Chapter Eight
"I was hoping we could talk."
She shuts the door to her office behind them, her heart racing and palms sweating. He's here, really here, and her thoughts stutter at the notion. He's come here to find her, and she turns around to face him, catching sight of his hands jutting out before him.
But he'd said he was here to talk and he's brought her a coffee.
That has to be a good sign. Right?
"Is that for me?"
She gestures to the cup with her name on it, fighting a smile when he jumps and then steps forward to give it to her. When she slips the warm cardboard from his fingers, the shock of his touch radiates up through her arm, sending a shiver down her spine that she can barely repress.
"Thank you."
He nods, and she takes a sip of the vanilla latte, closing her eyes at the taste. This is what she's been looking for, drowning in precinct coffee all the while knowing it'll never compare to something like this. This is heaven.
She opens her eyes to find his own watching her. He's quiet and serious, but it's different than it was earlier. He's different.
Something has changed.
"Listen, Castle-"
"So I just wanted-"
They speak at the same time, and she grins when he does. His mood settles over her, easing her own anxiety about why he's here, and, taking a step toward him, she lets the ease in his expression buoy her, giving her the strength to continue, to say what needs to be said.
"I'm sorry about what I said earlier. I overstepped and I shouldn't have. You're relationship and history with Alexis isn't my business. I'm so sorry, Castle."
She holds her breath, waiting for him to say something, anything to clue her in as to why he's here, if this is what he came looking for or if there's something else. Nodding, he looks down at the twin leather chairs facing her desk, gesturing to them as he sits in one, and she follows suit, settling into the other and wrapping both hands around her coffee to keep from shaking.
Or reaching for him.
He stares at his cup, taking a small sip before he speaks, the quiet timbre of his voice drawing her in so easily.
"I'm very protective of my daughter. For a long time it was just us - Alexis and Rick against the world - and I liked it that way. But then one day I looked and my little girl wasn't so little anymore. I wasn't being what she needed, who she needed, and before I knew it, she'd decided to take control of her own life, her own future, the way she wanted. And part of that choice was moving to California."
Kate is stunned into silence at his story. He's clearly not one to volunteer this information, and she knows she doesn't deserve to be the one to hear it, but she wants it anyway. She's desperate for the details of his life before they met, to know how he thinks, what makes his heart beat.
This feeling, this desire, is new and a little overwhelming, but it makes her feel alive for the first time in years. She's not willing to let it go.
"The fact that her mother was in California just added insult to injury, and I think I took it out on her, blamed her for my own mistakes. We've been broken for a long time, but what you said this morning-"
"No, Castle, I shouldn't have-"
He finally looks at her, the corner of his mouth lifting in a half smile as he shrugs. "No you shouldn't have."
Ouch. Even if he is right.
"But since you did, it got me thinking. I spoke with Alexis today - she's well, in case you were wondering - and it was the first time I've been able to see myself through her eyes. And that's because of you. I'm not perfect, Kate. I have a temper and some pride issues, but I want to thank you for helping me take that step with her. You may have saved my relationship with my daughter today, and I'm grateful for that."
"Castle-"
"So what I'm saying is," he interrupts, shutting down her protest before she can even begin to say it. "I'm sorry too. I overreacted this morning and I shouldn't have left like that."
"You didn't… You didn't do anything wrong."
"Even still. And I was wondering if I could maybe see you again. Seems coffee works well for us, but I was hoping for a little something more. Maybe over dinner when you're free?"
Her gaze shoots to his, surprised by his request, and she can feel the heavy thump of her heart as the tempo picks up. He wants to have dinner? With her?
She hasn't screwed this up completely?
And before she can second guess herself even more, she nods, reveling in the brilliant grin that lights up his face in response. His blue eyes sparkle as he jumps up, downing the rest of his coffee, and she's distracted by the working of his throat as he swallows, the short five o'clock shadow that's beginning to grow back.
So sexy.
Tossing his empty cup into the wastebasket by her desk, he offers her a hand, tugging her up when she sets her palm to his. He's warm, his fingers thick and strong as they encircle her own, and it feels good, feels right to be standing here with him.
"Excellent. Maybe Friday?"
"Mmmhmm. Sounds perfect."
He smiles at her, and she realizes just how much height he actually has. She's not wearing power heels today, didn't feel like sacrificing her feet just to sit at her desk for a few hours, and that gives him at least five or six extra inches.
"Well, I should probably go," he whispers as he squeezes her hand, and she nods, knowing there's a bit more work she wants to do before she can go home and crash.
He starts to lean forward, and she freezes, his scent getting stronger as he gets closer. The brush of his lips across her cheek, dangerously near the edge of her lips, has her eyes fluttering shut, her breathing becoming stuttered.
"I'll call you to set up a time," he whispers in her ear, the brush of his exhale ghosting across her cheek. She shivers at the sensation, feeling her control slip away the longer he remains so close.
It only takes a miniscule turn of her head, just a small adjustment before she can push her lips to his. He stills against her, and she reaches up, dusting her fingers under his jaw until she can feel the fine hairs on his neck. His skin is a burn against her palms, and she gasps when he grips her waist, dragging her forward as his tongue swipes across her lower lip.
She's lost in him, in his touch and his smell, the taste of him on her tongue, the feel of his body against her own. Trying to get closer, to erase any space between them, she steps forward, fitting her feet between his and rising onto her toes.
