Chapter 29

When Beckett reached Castle's location, she couldn't see him. She sat down on the bench, and only then did the big Maine Coon arrive in her lap. She stroked him, cuddling him to her. She already knew it had gone very, very badly. So she simply held him as close as she could, and stroked as he had so often done for her, trying to soothe his pain.

"I'm going to call the twins and tell them not to wait for us," she said to the cat. "I'm staying right here with you until you decide on anything else." She did so, and merely said that there had been an unexpected hold up so they should eat without their parents; cutting the call before anyone could ask any difficult questions. As the evening merged into full night, she continued to stroke, avoiding his feline ears, not talking except to murmur that she was there, she'd always be there, she loved him. No matter what, no matter when or where, there would never be any doubt that she loved him to the bottom of her soul, forever and ever.

Which might not be simply a prayer. Forever might be real. Now there was a truly terrifying thought. Not because of Castle, but just…because it was such a very long time. How would they cope with all the changes? More to the point, would they manage to evict the twins? She sure wasn't going to provide childcare for her grandchildren, if any. The twins had put her off small children for the rest of her life. It hadn't been hard. She'd never been keen on small children – or indeed anyone below the age of fifteen, and she wasn't stunningly keen on older teens either. Adults…well, she supposed she liked a few of them. She'd better learn how to make some new friends, though, because, though Castle was the light and centre of her world, nothing but each other would be truly suffocating. They'd kill each other in six months.

She petted the cat some more. Finally, he became Castle again, but buried his face in her hair and clung to her. Words stumbled from his lips, muffled in her hair but still dreadfully understandable.

"She said I shouldn't have told her," he blurted. "She hates me for telling her. She said don't call me. She doesn't want me there or anything and what do I do now? She's my daughter and she hates me because there's no way to change her and she said she'd never be unfaithful and anyway there's no-one who isn't me or David and just…it's such a mess, Beckett and I can't make it better." The patch of hair in which his face was buried dampened. "I can't do anything and now she won't even talk to me."

"Would she talk to me?"

"I don't think she'll talk to anyone. She hates me," he repeated, and slumped against Beckett, drained.

Beckett cuddled Castle close, thinking. She could, just about, see where Alexis was coming from, and even sympathise. But despite how much he loved the twins, Castle and Alexis had a deeper bond, from the years when it was just the two of them, and Alexis's rejection, which had never happened to Castle before – oh. Yes. There had been that episode with, uh, oh yes, Pi. Best forgotten. Castle had been devastated then too, but not like this. That had been a normal father-daughter fight, not that Castle had seen it that way. This…wasn't.

She thought some more. "Your mother?"

"How do you think my mother is going to react to finding out I'm going to live twice as long as her – minimum? 'Cause I'll tell you. Badly."

Which might be the understatement of the millennium, Beckett thought, and further thought that Alexis's half-siblings would be an even worse idea. They had very little in common, and a huge age gap wasn't going to help either.

"I got nothing," she said.

"Nor me."

"Let's go home?" To Beckett's surprise and worry, Castle hesitated. "You don't want to?" she asked.

There was a horrible silence. "No…" The tone of the silence didn't improve.

"No?"

"I…I just can't. I love them but I can't deal with them when I've just lost Alexis. I just need some time, love. I'll be back by bedtime, promise."

"Go kill squirrels, babe. Work it out here in Central Park, and…" she stopped. "Just come home to sleep." She didn't say come home to me. That would have been manipulative and wrong. He didn't need any more emotional scenes, and he certainly didn't need her trying to compete for his affections. There was no competition.

But she really, really wished that Alexis hadn't shoved him away, and wished far harder that he would come home with her now, even if it was only to go straight to his study. She cupped his face in her hands, and kissed him hard. "Home by bedtime," she said, and didn't care that it sounded like she was talking to a child.

Castle betook himself further into Central Park, changed back to his huge Maine Coon, and curled up in the gap between a couple of large, exposed tree roots where he could mope miserably. He knew he should have gone home, but he couldn't bear to be so sharply reminded of the difference between his eldest and the two younger children. Alexis would age…and die. They…wouldn't. Or at any rate, not nearly as soon. He hated that he had, however inadvertently, treated them differently. He'd tried so hard to not do that: to treat them the same – though, of course, the twins weren't Alexis and Beckett certainly wasn't the ever-absent Meredith, so it wouldn't be the same….

