Author's Note: Thank you all for your patience in waiting for this chapter and apologies again for not being able to post last week. And now, the next chapter, the first of two dealing with the January 9th anniversary.
Then Came Love
Chapter 54
The following Monday was The Anniversary. January 9th.
Kate awoke early as she always did on The Anniversary, her throat already tight with tears, her eyes prickling. Because she had dreamed about her mom, again as she always seemed to the night before. The dreams varied, sometimes they were almost happy dreams where she dreamed about her mom being alive only to wake up to the crushing reality, but more often, as on this past night, she dreamed about her mom in that alley. She'd dreamed as if she'd been there, a sort of invisible, helpless witness as sometimes happened in dreams, of her mom, of the dark shape of a man following her, stalking her, until he'd caught up to her in the alley. She'd seen the glint of the knife, seen her mom's expression of fear, of the understanding of danger, and then–
She'd jerked awake on a gasp.
It had been 11 long, painful years without her mom and the thought seemed almost shocking because on The Anniversary, the pain of the loss seemed so stark, not lessened at all by time.
Her mom would never get to meet Castle. Would never get to meet the baby, her first grandchild. Would never get to see her get married.
And it wasn't as if she hadn't already known all this intellectually, wasn't, for that matter, as if Kate were really close to being ready to be married but somehow, that was the last straw, the one that made a sob escape her.
Absurdly, she suddenly found herself remembering Sheila Blaine, Kyra's mother, still spouting venom towards Castle even at her daughter's wedding to another man. Sheila, who'd barely managed to crack a smile at Kyra's impromptu wedding, but who had still been there.
Whereas Johanna… oh, Kate knew her mom would have been so different, so happy… Would have fussed over Kate's hair and make-up and dress and alternated between beaming smiles and tears, even as she would have teased Jim for his own tears.
She choked back another sob and beside her, Castle stirred, shifted, and she clamped her lips together. Oh. For a second, she'd somehow forgotten that for the first time in 11 years, she wasn't waking up alone on this day.
It was early, too early to wake him up–but even as she thought it, he stirred again. "Mm, Kate?" he mumbled, his voice still fogged with sleep, and husky with disuse.
She didn't quite trust her voice but she managed just a quiet, "Sshh," hoping to reassure him but instead, she sensed rather than saw his eyes blinking, felt with that odd awareness that came from weeks of sharing a bed with him, that he was waking up. And then she felt his sudden stiffening as he realized, remembered, what day it was.
He shifted, turned onto his side, resting a hand on her arm. "Kate, are you okay? What can I do?" For the first time in weeks, his touch was a little cautious, hesitant, and she heard the same caution in his voice because he knew what today meant to her but on this day, he wasn't going to push, no matter how worried he was.
It was something she'd never had on this day, someone who was there to comfort her, and for an instant, she wasn't sure she knew what to do. Even now, it wasn't entirely natural to turn to someone else for comfort, and not when it came to her mom. Her mom, her grief over her mom, was, had always been, the most precious, private part of her, the part she kept the most closely guarded, even as she was–slowly, very slowly–learning to turn to someone else–to Castle–for comfort in other things, thanks to the baby.
But this was Castle and he was here–and she also knew that, no matter his caution, if she turned from him now, it would hurt him. He might never say as much–actually, she knew he would never say as much, his very hesitance told her that–but she knew he would be hurt, as much as he might also understand.
She reached for his hand still resting on her arm and drew his arm around her, wriggling a little awkwardly to shift her body closer to his. "Just this. This helps."
He understood without any more, tightening his arm around her, as he fit his body snugly against her back, the big spoon to her little spoon. She felt him kiss her hair. "I'm here, Kate. I'm right here with you."
And so he was.
Kate sighed a little and clasped his hand a little tighter against her, the solid, broad warmth of him surrounding her, shielding her as if to protect her from all harm–and even though she was the one with the badge and the gun and the training, somehow, at times like this, it did feel as if he could–and was–her bulwark against the rest of the world. Just as she knew he already was for Alexis, tried to be for Martha, and would be for the baby.
