Epilogue
It's early. Too early.
She's coiled in the window seat of his office, a warm mug of coffee cradled against her chest as she stares out through the glass, watching the sunrise over the city.
A new day filled with potential, with promise, with hope.
She shouldn't be awake yet, shouldn't be sitting here alone when he's still sleeping, warm and safe between the sheets, but she's too antsy, too excited and nervous and jittery to stay in bed any longer.
Because today is the day.
Nikki Heat.
She'd almost shot him the day he told her about the book, about her alter ego and the ridiculous name he'd chosen. Then she'd tried every persuasive technique she'd been able to think of - some appropriate for the public and some not - to get him to change it. Even still, she had to admit to herself that when she'd finally come to him, dead tired the morning after the hostage situation - resolved with no fatalities or injuries, thank god - the light in his eyes as he'd confessed to his hours long writing binge had been intoxicating.
Now, months later, she's accepted the name, accepted the book, and when he'd finally let her read an advance copy, she'd actually fallen a little bit in love with Nikki and Rook.
And today is the day of the book launch party. Today is the day he shares his vision of her, of Nikki, with the world. There's no hiding anymore, no denying what he feels for her when it's laced through every word of their story, and so she's nervous.
Not about him, no, never about him. But about everything else. The launch, how well it'll be received, what the critics will say. It's too much.
She sips her coffee as the sun appears over the city's skyscrapers, reds and pinks and oranges painting the buildings, reflecting off the glass, until the brilliant blue settles in place, easing the anxiety in her heart, the tension in her shoulders.
Draining the mug, she decides she's had enough of sitting here alone. Rick is in bed, and she can't ignore the siren call of his body to hers, the peace that comes with being wrapped in his arms.
Time to wake him up.
"Castle."
Mmm. He knows that voice. The low tone, the honey drip of each syllable, the way her tongue caresses his name as it falls from her mouth. Yes. He knows that voice quite well.
"Kate."
"Good morning," she whispers against his cheek, dragging her teeth along his jaw before she nibbles on the shell of his ear.
She feels good like this, her skin so warm and smooth, so utterly perfect, and he searches for her under the covers, his fingers trailing over her hips, inching up her waist until he can wrap his arms around her back, pulling her close so her body drapes over his.
Oh, her naked body. That's an unexpected but delightful surprise.
Digging his fingertips into the base of her spine, he revels in the way she arches, the stuttered breath that flows out over his neck and collarbone, and he peels his eyes open, turning his head to place a kiss on whatever skin he can reach.
"To what do I owe this pleasure?"
She huffs a laugh but presses her grin to his cheek, hiding it from him and he can't have that. Her happiness is infectious, her smile bright and gorgeous and he hates to miss it.
He's been stressed for the last few weeks. Finishing the book, doing the edits, getting it approved and printed, and then letting her read the first copy. He was a wreck for days, spending hours out of the loft, as far from her as possible, while she read, especially after she'd cried during the introduction of Nikki's back-story.
Using a slightly altered version of Kate's own history had been a risk, he'd known that, but the day she'd shared it with him, told him of her mother's murder, the one case she'd never been able to solve, he hadn't been able to think of anything else. She'd been heartbroken still - probably always would be - but the fact that she'd told him had made him feel like the luckiest man in the world.
Something she keeps so close to her, a secret she hides from the world, and she'd chosen to share it with him, to trust him with it. He's still floored by the notion, by her and all the little things she reveals to him every day.
She hadn't said one word to him about the book until the day she'd finished, claiming that she couldn't give an opinion without knowing how it ended, and so he'd waited, hiding from her when she would pick it up, not wanting to watch the expressions on her face while she paged through his story of her, of them in a way, but mostly of her.
And then he'd come back to her apartment one day, summoned by a simple text message stating that she'd finished. He'd been terrified, pacing her hallway like a caged lion before gathering up the courage to knock, but before he'd even tapped once, she'd thrown open the door, jumping into his arms and kissing him.
