Chapter 3

In the kitchen, sipping his coffee, Castle thought over Beckett's breakdown. He ought to be upset by it, but he wasn't: partly because any route to having Beckett in his arms was a good thing; but, less selfishly, because he thought that Beckett actually breaking down and having some visible emotion that wasn't anger might do her a lot of good. He only ever saw her calm and pleasant or irritated, angry or furious. There didn't seem to be a balancing input of joyful or laughing or even miserable. So, while he'd much rather she were happy, he'd take genuine emotion over locked-down facades.

He finished the cup, and wandered off to check that the pool area was suitably warm and summery. Finding that it was, he wandered back to the kitchen, which was empty of anything and anyone except for a lonely, empty, coffee mug.

A noise came from behind him. He turned, and gaped.

"Is there coffee?" Beckett asked hopefully.

"Uh, sure." But Castle didn't turn towards the machine: he was too busy staring at Beckett in a summer sarong, sandals, and surely a swimming costume underneath – or was it a bikini?

"Please? And then you can show me this pool and the slice of summer you've created." She smiled beautifully.

It was such a shame that her smile was just another cover-up of her real feelings. He was utterly sure of it. But she…well, she was trying, he thought, to make up for running away in tears, and she couldn't possibly know that he'd have taken warm pants and a sweater and some real feeling over a bikini and faked composure any day of the week.

And so he poured her a coffee. "Wait there, while I change," he said, and dashed off to make the fastest change in recorded history, returning in a t-shirt and cargo shorts over his swimming trunks. Beckett had her nose in the mug, but as she saw him she upended it and set it down. "Let's go. Summer time!" He grabbed her hand, and grinned as he pulled her up and out of the kitchen, through the house, and finally to a set of glass doors. "Out we go."

She braced herself as the doors opened, and then relaxed in surprise as a warm breeze swirled around her.

"Summer!" Castle bounced again.

She stepped out into the heat – at least eighty – and stared around at what Castle had managed in less than twelve hours. The pool was filled, and lapping gently at a tiled space, with clear screens acting as walls to block any hint of winter while allowing her to survey a magnificent view. Space heaters at every column kept the air warm, and when she kicked off her sandals and dipped a toe in the water, it was pleasantly warm as well. She turned, and saw two wide, cushioned sun loungers, with a small table between them, on which, later, drinks might be conveniently placed.

While she'd been staring, Castle had sneaked up close behind her. "Like it?" he asked: a hint of worry in his voice.

"Yes," she said. "Oh, yes." She retrieved her shoes, flumped down on a lounger, and smiled. "I should've brought sunglasses."

"But then I wouldn't be able to watch your expression," Castle smirked.

"Stare creepily, you mean."

"Nope. Watch with admiration."

She blushed. She tried really hard not to, but the look in his bright blue eyes scorched. Of course he noticed, but she could ignore that, and she did.

Castle, completely confident of his body and the effect it generally had on interested women, stripped off his shirt and shorts with total insouciance and an unnecessary amount of flexing of biceps, pectorals and anything else he thought he could flex. Dan had done a fantastic job of heating the area, so there would be no unattractive goosebumps or blue tinges to his skin to put Beckett off.

Oh. Oh, oooohhhhhh. She couldn't look away, and that wasn't his face she was watching. He was tempted to snark eyes up here, Beckett, as she would do – and had done, often enough, but he liked being appreciated and he liked being appreciated by Beckett even more…and if he liked it any more than that, she'd see rather more than he thought she might be expecting.

"I'm going to swim," he said, after a few seconds. "What about you?"

"Uh… Oh. Um, yeah, in a minute. You test the water first."

Castle slipped in with barely a splash, and hummed with delight. "Come on in, the water's lovely," he called, smiling at the cliché.

"In a minute," she repeated, and lay back on the lounger, wriggling her shoulders in the warmth of the nearby heater. Castle splashed off, mutating into a smooth freestyle as he hit the deeper water of the far side.

Beckett snuggled into her nice warm lounger in the nice warm air and considered her options. She could behave like a mewling, puling baby: bursting into tears and spoiling everything; or she could just damn well grow up and pull herself together, enjoy the couple of days in the Hamptons and – admit it – Castle's company. He was doing something to make her happy and she would be happy and make sure he was happy about her being happy.

