Author's Note: The conversation between Kate and Jim wasn't one I planned to write but it somehow ended up writing itself. Afterwards, this is the first of two chapters revolving around 2x11, "The Fifth Bullet."
Then Came Love
Chapter 41
The Tuesday after Thanksgiving was the day Kate and her dad had settled on to watch Martha's play, meeting for dinner before going to the theater to watch the show. It was unusual for them to meet during the week but with Martha's show closing on Saturday, they had little choice. As it happened, it worked out because her dad had a deadline at work on Tuesday which meant that once he got that out of the way, he could expect the next few days to be somewhat lighter work-wise. Kate's work schedule, of course, was less predictable but this was one instance where she didn't mind the Captain's prohibition on her working overtime and as it happened, they didn't have an active case anyway.
It turned out to be a very pleasant evening, the sort she and her dad had not had in years really. The play itself was not exactly a work of Shakespeare but it was an interesting story and, Kate had to admit, elevated by Martha's performance in it. She'd never seen Martha on stage before and it was clear from Martha's first scene that the theater and acting really were where Martha was in her element. Even if Martha herself was hardly recognizable, the usually elegantly, if flamboyantly, put-together actress garbed in shabby, dilapidated clothing, her red hair invisible under a gray wig. And the role, that of a crazy granny, as Castle had termed it, was one that permitted Martha full rein in employing exaggerated gestures. Both Kate and Jim found themselves laughing at the humorous parts, holding their breath at the tense moments, and ultimately blinking back tears at the death scene which closed out the first act.
"That was wonderful," her dad enthused afterwards as she drove him back to his apartment. "Tell Rick to pass along my thanks to Martha, Katie, along with our compliments, of course, on her performance."
"She really was very good," Kate agreed. "I'll insist that Castle tell her we thought so too, although he'll make a show of not wanting to flatter her," she added with a little smirk at the way Castle would pretend to grumble about fostering his mother's ego–and how she could tease him about his being very like Martha in that respect.
Her dad chuckled. "Yes, I noticed that Rick and Martha have an interesting way of interacting."
She grinned. "That's one way of putting it. Although Castle really is very good to Martha, no matter what he says."
"You don't have to tell me that, Katie. I could tell that just from watching the two of them."
She bit her lip. She'd betrayed herself by her automatic defense of Castle–although that wasn't true either since her dad already knew about her relationship with Castle. She was still just not used to being so… open and acknowledging her feelings, even with her dad, so every time she did, she felt a flicker of discomfiture.
There was a brief pause and then her dad went on, "And thank you, Katie-bug, for indulging me with a father-daughter date. Even if I'm sure you'd rather have gone on a romantic date with Rick than spend an evening with me."
"That's not true, Dad," she protested. "I always love spending time with you. And I spend plenty of time with Castle as it is."
"That's at work, Katie, but you needn't pretend that you and Rick wouldn't also like to go out on dates to be together."
She flushed at her dad's teasing. "We'll have other evenings," she demurred and hurriedly rushed on to tell him the story of their aborted dinner date a couple weeks ago, making it a humorous story.
Her dad duly chuckled. "Well, that's certainly one way to spend a romantic evening."
Kate smiled. "It certainly wasn't what we planned but Castle honestly didn't seem to mind at all." She tried to ignore the silly little flutter of pleasure she felt at the memory of his saying it had turned out to be a pretty perfect evening, just because he'd spent it with her.
Her dad gave her a knowing little smile, almost a smirk. "It seems Rick understands you pretty well and he certainly understands your work."
"Yeah, he does."
Her dad laughed again and she threw him an inquiring glance. "What's so funny?"
"Oh, I can't help remembering how you told me a month ago that you didn't think you and Rick should be romantically involved because you're from such different worlds and yet, here you are, sharing romantic evenings by solving a murder together. It's almost as if you and Rick are well matched after all."
She flushed, even as she huffed a little. "Must you throw my own words back in my face, Dad?"
Her dad attempted to smooth out his smile with limited success. "Sorry, Katie, you know I'm just happy for you, happy that you and Rick are doing so well together."
"Yes, Dad, I know, you told me so. Happy now?"
Her dad's smile widened. "Why, yes. Yes, I am. You don't tell me that nearly often enough."
