Chapter 2

Castle conveyed the dessert plates to her dining table, and set them out. Unobtrusively, he looked around, and had to work hard not to wince. A week ago, she'd had Christmas decorations up. Now, there was only a single star in the window. He bit his tongue on a flow of questions, which would only have him evicted at Glock-point.

He congratulated himself on his brilliant idea. Pretend that it was simply winter that Beckett hated, and then provide her with summertime – sunshine and laughter and warmth – until she was happy. Then…he'd see where they were.

"Try it," he encouraged. Beckett regarded the portion dubiously, but finally took a morsel.

Three minutes later, in which she hadn't said a single word, her plate was scraped perfectly clean.

"There's more," Castle offered, deeply pleased by her appetite, but not showing it.

"Yes, please."

He gave her another substantial slice, and wondered when she'd last eaten, to be stowing it away like that.

"Summer pudding?" she queried.

"Yep. Winter's dull and dreary, so think of summer till you've cheered up – and don't look out of the window and spoil it."

"I thought you liked Christmas. And Thanksgiving."

"I don't like winter," Castle said dismissively. "It's cold, and everyone's all wrapped up." He smiled, crinkling the area around his eyes. "I like it when you aren't all wrapped up," he flirted.

Beckett rolled her eyes. "You're so predictable."

"You not unwrapping is just as predictable," Castle teased. "If it were summer, though, I'd try to persuade you up to the Hamptons."

"Hamptons?"

"I have a house there."

"Of course you have," she sighed.

Castle ignored that. "I've got a lovely swimming pool" – he paused. "You know," he said in a very different tone, "it's heated. Screened from the wind and weather – glass walls. I've got some big space heaters" – he hadn't, but he would have by tomorrow if this on-the-fly wild-ass idea came off – "and it would be just like summer." His eyes lit up. "Just like summer. We could have picnic food and you could swim and" –

"And you just want to see me in a swimsuit."

"I'd prefer a bikini," Castle provoked. "You'd look amazing in a bikini. I mean, you'd look amazing in anything – or even better, nothing at all – shutting up now," he said at her searing glare.

"It's not summer," she said.

"You could pretend."

"This isn't a fairy story for small children. The reality is, it's winter." She put her spoon down with a clunk. "Dark and cold." Her gaze shifted to the window, as she stood and went towards it. "Desserts and stories don't change that."

"No, but you can forget about it," Castle tried, seeing his brilliant idea slipping away. "Pretend for a day or two."

"Pretending is for pre-schoolers." Her shoulders slumped. "It doesn't change anything."

He couldn't bear the heartbreak hiding under her voice: took two steps and hugged her as he would his mother or daughter: simply and only comfort. "No," he murmured, "but it could help for a little while." He stroked her hair soothingly. "Stories are only stories, but they take you away from reality for a little while, don't they? That's why we read."

"Still not real," arrived, muffled, into the fabric of his shirt.

"I never said they were. They're an escape, for a while. Nothing more."

She straightened up and stepped fractionally back – but not enough to disconnect; only enough to look upward. He realised that she hadn't any shoes on, merely soft socks. His hands slid down to link at the small of her back: no pressure, no demands.

"I could use an escape," she sighed, almost inaudibly. "But…"

"But?"

"Where would I go?"

"Come to the Hamptons for a couple of days. Just like reading a book, and then come back."

Her eyes widened. "But…"

He followed her thought. "Mother will look after Alexis" – he grinned – "or maybe vice versa. For two days, it won't upset anyone if I'm away. I'll be back" – he stopped.

"In time for Christmas," she said, so neutrally that he knew it had bitten hard.

He bulled through. "Yes. But that's not what I offered. I offered a couple of days of pretending that it's summer. Nothing else. I'm not suggesting you come for Christmas – anyway, you said you were on shift; I'm not asking you to think about it. I'm giving you a couple of pretend summer days in the Hamptons." He drew breath. "And after that what you do is up to you, and what I do is up to me. But if you wanna, we'll go up tomorrow, stay a day, and come back the next day." He paused, and patted a sharp scapula. "Think about it."