But that didn't matter. Minor differences occasioned by the very different personalities of his adored Alexis and the equally adored but far more difficult twins were simply not the same as living for an extended lifespan. And two of his children would…and one would not.

He put his head in his paws and drowned in his guilt and unhappiness.

He woke up in a hurry when someone picked him up.

"Waal, now. What're you doin' here all on your lonesome, David?" the unmistakable drawl of O'Leary hit his ears. "You got some 'splainin' to do before I call your mom."

Castle-cat growled, with a serious edge of danger. O'Leary cast him an odd glance. Castle hissed, and then growled again, more nastily, extending claws through O'Leary's sleeve and on to his skin, only just not piercing it.

"That don't sound much like you're happy to see me."

The claws went in. O'Leary yelped, and dropped the cat, who turned into Castle and glared up at the giant. "I am not David. Now leave me be."

"Not another Castle with a pain in the temper."

Castle turned into the panther, and growled with a good deal more menace than O'Leary was used to from him. Even O'Leary couldn't hope to survive a full-size panther. He held his huge hands up apologetically. "Okay, I'm goin'." Castle growled again, which suggested that it would be a really good idea to go right now.

O'Leary left. Quickly. As soon as he was out of the panther's probable earshot, he called Beckett. "What the hell is Castle doin' prowlin' my patch alone?"

Beckett's growl shivered his spine. "Not your business," she said bluntly. "I'm cool with it, so you don't ask and I won't tell." She cut the call.

"Waal, that's not friendly," O'Leary said to the silent phone. Being a smart man, despite carefully constructed appearances, he ambled off, ensuring that his direction took him far, far away from Castle. Being dead was not a good look, he felt.

Beckett, despite her shut-down of her enormous pal, was deeply reassured that he'd seen Castle. Upset Castle was capable of massive and idiotic impulses, and the last thing she wanted was him jumping on a plane or picking a fight. Not that he'd do either, she firmly reminded herself. But…he was really upset, and he couldn't think straight (or at all) in those circumstances. He'd be safe in Central Park. Squirrels, rabbits and lowlifes might not be, but she could easily live with that.

She entered the loft to meet the delicious smell of stew with an expression that caused her twins to depart the room at speed. It wasn't rare for their mother to be irritable or even annoyed. It was exceedingly rare for that to prevent her greeting them or for her to be completely furious, and if that were the case it was invariably best and safest to be elsewhere. Fast.

She noticed the speedy departure, and decided that she would prefer the absence of the twins to their company. She'd be sorry if she yelled at them – but not till much later, and only because the yelling wouldn't be their fault – this time. She still had to have a detailed discussion with Petra, but not till she'd eaten, had a glass of wine or possibly a belt of Scotch, and calmed down. She was not pleased with O'Leary, who had absolutely no right to question her about Castle. Texts about the twins, sure. That was sensible. But questioning about Castle's actions – not on at all.

She helped herself to some stew, poured a glass of red wine, drank and ate, and felt marginally better, even though Castle hadn't returned. Given his state, she didn't expect him for some time – but expectation didn't stop her hoping for his hand on the door. She forced herself to finish her portion, and then sipped her wine.

Finally, the worst of the rough edges had been smoothed from the day, just in time for Petra to skulk down the stairs and, no doubt, ruin it.

"Er…hey, Mom," Petra said, examining her carefully for signs of imminent danger or sudden death: Petra's own. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," Beckett bit off. Petra winced, being perfectly familiar with the passive-aggressive use of fine to indicate not being fine at all but that any further discussion would result in blood and injury. "How about you explain yesterday's little show over dinner?"

Petra changed from wince to cringe, and coloured unbeautifully to a blotched scarlet. "I'm sorry I was rude to you," she forced out. Beckett was so surprised she failed to find any words. "I guess you had spoken to Dad and he didn't listen."