"Don't make me kick you out so you have to walk home," she threatened with mock severity.
He only laughed again, lifting his hands in mock surrender. "All right, I'll stop teasing now."
"Good. Besides, it is still true that in many ways, we do lead different lives with him being a multi-millionaire and everything. He hired a private car to take us ten blocks and the restaurant he took me to was probably the most expensive restaurant I've ever been to and certainly not a place I could afford to go to on my own."
She remembered the restaurant with a renewed flicker of nerves because she did wonder–worry–that she didn't belong in his world. It wasn't only about his being used to dining at expensive restaurants but things like his casual mentions of his house in the Hamptons, when she'd never even been to the Hamptons and had never even known anyone who had a house in the Hamptons. All the more so because, knowing Castle, she had no doubt that his house in the Hamptons wouldn't be some small cottage but more like a mansion. He had a Ferrari and obviously, she had seen how glitzy and lavish his book launch parties were. That was his life, his world, and it was about as foreign to her as living on Mars would be. And if she didn't belong in his world, could she really belong with him?
"Katie, you make it sound like his money is the sum total of who Rick is, which I know isn't true."
"Of course it's not," she responded unthinkingly, truthfully, but her dad's words struck a chord in her anyway. Was that what she was doing, reducing Castle to little more than his income and his fame, almost the way the other women on the party circuit had? Not seeking him out for those reasons but the exact opposite, as it were, focusing too much on his money and his celebrity status as barriers rather than attractions?
Because of course it was true that Castle was so much more than his money or his fame. He was the enthusiastic and playful man-child, the clever writer who had written so many books that intrigued her and moved her and thrilled her. He was the partner whose insights and sensitivity about people helped her solve cases, the kind man who brought her tea every morning and generally had her back. He was the friend who made her laugh when she needed cheering up, the one who comforted her when she was worried or hurting. And fine, yes, he was also the sexy man who could take her breath away with his kiss, who could make her entire body go up in flames from just a look, the man who starred in her increasingly heated dreams at night. Castle was, well, himself and she was a little (a lot?) frightened because she knew she was falling for him for real. Falling so fast and so hard that she thought she might drown.
"Just remember that Rick's also been perfectly happy to have a burger with you at Remy's or take-out in your apartment. From what I've seen and what you've told me, he doesn't strike me as someone who cares all that much about money. And you know, Katie, if Rick was the sort of man who wanted a woman with money or one who was used to going around in the society of the rich and famous, he could have found one. But he chose you and as we've already talked about, he knows you pretty well. Rick isn't some passive puppet in this; he's an adult, a man of the world, and he's decided he wants to be with you."
It was a long speech for her dad to make but it was true. She had, oh, not forgotten but hadn't thought of it like that before either. Focusing on her own doubts and insecurities but not on the fact that Castle had made a choice too. It wasn't as if she'd drugged him or hypnotized him or, more prosaically, seduced him. Somehow, in some way, she had attracted him, won him over, from the beginning. He had told her this, that his feelings for her weren't about the baby and she believed him. He had called her extraordinary–even looked into her mom's case because he cared about her and wanted to help her. She might not understand why sometimes or feel as if she deserved him but he had chosen to be with her.
Just as she had chosen to be with him.
And oh, she forgot sometimes how… good it was to have her dad back, how much she'd missed his understanding and his wisdom in the years when he'd been drowning in the bottle. She could never take it for granted, would never not be grateful to have her old dad back.
"You're right, Dad," she answered, managing to speak around the absurd tightness in her throat, a lump of emotion that was almost as much about her dad as it was about Castle.
Her dad feigned shock. "You said it again, twice in as many minutes. I think that's a record for you."
"Dad!" On second thought, there were some drawbacks to having her dad back.
He grinned at her. "Sorry, I couldn't resist."
"You could have tried a little harder to resist," she groused in mock irritation.
"I was going to say that I think the fact that Rick chose you is evidence of his intelligence and good taste but maybe I won't," he pretended thoughtfulness.
"You think you're so funny, don't you?" she returned dryly.
"No, I know I'm funny," was his airy response.
She had to laugh. "You sound almost like Castle."
Her dad laughed as well. "I'll take that as a compliment."
