Chapter 3.
Castle settled on a baked chicken dish with spinach and roast parsnips, making it while hoping that Onyx would show up. He had kept the chicken trimmings, carefully checked to ensure there were no flakes of bone, for her. However, when Beckett rang the doorbell there had been no sign of his lovely cat.
Beckett had obviously been home to change, and was elegantly casual in a pale silk tee and form-fitting black jeans. She produced a bottle of wine, at the name of which Castle raised his brows.
"Nice. Thanks."
"I thought you'd like it."
"Shall we try it, while dinner's cooking?"
"Okay."
Beckett settled herself on the couch, sipping at her wine. "It is good."
Castle sat down next to her. "Yeah," he agreed. "Where'd you get it?"
"Liquor store on my block. It was the last bottle."
"It's really good."
"Says the oenophile."
Castle showed his admiration in a low whistle and wide smile. "I love your vocabulary," he said.
Beckett smirked smugly.
"What do you do when you're not at work?" he asked, out of the blue. Anything to keep a civil conversation going, and not ask something entirely inappropriate, such as can I stroke you? or can I kiss you? or simply be mine?
Beckett blinked, surprised. "Yoga classes." She paused to think. "I sometimes go to a Russian conversation class to keep that current, but only if I've time. You know I run."
"Yeah. Didn't know about the yoga, though, or the Russian classes – is that how you managed it with the poker ring?" She nodded, agreeing. "D'you ever go to movies, or the theatre?"
"Sometimes." She swallowed another mouthful of wine, and smiled. "But it's no fun on my own, and Lanie's schedule is as bad as mine. Anyway, she doesn't like action movies, or sci-fi, and I can only stand one rom-com every half year."
"You like sci-fi?"
"Yep. Forbidden Planet is the best movie ever."
"I've seen it about a million times," Castle told her. "It's great. I like John Woo, too."
"You do? I love his movies."
The discussion rapidly encompassed an in-depth analysis of every John Woo movie ever made. Beckett could have answered quiz questions on the subject, and Castle wasn't behind in his knowledge. Conversation was only interrupted by the beep of the oven, and resumed immediately they had companionably set everything out.
"What about music?"
"Most things. Not grand opera – ugh. Fat, screeching Italians dying over fifteen minutes and a dozen arias. Every time you think it's over they resurrect for another repetition. Ugh," she added firmly. "And I loathe Country and Western. The tunes are sometimes good, but then you listen to the words."
"Not impressed by Stand By Your Man?"
"Hell no. Outdated, sexist rubbish."
Castle mused that it was just as well that he was the very model of a modern metrosexual, and then had an idea.
"Do you like Gilbert and Sullivan?"
"Huh? Where'd that come from? Yes, if it's done well. If the diction's sloppy it's awful."
"There's a show on. The Pirates of Penzance. It's not quite Broadway standard, but certainly not one of my mother's off-off-off-Broadway specials. Wanna go? I could get good tickets for us."
Beckett appeared to be quite shocked at the suggestion. "Really?"
"C'mon. It'll be fun. I'm not taking Mother – she'll critique everything all the way through and won't shut up – and Alexis doesn't get the references yet and doesn't like it. She'd rather listen to Taylor Swift with her friends."
"Okay," Beckett assented rather weakly, and immediately took a mouthful of chicken to shore herself up.
"I'll book them straight after dinner."
"Okay."
Dinner finished and cleared, Castle made them good coffee and took it over to the couch. Perforce, Beckett sat down, kicking off her shoes, and then curled herself up in the corner with her toes tucked under her.
"Onyx does that," Castle said ingenuously. "I wonder where she's got to? She should be home by now."
"She's not a child, she's a cat. She'll come when she's ready." Castle's eyes crinkled in a very wicked way. "Don't say it."
"Say what?"
"Whatever you were thinking."
"Take your mind out the gutter, Detective. My thoughts are entirely pure."
"Purely wicked."