"Didn't obey, more like," Beckett muttered. Petra didn't ask her to repeat the inaudible words.

"Anyway, um…But he needs to butt out."

"Where did you go today?" Beckett asked, wanting very much to change the subject before Petra asked where Castle was – and then why. Whys should be stopped at, or even before, the toddler stage, in Beckett's opinion, and it was a major detriment to her life that they were not.

"The Tenement Museum." Petra paused. "But then I went and Googled and did you know that they had tenements in Glasgow – in Scotland?"

"I know where Glasgow is," Beckett said dryly.

"There are lots of Glasgows in America," Petra flashed back. Beckett made a concessionary gesture, and listened to Petra expound on the differences in Glasgow tenements: from a few slums to extremely upscale; though the New York tenements seemed only to be slums.

Eventually Petra's descriptions ran down, by which time Beckett had both finished her wine and learned more than she had ever wanted to know about slum living over a hundred years earlier. She supposed that at least Petra had waited until after she'd had her dinner. She wasn't squeamish in the slightest, but she preferred her meals to come without gruesome, gory, or just plain disgusting discussions. Except for murders, of course. They didn't count. She'd never be able to do her job if she didn't discuss murder over meals.

"Where's Dad?"

"Out," Beckett said forbiddingly.

Petra, sadly, was not forbidden. "Where? And why didn't you come back for dinner?"

David, clearly feeling that it was now safe, bounded downstairs. "You told us to make dinner and we did, so why didn't you come back to eat it? You never miss dinner."

"Unless I have a case, or something important," Beckett pointed out.

David ignored her comment. "So where's Dad and why hasn't he come back – you said he was seeing Alexis tonight, but he can't still be talking to her 'cause you called to say you were both staying out so you must have spoken to him or been with him so why didn't he come back with you?"

Really, David's ability to keep talking long after his lungs should have been empty must have been part of his genetic similarity to his father. She hadn't appreciated it in Castle, who had much better and more fun uses for that sort of breath control, and she didn't appreciate it in David.

Petra's brow creased, as did David's.

"Why did Dad go see Alexis?" Petra asked acutely. Beckett endeavoured not to react in any way.

"It must have been important, or he'd have been back to make dinner," David mused. The twins looked at each other.

"He wouldn't," Petra said.

"He would. You know what he's like about lying – even by omission."

Beckett's heart sank. Why did her children have to be intelligent? Couldn't they be as blind as every other teen? She was sure that was Castle's fault, too. (Her own 4.0 GPA had nothing to do with it when they were using their intelligence to annoy her.)

"Did Dad go tell Alexis about the not-ageing thing?" the twins chorused. Beckett said nothing. "Why?"

"That was dumb," Petra said.

"Don't talk about your dad like that," Beckett snapped. "Alexis is his daughter and he thinks she has a right to know. It doesn't affect you and it's not your decision. Your dad is not dumb just because you disagree, so you quit that idea right now."

The twins stared at her. It seemed that the idea that something was nothing to do with them hadn't entered their heads.

"But" – Petra began.

"But nothing. Not. Your. Business."

Petra's mouth snapped shut, in a belated display of common sense.

"And you are not to talk to Alexis about it either. Keep out."

"Yes, Mom," Petra said, and nudged David hard. He nodded. Beckett suspected some twin-on-twin communication, but whatever worked. They started to leave.

"Petra," Beckett said quietly. Petra paused, recognising that she was in trouble. "We didn't finish our discussion about yesterday evening." David sidled towards the stairs, trying to hide behind his six-inch shorter sister. He failed. However, Beckett's attention was on Petra, who didn't appreciate the focused regard, so David managed to disappear before his mother's attention turned to him.

"Uh…" Petra gulped.

"So. When your dad comes back, or tomorrow, you need to apologise for being rude."

"But he" –

"You. Will. Apologise," Beckett said in tones which would convince Lucifer to apologise to God. "Because that is the adult thing to do and you are supposed to be an adult."

Petra scowled. "Okay. But" –

"No buts. Apologies aren't worth anything if they're conditional."

"Yes, Mom," Petra conceded, and sloped off.