"It is, mostly."
"Well, good." Her dad paused and then added, more seriously, "I am glad we were able to do this, Katie, have a night out like this." And she knew what he also meant was that he was glad they were able to talk like this, so comfortably and easily, even about her personal life.
"I'm glad too." They exchanged smiles and soon after, they had arrived back at her dad's apartment, signaling the end of their night out. And she tucked his reminder that Castle, who did know her and knew what her life was like, had chosen to be with her away in a corner of her heart, to bring to mind when her doubts flared up.
Kate supposed it was almost inevitable, or at least to be expected considering how her work usually went, that she was called out to another case the very next evening. She only spared a moment to be rather thankful that the body hadn't dropped the evening before so as to interrupt her night out with her dad before focusing on the case, the murder of an art dealer shot to death in his own art gallery.
From the beginning, the case promised to be an unusual one because there was a bullet missing from the scene. She wasn't exactly pleased either because it provoked Castle into irritating her with his increasingly outlandish theories about what had happened to the missing bullet. After a while, she finally snapped at him to stop pestering her when he started speculating on ice bullets. Immediately afterwards, she felt a flicker of something like shame but for once, she was rather relieved at Castle's imperviousness as he shrugged it off.
And then he was distracted for good when the unis' canvass turned up a witness who had honest-to-god amnesia–much to Castle's unfeigned fascination. Predictably so, since amnesia was such a popular plot point, beloved by soap opera writers and novelists. And fine, yes, she had to admit to being almost unwillingly intrigued herself because how could she not be, coming face to face with a situation she'd only read about or seen in movies and on TV until now?
For her, at least, the initial surge of intrigue was quickly overtaken by a measure of frustration because having to try to discover the witness–Jay's–identity was eating up time and complicating the case, even more so than having a person of interest with diplomatic immunity. But then she quickly forgot any irritation with Castle, as he proved his worth yet again with the brain wave that led them to the discovery of Jay's identity.
Learning his name, Jeremy Preswick, and a potted version of his life story from his ex-wife, helped and gave them a lead to follow up on. (Kate tucked into a corner of her mind Castle's comment that some men would consider Jeremy lucky to have no memory of his ex-wife, which made her wonder, not for the first time, about Castle's own feelings about his divorces and his ex-wives. But that was for another time.)
Now, they were still in the middle of a case. A case that was brought to an abrupt close when she discovered a gun in Jeremy's apartment–the gun used to commit the murder of Victor Fink–in Jeremy's apartment. He wasn't a victim or even a witness; he was the murderer.
It was one of the most dispiriting ends to a case Kate could remember and hours later, she found herself lying in her bed, sleepless and dissatisfied.
She huffed in some annoyance, glancing over at the clock on her nightstand to see that it was after midnight. She really needed to get some sleep, not least because she was more tired these days thanks to her condition, but wishing didn't make it happen. And she couldn't seem to get Jeremy out of her mind or entirely push aside a niggling feeling of guilt. Which was absurd because she hadn't done anything wrong, had done her job in arresting him. It wasn't that she had found him to be likable; she'd been a cop for long enough to know that murderers were often likable. She supposed it was something about having spent two days trying to help him so that now it felt rather like a betrayal to have arrested him. Or more simply, it might simply be the way he'd actually thanked them, even after she had arrested him, that made having arrested him feel like a betrayal.
She sighed and turned onto her side, curling one hand under her head, as she closed her eyes and tried, again, to sleep.
But then–
She froze, her eyes flying open as she tensed. Had that been–had she imagined– She waited for what seemed like an interminable time but was in reality probably only a minute or so and then she felt it again. A strange sensation, a little vague and subtle, an odd fluttering sensation. As if a small fish was swimming inside her stomach.
Oh. Oh. Oh–the baby! It was the baby! She'd felt the Sprout move! She let out a little gasp, her hand flying to cover the gentle curve of her stomach. "Hi, baby," she breathed.
Oh, it was… amazing. And she'd thought seeing the baby in the ultrasound was amazing but this–actually feeling the baby move–this was even more so in a different way. This made it all feel so much more real and… and… miraculous.
She snatched up her phone and called Castle. His phone rang once, twice–come on, Castle!—three times and then he answered. "Beckett, what is it? Is it the case?"