She still missed her mom, would always still miss her mom, the ache never going away, but somehow, this, being held by Castle, helped.
She wasn't sure how long they stayed like that with Castle simply holding her but after a while, they did move, obeying the call of nature, and starting the day as the sky started to lighten outside.
Kate emerged from her shower to find that Castle had already prepared a half-cup of coffee for her, complete with a heart traced into the foam. It was a small gesture but it still brought a somewhat wobbly smile to her lips as she sipped it, savoring the welcome and familiar taste, all the more since coffee was a special treat for her these days.
Castle came around the island to curve his arm around her back. "What are you thinking of doing today?" he asked quietly since she'd mentioned to him yesterday that she had taken the day off work, as she always did, from the moment she'd accrued enough seniority and vacation time in order to do so.
She hesitated. Upstairs, she heard the quiet sound of footsteps and then water running, indicating that Alexis was awake and preparing for her school day. Alexis's presence would be fine, she thought, but what gave her some momentary (and half-guilty) pause was the thought of Martha. She didn't know if Alexis and Martha knew about what today was to her but she didn't want to be around when Castle told them and more than that, she really wasn't sure she could deal with Martha's well-meaning concern. As fond of Martha as Kate honestly was and for all of Martha's virtues, subtlety was not among them and today of all days, Kate just didn't think she could bear Martha's motherly and somewhat pushy concern.
She'd always spent this day alone. She couldn't deal with people today, not when she always felt so fragile. Maybe some people might find comfort in a crowd but Kate had never been one of them, had always needed to retreat into privacy like a wounded animal into its burrow. She wondered a little sickly if this difference between them might eventually end up driving a wedge between her and Castle, her need for privacy and his need to help her.
"I think I just need some space," she managed. He didn't react physically but she glanced at him in time to catch a flicker of expression cross his face and belatedly remembered what he'd told her about how Kyra had broken up with him all those years ago. Oh shit. "Not like that," she hurriedly went on, "I didn't mean it like that. I just meant, I want quiet today, that's all."
"Whatever you need, Kate."
She lifted a hand to cup his cheek, her fingers lightly ruffling the hair just above his ears, in one of those little caresses she'd learned he liked. "I know, Castle, and it's just for today. I'll visit my mom this morning and then I'm having lunch with my dad but otherwise, I'll take it easy."
He nodded. "Okay. I'll be here if you need anything."
"Thank you."
He brushed a kiss to her temple but all he said was, "Let me make you breakfast."
She had some yogurt while he made omelets with spinach and cheese and they were just sitting down to eat when Alexis came running lightly down the stairs, her backpack slung over one shoulder.
"Good morning, Dad. Oh, morning, Kate, you haven't left for work yet?"
Kate managed a small smile. "Getting a late start this morning," she temporized.
"I made omelets," Castle spoke up. "Here, have this one. I'll just make another now."
"Oh, thanks, Dad." Alexis dimpled at him as she dropped a quick kiss on his cheek on her way to the fridge to get orange juice for herself. (Kate had learned with some surprise, considering Castle's love of coffee, that Alexis was not a coffee drinker herself, at least not yet.)
Alexis slid into her usual seat at the table. "I have to say, Kate, I like your pregnancy meal plan since it means I get a real breakfast and not just cereal more often than not," she joked lightly as she started to eat.
"Happy to help," Kate responded, her voice sounding normal enough, but she found she abruptly had to look away, blinking rapidly, as it occurred to her with sudden force that she wished her mom could have met Alexis too. Her mom would have adored Alexis, delighted in the girl's good sense and cleverness, leavened by the humor and occasional flashes of mischief that always reminded Kate that Alexis really was Castle's daughter.
She ducked her head to hide her expression as she focused on her omelet as if her life depended on it. This was why she found it so hard to be around people today. Today, everything flicked on the raw, her emotions always so close to the surface–and it was worse than usual this year because of her condition–and it was just too hard to have to hide it.