Beckett poured herself another glass of wine, and sipped, kicking off her shoes and tucking her toes under her. When she'd finished that glass, she'd curl up as Onyx and wait for Castle to get back.

Onyx dozed on and off, cat-like, one eye nearly open, for some considerable time – unspecified, because cats didn't worry about time passing. Another good reason for being Onyx. Eventually, Castle trudged through the door, saw her on the couch, and came straight to sit down and cuddle her on to his shoulder where he could pet. She rubbed her head against his neck, and purred.

"I don't know what to do," he lamented. "I just don't."

"There isn't anything you can do," Beckett said, changing back and staying firmly within his arms, wrapping her own arms around him. "Alexis will come around."

"You really think so?" Castle pleaded.

"I do. She loves you too much not to, and when she's over the shock, she'll realise that you love her too much to lie to her. She just needs time." Beckett kissed him softly. "We'll get through this. I love you. Whatever happens, I love you." She hugged him again, gently forceful. "It's late. Come to bed."

Beckett tugged Castle up and towed him through to their bedroom, though, deep in her heart, she didn't expect him to stay there. Most likely, he'd try to write away the pain, and fret his way through online procrastination. He went through his night-time routine, but, just as she'd expected, put on a warm robe.

"I'm going to write," he said.

"Okay." She kissed him hard. "Love you."

Deep in the night, Beckett subconsciously felt Castle slip into bed and spoon himself around her; taking comfort from her body against his. Right from the beginning, he'd always needed to touch: her as Onyx, and then simply her, whatever form she took. She slept better, sensing him there, and similarly sensed when he slipped into deeper sleep, lax and heavy beside her. Drained, she thought, and when she woke, left him to sleep.

Over the next few days, nothing changed. Petra apologised, through gritted teeth, to Castle, who apologised in return through an equally stony jaw. David went to school, Petra tramped the tourist trails and cursed her sling. Beckett caught murderers, who, on seeing Castle's scowling face and Beckett's glare, decided that they didn't feel lucky and surrendered. O'Leary dropped by, and didn't ask difficult questions – or, seeing Beckett's face, any questions.

Alexis didn't call, or text, or write, or communicate in any way, and with every day, Castle became bleaker.

"Mom! Mom!"

The twins came barrelling down the stairs, pushing and shoving to get to their parents first.

"Mom, I got in!" Petra yelled.

"Me too!" David yelled louder.

Castle appeared as if by magic, smiling for the first time in over a week.

"Where?" their parents asked.

"Everywhere!" they said together.

"All of them?"

"Yes!"

"That's fantastic!"

Their proud parents wrapped them into a massive family hug, and tried to disguise their happy – and relieved – tears.

After the first flush of happiness wore off, Beckett's brain went into gear. "Did you get all the replies overnight last night?" she asked.

Both twins blushed. Beckett's dreaded left eyebrow rose.

"Uh…" they said, huddling together for protection.

"Uh…not exactly," Petra said. "But I was waiting till I had them all so I could tell you all at once."

"Me too," David said.

Beckett growled.

"You did it," Petra said. "Grandad told us."

Beckett's growl reached prehistoric sabre-toothed tiger proportions.

"We have to celebrate!" Castle said, before the mood was totally ruined. "That's wonderful news, even if we'd have liked to know earlier." He grinned. "I'll make some calls, and we'll all go to dinner somewhere really nice."

Beckett checked her watch, and wailed. "I have to go! David, you need to get to school. I'm so proud of both of you," she added while throwing on her coat and dashing out of the door.

She had to concentrate on the traffic, but her mind bubbled joyfully with the success of their children and their happiness. They'd achieved what they wanted, and she couldn't have been happier. Of course, she'd never doubted it – except in the dark watches of the night, when she and Castle had fretted and worried. Now they only had to choose.

Oh. Now it was real. They'd be leaving. Her happy brain-bubbling acquired a tinge of melancholy. They really were grown up. They really were going off to college. Despite all her cheerful words to Castle, now that she knew the loft would be empty of twins, she couldn't help a (quite ridiculously unnecessary) sniffle.

Thank you to all readers and reviewers.