Chapter 4

"Dinner time," Castle said, as the sangria had been finished – at least the two glassfuls Castle had brought out.

"What is it?"

"Well, I thought about a barbecue, but the grill doesn't fit here and I don't want smoke spoiling the screens. So we've got cold cuts, quiche, meat pie, salads; and then a lemon posset for dessert. There's more sangria, too, or ordinary wine if you'd prefer."

"I'll stick with sangria, thanks. Can I carry anything?"

"Sure. Just let me put a bigger table up."

Castle efficiently found and set up a larger table between the sun loungers, and then they brought out their dinner, which, naturally, was delicious.

"Coffee?" Castle said at the end. "Though I don't know why I'm bothering to ask because I know you'll want some."

"I might want tea," Beckett said mischievously.

"I have tea. Ordinary, herbal, green, peppermint, camomile, rooibos?"

Beckett pretended to think. "Coffee, please," she finally said.

"Phew, it's still you and not an alien replacement."

"There are no aliens."

"You don't know that. They walk among us…" Castle intoned.

"Don't be ridiculous. There are no aliens, no Men In Black, no ghosts. And the CIA is not hanging around either."

"You're no fun at all."

"Nope," Beckett said, peeped under her lashes, and nibbled her lower lip in an entirely provocative fashion.

Castle's eyes darkened, but he sauntered off and returned with a tray holding a large pot of coffee, creamer and two mugs. He poured, and Beckett sighed happily as she buried her nose in her drink. Castle, never one to let an opportunity go begging, sat down next to her, and put an arm around her. When she didn't instantly maul his nose or ear, he wriggled into a perfectly tucked-together alignment, and enjoyed the unusual experience.

In fact, the whole day had been unusual. Beckett was being – for her – cuddly, snuggly, and even affectionate. He took a massive leap of illogic, based purely on his gut, and suddenly remembered that he'd thought earlier that her bikini had been making up for bursting into tears and shutting herself away earlier. Why she thought she had to make up for actually revealing some real emotions for a change, he truly didn't know – but he could stand an awful lot of affectionate Beckett, whatever the reason.

The evening progressed quietly, until Beckett's yawns overcame her comfort. "I have to sleep," she murmured. "It's been a good day, but I'm exhausted." She heaved herself up, and then put both hands on Castle's shoulders, bent down, and dusted a kiss across his lips. She was gone before he could react, and then he stared out at the falling snowflakes, as happy as he could possibly be, making plans for the following day.

Beckett washed and fell into bed, barely awake enough to put out the light, noting only unconsciously the soft scent, vaguely reminiscent of Castle, around her; the softness of the sheets and pillows and the perfect firmness of the mattress.

It was, therefore, deeply strange that she woke in the small hours of the morning, a small, unhappy hole in her chest preventing her from falling back asleep. After only a few moments tossing and turning, she gave up, slipped a light, short, silky robe over her short pyjamas, and ghosted through the house until she exited into the pool area. The heaters were still on, though a little lower, and the air was warm; but outside the screens she could see snow thickly coating the ground, with more falling in soft swirls.

That was her. Desperate for fulfilling warmth inside, a cold, harsh outside. She stared at the snowflakes, as she sat silently on a lounger then leant back, robe over her front, to watch the clouds slowly thin and dissipate, leaving only cold starlight and a crescent moon. The emptiness surrounding her seeped into her soul. There was no comfort from the stars above: no sense of that Star which had, so very long before, shone over Bethlehem, and guided searching shepherds and kings to their salvation. None of these stars could show her the way to salvation, no matter how brightly they shone; how clear their light.

She stayed there, watching, until her body relaxed and her eyes drooped closed.

Castle bounced out of his luxurious bed with considerable joie de vivre and expectations for the day ahead, deciding to start it off with pancakes, strawberries, whipped cream and anything else he could think of. He whipped up the batter, and then waited for Beckett to appear. When she didn't show up after a moment or so (he hadn't been quiet in his cookery), he poured himself a coffee, and wandered round to the pool to enjoy the view from a summer-warm area. He might even indulge in a pre-breakfast swim, he thought.