"I'm hurt," Castle pouted. "And after I invited you to the theatre, too. Uh. I'd better fix that before all the good seats go." He stood up and went to retrieve his laptop. "Here we are. Two, centre circle. Best views." He clicked rapidly. "Done."
"How much" –
"No, no. My treat. You can treat me another time." He plastered on a fake scowl, which lasted all of ten seconds, and very carefully avoided saying I'm paying for our first date.
"Okay. As long as you don't want to go to a Country and Western gig."
"I think I got that you don't like that," Castle said dryly. "No. I don't like it much either."
Somehow, Beckett's elegantly folded legs had gravitated to be adjacent to Castle's thigh, which did nothing for his coolness or calm. She was peeking over her coffee cup, which was amazingly cute and very, very arousing. He hadn't even tried to put an arm round her, but kissing her had been at the front of his mind from the moment she'd agreed to come to dinner.
She drained her cup, and looked down at her watch. "It's after eight," she said. Castle thought – hoped – he detected a slight note of disappointment in her voice. "I've got to get home. I'm still a bit tired after that bite."
Castle walked to the door with her, and was just reaching for the handle when he realised that Beckett in ballet flats was at the perfect height for hugging. Not being one to stifle his impulses, he did just that. She jumped, and then wriggled.
"Ow."
"Sorry, sorry. Did I get your bite?"
"Yeah. Ouch." She undertook a complicated looking squirm and stretch. "Night, Castle. Thanks for dinner." She flicked her glance away from his lips. "I really enjoyed it. Sorry I didn't get to meet the cat, though."
"Another time. Till tomorrow, Beckett."
He heard the ting of the elevator and sat back down in his study, pulling the laptop to him and enclosed in a soft cloud of happiness. Beckett came round, had dinner, and agreed to go on a date (even if he hadn't exactly said date) and he's found out a bit about what she likes. It's just a shame that Onyx hadn't come home.
"There you are!" he said, a mere moment later, as Onyx strutted through the door. "You missed Beckett." Onyx made her disinterest plain. "You'd like her. You'd better like her, because she'll come round a lot more if I can manage it." He petted her gently, very lightly running his fingers over the spot on her back where the shots had been given. She didn't spit and hiss that time, though she was definitely tense. He concluded that there was still some discomfort there. "Getting better." His fingers worked over all the points that seemed to please his elegant feline the most, until she purred at him and wound herself around his hands, ending up, already unsurprisingly, snuggled into his lap where she watched the screen change as he typed. She behaved as if she could read it, miaowing if he paused, almost huffing when he had to take a break.
"You're a fan," he said softly, and fondled her ears. "Don't go giving anyone spoilers. Gina'd never forgive me. Beckett would never forgive me. She's a fan, but she doesn't know I know that. She's read all my books, even the first ones. I wouldn't read the first ones. They're pretty poor."
Onyx flicked her tail in agreement with him. "Everyone's a critic, even you," Castle said comfortably. "Fortunately the book-buying public isn't so picky. Anyway, you're not to give the plot away to Beckett, you hear me? She'd be cross if you did. I've just had a lovely evening with her, even if I didn't get to kiss her, and she's coming to the theatre with me, and she said next time it would be her treat." He picked up the cat and settled her on to his chest, putting up with her tail tickling his chin. "Maybe next time I'll manage a goodnight kiss. As long as her back isn't hurting. Yours isn't so bad any more. I've wanted to kiss her for so long. Since I first saw her. She was amazing. I didn't realise, for a while, but she's only got more extraordinary with time. I dedicated the first Nikki book to her because of that, but I don't think she realises how much I meant it."
He stroked Onyx. "Maybe now she's coming to the theatre we could see if there's more to it," he said hopefully. "I think there is. I really wanna find out." Onyx purred softly, warm against him. "Maybe," he continued softly, and trailed off. "C'mon, beautiful. It's bedtime."