Whatever it took. Whatever. It. Took.

Right now, looking at Castle was making her happy. Well. Happy might not be an accurate word, but he was a very pleasing sight. She could start happiness right here, right now, simply by removing her sarong.

He spluttered, choked, and barely escaped drowning. Beckett was quite delighted with the effect that a well-cut, brief, midnight-blue bikini had on Castle. It almost covered up the small cold place in her stomach, that reminded her that this wasn't really summer and that Christmas wouldn't fill the void. To conceal her momentary shiver, she slinked off the sun lounger and dipped a toe in the pool again. Yep, still warm. She sat on the edge and flipped her feet, sending small waves across the water. Once she was content that Castle didn't need immediate life-saving treatment, she slid into the pool and luxuriated in its soothing heat, floating.

Shortly, a familiar aroma assailed her nostrils, and she stood up, shoulder deep, to find Castle smiling down at her. Droplets of water dripped from his hair down over his chest, which only drew attention to the strong pecs and unexpectedly chiselled biceps.

"I love swimming," he said, "and you meet the most amazing entities."

"Huh?"

"I've met a mermaid."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I have. Flipping her feet in the pool."

"Mermaids have tails."

"So you admit they exist?"

"No!"

Castle pouted, adorably. "But they do. There's one right here."

"I'm not a mermaid. I'm just plain human."

"Oh," he murmured, "not plain. Not plain at all, Beckett." His eyes roamed her form. "I'd say gorgeous, myself."

She lost her footing and sank with the surprise, and came up spluttering and coughing. Castle whisked her around, and thumped her back until she swam away in desperation.

"Come back," he wheedled.

"Stop thumping my back, then. I'm not coughing any more."

"See, it worked." He stopped at her expression. "I didn't hurt you, did I? That – I would never." His eyes dulled. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." She floated back towards him. He extended his hands, caught hers, and pulled her the rest of the way.

"There," he said. "Back here." She stood up again, stepped back, preserved a totally bland expression – and then scooped up a handful of water and flicked it at him. "You rat!" he squawked, and retaliated. Beckett laughed, splashed him again, and dived away into a fast freestyle as he was still wiping at his eyes. He roared theatrically, and went after her, scything through the water.

He caught her in a corner of the deepest part of the pool, blocking her escape with wide-set arms and legs. "You splashed me," he said meditatively. "That wasn't nice."

"Fun, though. You're all wet."

Castle's eyes flashed hotly. "The question is," he growled, "are you?"

"I'm in a swimming pool. Full of water. Therefore I am covered in water, which is normally the definition of being all wet," she snarked, but he could see little gold flecks in her eyes.

"So you are," he said with huge satisfaction. "Good." His smile turned predatory. "Because that means you won't object when I do this" – and he whisked her up and then dropped her back in the water.

"You rat!" she cried. "You…you…aaargghhh!"

"You splashed me," he pointed out, and smirked evilly. "And you said you were already – aggghhh!" She'd taken her revenge by diving down and tugging his legs out from under him. By the time he resurfaced she had dashed out of the pool and started to dry off next to her lounger. He leaned on the edge and ogled unapologetically. Beckett turned her back on him, with a decided humph, which only gave him a great view of her beautiful backside, wiggling as she rubbed the towel over it. Sadly, she stopped wiggling, dried her legs, and plumped down on the lounger, shutting her eyes.

"While you sleep in the sunshine," Castle suggested, not commenting on the dark shadows under her lashes, "I could make some more coffee. There might even be pastries."

Her eyes popped open. "Yes, please," she replied. The eyes shut again.

A few minutes later Castle returned with hot coffee and a plateful of strawberry and raspberry tarts. He put them on the small cane table, and looked at Beckett, who had turned on to her side and appeared to be sound asleep. He sipped his coffee, ate one of each of the tarts, and didn't disturb her. If she was warm and comfortable, that would do for now; and besides, he could stare at her excellent figure and face without any danger of being mauled.

Staring at Beckett, while exceedingly pleasant, wasn't enough to keep Castle from boredom. He retrieved his laptop, and began alternately to write and to procrastinate, gradually tipping to more writing as he became absorbed.