Or not.

Crumpled on the tiles was a short kimono style robe. Curled up on a lounger in a very pretty, silky, strokable and above all brief shorts-and-top pyjama set, which went straight to his groin, was a tousled, tumbled, sleeping beauty, otherwise known as Beckett. She was gorgeous. He simply gawped, brain fried, eyes locked on. She gave a funny little mumbling noise, and attempted a snuggle into a non-existent cover. On failing to find one, she patted around, eyes still firmly shut, and then curled up more tightly. Castle concluded that she would definitely be a quilt thief, if allowed. He'd need to hang on to the edge. Or (and he liked this idea much better) he could just snuggle up to Beckett so that any quilt thieving benefitted him.

He watched her for a couple of minutes, and then thought to wonder why she was out here anyway. On balance, though, it didn't really matter. It wasn't like she was actually outside. Another few moments passed before he gently put a hand on her shoulder. She mumbled again, and folded her arm up to cover his hand with hers. He had a naughty thought. He tried to shove it away, but it just…overwhelmed him. He squeezed himself on to the lounger behind Beckett (ignoring the protesting creak of its legs and webbing) and cuddled her in. His arm eased over her waist, the other wiggled under her neck.

Ten seconds later he was asleep too, with his nose in her hair and the rest of her firmly in his arms.

Beckett woke up slowly from a dream in which she was being slowly swathed in a giant anaconda, which sported blue eyes and a mop of floppy brown hair. Relieved to discover that this wasn't true, she snuggled back into the comfortable arms and broad chest behind her. Everything was just fine.

Two seconds later she jerked into horrified life. Everything was absolutely not just fine. "What the hell, Castle? Why are you in my bed?"

"Urrhhh, I'm not? You're on my sun lounger."

"I – what?" She sat up and gazed frantically around. Light dawned. "Oh," she said flatly. "I must have fallen asleep."

"I have very comfortable loungers."

"You weren't out here with me when I fell asleep. So why were you wrapped around me when I woke up?"

"Um," Castle said, articulately. "You looked a little cold," he said with more confidence. "You were feeling around for a covering."

"Don't you have spare blankets?"

"But cuddling you was so much nicer. I'm a far better way to keep warm. And you make a really good plushie."

"What?"

"You make a really good plushie. You know, those soft plush toys you buy in FAO Schwartz."

"Or Target or Walmart, like normal people."

"Or Target," he said amiably, though he'd never bought a single toy for Alexis in Target, ever. "Though you're far classier than a Target toy. Definitely Fifth Avenue." His arm sneaked back around her. She tapped it. Notably, she didn't shove it away, pinch it, break it or chop it off with a magically appearing machete.

"What is this?" she asked.

"An arm."

"Why is this arm here?" Her tone could have cut diamond, but since he wasn't undergoing unanaesthetised amputation he knew it wasn't real anger.

"It likes you," he said soulfully. "It wants to be friends."

Beckett made a sucked-lemon face. Strangely, however, she didn't move away. "That's so cheesy it's still in the dairy," she snipped.

"But it's true," Castle whined theatrically. "And thinking of dairies, how about breakfast? I made pancake batter, and there are strawberries."

"But is there coffee?"

"Beckett! Of course there will be coffee. How could you think otherwise?"

"I'm only following you because of the coffee."

"I follow you. With the coffee. That way even if it goes wrong you'll still have the coffee."

"So it's worth keeping you around?" she flirted, as they sauntered to the kitchen.

"Oh, yes. For so many reasons."

"I'm not going to ask," she informed the kitchen cupboards. "His ego's large enough already."

Castle merely grinned, and handed her plates and cutlery while he made the pancakes and hulled the strawberries.

Breakfast over and the dishes cleaned up, Beckett smiled hopefully. "Can we go back to the pool till we have that picnic you suggested?"

"Sure. Soon as you like."

"Now?"

"Yeah. How about I make a big pot of coffee and we take it out with us?"

"Sounds good."

