Disclaimer: The only part of Castle that I own is the TV on which I watch the show.
Esposito was right: she is wearing her lunch. The BLT stain is a lot like the shape of New Jersey, and almost as big. As soon as she's home she sheds her pants; she'll drop them off at the dry cleaners on her way out.
Pants. Yes, what she needs is those pants. She hasn't worn them in a while, but she knows exactly where they're hanging in the closet, and she pulls them on. Perfect fit, if she does say so. Perfect as in resembling second skin, which is definitely the desired effect. They're really too hot for the summer, but worth it, fingers crossed. She exchanges her blouse for a white tee shirt, and her heels for a pair of flat-heeled boots. There's a small duffel bag on the closet floor; she takes it out, tosses a few things in, adds her wallet and her phone, and looks around. All set.
She'd called her friend Manny from the precinct, so he knows she's on her way. The subway ride to his place in Queens is quick, under the East River and just a few stops past. She hasn't been out here in more than six months, and she realizes how foolish that is. He's standing in front of his place, waiting for her, and folds her in a bear hug so huge that she all but disappears inside his massive, tattooed arms. "Great to see ya, Kate. Been too long."
"Just what I was thinking, Manny. Thanks for getting her ready for me."
"My pleasure. You're lookin' good. Happy. Are ya happy?"
"Yeah. I'm really happy, Manny. Really, really happy. Hope I'll be even happier in a couple of hours."
"Sounds like new-guy talk to me. 'm I right?"
"New old guy. I mean not old, just that I've known him for two years and now things are changing. I hope."
"Your motor racin'?"
"You could say."
He chuckles as he hands her her helmet. She fastens the chin strap, puts her bag on the back of the bike, and gets on. It's a '94 Harley Softail that he's been keeping in perfect condition for her since her rookie days, when she'd been walking a beat in Astoria. He'd gotten in a bit of trouble back then, and she'd given him a break. End of story, beginning of story.
"Ride good, Kate, okay? And this dude? He ever give you any shit, you know who to call. No'm sayin'? Not that I don't think you can take care of yourself."
"Thanks again, Manny. If you're not here when I get back, I'll park in your garage."
"You still got the key, right?"
"Yup." She pats the keyring that's jammed into her pocket. "Never without it. Bye!"
Once she's out of the city and on the slightly less crowded highway, she starts mulling things over. She's tired of being cautious; time to let go a little. Maybe more than a little. Traffic isn't bad, she's gonna sing.
Born to be wild,
Born to be wild.
Get your motor runnin',
Head out on the highway,
Lookin' for adventure
And whatever comes our way.
Castle has been asleep for so long that when he wakes he's in full shade. Good thing he'd had the wits to slather on the sunblock, even though he's deeply tanned after so many uninterrupted weeks out here. His mouth feels as if it's home to an ant farm, but he's ravenous. When he glances down at his stomach he finds a partially eaten sandwich there, the edges of the bread curling up. What the hell time is it, anyway? The phone on the table next to him says 5:49. Really? No wonder he's hungry. And what's that on his chest? Some hideous purple thing. Did something bite him while he was asleep? Some death-delivering spider, injecting poison into his system that will eat away at him until he can fight no longer? Oh, God. Oh. Oh. Grape jelly. He swipes it off with his finger tip, which he licks clean.
Is it worth it to sit up and check his email? Ten hours have passed: surely Beckett will have come up with some kind of response? He flips open his laptop, daring himself to look at the screen. It's there. She answered. She answered him at one o'clock. Why had he fallen asleep? He could have been looking at her email for four hours and forty-nine minutes already. Assuming it's good. Or at least not bad. He clicks on it. She missed him! Okay, that's not exactly what she said. Well, it is. She said "we all miss you," and "we" definitely includes her. She's top of the list of we. Technically Montgomery is, but it's his list and he's putting her on top. And he'd missed an exploding hand? Shit, this has been the worst summer ever. Maybe he could go back right now. Well, they're probably off-duty now, but tomorrow? Still, he doesn't want to look overeager. Maybe next Monday? That would be good. It's already late Monday afternoon, so that's really only six and a half days away.
And she's going to give him a doughnut. Not just an everyday one, either: a welcome-back doughnut.
Oh, this is good. This is so much better than he'd ever hoped. This calls for a celebratory dip in the pool. Since neither his mother nor Alexis is here to call him on it, he cannonballs into the water, complete with a war whoop. He does half a dozen laps, then floats on his back for a bit. Another cannonball is in order. He swims to the edge of the pool, pulls himself out, takes a few steps backward, and leaps in. He's shaking water out of his ear when he hears it, the unmistakable vrooom-vroom of a motorcycle. And the vroom sounds as if it's right in front of his house.