Fortunately, Castle stepped in as if he sensed her struggle–which he very likely did, actually–and immediately started questioning Alexis about the school day ahead, her plans for afterwards, and generally doing a very good job of keeping the teen distracted until she was ready to leave for school.
Kate's throat tightened all over again as Alexis gave her a quick hug goodbye and then, as usual, kissed Castle on the cheek before flitting out the door with a cheerful goodbye. Alexis's kiss on Castle's cheek was one of those affectionate habits the girl still exhibited, even with her occasional teenage moodiness and frequent teasing of her dad. And today, Kate could only remember with a sharp stab of regret and guilt and grief her own teenage years, her rebelliousness, how much she'd almost wallowed in her teenage resentment of her parents, avoided those signs of affection. Oh, she knew, rationally, that her mom had known how much Kate loved her–of course her mom had known–but it didn't make the memories any easier now, now when Kate thought she would give everything she owned to be able to hug her mom again, to be able to tell her mom that she loved her.
"Kate?" She felt his hand on her shoulder as he shifted his chair closer to her.
She sniffed and turned to hide her face in his shoulder, his shirt absorbing the couple stray tears that escaped.
One of his hands came up to stroke her hair. "I can talk to Alexis later," he murmured quietly.
"It's not about Alexis," she managed, her voice half-muffled against his shirt. "You can talk to her but it's just… me. I'm such a mess today."
"You're beautiful and resilient, not a mess," he corrected gently.
She choked a little. She didn't know how he could say that when he of all people knew how much she struggled but his belief in her was still precious, made her want to be better.
She stayed leaning against him for a little while longer until she became aware of the awkwardness of their positions, with the corner of the table in between them, and she straightened up, swiping her fingers over her cheeks.
She tried and failed for a faint smile. "Still, you wouldn't want to deal with me all day today. I'm going to be depressing company."
He frowned a little. "I don't expect you to entertain me all the time," he said, the faintest hint of an edge entering his tone. "And I want to deal with you every day."
She reached out and squeezed his arm. "I didn't mean it like that. It was–I was kidding, really, and doing it badly." Trying to muster up some glibness but being glib wasn't her forte at the best of times.
His expression softened again. "You're allowed. Today, you're allowed anything."
"Thanks," was all she said–and she meant it. She was thankful but even so, the indulgence didn't quite sit well with her either. Even today, even with him, she didn't like, wasn't comfortable with, the idea of being so weak, so vulnerable, that people needed to indulge her, be careful around her. It was why she always spent today alone, because pretending to be fine was too hard and on the flip side, having others see her vulnerability, having people–heaven forbid– pity her, bothered her too. Being alone was easier.
So she didn't linger at the loft for much longer, slipping out with Castle's repeated assurance that he would be there if she wanted or needed anything at all lingering in her mind. She returned to her apartment for the moment.
She tried very hard to ignore the siren call of the banker's box under her bed that contained her mom's case file, the pull of the temptation stronger today. It had been 11 long years and she still didn't know why and the confirmation she'd received only months ago that it hadn't been random at all only seemed to make it worse because now she knew there was a definite 'why' and she didn't know what it was. 11 years and her mom still couldn't be at peace because there had been no justice. 11 years of letting her mom down–the thought invaded her mind with inexorable force and in spite of the counseling she'd had years ago when she'd first put her mom's case aside, it was so hard–impossible–to completely eradicate her lingering sense of guilt, of failure.
In an attempt to distract herself, she resolved to pack a little more of her things to bring over to the loft but her resolution didn't last long. She'd barely filled half a suitcase before her resolution faltered as her eyes found her photo album, the one she kept of their old family pictures, on the shelf. And although she knew it would hurt, she couldn't quite keep herself from pulling the album out, settling on her bed with it.