Beckett disappeared, only to return in a couple of minutes in the same sarong as the day before, but a different coloured tie at her neck. Emerald green, today, Castle noted.

Beckett had spent most of breakfast with a small part of her mind making sure that the food and coffee reached and entered her mouth rather than, say, her nose or cleavage; and the vast majority of her brain occupied with her feelings about waking up snuggled into Castle.

He shouldn't have been snuggled up to her. It was not fair of him to sneak out to the pool, find her asleep, and wrap himself around her in such a cosy, comforting way. For the couple of seconds after waking, she'd been totally happy. No little holes in her heart or her gut; no disappointment undermining her world. Everything had felt right.

And then she'd spoilt her own happiness by being shocked and opening her fat mouth. If she had just pretended to stay asleep a little longer, she could have stayed in that blanket of warm happiness, and maybe turned around to face him…

Who was she kidding? She'd have been too scared. Just like she'd been too scared to stay there and enjoy the strong arms around her and the warm bulk behind her, so she'd snapped and then had to try to recover by letting him sneak arms around her.

She was mismanaging these couple of days so badly. Still, she could put on an attractive (sexy) bikini, and have a picnic, and just stop getting in the way of her own self. She should just stop thinking, and act. If only she could.

Maybe she could. Maybe just regard this as a time out – time out of her life. Not be Detective Beckett, but just be Kate. Kate without any Detective Beckett baggage. Yes. She could. She would. And she was going to.

Just…dive right in, and not come up till two days later.

Of course, in all her circulating, circular thinking, she hadn't once considered Castle's unrelenting curiosity, or his view of a two day…interlude.

Because Castle, having at last received some encouragement in the form of two dusted kisses and through-gloves hand holding, definitely wasn't regarding this as a two day interlude after which matters would return to normal. Castle's brain was busily buzzing with ways to turn encouragement into a new normal. Since, to date, all his dreams had come true through his own efforts and talents, he had no reason at all to believe that the dream of a proper relationship with Beckett wouldn't come true as well.

So he made coffee, which was always a good start, and took it out to the pool, where Beckett was disposing her lithe body on her lounger. The sarong was on the floor. The bikini was on Beckett. On, in this case, meaning barely covering the salient parts. He didn't quite drop the tray, but it certainly went down harder and faster than it should (oh God, he thought, don't think about going down).

And then she smiled at him. The smile said come and get me if you dare. He recovered his game, and smiled back wolfishly, which said oh, I dare. Ready or not, here I come.

The lounger creaked as he sat down on its end, perfectly placed to put Beckett's elegant feet and red-painted toenails in his lap, where he could start by massaging her feet. She made a soft noise of pleasure, and closed her eyes, humming happily as he continued to provide the best foot massage in the history of foot massaging.

Naturally, it didn't stay a foot massage. His strong, clever hands moved up to each ankle in turn, searching out the stress points, smoothing out any knots and strains, then continued to her calves. Despite the lack of any oil or other lotions, there wasn't a hitch as he caressed the smooth skin, not hurrying, exerting firm pressure but never too much. Her legs had totally relaxed, and the rest of her was following: breathing slowing, no tension at all. He shifted up the lounger, so that her thighs were across his lap. She didn't make the slightest protest as his fingers rose above her knees, though a fine wash of colour tinted her cheeks. He carried on, watching her face for any hint of discomfort or worry; anything that would mean he should slow down, back off, or stop. Not a crinkle marred her brow, not a single twitch of her eyebrow. In fact, she pushed a little to encourage his fingers to keep climbing, all the way up the outside of her thighs to the edge of emerald green around her hips; delineating the hard ridge of bone and the muscle and sinew below.

"Shall I carry on?" he murmured.

Her eyes opened sleepily, focusing on his face. "No," she said, but before he'd really absorbed the gut-punch of that negative she'd sat up, cupped his face, and kissed him. "Kiss me instead," she said into his mouth, so he did.

He took back her mouth with assured expertise, running a line along the parted seam of her lips, exploring the full lower curve that she habitually nibbled, leaving him breathless even when it wasn't flirtatious, tasting the delicate flavour of her lip gloss; and then entering.