Some considerable time later he looked up. His coffee was cold, the other tarts remained uneaten, and Beckett hadn't moved an eyelash. He pulled on his t-shirt and shorts, made fresh coffee, and then gently wobbled her arm.

"Uhhhh?" she dragged out.

"Coffee," Castle offered.

"Coffee? Uh, please."

"Could you stay awake long enough to drink it this time?" he teased, and handed her a brimming mugful. She tossed it back in one gulp, and passed it back for a refill, which went the same swift way. "Better?"

"Lots." She looked around, and frowned. "How long was I out for?"

"Couple of hours," Castle said, "and may I say how cute you are when you're asleep?"

"I am not cute," Beckett said forbiddingly, and then spoiled the impression by munching a strawberry tart and licking the filling off her lips.

"You are when you do that. Do it again."

She scowled, and popped the whole of the remaining piece into her mouth. "No," she said, once she had swallowed.

"Totally unfair," Castle complained. "Just like pulling me under the water."

"You threw me under first."

Castle realised that he wasn't going to win the argument. "Yes, okay. But it was fun, wasn't it?"

She smiled a touch ruefully. "Yeah." Her stomach rumbled despite the pastry, and she coloured. "Is it lunchtime?"

Castle flicked a glance at his laptop. "A bit past. Shall we have a picnic or eat inside?"

"Inside today, please" – she caught a wisp of disappointment on his face – "but let's have a picnic tomorrow." She could make him happy. She could.

"Okay."

They wandered back into the house and through to the kitchen, where, with only a few bumps and misunderstandings, they shortly had an excellent cold lunch.

"What shall we do now?" Castle asked, with a sly look that made it perfectly plain he could think of many things, none of which involved leaving a bedroom.

She wasn't ready for that. Make him happy, she thought. "Can we go for a walk along the beach? I know it's cold out there, but…"

"Sure. Let me go get changed, and then we can go."

"I'd better get changed too," she pointed out.

"Okay, okay." He bounced off.

See, she could do this. It wasn't hard. She could cover up her deepest feelings and have today, tomorrow and most of the next day without disappointing anybody. Including herself.

"Ready?" Castle asked.

"Yep." Beckett pulled on her beanie and tucked the ends of the scarf firmly into her coat. "Let's go."

The wind down on the beach was biting, whipping up the waves into white horses and scouring the sand. Castle chivalrously took the brunt of it, swathed in a large, warm coat that protected him. Beckett strolled alongside him, appreciating his manners. Tentatively, she slipped a gloved hand into his pocket and found his. He stopped short, but then his fingers curled around hers and he smiled. "I'll keep your fingers warm."

She smiled back, and they continued to walk, hands locked in the capacious pocket of Castle's coat. After another few hundred yards, her arm began to protest, and she withdrew her hand. Castle made an entirely involuntary noise of complaint, but that changed as she slipped her arm around his middle and her hand into the opposite pocket, wiggled to be comfortably aligned, and found to her total non-surprise that Castle's arm arrived around her waist.

"Cold?" he asked. "We can turn around, if you want."

"Not now," she replied. "I…" – she hitched slightly – "like this."

"Me too." He tucked her in a little more closely, and they went on companionably.

Castle had to admit to himself that he was confused. He loved that Beckett had taken his hand of her own volition, and even more that she'd put an arm around him. But he had to wonder why. She hadn't exactly given him the impression in the precinct that she was ready to take any steps towards affection…though, now he thought about it, there had been that almost-lean-in at Hallowe'en…. Still, she had been more remote than ever after that, as Christmas approached. Yet here she was, making small but significant moves, and of course she had agreed to come here, which wasn't small.

But then she'd burst into tears, taken some time on her own, and come out calm, contented and sociable, when he'd been sure she was hiding her feelings.

She was still hiding something. Hiding some emotion from him. It couldn't be a bad emotion – directed towards him, anyway…but there was definitely something going on that she wasn't sharing. Over her head, some inches below his in her flat boots, he wrinkled his forehead, and tried to puzzle out the Beckett-enigma.

He hadn't come to any decision when he became aware that his nose was frozen. "I think we should turn around," he suggested. "We've come a long way, and I'm a bit cold. Let's go home."

