By a strange coincidence, her current day began as usual. Kate was one of the first to arrive at the station, immediately immersed in the business environment: interrogations, report writing, coffee, a briefing with Roy, coffee again, business with Lanie, a visit to the body, and coffee again. And everything was as usual, as usual, as familiar, not repulsive, and went on as usual. Even when Montgomery summoned her, smiling strangely, mysteriously, she did not smell any trick, but such stunned news shocked her no less than the sight of the first bandit she had shot: Richard Castle was coming to the station! No exaggeration, widely known and greatly revered by housewives and the rest of the public, zealously voting for the same party, and providing Mr. Castle with solid box office receipts. True, sir, the writer must have had a crisis of genre, since he decided to kill off his character so decisively and terrifyingly. But it meant nothing. Even as his secret and avid admirer, Kate was not going to run after him, or beg for his autograph (especially since she had already signed it!), or listen to sweet talks (and girls hung on Castle like that!), or engage in a silly, meaningless polemic with him about methods of solving crimes. And it didn't matter that the books supported him, helped her in a difficult moment, the main thing was that still cherished her main goal - to find and punish her mother's murderer, though Kate herself was no longer crazy about her own investigation: the visits to the psychologist and the long, exhausting conversations with the captain and Lainey had had an effect. Yes, she had calmed down, and life was somehow easier. Now she could look half-eyed at the famous "stud" Richard Castle, talk about the work and if anything, give him a hard slap on the wrist. Yeah, she's a tough act to follow... And what happened was that on her arrival from the corpse she had jumped for a cup of coffee and... almost knocked Castle down! And that it was him, Kate had no doubt whatsoever (she'd seen him earlier from a distance), but... She met his eyes and almost collapsed on the floor from the weakness in her legs: this clear and exciting, crystal blue eyes, this manly clear shape, this little noticeable scar above the eyebrow and this velvet, causing axillary cramps baritone - such coincidences can be one in a million. And the distinctive stylish hairdo, and the undeniably strong and warm hands...
And Beckett instantly drew a mask on Castle's face, and when he dropped the phrase about the universe, the picture was complete: they already knew each other! And not at first sight, but close, intimately, tightly, like longtime lovers, and this was the same man who stood before her in a no less dumbfounded state, who had once stirred her, Kate, soul and conquered her heart. And she burned herself on the coffee, deliberately, because she was shocked and shocked, and only the short walk to her desk allowed her to somehow come to her senses. And like a fool, she sipped that hot coffee, no longer feeling its taste or the burns themselves, and when Castle sat down to her, there were few options to regain her composure...
The seemingly calm and confident, she jumped out of the station in complete, absolute confusion: her lips baked from the burns, her throat was propped up by a lump, and a small treacherous ripple was strewn all over her body. Even her hands clenched into fists, and as Kate climbed into the car, she gave a full throttle: once again she was living the day that had turned all her former life inside out, redefined the one that followed, and brought mental anguish. When there is such an anxious and frequent ticking under her heart, nothing good can come of it, but she had no right to change herself...
Beckett called the captain back already on the street and asked for the rest of the day. The situation was tense, and she was not prepared for it, which ultimately required careful thought.
On her way home, she stopped at a Starbucks, where, after thinking for a while, she dialed her father's number, surprising him, but the mumbling conversation exhausted her so much that an hour later Beckett stumbled into her loft, finishing with only coffee and cookies. And since it was certainly not in her nature to rush around the room and moan, Kate crawled under the shower. There, standing under the jets, she tried to organize her thoughts, to cope with violent emotions, because she could not understand that the dodger "Alex" from the past and the writer Richard Castle were one and the same person! No, it wasn't; it was too simple, her mind refused to believe it, but his single touch shook her like an electric shock. And just remembering the purring notes of his voice gave Beckett an uncontrollable sexual shiver. And not just a shiver, but some kind of roofies, and in bed she was then breaking and cramping and twisting, and her hands were reaching for her innermost places. And later, when her own hands were no longer enough, it was the turn of the biomechanical dildo, ordered on the Internet, which allowed her to finally relax... .