"I loved it, Castle," she'd said between kisses, over and over until they'd both been breathless and laughing, hardly able to stand up anymore.
She's been a rock through this process, keeping him sane and relaxed, reminding him how good the book is, how crazy anyone would be to not love it. He honestly doesn't know where he would be right now without her. Not here, not on the edge of this book release, not in a place where he's confident in his writing again, where he's inspired to keep going, to keep pushing himself for more.
No. He wouldn't be here without her, and he wakes up thankful for her every day.
And right now, with her enticing body stretched across his, every delicious curve pressed against him, he decides to show her just how very much he appreciates her.
The book launch party is tonight and the moment will make or break his writing future, but for now he'll hide here, letting the closed door and surrounding walls cocoon them away from the rest of the world.
Six thirty pm.
Six… shit. Six thirty. She's so late.
Hopping out of the shower, she wraps a towel around her body, squeezing the excess water from her hair as she curses the world and him for making her late. She was supposed to have been home hours ago, leaving plenty of time to clean up and get dressed before the limo came to pick her up, but he'd whined and pleaded and she just hadn't been able to leave him in such a pitiful state.
But now she's late and it's all his fault. Damn, infuriating man.
She runs a brush through her hair, blow drying it as fast as she can before she drops the towel from her body, replacing it with her robe, and then rushing into the bedroom. Stopping in the middle of the room, she looks around slowly.
Something is different, changed, but she can't put her finger on what it is exactly until she catches sight of her wardrobe. It had been closed, she's sure of it, but now one door stands slightly ajar, and her cop senses kick into overdrive.
Tiptoeing to her nightstand, she opens the top drawer silently, pulling her backup piece out and releasing the safety. She takes steady breaths in and out, years of training controlling her movements as she clears each room of her apartment. It's empty, silent, and she spins in a circle in her living room, looking for anything else out of place.
But there's nothing.
She goes back to her bedroom, putting the gun away before she stands in front of her wardrobe, appraising the piece of furniture until she finally reaches for the doors to swing them open, gasping when she sees what's hanging there.
Damn, infuriating man.
The note catches her eye first, a white sheet of paper pinned to the hangar with his blocky script staring at her.
Bippity boppity boo.
xx, R
The dress is gorgeous, so much more than what she'd been planning to wear, and she trails her finger down the silky fabric. Midnight blue, fitted at the top, flowing loose at the waist, and stopping just above the knee. A matching deep V is cut in both the front and back, no doubt for his own wandering hands, and she rolls her eyes. Of course he did.
The shoes sit at the base of the wardrobe, easily five inches of heel, the color perfectly paired to the dress, and a white travel mug sits so unsuspectingly next to them.
He's brought her coffee. Infuriating, wonderful man.
Picking up the cup for a welcome sip, her brow furrows in confusion. It's… empty. Well, no. There's something inside but it's not coffee. She peeks through the mouth hole, and her eyes widen when she catches a glimpse of a black velvet box.
Jewelry.
She pops the lid off, dropping the cup to the floor as she holds the box in her hands. It's thin, maybe two square inches, and she hesitates before flipping it open, holding her breath until she sees another note sitting atop a pair of teardrop sapphire earrings.
Got you, didn't I? Your actual coffee is on the kitchen counter. 7:30, Kate. Don't be late.
The counter. How did she miss it? She runs back out there, spotting the white cup almost instantly next to the refrigerator. There's a cheesy red heart drawn on the lid, and she can't help but smile. He really does know how to charm his way out of trouble.
She can swear she's broken some sort of record when, thirty-five minutes later, she's zipping up the dress and slipping the shoes onto her feet. It's an amazing fit, of course, but it's so much more than that as well. The style fits her body, and despite the plunging neckline it's still tasteful, making her feel beautiful and special.
The earrings are last, and she stands in front of the full-length mirror studying her reflection before she opens the velvet box. They're gorgeous and he really shouldn't have, but that fact doesn't stop the flutter in her stomach or the grin from forming on her face.