Onyx hit the bathroom first. Castle remembered that he hadn't ever bought a litter box, but Onyx seemed to have been toilet trained, quite literally. He shrugged. It certainly made life easier, though being beaten to the bathroom by his cat was a tad disconcerting. She emerged, radiating feline satisfaction, and sat primly on a pillow to watch him strip down to his boxers. Castle was well used to being watched as he undressed, and when it was a pretty woman was not shy of reciprocating or playing to the gallery. His cat's focused regard, however, was deeply strange. She hadn't done that on previous evenings. He put it down to her relatively late return, attended to his own night-time routine, and slid into bed to the accompaniment of gentle purring and the already-familiar feeling of soft fur against his skin.
"If you waited around till I got up, you could visit the Twelfth with me. They'd all like you," he told her sleepily. "We could do with another pair of eyes, sometimes." He yawned. "Night."
Naturally, his contrary cat wasn't there in the morning to be taken to the Twelfth. Equally naturally, Beckett was in the bullpen, and from the detritus of coffee cups around her, had been there for some time.
"We caught a break," she told him. "I'm just waiting for the warrant. If you hadn't shown up, I'd have called you. The probable perp is holed up in a warehouse on the docks. Ryan and Espo are already on the way there, but I can't give the go till I get the damn – yes! Here it is." She pulled out her phone and alerted the boys, telling them to stay put till they got there. "Don't forget your vest. This could be messy."
It was raining by the time they got to the docks. After a hurried strategic discussion, Esposito kicked the door in and Beckett took point, the boys fanning out behind her. The warehouse wasn't well lit, and each nook and cranny was in deep shadow, with plenty of places for people to hide. There were small sounds of movement around them: could have been the bad guy, could have been rats. Beckett signalled them to spread out: she took left, Espo straight on, Ryan to the right. Castle stayed back: a lesson he'd painfully learned during the voodoo case and hadn't forgotten since. He had learned that trying to protect Beckett actually placed her in more danger, because he didn't carry and if he had done, and then shot someone, he would be at the centre of a very messy situation. So he stayed in a sensible place: quietly, warily following; phone silenced (another never again error).
Then it all went to hell in half a minute. Beckett yelled, Esposito fired, Ryan shouted – and suddenly there were four guys, big bruiser types: two of them already on Beckett, who'd not got her gun round in time and whose defensive drills weren't enough to take down two heavyweights though she landed some gut-rocking kicks and those heels had to hurt them; Espo despatching his thug in a matter of a moment or so but still a crucial few feet away; Castle trying to weigh in but succeeding only in removing one man, who managed to send a heavy-booted foot into Beckett's ribs before Castle planted a violent uppercut on his chin that felled him for long enough for Castle to knock him right out with a haymaker of a punch and turn to Beckett, who was holding a foetal position on the ground, trying – and failing – to minimise the beating she was taking. Espo dived in and took the other bruiser out just in time, because Castle had every intention of killing him. In the background, Ryan, breathing hard and painfully, had cuffed his guy and come to help.
"Beckett? Beckett, say something!"
"Oh, ow, ohhhhh," she moaned. "Fuck, I hurt."
"Can you move?"
She tried. "Owwww." Castle took a proper look at her. Her face was largely untouched, probably because her arms were over it and were already colouring livid black and blue. He was far more worried that they had broken a rib or several, or done internal damage. "Owwww."
"Beckett," Esposito knelt down by her. "Where does it hurt? Ryan's calling the bus."
"No bus."
"Yes bus. Castle'll go with you."
"Don't wanna bus. Gimme a minute."
"You need checked over. You can't even straighten out, never mind stand. I'll make the reports. We got 'em all. Me n' Ryan can handle it from here."
"Don't – owwwww, fuck." She dissolved into a small puddle of vicious profanity. Castle took her hand, and stayed with her until the ambulance arrived and she was loaded in. He followed, and sat with her, lamenting his crushed fingers with every bump or pothole. By the time they reached Bellevue, she had cursed under her breath – mostly under her breath – every inch of the way.