A couple of hours later, sticky with sticky sweat, her eyes blazing with mischief, and her mind a little clouded, Kate stood in front of the mirror and stared into it for a long, long time. And she swore to herself. She couldn't, couldn't go crazy over some public dude, even though this guy had driven her insane, almost forced her to open up; she couldn't be allowed in until her mother's case was over, and if she let her guard down even a little, her thirst for revenge would never be quenched. Because it is intensely personal... Because it is sweat and blood... Because in time, though she has come to her mental equilibrium, it has somehow proved shaky and unstable, from the close presence of someone who has the power to make her body shake and twist. And already she could forget about judgment and sobriety, which was exactly what she didn't need. Too much "Alex" had shaken her then, carelessly and close to the point, too powerfully carried her away, and that note with an honest confession that Castle had seen her without a mask was no small and unpleasant revelation. It was now, heartbrokenly, that Kate was forced to admit that her partner had acted honestly and manly, whereas back then she was ready to kill him, burn him, and drown him in the Hudson. For treating her so unexpectedly by just running away. For the fact that he was the best man she had ever had. For coming to her in her dreams for six months, giving her coffee and madly, passionately using her in all the right places. And she answered him there, in her dreams, floating and melting in his arms, drowning in orgasm, and then waking up screaming and breathing, disrupted by vivid dreams. And then, with shaky hands, I put the pot on the fire, and, hugging my knees on the couch, rocking lightly and staring dumbly ahead of me, waited for dawn. Greedily she sipped her coffee without understanding its taste, covered her palms with her heartache, and then pawed the cold bed to her right, trying to picture his head on the pillow and kissing her lover from top to bottom, finally settling on her hips, but the picture stubbornly didn't add up. And all of the above, coupled with her mother's case, wore her out and wore her down to the liver. As a result, she cursed that meeting and that incomparable night, and no longer reacted to colleagues' jokes about the crooked lines in the protocols, did not listen to friendly reproaches about the untold amount of coffee consumed, she only tried to somehow cope with herself. "She gnawed on work minutes all day long, ran to the psychologist, tried a lot of men, washing the coitus with alcohol, and only Wil could somehow dull her insane love fever. She settled on Sorenson, though not for long. And now her long-standing, persistent obsession has appeared in person and turns everything upside down. And something had to be done about it, or else Catherine Beckett was finished, and a cop's keen intuition persistently told Kate that the situation with Castle was just unfolding...
...Castle didn't even notice how he'd spent an entire month at the precinct. And it had been one of the most fruitful, most emotional, and most thoughtful months of the year. Which, of course, had required a mobilization of all strengths: restraining emotions around Beckett, overcoming her disbelief and mistrust, her skepticism and sarcasm; strengthening his friendship with the boys not only by intellectual strength but also by other pleasant "male" perks; long, suave conversations with Roy, in an effort to illuminate the secret corners of Detective Beckett's nature; thoughtful acquaintance with Laney and Perlmutter, the latter of whom Castle did not like him. But that was not the main thing: it was impossible to say in advance whether he would continue to be close to Kate, if not a friend, but a consultant, or whether he would be kicked out. At least no one was stopping him from fooling around, and Kate's face lit up with more and more smiles, but... he couldn't pry into her soul, Esposito's precept was in effect here. And he, Castle, was in agony when they parted at the end of the day, and bloomed more like a sakura when they met in the morning. And coffee from Beckett's new machine tasted good: quietly, quietly, he, Castle, began to slip Kate the cherished mugs, which in time could not help but become a habit. And more and more often he was greeted with a cheerful greeting, less and less sarcastic and more consciously listened to, and he... He stood with her at the "crime board" with his clenched fists in his pockets, and the close, cherry-scented distance was to him both a blessing and a torment... He had already broken up with all his friends, avoided conflict with Gina, rejected Paula's unequivocal hints, and hoped for the right moment...
... she had called him in the dead of night, with orders to report to the port docks, and he had rushed to the rendezvous point with a jubilant heart: the cherished notebook and the hard drive sector of his laptop were growing day by day, and the life zigzags of his new heroine would have been the envy of every detective in the world. But it took him some time to find the ambush site, and he was disgruntled and heartlessly told off: he surrendered that Kate was a little out of sorts, but he hoped for a favorable outcome. For too long he had kept silent about that meeting, too many idle thoughts, fueled by her vibes, swirled in his head. And since the material for the book was already typed, he could try to put a final stop. Confess and listen, perhaps unflattering, but an answer. And after that, he could try to decide whether to move on with her, or to stop it altogether. Today, yes, he had the courage to do so, and for some reason the atmosphere was conducive...
