Author's Note: This chapter starts to revisit canon territory, but with a twist, so expect some familiar dialogue from 2x1 "Deep in Death."
Then Came Love
Chapter 6
Kate blinked and felt a little spurt of something like happiness bubble up inside her when her phone rang two nights later and the caller ID showed Castle's name. Ridiculous and so stupid of her. She hurriedly tamped down on the feeling before she answered. "Beckett." She deliberately kept her voice crisp, as if she was expecting a call from Dispatch.
"Hey, Beckett, it's Castle."
"Hi, Castle," she greeted. "What's up?"
"Not much. I just thought I'd call and find out how you're feeling."
"I'm fine, just tired." She was tired and her tiredness was exacerbated by not being able to have coffee. That was turning out to be the hardest adjustment she'd had to make so far; even forcing herself to eat healthier, much less take-out, wasn't nearly as difficult as the lack of coffee. "I do miss coffee, though." It was as much as she could admit to him.
"I can imagine. Sorry. You can have at least some actual coffee, can't you?"
"Possibly, but I kind of figured I drank too much coffee as it was in these past couple months so I'm trying to avoid it now." That, and the smell of coffee was continuing to bother her.
"Oh, right. Well, it's up to you," he responded rather awkwardly. There was a brief pause and then he went on, "Oh, I also wanted to ask how the Nina Desmond case you told me about turned out."
And he couldn't wait the additional couple days until he would be at the precinct for the interview to find out? Although, she supposed, his asking about the case would tell people that she and Castle had already spoken. She still had not mentioned Castle or their rapprochement to anyone and since he would be at the precinct again in just a matter of days, what would be the harm in letting the boys and the Captain think that would be her first time seeing Castle again in months? "We closed the case and you were wrong," she answered, a bit of a smirk tugging on her lips.
"Wrong about what?"
"She wasn't a spy and she wasn't leading a double life. The robbery was just a cover but other than that, it wasn't some super-thrilling case."
"Beckett!" he almost whined and she allowed herself a small smile. She had almost forgotten how fun it was to tease him. "Come on, you have to give me more than that! I want the whole story."
"Oh, you want the whole story?" she asked in mock surprise.
"Beckett!"
He really was too easy to tease. A small laugh escaped her. "Fine, the whole story. We looked up Nina Desmond's phone records and found the evidence of her secret boyfriend, frequent calls and text messages, and it turns out the secret boyfriend was one of her co-workers, a Gary Pederson. We had already talked to him but he'd lied about their relationship, obviously."
"So the boyfriend did it," he interjected.
"Not so fast, Castle. The reason she kept the relationship secret is because Gary is married."
Castle made a small disapproving sound. "But that gives him even more motive. She could have threatened to tell his wife, he snaps and kills her. Or she could have decided to break it off, stop being the other woman, and he snaps and kills her."
"All true but not what happened," she told him. "Because the wife already knew and—"
"So the wife killed her!" Castle interrupted.
"Are you the one telling the story now?" she asked, trying and failing to sound irritated. She wasn't sure she'd ever met anyone who got so excited over a murder. He really was like an over-eager puppy sometimes.
"No, sorry. I'll shut up. Go on, Beckett."
"The wife knew and she went to confront the victim, asked her to end the affair."
"And the victim said no," Castle finished.
She rolled her eyes a little. Of course he could not simply stay quiet for long. "Yes, she said no and the wife killed her for it." She paused. "I don't think she feels any remorse, even. She insisted it was the victim's fault, that the victim got what she deserved for trying to steal her husband away. She seemed to blame the affair entirely on the victim, as if her husband had been forced somehow into having an affair." Not for the first time, Kate was a little amazed at some people's capacity for delusion, how twisted their thinking could be.
"It's always easier to blame a stranger and it's hard, coming to terms with betrayal, realizing you were so deceived by a person you trusted, and it's worse when the person is your spouse, someone you should be able to trust more than anyone else."
She blinked. That sounded like the voice of experience, as if Castle knew what it was like to be betrayed by a spouse, as if… Meredith or Gina had cheated on him. How was that possible—well, of course it was entirely possible, she mentally corrected herself. It was just… surprising. What kind of woman would cheat on a man like Richard Castle? Castle might be irritating but he was also a nice guy, smart, funny, and—it had to be said—attractive and, as she remembered all too well, sexy. She sternly tamped down on memories of just how sexy, how… good he'd been. No, she wasn't going to think about that anymore.