It did hurt as she looked at the pictures through eyes blurred with tears. Seeing her mom's well-remembered smiling face, looking so… happy and vibrant that it seemed almost impossible to realize that she was gone, how long she had been gone. Seeing, too, her dad and being struck as she always was when she looked at these pictures how young her dad looked. Especially because she knew it was less a function of time than it was about her dad's grief. While the passage of more than a decade had aged her dad, it was the devastation he'd suffered that had aged him more, left its mark on her dad's features. She didn't always think of it or notice it when she saw her dad these days because she was obviously too familiar with her dad's appearance; it was when she looked at old pictures that the difference really became obvious.
She wondered, too, with a sort of sick yearning, what her parents might look like now if none of it had ever happened, how would her mom have aged–gracefully, she was sure–what would her dad look like now if he'd been happy these last 11 years. But that, too, was something she would never know.
11 years. The passage of all that time had helped, she knew that. Not that she would ever stop missing her mom and grieving for her, but Kate recognized that she had learned to carry the grief better, learned for the most part to accept it as just another part of her, almost like the color of her eyes or her height. She could think about her mom, remember her mom, without the crippling stab of loss. She and her dad could even smile and laugh at the memories, even if the laughter was a little tinged with melancholy.
Except today, on The Anniversary. Today, her grief always seemed almost as overwhelming as it had been in those first terrible, dark days immediately afterwards.
Later that morning, Kate stared down at her mother's tombstone, bending down to place the flowers she'd brought in front of it. The awkwardness of the movement reminded her, not that she really was ever in danger of forgetting, of her condition and she looked down at the bump of her stomach looking even larger than it actually was in the bulk of her coat.
She smoothed a hand over the curve. And for once, found herself speaking, not to her mom (although she didn't often address her mom out loud either), but to the baby, as was becoming easier and more natural by the day, it seemed. "This is your grandmother, baby, my mother. You'll get to meet your Grandma Martha once you're born and I know she already loves you but this is your other grandmother. She's–" she choked a little before going on, "not here anymore but one day, when you're old enough, I'll show you her pictures so you'll know what she looked like. And your grandpa and I will tell you all about her and how much she would have loved you. She would have loved you so much, baby," she repeated more quietly, yet more tears springing to her eyes.
Oh, yes, her mom would have adored the Sprout. She could imagine it so easily, with heart-breaking vividness really, how her mom would fuss and coo over the Sprout, how her mom would have encouraged and wheedled and cajoled Kate and Castle into taking some alone time just for themselves. Kate knew her mom would have all but kidnapped the Sprout in her eagerness to have the baby to herself for a little while.
As if in answer or in comfort or something, the baby kicked and her hand moved to skim the curve of her belly. "I know, baby," she murmured. "I'm sorry you won't get to meet your grandma but your grandpa's here and he'll love you just as much, I promise."
Her lips curved a little even as a sob escaped her. She had no doubt her dad would dote on the Sprout but oh, she wished she could see her mom with the baby too. Wished the baby would get to know her mom.
It was a little strange, still, to feel this renewed sense of loss for her mom, which was sharper and even more poignant than her usual longing for her mom because this was about the baby, thinking about what the baby would miss out on through not being able to meet Johanna. And that was so much worse, more painful, than any grief Kate had felt on her own behalf.
She really was becoming a mom, wasn't she? Already was a mom, she supposed, thinking about what Castle had said a few days ago, that they were Mommy and Daddy. Oh. Oh wow. It made her heart skip a beat to think of herself as Mommy, didn't feel real. It was easier for Castle since he already was a father but for her, she thought it might not sink in until the day she actually held the Sprout.
She wondered, for about the millionth time, what it had been like for her own mom. She wanted to talk to her mom about all of this.
"Oh, Mom," she whispered, blinking back yet more tears. "I miss you so much." The words felt so… inadequate for the magnitude of her grief but they were all she had.
She lifted a hand to swipe away the tears and then looked down at her stomach again, cradling the bump in both her hands. "You might not get to meet your grandma, Sprout, but you will have so many other people, family, who will love you. Not just me and your dad, although we'll love you the most, but your sister and your grandpa and your grandma Martha." She paused and went on. "You'll have your uncles at the precinct and your Auntie Lanie. You are going to be surrounded by so much love, baby."