They turned as smoothly as if they'd been doing it for years, and walked back far more briskly than they'd come. The air temperature was dropping fast, and the twilight loomed. They reached the house with twin sighs of relief.

"That was getting cold," Beckett noted, as they shed their outer layers.

Castle didn't let his brain interfere with his mouth. "C'mere, then." He drew her in against him. "I'll heat you up." His arms wrapped around her, pressing her in, keeping her head on his shoulder. There wasn't a speck of resistance: she simply flowed against him. That was fine. She pressed closer. That was fine, too.

Everything was just perfectly fine until she lifted her head and looked straight into his eyes.

And then it became wondrous, because she stretched up and kissed him. Not hard: the lightest of dustings of her mouth over his, and then she dropped back down; but the burn sizzled from his head to his toes, and he knew she'd felt it too. He stroked down over her spine: no demands, no pressure – but they both knew something had fundamentally changed with that one featherlight kiss.

She stepped back, searching his face, and back again. "I… I just need to wash up before dinner," she stuttered, and left him standing with the universe's sappiest smile on his lips and overflowing joy in his heart and mind.

Beckett had retreated before she did something truly dumb: the list of dumb things, right now, being headed by ripping Castle's clothes off and jumping him; followed by dragging him off to the nearest bed and jumping him again. And then again. The worst thing was, she knew he'd really enjoy it.

Which was why she shouldn't do it. Because she knew, none better, that the pleasure of the moment wouldn't heal the void in her heart where disappointment lurked. It would hide it, for as long as it lasted, but she couldn't rely on Castle to patch over her broken soul. She had to do it herself…except she couldn't. She never had. No matter what she did at Christmas, it didn't help. Whether she worked the day, or didn't; saw her father, or hadn't; exchanged cards and gifts with father and her few friends, or not; decorated her apartment, or not – it made no difference. The disappointment within her reached up and dragged her into the abyss, every year for the last ten.

Mechanically, she stripped off and took a shower: put on a pretty sun dress and sandals and tried to recapture the feeling of summer. When she thought she'd managed it, she left her room to find Castle.

At least she hadn't been crying again. She could do this. (And if her disobedient mind changed that to she could do him, she paid it no attention.)

"Let's have a drink outside before dinner," Castle said cheerfully. "I made sangria – like Spanish fruit punch."

"Sounds good," Beckett said, not revealing that she knew perfectly well what sangria was, thank you. Snark – for once – didn't seem appropriate.

"You know what it is, don't you?" Castle said, even though she hadn't said anything.

"Yeah."

"I knew it. But are you ill? Dead? Have you been replaced by a Stepford detective or a pod person?"

"Huh?"

"You didn't snark at me."

"Huh?"

"C'mon, Beckett, you know how this relationship works. I make comments and you snark and remind me that you've got more layers than an onion. If you're not going to snark, I'll be deeply disappointed."

She smirked. "I like to keep you on your toes."

"I like you on your toes," Castle said, with a wolfish look that reminded her of exactly when she'd been on her toes.

"You spend all your time trying to get close enough to stand on my toes," Beckett flipped back.

"I never stand on a woman's toes. My terpsichorean skills are unequalled."

"You left me in the middle of a dancefloor. That doesn't incline me to think that you dance like a gentleman."

"Oh, Beckett. Dancing like a gentleman would be so boring. I'd far prefer to dance like a rake."

"Did I fall into Regency England without noticing?" she asked the air.

"Timeslips? Oooohhhh, I'd love that. You in those beautiful low-cut dresses…me in form-fitting pantaloons and coats – you'd be totally overcome by my handsomeness."

"I'd rather be overcome by the taste of sangria," Beckett snipped.

"That's my Beckett," Castle oozed, to be greeted by a searing Beckett-normal glare. She stalked out to the pool without a backwards glance. He followed with the drinks, perfectly happy. He liked it a lot better when she was her normal snarky, snippy, sexy self.

Beckett disposed her full skirt around herself and sipped at her sangria. It was, naturally, delicious: the taste of summer in a wine glass. She smiled over the edge of the glass, and wiggled her shoulders in the warmth. "Lovely," she murmured.

"Sure is," Castle said, but he wasn't looking at the sangria.

Thank you to all readers and reviewers.