But it did cast his checkered marital history and his playboy past in a different light. She felt a twist of belated guilt in her chest. When she had thought about it, she had rather assumed Castle must be to blame for his divorces, assumed that he would have been unfaithful, considering his playboy tendencies, his habit of signing women's chests. It hadn't seemed as if he was the sort of man who took relationships seriously or was even looking for a real, lasting relationship, considering how brief both his marriages had been. It fit her earlier assumptions about him, the celebrity jackass playboy.
But now, hearing the note of empathy in his voice, it occurred to her that she'd misjudged him in this too. Castle was the one who'd been cheated on. By Meredith, she guessed, from what she'd seen of both Meredith and Gina. Meredith was obviously a careless, inattentive mother; it wouldn't be surprising if she'd been an equally careless wife. While Gina, the perfectly-coiffed, ever-competent business woman as she'd appeared to be, seemed unlikely to be the type to be carried away by passion or anything like that. And Kate could understand too how a young man who'd been cuckolded and betrayed by his wife might react by becoming a playboy, male pride and ego being what it was.
But she couldn't ask or otherwise comment on what he'd revealed. "Thus saith the writer," she drawled. "Neat trick, Castle. You spend so much time acting like a 12 year old and then you manage to say something that sounds insightful."
"It's my natural brilliance," he preened. "I'll have you know that my writing has been praised for the psychological realism and emotional depth of its characters."
"Yeah, and how much did you bribe the reviewer who said that?" she needled.
"I sent him a case of his favorite wine as a thank you, not a bribe."
"You say tomato."
He clicked his tongue against his cheek in mock disapproval. "Such a cliché, Detective. I expected better from you."
"Excuse me for not living up to your standards of creativity. We can't all of us sit around making things up for a living."
"Hey, it's hard to make things up," he huffed in a parody of offense.
She could picture his exaggeratedly beleaguered expression—when had she become so familiar with his expressions?—and a laugh escaped her before she could hold it back. She had forgotten, or not allowed herself to remember, that she really did like talking to him, enjoyed his company, at least when he wasn't being annoying. She liked his quick wit and the back-and-forth of their teasing.
There was a brief pause that lasted just a shade too long, became tinged with awkwardness. She opened her lips to make an excuse to end the call but before she could, he forestalled her.
"Say, Beckett, I wanted to ask you something."
"Okay," she agreed with a touch of reserve. "Something more about the case?"
"No, not the case, well, not really. It's just hearing about the case, talking about it, it made me think and I was wondering…" He was really dancing around the subject and she felt a prick of doubt. What was he about to ask to make him so ill at ease?
"Spit it out, Castle."
"I was wondering if you'd be okay with me coming back to the precinct, working with you and the boys again," he blurted out in a rush.
She blinked, wondering why she felt this stupid, absurd little flutter inside her. "You want to come back to the precinct?" she repeated inanely. "Are you planning on writing another book about Nikki Heat?" she asked and wondered why she wasn't more dismayed at the thought. It wasn't as if she'd asked him to write the first one and the mere fact of his presence, his basing a character on her, had already brought her an unwanted amount of attention (and ribbing) from other cops and she had no doubt it would get worse after the Cosmo article came out. She should be horrified at the thought of him writing another Nikki Heat book. And yet… she wasn't.
"I finished one book but I could certainly write more about Nikki Heat. There's a lot more depth to the character and one book couldn't do nearly enough justice to her."
The character or, well, her? She didn't know why she suddenly felt like he was talking about her, that one book couldn't do justice to her. She felt heat creeping into her cheeks and was glad he couldn't see it. "Oh. I thought you were done with Nikki Heat."
"I'm not," he said with a slight emphasis on the personal pronoun. "I just haven't talked to Black Pawn about it; they're waiting to see how the first book does before making any decisions. But wanting to come back to the precinct isn't about research this time, not really. It's just… the months of working with you, and the boys," he added almost as an afterthought, "they were really great and talking about the case with you reminded me of that. I kind of miss it, going into the precinct and working with you, and I thought we made a pretty good team, you know. Like Starsky and Hutch, Tango and Cash. Turner and Hooch."