Ridiculous, adorable man.
The signature sound of his knock echoes through her apartment just as she puts the second earring in, and she takes one last look at herself before racing to the front door.
Time's up.
He's fidgeting. Fidgeting and bouncing his knee and sweating.
Can't this damn limo move any faster?
He's pretty sure she's going to kill him. Or kiss him. It really can go either way with her and he's never sure what to expect.
But he broke in - okay using the key she'd given him two weeks ago isn't technically breaking in - hung a dress in her closet and hid her coffee. She's definitely going to kill him.
No man survives getting between Kate Beckett and her coffee.
Rubbing his clammy palms on his tux pants, he leans back, dropping his head against the seat. At this angle he can see out the rear window, see the dazzling city lights, the skyscrapers reaching for the hidden stars, and he can imagine those stars burning bright in the night sky.
He'll have to take her camping sometime, somewhere secluded where they can lay on a blanket in the darkness and count the stars. Her hair will be bathed in moonlight, her face half-lit when she turns to look at him, so beautiful, so ethereal that he won't be able to do anything but stare, anything but thank the universe for leading him to her.
"We're here, Sir," the driver calls from the sidewalk while he holds the limo door open.
Whoops.
Castle really needs to get his act together, get his brain to settle down if he's going to make it through tonight in one piece. Launch the book, spend some time showing off Kate, mingle the way Black Pawn expects, and then get out of there. He can do this.
When he steps off the elevator the anxiety is back, but the little thrill of not knowing how she'll feel about his actions, or how she'll look in the dress, is enough to push him forward.
He wants to see it draped over her body, the silk swishing with her movements, the shoes making her endless legs look even longer, and the earrings providing that extra bit of sparkle to her face… He can hardly stand the anticipation, and then he knocks.
The door swings open in seconds, and she's there. In the outfit he'd chosen, with her hair in some complicated mess of curls and just enough makeup to highlight the green in her eyes. Wow.
"Thanks, Castle," she says as she ducks her head, a gentle wave of pink coating her cheeks, and, oh, he must have said that out loud.
He reaches for her, can't help but brush along her cheekbone so she'll look up before he cups the side of her neck, his fingertips dusting under the earring in her left ear. "You look so beautiful, Kate. Stunning."
"Yeah?"
She steps back from him, doing a little twirl as she interlocks her fingers in front of her, and it's adorable.
"You like it?" she asks as she sways side to side.
"God, Kate. I love it. I loved it in the store but on you… Wow."
"Thanks."
She ducks her head again, smoothing the fabric over her hips and tucking a nonexistent curl behind her ear before she reaches for her coat. The motion breaks him from his staring, and he steps forward, slipping the wool from her fingers and holding it open for her. The sleeves slide up her arms easily, and he can't help but lean down, drifting a kiss to the spot behind her ear that always drives her crazy.
She shivers in response, turning around to lace her fingers with his as she leads him through her apartment door. Her eyes are bright, her smile wide. She looks happy.
In this moment, with her hand safely tucked in his, he's pretty sure he's the luckiest man in the world. She's not mad at him, not even a little bit perturbed, and he's amazed. Amazed by her strength and her heart. By the fact that she's stuck around in spite of him, that she still wants him here with her.
"You ready for this, Castle? To introduce Nikki to the world?"
Is he ready? To share Nikki? To share Kate?
Yes.
Because he's proud of them both.
He nods, and she smiles, tugging on him as she moves out to the hall. It's just one more step on the path toward the life he wants.
Fate. Destiny. Inevitability.
Whatever you want to call it.
He doesn't want to know where they would have ended up without the intervention, so he focuses back on her, letting the joy sweep over him as she locks her front door.
She's it for him.
The one.
The only one who matters.
Because, apparently, fate exists in every universe.
And he was born to love her.
Thank you to everyone who reviewed, followed, or favorited this story. Your kind words are so very appreciated.
And to my beta dream team, my kindred spirits, Kylie and Jo, I love you to the moon and back.