The case–what? For possibly the first time in her life, she found she couldn't even care about the case. "I just felt the baby move," she blurted out without preamble.
She heard him suck in a sharp breath. "What? You did?"
Absurd tears pricked at her eyes–oh damn, would she ever get used to how easily she cried these days–and she blinked them back. "I was just lying here and then I felt it, like a little flutter. Oh, I can't really describe it but I felt something and it has to be the baby. Our baby, Castle." Their little girl.
"I'm coming over."
She blinked, sitting up, and now, belatedly, remembered what time it was. "What? It's after midnight. You don't need to–"
"Don't be silly. I wasn't sleeping anyway and even if I were, I couldn't possibly sleep now. Unless–wait, you probably want to go back to sleep, don't you?"
"No, I wasn't sleeping either. You should come over," she relented, giving in as much to her own wish to share the wonder of this moment with him, as to his own insistence. Of course she wanted to see him, wanted to share this with someone–with Castle. Only with Castle, the one person who would feel just as excited as she was about this.
"I'll be there within half an hour."
She set her phone down, glancing down at herself, her flannel pajamas. It was hardly what she'd imagined for the sleepwear she first showed Castle but then, tonight wasn't about that (even if she could fit into one of her slinky pieces of lingerie, which she really couldn't, thanks to the curve of her stomach). Anyway, at this hour, she wasn't about to change clothes. She only shrugged into a robe and wandered back out into the front room to wait for Castle.
She settled on the couch, her hand curving over her stomach, as she studied the print-out of the second ultrasound, her eyes tracing the blurry outlines of the baby's head, the developing features. And waited and wondered, to see if the baby would make itself felt again.
It wasn't long, barely twenty minutes, before she heard the sound of a familiar knock on the door and hurried to open it.
Castle was stepping inside as soon as she opened the door, wrapping his arms around her, the cold, fresh air from outside still clinging to him. "The baby, Kate, you really felt her move?" was all he said, foregoing a greeting.
"I really did."
"That's amazing. Our baby," he repeated reverently.
She felt ridiculous tears pricking at the back of her eyes–again!—at the emotion in his voice. "I know. Wanna see if she'll move again?"
"Yes, of course, yes."
She settled back on the couch while Castle paused to shrug off his coat before joining her–and she was momentarily distracted from thoughts of the baby at the sight of him, dressed casually in a long-sleeved t-shirt and jeans. Oh. She hadn't thought but it occurred to her a little fuzzily that his button-downs really didn't do him justice at all, not the way the t-shirt did. The soft cotton of the shirt was filled out beautifully by his shoulders, the material clinging lovingly to the muscles of his arms, his chest.
He dropped down beside her on the couch, his large warm hand curving over the mound of her stomach over her pajama top but she tugged it up so his hand slid easily to rest on the bare skin of her stomach.
Absurdly, she was aware of a spark of arousal kindled inside her at the touch of his hand on her bare skin, even in this almost platonic touch.
But for once, he appeared, if not unaware of her presence, certainly distracted, his focus on her stomach. "Hi there, Sprout," he crooned.
Of course he was, this was about the baby. She fit her own hand onto her stomach, her fingers interlocking with his. "Hi, baby," she said softly. "Do you wanna say hi to your daddy?"
His fingers tightened a little and he jerked his head up to look at her, his eyes, his expression, so filled with emotion she felt her own throat tighten a little in response. She hadn't realized it would mean so much to him to hear her refer to him as 'daddy,' while addressing the baby.
They waited for a long minute, two, while she hardly dared to breathe, everything in her focused on her stomach, the sensations in her body.
"Oh, please, baby," he breathed.
Still nothing–she was only abnormally conscious of her every breath, the beat of her heart, the solid warmth of his hand on her skin.
It felt like a small eternity but she guessed later was probably something more like five minutes before she felt it, again, the faint, small flutter. "Oh," she gasped. "She's moving, I felt it." She shifted his hand over the slightest bit so his palm was directly over the spot, as close as she could guess, but she didn't feel the flutter again.
"I didn't feel anything," he breathed, sounding mournful.
"It's still early and very faint, even for me," she assured him.