He wanted to come back. He'd liked working at the 12th, liked working with her… A renegade ripple of pleasure zinged through her. "Come to think of it, you do remind me a little of Hooch," she drawled.
"Very funny, Beckett." He paused and then hurriedly added, "You don't have to answer immediately. Just think about it and you can tell me on Sunday when I'm at the precinct for the photo shoot."
"Oh, okay, I'll think about it and let you know." Was she actually going to agree to this? And yet, somehow, as insane as it should have been, it seemed she was thinking of doing just that.
"Great, thanks. I should go. My mother is home and about to start raiding my liquor cabinet."
She couldn't keep from smiling. "Okay, go save your liquor. I'll see you Sunday."
"See you Sunday." And with that, he ended the call, leaving her to try and fail to tamp down on the ridiculous tendrils of hope and pleasure burgeoning inside her. She could hardly believe she was reacting like this but she had missed working with him, at least a little, and now, he wanted to come back. It was only about work, because he liked playing at being a cop. It didn't have anything to do with her personally—not that she wanted it to. She didn't.
And anyway, it was for the victims, really. Because as much as she didn't really like admitting it, Castle had been surprisingly helpful, when he wasn't spouting off about aliens or spies or some other crazy theories. He could be helpful and that was why she was willing to let him come back. Yes, that was all it was, she told herself, and any minute now, she was sure she would believe it.
Her positive feelings towards Castle and his prospective return to the precinct didn't last long once she actually saw him again. Damn it, she had done it again, allowed herself to forget just how irritating he could be when he was all cocky arrogance.
Okay, so she could acknowledge that the photo shoot made things worse but it didn't change the fact that seeing him in that context only reminded her all over again just how wide the gulf was between their lives. Because of course, the fact that he was at the precinct for a photo shoot meant he couldn't just show up like a normal person. Oh no, he showed up with a full-blown entourage, consisting of the team from Cosmo, all suave celebrity from the top of his perfectly styled hair to his glossy expensive dress shoes.
She remembered enough of her own short-lived modeling days to have expected some of the craziness, the lighting equipment, the multiple photographers with their large cameras, their staff running around and all seeming to talk at once. But her own modeling stint had been much smaller-scale and for nowhere near as big and prestigious an operation as Cosmo, so the level of insanity was just that much higher.
And Castle was in his element, smirking and preening like a man who had no cares in the world, charming and flirtatious with the Cosmo reporter. Kate gritted her teeth at the way the reporter was practically gushing over him but had to paste on a smile and cling to her best professional behavior when Captain Montgomery—quisling that he was—brought the reporter over to her desk, assuring the woman, introduced as Amy, that Beckett, the real-life inspiration for Nikki Heat, would be more than happy to answer any of her questions.
Kate was polite and on her best behavior, providing anodyne responses to Amy's not-at-all challenging questions—clearly this was going to be a puff piece with less substance than cotton candy—and tried hard not to grind her teeth or otherwise show her spiking annoyance as she watched the strippers—models, whatever—plaster themselves to Castle.
She was definitely starting to remember why she'd found him so annoying. And she hated herself for noticing how good he looked, with his hair styled just so, in his expensive suit. Although she didn't like the suit itself; it was too loud, the pinstripes too obvious. And if the suit wasn't bad enough, they had given him a shoulder holster as a prop, fake gun and all, and the straps seemed to have been made to showcase his broad shoulders, lovingly framing his chest—and she abruptly remembered the feel of that chest flattened against her, remembered the sight of him with his shirt mostly undone. (Shit, no, she could not keep thinking about this.)
She yanked her attention back to Amy and told herself she was fine, the interview couldn't go that much longer, not that Amy was really interested in NYPD work anyway, but then Amy mentioned Castle's "invaluable assistance" in helping them solve cases and her eyes darted back to Castle—and the stripper-cops—only to see one of the models go up on her toes to pose with her lips against Castle's cheek—too close to his mouth for Kate's taste, not that she cared who Castle kissed (she didn't!)—and at that moment, his eyes darted to her, their eyes meeting. Something she couldn't read flitted across his face, his expression momentarily changing, his smirk fading, and for a moment, he looked… uncomfortable.