At that point it exploded. All Castle's control and suave sensuality disappeared as Beckett reacted to his deeper kiss like a firework factory to a flamethrower. She blazed, and he flamed with her. Her hands gripped his hair, his pulled her into his lap and then roamed her back before angling her head so that their kiss became harder, deeper, demanding: firing them both further. He laid her back and leaned above her, till she tugged him down and made it clear with her own elegant, evil strokes that he could be more adventurous.

So he adventured, and explored: one hand roaming over taut stomach and then upward to the edges of her bikini top, the other beneath her neck. Her hand slipped up and down his back, the other playing at the edge of his swim shorts, and all the time she kissed him, and he kissed her, as if there had never been a single moment in their lives when kissing each other was in doubt. His strokes seduced, but hers commanded; and obedient to her unspoken orders he brought them both to unclothed, frantic culmination and then calm; wrapped together, joined together; but finally he rolled them so that she was lying comfortably over him.

She felt so perfectly right, there against him, peaceful and content – maybe even happy, he thought; the small satisfied smile on her lips had seemed more open, more revealing than before. Her eyes had shut; long, dark lashes smudged on her cheeks; lean limbs lax over and around him. He decided that he could cope with hours of snuggled, sleeping Beckett lying on him, shifted very slightly to be perfectly at ease with his arms locked over her so that she couldn't fall, leave, or otherwise be parted from him without him knowing.

It was warm, and cosy, and snuggly, and…shortly Castle, too, sank gently into sleep, dreaming of a Beckett-filled future.

He woke because his Beckett-filled arms were being tugged upon. When he peered out from sleep-sticky eyes, it turned out that Beckett was doing the tugging. He unclasped his hands, and she slid to the side and sat, still naked and completely unconcerned by it, on the edge of the lounger. His arms sneaked back around her waist, and he plopped a small kiss on to the side of her hip. Her fingers stroked absently through his hair as she stared out of the screens at the falling snow; absorbing the sight as the flakes swirled again, dancing in a harsh wind that couldn't penetrate the screens or the heating.

"You okay?" Castle asked.

"Mm."

He nudged her.

"Ow," she complained. "What was that for?"

"You were miles away." He smiled lazily. "Stop looking at the winter and remember that in here, it's summer. The pool's lovely."

She refocused from snowflakes to Castle's face. "I guess," she said. "What time is it?"

"Summer time!" Castle sang. She punched his shoulder, lightly. "Okay, okay. Four o'clock. Shall we get something to drink – soda? Coffee? Stronger?"

"Not yet. Um… soda, please."

Castle bounced off to get it, with Beckett taking a short break while he was gone, and then reassembling her bikini around her body and slipping into the pool. It was indeed lovely, soothing the slight ache between her legs, cossetting around her: the perfect temperature. She floated face up, drifting, watching the hypnotic storm of snowflakes again. For a moment, she wished that the storm would strengthen: become a blizzard and block them in where she could simply miss the whole of Christmas, but then she remembered that Castle would be devastated not to spend Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with his family; and that she was on shift to allow others to spend Christmas as they chose.

She floated on, drifting in mind and body, until she dimly heard Castle calling her.

"Soda, Beckett. You're practically a prune, so come out and dry off and have a drink or you'll dehydrate and then you'll really be a prune, which would be no fun at all and you'd be purple not just wear it and people would stop and stare for all the wrong reasons and" –

"Okay! Stop. That's all nonsense." She climbed out of the pool and dripped over to the loungers and table to open her soda. "People don't turn into purple prunes for real."

"But Beckett, think of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Violet Beauregarde turned purple. So it can happen."

"TV is not real. Roald Dahl is fiction. And if you believe either of them, you need serious help."

"A little belief in things beyond the everyday gives life sparkle," Castle said.

"If I want sparkle I'll buy a tube of glitter in the craft shop." Her glare said Drop it. Castle did. She threw back half her soda. "That's better," she said, and sat back, sipping the remainder.

Thank you to all readers and reviewers. Very much appreciated, especially guests whom I can't thank directly.