She stepped back. "Coffee?" she asked. It could have been a shut down, but yet it wasn't: carrying more thoughtfulness than terseness.

"Please," Castle confirmed, and didn't catch her back in, though he wanted to. Instead, he looked around: the gaps where decorations had been, the hook still on the door where there had been a wreath: untraditionally inside, where, she'd said, she could see it. Her apartment had been festive.

And yet.

Even in its festivity, there had been a faint impression of effort: that festivity had been forced to the fore. Covering up…yes. It had been a façade, not feelings. A fake. But why bother? It wasn't like she had hundreds of guests, or big parties, or…well, many visitors at all, really.

"Coffee," came from behind him.

"Thanks." He sat down, a small distance away from her, and set the back of his mind to planning three days in the Hamptons, pretending it was summer, in hope that she'd agree. Space heaters, and the screening up round the pool; fill the pool and heat it… Dan would set it all up, if he called tonight, and if he paid enough, it would all be ready by lunchtime. He could put in a food order at a local store, and have it delivered. The food wouldn't be terribly summery, but…that was okay. Wine – he'd take with him. And there were no decorations or Christmas trees at his Hamptons house, because they were never there at Christmas.

She only had to agree.

Her brow was furrowed as she sipped her coffee. Castle observed the signs of thought, and (amazingly) didn't interrupt. To be fair, he was pretty sure that if he did, she'd definitely decide against him. Coming to the Hamptons, he self-corrected. It didn't mean…

…but he wanted it to mean that she'd decide for him. On him. And preferably around and above and beside and under him.

He lapsed into reverie, and drank his coffee peacefully – apparently. Internally, his heart was jumping, his thoughts skittering; desperate for her to decide. As the minutes passed, he began to believe that she was simply trying to find a way to say no.

"Okay," she said. "I shouldn't, but I can't bear the" – there was the tiniest hitch in her words – "winter any more. Let's go have some summer."

Castle brightened up instantly. "Sure," he bounced. "We could even have Midsummer – reverse the polarities from Midwinter." He stood up. "I need to get home and make some arrangements," he enthused. "I'll pick you up tomorrow morning – early. Uh, six? That way we'll be there by mid-morning and we can have a picnic lunch." His coat, scarf and hat were already on. "See you then. Till tomorrow, Beckett." He was out of the door before she'd finished saying bye.

Beckett stared at the space where Castle had been, and wondered what, precisely, she'd let herself in for. Then she poured herself more coffee, and thought that anything would be better than being in Manhattan with her memories and misery. She took her cup with her, and went to her bedroom to pack, half as if it were summer: bikinis, shorts, t-shirts and sandals; half warm pants and sweaters; scarf, gloves and hat to go with her heavy winter coat. Everything neatly packed in her small suitcase, she showered and went to bed.

Castle, by contrast, raced home and started to make calls. It was well after nine, but Dan, used to his fits of I'll be there tomorrow morning at all times of the year (usually when Gina was threatening him with fire ants, honey, and daily excision of his liver and kidneys by a visit from an eagle – she read far too many myths), would take his calls at any hour, especially given how much no-notice visits paid him.

Within the hour, everything was arranged. The pool might not be completely warmed by lunchtime, but Dan promised that it would not be long after then. Glass screen walls would ensure that the area stayed warm and untroubled by even a zephyr of a breeze; space heaters would bring it up past seventy-five degrees. There would be picnic food in the fridge, and ice cream in the freezer. Everything was ready.

"And Dan," Castle said, "one last thing."

"Yeah?"

"Could you make absolutely sure there are no Christmas decorations visible anywhere in the house?"

"Huh? None? But" –

"Yeah. I know. But…my friend has problems with Christmas. Bad memories. So could you just do a final check in case?"

"Sure. Don't wanna remind people of bad things at this time of year."

"Nope. Thanks, Dan."

Castle put his phone down and wandered out of his study to explain to his mother. She was, naturally, indulging in a glass of his wine, though in possible deference to their last "discussion" about which bottles she wasn't to touch, it wasn't his best wine.

"Mother?"