Castle was the one to call for a break and Kate momentarily escaped to the break room, the nearest and easiest refuge she could think of, to make herself a cup of tea, hoping it might soothe her ruffled temper.
But of course, there was no such thing as privacy to be found anywhere on the floor this evening and Castle found her, while the boys made a hasty and entirely unsubtle exit, although she had no doubt they would be watching.
"Castle," she greeted coolly.
He looked discomfited, more so than he had all evening. "Hey. Sorry about all this. I didn't know it was going to be so over the top, I swear."
"Yeah, you really seem to be suffering terribly," she retorted sarcastically. And then could have kicked herself for revealing how much she was bothered by all of it, rather than feigning indifference, which would have been the more dignified thing to do. Damn it.
"It's what Cosmo wants; it's not up to me."
He might have something of a point—sort of—but it didn't change the fact that this was also a glimpse into his world, the life he was used to living as a rich, famous celebrity author and it was so far removed from her own life that they might as well live on different planets. He looked entirely at ease with all the insanity, even if he hadn't planned it. He might have asked to come back and work with her again but she could not imagine that he would really stick around for long. And a baby certainly didn't belong in this glimpse of his celebrity lifestyle.
She pasted on a bland smile. "It's fine, Castle, really. Do whatever you want; it has nothing to do with me."
She didn't stop to see his reaction, leaving the break room immediately and was almost thankful to have the excuse of Amy the reporter. "I can finish our interview now, Amy."
But then Esposito interrupted with a new case and Kate could have hugged him in relief. Oh finally, a real excuse to get out of the precinct and one not even Captain Montgomery could dispute.
Except Castle and then Amy insisted on coming along and Kate met Montgomery's pointed look and perforce had to agree.
They arrived at the scene to find the body was up in a tree. Kate blinked. That was new.
"It's raining men," Castle quipped and she rolled her eyes. She really had not missed his inappropriate wisecracks at crime scenes.
She ignored Espo and Lanie's round of bickering as she considered the placement of the body—thrown off the roof, she guessed. The killer had to be strong to be able to do that, almost certainly male, probably at least as tall as the victim.
"Is it a suicide?" Amy asked, her tone the odd combination of horror and fascination that many people felt when they saw their first murder victims.
"It's not a suicide," Kate and Castle answered in unison and Kate tried very hard to ignore the pull of connection she felt, the reminder that somehow, at some times, she and Castle were on the same wavelength. In sync, in a way she couldn't remember ever being with anyone else, not even with the boys, as closely as they worked together. (Unbidden, a memory of the way Castle had felt inside her, the way their bodies had fit together, flashed through her mind and she shoved the thought aside, locked it behind a steel door. No, oh no, she was not remembering that.)
Oh, she was going to need to tell Lanie about her condition at some point too. Which meant telling Lanie about the one moment of insanity with Castle. Her stomach clenched. That was not going to be easy because Lanie was not going to be pleased, to say the least, to learn that Kate had had sex with Castle two months ago and never said a word about it. Oh god.
She needed to get away, needed Castle not to be there, throwing her plans and intentions awry with his closeness and this stupid, unwanted sense of connection.
Later, it was on Kate's conscience that her own irritation with Castle—and yes, fine, her irritation with herself over her reaction to Castle—made her suggest Castle accompany John Allen's body back to the morgue and put Castle in the way of the masked gunmen who stole the body.
Thankfully, no one was hurt—her heart gave an unpleasant kick in her chest when she heard the news until she received the reassurance that Lanie and Castle were both unharmed. At least, it had persuaded Amy to leave. Castle was another matter entirely.
She broke into his ludicrous list of people who would steal a dead body. "Or the guys who killed him might have left some evidence behind," she inserted dryly.
"Boring," he dismissed immediately, going on to—what else—a theory about spies.
She rolled her eyes and sternly suppressed a smile or anything that might betray the tickle of amusement she couldn't help. He'd suggested spies in the Nina Desmond case too; he just couldn't resist, could he? And why wasn't she more annoyed by his ridiculous theorizing? "As much as we all appreciate your insightful and incredibly believable theories, Miss Cosmo is gone so I believe you can go home now." Yes, she needed him to leave so she could try to return to some semblance of her normal life, all the more so because she knew the clock was ticking on how long she could carry on with work as usual.