He trots around to investigate because he's not having some gangbanger wannabe trashing his gravel driveway, thank you. He skids to a stop, unbelieving. That's no gangbanger, that's—. Jesus. It's her. In skintight leather pants and a tiny tee shirt and biker boots, and she's straddling a Harley. His mouth is open, but he can't make a word come out. Unintelligible sound, yes, but no word.
"Castle?"
Finally he manages a thready "Beckett?" He knows he's staring, but he has no control over what he's saying when she looks like this. Especially in his driveway. Especially when they're the only two people here. She's tucking her helmet under her arm, which pushes her breasts higher and tighter against her shirt. "You're like that drink," he says, without intending to.
"That drink?"
"Sex on the Beach. Only it's Sex on a Motorcycle on the Beach."
"Geez, Castle, I just got here. Isn't that a little forward? Fast forward?" He's in his trunks; nothing else. She's trying not to look at his arms, which are—so help her—bigger than Manny's, and minus the tattoos. His skin is as sleek as a seal's, and it's wet. But if she doesn't look at his arms, she'll be looking at his chest, and that, well, she's already clenching—. She needs to keep her eyes up, above his collarbone. That should help. She can't help wondering if he owns a Speedo, though. Errhhgggh.
"Beckett. I'm uh, I'm sorry. I mean you look great. Totally inappropriate thing to say. Sorry, sorry. Good thing Demming isn't here, he'd challenge me to a duel or something. Right? Swords at fifty paces."
Please, Castle, please, please, please don't say swords. She's getting off the bike and has to close her eyes for a second.
"Or punching bags, maybe."
"Punching bags at fifty paces, kinda hard to do, Castle."
"Right."
"Hey, I got your email. It's great. You know, that you're coming back. Before you were coming back before. Earlier. Now you'll be earlier." Shit, this would be so much easier if he'd put some clothes on. "Wasn't sure if you got mine. My email reply. Since you were swimming. Looks like."
"Right. Oh, I did! Yeah. Right before you got here I saw it. Thank you."
They're both just standing there, at level 1,000 of awkwardness, worse than two adolescents at an eighth-grade dance. Castle is still gawking, and she decides that she'd better make the next move, whatever it is. "Um, would it be all right if we went inside? I've been riding for a while, a couple of hours, I guess? So I'm thirsty. If you have water?"
"Water? Yes, sure. I have water. Lots of it. Different flavors, and bubbles. Not different bubbles, but water with bubbles and water without bubbles. Please. Please, come in."
As they walk through the house, she's the one gawking. "Wow. Amazing place, Castle. I can see why you'd want to stay here all summer rather than at the Twelfth. It's gorgeous."
Not half as gorgeous as you, he thinks, herding her to the kitchen. "Why don't you have a seat and I'll get us some water. What kind would you like?"
"Plain. Plain is good. Just as long as it's cold."
"Definitely cold." Unlike her. He takes two bottles from the fridge. "Would you like a glass?"
"No need, thanks. I'll drink it right from the bottle." She drops her bag and helmet on the floor, and sits down on a stool at the counter; he's standing on the other side. She dips her head, and looks back up. "Listen, Castle."
Oh, God, she's asking him to listen. That's only slightly less horrible than "we have to talk." He leans forward a little for support.
"About Demming."
Dammit, here it comes. She probably rode out here to tell him that they're getting married.
"He won't challenge you to a duel, I promise. There's no dueling going on over me. He and I split up."
Good thing he's leaning on the counter, because it's the only thing that's keeping him from falling onto the floor. He clears his throat. "You did? I'm sorry."
"You are?"
"Yes. No. I mean, that must have been hard."
"Not really. Not half as hard as watching you and Gina leave the precinct."
"Wait, what?"
"I broke up with him that afternoon. I was on my way to tell you when I saw the two of you. Leaving." Her bravery has taken her this far, but now she has to look at her boots. She hears a loud thunk and raises her eyes. The thunk, the series of thunks, is Castle's forehead, repeatedly hitting the granite countertop.
"I don't believe it. I don't fucking believe it."
"And another thing, Castle," she says, resting a hand lightly on the back of his head.
Should he pick his head up off the counter for this? Yes. He stands back up and sees her lean over to get her small duffle bag.
"I brought you something."
"You did?"
"Yeah. If you've digested that other bit of information, I'll give it to you."
"Okay." He expects her to slide whatever it is across the counter to him, but instead she's walking around it, holding something behind her back. She stops just inches away, and produces a powder-sugared doughnut.
"Open wide."
Gladly. He'll gladly open wide whenever she says that. She pops the doughnut partway into his mouth, and he bites down on it. It's clamped between his teeth and suddenly there she is, hovering on the other side of it, so close that a bit of powdered sugar has reached the tip of her nose.
"I know about Gina," she whispers. "That she's toast." And she bites down on the doughnut, her lips pressed hard against his, while two more lines from "Born to be Wild" race through her brain.
Fire all of your guns at once
And explode into space.
TBC
A/N Thanks, everyone. Hope you're having a wild weekend.