...a line of cops was pulling up to the suspect's house, and the partners found themselves on the right flank. In a single file, Kate in front, Castle expectedly in the back, they slithered through a yard that reeked of piss and rot until they were under an archway connecting two neighboring buildings. Here the dusty lantern shone dimly, and Beckett, frozen for a moment, jabbed her finger in Castle's chest in a deft U-turn.
- Wait," she took a breath and put the softly buzzing phone to her ear, "we'll have to wait. Our people are working on something...
- Won't Dracula attack us here? - Castle rounded his eyes in a dumbfounded way. - My set of silver stakes is given to inlay, and I would not advise fighting with a toothpick.
She smiled fake and forced.
- It's not like that, Castle. As long as I'm the needle and you're the thread, nothing will happen to us. I'll bail you out in a pinch.
- Seriously?! - Rick couldn't help himself, though he didn't doubt her sincerity. - Are we still partners?
- Don't annoy me, just behave yourself, and you'll live a little longer! - She turned the corner to look behind her, but she held her head against the wall, her shoulders planted against it in a shaky silence. There was the sound of rustling and creaking in the distance, the sound of ground subway trains rattling in the distance, and they were still, as they had been then, alone and alone. Clearly this was not the time to bring up a sore subject, but the lack of words was more oppressive, and a word or two would have been enough.
After wrinkling and patting himself on the lips with his fingertips, Castle strode catlike toward Kate, close to her guarded neat ear.
- Hello, Evie! I'm glad to see you again!
Kate did not answer, but her body quivered with a little nervous shiver._
- Do you remember what I wrote to you THEN? That note you couldn't help reading!
Beckett was silent, and he, feeling her tension, exhaled hotly into her neck.
- I kept my word, Evie, and I didn't tell anyone anything about you. It wasn't even mentioned in the books.
She made a strange sound, because she suddenly straightened sharply, almost curling the top of his jaw, then slowly, very slowly turned around to face him: Beckett was clearly furious. Her face turned gray, a hard, stubborn crease drew a beautiful forehead, her lips were pressed together, her breathing became rapid and intermittent.
- What book? Listen, smart-ass! - Beckett's eyes narrowed, clutching her partner's breasts, and the woman's sharp knee pressed painfully against his groin. - If anybody ever found out we ever had anything, like we used to, there'd be one more dead body in the Hudson! Get it?!
- Y-yes," Castle mouthed, worried about keeping his bells on. - Your... secret... Is gonna die... With me...
...but I wish Rick hadn't said that: instead of removing her foot, Beckett clawed at Castle's ear, sadistically twisting it and pulling the pain-shriveled Castle close to herself. To growl menacingly at him, writing to his subcortex:
- There is nothing! No mystery, no intrigue! Nothing! Not you and me, either! Do I make myself clear, Castle?!
And let go of her long-suffering, whiter ear. She sighed, relaxed, and patted her hands on her sides to drain the moisture. Now that the insolent had gotten what he deserved, she could think about business, moving forward.
A palm rested on the damp, rough brick, an attentive professional gaze skimmed the windows, the dingy walls, and the spattered sidewalk without a single person in sight. Her heels tapped softly, but they sounded like solos in the unsteady silence of the block, and Kate, turning to the curtly-haired writer, threw in a soft but convincing voice:
- Are you coming, Castle?
- Y-yeah...
Mechanically pressing his hand to his injured ear, he absently looked after his partner and saw her not formidable, like a fury, but asleep, next to him: a light even breathing, freely stretched arms, velvet dimples on her cheeks and that very characteristic mole, which caught his eye. Because he had looked at her then, without a mask, not for an hour or two, and he had only left because he saw no way to explain himself. And I don't think they would have listened to him, either.
And the way Kate had spoken to him in a harsh, curt tone, not conducive to heart-to-heart conversation, Rick realized that Beckett had already shut him out firmly, and it would be a long time before they could talk honestly and openly. And yet he'd stuck by her then, and if it hadn't been for the circumstances of the meeting, things would have been a little different. In fact, even though they seem to have become different, in fact there is something that links them unconditionally and irrevocably, and this invisible soul bond will only get stronger with time. And no one knows how to wait like he does...