"Oh no, no," he refused—because of course he would. "This case just got good. And… I'm a witness!" he finished rather triumphantly.
Lanie, the Captain, and the boys all bent skeptical looks on him.
He blinked and focused his eyes on her. "Come on, Beckett, let me work on this case with you."
Their eyes met and held and she was all too aware that he was not saying anything to betray that they had already talked about his possibly coming back to work with her again. Following her lead, as he'd said he would. (Damn it.)
The knowledge that they shared a secret—of their prior conversations, of her condition, of what had happened between them over the summer—invested the air between them with an odd tension. There was a sense of intimacy—not that word again—a sense of closeness that stemmed from the knowledge of a shared secret. And she found she wasn't immune to its pull. The appeal of sharing something so important, of not being alone. As if they were in cahoots with each other, as if they were partners. Something tugged on her heart at the thought of the word and all it evoked. Partners, the idea of being able to depend on someone to have your back, the sort of relationship she'd never had outside of work.
"Fine," she agreed after just long enough of a pause to appear as if she'd never considered the idea of Castle returning to the precinct until now. "You can work on this one case with me." It was as much of a concession as she was prepared to make right then. They were too different and she didn't want to become accustomed to his presence in her work life. Bad enough that she was going to have to become accustomed to his presence in her personal life, at least to a point.
"This one case for now," he countered. "But fair warning, Detective, I plan to make you change your mind about that."
She didn't dignify that with a response and sternly repulsed any attempt to broach any more personal subject on the way to talk to John Allen's wife by reminding him they were on a case and she needed to prepare herself to break the news to the widow. Never easy under the best circumstances but worse now since they had lost his body.
Looking into the murder of John Allen got more complicated the next day when they learned he hadn't had a job but had somehow managed to keep paying his bills but then, they caught one break because some uniforms in the 46th precinct found John Allen's body and reported it, having seen the APB about the stolen corpse.
The body had been dumped in an alley in a decidedly sketchy part of town. By the time Kate, the boys, and Castle showed up, Lanie and the ME's office were already there and the body was covered by a bloody sheet. Kate grimaced. John Allen's body hadn't been bloody or maimed before but judging by the evidence of the sheet, that had changed. She tried to ignore the small roll of her stomach at the sight of the blood.
"What happened?" she asked Lanie, trying to sound brisk.
Lanie glanced up at them. "Someone operated on him."
"Operated?"
"They cut him open and took all of his organs out," Lanie answered grimly and then lifted up the sheet to allow them to see—
Oh god. Kate's stomach turned violently over at the grisly sight of the gaping wounds, the smell of blood, bile rising up inside her, and she clamped her mouth shut, averting her eyes as subtly as possible. Shit, no, she could not do this, could not be reacting like this to a body. How would she do her job if she got nauseous at the sight of a dead body?
"Somebody hated his guts," Castle commented and for once, Kate was thankful to him for his inappropriate flippancy because it provided a distraction, had Lanie and the boys all throwing him a look, while Kate managed to get herself under some measure of control. Well, sort of. She controlled her gag reflex and took a careful step back, making a show of studying the surroundings as if looking for clues as to who had dumped the body here. "We'll drop by the morgue in a little while to find out what more you can tell us. Thanks, Lanie." She was proud of herself for sounding so controlled, not at all as if she'd come perilously close to vomiting. "Ryan, see if the unis have turned up anything useful nearby."
Her duty done, she turned and hurried out of the alley, hoping she looked determined rather than as if she were fleeing the gory sight.
But Castle kept pace beside her—of course he did—and she was peripherally aware of him sneaking sidelong glances at her until she turned to him once they were back at her car, safely away from the sight of blood and she could breathe again. "What, Castle?" she asked sharply.
He hesitated but then answered, his tone carefully measured, "Hopefully, we'll be able to learn more about him now that we have him."
Now that they had his body again, he meant but did not say, she noted. And his deliberate avoidance of referring to the body told her he knew—or had guessed—her reaction to the gruesome sight. Admittedly, it would be easier for him since he alone knew of her condition.