"What's it feel like?" He looked up at her, his eyes as soft as she'd ever seen them.
She hesitated, wished, not for the first time, that she had some of his facility with words. No doubt he could describe it better than she could. "It's… an odd feeling. Like a very small fish is trapped inside, or maybe like someone is fluttering their eyelashes against the inside of my skin, if that makes sense."
"Sort of. It is amazing, isn't it?"
"It is, it really is." Her eyes met and held his and it felt like the most intimate moment of her life–something about the lateness of the hour and his hand on her bare skin and, more than all that, the consciousness that he was thinking and feeling almost the same things she was, the emotion of it, the wonder of it, of knowing their baby girl was growing and moving inside her.
"Thank you."
She blinked at him. "For what? I couldn't even describe the feeling that well."
His lips tipped up slightly but his eyes remained sober. "You tried but what I meant was, thank you for calling me, for letting me share this moment."
"Of course I called you. You're the baby's dad." And she'd been so overwhelmed, she'd had to share it with him.
His eyes dropped to her stomach, his hand moving in a gentle caress over the curve, before he met her eyes again, his expression a little shadowed now. "Meredith didn't," he told her briefly.
Meredith hadn't what? Hadn't let him feel when Alexis kicked in Meredith's womb? But how–they'd been married at the time and she couldn't imagine that Castle had been any less excited over Alexis than he was over the Sprout.
"Oh. I'm sorry," was all she could think to say, lamely.
His lips twisted into a rueful grimace. "It's hardly your fault. I just…" he hesitated as if trying to determine how much he could or should reveal and finally went on, "Meredith didn't like being pregnant; she felt nauseous almost constantly the first six months so I can understand that. So she wasn't… happy or excited… She let me take care of her and she was sick a lot so she needed help but it wasn't… like this."
Kate was really starting to wonder what was wrong with Meredith. So many women could only dream of having a partner who was not just willing but eager to be so supportive during pregnancy (and afterwards in parenting too) and Meredith didn't seem to value what she'd had in Castle at all. To say nothing of having cheated on him. (Was it wrong to hate a woman she'd only met once in passing and didn't actually know?)
His expression eased, his lips lifting into a faint smile. "It wasn't that bad. Whatever I missed out on while Alexis was in utero, I more than made up for once she was born, and that's the important part."
She managed a smile. Trust Castle to think of it like that, optimist that he was. And it might even be true but it still made something inside her ache a little at the thought of Castle missing out on anything where Alexis was concerned. Seeing how much he cared about the Sprout already, how much it meant to him to be involved, it had to have bothered him, especially because Alexis was his first child and firsts were always special.
"So does that mean later on, if the Sprout is keeping me up at all hours of the night by playing a solo soccer match inside my stomach, I should still call you?"
She was rewarded for this mild attempt at humor with a small laugh. "Anytime."
"I'll keep that in mind."
"Count me in, every step of the way," he returned, his tone light but his eyes still sober, so soft and so sincere.
Something squeezed her heart. She believed him and that in itself was a little surprising, even now, how much she'd come to trust him. But as usual, she had no words for what she felt and found herself admitting, instead, another truth, "I hope our daughter has your eyes."
As if to emphasize her words, his eyes–his beautiful eyes–brightened, became a deeper, truer blue. "I hope our daughter has your heart."
She kissed him. Maybe there was a woman who could have resisted Castle when he said such a thing but that woman certainly wasn't Kate. Her free hand came up to cup the back of his neck as she lifted her head to press her lips against his.
The kiss started out softly, gently, but then his tongue was teasing the seam of her lips and she opened for him willingly as his tongue swept inside her mouth and the kiss deepened in an instant. Her whole body seemed to come alight, crackling as if she'd just touched a live wire, as she shifted, almost fell into him, desperate to get closer. He took the hint, tugging her closer, until she was on his lap.
The shift in their positions allowed her to slide her arms around his neck, her upper body pressed against him, her sensitive breasts somewhat abraded by the flannel of her pajama top, sending a surge of lust streaking through her like lightning, molten heat pooling low in her stomach, between her legs.
