped undoing buttons. Castle couldn't prevent his disappointed noise, at which she smiled sultrily. "Patience," she murmured, which was an invitation all of its own, and stood up. Her hands went to her belt buckle, which opened, and the button of her pants. The zipper zinged downward, she wiggled, and the pants puddled on the floor. Castle drew in breath, rock hard and ready, but he didn't move. She was the epitome of eroticism: every move an invitation, every reveal a seduction; entrancing him. She crossed one elegant, endless leg over the other, and removed the sock, exchanged legs and repeated, finishing with her knees primly together. Primness didn't erase the fleeting glimpse of dark green, lacy panties; and when Castle looked back up to the opened buttons of the shirt, he could see that the edge of lace covering the swelling curves was also dark, dark green. Matching. Oh, wow. Because it hadn't been matching before now. Toning, sure. But this seduction had been planned.

The last button of Beckett's shirt fell apart. She breathed a little more deeply, and the edges of the shirt parted, opening over her small, firm breasts, but still mostly concealing. Her shoulders flexed, and the shirt fell away, leaving her in lace bra and matching panties, dark against her cream skin: perfect contrast to highlight her taut muscles and lean limbs.

"Like what you see?" she breathed.

"So much. You're beautiful."

"Wanna finish the job?"

He was on her in two fast strides: large and predatory, consumed by desire, taking her mouth, standing between her legs and then pushing her backwards so that he lay over her, pressing against the greedy space between her legs.

"You're overdressed," she said, when he moved from her mouth, and tried to reach his shirt buttons. Obligingly, he lifted a fraction so that she could reach, though he didn't stop nibbling his way around her neck for an instant. The shirt opened within that same instant, and Beckett arched up and rubbed soft mounds against hard pecs, while her naughty hands attacked his belt and zipper, opening them and pushing his pants from his excellent ass. Then she squeezed. He yipped, and nipped her neck chidingly, then soothed the tiny sting with his tongue.

"Naughty," he purred. "I like naughty. So many opportunities for creativity." He promptly proved his creativity – and the talents of his mouth and fingers – on her lace-clad breasts, lipping and suckling until she began to pant and gasp, lifting her hips against him and rubbing. He smiled wolfishly and slid a hand beneath her to unhook her bra, lifting it away and returning to the now naked peaks. "See, I could get really creative with these." He demonstrated. She knotted her hands in his hair and moaned. "Or I could be a little creative…elsewhere."

"Tease," Beckett panted.

"Yes, and don't you just love it?" Castle rasped into the valley between her breasts, and kissed down her sternum.

"Ohhhhh," was her only reply, as he reached her navel and kept on downward.

"These are pretty," he commented. "I like the lace. I especially like the way it pretends to reveal and tantalises by concealing. You matched them today, didn't you?"

"Mmm," she hummed.

"I like matching. I like you in – or preferably out – of any underwear, but matching is particularly seductive. Thinking of out…" He knelt up between her parted legs, moved to the side, and slowly rolled her panties down and away, kicked his pants off and slid his own boxers down; leaving them both proudly naked and utterly aroused. She reached for his shoulders, but he shrugged her off. "I've got a theory," he smirked. "My theory is that you wanted to seduce me. You succeeded, but now I'm going to seduce you." His smirk turned to a thoroughly predatory smile. "You'll love it."

He fell to.

She tasted of desire and heat and heaven, wet and wanton, soaked and saying his name, over and over till it became a thin high cry of release, and then he slipped up beside her and spooned her in, hard against her backside, and then slid himself across her dampness and waited. She sighed sensually, and then wiggled, turned, took him in hand to sheathe him with a condom from the nightstand, and slid down on to him. He groaned, deep in his chest, and rolled them to rise above her and thrust home, deep-seated within her, held tight by clenching muscle and her hands locked on his back.

She rolled them over, to be above him, small tight breasts peaked, a flush from cheek to ribs, eyes locked on his – and in them, he saw something more than he'd expected; something that she didn't know – something he couldn't stand to lose. She had to stay with him. She rode him to completion, and came herself, and when she collapsed over his chest, he wrapped her in as if he'd never let her go again.

Thank you to all readers and reviewers.