She sniffed but found there was some comfort in that. It would not–could not–be the same but at least, she knew that the baby would never feel a lack of love or of family. If anything–she managed a watery smile–the baby might well find her family overwhelming at times, considering the baby would have Martha as a grandmother. And Castle himself, obviously, was as involved as any father could be, to the point that Kate honestly wondered sometimes how Castle would ever manage to let Alexis leave for college at all.
Which reminded Kate that she had her own dad to meet.
Kate met up with her dad at a restaurant not far from his office since her dad, unusually, was working today. He normally went up to his cabin but this year, since he had stayed in the City for Christmas too and considering her own condition, he had elected to stay in the City. And she guessed that for her dad, it helped to work, gave him something else to focus on rather than his own grief. She herself was no stranger to how much work could help as a distraction.
Her dad was already at the restaurant and stood up when he saw her come in.
"Hi, Dad."
"Hi, Katie." As usual on the times when she and her dad saw each other on The Anniversary, his voice was a little subdued, his hug tighter and lingering more than usual, before he drew back, pausing with his hands on her arms as he studied her face. She knew he saw the tell-tale evidence of her tears, although he didn't comment, only leaned in to brush a kiss to her cheek before releasing her.
She and her dad both sat down before her dad glanced over her shoulder. "Isn't Rick joining us?"
She blinked. "No, were you expecting him to?" She hadn't mentioned Castle when scheduling this lunch with her dad and her dad, of all people, knew she spent The Anniversary alone.
"I guess I just assumed he'd be with you, today of all days." Her dad's voice was mild, didn't have even a hint of reproach, but she bit her lip regardless.
"I told Castle I needed some space today. He made me breakfast though," she added to exonerate Castle.
At that inopportune moment, a server appeared with a glass of water for her and to take their orders, which she and her dad hurriedly decided, somewhat at random, since they didn't care much about food today. Even she found that she was less hungry than usual.
Left alone again, her dad sighed and reached a hand across the table to briefly squeeze hers. "You know you don't always have to be alone today."
"I just… I'm not sure I know how to be with people today," she faltered, for what sense it made. Her gaping sense of loss on The Anniversary was the most private corner of her heart; the grief she felt today was hers and her dad's, because she and her dad were the ones who had lost the most when they lost her mom, had loved her mom the most.
"I understand that, I do, Katie, but on a day as hard for us as today is, your mom wouldn't want you to always go through it alone. And neither do I."
"I don't like having people see me cry," she explained rather lamely.
"But Rick isn't just 'people.' He loves you, Katie–"
She choked a little. "You know that?" She might know it–now–but to hear her dad just state it as easily as if he were stating what month it was, was something else altogether.
Her dad's expression eased a little. "I'm a man, Katie, and I've been in love. Do you really think I can't tell when a man is in love with my only daughter?"
She flushed hotly, her thoughts gibbering a little at her dad's so-easy equating of his love for her mom–oh god–with what Castle felt for her.
"I've known Rick loved you since the first time I met him."
She coughed, surprised all over again. Even back then–but that had been months ago, weeks before she and Castle had actually gotten together. She'd thought Castle's absurd suggestion of when he could have said the words earlier had been hyperbole but to have her dad, who was not at all given to hyperbole and would have no reason to do so now, confirm it…
"Let Rick be there for you, comfort you, Katie. I know he wants to. It's part of being in a real relationship, like the way he held you at Christmas."
Of course, her dad had seen that, the way Castle had held her when she'd broken down so embarrassingly over Martha's and Alexis's gifts for the baby. She felt belatedly, absurdly self-conscious about it. Her dad had never seen her being held by a boyfriend before–not that she'd ever had a boyfriend she would have allowed to see her cry like that before either. She tried hard not to cry in front of anyone at all. She certainly wouldn't have cried like that in front of Will. These days, with how much easier tears came, that wasn't really possible but even so, Castle was different.
"That's hard for me to do," she faltered.