"Yes, kiddo?"

"I need you to be around for Alexis for the next three days. I'm going up to the Hamptons to finish off some writing – Gina's on my ass about it." That was, in fact, true. Gina was always on his ass about writing whether he was ahead, behind, or on track.

"Can't you just tell her to back off?"

"I could, but then she'll harass me through Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, and I don't want that. I want Christmas to be us." He grinned. "And this way you can wrap up my presents without me peeking."

"Who says I've got you a present?" his mother said, nose in the air. "Your behaviour is such that coal and a switch is more likely. The way you treat that poor detective of yours is just terrible. I hope you've gotten her a good present. She must need a whole case of wine to get over your troublemaking."

"I don't troublemake, I help solve crimes," Castle pointed out, his own nose in the air.

"You should be writing."

"Stop channelling Gina, Mother. Now, will you be around or not?"

"Of course I shall. Time on my own with my delightful granddaughter is very precious."

Castle declined the offered bait, and ignored the implication that he was an unwanted extra in his own loft. "Thank you."

He went to explain to Alexis, with the same story. "Okay, Dad," she said. "It'll give me a chance to do some present wrapping without you sneaking around trying to find out what's in everything." She looked up from her homework. "You will be back for Christmas Eve, won't you?"

"Of course! I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"That's okay, then. Do I need to know about any deliveries?"

"No, Edward will take care of them until someone's home."

"Okay. Have a great time writing – I won't tell Gina where you are."

"Thanks," Castle said, and hugged her.

He packed rapidly, including some form-fitting white t-shirts and cargo shorts, swimwear, and then winter-wear for going out in, and then messed around until a surprisingly early bed-time, conscious of the horrifically early hour for which his alarm was set.

"Good morning, good morning," Castle carolled, to Beckett's total lack of appreciation of a fine baritone.

"Urgh. Still night time."

"I have coffee in the car, just for you."

Beckett's eyes managed half-opening before they drooped back down. She was dressed and ready to leave: she just wanted to be asleep again. Possibly she would drink the coffee first.

Castle picked up her suitcase and towed her out with the other hand, noting again the lack of any decoration except the star in the window. He wondered why she'd left that up, when everything else was gone, but didn't ask. He didn't want to spoil this trip before they'd even departed.

Beckett drained the coffee, snuggled down into Castle's astonishingly comfortable Mercedes, shut her eyes, and was asleep again in seconds, rather to Castle's amusement. Asleep, she was, well, cute. Her lashes dusted across her cheeks, paler and slightly sharper-boned than he thought they should be; she exhaled tiny whiffling noises that made her sound much younger; and she was curled up as if she was cuddling something. It was totally adorable. He transferred his gaze to be firmly on the road, and as soon as he could see clear highway, put his foot down.

Beckett slept the whole way to the Hamptons, without making a single sound other than the whiffle, and only woke as the car crunched over the gravel driveway. She scrubbed her eyes like a five-year old, and blinked into slow consciousness.

"We're here," Castle told her.

"Already?" She blushed. "Did I sleep the whole way?"

"Yep." He grinned mischievously. "You snore," he teased.

"I do not!"

Castle relented. "No. You don't, but you make this little whiffling noise, like a tiny steam train. You're really cute when you're asleep."

"Enjoy it," she snarked. "You're not likely to see it any other time."

He pouted. "How unfair. Don't you ever sleep on sun loungers in the summer?"

"Nope," Beckett said, entirely unconvincingly. "I don't."

Castle smiled in a way that made it clear he knew that she was fibbing, and then got out of the car. "Come on. Welcome to my unhumble abode."

Beckett tried not to stare. She really did. But seeing the place that Castle so casually described as his summer house in the Hamptons, the whole weight of his fame and riches fell in on her. "I can't stay here," she said. "This… it's far too much. You can't want me here."

"I can want you anywhere," Castle oozed, "but here's comfortable and private."

"That wasn't what I meant!"

"Wasn't it?" He pouted again, and batted his lashes insincerely. "What a pity. I would have enjoyed that enormously – and so would you."