She vaguely heard a soft moan and belatedly realized it had come from her as their mouths parted on a gasp. She would have mourned the end of his kiss but before she could even think it–to the extent she was capable of thought at all–he trailed his lips along her jaw and then further, finding a spot on her neck that made her mewl.
"Oh god, Castle," she gasped. "Let's… ooh… go to bed."
He froze, lifting his mouth from her skin, and she blinked hazy eyes open. That was not the response she'd been expecting.
"Kate, I… That's not–I didn't come here expecting–"
Oddly, if she'd had any doubts–she hadn't, somehow, without consciously realizing it, her mind had been made up and she was sure–his uncharacteristic stumbling with his words gave her additional confidence. She was sure and she was very ready, for them, for real.
"I know. I want you." She had always wanted him physically and she was finding it hard to remember why she'd resisted this for so long.
He surged forward and kissed her again, fiercely, as if all his patience and his wanting had broken free in a rush. And somehow–she wasn't entirely sure how–they managed to scramble to their feet in an ungraceful series of movements, barely pausing to break off the kiss. When they were on their feet again, he kissed her again, his hands resting on her waist, bringing her in against him, and she kissed him back, sinking against him for a long, delicious few minutes. And then, after giving him a last, briefer kiss, she was able to step away, her hand grasping his, as she led him into her bedroom.
Much later, Kate again found herself unable to sleep. But this time, she didn't really want to fall asleep, at least not yet. She had no idea exactly what time it was but she knew it had to be late, well after 1 a.m. since it had already been after midnight when she'd called Castle earlier and since then, well, quite a lot had happened. And Castle had taken his time, as he'd said, she thought, feeling herself flush, some heat sparking in her body at the memory of just how thoroughly he had taken his time.
She knew that she was tired–well, she was almost always tired these days–but in spite of that, she didn't want to fall asleep yet, wanted to savor all of it, the lingering effects of having had sex–amazing sex–and more than that, what it felt like to be sharing a bed with Castle.
It was all just so new (it had been a long time since she'd actually shared a bed with anyone) and being with Castle was different, better. She liked this, liked all of it, liked the feeling of being curled up snugly against his side, one of her legs tangled with his, his arm around her. He was so warm and solid against her, felt like a bulwark against the world. Wait, what was she thinking? She was the one with a gun and the training but somehow, for all that, it was still true too. She felt safe with him.
He exhaled a breath that stirred the air by her temple and she drew her head back slightly, just enough to glance at his face, wondering if he was drifting to sleep.
He wasn't. His eyes were still open, met hers, looking surprisingly alert considering the hour.
On the thought, a memory from earlier drifted into her mind. "Castle?"
"Hmm?"
"Earlier, when I called you, I didn't wake you up, did I." In spite of the phrasing, it wasn't a question.
"No, you didn't. I wasn't sleeping."
"Writing?"
He blinked, as if being asked to remember something that had happened years ago, which, admittedly, was rather how she felt too.
"No, I wasn't writing. I just couldn't sleep." he paused and then went on, "I kept thinking about the case."
The case? Oh right, the case, she remembered with somewhat distant surprise, it had so completely slipped her mind, understandably perhaps, but it still surprised her to realize. And after all, she had been bothered by the case too. "Right, the case," she agreed with a little sigh. "It bothers me too."
"I just couldn't stop thinking about Jeremy, what it must be like for him. Guilty of a murder he can't remember–that just sucks. I mean, normally, you kill someone, get caught, go to prison, but at least you have the satisfaction of knowing why you did it, right? Hatred, revenge, hell, maybe he cut you off on the highway, but Jeremy won't even have that."
Cutting someone off on the highway was a new motive but she did understand his point. Sometimes people killed for reasons that honestly boggled the mind with their seeming triviality but at the very least, the reason always had seemed sufficient to the killer, which was what mattered.
"And even if we do find motive, he won't remember why it meant anything."
He subsided with a sigh that she echoed, remembering the way Jeremy had said that he thought it would be easier if he knew why. But there was nothing easy about any of this. She knew being a cop was hard but she wasn't sure just doing her job had ever been quite so hard before.
"I know," she agreed. "It's terrible."
"What happens next?" Castle asked, his tone uncharacteristically subdued.
"We submit the paperwork to the DA," she answered simply. Their job was done now.