Her dad sighed, blinking as he glanced away, his expression momentarily so… desolate it made her whole chest hurt. Reminding her all over again that her dad, after all, had lost more than she had when her mom had died. "That's my fault," he admitted, his voice almost inaudible.
She sucked in a sharp breath. "What? Why would it be–no, Dad!"
Her dad met her eyes, his eyes a little sheened with tears. "I know that you've never liked to show weakness, the kid who refused a nightlight and clenched her teeth during bad thunderstorms but never asked to sleep in our room."
She choked on a watery sob. That was true too; she remembered times when her childhood self had been all but cowering beneath her covers during some of the intense thunderstorms that occasionally roil Manhattan in the summer but whenever her mom had suggested or asked if the young Katie wanted to sleep in her parents' room, she'd refused. She remembered too that on more than one occasion, her mom had stayed with her and ended up falling asleep herself, spending the night in the young Katie's bedroom. Her mom had always known somehow what the young Katie needed, without her even needing to say a word.
"That hasn't changed but I made it worse. No, Katie, I know I did," he forestalled her renewed protest. "I let you down after your mom… was gone. I failed you, was so lost and focused on my own pain that I wasn't there to help you with yours." His voice shook a little before he forcibly steadied it, blinking rapidly.
She tried not to flinch visibly. "No, Dad, that's… We've been over this and that's all over now. We're better now," she faltered. They were better and she didn't want to talk about this or think about those bad years, tried never to think about the bad years. It was all past, done, full stop. And would never ever happen again.
"Let me say this, Katie. I wasn't there for you when you needed me the most and you survived on your own because you had to. I know how strong you are, Katie, but being strong doesn't mean you have to suffer alone." He paused, cleared his throat a little, before continuing, "The first year afterwards, the first Anniversary, the anniversaries after that, I know you got used to spending them alone because you had no one else. But Katie, that's not true anymore. And you don't have to commemorate today as a private day of mourning." He paused and then went on more quietly, his voice not entirely steady, "It's like I told you about Christmas, it is okay to change traditions and doing so won't take anything away from your mom or her memory."
She could understand what her dad was saying but still… Christmas was a holiday, something other people–Alexis and Martha, to say nothing of Castle–enjoyed celebrating. And yes, having a real Christmas again had been nice. But The Anniversary was different. It might be irrational but it felt somehow wrong to think of letting The Anniversary of the worst day of her life, the day that had forever changed her life, her very character, pass by as some other day.
"Christmas is different," was all she could say.
Her dad sighed again. "I know today is hard, for both of us, but I don't think keeping this day set apart for grief is the best thing." He paused and then his lips twisted ruefully. "I know I haven't set the best example in this either but I've been thinking about it a lot these past days since Christmas and Katie, I think it's time we try harder. We can honor your mom better by remembering her life, not focusing so much on… the end." His voice shook almost imperceptibly at the last couple words, the euphemistic reference to her mom's death. Neither she nor her dad referred to her mom's death in so many words, tended to use euphemisms. "It's what she would want, Katie, for you to be happy. And I think it's time. You have the baby to think about and the baby is going to change everything."
She hadn't quite thought that far–had been trying not to think that far because that way lay something approaching panic–but she had already known in some part of her that this year would be the last time she could spend The Anniversary alone. At this time next year, she would have the baby to think about. The baby, who was part of her mom too.
And she knew her mom wouldn't want the baby's life to be so overshadowed by what had happened to her. Kate herself didn't want that. She had a sudden mental image of a little girl with dark hair asking tearfully why Mommy was crying. And abruptly remembered something she had almost forgotten, the first time she had ever seen one of her parents cry. She'd been young, maybe around 7 or 8, and one of her dad's friends had been killed in a car accident and her younger self had woken up, she didn't know why, and crept out of her room and heard a strangled sob from her dad followed by some indistinct comforting murmurs from her mom through the slightly-ajar door to her parents' bedroom. She remembered, too, being deeply upset by it, feeling as if the floor had tilted sharply beneath her feet, because in her childish mind, an adult–one of her parents–crying seemed unnatural, like some sign of pending apocalypse.