"Captain Beck - Oh my god. I'm so sorry."
Jumping out of Castle's arms, she slams back into the corner of her desk, wincing at the pain shooting down her legs when she sees who's interrupted.
"Detective Jones. What are you doing?" she growls at the man, narrowing her eyes at him because he's no rookie. He knows better than to just come bursting in when the door is shut.
"I'm sorry, ma'am, but we have a situation."
He's tingling everywhere. Dazed and confused might be an appropriate way to put it.
Because wow.
She kissed him.
She kissed him.
And the interruption, the fact that his fingers are on fire for more of her, doesn't even matter, he can't wipe the dopey grin off his face or slow the rapid pace of his heart.
Wow.
"I'm sorry, ma'am, but we have a situation."
The man's words draw Castle's attention back from his stupor, and he realizes Kate is just as thrown as he is. Her cheeks are pink, her lips swollen and glistening. Even her hair is a touch out of place, the strands showing evidence of where his fingers had just been tangled. She looks delectable.
"What's going on?" she asks the other man, and Castle swings his gaze over to him, wondering who this guy is and why he's in here now. Right now when Castle wants nothing more than to grab her and kiss her again.
"Hostage situation in holding."
"What?! How? Damn it."
She tugs a desk drawer open while she speaks, pulling out her service piece safely encased in its holster. Tucking the holster into the waist of her slacks, she slips the weapon free, checking the magazine before she pushes it back in place.
And if he thought he was enamored with Kate Beckett before, it just jumped to a whole new level. That glimpse of transformation that he'd seen this morning was nothing compared to this. Gone is the woman he'd just been with. There is no shake to her hands, no evidence at all of what they'd just done.
She's Captain Beckett now, gearing up for a fight. Like a mama bear protecting her young.
God, she's incredible.
There's an itch forming his fingers that he hasn't felt in years, a mess of words in his head that he needs to organize and write down. About her, about this place.
She goes to leave the room, but hesitates with her palm on the doorframe as she looks back at him, regret shining in her eyes when she speaks.
"I'm sorry, Castle. I have to… I'll call you, okay?"
"Of course. Go, go," he says as he waves her out of the room. "Go save the world."
He gets a sweet grin for that one, and then she's gone, calling out orders as she runs through the bullpen. Moving to the door to her office, he leans against the dark polished wood and watches her.
Kate Beckett. A cop, a mystery and a passion hiding in her eyes. She's such a far cry from the women he normally goes after, but maybe that's been the problem.
Maybe this is exactly what he's been searching for. He'd just been looking in the wrong place.
The click of keys is familiar, the sound comforting as his brain spills word after description after plot idea, one trailing right behind another faster than his fingers can move.
The first thing he notices when it finally slows to a manageable pace is that his butt has gone numb.
The second is how much his eyes burn from looking into the light of the computer screen for… He swings his gaze to the small clock at the bottom of the screen, reading eleven thirty pm.
Oh, for six hours it seems. No wonder.
Rubbing both palms over his face, he leans back in his desk chair, closing his eyes for a rest as the beginnings of his story continue to float through his brain.
Female cop. Detective. Sassy, smart, driven, professional, savvy, playful. The adjectives go on and on.
And the story. A crime novel, of course. Murder of a real estate tycoon. Exposing the dirty secrets of New York's rich and famous. That'll make Gina happy for the first time in years. Hopefully, anyway.
"Nice to see you've emerged from your fog."
He jumps at his mother's voice, so lost in his own head that he hadn't heard her approach, but when he meets her eyes, he sees the warring of her attempt at a joke and her serious need to know if what she thinks he's doing is actually what he's doing.
"Hello, Mother."
Keeping his face neutral just to tease her for his own pleasure, he waits. She won't be able to keep the questions to herself, and it isn't long before he's rewarded, though she tries to play it off as nonchalance as well.
But they aren't kidding each other; they both know how momentous this is.
"I tried to offer dinner around eight. There's leftover Italian in the fridge if you're hungry."
"Thanks. I'll grab some in a bit."
She purses her lips, tilting her head just so as she studies him, and he drums his fingers together, waiting.
"Are you going to tell me what you've been working on?" she finally asks.
Not wanting to get her hopes up in case this story crashes and burns - or in case Kate murders him when she finds out about it - he shakes his head, deciding to give the bare minimum just to appease her curiosity.
"I've had an idea for a new book. Just fleshing out some details to see if it'll work."
"Hmm. Well, I haven't seen you this focused since Derrick Storm so it must be something good."
"Time will tell, Mother. Only time will tell."
She nods, standing up straight before she turns away from him. "I'll let you get back to it then. Good night, Richard."
"Good night."
He stays put until her footsteps disappear up the stairs before he goes in search of some food. The midnight fridge raid due to an hours long writing binge is something else he's been without for too long, and it's all coming back because of Kate.
Because of a weird bout of amnesia and apparent alternate universe body invasion.
Because of getting shot.
Because of his pushy mother and too wise daughter.
Because of a woman who does more to him with a single glance than anyone else ever has.
She makes him want to be different, to try harder, to be better than he's been.
She makes him believe that he can be all of these things and he wants to try, wants to push for it and fight for it.
For her.
And for himself.
Because life is about more than failure, more than mistakes and poor choices. More than the past.
And it's time to stop looking back.