Somehow, in her flush of irritation, Beckett found herself inside, which wasn't quite as intimidatingly…mansion-like.

"Coffee," Castle said. "I sure need one, and since you've never knowingly refused any caffeinated brown liquid – or sludge – that calls itself coffee, I'm guessing you'd like one too?"

"Yes, please. Uh, where's the bathroom? I wanna wash my face."

"I'll show you. It's en-suite with your room."

"Thanks."

Ensconced in a warm-toned, cosy bedroom, featuring a bed the size of the Lusitania and a wonderful view of the ocean; Beckett realised that Castle had brought her suitcase through, breathed a sigh of relief at the complete lack of Christmas decoration, and made herself comfortable. That done, she wended her way back to the door, and from there found the kitchen, where Castle was making the promised coffee.

"Hey," she said softly. Somehow, this immense mansion felt like a home, and she was already relaxing into its warmth.

"It's just about ready. Let's take it outside to the pool."

Beckett boggled. "Pool?"

"Yep. I promised you summer. The pool's screened, space heated, and the water will be warm shortly if it isn't already. Just like summer."

She boggled some more. "You made summer?" she said blankly. "You really made summer, just to cheer me up?"

"Uh, yes?"

She turned tail and fled. Castle dumped the coffee down on the counter and went after her. He caught up just as she was about to duck back into her bedroom, spun her round and gripped her shoulders.

"What's up?" he asked, saw her brimming eyes and simply pulled her against him. "There, there," he soothed. "C'mere, and lemme hug you."

"Why?" eventually dribbled out among her tears.

"Why bring summer? Because I could, and it makes – well, I thought it would make you happier."

A sniffle arose from his shoulder. "But you love Christmas and all the family stuff and everything."

"I like summer too. Barbecues and sunshine and swimming. And we're only here for a couple of days. I can do both."

Which only made Beckett cry more, which hadn't been the plan at all.

"What's wrong?" he murmured. "This isn't about summer, is it? It's not an allergic reaction? Because it would be terrible if you were allergic to my sweater or shirt. I'd have to leave them off all the time I'm around you and then you'd find my muscular chest totally irresistible."

Even that didn't raise an eyeroll or snort. He cuddled her close, just as he had the previous evening, and stopped talking. Slowly, she stopped sniffling.

"D'you want a few minutes?" he asked. She nodded into his pectoral. He released her, and turned back to the kitchen and his coffee.

Beckett retreated into her bedroom, shut the door, and fell on to the bed. She hadn't meant to collapse. She'd meant to be cool, calm, and friendly. To enjoy a couple of days away from the Christmas-addicted Manhattan, and paste her shattered soul back together before she had to sit through Christmas dinner with her father and pretend to celebrate right along with him. Suddenly, it had all fallen apart.

Suddenly, she'd fallen apart. She curled into a shamed ball: tight around herself. She could have lived with his annoying flirtatiousness: it was his kindness that had undone her. He'd seen that she hated Christmas, pretended that he thought she hated winter, and made her a second summer.

Just to make her happier.

And now she'd ruined it all by falling apart as if she hated it when, simply, she couldn't believe that he'd done so much, so quickly. He was trying to make her happy and all she could do was cry and make him unhappy. She swallowed down her misery, washed her face, put on some make-up –

And knew it wasn't enough. She sat back down on the bed and breathed: in, out, in, out; until it was no longer a sob; until she'd centred herself and found the still, calm air that she needed to be as happy as this should have made her. She should have been happy. And instead, she was broken.

Her composure collapsed again, and she drew in around herself; a Kleenex from the box on the nightstand against her face, so that her make-up didn't stain the linens.

It was all going wrong, because she couldn't control her emotions, and they'd barely been here for half an hour.

Thank you to all readers and reviewers.

Summer pudding is an exceedingly British thing (which we exported in the days when we were an Empire to various other countries), consisting of summer berry fruits encased in bread soaked in sweetened berry juices. For a better description, Google is a much more useful cook than I am.

I should have said that all answerable reviews are answered, but since FF is no longer alerting anyone to PMs, you'll only see it if you actually go into your PMs.