He stiffened a little, lifting his head and she turned her head to look at him. "Won't the DA need motive?" he frowned.
She shook her head a little. "Evidence speaks. Smoking gun."
"Don't you want to know why he did it?"
She made a rueful face. "Yeah, but the truth is, we don't need it."
He reared up on one elbow, dislodging her from against him, and she pushed herself up on her arm too. "The DA doesn't need it," he corrected, "but you and me?"
He really was upset if his command of grammar was slipping like this, she thought peripherally, even as warmth kindled in her chest at his empathy for Jeremy's situation and his determination too.
"We caught the killer, Castle, the case is technically closed," she gave a perfunctory protest.
"Maybe for the average cop, who just wants the easy collar and doesn't go beyond, but that's not the kind of cop you are, Beckett."
"No, it's not," she agreed because, of course, he was right.
He settled back down on the bed, bringing her back against him. "I knew you were extraordinary."
She tried to tamp down the little flicker of pleasure at his words. Oh, would she ever get used to the way he called her 'extraordinary' so easily, as if he were stating an immutable fact of the universe like the sun rising in the east? "I already agreed, Castle, no need to flatter me," she tried to sound dry.
The ghost of a smile touched his lips. "It's not flattery, just the truth." His tone shifted. "So we'll get back at it in the morning?"
"Yeah, Castle, we will. We can stop off at the precinct and grab one of the boys or a uniform and then go back to Jeremy's apartment."
"Good plan," he approved. "The answer's got to be there, at his place."
"At least it's our best chance of finding the answer, something in his life that makes it all make sense."
He gave a sudden brief chuckle.
She lifted her head to look at him, frowning slightly. "I didn't think what I'd said was funny."
He smoothed his expression into seriousness. "It wasn't about what you said. It just occurred to me that I never imagined having this kind of conversation when I'm in bed with you for the first time."
Put like that, she flushed, a rueful smile escaping her. "It's not exactly normal pillow talk, is it?" Although for them, it might almost be expected since they were also the ones who'd cut their first date short to go work on a case too.
"Never mind what's normal. It somehow works for us, though." He paused. "It does, doesn't it? You don't mind that I brought up the case?"
"I was the one who asked," she reminded him. "And of course, I don't mind. Solving cases together is what we do." More than that, she thought, she liked that he understood about her work, that he didn't expect her to leave her work at work, as one guy who she'd had a couple forgettable dates with a few months after Will had left had huffily told her.
"Well, among other things," he amended.
She flushed and nudged him. "That's not the point."
A smirk tugged on his lips. "No, but it's still worth mentioning."
"Considering where we are right now, it's so obvious it hardly needs mentioning," she returned, trying (and abjectly failing) to sound scolding.
"I beg to differ. I'm in bed, with you, and as far as I'm concerned, that's always worth mentioning."
She sternly hid a smile. "Cute, Castle. Just don't mention it in the precinct. We're acting professionally, remember, being discreet."
"So that means I should cancel the sky-writer?"
She poked his side. "Castle!" Ridiculous man.
He gave a little, exaggerated yelp, catching her hand in his. "Okay, okay! I'll behave, I promise."
"You'd better," but any attempt at severity was entirely belied by the way she nestled her head more comfortably against his shoulder.
He smiled and turned his head to brush a kiss to her forehead, resettling his arm around her.
She gave a little hum of pleasure and then was surprised by a yawn escaping her.
"I think that's our cue to sleep, Beckett," he observed, mild humor lacing his tone.
Oh, that reminded her of one more thing. "You can stay?"
"I can stay," he confirmed. "My mother's at home with Alexis."
"Mm, 'kay, good," she murmured, brushing a kiss to his shoulder because she could and then let her eyes close.
She was aware of him moving just enough to turn off the lamp on her nightstand and pull up the bed covers and then he settled back where he had been, with her tucked against him. And after a while, she found herself lulled into sleep by the steady thump of his heart beating beneath her hand, the even sound of his breathing by her ear.
~To be continued…~
A/N 2: Next week, instead of the next chapter of this story, I'll be posting separately the M-rated insert for this chapter. And for those of you who don't care about smut, rest assured that the insert will not feature any plot so you can feel free to skip it and not miss out on anything.