He knew—and he'd made that quip on purpose, she suddenly suspected, had meant to distract the others, provide a form of cover for her. More than that, he wasn't asking if she was okay. Somehow, he'd sensed, or something, that the expression of concern wouldn't be welcome. She was reminded, again, that he was a writer and as such, used to observing people and things, could be insightful. When had he learned this kind of tact, this sense?
Damn it, she didn't want to soften towards him, again, didn't want to feel this reluctant gratitude towards him. Didn't want to start to appreciate his presence and his help.
But she had the bad feeling it was already too late for that.
Because he could be—was—helpful. After they found out John Allen had worked as a drug mule, they went through his contact to find out he'd been gambling in order to make money. And Castle used his connections to find out the location of the Chinatown gambling den John Allen had frequented and then insisted on being allowed to go in to reconnoiter the place, wearing a wire at her own insistence to allow her and the boys to keep track of him.
But of course—of course—he went beyond the scope of his limited mission, actually sitting down to play poker with the mobsters and then questioning them in an unsubtle way about John Allen that definitely would have tipped off the killer and she had a split second to plan a strategy and go after him in a role as a Russian stripper. (It briefly occurred to her to wonder just how many more weeks she would even be able to do such a thing before she shoved the concern out of her mind. She had to focus.)
At least her plan, such as it was, worked, but in the bustle and controlled chaos that ensued after the arrest of John Allen's killer, and considering the lateness of the hour, she didn't have a chance to confront Castle with his recklessness. Or the spike of terror she'd felt, the fear clutching her stomach, as she'd realized just how reckless and stupid he was being in his wish to help. He was… the father of this baby. She abruptly realized all over again that she and Castle really were connected now, would be connected for the rest of their lives. And she didn't want him putting his own life at risk—not because she cared about him so much personally, she tried to tell herself, but because of his relationship to the baby. The risk of her own job was bad enough but she was—would have to be—careful about it but Castle, impulsive, reckless man that he was, was another matter entirely.
It was the next morning, after she had talked to Mrs. Allen and told her all that her husband had gotten involved in, that she finally had a minute to talk to Castle. And found she was no longer sure what to say, didn't know how to scold him without betraying too much or sounding like she, well, liked him.
Not that she did like him. (Except she kind of, sort of, did. Damn it.)
"How is she?" Castle asked, surprisingly gently.
Kate sighed briefly. It had not been an easy conversation. "It's hard, finding out that everything you thought you knew was a lie."
"Not everything was a lie, not her husband's love. Sometimes, we do the wrong thing for the right reasons."
She met his eyes briefly and it occurred to her that he could also be talking about himself, about his looking into her mom's case. The wrong thing for the right reason—wanting to help her. She still didn't like the way he'd done it but she could acknowledge now why Castle would have thought to help her by looking into her mom's case. He hadn't known at the time what her mom's case really did to her—how could he have—all he knew was that her mom's unsolved case was why she'd become a cop, knew the unsolved case was still an open wound on her heart.
But she didn't—couldn't—put that thought into words. Instead, she gave him a faint smile. "So, case is closed. I guess your Cosmo story gets a happy ending."
"Speaking of happy endings, thanks for saving my life," Castle went on. And to her surprise, he said it sincerely, soberly, not even a hint of a smirk at the memory of how she'd needed to dress—or undress—in order to save him.
"Well, I didn't want to have to tell the baby that I let its father be hurt," she answered unthinkingly and saw him stiffen, his eyes flaring, and the impact of her own words boomeranged back and struck her in the chest, leaving her a little breathless. The baby. She might have been thinking about it but she'd never said those words aloud to him, or to anyone else, before. And saying the words aloud—the baby—oh god, they were really having a baby—made it seem so much more real, even more than it already had been.
And oh shit, they were right in the middle of the precinct. She glanced around in belated nervousness but for once, thankfully, there was no one close enough to hear. The bullpen was humming with its usual level of noise, people busy with their own work, leaving them in a makeshift cocoon of elusive privacy.
"The baby," he breathed, more to himself than to her, his tone a little awe-struck as if he couldn't quite believe it was real. That made two of them.
His eyes darted down to her stomach and then back up to meet her eyes, his eyes going wide but this time with dismay. "I didn't even think about that. I should have been more careful."