He sat in the waiting room until she was patched up. No broken ribs – not even a crack, which the doctors found surprising; no internal damage, which was astonishingly lucky. She was bruised from top to toe; even so, she was safe to be released. Castle made sure to escort her home, but didn't ask to go up and wasn't invited. Given Beckett's intense dislike of injury or weakness, he doubted that he'd see her for a couple of days. Esposito had already let him know that Montgomery had given her the next three days off, and then the weekend off the rota, to recover. He decided that he'd call her on the third day: see if she were recovered enough for him to take her ice-cream, or just go over and amuse her. He went home, hoping that Onyx would be there. He strongly felt the need to cuddle something, and Onyx had, astonishingly, already become his confidante.
A cat confidante? Was that what he was reduced to? Talking to his cat? But… she was there, and she couldn't tell his secrets to anyone else, and she reminded him so much of Beckett, in her sardonic, knowing stare and proud walk, even down to the tone of her mewing and that she drank coffee. Drips, of course: he was sure a cat shouldn't drink coffee in the way that Beckett mainlined it.
He called out for her, but there was no mewing, no prideful prowl or warm lapful of elegant darkness. Depressed, he entered his study, and moped industriously until his phone rang.
"Mr Castle?"
"Edward, what is it?"
"I got your cat here. She's hurt, I think. Real bad. She's crying." Castle could hear her.
"I'll be right down. Can you get a cab for me?"
"Sure thing."
Castle barrelled down to the entry hall and found Onyx curled up tight, whimpering and crying. "Did you see anything?"
"Not a thing."
"I'm taking her straight to the vet. If you find out anything…" He didn't need to finish the sentence. He picked up Onyx as gently as he could, cradling her to him and trying not to put any pressure on her. He had no idea how she could have been hurt.
"What happened?" he murmured to her. "Who did this? If I find them, I'll have them strung up."
The cab delivered them to the same vet as had chipped her.
"Casey, she's hurt. Can you give her something? Painkillers for cats?"
"Give me a second." Casey reached for a syringe and swiftly pinched the cat's skin to inject it. She gave a little feline sigh and relaxed. "She'll be better off doped. Otherwise this might hurt a bit, and we don't want that." He ran his hands over her body, then her legs, and finally her skull and ears. "Okay. Head's fine, back legs are okay, but she's pretty sore about the body and front legs. Feels like someone kicked her about."
Castle's answering growl was terrifying. "If I find who did it…"
"Yeah. I'll help."
"So what do I do for her?"
"Keep her somewhere soft. She probably won't want to move about much. Maybe a blanket, or a pillow if you've got one. If she wants petting, just do it very carefully. The anaesthetic'll wear off in a couple of hours, and she's going to be pretty unhappy for a couple of days. She's really lucky not to have more damage. She's even luckier to have you to look after her."
Casey found Castle a soft blanket to wrap Onyx in; he paid the check, and carried her out, supported in his arms. "Okay, let's get you home and tucked up. Best thing for you." She whimpered pathetically at him; in no way reaching a mew. Her limp body worried him deeply, and in the cab he was hard put to it not to rub his face into her fur, cuddle her too closely to be good for her bruising. He restrained himself, all the way home, and took her up into the loft with exquisite care, placing her on the pillow she preferred and then lifting that. She managed to emit a small, hurting purr which broke his heart all over again. He'd had too much stress today: Beckett beaten up and his beautiful cat hurt who-knows-how. (but if he finds out how, they will suffer) It had definitely not been a good day: his two loves both badly hurt.
Thank you to all readers and reviewers, especially guests whom I can't thank directly.
No non-fictional cats were hurt in the writing of this fic. The same cannot be said, I'm afraid, for the lyrics of "I am the very model of a modern Major-General". A version, tailored to Castle, is being posted under the title "Modern Metrosexual" simultaneously with this chapter, where it is referenced. For those of you who appreciate Gilbert and Sullivan, I apologise.