She sucked in her breath, her chest aching as if she'd cracked a rib. No, oh no, she didn't want that. Her mom's loss had been tragic but to have that tragedy linger, be compounded by darkening the baby's childhood–no. She couldn't–wouldn't–allow that.
"I think you're right, Dad," she managed.
For the first time today, her dad's expression lightened into something that was the faint beginnings of a smile. "I do like it when you tell me I'm right. It doesn't happen nearly often enough."
"Da-ad."
"Now that's a much more familiar tone," her dad commented. "You sound almost like your usual self now."
Amazingly, she found herself rolling her eyes a little. "If you won't gloat, I think I might text Castle and see if he wants to join us for dessert?" she suggested hesitantly. It was a step, not spending the day alone.
"That sounds like a great idea, Katie."
She had just taken out her phone when their meals arrived and she duly sent Castle a quick text with the suggestion and the name and address of the restaurant. His response was so immediate she knew he must have been checking his phone almost constantly all morning in case she needed anything.
"So, is he joining us?"
"Knowing Castle, I expect he'll be leaving in the next minute or so," she answered, knowing her voice had softened.
Now, her dad did smile a little. "Yes, that sounds like Rick. I guess we'd better hurry up and eat then."
They didn't exactly hurry but they did start to eat, mostly in silence until after a few minutes, she remembered there was something else she should mention to her dad and she needed to do so before Castle arrived.
"I'm planning to move into the loft," she blurted out and then inwardly winced at how bluntly that had come out.
Her dad coughed before taking a drink of water and clearing his throat. "I see," he responded neutrally and then his tone shifted to a more natural one. "Because of the baby?"
"Well, yes, mostly," she admitted candidly, feeling the blush heating her cheeks but unable to help it. Irrational as it was since her dad knew she spent nights over at the loft, hadn't batted an eye on Christmas Eve and Christmas when it had been obvious that she was spending the night. And she talked to her dad often enough that he had to have guessed how much time she was spending at the loft.
She waited but her dad didn't immediately reply so she found herself rushing ahead, "I've been thinking, the baby will be here in just a few months, and it would make things easier for everyone really for the baby to have just one home and Castle has Alexis to think about. It just makes sense," she finished rather lamely.
The corners of her dad's lips lifted slightly. "I understand, Katie. You don't have to explain."
Oh. Oh wait. She became belatedly aware that her dad had practically tricked her–used her own interrogation technique against her–of letting silence goad the other person into filling the silence. And she'd been so primed to expect disapproval or at the very least, surprise, that she had fallen for it, like some rookie! Damn it.
"Then you're okay with it? You don't think it's too soon or… something. It's a big step." Because in spite of her years, her profession, she did care about her dad's opinion, wanted him to, oh, validate her decision.
The tilt at the corners of her dad's lips deepened a little. "I don't think you've asked my opinion on something you've decided to do since before you were a teenager."
"Da-ad." Clearly, her dad was himself again if he was able to provoke her like this.
Her dad sobered, his expression softening. "You can make your own decisions and I trust your judgment. But since you ask, what I think is that Rick is a good man, he loves you, and he makes you happy. And that's enough for me."
He made it sound so simple, so straightforward, and it occurred to her that maybe it was–or should be–as simple as that. What she wanted was some sort of guarantee against her occasional doubts that flared up–most recently and obviously, over Kyra–but nothing in life came with guarantees. The best she could do was hope, have faith.
And she did trust Castle. She knew he was a good man–sometimes immature and yes, irritating–but a good man, a good father. She knew he loved her and he loved the Sprout–and she loved him too (oh god). And yes–she remembered those days in the Hamptons, the days (and nights) spent at the loft–he did make her happy.
And that was enough for her too.
Her dad had resumed eating and after a moment, she did so as well, a now-comfortable (and welcome) silence settling over them after the emotional upheaval of the last minutes. So they ate and waited for Castle to arrive.
~To be continued…~.
A/N 2: Thank you, as always, to all readers and reviewers.