Yes, he should have. For Alexis's sake too. But now that he'd admitted as such, she found she couldn't reproach him further.
"It worked out," she offered. "And," she added, trying to sound flippant, "it means I don't have to worry about doing any extra paperwork."
The corners of his lips tipped up slightly in acknowledgement of her quip but his expression was absent.
"Nikki," he blurted out after a long minute.
She blinked. "What about Nikki Heat?" What did Nikki have to do with anything?
He gave a small wave of one hand. "I didn't mean Nikki Heat. I was thinking about—the baby," he lowered his voice even more although they were still a little island of solitude in the bullpen. "Nikki."
It was her turn to stare, her eyes widening, as she leaned forward. "I am not naming the baby Nikki," she hissed sotto voce. Was he insane? It was a ridiculous suggestion.
He shook his head sharply, a look of convincing surprise crossing his face. "No, I didn't mean it like that." He made a face. "Actually naming this kid after my own fictional character—that's too weird, even for me."
"Then what did you mean?"
"You referred to the baby as 'it.'"
She gave a small, rueful grimace but had to point out, "I don't know if the baby is a boy or girl yet so how else could I refer to it/him/her?" It sounded ridiculous and unwieldy, using all possible pronouns like that.
"I was just thinking that we could come up with a nickname to refer to the baby in utero, to make it easier so we don't have to refer to the baby as 'it.' Before Alexis was born, I used to call her Roo, as in Winnie the Pooh, and sometimes Kidlet, like Piglet."
She had to smile at the silly (adorable) nicknames. "Not Tigger?" she teased.
He laughed. "Alexis wasn't that bouncy of a baby."
His tone and his expression had softened as they always did at the mention of Alexis, with an additional overlay of some wistfulness, as he remembered Alexis as an actual baby, and she found herself leaning towards him, aware of a rush of warmth in her chest, before she realized and abruptly straightened. He was so… likable, when he talked about Alexis, when he was in his dad mode. And just too damnably attractive. Because she was attracted to him. Still. In spite of everything, in spite of herself. (Damn it.)
"But then why Nikki?" she asked, trying to push the thought of his attractiveness out of her mind. It didn't matter because she was never going to act on it, not again.
"It seemed fitting. The baby is part you and part me and, well, so is Nikki Heat, our first collaboration, as it were."
Part her and part him—he was right, of course, but thinking of it like that, hearing it phrased like that made her feel a throb of emotion. Oh lord, they were having a baby, had created a new life, a new person, that was part of her and part of him too. "I think Nikki Heat is entirely you, just a product of your overactive imagination," she inserted dryly to hide her own reaction.
"Imagination or not, I still could never have come up with the character of Nikki Heat without you to inspire me."
She tried not to flush. Hearing him say that she inspired him sounded different, better, than when he called her his muse. Irrationally so, but she couldn't seem to help her little flutter of reaction.
"So what do you think, about using Nikki as a nickname for the baby?"
The baby—would she ever get used to hearing Castle refer to the baby, their baby? She supposed she must but it didn't seem to be about to happen any time soon.
"I'll think about it," she answered and then found herself adding, "Why don't you come up with some other suggestions and tell me later, tomorrow."
The words made him jolt. "Is that a yes? You'll let me come back and keep working with you?"
She wasn't sure exactly when—or why—she'd reached the decision but somehow, she had. "It's a yes," she agreed, not quite able to meet his eyes.
"You won't regret it, Beckett, I promise," he enthused, all but bouncing in his chair as he grinned. She had to suppress a smile. Maybe he should be the one to be nicknamed Tigger. He was… cute… when he was like this—no, oh no, she was not thinking of him as being cute.
"See that I don't," she responded with all the more asperity for her renegade thoughts. "Now go away so I can do my paperwork to finish up this case."
The thought of being able to work with her again had him so elated that his smile didn't even dim. "Until tomorrow, Beckett."
"See you tomorrow, Castle."
She turned to her paperwork, aware of a little lift in her spirits. She was working with Castle again and, for the moment at least, she could admit that she was, just a little, glad of it.
~To be continued…~
A/N 2: Apologies in advance but I won't be able to update next week as I'll be traveling. Thank you, as always, to all readers and reviewers, especially the guests whom I can't thank directly.
